Charlie curled his lip in bitterness. “’Tis the least I’m owed, after what I’ve endured.”
His unhappiness was breaking her heart. “Oh, please, Charlie, forget the past. Learn to enjoy life again. As I have.”
“Forget the past? Do you know what the rice fields are like? Stinking marshland and heat and the merciless flies and mosquitoes. Degradation and brutality, day after unending day. I cannot imagine that hell, with its fires, could be any worse.” As he spoke, his voice had risen to a sour whine.
Allegra frowned. “All of us endured misery,” she snapped. “And learned to surmount it.” She softened her tone. “Remember your Baniard pride,” she chided. “Pride and patience, Grandfather used to say. Remember? What happened to your Baniard pride?”
“This is what happened!” he cried. He gathered his shirt at his shoulders and pulled it up to bare his back. The thick welts were like ropes of flesh, crossing one another in a sickening overlay of scar upon scar. If there were muscles beneath that tormented flesh, they were no longer visible.
Allegra fell back, gasping, her hand going to her mouth. “Oh, sweet heaven.”
Charlie whirled and slammed one hand down on the table. “And this is what happened, for trying to escape once before.” The first two joints of his little finger were missing, and the tip of the stump was bluish-black, as though the wound had been sealed with pitch.
“Oh, Charlie.” Allegra began to cry, overwhelmed by her dear brother’s sufferings.
“Damn it, Annie,” he said in disgust. “I hate bitches who cry. My whore would feel my fist if she ever shed a tear in front of me.”
“Now, by God, sir, I’ve had enough!” Grey reached out and smacked Charlie on the side of his head, a savage blow with his open hand. “You will guard your tongue, sirrah, or I’ll thrash you like an unruly child!”
Charlie shook his head to clear it, then glared at Grey, his eyes narrowing like a viper. His hand darted into his boot top and produced a knife. “Have at me then, you damned queer cove! I’ll slice your face for you!”
Allegra wrung her hands in anguish. “For the love of God, stop. Both of you. How can you do this to me, when you’re both so dear to my heart?”
There was a moment of deadly silence, then Grey slowly relaxed and pulled her into his arms. “Forgive me, Allegra.”
Charlie drew in a long, tortured breath and returned the knife to his boot. “No, I’m to blame. I’ve known naught but rough companions for a long time. Annie. Little Annie. I’m sorry.” He sighed. “Do you know how much you look like Mama? I wish I had known where you were in Charles Town. I could have come to lay flowers on her grave.”
“We’ll put a monument to the family in the park at Baniard Hall,” said Grey gruffly. “They’ll not be forgotten.” He cleared his throat. “Now, let’s look to the future. Allegra and I will leave for London as soon as we can. ’Twere best if you stayed here. Until I can obtain a pardon for your escape, you shouldn’t be seen abroad.”
“Yes,” said Allegra, grateful that peace had returned. “Stay here, dearest Charlie. This place…” She had a sudden thought. “Let me give it to you. Tom Wickham bequeathed it to me, to the Baniards, the day he died. You should have it. ’Tis only fair and proper. And there’s a small income, which should help.”
Charlie looked around the sitting room with a critical eye. “It will serve, I suppose. But if I’m to be marooned here for a time, I want my whore with me. She’s a hollow-hearted bitch, but a strong moll who works like a horse. I left her in York when we came up from London.”
Grey nodded. “I’ll search her out. What’s her name?”
Charlie snickered. “Lord! I know not. They call her Glory. That’s all. I left her at the Black Dog Tavern, the other side of York, on the Selby road.”
“I’ll arrange for her to join you here. And, before we leave for London, I’ll find a lawyer in Whitby to arrange for this cottage to be legally conveyed to you. Along with the land and its tenants.” Grey frowned in thought. “If you need money, I can leave some with you. And I’ll arrange with my secretary to send more. Say, another hundred pounds.”
Charlie assessed him as though he were seeing him for the first time. “You’re very free with money. Did my sister marry a rich man?”
Grey shrugged. “A turn of fate. The gods treated me kindly through the years.”
Charlie’s face was a twisted mask of resentment. “Whilst I was breaking my back,” he muttered.
Hearing the tone in his voice, Allegra felt a sharp stab of pain. God willing, the reversal of his fortunes would set Charlie on the road to peace and joy again. All the ugliness, all the bitterness, would vanish, and her dear sweet Charlie would return. Just as before. She smoothed back the hair from his drawn face, his scowling brow. He looked so much older than his thirty years. There were even a few streaks of gray at his temples. “We’ll send for you as soon as we can, dear one. You’ll see. Everything will be put to rights.”
He stared at her. His dark eyes—so like her own—were the eyes of a cornered, haunted animal, a gasping creature who seeks the last refuge and prays to be left alone to live.
“Annie,” he murmured sadly, “the world hasn’t been right for more than eight long years.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Oh, Dolly, I can only guess what it cost him.” Allegra finished the last of her tea, put down her cup and sighed.
Lady Dorothy nodded with understanding, and motioned the waiter for the bill. “To have done so much for your brother, and in less than a month.”
“I can scarcely believe it yet. A full pardon for Charlie. His title restored with all honors. Even a respectable pension. And the house that Grey rented for him on St. Martin’s Lane…I’m sure it cost more than Grey said, and that he’s paying for it himself.”
“Have you seen your brother since he came back to London?”
“Only once. He called upon us at Morgan House. He’s still so bitter. So…” It seemed almost disloyal to speak against her dear brother, “so ungrateful for what Grey has done. As though he’ll settle for no less than compensation from the whole world for his suffering. As though Grey hasn’t suffered on his behalf.”
“And Grey never spoke of how he contrived it all?”
Allegra shook her head. “No. Day after day those first two weeks he forced himself to go to Court. Alone. And came back hours later trembling, his face ashen. He wouldn’t speak of it, even to me. Oh, Dolly! The humiliations and insults he must have endured, the laughter of his old friends…’Twas a wonder he didn’t go back to the gin. I don’t think he was forced into a duel, but I’m sure he was challenged upon more than one occasion. It took him days to arrange an audience, but he saw the king once, and Walpole twice. And they granted his requests for Charlie. Perhaps their acceptance will go far to smoothing his way in society again.”
Dolly smiled in sympathy. “He was always a little proud. A bit too confident. I have no doubt that society, in its cruelty, was only too glad to see him taken down a peg. Richard has urged him to take him along as a companion. Even if only to a coffee house or a gentleman’s club. But Grey always refuses.”
“And goes alone, no matter what it costs,” said Allegra, feeling her husband’s pain as her own. “What can I do to help him? We’re invited to an assembly at Burlington House next week. ’Tis the first entertainment that Grey has accepted. I fear it greatly. What if he should feel the need for bravado in my presence? Oh, Dolly!” she cried again. “Why do men put themselves in the way to be hurt? Why are they so stupidly proud?”
Dolly laughed bitterly. “You ask me? That muttonhead, Jonathan Briggs! I’ve done everything short of throwing myself into his arms! I even had Dick mention to him, as though it were a stray thought, that I’d put aside a generous marriage portion. Should I choose to wed again, of course.” She sighed. “I almost thought he’d kiss me last night. And then…”
“Are you sorry that Grey contrived to force you together?”
“I know not. ’Tis such sweet torture. But such pain, fearing that Jonathan will never surrender his pride.” She stood up and smoothed on her knitted silk gloves. “I must go. I’ll walk with you to the Mall, and then find a chair to take me home.”
Allegra adjusted her warm cloak and picked up her muff. She nodded solemnly at the proprietor of the tea shop, who bowed low and wished Their Ladyships a pleasant afternoon. But when she and Dolly emerged into the chilly November day, she burst into a giggle. “It still seems so difficult to accept—that I’m Lady Ridley.”
“I needn’t ask if you and Grey love each other. I can see it in your eyes whenever you’re together.” Dolly smiled up at the sky and blinked. The thin afternoon sun sparkled on her tears. “I’d give up my title and my fortune to know such happiness.” She sighed and brushed at her cheeks. “Do you like Morgan House?”
“More and more. ’Tis the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
“There aren’t many detached mansion houses like it in London. Not anymore. Between the Great Fire and the expense of keeping up a townhouse as well as a country seat, few peers will spend the money on a great mansion. Most of them are gone now. But Grey lavished a fortune on Morgan House when he came back from India. Of course, until he bought Baniard Hall, the Ridleys had no estate save the one in London.”
Allegra sighed. As magnificent as her new house on Piccadilly was, she ached to go back to her childhood home, to take her place as its mistress for the first time. “Grey has given me full discretion to refurnish Baniard Hall to my taste. As soon as we return to Shropshire.”
“When will you go?”
“Not until Grey is sure that there are no claims against Charlie. No fines that must be paid. I think he’s waiting for a letter from America. The release from his bondage.”
“Look!” interrupted Dolly. “There’s Grey now.” Moving westward from the Strand, the two women had reached the edge of St. James’s Park and the wide promenade known as the Mall. Despite the chill day, it was crowded with strollers—the cream of London—hoping to be seen, to exchange gossip, to flirt and arrange trysts.
Grey smiled and nodded as they approached. Allegra’s heart caught at sight of him. Even among the throng, he was the most splendid of men. His tall frame was clad in a handsome dark-gray velvet coat, and his superb waistcoat was of striped silk. Even in the city, he declined to wear a periwig, tying back his own abundant brown hair and finishing it with a sprinkling of powder. A cane with an elaborately carved head was looped around his wrist with a silken cord; although it was the latest fashion, Allegra knew he carried it only to mask the fact that he wore no sword.
“Dolly,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it, “how agreeable to see you.” He looked at Allegra. She needed no further greeting than the love shining deeply in his amber eyes, the pleased grin on his face.
Dolly smiled in return. “You seem merry today, Grey. I should like to stay and learn the reason why. But, alas. I have a pressing engagement. Will you hail me a sedan chair?”
They said their farewells and waved good-bye to Dolly; then Allegra turned to Grey. “In truth, you do look merry.”
He shook his head. “No. Say rather astonished. Or perhaps bemused by my own blindness. Yet strangely lighthearted as well.” He held out his arm. “Come. Walk with me in the Mall. Tell me I’m not completely mad.”
“Godamercy, Grey, what happened?”
“I was at Button’s Coffee House in Covent Garden for most of the morning. I took a dish of coffee. A pipe of tobacco. I read the journals. The most extraordinary news. The Pickerings are ruined! Ruth’s family. All of them. They’ve gone back to Kent, their tails between their legs. Heaven forgive me, but I felt a sense of retribution as I read the words. God knows their accusations of murder in Ruth’s death, their challenge to me, were the beginning of my downfall.”
“They had no right, ever, to accuse you.”
He squeezed her arm. “Dear, loyal Allegra. But, you see, that was not the source of my present gladness. Or confusion. While I was reading the Daily Post, several of my old acquaintances approached. Comrades in arms from our service with the Guards. They were as pleased with the Pickering downfall as I. They swore their friendship was undimmed, and begged me to call upon them now that I’m back in the city!” He seemed awed, overwhelmed by the wonder of it. “I’d avoided them until now, fearing…Ah, well. Perhaps I fled London in foolish haste. In any event, my friends told a remarkable tale. For months now, the Pickerings have bragged of pushing Ruth into marriage with me. For the money alone.” He stopped and stared at Allegra, his face twisted in consternation. “Was I blind? Was I merely her dupe? She was forever imploring me to pay her family’s debts. I did it out of love, of course. But…was I a fool?”
What could she tell him? That his suspicions, after all this time, were closer to the truth than he guessed? No. It seemed too cruel. “I have no doubt she loved you deeply, Grey,” she murmured.
From the look on his face, she wondered whether she had put his doubts to rest. But he merely nodded and continued walking.
“Ecod! Is this not my adversary from Ludlow?”
Allegra stifled a gasp at the sight of Sir William Batterbee, bearing down on them from across the lawn. Her heart sank. There were several men at his side, each as ostentatiously dressed as he. And though most of them were unarmed, Batterbee himself wore a sword hanging from an embroidered velvet sash around his waist. He doffed his feather-trimmed cocked hat and gave them a mocking bow. “Lord and Lady Ridley,” he said.
Grey’s jaw was like granite. “I have no quarrel with you, sir. Nor do I wish one.”
Batterbee smiled, an oily grimace. “Nor I with you, Lord Ridley. My friends here…” he smirked at his companions, “they’re all acquainted with the circumstances of our last meeting.” Allegra winced as the gentlemen beside Batterbee snickered. “And since then,” he went on, “I hear you’ve insinuated yourself back into Walpole’s favor. On behalf of your new wife’s family. I shall not presume to quarrel with a man who holds that kind of power. Or money.”
Allegra felt Grey stiffen beside her, and clung more tightly to his arm. No matter what Batterbee said, she was determined that her husband not be goaded into a quarrel.
“Yes,” said one of Batterbee’s friends, a mincing peacock who pranced forward on the balls of his feet. “Weren’t you telling us, Billy boy, how much it must have cost Ridley to ruin the Pickerings?”
Grey growled deep in his throat. “Now, by God, sir, that’s a damnable lie!”
“Peace, Farrell,” said Batterbee, parting his friend on the shoulder. “Though it may appear that our friend Ridley can only fight on the field of mammon, and with a weapon made of guineas, there’s no proof that the Pickerings owe their downfall to him.”
Grey let out a curse, shook free of Allegra’s grasp, and leapt for Batterbee. “You dog!”
Batterbee jumped back in alarm and drew his sword. “In God’s name, Farrell, give the man a blade and oblige him to fight fairly!”
Grey bared his teeth in a snarl and brandished his cane. “Not this time, you filthy mongrel. I bloodied your mouth with my fist when last we met. It will please me now to thrash you to a pulp with my cane!”
“Ha, sir!” cried Batterbee, raising his sword. “On your head be it, then!” He lunged at Grey.
To Allegra’s amazement, Grey parried at once with his cane, turning aside Batterbee’s sword as though he himself were similarly armed. He feinted, thrust, dodged. At length, he looped his cane around Batterbee’s blade, gave a ferocious twist to his wrist, and sent the sword spinning away onto the lawn.
Allegra sagged with relief. Only then did she realize that Grey had paled during the encounter, and the cane was now trembling in his hand. But his voice, when he spoke, was strong and sure.
“Now, Batterbee,” he said sardonically, “shall we begin with a few strokes for your insults to my lady in Ludlow?” He raised his cane and deli
vered a sharp blow to the seat of Batterbee’s breeches.
“’Odds fish!” Batterbee leapt in pained surprise, wavered, then turned and fled, leaving his foppish hat in the dirt of the path.
There was no time for Allegra to enjoy Grey’s triumph. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the peacock, Farrell, begin to remove his glove. If he threw it in Grey’s face, there would be no hope of avoiding a duel. Forgive me, Grey, she thought. She took a halting step forward, stumbled, and cried out. “My ankle! God preserve me!”
Grey turned to her and scowled. “Are you hurt, madam?” Without waiting for a reply, he scooped her into his arms.
She bit her lip in seeming pain. “Take…take me home, for the love of God.”
He watched as Batterbee’s friends withdrew from the scene, then frowned at the spectators who had crowded around. “Send for a hackney coach,” he ordered.
Morgan House was only a few minutes away from the Mall. Scarcely had Allegra settled into the carriage and rested her leg on the seat opposite than the coach was passing through the gateway of the mansion and pulling up to the wide doors. Without a word, Grey lifted her out, carried her past the bowing footmen to her rooms upstairs, and gestured for her maidservants to leave. When they were alone at last, he threw her unceremoniously onto the bed. “You can walk normally now,” he growled.
She sat up, her heart pounding in sudden uneasiness. “What do you mean?”
His lip curled in disgust. “Did you think I was a blind fool? Were you so afraid of being humiliated by your coward of a husband?”
“No, Grey, I…” She chewed on her lip and turned away. What else could she have done? Allowed the glove to be thrown, the challenge to be given?
“If I need you to rescue me,” he rasped, turning toward the door, “I’ll tell you. Until then, leave me in peace.” He stormed from the room. She could hear his angry footsteps thudding down the passageway, and then the loud slam of his door.
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