His Countess for a Week

by Sarah Mallory

  * * *

  The weather continued cold and a grey blanket of cloud hung low over the houses as Arabella and her maid hurried back to Park Street.

  ‘So much for March going out like a lamb,’ muttered Ruth, trotting along beside her mistress. ‘This north wind is biting. I have just felt a spot of rain, too. We should have taken the carriage.’

  ‘To carry us barely half a mile? I think not,’ said Arabella. ‘Besides, I did not want Sir Adam or Lady Roffey to know where I had gone, in case it was a fool’s errand.’

  Ruth’s response was no more than a sniff, but it clearly conveyed her disapproval. Arabella ignored her. She pushed her hands more firmly into her fur muff and lengthened her stride. By the time she walked around the corner into Park Street she was some way ahead of her maid.

  She had not gone many yards when a man crossed the road in front of her. He touched his hat as she approached.

  ‘Mrs Roffey?’

  Arabella stopped. He was dressed respectably enough in a plain dark coat with a muffler wrapped about his neck, but she regarded him with suspicion. He held out a small bundle, tied with string and sealed.

  ‘I was instructed to give this to you.’

  Cautiously she held out her hand, and as the man gave her the package, he said, ‘You are to read the enclosed note when you are alone. Tell no one.’

  He touched his hat again and went on his way.

  ‘Who was that, madam?’ Ruth came up beside her mistress, breathing heavily from the exertion. ‘What has he given you?’

  Arabella shook her head and tucked the package into her muff.

  ‘We will open it when we are indoors.’

  They continued to the house in silence and made their way to Arabella’s room, where Ruth banked up the fire while her mistress took out the small bundle, placed it on the dressing table and stared at it for a long time.

  ‘Well,’ said the maid, ‘are you going to open it?’

  ‘I think we must.’

  Arabella carefully broke the seal and unfolded the heavy paper. Inside was a gold ring, wrapped about with a sheet of notepaper. As she studied the ring a chill ran down her back. She felt the blood draining from her face.

  ‘It is Randolph’s,’ she whispered, her throat drying with fear.

  With trembling fingers she flattened the paper and read the black writing sprawled across it. Ruth hurried across and tried to peer over her shoulder.

  ‘What does it say?’

  Arabella handed the paper to her maid, who scanned it silently, her lips moving as she read the words. When she had finished, she looked up slowly.

  ‘But I do not understand.’

  Arabella looked again at the ring. ‘It is very simple.’ Surely it was not her voice speaking. It sounded far too calm for the churning fear inside her. ‘A carriage will be waiting for me at the corner of the street tonight at eleven o’clock. To take me to Ran. If I do not go, if I tell anyone of this, he will be killed.’

  Ruth stared at her mistress. ‘We should tell someone, immediately.’

  ‘But who?’ Arabella spread her hands. ‘Sir Adam is too ill, and the only other man in town that I trust...’ Her voice caught on a sob. ‘My only friend here is Randolph.’

  ‘Bow Street, then. Let us inform the magistrate!’

  ‘What can they do? We have no idea where the Earl may be.’

  ‘They could follow you. I could follow you!’

  She shook her head. ‘You have read the letter, Ruth. It says quite clearly that if there is any reason to suspect I am not alone, the Earl will die immediately.’

  ‘And you believe that?’

  ‘I cannot afford to take the risk.’ She began to pace the room, the ring clasped between her hands, pressing into the palms. ‘If, as I suspect, Charles Teddington is behind this, he hates Ran enough to dispose of him without a qualm.’

  ‘How do we know he has not already done so?’

  Arabella stopped.

  ‘I dare not think of that,’ she whispered.

  The maid closed her eyes as if uttering a silent prayer.

  ‘What will you do?’ she said at last.

  ‘I must go and find out what they want with me. Although I think I know that, already.’

  ‘Miss Arabella, I cannot let you do this.’

  ‘I have no choice.’

  ‘I shall tell Lady Roffey!’

  ‘You will do no such thing.’ Arabella caught Ruth’s arms and gave her a little shake. ‘You will tell no one in this house. No one, do you understand me? Not while there is a possibility of rescuing the Earl alive.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Bella, I won’t stand by while you go off heaven knows where! Let me come with you!’

  ‘No, I think you will be more use to me if you stay here,’ said Arabella. She fixed her eyes on Ruth. ‘You must promise to do exactly as I say!’

  Chapter Sixteen

  The sonorous toll from a nearby clock tower had already begun to proclaim the hour when Arabella slipped out of the house. Wrapped in a black cloak and with the hood pulled well over her face, she was nothing but a shadow moving silently along the dark street. Ahead of her, near the junction with Upper Brook Street, stood a coach, its driver huddled into his greatcoat and his hat pulled low. As she approached, a figure detached itself from the shadow of the carriage, and in the dim light of the streetlamp she recognised him as the messenger who had accosted her earlier that day.

  ‘Mrs Roffey?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Put back your hood, madam. I need to be sure.’

  With shaking hands she lifted the heavy material back from her face. The man peered at her for a moment, then nodded, apparently satisfied. He opened the door of the carriage, but made no effort to help her ascend the steps. She paused.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘Get in.’

  Her heart thudding, Arabella climbed into the black interior, her eyes straining in the darkness to see if there was anyone else in the coach. To her relief, she was alone. She sat down in one corner and looked out through the glass as the coach moved off. She kept a careful watch, noting when they swung around at the corner of Hyde Park, then on again, past Green Park and the Queen’s gardens. They were going south, towards the river, and her mind was turning over so many frightening scenarios she could hardly breathe. Pressing her face close to the window, she could see no sign of anyone following the same route, and she could not decide whether that was a matter for hope or despair.

  At last the carriage turned into a side street and stopped at a terrace of houses. Arabella stepped out and stared up at the line of buildings. There were no streetlamps, but from the light of the half-moon she could see it had once been a row of substantial houses, although they had now fallen into disrepair. There were boards across many of the windows, and as she descended from the carriage, she noticed a general smell of decay in the air.

  The door directly in front of her was open slightly and lamplight glimmered from the narrow passage. It was the only sign of life in the whole row. The man she had come to think of as the messenger touched her elbow.

  ‘This way.’

  She shook off his hand and trod briskly up the steps. Pushing open the door, she stopped.

  ‘Where is the Earl?’

  The man waved her on.

  ‘Top of the stairs,’ he said, following her up the steps and into the passage. ‘First door.’

  Arabella picked up her skirts and climbed the dark, unlit stairs. The air felt damp against her skin and beneath her feet the treads were gritty with dust. A bead of light gleamed under the door at the top of the stairs, and she reached for the handle, her hand trembling. Taking a steadying breath, she opened the door and stepped inside. From the light of the single lamp on an upturned crate she could see a figure lying on the bare boards,
his hands and feet shackled. Her heart jumped and she felt a jolt of confusion. It was not the Earl.

  By the next heartbeat she had realised her mistake. Blood had darkened his blond hair and streaked his face, but it was definitely Randolph. With a cry she ran forward, dropping to her knees beside him. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing. She felt faint with relief to know he was alive.

  ‘Ran! What have they done to you?’

  ‘Don’t worry, he will live. For now.’ A black shape rose from a chair in the shadowed corner of the room. Charles Teddington.

  Arabella turned to glare at him. ‘What have you done to him?’

  ‘Ursula said you would come, if you thought Westray was in danger. No need to fret because he is in irons. He will be used to that, as a convict. We have things to discuss, Mrs Roffey.’

  ‘I will discuss nothing until I have ascertained how badly he is hurt. I must bathe his face. Fetch me some water, now.’

  She feared he might refuse her imperious demand, but he shrugged and walked to the door, shouting orders to someone below.

  ‘He has sustained a beating, nothing worse. It would not accord with my plans for him to be killed. Yet.’

  ‘Your plans?’

  ‘To make you my wife, of course.’

  She had picked up Randolph’s hand, staring at the grazed and bloody knuckles. He had fought back, but it had not been enough and had probably resulted in more injury. Arabella felt quite sick at the thought, but pushed it away. She must be strong, for both of them.

  She said, with withering scorn, ‘You think doing this to him will persuade me to marry you?’

  ‘No,’ replied Teddington. ‘It is the thought of what I might do to him that will persuade you.’

  The messenger came in carrying a washbowl and jug and over his arm was a ragged piece of material. As he put everything down beside Arabella, she ordered him to bring some drinking water.

  ‘Or tea. Tea would be better.’ She added scornfully, ‘I doubt the water in this place is fit to drink.’

  The man hesitated and looked towards his master.

  ‘There is no tea and the water is perfectly drinkable,’ Teddington snapped. He turned to the messenger. ‘Bring wine, Barnes. And brandy. I am sure the lady needs something to revive her, do you not, madam?’

  Arabella ignored him. She set to work cleaning Ran’s face with the wet cloth, gently wiping the blood from his cheek and his brow. It was impossible to clean the hair thoroughly, but closer inspection showed the head wound was not as bad as she had first thought and thankfully it had stopped bleeding.

  There was a scrap of worn blanket beside the Earl. She folded it and tenderly lifted his head to place it on the improvised pillow. She raged inwardly, but held her tongue as the man named Barnes came back in with a tray bearing glasses, bottles and a jug of water.

  ‘How dare you do this,’ she muttered angrily, when Barnes had departed again.

  ‘Oh, I dare,’ replied Teddington, sneering. ‘I dare a great deal to win the woman I love.’

  ‘Love! You do not love me. It is my money that you want.’ She stood, refusing to beg on her knees. ‘I will give it to you, all of it. You have my word. I will sign everything over to you, only let me take the Earl away with me now.’

  ‘Do you think I will believe that?’ His lip curled. ‘Do you think the Roffeys would allow you to give away your fortune? No, Arabella, I want you for my wife. George never appreciated what a little beauty he had in his possession, but I intend to enjoy your money and your charms, madam.’ He smiled and her blood ran cold.

  There was a groan and she quickly turned back to kneel beside Randolph, who was trying to sit up. He fell back, his breath coming in painful, ragged gasps.

  ‘Be easy,’ she murmured, wiping beads of sweat from his brow.

  His eyelids flickered, the long, thick lashes lifted. At first his blue eyes looked dazed, vacant. Then he recognised her and her heart swelled when he murmured her name.

  ‘Yes, Ran,’ she said softly. ‘I am with you.’

  ‘Here,’ said Teddington. ‘Give him this.’

  Without thinking, Arabella took the glass from him and held it to Ran’s lips, but he pushed it away.

  ‘No. No wine.’

  ‘No, of course,’ she murmured. ‘I beg your pardon.’

  Teddington snorted. ‘What sort of man is he if he is afraid to drink a glass of claret?’ He sneered. ‘Damned Methodist!’

  ‘He is more of a man than you will ever be!’ cried Arabella, turning on him.

  ‘He has a title, madam, and I suppose that is what attracts you, ain’t it? He’s a damned killer, but you will overlook that to make yourself a countess.’

  ‘I would no more marry for a title than I would for money!’ She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She needed to keep her wits about her. ‘Why are you doing this? I have already refused you. Surely you do not want an unwilling wife.’

  ‘Once we are married you will come around. You will soon learn to appreciate my attentions.’ She shivered in horror when he bared his teeth. He did not see it, for he was already looking away, brushing dust from his sleeve. ‘But I need you to come to the altar willingly. I cannot risk your friends and family forcing an annulment.’ He patted his coat. ‘I have a licence in my pocket. Everything is arranged. In the morning we shall drive to St Anne’s and be married at eleven o’clock. Everything will be carried out with the strictest propriety. And once I have made sure of you...’ again, that lecherous smile ‘...I will give orders to release Lord Westray.’

  Ran lifted his manacled hands and plucked at her sleeve. ‘Do not believe him.’ His voice rasped painfully. ‘I could inform upon him. He cannot. He cannot let me live.’

  Arabella covered Ran’s fingers with her own, knowing he spoke the truth. She held up her head and spoke with a confidence she was far from feeling.

  ‘You should forget this nonsense, Mr Teddington. I will not make a pretence of wanting to marry you. You should allow me to leave now and to take the Earl with me.’

  Teddington laughed and folded his arms.

  ‘Why should I do that, my dear? There is only one bargain to be struck here. Your hand in exchange for the Earl’s life. If you refuse to cooperate, then his body will be found in the Thames and yours may follow, when I have finished with you. So, you see, you will marry me, if you want your lover to live.’

  Ran had slipped back into unconsciousness and she could only be thankful he had not heard Teddington’s words. They hung over her like a threatening cloud. All she could do was to play for time.

  ‘And if I agree, tell me what will happen to the Earl.’

  ‘He will be put into the care of the Captain of a certain transport ship, bound for the Americas.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Why are you so horrified, my dear? His Lordship is accustomed to long sea voyages. He has survived two and it is possible he will survive a third.’ That horrid smile grew. ‘Only this time I have taken steps to ensure he will never find his way back to England.’

  Arabella could not speak. She was filled with a sickening combination of fear and horror. Not at the prospect of her own fate, but the idea that Ran might perish at sea or, at best, face another lonely exile. It was too much to be borne.

  Teddington looked at his watch. ‘It grows late and I need your decision. Now, madam.’

  ‘It seems I have no choice.’

  He nodded. ‘Very wise. There is a pencil and paper by the lamp. I need you to write to the Roffeys, saying you are staying with friends this evening. Do it now and make it convincing, or I shall have to dictate it for you.’

  Slowly she complied. He picked up the note and read it before folding it and placing it in his pocket. ‘Good. Now let us get out of here.’

  She ignored his outstretched hand.

 
‘I want to stay. With Lord Westray.’ She was shaking, but anger gave her the strength to look Teddington in the face. ‘I have promised to give you the remainder of my life. Surely you can allow me this one last night.’

  She saw the flash of triumph in his eyes as he took her words as an acceptance of his plan. He nodded.

  ‘Very well. You may stay here. Sleep on the floor with your lover, if you wish.’ His lip curled. ‘I do not think he is capable of pleasuring you tonight! I shall be back at dawn to take you to Lady Meon. She will ensure you are dressed appropriately for your wedding day.’

  He picked up the lamp from the makeshift table.

  ‘I almost forgot. I have this for the Earl.’ He pulled a small bottle from his pocket and put it down where the lamp had been. ‘You might want to give that to him. It will help with the pain.’

  He went out and shut the door, plunging the room into darkness. She heard the key turn in the lock, footsteps descending the stairs, the thud of the door. Then there was silence. The moon shone in through the window, and as Arabella’s eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, the pale light was enough to see all but the darkest corners of the room. She looked down at Randolph, lying unconscious on the floor.

  Lover.

  He had taken her to bed but once—did that make them lovers? She thought not. She had been distraught, needing comfort, and he had given her a glorious night which would live in her memory for ever. In return, she had dragged him into disaster. She squeezed her eyes, but could not prevent a tear trickling down her cheek. She dashed it away angrily.

  ‘Don’t cry, love.’

  Ran’s gentle voice brought even more tears. She sniffed and dragged out her handkerchief.

  ‘I beg your pardon. This is no time for weakness.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘What happened, Ran—how long have you been here?’

  ‘I was set upon this morning. I thought it was footpads, but I know now they were Teddington’s hirelings. They clubbed me unconscious and brought me here.’ He tried to get up and fell back, wincing. ‘I don’t think anything is broken, save perhaps a rib or two, but it hurts like the very devil.’