Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor

by Regina Jeffers

  “Do not cloud your record with the Home Office in defense of mine,” John warned. “I am accustomed to traveling through the world alone.” In the past, when he had made similar declarations, John had not known the constrictions in his throat. Today, he had witnessed how alone he truly was when Isolde Neville had disappeared from his life.

  “You think I give a care what Pennington believes. I judge men on their merits.” The earl leaned forward to press his point. “Undoubtedly, there are some means to prove Pennington has erred. What do you recall of that day in Persia?”

  John scowled before releasing an impatient breath. “Other than Fowler’s customary impetuousness.”

  Wellston’s lips compressed. “Bear with me. I know you the most observant of our unit. Tell me what caught your notice before the melee broke out.”

  John confessed, “My absence from the main tent was part of the reason Sir Carter has placed blame at my door.” When the earl offered no commentary, John closed his eyes to search for the memory. “Each of Mir’s men had taken his turn with Ashmita except for one.”

  The earl whispered so as to keep the memory private. “Jamot. None of us had noticed the Baloch’s reluctance until you brought that fact to our attentions. It was Ashmita who later confirmed Jamot meant to wed her before Mir had turned the girl into the camp whore because of an insolent remark Ashmita made, which Mir termed as questioning his leadership.”

  A restless search for the truth coursed through John’s veins. He had looked for the connection more than once, each time without success. “Jamot’s fists curled and uncurled as often as did Fowler’s. Every time Ashmita called out in pain, the Baloch recoiled in response, and when Talpur claimed his turn with the girl, Jamot’s countenance spoke of Talpur’s betrayal.”

  “They were friends,” Wellston confirmed. “Always sitting together. Likely, the others goaded Talpur into participating. His actions, however, created a chasm between him and Jamot.”

  John’s tone was gruff. “I had it worked out in my head Jamot meant to save the girl, and so when he disappeared from the main tent, I followed. As Mir’s men watched us as carefully as we did them, I pretended to seek the privacy of the surrounding hillside for my personal needs when, in reality, I sought a higher elevation where I could spy on the camp. I specifically searched for the distinctive yellow turban Jamot wore in camp, but he was nowhere to be found, and so I reluctantly returned to the main tent, meaning to share my suspicions with Kerrington, but Fowler’s knighthood had arrived, and we were in a death fight.”

  Wellston’s jaw closed hard. “The yellow cloth,” he said as if he shared John’s memory. “I recall how we found amusement in the Baloch’s wearing such a showy headpiece.”

  John confided, “I thought Jamot had finally succumbed to his desire for the girl or had found the courage to put an end to Ashmita’s suffering and shame, but he was not the one Fowler killed when the duke entered the girl’s tent. In fact, during the skirmish, Jamot never made an appearance. At least, not until we had made our escape. He was a coward several times over.”

  “But he was there,” the earl insisted. “I saw Jamot running from the tent in which Mir had imprisoned Ashmita. He was running toward the women’s quarters. As he offered no opposition, at the time, I ignored him. Perhaps, Mir chose Jamot as his agent in England as punishment for the Baloch’s cowardice.”

  “And sent Talpur as Jamot’s partner for not stopping Fowler from reaching Ashmita’s tent.”

  Something bleak crossed Lord Yardley’s countenance. “We are missing an important fact as to the question of who stole Mir’s jewel.”

  “Pennington has suggested my absence provided me the opportunity to enter Mir’s tent to remove the stone.”

  The earl said sarcastically, “And your supposed motive?”

  John smiled wryly. “To ply my mother with jewels to earn Lady Fiona’s love. Few know my father had attempted to encourage her return with a variety of jewels, and he most certainly failed. I never sought the former baroness’s love, only her recognition.”

  “Such nonsense!” Wellston declared. “None of us even knew of the emerald’s existence until Jamot and Talpur arrived on our shore. Why would you risk searching Mir’s tent in hopes of discovering an emerald for your mother? I have never heard of anything so ridiculous! Pennington and Sir Carter have spent too much time drenched in Lord Sidmouth’s paranoia.”

  It did John’s heart well to hear Wellston’s protests. When Pennington had questioned him regarding the emerald. John’s indignation had blinded him to what all he had shared with his Realm friends. “We will both consider the possibilities. If you concoct a logical scenario, you will send me a post.”

  Wellston grumbled, “I will also send Pennington a not so carefully worded letter containing my thoughts on this matter.”

  “For now, I mean to look kindly upon Margaret and Lionel Wellston before I set out for York.” John led the way to the main stairs.

  The earl’s countenance fell. “What will you do about my wife’s sister?”

  Isolde’s plea came readily to John’s mind. “What is there to do but to carve out a bit of happiness? Satiné is likely never to love me, not as Lady Yardley does you, but I have made a promise to see her content.”

  *

  It was late when he had reached his estate–so late John had instructed his driver not to stop at the main house: He had walked from the stables to enter his manor through the kitchen. Inside, he paused to set his resolve. Never again would Isolde enter his home. Never again would her laughter fill the air as she entertained the estate children. Never again would he smell the spicy oil, which marked her as unique among the women of the ton. During his journey from Northumberland, John had relived yesterday repeatedly. Every detail. Every word. His would be a barren existence in comparison to those few hours of joy he had shared with Isolde. The thought of begetting an heir upon Satiné brought a soft revolt to John’s stomach. Yet, he possessed no choice. It was his responsibility to see the Swenton line continued in the barony. Somehow, he must convince Satiné to remain with him and act the part of his baroness.

  “At least, Prince Henrí has made no claims upon Satiné. Only upon the child.”

  Satisfied he was doing the honorable thing, John turned to the servants’ stairs to make his way to his quarters. Tomorrow, he would face Prince Henrí and attempt to convince Satiné to release the boy and remain with him. The more he thought on it, the less convinced John was as to the prince’s desire for John’s baroness. Obviously, if Prince Henrí had wished Satiné’s return, the baroness would have joined the man long before John had appeared in Vienna. However, from his diplomatic experience with European royalty, he realized illegitimate heirs were often accepted as equals. The prince would welcome Rupert’s presence in his life.

  He entered his room in a state of pure dudgeon. He had lost the one woman he knew he could love wholly, perhaps even to the American doctor, who John had thought looked too kindly upon Isolde’s fine countenance. To complicate matters, he had a scheduled encounter with his wife’s former lover, and John had distanced himself from the only friends he had ever cultivated. Ripping the knot from his limp cravat, John tossed the cloth upon the back of a chair. He could have awakened Mr. Mission to assist him, but John was too exhausted by his life to bother his valet. Instead, he stripped away his jacket before sitting wearily in one of the velvet-covered chairs to remove his boots. It was then he heard it–the rumble of voices coming from his wife’s suite. Could Mr. Coyle be treating Satiné so late in the evening? Had his baroness experienced a setback?

  Moving cautiously through the adjoining sitting rooms, John eased the latch upon his wife’s door. Not wishing to interrupt if Coyle had set himself a task of confronting Satiné regarding her self-inflicted troubles, John listened in on the conversation. Satiné sounded as if she sobbed, but John recognized her customary confrontational tone. Despite his wife’s anxiety, however, the man’s voice was not that
of the cultured physician. Instead, it was a heavily accented one.

  “I know not where the baron has placed his mother’s brooch,” Satiné declared, half pleading and half in defiance. “Take the necklace and the bracelet. It is all I have, but tell me what I wish to know.”

  John’s heart quickened. Did his wife plan to sell the remainder of Lady Fiona’s collection?

  “Without the brooch, the other items are useless.” The man’s voice was familiar, but John could observe no one through the door’s crack. In anticipation of what must be done, he silently removed the gun he carried in a holster about his waist.

  “I will also give you my string of pearls,” Satiné encouraged.

  The man’s weight shifted to the right. John could now see the intruder’s shadow upon the wall behind where his wife stood beside her bed.

  “This is not about the money,” the man insisted. “This is about honor.”

  Immediately, John knew the intruder’s identity. He had heard the accusations repeated upon multiple occasions. Cautiously, he released the door’s latch completely. He would be at a disadvantage: From where the intruder stood, his enemy could view the door’s opening; speed would be of essence if John were to place himself between the man and Satiné. With a deep breath of determination, he shoved the door from his way, sending it barreling into the wall. Diving and rolling across the small open space, he felt the swish of an object over his head. He scrambled to his feet to shove Satiné behind him and to hold his gun at ready–the barrel pointing at the Realm’s most active enemy.

  “Welcome, Lord Swenton,” Jamot snarled. “Your baroness claimed you from the estate.” The Baloch’s gun was aimed at John’s heart.

  He reached behind him with his left arm to make certain Satiné remained secure, but his eyes and attention rested upon Murhad Jamot. “How could I not return to greet such an auspicious guest? Why are you in my home, Jamot?” John demanded.

  The Baloch smiled wryly. “The others have proved they hold no knowledge of Mir’s emerald. Only you have showed yourself deceitful. Give me the brooch and the other pieces, and I will return them to Mir. He will not be pleased to have the emerald broken into multiple stones, but the diamonds should allay my lord’s discontent.”

  A slight smile lifted John’s lips. “And why would I wish to please Mir? Besides, Lady Fiona’s emeralds were hers alone. They were never tainted by the touch of a filthy Baloch.” Contempt filled John’s tone.

  From behind him, Satiné encouraged, “He says he knows where to find Uncle Samuel. I wish justice, Lord Swenton.”

  John wished to catch his wife in a tight grasp and shake some sense into her. However, he dared not turn his head. “Jamot knows no more of Samuel Aldridge than does the Home Office. If the power of the English government cannot find Lord Averette, then one displaced Baloch, without connections, would have no opportunity to do so. Be reasonable, Baroness.”

  She pleaded, “But all my troubles rest at Viscount Averette’s feet. If you wish us to know happiness, you must see to Samuel Aldridge’s death.”

  John could not prevent his scowl of disbelief. However, his Realm training permitted his body to remain alert to Jamot’s ready stance, while his mind revolted against his wife’s bloody suggestion. “I will not kill Lord Averette for you, Baroness. I am an agent of the King, and we do not commit murder. Taking a man’s life without a just cause has no place in a country seeking justice for all its citizens.”

  The message in Jamot’s words was plain when he taunted, “Will your honor prevent you from killing me, Lord Swenton?”

  John answered the unspoken challenge. “I would be pleased to make an exception in your case, Jamot.”

  The Baloch chuckled. “I would expect nothing less, Baron.” Jamot shifted further to the right, and John adjusted his stance, keeping his wife securely behind him. “Tell me, Lord Swenton,” the Baloch said casually, “on the day the duke made his daring rescue, where did you go when you left my lord’s tent?”

  John guarded his words. He spoke in flat tones, which turning the accusation. “I searched for you. I was curious as to why you were not among those who visited Ashmita’s tent.”

  “Why would I wish to soil my manhood with Mir’s harlot? My lord had declared Ashmita worth nothing more than a rupee.” The light from the dying fire shadowed Jamot’s eyes, which gave the Baloch the look of an apparition come to life. Yet, John could hear the strain in his enemy’s tone when the man spoke of Ashmita.

  “Yet, we both are aware you wanted Ashmita as your wife. When Fowler rescued her, Ashmita explained how you meant to marry.” John listened to what Jamot did not say as the silence hung between them.

  The Baloch finally spoke with the absolute knowledge of what all he hid. “Ashmita erred. The day she spoke out against Mir, I begged her to silence her tongue, but innocence and immaturity thinks itself invincible.” Even in the shadows, John could see how the Baloch’s pupils had dilated, a sign of the emotional wave Jamot attempted to conceal. “That day, Ashmita proclaimed her demise, as well as mine. I have been banished from my homeland until I secure the emerald. We both lost our futures that fateful day.”

  John met his enemy’s harried glance full on. “You turned your back on the woman you meant to take to wife. You stood by and permitted Mir’s men to violate her again and again. To claim the innocence which should have been yours,” he challenged.

  “Ashmita’s innocence was Mir’s to claim,” Jamot declared bitterly. “My lord wiped her woman’s blood upon his cloth and wore the material upon his belt as if it were a lady’s favor for her knight.”

  John could feel Satiné trembled, but he could not release his guard in order to comfort her. “How could you bear her screams? Her prayers to die? When you stormed from the tent where Mir had housed our English unit, I thought you had finally discovered your courage.”

  Jamot’s glare raised the hairs upon John’s arm, and he had thought he had misjudged the Baloch; but the Realm’s enemy reined in his anger. “I could do nothing to prevent Mir’s edict.” Bitterness filled his tone. “What good would my death do? It would not keep Ashmita safe. I begged her… Mir had ordered fifty men to know Ashmita, with his being the first and last of her trials.”

  This was a fact of which John had not been aware. The attacks on the girl had begun before the Realm had arrived in Mir’s camp. Their unit had been charged with securing Mir’s cooperation in securing English trade routes. Fowler’s reckless taking of the girl had not pleased Pennington. Fortunately for Fowler, it had been proved at a later time that Mir also had pledged his allegiance to those who regularly interrupted English supply lines. “How many had Ashmita known before Fowler rescued her?”

  “Three and forty.” Jamot’s voice broke in sorrow. “I counted each one. Planned my vengeance when it was over. I had purchased a most potent poison from a merchant train. I meant to taint the wine of each man who had touched her, and then I planned to take Ashmita away to India. I pleaded with her to survive. Only seven more, and she would be free. We would leave her family behind and start anew elsewhere.”

  In his indignation, John nearly forgot the need for caution. “Do you not realize what enduring all those men did to Ashmita? The best surgeon in Bombay could do nothing for her! She was torn inside. The surgeon said if she had not already conceived, Ashmita would never have known children. The girl spent her months of child bearing in bed so she might deliver Sonali. Fowler married her to provide the child both his name and a future. Another seven men would likely have killed Ashmita. She was bleeding inside.”

  The truth rested baldly between them. “You lie!” Jamot exclaimed, although his expression said the Baloch knew otherwise. “She knew my plans for our future. Ashmita was strong.”

  “Of course she was strong. I know no other who could have survived what Fowler’s wife did. She lived for her child.” John paused briefly, before he prompted. “Did you speak to Ashmita? When you left the group tent, you went to her, did
you not? You spoke to her of your desire to take her away. Did Ashmita rebuke your suggestions?”

  Jamot appeared broken. “She spat at me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Cursed me for permitting her agony.”

  The missing details for which he and Wellston had searched had arrived. “You were in her tent when the forty-third attacker had entered. You hid. You closed your eyes to the horror of watching another violate the woman of your heart.” John felt Satiné’s shudder, but he continued his probe, searching for long-forgotten answers. “When Fowler burst in and dispatched Ashmita’s assailant, you escaped from the back of the tent. You ran away. Lord Yardley recalls seeing you in the area of the women’s tents.”

  “Mir would have discovered my intentions if he found me in Ashmita’s tent. He had forbidden any man to step within unless he would use Ashmita as a harlot. When Tantur stopped for prayers before entering her tent, I hid behind the screen. I watched as silent tears streamed down Ashmita’s cheeks. Her eyes pleaded with me to do the deed by which Fowler declared himself her hero. Instead, of using my knife to save her, I slit an opening in the tent’s side to escape.”

  The emerald. John’s mind searched for the connection. The scene from the Baloch camp played out before him, the unexpected solution mesmerizing him: so obvious, it angered John he had not realized it earlier. “You stole Mir’s emerald.” John whispered into the silence. “You meant to offer it to Ashmita to earn her forgiveness, but even the gem was not enough for her to look upon your countenance with kindness.” A barely contained fury clamped John’s teeth together. “You have tormented my friends for four years when you had possession of the emerald all along!” Righteous anger streamed through his tone.

  A hard, brittle laugh escaped Jamot’s lips. “If I held the emerald, I would have returned it to Mir and have blamed one of you. For a man recognized for his logical mind, you have erred again, Lord Swenton.”

  “Erred how?” John challenged as he edged closer. “Do you mean to insist you did not steal the emerald?”