A Sinful Deception

by Isabella Bradford

  The best she could hope for would be some sort of allowance from the Fitzroy family if she promised to live far from Society. The worst would be arrest, and prison. The most bitter irony was that she’d be sent back to the same friendless poverty that she’d miraculously escaped in Calcutta.

  Except, of course, this time she’d have both a broken heart and a child.

  All she dared hope was that over the next months, she’d find some answer. She couldn’t begin to know what that might be. Until then, she must live each day, each hour, each minute as it came to her, a precious gift to be savored along with Geoffrey’s love.

  With a shuddering sigh, she blotted her tears, and set herself to answering the correspondence before her. The first ones in the pile were easily dispatched, acknowledgments of the calls that she and Geoffrey had made together, along with routine invitations to balls, routs, and suppers. She accepted nearly all of them, at Geoffrey’s request; he was proud of her as his new wife, and wished them to be seen together often. There were also a smattering of reckonings to be settled from the household accounts as well as her milliner and draper. Those she put aside, to be discussed later with Geoffrey, for he’d still not arranged an account for her to draw upon for such moneys.

  Near the bottom of the pile was a letter that made her smile, addressed in Aunt Morley’s familiar, tidy hand. She and Fanfan had left London with Grandfather for Allwyn Hall in the country soon after her wedding, and her aunt’s letter was filled with good wishes, as well as comfortingly ordinary affairs: the ripening fruit in the orchards, the young vicar’s new wife, the roof to be replaced on the summerhouse.

  But on the last page, Serena discovered the real reason for her aunt’s letter:

  I regret to intrude upon these balmy first days of your nuptial bliss, but I do wish to impart certain news to you. Your uncle, Radnor, is determined to bring his old Mischief to you & Lord Geoffrey, & he has been here at the Hall, pestering yr. Grandpapa for his acquiescence. Radnor insists that you are some manner of Imposter, a Thorn in the family’s Bosom, & he is determined to prove it. He has discovered a Relation of your poor late Mama, & is having the man brought to London to determine your parentage. I myself do not believe a blessed Word of Radnor’s Blather, nor see the Use in it, knowing you to be a true Daughter to our family. But I would caution you & Lord Geoffrey to take care, & prepare your defenses against Radnor’s machinations & unpleasantness.

  Serena read the letter twice, then carefully refolded it and tucked it away in her desk. She doubted her aunt knew of how her uncle had already threatened her, or how Geoffrey had beaten him after he had. Geoffrey was confident that her uncle would not bother her again, but she wasn’t nearly as certain, and her aunt’s letter proved her right. But the last thing she wished was to have Geoffrey lose his temper and challenge her uncle again, so for now she would keep Aunt Morley’s letter to herself.

  Another sin of omission, she thought grimly, one more that she could not share with Geoffrey.

  Only a single letter remained in the salver, one written on coarse paper in a smudged, clumsy hand, and sealed with a blob of plain candle wax. Likely it was a false appeal for money, the kind of unscrupulous begging-letter claiming to be from a nonexistent foundling hospital or almshouse. She considered simply tossing it into the fire unread, but opened it, anyway.

  And gasped.

  My Lady,

  You know me. I saw it yesterday when you looked at me close. I know you too though you are much changed into a great lady.

  But I know more. I know your mother was not what you pretend but your father’s vēśyā, his Hindoo whore. I know because I kept the picture of her that was with you, a small picture once with diamonds all around. In it the whore wears green stone ear-bobs and a gold necklace and a red rag around her head. Her face is like yours. Anyone can see it. You are her twin except her skin is brown like mud and you pretend to be English.

  I will sell you this picture if you come alone to me at the puppet-box Thurs. If you do not come I will go to His Lordship.

  Yr. s’v’t.

  Stephen Abbot

  She pressed her hand over her mouth to keep back the whimper of surprise, shock, and fear. So it had been the same man, the soldier who had carried her from the burning house. Corporal Abbot. The man had always been part of her nightmare, and here he was again, unforgettable and undeniable.

  She couldn’t remember a time in Sundara Manōra when she hadn’t worn the gold locket with her mother’s portrait. Father had given it to her as a way both to honor the mother she’d never known, and to be protected by her, too. The miniature portrait had been exquisitely painted on ivory and surrounded by a ring of diamonds. As a girl, Serena would tip the necklace this way and that to make the diamonds catch the sunlight and reflect a thousand tiny fractured rainbows, and pretend that they were sent from her mother in Heaven.

  She was sure her mother was in Heaven, because Father had said she was so beautiful that she’d put the very angels to shame. Staring at the little painted face, Serena had only agreed. Her mother had been named Ramya—Hindi for enchanting—and in the portrait, she was beautiful indeed, with coppery dark skin, glossy black hair, wide pale-gold eyes, and a tiny mouth. The emeralds in her ears and the scarlet silk ohrni wrapped around her head had served to set off the perfection of her features.

  Each night Serena would hold the portrait cupped in her hand when she went to sleep, knowing her mother would keep her safe. That last day, when she’d been so ill and had gone to find Asha, she’d taken the locket from around her neck and held it up for her sister to see, hoping her mother’s smiling face would protect them both.

  It hadn’t.

  When the soldier had picked her up from the bed, she’d been too weak to hold the chain in her fingers, and the locket had slipped away and fallen back into the bed with Asha. She’d mourned its loss, certain it had been destroyed with everything else in the purging fires.

  Now the locket with her mother’s face had found her again, from the other side of the world and seven years in the past. But this time the locket wouldn’t protect her; it could ruin her in a way that neither her father nor her poor mother ever could have anticipated. It was the proof that Uncle Radnor had so desperately sought, the hard, unimpeachable proof of who and what she was.

  Blackmail was an ugly word, but the consequences could be uglier still, and Serena would not let that happen. She tucked Abbot’s note in her pocket, gathered up all the hard money she had in her rooms, and called for the carriage to take her to her mantua-maker, and then, when that was done, to confront her past.

  CHAPTER

  16

  “Wait here with the carriage, Henry,” Serena said as she stepped down. “I wish to continue by myself.”

  “Is that wise, my lady?” the footman said uneasily. “Begging pardon, but his lordship wouldn’t—”

  “His lordship is not here,” Serena said firmly. “I will never leave your sight. I will walk to the same puppet-box as before, there beneath the tree, and I will address the same fellow in the red coat that his lordship spoke to. Then I shall return directly to the carriage.”

  Henry scowled. “Forgive me, my lady, but that fellow’s a rum sort of rogue, for all he’s got but one leg.”

  “You have my word that I’ll take the greatest of care, Henry, rum rogue or not,” Serena said, turning away before he could object further.

  The day was overcast and cooler than it had been when she and Geoffrey had watched the puppets together, and the benches that had been filled now held only a handful of children. Serena went to stand to one side, waiting for the performance to come to its usual break. She was plainly dressed, in the kind of clothing a lady wore for a day of errands or traveling—a dark blue worsted habit and a black silk bonnet with a single black plume, the brim pulled low to shield her face—yet because she was alone, she felt self-conscious. While Mr. Punch battled Judy and the tiger, there was still no sign of Abbot. She rubbed her glo
ved hands together, praying that his letter hadn’t been some monstrous prank.

  But at last he appeared, rattling his bottle of coins as he made his way between the benches. With such a small audience, it didn’t take him long, though it seemed to Serena that he pointedly took his time to make her wait. Finally he tucked the half-filled bottle inside his coat, and came to her.

  “You came, m’lady,” he said, his smile more of a leer, uneven with gaps from missing teeth. “The third time we meet, eh?”

  “How much do you wish for the locket?” She was trying hard not to be intimidated by him, and desperately wanted their transaction over as soon as was possible. It had been different when she’d had Geoffrey beside her. Now the man stood closer to her than was proper, near enough that she could smell both his clothes and his person, with a whiff of stale drink besides.

  Abbot drew his brows together and pursed his lips. “That’s harsh, m’lady, powerfully harsh, considering how I once saved your life.”

  “You also plundered my home,” she said bluntly, anger at what he’d done giving her words strength. She’d lost all the sympathy she’d felt for him previously. “You stole from my sister’s corpse.”

  “Spoils of war, m’lady, spoils of war,” he said easily. “You lived fine as royalty, with jewels and baubles scattered about like some pasha’s treasure-house. Would’ve been a shame to burn all of that, ’specially for a poor soldier like me with only the king’s shilling to his name.”

  “Show me the locket,” she said.

  “I’m not a fool, m’lady,” he said in a way that told her that he thought her one. “It’s in safekeeping elsewhere. If I had it here, you could order your footmen over there to come knock me on the head and steal it away, and then where’d I be?”

  She glanced back at the carriage, relieved to see that Henry and the other footmen were watching. “How am I to know you truly have it?”

  “Because I do,” he said succinctly. “Because no one else could have it, could they? It’s a gold locket with your mama’s face painted on it, and a twist of black hair inside. There used to be diamonds around the outside, but I pried them out and sold them long ago.”

  She thought of all the tiny rainbows she’d made with those diamonds. “Why didn’t you sell the locket, too?”

  “Because no one wanted it,” he said. “Who’d buy a locket painted with a black chit’s face like that?”

  “I would,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I’ll give you twenty-five pounds for it.”

  “Twenty-five pounds!” he exclaimed. “Fah, you do take me for a fool!”

  “That’s more than a fair price, especially with the diamonds gone,” she said. “More than you made in a year of soldiering.”

  His face hardened. “If you’re talking fair, m’lady, I’d still have the leg I gave up for the Crown,” he said. “Fair would be me earning my bread like a man, not beggaring to brats with those damned puppets. But life’s not fair, m’lady, not to me, nor to you, neither. Think of what His Grace the Duke o’ Breconridge would make if he were to see this, and learn his precious son’s wife has native blood in her veins.”

  She jerked her head as if he’d struck her. “You would dare show it to His Grace?”

  “I would, m’lady,” he said. “You’re the very picture of your mother. His Grace couldn’t miss it. Though maybe I should take it to the papers first. What a story that would make for them, eh?”

  When she’d been a girl, she’d studied her mother’s face and prayed that one day she’d share the same beauty. “Fifty, then. That’s all I have with me.”

  “But it’s not all you have, m’lady, is it?” He turned and spat contemptuously against the roots of the tree. “I’ve asked about, you see, and it’s said that you’re worth ten thousand a year on your own, without what your lord’s worth. Compared to that, fifty pounds is pitiful poor. I’d say five hundred would be closer to fair.”

  She gasped. “Five hundred pounds!”

  “Five hundred pounds,” he repeated. “Has a nice round sound to it, don’t it?”

  “But I do not have five hundred pounds, not in my possession!” she cried, aghast. No married lady would have that at her disposal, no matter how much she was considered worth. Her money had been overseen by her grandfather before her marriage, and her husband after it. A sum like that would require a draft from the bank, drawn at Geoffrey’s request. “How am I to come by five hundred pounds?”

  “That is not my affair, m’lady,” he said. “If you cannot come by it, then I’m sure your lord would.”

  Frantically she shook her head, as if denial would change his mind. “You cannot tell my husband of this! He knows nothing of any of this!”

  “Then I’d say you best find that money, m’lady,” he said. “I’ll be generous, and give you until tomorrow afternoon. Then you’d best be back here, else I’ll be calling on his lordship. Good day, m’lady.”

  He doffed his hat briefly, settled his shoulder onto his crutch, and turned toward the puppet-box without looking back. He’d as much as dismissed her, and as she stiffly returned to the carriage she felt humiliation and fear in every step of her retreat.

  She stared blindly from the carriage windows as they drove through the streets, seeing nothing beyond the glass. She did not know which would be worse for Geoffrey: to learn that she was an imposter, the illegitimate daughter of a nautch dancer from Lucknow, or that she hadn’t trusted him enough to share such a monumental secret. Either one would be enough to end their marriage, but together they would entirely destroy his love for her, and that—that would devastate her. Once she considered their child as well, she felt as if she were standing on the edge of a very deep, very dark hole, with no way to pull back.

  When she reached the house, she went directly upstairs to her rooms and locked her door, telling Martha she wished to be undisturbed to rest. With feverish haste, she searched through all her drawers and trunks, hunting for every last coin of her pin money. Altogether it was less than a hundred pounds, not nearly enough. She would have to sell one of the jewels that Father had left—not that she’d any notion at all of what any of them would fetch. Why should she, when she’d never once had to step into a jeweler’s shop to purchase anything for herself?

  With growing desperation, she unlocked the jewel box in the back of her wardrobe and began to pull out the leather-covered cases. Their distinctive shapes would be a giveaway, and sure to be missed by Martha as well. Instead she took bracelets, a necklace, earrings, and rings, all rich with diamonds and other precious stones, wrapped them in handkerchiefs, and tucked them into a single small velvet bag before she replaced the empty cases in the locked box. Surely together they would be worth the five hundred pounds she needed. Tomorrow she would take them to a jeweler that did not serve the Fitzroys, use a false name to be sure, and pray she’d be given a fair amount.

  She heard a carriage stopping in the street outside the house, and men’s voices. That must be Geoffrey and his brothers, back earlier than expected, and eagerly she ran to the window, hoping to see them.

  But instead of the three Fitzroys, there were five men she most definitely did not want to see. First from the carriage was a man dressed somberly in plain dark clothes that marked him as a lawyer or other legal personage and his clerk, followed closely by a strong, stout constable, the thick brass-crowned tipstaff of his profession grasped firmly in his hand, and doubtless an arrest warrant waiting within it. Next from the carriage was a middle-aged army officer, his scarlet uniform coat a brilliant spot on this gray afternoon. Last to step from the pavement was the one she least wanted to see: her Uncle Radnor, a grim smile of satisfaction on his face as he sent a footman ahead to knock on her front door.

  “No,” she whispered, panicking. She’d been so concerned with stopping Abbot’s blackmail that she’d completely forgotten her aunt’s warning regarding her uncle. Here he’d brought the Scottish officer to identify her, and clearly confident that her
other uncle wouldn’t, he’d also brought a lawyer and his clerk to act as witnesses, and finally a constable to arrest her. “No, no, no!”

  She had to flee. She could not stay and risk being put into irons before Geoffrey and his brothers. Colburn would show the men into the front parlor to wait. She’d already left word that she did not wish to be disturbed, which would buy her more time. Colburn could be very firm, even when confronted by Uncle Radnor.

  She pulled a small leather traveling satchel from her wardrobe and as fast as she could, she threw into it a few necessities for a journey. She grabbed the velvet sack with her jewels and stuffed it down the front of her gown, sandwiched for safekeeping between the whalebone of her stays and her linen shift.

  She paused, trying to calm herself. Radnor and the others were in the house now; she could hear his voice echoing against the marble floor of the front hall. As much as she longed to, she didn’t have time to leave a lengthy letter for Geoffrey to explain. Instead she swiftly dipped her pen in the ink and wrote a few hasty lines that she prayed would say everything she’d never be able to tell him in person.

  Please forgive me, my own dearest G., though I cannot deserve it. I love you and always will. Forever yours, S.

  She flipped back the bed’s counterpane to uncover the pillow, and placed the note in the center, where he’d be sure to see it. Then with infinite sorrow, she pulled her betrothal ring from her hand and placed it beside the note.

  With tears in her eyes, she hooked a dark cloak around her shoulders and gathered up the traveling bag. She pressed her ear to the door to make sure that there were no servants in the hall, then carefully opened the door. Her heart pounding, she slipped through the opening, and ran as lightly as she could down the hall to the back stairs. At this time of day, the servants should have finished all their tasks about the house, and would be gathered in the hall in the kitchen to dine before they began the preparations for the evening meal for the abovestairs table. She heard their voices and their laughter as she crept down the stairs, yet saw no one, and in the next minutes she was out the garden door, down the side alley, and out the back gate.