“An’ you’re goin’ too, you said.” Maddie looked at Oleba.
“I insisted. I was born in America, but I don’t remember any of it.” Oleba gave a light laugh. “Mrs. Camborne will need help with the babies, and it’s past time I visited ‘home’ again.”
Dory shuffled into the room, pulling at her kinky blonde hair and damp bodice. “Here I be, wet an’ muddy, ready to work.” She stared at Bettina. “Heard you is off to America, aye? Me brothers an’ sisters miss your tutorin’. But the new vicar’s wife promised to open a charity school to help out. Wish she wouldn’t call it ‘charity’ but times be bad all over.”
“Your siblings will do well. I hope you all do.” Bettina patted Dory’s shoulder.
“You too … in America.” Dory shrugged and hurried into the taproom.
Bettina kissed Maddie’s cheek. “Walk up soon for dinner.” She and Oleba took the children outside to board the curricle.
Bettina drove the vehicle up the hill to Bronnmargh. The rain had stopped, but the manor rose up out of the mist like a slick gargoyle. She and her maid rushed the children inside.
She found Frederick in the kitchen, stirring laundry in a pot over the fire.
“I don’t think I’ve burned anything yet.” He smiled at Bettina. “Mr. Slate said I should not stoop so low, but I don’t mind.” Since his uncle’s disappearance and Rose’s death, the fourteen-year-old made an effort to help out where he could.
“You are doing fine.” Bettina removed her gloves, her first gift from Everett. She caressed the supple leather. “It should not be much longer to stay here now. I dread to tell Mr. Slate we are selling. I have hinted at it. I do not know where he will go. I suppose he has lived here most of his life.”
“I don’t want to be around when you tell him,” Frederick said, half-teasing. He swished the bubbling linen, the scent of soapwort sharp. “That man always gave me the quivers. You might want to hang garlic around your neck first.”
Bettina smiled and went directly to the butler’s quarters, that shadowy downstairs wing where no one else cared to venture. An area polished and immaculate. She knocked on his door.
After listening to her explanation, Slate scrutinized her for a moment. Then a smile curved his lips—a not quite warm effort, but a smile nonetheless. Bettina tried not to look surprised.
“I knew something was afoot, so I’m not unprepared. One matter must be cleared up, however. I am aware we haven’t been harmonious, but I know Mr. Camborne’s happiest times were with you. I’ve been in this house many years and seen numerous sad events. But you brought him happiness. I’m appreciative of that.” He inclined his head. “I’ve been thinking about retiring to Launceston, my married daughter resides there. And she has no small children.” He winked after this comment and Bettina couldn’t help but smile back.
* * * *
The filthy broth of the Thames burbled under London Bridge. Fishmongers cried their wares at Billingsgate. The sounds of London brought back happy and sad memories. Passing into the shipping office, Bettina averted her eyes from the title on the glass door of Everett’s former headquarters. After receiving Mr. Hobart’s letter saying he had a buyer who wanted to look at the necklace, she’d engaged Peder for one last duty, to travel with her for protection with the valuable antique.
“Willard, I cannot thank you enough for all your help. I suppose this will be my last visit to London,” Bettina said an hour later after their meeting with the buyer.
“I hope someday you’ll come back to visit.” Hobart pressed her hand, the tension lines deep around his eyes. “I wish you the best of luck. I have a retired admiral very interested in buying the estate. Don’t worry about the money for Frederick, it will be safe in an account until he reaches his majority. Are you satisfied with the price you were offered for the necklace?” Hobart limped slowly around the shipping office.
Bettina tried not to notice anything in particular about this past domain of her lover. Enough tormented her in selling her father’s gift. She stroked a hand over the pulse in her throat. “The piece was probably worth more, but I am in no frame of mind to argue over money. It is more than enough to finance my trip.” She wondered if her father had stashed more money somewhere, as the necklace didn’t seem worth the lengths the rebels had gone to.
“I’ll be sending out an appraiser for the estate transaction,” Hobart said, his blueberry eyes wilted with sadness, “and in my capacity as executor, I’ll endorse the legal papers in Frederick’s name. Again, the best of luck.”
With Peder, Bettina stepped outside to the hackney. The March wind carried the smell of tar and fish off the wharf. She turned and stared at the ugly square building, and the bow window above in Everett’s apartment. Heaviness threatened to drag her down. She had the strange feeling of abandoning him, of giving in to the Admiralty’s version of what happened.
Deep in her heart, he remained alive.
Chapter Forty
Frederick and Cadan carried down the last of the boxes from the attic. Morley dragged in a sword. “Can I keep this?”
“For all your help, yes, you may. But do not tell your mother.” Bettina stared about at the items they organized. “Let me see. We have tagged items for shipment to London where Mr. Hobart promised to store them. Personal belongings of Everett’s….” It sounded so cold, she winced. “…and his ancestors, things Frederick and hopefully my children may like to have some day.”
“Anything in the cellar we need to take care of?” Maddie asked as she wiped a strand of dark hair from her forehead. “This be a cave of a place, for certain.”
Bettina handed Cadan and Morley each a crown before they ran outside with Frederick. “No, it was empty mostly. I found some old broken furniture. I told the vicar’s wife she could take what might be salvaged for her school.”
“Weren’t no body buried down yonder, now was there?” Kerra asked, nudging her with a snort.
“Kerra, for the love of … ain’t you ever gonna grow up?” Maddie untied her dusty apron and threw it at her sister.
“I wish we could have found the body.” Bettina turned to pour a glass of lemonade for each of them and spilled a few drops. She’d finally admitted her deception to Kerra—Maddie knew because of the fake passport.
“Then you could of married, I know. I just be jesting.” Kerra tossed the apron back. “I don’t never wanna grow old and stodgy like you,” she said to her sister.
“Thank you for all the pots, pans and linens.” Maddie gave Bettina a sad smile and folded the apron.
Mr. Slate walked in. “I will be on my way now, ladies.” He’d stayed around to assist in the organizing. Bettina had given him a few mementos he said he’d be proud to accept.
“Enjoy your time with your daughter.” Bettina watched him stride out the front door to catch the post-chaise at the inn. She was sorry they couldn’t offer him a stipend for his last years. He was a dry little old man who’d always remained faithful to his employer.
“Bet he sleeps upside down in a closet,” Kerra said, and Maddie groaned.
Bettina muffled a laugh and wiped her sticky hands on her apron. “It looks like we are finished. Thank you again for your help, my friends.”
Bettina hugged the two women, her chest tight. To her, crying was a depleting emotion she could no longer afford. Still, everything seemed so absolute. By selling the estate she betrayed Everett.
In the dark shadows of evening, she kissed the children goodnight. Bettina asked Oleba to sit down with her on crates in the master chamber. “You are certain you want to travel with me? I cannot pay you much and there is no guarantee of anything in Louisiana.”
“I’m certain, don’t worry. How can I part from you and the little ones?” The maid’s smile etched a bright line in her dark, narrow face.
“I apologize for involving you when that awful Mr. Little … the balcony, when you helped me. It is not something I am proud of, to have Frederick there….”
“W
e protected ourselves. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Mais oui.” Bettina squeezed her hand in gratitude. “Now this house feels even more like a mausoleum, as empty as it is. I never thought I would regret abandoning Bronnmargh. But it is as if I am breaking my final link with Everett. Is it not silly to feel sentimental over a place I have never liked?”
Oleba clasped a hand over hers. “It will take you awhile to get over grieving for him. He was an exceptional man.”
Bettina stared over at the four-poster, where soon the retired admiral and his wife would sleep—the bed where she’d tasted passion and love. “I will never give up on him.”
* * * *
Bettina clicked the key in Bronnmargh’s front door. She gazed out at the sea, stepped down and climbed in the curricle with Oleba and the children. The meadow sweet scented the spring air with tangy mint. Rooks chirped in the eaves of the old manor. She recalled her first time here, nervous to meet the nefarious Mr. Camborne—a man, as it turned out, who hid his gentleness under a battered façade.
Bettina slapped the reins and drove down the hill behind the mismatched horses. Onyx snorted, still uneasy in the degradation of traces.
Mrs. Pollard rushed out and waved as they passed, then sniffed into her apron.
At the inn, where they’d spend their last night before catching the coach to Plymouth to board the ship, Bettina handed Maddie the keys.
“Give these to the new tenants.” Bettina was giving her the curricle, and Onyx and Shevall as well. “I know you will take good care of the horses.” She almost said, keep Onyx healthy for when Everett returns.
“I remember when Kerra brought you here. Raggedly little French girl with no knowledge o’ hard work.” Maddie flapped the key in her hand. Tears moistened her green eyes. “Tonight, I fixed a dinner with all the Cornish treats, so you won’t forget us.” She pointed to the laden table in the taproom just as Kerra and Charlie walked in from the kitchen with their daughter, Hester.
“How could I ever forget any of you?” With misty eyes, Bettina looked over the grateful pudding, meat pasties, curd puffs, saffron cake and star-gazy pie. Christian poked at the fish eyes in the last out of curiosity.
They sat down to eat in a rustle of clothes and clink of silverware.
“Hope you get past the French coast without no trouble. They’s been talk of invasion in south Cornwall.” Charlie swiped a coppery lock off his forehead. His resemblance to Stephen no longer bothered Bettina. So much had happened here on this wild coast.
“I thought the revolutionary army was a disorganized, ragtag group.” Frederick dished food onto his plate.
“Not no more. They’s been havin’ success beatin’ down the Austrians. Some new general, a Corsican, with a strange name—Bonapartee, or something—is winnin’ battles,” Charlie said.
“No talk o’ war.” Maddie thudded down a jug of ale on the table. “We’re celebratin’ … sort of. Sayin’ goodbye ain’t much to celebrate, but I’ll make the best o’ it.”
“Watch out for them Indians out there in America, now,” Charlie teased. “Don’t want to hear ’bout no French girl with an English accent losing her scalp to one of ’em.”
“Oh, Charlie, you be stoppin’ that.” Maddie slapped his shoulder. She took Hester from Kerra, sat her on her lap and spooned bits of pudding to her. The little girl had Kerra’s luminous green eyes and Charlie’s copper hair. “Sure will miss watching them little ones of yours growing up, out in that dangerous country.”
“Me too.” Kerra blew her nose into a handkerchief. “Ain’t fair, you goin’ to the other side of the world. Won’t never see you again, Mamsell.”
“What are Indians, Maman?” Christian asked, pie crumbs on his lips.
“I told you, the natives of America. They wear feathers and live in funny houses.” Bettina patted her boy on the head, smiling at his fascinated expression.
“And they throw tomahawks and shoot at Englishmen.” Frederick laughed, tickling his younger cousin. “I’m only teasing,” he said under Bettina’s warning look.
“Aye, off to America with the heathens,” Ann muttered as she plopped down a second jug of ale. “Good place for you. Another Godless country.” She returned to the kitchen.
“I am relieved that Ann will never change.” Bettina laughed as she held her squirming daughter. “I promise to write, to send word of us all.”
“Won’t be the same.” Maddie sighed, gazing with affection at Christian and Genevre. “But you darned sight better. And don’t take no scary chances in the wilderness.”
“I hope it is scary.” Frederick took a mouthful of saffron cake and rubbed a piece on Christian’s chin.
The almost four-year-old laughed with Everett’s wide mouth. Christian shook his head, his rich brown hair the color of his father’s, but his tumbled in unruly curls.
“Eat, eat!” Genevre, nearly a year old, soon had food all over her creamy, almost translucent skin. Her straight silky blonde hair was sticky with remnants.
“Mighty fine children. Kerra and me, now we’s working day and night to make a son of our own.” Charlie laughed when Kerra pinched his arm. “You Tregons women sure like to be givin’ a man a drubbin’.”
“Ain’t no one round here knows how to behave decent.” Just as Maddie spoke, Hester spit up a glob of pudding.
“Oops, Auntie, here’s a napkin.” Charlie tossed one to her, then turned a mischievous eye on Oleba. “Awful quiet there, Miss Oleba Refused. Now just where did you get that confounded name?”
“Not one speck of manners, none o’ you.” Maddie stood and carried the soiled baby into the kitchen. “Don’t hafta answer him, Miss Refused,” she called over her shoulder.
But Oleba looked unruffled and relayed the tale of her surname. “Now as for my proper name. Mama told me since Papa died before I was born, his elder brother said the name was her choice. When he asked Mama to name me after the birthing, Mama blurts something like, ‘oooh, Leba’. Leba means ‘fig tree’ where Mama came from, and she said my father liked figs. So Uncle says, ‘Oleba it is’. Afterwards he wouldn’t change it. You see, Refused was also his last name. So Mama said, alas, I’m harnessed with it.”
The group broke into laughter. Bettina kissed her daughter’s silky head, glad she could still laugh. She was anxious to immerse herself in other people’s stories to tamp down the melancholy of her own.
“My name means ‘dearer’,” Kerra said with another forlorn sniff. She hopped up and hugged her skinny arms around Bettina’s neck.
“You will always be ‘dearest’ to me.” Bettina kissed her friend’s tear-dampened cheek. She regretted leaving such close friends, but had to put this place behind her.
* * * *
Soon after cockcrow, Morley and Frederick loaded their trunks on the coach. Morley’s sword slapped against his bony leg in its makeshift leather strap of a scabbard.
Maddie swabbed her eyes and nose with a handkerchief. “Must be catching a cold. Kerra’d be here if Hester weren’t feverish today. Darned if I ain’t losing my other sister.” Maddie embraced Bettina, then straightened her hat and smoothed her hair. “You be sure to write and don’t never forget us, child. Here’s pasties for the journey an’ a flagon of lemonade. Be careful, please.”
Bettina inhaled Maddie’s scent of meat, onions, and love. “You and Kerra will always be special to me. You have meant so much, Maddie—a mother, a sister and a friend. You took me in when I needed all three. Ma foi, I cannot talk anymore….” Bettina coughed down her sorrow and climbed into the coach. Her smile tremulous, she waved goodbye to Maddie.
Cadan ran up the road to wave them off. “Send me a real Indian knife, Frederick,” he called.
“With real English blood on it!” Frederick cried, and Bettina poked him in the back.
“It would most likely be American blood,” Oleba said to him with her slow smile.
“Goodbye, Miss Maddie!” Christian called out the window as they pulled a
way. Genevre, restrained by Oleba, pouted and wouldn’t look at anyone.
Bettina threw one last glance up the hill to the rooftop of Bronnmargh and gritted her teeth. The hill blurred. In her memory a man on a black horse watched her, then galloped up the slope to the manor.
The rest of the familiar scenery passed in a haze as Bettina sank into the confines of her thoughts. She once feared she’d made a terrible mistake in coming to Cornwall. Now it seemed a home worthy of missing, as important as France once was. Did she make another blunder by leaving? Once she’d strived in England to find her mother, now she would travel to an untamed land for the same reason, but also to forge a new life. Fear of the journey ahead nagged at her. She hoped she’d find Maman, safe and well, and not experience danger in New Orleans.
She hugged an arm around her son and gazed over at her squirming daughter, determined to protect her children and always remember their father.
* * * *
The bustle of Plymouth barely registered as Bettina shuffled her group into the boat to be rowed out to the ship. She settled on the hard bench beside Frederick. Another passenger rustled a newspaper and the boy leaned over to read. Oleba held the children on the bench in front of them.
“Look, a report says the Admiralty admits insufficient actions due to war circumstances.” Frederick practically grabbed the paper. “Many English citizens taken from ships are rumored to be held as prisoners of war in French prisons.”
The man snatched the paper away.
“Vraiment?” Bettina sat up straighter, heart racing. She asked politely to read the article. “I knew there was a chance he was still alive.” Inside she always held on to that glimmer of belief.
She stared at the looming two-masted ship, then over her shoulder at the receding shore of England. Her fingers shook, as if she needed to grasp the land and stay here. Then she turned toward the ship again. She must continue. In the French enclave of New Orleans, she might find the help she needed.
Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) Page 39