Reckless Rules (Brambridge Novel 4)

by Pearl Darling

  Bill swung his head back to look at her. “If it turned out that you really were married to Lord Colchester, would you marry me?” he asked earnestly. “If I said that I didn’t want your money, your standing, that all I wanted was to be with you? That you could give all your money away if you wished to whichever pauper establishment that you wanted? That you could be mistress of my house in Brambridge too if you wanted, redecorate it as you please. That I would no longer give…” Bill stumbled on the words, pleading, “help, to any other woman?”

  “Of course, I would,” Victoria said. Of course she would. “But I wasn’t married to Lord Colchester. Without that you are marrying a… a false woman, someone whose place in the ton no longer exists. I thought that was what you always wanted, what I guessed you wanted.”

  Bill shook his head furiously and got to his feet. “I don’t care about that.” He shook his head again. “I told myself that I did, to explain my attraction to you. To explain why I kept coming after you every time you knocked me down, to help myself feel better about my own uncertainty about where I belonged.” He took her hand in his. “Victoria, I love you. I’ve loved you from the first moment that I met you.”

  Victoria swallowed. “I… I can’t let you marry me, Bill. I won’t have you joined to a tainted woman. I won’t do that to you. Even though I love you too.” She hung her head.

  Bill tugged on her hand. “Follow me,” he said tersely.

  Victoria allowed herself to be towed down the hall. Dimly she registered that Carruthers and the footman had long since disappeared.

  “You know, Freddie remarked to me that there was something damn odd about this painting,” Bill said conversationally. “But I was too worried about finding Lady Vanderguard to pay attention. What painter, I ask you however, clearly marks out the page of a book with a large thirty-one, and starts the wording with ‘My dear Victoria’?

  “It’s not a book, it’s a bible,” Victoria muttered.

  Bill picked up the painting with his massive strength, and heaved it on the hall table. Dusting his hands, he pointed at the bible. “Look at it, Victoria, whatever it is, now that it’s not upside down. Look at it carefully. Read it, and give me your answer.”

  Victoria barely dared look. Bill had the light of a madman in his eye. He brushed impatiently at her hair as she could not bring her gaze to the painting. Page thirty-one had haunted her for years. Was she finally about to find out the truth?

  “If you don’t look at it yourself, mon petit chat,” Bill said softly, “Then I will read it to you.”

  It was enough to force her eyes away from his face and onto the painting. Her face and his seemed so strange upside down. It was even more marked that Lord Colchester, Augustus, Ponsonby, whoever he was, was looking at her. She took a deep breath, and stepped closer to the painting, focusing on the lines of squiggles that crawled across the pages of the bible. The closer she looked, the more the lines resolved themselves into words, then sentences, and then—oh good grief. After all this time.

  ‘My dear Victoria,

  I hope that this page, this letter reaches you before Paul Butterworth does. He tried to kill me before, and if he finds out I am still alive, I believe he will try again. You see, my only protection from him, is that he believes me to be his brother, Ponsonby Butterworth.

  Ponsonby and I switched places for a while, I so that I could discover life without ties, Ponsonby so that he could experience life to which he always said he was entitled. We were half-brothers you see. But Paul, he was never my brother, but he knew our secret, Ponsonby and mine, and never let us forget it.

  Paul went away for a while, and then came back, fleeing the wrath of a rich family whose daughter he impregnated. On his return, crazed by the snub of the rich family, he took it into his head that he would kill me, and force his weak brother into taking my place, from where he would loot the Colchester fortune in order to look after his child.

  But he shot the wrong man, aided by his friend, a Mr. Cryne, a relative of the rich family, and an equally disgusting individual. He killed his own brother.

  I hid for a year. A year in which I hoped that he would go away, especially if I sent him money, but threatened him on the life of his child. When it seemed like he wasn’t coming back, I emerged, to all intents and purposes, the same man. But my hair had turned white.

  I never meant to hurt you, my child. I loved you as my wife. You were so young though, I could never bring myself to sully your innocence. What woman wants a seventy year old man pawing at her? I feel ashamed in the way I trapped you in marriage, but you see, after so long I convinced myself that I too needed happiness, even if it was at the expense of yours.

  The rules… I couldn’t think of a way to break your melancholia. I thought some structure might help. Ask Eustacia about the rules. Ask her about everything, she knows it all. I hope you have found out about her, I hid her from Paul. You must find her now.

  I wish you every happiness, my love. I hope I am still alive when you read this. I hope we at least have some time together without living these lies. No marriage should be entered into under the pretense of lies.

  Your ever loving husband, Augustus.

  Page thirty-one

  “I think we need to go and see Eustacia.” Victoria gulped.

  “That’s it?” Bill said incredulously. Victoria could feel him staring at her. “What about your answer to my question? Victoria, will you marry me? Will you marry me now that you know that you are Lady Colchester in truth, that you are who you always said you were?”

  “I don’t, I don’t know,” Victoria wailed. “It’s the rules, you see. I can’t just give them up. Who will I be without them? Augustus said it himself… no marriage should be entered into under the pretense of lies.”

  CHAPTER 36

  The house in Stockwell was small, and contained more of that spindly furniture which all the females of Bill’s acquaintance loved so much. Eustacia cackled when she saw his predicament.

  “Go down to the kitchen, young man, and fetch the large backed chair from there. That should take your weight. We don’t have many calls from young men these days.”

  As Bill followed Eustacia’s maid to the kitchen, his ears burned. Eustacia had wasted no time in turning back to Victoria.

  “Fine specimen of a man that you have there. No wonder you asked me if I was disappointed I never married.” Bill couldn’t hear the rest as he and the maid reached the kitchen. He picked up the chair and left the maid to make tea for the three of them. He longed for something stronger.

  “So have you brought something for me?” Eustacia asked as he re-entered bearing the chair. Victoria and Eustacia were already cozily sat in two morning chairs.

  “I’ve left the painting in the hall,” Bill said, placing the chair to complete a triangle with the old lady and Victoria. “I can fetch it if you wish to…”

  “No, not the painting,” Eustacia said dismissively. “Victoria knows what I mean.”

  Victoria smiled and drew out a brown paper parcel that Bill had seen her slip into her bag whilst he had been dismantling the picture from its frame. Her averted face had told him not to ask any questions. Not that he found it easy to speak after her continued refusal to give him a yes or no to his proposal.

  “Here you go, Eustacia. Not Cuban this time, but my brother was kind enough to avert his eyes when I pilfered them from his house.”

  “Good woman,” the old lady wheezed. “Hand them over.” Eustacia scrabbled at the brown paper, and finally managed to ease the packing off a small box. Bill was intrigued. He could not stop his gasp when Eustacia whipped out two cigars from the small box, and with practiced ease, snipped an end and lit both with a delighted look on her face.

  After several puffs Eustacia handed a cigar to Victoria who, with visible enjoyment, put the cigar to her lips. As the room filled with smoke, Bill hunched in his chair. Neither of the ladies looked like they were going to offer him a cigar. Neither were they interest
ed in talking. He was almost grateful when the maid returned.

  “Ah. Brandy. Now that’s what I call a treat,” Eustacia said with satisfaction, waving her hand in front of her face. “I thought we might have some of it as a celebration. I’ve been saving it from a long time ago—twenty years in fact. I’ll be interested to see what it tastes like.”

  It was some of the finest brandy that Bill had tasted. And in his time at the tiller of the Rocket, importing French goods illegally onto British soil, he had tasted a lot.

  The maid refilled their glasses and retired back into the hall. Bill supposed that she had retreated back to the kitchen away from the heavy pall of smoke.

  Victoria finally laid her cigar in a small ashtray and picked up her second glass of brandy. “You don’t seem too surprised to see us,” she said, glancing under her eyelashes at Eustacia. “It’s almost as if you have been waiting for us.”

  “Oh, every time you came here I wondered,” Eustacia said with a small smile. She mirrored Victoria’s movements and put her own cigar into the ash tray. “Augustus wrote me a letter. He said that he had confessed everything to you, but that it might take you time to find out.”

  “He wrote you a letter? But I thought that you said he didn’t speak to you once he set you up here.”

  “It was only the once. It had to be that way, you see. He was afraid that Paul Butterworth might find me.”

  “I believe he’s dead now,” Bill couldn’t help interjecting. He felt like a spare part sat between these two women and their cigars.

  Eustacia nodded, it seemed a little sadly. “And that is the way it should be.”

  “But why did he write you a letter, Eustacia?” Victoria insisted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “He was afraid that he was dying, Victoria. He was tasting blood when he coughed. He had seen innumerable doctors. None of them could cure him. He wanted to ensure your future. He was still afraid that Paul would come back.”

  “And he did.” Victoria sat back in her chair and tossed back the second glass of brandy in her hand. Bill watched as she gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me when I came to see you? Why all the rigmarole?”

  Eustacia sat forward in her seat. She took Victoria’s hand in hers, glancing pityingly at Bill. “Do you love your young man?” she asked Victoria earnestly. When Victoria wouldn’t look at her, she put out a crabbed fist and tipped Victoria’s chin to hers. “Do you love him, Victoria?”

  Silently Victoria nodded, tears streaming down her face. She turned to look yearningly at Bill. Bill put his hands on the side of his chair and half pushed himself to his feet.

  Eustacia waved him down with her other hand. He sat back without a word.

  “I loved someone once,” Eustacia said softly. “He was older than I was, and he had his flaws. He, his brother and I, we made up a trio. We played silly games, called ourselves amateur detectives, made up some rules that we would use in our investigations.”

  Bill brought himself to his feet again as Victoria took in a shuddering breath. She had talked about rules. Surely these childhood things could not be one and the same?

  Eustacia’s eyes unfocused slightly and she gazed at the wall at the opposite end of the room. “I loved that silly man but he told me to wait. That he wanted to spend some time living the life to which he should have been accustomed. When I reasoned with him he quoted ‘Be patient,’ at me, and then refused to talk anymore.”

  “Rule number eight,” Victoria said softly, hanging her head.

  Eustacia refocused her gaze and picked up her cigar. “Why yes, so it was.” She glanced quickly with concern at Victoria. “I had forgotten.”

  “Why didn’t you marry him?” Victoria frowned. “If you loved him why didn’t you just wait and marry him?”

  It was Eustacia’s turn to frown at Victoria. “Speaks the woman who seems to be giving her young man the run around.” She gave a sympathetic grin to Bill. “I can see what you are dealing with now. A very severe case of self-denial.”

  “I… I… the rules!” Victoria said despairingly.

  “Sod the rules,” Eustacia said grimly. “They are the reason I have spent sixty lonely years. And the reason why you will spend sixty lonely years if you don’t get rid of them.”

  “It was Ponsonby, wasn’t it?” Bill said suddenly as he reviewed the contents of the painting in his head. “You were waiting for Ponsonby.”

  Eustacia nodded. “But he died. Augustus blamed himself.”

  “But you called him Poisonby!” Victoria exclaimed. “You said he looked at you when you weren’t looking.”

  Eustacia chuckled. “So he did. It was a real case of love at first sight. We couldn’t stop looking at each other. I might have fibbed a bit about his name. We called him Poisonby after one of our investigations nearly ended his life.” Eustacia sobered. “Of course inadvertently it did end his life. You see, he was asked by a family friend to investigate who was the father of their daughter’s child. It turned out the father was Ponsonby’s own brother, Paul.”

  “Pedro,” Bill breathed.

  Eustacia frowned. “I believe the child was called Peter. His mother hated him. He hated her. The child’s conception was not… natural if you see what I mean. The child itself was not natural. It was like its father.”

  “He’s dead too, Peter I mean,” Bill said. It was a sad tale, with an unhappy ending.

  Eustacia nodded. “I am glad Clare did not live to see this day. She never loved her son. She gave her money in trust to Lord Colchester to manage when she died. I administer the trust now. The beneficiaries are the paupers in the East End, the streetwalkers, and all those that fall victim to others.”

  “How appropriate,” Victoria murmured, thinking of the women that Pedro had abducted.

  Eustacia jerked her head in response. “It was the way Clare wanted it to be.” She picked up her cigar again and inhaled, blowing an expert smoke ring to the ceiling. “Of course that bastard Paul knew all about the rules. He knew that we investigated who was the father of Clare’s baby. He knew that Augustus made it so that he had no claim to his son. His anger festered. And then he came back, loaded a shotgun and stole away with the child. That’s why Augustus hid me from him, to make sure that Paul didn’t give me the same fate. Of course Augustus had to bully me into it. I called it blackmail and threatened him with exposure, but he convinced me that this was the right life to have.” Eustacia sighed and looked at her wrinkled hands. “Sometimes I’m not so sure. I’ve been so lonely.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Victoria glanced down at the roll of canvas that lay underneath the seat of the white barouche. Bill sat opposite her. He had barely said two words since their visit to Eustacia.

  He met her glance now.

  “You asked me once to make a list of reasons why you should marry me,” he said quietly. “I had spent so much time thinking about what you marrying me would give me, that I had barely thought about yourself.”

  Victoria opened her mouth to speak, but Bill waved away her words. He stood and, staggering slightly, sat down next to her on the hard white leather of the seats.

  “I made a list. But I didn’t get very far. It included points such as our dogs liking each other, and the fact that you could be mistress of Brambridge Manor.”

  Victoria choked back a surprised laugh. They were indeed practical points.

  “My inability to put concrete facts to paper nagged at me. Who would want me? A man with little discernible talent, who had an uncertain place in society? For God’s sake, I couldn’t even get that list from Pedro Moreno before I fell on him and killed him.” Bill twisted his lips in disgust.

  “Little talent?” Victoria exclaimed blinking. “Whatever made you think that? As far as I can understand and according to my brother, your ability to make people talk, really talk, is unparalleled. Look at what you did to Eustacia… you didn’t even have to say anything and she practically babbled. It’s not just women, Bill, men fall under your spell
just the same. You are welcomed practically everywhere you go in the ton, never mind the sticklers that complain—they find fault in everyone.”

  Bill grunted. A long arm snaked around her waist. “And it doesn’t stop there,” she continued. “You understand people. You only needed to speak to me to understand what I was suffering. I… I haven’t had a return of the blackness since. And without your massive strength in freeing yourself from those chains I dread to think what Pedro would have done to me.”

  Victoria sat looking forward as Bill leaned forward and nuzzled her neck. “And then there is the matter of the treatment that you gave me… not the type that you gave Celine.” Victoria gasped as hot breath blew in her ear. “I find it is of the very talented variety Mr. Stand—ish.” Victoria squealed as lips took hold of her ear and tugged gently. She shook her head and with pushed Bill away. “And as for that list…” Victoria swallowed. “Would something like this be of interest?” She reached into her bodice as Bill’s eyes grew round, and pushed a small slip of paper into Bill’s large hand. She hunched his shoulders as he began to read.

  “Bloody hell,” was all he said. “Bloody hell.”

  “Pedro pushed it into my dress before the auction,” Victoria babbled. “I forgot about it in the following moments…” She brought her eyes up to meet Bill’s gaze. The expression in his eyes was unfathomable. “Chantelle found it when she shook out my dress. I didn’t read it until the following morning. I didn’t understand what it was for until I remembered that you were looking for a list of names…”

  “I have been trying to talk to you for two weeks,” Bill said, slapping his knee. “Dammit, Victoria, you are infuriating. I’ve been having to make plans to go after the mysterious Mr. Khaffar. Your brother and Freddie just looked at me with pity.”

  Victoria swallowed. “I needed to have some time to think.”