The Marriage Bargain

by Blaise Kilgallen

  Bromley slinked through the doorway, shutting the portal quickly behind him.

  “Lock it,” Gavin ordered Grafton. “I don’t want us interrupted.”

  “B-but, my lord, why…” Grafton began to sputter.

  “Just do what I say, and listen to what I have to tell you.”

  Frowning, Grafton flipped the key in the lock and turned back to face Leathem. His expression was still perplexed, but within minutes Grafton heard most of the story from the earl.

  “I’m not sure how to handle this, my lord,” the lawyer retorted. “I don’t believe you know the circumstances stated in Mary Morrow’s Will and Testament. You see, I wrote it for her almost two decades ago. It is rather odd that I had reason recently to review its codicils in depth. It appeared time that I notify Emily Dancy and her uncle so I might release funds held with me all these years. Due to my wise handling while investing its capital, the trust fund has grown quite handsomely, I must say.” Grafton smiled, satisfied. “Along with my commission, of course.”

  Abruptly, Gavin asked, “Is there a problem releasing Emily Dancy’s inheritance, Grafton? Is there any reason you know of why she wouldn’t inherit?”

  “Only, m’lord, if Grace Morrow was not legally wed to John Dancy. Then their daughter would be a bastard—err, what I mean to say—she would not be a legitimate inheritor.”

  “Dammit, Grafton, spell it out to me in understandable and concise language.”

  “As you wish.” Grafton cleared his throat. “You see, I was never able to unearth information as to when and where Grace Morrow and John Dancy were married if at all.” The lawyer paused. “And I never knew the exact date of their daughter’s birth. I tried to verify things when John Dancy asked his adopted brother made guardian to her in his will, but he never got back to me before he was killed. What I did know was that the uncle was alive. I had been given an address where he could be reached. I wrote him after the terrible tragedy that took John Dancy’s death and his wife’s.”

  “But there must be other records elsewhere—”

  “None that I found, my lord. I queried Squire Morrow, but he wouldn’t speak to me about his daughter. He chased me away—well, I mean, he ordered me out of his house.” The lawyer chuckled at that. “I believe Morrow’s daughter, Grace, hurt him deeply when she ran off with her lover. Her father never approved of the marriage. Mary spoke of the situation when we discussed her will. She and Grace came from aristocratic roots. John Dancy was a common tradesman—a cooper.” Grafton sighed. “When Mary passed on, the squire shut himself away and spoke to no one.”

  Gavin said little but continued to listen.

  “Unless I can locate a viable record of her parents’ marriage and the girl’s birth, Emily Dancy can’t inherit. Not the way Mary’s will is written. Grace could have inherited, but she is now deceased. I didn’t know there might be a discrepancy in the girl’s history until you mentioned it. Mary Morrow never said the pair were wed. I simply assumed they had been. Perhaps, Mary wasn’t sure if they did or didn’t marry. She just wanted her daughter taken care of when she, herself, passed on.” Grafton cleared his throat. “I knew Mary wasn’t long for this life when we met in my office. She didn’t look well—weak, pale, and terribly unhappy. And she died soon after.”

  Grafton sat down heavily behind his desk. “In any event, my lord, the inheritance doesn’t pass to the adopted brother, Eustace Dancy, either. Instead, it may go to the squire. I must look over its wording again closely.”

  “Hmm,” the earl said, pausing. “It’s my considered opinion the points you mentioned are still to be explored, Grafton, if we are to find the truth. I was with Squire Morrow a short while ago, and he promised to tell me what I don’t know when I locate Emily and fetch her back to him.”

  Gavin’s eyes met Grafton’s. “There is still a prime problem in the fact that Eustace is dangerous. He cannot to be taken lightly. He’s a rogue, and I believe, definitely a criminal. He needs to be put away permanently. He wields a glib tongue and an even sharper mind. He was incarcerated recently and accused of spying for the French. He must have hired a very astute barrister, because I learned he was released from the Tower and is in Tunbridge Wells as we speak.” Leathem eyed Grafton sharply. “And unless I’m totally incorrect, he is in your anteroom demanding those inherited funds from Mary Morrow’s will be given him because he is guardian to the Dancys’ daughter.”

  “Dammit, I sent him monthly stipends for two years. He can’t expect—”

  “He does, nevertheless, Grafton. He believes he has been wronged by the Dancys and by Squire Morrow in particular. One would think once rescued from the grimy streets of White Chapel years ago that he’d be thankful. But no, not him. It was never the case.” Gavin paused. “He’s a bloody, no good lout. A bully and a thief. It’s how he works. He uses malicious intimidation on his victims and on those whom he perceives are his enemies. He forced Squire Morrow to show him where he kept his strongbox. Then he helped himself to the contents.” Leathem’s brow tightened in a fierce frown as he continued his discourse with the lawyer. “Somehow, we must stop him, Grafton. I may have come up with a viable solution. It seems Dancy likes to brag about his conquests. Plus, I hear he has a vile, almost uncontrollable, temper. Because of it, he shoots his mouth off without thinking. Perhaps, we can use those nasty habits of his to foil his plans. Trap him into incriminating himself so he can be accused, gaoled, tried, and finally, convicted for his many dastardly crimes.”

  Chapter 17

  TRAPPED in the Porters’ carriage, Betsy struggled to get her beleaguered wits about her. Not sure what happened to Emily, she hoped to rescue her friend from the clutches of that horrid man. Still bound and gagged, Betsy rolled off the squabs and onto the carriage’s floor. Catching her breath after the painful tumble, she stretched out her legs and hammered her bound feet against the door with the heels of her half boots.

  Dolly, barmaid at the Fallen Virgin Inn, used a short cut to reach her lodgings. She saw a carriage parked in the alleyway but hurried past. No driver sat on the box. Maybe he went to relieve himself. She was about to turn away when she heard some thumping coming from inside the carriage.

  Dolly sneaked back. The thuds had grown weaker, less often. Then she heard a plaintive whimper and pressed an ear next to the painted lozenge on the door. Someone inside was breathing heavily. Was her cousin, Betsy, being tupped by the Porters’ driver in the carriage? Dolly frowned, but she had to see what was happening. Raising up on her toes, she peeked through the open window. At first, she saw no one. Then a pair of half boots kicked against the far door. Someone was stretched out on the carriage’s floor, hands and ankles bound, a gag in her mouth,

  Dolly let out a loud shriek, and without thinking, she yanked the door open. Aghast was what she saw when her gaze met that of her cousin’s blue eyes. Gulping out something unintelligible, excitedly, the barmaid squealed, “Omigawd, Betsy! What happened to you?”

  The terrified girl bobbed her head repeatedly, her voice muffled, her words garbled by panic and making no sense from behind the gag.

  Quickly, Dolly ran around to the carriage’s far side, pulled open that door, and reached in so she could grab her cousin’s hands and sit her upright.

  “Gawd Almighty, Betsy, what went on here? Who did this?” She choked, her face twisted with fright, her eyes wide with concern and panic.

  Hearing only garbled whimpering, Dolly realized her cousin couldn’t speak with the gag in her mouth. She pulled the kerchief out. “Lordy, Betts, who tied you up like this!” she exclaimed, fear and anxiety evident on her face and in her tone.

  Betsy’s lips quivered as if the temperature here was the middle of winter. “D-Dancy,” she blurted. Breathless, she gulped out, “H-he…did…this.”

  “Dancy? Who are you talking about? Who do you mean? Who is he?” Dolly asked, grabbing her cousin’s hands to stop them from shaking.

  “H-he’s Emily’s Uncle E
ustace…but, oh, good heavens, Dolly! Quick! Untie me! And h-hurry! We have to get help!”

  “What happened to your driver? Where is he?”

  “I don’t know!” Betsy groaned, plaintively. “What matters is that we need to find help…to save my lady friend from…I don’t know what!”

  Fumbling while trying to untie the satin ribbons binding Betsy’s wrists and ankles, Dolly kept up a stream of questions. “Why did your friend’s uncle tie you up and gag you? Where are they? Where did they go and why? And what does he want with Miss Emily?”

  “All I know is he dragged her into that brick building there, Dolly. I heard him say something about a Mr. Grafton. But we need help. Especially for Miss Emily! Oh, hurry, Dolly, please!”

  “Are you all right, cousin?”

  “Yes! Yes, I’m fine!”

  “Then come on! We’re near the Fallen Virgin. My husband and some of his friends should still be in the stables. You can tell them what happened. They’ll help us. Let’s go!”

  The two cousins were breathing hard when they reached the entrance to the Fallen Virgin Inn. “Will’s likely in the horse stalls.” Dolly yanked on her cousin’s arm, tugging Betsy behind the Inn with her. When she spotted her husband, she screamed, “Will! Will! We need you! Come here quick!”

  Seeing his wife’s anxious face and hearing the fear in her voice, Will threw the reins of a horse he was putting away to another hostler and ran to his wife.

  “What’s the matter? What happened, Dolly? Are you hurt?” He grabbed hold of his wife’s shoulders, his eyes raking over her face and down her body to see if she was injured.

  “No! I’m fine, Will!” Dolly exclaimed, spinning toward Betsy. “My cousin’s fine, too, but let Betsy tell you what happened. We need your help!”

  * * * *

  Meanwhile, in the anteroom Bromley announced, “Mr. Grafton begs your patience, Mr. Dancy. He asked me to apologize for the delay. He is currently with an important client who arrived a short while ago. He will see you and the lady when he’s finished with the gentleman.” Bromley smiled, rather weakly, his ink stained fingers clasped in front of his waistcoat. “It shouldn’t be very long.”

  “Tell Grafton to get a move on! I ain’t got all day to wait on him,” Eustace grumbled, his scowl deepening when the clerk gave him the news.

  Bromley coughed, nervously, and repeated his offer for Eustace to take a seat.

  Eustace slid onto a chair next to Emily. Swinster’s cane was propped between his knees. “R’member,” he whispered to her with a low aside. “Keep yer mouth shet. I’ll tell Grafton what’s ta be done with the money. Every blasted shilling is mine. I want a bank draft with my name on it, not yours. Then I’ll be gone from here fer good. And good riddance to the rest o’ ye.”

  Eustace looked more twitchy than ever as he waited in the anteroom. He stood up again and began to pace. Moving back and forth in front of Emily, he made her even more nervous.

  She scarcely breathed, staring at folded hands lying in her lap. Her heart bumped hard against her ribs. Was her uncle telling her the truth? Did her mother and father never marry? An impossible notion, but the idea knifed through her like a blade sticking in her chest. Oh my God! If they hadn’t wed—She was bastard!

  Her best friend would never speak to her again just when they had been reacquainted as bosom bows. Lord Harry wouldn’t allow Wilma anywhere near her. The Porters were members of London’s Polite Society. They would cut Emily out of their lives. She would be scorned by the members of the Porters’ aristocratic world, and outraged that she should dare seek them as friends. Never again would she be allowed into that gracious, elegant arena for a single instant.

  Even Wilma’s maid might not speak with her when she learned of her untimely birth.

  And, of course, she would no longer be employed as Lilianne’s governess, either. The pair had enjoyed a certain kinship simply because of their ages, and because both of them had lost parents in unusual accidents. They clung to one another, uneasy in a new world into which they’d been thrust. Lilianne was a beauty—clever, witty, and a bit untamed. Emily was certain the girl would take London by storm when she came out next month.

  Oh! And what about the earl? Drawing in a shaky breath, she almost forgot about him. So many thoughts rioted through her. She had scarcely enough air to fill her lungs. She knew Wilma wanted her to accept Leathem’s offer, and she was fond of him, because he behaved so differently now than when he first hired her. The more she examined her thoughts about him the more she wondered if her own feelings had grown—into more than affection or possibly love—before or after they may wed. But she still couldn’t marry him. Not until—

  There would be no daydreaming about a life with the handsome earl if her parents’ were never wed, and she was born on the wrong side of the blanket.

  Feeling a little woozy, Emily swallowed. She considered escaping from Grafton’s office and running as fast and far as she could. But Eustace still blocked her path. The door to the back room swung open just then. A middle-aged gentleman with bushy, side-whiskers and a bald pate, stood in the doorway to the anteroom. Bromley jumped up from behind his desk, ready to introduce the newcomers.

  Eustace stopped pacing and said, “Well, now, it’s about time, Grafton. Ye kept me waitin’ overly long. But looky here, I’m ready to make yer acquaintance and take care of our business quickly, hmm? I’m Eustace Dancy, Emily Dancy’s uncle and guardian. And I’m here to claim her inheritance fer her. What say, we go inside now and discuss it? Shouldn’t take more’n a few minutes to write a bank draft, eh what?”

  “Is that the Dancy girl with you?” Grafton asked, his bushy eyebrows arching as he studied the untidy appearance of the man who claimed to be the girl’s guardian.

  “O’course, Grafton. Who else would she be? I ain’t got no other ward I knows of?” Eustace cackled, jovially. Then quickly, his lips tightened into a nasty-looking sneer. “Her name’s Dancy, like mine.”

  “How do I know this is the right girl? I’ve never seen her in person.” Grafton added, noncommittally. “Nor you, either.”

  “How do ye know?” Eustace snapped out a fast quip, his eyes bulging with irritation. “B’cause I’m tellin’ ye, that’s how!” The tenor of his voice rose when he spoke louder. “Don’t give me any o’ yer lip, barrister! I bloody had enuff of the likes of ye in London! Damn legal eagles! They’re thieves and con artists! Allus of ’em! Jest like ye! Stealin’ ev’ry shilling they can from a man’s hard earned blunt!”

  As Eustace’s rant grew more vicious, the ruddy color on his cheeks deepened, his face contorting, his eyes blazing with uncontrolled antagonism. “Took care o’ one of ’em, I did,” he blustered. “He’s swimmin’ in a river now. I gave him his bloody fee, all right. Don’t s’pose he’ll be cheatin’ nobody ever again.”

  Realizing he said too much, Dancy clamped his mouth shut and struggled to muffle his hot temper. “Damme, Grafton, stop yer diddlin’ round and let’s get down to business, eh? Jest write my name on a bank draft, sign it, and I’ll be on me way.” Eustace grinned, nastily. “Ye can keep the gel. I got no need fer her now that she’s come of age.”

  Grafton frowned deeply and stood his ground. He left the door to the rear office open slightly behind him. Leathem hid behind the thick oak, taking in every word, same as Bromley.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Dancy. I need some proof that the girl with you is who you say she is. Were you able to secure birth papers for her?”

  “O’course not. Why should that be my worry? Ye should’ve done all the investigatin’ long ago, not me! And ye don’t effen hafta know the chit’s natal day. ’Tis enuff knowin’ she turned one and twenty this year.”

  Eustace took a few menacing steps forward, spittle spraying from his lips as he spouted, “See here, man, I’m tired of waitin’! The gel knows I took good care of her durin’ them two years she was with me. She done asked me to claim her inherit
ance. Said I should get it in full fer me good works.” Eustace’s oily smile couldn’t hide the falsehood. “Time ye did yer sworn duty, Grafton. Write me that bank draft now. Go behind yer fancy desk and do what I tole ye ta do. Write me name on it and sign it…shall we say five or six hundred pounds? That should be enough to pay my way outta here.”

  Of course, Eustace had no way of knowing how much Emily’s inheritance was worth. He didn’t know she would be an extremely wealthy young woman when she inherited.

  “Get a move on, Grafton, or…” With that, Eustace reached under his coat. A leather sheath had been strapped to his hip, and he yanked out the vicious-looking knife with which he’d cut Betsy’s ribbons and with which he had threatened Squire Morrow.

  Bromley skittered back behind his desk, his eyes alive with fright.

  “What’s this, Dancy?” Grafton exclaimed. “What d’you think you’re doing?”

  “Ain’t nothin’ ta worry about, Grafton. Not if ye behave. We’re jest goin’ to finish our business inside yer office.”

  Eustace grabbed Emily’s elbow, and pulled her next to him. “Time for us to get what we came fer,” he said to her.

  Suddenly, Emily came alive. She had been as quiet as a mouse when things went on in the anteroom and before that as well. Now she dug in her heels. “No! Let go of me, Uncle!” she exclaimed, fighting to loosen his hold on her. “You lied, like always.” She turned to the lawyer. “Mr. Grafton, I never said I wanted my inheritance given to my uncle!”

  With that, Eustace roughly wrapped a brawny arm around Emily’s neck, choking off the breathy squeals escaping from her lips.

  “Shet up, blast ye! We’ll see about that!” Furious, his irate threats poured into her ear. Her uncle maneuvered her toward Grafton who was backing up slowly into the rear room.

  “You!” Eustace ordered the clerk, spearing him with a threatening glare. “Get in there with Grafton. And make it fast!”