by Cheryl Holt
Sarah rolled her eyes. “If you start complaining about how your husband doesn’t understand you, I might be ill all over your expensive rug.”
“Seriously, Sarah, if our relationship has ever meant anything to you—”
“It hasn’t,” Sarah caustically stated, “but don’t worry, Cousin. It doesn’t matter to me if you have secrets from Jasper. You can behave like the gambling-addicted, adulterous trollop you are. Have at it—with my blessing.”
Desdemona might have shrieked with offense and kicked her out of the house, but Jasper took that moment to saunter in. He was dressed for the evening, his formal black suit and the lace of his cravat not masking that he’d gained more weight. His rich living was really catching up. He’d never been handsome, and with each passing year he was a bit less handsome.
“Hello, Sarah,” he said, and he grinned at her.
“Hello, Jasper.”
He glanced derisively at Desdemona. “Honestly, Des, you might have put on some clothes before coming down. I realize Sarah is family, but we have standards to maintain.”
Desdemona might have protested the scolding, but Sarah spoke first.
“Jasper, have you heard from either of my sisters?”
“Well, it’s lovely to see you too. Don’t I get a word of greeting?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry. Have you heard from them?”
He scowled. “I expect they’re both at Wallace Downs.”
“Where is that?”
“It’s a country property owned by a man named Alex Wallace.”
“Abigail was working for him, wasn’t she?” Sarah asked.
“Ah…yes, and the ninny thinks she’s going to marry him.”
“She’s marrying?”
Sarah looked flummoxed, and Desdemona was a tad flustered too. Jasper hadn’t informed her about Abigail’s plans. And she’d chosen that scandalous fiend, Alex Wallace, for a husband! What was happening in the world?
She wanted to discuss how Jasper would prevent the ridiculous match, but with Sarah present she couldn’t raise the subject.
“Yes, she hopes to wed Mr. Wallace,” Jasper told Sarah. “I sent Catherine after her to bring her to Middlebury so I could talk some sense to her, but so far they haven’t returned.”
“Abigail is about to wed,” Sarah mumbled. “I didn’t know.”
“It was all very fast, and he’s a criminal. We have to stop it.”
“Abigail picked a criminal?” Sarah inquired. “I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s the truth.”
“But it’s Alex Wallace of Wallace Downs?” Sarah didn’t sound concerned in the least about his felonious tendencies. “You’re positive that’s the man and the place?”
“Yes, yes, that’s it.” Jasper gestured to the sofa. “Won’t you sit for a minute? Tell us how you’ve been.”
“I don’t have the time,” Sarah said, and she started out.
Jasper’s scowl deepened. He didn’t like to have his wishes ignored, but Desdemona was glad to see her go. She’d get the bloody girl out the door, and she’d order the butler to never let her in again. If he forgot that edict in the future, it would cost him his job.
She thought she’d dodged a bullet, but as Sarah walked by Jasper she said, “Desdemona and I were in Bath last week.”
Jasper shot an angry glower at Des. She’d lied to him about where she’d been, and now there would be hell to pay.
“Don’t listen to her, darling,” she cooed. “She’s just eager to cause trouble.”
Jasper yanked his focus back to Sarah. “The two of you were in Bath?”
“Yes, and I probably oughtn’t to mention it, but you are my cousin. I decided you should be aware that Desdemona is having a torrid affair with a roué named Nicholas Swift.”
Jasper sucked in a sharp breath, fury coloring his cheeks. “Nicholas Swift? You’re sure?”
Jasper and Nicholas gambled together constantly, and Jasper owed him a fortune. Of all the rogues Desdemona could have selected for an amour, Nicholas was the one who would enrage Jasper the most.
“Des appeared quite smitten,” Sarah claimed. “It embarrassed everyone who witnessed her infatuation. Apparently, the other people in attendance were friends with whom you frequently socialize. We were all worried about how she was betraying you, and you were a hideous laughingstock.”
“None of that is true!” Desdemona seethed. “You little slut! How dare you waltz into my home and level accusations!”
Yet Sarah was already in the foyer and marching to the front door. The butler was there to jerk it open, and she kept on outside. The energy she’d carried into the residence quickly vanished, and a deadly silence descended.
There was just her and Jasper and the butler who was all ears and waiting to hear what Jasper’s next comment would be.
* * * *
Clayton staggered into his bed in what had once been his aunt’s bedchamber, but it was his bedchamber now, and she’d never get it back. When a woman was locked away by a male family member, it was impossible for her to free herself.
He had moved into her house and assumed control. It was much larger and nicer than the paltry country property his father had bequeathed to him. He was intoxicated, his balance unsteady. He’d been celebrating for days, and his aunt had a delicious and expensive wine cellar.
In Bath, it had been easy to convince the rural magistrate that Mildred suffered from hysteria, and he’d hastily dispatched her to the asylum. But he was unnerved by the fact that he couldn’t find her important documents, and until he did he couldn’t put his name on anything.
He needed to gain access to her bank accounts, and he also needed to talk to her lawyer, Thumberton, about changing the trustee. He’d written to the man to schedule an appointment, and he’d been rebuffed with the news that Thumberton was busy with a legal case and wouldn’t be available for weeks.
A bigger issue involved the paperwork Nicholas had given to Mildred. Winston had hidden in the bushes by the parlor window and had eavesdropped on their entire conversation. He swore Swift had provided all sorts of evidence to support his claim, but Winston and Clayton had searched the rented house from top to bottom and hadn’t turned up a single item. But Clayton would locate all of it. He had no doubt.
He smirked. Nicholas Swift was very smart, but not very shrewd. He’d befriended Clayton so he could ingratiate himself to Mildred, but Clayton would never relinquish what was his. Mildred was in possession of what remained of his grandfather’s money, and it was her own fault that Clayton had had to take such drastic action. If she’d just listened for once, she wouldn’t be in the bind she was in.
It was Swift’s fault too. Clayton would never let a usurper swoop in and seize what was his. He would kill any idiot who was that brazen.
He blew out the candle and snuggled under the blankets, thinking how it had all been so bloody simple! Why hadn’t he resolved the situation years earlier? His father had wanted to, but he’d been too much of a coward. Clayton had had the courage, and he would now live the life he deserved.
A noise sounded in the hall, and he frowned at the door. Was someone walking out there? The house was locked up tight, and the servants had better be asleep in their beds, but it was highly probable they roamed in the night.
Typically, they had no supervision during the summer. Why, that very minute, they might be raiding the wine cellar! The thought of them drinking his wine made him unbelievably angry, and he considered getting up to check, but it was too cold.
He sighed and was drifting off when suddenly an object was pressed to the center of his forehead. It was round and hard, and his eyes flew open. Even though it was dark, he realized a pistol was aimed directly at him! The villain holding it was huge and menacing and dressed all in black.
Clayton attempted to lurch up, but a palm was slapped on his chest to keep him firmly in place.
“Hello, C
layton,” a man murmured in his ear.
“Who is it? Who’s there?”
“Take a guess. Who hates you more than anyone?”
“Help! Help!” he bellowed. He hoped a footman would burst in to investigate, but they were a surly bunch who constantly disrespected him. He didn’t imagine he could count on any of them. Still, he tried again. “I’m being robbed! I’m being murdered!”
His effort earned him a wallop alongside the head with the butt of the pistol. For a moment, he saw stars, and it was lucky he was lying down or he’d have fallen down.
“You haven’t guessed yet,” his tormentor hissed.
“What do you want? Is it money? I have plenty!”
“You don’t have any money, you little worm.”
The brute flung back the blankets, grabbed Clayton by his nightshirt, and yanked him out of the bed. Clayton collapsed onto the floor, then he was dragged over to the window. There was a bit of light reflected off the clouds, and he peered up and blanched. His bladder contracted, and a trickle of urine gushed down his leg.
“Swift!”
“I’ve surprised you.”
“You’re in jail! You can’t be in my home. It’s impossible.”
“The funny thing about jail, you dolt, is that a man can bond out.”
“No, no, I was told you couldn’t. I was told it wouldn’t be allowed. Your charges are too dire.”
“Ask me why I’m here, Clayton.”
“No, I won’t ask. Go away, go away.”
“I came to give you a message.”
“What message? What?”
“I am off to rescue my mother.”
“You have no mother. Your mother is dead.”
“No, my mother is very much alive, and you’ve harmed her. Would you like to know how I react when a person I love is harmed?”
“I’ve harmed no one.”
“You sent Mildred to Bedlam Hospital, and you fired Sarah Henley and tossed her out on the street without a penny in her purse.”
“They both deserved it!”
Swift clucked his tongue. “You’re a pathetic dunce, Clayton.”
“You can’t talk to me that way.”
“Yes, I can, and I need you to hear me and hear me well.”
“I won’t listen to you! I don’t have to!” He yelled again. “Help!”
His shouting garnered him another clout on the head, and Swift had a tight grip on his nightshirt. He leaned down so they were nose to nose, and Clayton couldn’t miss the murderous fury in his eyes.
“I was planning to kill you,” Swift said.
He paused, the gun leveled, and Clayton had to admit he might very likely pull the trigger.
“Don’t shoot, Swift! For God’s sake, please!”
Swift grinned a malevolent grin. “I was planning to kill you, but it would be too easy. I’ve decided on a better scheme.”
“What scheme? Just tell me. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“I want you to suffer and pay forever.”
“You’re mad,” Clayton spat.
“Yes, people have always thought so, and it’s your turn to discover how crazed I can be. I’m going to take everything from you. I will make it my life’s work. I will take and take and take from you until you have nothing left but the clothes on your back.”
“You’ll never succeed.”
“I will,” Swift vowed. “Best start looking over your shoulder, Clayton. I’ll be standing there, ready to strike.”
He released Clayton, and Clayton sagged, assuming the assault was ended, but Swift hit him with his fist, right in the face. Blood squirted everywhere, and Clayton flew into the small table by the bed. It wobbled, and the candle he’d blown out fell onto him, hot wax burning his arm so he yowled in pain.
“I will begin tomorrow, Clayton.” Swift sounded sinister and evil, as if he was a sorcerer who practiced black magic. “None of your dreams will ever come true.”
He kicked Clayton in the ribs, then he vanished like smoke. Clayton huddled on the floor, whimpering, shivering, wheezing, and wishing a servant would rush in to tend him. But none of them appeared, and he was all alone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sarah strolled down the rural lane, and through the trees she could see the manor at the end. The mail coach had dropped her in the nearby village, and after obtaining directions she’d walked the rest of the way. Her destination was in sight.
After spending several miserable weeks in town, she’d headed to the country where she was determined to locate her sisters. She had a bit of money put aside from her years of working so she hadn’t been in danger of starving or living on the streets. But London was expensive, and she couldn’t stay for long without earning a wage.
She never trusted Jasper and hadn’t necessarily believed him when he’d claimed her sisters were at Wallace Downs. Instead, she’d gone to the Bolton home where Catherine had had her last job. As Mrs. Ford had warned, she’d received no assistance from the Boltons and had had to listen to a Miss Priscilla Bolton accuse Catherine of being a thief and a trollop, then the door had been slammed in her face.
She’d interviewed at three other employment agencies, but with her splitting from Mrs. Ford they’d been suspicious about her and her references. None of the companies had been willing to take a chance on her.
She’d wanted to speak to Nicholas about his ordeal in jail, but she had no idea if Mr. Fenwick had freed him. And if he’d returned to London, she’d had no idea how to find him.
Finally, she’d visited Bedlam to try to meet with Mildred, but she’d been refused at the gate so no visit had been allowed. She’d tracked down Mildred’s lawyer, Mr. Thumberton, to be certain he was aware of what had occurred. But he’d been away from the office so she hadn’t been able to speak to him either.
He had a very nice clerk though, and she’d related her story about Clayton’s perfidy. The clerk had been aghast and had promised to inform Mr. Thumberton immediately.
Then she hadn’t known what else to do. She’d been suffering from a crushing need to be with her sisters, especially Catherine whose presence calmed her in times of trouble.
She couldn’t imagine what she’d encounter at Wallace Downs. If they weren’t in residence, she had no backup plan. In most instances when she was immersed in a catastrophe, she’d have trekked to her childhood home at Middlebury. But in light of her recent debacle with Desdemona, she doubted she would ever travel there again despite how desperate she became.
The Wallace estate was very prosperous, and there was activity everywhere. Crops were growing, horses frolicking, cattle mooing from over by the barns.
The house was magnificent, three stories high with large windows and painted trim. The grounds were manicured, the driveway swept of debris. Behind the manor, there was a park and beyond that a hint of blue ocean, with the property being nestled on the coast.
All in all, it appeared as if the owner was wealthy and settled, and some of her trepidation eased. It was never a bad choice to marry a rich man, and if this was where Abigail had decided to cast her lot it could only benefit all of them.
She approached the grand stairs, and a polite footman intercepted her.
“Is this Wallace Downs?” she asked, anxious to be sure.
“Yes, this is the correct place.”
“I’m hoping to locate my sister, Abigail Barrington Henley. I was told she might be here. My sister, Catherine, too.”
His brows rose practically to his hairline. “Are you Lady Sarah?”
It had been an eternity since anyone had called her Lady Sarah, and she was shocked.
“Yes, I’m Sarah.”
He grinned. “What a surprise you’re going to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me escort you inside. I can’t wait to see everyone’s faces.”
“Ah…all right.”
He took the portmanteau from her bli
stered hand and gestured for her to precede him up the stairs. As they climbed, the front door opened and two very pretty girls emerged. They were identical twins, about nine or so, attired in white dresses with lavender pinafores. They might have been blond-haired, blue-eyed angels.
“Aunt Catherine!” one of them said, then the other said, “No, silly, it’s not Catherine. Look.”
The footman pointed to Sarah. “Guess who I’ve found?”
“Who?” they asked in unison.
“It’s your Aunt Sarah!”
The girls squealed with delight, and they dashed down. They grabbed Sarah and pulled her forward, peppering her with so many questions she couldn’t make sense of any of them. She was led into the house, the butler beaming with smiles.
Word of her arrival had swiftly spread, and as she entered an ostentatious foyer servants were rushing down the halls to sneak a peek at her.
There was an elaborate staircase winding to the second floor, and from the landing a female shouted, “Sarah! As I live and breathe! Where did you come from?”
She glanced up to see Abigail running down to her.
“We’ve been searching everywhere!” Abigail said as she reached the bottom.
“You have?”
Further discussion was impossible. Abigail drew her into a tight hug, the twins too, and the servants surrounded them in a happy, protective circle. People were laughing, clapping, commenting on her unexpected, astonishing appearance.
Sarah simply burst into tears and let herself be carried off on a merry river of congratulations.
* * * *
Mildred sat in an office, and she wasn’t clear on whose office it was. She hadn’t been at the asylum long enough to learn much about how it was structured.
Her experience hadn’t been particularly grueling. Mostly, she’d been left alone to fume in a small cell she shared with three other women who hadn’t seemed mad in the slightest. She’d been given an ice bath, a putative cure she was determined to never endure again. Other than that horrid event, she’d silently dawdled and had sent desperate mental pleas winging to Nicholas, Sarah, and Mr. Thumberton.