by Sandra Heath
Behind the veil she would now be obliged to wear for another six months, her eyes were red from weeping. She now had nothing, and no one. The lawyer she’d engaged to deal with the bank had presented her with a bill after concluding—rather too swiftly for her liking—that the books were entirely in order.
Whatever had happened to the Rutherford fortune had been her father’s doing, not that of the Unicorn Bank. Ellie could not believe this, and strongly suspected her lawyer of taking payment from both her and someone at the bank, but for the moment there was nothing she could do to fight the situation.
Her father had left a scribbled note telling her that there would be sufficient funds from the selling of Rutherford Park to support her, but it soon transpired that his hope in this respect was in vain. The same lawyer informed her there would be no residue whatsoever, and advised that severe retrenchment was her only option.
Retrenchment? She had already been forced into that by the iniquitous bank, and could retrench no further. Rutherford Park was about to be seized because of the mortgage of which the Rutherford family had known nothing, and by further ill luck, all Ellie’s mother’s jewelry had been kept at the Unicorn, which had promptly seized it. What was left with which to retrench? The nightmare seemed never ending, and Ellie had no idea what to do next.
How could her father have left her alone like this? No matter how desperate the situation, they would have been able to face it together. As it was ... she had no one. Her only remaining relative was an estranged maternal uncle she hadn’t seen in fourteen years, and whose whereabouts were completely unknown. And even if she knew, there was no guarantee he would be prepared to give her a roof over her head.
What alternatives were there? She closed her eyes. Seeking employment was essential. But in what capacity? She wasn’t fluent in languages, music, or art, which rather precluded any thought of becoming a governess. Her skill with needle and thread was adequate, and she wasn’t even good-looking enough—or forward enough—to consider the world of theater, even supposing it would consider her. In fact, she was useless for everything. As far as she could see, there was only one respectable course open, and that was to seek a position as companion.
Tears wended down her cheeks, and she cursed a society that left gentlewomen so ill-equipped to cope with hardship. When this odious year had commenced she had been so happy, residing in luxury at Rutherford Park, lacking for nothing, and adored by her doting parents. Then her mother had fallen ill and died three agonizing months later. Next had been the Unicorn’s shocking letter and her father’s suicide. Now it was up to her how the future unfolded.
She bent to place the asters on the freshly dug earth, and the petals fluttered prettily in the breeze. Determined not to start crying again, she began to walk back toward the entrance, but then halted as one of the gardeners called after her.
“Madam? A word if you please ... ?”
She turned. The man, elderly, bearded, and dressed in shabby brown, had snatched off his floppy felt hat as he walked quickly after her. “Begging your pardon, madam, but I’ve just found something among the leaves that I seem to recall was always on the lady’s grave next to the new one of this morning.”
“My mother’s grave? Elizabeth Mary Rutherford?”
He nodded. “That’s the one, madam, and if she was your mother, then you have my condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“This is what I found. It just appeared on the grave one day about a month after the lady was laid to rest.” The gardener held out a little ceramic disk, exquisitely painted with her mother’s first names in gold and a wreath of flowers of such delicate colors that they seemed almost ghostly. Ellie did not need to be told who had made it, for the only person capable of such beautiful work was her mother’s estranged brother, John Arbuthnot Billersley. “Did you see anyone leave it?” she asked.
The gardener shook his head. “No, madam, and I’d forgotten all about it until it turned up among the leaves a moment or so ago. Then I remembered which grave it had been on, and so called you quickly before you left. I thought that as you were the only mourner today, you might wish to either keep the disk, or replace it on the grave.”
“I’ll put it back on the grave,” Ellie said, then searched in her reticule for a coin to give him for his trouble, even though she could ill afford such a gesture.
“Thank you kindly, madam,” he replied, and went back to his work.
Ellie returned to the grave and laid the disk against her mother’s headstone. Then she looked down at it. How had Uncle John known about his sister’s demise? He hadn’t been in touch with the family in at least fourteen years, and they certainly had not known how to contact him. Yet somehow he had found out, not only about her death, but exactly where she had been buried. It was a mystery. Except ...
From nowhere she suddenly remembered Toby Richardson, her uncle’s old friend from Oxford University. As young men they had stayed at Rutherford Park one summer, and as far as she knew they had remained friends ever after. Maybe Toby would know where her uncle was now? As she recalled, Toby had intended to become a barrister, so maybe her good-for-nothing lawyer would at least be of assistance in tracing him.
With new resolve she again began to walk toward the entrance of the burial ground, but then she halted once more because another funeral procession was just arriving. And what a funeral. There was a great line of carriages, and countless mourners. Someone important was about to be laid to rest.
Rather than push her way through, Ellie decided to wait discreetly at the side of the path until the cortege had passed, but as she did so she recognized Freddie Forrester-Phipps among the family mourners. This time he was in full black. This was the funeral of Freddie’s father, lately senior partner of the Unicorn Bank.
Ellie’s feelings were very mixed as the coffin was carried past. How grand a farewell for Albert Forrester-Phipps; how small and private a parting for Josiah Rutherford. It was as if fate wished to punish her still more by rubbing salt in the wounds of grief. She observed the great phalanx of mourners from behind the anonymity of her veil, and to her shock suddenly found herself looking at Athan. He was among a group of gentlemen immediately behind the family, a position so prominent that once again she wondered exactly what connection he had with the Unicorn Bank.
The breeze played with her veil, and for a moment her face was revealed. As luck would have it, Athan happened to glance toward her at that very moment. His lips formed her name. “Ellie?” His steps faltered, and then he hastily withdrew from the procession, standing on the other side of the path until the last mourner had passed.
Her heart had almost stopped within her, and she thought of pushing out through the gate to the hackney coach, but then thought again. What was to be gained by such a flight? Besides, now that she knew he very definitely had something to do with the Unicorn Bank, perhaps there were things she ought to say to him. So she remained where she was, steeling herself inside for the coming encounter.
Removing his top hat fully, he came toward her. “We meet again, Ellie,” he said, sketching a bow and then trying to see her face, which was once again hidden by her veil.
“It would seem so, sir.” His closeness reached out to her like a magnet, and she felt her heartbeats quicken. She had to watch how the breeze ruffled its invisible fingers through his dark hair, and how his lashes cast shade upon his eyes in the autumn sunlight.
The attraction she felt was almost unbearable, making her want to fling caution to the winds and slide her arms around his waist and kiss his lips. Oh, to be held by him, to be pressed close, cherished, needed, desired.... Wild emotions swung so bewilderingly through that she could barely assemble rational thought, let alone confront him with candid questions about the bank.
“Why so formal, Ellie? I believe that at our first meeting you called me Athan.”
“Our first meeting is best forgotten, sir.”
“I don’t wish to forget it.”
&
nbsp; “Then perhaps your redheaded ward-who-is-not-a-ward would prefer you to forget it,” she replied, taking a stab in the dark about his relationship with the lady of whom he and Freddie Forrester-Phipps had spoken.
He regarded her. “I had no idea you could overhear so much at the bank.”
“You and Mr. Forrester-Phipps were not exactly whispering, sir.” She turned back her veil and revealed her face to him again.
“That is true.” He took in every detail of her face, the contours of her cheeks and lips, the sorrow in her lovely blue eyes, and the shadows that told of nights weeping into her pillow. She was a living dream, a mirror image that had haunted him from the moment he looked down from the window of the bank and saw her there as she was now, her veil raised, her sweet features revealed for all to see ... for him to see....
He pulled himself together. “Perhaps it is time we introduced ourselves properly. I’m—”
“No! Don’t tell me, for I do not wish to know.” The perverse reaction was instant and undeniable. Learning his name would somehow confirm the attraction she felt toward him, an attraction to which she was sure she had no right.
“Then at least let me know who you are,” he said, not understanding her at all, but wishing he did.
She hesitated. “My name is Rutherford,” she said then, “and I am the daughter of the late Mr. Josiah Rutherford.”
He didn’t respond, but it was clear he was shaken.
“I see the name is not lost upon you, sir.”
“I ... know that his circumstances were very unfortunate,” he said carefully.
“My father’s circumstances were more than just unfortunate, sir!” Her anger surged. “Although, no doubt that is how the Unicorn Bank prefers to describe what happened.”
“Do I detect a note of accusation?”
“Yes, sir, you do. The Unicorn Bank should be denounced throughout the land.”
“May I ask why?”
There seemed no cunning in his voice, no hint of an attempt to fob her off, just a genuine puzzlement. She drew back slightly, beginning to hope that he didn’t deserve castigation after all. “What is your connection with the bank, Athan?” she asked.
“I am a partner.”
Her heart hardened again. “Indeed? Then you know exactly why I feel as I do.”
“No, Ellie, I do not. If there has been some regrettable misunderstanding ...”
“Is that what you’d call it? Oh, well, I suppose the deliberate ruination of an honest man is regrettable, but it was certainly not a misunderstanding! Your bank embezzles its customer’s money, sir.”
“So the single use of my first name was an unfortunate slip of the tongue, was it?”
“Yes.”
He drew a long breath. “I trust you can substantiate the charge you make concerning the bank?”
“You know I can’t.”
“With all due respect, Ellie, I don’t know anything.”
She gazed at him. “I would like to believe you, sir; indeed, I would like it more than you can know, but the fact is that you must be lying. You have to know all about it because you are a partner in the bank, and were there that day, when it was plain you held some sway with my father’s accusers. My family’s fortune remains in the bank’s clutches, and my father’s good name has been besmirched. He’s innocent, sir. It’s the bank that was—and still is—guilty!”
“Ellie, I think we should discuss this properly, and more calmly. Perhaps this is not at all the wisest place.”
“Even if we were to discuss it over tea with the Archbishop of Canterbury, it would make no difference. While this vile stigma attaches to my father’s memory, you and I can never indulge in polite conversation,” she replied. She caught up her heavy black skirts to walk past him, but he so far ignored the rules as to catch her arm and make her stop again.
“Forgive me, Ellie, but I still think you owe me an explanation.”
“I owe you an explanation?” she cried incredulously. “Sir, the facts are that your bank cheated my father out of his fortune, and then foreclosed upon him. It secretly raised a heavy mortgage that he did not take out, confiscated my mother’s jewels, and is even now seizing my home. It not only robbed my father of everything he possessed, but of his will to live as well.”
She pointed an accusing finger back at the fresh grave. “Your bank did that, sir, and I will find a way of exposing you and your fellow partners for the scoundrels you are. I hope you never sleep easily in your bed again.”
“And I hope that I do, Ellie,” he countered, still holding her arm. “I fear I cannot promise immediate action on your complaints as I am about to leave the country for a while, but on my return you have my word that I will look into the matter.”
“The word of a partner in the Unicorn Bank is worthless, sir.” With that she wrenched herself free and ran from the burial ground. She was sobbing so much that when she reached her waiting hackney coach she could barely instruct the driver to take her back to her lodgings.
But as the shabby vehicle lurched away in the direction of Tyburn, she knew that her attraction toward Athan was as strong as ever. She wanted to despise him; instead, she yearned for him. He had awakened senses that ran through her blood like wildfire. No longer an innocent miss whose unfulfilled existence had seemed too set to continue blandly to the grave, she had become a woman, newly conscious of passion and her need for love.
It was as if Athan had entered a dark room and lighted a candle, and she could only burn upon the flame he’d created.
If she had remained at the burial ground for just five minutes more, she would have witnessed an extraordinary display of unfilial fury from Freddie Forrester-Phipps. Ever since his father’s death, Freddie had been dogging the family lawyer, pestering him to know the exact terms of the will.
At last, provoked beyond endurance that this pestering should continue even at the graveside, the harassed man of the law blurted that Freddie, even though the only child, would get nothing at all. The entire fortune had been left to his first cousin, who had behaved more like a son to the dead man than Freddie ever had.
The revelation led to an unseemly tussle at the graveside between Freddie and his cousin, which only ended when they were pulled apart. Freddie insisted that the lawyer repeat what he had said, and in this the gentleman obliged him. There was no doubt, he said, that Freddie was now reaping a harvest of his own sowing. With his dissolute, reckless, careless existence, he had so alienated his own father that he’d been entirely disinherited. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Chapter Five
Just over two months later, on the late evening of New Year’s Day, 1805, a pony and trap halted by the lodge at the turnpike gate at Nantgarth in the Welsh county of Glamorgan. The main road from Cardiff to Merthyr, some seventeen miles away to the north, passed along the lower slopes of the valley. So filled with ruts, potholes, and rivulets, the road was a grim prospect even in daylight, let alone at night.
It was cold and dark, and the weather was wet and windy. Collieries, iron works, and other industries scarred the otherwise picturesque valley of the River Taff, and the looming mountains were scattered with isolated farms and countless sheep, but the drenching first-of-January murk obliterated everything.
The brightly lit Griffin Inn stood just beyond the gate, its creaking sign depicting the mythical beast, half eagle, half lion, that was the badge of the local landowner, Lord Griffin. There was merriment within, laughter and singing so raucous that it could be heard above the racket of the weather.
Bedraggled curls clung to Ellie’s forehead as she huddled on the trap beside her uncle, John Billersley, whom she had managed to trace through his old friend Toby Richardson, now a successful London barrister. It had been Toby who’d informed him of her mother’s death, and who’d written urgently to John on learning of Ellie’s circumstances. She’d been aware of something odd about her uncle’s whereabouts, for Toby had declined to tell her anything about him u
ntil he’d had a response to the letter. Only then, when clearly given permission, had he divulged the address.
As soon as she’d met John Billersley on alighting from the stagecoach in Cardiff, she’d realized he was no longer a wealthy man. She also soon realized that it was no coincidence that he’d left a beautifully decorated ceramic disk on her mother’s grave, for he now depended upon the making of porcelain for his livelihood.
He had always been a talented artist, and Ellie remembered how her parents had teased him about his eccentric hobby of decorating plates. The last few hours had taught her that the uncle of the present did not in the least resemble that uncle of the past. What on earth had happened during the intervening years? She knew it must have been something calamitous.
He had no wife or children, having always been a bachelor, and his china works were, he said, very small, new, and barely productive, but he nevertheless welcomed her into his life, and for that she would be eternally grateful. So she clung unashamedly to his arm, so glad to have him that it was all she could do not to keep crying.
Her hooded traveling cloak was soaked, and she was colder than she ever remembered before. She was weary after three days of winter traveling from the Isle of Wight, and relieved that her new life had begun. Turning to look back along the turnpike, she couldn’t even see the cliff-enclosed pass where the Taff, a fine salmon river, roared south through rocks toward Cardiff and the sea, some eight miles distant.
Lord Griffin’s splendid castle home was perched like an aerie on the east cliff, but she had not seen so much as a single light to betray its presence. All she knew was that it was there, and that Lord Griffin, who had lost his wife fairly recently, was her uncle’s landlord, and famous for his stud of milk white horses. Ellie somehow pictured his lordship as a middle-aged, possibly even elderly, widower who smelled of stables and seldom removed his boots.
John Billersley was tall and thin, with slender, artistic fingers, but his sad, rather kindly face put his niece oddly in mind of a benevolent Great Dane dog. He wore his graying hair long enough to be tied back with a stiff navy blue ribbon, although at the moment his dripping hat was tugged down so low that not a lock could be seen.