by Nicole Byrd
Maddie’s pulse jumped. His long hair was dark and shaggy and hung into his face, and his clothes were ragged and dusty. Beneath the mop of disheveled hair, she saw the gleam of cunning eyes. In his hand he held a gun.
“Papa!” she exclaimed.
“Be calm,” her father said, his voice even. “It may yet be well.”
The stranger lifted his gun, and Maddie held her breath, but he simply motioned her to the side. She took several steps toward her father, but paused inside the doorway. What about Felicity?
The stranger had turned back to watch the doorway again, and then it hit Maddie. This man wanted to kill Felicity! He was the one who had shot at them on the path, not the mad cousin. He had been shooting at Felicity, not at Maddie. This was the shaggy stranger who had peered at Felicity in her cabin—he must be the one who had burned down her home! But why?
She bit her lip—they could not just stand here and watch the widow be slaughtered! What on earth could they do? She looked around for something she could throw to distract him…and then what?
She heard footsteps in the hallway, and now Felicity appeared in the doorway. “I cannot find Bess, what do you suppose—”
She stopped when she saw Maddie’s expression. Then she turned and saw the stranger, and her puzzled look turned to fear.
“No!”
The stranger lifted his rifle.
Maddie heard the sharp report of a gun firing, and she shrieked. But it was the gypsy whose expression faltered. The gun dropped from his fingers, hitting their floor with a clatter.
She turned to her father and was astounded to see that he had pulled a pistol from beneath the blanket that covered his knees. A faint vapor of smoke rose from its barrel.
Felicity screamed. She looked as if she were going to swoon; she had gone very pale. Maddie ran to support her.
When Maddie glanced back at the prone figure, she exclaimed, too. Had his head been blown off?
No, it was a wig that had tumbled loose; the disheveled black hair was a wig. Now the figure that sprawled across their floor looked much more ordinary, a man with brown hair of average length, an unremarkable round face, the spot of blood that stained his dirty clothes the only sign of the bullet that had ended his life.
Maddie felt a wave of nausea, but she swallowed hard and tried to be calm.
“It’s all right, you are safe,” Maddie told her friend. “Papa, how did you know? He shot at us on the way back to the village. He must have gotten ahead of us when we left the path and tried to lose him.”
“I have been half expecting something of the sort,” her father said, his voice grim. He looked at Felicity. “I am so sorry you had to experience such an alarming attack. Do you recognize him?”
“Oh, yes,” the widow said, her voice faint. “That is—that is my husband, Jerod.”
Sixteen
Felicity still looked as if she might faint. Maddie guided her friend to the closest chair and supported her until she sat, then looked to her father, but he seemed quite composed. Especially so, considering they now had a dead man lying across their sitting room floor!
At least, he appeared to be dead. She stared at the man, but she could not see that he was breathing. Maddie shivered.
“I suppose this is the shameful secret you were going to share with me?” her father suggested, his voice calm.
Her face crumpling, Felicity nodded. She put her hands to her face, her eyes filling.
“I don’t understand,” Maddie said. “You thought he was dead, and he wasn’t?”
“No, I knew he was not,” Felicity said, her voice tremulous. “I am so sorry to have told you a lie. You see, I was not widowed, but divorced.”
Maddie was speechless. She had never met a divorced woman before. Not sure what to do, she glanced from one to the other. She had a feeling it was her father whose reassurance the widow—no, not a widow, well, yes, she was a widow now!—really wanted.
Oh, what a tangle!
“Can you explain it all now?” Maddie ventured to ask.
John wheeled his chair until he was close enough to reach for one of Felicity’s hands, which she had been hiding her face behind. He pressed it gently. “Do not weep, my dear. You are with friends. We do not judge you.”
Felicity drew a deep, gasping breath and tried to control her sobs. “I am so very, very sorry. I should not have lied to you. It was just, when I came here I told the village that I was a widow because—because—”
“Because to admit that one is a divorced woman would cause a great scandal, and you did not wish to be ostracized,” her father prompted. “That is easy enough to understand. How could we blame you for that? You did not know us well at that time.”
“And then later, it was hard to change your story,” Maddie suggested.
Nodding, Felicity wiped her cheeks with her handkerchief. “Yes, but I have been feeling very guilty. When my husband first began the proceedings, all my neighbors stopped calling, and those who had been my friends would not speak to me on the street or even acknowledge that they saw me when I passed by—I felt like a ghost. So when I moved away to a new location, I thought it best to say that I was a widow.” She sighed.
Maddie felt a strong wave of sympathy. “That’s terrible!”
“Yes, but you know how unusual it is to be a divorced woman, and usually it is for”—Felicity’s fair skin showed a wave of color—“ah, improper behavior. You must let me tell you the circumstances.”
“That’s not necessary,” Maddie’s father said at once.
“No, but I wish to. I realize that having been lied to once, there is no good reason for you to believe me now, but nonetheless, I would feel better if I told you the whole story.” Felicity drew a deep breath.
He nodded. “If you wish it.”
Filled with intense curiosity, Maddie simply smiled encouragement and support and waited.
“It started during the French wars. My husband was an officer with our army, and I traveled with him. The living conditions were primitive, and when I became with child, I did think that perhaps it would be more prudent to return to England, but he liked having me near him, so I stayed. But the baby came early, and there was no doctor nearby. Things did not go well.”
Felicity paused for a moment, and the pain in her eyes made Maddie ache for her.
“At any rate, after a long and difficult time, the child was born dead, and I barely survived. When a doctor finally did arrive, he told my husband that I had been so injured, I would never be able to bear more children.”
“Ah,” John said, as if that said volumes.
“Yes,” she said, twisting her handkerchief between her two hands as if it were her lifeline. “It will explain even more if I tell you that my husband had a baronetcy and was determined to have a son to whom he could pass his title and estate. If I could have no children—well, he was fixed on finding a way to insure that he could have a legal heir. So he began divorce proceedings.” Her voice wavered, and she drew another deep breath as if to compose herself.
Maddie exclaimed, “How unfair!”
“I understand his motive,” Felicity answered, but she looked away as she spoke. “But, yes, it has been very hard. He said he would send me an allowance, enough to live on, but after a few months, that money first dwindled and then stopped altogether. I have a very small fund that comes from my late mother, and I have been surviving on that, but I had to move to a smaller cottage. And there is more….”
She hesitated, then, when they both looked encouraging, seemed to gather the courage to continue.
“The first time I moved, it was only to the next shire, and I made no special effort to hide my change of location. I found a cottage for let in a small village, and I did not think that anyone would try to find me. Most of my friends had already dropped me”—she paused, obviously trying not to show her hurt—“and I lived there for several years. But one day I left the house early to get to the shops and home again before a rainstorm h
it. I came home to find my cottage a smoking pile of rubble.”
“You’ve had two cottages burn?” Maddie exclaimed, surprised enough to interrupt.
“Yes.” Felicity pressed her lips together and shivered at the memory.
“That does seem more than your share,” Maddie’s father said slowly. “Was it decided what caused that fire?”
“There were gypsies in the neighborhood, then, too, and the villagers blamed it on an accidental or deliberate attempt to cover a robbery,” Felicity told them, shuddering as she spoke. “But I wondered, even then. After that, I moved again, and much farther away. That was when I came north, and after several stays in various villages, I ended up here.” She drew a deep breath and then continued.
“I took a different last name, and again, I said I was a widow. The only person who knew I was here was my cousin, who had to send on my small annuity, and I asked him not to share the location with anyone. I’ve been here for some time, and all was peaceful, and I thought I would be left alone.”
She paused, and Maddie looked from Felicity to her father.
“Another fire. And now we find your divorced husband in disguise, trying to shoot you! Do you think he started the fire?”
“It seems that might be the most obvious answer.” It was her father who spoke. “But if he had already divorced you, why would he want to kill you? Did he hate you so much?”
Felicity looked pale. “I think the letter from my cousin explains it. There is an impetus I had not known. You see, he has married again, and his new wife is expecting a child.”
“So?” Maddie looked from one of them to the other. Felicity did not answer, and her father frowned. “Was that not why he got the divorce to begin with?”
“Yes, but, like most people, I knew little about divorce in the beginning, never expecting such a disgrace to touch my life,” Felicity told them, her voice low. “Now I know more than I should wish. Jerod obtained our divorce from the Chancery Courts. We were divorced; the marriage was ended. I moved away. But that decree did not give him—or me—the right to marry again or have a legitimate heir.”
“No?” Maddie said in surprise. “But—”
“It turns out that there are two more steps to a divorce if one wishes to marry and have children,” Felicity explained, twisting her handkerchief again. “My cousin is a solicitor, and he has explained it to me. The final and necessary step is to obtain a Private Act of Divorcement from Parliament, and that can cost several thousand pounds! When I wrote the letter to my cousin, I asked him to check again and see if there was any record of such an act, of a final divorce, and he says there is not.”
“So your husband was about to have a child, perhaps a son, who—if anyone discovered you were still alive—would not be his legal heir, after all,” John said slowly.
Maddie looked at them both. “You mean, he decided to just see you murdered instead? That is horrendous, how could he be so evil!”
“Yes, but much cheaper than a divorce,” her father pointed out, his voice dry.
Felicity wiped her eyes. “My cousin says that Jerod, apart from the cost of keeping up a new household, has been gambling heavily, and there was no hope of him having the money to apply to Parliament. Apparently he thought this was his only option.”
Maddie shivered, now. “Definitely evil,” she repeated. “Oh, Felicity, what a narrow escape you have had.” She put her arms about her friend.
Giving a strangled sob, Felicity hugged her back. “Thank you for not holding it against me!”
“Certainly not,” Maddie said. Privately, she thought that if someone had told her that a stranger, a divorced woman, had moved into the neighborhood, she would indeed have been shocked. That the “scarlet woman” should turn out to be gentle, seemly, kind-hearted Felicity—it just showed that one should not judge hastily, she told herself.
Her father wheeled his chair about just slightly to view the body again. “What shall we do with this big lump of trash? The squire, who is our local magistrate, is not even home to help us straighten out the legalities.”
“How can you be at fault for shooting an intruder who forced himself into your home at gunpoint?” Maddie demanded, adding, “Although I do wish the squire would come home, and bring Lauryn with him. I know he misses his son, and it was dreadful for them both to lose Tom at such a young age. But Lauryn feels she must stay, since her father-in-law has no other children. We have not seen her in ages.”
“We must not leave his new wife, legalities aside, in limbo. It would be too cruel for Jerod to just disappear and never be seen again,” Felicity said, her mind still on the immediate problem.
“You are too forgiving,” Maddie said. “I” m not sure I could think of his second wife’s feelings so easily, were I in your place.”
“Then I think we shall have to put him into a wooden casket and ship him back to his home, since you know the location,” John said practically. “Maddie, ask Bess to tell Thomas to come inside and I will put him to work on it at once. We cannot leave the body lying about.”
“Ugh, no indeed,” Maddie agreed, then suddenly remembered what Felicity had said at the beginning of their ordeal. “Oh, Bess—you said you did not see her? Oh, pray tell me he has not hurt her!” Maddie went flying for the kitchen, which at first indeed seemed empty, although filled with the smell of burnt meat.
Closer inspection showed that the pantry door had been jammed shut, and inside she found Bess, gagged and bound and lying on the cold tile floor half hidden behind the flour bin.
Maddie hastened to release her. She guided Bess to a chair by the fireplace and put on the tea kettle. Although dry mouthed and somewhat groggy, after a drink of apple cider, Bess told her in no uncertain terms about the intruder who had surprised her.
“While me back was turned, so rude he was, Miss Madeline! And we need to move that kettle of stew, if ye please.”
“A dreadful man, Bess, and I’ll do it. You sit still.” When the sadly burnt stew was put to the side of the hearth, and after the water boiled, Maddie made tea. She gave the older woman a large cup sweetened with honey while she explained about the stranger’s invasion of the house, and how her father had shot him.
“Serves ’im right,” Bess said, with no regret at all. “Ruint my good rabbit stew, ’e did. Now our dinner will be light on the dishes.”
“Don’t worry about dinner; we’ll manage,” Maddie told her. “Oh, but I’d best go and check on Thomas. He might be tied up in the stables for all we know!”
Thomas’s wife looked only mildly concerned. “’E was supposed to be in the back pasture mending the fence, so likely ’e’s been out of the way, Miss Madeline. And ye ’elp me up now so I can see about setting a good blancmange for yer father’s supper.”
Maddie still planned to go out and check on Thomas, her father needed him—but fortunately, their other servant came in the back door just as she was about to go search for him. He had indeed been at the back of the small estate and was astonished to hear about the attack and the shooting.
“It’s from living in yon south,” he said, shaking his head. “Muddles ther brains, it does.”
Maddie took him to the sitting room, and John gave him his orders. The first thing Thomas did was bring a long piece of canvas, roll the body up, and haul it outside in his wheelbarrow. Then Bess scrubbed the floor beneath to get up the bloodstains.
Maddie had taken Felicity up to her room first so she didn’t witness any of the macabre cleanup. As the floor was drying, Maddie rearranged the tables and chairs slightly to hide the darker stains just in case they did not come totally clean.
The dratted man would be a nuisance even in his death, she thought uncharitably. She recalled his efforts to murder Felicity and shuddered. Little did she imagine there could be more unpleasant surprises to come.
Later they had almost finished a light dinner, during which no one had been very talkative, when Thomas came to the doorway. Since the male servant never inte
rrupted a meal, Maddie looked up in surprise.
Her father put down his fork and knife. “Is there a problem, Thomas? Or is there a visitor asking for me?”
He shook his head. “I found some’un in his pocket I thought you’d want to see, Master Applegate.” Thomas brought a wrinkled broadsheet and handed it over, then touched his cap with his usual calm dignity and clomped out.
Maddie and Felicity both watched as her father picked up the grimy, creased sheet and read it, his forehead wrinkled. Then, frowning, he read it again.
“What is it, Papa?” Maddie burst out, unable to be patient any longer.
“First,” he said, “let me explain that I told Thomas to empty the dead man’s pockets so I could examine the contents before we put him into the temporary casket. It seemed quite likely that he might have written down Mrs. Barlow’s present name and location, and I didn’t wish the body to go back with anything on it that might connect it to her.”
“Mercy, what an idea!” Felicity turned pale at just the suggestion.
“Oh, Papa, how clever of you to think of that,” Maddie told him. “But what is this?”
“A flyer offering a reward for information on the whereabouts of Viscount Weller,” her father told her, his voice grim.
“What!” Feeling as if she had been cuffed, Maddie pushed her chair back so abruptly that it almost fell over and rushed to read the paper for herself.
Sure enough, in big bold letters, it said:
20 pd for news of location of Adrian Carter, Viscount Weller
Below, in smaller letters, it told where to send the information—to his mad cousin, of course.
“But how did Felicity’s husband come to have this?” Maddie wondered aloud. “Surely there is no connection between the two?”
Looking thoughtful, her father fingered the sheet. “This has been passed hand to hand many times, I think. There are many low dives in London, my dear, taverns and gambling hells, where denizens of London’s underworld meet and conduct business.”