A Beastly Scandal

by Shereen Vedam

  Seeing that her maid was still worried, Belle called a young stable boy of about nine over and gave him the cage. “There, now I have an escort. What is your name, lad?”

  “Dobby, miss.”

  “Well, Dobby, if anything untoward happens to me, will you promise to run to the inn and find this lady?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “All right, Mendal?” Belle asked. “And I shall have Earnest with me.”

  Mendal gave the dog a dubious look and then fished out a silver coin to show to the stable lad. “You will get this when the lady returns unharmed. Understand?”

  The boy’s eyes became fixated on the prize. “Yes, miss! I promise to take proper care of her. On my honor.”

  Earnest followed them toward the stable. He wagged his tail, but Belle could tell by the sadness in his eyes that he would have preferred to stay with Lord Terrance at Clearview. Although afraid of the house, Earnest was now attached to its master.

  You and I, both, she silently commiserated. “But he has thrown us both out of his home, Earnest, and this time, I will not buck his wishes.”

  Like her, Earnest must learn to settle for her company alone. The years ahead stretched lonely and forsaken. She doubted that either she or Earnest would ever be as happy as they had been at Clearview these past few weeks. She recalled her words to Susie about the need to create one’s own happiness. It was time she practiced living those words.

  Belle informed the stable master that she intended to release the owl within his stables, and he immediately balked.

  “But the owl could be an asset, sir,” she said. “It would keep down the number of voles, shrews, and wood mice and might even deter strangers from the stables at night.”

  His frown cleared at that last suggestion. “There was a murder on the premises, recently,” he said. “I suppose a night guard who is unlikely to fall asleep could be a valuable asset.”

  “Excellent thinking,” Belle said.

  Dobby carried the cage and led the way up the steps leading to the loft. Belle and Earnest followed behind him. She was glad to get away from the mucky scent of hot horses and manure and inhale the dusty but sweet scent of fresh hay.

  Once the cage was settled on the straw-laden floor, she opened its door. Then she shooed the stable boy and Earnest back, and all three sat and waited for Lady Sefton to venture outside her familiar confines.

  Belle watched the owl, speaking gently and picturing cozy corners where the owl might find a safe resting place.

  Lady Sefton twisted her head in all directions, scrutinizing the rafters, the straw beds, the horses and men far below. Finally, she hopped onto the straw-laid floor.

  “Ah!” Dobby whispered. “She is beautiful.”

  Belle patted his shoulder in approval, confident that Lady Sefton would now have a new caretaker.

  The owl fluttered her wings and took to the ceiling. She faltered in flight, and Belle sucked in her breath. But then Lady Sefton soared toward the tall timbered ceiling and found a perch by an opening near the top.

  Earnest barked once in congratulation, and the barn owl fluffed her feathers to show her satisfaction with her new abode.

  Belle closed the cage door. Lady Sefton’s flight to freedom symbolized the end of a chapter—a sad parting for both of them, but Belle was happy the bird would live in her natural environment.

  “I suppose we should return below,” she said to Dobby.

  He nodded, scrambled up, and headed for the stairs.

  She stood and then staggered, her breath knocked out of her as her current surroundings shifted out of focus, and a new one appeared. Instead of the loft with piles of sweet smelling hay bales, she was in a darkened room that stank of stale sweat, blood, and fear. And in a far corner of this room, a woman, whose wrists were rubbed raw because a rope bound her hands tight, quietly sobbed.

  The vision faded as quickly as it came. Belle hesitated. She could run down and ask the stable master to look for a woman somewhere in the stables who was being held prisoner. However, that conversation would likely go much worse than the one about Lady Sefton invading his stable. But neither could she simply leave if there was an innocent woman somewhere here, possibly about to be molested or killed. And who was to say it was the stable master who held the woman captive?

  She glanced below, where men brushed horses, cleaned equipment, or mucked out soiled straw. Each stall either housed a horse or remained empty. None held a prisoner.

  Dobby came back and looked below. “What is the matter, miss?”

  “I am not sure yet, but we are going find out.” She hurried downstairs. A crude man might have the temerity to manhandle a poor servant girl, but he would hesitate before he attempted the same with a lady from the nobility—and in front of witnesses.

  Earnest and the stable boy followed Belle down from the loft and along the stables. She nodded absently to the stable master, who was speaking to another man, and moved on before he could stop her. She did not slow until she reached a side entrance into an area where packed earth covered the ground instead of straw.

  “No one is allowed there ’cept with the blacksmith’s permission, miss,” Dobby said. “You should not go in there.”

  “Wait here for me,” she said. “If I am not back in a few minutes, find Mendal and tell her that she is to find some strong men and come looking for me. Do you understand?”

  The boy nodded, his wide-open eyes gleaming with excitement.

  Satisfied he would obey her instructions, she and Earnest ventured into the blacksmith’s arena.

  The place was quiet. To the far left, doors were flung wide open so sunlight cheerfully swept in. This area was large enough so that a wagon could be rolled in to have work done on it.

  She turned right, toward a darker section, and came upon a workbench at one end beside which sat a water tub and an anvil. A table to the side held all manner of strange tools. Racks hung on the wall with horseshoes and steel rods. On the anvil’s other side, a good six feet away, was a large forge and a coal bin.

  She eyed the several doors leading off from this section. One in particular drew her. She opened that door, and hinges creaked. She walked in absolutely certain the bound woman was nearby.

  There were no windows inside, so it took a moment to adapt to the darkness. She squinted. Was that a cot? And two piles of lumpy bedding piled on the floor beside it.

  “Maybe this will help.”

  Belle yelped and swung around. A laborer, wearing a large black leather apron overtop his clothes, stood in the doorway with a lantern in one hand and a doubled-barreled fouling piece in the other. His light fell across the room and outlined the two lumps by the bed as Mr. and Mrs. MacBride. Belle’s heart thudded in fear for them and for herself. This was more than a servant girl being molested. The MacBrides were tied and had rags stuffed into their mouths. Their terrified gazes pleaded with her for help.

  The laborer shut the door behind him.

  Earnest growled and bared his teeth.

  He aimed his pistol lower. “I suggest you hold onto that dog if you do not want him dead.”

  Belle laid a restraining hand on Earnest. The look in the man’s sinister eyes suggested that neither she nor Earnest had much longer to live.

  “Someone will look for me soon,” she said.

  The intruder laughed. “I hope you are not relying on young Dobby to assist you, milady. I have already dispatched him on an errand that should take him far away. He seemed most disappointed, but he is not foolish enough to disobey me.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Mr. Langley, the blacksmith.” He gave a bow that was no more than a presumptuous tilt of his head.

  “I am sorry to have intruded, sir,” Belle said, trying to play to his arrogance. “But why do you keep these
good people tied up?” If she distracted him enough, Earnest could leap up and dislodge his weapon.

  “Why?” Mr. Langley repeated. “For gold, of course. Why else would a decent man do evil deeds in this blighted life? Now, my master, he has motives other than wealth.”

  “Who is your master?”

  “Never you mind. You will not live long enough to use the information, so there is no need to burden you with it.”

  She tilted her chin upward. “If you harm me, Lord Terrance will not rest until you are captured.” Surely the earl’s name carried some weight with this villager.

  Apparently her threat only amused Mr. Langley, for he laughed. “Shortly, he will be no more alive than you.” He vaguely waved his gun. “My master is off to dispatch him, as he did his lordship’s father. By the time anyone is wise to the murder, we will all be richer and too far from England to worry about repercussions.”

  She shivered with terror. They planned to kill Rufus. Fear for her own safety vanished. She would have rushed the man, but she sensed they were no longer alone. Someone else had entered the room, and whoever he was, he was no longer alive. Could it be Brindle, the man she had seen murdered in this stable? Spirits who were killed unexpectedly often lingered at the site of their demise.

  And then the air above Langley’s left shoulder shimmered.

  The blacksmith followed her gaze just as the shimmer materialized into a square-shaped iron piece aimed at Langley’s head. Langley shouted in alarm and jumped aside as a ghostly hammer struck. The weapon missed his head and smashed across his right hand.

  Mr. Langley screamed and dropped his weapon.

  Belle released Earnest. “Get him!”

  The hound leaped at the ruffian and brought him to the ground.

  “Earnest, stay!”

  The hound stood over Langley, his powerful jaws within tasting distance of the man’s throat and dripping saliva.

  Quickly, Belle grabbed the fowling piece. Placing it on the cot and out of Langley’s reach, she released the MacBrides. Once they were untied, she sent the sobbing baker’s wife to fetch the stable master.

  She then gave Mr. MacBride Langley’s weapon. The man’s hands trembled more than hers, but he took the fouling piece with a fierce, determined expression. In threatening his wife, Langley had apparently crossed the MacBride retreat line.

  Satisfied Langley was not going anywhere, she was about to go find the stable master, when a ghostly whisper stopped her.

  Little time left. A hefty spirit appeared beside Mr. MacBride, holding that ghostly hammer.

  This is not Brindle was Belle’s first thought. Her memory had shown that murdered man as slender and gaunt. She gave a small shake of her head. Terrance Village seemed hectic with restless spirits. Fortunately for her and the MacBrides, whoever this ghost was, he was not Langley’s friend.

  The baker turned, and on seeing the ghost shadowing him, he screamed and dropped the fowling piece. The weapon hit the ground and fired, barely missing Langley’s foot.

  Langley swore and, shoving Earnest to the side, lunged for the weapon, but that ghostly hammer descended again.

  Langley backed away frantically, and the steel slammed on the ground, barely missing his fingers.

  Belle retrieved the fowling piece and placed it back into Mr. MacBride’s grip. “Sir, are you able to hit him with this if he moves?”

  The baker waved it at the ghost. “That . . . that is Mr. Darby!”

  Belle nodded, finally understanding this spirit’s wish to help her, as well as why he had appeared here, of all places. Though this man had died in London, he was the blacksmith Langley replaced. This stable had been his domain.

  I could not save his lordship, the ghostly Mr. Darby said. Now you must save my Constance.

  My Constance? She frowned. Did he mean Lady Terrance? Why would she be in danger? Langley had said the killer meant to harm Rufus. Then a fresh vision blasted her, and she cringed from its heat.

  Oh dear heavens! Clearview was about to go up in flames—and Rufus and his family and servants with it!

  Leaving Langley in Mr. Darby’s ghostly, and Mr. MacBride’s shaky, care, she raced into the main barn and passed the stable master, who was running toward her with Mrs. MacBride.

  There was no time for talk. She had to stop Clearview from being burned to the ground and all its occupants from being burned alive. She spotted a stable hand with a saddled horse. Shoving him aside, she mounted, and, with a kick, they trotted out the open barn doors.

  Her grandfather and Mendal came out of the inn with Dobby racing ahead of them and yelling, “The lady is in danger!”

  “Rufus needs me,” she shouted and then urged her horse into a canter that quickly turned into a gallop back to Clearview. Earnest chased after her, barking.

  Belle forgot Rufus’s order to never speak to him again. She did not care if he hated her. She loved him, his family, and his home, and she would not stand by while they all perished.

  A forlorn howl drew her glance backward. Unable to match the horse’s speed, Earnest lagged behind.

  “I am sorry, Earnest.” She sent her message with voice and thought. “Go back. Keep Grandpapa and Mendal away from Clearview. It is too dangerous there for any of you.”

  Too soon, she lost sight of the dog and forgot about him. The countryside whizzed by, and her horse’s hoofs pounded the dirt road, while in her ear, Rufus, trapped inside a burning Clearview, shouted, “Belle!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rufus straightened a tilted frame in the third floor drawing room. This time, the game of cat and mouse would be played on his terms. He had loaded his father’s dueling pistol earlier, and it rested heavy against his ribs. He absently took out his father’s gold watch and rolled it with one hand while he waited. He checked the watch again. Fifteen minutes to the appointed time.

  Would the coward show? Would he face the man whose father he had murdered?

  He checked the watch and then restlessly turned it over. On the second roll, he caught a glimpse of an inscription on the back and paused to read.

  Before me, my king. Behind me, my liege’s future.

  A strange saying. He could not recall seeing it before, but then his father had not been one for sharing intimacies. Even ones as simple as showing off his new gold watch to his son. He read the words again.

  Before me, my King . . .

  He suddenly remembered kissing Belle for the first time beside his father’s portrait. And directly across from that portrait was one of King George.

  Rufus dropped the watch on the end table and hurried out to the corridor and toward the gallery.

  ON HIS RETURN to the drawing room, Phillip was there. His cousin held his father’s watch in his hand, reading its inscription. Uneasiness crept into the room.

  “I have been looking for this for ages,” Phillip said. “Where did you find it?”

  “Father had it on his person the day he died. What are you doing here?”

  “Last summer, when you asked me to look through my uncle’s effects for what I might want, I searched for this watch. It was not among his possessions.”

  Phillip seemed intent on the watch. Rufus moved away from the doorway. He circled the room, remembering the day he found his father’s corpse. He had been shocked, saddened, and desperately unhappy. He had searched the body for a clue as to why or how this abomination could have happened. The only thing he had found was the watch. Absently, he had pocketed it.

  When it came time to dispose of his father’s effects in the London townhouse, his mother and sister had both declined to assist and bade him to deal with that unpleasant detail. He had called together Phillip and his aunt. His aunt had asked for many of his father’s collectibles. Phillip had searched carefully through everything and asked if there was anyt
hing else Rufus had missed.

  “Why do you want the watch?” Rufus asked now.

  “Uncle said he had intended to will it to me.”

  Rufus gave his cousin a startled glance. “Did he know his time was near?”

  Phillip glanced up at him and smiled. “No, nothing like that. He simply said that if anything were to befall him, he wanted me to have the watch. Will you excuse me a moment?”

  Rufus nodded as Phillip left the room. He waited. His cousin would be back. Within a few moments, he was.

  “You found it then?” Phillip said.

  Rufus stood perfectly still, not wanting to accept the thoughts nagging at the back of his mind. “Found what?”

  “Do not play games with me, Rufus.” Phillip waved the watch at him. “This is serious.”

  “I agree, my father’s murder is serious. Is there something you wish to confide in me, Phillip?” he asked.

  His cousin advanced toward him with a purposeful stride.

  “This seems to be the week of betrayals,” Rufus murmured, and backed away. “But Belle has beaten you to breaking my heart. Nothing you say could hurt me more.” He laughed, a bitter sound to his ears. “So, proceed, Cousin. Tell me you know how and why my father was murdered. Tell me he trusted you more than me.”

  Phillip shrugged. “I did not mean to lie to you. There are some things I was simply not at liberty to share. But I need those plans, Rufus.” Phillip moved in, right hand outstretched. “If you give me what you found behind your father’s portrait, I will tell you all. I promise.”

  Fool that he was, a small part of Rufus had hoped Phillip would deny all knowledge on this subject. But what Rufus had told Phillip earlier stood. If he could not trust his cousin, he could not trust anyone. He pulled out the sheath of folded papers that he had tucked into his jacket and offered them. “I only glanced at them. They look like the ship plans my father was being blackmailed about.”

  Phillip snatched the pages and scanned them. “They are. For our new fleet. The vessels are close to completion. These plans and dispatches would tell the enemy our strengths and weaknesses and could turn the war in Bonaparte’s favor.”