The Storm Breaks (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 4)

by Julia Brannan

  “And I say to you that I will not leave here before you do. If you are right, then your story can be verified, I am sure. When I leave here, I will go straight to your colonel to apprise him of what you are about. Perhaps you would like to delay your interrogation until then?”

  “You will have a long ride,” Richard said, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “Colonel Hutchinson is already at Northampton. I ride to join him in the morning. In the meantime, I have a great deal to do and will not waste any more of my time talking to you.”

  “In that at least we agree, Captain Cunningham,” Caroline said. She stepped backwards out of the door into the street and beckoned to the coachman, who had jumped down from his perch, wondering what was the matter. He ran to join her, and Caroline stepped back through the door.

  Richard had obviously thought she had taken his advice and left, and, letting Sarah go, had moved several paces across the room, intending to close the door. He stopped at the sight of the coachman, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

  Caroline, about to ask Peter if he had a pistol about him, saw that indeed he did, and leaning across she pulled it from his belt. Then she cocked it, and pointing it at Richard, smiled coldly. The coachman blanched. Richard froze.

  “Get out, now,” Caroline said bluntly, “or I will shoot you.”

  She stepped into the room, circling round him so that he could leave without coming near her, her eyes on him all the time, her hand steady as she aimed the pistol at his heart.

  “You are mad,” he said. “You would not dare shoot me.”

  You’re wrong, Richard,” she assured him. “It would give me the greatest pleasure to shoot you. You have assaulted Miss Browne, whose injuries speak for themselves. My coachman will attest that you tried to assault me. You will be in no position to contradict anything. I will be a heroine. You have ten seconds to leave.”

  “You cannot…”

  “Nine,” said Caroline.

  Richard estimated how far away from her he was.

  “Eight,” said Caroline.

  Too far. He took his hand from his sword and moved towards the door, his face crimson with rage.

  “Seven.”

  “You will regret this,” he said, his fingers on the door handle.

  “Six. I am already regretting giving you even ten seconds, Richard. Five,” she said.

  He left, knocking the white-faced coachman to the ground as he did. Ignoring Sarah, who had slumped to the floor beside the counter, Caroline moved cautiously to the door.

  “Has he gone, Peter?” she asked.

  “Yes, madam,” said the coachman shakily, getting to his feet.

  “Good. I want you to take this pistol and go back to the coach. If he returns I want you to shoot him, without hesitation. Will you do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Peter faltered. “He’s…”

  “A lunatic who tried to kill your mistress. There is no one around. If you shoot him I will come out immediately to you, take the pistol and tell the authorities I did it. Nobody will question me.”

  Peter took the pistol, somewhat reluctantly, and went back to the coach.

  When Caroline turned back Sarah was on her hands and knees, trying to get to her feet. Her face was a mask of blood, but it would be impossible to ascertain her injuries until she had been cleaned up a little. They seemed very bad.

  “Here, lean on me,” Caroline said. “Do you think you can make it to the coach?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said thickly. “M’all right.”

  “No you’re not,” said Caroline. “We must get you straight to a doctor.”

  “No,” Sarah replied, quite distinctly. “Anne. Warn Anne. Know Richard, very bad temper. Please.”

  It was obviously causing Sarah a good deal of pain to speak. Beth’s letter was burning a hole in Caroline’s pocket. It was no longer necessary to discuss with Edwin whether Richard was capable of killing an innocent woman. The evidence was there in front of her, bleeding all over the place.

  “All right,” she said. “But let’s wash your face, just a little. Richard’s on foot, I have the carriage. We will get to Anne before he does.”

  She sat the injured woman down on a chair and bringing a basin of water and a cloth over from the table, gently washed Sarah’s face.

  Her nose was broken, very badly, and her front teeth had been forced right through her upper lip. The cut would need stitching, and would scar. Her eyes were swollen and blackening. And she was shaking as though she had palsy.

  “Sarah,” Caroline said tentatively, “I really think we should…”

  “No,” Sarah insisted. “Anne first, then doctor.”

  Once settled in the coach with a blanket round her, Sarah sat looking out of the window for a moment as they set off at a rattling pace. She was breathing heavily through her mouth and was clearly in shock.

  “You must make a complaint against him,” Caroline said. “I will be your witness.”

  “I can’t. He was right,” Sarah replied.

  Caroline, on the opposite bench, leaned forward so that she could hear Sarah’s voice, which was hardly more than a whisper.

  “Who was?” she asked.

  “Richard. I was a whore. You should know. He was telling the truth. Picked me off the streets, to spy on Beth. Penny whore, I was.” A tear trickled slowly down the ruin of her face.

  “Did you spy on Beth for him?” Caroline asked.

  “Yes. For a week. Felt bad, then. Told him nothing. Nothing to tell, really. Then I found out what he was. And what she was. Owe her everything. Die for her, I would.”

  “Well then,” said Caroline. “We have something in common.”

  Sarah looked at her in surprise.

  “I used to be a duke’s daughter, and now I’m an MP’s wife. You used to be a whore and now you’re an independent businesswoman. I prefer to forget what I was, most of the time. I suggest you do the same.” She smiled. “Which leaves me an MP’s wife and you a businesswoman. I am also, like you, loyal to my friends. Of which you are one.”

  “No,” said Sarah. “Richard won’t let me forget. If I make a complaint it will all come out…I joined Beth at eighteen. Before that I can’t prove what I was. If he tells, I’ll be ruined.”

  Caroline leaned across and took Sarah’s trembling hand in her own.

  “One thing at a time,” she said. “Let’s worry about convincing Anne first, then tend your injuries. Everything else can wait until later.”

  They were entering the street where Anne lived. There was no time to tell Sarah about the letter now, or show her the little postscript.

  Praying that Richard hadn’t had a fast horse tethered round the corner from the shop, they knocked on the door.

  After an interminable wait, during which the wind whipped round the two women’s legs and Sarah leaned ever more heavily on Caroline’s shoulder, the door opened and a footman in maroon livery glared down at them.

  “Good evening,” said Caroline, dragging Sarah past him into the hall before the man had time to react to their unlikely appearance. “Is Captain Cunningham at home?”

  “No,” replied the footman, looking at Sarah with growing disgust.

  “In that case, tell Mrs Cunningham that Lady Caroline is here to see her on a matter of the utmost urgency. Immediately,” she added autocratically, as the servant seemed inclined to dispute with her.

  “Wait here,” he said, and turning reluctantly away from the two women he moved towards the drawing room. Sarah sank down into a brocade-covered chair, unable to support herself any longer.

  “I thought you’d forgotten your past, Lady Caroline,” she remarked.

  Caroline looked at her and smiled. If Sarah could see the humour in a situation at a time like this, then she would recover.

  “I have,” she replied, “except when the situation requires otherwise. We have to see Anne. My title stopped the footman from throwing us bodily out. When he tells her what a strange sight is waiting in t
he hall for her, she will come.”

  Twenty seconds passed, and then the door opened and Anne rushed out into the hall, the footman following. As Caroline had expected, Anne barely acknowledged her before kneeling down in front of Sarah.

  “Oh, oh, my God, you poor unfortunate child,” she cried. “What has happened?” She looked up at Caroline. “Where did you find the poor woman? Has she been robbed?” She snapped her fingers at the footman. “Carry her through to the drawing room. Then fetch brandy. And warm water, and cloths.”

  As Caroline and Anne followed the servant through to the drawing room, something suddenly occurred to Caroline.

  “Anne,” she said gently, “this is Sarah. Don’t you recognise her?”

  Anne looked at the injured woman in disbelief. Then her eyes widened.

  “Dear God,” she breathed. “I thought she was a woman you had found in the street.”

  The servant laid Sarah down on the couch, and Anne tentatively examined her.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else, Sarah? Apart from your face?” Anne asked.

  Sarah glanced up at Caroline, then tried to shake her head. Her face screwed up with pain.

  “No,” she said.

  The brandy arrived, and the water, and Caroline allowed Anne a few precious minutes to compose herself. Where ailments were concerned she was practical and confident. Caroline had no wish to shatter that confidence, but she had to. Richard could come home at any time.

  “I can use comfrey cream on the cuts,” Anne said, “and arnica for the bruising, but this cut needs stitching, Sarah, and your nose…we must send for a doctor immediately.” She looked up at Caroline. “What happened?”

  Caroline looked down at Anne, with sympathy.

  “Your husband, Anne, that’s what happened to her,” she said.

  Anne stared at her, uncomprehending.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “Richard is in Flanders.”

  God, poor woman. He hadn’t even written to tell her he was coming home. With an effort, Caroline pushed her pity to one side.

  “No he isn’t, Anne, he’s in London,” she said. “And tonight he went to see Sarah, and he did this to her. Sarah insisted that we come here in spite of her injuries, because she thinks Richard will come home and take his temper out on you.”

  All the colour drained from Anne’s face, and for a moment Caroline thought she was going to faint. They had no time for that. Roughly she pushed Anne on to a chair, shoving her head between her knees, while reaching down her back and unlacing her stays. After a moment Anne tried to lift her head, and Caroline let her go.

  “No,” she whispered. “No. Richard is…he is not a gentle man, but he would never do that, never.”

  “Anne, listen to me,” said Caroline. “I came upon him while he was attacking Sarah. I saw it myself. I had to threaten him with a pistol to get him to leave the shop. He did this, make no mistake, and would have done a lot worse if I hadn’t happened to call round when I did. There is something else, something I haven’t had time to tell Sarah yet.”

  “What is it?” asked both women together.

  Caroline looked at the clock. Seven thirty. How long was it since he had left the shop? Twenty minutes, maybe more. She delved in her pocket, drew out the letter.

  “I received this letter from Beth today,” she said. She looked at Sarah. “She’s well, and has written a message for you, but we can talk about that later. She has never written before, Anne. I think she knows how dangerous it would be for her if the letter was intercepted. She broke her silence to tell me that she was sure you and George were in danger.” Ignoring Anne’s look of utter shock, she continued to briefly outline the contents of the letter.

  “You can read it later, yourself,” she said, rushing her words in her haste to finish and get Anne out of the house. “I went to Sarah to ask her what Richard had done to Beth, but I saw enough to be convinced without that of what he is. You must leave the house, now, Anne, please.”

  “I can’t,” she said helplessly. “He will expect me to be here when he comes home. He has never seen George. He will be angry if I am not here. George is beautiful. He will love him when he sees him, I know he will.”

  Caroline’s patience was diminishing rapidly, her whole body screaming to be gone. Sarah felt the same; she was quivering with tension.

  “Anne, I’m sure the child he tried to kill was equally beautiful. All children are beautiful. He attacked her for nothing.”

  “No,” Anne said tearfully, but her voice was uncertain. “There is no proof…”

  “What Beth told me to tell you,” Sarah said suddenly, ignoring the pain speaking caused her in her desperation to convince Anne. “I was their maid, in Manchester. Three years ago he went to Beth’s bedroom and tried to rape her. She managed to get a knife and threatened to cut off his balls.” She ignored Anne’s instinctive wince at her language and continued. “She locked him out, and he was in a terrible rage so he came and took it out on me. Not as bad as this,” she added, “but bad. Tonight he tried to rape me. When I resisted, he did this to me and then he carried on. He told me he was going to kill me unless I pleased him. He would have done. Caroline disturbed him seconds before he could finish. He was very angry. I don’t want him to hurt you. He will if he comes home and you’re here.”

  There was a terrible silence, punctuated only by Anne’s sobs and the ticking of the clock, boring into Caroline’s head until she thought she would go mad. She seized Anne suddenly by the shoulders, so hard that she gave a cry of shock.

  “Anne,” she said. “Do you love your son?”

  Anne’s eyes widened.

  “Of course I do,” she gasped. “I love him more than anything.”

  “Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe Richard will come home at any moment and declare undying love for you and the child. But I don’t believe that for one minute, and neither do you. He has already hit you, Anne, several times. Your son has disinherited him. He is on his way here now, enraged because I thwarted him in his attempt at raping Sarah. Beth believes he has murdered a young woman and tried to kill her child. Are you willing to risk your son’s life, and your own, on the slender chance that we are all wrong in our opinion of him?”

  She let go of Anne, and waited. Ten seconds ticked loudly by. Anne drew out a handkerchief, and wiped her face. She bit her lip, then came to a decision.

  “George is asleep,” she said. “I will need a few minutes to gather his things together.”

  Five minutes later they left the house. Ten minutes after that they were dragging a doctor away from his dinner guests to stitch Sarah’s lip and attempt to make some sense of the pulp that had been her nose. Whilst he was working, Anne read the letter, handing it wordlessly on to Sarah.

  She read it, slowly, taking more time over the postscript than the rest of the letter. Then she looked up, oblivious to the doctor who was about to manipulate the shattered bones of her nose, and laughed, a truly joyous sound that seemed incongruous coming from her mashed and swollen lips.

  Caroline knew she had been right. There was something about the postscript. But Sarah didn’t volunteer what had made her laugh out loud, and what kept her smiling all the time he was pulling her nose into shape, although the pain must have been terrible. And Caroline did not ask. Some things it was better not to know.

  An hour after that, the carriage drew to a halt outside Caroline’s. Anne made a move to the door, George clutched to her breast, drowsily feeding, but Caroline held up her hand.

  “No,” she said. “We can’t stay here. It’s the first place he’ll come. I must leave a note to warn Edwin. I’ll only be a moment.”

  She leapt out of the carriage like a child, and shooting up the steps hammered impatiently on the door. It seemed an age before Toby opened it, and she ran past him in the direction of the library.

  “Is Edwin home yet?” she called.

  “No, my lady,” said Toby, following her. “Is something wrong?”

/>   Caroline had grabbed a sheet of paper from the drawer and was hastily scribbling on it, merrily scattering blots across its pristine surface.

  “Does he have his key?” she asked without looking up.

  “Yes, I believe he does, my lady. Mr Harlow is very considerate of the servants, although I personally believe it our duty not to retire until the master is home, and to be ready to answer the door to him at all times.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Toby,” she said, throwing half the contents of the sandpot on to the letter, then shaking it off. She folded it in half and handed it to the old man.

  “Tonight I want you to stay up until Edwin returns, however late that is,” she said. “When he comes in I want you to give him this. And this.” She delved in her pocket and handed him Beth’s letter. “Don’t read them.”

  Toby bristled instantly.

  “My lady!” he cried, truly distressed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am in a terrible hurry, and am not thinking clearly. I know you won’t read them, or let anyone else, either. I wouldn’t entrust you with them otherwise. There is something else I want you to do for me.”

  “Anything, my lady, you know that,” he said, mollified.

  “Do not, under any circumstances, open the door to anyone. Let Edwin use his key. Ignore anybody who knocks at the door. Anybody, no matter how insistent they are.”

  She rushed off down the hall and out of the door, leaving Toby completely mystified, with a head full of questions he was too polite to ask.

  She leapt into the carriage, shouting an instruction to Peter as she did. The door had hardly closed before it set off, and for the first time since she had entered Sarah’s shop, Caroline started to feel safe.

  “Where are we going?” asked Anne, thoroughly alarmed.

  “To Hertfordshire,” she said. “We are going to visit my Aunt Harriet.”

  “Hertfordshire?” cried Anne. “But that is miles away! We will arrive too late for visiting. And what will we say when we get there?”