by Diana Lloyd
“I have witnesses.” Oliver spoke up at last. “They will speak on my behalf.” Dunwoody had done well with what little he had. No doubt he was wondering what had happened to his lackey, Eldridge. It was a good question. Oliver hoped they’d convinced the misguided young buck to defy Dunwoody and speak the truth of what happened last night. Without Eldridge, it was his word against Dunwoody’s, and the entire story, even when explained plainly and calmly, sounded a little…insane.
“Who do you have? I see your brother, your fiancée, and—who do we have here?”
“My fiancée’s maid, Elvynia Tibble.” He was sunk. It was all for naught. Lord Sibley would dismiss any statement made by a woman as hysterical and his brother’s words would be discounted, as they were blood related. “I request a brief recess, Lord Sibley. I would like to speak to my family.”
“Granted,” Sibley said, rapping against the table twice. “Five minutes of comfort. Those who have testified may leave. Those who have no business here should find other scandal-broth. We will resume promptly at five o’clock. When we return, we shall hear from Mr. Wadlow, an alienation specialist from Bethlem Hospital.”
“Penry.” Oliver wasted no time in putting his plan into motion and motioned for his brother to follow him out to the hallway and into a deserted morning room. “Without Dobbs and Eldridge, our cause is hopeless. Unless you have any better ideas, I think it’s best we reconsider our plan. They can’t take away the title, but they can have me locked away. You must petition to be my guardian. Have the stone cut up and sell off what you can so that you and Mary might build a life together.”
“I was so sure they would be here.” Penry wiped his eyes on his sleeve and sniffed his nose. “Maybe they’ve just been delayed. We’ll stall or something.”
“No, brother. I’m not waiting to the last minute. We have to do it now while there’s time. Take this,” Oliver said, reaching into his pocket for his father’s watch. “Give it to Jewel. I never bought her a token, and I want her to have something to remember me by. Take her to Grimsby straightaway. Her mother’s family name is Stowe. Jewel is the granddaughter of the Duke of Grasswick. Find her family. I don’t care if you have to lash her to the carriage seat to get her there. I will not have her be sullied by my downfall. Do you understand?”
“But…” Penry had no more words and merely shook his head.
“You will do it. If Dunwoody ever gets his hands on that stone, he’ll twist the truth and work to discredit you as well. Father had no friends in Town. He was a mean-spirited drunkard, and that is the measure of how we will be judged. Get out of Town, now.”
“She won’t go.”
“Tell her you have to step out to get Bartleby or Dobbs. Make something up. I will not have the woman I love hear me declared insane.”
“No, you have to at least speak with her.”
“Heaven help me, I’m not sure I have the strength to do it.” Jewel had the power to weaken his resolve. If she stayed, there was a good chance they’d be separated, and she would be left with no income. If they had children, they’d be shunned as tainted by his madness. How could he ask someone he loved to endure years of pain and hardship?
“Find your strength, Oliver. Time is running out.” Penry pulled him into an embrace. “I will never abandon you.”
“I know, Pen.” Oliver kissed his brother’s cheek. “Send her in here so that at least our discussion may be private. My downfall is likely to be public. I might even get a mention in the newssheets again.” He tried to laugh but failed, then slapped his brother on the back and sent him on his way.
In the minute he had before Jewel arrived, Oliver considered what words he could speak, which argument he could make that would convince her to leave without question. Jewel was already stepping in the door when he made up his mind.
“Oliver, I’ve been so worried.” She threw herself into his arms, and he embraced her before he could stop himself. Resting his chin on the top of her head one last time, he inhaled the flowery scent of freshly washed hair and closed his eyes to commit it to memory.
“It seems our forced betrothal may now come to an end. Rest assured, I will take my punishment like a gentleman and not mention our brief affair again.” His heart broke at the sound of her sob, knowing that he had to make her want to leave. He had to make her hate him so she could get on with her life.
“What are you talking about? I will not abandon you. I love you.”
“I do thank you for the…education. You must understand, a lonely man will say and do just about anything to get a willing woman to lie with him. I meant no harm, and it wasn’t as if you were a virgin.”
“Oliver…what are you saying?” Her eyes filled with tears as she stepped out of his reach. “This can’t be…you’re not like that…you said you loved me.”
“We both said a lot of things,” he snapped back, his heart clenching in his chest. “You’re a complication now, a thing that cannot be adequately explained. Your father’s a traitor, your uncle’s a louse, you dress like a man and spread your legs for anyone who utters the right words.” When she stormed out of the room without another word, a part of him left with her. He was broken, his heart splintered. He’d hurt the only woman who ever mattered to him, perhaps the only one who ever looked beyond his scar—to see him. And he just sent her away.
Waiting another two minutes for Penry to escort her from the building, Oliver opened the door and peeked out into the hallway. A crowd of at least a dozen gentlemen were making their way into Dunwoody’s office with even more streaming in from the entryway. Apparently, his downfall really was to be more popular than a public hanging. Comforted by the fact that Jewel wouldn’t see his final disgrace, he made his way back to his seat.
In the front row, Dobbs now sat in the seat vacated by Penry. The man was smiling. Oliver smiled back, knowing his majordomo was in for a rude surprise when Sibley gave his verdict. Then, behind Dobbs, he noticed another familiar face—his cook, Mrs. Bates. One by one he recognized the faces of his household staff standing at the back of the room.
The rest of the seats were filled with strangers, but there, at the rear of the room standing next to the Scottish Maiden, was that young, too late to the party, son-of-a-bitch, Eldridge.
“Now then,” Sibley said loudly, banging his hand on the table to silence the crowd. “Your witnesses have finally arrived, Winchcombe?”
“I will speak on my own behalf—” As soon as the words left Oliver’s mouth, Dobbs jumped up from his chair.
“We were unavoidably delayed, but Lord Winchcombe’s witnesses have arrived, your lordship,” Dobbs addressed Sibley while nervously fingering the brim of his hat.
“And who are you?” Lord Sibley asked.
“Mr. Dobbs, my lord. Lord Winchcombe’s majordomo. I’ve brought his lordship’s cook, Mrs. Bates, along as well. We’ve both had occupation at Winchcombe Abbey for near twenty years. I’d say we know the boys…I mean, his lordship and his brother, better than any but their own parents. He’s a good master, a fair and just landowner, and a God-fearing gentleman of quality.”
“Delightful.” Sibley, clearly bored with the testimony of servants trying to save their livelihoods, waited for Mr. Merrick to finish writing once again. “Anyone else?”
“Yes,” a voice from the crowd spoke out. “I have a written statement to present, if I may, that testifies to my dealings with Lord Winchcombe over the past ten years.” The man’s face meant nothing to him. Could it be that yesterday’s plea for support had borne fruit? It was too much to hope for.
“Bring it forward and place it on the table. It will be taken into consideration,” Lord Sibley stated.
Walking forward, statement in hand, the anonymous gentleman placed it in front of Sibley. One by one, the other gentlemen in the room stood and followed the trail to the head table to place their statements with the others. Oliver bli
nked away tears of relief that his requests hadn’t been ignored after all, but the tears dried when he spotted Dunwoody’s expression of astonishment.
“Anyone else? Hurry on if you have something to say, we aren’t going to be here all night,” Sibley stated, looking around the room. “The good doctor is waiting to speak.”
“I have a statement, Lord Sibley.” Still standing next to the Scottish Maiden, Eldridge shouted his news from the back of the room. When he had everyone’s attention, he shifted his weight and laid one hand on the beheading machine in a move so casual Oliver doubted anyone else realized his hand was on the blade’s trigger. “Lord Winchcombe is the victim of a spurious plot to discredit his name. I have proof.”
“This ruffian has no place here,” Dunwoody yelled, jumping up and pointing his finger at Eldridge. “He’s a colonial only recently arrived. His word should have no bearing.”
“Just yesterday, Lord Dunwoody paid me two hundred pounds to accost Lord Winchcombe, strip him naked, and leave him in a field far from Town so that he would not be at today’s hearing.”
“I take it you were unsuccessful,” Lord Sibley said, looking from Oliver’s blackened eye to Eldridge’s bruised face.
“I was, your lordship.”
“Lies, lies!” Lord Dunwoody shouted out as he paced back and forth in front of his chair. “Lies to cover up another brutal brawl by this madman Winchcombe.”
“My father has been friends with Lord Dunwoody since childhood. Since our return to London, I’ve spent many hours in this house. I overheard discussions from this room that lead me to believe Lord Dunwoody plotted to withhold monies rightfully belonging to his wife’s niece, Miss Latham, and conspired with other gentlemen to mark the Winchcombe name with madness so that he had no recourse.”
“I object to these groundless accusations—” Dunwoody began running to the back of the room just as Eldridge flipped the trigger, dropping the blade of the beheading machine. The loud thwack of metal meeting solid wood echoed through the room and stopped Dunwoody in his tracks.
Drawing a full breath for the first time that afternoon, Oliver finally dared to hope the tide had shifted in his favor.
As Lord Sibley pounded his fist on the table to return order to the room, Oliver watched with grim anticipation as a small man wearing an over-size black cape stood and began shuffling his way to the front of the room. With a little more height and a scythe, he could be the Grim Reaper.
“Your lordship,” the man called out just as the room went silent. “I represent the interests of Bethlem Hospital’s incurables ward. I’ve been asked to give a statement.”
“Ah, yes, Doctor Wadlow. Have you completed your examination?” Lord Sibley asked as the man approached. Oliver opened his mouth to protest that not only had he not been examined, he’d never laid eyes on Wadlow before, but was silenced by a wave of Sibley’s hand.
“Allow me to explain, Winchcombe. The good doctor thought it best to examine your manner whilst under duress, and I could imagine nothing more upsetting to a man’s nature than having his sanity called into question.”
“This is highly irregular.” Turning from the Scottish Maiden, Dunwoody charged back to the front of the room, his face reddening with every step. “I demand a full examination.”
“This is my hearing, Lord Dunwoody, you will make no demands. Do sit down.” His set-down delivered, Lord Sibley nodded at Doctor Wadlow to begin. As the man fished a small packet of papers out of the volumes of his cloak, Oliver tried his best to look as sane as any other man would in similar circumstances.
“All things considered, your lordship,” Wadlow said, looking down to his notes. “I have seen no outward evidence of lunacy, no ill-mannered words, threats, or actions. Neither does he drool or attend to invisible spirits. He appears able to keep himself clean and clothed and does not cast the evil eye about the room in a menacing manner.”
“For which we are all thankful, Doctor.” Lord Sibley pushed himself back from the table and stood. “And your final determination is?”
“Lord Winchcombe is a natural, God-fearing gentleman.”
“He talks to a damned bird!” Dunwoody yelled out, leaving a dusting of spittle on the tabletop. “What about the bird?”
“Parrots are bonny companions. I have one myself,” Wadlow replied.
“Would you like to amend your complaint, Lord Dunwoody?”
The room fell silent as Lord Sibley locked eyes with Lord Dunwoody. Unspoken understanding as thick as autumn fog passed between the two men. With quiet yet deliberate finality, Lord Sibley placed his right hand on the stack of statements from Oliver’s supporters and ever so slightly nodded his head.
“I wish to withdraw my complaint.” Dunwoody, perhaps even now too proud to admit defeat, whispered his reply. Overpowering relief hit Oliver like a wave of cold salty sea, and the sudden sensation of drowning in it caused him to struggle for his next breath.
His long nightmare was over, but what price had been paid to see it through?
Chapter Nineteen
Jewel pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. It was a sunny day, but the wind carried a chill to remind her that spring had not yet surrendered to summer. Close enough to the sea that the breeze also hinted at salt water and sailing ships, she closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to be on a ship sailing for home. Reaching into her pocket, she closed her hand around Oliver’s pocket watch, drew it out, and checked the time.
The grotto in her grandfather’s garden helped ease the melancholia of being alone in a strange place surrounded by strangers. She had no business comparing this place to a certain Grecian folly. The contrast only made her sad. Yet, she survived. With no word from her father, her aunt and uncle, cousins, or even Penry, there was nothing to do but keep on surviving.
Elvy would have her teased out of this cloudy mood by suppertime. The woman thrived here, relieved to be out of London and back where herbs and mushrooms grew thick on the ground and there was always time for sewing. She could have left a dozen times but always talked her way out of walking back into the woods and stayed here with her instead.
At least the Stowe family was kinder to her than Lord and Lady Dunwoody had been. No, they were more than kind. She’d been showered with clothing, gifts, and attention since the day Penry had dropped her off at the door. Her mother’s cousin, Lady Bettina, was more than happy to have a young woman about the house to fuss over. In exchange, Jewel heard stories of her mother’s childhood and life in England before she’d met her father.
Aunt Bettina, giddy with preparations, insisted on hosting a summer house party to introduce Jewel to the local gentry. Guests would start arriving soon, riding through the entrance gates in dribs and drabs until every bedroom in the house was filled and the garden would no longer be hers alone.
She’d written her father within an hour of arriving but, with the war, it was likely her words wouldn’t reach him for another week or two, if ever. There would be no wise, comforting words from him to carry her through a ten-day house party. True to his word, she’d been informed that Lord Winchcombe had transferred her funds to be held at the bank until she chose to claim them. She’d started a note of thanks but was never able to complete it. He would understand why.
Some days she convinced herself that he’d purposely hurt her, so she’d leave and avoid witnessing his downfall. Other days, like today, she believed he’d been cruel to her out of disdain and nothing more. His letters, while frequent, were like a hard autumn—brief, dry, and devoid of life. Estate matters, war updates, and soulless assurances that he still thought of her. Whether written from Winchcombe Abbey or Bedlam, his two-line missives revealed little more than the fact that he was still alive.
“I knew I’d find you here.” Elvy shouted the words against the wind as she approached.
“It’s my favorite place to enjoy fair weath
er.” Jewel brushed off the seat beside her. “Come sit with me.”
“I came out to tell you ’tis nearly time for supper. Guests have already started to arrive, so your auntie wants you to dress for supper. She had one of her girls lay out a new pink gown for you to wear.”
“Oh, bother.” Jewel sighed. “Aunt Bettina means well, I’m sure, but I’d rather avoid her houseguests altogether. I’m in no mood to laugh and dance and make polite conversation. Maybe Jules and Egbert could take a little jaunt out to the shore.”
“Your auntie would have your hide and mine if we ruin all her fun. Your grandfather is supposed to make an appearance. Ain’t you a little curious to finally meet him?”
“Bah. He’s the man who thought my father wasn’t good enough for my mother. He’s the reason they eloped to Boston,” Jewel said sourly. Her mother’s cousin, Lady Bettina, who insisted on being called “auntie,” rarely spoke of the man who raised her, other than to claim him generous.
“Maybe you should just sit in the garden and eat worms then,” Elvy said, placing her hands on her hips.
“All right.” Trying hard to suppress a smile, she shook her head. “I’ll dress in pink icing and make conversation, but that’s it. I’m not dancing. The last thing I need right now is some randy country gentleman trying to romance himself under my skirt and into my bank account. I’m giving up on men.”
“They ain’t all bad.” Elvy shrugged and reached out her hand to walk with Jewel back to the house.
“I mean it,” Jewel said as she took her maid’s hand and started walking. “I’ll wait a few months until I hear from my father or the war ends. After that, I’ll buy passage back to Boston or rent a little cottage by the sea. I’ll be the spinster with ten cats who everyone else will gossip about.” With her funds now at her disposal, she could afford a nice living for the rest of her life. Alone.
“Ten cats?” Elvy asked, shaking her head.