by Burnett, May
“Is your name Chatteris, by the way?” Abigail asked.
“Not for years now. Currently I go by Broderick. Chatteris was a stage name I discarded after an unsuccessful run in the provinces, but it does not surprise me that it was the last name Richard remembered. If he had not known the general vicinity of my lodgings I never would have received his letter at all. How I wish now that it had been lost!”
“And where is the will now? Is it even valid?”
“Morris has it. I am not sure if it would hold up in court, to be honest, but then I am no lawyer. All that ranting, and insults against several ladies, and women in general! When I knew Richard he was at least rational, if unpleasant. Something must have driven him off the edge of sanity before he wrote that screed.”
She had to keep him talking till Jeremy arrived. “How did you and Morris know to mention penitentiaries in that first letter?”
“It was only a guess that this would ring a bell – Richard mentioned in the cover letter that he was keeping a draft of the will among his own papers.”
“From your knowledge of the man, what are my friend’s chances of emerging unscathed from the clutches of this Mr. Morris?”
He shrugged guiltily. “Not good, that is why I had to come for help. He is surrounded by a whole gang of thugs. And if Morris loses her he will not hesitate to use the will in revenge. I am sorry I ever let it out of my possession.”
Abigail felt her fists clenching. Chatteris’ visit was the breakthrough they had been waiting for, but concerns over the will paled against her fear for Milla.
“Abigail! Is it true?” The voice of her betrothed sounding from the hall outside was more than welcome – he would help her deal with this mess.
Not only Jeremy but Rob came barrelling into the room a moment after, and immediately converged on the young man in a threatening manner.
“Don’t hit him,” Abigail said quickly, “Mr. Broderick, or Chatteris, has been quite open and helpful. He offers to help us save Milla. It is not he who has her in his power.”
“Oh?” Jeremy was watching the young actor like a hawk. “So he claims, does he?”
“My fiancé, Lord Barton, and Lord Fenton,” Abigail said, though she could tell that the young man already knew who they were. “Pray repeat the story you have been telling me for their benefit. It would seem that you are Lord Fenton’s distant relative.”
“Is he, by Jove?” Rob exclaimed, scrutinizing the young man’s features. They were much of an age and height. Now she saw them side by side, the firm, square chin was identical in both.
“I suppose we had better hear your out,” Jeremy said grimly. “But don’t think you can escape your responsibility for this unholy mess. And was it you who linked my name to Lady Fenton’s?”
“No,” Broderick denied. Abigail was inclined to believe him, but dealing with a professional actor, how much credence could one put in that candid expression?
At least now they had an enemy with a known name and location. From the determined faces of Jeremy and Rob, they would leave no stone unturned in their efforts to find Milla. Barnaby and Mr. Hendrickson, wherever they were at this moment, would also help.
For the first time in hours Abigail felt more hopeful than not. The document no longer mattered – all that counted was freeing Milla. Before … no, she would not think of the harrowing possibilities, and pray for her friend’s safety instead.
Chapter 28
After they had escorted the young man to Branscombe House and dragged the whole story out of him, Jeremy had to physically restrain Barnaby from attacking Chatteris, or Broderick, as he now called himself. His usually urbane and civilised brother lost all reason and restraint when faced with the man they had sought so long.
“Don’t kill him now, Barnaby, we still need him to get Milla back.”
That argument worked, as Jeremy had expected. His brother was in love also, deny it as he might. With young Milla he would not have an easy time of it, but first they had to free her. “We need to focus on the rescue, if you want to see Milla again, um, alive. Settling accounts with Broderick will have to wait until later.”
He was glad Abigail was not present. She had agreed to await the result of their mission with Lady Cirrell, without exposing herself to any additional scandal or danger. His sensible darling had done exactly the right thing when Chatteris had called, by sending to him for help.
Hendrickson was familiar with Morris’ reputation. “Bad news, that fellow,” he said with a grimace. “One of those petty tyrants who control a whole neighbourhood. He has killed several men, though not women so far as I know. Yet.”
“Surely he won’t hurt or kill a Viscount’s widow,” Rob sounded outraged at the very idea. “She is a lady, and would be avenged. What profit could that bring him?”
Hendrickson shrugged. “Killing would not profit him, but he might do whatever else could make her more agreeable to his wishes, my lord. Remember how attractive she is, and as her husband Morris could dispose of the large fortune she inherited.”
They gloomily contemplated this scenario.
Hendrickson went on, “Of course, if Morris is smart he’ll see that such would not answer with a lady like her. She’d cut his throat when he was asleep, if he forced her to wed him against his will. A most unusual young lady, Lady Fenton. But he may not be sufficiently familiar with her type to understand that.”
“Nobody is familiar with young ladies like Lady Fenton,” Barnaby declared. “She has no type, but is one of a kind. We must hurry, to get her back before she and this Morris kill each other.”
Jeremy could only wonder at him. If his brother considered Milla so dangerous, how could Barnaby be in love with the woman? It made no sense. But then strong passions were inherently illogical, as he had observed time and again among his friends. At least Abigail and he were normal and sensible.
“Does Morris know you have come to us, and informed us he holds Lady Fenton?” Hendrickson asked Chatteris. They were surrounding the young actor, not letting him out of their sight.
“I have not told him, but he is no fool. He may guess when he does not find me. He was keeping me close and threatening my life if I betrayed him. Of course he would not easily believe I would be so stupid as to go and put my head into a noose, so he’ll likely think I have merely made myself scarce.”
“Why did you, anyway?” Barnaby snarled at him.
“I have no love or admiration for aristocrats, for good reason,” Broderick replied, “but I don’t share the sick hatred Morris harbours for them. He was abused as a child by some degenerate lord. As long as I had not met Lady Fenton we saw eye to eye on the desirability of extorting some money from those parasites – aristocrats,” he spoke the word as though it were lice or vermin, “who have every advantage merely through their fortunate birth.”
Hendrickson regarded him without favour. “Like that, is it? Just because your father did not marry your mother? If he had, you would be Lord Fenton now.”
Broderick shrugged. “That is all water under the bridge, but I felt that I deserved at least a small part of Richard’s fortune.”
“I see,” Rob said. “I suppose it is understandable in your position.”
“What, you would sympathize with this vile blackmailer?” Barnaby asked him heatedly. “A man does not prey on women, dammit!”
Broderick gave a short, sarcastic laugh. “No? I could name you a dozen gentlemen right now, not including my late father and cousin, who do just that on a regular basis.”
Before a full-blown quarrel could develop, Jeremy brought them back to the matter at hand. “Describe exactly where Morris is likely to hold Lady Fenton, how to approach, and how many men he’ll have guarding her,” he ordered. “That is the priority now. Once we have rescued the lady, we can argue all day long about the rights and wrongs of the matter, and of the aristocracy, if you insist.”
Barnaby frowned. He’d probably want to hand Broderick over to a magistrate for hang
ing or transportation, but had the good sense to keep this intention to himself for the time being. Jeremy was more inclined towards forbearance, if the young man’s confession led to Milla’s return; in that case exile should be enough. But if only one of the men present denounced him – or Milla, once rescued – the young actor would almost certainly be hanged for his involvement in extortion and kidnapping. He had no influential family to intervene on his behalf, no money for an expensive barrister. To his credit, he had not begged for leniency, or tried to bargain with his information.
“What happened that time in St. Emma’s Church?” Jeremy asked. “Why did nobody fetch the money?”
“One of Morris’ men recognised the false priest as a thief-taker.”
“And if they had successfully taken the money, what then?”
“Morris would either have asked for more, or published Richard’s ramblings. He was going to do that anyway, sooner or later, to avenge himself on the nobility.”
“He is no better than my late cousin, then,” Lord Fenton commented. “Avenging ills perpetrated by some man on helpless women?”
“He is not rational in his hatred.”
“I still don’t quite understand all that about a will,” Fenton went on. “Richard did not leave one, did he? Is this supposed document at all valid? And why did nobody tell me about its existence?”
“Because the fewer people knew, the better,” Jeremy explained. “It apparently contains slanderous, untrue accusations against my sister Susan, as well as Milla. Telling you about it would have done you no favour; the will does not leave anything to you than you don’t already have.”
“So that is why Milla and Miss Trevelyan travelled to London so precipitately,” Fenton said, as one who finally solves a puzzle. “I had wondered. But I agree that the document must be suppressed, my late cousin has already brought enough disgrace on the family name.”
“So let us plan our counterattack,” Jeremy brought the meeting to order once again. “How many men can you muster, Hendrickson?”
***
As she waited for news Abigail tried to read a novel, but could not concentrate. It was not the author’s fault; her thoughts kept swirling between Milla’s danger, and her impending decision.
Should she marry Jeremy, setting aside all her worries – the future, the succession, Milla, possible scandal? It was tempting, but she was leery of temptation. Duty and inclination were generally at odds.
She must look at both sides of the issue. After announcing to the world and both families that they were engaged, did she not also have an obligation to marry Jeremy? No matter what she did, she could not get out of her situation without failing in some duty.
Could Jeremy truly love her? She was not at all sure if she could believe him. Abigail was not the kind of girl men fell in love with – especially rich, handsome, titled young men who had their pick of society’s debutantes. Yet she had changed and grown; was it altogether impossible? Rob seemed to find her attractive too. What if Jeremy really did love her, unlikely as it seemed, and she failed him by clinging to her old insecurities? If he did, and she also loved him, should not their mutual love override all other considerations?
But perhaps not. She simply could not saddle Jeremy with a wife who shrank from sexual congress, who might not ever be able to satisfy him in bed – quite apart from the possibility that she could not bear his children. He would grow to hate her for her inadequacy, and she would resent him for going to other women, as any man would under such circumstances. After all, men had needs … she remembered how Fenton had assuaged that need on her so violently. No, she must not allow that vile memory to taint her attitude to other men, and especially towards Jeremy, who was as noble and understanding as Fenton had been selfish.
She put the book aside and paced up and down the room, her skirts swishing. How likely was it that she could yet vanquish her fears of intimacy? If Jeremy believed in her, that she possessed the strength to overcome her painful memories, could she do any less? If he was willing to sacrifice the prospect of a large family and take such a monumental gamble on her, could she not also sacrifice the shield of reserve that had kept the world out and her own core protected over the past two years?
The longer she paced, the more clearly she saw it: there was no real choice. How could she deny the man she loved with all her heart, the only man she had wanted to marry ever since she had been a romantic young girl full of foolish fancies? The world and their union were not at all as she had imagined then; there was grief and loss as well as danger and possible tragedy. Marrying Jeremy was taking a great risk, – and yet, what was the alternative? The certainty of lifelong misery and regret. Only a ninny would persist in refusal, after what Jeremy had last said to her. There was a point where self-abnegation veered into stupidity. She had been a coward – if she could not go to him whole and perfect, she would rather not risk herself at all. Yet without taking the risk of being hurt, there was no hope of love and happiness either.
She stopped her restless movement, and stood before the window, though her eyes did not take in the scene before here.
Abigail had already given Jeremy her heart, willy-nilly. She would give him her trust also – trust that he could help her find pleasure and fulfilment, that he would not hold it against her if she could not bear children, that he would still support and like her in ten, twenty, thirty years, if fortune should grant them so long together. Not many men would be worthy of such confidence, but if Jeremy was not, she would never find another. By asking for her hand, knowing what he did, he had taken a gigantic leap of faith. She must do the same, stifling her doubts and apprehensions. Perhaps fate still had happiness in store for her – what more perfect revenge could she take on the evil Lord Fenton, than to live a full life in defiance of his crime? He had nearly driven Abigail to drown herself, destroyed her tranquillity since that night when he assaulted her. It was high time she shook off his malign influence. Jeremy would be patient, would help her, but she would do her own part. She was stronger than her attacker, stronger than anyone had expected except apparently Jeremy. She would not let him, or herself, down any longer.
She could do this.
Once the decision was taken something settled into place. It felt right. She breathed deeply in relief: there would not be any more doubting, second-guessing, keeping Jeremy in suspense. The moment she saw him again she would tell him she was placing her future in his capable hands; that she was his, to marry as soon as he wanted.
Now that her own future was resolved, Abigail could properly focus her worries on her friend’s peril. Milla’s only living family was her brother in far-off Cornwall. By the time North and Susan could be informed of her plight, it would be all over one way or the other. How had it come to this, that a well-born young lady was so very alone she had to rely on the good offices of near-strangers?
Mr. Winthrop – she had better get used to thinking of him as Barnaby – might be in love with Milla, but he hardly knew her. Would it last? The outward shell of a civilised, polite young lady was so very misleading in Milla’s case. She was a child of nature, equally at home in a boat in a stormy sea, atop a windy hill, or riding all out over a beach. Abigail had been deluding herself that she could ever be made into a respectable, unremarkable member of society. Milla would only be miserable if she tried to keep that up for any length of time. A conventional husband who expected her to be deferential towards him and polite to her in-laws would never suit Milla, would be unable to appreciate her.
Now that she had decided to trust in Jeremy, should she not accord the same courtesy towards Milla? She might be young but was nobody’s fool, and would see quickly enough that she did not fit into polite society. Milla would have to carve out her own place, somehow. Abigail would stand by her friend, whatever happened, but she would no longer attempt to mould her into something she was not – something less than she already was. Society could go hang itself.
If only Milla returned safe and so
und!
It was not easy, to wait under such circumstances as these. Acquaintances came to call, left flowers for Milla or Abigail, sent letters and invitations. She had to learn to keep going in the face of potential catastrophe. Who knew how many times she would have to hold matters together as Jeremy’s wife? The only certainty was that life was uncertain, and there would be problems and setbacks even in the most elegant and wealthy of households. Abigail would be strong, and not add to her husband’s troubles by falling apart.
She had better begin as she meant to go on. No more cowering in her room, hiding from events and people. She would go downstairs, face the callers, the way her friend Susan would do in similar circumstances.
She might write to Susan later in the day … now that she knew she would marry Jeremy she no longer felt the guilty constraint that had kept her from confiding in her friend over the past weeks. Susan, already the sister of her heart, would be her sister-in-law. It was as she had dreamed as a starry-eyed girl, only so very different, more real now; more bittersweet, and hard-won, but right. So very right.
Chapter 29
They decided to strike in the small hours of the morning, when the criminals would be either asleep or out and about on their nefarious business. The plan was simple – surprise attack with overwhelming numbers. Jeremy and Barnaby were armed with duelling pistols from their family armoury, as well as bludgeons that might be more useful in this situation, as they could be used again without reloading. Hendrickson had mustered over a dozen men with a variety of weapons.
Jeremy did not inform his father of this mission. Lord Branscombe would only have worried about endangering the succession. Two of his sons in potential danger at the same time would have greatly displeased him. Much better to inform him afterwards, if necessary, than to waste valuable time with arguments and reproaches.
The area to which Hendrickson and his men conducted them was shabby and ill-lit. Not quite a rookery, it was maybe two steps above, but hardly a place where they would have stepped under normal circumstances. How would Milla have fared here? It had been over twenty-four hours since she was taken. Would she be hurt or worse, and develop fears similar to poor Abigail’s? No matter how hard she could act at times, Lady Fenton was a young lady and thus vulnerable. Jeremy fervently hoped that she would be safe, unlikely though it seemed.