The Courtship

by Catherine Coulter

  He said nothing and she continued after a moment, “Lord Beecham and his friends went to see him. He swore you were dead, but one of the gentlemen believed he was lying. He said it was strange—your father knew you were alive but he didn’t want anyone else to know that you lived. Now, why is that?”

  “My father is the monster, not I. He has always been a monster. The ship did go down off the coast of France eight years ago. I couldn’t swim, that was true enough. However, I managed to bind myself to a barrel. Eventually, over four hours later, the barrel was pushed to shore by the waves. I survived. I was also where I wanted to be, where I would be safe.”

  “What are you talking about? You were in France. They are our enemy.”

  “They are not mine.”

  “I see,” she said, and indeed she did see. “Everyone said you were a hero. It was a litany your father sings to this day. Why did you become a traitor, Gerard? Oh, no, now I understand. You were a traitor even before that ship of yours went down.”

  He slapped her again. She didn’t say anything this time. She began working at the knots on her wrists, very slowly, barely moving her wrists and hands.

  Then he began to laugh. “You have changed, Helen. When I first met you, you were all of eighteen years old and such a curious and bewitching girl, so spirited, so filled with energy and enthusiasm. But you weren’t filled with life, were you? All I wanted off you was a child, but you failed me. You have changed much more than have I. I am not certain what you have become, but I have been watching you for the past three months, and I have seen how you run your very own inn, how you still pander to that damnable father of yours.

  “And then you took a lover, knowing that I was alive. That makes you unfaithful to me, your husband. You have committed, knowingly, adultery, Helen.”

  She looked at him straight in his very nice brown eyes that she had admired when she’d been eighteen. “There is absolutely no way you can possibly know whether or not I became Lord Beecham’s lover. Was I not sleeping alone when you managed to kidnap me?”

  “Well, that’s true,” he said. “But Lord Beecham is reputed to be a man of infinite charm. Why were you sleeping alone, then? Does he take you, then prefer to sleep by himself? Many men are like that. He had to have taken you. I have heard it said that he can seduce the chemise off a nun. You actually held him off? That is difficult to believe, Helen.”

  “He loves me.”

  “No, I don’t believe you. A man like him feels lust, nothing beyond that. There isn’t anything beyond that, anyway. He feels momentary pleasure, then he becomes bored and moves to the next female. Yes, I could bring you up for divorce to the House of Lords. Adultery. I could ruin your name, your precious father, and everyone would agree with me.”

  “Why don’t you, then, Gerard? Then everyone could see you, see what you have become or learn what you always were. Yes, I believe that you were a traitor even then, weren’t you, Gerard? Yes, take your wife to the House of Lords and let us see what happens. At the very least, you abandoned your wife. But there is much more than that. You are a traitor. Perhaps you will be hung by your neck.” She worked the ropes that bound her wrists, slowly, twisting, back and forth.

  He rose from beside her on the narrow bed. She watched him pace the length of the small room. The floorboards creaked under his boots. He was well dressed, tall, lean. Gray laced through his light brown hair, and lines scored his mouth. What had he done these past eight years?

  He turned to stare down at her for a very long moment. “You are beautiful, so very beautiful, but I can’t take you with me, Helen. I will leave you alive, however, if you will simply tell me where you have hidden this lamp. That’s all I want, all I ever wanted.”

  The lamp. He wanted the bloody lamp? That’s what this was all about? She grew very still. She smiled at him. “Do you mean you would never have come back if you hadn’t heard about the lamp?”

  “I wrote you initially believing that you would give me money to keep me out of your life. But then there was no reason for you to. You had not remarried. There was no other man you wanted. And so I really forgot about you. Then I learned about King Edward’s lamp. Then I learned about Lord Beecham. And I knew I had the leverage I needed. Give me the lamp, Helen, and you will never see me again. You can marry your rakehell.”

  This was very important, and she knew it. She looked at him silently for a good long time, then said in a very calm voice, “Gerard, I truly believed there was a lamp. When I found that ancient leather scroll in an iron cask, I prayed it was about the lamp, and it was. The scroll recounted the story you already know about Aladdin. Then the writer said it was to be buried because it was dangerous.

  “Regardless, the lamp wasn’t with the scroll. Someone had taken it long ago. When? I have no idea, but it is gone. Forget the lamp. To be honest, I have.”

  “Reverend Mathers was murdered.”

  “Yes, and the person who did it was hoping that the scroll told the whereabouts of the lamp. He killed the poor man for nothing.”

  She had told him the truth. There was nothing more she could do.

  “I will kill both you and Lord Beecham if you don’t take me to this lamp.”

  He was perfectly serious. He hadn’t believed her. Well, she’d tried. She felt a spurt of fear, not for herself but for Spenser. No, surely he was prepared for Gerard Yorke to slither onto the stage. He wanted him to appear. He was waiting for him.

  She smiled up at him. “Very well, Gerard. I will take you to the lamp. But believe me on this. It’s just an old lamp. It has nothing at all to do with the magic lamp of legend. You will see—it is simply a worthless old lamp that does nothing at all. This lamp is nothing more than an old lump of gold. I found it in a vicar’s attic. He had bequeathed all his belongings to my father, you see. Now, think. If I truly found this magic lamp, why am I here, bound, with you? Do you not think that I would have rubbed it and kissed it and even slept with it to learn its secrets? There are no secrets. There is no power. There is no magic.”

  “You lied about all of it, not just to me but to every one of those credulous fools in London. What I believe is that you have the lamp, you just haven’t found the power in it as yet. If you had, it is obvious that you would be the most powerful woman in the world. I will find the power, you will see. Now, it is not that I don’t trust you, but I am not a fool. I took not only you but also your dear friend Alexandra Sherbrooke. She is just across the corridor, all bound and trussed up, just like you.”

  Oh, no. Oh, no. “How ever did you manage to get your hands on Alexandra? She sleeps with her husband, not alone, like me.”

  He actually gave her a whimsical smile. “I worried about that, I can tell you. But do you know what? I was prepared to cosh her husband on the head, no hope for it—I knew it would be more than dangerous, but I couldn’t see that there would be a choice. But then, all of a sudden, there she comes floating down the front staircase in their house, on her way to the library to fetch a glass of brandy. She couldn’t sleep it seems. I nearly laughed myself sick from the luck of it. And so I have her and there’s nothing you can do about it, Helen.”

  Douglas would awaken, Helen thought, he had to. Alexandra would be gone. Surely he would wonder where she was. Surely he would raise the alarm.

  “You have told me truth and lies, Helen. But I know one truth—you found the magic lamp. Now, if you try to deceive me again, if you try to trick me in any way, the lovely little countess will die.”

  “I am wearing my nightgown. Surely I cannot take you to the lamp like this?”

  “I brought both you and the countess some men’s clothes. It will be easier than dragging you about with all those women’s skirts. I am going to reassure your friend while you change, Helen. She is already wearing her men’s clothes. They are not such a bad fit, actually. I changed her while she was still unconscious. Unfortunately, you woke up before I could strip you down.” He rose then. “Hurry, I want to leave soon.”

&n
bsp; He leaned down and untied her wrists. He seemed not to notice that she had worked them nearly free. “You may untie your own ankles. Hurry.”

  Helen was free in a trice. She changed into the men’s clothes in three minutes flat. All the while she was thinking furiously. Alexandra. She had to be careful not to get Alexandra hurt.

  She drew a deep breath and waited, just behind the door, the chamber pot in her hands.

  When he came through the door, he was pushing Alexandra in front of him. He said in a loud voice, “Stay back, Helen, or I will kill the little pullet here. Obey me. I want no tricks from you or she is dead. See my gun is right by her right ear. Come out from your hiding place.”

  Helen brought the pot down on his head as hard as she could, and that was very hard indeed.

  He went down like a stone.

  “All right, Missy, ’ey! Wot’d you do to Mr. Yorke? Ye cracked ’im on ’is poor ’ead, ye did!”

  Alexandra said in a clear, calm voice, “Who are you, sir?”

  “I’m the cove wot this cove paid two quid.”

  “Fine. Now I will hire you. You will have five guineas once you see us back to London to our own houses.”

  The gaunt-faced little man looked down at Gerard Yorke, then at Helen, who stood a good eight inches taller than he. “I guesses there be no choice.”

  They made it to the front door of the small cottage. Helen’s hand was out to turn the knob when it slammed open. There was Sir John Yorke standing there, a pistol in his hand.

  “I knew you would fool Gerard. He has always underestimated women. What did he do, leave you? Yes, of course that is what he did. And you laid him flat, didn’t you? I looked at you when you were but eighteen years old and I knew you were strong. I knew you would grow stronger over the years. And you’ve also become dangerous. Move back, Miss Mayberry, or should I say Mrs. Yorke?”

  29

  GERARD YORKE CAME into the small front room that held only two rickety chairs and a rough-hewn wooden table. He was holding his head and he was groaning. He staggered into the wall and then leaned against it, trying to get himself together again.

  “You useless fool,” his father said. “You couldn’t even capture a single woman.”

  “Of course I could. I did. I captured two women, not just one. You can see them both. They are standing right here. Bad things just happened. Bad things always happen when Helen has any say about it.” Gerard shook his head and forced it up to look at his father, who was holding a gun on Helen and the countess of Northcliffe. Gerard’s own villain, that lantern-jawed individual to whom he had given two whole quid, was hovering just behind Sir John Yorke.

  His father just looked at him as if he wanted to kick him. He wasn’t surprised—it was the way his father had always looked at him.

  Gerard said slowly, trying to get his wits together. “How come you to be here? You followed me?”

  “Yes, naturally. I finally found you just two days ago. I have been waiting for you to make a decision about Helen, and you did, you bloody little ass—the wrong decision, but you have never made a right decision, have you? You should have just stayed dead, remained gone from England, remained a hero in your family’s minds, but you didn’t. Now just look what has happened.” Sir John turned then and smiled at Helen, for no reason she could think of, and that smile of his made her shrivel inside. What was going on here?

  Gerard shook his fist in Helen’s face even as he collapsed even more against the wall. “I tell you, Father, I could not stay gone. And this wasn’t my fault. I had to leave Helen alone so she could dress. I had to fetch the countess of Northcliffe from another chamber, and when I brought her back, I pushed her into the room in front of me. I even had a gun pointed at her head. The room was dark. Look now, it is barely dawn. I saw something that should have been Helen lying on the bed. How was I to know that Helen had that chamber pot and was behind the door? No man could have imagined that. I didn’t have a chance.”

  “What is the meaning of all this?” Alexandra asked, looking from the old man to his son, who was still breathing hard, still holding his hand to his head. “Who are you, sir?”

  “Ah, my lady. So you are Douglas Sherbrooke’s wife.” He gave her a slight bow. “Your husband is a cocky bastard I greatly admire. He is a genius at strategy and has proved it many times over the years. I suppose my son here brought you along as leverage against Helen?”

  “Yes, I did,” said Gerard, pushing off the wall and finally managing to stand straight. “And it will work. Helen is fond of her. They are great friends. I have but to point my gun at the countess’s head and Helen will take us to the magic lamp. She already said she would, once I threatened her friend here.”

  “A lamp,” Sir John said, marveling at his son. “You actually believe that foolishness that is all over London? Are you an utter fool? There is no magic lamp. It is all fiction, an interesting tale invented in Helen’s fertile imagination. Everyone is enjoying gossiping about it. It means nothing. Don’t you realize that if there were something that important, some ancient relic with strange powers, no one would know about it? It would be kept a close secret.”

  Helen looked at him and smiled inwardly. Spenser had been exactly right. How could anyone possibly believe in something purportedly magic when everyone knew about it?

  Alexandra went to stand by Helen, making Sir John laugh. “Just look at the two of you together. You are a giant, Helen, an oddity, a freak.”

  She grinned over at him. “At least I am not so old that my skin is spotted and hanging off my body and my teeth are all rotted.”

  He took a step toward her, raised his hand, then slowly lowered it. He looked down at his hand for a moment. “You were not so impertinent when you were eighteen,” he said slowly.

  “And you were not so openly rude—though you were older than death even back then. I remember as well how you looked at me and how you did not want your precious son to marry me.”

  Sir John shrugged. “I knew you wouldn’t hold him. I knew you wouldn’t give him a child immediately, as he claimed you would.”

  “What do you mean, I wouldn’t hold him?”

  “Even then, my worthless son was already searching out ways to make more money. I bought him the commission, hoping, praying he would change. He could have followed in my footsteps. But he didn’t. He got an excellent dowry from your father, but it was gone in a month. And what did you do? Nothing. You believed every ridiculous lie he told you. But I knew you would change. I knew there was grit in you, a strong will, but you just didn’t change quickly enough to be of any use to me. Yes, I was right. Just look at what you’ve become.”

  “No, Father,” Gerard said. “Her dowry lasted two months. It would have lasted much longer, but I was cheated. It was Jason Fleming, Lord Crowley, who cheated me. I wanted to kill him, but then he left to go hunting in Scotland, the conniving bastard, and I could do nothing. And Helen refused to get pregnant.” Gerard gave his wife a malignant look. “All I wanted from you was a child, nothing more, nothing less, at least after your dowry was gone. But you wouldn’t give me one.”

  “I am very pleased about that,” Helen said. “Incidentally,” she said to his father, “I was only eighteen. If I had been as smart then as I am now, do you believe I would ever have attached myself to your toad of a son? Not very likely, sir. He turned out badly enough. I cringe to think if he had, instead, turned out like you.”

  Gerard, unlike his father, did not have much self-control. “Don’t you insult my father, you worthless woman!” He was on her in an instant, his arm drawn back to strike her. Helen just shook her head as she raised her knee, struck him hard in the groin, then sent her fist into his neck.

  Gerard howled, clutched himself, and fell to the floor, hitting the wall. He didn’t know whether to rub his crotch or his neck, both hurt so badly. He kept swallowing and moaning as he rocked back and forth. Finally he whispered, “Father, look what she did to me. Kill her. No—just wound her. You can
kill her later, after I have the lamp—but maybe not. She is my wife, after all. I will think about this. Also, if she knows you will kill her, there is no reason for her to take me to the lamp. And I swear to you, there is a magic lamp and she knows where the lamp is. She finally admitted to me that she has it. I want that lamp. She said there is no power in it, that if there were, she would have struck me dead with it.

  “But she is just a woman, she doesn’t know anything, except how to lie. Oh, God, I will die now.” He was gasping, leaning over, holding himself.

  “I don’t know how you can talk with that blow to the throat,” Helen said, not moving, just watching the effects of her handiwork. “Much less talk so we can understand you.”

  “Thems were fearsome blows ye planted on ’im,” said the skinny little man in such an admiring voice that Alexandra stepped forward, shook her fist at him, and said, “Would you like to be next, you little sot?”

  “Sich words from a countess. It be a disgrace.”

  “Be quiet. Hold your place, my lady. Now, what is your name?”

  “Alexandra Sherbrooke.”

  “No, not you, I know who you are. Him, the little villain.”

  “Me name’s Bernie Ricketts. Yer son wot’s lying agin’ the wall over there moaning give me money to get them ladies. I knows locks, and I twists them and kisses them until the doors open like a dream, I did, and in yer son goes, all free like, into both them bloody mansions. Then I keeps the watch so nobody can come and nab us. I did everything right, I did. Yer bloody son, that one didn’t give me enuf money. The big ’un there, all blond and beautiful she be, but at the core o’ things, she’s a killer.”

  “Yes, I can see that she is,” said Sir John Yorke. He looked bemused at the outpouring of all Mr. Ricketts’s confidences. He shook his head. “Now, all of this has been amusing, but I have much to accomplish before the new day breaks.”

  “The new day has already broken,” Gerard said, trying to straighten, trying to speak above a whisper, because now his throat hurt very badly. “What do you mean?”