Colonel Fitzwilliam's Challenge

by Jennifer Joy

  Adélaïde wished she could spit like a man. She would aim for his face.

  “Very well. Forgive me, Miss Mauvier, for I have sinned. Where shall I start….” Yvette sat down, drumming her fingers on the arm of the chair.

  Richard exchanged coaches with Mr. Thorpe on a busy piece of street. Now, he sat in a coach with the doctor and two other officers dressed in somber black. An appropriate color, Richard though, considering what they were about to do.

  Mr. Thorpe said, “Remember, Colonel, we must do just as we planned. Otherwise, we risk losing everything. If he does not confess, we may not be able to save Miss Mauvier’s reputation in time, and I will have no authority to help you.”

  Richard nodded. He had never felt more serious in his whole life than he did at that moment.

  With one more block to pass before they arrived to the open space of the Horse Guard’s and Dovedale’s office, Richard looked out the window to calm his taut nerves.

  A movement behind the nearest building caught his attention. He turned his head to look out the window.

  “Stop! Stop the coach!” he said, his hand already on the door latch.

  A hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Colonel, we must not deviate from the plan.”

  “The plan might have to change. I know that girl. She is one of Miss Mauvier’s seamstresses. She should not be here.”

  He poked his head out of the window, and Miss Mary ran to them. When it became apparent that she would enter the coach, Richard sat back down, giving her room to jump in. The officers scooted over to give her room.

  Before she sat, he asked, “What on earth is wrong, Miss Mary? What are you doing here?”

  Her chest heaving from exertion and agitation, she said, “He is evil! And he has Miss Adélaïde!”

  Chapter 31

  Fire burst through Richard’s veins, making him feel like he must do something or else explode. “We cannot stick to the plan, Mr. Thorpe. I cannot walk in there and try to get a confession, knowing Miss Mauvier to be in danger, without doing some bodily harm.”

  “This might serve to our advantage after all,” said Mr. Thorpe, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Looking at Miss Mary, he asked, “Does Dovedale know that we suspect him?”

  “Nothing of the sort was said, but I cannot know for sure.”

  Richard shook his head. “He must know someone was onto him, or else he would not have bothered to cast the blame on Miss Mauvier, and implicate me.” The more he thought of how easily Dovedale had incriminated him and how easily he would cast off the life of an innocent woman, the more his blood boiled. He needed to move.

  Without waiting for further directions, Richard hopped out of the carriage, followed closely by Miss Mary. Mr. Thorpe stayed on his heels with his two men.

  “Do not act too rashly, Colonel,” he said before Richard charged through the entry doors.

  Richard paused to look back at Mr. Thorpe, but he could not promise anything, so he said nothing. He would do what needed to be done— rash or not.

  Staying on the toes of his boots to keep the noise down, Richard went up the marble stairs. The chill did nothing to calm the heat coursing through him. He controlled his breathing to slow his heart, lest its loud pounding alert Dovedale to his presence.

  His focus on the door leading to Dovedale and Adélaïde, he headed straight for it without hesitation. A dramatic entry would give some element of confusion, and confusion would give him the precious seconds he needed to assess the situation.

  Turning the doorknob, he kicked the door with force as he shoved it open, causing the oak to slam against the opposite wall.

  Dovedale stood, fumbling with something on his desk. Adélaïde sat bound behind him, a red welt on her cheek.

  “Richard, he has a pistol!” she shouted, while she lashed out in vain with her feet.

  Years of hunting pheasants on his family’s estate combined with years of training arms in His Majesty’s Army. Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached for the loaded pistol at his side, pulling it out and cocking the hammer just in time.

  They stood in front of each other, pistols aimed and ready. A standoff.

  “This is no good, Fitzwilliam,” Dovedale said with a sardonic smile. “Put your pistol down, or,” he rotated his arm so that he aimed at Adélaïde, “I will shoot her.”

  Right now would have been an excellent time for Mr. Thorpe to come. What on earth did he bring those two extra men with him if not for a moment like this? A movement to his right suggested that Miss Mary was the only help he had. Well, this is just lovely, he thought as he took in the room, measuring his options. He had not seen Miss Yvette, so intent had he been on Dovedale and Adélaïde. But, she stood close enough to Adélaïde to do damage with the dagger she held in her blistered hands.

  Waving his pistol, Dovedale shouted, “Put your pistol down!”

  Slowly, Richard held his hands out. “It is loaded. I must set it down gently or risk shooting someone,” he said in a calm voice, stalling for time. Where was that no-good Mr. Thorpe?

  Crouching down, he set his pistol on the floor, his eyes focused on Dovedale. When he was half-way up to a standing position, he saw his chance. Dovedale, confident in his superior position, relaxed his hold on the gun, turning its aim slightly away from Adélaïde. It was enough.

  With a shout and two long strides forward, Richard pounced from his crouched position, directly to Dovedale, pushing his arm upward and shoving him back as hard as he could as his legs crashed on top of the desk and his torso slammed against a sturdy oil lamp. The pistol fired, and Richard kept his eyes open, though the smoke stung them. Scrambling over the desk, Richard hauled back his fist and let it fly toward Dovedale’s face.

  It only took one well-delivered punch to set the man crumbling to the ground, where Richard hoped he would stay until help came. He looked at the door. Still nothing.

  Collecting the pistols, gritting his teeth every time his ribs stabbed his side, he looked up to see Yvette running for the door, only to have it blocked by Mr. Thorpe and his men. They soon had her cuffed.

  “It is about time! Where were you?” yelled Richard, as he turned to free Adélaïde from her chair.

  He froze, swallowing the complaints rising in his throat with a gulp.

  Adélaïde’s eyes were red with tears— as red as her swollen cheek. At her feet, in a lump on the floor he saw Miss Mary. Blood seeped through her dress, and onto the carpet. Oh, God, no.

  “She is dead, Richard!” she choked out between sobs. “Get me out of this! I must go to her!” Adélaïde tugged her arms, the cuffs tied to the back of her chair.

  Richard cut her free with the knife he always had on him, noting the bruised, chafed skin around her wrists.

  She dropped to the floor beside Miss Mary, while Richard grabbed the key from Dovedale’s coat pocket. Her hands shook so violently, it was difficult to free them. But, finally, the lock sprung.

  Adélaïde bathed Miss Mary’s face with tears, wiping them away with her fingers.

  Richard leaned down to see if the girl yet breathed. Not sure if it was wishful thinking on his part or if her chest moved up and down with breath, he pulled out his polished knife, holding it in front of her mouth.

  “It clouded. Look, she is alive,” he said, to Adélaïde. “Mr. Thorpe, when your prisoner is secure, we have a patient for you,” he yelled more loudly than he needed to, his relief as great as the echo of his voice in the room.

  Mr. Thorpe, with the help of one of his men, hauled the stunned Dovedale up to lean against the wall, cuffing his hands and connecting them to his cuffed feet with a chain.

  “You pack a wallop, Colonel. He is rather shaken up,” he said as he came over to them.

  Kneeling down at Miss Mary’s injured side, he carefully prodded around the wound. There was so much blood.

  “This is serious. We must take her somewhere where she can be treated properly. Somewhere close.”

  Adélaïde said, “Maman’s,”
at the same time Richard said, “Matlock House”.

  Mr. Thorpe decided. “Miss Beatrice’s house is closer. We must get a cart.” Hopping up to his feet, he left the room, and ran down the stairs.

  It occurred to Richard that he had not spoken about Aunt Beatrice to Mr. Thorpe, nor shared her address. Yet, he seemed to know everything.

  Dovedale groaned. Miss Yvette emanated hatred from where she sat.

  Angrier than he had ever been in his memory, Richard stood, hands clenched at his sides. He would never strike a man while he was down, but one look at Miss Mary, had him folding his arms tightly in front of him to prevent himself from doing something he would later regret.

  Dovedale rocked his head back and forth as his senses returned fully. His eyes widened when he saw his bound feet, and Richard standing within kicking distance.

  A noise in the doorway made Richard turn. The warden’s man had arrived, and with him, another officer in a coat which identified him as superior in rank to everyone else in the room. He nodded to Richard as he entered.

  Dovedale drew in breath so quickly, Richard could hear it. His eyes fastened to the superior officer.

  “You have been under private investigation for some time now, Dovedale. What do you have to say in your defense?” he asked.

  “I am wrongly accused,” Dovedale sputtered.

  Richard tightened his folded arms. His jaw tensed.

  The officer said, “I hardly think so. The evidence against you is overwhelming.”

  Dovedale slumped against the wall.

  “Why did you choose her?” asked Richard, pointing his chin to Adélaïde. “What has she ever done to you to deserve this?”

  “Is it not bad enough that she is French?” Dovedale spoke in such passion, he spat.

  “And you, sir, are British. What does that signify? You are a traitor, and you would have sent an innocent lady to her death to cover your crimes. You would have seen me ruined as well. We are what our actions prove us to be. Birth has nothing to do with a person’s character… or, in your case, lack of it.” Some of the tension in Richard’s frame eased as he spoke.

  Pulling up a chair, the officer said, “Well said, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Yes, I know who you are. You should not be surprised. It was I who had Mr. Thorpe follow you under the Prime Minister’s direction.” Turning back to Dovedale, he said, “Now is as good a time as any to hear your confession. Do not waste my time, sir. I shall be rather cross if I have to return to Newgate when I can take care of this here.”

  Miss Yvette hissed from across the room, “Say nothing.” She strained against the men who held her fast.

  Dovedale laughed, an empty laugh full of bitterness. “We shall hang either way. I would rather die with a clear conscience.”

  As interested as Richard was to hear the rest of the story, his eyes were drawn to Miss Mary on the floor. Adélaïde stroked her hair, and hummed gently to her.

  Sitting up against the wall, Dovedale began, “My wife has me in a constant state of debt. I needed money. It is a shame that I, a hero of war, should have to grovel for money, to beg for more time to pay what I owe. With the trade of one secret, I was offered enough to cover those debts and clear my name. In the end, it was much too easy. My wife’s dressmaker was to make dresses for a lady who I knew would later travel with her husband to Spain. I found out when they would leave, and it corresponded with the shipment of supplies to our men so perfectly, it would have been impossible for me not to see the opportunity which had been set before me. I noticed a seamstress hovering around Miss Maven’s, and recognized the cold-blooded ambition I needed in her. It helped when I learned that her mistress was a Frenchwoman.”

  “You tricked me! I had no idea the message was illegal!” shouted Miss Yvette.

  Ignoring her, Dovedale continued. With a nod in her direction, he said, “Miss Yvette was to gain the confidence of Miss Maven, a woman she was cultivating a business relationship with to serve her own purposes. Her task was to find a way to hide one small message on one of the dresses. On the dress’ arrival to Spain, I only had to reveal the lady’s name. They took care of the rest.”

  “Why did you involve me?” asked Richard.

  “You are so gullible. You believe that everyone is your friend. When I learned of your connection to Miss Mauvier through the marriage of her brother to your cousin, I could not believe my luck. Your constant association with the lady who would take the fall would imply you in her treachery, thus misleading everyone into believing that you were the traitor the whole time.”

  The high-ranking officer shook his head. “A rushed plan, at best, Dovedale. Desperation has clouded your judgment.” Rising, he said, “Take him away. I have heard enough.”

  Mr. Thorpe hurried into the room. “I got a cart. We must carry the girl downstairs.”

  Richard took off his coat, pressing it against the fabric Adélaïde already held at Miss Mary’s side. Slowly, he slid his arms under the girl’s shoulders and knees and lifted her up gently. She was as light as a small child— her skin was so pale— and Richard moved swiftly and smoothly across the room and down the stairs lest she shatter in his arms.

  He settled next to Miss Mary in the cart.

  “I will go ahead of you in Maman’s carriage” said Adélaïde as the cart jolted forward.

  “Easy, now,” he yelled at the driver. To Adélaïde, he said, “Good idea. Ensure there is plenty of clean linen and water, as well as a space for the doctor to work.”

  Adélaïde wasted no time returning to her waiting coach, it taking off at a speed the horses were unaccustomed to. As the cart followed at the pace of a decrepit nag, he saw Dovedale and Miss Yvette enter the barred carriage which would take them to their new home. The high official and Mr. Thorpe spoke together off to the side.

  Dismissed with a nod, Mr. Thorpe ran to catch up to the cart. Jumping in, he sat on the other side of Miss Mary.

  Chapter 32

  Adélaïde wished she was sitting in the cart next to Mary, but she felt better knowing that Richard was with her.

  The coachman expertly wove through the busy streets, urging the horses on so that they arrived to Maman’s home in short time. Adélaïde hopped out of the carriage before one of the servants could assist her, running up the steps where the butler already had the door open.

  Maman waited in the entry hall. “I thought you would not be gone long. I have been busy while you were away, but first, you must answer some questions for me.”

  “Maman, there is no time. Mary is hurt. Please, ask your housekeeper to ready a room for Mary. She was stabbed with a dagger, and the doctor is coming here to treat her.”

  Maman barked orders, and the housekeeper set to.

  Placing her hands on Adélaïde’s shoulders, Maman said, “Now, what I have to ask concerns your future. Lord and Lady Matlock are in my sitting room as we speak.

  ”Why are they here?” Adélaïde was confused.

  “I sent for them. They have no idea what their son has been up to, and I wanted to appease myself on a few points of which only they could offer reassurance.” Rubbing her cane, as she always did when in deep thought, Maman asked, “What are your feelings toward Fitzwilliam? Do you love him?”

  Adélaïde felt hot tears spill down her cheeks, stinging the cut across her cheek. She could not speak, so she nodded. He was lost to her.

  “I thought so. It is a hopeless situation, though. He must marry money, and right now, you are on the brink of ruin.”

  Adélaïde bit her quivering lip. How could Maman be so tactless? Granted, what she said was true, but need she voice it out loud at this moment which was quite possibly the worst of Adélaïde’s life?

  Hating herself for being so weak, Adélaïde sniffed back her tears. Dabbing her face dry with a handkerchief, she set to composing herself.

  “Now, that is my girl,” said Maman, tapping her cane against the floor. “Life has dealt you some harsh blows, but I have a feeling that all will turn out rig
ht in the end. Now, I know Fitzwilliam to be too responsible to propose marriage to a lady before he can provide for her. Do you suppose thirty thousand pounds would suffice as a dowry?”

  Adélaïde snapped her head up to look at Maman. “Where am I to get such a large dowry? Maman, you live in a half-furnished house with servants as old as Methuselah. Please, do not tease me, I beg you.”

  Maman smiled. “You have no business telling me how to spend my money, my dear. Thirty thousand, it is.”

  Adélaïde knew it was unbecoming to stare with her mouth open, but she could not believe what she heard.

  “I can see clearly that you do not believe me.”

  Adélaïde could not deny it, though she had not known Maman to lie outright.

  “I plan to visit my solicitor this very afternoon. He will send you the papers. He has invested wisely for me over the years, and it would be a shame not to put the money to good use.”

  Adélaïde gasped, trying to catch her breath. A glimmer of hope around the black cloud which had hovered above her appeared, and with it, an image of Richard.

  “Maman, are you certain of this? I mean, the last thing I want to do is change your mind, but…. Are you sure?”

  Maman chuckled and pinched Adélaïde’s chin between her fingers, forcing her to look her in the eye. “I have never felt more strongly about anything than I do about this. You are a daughter to me. It has always been my plan to will my money to you and Luc. I see now that I can do more good by giving you a dowry now, rather than waiting until I pass for you to inherit. Call me a selfish old woman, but I want to know that when you marry Fitzwilliam, it is because I made it possible.” With a smug grin, she added, “I would just like to see Lady Catherine try to top that!”

  “Oh, Maman, thank you! I cannot say it enough,” said Adélaïde as she wrapped her arms around the dear old woman.