by Mary Brendan
Fiona felt her stomach lurch; the horrible man need not add anything at all for her to know that gossip had started about her and the highwaymen. But she put up her chin and politely waited for Mr Herbert to do his worst.
‘I expect you now realise that I am Mr Stanley Herbert. Word has reached my ears that a misfortune overcame you and your fellow travellers en route to Dartmouth.’
‘It did, sir,’ Fiona confirmed levelly, realising he had pursed his lips in readiness to have her admit to her disgrace.
‘And is it true that you, Miss Chapman, suffered abduction at the hands of these miscreants?’
‘I... Yes, that’s correct...but I am in good health, as you can see, sir.’ Fiona suddenly felt heartsick. She had no wish to be constantly reminded of the vile incident, but her greatest fear was that her livelihood was about to be whipped away.
‘Physically well, you may be, Miss Chapman, but I think you know that your life, and your prospects, have been irreparably damaged.’ Mr Herbert’s voice was low and slow, as one might enunciate an opinion on an immeasurable tragedy. He blinked rapidly behind his glasses. ‘I was annoyed to find you did not arrive at the appointed time. Now I know the circumstances behind the delay, I can sympathise with your dreadful plight, but of course my duty to my daughters’ moral welfare is paramount.’ He shook his head, approaching her. ‘Here...take this...’ Mr Herbert handed over five shillings. ‘It is an amount of compensation and I hope it will help you. I also hope you find work in another area where people remain in ignorance of your stigma.’
Fiona marched to the table and tipped from her palm on to its surface the coins he’d given her. ‘I have no need of your sympathy or your charity, sir.’ Her pride had revived and her tigerish eyes clashed on his affronted stare. ‘I can see now that we would not have suited one another in any case, so am glad to have met you sooner rather than later.’
Mr Herbert’s chest expanded and he grew florid. ‘Indeed, Miss Chapman, we would not have suited!’ he wheezed out. ‘My daughters have had a lucky escape. I will bid you farewell.’ With small fast steps he strutted to the exit, then returned to retrieve his five shillings. With his puffed-out chest straining his waistcoat buttons, he again approached the door and shut it noisily behind him.
* * *
It was the sound of the fanfare from the approaching mail coach that startled Fiona from her daze. She had been standing stock still, her head thumping from the effort of trying to decide what to do next. After she settled her bill at the Pig and Whistle she would have some change from the sovereign Luke had given her, but there was nowhere near enough in her purse to get her back to London. Even should she decide to return to the metropolis she would never again set foot in her stepfather’s house.
Her friends, the Jacksons, could not help her, either. They had all parted company earlier that morning, with hugs and tears in abundance. The couple had given her their direction and insisted on having Fiona’s promise to write to them as soon as she had settled in at the Herberts. Then they had climbed aboard the trap that was taking them home. Even Mr Jackson had looked suspiciously dewy-eyed as he took the reins and called out to Fiona every good wish for her future health and happiness.
So she was quite alone and regretted having pressed Luke to take back his coins. How she needed them now! But she did not rue for one minute having refused to take Mr Herbert’s conscience money. She was glad she had found out what a horrible man he was.
But beggars couldn’t be choosers, she impressed on herself when her indignation had been tempered by realism. Unpleasant as her work and her life might have been at Dartmouth she would have had shelter till she could find the means to move elsewhere.
Fiona’s troubled thoughts were dragged to the present by the clamour in the bar next door. New arrivals had disembarked from the coach and trooped into the inn for refreshment before journeying on.
Fiona propped her warm forehead against the cool glass of the mullioned windowpane and watched the hubbub outside. The team of horses was being unharnessed from the dusty contraption and the busy ostlers brought to Fiona’s mind memories of Toby and Bert Williams.
‘There’s a lady turned up on the coach asking for Mr Wolfson.’
Fiona spun about to see the landlady closing the door behind her. Mrs Brewer looked slightly awkward. ‘I know the major has gone on his way, but my husband said that the two of you were friendly...so do you know where he has headed? The lady seems anxious to catch up with him.’
‘Did she give her name?’ Fiona asked, although sure she already knew the answer to that. So Becky Peake had not given up her chase! Fiona was assailed with a mixture of anger and admiration that her rival would continue to humble herself for Luke Wolfson’s sake.
Suddenly the door was flung open and Maude hurtled in. ‘I thought I recognised your voice. Oh, Fiona, my dear child! How glad I am to have found you!’
The landlady diplomatically withdrew on realising that a family reunion was about to take place. Of course she’d heard the rumours about what had happened to Miss Chapman, so could imagine that the poor mother—if that was who the woman was—had much to say to the ruined daughter.
Shocked to the core at the sight of her mother surging towards her with Rose trotting at her side, Fiona gripped the nearest chair for support. ‘Mama! What...what on earth—?’ The rest of Fiona’s stuttered question was cut off as Maude enclosed her daughter in a breathtaking hug.
‘Oh, my dear, I’m so, so sorry that you have suffered abominably...’
Fiona gently disentangled herself as her sense returned. She held her mother’s hands and gazed into Maude’s wet eyes, feeling very close to blubbing herself. ‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘The duke said that Mr Wolfson would be at either the King and Tinker or the Pig and Whistle, and would know your whereabouts.’ Maude gulped. ‘He wasn’t at the first inn so I came here in the hope of questioning him. But now I don’t need to, for I have found you!’
‘You’ve spoken to the Duke of Thornley about me?’ Fiona pounced on one of many astonishing facts circling crazily in her mind.
‘Yes...yes...or I wouldn’t have known to come here,’ Maude garbled.
‘And His Grace told you that Luke Wolfson knew me?’
‘Well, he did, but he wasn’t the first to mention that fellow and you in the same breath. A young hussy at the Fallow Buck said that you were with the major and she pointed me in His Grace’s direction to find out more. So off we set to Thornley Heights and I met the duke and what a tale I heard!’ Maude wailed.
‘Young hussy?’ Again overwhelmed by her mother’s report, Fiona found one thing to immediately ask about. Overriding all else was the thought of Becky Peake being still in the vicinity to hound Luke.
‘Her name was Megan,’ Rose interjected helpfully, having hitherto listened to and watched the fraught exchange from a distance.
Fiona drew her mother, tottering, towards a chair and made her sit down. Then she sank down beside her on the rug. For a moment she remained quiet and still, assembling her thoughts. Then she raised her head and gave her mother a wobbly smile. ‘It is good to see you, Mama, and I wish that we had better news for one another. But we must not despair. We will get by...we always do.’ She enclosed her mother’s shoulders in a hug as Maude stifled a sob. ‘First you must tell everything that has happened to you and then I’ll tell you my news...good and bad.’
‘Oh... I know, you are ruined,’ Maude wailed beneath her breath. ‘The duke told me so and very sorry he is, too, because it is all his silly fault that you got dragged into this. But what good is sorry?’ Maude wrung her hands. ‘He seems a decent man and has said he will make amends...but how is that to be achieved?’ Maude flung up her hands in exasperation. ‘When I demanded he tell me, he had no answer to give. What will he do? Will he buy you a husband?’ She snorted he
r dubious opinion on the likelihood of that.
‘I don’t want a husband bought for me, Mama,’ Fiona returned forcefully. She threw back her head, moist eyes blinking at the ceiling. Oh, she knew that in the circumstances paying a nice chap to marry her and salvage her reputation would be a sensible, if humiliating, option. Indeed, Fiona had heard of instances when a genteel woman had been discreetly married to a fortune hunter following an unfortunate slip on the lady’s part. But Fiona knew she had not made a slip and she knew there was only one man she wanted.
Luke Wolfson had desired taking her with him, as his mistress, and suddenly she was regretting turning her back on that offer more than she was sorry for having given him back his shiny gold coins.
‘Tell me what else the duke said, Mama.’ Fiona sat back on her heels and waited for her mother to resume her account. Her hopes of keeping bad news from reaching her mother’s ears—or at least breaking it to Maude herself—had been dashed. Fiona realised that Mr Herbert would not be alone in having heard the gossip. The countryside was probably buzzing with tales of the lady and the highwaymen, each version more lurid than the previous one, thrilling everybody with its awfulness.
* * *
Some twenty minutes later mother and daughter had finished talking and were gazing quietly at one another.
‘So...this Wolfson is just your saviour rather than your beau?’ Maude said, a touch disappointedly. ‘When I spoke to His Grace, he was cautious in what he said about you and the major. Perhaps he thought I might have a fit of the vapours knowing you had an admirer.’ Maude glanced at Rose who had taken a chair by the window and appeared to be absorbed in some crochet work, pulled from her reticule. ‘I wondered if you might have succumbed to Wolfson’s charms, you know, Fiona.’ Maude managed a weak chuckle. ‘I saw him leaving the duke’s house, you see, but had no opportunity to talk to him. He is very handsome.’ Maude angled her face to watch for Fiona’s reaction.
‘Yes, he is...’ Fiona agreed in a murmur, a tiny smile tilting her full lips.
‘You like him, but fear that he is put off by those rogues having manhandled you.’ Maude slapped her lap in exasperation. ‘And how I wish I might have given that Mr Herbert a piece of my mind. How dare he speak to you so! But none of this would have come about but for my stupidity...’ Maude ended on a sorrowful sigh. ‘If only I had not married Cecil.’ She clutched her daughter’s hands, bringing them to her bosom. ‘If I could turn back the clock I would. Please forgive me for being a silly vain woman.’
Fiona nodded vigorously, unable to speak. She hated seeing her mother upset, but her burgeoning sorrow at having let Luke go off and leave her was closing her throat with anguish. Piously she’d told him she’d sooner be a governess than a mistress, but even before Mr Herbert had dismissed her, she’d known she’d told a lie and would fly to him in an instant if she could.
The night through she’d tossed and turned upstairs in her comfortable bed. At one point she’d got up and padded to the window to stare at the heavy moon, knowing he was somewhere close, beneath the same silver orb. And with a fervour she’d not employed since her dear papa was on his deathbed she’d prayed for the well-being of a man she loved. Then she had felt annoyed with him for troubling her so. He had rejected what most people wanted despite having the wherewithal to provide himself with a permanent home in polite society. It was a great puzzle to Fiona why Luke chose not to enjoy the safety and comfort his wealth and status could provide.
‘What will you do?’
Maude broke into Fiona’s introspection with a quavering demand for information. She’d been watching her daughter’s delicately sharp features being shaped by fierce concentration.
‘The first thing I will do is get us some refreshment.’ Fiona stood up, determined to buck up on seeing such concern in her mother’s eyes. ‘It will all seem a little better after a nice cup of tea and some of Mrs Brewer’s ginger cake.’ At the door Fiona hesitated and turned to look back at her mother. ‘Have you left Mr Ratcliff for good?’ She refused to give her stepfather anything other than a formal title.
‘I shall never go back to him! I’d sooner enter the workhouse!’ Maude declared dramatically. ‘And I’d not be surprised to see him there, too...or the Fleet! He has sold everything we once had.’
‘Apart from your late husband’s small painting, ma’am,’ Rose reminded without looking up from her needlework.
‘Oh...we have something to sell!’ Maude gleefully clapped her hands. ‘I had quite forgotten about that picture packed in the trunk.’
Fiona was pleased to see her mother’s smile and went off to find Mrs Brewer and order their tea. But she knew there were still many problems ahead of them all. If the Duke of Thornley were prepared to make amends to them in some way then she’d as soon he compensated her mother so Maude might have a modest home and shelter.
She needed nothing for herself; she knew with a kind of serene acceptance that fate had already decreed her future. Luke Wolfson was a dangerously enigmatic man but wherever he was...that was where she would go...in the hope he still wanted her.
Chapter Seventeen
Megan moved closer by sidling from table to table, furiously polishing the wooden tops, hoping to eavesdrop on the conversation between the two men. The landlord of the Fallow Buck was a gregarious fellow, willing to pass the time of day with any patron and he seemed to have a lot to say to the haughty-faced individual.
It was a name overheard that had drawn Megan closer...and there it was again... Mrs Ratcliff. Megan knew that woman...and her daughter, Fiona Chapman, and she reckoned that this traveller must be a relative, come looking for the two of them.
She resumed swiping her cloth over ale-spotted oak as she noticed the gentleman was watching her from beneath his brows. Perhaps he thought she had crept closer because she fancied him.
The landlord wandered off and Megan was about to follow him to probe for information about the stranger when he spoke to her.
‘And what might your name be, my dear?’
Innocently, Megan glanced up at him. ‘I’m Megan. Would you like me to get you some refreshment, sir?’ she asked politely.
Cecil Ratcliff slumped down into a chair at the table Megan had been cleaning. ‘Indeed you may...a bottle of port and a plate of beef with bread and cheese and pickles,’ he listed out. ‘And if a decent cigar is to be had in this place, bring that, too.’
Megan dipped her head. One of those, was he? Plenty of wants but most likely a tight-fist...like his wife, if indeed he was Mrs Ratcliff’s husband. Megan went off to the kitchens and while preparing the food alongside the landlord, got answers to the questions she casually asked. She learned that the fellow was indeed Mr Ratcliff and he was enquiring after his wife and stepdaughter.
‘He seemed a churlish sort,’ the landlord summed up Cecil Ratcliff, while slicing juicy beef from the bone. ‘I don’t reckon his wife will get to keep that picture. I wish I’d not mentioned seeing it now.’
‘Picture?’ Megan echoed with a frown.
‘Mrs Ratcliff couldn’t get the lid of her packing case shut. I gave her a hand and noticed she’d got a small painting wedged inside. I only mentioned it in passing, but Ratcliff seemed glad to know about it.’ The landlord raised his bushy eyebrows at Megan. ‘Perhaps it’s an heirloom...and, no, he is not having one of my cigars so say we’ve no stock.’
Megan turned away with the loaded plate of food, heading for the door. She reckoned that Sam might want to hear about Mr Ratcliff arriving in Devon and about an heirloom.
Jeremiah Collins had been snapping and snarling at his men since the fiasco with Miss Chapman. In turn Sam had been snapping and snarling at Megan. Collins didn’t like deals to turn sour on him and the kidnapping escapade had netted him just a few pounds from Wolfson when he’d been expecting ten times as much in ransom. Megan wanted her and Sam to be mar
ried because she loved him despite his faults and bad connections. Once they were wed she was sure she could lure Sam away from Collins’s gang. But in the meantime she was certain if she gave Sam some useful information to pass to Jeremiah then all might be well again between them and they’d start walking out together once more. Perhaps, before Ratcliff was reunited with his family, he might be tricked into believing that his stepdaughter was still in danger and stump up a ransom. That would be sure to put a smile on Collins’s face. As far as Megan could see there was no risk in such a plot...but much to gain...
* * *
The Duke of Thornley was also beset by thoughts of Cecil Ratcliff and had been since the day Maude had come to visit him, looking for her daughter.
Following his talk with Maude that day he’d brooded on what she had disclosed about her wretched marriage. Alfred had liked Maude and wanted to do everything he could to make her life comfortable and that of her blameless daughter. He felt he owed them both that much. He’d guessed what Maude wanted above all else was for her and Fiona to be rid of the man making their lives a misery. So he’d acted on that hunch. Alfred wasn’t sure that the document in his hand would do the trick, but it was certainly intriguing enough for him to harbour a glimmer of hope.
The duke’s man of business had returned from London just that afternoon, bringing with him a report of his investigations into Maude Ratcliff’s reprobate of a husband. With a sigh Alfred tossed the parchment on to the shiny yew table and sat down, chin cupped in his hands. It all seemed outlandish, but then, of late, much of his life was like that, so he imagined other people’s lives were, too. He made a snap decision to send servants to scour the coaching inns and find Maude...perhaps now reunited with Fiona...and invite her to Thornley Heights so he might share with her some astonishing news. Of course, were it authentic, it would present the woman with a fresh set of problems. But Thornley felt it only right to give Maude the chance to have her say on it.