by Ann Barker
The baronet turned, his grip on Jessie slackening in his surprise. Taking advantage of this, she pulled away from him and took a step towards Raff, who saw the damage to her gown for the first time. ‘You appear to have met with a little misadventure, my dear,’ he said softly, taking off his own cloak and putting it round her. ‘Who is responsible?’
Weary grinned unpleasantly. ‘You know how it is, Raff,’ he said.
‘Tell me.’ Again, the tone was very soft; but the room was filled with an air of menace. Despite the rowdy nature of the proceedings up to this point, the rest of the room was completely silent.
‘They play hard to get, but they all like it when you’re a bit rough.’
‘Do they? Let’s ask, shall we?’ Ashbourne turned to Jessie. ‘Did you find this oaf’s attentions entertaining?’
She shook her head. ‘He told me Henrietta was here,’ she said. ‘I was coming to rescue her. I never wanted—’
‘Watch who you’re calling an oaf,’ Weary interrupted, his eyes on Ashbourne’s face. ‘You’ve only that light-skirt’s word for it.’
Raff turned back towards him. His movements were still graceful and unhurried, but there was a menacing light burning in his eye. ‘You heard her,’ he said, picking up a glass of wine from a nearby table. ‘She does not find you entertaining, and neither do I.’ With that, he tossed the wine into the baronet’s face. ‘When, and where you like,’ he said. He turned to Hector Hinder, ignoring the spluttering, cursing baronet. ‘Take her to the carriage and send her home; then attend me here.’
Jessie turned her white face up to his. ‘Raff,’ she said, putting her hand on his arm.
‘Go,’ he said, his face as white as hers. Without saying any more, she turned and went out with Hinder to the waiting vehicle.
*
On Jessie’s arrival back at Sloane Street, Henrietta held out her arms and the two women embraced and wept a little. Mrs Machin was horrified at the sight of Jessie’s torn gown, and told her to go straight upstairs and change into her night attire. ‘I will bring you some warm milk and then you will feel better,’ she said.
Jessie shook her head. ‘No, I cannot,’ she said distressfully. ‘I must be dressed and downstairs if Hector or … or Raff comes.’
‘I must admit that I am surprised not to see them here now,’ said Henrietta. ‘How does it come about that you have returned alone?’
‘The most dreadful thing has occurred,’ said Jessie. ‘I think – but I am not sure, for I have never heard such a thing before – that Raff has challenged Sir Wallace to a duel.’
‘A duel!’ exclaimed Henrietta, her eyes sparkling.
Jessie stamped her foot. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Henrietta, try to think of something other than your plots. This is real life, not a book. People get hurt, even killed in duels.’
Mrs Machin begged pardon immediately. ‘I am sorry, Jessie,’ she said with real remorse. ‘And, oh dear, I have just realized that it was my fault that you were there in the first place.’
‘It was no one’s fault but Sir Wallace’s,’ Jessie assured her. She was torn between not wanting to move an inch from the hall just in case there should be news, and asking Dilly, quite unreasonably at this hour, to fill her a bath so that she might wash away the memory of the baronet’s wandering hands.
‘That, too, is my fault,’ said Henrietta, tears returning to her eyes. ‘You did not like Sir Wallace from the very beginning, but I did not listen to you.’
‘I was less than honest,’ Jessie confessed. ‘If I had told you how badly he had behaved at Vauxhall, then you would not have given him house room.’
‘I knew that he was a rake, but I wanted to talk to him – for my book, you know. I would have asked Raff, but he stopped coming to see us.’
‘I was to blame for that,’ Jessie admitted. ‘I quarrelled with him and told him not to come. And now, despite that, he is going to put his life at risk. Oh Hetty, what can we do?’
Henrietta took hold of her trembling hands. ‘We must try to keep calm,’ she said. ‘Whatever else you do, I think you would be happier if you changed out of that gown. Then shall we have some warm milk and wait for a little while to see if the gentlemen come? You know, we both come from clergy households. I think we might feel calmer if we said a prayer for Raff.’
Jessie agreed to all of these suggestions, but after a long tense wait, they came to the conclusion that nothing would happen that night, and reluctantly retired to their own rooms.
Jessie went through the motions of preparing for bed, actually going as far as to climb in and blow out the candle, but sleep was very slow in coming. Looking at the whole affair from every angle, she could not find herself free from blame. Allowing Henrietta to encourage Raff to visit them had been her first mistake. Having done so, however, she certainly should not have gone to Vauxhall. Then, having quarrelled with Raff, like a fool she had encouraged Sir Wallace Weary, all the while guessing that he was an unsavoury customer. Tonight, she had been unconscionably foolish, as a result of which Raff was now going to put his life at risk because of her.
She sat up in bed, staring ahead of her at the dying embers of the fire. Her mind went back to the day they had met, and his kindness on that occasion, and many times since. She thought about his easy tolerance of Mrs Machin and Mr Hinder, and his thoughtfulness towards Dilly. She recalled his roguish sense of humour. No, her first mistake had not been in agreeing for Raff to visit them; it had been in accepting Henry Lusty’s offer of marriage when the only man she had ever loved, could ever love, was a rake and a libertine who even now was planning an act worthy of any preux chevalier for her sake.
Chapter Nineteen
The following day seemed to drag past interminably. Jessie was late leaving her room, having failed to get to sleep at a reasonable hour. Eventually she had dropped off just as it was turning light, only to dream of Wallace Weary covered in blood, pursuing her through Drury Lane theatre, whilst Raff and Lady Gilchrist, dressed in their wedding clothes, looked on laughing.
Once downstairs, she apologized to Henrietta, who confessed that her night’s sleep had been similarly fitful. ‘Do you suppose that we will hear anything today?’ Mrs Machin asked anxiously.
‘I don’t know,’ said Jessie. She suddenly looked thoughtful. ‘Hector must know something!’ she said in a more animated tone.
‘Let us send Dilly around immediately,’ suggested Mrs Machin.
‘Never mind Dilly,’ Jessie retorted. ‘Let us go ourselves.’ But the two ladies did not get any satisfaction from their visit. Mr Hinder’s landlady, who knew both of his visitors by sight, could not enlighten them. Yes, the young gentleman had returned the previous night, but had gone out early. He would certainly be away for one night, perhaps more. No, she did not know where he had gone. She was sorry, but he had left no message of any kind. Yes indeed, she would let them know if there was any news.
‘What now?’ asked Henrietta.
‘I suppose we had better go home and wait,’ replied Jessie. ‘That will be where any message will come.’
‘I suppose we should not go to Raff’s house,’ said Henrietta doubtfully.
‘No, we should not,’ replied Jessie, barely repressing a shudder. He was already having to fight one duel on her behalf. Heaven forbid that he should have to fight more battles for her honour because she had been seen calling at Rake Ashbourne’s house.
Henrietta was unable to settle to writing, so between them they turned out the loft, an area of the house into which Henrietta had not yet strayed. They found nothing of any value, but cleaned and dusted for all they were worth, in order to take their mind off things. When no news had come by the evening, they played cards against each other, staking huge imaginary sums, and even property that they did not possess, so that by the time Jessie rose from the table, she was the proud possessor of twenty thousand pounds and the London residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Due to her lack of sleep the night before, Jessie did mana
ge a better night. This time, she dreamed of Raff’s kisses, passionate, demanding and seductive, and she awoke with tears on her cheeks, and a feeling of bitter disappointment in her heart.
It was only a few moments after she had opened her eyes that the household was disturbed by an urgent knocking on the door. It was such an unprecedented occurrence that Jessie and Henrietta were both out of their beds and at the top of the stairs as Dilly opened to a very agitated Mr Hinder.
‘Please, you must fetch Miss Warburton at once,’ he said, sounding out of breath as well as anxious.
‘Miss is still in her bed, so you’ll have to wait,’ said Dilly, pleased to be so much in command of the situation.
‘I cannot wait,’ declared Mr Hinder. ‘In short, it is a matter of life and death. In fact,’ he went on, rendered bold by the urgency of the case, ‘it may simply be a matter of death if she does not come straight away!’
Jessie paused only to wrap a shawl around herself – although to be fair, the nightgown that she was wearing was cut higher in the neck than some of the gowns that she generally wore during the day – then without hesitation hurried down the stairs in her bare feet. ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Has something happened to Henry – or to Lady Agatha?’
‘No, no!’ he cried, stepping past Dilly across the threshold. ‘It is Lord Ashbourne! He is very gravely injured indeed! You must come at once!’
Jessie missed a step and almost fell. She clutched the neckline of her nightgown, her face almost as white as the fabric from which it was made. ‘Gravely injured! You said it was a matter of life and death. Is he … dying?’
‘I fear so. Will you come?’
Jessie stared at him for a moment. Then she said, ‘Of course. Give me five minutes.’
‘Do not take any longer,’ said Hinder solemnly.
Henrietta, who had waited at the top of the stairs because the message was clearly not for her, stepped forward. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
Jessie shook her head. ‘I will send for you if necessary. For now, help me so that I may get ready as quickly as possible.’ She did not allow herself to think for a moment that she might be too late. Nor did she think to wonder how the earl’s injuries might have been sustained until she was being helped into a carriage which displayed the Ashbourne crest.
‘We are going to Ashbourne House in Berkeley Square,’ said Mr Hinder, answering one of her questions. ‘That is where he was taken, after the duel.’
Jessie’s hand went to her mouth. ‘They met this morning?’
Hinder nodded. ‘I was his second. That was why I had to stay behind instead of take you home. Raff chose swords. It was a deucedly close fight. In fact, I wish that it hadn’t been so deadly serious, because if it hadn’t been I would have enjoyed it.’
‘Who won? Is Sir Wallace dead?’
‘No; although he should have been. Raff could have killed him once, but stayed his hand. Given a similar opportunity, Weary didn’t stay his. If his sword hadn’t been deflected by something in Raff’s pocket, then—’ He paused, then added in a falsely hearty voice, ‘But we might still be in time.’
‘In time?’
‘He wants to see you.’
‘What of Weary?’
‘He has fled the country.’ After a brief silence Mr Hinder burst out, ‘Would to God you had fetched me that night!’
‘You cannot possibly wish that more than I do,’ Jessie replied just as fervently.
They fell silent again. Jessie tried not to think of anything, fearful that to dwell on what had occurred and how culpably to blame she had been over the whole matter, would be to drive her mad. By the time they reached the front door of Ashbourne House, she had counted the plum silken squabs behind Mr Hinder over and over again until her thoughts had turned to very confused prayers to the effect that she would be prepared to do anything if only Raff might live.
They were expected. The door was flung open, they were hurried in, and up the stairs. ‘The doctor is with him now,’ the butler said as he ushered them through the hall.
A respectably dressed man appeared on the landing. ‘I’m Pointer, miss, his lordship’s valet,’ he said. ‘I’m very glad you’re here. I’m a little uneasy about the doctor.’
Jessie entered, and felt immediately as if she had walked into a battlefield. There seemed to be blood everywhere. Raff was lying on the bed, still apparently covered with it, his black hair loose and streaming across the pillow. The doctor was standing by his side, his wrist in one hand, a razor in the other, and a bowl ready beneath.
‘What are you doing? Stop immediately!’ she declared, horrified.
The doctor looked up from his work. ‘Don’t be alarmed, madam,’ he said. ‘It is necessary to let some blood to avoid the risk of fever. Then, in a little while, I will shave his head – for the same reason.’
‘You will do neither,’ said Jessie, straightening her spine. ‘Believe me, if you let any of his blood, the next to be let will be yours.’
There was a very faint chuckle from the bed. ‘Jez,’ Ashbourne murmured.
The doctor also stood up straight, his expression affronted. ‘May I ask who you are, madam, to presume to decide my patient’s needs?’
‘Certainly,’ answered Jessie, her voice perfectly steady. ‘I am his promised wife, and he is no longer your patient.’
‘Very well,’ said the doctor, packing up his things. ‘He’ll be dead before the morning. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘Now, Pointer,’ said Jessie after the doctor had gone. ‘Let’s make him comfortable.’
‘Yes indeed, miss,’ answered the valet.
‘Do you know of a doctor who does not yearn to preside over a blood bath?’ she asked him.
‘I have heard of a man who doesn’t always resort to blooding. He’s had some good results.’
‘Then have him sent for. Hector, can you help without fainting?’
Mr Hinder, who had turned rather white at the sight of all the blood, said, ‘I think so.’
‘Good, for we will need you to help Raff into his nightshirt.’
Fortunately, Raff had drifted into unconsciousness, so they padded the major wound in his chest, and cleaned other superficial wounds and dusted them with basilicum powder.
They had just finished their work, Pointer and Mr Hinder having attended to Raff’s personal needs whilst Jessie tidied up the room and cleared away the bloody cloths, when the new doctor arrived. He was neither so stout nor so fashionable-looking as the previous man, but his quiet, calm manner immediately reassured Jessie, as did his examination of Raff, which was conducted in such a way as to disturb the patient as little as possible.
He commended their work, and also, to Jessie’s relief, decided against letting further blood. ‘He has lost enough, I feel,’ he said. ‘Indeed, I fear he may have lost too much. He is in good health, which is in his favour, but you must prepare yourself for the worst.’
Jessie had been trying not to think about that, and the tasks that she had been performing had helped her. Now, however, she had to face the future, however grim it might prove to be. ‘Very well,’ she said, as calmly as she could. ‘Should his son be sent for?’
‘I think it advisable.’
‘It has been done,’ said Hinder.
After the doctor had gone, leaving his address and some powders to be administered in case of fever and promising to return on the morrow, Jessie sat beside Raff’s bed, not knowing what to do next. The announcement that she was his promised wife had come out entirely unbidden. She had taken authority over the situation, but now she felt utterly helpless. She had prayed that he might be preserved, and he had not gone yet. There was still hope. She looked down at his white, still, impossibly handsome face. This was the man she loved and no other man, however worthy, would do. She had been closing her eyes to this truth ever since Ilam’s wedding. She thought of the first time that she had met Weary, and remembered how even then Raff had been ready to challenge th
e baronet for being insolent to her. Now, he had actually fought for her, and he had quite possibly lost his life as a result. ‘It’s all my fault,’ she whispered, brushing away a tear.
‘Don’t cry, Jez.’ She realized that he had woken, and was looking up at her.
‘I’m all right, Raff,’ she said, trying to smile.
‘Should have married you … years ago. Why did I … wait till … deathbed?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, her vision blurred by her tears.
He coughed. ‘Where’s Hinder?’
Hector came tentatively forward from the doorway, where he had been hovering. ‘I’m here, my lord.’
‘You have it … the licence?’
Hinder tapped his pocket. ‘I have it.’
‘Then fetch … priest.’ Hinder hesitated briefly, then hurried from the room.
‘Jez …’
Jessie laid her hand on his. ‘Don’t try to talk. Save your strength.’
He closed his eyes, and for what seemed like a long time, she stared down at him, wishing that he did not look so white. Anything, she said to herself again. I’ll do anything, if he can only be spared. Eventually, he opened his eyes again. ‘Katie,’ he said. For one horrible moment, Jessie thought that he had mistaken her for the woman at Vauxhall. Then he spoke again. ‘Her lover threw her out. Needed … money.’
She stared at him. How horribly she had misjudged him. ‘Raff, I didn’t know. I’m sorry … sorry for—’
‘Never mind,’ he interrupted. ‘Jez, you will marry me, won’t you?’
‘Raff—’
‘You’ll be a rich widow. You can take Lusty a fine fortune. Buy him a smart parish.’
‘Raff, please—’
‘Don’t argue with me, Jez. I’m not strong enough. Let me do this. Should have had the sense to marry you years ago.’
‘Very well,’ she agreed, not wanting to agitate him further.
‘Good girl.’ He was silent for a time.
He relaxed and closed his eyes once more. Jessie thought that he might have fallen asleep, and wondered whether she would have to send the clergyman away again. As soon as the door opened and the thin, grey-haired cleric came in with a book in his hands, however, Raff opened his eyes. ‘Good,’ he breathed. ‘What’s your name, Parson?’