by Cheryl Holt
Before Clayton had moved against her, she’d wisely mailed all of Nicholas’s documents to Thumberton so her proof was safe. She’d prayed Nicholas or Sarah would save her. All three of them were competent and reliable, and she wouldn’t allow herself to believe that she would languish in the appalling facility.
Someone would free her—she’d been convinced of it—and someone had. Who would it be?
Noise sounded in the hall. In case she wasn’t about to be released, she steeled her expression, having resolved not to exhibit any upset. If for some reason it was Clayton, she couldn’t predict how she’d react.
A man said, “I’m here to collect my mother. I have all the paperwork.”
Nicholas… ah…
She sighed with relief, suffering a thrill at hearing him refer to her as his mother.
He marched in, followed by another man who was wearing a guard’s uniform. Nicholas hurried over to her, a comforting hand laid on her shoulder.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. A bit shook up, but fine.”
“I came as quickly as I could.”
“It hasn’t been that long, and I wasn’t worried.” She was disturbed to note that he had a black eye. “What happened to you?”
“I was locked away myself—in jail—for a few days.”
She gasped. “By whom?”
“I’m sure you can guess, and I’ll tell you about it later.” He grinned. “My jailers weren’t as polite as yours. Then again, I was a tad angry, and I have a mean left hook.”
“How did you gain your release?”
“You must remember Michael Fenwick. He was at Clayton’s birthday party.”
“Yes, I remember that blond scalawag.”
“He’s a grand friend to have in a crisis. He posted my bail.”
“Remind me to reward him.”
“He’ll like that. When we parted in Bath, he couldn’t stop talking about how much I owe him.”
He turned to the guard who’d seated himself at the desk, and he arranged several papers on the desktop. The fellow scarcely perused them.
“I’m sorry about this error,” the man said. “Had we known your relationship to her, Mr. Swift, we wouldn’t have accepted her as a patient. We weren’t aware she had a son.”
“She definitely does,” Nicholas firmly stated. “I trust—should she ever again be brought in by accident—that you’ll handle the matter in a more timely fashion.”
“I will. You have my word on it.”
Nicholas gave him a small pouch, and from how the contents clinked she assumed it was filled with coins. So…not only had he obtained the legal authority to free her, he’d had to tender a bribe too. It truly made her despair for the future of the kingdom.
He smiled at her. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“Let’s get you out of here before people reconsider and hold us both.”
She tamped down a shudder. “Heaven forbid.”
“Have you any belongings? Should you pack your bag?”
“No, I was admitted with just the clothes on my back.”
He raised a brow. “Well, there’s another sin for which I’ll have to extract retribution.”
He helped her to her feet. She didn’t need any help, but she found it delightful to have him lead and guide her. They walked out together, a guard marching ahead of them. They wound down halls and across a courtyard, and then they were at the gate and on the street.
She gazed up at the sky, and it was cloudy, drizzle falling. It wet her face, and she breathed deep of the fresh air. Her son watched, but didn’t interrupt. She liked that about him. He understood her as no one ever had.
“When you were born,” she said, “I picked a name for you.”
“It wasn’t Nicholas?”
“No.”
“Then I have no idea how I came by it,” he said.
“I’d hate to think it was selected by that tart, Pegeen Swifton, but I chose a different one. I never told anyone what it was though. It was my little secret.”
“Can you tell me now? Or would you rather not?”
“It was Robert of course. I named you after your father.”
“May I keep using Nicholas?” he asked. “Or will it distress you?”
She studied him, pondered, then said, “Nicholas suits you, and I can’t imagine calling you anything else.”
“Good. I’ve grown accustomed to it.”
“Take me home, would you? Take me somewhere safe and quiet, and promise you’ll stay by my side so I don’t have to be afraid.”
“I promise, Mildred. I will stay right next to you, and I will never leave.”
* * * *
Clayton huffed up the stairs to Mr. Thumberton’s office. The haughty lawyer had finally responded to Clayton’s frantic letters requesting a meeting about his aunt.
In his numerous missives, he hadn’t informed Thumberton that Mildred had been locked away, but he was about to apprise him. He supposed Thumberton would quibble, but Clayton had medical opinions from three doctors who agreed that Mildred displayed all the common symptoms of hysteria.
Clayton was her sole male relative so it was only natural that he would shoulder the onerous burden of minding her business for her.
Normally, he wouldn’t have contacted Thumberton at all, but he had to persuade Thumberton to sign over the bank accounts. If he wouldn’t, then Clayton would have to begin lengthy court proceedings to force a change of trustee, and he didn’t relish the notion of a legal spat with the renowned attorney.
Mildred was Clayton’s aunt, and he wouldn’t be put off by a functionary.
In the reception area, he handed over his hat and was immediately shown into the lawyer’s inner sanctum. This was more like it! His persistence had definitely paid off.
He strutted in, eager to make a stellar first impression, but with his blackened eyes and swollen nose it was difficult. He wasn’t about to explain that he’d been attacked by a felonious brigand in the dark of night in his own bed. If anyone inquired, he’d concocted a delicious story about a violent carriage accident.
“Mr. Thumberton,” the clerk said, “Mr. Farnsworth has arrived.”
Thumberton was an older, important looking fellow seated behind a huge desk, the oak polished to a shine. He was balding and portly, with the girth and muttonchops to indicate his success in life.
His suit was expensive, expertly tailored and sewn from just the perfect shade of gray to exacerbate his aura of consequence. He oozed power and authority, and Clayton would admit to being a bit intimidated.
“Hello, Mr. Farnsworth.” Thumberton gestured to an empty chair. “I appreciate your being so prompt. Won’t you join me?”
“I will. Thank you.”
Clayton started toward him when Thumberton added, “You know your aunt, and I’m sure you remember Mr. Swift.”
Clayton blanched, seeing what he hadn’t noticed when he’d initially entered. Mildred and Mr. Swift were present, and with their appearing where they shouldn’t be he felt dizzy with dismay.
Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Aunt Mildred! What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been consulting with my lawyer. The better question is: What are you doing here? I could swear Thumberton is my lawyer, not yours.”
“I…I…” He always acted like a bumbling toddler around her, and he turned his fierce attention to Swift. “Don’t assume you’ll exit this room a free man. I intend to summon the law and have you prosecuted for assaulting me.”
“I assaulted you?” Swift snidely retorted. “I don’t think so. Whatever date the incident occurred, I have a dozen witnesses who will testify I was somewhere far away from you.” Swift grinned his evil grin. “What happened to your nose? It looks painful. Might I hope someone broke it for you?”
Clayton might have hurled a scathing reply, but Thumber
ton sternly said, “Sit down, Mr. Farnsworth. We have a few matters to address, and I’d like to wrap up this meeting as quickly as we can.”
Clayton should have stomped out, but Thumberton had a commanding manner that was impossible to ignore. Clayton staggered over to the chair by the desk and eased himself down.
His thoughts were awhirl with visions of all that had been lost. His fortune. His new house and property. His status as a rich gentleman. He would be forced back to penury, but with no means to correct his descent. His gambling debts were soaring, with opponents calling in his markers and demanding he pay what was owed.
Mildred was supposed to be at Bedlam and Swift in jail. How had the duplicitous pair outwitted him? Sarah Henley must have been the culprit. Who else would have sounded an alarm?
Clayton bristled with fury. He should have had Miss Henley arrested when he’d had Swift arrested, but he’d viewed her as a harmless loose end. How could he have discounted how sneaky she would be?
He decided to seize the initiative. “My aunt is not well, Mr. Thumberton. I’ve come to confer with you about her mental problems.”
Thumberton steely gaze didn’t waver, but Swift and Mildred snorted with amusement.
“I won’t waste time on nonsense,” Thumberton said. “I have summoned you here to inform you that your aunt’s situation has been dramatically altered.”
“No, it hasn’t!” Clayton insisted. “You have to help me. You have to listen to me.”
“Her son has been located,” Thumberton declared.
“Nicholas Swift is not her son!” Clayton’s tone was pleading. “It’s a lie to remove me as her heir. Can’t you see through Swift’s scheme?”
“My staff has verified his evidence,” Thumberton claimed.
“They couldn’t have.” Clayton nearly leapt over the desk to shake the man. “He’s an imposter. A confidence artist. He’s played on her sympathies until she can’t discern up from down.”
“Mr. Farnsworth,” Thumberton calmly stated, “your aunt is in full possession of her intellect. I have had her fitness confirmed by the court as well as several medical doctors.”
“You couldn’t have! I have three doctors of my own who swear differently. She’s deranged, I tell you.”
Thumberton’s expression was pitying. “Control yourself or I shall have you escorted out. We’ll conclude this appointment by mail.”
“Aunt Mildred!” Clayton rudely gestured at Nicholas Swift. “You can’t be serious about this. Stop it at once.”
Swift replied for her. “I would ask that you not speak to my mother. If you have a pertinent comment, address it to me. If you deserve an answer, I will give it to you, but I must confess—in light of your antics—there are few queries you could pose that would warrant a response.”
Swift looked deadly and dangerous, Thumberton implacable and condemning. Mildred looked serene and composed, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, as if she didn’t quite remember who Clayton was.
Suddenly, Thumberton voiced the most terrifying words Clayton had ever heard: “Your aunt has changed her Will.”
Clayton felt as if he’d been punched in the nose all over again. “What? No!”
“As of this morning, Nicholas Swift-Stone has become her sole heir. The document has been signed by witnesses and filed with the court.”
“No…no…” Clayton was muttering, shaking his head.
Thumberton continued. “Although you have behaved egregiously toward her, she does not wish to quarrel with you. She is willing to settle a monetary gift on you, but on one condition.”
“What condition?” Clayton spat.
“You must agree to never contact her again.”
“You can’t demand that of me. She’s my only relative.”
“Your connection to her didn’t matter much in the past month,” Thumberton disdainfully said, “and I find it amusing that you raise it as a defense.”
“You’re planning to let Swift saunter off with all my money,” Clayton complained. “It’s theft, and you’re aiding and abetting him!”
Thumberton wasn’t swayed by Clayton’s argument. “This is your one and only chance to accept the fiduciary gift. If you don’t accept it, after you leave my office it will be retracted and you will receive nothing.”
Clayton sneered. “And Swift will receive all, I suppose.”
“It’s not Mr. Swift,” Thumberton reminded him. “It’s Mr. Stone now. Nicholas Stone. He’s taking his father’s name.”
Clayton scoffed. “A name will make no difference. Once a bastard always a bastard.”
Swift wasn’t needled by the insult. He asked Thumberton, “Are we finished? Would you like me to show him out?”
Thumberton stared at Clayton and inquired, “What is it to be, Mr. Farnsworth? Will you accept the funds or not?”
Clayton’s irate gaze roamed over Thumberton, then Swift, then his aunt, and he burst into tears. He couldn’t help it. His head hurt from his pummeling, and his ribs throbbed where Swift had kicked him. He’d established himself in Mildred’s house. He’d ordered a wardrobe of clothes and a fancy carriage.
He’d started a whole new life! It was the sort of life he’d been destined to live! How could he have lost it all so quickly? It was so unfair.
“Aunt Mildred, please!” he begged. “You can’t mean to wound me like this.”
Swift stood and stepped in front of Mildred, blocking her from Clayton’s view.
“You’re not to speak to her, Clayton. Wasn’t I clear?”
Thumberton rapped his knuckles on the desk. “What is your decision, Mr. Farnsworth? Will you sign?”
He shoved a document at Clayton, and Clayton might have been frozen on a high precipice. He could jump either way. He could muster his pride, tell all of them to sod off, and march out of the room. Or he could choke on his pride and walk away with his aunt’s blood money.
He didn’t want to choose! He wanted to return to being Mildred’s beloved nephew and heir, but apparently they were far beyond that wonderful era.
“I’ll sign!” he fumed.
He grabbed a quill, dipped it in the ink jar, and scribbled his name on the line. He didn’t bother to glance at the terms so he had no idea how much she was paying him, but whatever the sum it would never be enough.
“Perfect,” Thumberton said. “Now then, there are a few other details you should know.”
“I don’t care to hear them.”
Thumberton persisted anyway. “You appear to have seized control of your aunt’s house, which can’t be allowed to stand. Your belongings have been packed and set out on the road.”
“What? You can’t do that!”
“We’ve posted guards around the estate, and they will remain in place for the foreseeable future. If they discover you lurking in the neighborhood, you’ll be arrested for trespassing and harassment.”
“They’d have to catch me first,” Clayton seethed.
“I’m sure they are fleet-footed,” Thumberton blithely asserted. “Remember this most of all: You are never to contact your aunt again.”
“How will you prevent me?”
“If you try to force yourself into her presence, we will sue to retrieve the money she’s giving you today, and we will also sue to confiscate your own property as damages for breach of contract. You’ll be left with nothing.”
“That property is mine. My father bequeathed it to me.”
“If you wish to keep it,” Thumberton advised, “don’t be a fool.”
There was an angry, awkward pause, then Thumberton stood to indicate the appointment was over.
“Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Farnsworth.”
Clayton whipped away and stomped out. At the last second, he peered back at his aunt, his expression beseeching. He was desperate to begin generating sympathy so he could eventually worm his way back into her good graces, but Swift was still blocking her from view.
He departed so fast he forgot his hat, but he was already plotting how he could rid himself of Swift and, in the process, regain his spot by his aunt’s side.
Ultimately, Nicholas Swift would be the sorriest man in the world.
* * * *
Sarah studied the faces of her family that was suddenly growing by leaps and bounds. They’d had supper together, and the meal had just concluded. Then they’d moved to the parlor to read and talk. It was a rainy evening, and a fire burned in the hearth. The scene was like something out of a favorite painting, and it comforted her more than she could have imagined possible.
There were her sisters, Abigail and Catherine, but there were two nieces and two brothers-in-law as well.
After their tragedy a decade earlier, it had just been the tiny trio of Sarah and her sisters for so long. They’d constantly been separated, having to correspond by letter and able to visit in person only on the rarest occasions. It seemed as if Fate had waved a magic wand so matters would improve.
She couldn’t deduce which surprise was the biggest. Abigail had stabilized her situation by marrying Alex Wallace. He was rich, but notorious too. They’d wed in a hurry, using a Special License, but Alex had promised Abigail a fancy church wedding later on. It was rushing toward them at the end of September. Sarah was ecstatic that she’d get to help with the preparations.
Catherine was married too, again with a Special License, and she was planning a double wedding with Abigail. It was turning into a large celebration. Not the sort they’d have had if their father had been alive, but it would be very grand all the same.
Catherine’s husband, Christopher Wakefield-Stanton, was a landed gentleman who owned an estate that was in a decrepit condition. Catherine wasn’t concerned though and insisted they were excited to be repairing the dilapidated place.
Sarah hadn’t seen it yet. When she’d arrived at Wallace Downs, Abigail had sent a messenger to inform Catherine that Sarah was safely with her, and Catherine and her husband had raced to Wallace Downs. After Sarah caught her breath—probably after the wedding—she would head to Stanton Manor and stay with Catherine until she could figure out what to do with herself.