Sweet Awakening

by Marjorie Farrell

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Sabrina sat down at her dressing table so that her maid could do up the last tapes of her morning dress, and opened the note. “Lady Sabrina, Lord Rainsborough has been shot. Lady Rainsborough has need of a friend.” Peters.

  “Surely this must be some joke,” muttered Sabrina. “But you say Peters delivered it himself?”

  “Yes, William said he was very insistent that you get it right away.”

  Sabrina stood up suddenly, jerking the last tape out of her abigail’s hands.

  “Have a footman pour me some tea. I will be going to Lady Rainsborough’s directly.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Sabrina was out the door and down the hall, knocking on her brother’s door.

  “Giles, Giles. Are you awake?” She could hear him groaning. He had come in late last night, and she had seen him drink more than was his wont after his tête-à-tête with Clare.

  “Giles!”

  “All right, Sabrina, all right. This had better be important.” Giles opened the door and looked both annoyed and bleary-eyed as he tied his dressing gown together.

  “The Rainsborough butler delivered this a few minutes ago,” said Sabrina, thrusting the note at him.

  Giles looked up from the paper with a puzzled look on his face that would have been almost comical under any other circumstances. “Rainsborough dead? Shot? Was it intruders?”

  “I don’t know, Giles, but clearly I must get over to Clare immediately.”

  “I will go with you,” he said instantly.

  “I think it would be better if you told her parents, Giles. No doubt the servants are already gossiping, and I wouldn’t want the Dysarts to hear it third-hand.”

  Giles frowned. “I suppose you are right. Please give Clare my sympathy.”

  “I will,” said Sabrina.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As she turned onto St. James Street, Sabrina saw that there was a Runner standing in front of the Rainsborough town house. It must have been attempted robbery, she thought. Perhaps Justin had surprised a burglar in the act. The Runner moved in front of the door as Sabrina came up the stairs and asked her to identify herself.

  “I am Lady Sabrina Whitton,” she answered frostily. “I was summoned early this morning to be with Lady Rainsborough.”

  “All right, my lady. No need to get so high in the instep. I was told to keep everyone out except for my lady’s friend. Which is you,” he added with a smile as he opened the door for her.

  Peters was almost effusive in his greetings when Sabrina entered the hallway. “Thank you so much for coming, Lady Sabrina. This has been a horrible ordeal, horrible. I will show you up.”

  As Sabrina mounted the stairs, she saw another Runner off to her left standing in front of what she thought was the library door, and she shivered. That must have been where the intruder broke in, she thought. That could have been where Justin was killed.

  Peters knocked softly on his mistress’s door, and Liza opened it.

  “Lady Sabrina Whitton to see my lady,” he announced in a solemn whisper.

  “Come in, Lady Sabrina,” said Liza with a relieved smile. “I am very worried about Lady Rainsborough.”

  Sabrina walked very quickly past Clare’s abigail, eager to take Clare in her arms and hear the whole dreadful story, and then froze mid-way.

  “I can’t get her into bed, Lady Sabrina,” whispered Liza behind her.

  Clare was standing to the left of her bed, back to the window, holding a small iron fireplace shovel in her hands. She was still in her green silk ball gown, or what had been green silk. It was now stained so horribly that Sabrina gasped.

  “I could not get her to take it off, my lady,” whispered Liza.

  “Clare,” Sabrina said softly. “I am here, my dear. I am so sorry that Justin has been hurt.”

  Clare lifted the shovel in front of her. “I will not let him kill me,” she said fiercely. “I will not.”

  “You are safe, Clare. There are two Runners here. The intruder will not come back.”

  “Justin?”

  “I don’t know yet, my dear, but I think he is dead,” said Sabrina gently.

  “But I saw him move,” said Clare in a terrified whisper.

  “Then, perhaps he is not dead,” replied Sabrina, reassuringly.

  Clare began to shake. “If he is not, then I am.”

  Sabrina looked over to Liza, bewildered by her friend’s words.

  “The master is dead, Lady Sabrina. I keep telling her that, but she doesn’t seem to believe me.”

  “But why then ...?”

  “Oh, it was no robber, my lady. It was Lady Rainsborough who killed her husband.”

  Sabrina looked at Clare and really saw her for the first time, not just the bloodstained gown. Her friend’s face was red and bruised, and her lips were swollen. There were livid marks around Clare’s throat, she realized, just as though someone had been trying to strangle her. And if there had been no intruder, then Clare was terrified of Justin. Of her own husband.

  Sabrina took a deep breath. “Liza, could you please bring some hot water for Lady Rainsborough’s bath.”

  “I tried to get her to take that gown off, but she wouldn’t, my lady,” said the Liza, eager to explain that she, Lady Rainsborough’s abigail, had not been negligent.

  “Perhaps I can persuade her.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Sabrina walked over to her friend. “Clare, will you let me help you take off this gown?”

  Clare backed away. “But I saw him move, Sabrina.”

  “Clare, if I went down and ... saw Justin dead, would that reassure you?”

  “Would you, Sabrina? Would you make sure he is dead?” Tears started running down Clare’s cheeks. Sabrina was here. Sabrina would make sure Justin couldn’t get up from where he lay and begin to choke her again.

  “Yes, Clare. But you must sit down and rest while I am gone.”

  Clare shook her head.

  “You will be all right alone for a few minutes?”

  Clare nodded.

  “I will be right back,” Sabrina assured her.

  Sabrina made her way down the stairs and approached Peters. “Lady Rainsborough is fearful that her husband is still alive.”

  “Lord Rainsborough is most certainly dead, Lady Sabrina.”

  “I promised her I would see for myself, Peters.”

  The butler frowned.

  “She won’t sit, she won’t bathe, she is in a state of shock, Peters.”

  “It is not a pleasant sight, Lady Sabrina,” he warned her.

  “Neither is Lady Rainsborough.”

  The butler approached the Runner guarding the library and then summoned Sabrina. “You can go in for only a minute, my lady.”

  The Runner pushed open the library door. Justin Rainsborough lay on his back, eyes wide open as though searching the ceiling for an answer to his predicament. His shirt was as horribly stained as Clare’s dress, and there was a dueling pistol on the carpet beside him.

  “They will be by for the body shortly, my lady. Have you seen enough?” asked the Runner.

  Sabrina, who was holding her hand to her mouth, nodded.

  “Are you all right, my lady?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Get the lady a chair,” said the Runner sharply, after looking more closely at Sabrina’s face.

  Sabrina sank into it gratefully, and put her head between her legs for a few minutes.

  “I am sorry, Officer. I am not usually this hen-hearted.”

  The Runner patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “Now, now, my lady, it is a hard sight for anyone not used to it. And even for those of us who are. The lady did a fine job on her husband.”

  “Then it was Clare?”

  “Found standing over him with a fireplace poker, worrying that he was going to get up and attack her!”

  Sabrina shuddered. “Oh, God, and we never even suspected that anything was wrong.”<
br />
  “Happens all the time, my lady.”

  “This?” asked Sabrina, gesturing toward Justin’s body.

  “Well, usually it is the wife lying there dead,” admitted the Runner. “ ‘But no one ever suspected, Officer,’ or even more likely, ‘But it were his wife.’ ”

  Sabrina stood up and swayed.

  “Are you sure you are all right?”

  “Yes, yes. I must get back to Clare.”

  * * * *

  Clare was still standing vigilant, but her arms relaxed a little when Sabrina returned.

  “Did you see him? Is he truly dead?”

  “Yes, Clare, I saw him. He will never threaten you again.”

  Clare drew a deep, ragged breath and lowered her arm. “Threaten me? I wish it had only been threats,” she added with an ironic smile.

  The bath had been filled, and the water was steaming. “Come, my dear, let me help you off with your dress.” Clare stood quietly while Sabrina undid her tapes and let the gown slip down around her feet. She lifted her arms like a child as her friend pulled the underslip over her head and then lowered them as Sabrina undid her stays.

  Sabrina had been shocked to see Rainsborough’s body, but almost more horrible was seeing Clare’s. Her friend was thin to the point of emaciation, and both her belly and her back were discolored with bruises, old and new. As Sabrina helped Clare into the bath and began to sponge her down gently, she realized that the marks on her friend’s body could only have been made by something harder than a fist: something like the toe of a boot. As she squeezed warm, soapy water down Clare’s back and watched it run down, she could feel the tears slipping down her own cheeks.

  “How long has this been going on, Clare?”

  Clare was silent, and Sabrina looked into her eyes and repeated her question gently.

  “I don’t know. From the beginning, I guess,” replied Clare in a sleepy, faraway voice.

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Clare?”

  “Why, what could you have done, Brina?” Clare answered calmly, almost dreamily.

  Killed Rainsborough myself, thought Sabrina.

  * * * *

  The hot bath and a cup of hot chocolate laced with rum that Sabrina ordered made Clare relaxed and sleepy enough so that when Sabrina put her to bed, she fell asleep almost immediately. Sabrina sat by her side for almost an hour until Peters knocked softly and informed her that lords Whitton and Howland had arrived and were inquiring after Clare.

  “I will be right down, Peters.” Sabrina pulled the covers higher around Clare’s shoulders and gently brushed her friend’s hair back from her face as though she were a child. “Come, Liza, sit here and stay with her until she wakes.”

  The marquess was sitting in the morning room looking very old and very tired. Giles was pacing the carpet when Sabrina walked in and rushed over as soon as he saw her.

  “Where is she, Sabrina? Is she all right? Was she injured also?”

  “She is asleep now, Giles.”

  “And Rainsborough?” asked the marquess.

  “Lord Rainsborough is indeed dead, my lord.”

  “Does Clare know yet?” Giles asked worriedly.

  Sabrina’s laugh was mirthless. “Yes, Giles, Clare knows. Now. Although at first she was terrified that he wasn’t.” Sabrina sank down into the nearest chair.

  Giles stood in front of her, nonplussed. “I am not sure what you mean, Sabrina? Why would Clare want her husband dead?”

  “Oh, Giles, sit down,” Sabrina replied with a tired sigh. “We have all been so blind. Clare is responsible for her husband’s death. There was no intruder, no burglar. There was only Clare.”

  “You are quite mad, Sabrina,” said her brother angrily. “Clare is too gentle to hurt anyone, much less a beloved husband. A loving husband.”

  “A not so loving husband, Giles. A husband who beat her ... and kicked her. And, from what I can see, must have been trying to choke her to death.”

  The marquess buried his face in his hands. “Oh, my poor child.”

  “I do not understand, Sabrina. Rainsborough doted on Clare. Everyone knew that. Why, he was overprotective, if anything.”

  “I am not sure I understand, either, Giles. But I have seen the bruises on Clare’s body and on her throat. And I saw her face this morning, Giles. She was terrified. She must have seen him move after she shot him, and she wouldn’t even take her gown off until I promised to see for myself that Justin was dead and not going to come after her again.” Sabrina shuddered.

  “My God, Brina, you didn’t see him, did you?”

  “I had to, Giles. It was the only way to get her out of that bloody gown and into bed. And that, by the way, was not a profanity but the literal truth,” she added with a bleak smile.

  Giles put his arm around her and drew her close, and Sabrina let herself cry softly against his shoulder.

  “Where is Clare now?” asked the marquess.

  “In bed, asleep. I gave her a hot bath and some chocolate liberally laced with rum. But you should probably call a doctor for her, for I am sure she was in a deep state of shock.”

  “I will take her home with me,” Clare’s father declared, rising slowly from his chair. He came over to Sabrina and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. “Thank you for being such a good friend, my dear.”

  Sabrina put her hand on his arm and replied: “I hardly deserve your thanks, my lord. Poor Clare has been absolutely alone in this ordeal for two years. I should have known something was wrong.”

  “No, no, my dear. Everything is much clearer now, isn’t it, Giles? Her ‘illnesses,’ her pulling away, her husband wanting her all to himself.” The marquess’s face became hard. “I am glad she shot him. Had I known what he was doing to her, I would have done it myself.”

  * * * *

  Clare’s father was back within minutes, shaking with indignation and fear. “They won’t let me take her home, Giles. There are two Runners here to make sure she doesn’t ‘escape!’ According to them, she is a suspected felon and we are lucky she is not in Newgate!”

  “Sit down, Howland, sit down. There is no sense in your becoming overwrought,” said Giles, leading the marquess over to a chair by the fireplace.

  “We must do something, Giles,” said Sabrina. “It is obvious that she was in fear for her life. No one could condemn her for defending herself.”

  “Rainsborough was her husband, Sabrina. He had every legal right to beat his wife.”

  Sabrina flushed with anger. “Giles!”

  “I mean legally, Sabrina. And we all know that Lord Tarnas occasionally physically ‘chastises’ his wife and no one thinks twice about it. After all, it is considered a private matter.”

  “How can you be saying these things, Giles?”

  “I am merely trying to point out that to some people a husband’s absolute authority over his wife is acceptable. Indeed, society and the law take it for granted.”

  “Do they take bruises on the belly and back for granted? Bruises that could only come from vicious kicking for granted? I would take you both up to see her, except that I don’t want her disturbed. Her throat has his finger marks imprinted on it, Giles!”

  “And it is all my fault,” said her brother quietly. “I insisted upon seeing her alone last night, even though she didn’t want me to. She knew what he would do to her, her oh-so loving husband.”

  “There is no use for self-recrimination now, Giles,” said the marquess. “I am her father, and I should have seen what was going on. But we must put all our energy into finding someone who can prove her innocence.”

  Giles was silent for a moment. “Do you have anyone in mind, sir?”

  The marquess shook his head. “The family solicitor has no experience in preparing criminal cases, but perhaps he knows someone else who could do the job.”

  “I was thinking of an old school friend of mine,” offered Giles. “Andrew More. He is the younger brother of Viscount Avery.”

  “Does he ha
ve any experience in ... criminal cases,” asked Clare’s father. It was hard even to say the word.

  Giles smiled his first real smile of the morning. “Yes. He is a sort of black sheep in the family as a matter of fact. They had hoped that he would become a solicitor to some Lord So and So instead of a barrister. I don’t think his father ever knew Andrew intended to try cases. He does do enough work for the wealthy to earn a very good living. But he is fascinated by criminal work and takes on a number of charity cases. He likes defending the underdog. And I’m sure he knows a few experienced solicitors who can help prepare the case.”

  “Will he take Clare on, do you think?”

  “I will see him this afternoon, sir, and do my best to convince him.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Andrew More looked around his office in despair. Unfortunately his new clerk was no more organized than his employer. The books that he had been using last week were still piled up on his desk, with slips of paper sticking out, marking the cases he was interested in. His desk was cluttered with briefs. And although his usual way of working was to create a small amount of chaos around him while focusing intently on the task at hand, even he had a hard time ignoring this mess.

  He was very grateful, then, to have a visitor announced, and when he heard Giles’s name, went directly into the front office to greet him.

  “Giles! What an unexpected pleasure. Come in, come in. Bring us some coffee, Jepson, will you please?”

  Giles, whose mood was far from light under the circumstances, looked around and laughed out loud. Andrew’s office looked just like his rooms at Oxford years ago. It was obvious his friend could still ignore everything around him when he was intent upon his work.

  “Don’t laugh, Giles,” said Andrew, throwing up his hands in despair and lifting Blackstone’s journal off the most comfortable chair so that Giles could sit down. “It is too much, even for me today. And my new clerk is excellent in many ways, but organization is neither of our strong points. But enough of my disorder. It is good to see you.”

  Giles smiled. “And you.” And it was, even under such circumstances. Andrew’s presence had always lifted his spirits. His friend had the enviable capacity to throw himself, heart and soul, into his work, and at the same time, appreciate the absurdities of life. He was a very dedicated man, Andrew More, and with his dark hair and thick eyebrows, could appear intense and brooding when involved in untangling a legal intricacy. But then, when his problem was resolved and his frown smoothed away, he went from looking like a Gothic hero to a lighthearted gypsy. He had always been a wonderful foil to Giles’s more evenly serious temperament.