The Honourable Earl

by Mary Nichols

  ‘But it was you they wronged.’

  ‘No, I never said that, nor ever will. Mrs Fostyn is the epitome of good sense, of courage in adversity and compassion to those who have ill used her, and she has brought up her family to be the same. Now, I bid you goodnight.’

  As he left the room, he heard his lordship say, ‘Well, I’m dashed!’

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ Annabelle asked as he climbed back into the coach and told his driver to set to and not spare the horses. ‘Was he very angry?’

  ‘Oh, he will recover, I do not doubt, but if you still want to marry that young man—’

  ‘I don’t. At least, not yet. I have decided I am not ready for marriage.’

  ‘It is a pity you did not make that decision before tonight. You have worried your mother half to death, made your sister feel guilty that she allowed you to go off alone and inconvenienced me.’

  ‘I am sorry for that, indeed I am.’

  ‘I shall say nothing of my own inconvenience, but I shall expect you to make amends to your family.’

  ‘Oh, I will. But, my lord…’ She paused. ‘You will not tell Lydia what I told you, about…’

  He smiled. ‘About why she agreed to marry Sir Arthur?’

  ‘Yes. She would be even more angry with me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I believe she cares for you.’ She giggled suddenly. ‘She calls you her umbrella man, did you know that?’

  ‘No, I did not.’ He spoke sharply to cover the sudden surge of hope that spread through him.

  ‘She is very good at hiding her true feelings and you are the last person she would wish to know about it.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He was smiling, unable to maintain his anger towards her.

  ‘Yes, which I own I find difficult to understand,’ she said. ‘Me? I would not be able to keep such a thing secret, so perhaps she is not in love with you, after all.’ And she heaved a huge sigh.

  He smiled but said nothing. What did she really know about her sister’s true feelings if, as she said, Lydia was clever at concealing them? Annabelle was an empty-headed child only just out of school. She must like weaving fantasies. Umbrella man, indeed! But could there be anything in what she said, just a grain of truth, enough for him to dare to hope? Always supposing Thomas Ballard could be dealt with. His impatience was becoming almost unbearable.

  Annabelle, after all the excitement, had fallen asleep with her tousled head against his arm and thus they arrived at the dower house at two o’clock in the morning.

  Everywhere was in darkness, which surprised him; late though it was, he had expected either Mrs Fostyn or Lydia to be keeping vigil. He knocked loudly and when no one came, tried the door. It was unlocked. ‘Perhaps we should not disturb them,’ Annabelle whispered, leading the way into the hall, where a lamp burned very low. ‘I could creep up to bed and talk to them in the morning.’

  ‘No. I cannot simply dump you on the doorstep like a cask of contraband cognac. Go, wake you sister.’

  Annabelle turned up the lamp and took it upstairs with her, dragging her feet a little, because she knew she was in for a scold. Ralph watched her go. His heart was pounding with anticipation. Soon he would see his love again and he would insist on the truth. And then he would deal with Thomas Ballard.

  Annabelle came rushing down the stairs, almost tumbling in her haste. ‘She isn’t there! She was never in her bed.’

  ‘Oh, my God, surely she hasn’t—’ He stopped. ‘Annabelle, wake your mother, gently though, let her know you are home and then go to bed. Both of you. Do not let her know your sister is gone out. If she asks, say Lydia is sleeping and you do not want to wake her. I will be back with her before she is missed.’

  He turned on his heel, climbed back into the coach and directed the coachman to take him home. Foolish, foolish Lydia! Why was she so obsessed with those smugglers? Did she know something he did not? He felt like shaking her until her teeth rattled; she was risking her life by falling in with them and their nefarious activities, but though he had tried to tell her so, she had evidently not been listening.

  He would have expected them to have completed their night’s work long before now. So why had she not returned home? If they had discovered her, what would they do to her? Ordinary smugglers might very well frighten her and send her home but these… Were they ordinary smugglers? Had Ballard drawn her into his web? Did she know anything at all about him?

  Back at the Hall, he left the coach, almost before the wheels stopped turning and rushed upstairs to change into his old, dark clothes, tuck a pistol into his belt and set off for the clearing in the wood. He did not doubt that was where she had gone. It would soon be dawn and the smugglers would not want to be abroad in daylight.

  He stopped his headlong dash as he reached the edge of the trees. Now, for all the need of haste, he must go silently. He crept forward, testing each footfall before putting his weight on it, looking about him, watchful, trying to penetrate each bush, each dark shape, ready to defend himself. The trees thinned and he was on the edge of the clearing. And there she was, dressed as a boy, talking to a huge man. Even her stance and the way she held her head was boyish as if she had taken great pains to master her role.

  She had her back to him, so he could not see her face and could not tell if she was being held against her will, but it did not look like it. There was a pistol tucked into her belt, which would surely have been taken from her, if they did not trust her. His mind was in turmoil. She looked so easy with the big man, as if they were waiting for something or someone. Did she know what she had got herself into? He ought to creep nearer so as to hear what they were saying.

  Before he could move, a hand shot out and covered his mouth and a voice whispered, ‘Don’t make a sound,’ so close to his ear he could feel the man’s warm breath on his neck.

  He froze and the whisperer went on. ‘It’s Robert, Ralph. I’m here to help. Do you understand?’ He nodded and the hand was removed. ‘Come, where we can talk.’

  Reluctantly he turned his back on Lydia and followed the other man until they were far enough away to speak, though still in whispers. ‘What are you doing here?’ Ralph demanded.

  ‘A little bird told me that if you came into the wood tonight, you would not leave it alive…’

  ‘You mean it is an ambush?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘But why? Who wants me dead? Not… No, I will not believe she would…’

  Robert gave a low chuckle. ‘If you mean Miss Lydia Fostyn, she is intent on saving you. She enlisted my help, which was fortuitous because I am already fully invo—’

  ‘In the smuggling?’ Ralph was astonished.

  ‘No, but Miss Fostyn thinks I am.’ His teeth showed white in the darkness as he smiled. ‘She feels I have some influence over those who would harm you. Nothing could be further from the truth. I have other fish to fry but, since one is connected with the other, I am here to offer you my assistance.’

  ‘Thank you, but we must fetch Lydia out first.’

  ‘She is there? Oh, my God, I had thought she was safe in bed. Then we had better be extra careful. Are you armed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you go that way and I will go this and come upon them from two sides. There is help on the way, but we cannot wait for it.’

  ‘What help?’

  ‘From London. I sent word.’

  ‘I want Lydia out before they arrive. I do not want her implicated.’

  ‘Then let us go.’

  They parted and, using the trees for cover, flanked the two men at the cottage. Ralph waited in position for Robert to give the signal. The big man and Lydia were standing together at the door. Ralph was almost certain Lydia would never use the pistol she wore so bravely in her belt and decided to concentrate on the big man. He saw Robert raise his hand and sprang into the opening, pistol raised.

  ‘Drop your weapons!’ he commanded.

  The big man hesitated, made
as if he was going to obey, then his pistol cracked loudly in the clearing. Fortunately he had not given himself time to aim properly and his shot went wide and landed in a tree beside Ralph’s head. He cursed loudly.

  Robert dashed over to relieve the big man of the gun before he could reload and make him lie face down. ‘You get the other one.’

  Ralph turned, fully expecting to see a frightened Lydia. Instead he found himself facing Freddie, whose gun was aimed at his chest. For a moment his astonishment was so great, he simply gaped. ‘Freddie!’ he said at last. ‘It is you, isn’t it? I thought it was—’ He stopped. Did Freddie know Lydia went out in his coat and breeches? Was that why she was so involved and determined to thwart him?

  ‘Lydia.’ Freddie finished for him. He was grinning, though he kept the pistol aimed at Ralph. ‘She looks good in my clothes, don’t she?’

  ‘How long have you been back?’

  ‘Cut the cackle,’ Joe grunted, as Robert sat astride him to stop him struggling. ‘Now’s your chance, shoot the devil.’

  Freddie glanced at his accomplice and back at Ralph. Ralph tensed. The gun his erstwhile friend was aiming at him was far from steady, which gave Ralph no relief; a pistol held by a man half-crazed with fear was no less deadly than one in the hands of a cool man. ‘Where’s Lydia?’ he demanded playing for time.

  ‘With her husband,’ Joe put in and laughed.

  ‘Husband?’ he echoed, momentarily taking his eyes off Freddie.

  ‘Yes.’ The big man went on. ‘A wife cannot give evidence against her husband, can she? Sworn to love, honour and obey him, ain’t she? The boy was going for the parson when we left. Pity we had to miss the ceremony…’ He stopped abruptly because Robert had knocked him out with a well-aimed blow and pulled a coil of rope from his belt with which he proceeded to tie the man’s hands and feet together.

  ‘Is this true?’ Ralph asked Freddie, who had dropped the hand holding the pistol to his side. ‘Have you sold your sister for your petty revenge? My God, I could kill you…’ He stepped forward but Freddie jerked the pistol up again.

  ‘Steady,’ Robert said, coming to stand beside Ralph. ‘He’s mine.’

  ‘No. If you take him in, it will kill Mrs Fostyn. Poor lady, she has had enough to bear and Lydia would never forgive me, not a second time.’ He took a step forward, careless of his own life, and held out his hand. ‘Freddie, if you love your mother and your sisters and brother, give me your gun. I will not harm you.’

  Freddie looked wildly about him. Joe lay trussed and unconscious on the ground. How many others were in the trees, lying in wait for him? He threw down his gun. ‘Kill me,’ he shouted. ‘Go on. Kill me. You should have done it ten years ago.’

  ‘No, I could not do it then, nor can I do it now.’

  ‘You can’t mean to let him go,’ Robert said, picking up the discarded pistol.

  ‘No. He’s going to take us to Lydia, aren’t you, Freddie?’ He forced himself to sound calm, but inside he was bubbling with anger and impatience. Was it too late to stop the wedding? And if it had already taken place, what could he do about it? ‘You are going to take me to the traitor and, on the way, you will tell me everything you know, every last thing. Is that not so?’

  Freddie shrugged, but Ralph’s sharp prod in the small of his back propelled him forward.

  How long had they been sitting there? Lydia asked herself. He had not taken his currant eyes off her the whole time and he was smiling to himself. She decided he was mad. When she complained she could not possibly be married in man’s attire, the Comte, returning from his earlier errand, had been despatched again to rouse Mrs Sutton and request her to find lady’s clothes which would fit his bride. She hoped the woman would take a long time, a very long time. She had to find a way out of this room and this house before the clothes and the parson arrived.

  Even then it would not be the end of her troubles. Freddie was still out there somewhere, and Ralph, all unknowing, would return from his selfless errand on her behalf and straight into danger. If she could only talk to Freddie, make him see sense, tragedy might yet be averted. And if she had to marry Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith to keep them both safe, then she would do it.

  ‘Why?’ she asked him now. ‘Why me? Why Freddie?’

  ‘Oh, you were simply instruments of my revenge, Miss Fostyn.’

  ‘On whom?’

  ‘Lord Latimer.’

  ‘You mean, the Earl of Blackwater?’

  ‘Yes, but he was Lord Latimer when I knew him out in India. Little more than a stripling, he was, but cleverer than I thought. He was instrumental in my having to leave India in a hurry. I lost my position, lost credibility with those I served, most of my wealth and my wife was never the same…’

  ‘He never gave the slightest indication he had met you before,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you have not mistaken him for someone else?’

  He smiled. ‘No, how could I? I was in a position of trust, I knew who had been given the credit for Gaston’s arrest, who had pointed the finger at me, though nothing was proved. He did not know I knew.’

  ‘Gaston?’ she repeated. ‘I have heard his name several times. Who is he?’

  He sighed. ‘My late wife’s brother. He is a loyal Frenchman.’

  ‘A spy?’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘So you were a spy too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She was beginning to understand. ‘And Freddie?’

  ‘Freddie is a foolish boy who never grew up,’ he said. ‘Homesick, easily persuaded.’

  ‘And me?’

  He laughed. ‘Oh, you are the plum in the pie. Married to me, you cannot give evidence against me, nor will you want to, knowing your brother has wreaked his revenge along with mine. You will restore my credibility and we will be one big happy family.’

  She was silent. She longed to tell him that nothing would persuade her marry him, but to say so would anger him and he might tie her up or lock her up or both and she must retain at least a semblance of freedom. But she was shaking with a mixture of fear and fury and at that moment was not sure which was in the ascendancy. She had never felt so alone.

  ‘And will you keep your word and give Annabelle a dowry and look after Mama and my brother John?’

  ‘Of course. And with the Earl of Blackwater no more and no known heir, I shall purchase the Colston estate and, in the fullness of time, I will become the new Squire and you will be mistress of Colston Hall.’ He laughed a little crazily and she realised that he really believed she would acquiesce. ‘You will like that, will you not, my little dove? That will be your revenge too, for I know you have always longed for it.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, hearing footsteps outside the room. A moment later Mrs Sutton entered with a red silk gown over her arm.

  ‘Ah, there you are my dear,’ he said. ‘Have you found something?’

  ‘Yes, though I doubt it will fit.’

  ‘Then make it fit.’

  ‘I can’t see why you don’t send her home as she is. Strumpet—’

  ‘She is to be my wife, Martha, please do not speak of her in that vulgar way. Take her upstairs and help her dress. And please make sure you stay with her the whole time. When I send for her, bring her down. You shall stand as a second witness.’

  He was not so confident that he was prepared to let her change in privacy, Lydia realised, as she was pushed out of the room, prodded along the corridor and up the back stairs.

  ‘In here,’ Mrs Sutton said, opening a door to a bedroom. ‘Get those breeches off. You are an offence to the eye. If I had my way, you’d be horsewhipped and stood in the stocks, never mind marry my brother. You don’t deserve him. And he don’t deserve the likes of you.’

  ‘True,’ Lydia murmured, looking about her. There was a bed, a wash stand with washing water in a jug, a table with a vase on it and a chair. There was one window and one door and, as she knew there was no creeper on the outside walls, the door it would have to be.

 
‘As soon as I heard that gossip, I said to him, “Tom,” I said, “you must draw back, draw back now, before you are tainted by it”, but would he listen? He would not.’

  ‘Tom?’ Lydia queried, pretending to fumble with the buttons of her coat. ‘You called him Tom?’

  ‘It is another of his names,’ she said quickly. ‘We always used it as children. Now make haste or you will not be ready before he sends for you.’ She grabbed Lydia’s coat and began undoing the buttons for her.

  Five minutes later Lydia stood in the voluminous sack gown while Mrs Sutton pinched and pinned the front of the bodice to make it fit. It had been made for someone very much bigger than she was and Lydia came to the conclusion it had belonged to the late Lady Thomas-Smith. Would Sir Arthur remember that?

  It was of no consequence if he did, she thought, she had no intention of returning to that room to be married. Mrs Sutton, her mouth full of pins, knelt at her feet to pin up the hem. Lydia reached over her, picked up the jug of water and crashed it down on the woman’s head. She crumpled in a heap at Lydia’s feet among shards of pottery, scattered pins and a pool of water. Almost mesmerised by what she had done, it was a moment or two before Lydia could move. All her instincts were to render aid, but that was foolish. She lifted the skirts and left the room, locking it behind her.

  She crept quietly down the stairs and paused at the bottom to get her bearings. And then she was speeding down the corridor to the front door. There was a footman on duty, sitting on a stool with his back to the wall. She stopped, wondering how to pass him. And then she realised he had fallen asleep at his post, which was hardly to be wondered at; it was almost day and he had probably been there all night. Step by silent step, she tiptoed past him towards the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Do you know who Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith is?’ Ralph asked Freddie as they walked swiftly along the old Roman road towards the spot where it joined the Southminster road. Robert had been left behind to drag Joe into the cottage and lock him in.