‘And I now hold another ten thousand,’ Damian said with a smile. ‘Far more than Bernard Harrington could ever hope to pay. What do you imagine the outcome would be if I were to buy your notes and present the entire holding to a magistrate?’
‘He would be arrested and taken to the debtors’ prison until he could pay—which he couldn’t, as far as I can tell.’
‘Exactly.’ Damian smiled wolfishly. ‘What is the precise sum you are owed, sir? I shall engage to cover it and relieve you of the burden.’
‘What has Harrington done to you?’ Tamworth shook his head as Damian’s mouth hardened to an uncompromising line. ‘No, no need to tell me. I dare say he deserves it. Five thousand I’m owed.’ He took some scraps of paper from his coat pocket and laid them on the table. ‘Not worth a penny to me—but perhaps to you?’
‘If you will furnish me with your address, sir, I shall send you a draft on my bank in the morning.’ Damian pocketed the notes, shook hands once more, then hesitated. ‘In the unlikely event that Harrington does name his seconds, my advice is to hold your fire until he discharges his own pistol, especially if you mean to fire into the air. Turn your back while he has a loaded pistol and…well, I leave the rest to your own good sense.’
He nodded and walked away, leaving Tamworth to stare after him.
‘Well, what do you make of that?’ he asked as an interested observer sat down on the chair Damian had vacated.
‘Don’t you know the story?’
Tamworth shook his head.
‘Wrexham killed Harrington’s younger brother in a duel years ago. He waited until Roderick had fired, then turned his back. Must have decided he didn’t want to go through with it, I suppose. Roderick had another pistol inside his coat…tiny thing but powerful enough to nick Wrexham’s arm as he walked away. Wrexham turned and shot him, put a ball dead between his eyes from thirty paces. It was pretty to see, so they said, took his time as he was entitled to do…and then fired.’
‘Good grief!’ Tamworth ejaculated. ‘And now he’s after the other one. What do you suppose they did to him?’
‘It was all hushed up, but there was talk of a woman being abducted and raped. The thing was, Wrexham went after the wrong brother. Everyone knew Roderick might have had a hand in it—he was completely under Bernard’s domination, always did as he told him—but he wouldn’t have raped the girl. Not his style; tastes in a different category altogether, if you see what I mean.’
‘So it was Bernard who raped the girl…and now Wrexham knows about it?’ Tamworth nodded. ‘Sounds as if debtors’ row is too good for Harrington.’
‘That’s if he ever gets there. He has a sister. She was left a considerable fortune by her husband. Harrington will wheedle the money from her if he can.’
‘He might be better off going to prison,’ Tamworth remarked as he recalled the look on Damian’s face. ‘Unless he fancies a ball between the eyes.’
‘Oh, Rosalyn,’ Beatrice cried as she entered the parlour, ‘he is here. I cannot imagine why Freddie told her to invite him. It will spoil everything.’
‘Why, what can you mean?’
Rosalyn looked at her in surprise. Beatrice was obviously agitated. She paced about the room in distress for some seconds, before turning to face Rosalyn.
‘Bernard Harrington is here! Aunt Patricia invited him without telling me. It seems he is in some financial difficulty. Oh, I do wish he had not come!’
‘You cannot believe he would dare to embarrass you in that way?’ Rosalyn said. ‘Not now that you are to marry?’ She saw the fear and revulsion in the girl’s face and moved towards her instinctively. ‘If he dared to lay a finger on you, Freddie would take a horse whip to him. You have only to tell him what you fear and—’
‘It would cause a terrible scene,’ Beatrice said, biting her bottom lip to stop it trembling. ‘I really cannot tell Freddie—but you must promise never to leave me alone with Bernard. Please, Rosalyn. I should die if he tried to kiss me again. He makes me go cold all over. He is the most detestable man I have ever met. Truly he is.’
‘Do you not think you might be overreacting?’ Rosalyn asked, looking at her flushed cheeks. ‘Could it not be that you have allowed a small incident to play too much on your mind?’
‘No!’ Beatrice shuddered. ‘It is the way he looks at me as if… Oh, I cannot tell you. You must believe me! You must.’
Rosalyn could see she was nearly hysterical. She took her hands, holding them, calming her.
‘I do believe you, dearest,’ she said, ‘and I shall do everything in my power to protect you.’
Rosalyn still felt it would be best if Beatrice were to confide her fears in Freddie, but she realised that would be too painful and embarrassing for the girl. Perhaps it would be better if nothing were said just yet, but if she considered Beatrice to be in danger, she would tell Freddie herself.
Rosalyn had thought Beatrice might be overreacting until she herself met the man later that morning. He was without doubt a repulsive creature, his face a pasty white and bloated, with dead, reptilian eyes that seemed to strip a woman naked.
No wonder Beatrice was frightened of him! Rosalyn was conscious of some apprehension herself, despite his many efforts to ingratiate himself with her.
‘I have heard so much about you,’ he said, bowing over her hand as they were introduced. ‘You are far more lovely than the rumours…which I assure you are rife in town. They say Davenport and Forster were at each other’s throats over you at Renshaw’s ball.’
Rosalyn removed her hand from his moist grasp, barely repressing a shudder as she surreptitiously wiped it on her gown a moment or so later. It took all her resolution not to betray her extreme dislike of him, but for the time being she had no alternative other than to show him the politeness she owed to her brother’s guests.
‘You flatter me, sir. I am sure it was nothing but a friendly rivalry—a jest for the evening, no more.’
‘I do assure you it is true, Miss Eastleigh. Do not tell me that neither of them came up to scratch? Can they be such fools?’
His attempts to flirt with her made Rosalyn’s skin crawl. She saw Mrs Jenkins watching with a complacent smile. Good gracious! Could she be condoning his pursuit of a woman she had almost accused of having fallen from grace—of having consorted in the garden with a lover? Surely not! She would not consider Rosalyn a fitting wife for her brother, would she?
And yet there had been a subtle change in Mrs Jenkins’s manner towards her. She was not exactly friendly…more watchful, wary. What could she be thinking?
Rosalyn’s fortune was not exceptionable. Her trust provided her with a comfortable independence, but she imagined her capital could not be more than five or six thousand pounds. She had never bothered to go into details, but supposed it would be released if she married.
Surely the brother and sister could not be considering the idea? No, no, it was quite ridiculous! Rosalyn dismissed the thought…and yet an uncomfortable suspicion lingered as the days passed and he continued to pay her fulsome compliments.
Rosalyn did her best to ward off his unwanted attentions without being rude. She was better able to cope with his advances than poor Beatrice, who stayed as close as possible to Freddie and barely opened her mouth when Bernard Harrington was in the room.
Even Maria confided she could not like him, and Sarah Jane could not be brought to stay in the room if he was there.
‘He is so ugly,’ she told Rosalyn with a shudder. ‘And those eyes—ugh! You have to be polite to him, I suppose, but I don’t. I am only a child. I’m not expected to understand Society manners.’
The look on her face was pure wickedness. Sarah Jane was not above claiming to be grown up when it suited her. However, she was seldom in the house these days. If she wasn’t taking Sheba for a walk, she was out riding with one of the grooms. Her new regime of exercise suited her, bringing a fresh bloom to her cheeks.
Freddie’s manner towards Harrington was at bes
t brusque.
‘I wish he would take himself off,’ he confided to Rosalyn in a private moment. ‘But I cannot ask him to leave.’
Only Harrington’s sister seemed pleased to have him staying, so it surprised Rosalyn to hear them having harsh words when she came in from the garden the day before Beatrice’s dance.
She paused outside the door of her parlour, not liking to enter when they were so obviously having an argument.
‘I’ve told you before, Bernard,’ Mrs Jenkins was saying. ‘I am willing to pay any reasonable debts from tradesmen—but not your losses at the card tables. You must find some way of paying them yourself.’
‘I would if I could,’ he replied. ‘Damn it, Patricia! I would not have come to you if there was any other way. I’ve mortgaged my land to the hilt. Even if I sold everything, I could not pay a third of what I owe. Now this damned lawyer is pressing me to settle my notes.’
‘I thought you said they were owed to gentlemen who would give you time to sort out your affairs?’
‘I thought they would, but apparently the notes have been sold on and the new creditor is determined to be paid. It is a damned nuisance, but perfectly legal. I am obliged to pay—or face the consequences.’
‘Could you not see this person, ask him to be reasonable? Even if I were to pay a part of what you owe, I could not release the money for some weeks.’
‘The lawyer has given me two weeks. After that, they will apply to the courts…and I’ll be finished. I’ve given notes on property that no longer belongs to me, Patricia; land I have already mortgaged to the bank. That’s fraud; I shall go to prison for it.’
‘Then you must do something about it,’ his sister said sharply. ‘Marry Miss Eastleigh. Her capital is nearly fifteen thousand, though I doubt she knows it. I saw the papers in Sir Frederick’s desk when we were in London. She can dispose of the money as she pleases once she is married.’
‘She wouldn’t have me. I dare say she could take a pick of half-a-dozen fellows if she cared to—but they say she does not wish to marry.’
‘Then think of some way to persuade her…’
Rosalyn turned away in disgust, having heard more than enough. Mrs Jenkins should be ashamed of herself for trying to foist her brother on an unsuspecting victim—except that Rosalyn was neither unsuspecting or a victim. She would not in any case have married Bernard Harrington, and now she would take good care never to be alone with him.
Rosalyn was in her bedroom changing for dinner that evening when Sarah Jane burst in. Her hair was hanging loose about her shoulders, her gown had been torn and there was a scratch on her cheek.
‘What has happened to you?’ Rosalyn cried, terrible thoughts chasing through her mind. Had the girl fallen from her horse, or was there something more sinister behind her dishevelled appearance? ‘Are you hurt, dearest? Did someone try to harm you?’
Sarah Jane was fighting for breath. ‘No, I’m not hurt,’ she managed to gasp out. ‘It isn’t me, it’s Jared—they are trying to kidnap him. Two men…enemies of his father…’
‘What?’ Rosalyn laid down her hairbrush with a clatter. ‘Tell me more details, Sarah. Two men, you say—where are they?’
‘In the field behind the orchard,’ Sarah said, recovering her breath. ‘Sheba is with him, fighting them, but Rajib is hurt and I think they may kill Jared. He told me to run away, but I came to fetch you. We must help them. We must!’
‘We shall certainly try,’ Rosalyn said. ‘And we must hurry.’
Her long hair was hanging loose about her face and she was still wearing her blue silk wrapping-gown over her chemise. She did not stop to bother with her clothes. Instead, she went over to her dressing chest and took out one of a pair of pistols that had belonged to her father, which she had kept by her after his death. She had recently cleaned and loaded it, in case someone tried to pay an unexpected and unwelcome visit to her room. Picking it up, she looked at Sarah Jane.
‘Find Freddie, if you can—but stay here in the house. Do not follow me. It may be dangerous.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Whatever is necessary,’ Rosalyn said. ‘Tell no one else but Freddie—and stay here.’ She did not wait to hear the girl’s answer.
It took only a few seconds to run down the stairs. Maria called to her, but Rosalyn did not look back as she left the house and ran across the lawns towards the orchard. Later, she would ask Sarah how she had happened to be with Jared when he was attacked, but for now all she could think of was that she might be too late. Damian had told her the youth’s life had been in danger in India, but she had not dreamed there were would be another attempt on him here—and in broad daylight!
She ran faster, lifting the skirt of her dressing gown so that it did not impede her, heart pounding, lips moving in fervent prayer: let her be in time. These men must not be allowed to snatch Jared, for it would mean almost certain death for him. Please, God! Let her be in time!
Had it not been for Sheba, Rosalyn might very well have arrived too late. The terrifying scene that met her eyes as she left the orchard and began to run up the pasture land beyond was something she would always remember in her nightmares. Sheba was defending her friend with all her strength, growling and snapping ferociously.
Rosalyn saw the bitch jump at one of the men, biting his leg and shaking her head as if he were a rabbit. She heard the man’s scream of pain. A second man carried a long, curving sword which he was using to try and fight off the brave animal. Before Rosalyn could reach them, she saw the blade flash out and suddenly Sheba lay still, her coat stained with the blood that was draining out of the deep wound in her neck.
Rosalyn saw one of the men try to grab Jared, who seemed stunned and could only stare at the lifeless body of the animal he had loved. Lying face down on the ground a few yards away was another man—a man Rosalyn imagined must be Jared’s servant Rajib.
She did the only thing she could think of and fired in the direction of the second assassin, who was holding his leg and leaving the capture of Jared to his companion. Her ball went wide, as indeed it must, for she was not near enough, nor sufficiently skilled to hit him. However, her shot had a powerful effect on both the men. They stared at her as she took aim more carefully this time, then the injured one started screaming something in his native tongue; he began to hobble away as fast as he could, and was followed a few seconds later by his companion.
Rosalyn reached the top of the rise, steadying her right hand with her left as she aimed the pistol and fired once more. Her shot was close enough to cause a scream of fear as the ball whistled past the nearest man; it terrified him and both men fled as if the devil were after them. Her momentary feeling of elation faded as she turned to see Jared cradling Sheba in his arms. He looked up at her, tears streaming down his cheeks.
‘She saved me,’ he said in a choking voice. ‘They would have killed me—but Sheba saved me and now she is dead.’
Rosalyn’s eyes filled with tears as she saw it was true. Sadness swept over her. She had loved the noisy, tiresome creature—but not as Jared had, not with a love that hurt as his so plainly did. He stared up at her pitifully, his dark eyes reflecting the depth of his pain and anger.
‘Sheba loved you,’ she said, laying her hand on his bowed head. Her heart went out to him in his grief and loneliness: the bitch had been all he had to love. ‘She was a brave dog and died as she would have wanted, saving her beloved master.’
‘She was your dog, mem-sahib.’
‘No, she was yours,’ Rosalyn replied. ‘She chose you—and I was happy with that choice.’
Hearing a moan behind her, Rosalyn turned and then went over to where Rajib lay on the ground. His clothes were heavily stained with blood. He had been stabbed several times in the chest and arm, having fought valiantly to prevent the kidnappers taking his master’s son. She knelt beside him as he opened his eyes.
‘It is all right,’ she said. ‘Jared is safe. But you are badly hurt. We must
get you home.’
‘My master’s son…’ Rajib looked beyond her, then sighed with relief as he saw Jared still kneeling by the dog; he closed his eyes again. ‘I heard the shots. You came in time, mem-sahib. I owe you a debt of honour. If you had not come, if they had taken him, I should have died of shame.’
As Rosalyn had always suspected, he spoke perfect English, but until now he had not chosen to speak to her. She understood now his presence in her garden the night Sheba had attacked him, and his resentment at her interference: he had been merely doing his duty, trying to protect a wilful, unhappy boy.
‘It was fortunate that Sarah found me so quickly,’ Rosalyn said as she realised he was trying to rise. ‘Can you walk if we help you? Or shall I send for someone to carry you on a gate?’
‘I think I can walk…’
He groaned as he flopped over to one side and managed to kneel, then, clearly in great pain, forced himself to stand upright. Rosalyn took his uninjured arm, helping to support him, and he muttered his thanks.
‘Come, Jared,’ Rosalyn said. ‘We shall send someone to fetch Sheba later. She will be buried in the gardens of my home—but you can visit her grave whenever you wish. You must help me with Rajib. He needs urgent attention or he may bleed to death.’
‘Yes.’ Jared stood up. His manner was quiet and dignified as he came to stand with her as she helped Rajib to remain on his feet. He looked apologetically at his servant. ‘You almost gave your life for me, too,’ he said. ‘Damian was right. I should not have disobeyed you. I should have stayed close to the house as you bade me. Will you forgive me, Rajib?’
‘It was my duty to protect you,’ Rajib said. ‘I knew it made you angry—but my master bade me watch over you.’
‘Thank you. Please lean on me, Rajib. Miss Eastleigh will help you if you put your arm over her shoulder.’
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