Chapter Twenty-five
"Well, isn't this a comely portrait? Two whoring sisters, making plans to murder a husband." The Earl of St. Martin stood three paces from Julia. He was clothed in his silk dressing gown and skull cap with a tassel, but did not appear to have just climbed from his bed. Julia suspected he'd been up a long time.
"We make no such plans, my lord," Julia insisted. Survival came instinctively. "You know my sister is not responsible for what she says." Julia placed herself between the earl and Lizzy, spreading her arms to keep her sister back. "I would not murder . . . not even you." The anger in her low voice surprised her.
"No?" He shot his red-raw hands out of the silk gown sleeves. "You'd not kill your husband? Not even if he knew you carried a bastard child?"
Lizzy gave a squeak of fear as Simeon took a step closer.
Julia shuddered. He knew! God help them all. She didn't know how, but he knew.
"Not even if your husband knew the culprit?" Simeon continued to rant. "Housed the culprit, fed him, called him cousin?" He shouted the last words so loudly that his voice echoed off the stone walls despite the wool tapestries that covered much of them.
Julia did not shrink back. It wasn't that she was not afraid—for her sister, for Griffin, for her unborn child. But she'd had enough. And backed into a corner, she would not cower. "How did you know?" she demanded, not knowing where she found the voice. "A peephole in the wall?" The thought made her skin crawl. "Were you watching? You or your henchman, that is, because we all know you send him to do what you cannot."
His palm flashed so quickly that Julia had no warning. It stung hard across her cheek.
"No, I wasn't watching!" He shuddered. "Who would want to watch such a disgusting, filthy act?" He drew back his hand as if soiled by the physical contact. "But do you think that I don't know what goes on in my own home?" He pulled a rag from the pocket of his gown and began to rub the hand he had slapped her with. "Do you think I am not told what goes about?"
"No one ever saw me." Still Julia didn't know where this defiance was coming from. She should have been down on her knees begging the earl for mercy—for Lizzy and Griffin, if not for herself and her unborn child. But somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she couldn't beat the earl on her knees. She had to stand up to him. It was her only possible chance. "No one could have told you anything."
His brown eyes flashed with delight. "Your sheets, madame. You think the laundress would not report the mistress's sheets, clean for more than three moons?"
Her woman's cycle . . . of course. Betrayed by clean linens. Julia nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of the thought. Slowly she lifted her gaze, her mind racing. "Let me send Lizzy to my mother in Paris. Do what you will with me, but you must spare my sister."
"I must? I must?" Spittle flew. "There is nothing I must do, wife, but die and pay taxes!" He pointed a raw finger. "You are the culprit here! You committed the infidelity! You have no right to make demands upon me!"
Julia lowered her gaze to her husband's boiled wool mules. "You could divorce me, my lord. I'll just go."
"Divorce!" He waggled the raw finger. "There has not been a divorce in the St. Martin family in nine hundred years!" He took a step closer, his tone venomous. "You are mine. I would see you dead before I would divorce you."
Dead. The word rang in Julia's ears with a clarity that was heart-stopping. "Let my sister go," she said softly. "Your cousin as well. I seduced him. It was me. Me all along."
The earl tipped his head back and laughed. "You and the sodomite. It's rather humorous, isn't it?"
At least he didn't know Griffin's true identity. At least that secret was still safe.
Julia stared at Simeon's face. And to think she had almost believed him handsome the first day she'd come to Bassett Hall. Could it only have been five months ago? It seemed an eternity.
"Please," she beseeched again. "Do not blame a man for what a woman is guilty of."
"Eve and the apple, eh?" He smirked. "Well, Adam will get his comeuppance sooner than he thinks."
Julia felt a cold numbness spread upward from her toes. "What have you done?"
He stuffed his rag into his pocket and clasped his hands. "Pity he had to ride to his wife. He'll miss my birthday ball." His forehead creased. "The guests will be disappointed when my dear cousin doesn't arrive . . . ever again."
"What are you talking about?" Pushing her sister back, Julia took the step forward this time. "What have you done?"
He began to back out of the bedchamber toward the sitting room door. "No need to try your rear staircase. Barred. The snoring nurse's door—barred."
"What have you done to Griffin?"
"You are to remain in your apartments until I can decide what plan of action I intend to take." He shrugged his thin shoulders. "When our guests ask where you are, I'll have to say you're ill. All of you ill." He shuddered theatrically. "A pity if you died. A worse pity if we suspected the pox. Your bodies would have to be burned, destroyed to kill the disease. No one would ever know the sad truth, would they? No one would have to know my dear wife cuckolded me, and I had to see her punished for giving away what belonged to me." He struck his chest. "Me!"
"What have you done to Griffin?" Julia repeated, stalking Simeon to the door.
"A surprise." He drew his thin lips back in a sneer. "Dear wife Lena, not ill at all. Healthy as a horse when last I sent word to her. She's actually interested in providing financial support for a little project I'm intent upon. She likes me. Respects me. Always has."
Julia reached out and grabbed Simeon's dressing gown. He wasn't making any sense. What was he babbling about? "What have you done to him?" she screamed.
The earl shrank back at her touch. "The highways are rather dangerous these days, don't you think? Thieves everywhere . . . They'll kill a man for his saddlebag." He clicked between his teeth. "Sad. Tragic."
Julia released Simeon's gown. "Bastard," she whispered beneath her breath. She looked up. "He might surprise you. He's good with a sword. It may be your man who comes back in a coffin."
"Man? Oh, I'm no fool." He opened the door just wide enough to slip out. "When I want a man dead, I send an army."
Hours later, Julia paced her sitting room. Drusilla sat quietly darning socks, while Lizzy made animal shapes with the last of the embroidered linen napkins meant for the ball.
After Simeon barred the door behind him, Julia had tried to shout for help. Simeon had returned to warn her through the door that if he or anyone heard her, he would shoot the three of them, without hesitation. There would be no mercy. He would not have her embarrass him before his guests, who were already beginning to arrive for his birthday.
Julia had considered trying to wave someone down or call to someone from the window, but Simeon had thought of that as well. He positioned a man below the window to watch. If the guard so much as saw the drapery move, he was to alert the earl. Again, Simeon said he would not hesitate to use the pistol from his desk. And the walls were so thick, he reminded her, that no one would hear the shots. As an extra precaution, he would not allow any of the guests to use the wing of the house her apartments occupied. She was imprisoned.
Lizzy picked up Griffin's cat and sat him on her lap. "He has to let us go someday, Julia," she said, trying her best to comfort her.
Julia took deep, even breaths. She'd been nauseous for hours. She wanted to cry, to shout at the unfairness of her situation, but she couldn't. She had to be strong for Lizzy. She couldn't scare her.
Drusilla seemed to understand the gravity of their situation, but, as always, she took it with quiet, grumbling dignity.
Julia appreciated Drusilla's loyalty, especially when the old woman now knew that Julia had cheated on her husband, that she was pregnant by her lover. But Drusilla's loyalty was not to what was right or wrong, not to honor, not even to God's laws. Drusilla's loyalty was to her charges, and it seemed she would defend them and their actions to her grave.
Ju
lia was so distraught she couldn't think. She couldn't form a plan in her mind, because there seemed to be no chance. Simeon had been contriving this for days, perhaps even weeks.
And Griffin—every time Julia thought of him riding into a trap, her breath tightened in her chest until she thought she would suffocate. He thought he was going to his dying wife's aid, and he was riding into a trap. Julia could only hope and pray desperately that Griffin and Jabar could fight off their attackers. Perhaps someone would happen upon them on the road. Perhaps Griffin would take a different way. Perhaps, perhaps. Her head was full of a million hopes, but none gave her comfort.
Julia lifted her gaze to Lizzy. Her first responsibility was to her sister, of course, and to Drusilla. They had played no part in her infidelity. Simeon had no right to hold them accountable for her sins.
"What are you doing, Lizzy?" Julia asked with a chuckle that bordered on hysteria.
Lizzy had taken one of the linen napkins and tied it around the cat's neck so that the St. Martin shield was displayed on his back.
Lizzy looked up and smiled. She seemed not to understand how desperate their situation was. She had heard Simeon as much as say he intended to kill them, and yet she seemed unafraid, insisting Julia would think of something.
"Making him a doublet. Isn't he fine?" She petted the cat and it purred in response. "He's a fine cat, Julia. Do you think he could live with us when the baron joins us in our new house with the baby?" She scratched the cat behind its ears. "I do miss my dog, Sally. A cat would be nice, don't you think?"
Julia massaged her pounding temples. She had to find a way for them to escape. "We'll see, Lizzy."
A knock sounded at the door, and all three women looked up expectantly.
"Yes," Julia called. It couldn't be Simeon, he wouldn't knock.
"A tray, my lady," came a voice she didn't recognize. "Sent by his lordship."
As he spoke, Julia heard a metal bar scrape. Before she could rise, the door opened, a tray slid on the floor, and the door slammed shut again.
Julia made no attempt to try and gain the servant's help, or to push her way through the door. Surely Simeon was smart enough to send up a servant he held in confidence. No, Julia knew that if she was to beat Simeon it would have to be not with muscle, but with her mind.
"Want that I should fix it?" Drusilla asked, making no move to rise.
Julia's stomach tumbled at the scent of the mutton sausage and egg pie. There was a small pitcher of cider as well. She gripped her stomach. "No food for me. I think I'd best lie down."
Lizzy pushed Charlie off her lap and walked to the tray. She didn't bother to pick it up. "Mutton." She wrinkled her nose. "I hate mutton. Drusilla?"
The old woman pushed a lump of fresh tobacco under her lower lip and went back to her darning. "Think I'd eat his slop? Liable to be poisoned!"
Lizzy wandered away from the tray as the cat sniffed it curiously. "I'm not much hungry anyway." She glanced at the retreating Julia. "Want me to sit with you?"
Still holding her stomach, Julia lifted the other hand to stop Lizzy. She needed some quiet time to think. Perhaps to sleep an hour or two. "No. I'm fine. Just let me rest. Drusilla." She eyed Lizzy.
"I'll keep her."
"Thank you." Julia closed the door between the two rooms and climbed onto her bed. Resting her wrist on her forehead, she fell asleep in seconds.
Julia heard Lizzy scream and immediately bolted upright. The morning shadows of the room had shifted to noonday shadows. "Lizzy?" Julia's head was muddled. Had the scream been real or imagined? "Lizzy?" She leaped out of bed and raced for the sitting room.
"Julia! Julia!" Lizzy cried as if she were in pain.
Julia flung open the door.
Drusilla held Lizzy in her arms as she sobbed. There was no one else in the room.
"What's wrong? Is she hurt?" Julia peered into her nursemaid's wrinkled face, still disoriented from sleep. "Drusilla?"
Drusilla pulled Lizzy against her lumpy breasts and stroked her silky hair. With one gnarled finger she pointed to the floor near the fireplace.
Griffin's cat lay on its side twisting in pain, its eyes rolled back in its head. It had vomited and its mouth was foaming white. Strangled, gurgling sounds came deep from Charlie's throat. The cat was dying.
Julia's gaze locked with Drusilla's. "What happened?"
"Ate the pie."
Julia stared at the cat again, her heart going out to it. She didn't like to see anything suffer. Poison? she mouthed in disbelief.
Drusilla nodded, still holding Lizzy tightly in her arms.
Poison? There had been three plates. The tray had been meant for her and Lizzy and Drusilla. Simeon had tried to poison them . . . kill them. It was beyond belief, and yet somehow it was not.
Julia stared at the cat in indecision. Instinctively she knew nothing could be done for it. Nothing but comfort it in its last moments.
Suddenly Charlie's entire body jerked and then went still, its eyes staring, but unseeing. It was dead before she reached it. "Oh, poor kitty," she whispered. A sob escaped her throat as she kneeled and stroked the silky, black fur. "Poor kitty." Feeling foolish for her tears, she wiped at them with the back of her hand. How could she cry for a cat, when she hadn't cried for herself, or for her sister, or even for Griffin? It made no sense.
Her tears spent, Julia wiped her nose with the handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve and rose. "Let me take her," she told Drusilla. She felt better now. Her tears had actually seemed to give her strength to go on. "Will you get a sheet or something and wrap up poor Charlie?"
"Aye." The old woman gently passed Lizzy's arms from her shoulders to Julia's. "Go on, sweet." She smoothed Lizzy's cheek with her gnarled hand, as tender as any mother could have been with her child. "Go with yer sister."
Sniffing loudly, Lizzy hugged Julia. "Bastard," she muttered. "Garlic-stinking bastard!"
Julia led Lizzy toward the bedchamber. She had never heard Lizzy speak so angrily.
"Killed the cat. Bastard."
"Shh," Julia soothed, closing the door between the two rooms with her foot. "It's all right."
Lizzy pulled away and stomped her foot. "I want to go. I don't want to stay here anymore."
Julia pushed her hair from her eyes. She had to keep Lizzy composed. Hysteria would do none of them any good, and it might provoke Simeon. "I'm going to get us out of here, Lizzy," she said calmly. "I swear I am."
The sun shone brightly on the road to Lena's country home. As Griffin rode, he thought how unfair it was that the day should be so bright and clear when his fair Lena lay in bed dying, perhaps already dead. What right did the sun have to shine when his Lena no longer would?
Griffin urged his mount faster. Behind him he heard Jabar make a sound of disapproval. Jabar thought they were riding too fast, taking chances that might lame their horses before they reached Lena. Griffin ignored him.
He'd not related to Jabar the depth of his conversation with Julia that morning. He'd only confessed that he needed to get her out of Bassett Hall. Jabar had protested. He had found several indications that St. Martin was somehow tangled in the web of traitors intent upon dethroning the king. Only there was no positive proof yet. Jabar insisted Griffin should wait until Simeon could be arrested. Left to the legal system, the Lady St. Martin might be a widow in months, and free to marry without drawing attention to Griffin or his position.
Griffin pulled his cavalier's hat lower on his head. He was torn between wanting to be at Lena's side, and wanting to be with Julia. If she felt Lizzy couldn't be moved, at least he could remain close at her side. Maybe Jabar was right. Maybe evidence against Simeon would surface and solve the entire dilemma.
It was amazing to Griffin how overwhelming his desire to protect Julia had become now that he knew she might be pregnant with his child. All of his life he'd considered himself a soldier, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than a warm hearth and his woman and child safe in his arms. If Simeon was conv
icted of treason and hanged and Lena died, Griffin would be free to marry Julia.
Lena. His dear, clever, witty Lena. He didn't want her to die. He didn't want his own happiness to stem from her death.
Griffin groaned. Life used to be so easy when he'd not had these confusing emotions to deal with. In the old days with the king, wandering the streets of Rome and Paris, he'd felt that strong sense of responsibility, but he'd never felt this damned scared . . . afraid . . . overjoyed.
"We will be there soon, Master," Jabar said, appearing magically at his side. "Let us slow our mounts and give them rest. If you wish to return to Bassett Hall, you must have a horse to ride upon."
"I'll take one of Lena's horses if I need to. I can—"
A flash of movement in a hedgerow along the well-traveled road caught Griffin's eye. Instinctively, he released his reins and reached for the two long-barred German pistols he carried in his saddlebags.
Jabar must have seen the movement at the very same moment. "Ride, Master!" the manservant shouted as he drew a broadsword from his side. "Ride!"
Ambush.
Gunshots cracked the air as horses poured over the hedgerow. Six, eight, ten, a dozen men bore down on them.
Sweet God, Griffin thought as he took aim at the nearest rider bearing down on him. How will we ever take on so many? But even as the thought raced through his mind, he squeezed firmly on a trigger and sent the man to his maker.
The cool, sunny noonday air was filled with the sound of gunfire, screaming horses, and the stench of blood and burnt gunpowder.
Preferring the curved blade of his broadsword to a firearm, Jabar bore down on a man and severed his head with one clean swoop. Blood spurted, splattering Jabar, and Griffin turned away as he fired his second pistol into the gut of the next attacker.
"Into the woods, Master!" Jabar shouted.
Griffin felt his body jerk as something seared his arm. A lead bullet, no doubt. There was no time to look down. He could feel burning pain, so he knew his arm hadn't been blown off. His single-shot pistols fired, he dropped them into the open saddlebags and drew his own shorter sword. "I'm behind you!" he called to Jabar.
In Love with the King's Spy (Hidden Identity) Page 26