by Tia Siren
The drawing room was full of well-wishers, dressed in black and white. It was a large room which Adele had tastefully decorated in pastel shades of peach.
''You know, it's such a pity Peter didn't live to see you finish your decorating work. You have really transformed this place,'' Eleanor Pimms said as she poured Reverend Smith his third cup of tea. She was the same age as Adele, but plain. Her mousy hair was always unkempt, and her stocky figure never fitting her clothes.
''Yes, it is a pity,'' Adele replied shifting her weight onto her other buttock. The sofa was too hard and, after a while, a position change was necessary.
Reverend Smith was a kind man, always at pains to avoid confrontation, but he felt the word 'pity' was misplaced in this context. ''You pity a dog or a cat. In Peter's case, surely you should use the word disaster or catastrophe.'' He sank his teeth into a piece of Lemon Sponge Cake, sending sugar flying over the easy chair he was sitting in.
''Yes, of course,'' Emily felt chastised. ''Will you marry again do you think?''
Adele threw her hands in the air almost colliding with the potted palm balancing precariously on an ornamental table which was too small for it. ''Never, never again.''
''Why, dear Lady Vaughan, would you have us believe that your marriage was so bad that it has put you off forever?'' Reverend Smith asked.
''Of course not, but I would like to have some freedom away from the demands of a man.''
Emily knew what she meant. Emily was Adele's best friend. She was married to Bartholomew Pimms, the country's leading barrister. He was very demanding, both inside and outside the bedroom. ''If my husband passed away, I would do the same as you, Adele.''
''In your case, I agree,'' Reverend Smith said, dropping his guard.
''What do you mean?'' Emily asked. Reverend Smith wasn't quick to answer, desperately seeking a way out.
''I think he means, you would never find another husband as gracious and loving as Bartholomew.'' Adele smiled, Reverend Smith nodded enthusiastically.
''Exactly what I meant,'' he said, knowing no shame.
''No, I shall never marry again. I will travel and enjoy my freedom. There is so much to see, and life is short. Today is more than adequate testimony to that,'' Adele said.
''Where is your husband today?'' Reverend Smith asked Emily. ''He and Peter were such good friends, I'm surprised he wasn't at the funeral.''
''In court. Seemingly a very urgent case came up yesterday, and he was called to the bar.'' Emily had been relieved when he'd told her he wasn't coming. He would have dominated the whole day and made it insufferable for her. The sound of his booming voice embarrassed her.
''Do you have any sherry?'' Reverend Smith asked.
''Of course. I didn't know you drank,'' Adele said.
''Just now and then,'' he lied. ''We can make a toast, to widows everywhere and their freedom.''
When Reverend Smith finally got up to leave, he was quite unsteady on his feet. Adele looked at the sherry bottle; it was more than half empty. When Emily waved goodbye, Adele went to her bedroom and left the servants to clean the mess. Why do funerals always degenerate into drink, she wondered. She ran the bell for her ladies maid and waited. As she sat on the bed, she told herself again, she wanted to be free, no second man.
*****
''Ladies, more champagne, I think.'' Nicholas Geraghty let go of another cork. As it shot off to the ceiling, he put the bottle to his mouth and gulped the mass of white bubbles that exploded from it. The ladies giggled and applauded as he swallowed mouthful after mouthful.
Nicholas, the heir to the Earldom of Borrowby, liked women. There was nothing he or anybody else could do about it. And women liked him, so much in fact, that he was never short of a pretty face to talk to, flirt with, or worse. Twenty-eight, and still not married, he was the talk of society. He thought it was his looks that did it, but he was wrong. Although very handsome, women found he had more qualities than just his looks. He was a nonconformist, something different in a sea of social similarity. He wore different clothes, told people what he thought and never backed down from an argument or a fight.
Nicholas lived in a wing of Lotherton Hall, a stately home which had been in the family for three hundred years. His father was disappointed in him, calling him lazy, and a womanizer. He was rich enough not to have to work, and didn't. But what nobody knew, was that he donated a lot of money to the local orphanage. As a boy, he'd been playing in a wood on the boundaries of their three thousand acre estate and seen a group of four young boys playing on the other side of the wall. He'd talked to them and was horrified to learn that they were orphans. He was, even more, horrified to learn that they received regular beatings, and the only prospects they had, was a life of near slavery in the local tin mine. When he was older, he'd arranged for all of those boys to have jobs on one of the farms his father owned. At least, they'd be outside in the fresh air, he'd thought. One of them was now a farm manager, with a family and two lovely girls. The other three had all married local women and were great father's and husbands.
Lady Emily, Lady Georgina, and Lady Charlotte were all just nineteen and the latest in a wave of women who fancied their chances at being Lady Gerathy. He jumped back onto the sofa, champagne in hand, landing between the three beauties. Each of them looked at him affectionately, as they held out their empty glasses to be charged.
''Why have you never married?'' Emily asked, her eyes fluttering at him.
''I enjoy my life as it is. Look, today I have the pleasure of the company of three beautiful women. I couldn't do that if I was married.'' Nicolas leaned to Emily and kissed her on the cheek. She blushed and giggled. The other two glared at her.
''But you should marry before you become even older,'' Charlotte added.
''I am still young, and I have time. Why marry when I'm having so much fun.''
''But what about an heir,'' Georgina asked, genuinely concerned for him.
''Ah, well, that may be a reason to marry. The only one as far as I can see. I suppose one day I will be forced into it.'' His eyes looked momentarily sad. ''Now, which one of you lovely ladies would like to accompany me to my chamber?'' he asked unashamedly.
All three gasped. A thought too dangerous to contemplate, yet enticing, appealing, and perhaps the only way to achieve their goal.
As Lady Emily and Lady Charlotte descended the sandstone staircase to their carriages, they looked up at the first floor and wondered what was happening behind the curtains. Lady Georgina, the most beautiful of the three, had been the first to nod at Nicholas' proposal. In an instant, she'd found herself upstairs with her gown around her ankles and Nicholas lying between her wide open legs.
*****
''But how can that be true?'' Adele said.
The man sitting opposite her was large and intimidating. A fighter and a small time criminal. When he'd arrived at the house, the butler had wanted to call the police, but Adele had insisted on seeing him. He'd made such a fuss, and she didn't want the man to strike Arthur. When he'd taken off his cap, she'd gasped at his shaven head. Until then, he'd looked half reasonable, but totally bald he looked evil.
''I'm telling you it's true. Your husband had a lucky escape.''
''What do you mean lucky? How is dying, lucky?''
''If you knew the people I do, then you would think him lucky to have died rather than fall into their hands.''
Adele wrung her hands and threw her eyes to the ceiling in despair. How could he have done it to her? She'd loved him, looked after him, decorated his house and tried to have his children. Tried so hard. ''What does it all mean, I still don't fully understand.''
Giles Kellet's hands were large, and Adele jumped when he clapped them together in frustration. He knew that the lady was innocent, a gentle creature, but he was beginning to find her ignore of her late husband’s affairs, frustrating. ''I will explain it one more time.'' He leaned forward and lowered his voice, hoping she would understand this time. ''Your husband paid m
e to murder someone of his acquaintance. I'm not a murderer,'' he said almost proudly as if it was a lifetime achievement. ''I passed the order on to someone I know, who is very much a murderer.'' Adele nodded, her brain full of horrible images. ''The problem is, your husband died without paying us. As his widow, we are appealing to your kindness to see that your husband's debt is honored.''
''But........'' Adele held her breath and tried to express herself clearly. ''Did the murder take place?'' She winced. She sounded as if she was involved, a party to the deadly deed.
''Not yet, but it will. After you've paid us.''
''Mr. Kellet,'' she doubted that was his real name. ''if you haven't carried out my husband's wishes, then how can you justify your fee?''
''The deal was, he would pay us upfront, and he didn't.''
Adele had a sudden rush of bravery. ''Quite preposterous, coming in here, asking me to pay for something my husband allegedly asked you to do. I will not pay. The police would be very interested in your story.''
Kellet's eyes narrowed and his expression sinister. He leaned even further forward on his chair and grasped Adele's knee. When he looked at her, he saw fear, genuine fear and he loved it. ''You will pay, and the person will be killed. If you do not, I will let it be known in society that your husband was a murderer. What will that do to your reputation?'' He let go of her, and she instantly began to rub the place where his hands had gripped her.
''But I don't want to be responsible for.....''
''Shut up you stupid woman,'' he lost his temper. ''You have two weeks to pay or face the consequences.''
Adele began to weep. ''How much is it?'' She just wanted him to go.
''Thirty thousand pounds.''
''But I don't have that much. I could never pay you.....''
She saw his eyes shift around the room, looking at all the valuable porcelain. ''Ah, but you're wrong aren't you? You can pay, you just need to....'' he searched for the words. ''Liquidize your assets. This house, your land, your possessions, I'm sure they are worth enough to cover it.''
Adele didn't know how much everything was worth, but she did know she didn't have that kind of money in cash, not even a third of it. Kellet stood up and looked at her. She seemed to have shrunk since his arrival in her house. She'd sat upright and attentively, now she was hunched in the chair, her head hanging, and her hands white as they clasped each other.
******
Bartholomew Pimms looked like his name, brash. Tall, well over six feet, he was twenty-nine and already at the top of his profession. Dressed in a bright red coat with a yellow waistcoat, he was barrel-chested, much like many of the criminals he defended. Adele imagined him in his wig, playing to the jury in a courtroom. Making events sound more dramatic than they actually were.
''Elanor told me you wanted to talk to me,'' he said, as he sat in the same seat Kellet had, just a few hours earlier.
Adele didn't like him, but she knew of nobody else better placed to advise her. She hated having to reveal this to him. She knew how he would react when she told him. He would gloat, he'd always told her, her husband was a good for nothing. You should have married me, was another statement she expected him to use. ''I have a problem of the gravest nature.''
Bartholomew leaned back. Very little appeared grave to him anymore. He knew all the country's worst criminals, and he'd seen most of life's gruesome twists. ''Tell me.''
''There was a man here, this afternoon. A terrifying man.'' She fought more tears. The ringlets in her hair bobbing up and down as she shook her head in disbelief. ''He asked me to pay him thirty thousand pounds.''
''For what,'' he said in his courtroom voice, his hand flicking across his large hooked nose. Something he did when he didn't believe what he was being told.
''Listen, Bartholomew, please don't let this get out.'' He nodded. ''The man said that Peter had asked him to kill someone and that he hadn't paid him for doing so.''
Bartholomew raised his eyebrows. This was graver than he had expected. ''For murdering who, exactly?''
''He didn't tell me.''
''Did he carry out Peter's request?''
''I asked him that too. He said no. He told me Peter had promised to pay him in advance.''
''Why didn't you tell him to call off the deed and go away.''
''I did, sort of. But he threatened me. He's going to reveal the details to society if I don't pay.''
''Scoundrel. You should have married me, Adele. When you had the chance. Why didn't you?''
She wanted to tell him the reason. The real reason. Because I think you are conceited, pompous and ugly. But she needed him to help her. ''It's a long time ago.''
''But I loved you. You turned me down in a brutal, frank, manner.''
''Bartholomew, please. I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry. But we can't go back. What good is it dragging up the past?''
He nodded. ''But I told you Peter was a good for nothing.''
''What do you propose I do?'' she said, trying to drive him in another direction.
''Tell the police,'' he said, simply. Was that all he could come up with, she thought? A barrister, in the most important court in the land, and all he could tell her was something a child could have come up with.
''But it will become common knowledge if I do that.''
''Yes, most likely it will.''
He wasn't helping at all. ''Then I will pay him. I don't want Peter's good name to be dragged through the mud, and I certainly don't want to be cast from society, I have nothing else.''
''Those are your choices. Either tell the police or pay him. But if you pay him you will become an accessory to murder.'' Adele hadn't thought of that. So I face prison for murder, or being cast out of society into a life of shame, she concluded, and there was nothing Bartholomew Pimms could do to help her.
*****
Nicholas Geraghty lay in bed and glanced at Georgina. She was his most beautiful conquest of the year so far, and there had been many. He stroked her naked back as she lay face down. She was still fast asleep. Nicholas was a demanding lover, and he'd totally exhausted her. She groaned as his hand slid down her back, onto her buttocks. Just as his hand was about to slip somewhere indelicate, there was a loud knock at the door. He jumped out of bed and covered himself in a dressing gown. He opened the door slightly; it was the butler, Manningham.
''Sir, Earl Geraghty has asked me to tell you he expects you in his study in ten minutes.'' Manningham knew Nicholas had a woman in his bedroom. He usually threw the door wide open when he knocked, but opening it just slightly was a sign that he was hiding someone.
''Oh, how tiresome. What does he want?'' Nicholas swept his hand through his unkempt hair.
''I'm afraid he didn't tell me what he wants to talk to you about sir.''
He returned to bed and pulled the covers off Georgina, who felt a sudden rush of cold air and woke up. She rolled over, revealing herself to him. He was sorely tempted by her, but his father was fierce sometimes, and he wanted to avoid confrontation.
''Get dressed, you have to leave,'' he said.
She looked insulted. She'd expected to be invited for breakfast, perhaps to meet his parents, and spend a lazy day, walking the gardens and getting to know him better. If she had known him better, she would have realized that he did this with every woman obliging enough to share his bed. He had sex with them and kicked them out of the house without further ado.
After he's seen her down the rear staircase, he washed and dressed. He walked down the long landing and took the grand staircase to the entrance hall where his father's dogs were lying. One of them got up and walked with him to his father's study. His father was a fair man, long suffering. He knew his son had a heart of gold, but he was angry with him on this particular morning, very angry.
Nicholas stood in front of his father's desk, his father seated behind it. He stood like a boy summoned to the headmaster's room after some terrible misdemeanor.
''Georgina Fletcher,'' his father said. ''Where
is she?''
''I have no idea,'' Nicholas replied. Technically he didn't know where she was, exactly. But he did know her whereabouts, in a carriage he had provided, on her way home.
''Don't give me that. You know darn well where she is. She's in your bedroom.''
''No father, she is not.'' He tried not to grin.
''Well, she was a few moments ago.''
Should I deny it, Nicholas thought. It had never worked before. ''Yes, she spent the night with me.''
He had never seen his father so angry before. ''Do you know who she is?'' he snarled. His gray hair flopped over his forehead as he looked down at his clenched fists.
''Er.......not exactly......she's.''
''She's the daughter of Lord Fletcher of Banbury.''
The name meant nothing to Nicholas. “Who's that?''
''Who's that?'' his father mocked. ''He's in charge of the police. The most powerful man in the bloody country.'' He didn't often swear. ''And you had to bed his daughter,'' Nicholas noted his father's white knuckles. ''Do you know how awkward this is?''
Nicholas shook his head. In reality, he didn't care. He'd had his fun with Georgina. She'd been good in bed, remarkably good. One of the best ever.
''You use women. You think they are here to serve your seemingly insatiable sexual appetite,'' his father said. Nicholas wanted to nod because that's exactly what he though the role of women was in society. He'd once shocked a friend by telling him that the only place he wanted to see women was in his bed with their legs open. ''Her father has demanded an apology. Her mother was out of her mind with worry when she didn't come home with the others. You will travel to Lord Fletcher's office, go down on your knees and beg his forgiveness. Do you understand?''