The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh

by Bowlin, Chasity

  “They took her, m’lord!” he shouted as he brought the horse up so suddenly it reared.

  “Beatrice?” Graham demanded.

  “No, m’lord! Lady Ramsleigh… men from the village came and took her!” He was gasping, clearly in pain and half-dead from his exertions. “Said she was a witch raised from the dead and bringing misfortune to the town. They’ve taken her to the village for a trial.”

  Nicholas didn’t hesitate, but immediately mounted the nearest horse. “Where did they take her?”

  “To the square, sir! They mean to try her tonight!” Wells shouted, but his voice was growing weak with exhaustion and he swayed atop his mount before managing to right himself.

  To Graham, Nicholas said, “Come with me… Lord Ambrose, get him back to Castle Black and tie him to the bloody bed if need be before the fool kills himself. Then see to it that Lady Beatrice and Lady Agatha are safe!”

  Graham replied, “I’ll be along as soon as I rally some men here. I doubt the mob is overly large, but it’ll take more than the two of us to stop them. Delay. Stall. Distract. Keep them occupied until I arrive with reinforcements!”

  “I’ll see that the ladies are safe,” Ambrose vowed, as he mounted his own horse and brought it round near the sweating mount that William Wells had ridden hell bent for leather.

  Nicholas didn’t acknowledge the responses. He whirled on his mount, nudged it into a gallop and sped off into the night. He could hear Graham shouting orders behind him and saw Lord Ambrose from his peripheral vision making for the castle with his charge in tow.

  Nicholas’ first thought was to get to her before the unthinkable happened. His second thought was that he needed weapons. He wouldn’t be able to fend off the entire mob, but he might be able to make them hesitate if he was heavily armed. There was only one place he could think of to get them and that would be the inn. He knew the innkeeper kept a stash of weapons there that had been “confiscated” over the years. In truth, that was only euphemism for being a storage facility for the local smugglers. Since it worked to his advantage at the moment, he couldn’t really have cared less about the origin.

  The horse’s hooves thundered over the damp earth, splattering mud onto his boots and clothes as he rode toward the inn. As he was already soaked to the skin and covered in soot and dirt, it mattered little. It wasn’t a great distance to cover. But given his urgency, he’d done it in record time. Nearing the village, he’d reach the inn long before he’d reach the square. He was immediately unnerved by how still the night was. No one stirred and all the nearby houses were dark. Whether all the local folk were truly abed, or simply hiding out in fear of whatever wickedness the night had brought into their midst, he could not say.

  Tethering his mount, he dismounted in the inn yard and stepped inside. It was deserted. That alone would have been cause for concern as there had always been one or two souls tucked in by the fire and nursing a pint, no matter how foul the weather. But the overturned tables and broken crockery told the truth of it. There had been a struggle and he couldn’t imagine that Tarleton would have gone quietly along with whatever scheme had been hatched within the walls of his establishment. Concerned but no less determined, Nicholas made for the cellar and what he hoped would be a decent stash of weaponry.

  Unlocking the door to the cellar, he grabbed the candle and flint from the shelf by the door. Striking the tinder quickly, he let the flame settle before easing down into the darkness. What he saw there confirmed his suspicions. Tarleton, or Tarley as the innkeeper had asked to be called, had been bound to a chair. Cloth had been shoved in his mouth and bound there with the man’s own neckcloth. Crossing the distance, Nicholas untied him quickly.

  “They were setting off to take Lady Ramsleigh, sir!” Tarley gasped.

  “And they have her already,” Nicholas replied, his tone tight and his words clipped. “I need weapons, Tarleton. Any that can be spared.”

  “They’re in that chest on the far wall. A couple of muskets, a few pistols and swords… do you know how to handle them, Doctor?” the innkeeper asked worriedly.

  “I wasn’t always a physician, Tarley. I started out in the navy, if you must know,” Nicholas answered, already lifting the heavy lid of the chest in question. He began arming himself heavily, pistols, extra shot, a musket and a sword. “How many of them are there?”

  “He had six with him when he left here, though I suspect there were more waiting to join up. I’d say maybe twelve in all. Lots of folks round here are superstitious like, but most are not foolish enough to rise up against a lady. It was that Timothy Cobb what did it! And I think the bounder has done something with William Wells. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in three days now and that man, mark me on this, has not gone more than the span of a single day without darkening my door in all the years I’ve known him!”

  Thinking of the good-natured drunkard, Nicholas fumed. He didn’t question that Cobb, and ultimately Ramsleigh, were involved. He simply wondered how it would benefit the other. “I know about Wells. I found him on the road just this morning, knocked senseless by Cobb days ago and left for dead. He’s back at Castle Black now after riding out to tell us that Cobb had come for Viola—for Lady Ramsleigh.”

  Tarleton didn’t miss the slip, but he was wise enough not to comment on it. He merely raised one eyebrow as he replied, “I reckon Cobb is working for Lord Ramsleigh… seems to be the only thing what makes any sense. Like as not, Ramsleigh don’t want others knowing that her ladyship ain’t really dead. And Wells was telling the tale for any that would buy him a pint,” Tarleton explained.

  If Ramsleigh’s plan was to play off Viola and her disappearance as that of an imposter, it would be easy enough to do so if no one outside of their area knew of it. But if gossip reached outlying areas, or worse—all the way to London—he’d have to provide some sort of evidence to that or be ruined. He was simply trying to contain the information to avoid questions. It was the very same conclusion he’d reached earlier.

  “Not to be intrusive, Dr. Warner, but I reckon it’ll take more than one man to stop a mob.”

  Nicholas glanced back at Tarleton. He was bruised, a little worse for wear, but appeared sound enough. “Can you fight?”

  “I reckon I was fighting them bloody Yanks before you’d even donned your first pair of short pants, now wasn’t I? I’d not have been tied up in this cellar if there hadn’t been half a dozen of ’em that took me off guard!”

  “Fair enough,” Nicholas said as he passed the man a musket and a brace of pistols, primed and ready. The sword came next and he was relieved to see that Tarleton handled all with no small amount of reverence and skill. “Infantry?”

  “Cavalry,” Tarley corrected. “I earned enough money to buy my own commission and availed myself quite well. There’s a handful of dusty metals upstairs to prove it. I won’t let you down, Doctor. I know you what you do for the people of this village and I know we’re a damn sight better off with you here than that old sawbones, Dr. Shepherd.”

  “It’s not me that’ll be let down, Tarley. It’s Lady Ramsleigh,” Nicholas corrected.

  The older man continued checking his weapons as he said, “Seen her once… in the old lord’s carriage. Pretty as a picture, but I reckon the saddest woman I’d ever seen. Seems like maybe she won’t be so sad anymore, once we clear up this mess.”

  Nicholas said nothing. He simply took his cache of weapons and climbed the steps out of the cellar and into the tap room. As he entered, the door swept open and Randall Grantham, the not quite Lord Ramsleigh entered. “I saw that poor lathered beast out front and thought perhaps it might be you,” he said. “Rescuing my dear aunt once more, it seems?”

  “You’ll get out of my way, Grantham,” Nicholas warned, “Or I will shoot you where you stand.”

  “And hang for it. I’m a nobleman!” Grantham laughed, though his eyes were completely cold and devoid of anything remotely human.

  Nicholas had seen a shark attack once. A sa
ilor had fallen overboard and before they could haul him back in, the massive beast had taken the poor bastard’s leg. The shark had been coming back for the rest of him when they finally managed to haul the poor man up. Those cold, flat eyes reminded him of the man before him.

  “No,” Nicholas replied. “You aren’t a nobleman. You’re the heir apparent to a small boy who will be safe from all of your plots and schemes even if it means I swing from a noose to ensure it!” It was uttered as a vow, and accompanied by the raising of one of his pistols.

  “Heir apparent?” Randall asked with a wicked grin. “I think not. Not when her beloved son is naught but my bastard offspring. Or did she not tell you that before she invited you to warm her bed, as well?”

  It wasn’t a surprise to hear the admission. It was uttered for no other reason than to goad him into being brash and stupid. But it still fueled his rage to greater heights. Knowing that Randall had forced himself on her with full permission from her own husband, it was all Nicholas could do not to put a pistol ball in him where he stood.

  “A convenient rumor to help you hold on a bit longer to all the things that do not actually belong to you… a title, an estate, the inheritance from her grandfather that your uncle and Daventry schemed to take from her by fabricating her death. Tell me, Randall, is that an empty box in the churchyard? Or did some poor, unsuspecting girl meet an untimely end at your hands?”

  “Dig it up and find out, then. In the meantime, I’m heading for the square. It’s not every day that one sees a witch burned for her crimes against both man and church.” Ramsleigh turned on his heel as if to leave.

  “And William Wells? Did you know that he lived? Cobb failed in his efforts to end the poor sot’s life. He’s recovering at Castle Black as we speak and can identify Cobb as his attacker.”

  Randall paused. “What if he can? He and Cobb are both of a similar ilk. What care I for the conflict of two illiterate drunkards?”

  “You’ll care a great deal, I think,” Nicholas added. “Because when Wells names Cobb to the magistrate, I’ve no doubt that Cobb would be only too willing to sell your worthless hide down the river if it means being transported rather than being executed. There is no honor among thieves, Grantham, and that’s what you are.”

  Randall Grantham looked back over his shoulder, glaring with his strange, pale eyes and glacial manner. “Your low opinion of me will not save the bitch you’ve been rutting with. It really is a pity she has to die. As much as I despise her, there is no denying her beauty or the sweetness of all her feminine charms. If I had the time, I’d take her once more, just to spite a base-born bastard like you!”

  “You’ll never touch her again,” Nicholas warned and stepped forward, ready to end Grantham’s reign of misery and terror once and for all.

  At the door, Grantham whirled, pistol drawn. “Perhaps you are more of a gentleman than I will ever be, Warner. It appears you made the mistake of assuming this would be a fair fight. I’m smart enough to know that I can’t possibly overpower you. So I’ll simply shoot you instead.”

  Grantham raised his weapon, but Nicholas was quicker. Nicholas dove to the right, the shot going wide, as he fired his own weapon. He prayed the shot would only wound and not kill. He needed Grantham alive, at least for the time being.

  Randall dropped his gun and clutched his bleeding arm with an anguished cry. “You bastard!”

  “That I am,” Nicholas agreed. “But a bastard with a noble half-brother who is more than eager to acknowledge my existence. The circumstances of my birth are such that I can never claim a title, but I can claim a connection to one. We are on equal footing there.”

  Grantham glared at him, “We will never be equals.”

  “Perhaps you are right. But at this moment, you have more to fear from me than I from you.” The truth was, Nicholas didn’t care if he hanged for it. So long as he managed to save Viola, nothing else mattered. “You’re a worthless coward and all those small-minded, sheep-like bastards who are doing your bidding will see you for the wretch you really are. Your power here is done, your sway on the people of this community is done… and any chance you had to ever hurt Viola again has ended on this day!”

  The last statement was accompanied by him gripping the back of Randall’s coat as he made for the door and dragging the other man behind him. He didn’t bother mounting his horse again, but cut through the garden and stable area behind the inn, through a small copse of trees, and emerged near the churchyard. It was the same churchyard where Viola was supposedly buried. The fear that he might have to actually bury her incited a panic in him like nothing else.

  Dragging the bleeding and protesting nearly-a-lord Grantham behind him, Nicholas accepted the inevitable truth of his situation. He loved her—had probably loved her from the moment he looked into her pale face on that beach—and there was nothing he would not do to protect her. It seemed as if fate had thrust them into one another’s paths regardless of the strangeness of both their stations, and he didn’t mean to let that stroke of good fortune be stolen from him now.

  *

  Rain pelted her, soaking through the wool wrapper she’d donned and the linen nightrail beneath. Her hair, plastered to her face and neck, obscured her vision, but then Viola wasn’t entirely certain she wished to see what lay ahead of her. It might be more of a blessing not to know. A shiver wracked her but it was not necessarily caused by the cold. She’d long since stopped feeling it. It was fear that prompted that visceral response. Thus far, no one had been especially cruel, but she knew better than anyone that cruelty was something men excelled at.

  The haphazard and motley mob had marched her from the grounds of Castle Black, hauling her up roughly when she stumbled, but she hadn’t been struck or abused in any other way. It seemed they were intent on only one purpose—to see her hang. It was an ignoble death but, given the kinds of torment those accused of witchcraft had suffered in the past, it seemed the least objectionable. Viola thought of Tristan, of the weight of his small body pressed to hers, the way he’d snuggle against her when he became fatigued. She didn’t want to leave her son. She didn’t want to see him raised by someone else who would never love him as she did. The very thought of him alone in the world created more terror in her than any mob could.

  Still, despite their disheveled appearances and their backward thinking, they’d shown themselves remarkably capable. One amongst them, likely Cobb, was a master strategist if the fires set on the Blakemore estate were any indication. If their single-mindedness resulted in equal efficiency, her fate would be inevitably tragic. But, she reminded herself, Tristan was safe for the moment, at least, and Nicholas was far away, battling the blaze that had likely been no more than a distraction perpetrated on Randall’s orders. She offered up a silent prayer of thanks for those two small blessings.

  Abruptly, the rather small mob stopped moving. She stumbled again, her slippered feet sliding in the mud that had once been a road. The man she fell against pushed her roughly away, so much so that she fell onto her side, sinking into the muck and mire. Despite the soft consistency of the soil beneath her, the impact made her gasp as pain exploded in her hip and thigh. She lay there for a moment, struggling to regain her breath and wondering if she would even be able to support her weight after such a fall.

  It was their leader who came for her, hauling her up roughly, his grip bruising. “Quit your messing about! We’ll not be delayed in seeing justice served, Witch! If you’ve anything to say in your defense, say it now!”

  “I am no witch. A fact you well know, Timothy Cobb. Don’t think I don’t remember you,” she said. “I know what you did. I know that you were the perpetrator of all my late husband’s dirty deeds and are likely serving in the same capacity as henchman for Randall! How many of these poor people that are doing your bidding tonight have felt your wrath and viciousness in the past? How many of them have been threatened and bullied by you before when they could not pay their rents? They’re following you now beca
use they fear you and I know that he sent you for me because he’s terrified my return will impact his fortunes!” Viola accused. To the rest of the amassed crowd, she demanded, “He set fire to a mill that tenant farmers, your peers, are dependent upon for their livelihoods! He set fire to an old woman’s cottage! And all of this to attack me when I’ve done nothing but rest and recover in a private home after nearly dying in a shipwreck! How many of you were there, combing those same beaches yourself looking for survivors or any goods to be scavenged?”

  There was some shuffling of feet. Some of the accusing stares leveled at her skittered away. Others remained locked on her, unflinching, ungiving, and completely without mercy. It wasn’t her that they hated, but her station. Resentment and years of poverty had sown the seeds of hate in them.

  “You’d say anything to see your life spared!” Cobb spat.

  “As would you in my circumstances,” she fired back. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I did not come back from the dead as some have accused. I left my husband. If you wish to accuse me of crimes, at least let them be those I committed. Yes, I left him! I’d already lost one child due to his cruelty and to Randall’s, to the beatings I endured while in residence at Ramsgate Hall. When I was blessed to conceive again, I knew the only way my child and I would survive was to flee… and so I did. The tales of my untimely death were put about by my late husband and my father to spare them the embarrassment of my absence and to allow them to procure an inheritance left to me by my grandfather. It was naught but greed and pride that prompted their actions. I’m innocent of what you accuse me of!” Her voice had risen to a shout by the end of it. She didn’t expect them to be swayed, but the righteous indignation that she felt would not be stifled.

  “And do you deny putting the evil eye on several of our local farmers, resulting in loss of livestock and sickness?” one of the men shouted from the back of the group.

  “How could I have done such a thing when I have not left Castle Black? I was injured in the wreck, half-frozen from the cold sea water. I’ve only just become well enough to even traverse the house itself without assistance much less leave the grounds and do such wicked and impossible things!” Viola snapped back. She turned back to the small gathering of men, “Can you not see that you’re being manipulated? That all of this is an elaborate ruse to get rid of me permanently so that Randall, whom you all know to be a cruel and wicked man, may continue his reign over this village just as his uncle did? He has already run through his portion of my inheritance! How long will it be before he raises your rents again? Before he charges you more and more until even the most meager of existences becomes impossible?”