by Jane Ashford
* * *
“Black hair, not red,” said the man when he returned. “And she’s a friend of the daughter of the house, according to the grooms. Been ill, but getting better. Went out for a drive this morning to take the air. A likely looking lass, they say.”
“I can’t believe it,” muttered Lord Fenton to himself. “What effrontery, to bring her here!”
The driver eyed him, then shrugged and spat in the dust beside the road.
“Back to London,” declared Fenton then. “At once. I must think.”
The man removed his hands from his pockets and remounted the box. He turned the horses with some difficulty in the narrow lane, but after that they made the journey back to town with good speed. By the time Michael Shea set out to call on Bess at two, Lord Fenton was nearly home again, and had already made his plans.
Shea was smiling as he dismounted before the Devere house and walked up the steps to the front door. His natural optimism had convinced him that Bess would have come around by now, and the long package he held increased his conviction. Too, it was a balmy, summerlike day, with hawthorn blooming in the hedges and primroses in the fields. It was hard to believe that anything could go wrong on such a day.
He was told that the young ladies were sitting in the garden, and was escorted along the front hall to a room at the back of the house, which had French doors opening onto a stone terrace. Here, two steps led down into a shrubbery, and on the other side was a rose garden. A table and chairs had been carried outside, and Bess and Julia sat in the sun reading. Shea paused a moment to enjoy the scene before interrupting them.
The roses were not yet in bloom, though some had fat buds that showed promise of red and pink and white. The bushes shone a glossy green, separated by neat gravel paths and encircled by a stone balustrade. In the foreground stood a wicker table and chairs with bright chintz cushions. Julia wore floating white and Bess a borrowed gown of pale blue stripe. They sat in the shade of a broad oak, with only the sweep of their skirts in the direct sunlight. The picture they presented made Michael Shea let out his breath in a sigh.
Bess’s sharp ears caught this, and she turned at once. “Oh,” she said, “it’s you.”
“’Tis,” he admitted, coming forward. And before she could speak again, “I’ve brought you something.” He presented the box.
Bess was temporarily silenced. She looked at the package, then at him, and finally at Julia, who smiled a little at the open mix of curiosity, desire, and wariness on Bess’s face.
“Open it,” added Michael Shea, pressing his advantage.
Bess couldn’t resist. She untied the string and removed the lid. “Oh,” she said as she pushed back layers of tissue to expose the contents. Slowly, she took out an exquisite sunshade of pale blue. The long slender handle was ivory trimmed with silver, and it was decorated with two blue tassels that swung delicately in the warm breeze. “Oh,” said Bess again. She unfurled it, and raised it over her head, even though they sat in the shade. Smiling, she stood and stepped from beneath the tree’s broad shadow, twirling the parasol above her head. It was precisely the color of her eyes, and she made a lovely picture against the background of rose buds and dark leaves.
“It’s lovely,” said Bess, coming back to her chair but leaving the sunshade up. “No one ever gave me anything so pretty.”
“It is beautiful,” agreed Julia.
“Thank you,” added Bess, her voice soft. She gazed up at the sunshade again.
“You should have beautiful things,” replied Shea quite sincerely. “You’re meant for them.”
Bess surveyed him. “You aren’t thinking this is quits between us, I hope? I’m still angry.”
Because the only reply that occurred to Mr. Shea was, “Of course you are,” accompanied by a fatuous smile, he said nothing.
“You aren’t thinking you’ve bought me off, are you now?”
“No!” He met her eyes. “Well, only a bit. Just taking the edge off, as you might say.”
Bess burst out laughing, and Julia had to join her. The sheepish roguishness of Mr. Shea was irresistible. His answering grin, with its hopeful encouragement of their reaction, only made them laugh harder.
It was a little while before this merriment subsided. Then Bess said, “I suppose you think I’ll marry you now?”
“Nothing of the sort,” was his immediate response.
“I don’t know one thing about you.”
“You know my aunt,” countered Mr. Shea. “And a fine woman she is.”
Bess admitted it. “She doesn’t think much of you. I’ve heard her give you the edge of her tongue more than once.”
“Ah, that’s just Aunt Dora’s way. You don’t suppose she meant it?”
Bess didn’t suppose so. Indeed, she knew that despite Dora Hanlon’s scolds, she was very fond of her nephew. She shifted her ground. “You can’t expect me to marry a man when I don’t even know his work. Are you a clerk?” She said it with unconscious disdain.
“What do you think?” was his offended reply.
“I think that’s no answer at all.”
“Shall I go?” offered Julia, thinking her presence might be preventing confidences. “I want to get some flowers for the house.”
“No, no,” said Shea. “I’m willing you should hear.” He looked Bess in the eye. “I live by my wits,” he told her. “At cards.” There was defiance as well as pride in his voice.
“A gamester?” wondered the girl.
“No. I don’t touch the dice or that newfangled wheel. I play cards, and I’m good enough so that gentlemen with money stake it to see if they can beat me.” He looked a bit smug. “They can’t. But nothing will convince them except trying. I’ve made a tidy bit of money, too.”
“You mean, that’s all you do? Play cards?” Bess seemed amazed, and Julia eyed her with concern, wondering if this revelation had shocked her. Julia herself was taken aback.
“I’ve plans,” continued Shea. “I mean to go to France or Italy now the war’s over and set up a small club. Everything of the best. Then, when I’ve learned the business, as you might say, perhaps I’ll return to London.”
“You make a lot of money?” wondered Bess.
He smiled. “I’ve begun to. It took some time to get in the better clubs. Not White’s and such, you understand, but the gaming clubs. I’m beginning to be known, and I’m invited for a game now and then. But having my own house would be a different matter.”
“Yes,” said Bess eagerly. “I see that. And you take their money just by winning at cards?” She couldn’t seem to get over this.
“There’s no just about it,” protested Shea.
“You’re very good.”
“I am that.” He smiled, and Bess responded. “Would you care to stroll about the garden?” he asked. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Julia?”
Julia nodded, and Bess stood at once. Her anger seemed forgotten in her fascination with Shea’s history.
Julia watched them walk along the gravel paths in animated conversation, under Bess’s new sunshade, with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she was glad they were becoming reconciled. In her own newfound happiness, she wished everyone to be happy. She also felt a brief pang, for seeing them together reminded her of how she missed Richard. But she was also troubled by doubt. Was it really wise of Bess to consider marrying a man who planned to run a gaming hell? she asked herself. This was scarcely the kind of life one would recommend to anyone. And yet Bess had not been shocked, and Julia again reminded herself of their vast differences. It was possible to forget them briefly, but they did not go away. With a wry smile, Julia also admitted that she would prefer to see Bess go abroad. Though she now knew, and believed, that there had been nothing between her and Sir Richard, still her departure would be a relief, if only from the possibility of future scandal.
Juli
a picked up her book again with a sigh. It would be very good to have this matter settled, she thought, and to return to normal. She had a wedding to plan, and a future spreading out afterward that deserved all her attention just now. With a secret smile, Julia lost herself in pleasant daydreams.
Bess and Michael Shea talked until the lengthening shadows brought the servants out to fetch the chairs and table. “Come inside,” called Julia then. “It is growing cool, and you haven’t any shawl, Bess.” The other two strolled over to join her. “We can sit in the back parlor near the terrace,” she added.
“That’s all right, Mr. Shea is just going,” replied Bess, and Michael Shea looked down at her in surprise.
“Is he?” said Julia.
Bess nodded, closing her parasol with a snap. “He’ll call again tomorrow afternoon.”
Julia battled a smile. “Not morning?”
“Oh, no. Likely he has things to do in the morning.”
They had reached the terrace by this time, and they entered the house through the French doors. “Well, er, good-bye, then,” said Shea.
“Good-bye,” responded Bess brightly. Julia bit her lower lip to stop it quivering. When she too had bid him farewell, Shea bowed and went out. Bess waited until they heard the front door open and shut before going off in peals of laughter, and Julia couldn’t help but join in. They laughed so hard tears filled their eyes, and it took a little while for the spasm to subside. “I’ll forgive him, all right,” said Bess then. “But I didn’t want to let on yet.”
Julia nodded, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. “And will you marry him?”
Bess considered, cocking her head to one side. “I might. But don’t tell him I said so.”
“Of course not!” replied Julia, shocked by the suggestion.
Sixteen
As they rode in the park the following morning, Thomas Beckwith said to his brother, “You know, Richard, I believe my shadow is gone. I’ve not seen him today, nor anyone else who looks as if he’s watching me.”
Sir Richard nodded. “I think perhaps Fenton has given up. What he thought we would do while his hirelings dogged our footsteps, I cannot imagine.”
“Well, he has apparently concluded we are not so stupid.”
“Or found more efficient spies.” Sir Richard looked around the park. He did not want to accept the latter possibility, for that would mean he must remain in London and keep up the pretense of his normal routine when he wished only to go to Julia. These last few days in town had been intolerable. But it really did seem that their watchers were gone. And after all, he reasoned, Lord Fenton must at some point conclude that they would not lead him to Bess. “I shall ride out tomorrow morning,” he said aloud, “if there is no further sign of them.”
“I’ll come with you,” responded Thomas. “I’d like to see how Bess is getting on.”
“Bess? Or Michael Shea?”
His brother grinned. “Well, Richard, you have to admit it is amusing. When we received the message—”
“You made your feelings very clear,” put in Sir Richard dryly. “And if you are going just to mock the man…”
“No. I want to see, er, whether Bess has come around yet.”
Sir Richard made a noncommittal sound, but in fact, he was also interested in this question. Bess’s marriage to Shea had seemed a providential solution, and when he had heard from Julia how matters actually stood between the two, his heart sank.
“You won’t leave me behind?” protested Thomas.
“No. You may come. But you are not to meddle and make things worse.”
“I?”
Sir Richard snorted.
In the country, Bess and Julia had established themselves outside once again, reveling in the stretch of flawless weather. They read and sewed and talked, and since Bess had by now regained her normal health, walked about the park for exercise. When Michael Shea called that afternoon, Bess seemed so happy to see him that Julia left them alone and set off for a brisk walk along a path she often took. It led through a narrow gate in the estate walls and across the fields to the pond. One part of its banks, overhung by a massive willow, had long been a favorite spot of Julia’s.
As she went, she kept her eyes down, enjoying the wild flowers that speckled the grass on either side of the path. And she thought about Bess. She would accept Michael Shea, Julia thought. The signs were clear. It was a happy conclusion to the whole muddle. They might even be married before the date set for her own wedding and safely settled abroad. This naturally led her thoughts to Sir Richard, and Julia spent a pleasant half hour sitting on the mossy bank, gazing down into the rippling water and thinking of him.
The sun was well down in the sky when she started home again, and she hurried, for she had stayed longer than she meant. Bess would have gone up to her room by this time, to rest before changing for dinner. She wanted to be home well before she came down.
As she came up to the wicket gate that led into the park, Julia was focused on getting home, and not paying much heed to her surroundings. She did not notice the sudden crack of a dry branch or a rustling in the bushes to her left. Only when her arms were roughly gripped from both sides and jerked behind her did she see the intruders, and before she could cry out, a cloth dripping with chloroform was pressed down over her face. Julia struggled briefly, but the fumes choked her and thrust her rapidly down into unconsciousness.
* * *
And thus, instead of a leisurely ride into the country the following morning, Sir Richard and Thomas Beckwith set off at a gallop at first light in response to a frantic message from Bess.
It was a grim journey. Thomas was afraid to speak to his brother, and the latter was using all his energy to control a tempest of emotion. Foremost was fear. It was because of him that Bess was in Julia’s house; he should never have left her there. His imagination conjured an endless series of horrors that might have befallen his betrothed. Bess’s note had been barely coherent, so he had no idea what had actually occurred. But Lord Fenton must be involved, he knew, and whenever he thought of the man, Sir Richard was swept by a killing rage such as he had never experienced before in his life. It shook him to know that he could take pleasure in choking the life out of a fellow human being with his own hands.
“There’s the house,” ventured Thomas, and they spurred their mounts yet again and thundered through the open gates and down the drive toward the front door. The place looked remarkably peaceful in the early morning light. Only a wisp of smoke from one of the chimneys showed that it was inhabited.
But as soon as they drew rein before the steps, the front door burst open and Bess ran out. “Thank God you’re here!” she cried, and burst into tears.
Thomas leapt down and took the horses. Sir Richard gathered Bess and led her into the parlor nearest the door. For a minute, she could only cry, and he waited with mounting impatience for her to regain control.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped finally. “I didn’t mean to. But I was so glad…”
“Tell me precisely what happened,” interrupted Sir Richard.
“I don’t know! Except that Julia is gone.”
He clenched his jaw and his fists.
“When? And how?”
Bess was taking deep breaths. “She didn’t come to dinner last night,” she said more calmly. “And when I went to find her, she wasn’t in the house. She went for a walk. Something must have happened then.”
“Something,” echoed Sir Richard. “I presume you searched?”
“Oh, yes. The servants all went out. And Michael. But it was almost dark. They’re looking again this morning.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“I’ll deal with that,” he said curtly. “Was anyone seen? Lurking about the place?”
She shook her head, biting her lower lip. “You…you think it’s him?”
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“What else? If Julia had had an accident, she would have been found by this time.”
“But he wouldn’t take Julia! Has he gone daft?”
Sir Richard shrugged and stood. “I must speak to the searchers.”
* * *
Julia awoke in a moving carriage. The air was heavy and stuffy, and her head ached with a fierce intensity that made her close her eyes again at once. Her hands were bound behind her, and though the binding was not painful, it was efficient, as she found when she twisted her wrists without effect. She felt sick, and the bouncing of the carriage over a very bad road did not help. But the worst was that she did not know what had happened. In her half-conscious, drugged state, she couldn’t remember what had befallen her; she could not think clearly.
She moved to brace herself better against the jolting and rest her pounding head on the upholstery. Then, she simply endured as the seemingly endless ride went on.
She must have either slept or lost consciousness again, for she woke with a start when the carriage pulled up. Her headache had not abated, and when she struggled to sit up, it made her dizzy. But she was determined to face her captors and hide her fear.
The door farthest from her opened, and lantern light streamed into the dim interior of the vehicle. It revealed a fashionably clad arm and, behind it, a face she recognized. “Lord Fenton!” cried Julia.
There was an instant of frozen astonishment, then the door slammed shut again.
“Idiot!” Julia heard Fenton’s voice exclaim. “You have brought the wrong girl.”
“What?” replied a rougher male voice.
“This is not the girl, you fool. This is a young lady.”
“You told me a beauty, black hair. You said the minute she sticks her nose out the house, snatch her. How was I to know there was two of ’em, guv’nor? I did like I was ordered.”
The door of the carriage opened again, more slowly, and Julia and Lord Fenton gazed at one another.
“You meant to take Bess,” said Julia.
“Obviously.”