“I realized it wasn’t fair to trick you like that: not fair to you, or the child that might result.”
Calculating the months, he asked again, “Are you with child?”
“I’d rather not answer that.”
He blanched but instead of pressing her, said, “Tomorrow, sentence will be handed down. It may not go well for you.”
She bowed her head. “I fully anticipate it will not.” Hugging herself, she turned toward the center of the room. “I’ve had some days of silence and the energies of a confessor to prepare myself.” Turning back, she smiled. “I would have hoped to have retained your regard, though, Hugh. I thought, perhaps, you might understand my helplessness, my friendlessness. That would have meant a lot to me. You have been my only friend, and that sustains me.”
His voice was low. “If there were anything I could do to help you, I would. You haven’t lost my support, Phoebe, though I still don’t understand how you could have associated yourself so completely with Wentworth. But…” she heard the pain in his tone, “…if you are with child, your sentence will be stayed until after its birth.”
She flung open her arms, frustrated. “And then in nine months, a preordained orphan will enter the world. One who will have to bear the stain of its mother’s crimes, and its bastardy, for the rest of its life. No, Hugh. Much as I have craved your comfort, I am not so cruel that I would visit that on my own flesh and blood.”
He looked shocked. “It would give you a stay of execution at the very least.”
“If that is the best I have to look forward to, then I would decline.” She waved him to the door. “Thank you for visiting me, Hugh. And thank you for all your kindness in the past. You were loving and generous in every sense. I’ve never known a man as generous. Ulrick, who never loved me, took pleasure in making my life a misery, and Wentworth traded on his charm to make a fool of me, then worked me to his own ends. You were the one bright spot in my short and, until recently, unremarkable history.”
She steeled herself to resist him when he would embrace her, pushing him away before retreating. “No, Hugh. It’s not fair to either of us. I lied to you and pretended things I’m not. That’s why I couldn’t write to you when I was detained here. I might not be guilty of intent to murder, but my vanity and foolishness made me as culpable as if I were. Please go, Hugh.”
But he did not.
19
Instead he put his hand on her shoulder to stay her and whereas a moment before she’d longed for his touch, now she wasn’t ready for any chink in his mistrusting demeanor. He’d made clear that he believed that, if not guilty of murder, she was clearly capable of it. Her lies had paved the way for his loss of love, and what he’d seen in court today was too raw. She understood that.
She didn’t need his pity. “Just go. There’s nothing you can do for me now.”
“I can’t. Not like this, Phoebe. Whatever happens tomorrow, you don’t deserve to die.” His voice cracked.
“Even though you think I’m guilty?”
He shook his head, unable to speak.
“But you don’t believe me entirely innocent?”
“You committed adultery with Wentworth.”
Phoebe shook her head slowly at the pain in his eyes. He pressed his lips together. “While your husband was dying, you were…making love to another man. To Wentworth.”
“I’d hardly call it ‘making love’ though I’m happy to accept a charge of adultery. Not murder.”
“Why, Phoebe? Why Wentworth?”
“Don’t think about it if it troubles you so much,” she muttered, turning her back on him and moving into the center of the small sitting room.
He stepped in front of her.
“What would induce a good woman to go against all her principles of honor? Even after everything I heard today, I can’t help loving you. And now you’re going to die for your sins, though I don’t believe you killed your husband.”
“Oh, but that really cheers me. You can leave right now, Hugh. Or have you decided it might be a suitable time to execute your moral duty and try to impregnate me in the faint hope that pleading the belly might extend my life a further painful nine months?”
“Don’t be coarse.”
“Don’t be bigoted and narrow-minded. If you were a powerless woman married to a tyrant who forced you to lie with his cousin to beget an heir, I’d like to see you try and resist.”
He took her hands and shook his head. “I can’t bear to lose you.”
“You made it clear you didn’t like the woman you discovered I really was.”
“You take that too far, Phoebe. It was your willingness to consort with Wentworth that turned my stomach. Everything I’ve just heard…I’ll reconcile it with what I know you to be in time, but right now—”
She stepped back. “Say no more, Hugh. I loved you as much for the fact you are the most honorable man I’ve met, as that you believed I was worthy of your love. Now that I see you think I’m not worthy of the feelings you once had, I don’t want to drag out this painful interview. We know what tomorrow’s verdict will be, and I’m reconciled. Please spare us both. Just leave.”
It had been three hours since Hugh had torn himself away from Phoebe’s side, but he’d not returned to his bed to sleep. Sleep would elude him, and right now he wanted to try and make sense of the nightmare he’d just lived through.
The moon was high in the sky as he trod the gravel path that wound among the rhododendrons in the back garden of his cottage in Hampstead. He’d been unable to bear returning to St John’s Wood where he’d spent his two happiest weeks.
Phoebe had accepted her fate with dignity and stoicism. She was brave. She’d not wept pitifully or begged forgiveness for a crime she did not commit.
He’d condemned her for her lies, attributed all manner of underhand behavior to her, but she was prepared to accept her fate.
He twisted his head around and stared into the branches of a fir tree at the hoot of an owl. Two black eyes regarded him dispassionately. They reminded Hugh of the magistrate’s. Lord Coulson had exhibited little compassion toward Phoebe, giving the impression he already considered her guilty when she took the stand.
Justice would be swift. It was possible, though not likely, she’d be sent across the seas for the term of her natural life. The clamoring for her to receive a death sentence was too vociferous. A husband should be safe in his own bed. Women, as much as men, were outraged.
Tomorrow, when sentence was handed down, Phoebe would know to the last minute the number of hours left to her. As Hugh had kissed her farewell, she’d said softly, “Just know that of all men, I’ve loved you best.”
He turned to find the source of the eerie whirring above him and saw the flock of bats, before his sister’s face at the casement came into view. She waved to him, and in a few minutes, he greeted her in the library where a small fire warmed the room.
“You look shocking, brother dearest,” Ada told him, wrapping her shawl around her, her expression fierce. “All this gaming and whoring isn’t good for the complexion, you know. Are you only just back? “
Hugh ran his hand through his hair before taking a seat in front of the warmth. “I haven’t been out. Well, not since being in the courtroom for Lady Cavanaugh’s trial, then visiting Phoebe afterward.”
She raised her eyebrows, looked about to say something, then muttered in an undertone, “As I said, whoring. So you found Phoebe? I’m so glad. I was beginning to feel quite guilty.”
“Phoebe is Lady Cavanaugh.” Hugh watched the information register, and wasn’t surprised at the horror that dawned on his sister’s face. “I saw her in court and will go again tomorrow.”
Ada gasped and brought her hand up to her mouth. “What did you say?”
“My Phoebe is, in fact, Lady Cavanaugh, who was, it appears, detained while visiting a shady establishment called Mrs Plumb’s Salon of Sin in search of Mr Wentworth’s wife.”
“Phoebe is Lady Cavan
augh…who murdered her husband?”
“She claims Wentworth forced her hand—literally—making her powerless when he used her as his instrument to drive a paper knife through her dying husband’s chest.”
“Does the magistrate accept her defense?”
Wearily, Hugh shook his head. “Sentence will be passed in the morning. There is little doubt she will hang.”
“For a crime that Mr Wentworth committed?” Ada gripped the back of the chair then began to pace. “He is the new heir, the new duke, the new Lord Cavanaugh,” she muttered, frowning as she digested the news and its implications with new horror. “Let me think, Hugh. What do I know of the case, for I’ve followed it slavishly in view of Wentworth being involved.” She chewed her lip as she moved back and forth before the fire. “Wentworth learned news of the death of his two brothers the very day the late Lord Cavanaugh was murdered.” She looked up suddenly. “How very convenient that Phoebe—I mean Lady Cavanaugh—was on hand so that he could simply encase her hand around the paper knife and drive it into her husband’s chest. How just like Wentworth to come up with such a plan, though I’m sure it was conceived on the spot. He would snatch any opportunity to use to his advantage.”
Hugh was glad that Ada was defending Phoebe, but he had to put her outrage into perspective. He loved Phoebe, but the truth behind that night was almost more than he could bear.
“Ada, she was…caught in flagrante with Mr Wentworth by the servant delivering news of the deaths of Mr Wentworth’s brothers.” He squeezed shut his eyes as he tried to eradicate the image. “She’d been cuckolding her husband for nearly half a year before he died. She had every reason to wish him dead.”
Ada looked up, confused. “But you said she didn’t kill him.”
“Her hand was around the paper knife. That’s what Phoebe admitted, in court. That’s what will convict her.”
“Yes, but he forced her.” Ada looked angry. “You clearly do not know Mr Wentworth as I do. He could persuade anyone of anything, though in this case, I’ve no doubt he used brute force. He is a master of manipulation, a bully.” Her voice was rising now, and Hugh put an arm about her to hush her distress, but she pulled away and went to stand before the fire. “I know how dangerous he is, and I thought you did too.” Her expression was both pitying and angry. “Oh, Hugh, how dare you insinuate that there is a particle of blame to be attached to poor Phoebe.”
“She lied, Ada. She lied to her husband; she lied to me, and she lied to you.”
Ada put her hands on her hips, her expression combative. “Do you think I didn’t lie to you when I had my secret assignations with Wentworth? Do you think we’re all as holy as you are, Hugh? Who have never had to utter a lie in your life because you’ve always been so safe and protected? Partly because you’re a man, and everything has turned out well for you, so that you only have to play the knight in shining armor and you’ll always look so much better than everyone else?”
“I don’t believe she should die for it if that’s what you mean,” he answered hotly.
“Well, that’s good! I don’t either, and the fact that it was due to my request that she even got caught and is where she is now is…intolerable!” Ada was breathing fast now. After a long silence, she said, “So what are you going to do about it, Hugh?”
He stared. “Do about it? What can I do about it? She’ll learn her fate tomorrow, though God knows I’d do anything to spare her life.”
“Because you love her, or because you don’t think she deserves to die…despite the fact that she lied to you, and you can’t bear the idea of thinking that the same woman who gave herself to Wentworth could give herself to you?” Ada let out a strangled cry of frustration. “You men are all the same. You have no idea that a woman is completely dependent upon the goodness of the men who surround them. You’re exactly the same, Hugh. You have this unrealistic notion of what ‘good’ is all about. The only reason I met Wentworth secretly was because you prevented me from seeing him! You were so terrified I’d be enticed after I hinted at my feelings for him after you met him at the Assembly. Perhaps I’d not have been so intent on defying you if had you not been so determined to protect your innocent sister.”
“Good Lord, Ada!”
She shrugged. “The folly of youth. What have been your follies? Just because I’m a woman, I’m allowed so little latitude, and sometimes we women chafe at the restrictions imposed by the men on whom they are dependent—even when those men have only the very best of intentions. But now I’m straying from the subject.”
“Indeed you are.” Hugh felt uncomfortable.
“You agree with the magistrate that Phoebe should be punished for ‘lying’ though you think a death sentence is a little harsh? Well, Hugh, if you are sincere about enforcing good, then you just need to get Phoebe out of there. Rescue her,” she added when he looked at her blankly.
“How on earth am I to do that?” Hugh watched Ada’s bent head and furrowed brow and felt his desperation rise.
He moved forward to put his hands on Ada’s shoulders and tipped her face up to his. “Ada, do you think I’d really scorn Phoebe like that?” He shook his head. “I’ve had to confront so much about myself and the way I treated her since Phoebe went missing. At first, I assumed she’d left me, having little regard for anything other than feathering her nest as best she could and having had a better offer. I forced myself to be angry with her as it lessened the pain.”
Ada stroked his shoulder. “I know, Hugh,” she said softly. “And I’m sorry if I wasn’t as sympathetic as I should have been. I thought the same as you.”
“And then when I learned that Phoebe had been pretending to be someone else the whole time she’d been with me, that was hard enough. When I saw her as notorious Lady Cavanaugh, and that not a soul stood up to defend her, I could only wonder why she’d never told me the truth at least. What else had she to hide? I assumed she was at least in part guilty, and I felt anger; I admit it.”
“But you were persuaded otherwise? I hope so, Hugh, because I can assure you that if Wentworth had any hand in it—as, of course, he does—then Phoebe was the blameless victim. Wentworth gains his power through manipulating others.”
Hugh dropped his hands and leaned against the mantelpiece. “How on earth am I to help her, Ada?”
Ada shrugged. “How on earth do I know?” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “There’s nothing anyone can do. Tomorrow, Wentworth will say his piece, and that’ll put the final nail in her coffin.”
“Wentworth!” Hugh started at the name, glancing up in sudden excitement. “That’s it, Ada! Yes, we know Phoebe was framed or manipulated by Wentworth. And when she went to this house of…introduction you mentioned in order to find evidence to help your case he was there, and she was caught. But what other secrets might be learned here at this….?”
“Madam Plumb’s Salon of Sin,” Ada supplied as her lips curved into a smile. “You’re right, Hugh. I have no idea if you’ll find anything, but at least it’s something you can do. Wentworth’s wife is there. She may be able to help you. Testify against her husband, perhaps.”
He sighed. “I don’t know about that but I know I certainly won’t sleep. Not now that at least I’m offered this kernel of hope.” He shook himself out of his lethargy and said with renewed energy, “You’re right, Ada. It’s the best I can try: to find Mrs Wentworth and make her talk.” He strode toward the door. “I must change.”
“And you must go in disguise, Hugh. That’s what everyone does, I believe. And I’ll whisper the address. Even saying the name makes me blush with shame.”
There was nothing out of the ordinary about the house. It stood four-square and respectable by a neat square park surrounded by wrought iron railings. For ten minutes, Hugh sat in his carriage and watched the front door. Some arrivals came with loud, confident companions while others, wearing masks and veils, were more furtive.
He pulled his mask down over his eyes and squared his shoulders. What had
seemed a bold and daring mission now seemed fraught with disappointment.
The truth was, what could he possibly learn that would help Phoebe? Wentworth’s story was not just plausible, it had not been contested, and not a single person had stepped up to defend the woman he loved. Every member of the late Lord Cavanaugh’s household and all of Wentworth’s retainers had vouched for their respective masters, declaring it easy to believe the worst of Phoebe.
After gaining admittance and being ushered down a narrow hallway to a suite of reception rooms, Hugh had already decided his greatest chance lay in speaking to Wentworth’s wife. She was a dancer, a vestal virgin, he now knew, called Ariane, though he was sure that a woman working in this establishment did not restrict her repertoire to simply dancing.
Over the refreshments table, he learned where to find the six famous vestal virgins. A peephole enabled one secret access, but for a considerable sum, he could himself be involved in the sensual dance. The inference wasn’t lost on him, though he recoiled.
“Come and look, and then you can decide which lady you’d like to…invite for further refreshments.” The woman who spoke to him was, he noticed, one of the few not wearing a veil. She smiled a coy little smile which sat ill with her advancing years. “This is your first time here?”
He inclined his head.
“I hope you will find the entertainment on offer sufficient to entice you to return to my little establishment. Here, there is no discernment between the highest in the land and the humblest among us. All that is required is the facility for pleasure.”
“You are Mrs Plumb?”
“I am indeed. And now if you’d like to follow me, I shall take you to see the vestal virgins.”
Obediently, Hugh followed the stout little woman along a series of dimly-lit corridors. To the right of where they stopped was a red-painted door flanked by two large potted palms.
“Take your place between these and put your eye to the peephole. You will be all but hidden from the public so can enjoy yourself as you see fit.” She smiled knowingly. “For some that is sufficient; however, if you find your desires are only further inflamed, then you may pass a note through the grille stating your pleasure, and the girls themselves will decide whether or not they have a mind to grant it.”
The Duchess and the Highwayman Page 18