‘Please inform Lady Torbay that my sister is awake,’ Jemima said, ‘and summon Dr Sawyer. He asked to be told when she regained her senses.’
‘Very good, miss.’
Jemima returned to Annabel, plumped up the pillows and helped her sister into a sitting position.
‘I don’t recognise this room.’ Annabel pushed her hair back, scowling when her fingers encountered tangles, and squinted at her surroundings. She required eye-glasses but was too vain to wear them. ‘You have not told me where I am.’
‘What do you remember?’ Jemima asked.
Annabel looked blank for a moment, then frowned and promptly burst into tears. From Jemima’s perspective, it was a good sign. Annabel always fell back on tears when there was a situation that she did not wish to confront. On this occasion she deserved compassion, and Jemima did her very best to exercise patience.
‘Shush,’ she said, squeezing Annabel’s hand. ‘It will be all right.’
But of course it would not be.
Before the sisters could say any more, the door opened and Olivia walked in.
‘Ah, you are awake,’ she said. ‘Welcome back.’
She shared a pointed look with Jemima. When Annabel recalled what had happened to her, they were both aware that she would probably prefer not to be back.
‘This is Lady Torbay, Annabel,’ Jemima said. ‘This is her house. We are in Grosvenor Square.’
‘Oh.’
Olivia’s enquiry about Annabel’s health resulted in further tears. When Annabel’s self-pity didn’t have the desired effect and neither lady attempted to comfort her, the tears quickly stopped. Jemima offered her a handkerchief and another glass of water.
‘Dry your eyes, Annabel,’ she said briskly, ‘and tell us what you can remember. You were at Hampstead Heath with Lady Barlow’s party when you disappeared. That was five days ago and we have been looking for you ever since.’
‘Should we press her now, before the doctor has seen her?’ Olivia asked in an undertone.
‘Yes,’ Jemima replied with conviction, aware that if Annabel completely regained her senses she would tell a version of the story that might not be true, if only to paint herself as the victim. She was a victim, but she was probably not as innocent as she would have the world believe. She had given herself to Quinn—that much they already knew. But whether she had done so of her own volition, perhaps because he offered her false promises, or whether Quinn had taken advantage of his captive, was yet to be established.
Jemima was probably the only person alive who would not be taken in by Annabel’s half-truths. She had heard too many of them over the years. She had been on the receiving end of punishments that ought to have been meted out to Annabel more times than she could recall. Her sister routinely altered the facts when a disagreement arose between them and was always the one who was believed. Jemima’s brusque treatment of Annabel when she was still so fragile probably seemed harsh to Olivia. These circumstances were the worst any young woman could find herself in, but Jemima’s method of handling the situation was the only way to ensure that Annabel was not sparing with the truth.
‘Come along, Annabel,’ Jemima cajoled. ‘We must know the truth if we are to help you and spare Mama’s feelings. You can trust Lady Torbay absolutely. Lord Torbay and Lord Glynde had been coordinating the search for you.’
‘Lord Glynde has been trying to find me?’
Jemima valiantly resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Annabel’s sudden animation. Either she really didn’t recall what she had done or, as usual when she transgressed a rule, was trying to pretend it had not happened. But this time pretence would not help her.
‘Whom did you agree to meet on the Heath?’ Jemima asked, striving for patience. When Annabel looked away, pretending not to hear the question, Jemima shook her shoulder. ‘Come on, Annabel, I know you remember. Was it Mr Quinn?’
Annabel gasped, and her face lost what little colour it had gained. ‘You know?’
‘We guessed. What we do not know is where he took you and who else was there.’
‘Does Papa know?’
‘Of course he does, but Mama does not. Not yet. Naturally, she is beside herself but we decided against telling her that you have been found until we know more particulars. Now is the time to tell us everything. You will never have a better opportunity.’
Annabel wilted against the pillows. ‘I feel faint.’
‘No, you do not.’ Jemima remained implacable. ‘You cannot evade answering indefinitely and it would be better to tell us than to make your confession to Papa.’
‘We want to help you,’ Olivia added softly, ‘but we can only do so if you tell us the truth.’
‘I don’t want to talk. I’m tired.’
‘And so are we,’ Jemima said. ‘We have all been out of our minds with worry these past few days. I was the only one who knew you must have met someone by arrangement, but I have kept quiet on the point.’ She gave an emphatic pause. ‘For now.’
‘You are all goodness,’ Annabel said sarcastically.
‘You have no idea.’ Jemima shook her head and took a deep, calming breath, striving for patience and sympathy. ‘Now then, why did you agree to meet with Quinn?’
‘We are in love.’ Annabel lifted her chin. ‘Not that I could expect you to understand the concept.’
‘Then why keep it a secret?’
Annabel gave a pathetic little huff. ‘You are supposed to be the intelligent one.’
‘Clearly not intelligent enough.’
Jemima understood all too well, but she needed to hear from Annabel how Quinn had persuaded her to remain silent. The man was known to have accumulated considerable personal wealth since his exile from Ireland and was accepted in the upper echelons of Bostonian society. To have engaged his affections would be considered quite a coup, and Annabel would have been desperate to broadcast her success. Powerful persuasion must have been brought to bear to prevent her from so doing.
‘He and Papa…Papa would not approve of our engagement.’
‘Engagement?’ Jemima and Olivia exchanged a bewildered glance. ‘He offered you marriage?’
Annabel pushed herself up in the bed. ‘I would hardly entertain a clandestine meeting with a man who had not,’ she said indignantly.
‘Then why…’
The door opened before Jemima could complete her question and Susan ushered the doctor into the room. He examined Annabel, asked her a few questions about her health and declared himself delighted with her progress.
‘She has come out of it sooner than I anticipated,’ he told Jemima in a private aside. ‘But she needs sleep to recover her strength. I will give her something to help her in that regard and for the pain she complains of in her stomach.’
Jemima nodded and thanked him, aware that the questioning would have to cease until the morrow. But at least she’d had her suspicions confirmed. Quinn had played upon her vanity and she had fallen for the ruse with near deadly consequences.
Annabel drank the tincture that Dr Sawyer made up for her, after which her eyes quickly drooped. Leaving her in the care of another maid, Olivia led Jemima from the room and closed the door softly behind them.
‘You poor thing, you must be exhausted,’ Olivia said, opening the door to the adjoining chamber. ‘I have put you in here, next to your sister. I thought you would feel more comfortable if you were close to her. I hope you will find it adequate.’
Adequate? It was beyond anything Jemima had ever experience before. Decorated in shades of yellow and cream, with light bed hangings and pretty matching curtains, the room was very well appointed with a lovely view over the rear garden. A fire danced in the grate, its flickering flames etching shadows on the opposite wall.
‘Thank you,’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘I had all the rooms redecorated shortly after Jake and I married. They were so gloomy and goodness knows when they
had last seen a coat of paint. Jake had lived alone for so long, you see, and men simply don’t think of these things.’
‘Most likely not.’ Jemima paused as she contemplated her kind hostess, choosing her next words with care. ‘You probably think I was harsh with Annabel and lacked sympathy for her ordeal,’ she said.
‘Not at all. She is your sister. You know best how to handle her. Besides, if she agreed to meet Quinn alone on the heath then some of the blame must attach to her, even if she couldn’t possibly have known that she was being deliberately manipulated. It is one thing,’ she added with a twinkling smile, ‘for single people to snatch a few moments alone in a crowded house where no real harm can come of it but entirely another for a young woman to put herself in the position that your sister did. Rules are made to prevent unscrupulous men from compromising innocent young girls. And to prevent ambitious girls from trapping gentlemen who show no inclination for matrimony, for that matter.’
‘It’s just that…well, Annabel is never to blame for anything. Given sufficient time she will come up with reasons why none of this was her fault. I wanted to establish a few facts before she gathered her wits and invented a plausible fiction.’
‘I understand.’ Olivia perched on the edge of the window seat and sent Jemima a considering look. ‘It cannot be easy, having such a sister.’
Jemima gave a half-smile. ‘One who is universally admired, perfectly mannered and can do no wrong?’ She shrugged. ‘It’s funny, no one has ever said that to me before. All they see is Annabel’s goodness and, if they notice me at all, they shake their heads at my unwillingness to take a more active role in society. Either that or they pity me for my deformity.’
‘It is only a deformity, I think, because you want it to be.’
Jemima thought it odd that two people had reached the same conclusion in the space of one day. She was perfectly sure that she and Ros had not discussed the matter and that they had formed their views independently of one another.
‘Who is Lord Riley?’ Jemima asked. ‘And why might he be of help to us?’
‘Ah, he is a very interesting young man, only a year or two younger than you are. He is in his final year at Eton and is expected to go on to Cambridge from there, I believe. He’s the younger son of the Marquess of Chichester and the two are as different as night and day. Chichester we frankly don’t have a lot of time for, but Jake sees endless possibilities for Riley and I like him too. He first came to our attention last year. Did you read in the newspapers of the murder of the actress—’
‘Constance Saville? Yes, I thought it such a great pity. I saw her Lady Macbeth once and was very impressed.’
‘Hers was a tragic loss to the theatre world. So senseless and unnecessary.’ Olivia sighed. ‘Anyway, she was Chichester’s mistress.’
‘Oh.’ Jemima’s eyes lit up at this surprising intelligence. ‘Do tell me more.’
‘Chichester came to Jake because he was the last person to see her alive. They had been overheard arguing and he worried that he would be accused of murdering her. He wanted Jake to prove his innocence. Riley happened to be in town and got wind of the matter. He, as I say, is a very different proposition to his father and elder brother. Chichester clearly hadn’t intended for Riley to discover the nature of his relationship with Connie. He feels disadvantaged because his son knows and disapproves and has been trying to mend bridges with him ever since. I am not surprised to hear that Riley disagrees with his father’s management of his recently purchased estate in Ireland.’
‘From what you tell me,’ Jemima replied frowning, ‘neither am I. But I don’t see how he can help with our problems.’
‘Jake has sent a message asking him to dine with us tonight, so you will meet him and be able to judge for yourself.’
‘I look forward to it.’
‘Speaking of which,’ Olivia said when a tap at the door preceded Susan walking through it with several gowns draped over her arm, ‘I hope these will fit you.’
‘Fit me?’ Jemima looked confused.
‘Well, you can hardly come down in the gown you are wearing.’
‘Oh lord!’ Jemima clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘I clean forgot to send for some clothes.’
Olivia laughed. ‘As you see, that situation can easily be remedied. No need to excite your mother’s curiosity about your whereabouts.’
‘I cannot wear your gowns, Olivia. I will dine up here this evening. I ought to be close by in case Annabel wakens and asks for me. She is not good at being alone when conscious and will probably create all sorts of problems for your servants if I am not here to keep an eye on the situation.’
‘And miss out on the planning?’
‘Ah yes, I do want to be included.’ Jemima conducted a short battle with her conscience and discovered that wanting to know how her new friends would get the better of Quinn quickly overcame the duty she owned to her sibling. ‘’Very well. Thank you, Olivia. I am very much in your debt.’
‘Nonsense, my dear. It is a pleasure to have you here.’ Olivia pushed herself to her feet. ‘I will leave you in Susan’s capable hands and see you downstairs a little later.’
And with that, she was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
Ros took himself off to Westminster and spent several hours finishing off reports that were required at yet another cross-party meeting the following morning. A meeting chaired by Aitken at which the Irish situation would be debated at length. He predicted that as usual nothing would come of it. He sometimes thought that if politicians spent more time listening to the advice offered by people like Ros, who were paid to educate their masters in their various fields of expertise, and less time attempting to score points against their opponents, they might actually achieve something worthwhile.
He sighed, wondering why the idealism that had brought him to Westminster in the first place still sometimes reared his head. He had long ago accepted that sound common sense and the needs of the populace held little sway with politicians and that any recommendations based upon those tenets were unlikely to see the light of the statute book. Political decisions seldom had much to do with factual circumstances, and were almost always made with the interests of the party’s influential donors in mind.
Perhaps it was time to give it all up and return to the family fold, Ros mused. His father was placing increasing pressure upon him to take more responsibility for the running of the Bray estate, and since he had purchased the bankrupt property that was creating so many problems for them at Ros’s urging he supposed he couldn’t blame him for that. Ros was well aware that he ought to be there to lend his father his support but had foolishly, and rather arrogantly, assumed that he would be of more use in the heart of Westminster, solving the problem from within.
‘Idiot!’ he muttered.
He could not defer his familial duties indefinitely, but the situation with Annabel Aitken made it impossible for him to quit London quite yet. By leaving Annabel for dead in Ros’s room, Quinn had severely miscalculated. Ros glanced out of the window and observed his image reflected back at him. His menacing expression, his jaw rigid and unyielding. By bringing the battle to his door, Quinn had made this personal and would soon discover he had met his match.
There was, of course, a more pressing reason to delay his return to Ireland. His mother would redouble her efforts to marry him off the moment he stepped off the boat—another duty that he knew he could not avoid forever but one he would infinitely prefer not to think about for a great deal longer.
Ros put the finishing touches to his reports, dismissed his secretary and then returned to his rooms, where he found a disgruntled landlady complaining that she had been sent on a fool’s errand that morning.
‘The gal’s time wasn’t nearly close,’ she said. ‘You’d think, after three confinements, she would know better than to send for me at the first sign of discomfort.’
‘Why did she send for you?’
‘Ah well, that’s the thing. She says she don’t remember doing so. Between you and me, m’lord, she likes a little nip of gin more often than she should. I imagine she was out of her senses and mistook the odd twinge for the real thing.’ Mrs Gaunt shrugged her ample shoulders, sanguine about the inconvenience. ‘It ’appens.’
Ros sympathised, then apologised for the soiled sheets and blamed them on a sick stomach.
‘Ah, you ought to have a care about what you eat, young sir. I’ve told you before, them pie stalls ain’t to be trusted. Wouldn’t care to think about what goes into them excuses for pies, and that’s a fact.’ She twitched her nose. ‘You can be sure it ain’t any sort of meat that you or I would recognise on a butcher’s slab, and the amount they charge for ’em is right criminal. Don’t know what the world is coming to, that I don’t.’
Ros promised to be more fastidious in future and repaired to his rooms to change into evening attire. He wondered if Annabel had yet regained her senses and what she’d have to say for herself. He hoped that her recovery would be slow, otherwise she would be required to return home, and Jemima would have no excuse to remain in the Torbay mansion. He tied his neckcloth and inspected the resulting arrangement, nodding when it met with his satisfaction, then absently pulled a brush through his hair, leaving it to fall wherever it felt like falling. No one could accuse Ros of vanity.
Even if Annabel was awake, it was unlikely that she would go home that night. She would be safer where she was. Ros assumed that she would not be moved until they knew exactly what had happened to her and Aitken had discussed with them all their next step. He might—almost certainly would—try to exclude the Torbays now that Annabel had been found. The fewer people who were aware of his precious daughter’s disgrace, the less possibility there was of it becoming public knowledge—a stick for Quinn et al to beat him with. He would definitely try to exclude Jemima. Ros chuckled as he slipped his arms into his coat, thinking Aitken would have little success in that regard. If he thought his elder daughter would simply bow to parental dictate then he grossly misunderstood her character.
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