by Holt, Cheryl
His only comment had been, Good. He won’t be around to pester us anymore.
Sarah hadn’t questioned him on his lack of concern and hadn’t inquired as to whether he’d been involved in Archie’s demise. She wasn’t sorry that Archie was dead, and however he’d met his end, whoever had orchestrated it, she didn’t mourn him.
Caroline was safe, Bramble Bay belonged to Sarah, Hedley was living in town with Miss Dubois, and Mildred had slithered over to Sheldon’s and hadn’t left.
Sheldon often stopped by to mention that Mildred was ready to return to Bramble Bay, but Sarah ignored his suggestions. Sheldon could deal with Mildred—with Sarah’s blessing.
All of her energy was devoted to saving Jean Pierre from the hangman’s noose. She didn’t have time to fuss over her family or any other issue. She would not let him be executed.
She would engage in any ruse to get him released from prison. Barring release, she was determined that he spend his life incarcerated or perhaps be transported to the penal colonies in Australia. If he was transported, he’d have an opportunity to escape, to come back to her.
Through it all, Raven had been her stern ally and staunch friend. If he hadn’t been standing by her side, holding her up during the tumult, she didn’t know how she’d have weathered her many ordeals.
The trial was approaching, authorities chomping at the bit to apply a harsh dose of British justice. She was growing more and more frantic, her current visit proof that she was as crazed as some of the lunatics Caroline had encountered at Bedlam.
“Were you with Jean Pierre when he boarded Mr. Harcourt’s ship?”
“Ah…yes, I was.”
“Did you help Jean Pierre try to murder Mr. Harcourt?”
“I believe I might have been the one who lugged Harcourt down the ladder and dumped him into the longboat.”
“You believe you were? Have you killed so many people that you don’t remember?”
“Oh, all right,”he groused. “I tossed him in the boat myself.”
“Then no, you can’t come in with me.”
“Are you sure?”
“They’re not cannibals, Raven. They won’t eat me for dinner.”
“You can’t predict how these rich doffs might behave. I wouldn’t want them to upset you more than you already are.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She patted his hand as the driver opened the door and lowered the step. She climbed out.
“I’ll be waiting out here,”Raven told her.
“That will bolster my confidence, knowing you’re close by.”
“If they’re rude, you leave at once. Don’t sit in there and be insulted.”
“To save Jean Pierre’s life, I can endure a few insults.”
He flashed a sad smile. “But only a few.”
“Only a few. I promise.”
Sarah went to the stoop and gazed up at the imposing house. It was red brick, with black shutters and green flower boxes, the last flowers of the season dried and wilted.
It was an impressive residence, but not a grand mansion by any means. But then, Tristan Harcourt wasn’t an aristocrat. He was an earl’s brother and ship captain with his own shipping company which, two years earlier, had proved disastrous.
He’d been out on the high seas when his angry, vindictive brother—The French Terror—had attacked. Tristan and Harriet Harcourt were lucky to have survived.
Sarah banged the knocker, and a liveried footman answered. She gave him her card.
“I’d like to call on Mrs. Harcourt. We’re not acquainted, but please tell her that her father sent me.”
The man took her cloak and bonnet, then showed her into a pretty parlor off the foyer. She sat, tamping down her nerves, studying the furnishings, the paintings on the walls. She and Raven had vehemently debated the visit, thinking it would be impossible to speak with Tristan Harcourt. But his wife…Harriet…
What might her opinion be of Sarah’s bald appeal?
Soon, footsteps echoed in the hall, and Harriet Sinclair Harcourt swept in. She was a bit younger than Sarah, slender and vibrant and very fetching, with the typical Sinclair blond hair and green eyes.
She and her twin sister Helen were two of Charles’s lost daughters, found by their brother, Phillip, when they were twenty-one and in very dire straits. True love had blossomed when they’d married the Harcourt brothers, James and Tristan.
Sarah didn’t understand Fate, but the Harcourts were Florence’s sons whom she’d abandoned when she’d fled to Paris. In France, Florence and Charles had collided like a bad carriage accident, and decades later, their children were wed.
What were the odds?
There seemed to be a destiny at work for all of them, but Sarah wouldn’t try to figure it out. Her sole concern was Jean Pierre.
“Miss Teasdale,”Mrs. Harcourt said, “may I help you? My footman advises that my father asked you to come.”
“Yes.” Sarah pushed herself to her feet.
“I have to say that I’m surprised. He’s never sent me a visitor. I was so curious; I hurried down to see you.”
Sarah was gaping like a halfwit, and she murmured, “Gad, you look so much like him.”
“Who? My father Charles? Yes, I hear that a lot.”
“No…ah…I was referring to someone else. Forgive me for staring.”
“Shall we sit?”
Mrs. Harcourt indicated the sofa, and Sarah eased back down as Mrs. Harcourt settled in the chair across. They waited silently while servants brought refreshments. As they left, Mrs. Harcourt poured the tea.
“Your name is familiar to me,”she told Sarah, “but I don’t recognize you. Why do I feel as if I should know you from somewhere?”
“Your father may have mentioned me.”
“In what capacity?”
Sarah assessed her. Lord Trent claimed Harriet was funny and trusting and would listen to Sarah. He couldn’t guarantee she would assist, but she would at least listen.
“I fell in love over the summer,”Sarah admitted.
It was a strange way to begin, and Mrs. Harcourt carefully replied, “Well…how wonderful for you.”
“He was the last man I would have chosen for myself, but he was very dashing, very intriguing. I’d never met anyone like him, and I couldn’t resist.”
“He sounds like my husband. When I met Tristan, I thought the very same.”
“He won me in a card game.”
Mrs. Harcourt considered for a moment, then gasped. “It wasn’t Charles, was it? You’re not in love with my father?” She groaned with dismay. “You can’t be. He has the worst reputation. You’re aware that he’s married, aren’t you?”
“No, no, it’s not Lord Trent. I’m sorry. I didn’t explain myself very clearly.”
“Who is it, then?”
“It’s Jean Pierre.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Harcourt took a deep breath, let it out.
She didn’t run screaming from the room, didn’t demand Sarah’s immediate departure. She simply held very still, her mind working furiously as she tried to devise the appropriate response.
Suddenly, she leapt up and announced, “I think this discussion requires a libation stronger than tea.”
She marched to the sideboard, poured two glasses of liquor, and handed one to Sarah. Sarah hadn’t ever been much of a drinker, but after living with Jean Pierre, she’d acquired new tastes, new habits. As Mrs. Harcourt sat again, Sarah enjoyed a sip, the warm brandy sliding down easily. It instantly calmed her, instantly halted the shaking of her fingers.
“You should probably call me Harriet,”Mrs. Harcourt said.
“I would be honored. And you must call me Sarah.”
“I will. So…you’re here on Jean Pierre’s behalf?”
“No, he doesn’t know. He won’t allow me to visit him in prison, so I haven’t had a chance to talk to him since the arrest.”
“Why are you here? What are you hoping to achieve?”
“He’
s prepared to hang. He won’t fight what’s occurring.”
“Why not?”
“He always expected he’d meet a bad end, so he feels this is his destiny.”
“That’s an extremely grim outlook.”
“Yes, it is, and I can’t bear it that he’s willing to meekly submit to his own execution. I have to try to save him—especially since he won’t save himself.”
“Are you certain you should bother? There’s an enormous amount of evidence against him. You’re definitely waging an uphill battle.”
“May I be frank?”
“Of course.”
“The evidence is being provided by a former…well…mistress of Jean Pierre’s.” Sarah blushed bright red. “I apologize for mentioning such a scandalous person.”
“I told you to be frank. I can hardly complain when you are.”
“This woman is a very jealous individual. Jean Pierre set her aside for me, and she’s determined to hurt him because of it.”
“She seems to be succeeding. I read about her every time my husband brings home a newspaper.”
“But she’s very low-born, very disreputable. If I could find some other people—some respectable people—to speak on his behalf, I could counter her allegations.”
“Counter them how?”
“Your father has already agreed to help him. He’s decided to publically acknowledge Jean Pierre so the world will grasp that he’s an aristocrat’s son.”
“Really? Charles would do that? How did you convince him?”
“It was his own idea. He feels it will make it much more difficult for the Crown to kill Jean Pierre.”
Harriet nodded. “I guess he would know.”
“And he’ll give Jean Pierre an alibi. If Miss Dubois furnishes specific dates as to Jean Pierre’s pirating, Lord Trent will testify that Jean Pierre was with him and couldn’t have committed any crimes.”
“My goodness!”Harriet exclaimed. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t picture my father going to such lengths for one of his children.” It was Harriet’s turn to blush. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s all right. Once I leave, I’ll never reveal what we discussed.”
“Thank you. My relationship with Charles is a tad…peculiar.”
“I realize that it is.”
“I was sixteen when I first learned of him, and I didn’t meet him until I was twenty-one. I’m illegitimate and notorious, and what with Tristan and all that transpired, it’s so…so…”
Her voice trailed off, and she sipped her brandy and composed herself. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mantle. Out in the hall, a maid whisked by, then it was quiet again.
Finally, Harriet said, “You’d like me to do something for Jean Pierre. What is it?”
“I won’t deny that he was very cruel to you and your husband.”
Harriet flashed a wry smile. “That would be putting it mildly, but then, everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it? If Jean Pierre hadn’t attacked us, if we hadn’t spent months together on that deserted island, we would never have fallen in love.”
“Probably not.” Sarah smiled, too. “There are a hundred different descriptions of The French Terror, and you’re one of the few people who can actually identify him.”
“Yes, I can definitely identify him. His face is locked in my memory, but he looks so much like us, too. He’s unforgettable to me.”
Sarah braced herself, feeling as if she was balanced on a high cliff, as if she was about to jump off.
“I’m asking you to come to the trial as a witness. I’m asking you to tell everyone that you vividly remember The French Terror, and it’s not Jean Pierre.” Sarah paused, then grimly added, “I’m asking you to lie and save your brother’s life.”
For a lengthy interval, Harriet was silent. Then she walked to the sideboard and poured herself another brandy. She sipped it and miserably pondered.
“Could you do it, Harriet?”Sarah ultimately inquired.
“I don’t know.”
“He’s not the man you think he is. He’s not the man you saw that night out on the ocean.”
“I disagree. I think he is precisely that man. If I worked to free him, and he continued rampaging, if he hurt others as he hurt Tristan, I’d be partially responsible.”
“He had the worst childhood, and he’s overcome so many obstacles. After your father left Paris, after he abandoned Florence Harcourt, she and Jean Pierre were so desperately poor. She died when he was ten.”
“I’d heard that.”
“He was an orphan on the streets, trying to survive. If you could meet him, if you could talk to him and learn what he’s really like.
Harriet shook her head. “I can’t listen to this right now.”
“I understand.” Sarah realized she was about at the end of the appointment, and she hurried on. “If I can get him released, he’ll marry me, and we’ll retire to his home in France. He’ll never harm another person. I swear it to you.”
“You swear. What about him?”
“I swear for him, too. He loves me. In this, he’ll do as I ask.” Sarah rose, went over to Harriet, and dropped to her knees. “I beg you to help my beloved Jean Pierre. Please? Will you?”
Lord Trent had told Sarah that Harriet valued family above all else, that she’d found her siblings later in life, and they meant the world to her. Could she feel the same about Jean Pierre? Could she forgive him? Could she aid him?
Harriet clasped Sarah’s hands and drew her up.
“You’re asking so much of me,”Harriet said.
“But you’ll think about it?”
“Yes, but I’ll have to speak with my husband.”
“Will you let me know what you decide?”
“I will.”
“Thank you.”
Harriet escorted her to the foyer where a footman held out her bonnet and cloak. Sarah put them on, then walked to the door.
“Goodbye,”she said.
“Goodbye.”
“I hope we meet again someday—under better circumstances.”
“I hope so, too.”
Sarah whirled away, rushed to the carriage, and climbed in without glancing back.
“How did it go?”Raven inquired as she settled on the seat.
“She was very polite.”
“Were you allowed to present your case?”
“As best I could. She’ll consider my request, but she has to talk to her husband.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh.”
“So perhaps it was a wasted trip.”
“Let’s envision a positive result.”
Raven barked out a despairing laugh. “I will be a veritable fount of optimism. Just for you, Sarah.”
“No, for Jean Pierre.”
“Yes. For Jean Pierre.”
Raven tapped on the roof to signal the driver. The man clicked the reins, and they rumbled away.
* * * *
“I had a visitor today.”
“You always have visitors, Harriet. You’re the most fascinating woman in London. Everyone wants to be your friend.”
“Very funny.” Harriet glowered at Helen.
Fanny piped in with, “They’re all waiting for you to slip up and reveal a new salacious detail that hasn’t been previously disclosed.”
“I’ll never confess all that happened,”Harriet haughtily declared. “I’m respectably married now. There are many things the citizens of London don’t need to know about me.”
“Especially how you look without your clothes!”
Helen and Fanny whooped with glee, and Harriet rolled her eyes. They were in the parlor at Fanny’s town house. They’d finished supper, and their husbands were still in the dining room, having a brandy, so Harriet couldn’t prevent her sisters’ teasing.
After Jean Pierre had set Harriet and Tristan adrift on the ocean, they’d washed up on a deserted island. They’d lived off the land, like prehistoric natives, like Adam
and Eve in the Garden of Eden.
Tristan was an earl’s brother, so a huge search had been launched, and when he was located, tales quickly spread about the mysterious maiden who’d been trapped on the island with him. The rumors had been vulgar and obscene.
Man. Woman. Tropical island. Months spent alone, frolicking in the warm waves. The story had catered to every male’s most wicked fantasies, and the gossip that circulated about her was lurid and disgusting.
Harriet would never live it down.
“Would you two be serious?”Harriet griped. “I have to tell you something important. I need your advice.”
“About what?”Fanny asked once they stopped chortling.
“About my visitor. Charles sent her.”
The mention of their father was always riveting. Phillip was the only one who had a meaningful connection with Charles. Fanny, Helen, and Harriet were still learning their way with him.
He was not easy to know or like, and because of his immoral character and disregard for their mothers, they had suffered enormously. Yet they were trying to create a family, and Charles was front and center.
“Charles sent you a visitor?”Helen inquired. “How very odd.”
“Yes—a Miss Sarah Teasdale.”
Fanny frowned. “Where have I heard that name?”
Helen answered for Harriet. “Didn’t Phillip travel to their home over the summer? Didn’t they lose their estate to Jean Pierre?”
“Yes,”Harriet said, “and Miss Teasdale is in love with him.”
“Oh, no,”Helen groaned. “What did she want?”
“She wants me to save his life.”
Helen gasped as Fanny murmured, “Well, that’s certainly a fine burden to dump on you.”
“Save his life…how?”Helen said.
“I’m one of the few people in the world who can accurately identify him.”
“Can you identify him?”
“Absolutely. He looks just like Tristan, but like all of us, too.”
Fanny scowled. “How does Miss Teasdale think you could save him? He’s incarcerated under maximum guard, and he’ll hang immediately after he’s convicted. The scaffold is already built.”
“She begged me to lie at his trial and swear he’s not the man who attacked us.”