by Joan Avery
“She wanted to know if there was anything that could be done about Lord Whitney’s gambling. She is a friend of his wife’s.”
“Shame that. Lord Whitney, that is. Aside from his gambling, he is a nice fellow.” Henry walked into the room and warmed himself by the fireplace.
“Yes, I told her that before. It seems Lady Whitney is expecting a child and Miss Westwood is concerned.”
Henry rubbed his hands together in front of the fire. “I enjoy a good wager or two, but it seems there are those for whom the whole thing is almost an addiction. They don’t know when to stop.” He paused. “She’s a very interesting woman.”
“Who? Lady Whitney?”
Henry shook his head. “Victoria Westwood.”
“I’ve told you before that it is impossible. She is a defendant in my court.” Hugh strode toward the fireplace and turned his attention to the flames that licked at the oak logs.
“She won’t always be a defendant in your court,” Henry said cautiously.
“That may be the case, but she is now.” Hugh rubbed his hands together in the heat.
“You always want things to be black and white, Monty. Always concerned that everything is orderly and proper.” Henry paused as if waiting for Hugh to absorb this. “While this may be true in the law, it isn’t true in life. Life can be messy and gray, ill-defined and vague. The decisions we make in life cannot be appealed or later modified. There are no concrete laws that make the true path clear. I’m not telling you to abandon your principles. I wouldn’t want that. I’m only asking that you don’t ignore your heart because it is in revolt against your head.”
Hugh continued to stare at the fire. He stopped rubbing his hands but didn’t answer.
“You can’t mourn forever. You can’t curse your past and choose to wallow in your misery.” Hugh’s shoulders tensed. Henry was very close to overstepping the bounds of friendship. He obviously didn’t care because he kept talking. “Edith and I like Victoria. Except for this god-awful mess with Stanford, we would be pushing very hard for the match. She is not only beautiful. She shares your passion and your beliefs. She would be a good helpmate.”
“So you and Edith have been pondering my fate and have decided to make a match?” Hugh felt his temper rise.
“We’ve had only your best interest at heart.”
“Do you realize a relationship with this woman could cost me my position? Is that also what you and Edith want?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well then, stay out of it. You’ve meddled enough already.” Hugh strode out of the room.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Victoria was on her way to Emily’s, still concerned about her friend’s welfare. She was torn as to whether she should warn her or not.
Perhaps she was being unduly pessimistic. Perhaps none of what she feared would come to pass. Then it would be simply cruel to tell Emily.
Emily’s mother and father were with her. They might be able to help if they were made aware of Edward’s gambling. She weighed the pros and cons of telling them. They loved their daughter. Emily’s father could speak with Edward.
She resolved to do this. It was the better of the two options.
Victoria knocked again on Emily’s door. Still, no one had come to answer. It didn’t make sense. Even if Emily and her parents were out, certainly there would be the housekeeper or even a maid left to take cards from callers. She tried again, this time knocking harder than before.
The door flew open this time.
“Oh, miss,” the housekeeper said.
“What is it, Mrs. Pell?”
“You have come just at the right time.” Mrs. Pell turned back toward the inside of the house as if she were torn between explaining what was happening and attending to whatever the crisis was.
“What is it? You must tell me what’s happening,” Victoria said.
“Come in. Come in.” The housekeeper took a step back into the foyer.
“What is happening?” Victoria asked again growing more concerned.
“It is Lady Whitney. She’s in a bad way. It’s the baby. We’ve sent for the doctor. Her mother is upstairs with her but her father is out. We aren’t sure where.”
“What about Lord Whitney?”
“That’s it, miss. We must reach him.”
“I’ll go. Where is he?”
“We don’t know for sure. He left yesterday and didn’t return last night.”
Victoria had some idea where he might be. But there were many private clubs where gambling took place. She wouldn’t know where to begin.
A muffled cry from above agitated Victoria even more. Emily was in distress. She would have to try.
“Tell Emily I’ve gone to fetch him. Tell her he will be here shortly.”
The housekeeper nodded.
Victoria descended the steps and signaled for her carriage, which stood just down the street.
“Boodles. Take me to Boodles.”
If the driver thought it a strange request, his expression didn’t show it.
Beside Boodles, there was White’s and Brook’s, the Cocoa Tree Club, and God knew how many other places Edward could be.
Within a few minutes, she was at her destination. She went to the door and rang the bell.
A fully liveried man opened the door.
“I must know if Lord Whitney is here.” She almost screamed the name hysterically. But hysteria wouldn’t do.
“Wait here, miss.” The door was unceremoniously shut in her face.
After a few moments another man, this one a butler of sorts, reopened the door. “May I help you?”
“I must know if Lord Whitney is here. His wife is ill, and I need to find him.”
“I’m very sorry, Miss—”
“Westwood, Victoria Westwood. I am a friend of his wife.”
Recognition crossed the man’s face and a haughty look replaced his neutral one.
“We value the privacy of our members above all else. I’m afraid I cannot share any information on who is or isn’t currently in our establishment. If you would like to leave a message, I will see Lord Whitney gets it, should I see him.”
The man’s large figure barred the entrance. Victoria would have liked to force him out of the way and enter the “sacred abode,” but it was not possible.
“If you see Lord Whitney, tell him his wife is ill and he needs to return home immediately.”
“If I see him, I will tell him.”
She was summarily dismissed. The huge door closed within inches of her face.
She clenched her fists and stood angrily before the massive door. The door represented everything that was wrong about English tradition and the fact that it came down hard in favor of men. She racked her brain. She would have no better luck at any of the men’s clubs that dotted London. She needed help, and she needed it from a man.
Henry and Edith were at Syon House visiting until later in the week. Who else did she know that might help?
And then she realized who could help. She shouldn’t ask him. It might be inappropriate. She had promised herself to keep her distance. But she was desperate.
“Take me to the Royal Court of Justice on The Strand,” Victoria ordered the driver.
It took several minutes to cover the distance between Boodles and the new Justice Building. Victoria continued to rant against the stupidity of it all in the empty carriage. Any passerby would no doubt think her mad. She had worked herself into a state by the time she reached the Lord Chancellor’s office.
“I need to see the Lord Chancellor. It’s urgent.”
“Please, miss. Calm yourself,” Hugh’s clerk said.
“Will you tell him, or must I tell him myself?”
This got the clerk up from his desk and moving quickly to the door that gave access to the Lord Chancellor’s office. He discreetly closed the heavy oak door behind him after he had knocked and been admitted.
Victoria waited. Seconds passed into minutes. The wait was excrucia
tingly painful, both mentally and physically.
Finally the door reopened and Hugh appeared. “What is it? Dennison says you are extremely alarmed.” He turned back to his clerk, who scurried out of the office back to his own desk.
“Come in,” Hugh said. “What is wrong?”
Victoria had barely crossed the threshold when she burst out. “Emily is ill. Very ill, I gather, and no one can find Lord Whitney.”
They exchanged a look that said they both knew where he probably was.
“I’ve been to Boodles,” she said. “They won’t tell me if he’s there or not. I suspect that is the answer I will get at every private club in the city of London. I will never know if I’ve found him. I need someone who can actually get inside and look for him. Damn you infernal Englishmen and all your confounded rules.”
She shouldn’t have said this out loud. Hugh’s expression was inscrutable. Was he shocked? Horrified? At this moment she didn’t care what he thought of her.
“I’m afraid it’s the baby,” Victoria finally said.
Hugh took a step forward and reached to touch her, but he stopped short and remained, instead, awkwardly close.
“Don’t distress yourself. I’ll find Edward and drag him home myself if I have to.”
“Thank you.” It was all she could say. Relief washed over her.
“Let me see you to your carriage, and then I’ll start searching.” He took her arm, and she was grateful for the support.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Emily’s household was still in an uproar. The doctor had arrived. Everyone spoke in hushed, but hurried, tones. Victoria wanted to run upstairs and see for herself what was happening, but Emily’s mother was with her and she didn’t want to intrude.
There were no sounds from above and it struck Victoria as ominous. What had Emily said? How far along was she?
It really didn’t matter. She was not far enough along for the child to live if she miscarried.
How long would it take Hugh to find Edward? They were only making an educated guess that he was in one of the many gaming houses London had to offer. It was possible he was at the country manor.
The next time Mrs. Pell crossed her path, Victoria stopped her.
“Has word been sent to the manor house?”
“No, miss.”
“Don’t you think it would be prudent to do so?”
The women stood silently for a moment, each taking the other’s measure. Victoria realized the housekeeper had a good command of the situation and suspected, as she and Hugh did, that the more likely option was he was in town gambling.
“I can do that, miss.”
“I think you should on the remote possibility that he is where he said he would be.” She didn’t have to say more.
“Yes, miss. I’ll send someone immediately.”
Victoria sat back down, feeling she had at least accomplished something, even if it hadn’t procured Edward. Every sound, every carriage outside gave her pause. Once or twice she actually rose and went to the window. But there was no sign of Hugh, with or without Edward.
Emily’s maid descended to get more hot water from the kitchen. Victoria didn’t have the heart to ask the timid girl what was happening.
Finally, Emily’s mother came downstairs. “Victoria, how kind of you to come.”
“I had just stopped by for a visit when I heard. How is she?”
“She hasn’t lost the child. At least not yet. She needs rest and calm. Her maid is helping her wash herself. Perhaps when she is done you could go up for a visit. I know Emily would want to see you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sherman. I would very much like to see her as well.”
Victoria looked at the exhausted woman who settled herself onto the sofa beside her. Mrs. Sherman was the closest thing Victoria had to a mother, so when she spoke, Victoria listened attentively.
“Ah, my dear, it seems life isn’t something that’s planned. Often it’s simply what occurs. And more importantly, how we deal with those things. Emily is resilient. She has you and her father and me. I think she will recover from any setbacks that might occur. We will see to that, won’t we?”
It was the very reassurance Victoria had sought but it sounded hollow to her. There had been no mention of Edward. Perhaps Mrs. Sherman had learned of his gambling.
Even if Emily recovered, nothing would ever be the same. Surviving something did not give you the peace of mind you had before the problem. It only made you aware of how many problems there were and that someday you might find one that was insurmountable.
She was just beginning to realize that, and it saddened her. She was afraid Emily was about to lose the most endearing quality she had: an absolute belief that everyone was good and that every setback occurred for a good reason.
“She’s done, ma’am.” The housemaid stopped and curtsied even as she carried the basin of bloodied water to dispose of it.
Mrs. Sherman squeezed Victoria’s hand. “Why don’t you go up to her? I think she has had plenty of my company for the day.”
Victoria struggled up the stairs. What could she tell Emily? More importantly, what should she? She opened the door into the darkened room. She was afraid Emily was sleeping. She walked quietly to the bedside.
Emily opened her eyes. “Victoria, I’m so glad you are here. Sit with me for a few minutes.”
Victoria pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. “How are you feeling, my dear friend?”
Emily simply shook her head from side to side.
“The doctor has said you have not lost the baby. You must simply rest and try not to upset yourself.”
“It’s not the baby.” Emily’s eyes filled with tears.
“What is it? Can I help?” Victoria’s pulse began to beat with anxiety.
“Have they found Edward?” Emily studied her as if she wanted to assess whether she was being told the truth.
“I have someone out looking for him.” Victoria took Emily’s pale hand. It was deathly cold.
Emily paused for a moment and then said, “He’s not at the manor house, you know.”
Victoria was a little startled by the comment. “Surely he is where he said he would be. But even if he weren’t”—she thought for a moment, trying to put the possibility in best light—“but even if he weren’t, it would be a good thing. If he were here in London, he would be here all the more quickly.” She squeezed Emily’s hand in encouragement.
“You don’t need to protect me. I know where he spends his days and nights. He’s told me everything.”
“What has he told you, Emily? What has upset you so?” Victoria needed to be sure of what exactly Emily knew. She didn’t want to share any news that would cause her further hurt.
“He told me before he left yesterday. Oh, Victoria. We are near penniless. Everything is gone! He has lost it all gambling.”
“Perhaps it is not all gone. Perhaps there is a way to restore your fortune and reclaim your life. You must not worry. You must let me worry for you. Think of your child. A child is more precious than any fortune. I envy you that, Emily.” She forced a smile while she cried inside.
The front door of the house opened and shut. Voices rose up the stairwell. “Rest now. If that is Edward, I will see he comes up to you straightaway.”
“Thank you.” Emily’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I will have my child. You are right.” Emily moved her hand to cover her abdomen.
Victoria descended the stairs to see Hugh and Emily’s father in agitated conversation.
“What’s happened? Did you find Edward?”
Hugh stopped the conversation and turned to her. “Yes, I found him. He’s gone to the library for a moment to calm himself before he goes up to see Emily.”
“Where was he?” Victoria asked sadly.
“Does it matter?” Hugh responded.
Victoria shook her head slowly.
She sat down on the sofa, letting herself sink into it, exhausted beyond belief. S
he looked at one man and then the other.
“She knows.” She didn’t have to explain.
Neither man spoke.
The atmosphere in the room was despondent.
So quiet she could hear only her own breathing.
Then the quiet was shattered by the sound of a gunshot from the library.
Chapter Thirty
Emily’s father looked over the ugly scene before him and cursed. “Damn him to hell!”
Victoria was shaking. Edward had sought out the gun he kept in the library and, finding it, had placed the gun to his head and fired. He had fallen forward over his desk. His blood still oozed out of the hole at his temple. The red liquid was quickly absorbed by the heavy blotter on the desktop.
It was over so quickly and completely with little fuss and little muss. How ironic. Hugh stepped forward and checked the man’s pulse. He nodded toward Mr. Sherman, who cursed once more. Victoria couldn’t bear to look at the body any longer. She quickly left the room.
Both men returned to the sitting room where Victoria sat in shock, staring at her hands. Mrs. Pell, Emily’s housekeeper, had joined her. The older woman wanted no part of the library and its dead occupant.
“We’ll have to notify the Metropolitan Police. Is there anyone who could go and fetch them?” Hugh said.
“I’ll go.” It was Mrs. Pell who spoke. Her face was pale and drawn. It didn’t appear to surprise her all that much. Perhaps she had even more knowledge than they did about Edward’s gambling.
Mr. Sherman was very red and very angry. “Has the man no sense of obligation? What was he thinking?”
At that moment, Mrs. Sherman appeared. “What happened?”
When no one answered her, she hurried over to the library door before anyone could stop her. “Oh, oh, oh.” Her eyes teared up and her hand shook as she raised it to cover her mouth. “Should we call someone? A doctor perhaps?” Her words came in short gasps.
“There is no need. The man is clearly dead,” her husband responded rather coldly.
“I must go to Emily. Poor Emily.” Mrs. Sherman spoke more to herself than to anyone in the room before she rushed back up the stairs.