The Honourable Earl

by Mary Nichols

‘They forced me…’ She jerked her head backwards in the direction of the men behind her who were struggling with her brother. She dare not look back, but she knew he was no match for four men.

  ‘You utter fools!’ He was very angry; his usual urbane manner had completely disappeared. ‘What did you bring her here for?’

  ‘Found her snooping in the woods,’ the big man said, having felled Freddie with another blow of his massive fist. ‘She had Gaston’s package. We reckon Fostyn killed him and gave it to her to mind.’

  ‘Then give it to me.’ He held out his hand. Reluctantly the man produced it from his coat pocket and handed it over. Sir Arthur slipped it into his own pocket and turned to Lydia. ‘Now, my dear, I think we should go inside and have a little talk, don’t you?’

  ‘What about?’ She did not want to go into his house, it would be harder to escape from there.

  ‘About what is to be done.’

  ‘What about him?’ the big man asked, as Freddie sat up and rubbed his chin.

  ‘Keep him safe until I decide matters. Now come along, my dear.’ He took Lydia’s arm in a vicious grip and propelled her out of the building across the yard and in at a side door.

  Chapter Ten

  The bright light of the room they entered dazzled her for a moment, but he pushed her on to an upright chair. ‘Look what we’ve found,’ he said.

  It was only then that she realised they were not alone in the room. The Comte de Carlemont, in pale pink and primrose satin, was sprawled in an armchair in front of the hearth.

  The Comte scrambled to his feet and executed a flourishing bow. ‘Your obedient, Miss Fostyn.’

  She pulled herself upright. ‘Good evening, Monsieur le Comte.’

  ‘You have been to a masquerade ball, I see.’ He held a quizzing glass to his eye and surveyed her minutely. ‘A remarkable transformation. But impossible to disguise such a pretty figure.’

  She opened her mouth and shut it again, deciding not to comment. She did not think for a minute he believed what he was saying; it was all a tease, but a deadly one. Looking about her, she realised they were in a small parlour. There were two comfortable armchairs and several upright ones round a refectory table, and a sideboard upon which stood decanters and glasses. There was one window over which the curtains were drawn, and the door by which they had entered. Not an easy room to escape from.

  ‘But where is your escort?’ the Comte went on. ‘Arthur, my friend, you have been very remiss in not taking better care of your bride-to-be.’

  ‘Indeed, I have.’ He smiled, but instead of making Lydia feel better, it made her shiver with apprehension. ‘I must make amends.’ He went to the sideboard and poured wine from a decanter into a glass, which he held out to her. ‘Drink this, my dear, it will revive you.’

  She took it, but did not drink; she needed all her wits about her.

  ‘I think we had better have a little talk,’ he said, drawing up a chair opposite her and sitting down.

  ‘What about?’ Her voice was no more than a croak and she coughed to clear her throat.

  ‘All manner of things. Mainly why you should be so foolish as to walk in the woods at night.’

  ‘It was foolish and I am sorry for it,’ she said. ‘So, will you please release me?’

  ‘Am I holding you? Have I tied you up? Have I locked the door?’

  ‘No,’ she said doubtfully, setting the full glass down on the table beside her. ‘Do you mean I am free to go?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘And Freddie, my brother?’

  ‘Ah, Mr Frederick Fostyn, such a disappointment to me. I am afraid he has work still to do.’

  ‘You mean…’ She could not bring herself to say it.

  His smile became even broader and more oily. ‘There are goods not yet delivered, deeds not done. When all has been accomplished to my satisfaction, he may return to the bosom of his family…’ He paused, watching her face. ‘But I must have safeguards, you understand.’

  ‘Safeguards?’

  ‘Guarantees.’

  ‘About the smuggling,’ she said, trying to make light of it. ‘What of it? It is nothing. Everybody does it round here. You may be sure neither my brother or I will say anything of it to anyone, you have my word.’

  ‘I am glad you are being sensible about it, but I need more than your word. I need your binding oath in a marriage ceremony. If you had been a little less independent and contrary, we would have been married already.’

  She thanked God they were not, because whatever the scandal, she could not marry him now, not even her mother would expect it of her. She refrained from telling him so, guessing it would not help her. ‘But why do you want to marry me?’ she asked. ‘You do not love me.’

  ‘Love, now there’s a strange thing,’ he said. ‘It comes and it goes according to the weather.’

  ‘No, it does not,’ she retorted. ‘Love is constant, it does not waver.’

  ‘Oh, I am very relieved to hear that. I should be concerned if my bride’s constancy were to be in doubt.’

  She felt as though he was playing with her like a fish on the end of the line and, however much she struggled, he would reel her in in the end. She remained silent, thinking of Ralph. Please God, she prayed, let him stay away from the wood, I don’t want him killed, not by Freddie, not by anyone. I would rather die myself.

  He smiled again and took her hand. She did not struggle, though she was repulsed by his touch. Better to appear passive, to hear him out, then she would know the extent of the coil she was in. ‘Now, Lydia, my dear, let us stop bandying words and come to the crux of the matter. You are engaged to marry me—’

  ‘Still?’ she queried.

  ‘I do not remember breaking it off, my dear, and I am sure you will not do so, because if this little visit to me all alone in the middle of the night, dressed like that, were to be noised abroad, it will do your reputation no good at all.’

  ‘But if it is also noised abroad that you are a smuggler and goodness knows what else besides, you will be arrested and I shall not be blamed for calling off the wedding.’

  ‘Ah, but who will do the talking? Not you, I know, because if you do, Master Frederick Fostyn will hang.’

  She gasped aloud. ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, yes, my dear.’

  She hear the Comte chuckle and whirled round to face him. ‘And I cannot think why you should find that a subject for amusement.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Fostyn, you are such an innocent,’ he said. ‘It is a pity you ’ave to learn the ’arsh truths of the real world, but learn them you must.’

  ‘Do shut up, Antoine, there’s a good fellow,’ Sir Arthur said mildly, then, turning to Lydia. ‘He is right, you know. The truth is often unpalatable, but it is still the truth and must be swallowed. Your brother is a murderer.’

  ‘No, he is not.’

  ‘Then what is this?’ He produced the package from his pocket and waved it under her nose, before tossing it into the Comte’s lap.

  ‘That has nothing to do with Freddie,’ she said. ‘I found it. I found it in a coat on the beach.’

  Sir Arthur turned towards her. ‘Just a coat? No body?’

  ‘Just a coat. And I found it before Freddie landed, so you see Freddie had nothing to do with it…’

  He laughed. ‘Oh, that is the least of it. I could give you chapter and verse of how he was captured by the French and how he bought his freedom, how he had nursed a resentment against a certain person for ten long years and that he was prepared to do anything to come home to settle old scores…’

  ‘Not murder! I will never believe that of him.’

  ‘Nevertheless, he wanted to return home. To do that he had to be brought from Canada to France and from France to England, an undertaking which took a great deal of time, money and risk for which there was a price.’

  ‘Turn informer, you mean? But what could he tell you that was of any importance? He has been away from these shores for ten years and in that ti
me the war has ended. We are at peace with France.’

  ‘Indeed, yes, which was a great disappointment to those who employed him, after all the trouble they had taken, but there were other things he could do. A certain person had to disappear…’

  She knew they were talking about Ralph. ‘But why?’

  ‘You do not need to know that, my dear. But young Mr Fostyn expressed himself willing to arrange it.’

  ‘He won’t do it. I know him. He may be headstrong and foolish, but he would never deliberately kill anyone.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he will, my dear. You see, I have got you and he knows that if you are to live a long and happy life, he must keep his word.’

  She slumped back in the chair and closed her eyes. She could not bear to see the look of satisfaction on his face. She had to marry him to keep Freddie safe, and Freddie had to kill Ralph to keep her safe. The man was evil, a devil…

  ‘I should marry her tonight, if I were you,’ the Comte put in. ‘Make sure of her.’

  ‘I think perhaps you are right, Antoine. Will you stand witness?’

  ‘Mais oui. It will be my pleasure.’

  ‘You can’t,’ she said, almost triumphantly. ‘Fleet marriages are banned. Nowadays, you have to have a licence and banns read…’

  ‘But, my dear Lydia, the banns have already been read, or had you forgot we were to have wed two days hence, if you had not postponed it to go to London? I am only bringing the nuptials forward.’

  ‘Everyone will think that very strange. What will you tell them? Mama particularly.’

  ‘Nothing, we will have two weddings; a secret one tonight, another in June in public which your mama shall have the pleasure of arranging.’

  ‘No! No! No!’

  ‘Oh, yes, my dear. Antoine, go and send Daniel to fetch the parson, will you? I would go myself, but I cannot drag myself away from my bride. And while you are there, make sure Fostyn goes back to the rendezvous. Tell Joe to go with him, he might need a little prodding.’ He turned back to Lydia. ‘I should take that drink now, if I were you. You look as though you might faint.’

  Ralph hung on to the strap in the swaying coach. Opposite him sat a very subdued Annabelle and a resentful Peregrine Baverstock. No one had spoken for some time, although it would have been difficult to hold a normal conversation in any case, the coach was rattling at breakneck speed and buffeting all three against the sides and the roof as it slid in and out of potholes and round bends which should have been taken at a walk.

  He had found them in the waiting room of the Crown in Colchester, sitting side by side and looking anything but happy. The young man looked sheepish and Annabelle pale and frightened. He surmised she was having second thoughts about the journey they had undertaken, having only just been told how far it was and how long it would take. And the lad, unused himself to public travel, had badly miscalculated how far they would manage to go before night fell and they would have to find somewhere to sleep.

  It was past ten o’clock when he found them and they had, so he discovered, been arguing as to whether to put up at the inn or go on and snatch what sleep they could on the overnight coach. Peregrine was all for going on in case anyone was in pursuit, while she had been accusing him of being too mean to procure a bedroom for her. The sudden appearance of the Earl had naturally put an end to the debate.

  With some resistance from Perry, who told him it was none of his business, and no opposition at all from Annabelle, he had bundled them both into his carriage, now with the fresh horses, and set off back the way he had come. His groom was left behind to bring his own horses back the next day with the help of one of the ostlers, who would take back the horses belonging to the Crown.

  They had almost reached Malden when Annabelle spoke for the first time. ‘What do you think Mama will say?’

  ‘I do not know,’ he said curtly. ‘You should have thought of that before you left.’

  He was in no mood to be sympathetic. Thanks to these two silly children, he had probably missed the chance to catch those smugglers or to find out what else was going on. If it was anything more serious than smuggling a little wine and cognac, he wanted it stopped. He felt responsible for the Colston men caught up in it and he did not want to see them hanged if they were ignorant of wider implications.

  ‘I am sorry.’ She began to weep and Perry took her hand and squeezed it but he did not speak.

  ‘Say that to your mama and your sister. You know Lydia should not have to worry about you, she has enough to occupy her without having to spend hours searching for you.’

  ‘I know,’ she said miserably. ‘It was because of me she agreed to marry Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith.’

  ‘You?’ he queried in surprise. ‘How so?’

  ‘He promised me a dowry.’

  ‘Then why did you run away instead of waiting for it?’

  ‘Because Lord and Lady Baverstock would never allow us to marry, whether I have a dowry or not. They said so. They think we are too much the subject of gossip.’

  ‘And so you subject the family to even more of it,’ he said grimly. ‘If it was left to me, I should put you over my knee and spank you.’

  ‘I am truly sorry. I thought if we ran away and married without a dowry, Lydia would not have to go on with the wedding.’

  ‘Do you mean that was your sister’s only reason for agreeing to marry Sir Arthur?’ He could not believe it. He knew Lydia was selfless, but surely that was more than anyone had a right to ask of her?

  ‘Not all,’ she said. ‘He said he would pay John’s school fees. And…’

  ‘And what?’

  She hesitated. ‘I am not sure she would like me to tell you.’

  ‘You will tell me,’ he said, almost grinding his teeth in frustration.

  ‘Sir, you are frightening her,’ Peregrine protested.

  ‘I shall frighten her a deal more if I do not hear the truth.’

  ‘The truth,’ she said, suddenly blazing with anger, ‘is that you were going to turn us out of the dower house and we had nowhere to go and no money either and Sir Arthur offered to provide for us. Lydia had no choice.’

  ‘Are you certain of this?’

  ‘Yes. You do not imagine Lydia wanted to be married to him, do you? She hates him. And you made it worse, offering to let Mama stay in the dower house when it was too late. And now I do not know what will happen.’

  He did not either, but whatever she thought of him, he had to do something, he had to stop Lydia throwing herself away on that middle-aged rake who called himself Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith. Why did he think that wasn’t the man’s real name? Or perhaps it was and he had known him by another. India. A picture formed in his mind of a busy Bengali bazaar and an Indian spice seller in a dirty turban. But the spice seller hadn’t been an Indian. He had been French. Gaston Marillaud. But where was the connection?

  Gaston Marillaud was a French spy and a very clever man. At a time when Britain and France were in conflict over who should reign supreme in the subcontinent, he had darkened his already tanned skin to make him look like a native and passed himself off as a street vendor. Thus disguised, he had learned the British East Indian Company’s plans and passed them on wrapped in packets of spice. The authorities had their suspicions, but he was a clever one and knew everyone who might be sent to track him down, except Ralph himself, who had not been in the country above a few months. The Governor, hearing about other daring exploits in Europe and the Middle East with which Ralph had been credited, had summoned him and given him the job of watching the man.

  That was how he came to witness the transaction between the Indian and the overweight European and realised the Indian was not passing on information, but receiving it. Soon afterwards, he packed up his stall and set off at a fast lope, followed by Ralph, determined to see where he was taking the information. It was due to Ralph the man had been arrested with the information on him. Only then was his nationality discovered. He had been locked up, but before his trial someone
had engineered his escape. It was supposed he had gone back to the French lines and from there, because he was no longer useful, back to France.

  His European accomplice, the one who was passing on the secrets, had never been apprehended. Everyone was suspect, except perhaps the Governor himself and his immediate staff, among whom was an Englishman called Thomas Ballard. Now, suddenly Ralph knew the connection. Thomas Ballard had been the oversized European, padded out with extra clothes, hair died black and a false black beard. Thomas Ballard. Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith, fatter, older, richer, but the same man, he was sure of it. And Lydia was engaged to marry him!

  Did she really hate him? Did she wish herself free? He could free her simply by reporting what he knew; he believed the man was still a wanted traitor. Did he have anything to do with the smuggling? This new thought was more than worrying, it was terrifying. If Thomas Ballard—Sir Arthur—or whatever he called himself, was using the smugglers to cover other activities, then Lydia was deeply involved. He had done enough harm to the Fostyn family in the past, he had to see them all safe before he confronted the traitor. Besides, he loved her more than life and that counted for more than all the other arguments put together.

  If he had been on horseback instead of in a carriage, he could have ridden across country and forded the dozens of inlets and creeks which made building roads over that terrain impossible; he could have been in Colston in less than an hour. Instead he had to endure this coach ride and stop at Malden to deliver Peregrine back to his parents.

  Leaving Annabelle in the coach, they were received by Lord Baverstock in the drawing room. Sending Peregrine to his bed, saying he would deal with him the following day, his lordship turned back to Ralph. ‘My dear Blackwater, I cannot tell you how relieved I am that the young rascal is home safe and no damage done.’ He picked up a decanter. ‘You’ll take a glass?’

  ‘No, thank you. I must deliver the young lady to her mama.’

  ‘Oh, yes, quite. You don’t know what a relief it is to know that we shall not find ourselves connected to that family.’

  ‘I should be proud to be connected to it, sir,’ Ralph said sharply. ‘They have been ill used by those who should have known better…’