The Footman (The Masqueraders Book 1)

by S. M. LaViolette

  “We made it to Trentham just past midnight. I told her everything that happened, including me telling you that she’d killed the earl.” He offered this last bit belligerently.

  Stephen didn’t bother to tell the man what he thought of his belated chivalry. “And?” he prodded.

  “She wanted to stop at the doctor’s house before she went home.”

  Stephen put down his glass. “After midnight?”

  “Aye. The doctor invited her in and they had a cup of tea. Alone.”

  “And what did you do while they were drinking tea in the good doctor’s house after midnight?” Stephen wanted to break and rend and tear and destroy something, anything.

  Marcus threw up his hands. “She told me to wait in the carriage, what else was I supposed to do?”

  “Go inside with her? Protect her goddamned reputation?”

  “Are you mad, Worth? Or Vale, or whatever the hell your name is? You destroyed her reputation entirely, utterly, and completely. You kept her in your bed for three days and nights, like some bloody pasha!”

  The boy had his history wrong but he made his point all the same. Stephen wanted to smash the young bastard’s head against the table, but not as badly as he wanted to smash his own head.

  “What else?” he grated, dumping the last of the bottle into his glass.

  “That night is the last time I saw her. The carriage dropped me off at Mum’s cottage after I left her at the Dower House.”

  Stephen narrowed his eyes. “That’s my cottage now.”

  “Well, it ain’t like you need it, is it?”

  Stephen ignored the question. “When did you next go to the Dower House?”

  “Not the next day but the one after that.”

  “Whom did you talk to?”

  “The old gimmer who opened the door. I don’t know his name.”

  “Was Beth there—her maid?”

  “No, she must have gone with her.”

  “How do you know that? She came to London without her.”

  “Trust me. The old crone hates me and wouldn’t have missed a chance to rip up at me if she’d been there.”

  He didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “Did the doctor go with her?”

  “I don’t know, but he wasn’t at home.”

  Stephen repressed a howl. Fury churned and burned in his gut and threatened to push him over the edge, a luxury he could not afford just now. He shoved the good doctor from his thoughts and concentrated on Elinor.

  So, she’d left after being home less than two days? At least she’d taken Beth with her, wherever she’d gone. Had she drawn on the account he arranged under her name? He squeezed the glass so hard his fingers burned. Bloody hell! He needed Fielding, he needed answers. He looked at the young man across from him.

  “That was three weeks ago, why the hell have you only come to me now?”

  The boy shrugged. “I dunno.”

  “Do you have any idea of where she might have gone?”

  “No. But that wasn’t part of the deal—you didn’t say I had to—”

  “Oh, shut up,” he snapped. “You’ll get the money I promised you.” Stephen eyed the other man without bothering to hide his contempt. He was a dishonest little toad but he was all Stephen had right now, other than Nichols, whose usefulness didn’t extend much beyond delivering money to his guards and food and drink to Stephen. He tossed back the dregs in his glass and glared at the younger man.

  “How would you like to double your money?”

  ∞∞∞

  It was five days later when Stephen had his second visitor.

  “Ah, Mr. Powell. I expected you sooner.”

  The little man shuffled into the cell through the slim crack in the door. Stephen could tell by the jailor’s face that Powell hadn’t been one of his more lucrative customers.

  “Ten minutes,” the guard snarled at Powell before slamming the door, the loud clang making Powell jump.

  “It appears your charm hasn’t diminished any,” Stephen said, grinning at the other man’s reddened face. “What can I do for you today, James?”

  “It’s more a question of what I can do for you.” Powell looked nervously at the only free chair in the room—which was within arm’s reach of where Stephen sat.

  Stephen waved to the chair. “Please, have a seat. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” He gestured to the half-full glass on the table. “I’d offer you a drink but I only have the one glass.”

  Powell scowled. “Isn’t it a little early for drinking?”

  “I don’t know. What time is it?”

  Powell grabbed the wooden chair and yanked it another three feet away before sitting down. “I didn’t come here to discuss the time of day with you, Vale.”

  “Oh, why did you come?” Stephen asked pleasantly.

  “I came to see if you were ready to make a deal.”

  “A deal? That sounds intriguing, do continue.”

  “I think you’ll find that even money won’t buy you more time. Yarmouth has managed to call a special session of—” He paused, his brow wrinkled in thought. He waved his hand dismissively, a mixture of embarrassment and irritation on his thin face. “Whatever the hell they call the government body that expedites legal matters in such cases.” He shook his head. “It hardly matters. What does matter is your highly paid barrister will no longer be able to buy you more time.” He stopped to give Stephen the full benefit of an unpleasant grin.

  Stephen took a sip and waited.

  Powell’s face turned an even darker shade of red. “The only way you can get out of this is if the original charge is recanted.” Again he paused.

  Stephen decided it was time to move matters along. After all, Powell only had a few minutes left to begin extorting. “Let me guess, James, you would be willing to facilitate the matter on my behalf for the right fee?”

  “After what you did to that woman, you’ll need an advocate. A damned good one, at that. I want half.”

  “Half?”

  “Half of the company, fifty-one percent.”

  Stephen chuckled. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. That’s rather dreadful math for a banker, James. Half would be fifty percent, I believe.”

  Powell sneered. “Mock all you like, it won’t change what I’m asking for. I’m not greedy, I don’t want it all. You’ll still have forty-nine percent and that’s better than being dead.”

  “Ah, but that isn’t all of it, is it?”

  “Trentham and Yarmouth want you to give back everything you took from them.”

  “And?” Stephen prodded. He didn’t imagine either man would pass up such a rare opportunity to improve their fortunes.

  “They each want one hundred thousand pounds.”

  Stephen laughed—a genuine belly laugh, the first in weeks. The keys rattled in the door as he wiped the tears from his eyes, shaking his head. “I must thank you, James.”

  “For what?” Powell’s eyes shifted from Stephen to the open door, as if he was afraid it might close and trap him inside if he didn’t hurry.

  “For the best entertainment I’ve had in ages.”

  “Is that all you have to say, you bastard?”

  “Were you really expecting something else?” Stephen asked curiously.

  Powell’s rat-like face twisted with rage. “Jeremiah should never have left it all to you. It was mine before you came. Mine!”

  “It was never yours, James. Even if I hadn’t come along. Jeremiah knew you weren’t capable of handling the bank and so do you.”

  “You’re a bastard and you don’t know anything!”

  “I know what he told me.”

  “You’re a goddamned liar who’d rather swing than part with just a fraction of what you have.”

  “You’re partly correct, James. I’d rather swing than give you even a penny of my money or one share in the bank.”

  Powell shook his head in disbelief and wonder. “You’re mad, absolutely mad.” He backed toward the door, as if he didn’t want t
o take his eyes off Stephen. “What’s wrong with you? What kind of man would throw away his life like this?” He edged through the door without waiting for an answer and it slammed shut behind him.

  Stephen listened to the key grating in the lock and the sound of receding footsteps. He lifted his glass to the empty chair.

  “That’s an easy question to answer, James. The kind of man who doesn’t have anything left to live for.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Redruth, Cornwall

  1817

  Elinor cradled the basin in her arms like a newborn babe.

  “You’re with child, my lady.”

  She looked up to see Beth standing beside the bed, her hands fisted on her hips, her worn features pinched with anxiety and fear.

  “I’m not Lady Trentham here, Beth. Please, it’s Mrs. Atwood,” she reminded the older woman, not for the first time.

  Beth made a noise of strangled frustration and began to tidy the already neat room, her motions jerky with suppressed anger.

  “I will be fine, Beth.” Elinor didn’t have to feign the happiness in her voice. She would be fine. Better than fine, in fact. She was pregnant. Her heart pounded with furious joy. The little voice in her head, the one which seemed so determined to tear down anything good, was babbling about miscarriages somewhere in the background, but, for once, she was able to ignore it. She’d lost her babies in the past because of Edward, there was no question of that. This time . . . well, this time, she’d take care of herself.

  “I’m going to have a baby.” Elinor didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until Beth came back to the bed, a hopeful light in her brown eyes.

  “Does this mean we can go home, my lady?”

  Elinor smiled. “We are home, Beth. And it’s—”

  “Yes, yes, I know. It’s Mrs. Bloody Atwood.”

  Elinor raised her eyebrows at her unprecedented cursing and the older woman flushed.

  “I beg your pardon my, er, Mrs. Atwood. It’s just—”

  Elinor lowered the basin to her lap and took Beth’s hand.

  “I know you miss Trentham. So do I. But that life is gone now. We need to embrace this new life.”

  “It just seems wrong that Mr. Worth would buy Blackfriars and then throw you out of the Dower House.” Her eyes dropped to Elinor’s stomach. “Especially since—” she stopped, clearly not wishing to spell out the obvious.

  Elinor felt a pang at the lies she’d told, but she knew what Beth would say if she learned that she’d rejected both Stephen’s offer of marriage and his gifts of money and property. And she really didn’t want to tell her servant the truly wretched way they’d parted. Not when she still didn’t understand his behavior herself.

  Elinor waited for the pain and fury that usually accompanied thoughts of their last day together, but she felt nothing. She was no longer angry at him: what was the point? She knew better than most, after ten years with Edward, there was no point in anger. While she might not be angry, she doubted she would ever stop wondering over what he’d done.

  Still, that was a subject to fill her long, empty nights, not her mornings and days. She handed Beth the basin and pushed herself up higher, shifting the cushions behind her. “I’ll not over-exert myself this morning and have my breakfast in bed. Some dry toast and tea, rather than coffee.”

  Beth inclined her head. “Aye, my la—ma’am.”

  Elinor’s smile slid from her face when her servant left the room. She wished she could share her worries with Beth, but they were not Beth’s worries to bear. They were in this fix because of decisions Elinor had made. Bad decisions, just like every other decision she’d made in her life, starting with that kiss so long ago.

  The thought of Marcus and what he’d done made her heart burn. Oh, she wasn’t angry with him, nor was she really surprised. The money Stephen had offered would have looked like a fortune to the younger man. Marcus had always stood just outside the door of wealth and status and Stephen had allowed him to step a foot inside. Still, she could no longer trust her stepson. Not because of what he’d told Stephen about that night with Edward. After all, it was Elinor who’d made him promise to stick to the lie she’d carefully constructed. But she couldn’t trust him with any other secret, certainly not where she’d gone, even though she doubted anyone would care, including Stephen.

  Oh, he’d be surprised when he learned she’d left the Dower House, but she couldn’t imagine he would be upset or try to find her. He’d given her the Dower House because it had been the easiest way to dispose of a woman he was finished with. Or perhaps he’d thought to keep her within convenient reach of Blackfriars, just in case he might want her on occasion.

  The way her heart leapt at the thought of seeing him—no matter how degrading such an arrangement would be—convinced her that leaving Trentham was the best decision she’d ever made. Elinor told herself that she wouldn’t have gone to him if she’d stayed, but that was a lie. As pathetic as it was, she loved him, even after what he’d done. Love, she’d learned, was like a weed that refused to die, no matter how viciously and ruthlessly a person tried to exterminate it. No, she’d needed to get away. The only way to resist such humiliating temptation was to completely remove herself. What could be more completely removed than Redruth, Cornwall?

  The town Jago Venable had found for her was the most desperately poor area Elinor had ever seen; too impoverished to have its own doctor. Elinor’s skills would be put to good use—if the insular, suspicious Cornish would just allow it. Thus far she’d treated only two patients, neither of them human. Jago had warned her that animal doctoring was often expected in such rural areas, where a cow or pig had more value than people.

  So, Elinor hadn’t complained, but had stitched a nasty wound on a pig that weighed more than her small cottage and helped deliver a foal who’d required turning. Both families were better off than most of those around Redruth and Elinor knew their word was respected and her fame would soon spread.

  As she’d done in Trentham, she’d accepted food in exchange for her labors since money was all but unknown in a town as poor as Redruth.

  Bartering served her purposes just as well as money, if not better. Jago had sold the necklace and earrings Stephen had given her and the money from the sale had left her speechless.

  “I probably could have gotten more for the necklace and earrings,” Jago admitted when he’d handed over the small fortune. “But I did not have the time to visit more than a few jewelers.”

  “You’ve already done enough for me, my friend. Besides, this will last us for years.”

  That money, in addition to the humble jointure Edward had left her, would be adequate to support her, Beth, and a child. But what about when that child grew older?

  Elinor absently pleated the bedding between her fingers as she considered her baby—Stephen’s baby. He could give children everything money could buy. But was he capable of giving anyone love?

  He’d not been content to merely acquire Blackfriars; he’d also tried to destroy anyone related to it in the process. That was not normal and Elinor knew quite a bit about men who were not normal. She’d sworn never to get involved with another man after Edward, and then she’d thrown herself at the first man who showed her any interest.

  Even as she thought the words, she realized she wasn’t being quite fair to herself. Stephen Worth had come after her with all the formidable assets at his disposal. What woman could’ve resisted him?

  A light knock on the door pulled her from her pointless introspection.

  “Yes?”

  The door opened and Beth peeked inside.

  “You’ve got your first human patient, my—uh, Mrs. Atwood.”

  Elinor almost leapt from the bed. She gave Beth the first genuine smile in weeks.

  “I shall be right there.”

  ∞∞∞

  Elinor finished splinting the stocky man’s arm while his two sons held him steady.

  “Be him okay, missus?” The elder
of the two young men asked, lines of concern disturbing his smooth brow as he eyed his father’s swaying form.

  “Mr. Williams will be fine once the drug wears off, which should be in an hour or so. Don’t leave him alone tonight,” she cautioned, looking up as she gently placed his meaty arm in a sling she’d fashioned from a triangle of material. It was the last of their old bedding and Beth had been very unhappy when she’d delivered it to Elinor.

  “What will it be next, Mrs. Atwood?” Beth had demanded, tossing the sheet onto the rude wooden table where Elinor mixed her medicines. “Perhaps you might want to break up our chairs to use for splints? Or maybe use your bedroom as an infirmary?”

  Beth had become increasingly belligerent in the two weeks since her first patient—when people had begun to virtually pour into Elinor’s small surgery.

  Elinor tied off the last knot and smiled at the two men—boys, really.

  “Tell him not to disturb the splint, even though his arm will itch like mad. Give him a stick if he needs to scratch.

  Both boys flushed a charming, rosy shade as she spoke to them.

  “Aye, mum,” they muttered in tandem.

  Elinor suppressed a smile at the accent, which still tickled her. Oftentimes the dialect was unintelligible to her, and people still spoke Cornish in this remote backwater.

  “Uh, how much do we owe, missus?” The taller one—Ronnie, she thought his name was—asked.

  Elinor named a price that was half what Doctor Venable would charge. Even so, the two young men turned pale. The Williamses were a family of rag and bone pickers, a poor occupation in the best of places, it was barely enough to keep body and soul together in Redruth.

  “I’ll offer you an alternate manner of payment,” Elinor said. “I have a pig who needs a home. I’m afraid she’s become too large to continue living inside.” Not only that, but Beth had threatened to pack her bags and leave if Elinor did not get rid of Daisy, who’d come to her as payment for delivering a baby.

  Both men smiled, obviously relieved. “Aye, we can build a sty, mum.”

  “Good, the sooner the better. If you let me know what you require I will—”