by Lady Rascal
‘Young Adamson has always been sensible enough in the past. I’m sure he wouldn’t have borrowed more than was absolutely necessary. It’s a pity the figure had to be so large, though.’
After some rapid scribbling on the notepaper before him, Mr Pritchard leaned towards Madeleine. ‘I’m sure we can come up with something, although it might take a little time. As soon as I can persuade my bank to let me stand surety for Philip, he’ll be home again.’
Jack looked back at his father suddenly. ‘It’s such a lot of money—are you sure you can take the risk?’
‘Of course.’ Mr Pritchard regarded his son gravely. Looking down, he sifted through the pages of calculations he had been making, lips pursed in concentration. ‘In the unlikely event of you ever having had more than a penny to your name, Jack, would you have any hesitation in helping him out?’
‘Not the slightest. Even if he didn’t trust me enough to tell me at the outset.’
‘There you are, then.’
There was a hopeful tone in Mr Pritchard’s voice, but Madeleine was more concerned with Jack. She realised he was still upset that she had shared the secret, and not him. Standing up, she went to him at the window.
‘Philip didn’t say anything to you because he knew you’d feel duty bound to help.’
Jack shrugged. ‘How do you work that out? He knows I don’t have a bean.’
‘Then he also knows you would have done your best, even if it meant getting into trouble yourself.’
‘We must all do our best from now on, Mademoiselle Madeleine. I have to go away on business—there’s no escaping that, I’m afraid—and until I can get back and visit my bank Jack will be in charge. Now, off you go and get some rest. Mrs Hicks will show you up to a room.’
‘But what about picking Miss Jemima up from her school? And who’s going to look after Mistress Constance? And the dairying? Fine companion I’m turning out to be...’
‘Don’t you start worrying about any of that! I’ll sort something out.’ Jack winked at her, a little mollified. ‘And I’ll fetch you up something more suitable for prison visiting!’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Madeleine hadn’t expected to see Philip ever again. After all, the Bastille back at home had hardly greeted visitors with open arms.
As it happened, Pickersgill was unable to resist even more mischief-making which had worked to Philip’s advantage in a macabre way. When Madeleine accompanied Jack to the lock-up they were not taken down the line of cages packed with wretched men, women and children.
Instead they were led away from the pleading, screaming throng. A narrow, hot little corridor sloped down and away from the communal cells. Madeleine hung on to Jack’s arm as they crunched along the filth-encrusted passageway. This place never saw the sun or good air, let alone a mop and bucket.
The smell was less here than the hot stench that rose from the warrens, but it was still far from pleasant. Madeleine kept her eyes riveted on the slovenly warder who led them to a small worm-eaten door. She was afraid of what she might see lurking in the shadowy corridor.
The room serving as solitary confinement, isolation ward and broom cupboard was little bigger than one of Willowbury’s ox-stalls. Mistress Constance would have been horrified to think of animals being held in such squalor, much less Philip.
With no windows the room was insufferably hot and fetid. When the warder begrudgingly lit a candle-end it brought no cheer.
‘Wait here for a minute.’ Jack squeezed her arm lightly and went forward to his friend. Madeleine was left to listen to the scuffling of rats and roaches and a sinister dripping from somewhere close at hand.
Under the eagle eye of the warder Jack put down his medical bag and began fussing around his friend. To each whispered question and smiling encouragement the answer was either a shake of the head or a muttered reply Madeleine could not hear.
Finally Jack called her forward. What Madeleine saw when she reached them made her fall on her knees in front of the beleaguered prisoner. One side of his face was blackened with bruises. Both of his hands had been heavily strapped with Jack’s bandaging.
‘Oh, Philip—what have they done to you?’
He tried to laugh. ‘Pickersgill put it about that I was the type to torment ladies. The lads here take exception to that sort of thing. I was moved to this place to save their boot studs. The wardens don’t have much more sympathy. They say nothing ails me that can’t be cured by a short dance on the end of a rope.’
‘Phil—don’t...’
‘There’s no use in hiding from the truth, Jack. I’m ruined, and Mother with me. And before I had a chance to thank you for our dance last night, Mademoiselle Madeleine. But perhaps it is a blessing in disguise that I got no further with our conversation on the terrace...’
He grimaced suddenly, putting one hand to the side of his face. The dank little room swam with a strong medicinal scent as Jack poured oil on to a soft cloth for Philip’s aching jaw.
He accepted the preparation gladly, then waved Jack away. His friend retreated, but the warden steadfastly refused to move. Expecting another confidence, Madeleine moved closer, uncaring of the filth that she might be kneeling in.
Putting one bandaged hand on her shoulder, he bent close but could say nothing. Sensing that their time together was short, Madeleine began quickly.
‘We’re doing everything we can...’ Madeleine wanted to tell him of her contact with Michael, but could hardly bear to raise his hopes. Then he looked at her with a longing gaze that reached right down into her soul.
Madeleine could not take him by the hands as they looked too painful. Instead she stroked his wrist where the fine white linen had been torn and ruined.
‘I’ve written to Michael,’ she said at length. ‘I’ll write again to tell him of this—he’s sure to come back and help...’
Philip moaned and closed his eyes.
There was no time for modesty now. His touch, when it came, was gentle as air against her cheek.
‘There isn’t time... Why didn’t you tell me before?’
Tears were already beginning to spill from Madeleine’s eyes. ‘I wanted it to be a surprise—’
‘Is he coming home?’
Madeleine’s silence told its own story. ‘I won’t let them treat you so cruelly!’ She looked up at him in desperation. ‘I must help you, whatever it costs...is there anything you want? Anything that I can do?’
‘The best thing you can do for me is to tell me you love me, Madeleine. That, and tell me you would have accepted the proposal I was going to make on the terrace last night...’
Madeleine looked up into his poor battered face and felt her heart snap in two.
‘I didn’t know...’
‘You do now.’
It was all too much. Madeleine lay her head in Philip’s lap, and he bore her sobs despite his injuries.
‘Well?’ He bent down to whisper close to her ear. ‘What would the answer have been, Mademoiselle Madeleine?’
She choked back her sobs and smeared the tears from her eyes. ‘Philip—dearest...last night...oh, last night I would have accepted...’
He laid one swollen hand tentatively upon her shoulder.
‘But not today?’
‘We should have talked about this before—I wouldn’t have let things go on for so long if I’d realised...’
‘Madeleine? Is the answer yes or no?’
‘I can’t bear to see you like this. Your mother is so upset...and Jack... Oh, Philip, I’ll do anything to save you!’
‘Anything except marry me.’
His hand dropped lifelessly from her shoulder. Madeleine lifted her head and stared into the darkness all around them.
‘When—when you know everything, you’ll see that it isn’t me that can’t accept you, but the other way about. I couldn’t ever hold you to any proposal you made, Philip, however much I love you...’
‘Why?’
He lifted her chin until she was look
ing directly into his steady grey eyes.
‘Time’s up!’
Tired of the whispered conversation, the warder jabbed Madeleine sharply with the toe of his boot. She laid her head in Philip’s lap again to feel the warmth of him one last time.
‘I love you...’ she began.
The hand he put out never reached her. Madeleine was pulled away roughly by the warder. In a moment the door was slammed on Philip’s words and the warder locked it noisily.
Mistress Constance was taken to stay at the Pritchards’ house in Cheltenham, well away from all the talk. Madeleine stayed until she was settled, but could not convince her that Philip would soon be home and safe and sound. She could hardly convince herself of that, either.
It was late in the evening before Jack took Madeleine back to Willowbury. She slept for most of the way, waking only at an irregular movement of the carriage as it stopped.
Jack was leaning out of the open door and speaking to someone.
‘What is it?’
He sat back in his seat, leaving the door wide open. The driver was holding out a torch and within its light stood a tiny, woebegone figure. Madeleine thought she must be dreaming. Moving forward, she looked out, and straight into the pinched and windswept face of Kitty Pettigrew.
‘She’s run away,’ Jack said matter-of-factly. ‘Willowbury was the only place she could think of to take refuge, but the servants won’t let her in. And I can’t say I blame them. They’ve already had Pettigrew here searching for her. Although God knows why he bothered, after what Phil told me,’ Jack finished tartly.
‘Get in.’ Madeleine looked down on Kitty, but felt no malice now. She was too tired.
Kitty had lost all her gay abandon. Creeping forward, she looked small, afraid and chilled to the marrow in her thin, fashionable dress.
‘Madeleine, have you lost all reason? At the very least her father’s helping to ruin Phil, and in any case she’s nothing but a shameless hussy! Don’t have anything to do with her!’
‘How far are we from Willowbury, Jack?’ Madeleine peered into the darkness.
‘About to turn into the drive—’
‘Very well then.’ Sweeping her cloak around her, Madeleine stepped past him and down to meet Kitty. ‘Thank you for all your help, Jack. It’s been much appreciated.’
‘Wait! Madeleine, I can’t let you walk—get back in at once!’
‘Only if Kitty can come, too.’
‘Why? What on earth for?’
‘If things had worked out differently, Jack, she would have been my sister-in-law. As it is, she’s in need of as much help now as Philip or Mistress Constance.’ Madeleine leaned in close to him so Kitty would not hear her next words. ‘And just because you’ve never been caught out, Jack Pritchard, it doesn’t mean you can act holier than thou with others!’
‘It’s Pickersgill that’s put Dad up to this! And now he knows all about...about...oh, but I don’t want anything to happen to Philip...not after what I’ve done to Mickey!’ Kitty wailed, her small bony fingers digging gratefully into Madeleine’s offered hand.
‘Get in,’ Jack said roughly, still hot and stinging at Madeleine’s words.
Despite Kitty’s wails that she had been disowned, Madeleine guessed Albert Pettigrew would be frantic at the loss of his daughter. She installed Kitty in a spare room with tea, toast and cakes then sent Higgins off to take the news to Highlands.
‘He’ll kill me!’ Kitty’s eyes were enormous and pink with tears as she heard of the message.
‘He won’t. All your father is worried about right now is that you’re safe.’
A tremendous clattering at the front door made Madeleine wonder if her words had been a little hasty.
‘Where’s my girl?’
‘The key’s in the door!’ Madeleine hissed at Kitty, springing out of the bedroom and on to the landing. Needing no further encouragement Kitty locked herself in the bedroom, howling.
‘Steady, sir!’ Madeleine took up a position at the top of the stairs, her hands raised to try and calm him.
‘Out of my way! I’ve come for my daughter!’ Pettigrew bundled past her, but the straggle of labourers he had brought as a lynch mob idled about in the hall, clearly not too interested in their work. Madeleine took heart.
‘Mr Pettigrew—Kitty is quite safe here. She’ll come home when you convince us all that you won’t be laying any blame on her. Bad enough that you and Sir Edwin should ruin Master Philip—don’t spoil your daughter’s life as well...’
In his rage Pettigrew raised both fists. Madeleine dodged, instinctively fearing a blow but he didn’t strike.
‘Me? You accuse me of spoiling my daughter? It’s Michael Adamson that’s done that! And the other one’s turning out to be no better! What sort of a man needs you to fight his battles for him? He’s ruined my daughter’s expectations, his brother’s ruined her life— everything I’ve worked for—’
‘He hasn’t, Dad!’ Kitty’s voice gained strength in its secure refuge. Pettigrew stopped ranting. ‘He hasn’t! Phil was never interested in me, but you were so busy making a fool of yourself that you couldn’t see it!’
Pettigrew’s face fell as far as his spirits. He sagged against the banister rail like a punctured balloon. At once Madeleine realised his pride would not stand in her way any longer. She seized the advantage while she could and leaned over to look down at the crowd gathered below in the hallway.
‘Mr Higgins, show Mr Pettigrew’s employees to the kitchens. Only milk to drink, mind! And if you could bring some sherry wine to the summer drawing-room...’
She took a firm hold of Mr Pettigrew’s arm and marched him down the stairs before he had time to complain. Her surprising strength coupled with the shock to his system overawed him. He sat down on the sofa meekly as Madeleine instructed. It amazed her to find someone taking her orders, but she tried not to show it.
‘What has your wife told you of this matter, Mr Pettigrew?’ Madeleine remained standing as Philip always did when he had something important to say.
‘Enid’s taken to her bed.’
‘I see. In that case, I’ll give you the details as Kitty has told them to me. Before I do, Mr Pettigrew, I should warn you that I will stand for no nonsense in the Adamsons’ house.’
When Higgins left after delivering the sherry wine, Madeleine filled two large wine glasses with it and handed one to Pettigrew.
‘Have a good pull—you’ll need it.’ She took a drink herself, but found it sweet and nasty stuff. No wonder it was usually served in such tiny little glasses. ‘Kitty was expecting Michael Adamson’s child, but old Mr Adamson wouldn’t let him marry her.’
‘Oh, my God...’ Colour draining from his face, Pettigrew searched hopelessly for his handkerchief. ‘Enid told me they’d been together in France, but...’ His voice dwindled.
‘Everyone was so terrified of causing a scandal, your wife arranged for Kitty’s trip to Europe.’ Madeleine continued with the sorry tale Kitty had finished telling her over again only a few minutes before. ‘Michael had a little money of his own, which he used to buy a farm in the French countryside. Kitty lived with her aunt in Paris, while Michael built a house and worked all the hours God sent on his patch of land. He was trying to make a home for them, Mr Pettigrew, so that one day you’d agree to their marriage!’
Albert Pettigrew passed a hand over his face. He might not have realised what had been going on over the past year and more, but he understood all about work. His voice now was still harsh, but without its earlier violence. ‘Go on.’
‘Kitty’s very young, sir. To be living so far away from home, among strangers—with a tiny baby...she didn’t mean any harm. The baby had been fractious for days, and she says she felt such a failure. Michael hadn’t been able to visit for over a month, and when he did arrive, they quarrelled. They both said a lot of things in the heat of the moment, and Kitty ran away. She’d had her one and only taste of freedom when she went to the sub the night we saw h
er, and the thought of seeing home, and you, and friendly faces, was just too much...’
Pettigrew got to his feet. Placing his untouched glass of sherry on the table, he went to the door with a heavy, ponderous walk. Taking another mouthful of the sherry for courage, Madeleine forced it down with a grimace and followed him.
‘Mr Pettigrew... If you’re willing to be reasonable, I’m sure Kitty would love to see you...’
He hesitated, but did not turn around. With a brief shake of his head he walked quickly from the room, and out of the house.
The next day a letter arrived addressed to Mistress Constance. Jack opened it on his daily visit. Written by Sir Edwin Pickersgill on expensively headed notepaper, it was a curt request for one thousand pounds in settlement of the loans and interest owed by her son to himself and Mr Pettigrew. It seemed that Kitty’s father had not been swayed by Madeleine’s explanation. He was still following Pickersgill’s advice.
Kitty burst into tears, and fled back to her bed. There could be no such luxury for Madeleine. The money would have to be raised, and that was an end to it. With Jack’s help she arranged for several independent valuers to visit Willowbury and with their help everything movable was priced and catalogued.
Mr Pritchard had been detained in London on business, and Madeleine could not bear to wait for his return. Philip was spending several lifetimes condemned to that black stinking hole of a prison. Mistress Constance agreed tearfully that there was nothing for it but to raise the money through sacrifice.
For Madeleine the time was spent in purgatory. Jack had settled young Jemima with Mistress Constance in Cheltenham, and told Madeleine that the Adamsons’ ward was a sensible girl and only too pleased to be of help. That was one weight off Madeleine’s mind. She had enough to worry about with the estate to run, the dairying to do and Kitty in a state of permanent collapse.
There were many mornings when the butter just would not come.
Jack visited the prison every day. Madeleine accompanied him when she could, but it wasn’t much use. Philip worried at her for a reason why she would not accept his proposal of marriage, while Madeleine could not bear to add her guilty secret to his burdens.