Angelina

by Janet Woods

  “She was the queen of roses. Alas I was but poor. I lingered in my passion, by her chamber door. She passed me - cruel, cruel-hearted - passed me by. Twas thus we met and parted. The thorned red rose and I.”

  “His Grace, The Duke of Amberley,” a footman announced, handing a card to Elizabeth. “He requests an audience.”

  “Ask his grace to join us, then bring some refreshment.”

  Angelina exchanged a glance with Celine and rolled her eyes. Celine smiled in

  sympathy when the pale young Duke was shown in.

  He gazed around at the women, stammering painfully. “I’d hoped for an audience with the earl.”

  “I’m afraid he’s out chasing the highwayman around the countryside, your Grace.” Elizabeth smiled and invited. “Will you stay and take supper with us? Lord Snelling has given us a recitation of his poetry, and my daughter, Angelina, will shortly entertain us on the harpsichord.”

  The Duke’s watery eyes sought her out. “I’ve heard you are singularly accomplished on the instrument, Lady Angelina. Would you allow me to turn the pages of the music?”

  “I need no music for the piece I am about to play,” she murmured, rising to her feet. “Pray be seated, Your Grace.”

  “I cannot stay long, mama is waiting for my return.” He turned again to Elizabeth. “If I could prevail upon you to furnish me with quill and paper after Lady Angelina has finished her piece, I will leave a note and my card for the earl.” He spread his coat tails, setting his ample behind on a chair.

  Angelina chose a musical piece which was short and easy to play. Nicholas draped himself decoratively against the harpsichord as if to stake his claim, gazing at her through soulful, dark eyes. Every now and then he darted a fluttering sideways glance at the Duke, whose second chin wobbled as he tapped his foot in time with the music.

  “Charming,” the Duke muttered, reddening a little as he kissed her hand and begged her leave to go. After a few painful attempts at conversation punctuated by awkward pauses, a servant was summoned to escort him to the earl’s study to write his missive.

  The evening seemed to drag by. Nicholas bored them all and beat them at cards for more times than was polite. He crowed all the while about his own cleverness. Elizabeth glanced at the clock on several occasions, but the hands seemed to creep around its face with irritating slowness.

  Rosabelle gave up any pretence of making polite conversation and stared moodily out of the window. Celine smiled serenely, every inch the lady. She had a knack of being able to converse on any subject and on more than one occasion, rescued the conversation from flagging.

  Angelina wished she was more like Celine instead of seething with the impatience that bedevilled her. She wanted to kick this strutting little bantam in the seat of his breeches and send him about his business.

  Finally, when she could take no more, she gazed at her mother, murmuring with an appeal in her eyes. “You appear fatigued, mama. Can I get you anything?”

  Elizabeth stifled a yawn behind her fan. “I admit we did not get much sleep last night. Perhaps Lord Snelling will excuse us if we retire a little earlier than usual.”

  “I’d be desolate if I kept you from your beauty sleep,” he cried out. “The earl has offered me his hospitality for the night. I’ll wait for his return until I retire.” His glance fell on Angelina. “There’s something of importance I wish to discuss with him.”

  What that something was, Angelina couldn’t fail to know. With a noncommittal smile she rose to her feet when her mother did, then with Rosabelle and Celine in tow, thankfully exited.

  There was a collective sigh when the door closed. Rosabelle had a smirk on her face.”I’d rather wed George than either of your suitors.”

  “Good,” Elizabeth said crisply, “Because that’s exactly what you are going to do.”

  * * * *

  George Northbridge had paired off with William. Dusk fell swiftly and the moon was a bright orb that sent fingers of light through the canopy of trees. They stood side by side in a listening attitude. The Marquis’ horse shifted nervously when an owl hooted nearby.

  “Try and keep the beast still,” William whispered. “I thought I heard something over towards the bog.”

  A few seconds later, they heard the faint snicker of a horse.

  “I think we’ve got the beggar,” George whispered.

  “Not yet we haven’t.” Shading the lantern they carried with his hat, William’s eyes strained into the forest. He smiled when a shadow passed through a patch of moonlight. “Try not to make a sound,” he warned. “Whoever is abroad is taking this path.”

  Pistols cocked, they waited as the sound of hoof-beats came to their ears. The

  fellow was making no attempt at concealing his movements and the Marquis frowned.

  “There seems to be two riders,” he muttered. “Perhaps he has an accomplice?”

  “We’ll soon find out. Cover me, George, but don’t shoot unless you have to, we want him alive.” Stepping into the path of the rider William unshaded the lantern. “Reign in your mounts and show your faces.”

  The rider’s horse came to a halt and stood quietly obedient, the other shied nervously until it was brought under control.

  “That’s him!” George shouted in excitement. “I’d know that horse anywhere. Damned, well-trained nag!”

  “Not surprising,” William drawled. “I trained him myself.” He kept his pistol pointed at his half-brother. “Well, well, who would have believed Frey Mellor to be the highwayman. What have you got to say for yourself, Frey?”

  “Just a minute, Will,” the Marquis said uneasily. “That nag has white on him. The horse I saw was black.”

  “He’s leading Snelling’s horse,” William pointed out.

  “I thought the pretty boy rode a chestnut.”

  “The horse was trapped in the bog,” Frey said. “I managed to free him, and was bringing him to Wrey House. He’s distressed.”

  Wheeling his mount forward William scooped a handful of black slimy mud from the chestnut and smeared it over the blaze of white on Frey’s mount. He gazed at the Marquis with a thoughtful look on his face. “What think you now, George?”

  “Clever,” the Marquis mused, his glance coming up from the horse to Frey’s set face. “He’s wearing the same type of coat. Yes, Will, I could almost swear this is the man who robbed me on the highway.”

  “You are sure?”

  “As sure as I can be. I warrant if we search his house we’ll find my snuff box.”

  “Then we shall do it.”

  “Hold on, my boy,” George muttered. “Let’s not do anything rash. If he makes good the losses...damn it, the lad is your brother after all.”

  “Half brother,” William reminded him.

  “Let’s wait to hear what your father has to say about this. Go and fetch him while I keep guard.”

  “I was given this horse only three days ago, long after the highwayman began operating in the district,” Frey said desperately when the Marquis held a loaded pistol to his head. “It was a birthday present from the earl. You know that to be the truth, William. The horse was one he bought from you.”

  “That horse was turned free each night in the meadow near my stables. Anyone could have taken it. I’ve often seen him muddied, and wondered at it.”

  “But the coat is also one you cast out.” Frey stared at Will with a plea in his eyes. “Would you see your own brother hang for crimes he didn’t commit?”

  “I outgrew that coat two years since,” William snarled. “Are you trying to cast the blame for your scurrilous crimes on me, you bastard?” Lifting his crop he furiously struck Frey across the face, sending him tumbling from the horse. Frey’s face was bleeding when he got to his feet. He fell again when a second blow landed across his shoulders.

  Leaping down from his horse William pressed his foot against his spine to keep him there. “Search his horses, George, we may find more evidence before we take him in.”

>   Nicholas Snelling’s gold was still concealed in the saddle of the chestnut. From the hem of the coat, slipped through a recently mended hole in the pocket, the silver snuffbox and cameo brooch was discovered.

  “I swear to you I did not commit these crimes,” Frey said in desperation when William pulled him to his feet and bound his hands behind his back. You’re making a mistake.”

  It was no use. Roped to William’s saddle Frey was half-dragged through the undergrowth to the road. There, William placed his fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle. Within minutes, half a dozen men appeared in answer to the signal.

  The earl gazed at Frey with sorrowful eyes when George told the tale of his capture. “You’ve betrayed my trust,” he said heavily. “What have you to say for yourself?”

  Frey drew himself up and said with as much dignity as he could muster. “Only that a mistake has been made, sir. All my life I have sought only to earn your respect and acknowledgement. I’m falsely accused of these crimes.”

  “The evidence is overwhelming,” Thomas said quietly. “Take him to Wrey House, gentlemen. Lock him in the cellar until I can arrange his transportation to the watch-house. I have the unenviable task of informing his mother.”

  “Break it to her gently,” Frey shouted as he was roughly led away. He fell flat on his face when the rope jerked, and cried out in pain when his mouth made contact with a sharp stone.

  Rafe jerked the rope from William’s hand. “There’s no need for such rough handling. Fetch his horse,” he said, his voice ringing with such authority that William obeyed with alacrity.

  Rafe unhooked the carcasses of a pair of rabbits from the saddle and threw them into the undergrowth. “Can you mount unassisted?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” Frey mumbled through his split lip. Scrambling on to the mount’s back he gave Rafe a grateful look. “My thanks.”

  “We’ll ride quietly together. If you promise not to attempt to escape I’ll untie your hands.”

  “You have my word.” Frey winced when a knife sliced through the cord and the blood flowed back into his hands. The men ranged around him, and with William leading the way they headed towards Wrey House.

  Frey had often dreamed of being made welcome at Wrey house. When they cantered through the gates he considered it ironic that his first official visit should be his last.

  He’d underestimated the animosity William held for him. Unless he was very much mistaken, his brother had plotted to bring about his downfall. The hangman would carry out William’s dirty work, and his brother would walk free without a stain on his conscience. He’d even get the horse back. He offered his brother an ironic grin. ‘I hope you treat my horse a little better.’

  William said nothing, as, with George in attendance, he took him down to the cellar. Not for Frey the freedom of the larger space, led to a small, airless room he was pushed roughly inside. When the door slammed shut he reached out in the darkness. Before his elbows straightened his hands touched wall on either side of him. When he stood, his head made contact with the roof.

  The room was little more than a cavity. He sank to the cold stone floor and lifted his hands to his aching head. Not a chink of light pierced the blackness, not a sound penetrated from outside. Used to the outdoors, he felt as if he’d been entombed. He willed away the panic threatening to engulf him, and turning his mind to some Latin translation he’d been working on, in a little while he fell asleep.

  * * * *

  “May I speak with you on a matter of some importance, James?”

  Glancing up from the book he was studying James gave a regretful smile. “If it’s about Frey there’s nothing I can do, Angelina. The evidence against him is too strong.”

  She came to stand beside him, saying tremulously. “Do the ties of blood mean nothing in this family?” Her face had a pinched look to it, as if she’d been crying. He softened towards her. He knew how much the kinship had come to mean to her. Much of his life had been spent away from Wrey House and he hardly knew his illegitimate half-brother.

  She was right, of course. Frey was his brother as much as she was his sister. Taking her hand in his, he smiled. “Perhaps I could recommend a friend of mine to conduct his defence. The church rector has offered to give him a character reference, so has Rafe.”

  He withheld a sigh when hope flared in her eyes. Neither would save Frey from the hangman’s noose. Nicholas Snelling and George Northbridge had already signed statements swearing Frey was the man who’d robbed them.

  “Would you take me to see him?” she asked cautiously.

  “Will has made himself responsible for Frey. You’ll have to ask him.”

  “They are sworn enemies and he refuses.” She placed her hand on his sleeve. “If Frey is to die, I want him to know someone cares. It might bring him comfort to know I’ll pray for him.”

  James doubted if a prayer would be much comfort, but didn’t have the heart to say so. “I’ll speak with Will.”

  “He’s gone about his business.” Anger flared in her eyes. “You are the earl’s heir, and also my guardian. Why should you consult Will? If you refuse to help me I’ll go and make my request directly to my father.” Determination evident in her face, she turned and stalked towards the door.

  He scrambled to his feet. “You must not disturb him with this, Angelina. He’s been sequestered his study for two days. He’s sorely troubled.”

  “But not as troubled as Frey must be,” she said tartly and she turned to face him, twisting the knife into the wound. “Frey is facing death. He is your brother, how can you calmly read a book? And if the earl had any feelings he’d offer comfort and guidance to his son, not skulk in his study feeling sorry for himself.”

  “Wait!” With an exasperated sigh, he joined her at the door. “You have a knack of twisting things to your own advantage. Although there’s a grain of truth in what you say, I cannot allow you to intrude on father’s grief.” Realising she’d outwitted him with a simple bluff, he managed a rueful grin. “I cannot think of one reason why you shouldn’t see Frey.”

  “Thank you, dearest James.” She threw her arms around him and soundly kissed him. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.”

  James enjoyed her unaffected display of affection as much as he’d enjoyed the skirmish. “It’s a pity you were not born a man, you’d have made an excellent attorney.”

  Her face dimpled into a wicked smile. “Sometimes it’s better to appeal to the wisdom of men than argue with their logic.”

  Delighted by her wit, he laughed and kissed her on the end of the nose. “Then the man who wins your heart must be wise as well as logical, for you are fain to pit your wits against logic, and appeal only to wisdom when the situation warrants.”

  “If this mythical man learns to read me as easily as you, then I’ll be in serious trouble,” she said ruefully.

  He linked her hand in his as they walked towards the cellars. “Not if he’s a man of intelligence. He will treasure the unique qualities you possess and enjoy your companionship.” He stopped to light a candle before they proceeded down the cellar steps, and turned to gaze at her. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to be upset.”

  “I’m already upset over this affair.” Her eyes were troubled. “I’m not convinced he’s guilty of this crime, the glimpse I had of the highwayman...?” She shook her head at some elusive glimpse of memory. “I’m plagued by the idea there’s something I should remember, but I cannot bring it to mind.”

  “If you recall it let me know, however insignificant it seems.” Finding the cellar door ajar, he frowned. “Shouldn’t this door be kept locked?” he said when a burly man sprang to his feet at the sight of them.

  “There be no need, My Lord.” The servant jerked a thumb at a stout door set into the far wall. “Master William said he must be kept in there.”

  James’ eyes darkened as he detected a distinctly foul smell. “How long has Mr Mellor been in there?”

  “Since he was brought in, M
y Lord.” The servant shuffled his feet when James gave him a long, hard stare. “Orders, My Lord. Mr. William said he must not be given sustenance or allowed out.”

  “And you obeyed those orders?”

  The servant gazed silently at the floor.

  “Come, man,” he coaxed. “You’ll not get into trouble if you speak the truth.”

  The man had a defensive look in his eye. “I aint saying yes and I aint saying no, but I wouldn’t leave a dog that long without water, sir.”

  James’ lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. “We wish to speak with him. After we’re gone he’s not to be returned to the confinement of that store cupboard.”

  The man’s eyes flicked to Angelina. “If you don’t mind me saying, My Lord, Mr. Mellor’s present condition is likely to cause offence.”

  James gave Angelina an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

  “I’ll return in one hour,” she said icily. “I expect my brother to be made presentable, and fed. Do you understand?”

  The servant gazed uncomfortably at James who nodded confirmation. “Yes, My Lady. “What will I tell Master William if he returns, My Lord?”

  “Refer him to me,” James said comfortably before guiding Angelina back towards the door.

  Frey was seated on a barrel when they returned. His face was pale and bruised, his lip swollen. Remains of some bread and cheese, and a pitcher of milk were set on another barrel.

  He swayed to his feet when he saw them, distress darkening his face. Turning a frown his way, Frey said harshly. “Why did you bring her here?”

  “Because I asked him to.” Angelina crossed to where he sat and gently touched his swollen lip. “That needs salve if it’s not to become infected. I’ve brought some with me.”

  Giving a bitter laugh he moved away from her. “My executioner will not care

  whether it’s infected or not. Why should you?”

  “Because you’re my brother.” She guided him back to his seat and took a small jar from her pocket. “Do not lose faith,” she soothed, applying the ointment to his wounds. “I caught a glimpse of the highwayman’s face and I know it was not you. James has determined to find a lawyer to defend you, and I will appear as a witness if necessary.”