Instead, she chose to focus on her satisfaction that the decision of whether or not to continue waiting for Matthew had been taken from her hands.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The same mournful-looking footman from before answered the door in response to William’s knock. Timothy assisted Eleanor from the carriage and she approached the entrance. The front door stood wide and, beyond the servant, she could see a maid busy polishing a console table. The hallway seemed brighter, the sweet scent of beeswax a pleasant contrast to the stale cooking odours that had given the house such a musty air on her previous visit.
Reassured that normality reigned, Eleanor called to the coachman, ‘We will not be long, Joey. Please walk the horses around if they get restless.’
She stepped across the threshold into the hall.
‘Mrs Weare is in her bedchamber, milady,’ the footman said, eyeing William, Timothy and Peter askance. ‘She has requested that you attend her there.’
‘Is your mistress unwell?’
‘No, milady. No more than usual.’
‘Is Mr Weare at home?’
‘No, he has travelled out of town. He is not due back until tonight.’
‘Very well. Timothy and Peter, you will wait for me here in the hall. William—’ he was the biggest and burliest of the three ‘—you can wait for me on the upstairs landing. And Lizzie will come with me.’ She had already warned the men that, if James were to return, they must come to her immediately.
James’s footman frowned, but raised no objection, merely indicating they should follow him. Eleanor relaxed a little as she climbed the stairs with Lizzie, William at their heels, the weight of her pistol providing comfort. Surely, if there was a plot to harm her here, the servants could not behave in such a humdrum manner. James was still away from home and the fact that the footman had raised no objection to William accompanying her upstairs reassured her.
Ruth’s bedchamber was on the second floor. Eleanor entered to find a large, bright room, decorated in rose and cream, the tall windows open to allow the sunlight to stream in. The room was far better appointed than the shabby sitting room into which she had been shown on her first visit. Mentally, she shrugged. How James and Ruth chose to decorate their house was none of her concern.
The bedchamber had been arranged in two halves: to the right of the door was a bed, beyond which there was a door, possibly leading to a dressing room or even to James’s bedchamber. An elegant chest of drawers and a vanity dresser in matching mahogany were arranged against the wall.
To the left of the door was a sitting area consisting of two bucket chairs, arranged either side of the fireplace. On the long wall opposite Eleanor, set between two of the windows, was an elegant chaise longue, upon which Ruth, haggard in top-to-toe black, reclined. Eleanor faltered. Was she in mourning? No, she could not be. Her parents and brother were all long deceased and no one else had died to Eleanor’s knowledge. She crossed the room to greet Ruth, aware from the corner of her eye that Lizzie moved to stand near the fireplace.
‘Eleanor, my dear, dear cousin, I am so pleased you have come. I have been in such turmoil.’
Ruth did look unwell, her cheeks gaunt, her eyes blazing with a fervency that brought to Eleanor’s mind her discomfort when Ruth had confided in her at the Duke of Cheriton’s ball.
It is too late to regret coming now, she thought, with a trickle of unease. Find out what she wants, then leave as soon as you can.
‘Ruth, I hope I find you well? Tell me, what is so urgent that you needs must summon me with such urgency?’
Ruth rose from the chaise longue and Eleanor exchanged a nervous look with Lizzie as Ruth circled the room before walking to the window and staring out, her arms folded around her torso, her narrow back and shoulders rigid. ‘I told you I was desperate to get with child, did I not?’
‘You did.’
Eleanor moved towards Ruth, angling to one side, so she could see Ruth’s expression. It was oddly impassive. Eleanor tried to quash her growing fear. Lizzie was here. William was outside the door, with instructions to come in immediately if she called him.
Suddenly, Ruth spun to face Eleanor. ‘It was him! James! I found him out. He was putting poison in my food. Poison to prevent my conceiving...to prevent my child inheriting Ashby. But I fooled him. I stopped eating. I am with child, although he does not yet know it.’
Eleanor’s mind reeled. Could this be true? She couldn’t believe...poison? No, not James. She stepped towards Ruth, vaguely aware of Lizzie, now by her side, clutching at her arm, trying to tug her towards the door. She strove to speak calmly, reaching out to touch Ruth, trying to build a rapport with her.
‘Listen to me, Ruth, please. James longs for a child, you know he does. He loves you. Why on earth would he prevent you from conceiving?’
‘He doesn’t want us at Ashby. He never wanted us at Ashby.’
Eleanor shook her head, scrambling to make some sense of it all, remembering the attacks on her. Could James really...? Her whirling thoughts skidded to a halt. Ashby?
‘But... Ruth...your child won’t inherit Ashby. It belongs to me, not Ja—’ Her blood froze as pieces of the puzzle began to slot into place. Ruth? Could Ruth be responsible for...?
‘It’s not natural.’ Ruth snatched her arm away. ‘I should be Lady Ashby, by rights. James tricked me. I didn’t know, until it was too late. Even then, we could have stayed there and lived a comfortable life but, no...he insisted we come here and struggle. He never wanted us at Ashby.’
Did she mean the baby? Eleanor eyed Ruth’s slender form. She did not look enceinte. ‘Us? Who do you mean? Who doesn’t James want at Ashby?’
‘Me and Donald.’
‘But...Donald is—’
‘Dead! Yes, he’s dead. And it’s all your fault.’ Ruth’s eyes glowed with a fanatical light as she spewed out her accusations. ‘Ashby could have been Donald’s. Why do you think he proposed to you? For your charms? You killed my brother and now you’re Lady Ashby, and you have all the money and we...we have nothing.’
Even though she knew it was untrue, it hurt. ‘Donald died in the war, Ruth,’ she said.
‘He only went back because of you. Why didn’t you just marry him? We could all have been happy then. At Ashby. It’s your fault Donald is dead. He died horribly. In agony. And it is your fault. You might as well have pulled the trigger yourself.’
Rationally, Eleanor knew Donald’s death was not her fault and yet, deep inside, there lingered a splinter of guilt. If she had married him, it was true he would still be alive.
She tried again to pacify Ruth, even though she suspected the other woman was beyond reason, ignoring Lizzie’s hissed ‘Milady!’ and shrugging off the increasingly urgent clutch of her fingers.
‘Ruth, you cannot know what really happened in the Peninsula. It is a war. Soldiers face injury and death every day. You must not torment yourself with details you cannot possibly know for sure.’
‘I know everything! Garrett was there. He was with Donald when he died.’
‘Garrett? Who is...?’ Eleanor followed Ruth’s triumphant gaze as she looked at the second door opposite the fireplace. Eleanor’s stomach clenched in fear as she recognised the man she had seen outside her house, turning the key in the lock.
‘William! Help!’ Eleanor’s scream mingled with Lizzie’s.
There was a thump against the door Eleanor and Lizzie had entered by, which shook, but held. Ruth must have locked it, unnoticed, during her circuit of the room. The man—Garrett—smiled and walked towards Eleanor, who backed away, skirting around Ruth. At least she could now see them both at once. She pushed at Lizzie, in a silent attempt to tell her to go and unlock the first door, which was now unguarded, but the maid was more intent on staying close to Eleanor.
A gloating smile played around Ruth’s lips. ‘Now you will learn the truth,’ she spat, ‘before you die. My child will inherit Ashby and there is nothing you can do to prevent it.’
Eleanor backed until the chaise longue prevented further retreat. Her pistol! She fumbled in her reticule but, just as her fingers closed around it, Garrett grabbed her, his hands closing hard around her upper arms.
As Eleanor struggled she was aware of Lizzie tugging at Garrett and more loud thumps coming from the locked door. Slowly, relentlessly, Garrett dragged her towards the open window.
She forced herself to look Garrett in the eye. ‘You do not have to...you will hang...why would you risk—?’
‘You killed my boy,’ he snarled.
‘Your boy?’ Eleanor panted with the effort of resisting him. Surely William would break the door down soon? Garrett’s arms were wrapped tight around her, but her pistol was in her hand and, if she got the chance, she would use it without a qualm. She gritted her teeth, struggling harder, aware of Lizzie now grappling with Ruth.
‘I brought him and Miss Ruth up from little nippers. They deserved Ashby! Weare tricked her! Miss Ruth was born to be a lady.’
Eleanor’s head spun and she gasped for breath as she struggled with all her strength to free herself. Although slightly shorter than her, he was immensely strong and slowly, inexorably, they neared the window. Her heart tumbled with fear. If they reached the low sill, one good push and she would fall. Hauling in a deep breath, she braced herself for one more effort to free her right arm and, somehow, use her pistol.
Suddenly, with a loud crash, the first door flew open. Garrett’s grip loosened for a second, but that was enough for Eleanor. With all her remaining strength she pulled away from him, then spun around, holding her pistol up with a shaking hand. Garrett’s attention was not on her, however, but on the man who had burst through the door.
‘No, Eleanor!’
Eleanor’s breath seized as Matthew charged at Garrett, who roared with fury, swinging wild punches. Eleanor’s heart was in her mouth as she watched Matthew dodge Garrett’s flailing arms, until one well-aimed punch to Garrett’s jaw saw him slump to the floor, knocked out cold.
‘Noooo!’ Ruth’s shrill cry resounded around the room. Shoving Lizzie aside, she advanced on Eleanor, fingers clawed.
‘Ruth! Stop! I beg of you.’ James had appeared. He pushed between Ruth and Eleanor, arms out wide in a placatory gesture. His voice gentled. ‘Please don’t upset yourself, my love—you know what the doctor told you. Come, come with me. I’ll get your medicine for you—that will make you feel better.’
Ruth stared past James at Eleanor, eyes crazed, spittle spraying as her words tumbled over each other in frantic speech. ‘Help me, cousin! He is trying to poison me. He doesn’t want me to have a baby. Now you can see I am telling you the truth.’
Quick as lightning, she dodged around James and ran at Eleanor, who instinctively flung her arms wide and wrapped them tightly around Ruth’s frail form. Matthew was by her side in an instant, but his help wasn’t needed for, as soon as Ruth felt Eleanor’s arms around her, all the fight seemed to leave her and she slumped. James then took his wife, murmuring to her, and led her from the room as Garrett, still on the floor with William standing guard, groaned and stirred.
With a sob, Eleanor turned into Matthew’s arms, feeling him remove the pistol from her slack grasp. Legs trembling, she leaned into him, his heart hammering in her ear, drawing comfort from his solid strength, wanting nothing more than to blot out the horror.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, once her breathing had steadied and her legs felt capable of supporting her. She looked up at him. His hold tightened, and he bent his head to feather a kiss on her forehead.
Then she registered the blessed sound of Aunt Lucy’s voice, drawing nearer, until, ‘Ellie, Ellie, oh, my pet. Here, Mr Damerel, let me take her.’ She put her arm around Eleanor and led her from the bedchamber. The maid who had been polishing in the hall showed them into a small parlour and then disappeared with the promise of refreshments.
* * *
James and Matthew joined them some time later. Eleanor, although still shaken, went immediately to her cousin.
‘James, my dear...’
He heaved a sigh. ‘You deserve an explanation, Eleanor. Ruth is ill. Her moods were always up and down, but controllable if she took her medicine. Then Donald was killed and Garrett returned and started putting fanciful notions in her head, and she got worse. One day she would be convinced the entire world conspired against her, the next it would be as if nothing was amiss, and she would go shopping and spend and spend. Nothing else seemed to make her happy. And, gradually, she focused her blame onto you. When she took the potion the doctor made up for her she seemed to improve, but lately...’ He shrugged.
‘I have just found out that it was Garrett who was responsible for the attack on that girl. I went to Stockport and showed this around.’ He held up an artist’s likeness of the man. ‘There can be no doubt. The Runners have taken him away.’
He gathered Eleanor’s hands to his chest. ‘Ellie, I don’t know what to say. I am so very, very sorry. I should have had Ruth committed long ago. I tried so hard to keep her happy and contented and to give her all she desired, but nothing worked for long. She would sink into the depths of despair at times.’ He looked sadly at a portrait of Ruth that hung over the fireplace. ‘I have no choice now. I must have her committed. I thought she could stay here, if we were vigilant. And I tried to keep Garrett away, but it seems the servants were too scared of her rages to stand up to her for long. They were meeting in secret.’
‘But why was Garrett prepared to kill for Ruth? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I thought the same. That’s why, when I first knew of the attacks on you, I didn’t think of him. But your description, when you spoke to us at Cheriton’s ball...I knew then. That is why I was reluctant to leave you and Ruth alone together. And...when I asked him just now...before they took him...oh, dear God! He was their natural father! Ruth and Donald’s.’
‘Their father? But...how?’
‘It’s a sordid tale. Garrett was bailiff to Ruth’s mother’s family. They were in love. When she married Mr Aldridge, Garrett went, too, to work for them, and they continued their affair, right under the poor man’s nose. It is quite the scandal.’
‘I feel sick,’ Eleanor said. ‘What will happen to Ruth now? Are you truly going to have her committed?’
‘I must,’ James said. ‘This has proved I cannot keep her safe. Nor keep others safe from her torrid imaginings. I see no alternative.’
His face was etched in misery and Eleanor felt her heart go out to him. To think he had been trying to keep Ruth happy and calm all this time—his reluctance to abandon her to a lunatic asylum did him credit. Eleanor longed to help.
‘What do you want, James?’
He looked puzzled. ‘Want? I do not know, but I know I cannot bear to think of her in one of those places. They are horrifying. Truly horrifying.’
‘Then she shall not go to one. Come home to Ashby. Waycroft Farm is empty. The house is good, solid stone and it is isolated. We will make it secure and we will hire people to help care for Ruth. You always loved Waycroft, James. Come, what do you say?’
‘You would do that for Ruth, after what she has done?’
‘I am doing it for you, my dear.’
‘Eleanor...my lady...are you sure this is a good idea?’ Eleanor started at the sound of Matthew’s voice. She had almost forgotten anyone else was in the room. ‘What if someone makes a mistake and Ruth gets out?’
‘Mr Damerel is right, my pet. It is too much of a risk.’
‘She will not. We will make sure she is kept securely—and comfortably—for as long as necessary. And it will be lovely to have you home, James. You can help me with the estate.’
‘Thank you, Ellie. Your generosity...’ James grasped her hands ‘... I do not feel worthy, but I am so very grateful. I will discuss it with Ruth’s doctor. He is upstairs with her now.’
Chapter Thirty
‘Her ladyship has commanded me to deny her to all callers, sir.’ Pacey st
ood square in the open doorway of Eleanor’s house in Upper Brook Street, blocking Matthew’s way.
‘It is all right, Pacey. I am sure her ladyship will make an exception for Mr Damerel.’
Lady Rothley had appeared behind Pacey, who reluctantly stood aside to allow Matthew to enter.
‘Come with me.’ Lady Rothley smiled at Matthew. ‘Let us see if you are able to lift her mood, for I have never known her so low. One would have thought, with the danger now past, she would be in the best of spirits. But, no...she has hidden herself away and, as you heard, has instructed Pacey to refuse all visitors.’
It was the day after the discovery that Ruth Weare had been behind the attacks on Eleanor. And that final attack would never have happened if Matthew had not been late calling on Eleanor. That there was a good reason for his tardiness did little to assuage his guilt over her ordeal and the distress she must still be suffering. It was only blind luck that he had arrived in time to prevent injury or even death and it would be a long time before he could forgive himself. And now... He pondered Lady Rothley’s words as he followed her to the rear of the house; there was nothing he might say to cheer Eleanor up, for he had come to say his farewells.
Eleanor was sitting by the window in the parlour when they entered. She looked over at Matthew, expressionless, her eyes dull.
‘I told Pacey no visitors,’ she said, in a lacklustre tone, ‘but good afternoon, Mr Damerel.’ She smiled, humourlessly. ‘If you have come to scold me for going to visit Ruth alone, please save your breath.’
‘I have not come to scold you.’
‘Good. All that remains, then, is for me to thank you for coming so swiftly to my aid. Aunt Lucy told me what happened.’
Matthew had arrived at Eleanor’s house just as Sir Horace had set Lady Rothley down from his carriage. Pacey had immediately told them where Eleanor was and Matthew had driven them to Hill Street in his curricle, at breakneck speed.
‘Yes, you were quite the hero,’ Lady Rothley said. ‘Heaven knows what I should have done if you hadn’t arrived when you did, with Sir Horace having already driven away and Ellie having taken the carriage.’
Return of Scandal's Son Page 21