The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales)

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘We have done very well,’ declared Aunt Eliza, ticking another item from her list. ‘The gowns we have ordered should be ready for you to take back to Arrandale with you. Indeed, we have ordered so much I wonder if we should hire a second carriage to carry it all. Grace?’ She put down her pen and paper. ‘Dearest, I do believe you have not heard a word I have said!’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Aunt. I was thinking that perhaps we should seek out Mr Richard Arrandale. I remember him saying they were in Mount Street.’

  ‘Grace, my love.’ Aunt Eliza reached out and put a hand on her arm. ‘If someone is searching for Mr Wolfgang they will be watching his brother’s house, too. If you begin sending urgent messages to him it may well alert the watcher to us and whoever it is might well begin to ask questions about a certain Mr Peregrine. Mr Wolfgang did not give you his direction because he did not wish to involve you.’

  ‘I know, but if he is in danger—’

  ‘I have no doubt that he is aware of what is in the newspapers and is taking extra care.’

  ‘Do you really think so, Aunt Eliza?’ Grace looked at her doubtfully.

  ‘I do, my love, but if we have heard nothing by the morning I will pay a call upon Mrs Richard Arrandale. After all, there would be nothing untoward about that, since we met at the Hathersedges’ ball the other night.’

  * * *

  Grace agreed and tried to be content, but there was no denying the relief she felt when her aunt received a letter, just as they finished dinner. As soon as they were alone Aunt Eliza tore open the sheet and confirmed that it was from Mr Wolfgang. She read it quickly.

  ‘Well, I am very encouraged by his cheerful tone.’

  ‘What does it say?’ demanded Grace, trying to read over her shoulder.

  ‘Meesden has agreed to talk to him. He says they are to meet in Vauxhall Gardens at eleven o’clock tonight.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Listen, my love, “...that she is willing to pay the admission price tells me she is not quite so lacking in means as she would have us believe!”’

  ‘Or perhaps she has learned of the pension he has settled upon her.’ Grace smiled. ‘He went back to the lawyers yesterday especially to arrange it...’ Her smile faded. ‘May I look, Aunt?’

  She took the letter and scanned it, a tiny crease settling between her brows.

  ‘What is it, my love? Is this not good news?’

  ‘I do not know,’ said Grace slowly. ‘He writes that she sent him word last night, but how?’

  ‘He gave her his direction, naturally.’

  ‘No, he did not.’ Grace shook her head. ‘I was with him when he tried to tell her how she could reach him. I remember it distinctly because I thought that I should discover it, too, but she cut him short.’ She handed back the paper. ‘Oh, Aunt, I very much fear that this is some sort of trap!’

  * * *

  Wolf kept his domino close about him as he climbed out of the coach at Vauxhall. The Season had only just begun, but already the gardens were thronging with crowds and that made him uneasy. He had not been here for over ten years and ticket prices had increased significantly, but it appeared to have made no difference to the popularity of the gardens.

  He pulled out his watch as he made his way towards the Italian Walk. It wanted but fifteen minutes to eleven and Meesden might already be waiting for him. He thought it odd that she should want to meet south of the river, but perhaps she was as keen as he not to be recognised and that was definitely easier amongst this vast, masked crowd. An avenue of trees led to the Italian Walk, a series of arches and pediments built in the Roman style with statues placed at intervals along its length. Lamps twinkled from the trees and between the pillars. By their dim light Wolf strode on, looking for the statue of Minerva. Had Meesden known, when she chose the venue, that the goddess was said to have conferred upon women the skills of sewing and spinning? He had not thought her so well educated.

  The statue he sought was set in a recess at the very end of the Walk, where there were plenty of people, but not the crush to be found around the orchestra and the supper boxes. Several couples were strolling along and a chattering group of ladies and their escorts tripped past as he stepped off the path.

  A sudden breeze carried away the noisy chatter and set the leaves rustling on the thick bushes that enclosed three sides of the recess. Wolf had a sudden premonition of danger. He heard a cry and turned as a cloaked woman staggered from the bushes, her hands reaching out before her. It was only as she collapsed against him that he felt the hard projection of the knife handle beneath her ribs. Quickly he laid the woman on the ground, her cloak falling away as he did so. The lamplight showed him it was Annie Meesden, a stain blooming around the knife and spreading over the front of her gown like a huge, blood-red flower. Wolf pulled the knife from her with one hand while with the other he drew his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it over the wound, although he knew it was too late. There was no life in the sightless eyes that stared up at him.

  ‘Murder, murder!’

  Wolf heard the cry and looked up to find a crowd gathering on the path, staring at him in horror. Four men jumped forward to lay hands on him.

  ‘Not me,’ he cried, struggling against them. ‘Her killer is back there, in the bushes. Quickly, go after him!’

  ‘Oh, no, you won’t trick us with that one!’ Leaving three of his comrades to hold Wolf, one of the men knelt by the stricken woman. ‘She’s dead.’ He looked up. ‘And here you are, with the knife in your hand and her body still warm.’

  The commotion had drawn more people. There was no escape and Wolf could hear their voices clamouring for the constable to be fetched.

  His eyes returned to the bloody body on the ground and with a sickening certainty he knew he had been tricked.

  * * *

  From the far side of the walk Grace watched in horror as the crowd grew around Wolf, their cries and shrieks like the baying of hounds.

  ‘No. No!’

  She wanted to run towards him, but Richard held her back, saying, ‘There is nothing we can do for him here.’

  ‘But they will kill him!’

  ‘No, they won’t. They have sent for the constable.’

  ‘Can we not go to him?’

  ‘No,’ said Richard. ‘He is incognito. If I rush to his support it is very likely someone will make the connection.’

  ‘If only we had come earlier!’

  ‘You came to Mount Street as soon as you realised the danger,’ muttered Richard. ‘I am only thankful that we were at home.’

  Grace nodded. They had arrived at Vauxhall in time to see Wolf heading for the Italian Walk. There had been no mistaking his tall figure, even in the black domino.

  ‘I do not understand,’ she said now, trembling with the shock of it. ‘The arbour was empty when he stepped into it. And the next moment he is kneeling over a body.’

  ‘There is a certain familiarity with that scenario,’ drawled Richard.

  Grace turned to stare at him. ‘You do not believe he murdered her?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head emphatically. ‘No, I do not. I was watching closely. She was not there when he walked in and I did not see her enter from the path.’

  Her companion relaxed just a little.

  ‘That is what I thought, too,’ he said. ‘It’s damned suspicious. Come on, we need to know if the woman is Mrs Meesden.’ He took her arm and led her to the edge of the crowd. ‘What is going on here?’

  The authority in Richard’s voice caused some of the onlookers to move aside. He pushed into the crowd, Grace close beside him. It was impossible to get to the front, but Grace was tall enough to see Wolf being held by two burly individuals. A sudden shifting of the crowd gave her a glimpse of a woman’s body lying on the ground. Grace forced herself
to look at the dead woman’s face. There was no mistaking Annie Meesden’s gaunt features. Pressing her handkerchief against her lips, Grace nodded to Richard.

  ‘It is her.’

  ‘What has happened?’ he demanded, loudly enough for his brother to hear.

  Wolf looked towards them and briefly met Grace’s eyes.

  He said, as if addressing his captors, ‘The woman was stabbed before she came out of the bushes behind the statue. Her killer must have been back there.’

  A large woman in a mob cap and torn coat laughed scornfully.

  ‘A likely tale!’ she scoffed. ‘The poor besom fell foul of her beau, plain as day.’

  Several constables had arrived and were pushing their way through the crowd to take charge.

  Grace pressed Richard’s arm. ‘Let us look around the back and see if there are signs that anyone has been there.’

  It was much darker away from the main walk. Richard unhooked one of the lamps and led the way. It was too much to expect to find anyone lurking behind the little recess, but the lamplight showed them where the smaller branches had been snapped off and the ground was trampled.

  ‘The bushes are much thinner here,’ observed Grace. ‘It would not be difficult to get through.’

  ‘I think you are right,’ muttered Richard. ‘The killer stabbed her here, then pushed her forward. I can even see through to the path.’ He stepped back. ‘One of the constables is coming around here to look for himself. We must go.’

  ‘What about Wolf?’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do for him at present. We will find out where they are taking him and I will go to see him in the morning. You need not be anxious about my brother, Miss Duncombe. They will lock him up securely, but I have no doubt it isn’t the first time he has spent the night in a prison cell.’

  * * *

  Wolf was marched away and bundled into a carriage for the short journey to the prison. He cursed himself for being so easily fooled. He had let down his guard, allowed himself to believe that Annie Meesden truly wanted to help him. Had she conspired with the killer to lure him to the gardens? If so she had paid for it with her life. His jaw clenched. How foolish he had been to believe she wanted to meet him. He thought of seeing Grace and Richard in the crowd; she must have read his note and rushed here to support him, bringing Richard with her as the only man she could trust. He hoped, nay, he was sure his brother would realise there was some deep game afoot, but what would Grace think of him now that she had seen him in that incriminating situation? A chill went through him. Henry Hodges, the love of her life, had died from a stab wound. What had it done to her, seeing him there with a bloody knife in his hand? As the carriage rattled on his thoughts were as gloomy as the dark streets. It was too much to expect her to believe he was innocent now.

  * * *

  New Gaol in Horsemonger Lane was less than twenty years old and rose like a solid black square against the darkness. As the carriage pulled up Wolf was surprised to see the double doors were open. He frowned.

  ‘I thought I’d be in a lock-up until I had seen the magistrate.’

  ‘He’s waiting for you,’ was the gruff response. ‘Just your misfortune that it’s Hanging Hatcham on duty tonight!’

  The constables roughly manhandled him out of the carriage on to the cobbled yard of the prison. He was escorted into a reception room where a portly figure in a powdered wig was sitting at a desk.

  ‘I am Gilbert Hatcham, magistrate here.’ The man introduced himself. ‘I was told I might expect you this evening, Mr Wolfgang Arrandale.’

  ‘You are mistaken,’ said Wolf coolly. ‘My name is Peregrine. John Peregrine.’

  The magistrate gave a fat chuckle.

  ‘Is that what you are calling yourself?’ He lifted a printed sheet from the desk and glanced at it. Even in the lamplight Wolf could see that it was creased and yellow with age. The only word he could read from this distance was the one in large thick letters stretched across the page. ‘Reward’.

  Hatcham continued to scan the sheet. ‘It says a tall man, six feet five inches, near black hair and violet-blue eyes.’ He came around the desk and stared up into Wolf’s face. ‘Well, I can’t see the colour of your eyes in this light, but I think the description is sufficiently close. Put him in a holding cell.’

  ‘Will you not grant me bail?’ demanded Wolf as the constables began to hustle him from the room.

  ‘You are wanted for the murder of your wife and the theft of her diamonds, and now you have been caught red-handed taking the life of another poor wretch. No, sir, you will not be granted bail!’

  * * *

  Wolf woke up in near darkness, feeling parched and uncomfortable. He was wrapped in his black domino and lying on bare boards that ran the length of the cell, but they were several inches short of his height, so he was not able to stretch out. His ribs hurt, too; his captors had been none too gentle in their treatment of him. The only sources of light were the grille in the door and a hole in the ceiling, too high and small for a man to climb through, but within minutes of his waking he discovered it was large enough for the guards to pass down a flask of small beer and a crust of bread for him to break his fast. A short time later the door opened and a guard appeared, a black outline against lamplight from the corridor.

  ‘You have visitors. Upstairs.’

  ‘I am glad you do not expect me to receive them here.’

  Wolf took time to fold his domino and put it on the boards before he accompanied his gaoler up the stone steps. Above ground the sun flooded in through the windows and he blinked uncomfortably in the light. His escort ushered him into a small panelled room, sparsely furnished with a square wooden table and four chairs, where he found his visitors waiting for him; his brother and a tall veiled lady that Wolf knew immediately was Grace. His spirits leapt, but plunged again when she lifted her veil. She looked so pale and drawn he guessed she had not slept and it was as much as he could do not to reach out for her. His frustration manifested itself in a scowl.

  ‘You should not have brought her here, Richard.’

  It was Grace who replied, saying quietly, ‘I insisted upon it.’

  Wolf’s scowl deepened. ‘You were at Vauxhall—can you doubt the evidence of your own eyes and believe me innocent?’

  ‘Your brother and I were watching more closely than the others. You did not stab that woman. Your past may be very dark, sir, but you are no murderer.’

  He was shaken by his sense of relief. It flared like a torch, but he could not bring himself to admit to it. He responded gruffly.

  ‘I still say you should not be here. You should not be alone with any Arrandale!’

  Richard scowled back at him. ‘You need not concern yourself with the propriety, Wolf, Phyllida accompanied us. She is waiting in the carriage.’

  ‘Trying to distance herself from her wicked brother-in-law,’ said Wolf bitterly.

  ‘No, she is trying to spare you embarrassment, you ungrateful cur!’

  Wolf put up his hand, at last acknowledging his ill humour.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘Forgive me, Richard. I am grateful, truly.’

  ‘Aye, well,’ growled Richard, rubbing his nose. ‘It isn’t only that. She is in a delicate condition.’

  ‘Then I am obliged to her for coming even as far as the gates with you,’ exclaimed Wolf. He gripped his brother’s hand. ‘I felicitate you, Richard, and I am even more grateful that you should be here. But I am surprised. I expected to see my rascally lawyer.’

  ‘I sent word to Baylis to come as soon as he can,’ Richard replied shortly. ‘We have just had a most unsatisfactory interview with the magistrate.’

  ‘Gilbert Hatcham?’

  ‘Yes. He refused bail for you.’

  ‘He told me as much last night.’ Wo
lf glanced to check that the door was closed and that they were alone before inviting them to sit down. ‘How much did it cost you for this meeting?’

  ‘Enough. This may be a new model prison, but a few pieces of silver can still achieve a great deal. Although not your freedom, Brother.’

  Wolf grunted. ‘Hatcham said he was expecting me. He had an old poster on his desk. Odd, do you not think, that he should have a ten-year-old notice so readily to hand?’

  ‘Damned suspicious,’ muttered Richard.

  ‘How are they treating you?’ asked Grace.

  Wolf shied away from the concern in her voice.

  ‘As you would expect them to treat a murderer,’ he replied lightly. ‘They barely gave me time to wash the poor woman’s blood from my hands before they hustled me into a cell.’

  He knew they must both have seen the dried blood on his clothes, although no one mentioned it.

  Richard said, ‘You were lured to that meeting, Wolf.’

  ‘Yes, and I think I know by whom, although I cannot prove it while I am locked in here.’

  ‘Then we must do it for you,’ declared Grace.

  Her vehemence touched him, but he hid it behind a rueful smile and a light word.

  ‘I fear I have led you woefully astray, Miss Duncombe. What would your fiancé say if he knew you were here?’

  ‘He would want justice, as I do.’

  ‘But not at the expense of your reputation.’

  ‘At any expense!’

  She looked so resolute that his heart swelled.

  ‘Why were you both at Vauxhall last night?’ he asked.

  ‘Miss Duncombe suspected a trick.’

  A tinge of colour stole into Grace’s cheeks. ‘Your note said Annie Meesden had sent you word, but I distinctly remember she cut you off before you could tell her how to contact you.’

  ‘Yes, I realised that, too, but only later, after I was locked up. A stupid error on my part.’

  ‘So who did know how to contact you?’ asked Richard. ‘Apart from myself?’