Pamela nodded, hanging on his every word.
"When Paxton discovered that his secret was out, he abducted her, and treated her most dreadfully. He, well, he er, subjected her to the most awful treatment at the hands of himself and other men, saying if she refused to give him her money willingly, that was the way she would be forced to earn her keep."
"Good God. How monstrous."
He nodded. "My father was afraid that his girls would be tender lambs to the slaughter if they ever inherited due to my death, so the will was most precise. They were not permitted any money apart from a small stipend each month without application to the solicitors, and that Jane refused to do once she saw Paxton's true colors.
"In any event, Paxton prostituted her all over London for money and in fact the solicitors cut her off without a penny due to her unsuitable conduct once they learned of what had befallen her.
"How unkind! That only made her situation so much worse!"
The Duke nodded grimly. "Aye, that it did. She became ill, and with child. Elizabeth was left in sole possession of the fortune once she came of age, and forbidden to have anything to do with her disgraced sister."
"The poor girls!" Pamela shook her head and sighed.
"Indeed. It was all just too much for Jane. She's mad, though it nearly kills me to say it about my own sister. There's no hope of recovery. She has quite lost her senses, raving much of the time. When she's calm she attempts to look after her daughter, and embroider. She always loved to do needlework." He gave a sad smile of reminiscence.
"But the raving spells are becoming increasingly frequent as the disease takes over. So you see, despite Jonathan giving his word and trying to live up to it, he and Jane could never be allowed to marry, no matter what."
"No, indeed," Pamela said, horrified at the very thought.
The Duke moved back to his seat, and drained his teacup, then poured more for them both.
"Yet Jonathan will not abandon Jane, even though I have told him that it's over. That I release him from all promises and obligations. That I don't expect him to give up his whole life for her. He blames himself for not being here. He says that it's all part of his bargain with God."
Her brows knit. "Bargain? I don't understand."
Thomas gave a tight smile. "It's part of the reason he became a vicar as well. You know we were all in the war together?"
She nodded, leaning forward on the edge of her seat, eager to get to the bottom of Jonathan's true character and inner workings of his mind at last.
"He had a terrifying experience. He thought Clifford and I were dead. Killed in action. He begged God to bring us back, and vowed he would give up anything if only we could live. Well, we pulled through. So he's kept his end of the bargain, so far as he sees it."
Pamela stared at him. "And were you? Were you dead?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper.
The Duke sighed. "I have only ever discussed this with two other people, my wife and Clifford. The honest answer is, I don't know. I think I was. I could feel myself slipping away. Then there was a hand reaching out to me. It was Jonathan, praying over me."
"So he thinks these things are all connected in some way?" she said, wonder filling her tone.
"Not least because the man who seduced my sister was our acting commanding officer who sent us into the breach to be killed."
She clapped her hand to her chest. "Paxton sent you all to die?"
"Well, as many of us as tried to storm the city. We were to support the Forlorn Hope, the first men to try to go in and pave the way for the others. Paxton told us the way had been prepared, that the breach was wide open and we would meet no resistance. He had been promoted in the field when our original commanding officer had to be replaced--"
"I don't understand." She rubbed her aching temples, trying to make sense of it all. "The three of you were inseparable. Why would anyone want to kill a good man like Clifford, or Jonathan?"
"We were sold out to the French."
She looked at him pityingly. "I see."
They sat in silence for a time. "And your sister Jane? Is there any hope at all?"
Thomas sighed. "None. The disease cannot be cured, only mitigated. She does well when she's not agitated. When there are no men around. Or no breaks in her routine.
"When Jonathan moved her recently, to a different place, a sanitarium that would let her keep Sophie with her, she was distraught, as Ferncliffe saw. She seems to be calmer now. But no. As much as it pains me to say it, she is only getting worse. And she has no idea who Jonathan is. Or even me any more at times."
She was about to ask where the sanitarium was when Thomas demanded, "Wait, hang on a moment. Where did Ferncliffe say he had seen Jonathan and my sister again?"
"Bath, about six weeks ago."
He stared at her. "But she wasn't at Bath. And we moved her just after you left for Town, not six weeks ago."
Pamela stared at him in confusion. "What are you saying?"
Thomas leapt to his feet. "That he knows where she is, drat it! She's in danger!"
"From Ferncliffe?" she asked in shock. "But why?"
The Duke was already half-way out the door. "Because he knew Herbert Paxton, and Paxton didn't speak French. Ferncliffe must have been party to the plot, and knew my sister afterwards. Damn it all, he was one of the nest of traitors!"
He shouted for the carriage, and grabbed his cloak from the bustling footman.
Pamela flew out of her seat, eager to help but unsure how. She hurried after the Duke as he made his way through the foyer toward the front door.
"Pray forgive me, Miss Ashton, I must go."
"I'm coming with you," Pamela insisted, hurrying after him. "I feel as if this is all my fault. Your sister wouldn't be in danger if it wasn't for me interfering with Jonathan's life."
"Don't say that. You may have saved her, bringing me this news of the Earl and all he has been up to behind our backs."
"But what can Ferncliffe hope to gain?" Pamela asked breathlessly as she followed him.
"He can kidnap Jane, make me pay to keep her safe. Blackmail me so that the whole story will not come out. Or worse still, take the child. I don't know!" He paced up and down in the vestibule as he waited for the carriage to be brought around.
Pamela stared as the normally suave and urbane duke began wringing his hands in agitation. He was clearly terrified. It spoke volumes, more than any defense he could have raised on Jonathan's part as to who was guilty in all of this, and who innocent.
At last the vehicle came around the corner from the stables. He asked three of his large burly footmen to come along for assistance. They all piled into the coach and sped off.
"Where is she?"
"Near Green Park. It isn't too far, but we must hurry!" he added, shouting loudly enough for the driver to hear.
Every minute that ticked past was an agony of suspense for Pamela as the carriage trundled along as rapidly as the team could gallop.
She had no idea what she thought she would find, what she could do to help. All she knew was she adored Jonathan and would do anything to assist her beloved and his friends. Even if he could never ever love her because he had always been bound to Jane, Pamela had to help the Duke and his sister and her poor child now, before it was too late.
Chapter Thirty-one
When the Duke and Pamela arrived at the sanitarium at Green Park ten minutes later, they could hear a commotion inside and a woman's unearthly keening.
The Duke whitened. "That's Jane's voice. Good God!" He leapt out of the carriage, and ran for the entrance, leaving Pamela to scramble out behind.
The door was locked firmly. No amount of ringing or pounding gained them access.
Thomas wasted no more time. He ordered his three men to break down the door.
The door was worthy of a fortress, huge, reinforced with steel. It was going to take time, which was one thing they didn't have, Pamela could see.
The weeping and wailing was enough to sp
ur her into action herself. While the men set to work,
While they set to work, Pamela looked around for another way to enter the sanitarium. There was a pretty garden at the side of the house, with huge black wrought iron gates separating it from the street.
Quickly she flung off her split skirt and jacket. Clad in her riding breeches and shirt, she stood up on the carriage step. Climbing up onto the driver's box, earning herself a stunned look from the servant.
"I'm climbing in."
"Good Lord, you'll kill yourself, Miss," the portly man protested.
"The Duke's sister is in danger. I have to help."
She grasped the top of the tall bars of the garden fence before her stunned companion could protest further, and swung herself over and down onto the other side of the railings. It was a long drop, but she managed to slide down part of the way, and then break her fall with some mosses and shrubs.
Once back on her feet, Pamela immediately looked for a way in. She picked up a small ornamental stone from a flowerbed and smashed one large pane of the glass-paneled door.
She reached in and turned the knob, then slipped down the long corridor cautiously to the front of the house. If she could get the door open for the Duke and his men...
Inside the house pandemonium reigned. A tall thin dark-haired woman was wailing on the stairs. Ferncliffe, standing astride two of the steps, was waving a pistol at anyone who tried to take the child from him.
"You can't have her! You can't!" Jane screamed.
"Oh, but I can," he said coolly. "She's my daughter. Your brother will pay dearly for her. If you ever want to see her again, you'll come with me. Your brother will pay for you as well, and so will your darling Jonathan."
"I'll never go back with you!" Jane hissed. "I hate you. I would rather die than let you touch me or my child ever again."
He grabbed her arm. She began to flail at him wildly, screaming anew.
Pamela could see a glitter of silver flash downwards. Ferncliffe shrieked, and clutched his left eye, grabbing at the small pair of embroidery scissors she had thrust into his face like a dagger.
In agonized rage, he backhanded Jane Eltham, sending her flying down the stairs.
She landed with a heavy thud against the wainscoting and lay still.
Half-blinded, Ferncliffe groped his way down the stairs. Pamela, still clinging to the shadows, saw her chance. She snatched the child from his arms, and ran.
His pistol went off, but she kept on running, right the way to the bolted front door, the iron bar of which she heaved open with one hand, her terror for the helpless child giving her almost superhuman strength.
The door was flung open and the Duke's footmen came pounding in. Pamela flattened herself against the wall as they stormed past, clinging to the little girl and shielding her with her body as best she could.
Thomas was about to run by as well when she held out her hand. "It's all right, she's here. She's safe."
Thomas reached for the girl, a small, dark-haired toddler with enormous green eyes, and held her to his heart. He touched her gently, looking for injuries. He frowned as his hand came away red from the front of the little girl's pinafore. He examined the child frantically, but found no wounds.
His eyes met Pamela's for a moment. "My God! Oh no," he gasped.
"Just tell Jonathan I loved him," she whispered.
She felt herself sliding down the wall, the blood pounding in her ears. "And please, no more, no more bargains with God."
Chapter Thirty-two
A blazing light filled Pamela's head, causing her to groan. She flung one arm over her eyes to try to block out the piercing brightness.
"Good morning, my love."
She blinked. It had to be a dream. She could have sworn that Jonathan was sitting by her side, looking at her with complete adoration.
Another intense pain shot through her shoulder and head, and then she remembered...
That was it. She was dead, and this was Heaven. At least all of Jonathan's teachings had not been for naught.
"Would you like some tea?"
That sounded heavenly, as did his voice. But she was fairly sure they did not have breakfast in the afterlife. She risked opening her eyes again. "Jonathan? Is it really you?"
He bent over and kissed her on the brow, then the cheek. "Is that real enough for you, or would you like me to take more liberties?"
"Oh, more, please," she said with a small laugh, then winced.
"Gladly, my love, once you're feeling better."
"Where am I?" she asked numbly, looking around at the pristine white-tiled room, and down at the plain cotton night rail she was clad in.
Her shoulder ached, and her arms was stiff, but she was alive. She pinched her arm just to be sure. It was a miracle. She offered up a prayer of thanks, and tried not to throw herself into Jonathan's arms. But just him being there convinced her that all her dreams might be about to come true at last.
"You're in a room at the sanitarium. One of the doctors helped you. The bullet passed right through the shoulder. You were so lucky. I nearly died when I arrived here looking for you and Thomas told me what had happened. What you did for us all."
"The child! Is she all right?" she asked in a panic.
He placed a soothing hand on her brow. "Sophie is fine, thanks to you. I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't thought so quickly as to creep in through the back way to save her."
"And Jane?"
Jonathan shook his head. His expression turned grim. "She's gone, I'm afraid. The fall down the stairs killed her."
Pity, jealousy, and relief warred within her for a brief moment. Then she said sincerely, "Oh, Jonathan, I'm so sorry."
"I'm not," he admitted with a sad smile. "She suffered so much. I can only think that God finally decided she had had enough, and gathered her to him."
Pamela stroked his cheek. "It's all right. You're allowed to mourn her, you know. The two of you shared a lot of years together."
He nodded. "That we did. I loved her, worshipped her. But I lost her a long time ago. I've been mourning her for years now. Truthfully, I can only rejoice that she's been set free from her suffering at last." He sighed.
"I know you've been puzzled by much of what's passed between us. And I wouldn't blame you a bit for feeling jealous, or second best to my first love. But the truth is, Pamela, it was a childhood love affair, and perhaps a habit. Always being there because Jane counted on me to be.
"She was my first love, the puppy love of a naïve young man who thought there was nothing but joy and light in the world. The war changed me, sad to say, but though I have lost that childhood innocence, I have not necessarily changed for the worse." He took her hand and kissed it.
"Oh, Jonathan-"
"So I need to tell you the truth now, my dear. I have a lot more years ahead of me, Pamela, and I'm older and wiser. I'm not saying I didn't love her, but you have no call to be jealous. To worry that you can never replace her. I lost her a long time ago. All I had left was a shell.
"It was agony loving two women, one out of Christian duty and pity, the other as a man longs to love his wife. Yes, wife," he repeated, when he caught her surprised look.
"I know what I feel for you is genuine. One look at you and my heart sings. I don't know how many years I have left, my love, but I've wasted too much time already. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and any children we will be blessed with."
"You don't have to say that..."
"Yes I do. I wanted to say it before, only-"
She squeezed his hand firmly. "I understand. Really. I don't think any less of a man for wanting to keep his word."
"Not even when I loved you so much? Hurt you so badly?"
She gripped his hand hard. "Not even then, darling. You kept your word. Your rejection in Bath wounded me terribly, but neither of us planned to fall in love."
He shook his head. "I did. I mean, I knew how much I loved you. I tried to stay away,
told myself it was wrong, selfish. But it was like being drawn against my will to something so beautiful, so tempting. I burned for you, Pamela. I think I always shall. I thought I would lose my mind if I didn't see you. I never imagined you would ever return my feelings. You had every man you met at your feet. I was just a humble country parson."
She smiled up at him in stunned surprise. He had cared for her all that time?
"Even worse, I was made to look like a fortune hunter and degenerate. I knew what the man who called himself Ferncliffe had done, was saying, but thought it didn't matter. I assumed I had lost you anyway, so what difference did his lies make?
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