Winthrop Trilogy Box Set

by Burnett, May

  “Veronique, Marie!” she cried as soon as she had was in the door, quite out of breath.

  “Mon Dieu, what has happened?” Veronique eyed her askance.

  “You look frantic, milady,” Marie said, her eyes wide. “Has somebody died?”

  “Not yet.” Milla took a deep breath. Kepler and Rabenstein would not get away with their crimes, and they still used the gallows hereabouts. “It is even worse than that. Sometime last night, Rabenstein must have mesmerised Mr. Winthrop, who is now convinced that he should depart forthwith, and have nothing more to do with me.”

  “Scélerat!” Veronique exclaimed. “We did not count on that. He threatened me, and I was on guard – but now I think of it, it makes sense that the Major would have wanted to remove a favoured rival from the scene.”

  “We must prepare my room; Louis will bring him here,” Milla explained. “We dosed Mr. Winthrop with laudanum, and must keep him here, under restraint, until we can free him from the compulsion to depart.”

  “Here?” Marie looked sceptical and upset. “He is very tall and strong, milady, that will not be easy.”

  “Nonetheless, it is necessary, for his own safety. For all we know, Rabenstein ordered him to shoot himself once he was well away, or donate his whole fortune to Kepler. I dare not let him travel unsupervised.”

  Marie still looked doubtful. “If you say so, milady. I’ll go change the sheets, and remove any breakables from the room.”

  “Find some stout rope, if you can,” Milla ordered bleakly. “The washing line, I suppose; we would not want to rouse suspicion by buying any.”

  Veronique regarded her with concern. “Are you sure about this, Milla? This apartment is not a dungeon, where one can easily imprison a strong man against his will. We can hardly keep him dosed with laudanum either.”

  “I know. This is only a stop-gap measure. I’ll need Louis to help me guard Barnaby, and defend me if Kepler should become too pressing. You must go to Ulm, to bring back that other mesmerist. Tell him as much as you like, offer him a fortune if necessary, but hurry, please.”

  “I suppose I am the logical person to go,” Veronique agreed. “Kepler will believe that his threats and bullying have driven me off at last.”

  “You’ll be safer far away. Hire a reliable guard if you find one, just in case.”

  Veronique hurried to her room to pack. Milla should also do so, she supposed, if she was ceding her room to Barnaby. There was a small cabinet next to the drawing room; she could move a sofa in there. With luck, it would only be needed for a few days.

  Chapter 21

  Barnaby woke up in an unknown room with an inordinate desire to relieve his bladder, a dry mouth, and a general lassitude. He was wearing one of his nightshirts, though from the light entering the two windows to his left it was full daylight. Where was this, and how had he arrived there? Something told him it might be better not to look too closely at the recent past.

  First things first. He made to rise, but jerked back in anger and shock when his arms and legs refused to do his bidding. They had been fastened to the bedframe with a thin, sturdy cord. What on earth? Who would dare to do that to him? His captors had considerately inserted fine linen handkerchiefs under the rope, so it would not chafe his skin, but the knots were fast and there was very little give.

  “Hello!” he bellowed furiously.

  A minute later, a tall man came in. Louis, Milla’s servant, though at the moment he did not look like a servant at all; indeed, he had a damn impertinent way of looking at his betters. Barnaby’s suspicions of the fellow, and of his possible relationship to his employer, rushed back in a wave of pain and humiliation.

  “Ah, you are awake. Good.”

  “Why am I tied to this bed? Where am I? Do you suppose you’ll get away with this, fellow?” He was growling, straining against those humiliating cords. If he got his hands on that servant, grey-haired or no, he’d beat an explanation out of him.

  “Your agitation is perfectly understandable, Sir,” the Frenchman said soothingly, though there was an ironic tinge to the way he said Sir. “Nobody wishes you the slightest harm. You have been restrained for your own safety, and will be freed as soon as we are certain that it is advisable.”

  Barnaby stared at him, taken aback. “Did Lady Fenton put you up to this? But what could she possibly hope to gain?”

  “That is for her to say. I am merely following orders.”

  “You’d better release me, or you may hang for this. You cannot mean to keep me tied up.” With reluctance he added, “I need to use, um, the chamber pot.”

  “Of course. Let me help you, Sir.”

  “Help me by cutting these damn ropes!”

  “I’m sorry, Sir, I cannot do that.” The man produced a large glass-blown flask with a wide, elongated mouth. “This should help release the worst pressure.”

  “I’m not going to piss in that while I’m trussed up like a chicken!”

  “Very well. Call me when you change your mind, Sir.” The man put the flask on the top of a dresser, and made to leave the room.

  “I can pay you, very well, if you’ll cut these ropes,” Barnaby offered.

  “Sorry, I am not amenable to bribes today.” The door closed behind the irritating man, and Barnaby gnashed his teeth. He could stand it for perhaps half an hour more, but his bladder was very full.

  At least the blasted headache was gone, but now that his head was clear, he remembered his confrontation with Milla, and that she was a duplicitous, wanton jade he never wanted to see again. He had to leave this cursed place, where he never should have come in the first place. Why again had the family been so worried about Milla? She could look after herself, far better than he, from all evidence. She had her companion and this impertinent servant; she did not need his help at all. And why would he help a woman who preferred a lout like that Major Kepler, anyway? She had made her bed and should lie in it.

  If she was only toying with him, though, why would she have kidnapped him, tied him up? This must be her own bed. Though the sheets were freshly changed, a fragrance of roses lingered in the air. He tried to fathom why she would do such an outrageous thing, but could not come up with any logical explanation. It simply did not make sense.

  Barnaby gave in when his bladder was about to burst, and felt slightly better afterwards, as Louis re-adjusted that blasted nightshirt with impersonal efficiency.

  “This cannot be the kind of work you signed up for,” he tried to engage him in conversation. Any clue would be welcome, in this incomprehensible situation. His anger was wavering. He should be furious with the man, and with Milla, but mostly he felt confusion, and a deep desolation.

  “You would be surprised at some of the things I have done, before and since I worked for Lady Fenton.”

  “You speak like an educated man, not the typical servant.”

  The older man grimaced briefly. “I have come down in life, as may happen to anyone with ill luck, Sir. Are you hungry? It is late afternoon, and you have not eaten all day.”

  “Late afternoon,” he repeated. “Then it was only this morning that you brought me that coffee?” The unusually bitter taste… “You drugged me!”

  “It was for your own good. I hope you will come to understand that in time.”

  “Don’t count on it. What have I ever done to you, or Lady Fenton, that you would drug me, kidnap me, tie me like this? This is her place, isn’t it?”

  Louis did not try to deny it. “We did not have a hospital ready, unfortunately, where you could be restrained.”

  “Are you implying I am mad? Nobody has ever said so before, or had the least reason to suspect it.”

  “There is a first time for everything. What about coffee, un-drugged this time, or do you prefer tea? Hot chocolate? A glass of wine?”

  “So you don’t plan to starve me into submission?”

  “Of course not.”

  Barnaby was puzzled. “And where is Lady Fenton?”

  �
�She is close by, but keeping out of your way until you come back to your senses.”

  “Not wanting anything to do with her equates to not being in my senses? Have I got that right?”

  Louis shrugged. “You might ask yourself why your attitude to the lady changed so drastically from one day to the next, who has spoken ill of her, and why you should believe them. As far as she and I are concerned, you are ill and need close supervision until you can be cured.” The door closed after him, as he left.

  His mind churning, Barnaby could not make head or tail of what he’d been told. It sounded insane. No Winthrop had ever gone mad, dammit, and he was not about to be the first.

  But one question did strike a chord: what had happened, that he now detested Milla? Had he not faced the possibility that she would have taken lovers, when he set out from England? He had even discussed it with his brother, had been willing to deal with the issue, if he had to. When she had indicated she had waited for him, he had been overjoyed and optimistic … only, it turned out she had lied, she was Kepler’s mistress all along.

  It must be Kepler who had put her up to this stunt. Only, why? What could they gain by keeping him hogtied? It meant that Milla could never go back to England and take her position in society. She might even land in prison if he chose to make the matter public. Out of family considerations, and unwillingness to look a fool, he would hardly do so. But there were other means of revenge. Unless they killed him, there would be a reckoning sooner or later.

  No, Milla would not consent to killing him. He could not be that mistaken in her. Faithless and a liar, aye, but a murderess? He could not, would not believe it. Besides, it would be far too dangerous to kill anyone after housing him in her own lodgings. Which must have been difficult to engineer, as Barnaby was no lightweight. Had she wanted him dead, they could have put a larger amount of laudanum in that coffee; chances were that his demise would have been taken for an unfortunate accident.

  He tried to break the cord again, without success.

  Would the staff at the Hotel Bitterschwarm realise that he was missing? How had Louis and Milla extricated him from his hotel room? Had they told the owner he was leaving, paid his shot? Where was his luggage, his purse, his letter of credit? Had Kepler helped to transport him, since he was staying at the same hotel? With Louis’ help the major was certainly big and strong enough.

  That image was thoroughly unpalatable. At least the fellow was not here and, as long as Barnaby occupied Milla’s bed, could hardly make love to her. He grimaced. This was not how he had hoped to find himself in Milla’s bed. She had offered to share it with him just the other day… he had been a great fool to turn down the chance. Now he would never enjoy that luscious body, see her lovely blue eyes darken with passion and pleasure. A tortured groan escaped him.

  He hated her… didn’t he? Why, exactly? They were not yet formally engaged, though they had been on the verge, or so he had naively believed. Still, hatred, especially of women or children, had never come easily to Barnaby.

  Could he really be out of his senses? He felt perfectly normal. Had he behaved strangely, making a fool of himself? He went over his memories of the last few days. That tedious dinner party… he had met someone on the way back to the Hotel, but he could not remember whom, or any other details. His mind shied away from the mere question. That was not normal. He could not remember how he had reached his chamber, got into bed. Had it only been last night? Had he had some kind of fit, so embarrassing that he was now considered mad?

  Surely not. But those missing hours nagged at him.

  Chapter 22

  It was Milla herself who brought Barnaby’s dinner, or rather she accompanied the maid who carried the dishes in, and watched in silence as the woman fed him small cut-up pieces with the fork. He was acutely conscious of his nightshirt, of not having shaved all day. She, curse her, was dressed in an elegant, utterly delicious confection of salmon-coloured silk mousseline that underlined her dramatic colouring. A faint perfume of roses clung about her. The witch.

  “Come to contemplate your prisoner?” Barnaby asked her acidly. He considered refusing to co-operate, but he was hungry, and he needed his strength for the escape he was planning.

  “My patient, rather than my prisoner,” she said with what looked like a sad smile. He was not fooled.

  “Among your many accomplishments, Ma’am, I have yet to hear that you have a medical degree.”

  She did not reply, just scrutinized him with almost unnerving thoroughness.

  “I must beg your pardon for not being dressed and in proper state to receive a lady. Somebody is preventing me from going about my normal activities.”

  “If I untied you right now,” she said slowly, “what would you do?”

  “Leave this place, and you, and never look back.”

  “Ah. Sorry, then, you need to be restrained for a little longer. But you cannot stay like this on your bed, it is not healthy.”

  “Just let me go.”

  “I think I have a solution, for the next few days at least,” she said. “The proverbial ball and chain.”

  He could not believe his ears. “What?” Ball and chain was how some men referred to their better halves. She could not mean …

  “I know where to get my hands on one,” Milla said thoughtfully. “You can dress and move about the room, but not leave before we catch up with you. I don’t suppose you would be willing to give your parole, that you won’t try to escape?”

  “Parole is only exchanged among persons of honour, Lady Fenton. You do not qualify.”

  The maid gasped, and spilled a piece of chicken and sauce on the coverlet. She put down the fork, and rubbed at the stain with the napkin, frowning at him reproachfully.

  “Now, that is unkind,” Milla murmured. “But I hope you will recant in due course.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.” He regarded her, ignoring the pain in his heart and head. This might be the last time he did so, if his plans succeeded. “What am I supposed to have done, that I have to be restrained?”

  “I am not sure how much good explaining can do. It might even do harm.”

  “Don’t I have a right to know?” He tugged at the cord restraining his right arm.

  “I suppose you do. But I’ll let Louis tell you the tale, since you are disposed not to believe a word I say.”

  She was right about that. But why would he be more likely to believe her slippery retainer, that insolent Frenchman? He was floundering in quicksand… nothing was what it seemed.

  Presently she left, and Louis returned. “Lady Fenton asked me to tell you why we had to restrain you, Winthrop.”

  So he was no longer even “Mister” Winthrop? He would see about that, once he was free.

  “The reason why she is staying in this spa is Lady Fenton’s hobby-horse, finding and exposing swindlers and confidence tricksters.”

  Barnaby snorted. “A likely tale. Her companion is one herself.”

  “Not so. Madame Rallien is her in-house expert, so to speak. Lady Fenton is fully aware of her companion’s past, that her father was one of those very swindlers they are exposing. But Madame Rallien has renounced her parent’s ways, and is as honest as you or – as any honest person you could find in this place.”

  Barnaby did not miss his slip. But what did it mean? A dishonest person would not hesitate to claim that they were honest. A basically honest man, forced to utter lies, however … he already had too many unanswered questions. He would think about it later. “What has that to do with me?”

  “We have been investigating a group of unusually bold and unscrupulous criminals,” Louis said. “Do you remember that I warned you against the Mental Water Treatment offered by the spa? Not many patients book it, for the price of four gulden is excessively high.”

  “I should think so. And I never intended to take any kind of treatment here. I am in perfectly sound health, and have no ulcers – as yet.” The way things were going, with the heavy feeling in hi
s guts, he would not bet on that remaining true.

  “Rich persons tend to become careless with their money after taking this treatment.” From his tone, Louis did not feel great sympathy with them. “Lady Fenton discovered, at considerable personal risk, that they are mesmerized by a Doktor Rabenstein. That is not his true name, but no matter. Rabenstein questions his patients and extracts their guilty secrets. He then orders them to give their money and trust to Major Kepler, another confederate.”

  Barnaby blinked. Kepler, Milla’s lover … a crook? Could she have fallen into his arms due to mesmerism? No, impossible. The whole thing was just a farrago of lies, to confuse him further. As though he were not already groping to distinguish reality and fantasy. Milla… she had brought him low with her falseness. Given that, what did anything matter?

  “Kepler and this doctor are fleecing and blackmailing their victims in a very slick, well-established scheme. So far, we have identified three other victims, and one prospect whom, for whatever reasons, they hope to draw into their power. Kepler is after Lady Fenton’s money, though he pretends to court her. She is perfectly cognizant of his true intentions. He must have seen you as an obstacle to his criminal schemes, and called upon Rabenstein to mesmerise you.”

  Barnaby exhaled impatiently. “Utter nonsense. I would put little past Kepler, from what I have seen of him, but I have never even met that other fellow. I doubt he exists; you and your mistress may just have invented this mythical doctor with the odd name.”