by Lucy Ashford
There was no need to say any more.
‘Well, Mrs Marchmain. This is a pleasant surprise.’ It was Lord Jarvis, strolling up behind her. Waving the footman away, Jarvis drew close—hatefully close—and was murmuring with a smile, ‘Looking for me, were you? Of course, when you and I first met two years ago, I didn’t offer you enough—I realise that now. How much did Davenant pay for your services? A generous amount, I guess, together, of course, with that elegant Bruton Street house. But I can do better, you know!’
Shivers ran up and down her spine, but she stood very straight. ‘You tried to ruin me, Lord Jarvis,’ she breathed. ‘And are still trying. But you will not succeed.’
‘I think you are a little late—I have succeeded. Poor Mrs Marchmain. Such weak judgement. Offering yourself to Davenant, of all people—he is a low-class upstart. But he’s rich, isn’t he?’ Jarvis’s face was twisted with malice. ‘And money, even dirty money like his, buys power. Buys women.’
‘Your money is the kind that strikes me as dirty, Lord Jarvis,’ Belle said steadily.
A flush appeared slowly in his cheeks as he glanced around the crowded foyer. ‘You and I have some talking to do. Come upstairs to my room.’
‘I will never—’
‘Come upstairs,’ he repeated softly, ‘or your precious Mr Davenant will be in an even worse mess than he is now.’
She froze. He pointed the way to the big staircase. ‘After you. Oh, and I’ve sent for your things, from that shabby place where you were staying.’
‘I will not stay here!’
‘You’re right, because you’re coming with me to London. But first we must talk. In my room. And if I were you I wouldn’t worry too much about your reputation. I told that footman I was expecting a whore.’
‘You bastard,’ Belle said quietly.
He bowed. ‘After you, my dear Mrs Marchmain.’
* * *
All day Adam had searched desperately for Belle. After finding she’d checked out of the small hotel that Edward had told him of, Adam had set his men to enquire at every other hotel and lodging house in Bath for her. But she was laying low. At least, he hoped she was. The alternative—that Jarvis had found her—did not bear thinking about. After giving up temporarily on his search for Belle, Adam had hunted Jarvis down to the York House Hotel, but was told that he’d set off for London an hour ago in a hired post-chaise.
Then one of Adam’s men came to him with news. ‘Seems Mrs Marchmain’s been visiting a lawyer called Cherritt, Mr Davenant. She was interested in the lease of a shop by the river and asked his advice.’
Adam knew Cherritt. Knew he’d worked in the past for Jarvis, damn it.
It was pouring with rain again by the time Adam reached Cherritt’s premises. A clerk in the reception area flinched at his rain-soaked, formidable figure, then blustered and said the lawyer was busy. Adam pushed past him and went straight into Cherritt’s office.
The little lawyer jumped to his feet like a nervous rabbit when he saw who it was. Adam wasted no time.
‘I believe you’ve recently had business with a lady from London. Mrs Marchmain.’
Cherritt shook his head. ‘I can’t say I recognise the name at all, Mr Davenant, sir...’
Adam drew nearer. ‘I think you’re lying to me, Cherritt.’ Then he saw it. A document lying on a sheaf of other papers. Cherritt was already grasping for it, but Adam was quicker by far.
It had Belle’s name on it and an address in Bridge Street.
‘Sit down again,’ said Adam. ‘And tell me what exactly’s been happening.’ He was already glancing quickly through the document. ‘This refers to the lease of a shop. Is Mrs Marchmain going ahead with this transaction?’
‘No!’
‘Why not?’ Adam was still on his feet, hands resting on the edge of Cherritt’s desk so his formidable figure leaned menacingly over the little lawyer. Outside, the rain drummed steadily on the windows and the very candles in the room seemed to shake with the force of Adam’s scarcely controlled emotions. ‘Tell me,’ Adam breathed. ‘Tell me everything you know about Jarvis and Mrs Marchmain, or I can make life very unpleasant for you—understand? I know damn well you’ve been acting for Jarvis. I know damn well—as I’m sure you do—that Jarvis has been breaking the law by sabotaging my land and workers. I can break you, Cherritt.’
‘That particular shop is no longer available, sir,’ Cherritt stuttered, ‘at least not to Mrs Marchmain—because Lord Jarvis gave the landlord some information that made him halt the transaction.’
‘Do you have any idea where Mrs Marchmain is now?’
‘She—she’s gone to London, sir! With Lord Jarvis...’
This time Cherritt cowered from Adam’s formidable figure, from his clenched fists. ‘You knew about this?’ grated Adam. ‘By God, he’s as good as abducted her and you stood by?’
‘Sir. Sir.’ Cherritt was trembling. ‘She went with him quite willingly, sir. It will soon be a matter of common knowledge, I believe, that—that she has agreed to be Lord Jarvis’s mistress!’
The blood pounded in Adam’s temples.
‘Money will buy any woman, sir,’ said Cherritt, anxiously trying to appease him. ‘And she is, after all, only a dressmaker—’
Adam was round the desk and on him, his big hands round Cherritt’s throat. ‘You shouldn’t have said that, Cherritt,’ he said softly. ‘You most definitely should not have said that.’
Cherritt quaked. ‘Sir. Mrs Marchmain anticipated that you might call on me,’ he stuttered. ‘And I have a letter for you.’
He was already bringing it out from a drawer in his desk. Adam broke the seal and read it in dawning disbelief.
Mr Davenant.
I cannot repeat strongly enough that I want nothing more to do with you. The money my brother owes you will soon be repaid. My share in the London shop is yours also. Now that I am under Lord Jarvis’s kind protection, I have better things to do with my days and nights than to sew clothes. Mrs Belle Marchmain.
No. No. Adam could not believe it. It might be Belle’s writing, but...
He put the letter down, breathing hard. Cherritt’s small eyes were flickering nervously between the letter and Adam’s face.
‘Cherritt,’ said Adam, ‘it strikes me that you know rather a lot about Lord Jarvis’s business affairs, don’t you?’
‘H-his lordship is simply one of my many clients—’ The stuttering little lawyer broke off as Adam gave him a warning look.
‘Lock the door, so we’re not interrupted. Then sit down again. Do you have Jarvis’s private papers here—his deeds and everything else?’
‘Yes!’ Cherritt positively quivered with fear. ‘Yes, but...’
‘Shut up. Where the hell are they?’
‘I—in there.’ Cherritt pointed with shaking fingers to a door at the back of his office. ‘They’re locked in a safe.’
‘Then damn well get them out,’ said Adam, settling himself in a chair on the other side of Cherritt’s desk. ‘All of them. Or you’re finished. In every way possible.’
Chapter Seventeen
On her journey to London with Jarvis Belle had been sick, literally sick, and that was what had saved her. Nausea had racked her as she was shaken in Jarvis’s rough carriage and during their one overnight stop at an inn he’d made no attempt to force his attentions on her.
But she wouldn’t be sick for ever. And she could not forget the agreement Jarvis had wrung from her in Bath. In the private sitting room of the York House Hotel he’d paced to and fro, his pale eyes never leaving her, while she stood defiant, refusing the chair he’d offered.
‘I will not rest until Davenant is humiliated,’ he told her softly. ‘Suddenly that’s become even more important to me than stopping his damned railway. Oh, I can carry on hindering his workers. Accidents, landfalls, faulty supplies—it can all drag on and on—and no one will trace it back to me. But he’s as stubborn as me—he’ll kill himself sooner than give up on his railwa
y.’
‘That is because he cares,’ declared Belle. ‘About his workers and their families.’
‘Then he’s a damned idiot,’ said Jarvis curtly. ‘As I said—building a railway’s a dangerous business. And Davenant’s in the thick of it—did you realise? He’s out there day after day with his men, trying to get those rails laid before the autumn rains really set in.’
Belle struggled to stay calm. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’
He suddenly pointed a finger at her. ‘Because it’s up to you now,’ said Jarvis softly. ‘Davenant’s been fool enough to fall for you, hasn’t he?’
‘No!’ Her cry was from the heart. ‘Absolutely not, I assure you—nothing could be further from the truth...’ She was fighting the sudden, overwhelming tightness that had clenched her lungs.
‘Good try,’ he sneered. ‘But all of London knows that stone-hearted Davenant has fallen for a little dressmaker... No, don’t try lying and protesting, my pretty, you’re too clever for that. Now, as I said, I’m getting a bit tired of Davenant’s obstinate ways. And I might have to take drastic action against him very soon, in the form of a convenient accident.’
No. Dear God, no.
‘But there is,’ went on Jarvis, ‘an alternative.’ He paused, letting his eyes run over her in a way that made her feel cold to her stomach. ‘I’ll let him proceed with his railway without any further interference. I might even sell him that damned land, so he doesn’t have to make an expensive detour around my boundaries. But only if you, my dear, will consent to be my mistress.’
* * *
What could she have done, other than say yes? During the journey to London she’d kept Jarvis at bay with her travel sickness; she hadn’t needed to feign it either.
He’d threatened Adam’s life and Belle could not bear it. She knew everything was over between herself and Adam, knew he could never forgive her for her stupidity in so many ways. But she knew also she would always love him.
He was proud and honourable. He’d been a wonderful, tender lover and proved himself to be a man who cared, really cared for all the workers who depended on him.
That Jarvis would carry out his threat to injure or even kill Adam by means of a so-called accident she didn’t doubt. She’d heard Adam mention the mishaps that were already occurring as his men struggled to lay the new railway across difficult terrain. She also knew how Jarvis was accustomed to paying to get the law on his side.
No hope, no hope, the noise of Jarvis’s carriage wheels taunted her as they retraced the journey she’d made with Adam. She would never see Adam again and perhaps it was as well, for he would think her beneath contempt once he’d read that letter she’d written.
* * *
In London Jarvis installed her in a drab little house somewhere in Whitechapel. They’d arrived there as darkness was falling, and though she strove to recognise some detail of the dirty, cobbled lane where his coach stopped, he’d gripped her arm and led her into the house so quickly that she had no chance to find out any more.
Adam would never find her here, she thought desperately. Then remembered—why would he want to? He would know she was Jarvis’s from her letter. He wouldn’t ever understand why. He would think himself well rid of her indeed.
For the first day she didn’t move from her bedchamber and barely spoke to the two servants she saw, a surly maid called Tibbs and a man called Harris who had foul breath and a face that was as battered as an ex-boxer’s. There was no bolt on her bedroom door so she had to suffer their frequent intrusions as they brought her food and other necessities. Most of the time she just sat by the window to gaze at the narrow but busy lane below—it was somewhere off Botolph Street, she guessed—and watched the people and horses go by.
Early in the evening she tiptoed downstairs to the front door, only to find it locked. And burly Harris was there almost instantly, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
‘Now, I do hope you’re not thinkin’ of leaving us, my pretty,’ he’d leered.
She’d hurried back upstairs and slammed her door. You fool, Belle. And how could she even think of escaping after the threats Jarvis had made against Adam?
The worst—the very worst of it was that Adam would never know that she’d done all this for him.
* * *
Two days after bringing her here Jarvis came up the narrow little staircase to see her. ‘How are you feeling, Mrs Marchmain?’ he asked, removing his hat and gloves.
‘Sick at the sight of you,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘Indeed, you’re looking pale. And your clothes—dear me, is this the Belle Marchmain who used to dazzle society with her daring attire?’
The maid Tibbs had shown her a wardrobe full of new gowns; Belle had deliberately chosen the drabbest of them and covered her shoulders with a grey shawl. She looked up at him steadily. ‘My former life is over, Lord Jarvis. You must realise that.’
‘It’s by no means over,’ he answered softly. ‘You see, you’re going to attend a party I’m giving in a week’s time, and I intend to present you as my mistress. Yes, London’s quiet now the Season’s over, but any event of mine will muster up quite enough prestigious guests to serve my purpose. And I can’t think of a better way for the news of our happy union to reach Davenant in Somerset.’
Something in her expression must have altered when he spoke Adam’s name because Jarvis leaned forwards to touch her cheek and laughed. ‘Yes, your hero’s still far away. Perhaps you hoped he might come running here looking for you? I’m afraid not.’
He reached out to touch her again, but she jumped back and spat out, ‘Don’t.’
His mouth thinned. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he said. ‘There was a nasty rock fall the other day above the valley where your former lover’s labourers are digging and some stones missed Davenant himself by inches. Accidents, these accidents.’
‘You said you’d stop this. You said you’d let him have the land he needs!’
‘Oh, indeed. Once you’re mine—once you’re clearly, openly mine—I’ll let him have his land at a price. Change your mind and he’s dead.’
When he’d gone she sat down again because her legs were shaking. Jarvis hadn’t tried anything more than touching her yet, but surely it couldn’t be long. She pressed her hands to her cheeks.
For how many nights, how many weeks, would she have to endure—oh, God—Jarvis’s possession? Not long, she suspected, her heart squeezing painfully against her ribs. Not long at all—once she told Jarvis she was pregnant.
* * *
It was true. After relinquishing all hope of pregnancy during her brief years of marriage, the miracle had happened. And Adam, her baby’s father, would be convinced after reading her letter that she’d surrendered herself to Jarvis.
She would survive this, she must, for her baby’s sake. But sometimes despair all but overwhelmed her. Jarvis called daily at the house in Whitechapel. If Belle tried to protest at her captivity or complain about the watch Tibbs and Harris kept on her, he would raise his eyebrows and say, ‘I’d imagine Davenant will be working on one of the most dangerous sections of his railway excavations today. Gunpowder, rock falls—so very many risks, so many mishaps that might befall him.’
She guessed that Jarvis’s forthcoming party—her first appearance in society with him—would mark a new stage of their horrifying relationship. He’d already told her that she must appear happy and relaxed at his side. After that, she feared very much that he would feel entitled to do whatever he wished with her.
The sullen maid Tibbs had clearly been ordered to make Belle appear more presentable, but because Belle had lost weight and was pale with inactivity, every item of clothing Jarvis had provided for her looked lifeless and dull. Jarvis, exasperated, told her he was ordering a modiste to attend on her. He wouldn’t let Belle leave the house, so Madame Monique Tournier arrived to see her three days before the party with lengths of fabric and various fashion illustrations.
She was dark, French and s
aturnine. Jarvis seemed impatient as he led her into Belle’s sitting room.
‘Let her brighten you up, for God’s sake,’ he said to Belle. ‘Or you know what will happen to a mutual acquaintance of ours.’
Belle couldn’t help herself. ‘Is he still...?’
Jarvis snapped to Madame Tournier to wait outside, then said, ‘He’s still working on his damned railway, yes. Coming up to the most dangerous stage now, when they have to lower the rails into place. And, by the way, he’s still not given a second thought to your disappearance from Bath. But I really do want him to read in the news sheets about you looking radiant and happy—with me.’
Belle whispered, ‘For how long do I have to endure this hateful captivity?’
Jarvis’s lip curled. ‘We’ll discuss all that after the ball.’
She gazed at him. ‘If you let anything happen to him,’ she said steadily, ‘I’ll kill you. I mean it.’
He laughed. ‘So you’d hang for him? I think not.’ He stormed from the room.
Belle sat down, her trembling hands folded across her still-flat stomach.
Madame Tournier came bustling back in and Belle allowed herself to be measured and consulted over the fabric samples simply because it was easier than resisting. Just as the dressmaker was leaving she said to Belle in her expressionless way, ‘You will have to come to my shop, madame, for the ballgown to be completed. I can make it up from these measurements, yes—but there are certain adjustments for which a final fitting on my premises is essential.’
‘But Lord Jarvis won’t allow—’
‘You have to come on the afternoon of the ball in three days’ time,’ repeated Madame Tournier flatly. ‘I will speak to milord.’
Just for a moment Belle’s thoughts whirled. A chance for escape? But she was a hostage; the life of the man she loved was at stake, and the cruellest thing of all was that Adam would never know it.
* * *
The next day when Jarvis visited her as usual a little after midday he said, ‘I gather you made some progress with the dressmaker. She says she needs you