Joanna paled. ‘No, and you must not tell him I’m here! Promise, Catarina! He’ll make me go back!’
‘They will guess you have come to me.’
‘No, they won’t. I left a note saying I was going to a friend’s in London.’
Catriona frowned. She appreciated Joanna’s fear of their uncle’s anger, but she did not approve of telling lies.
‘He and Aunt Hebe will be worried.’
‘They’ve never cared for either of us except in the way of duty. They disapproved of Papa and never accepted Mama. But they’ll want to drag me back and, Cat, I can’t!’
‘Why not? Have they been unkind to you?’ Catarina repeated.
‘No. Not them.’ and Joanna burst into tears.
It took time and patience to calm her, but eventually she sat up, pushed herself away from Catarina’s comforting arms and wiped her eyes. Then she took a deep breath.
‘Cat, I’m – oh, I can’t tell you!’
‘You must if I’m to help you. And you must want my help, or you would not have come to me.’
Joanna nodded, and turned away her face so that she did not have to look at Catarina. Her words were muffled and low, but Catarina heard them.
‘I’m increasing; I’m having a baby.’
Chapter Three
NICHOLAS PUT HIS lack of interest in accepting any of the many invitations waiting for him in London to his concerns about the coming struggle with Napoleon. Many of the people who normally spent the Season in London had flocked to Paris and Brussels, taking advantage of the opportunity to visit Europe, the first for many years, though it appeared that a few, apprehensive at the approach of the Corsican monster, had fled back to London.
One of the young matrons with whom he enjoyed a discreet liaison sent a brief note saying her husband was away for a week, and she hoped to see him before he, too, left for Brussels, but he tossed it into the fire. He had no appetite for her frivolity. Lady Keith, furious that he had countermanded her decision to have Olivia in London for the Season, sent an imperious command ordering him to dinner the following day, and to this he sent polite apologies, mentioning a previous engagement. He was in no mood to listen to her complaints.
He could not dismiss thoughts of Catarina from his mind. Used as he was to ordering his own affairs, it rankled that she had been better informed than he about the old cottages. However much he told himself that as she lived there it was only natural she would know the situation, he disliked the experience of having to admit he was wrong. She had not, however, known about the agent’s dishonesty, but that had no doubt been Walter’s province.
She was an enigma, and to his annoyance he could not rid his mind of thoughts of her. Going through Walter’s papers he had discovered several letters from an elderly Colonel Carsley, a member of White’s, and it seemed they were old friends. Almost without being aware of it he found himself entering the club later that day.
The colonel was reposing in a deep armchair, his eyes closed and a glass held loosely in his hand in imminent danger of tipping the port it contained on to his lap.
Nicholas drew up another chair and coughed loudly. The colonel started, opened his eyes and drained his glass.
‘What? Who? Oh, it’s you, young Brooke. Thought you were down in Somerset. How did poor Walter’s funeral go?’
‘That was over two months ago; I have been busy elsewhere since. But I was at Marshington Grange last week and met his widow again. A pleasant girl, but rather younger than I expected.’
The colonel uttered a salacious chortle. ‘Walter was an old dog. Didn’t know he had it in him. I wouldn’t have minded bedding that filly meself!’
Nicholas found his hands clenched into fists. He forced himself to relax.
‘We were such distant connections I hadn’t met Walter since I was a child. My father always said he would never marry, but when he did we assumed he wanted to secure the succession.’
‘Wants aren’t always granted to us. You should be grateful. You get the title and the estate. He was a warm man, Walter, never spent above his income and managed to increase his fortune.’
‘Why did he choose a girl just out of the schoolroom? I’d have thought he might have preferred someone older.’
‘He didn’t confide in me, but I understand he was visiting her uncle in Bristol for some reason and saw the chit. He was smitten and the uncle – Sir Ivor Norton, wasn’t he? – caught his fish. An odd man, Norton, not the sort to take kindly to having to take on two schoolgirls. Got a sister, I believe? Did you see her? Is she another beauty?’
‘She’s pretty, yes, but Lady Brooke is the more handsome. But enough of her. What’s the latest news from Brussels?’
Catarina closed her eyes and shuddered. ‘Who was it? Were you forced?’ she asked, thankful that her voice sounded normal.
‘It was only once or twice. Well, a few times,’ Joanna muttered. ‘Just after I went home after Walter’s funeral. Matthew and I were married, but secretly, and he was leaving to join the army in Belgium. Oh, Cat, what shall I do?’
‘Our cousin Matthew?’
Catarina tried to suppress her anger. Matthew was Uncle Ivor’s eldest son, just a couple of years older than she was, and she had always detested him. As a child he had delighted in playing cruel pranks on other children, lying to escape any punishment and quite willing to blame anyone else for his own misdemeanours.
‘Joanna, how could you! He was the most dreadful little sneak and he was expelled from Harrow for stealing. It’s a wonder he hasn’t been kicked out of the army too!’
Joanna sniffed. ‘I thought he had changed. He was different from when we were little, friendly and fun. Cat, you can’t imagine how awful it is living with our uncle! He promised to take me away from it all, and anyway we were married! Or at the time I thought we were.’
‘Thought you were?’ Catarina didn’t know whether to shake her sister or weep for her. ‘How can you be uncertain? Tell me all about it. When did this marriage take place, where, and who else was present? Didn’t you know that you needed Uncle Ivor’s permission as you are only eighteen? If the marriage was secret how could you have had it?’
‘Matthew said it would be all right,’ Joanna said, her voice sulky. ‘It was late at night, I couldn’t get away at any other time, but I managed to climb out of my window and down the wistaria outside.’
Catarina groaned. ‘Like you did in the seminary. Oh, Joanna! Won’t you ever learn?’
‘It’s no good being cross with me now. I need your help, Catarina. I thought you’d be willing to help me.’
‘I will. Go on.’
‘It was at that nice little church just a few miles away – St John’s. You know it, the village has moved, it’s now further up the hill and the church stands all on its own.’
Just right for a clandestine wedding ceremony, Catarina thought, but did not voice it.
‘Who else was there?’
‘Two of Matthew’s army friends, he said they were. I hadn’t met them before. And the curate, of course.’
‘They were witnesses, I suppose. Did you sign the register? I remember I had to when I married Walter.’
‘I signed in a big book. I suppose that’s what you mean.’
‘I don’t understand why it had to be a secret. Why did Matthew not wish his father to know?’
‘He had got plans for Matthew to marry someone else, a girl Aunt Hebe met the last time she was in Bath taking the waters.’
‘Does he know about the baby? Have you written to tell him?’
Joanna nodded and gulped. ‘I wrote as soon as I suspected. I had a reply yesterday. That was why I had to come to you. Cat, darling sister, you will help me, won’t you?’
Catarina’s foreboding increased. ‘What did he say?’
‘He said I had been a fool to believe him; he’d never married me, the ceremony was a joke and the curate was just another of his friends. And he said he was now betrothed to a girl he’d met in Bru
ssels. He gave me the address of a woman in Bristol who – who helped girls in my situation. He meant she would get rid of the baby for me. But, Cat, one of the girls at the seminary went to one of these women and she died!’
‘Do you still have the letter?’
‘Yes, I brought it to show you just how – how horrid he’s being.’
‘Give it to me. I’ll keep it somewhere safe and if I get the opportunity one day I will do something drastic to Cousin Matthew. Perhaps it would serve him right if we sent a copy to this girl he says he’s betrothed to. Did he tell you her name?’
‘Here’s the letter.’ Joanna took it from her reticule and handed it to Catarina. ‘Read it. He didn’t tell me who it is.’
‘Then perhaps it’s no one. He may be saying it just as an excuse.’
Catarina’s emotions were too complex for her to distinguish them. There was utter fury and disgust at Matthew’s calculating cynicism; anger at Joanna for being taken in by him and permitting such intimacies; dismay at the scandal that would arise when their friends learned of the situation; and, under it all, a shameful jealousy that her sister knew more about this aspect of life than she did herself.
She and Walter had led celibate lives. On their wedding night he had confessed to her that, due to an accident some years before, he was incapable of fathering a child. They had never lived as man and wife, though no one but themselves knew this state of affairs. She suddenly had a vision of Nicholas Brooke and wondered guiltily what it would be like to have such a handsome man make love to her. Before her wedding she had often wished for a young, handsome knight to come and carry her away from her uncle’s house, but when told she was to marry Walter had striven to banish such unmaidenly thoughts.
She pulled herself together. Kindness in a husband was more important than good looks. But Brooke had invaded her dreams too frequently for her comfort.
‘Don’t worry, Joanna. We’ll think of a way round it without resorting to any dirty old woman in Bristol! Now I’ll show you to your room, the pretty one with the rose-patterned wallpaper you chose, and in the morning I’ll have thought of a plan. And think yourself lucky you are not really married to Matthew!’
In the aftermath of the battle, when the Emperor’s army had been routed, Nicholas, filthy from the mud and so weary he wanted nothing better than to lie down in his soaking wet clothes and sleep where he was, knew he had to make sure Jeremy was safe. He’d seen his brother a couple of hours previously and, at that time, he had been alive and exalted with the success they sensed was coming. He set off, asking everyone he met if they knew where Jeremy’s regiment was located, and was eventually directed to an inn on the road back to Brussels.
His horse, as weary as he was, stumbled along the chaussée and dropped his head the moment Nicholas dismounted. The road was filled with carts carrying the dead and wounded, soldiers straggling back to Brussels, people trying to go the other way, either to look for loved ones or, Nicholas suspected, to scavenge amongst the debris and rob the dead still lying where they had fallen. There was grass at the roadside, but his poor horse seemed too weary to bother eating. Nicholas knew how he felt. Though all he’d had in the past four and twenty hours was a small loaf of coarse bread, he had no desire for food, just for sleep.
There were several cavalrymen sitting on the ground outside the inn, but not Jeremy. Someone inside was screaming in agony and Nicholas winced at the sound.
‘What goes on? I’m looking for my brother, Jeremy Brooke.’
One of the men gave him a sorrowing look. A second gestured towards the inn.
‘Don’t ask, mate. It’s butchery in there. He’s no surgeon.’
‘What?’
Nicholas pushed past them and found his way into the coffee room. The long trestle tables had been commandeered as beds, and several men lay on them, groaning, while others surrounded the furthest table. He glanced round swiftly but could not see Jeremy. Then he thought he heard his brother’s voice, demanding to be let go.
‘Pour some more brandy down his throat,’ Nicholas heard and, fearing the worst, he pushed through towards this group of men.
Jeremy lay on the trestle, struggling to get free, but his arms and legs were being held down by four brawny fellows while a fifth was sharpening a large, wicked-looking saw. Jeremy’s breeches had been cut away and blood was pouring from a wound in his left thigh.
Nicholas grabbed the man with the saw and demanded to know what was going on.
‘Bullet lodged. Now get off, there’s plenty more to be done. Have you got the pitch ready?’ he asked yet another man standing beside him.
‘Aye, nice and hot.’
‘No! There must be another way. Bullets can be dug out, there’s no need to amputate.’
‘Look, mate, I’m the surgeon, I know what needs to be done. If I don’t take the leg it’ll be gangrenous and he’ll die a lingering death, much worse than a few minutes of pain here.’
‘Nick?’
Jeremy, his gaze unfocused, began to laugh and mutter about old Nick and the devil. Nicholas, seeing what appeared to be the landlord hovering in the background, beckoned to him.
‘Do you have a bed upstairs for my brother, away from these butchers? I’ll pay well.’
‘It’s no more than a garret, but you’re welcome.’
Nicholas gestured to two of the men assisting the surgeon and told them to carry Jeremy upstairs. They shrugged and, lured by the thought of his largesse, picked up Jeremy and carried him, still muttering alternate prayers and curses, up the narrow stairs into a small room under the eaves. Nicholas could hear the surgeon shouting at his other assistants, ordering them to move the next one over. Poor devils, in his murderous hands. But he had to do what he could for Jeremy.
Nicholas handed the men some coins and turned to the landlord.
‘Have you some woman who could help me? And plenty of hot water and bandages please.’
‘I’ll send up my wife.’
Within a few minutes a buxom woman came in, carrying a knife and a linen sheet which she intimated could be cut into bandages. Another, younger woman carried in a jug of water. Nicholas took the first strip of bandage and began to swab Jeremy’s wound. He could not see the bullet, which was buried deep, but the wound looked clean and, if he could stem the bleeding, he might be able to keep Jeremy alive until he could reach a proper doctor.
Catarina’s prediction that Uncle Ivor would suspect Joanna had come to her was proved correct on the following day. Halfway through the morning his carriage drew up outside the Dower House.
Joanna, nervous, looked out of the window and gasped.
‘Cat, it’s Uncle Ivor! I won’t go back with him! Oh, please don’t tell him I’m here! I’m going to hide in the woods.’
Before Catarina could reply she had disappeared through the double doors dividing the front drawing room from the back half. Catarina had a craven desire to follow. She would have to lie to her uncle and convince him she knew nothing of the matter. She seized some embroidery, a seat cover she was making for the dining-room chairs, and tried to appear calm.
Staines let him in. Catarina trusted her uncle, who was high in the instep, would not stoop to asking questions of the servants. She gave him a look of surprise when he was shown into the drawing room, though her hands holding the embroidery were shaking so much she feared she would stab herself with the needle.
‘Uncle Ivor! What a surprise. I was so sorry you and Aunt Hebe could not come to Walter’s funeral.’
She had decided to attack and try to put him in the wrong at the start.
‘We sent apologies. I really have too much to do to traipse all the way out here. You had your sister for comfort. She’s the reason for my visit today. Is she here?’
‘She isn’t in my house,’ Catarina replied truthfully. ‘Why do you ask? Where is she?’
‘The ungrateful wretch has run away, said she was going to a friend in London.’
‘Then I expect that is wh
ere she has gone. You have wasted your time coming here. Do you wish me to accompany you to London in search of her?’
‘You take this very calmly!’
‘I know my sister. She is quite capable of making her own way to London if that was what she said she would do. Why has she left you? Have there been disagreements? Have you been angry with her? She does not take kindly to unfair chastisement.’
As he spluttered in annoyance, Catarina heard a horse neighing outside. A few moments later, Sir Humphrey entered the room. She greeted him more cordially than usual and introduced her uncle. Sir Humphrey looked gratified. Staines brought in some Madeira and, when his back was to the men, he winked at Catarina. She suppressed a smile. Her servants would not give Joanna away.
It was a tense half-hour, but eventually both visitors left, Sir Ivor saying he supposed he would have to ask at the mail offices. Fortunately Sir Humphrey had not known of Joanna’s arrival, so he was able to sympathize with the other man as they bade Catarina farewell and departed.
*
By the following morning Catarina had her plan worked out. When Joanna, looking rather pale, appeared at breakfast she dismissed the servants and began to explain.
‘It’s possible to travel abroad more easily now, so I think it’s time we visited Mama’s family. We could travel on one of the ships Papa’s partner, Mr Sinclair, sends to Oporto.’
‘But we don’t want them to know,’ Joanna protested.
‘They won’t. It’s the middle of June now, and you can’t be more than two months’ pregnant. No one will notice for at least another two months. We’ll stay with them for a few weeks, then go further south, where we can rent a house and tell people you are the widow of a soldier killed recently.’
‘Rosa will know I’m not.’
‘Rosa is planning to get married, so I won’t take her with us. We’ll hire a Portuguese maid who doesn’t know us.’
‘What of the baby? I don’t want it, Cat! It would remind me of Matthew all the time, and how he deceived me.’
Scandal at the Dower House Page 4