‘Oh. Thank you.’
She passed into the sunny parlour and Charles looked up from his newspaper.
He rose. ‘Good morning, Psyché.’
She blinked. After his studied effort last night to avoid speaking to her... ‘Good morning, Charles.’
She went to the sideboard, helped herself to ham and made a pot of tea. About to carry them to the table, she found Charles at her elbow.
‘Permit me to help you to eggs, dear cousin.’
‘This is quite sufficient, thank you, Charles.’ Her skin crawled at his nearness. ‘Is Hetty coming down?’
‘I fear my poor Henrietta has overtaxed herself,’ Charles said seriously. ‘I have persuaded her to remain in our room.’
She sat down at the table, well away from Charles’s chair. ‘I’ll go up to her after I have eaten and—’
‘She will be readying herself to leave.’ Charles sipped his coffee. ‘I must return to town. There is a great deal to be arranged.’
Psyché couldn’t imagine what Charles might have to arrange. ‘I see. Is Hetty going with you?’
He smiled. ‘Of course. There is room for you, too. No need for two carriages travelling back to London.’ The smile became indulgent. ‘She will like to spend a little more time with you.’
Something about his smile gave her an itch between her shoulder blades. She shrugged it off. ‘How kind.’ She could easily slip down to the stables and order the carriage without him being any the wiser...or she could be there as a sort of buffer when Hetty informed Charles of her unexpected inheritance.
‘Not at all.’ He glanced about the parlour, scowling. ‘I cannot think why the servants have not darkened the rooms yet! Poor Staverton lying dead and—’
‘Uncle Theo gave orders otherwise,’ Psyché said. He had done the same when Aunt Grace died. ‘He always said he would rather keep the house in the light.’
His laugh was patronising. ‘I dare say, but people will think it very odd. I gave orders last night that the windows should be covered. I expected to be obeyed!’
Anger slid through her. Did he know already that Hetty had inherited this house?
‘Anyway, no doubt Lucius, or Staverton as we now must call him, will put all to rights when he arrives later today.’
‘Of course.’ She bit her tongue. He did not know. Very well. Instead of arranging to go back alone, she would go with them. It was the least she could do for Hetty.
Peter entered, carrying a covered dish. ‘Miss Psyché, Cook sent up poached eggs—exactly as you like them.’
The grin on his face, even though she really didn’t want eggs, spread a warm glow through her. ‘Oh, Peter. How nice! Please thank Cook for me.’ She blinked back tears as Peter set the plate with two perfectly poached eggs at her place. Her throat felt tight, but she asked, ‘Has something been taken up to Lady Harbury?’
‘No, miss. But I’ll—’
‘Her ladyship is not to be disturbed.’ Charles laid his newspaper down sharply. ‘She will ring if she requires anything. That will be all.’
Peter removed himself without so much as the flicker of an eyelid to betray his thoughts.
‘Damned impudent fellow!’ Charles glared at the door.
‘He was responding to my query,’ Psyché pointed out.
‘Nonsense!’
‘I asked if anything had been taken up. As I would have done for Aunt Grace when she was ill.’ Annoyed, because Charles’s arrogance could well cost Hetty a reliable servant, she added, ‘Highwood was my home for a very long time. The servants are used to taking directions from me.’ She had never been very comfortable issuing orders, but she could give directions.
For an instant she saw the outrage on Charles’s face at her assumption of authority.
‘Your pardon, cousin,’ he said stiffly. ‘I never realised that Staverton appointed you his housekeeper.’
‘He didn’t,’ she said coldly. ‘I’m sure you are aware that Mrs Titchmarsh is still here. But apart from acting as his amanuensis when Mr Smalley retired, I also filled Aunt Grace’s role as chatelaine after her death.’
That had been possible because Uncle Theo had largely retired from public life. She had only needed to oversee the accounts, menus and ordering for the household, along with his correspondence and infrequent engagements.
‘Something,’ she added, anger bitter in her mouth, ‘any unmarried daughter of the house would have done without being considered a servant.’ Not that she had an issue with being a servant, but Charles had meant it as a set-down. Damned if she’d let him get away with that.
‘Oh! Er...quite!’ Charles fumbled with the coffee pot, pouring another cup and making great play adding cream and selecting the right lump of sugar.
She pushed a little harder. ‘Has the Vicar been informed?’
Charles blinked. ‘I’m sure Staverton will arrange all that. You must not worry yourself about such things. I know you mean well, but others would see it as most improper!’
Improper. From the man who had once offered to take her as his mistress with the betrothal ring scarcely upon her cousin’s finger. More and more she regretted not speaking out seven years ago.
Psyché ate her eggs and ham in silence, then rose. ‘You will excuse me, sir. I must see to my packing.’
‘Of course.’ He remained seated, sipping his coffee and reading the paper.
She waited a beat, until he looked up.
‘Is there—? Oh.’ He set the cup and paper down hurriedly and rose.
Eyes narrowed, Psyché raised her brows. ‘What I find most improper, Charles?’ She didn’t wait for a response. ‘Hypocrisy.’
His jaw dropped and she turned her back and walked from the room.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Upstairs, Sarah had beaten her to the packing.
‘All done, Miss Psyché.’ Sarah laid her nightgown, carefully folded, on top.
‘You shouldn’t have, Sarah. I could—’
‘You could, miss.’ Sarah fastened the first buckle. ‘But there’s something I wanted to ask you.’
‘Yes?’
‘Mr Marney says that the master has left the place to Miss Hetty—is that true?’
She released a breath. It was really not her place to tell the servants this, but if Marney knew... ‘Yes.’
‘Not to Mr Lucius?’
‘No.’
‘Well, that’s something.’ Sarah buckled the other strap. ‘But I dare say Lord Harbury will be as bad ruling the roost. Don’t suppose you’d have a place at that coffee house of yours?’
She considered. If she had children, she wouldn’t want to spend her whole life in the shop. ‘I might, but what happened?’
‘Took Miss Hetty’s tea up this morning. Like she requested on her way to bed. His lordship wouldn’t even let me in the room! Said her ladyship hadn’t rung, he hadn’t rung and that was all about it if I valued my position!’ She looked close to tears. ‘So I don’t know if I’d even have a position any longer if he’s to be master.’
Psyché took a deep breath. ‘I believe Miss Hetty’s inheritance is very carefully tied up in trust. He probably can’t dismiss you, but come to me if necessary. And anyone else. I’ll help even if I can’t employ everyone.’
Sarah smiled and wiped away a tear. ‘That was the best day’s mending I ever did.’
Psyché nodded. ‘For me, too. Are you finished here? If so, could you send a message to Caleb, my servant? Ask him to be ready when Lord Harbury’s coach is leaving. I’m going back with his lordship and Miss Hetty.’
Sarah looked dubious. ‘Well, I will. I don’t know that her ladyship will be ready, though. She’s not rung yet to be dressed and I daren’t ask after his lordship’s carry-on.’
‘Don’t worry, Sarah.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘I’m sure Miss He
tty will be down shortly.’
‘I’ll send Peter up for your valise.’
‘Thank you.’
Psyché slipped on her pelisse and buttoned it. Picking up the muff, she felt its weight and remembered her pistol. She had unloaded it last night. It was dangerous to keep a pistol loaded for too long.
With a sigh, she took the pistol out and looked at it.
‘Never travel alone without a loaded pistol.’
Uncle Theo had insisted on that when she went to live in Soho. He’d taught her to shoot himself and ensured that she was proficient. He’d made her load and reload this pistol over and over again. He’d taught her how to care for it.
‘Not something I ever envisaged teaching you, but if you’re going to do this, you must be able to protect yourself.’
She would not be precisely alone this morning, but...she hesitated. Did she want to depend on herself, or a man she knew to be a bully and very likely a coward?
Five minutes later she tucked the pistol, reloaded, back into the special pouch inside the muff and strolled downstairs.
Charles was already pacing back and forth, swathed in his greatcoat.
‘There you are.’
She stopped. ‘Where’s Hetty?’
He waved that aside. ‘She’ll be down directly. I cannot think what is taking her so long.’
She frowned. ‘I’ll go up and see if she’s all right. Perhaps—’
‘No, no.’ He hurried past her. ‘I’ll go. Wait in the carriage so we may leave the moment she is down. Most inconsiderate to keep me waiting like this!’
Psyché glared after him, but turned to smile at the waiting staff. They were all there down to the scullery maid, some already in black livery, and some in black armbands. She wondered if Charles had even noticed. Could he possibly understand that between Uncle Theo and his household there had been a very real affection and respect? She took her time, starting with the scullery maid and working her way up to the senior staff. Finally she turned to the housekeeper.
Mrs Titchmarsh’s eyes were red-rimmed. ‘We’ll look forward to seeing you back here soon, Miss Psyché.’ A wobbly smile came. ‘And your young man.’ Mrs Titchmarsh patted Psyché’s arm. ‘We know what’s what when a fine young man comes calling on the master.’ She blew her nose. ‘Mr Marney said he went easier for having you and Miss Hetty by him and knowing you were happy.’
A choking lump rose in Psyché’s throat, tears threatened. She gripped Mrs Titchmarsh’s hands. ‘I’ll see you soon, Titchy.’ The childhood name came unbidden. ‘And you all know where to find me.’
‘That we do.’
‘Cousin!’ Charles’s annoyed voice accompanied his hurrying footsteps. ‘Why are you not yet in the carriage? Her ladyship will be down directly. We’ll be late if we do not hurry!’
She leashed her temper. ‘I was making my farewells, cousin.’ Picking up her valise, she walked out on to the porch and saw Caleb.
He was seated on the bench beside the door, but rose and whipped off his cap.
‘Miss Psyché.’
‘Good morning, Caleb. We’re leaving now.’
He grimaced. ‘As to that, miss. That Mr Bragg—’ he jerked his thumb at the carriage ‘—he says he won’t take my sort up on the box.’
‘Is that so?’ She turned to Charles. ‘It appears that I will be remaining.’
‘Remaining? Certainly not!’
‘Your coachman declines to take Caleb up, and there’s no room inside, so—’
‘Caleb?’ He saw the boy and frowned. ‘Oh. Well, I’m sure the boy can make his own way to—’
‘No.’ She didn’t bother mincing words. ‘I’m not leaving him to walk home.’
Charles scowled. He strode to the carriage and spoke to the coachman in an angry undertone.
‘Miss Psyché—’ Caleb touched her arm lightly. ‘You’re sure this is a good idea? Mr Winthrop is here. He arrived early, before the sun was up, and he’s still hanging around the stables. Seems funny to me. Nobs like him, they don’t spend time in the stables.’
She patted his arm. ‘He’s probably avoiding me.’
Charles walked back. ‘A misunderstanding. Bragg thought the boy was cadging a lift.’
‘I explained,’ Caleb muttered. ‘And so did Bert.’
Psyché silenced him with a quick shake of her head. ‘Up you go, Caleb.’
The boy clambered up nimbly and Bragg scowled.
‘Now, cousin.’ Charles gestured her into the carriage ahead of him.
She hesitated. ‘Hetty?’
He gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘She’s coming. Do get in and I’ll hurry her along. Again.’
Psyché stepped into the carriage and Charles stepped in after her closing the door.
‘What? You said—’
He banged on the roof. ‘Drive on!’
The carriage lurched forward, throwing her into a seat. Her skin prickled and fear tasted sharply metallic in her mouth as she felt the increasing speed of the carriage.
‘Cousin! Charles, what are you—?’
‘We’re going to London, my dear. Henrietta will follow along at some point.’
She lunged for the opposite door, but the handle was gone. Every nerve screaming, she faced Charles.
He smiled. ‘No, cousin. You won’t get out that way.’
* * *
Caleb grabbed for a handhold as the coachman whipped up the horses. ‘What? Isn’t her ladyship coming?’
‘Mind yer own bleedin’ business.’
Nearly at the great wrought-iron gates, Caleb tried again. ‘We’re leaving her behind?’
This time the coachman, negotiating the gates with the horses in a canter, ignored him.
Fifty yards on, the coachman eased the horses, pulling them up.
‘Are we going back?’ A man stepped from behind a tree and shock jolted through Caleb. ‘That’s that Mr Winthrop! What’s he—?’
‘Shut up if yeh know what’s good for yeh.’
Winthrop got into the carriage.
Caleb’s mind leapt to one appalling and terrifying conclusion as Bragg whipped up the horses. Sweat broke out all over him and he took a shuddering breath. If he was wrong, he’d say sorry later, explain himself. He reckoned Miss Psyché would understand. Because if he was right... Well, he’d never forgive himself, let alone face Mr Barclay and say he’d just sat there.
He gathered himself as the horses broke into a canter and jumped.
‘Oy!’
Caleb landed slack-kneed and rolled into the ditch full of icy water and daffodils. Without a backward glance he scrambled up and sprinted for the gates.
* * *
‘My lord!’
Psyché heard the coachman’s yell as Lucius seated himself.
‘The boy! He jumped!’
‘Forget him!’ Lucius shouted. ‘Drive on! Fast!’
The coach lurched forward and Psyché realised that the coachman had sprung the horses.
Lucius smiled in satisfaction. ‘About time we dealt with you.’
Fear licked through her. Caleb was safe, and he’d raise the alarm, but—‘What have you done with Hetty, Charles?’
He looked affronted. ‘Done? Nothing, of course! Merely ensured that she obeys me and doesn’t interfere.’
‘Interfere with what precisely?’ She kept her voice calm as she slid her hand deeper inside the muff.
Lucius smirked. ‘Your protection died with Theo. I’m finally going to be rid of you. Selling off part of my inheritance, if you like. We’re taking you to the West India Dock where Carshalton has a ship waiting bound for Freetown.’ He watched her and smiled. ‘You’ve heard of Bunce Island? That’s where you’re going, bitch. Where my fool of an uncle should have sent you at the start.’
‘I don’t think
so.’ Braced in the corner against the swaying and jolting, Psyché withdrew her right hand from the muff.
Charles’s eyes went wide. ‘That’s...that’s a pistol!’
She barely flicked him a glance. ‘Well spotted, Charles. Don’t move, Lucius!’
Lucius froze, his hand hovering by his pocket.
‘Any closer to that pocket, Lucius, I’ll shoot you and be done with it,’ she said. ‘At this range I won’t miss. Put both hands on your head, fingers linked.’
He complied, a snarl of fury on his face. ‘You’ve got one shot,’ he said. ‘You think Harbury can’t overpower you after you’ve shot me?’
She shrugged. ‘He can try.’
She removed her left hand from the muff and Lucius swore.
Charles shrank back in his corner. ‘What?’
‘That’s a knife, Charles,’ she said in helpful tones. She kept her eyes on Lucius.
‘She won’t shoot, Harbury,’ he said, easing along the seat.
She cocked the pistol and he froze again. ‘Why not, Lucius?’
He laughed. ‘You think you’d get away with self-defence? For shooting a peer of the realm?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Chances are I’d hang. But think, Lucius. A hanging coupled with the knowledge that I sent you to hell first? Or Bunce Island?’ She levelled the pistol at his chest. ‘It’s not even a choice.’
He stared at her and she saw the moment he understood his miscalculation.
‘You see, I do know about Bunce Island.’ Even though Mam had refused to speak of it, there had been whispers from the other slaves. Her gorge rose, but she spoke coldly. ‘I know about the sorting yards, the room where the women and girls are herded to be raped. Where they’re branded. And the middle passage, with humans stacked and chained. A living hell and more to come for those who survive the voyage.’
‘She’s bluffing! Take her, Harbury!’
But Charles, his eyes wide, didn’t move.
Psyché let out a silent breath. She’d suspected that Charles was a coward, but she knew better than to taunt him with it. ‘Good decision, Charles. Because after shooting Lucius I’d gut you like a herring and consider it a job well done.’
A Marriage of Equals Page 24