Unmasking Miss Lacey

by Isabelle Goddard

  When he had returned to the rose garden, it had been to reassure her that all would be well. She could not see how that was so. What was well about a brother in prison and the man she loved about to leave and never return? His final farewell had been brief, almost businesslike. She had not expected an outpouring of emotion, but some acknowledgement that they were parting for ever would have been balm to her bruised heart. Instead it seemed as though he hardly noticed he was saying goodbye, as though he was thinking about something else entirely.

  Yet he had been right to go. When he was close, she became another person—one who was ready to fling any number of bonnets over the windmill. She was overwhelmed by his physical charms and made weak by his tenderness. In her daydreams she had begun to believe him the perfect man for her. How very stupid! He wasn’t for her and she should never have allowed herself to dream in that fashion. Years ago he’d met with a disaster that ensured he would never allow himself to love again. But why could he not see that it was not love that was at fault, but a fallible woman?

  She wished he had not found her crying: that was not the way she would have chosen to say goodbye. She had been crying for a love which was walking from her door, but she could not tell him that. Instead she had confessed her fears for Rupert. She had known Jack little more than a sennight, yet when he drove from Verney Towers it was as though a light had been switched off, as though the pillars of her life were crumbling. All that she had ever known felt meaningless without him. She was used to being the strong one, but in Jack she had found someone as strong, stronger even, someone in whose arms she felt safe from the ill winds that blew. He had made things right with the world. But not any more. By now he would be in Hampshire while she was back where she started. Not even that, she thought, for she no longer had any hope of rescuing Rupert and had gained her very own broken heart with which to live.

  Weary hours ticked by. A book was taken up, pages listlessly turned, but she could not bring herself to read. Her maid appeared to dress her for dinner and she refused, saying she would prefer to stay where she was and would take a light supper on a tray. All evening she sat at the window, looking blankly over the landscaped gardens until the light thickened and the distant woods became a brooding cavity in the darkness. Arriving to help her into bed, Molly tried to talk dresses, give her news of the stables, pass on the village gossip, but nothing interested Lucinda. Her mind was miles away, travelling the road to Hampshire in search of Jack.

  * * *

  She was sitting with Molly the next morning, toying with the toast and tea brought by a footman, when the sound of voices, loud in their greeting, rang out from below. For the first time since the earl’s departure, Lucinda woke from her reverie and listened intently. She knew that her uncle had that morning been driven into Steyning and was puzzled at the unexpected arrival. The greetings faded away, to be followed by subdued murmurs, and finally silence. Molly had in her lap one of her mistress’s gowns and, needle poised, was about to mend a torn flounce, when without warning the door flew open.

  Lucinda’s pulse grew disagreeably rapid and she started up, fearful that some new mishap had occurred. But then amazement, happy joyful amazement!

  ‘Rupert,’ she half whispered. It must be a ghost, she thought. Rupert had died as she had always feared and returned as a ghost. But Molly was staring, too. If it was a ghost, they were both seeing the same apparition.

  ‘Can’t you welcome a fellow home, Lucy?’ The voice was hardly spectral and she ran towards him.

  ‘Rupert, is it really you?’

  ‘Of course it’s me. Did you think my spirit had come to haunt you?’

  It might as well have, she thought, he looked so very thin and so very pale. She put her arms around him and hugged him tight. Every one of his bones seemed honed to sharpness.

  ‘You’re not looking your usual bright self, Luce.’ He kissed her lightly on the hair. ‘What’s up?’

  What’s up? she wanted to scream. For weeks I have been sick with foreboding, risked injury and even death to save you and now you appear out of the blue, emaciated but alive, and ask what’s up!

  ‘Won’t you sit down, Rupert,’ she said aloud, ‘and tell us how you come to be here. Tell us everything. No,’ she corrected herself, ‘first Molly must bring refreshments. Have you eaten today?’

  ‘I had a pretty good breakfast on the road, but some beer and a slice of ham would go down sweetly.’

  Molly had sat motionless throughout this interchange, as though held captive by a spell.

  ‘Molly!’

  The maid rushed to put the needle down and stabbed her finger, drawing blood. ‘I’ve stained your dress, miss,’ she wailed, her mind seemingly disordered by Rupert’s sudden appearance. ‘I’m so sorry’, and she started dabbing furiously at the material.

  Lucinda went to her and took the dress. ‘Don’t be upset. It really is Rupert who has come home—bring him a little food and drink and then we will talk.’

  The maid’s face twitched in response as though she still could not believe what she was seeing and, bobbing a curtsy to Rupert, she fled through the door.

  ‘Is Molly all right? She’s not become dicked in the nob, has she—from living here?’

  ‘She will be fine. You have given us both a shock, Rupert, you must know that. It’s hard to believe that it really is you who has come through that door.’

  ‘It’s me all right.’ Her brother stretched his thin legs and yawned.

  ‘But how is it that you have been released from Newgate? Did our uncle pay your debts after all? And how did you get here?’

  ‘Hey, hold on. Give a chap a chance. Our beloved uncle paid not a penny—you should know him better than that. Someone else did, but don’t ask me who.’

  She gaped at him. ‘An unknown benefactor? Someone you don’t even know paid your debts! That makes no sense.’

  ‘Whether it does or not, that’s what’s happened. The chief keeper came to my cell last evening and jerked me awake. Then he marched me to the sheriff’s office and told me I was going.’

  ‘And you just walked out of the gates? How astonishing and how wonderful! But where did you go once you were released? You could not have had money.’

  ‘I didn’t, of course, but when I walked from the prison, there was a hansom waiting. The driver took me to Southwark, the George Inn, and there was a room for me. Paid in advance. It was all very strange—as though I was walking through someone else’s fantasy.’

  ‘And did the cab driver have instructions for you? Else how would you know what to do next?’

  ‘No. He drove off but the innkeeper at the George had an envelope with my name on it—inside was a ticket for this morning’s stage to Steyning.’

  She gasped again. ‘Your journey seems to have been planned down to the last detail.’

  ‘Looks like it. Even at Steyning, there was another carriage waiting—well, not a carriage exactly, a farmer’s cart, but it got me to the gates and here I am.’

  She jumped up again and hugged him joyfully. ‘It is so wonderful to see you and such an amazing tale. But who...?’

  ‘I told you, I haven’t the faintest idea.’

  She crouched down beside him and looked searchingly at his wasted face. ‘Is it possible that you made a powerful friend in Newgate?’

  ‘But naturally—they are ten a penny there.’

  ‘I don’t mean an inmate,’ she scolded, ‘a visitor, perhaps, who took pity on you.’

  ‘Visitors are pretty rare and why would anyone donate such a honeyfall?’

  ‘They might see you were of gentle birth and feel grieved at your brutal treatment.’

  He laughed down into her upturned face. ‘Believe me, sis, after months in Newgate, any vestige of my gentle birth, as you call it, had disappeared completely. When you came calling, I cou
ld have been any felon, admit it. And after I fell ill, I looked even worse.’

  ‘Thank heaven that you were strong enough to beat the typhus—since your letter arrived, I have been sick with worry.’

  ‘Worry wouldn’t have done much good, but I was lucky. There was a man, due to hang, and he gave me some kind of potion. He had it from his grandmother. I think she must have been a witch. Anyway, he said it would cure the fever in no time and he wasn’t going

  to need it where he was going. I didn’t know whether to swallow it or not, but I reckoned that if I was going to die anyway, it was worth the gamble. Within two days the fever began to wane—I’m still a trifle weak, but I’m on the mend.’

  ‘The man who gave you the medicine deserves a place in heaven and if we could find your benefactor I would kiss his feet.’

  ‘Steady on. I grant you it was decent of him to pay my debts, but I must have done something to deserve the help.’

  Lucinda wrinkled her forehead. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I must have impressed someone or why would they have sported the ready?’

  ‘But you said...’

  ‘That I didn’t look gentle born and I didn’t. I still sounded it, though, and now I recall I spoke to a cove a few weeks back. He was visiting a sharper who’d just arrived in quod.’

  ‘A sharper? Quod?’ Lucinda queried faintly. It seemed as though her brother had caught more than typhus from his incarceration.

  ‘Prison, then. Anyway, he was glad of my advice. It must have been him,’ he said with growing confidence. ‘I can see that now. Newgate can be a shock—the stink, the pestilence. Do you know that people walking

  on the pavement outside hold their noses? Anyway, I took the trouble to pass on to him what I’d learned—what to avoid, who to avoid—and he was grateful. Some of the prisoners are madmen and you’re best not to go near their cells. They can reach out through the bars and grab—I’ve seen it done.’

  ‘But surely that would not be sufficient to deserve such a reward.’

  ‘I don’t care where it came from, Luce,’ he said irritably. ‘I’m free and by God I deserve to be. Four months in that hellhole and not a visitor—except you. And you came only once.’

  ‘That was difficult enough,’ she protested.

  He shrugged his shoulders and began to wolf down the ham that Molly had delivered while they were talking.

  She felt deflated. She was astonished and delighted to have Rupert home again. An hour ago she would not have thought it possible. But the reality of his homecoming was not living up to the dream and she wondered why his lack of gratitude grated so badly. He had been treated wretchedly and a degree of rancour was to be expected. Yet she still felt ruffled. Perhaps acquaintance with Jack had unconsciously changed her notion of manliness. Unlike her brother, he was beautifully dressed; he was fit and physically powerful, but that was not the contrast she was making. She had called the earl arrogant, yet he treated his servants with courtesy, had uncomplainingly shared with Molly the drudgery of the sick room and allowed her uncle to bore him half to death. It was a matter of manners, she decided, a matter of gentlemanliness.

  Perhaps when Rupert had had time to settle he would become more like the brother she used to know. It could not be easy for him to be pitched so suddenly back into his old life.

  ‘Are they your clothes?’ She had become aware for the first time that the jacket and trousers he wore were ones she had never seen.

  ‘No, they were given me by the keeper. Mine were too disgusting to wear beyond Newgate. These were part of my rescue, I imagine, but they don’t fit.’

  ‘They look fine to me.’

  ‘That’s because you’re not wearing them. I guess they’ll do until I can get to a tailor.’

  ‘You have a wardrobe of clothes in your room. You cannot have need for more.’ Her tone was reproving and her brother responded with scarcely veiled anger.

  ‘Says who? I’ve been locked up for months and if I want to draw the bustle a little, I will.’

  ‘And how will you do that? You have no money and who will frank you?’

  ‘You must have some gingerbread, sis. Can’t you spare a little?’

  ‘I have none,’ she said flatly. ‘I had to sell Mama’s jewellery to pay for my journey to London.’

  He shrugged his shoulders again and she could see that she was proving as much a disappointment to him as he was to her. But she must try to ignore his shortcomings, she decided, for it was clear that he carried within him a deal of unexpressed anger and she understood well why that was so. Though Rupert might prove a different twin from the one she had known before, she was certain that she would grow accustomed very soon to the miracle of having him home again.

  Even as she comforted herself with the thought, she found her mind beginning to wander. By now the earl would be meeting and re-meeting old and new friends. There would be plenty of them and some would be very pretty friends, she was certain, all too willing to flirt and perhaps more. The nip of jealousy made her physically flinch—she could not bear to think of Jack sharing intimacies with another. What was the chance that he would remember her and turn away? Sadly, she thought, very small. Beneath the smooth exterior, beneath the charm and gentlemanly consideration, he was the pirate she had first taken him for and he would seize whatever bounty was on offer.

  But yesterday that self-same pirate had listened to her sobbing over the boy who now sat so close. Jack had been concerned for her and very, very kind. When he’d returned a second time from giving orders to his staff, he had held her hands in his and told her that she need never risk herself again. She had made him a solemn promise that she would never do so, would never break the law again. All would be well, he had assured her, and she must cry no more. And when she’d asked him how he could know that, he had simply said, ‘Trust me.’

  And he had been right. Everything had turned out well. Of course it had—a sudden thought ripped through her brain. It had turned out well because he had made it so. All this—the payment of Rupert’s debts, the clothes, the cab, the inn, the stagecoach ticket—had been organised by Jack. Such meticulous arrangements! And he had done it for her. Her heart swelled—was there ever a more beautiful man? If only he were here and not fifty miles away, she would prostrate herself in thanks. She would kiss his feet, whatever Rupert said. But how could he have done so much in such a short time and still travel to Hampshire? He could not have done, that was the truth. He could not yet have had an opportunity to join his friends, so where was he? Could it possibly be that he was still in the neighbourhood? If so, he would have had to take rooms in the Four Feathers for it was the only hostelry within miles. It was most unlikely, but she could not allow the opportunity of thanking him to pass by.

  She jumped up and grabbed a woollen cape from the closet. ‘I have to go out for a short while, Rupert, but while I am absent you should go to our uncle and tell him what has happened. You will find him in the library.’

  Her brother’s face registered a stubborn refusal. ‘You must,’ she urged, ‘you cannot suddenly appear in the house without explanation. And the sooner you speak to him, the easier it will be for you.’ And for all of us, she thought.

  ‘What is so urgent that you must leave as soon as I arrive?’

  ‘I have business in the village, but I will be back very soon.’

  ‘You are going to the village!’ he exploded. ‘Your only brother, your twin, returns this very hour after nearly dying in prison and you go to the village!’

  Molly was looking at her in astonishment, but she refused to meet her maid’s eyes. ‘This is something that cannot wait,’ she said vaguely, ‘but it will not take long, I promise.’

  And she was through the door before either of her companions could say more.

  Chapter Ten

  She hurried
along the lane to the village, head bent in determination. The path was uneven and it was difficult to maintain her pace, but she continued to push herself to cover the distance as quickly as she could. Half a mile, a mile, then the first straggling line of cottages came into view. Her breath was coming in short spurts and her limbs began to grow heavy. She dropped into a slow walk—she was not as thoroughly recovered as she had thought. But she would get there, she resolved, though she might have to beg a ride home from a passing farm cart.

  She had turned the corner into the final straight of Verney’s main thoroughfare when she almost collided with a large black horse trotting towards her in the centre of the road. Its rider swerved, but she had already leapt from its path and found herself teetering unsafely over a yawning ditch. She clung precariously to the narrow grass verge, waiting for her breathing to return to normal.

  A hand was at her elbow. ‘Have you walked all the way from the Towers? What were you thinking of?’ It was a familiar voice.

  She spun round and would have toppled from her perch but for his arm. ‘You have not yet left, Jack,’ she breathed huskily. ‘I thought you would be gone, I walked as quickly as I could and—’

  ‘No more words. You have exhausted yourself.’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you,’ she panted. ‘I know why you are still here.’

  He looked disconcerted, but took her arm and led her towards his mount. ‘Come. You must walk no more. We will ride to somewhere we can talk.’

  ‘I would like that. I have so much I want to say.’

  ‘Whatever it is, it can wait. You will need to hold tight to me. Use your good arm.’ And he lifted her onto the saddle—as though she were no heavier than thistledown, she mused, and then silently scolded herself for her fancifulness.