Without a doubt one of them had to be Gine, but if one of them was Gine then who was the other?
Unless there was now two of Gine.
Her analogy of two tigers was correct. And they were closing in.
Chapter Twenty-Three
TWO MEN FOLLOWED the doorman down the red carpeted stairs, their expensive velvet suits and bearing garnered them as men of repute. At the bottom of the staircase their features became clear, as did their silvery-grey hair, loose jowls and the ‘bow-windows’ around their waistlines.
Neither was Charles nor Gine.
Disappointment tainted with relief flooded through Berd, but the tension did not ebb fully. These men were either doppelgangers or human decoys attempting to delay her while Gine hid himself and the Engine.
Her heart thumped anxiously. She itched to wing away to search for Gine and the Engine, but knew she had to stay and find out if one of these men was Gine in disguise.
The doorman made himself scarce.
In the shadows of the foyer it was hard to tell if the two men were breathing, but what unnerved Berd more was the fact they were examining her with avid interest. Not James. Just her.
Under their gaze, she seemed to shrink to the size of a tiny spider while the wainscoted walls seemed to loom monstrously over her like the accursed walls of Luxor.
I’m in a cage. A trap. A pit. If I do not escape I will be forever imprisoned.
Every instinct told her to turn and flee as the men approached. Only her love for Charles caused her to breathe deeply and stand her ground.
Spiders can climb. I will get out of this. I just have to learn to climb.
The two men drew near and bowed.
“Your Lordship. Lady Elizabeth,” greeted the older man, his eyes brown and hard as walnuts. He stunk of pipe weed and powder.
This close, she saw the rise and fall of their chests, the dead roses in their cheeks and the black crepe armbands.
The older man continued, “Forgive our news, but Mr Fotheringay has taken ill and regrets being unable to meet with you. In his absence, we are empowered to handle his affairs.”
It had to be a ploy, Gine pretending to be Charles. Pretending to be ill. “Liar! Where’s Gine?” she demanded.
“Elizabeth!” James hissed, mortified at her impropriety.
Blast! They were playing at manners when Charles’s life was in danger. Angered by the delay, she stabbed the steel tip of her parasol on the floor. The percussive ding barely had a chance to reach the walls before it was swallowed in the hum. Silenced as effectively as full immersion in water.
Even in this slight rebellion, she was ineffective.
The two gentlemen exchanged a brief smile.
Her stomach turned. They had not questioned her as to who Gine was, which could only mean that they had to be in the know.
The tension in the air tightened.
Berd knew she needed to get to the heart of the matter: to find Charles. Gine would not be stupid enough to allow anyone in the room with such knowledge. Therefore, she had to go to Gine.
She had to find him.
The doorman had come from upstairs and so had the two men. Obviously someone from upstairs was giving orders. That had to be Gine. And as for where exactly he was, the neglect of the house demonstrated there was no female in residence. That ruled out the morning room, which meant Gine was in the drawing room.
All Berd had to do was make her way up without attracting suspicion. She appealed to her sole ally. “James, I need—”
Without taking his gaze off the two men, James held one hand up, halting her; his rebuke as effective as if he had spoken audibly.
Though every fibre of her being longed to run up the stairs, she knew it wouldn’t take much to make him leave. Only the thought of Charles forced her sheepishly to hunch her shoulders.
James narrowed his gaze at the two men. “And you are?”
“Mr Fotheringay’s barristers. Messrs Abbey and Masters, Esquire, respectively, Queen’s counsel, from the firm Brooke, Abbey and Masters.” The older man indicated himself and then his partner.
Engaging silks was a turn Berd did not expect, and one of London’s oldest and most distinguished legal firms, no less. A rival to the firm the Lovelaces used. But this was in a way what James had come prepared for. Suddenly, leaving didn’t seem like such a bad idea. She had to find Gine and rescue Charles before she found herself engaged to and then married to an engine.
Her spirits brightened as she saw her chances unexpectedly improve when James came inadvertently to her rescue. He bristled as if deeply wounded by the change in plans. “This is highly irregular. Could not Mr Fotheringay have informed us before we set off?”
By being his usual annoying self, James was helping her while totally oblivious to the fact he was doing so. Though her marriage to Charles was James’s objective, he would make the process as difficult as possible. She had always assumed her brother acted in this manner to fulfil a sense of his own importance – who he was. It was nice to see even earls suffered from self-doubt.
Things continued to improve. After their initial interest in her the attention of both barristers was now focused solidly on her brother. She was not about to question why especially when it allowed her to take a stride towards the stairs.
As Mr Abbey answered, she gripped her parasol tighter, hugged her reticule to her chest and gleefully took another step.
“We apologise profusely, your lordship, but the onset of the illness was rather sudden. Mr Fotheringay had hoped to be here to meet with you. Thankfully, he had already arranged for us to be present. Perhaps we could retire to the drawing room to discuss matters.”
Berd had just taken two more steps when she caught the words ‘drawing room.’ She stiffened, stung by the fact that she had gone down the wrong path, literally and metaphorically. If these men were trying to get her and James to the drawing room, then it meant that Gine was not in there. No wonder they weren’t paying her attention. She was already going in the direction they wanted. How foolish!
“We can then draw up the necessary contracts,” suggested the slightly younger gent helpfully, Mr Masters, as he waved at the stairs.
She backtracked to where her brother stood. This was twice the lawyers wanted them upstairs. Gine was definitely not upstairs. She consoled herself that at least she was right about marriage. “James...”
But James was lost in his world of self. He wasn’t just the lord of the manor, but the king in his castle. He never even noticed her. “Couldn’t Mr Fotheringay have handled this properly? This won’t do at all. He should have declared his intentions to me and then I would have arranged for our lawyers to meet.”
All three men were so engrossed in their conversation that Berd gripped her skirts, prepared to make a dash into one of the doors on the ground floor. She was lifting one foot, when she heard Mr Abbey say.
“I was under the impression that Mr Fotheringay had.”
“He most certainly has not!”
Her foot came down awkwardly. The ensuing silence made it worse. For now it was obvious to everyone that she was attempting to move away. Grinning shamefacedly, she turned in time to hear Mr Abbey say, “Why, yes. I believe Mr Fotheringay had specifically made a request to you that Lady Elizabeth keep her distance from him.”
Though the words had been spoken with a gentle air, they still hurt. What stung even more was that again she was wrong. Completely wrong. It was not marriage either. Gine wanted to make sure he never saw her again. Only he would have the audacity to invite her to his home so he could sue her. And hire two silks no less to effect this.
Gine was trouncing her.
Even James floundered. “Distance? I was under the impression we were here to discuss marriage.”
“Marriage?” Mr Abbey started, then thumped himself on the chest as if that was the only way he could comprehend the word.
The conversation was turning rancid. Soon James would insist they leave. She was
prepared to run for it when James demanded, “How on earth did all this happen?”
She should have seen this coming.
As if in answer to his question, both lawyers turned to her. James followed suit.
But Berd had other things on her mind. So what did it matter if all this chaos and confusion was truly her fault! She had to make her move before it was too late.
She sprung for the nearest door. “Gine! Where are you? What have you done with Charles?” Her cries echoed about the void of the foyer.
Behind her she heard Mr Master’s triumphant cry. “You see, my lord. This is what this matter is all about.”
Even before Berd was half-way across the entry hall, James had raced after her and caught up.
“Berd,” he muttered as he took her arm. “We are leaving now.”
“No, James, please!” She yanked several times in an attempt to break free, but James simply wrapped his other arm around her waist, increased his grip and slowly forced her back towards the entrance door.
Berd twisted, but it was futile. No doubt Gine was watching all of this. Once again she was physically helpless, and hot tears prickled at the back of her eyes.
“No! James! No, please,” she cried as James hauled her towards the front door.
She elbowed him, but James’s response was to hoist her off the ground. A thin moan escaped her lips as he balanced her on his shoulders. She hammered the air with her parasol, wishing she could hit him with it.
Mr Abbey nodded as if in agreement at James’s action. “Here I have a letter from Lady Elizabeth demanding to see Mr Fotheringay after he expressly requested all ties be broken off.”
As they passed him, he held up the letter she had written last night.
Berd collapsed inwardly. They were goading her, but two could play at this. She would goad Gine out.
“Please James, you’re hurting me!”
Despite her dramatic appeal to her brother’s better nature, James never halted as he marched towards the door.
Blast him! Berd wielded her parasol high like a sword then swung it viciously, managing to lance the steel tip across Mr Abbey’s sleeve.
He gave a horrified gasp at the thin white line across the black velvet then stared at her as if she were a harridan from hell.
“Gine? Who the devil is Gine?” snapped James, his temper out now. “How many men are you involved with?”
“I’m trying to save Charles!”
Masters held aloft her last letter with the word ‘Gine’ on it. “Here’s where Lady Berd accused Mr Fotheringay of being an engine.”
So that’s why they never questioned her as to who Gine was. She swung at Masters, but he ducked and she missed. As if to taunt her failure, he followed after her while holding up her letter.
To her annoyance, he was out of reach. She ignored the buffoon as she cast her glance around the numerous doorways along the entry hall. Not a shadow had moved. “Please, James, I love him.”
James groaned. “Gine?”
Mr Masters held another letter up. “This was sent one year ago when Lady Elizabeth demanded to be allowed to purchase the property of Mr Fotheringay’s late father: an engine.”
Each letter impaled her heart. The parasol shook as her hand wavered.
James must have felt her despair for he whispered, “A little cottage in Wales. Please, please.”
And even Masters dropped his guard. More importantly, he was back in range. Berd sliced the air with her parasol, tearing the letter in half.
“No! You don’t understand. I have to save him. I love him—” Berd suddenly screamed and jerked in agony. Every inch of her tingled as though a live wire trailed across her bare skin. The humming tripled, blasting in her ears. She couldn’t see it, but she knew the moment the doorman must have opened the door.
A misshapen slab of cold light streamed over her shoulders, etching and greying each of the lawyer’s faces, as though condemning them to stone. With each step, she felt as though she and James descended into a grave. Her nostrils flared at the odour of newly-turned earth. In every corner of the entry hall, shadows bulked as if inhabited. She was sure she heard the eager gnashing of teeth. Every hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
She flung her parasol out in a final do-or-die attempt. And in her dazed state thought she saw starlight gleam a trail along the arc her arm had cast. Then the shadow tip of her parasol touched the uneasy shadow outline of the door.
For a second, light and dark were linked...
“Charles!” she screamed as James crossed the threshold. Though why she called his name she had no idea for she was convinced it was Gine in the mansion. Perhaps it was because deep down, she knew that if he could, Charles would rescue her.
He always had.
As James carried her out into the open she ripped her hat off and flung it at Masters. It smacked with a thud into his gobsmacked face. Let him sue her if he wished, but she was going to go out fighting.
Gine, you are not going to win!
Her cry, however, did not go unanswered. She was about to hurl her reticule at Abbey when a clear voice rang out as if from the vault of heaven. “Please. Unhand her.”
As though God commanded, the commotion halted.
A figure had emerged from the upstairs balcony.
Before Berd could determine the figure’s identity, James swung round to see who was speaking. The world spun. When she finally oriented herself, she found that he had re-entered the mansion. She twisted and looked up.
Time froze.
Sound vanished.
Too far away to see the figure’s eyes, yet they held her. Too far away to see if he was breathing, yet she knew instinctively who it was.
Charles.
Charles, not Gine.
As if the sun had come out to shine on that dreary foyer, her world brightened to a blazing intensity. In that same moment she believed it possible to fly from James’s shoulder into Charles’s arms, but then as if the sun was a Lucifer match, its light extinguished as swiftly. The sun snapped out. Black filled the void. Cold burned her heart.
She slumped defeated, unable to believe that not only for the third time today was she wrong, but that her hope was dead.
For she had reasoned it to be Gine and not Charles who was master of Fotheringay mansion as that was the only way she could understand why Charles had reneged on his proposal and why he had never wanted to see her again.
His betrayal had been agonisingly painful. But again she had been completely wrong. She had thought Charles would never betray her, but if it was him in the mansion and not Gine then it appeared he had.
In one cataclysmic event, her world ended.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“WHY?” THE WORD heaved with meaning, barely audible even to Berd.
Then everyone began speaking.
“Good God, Fotheringay! I’m suing every bone in your body. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers,” James howled.
“Please no,” she begged her brother as he slid her onto her feet.
The shock of seeing Charles made her cling to James for support. Her flimsy green parasol became deadweight in her hand. Then she realised that Charles’s gaze had been fixed the whole time on a point behind her.
It puzzled Berd as to why he was acting this way. But programmers loved puzzles.
Mr Abbey hurried up to Charles. “Sir, our advice is for you to retire. We have everything under control—”
“Messrs Abbey and Masters, thank-you kind sirs, but I shall handle it from here on.”
Charles strode, ramrod straight, looking as if he were prepared to encounter the Indian mutineers as well as the Zulus all at the same time. The echoes of a martial fife seemed to haunt the air. Charles’s right arm was clamped to his side as though he favoured it. He halted in the hazy oblong of light cast by the open door, his face sickly-white, his brow wet with perspiration.
“Sir, we must insist you follow our advice. Remember in whose company you ar
e.” Mr Abbey glanced at James and then cleared his throat. “Two witnesses should be sufficient to assure the court no wrong doing took place. No conversation was—”
“Thank-you.” Charles’s tone was harder, more insistent.
Cleanly shaven, he no longer smelt of paraffin but of eau de cologne and fresh white carnations. Gone were the shoulder-length locks she had ached to run her fingers through. His jet hair was freshly cut and he was wearing a morning suit that seemed more suitable for Gine. Charles had changed so radically on the outside that she wondered if he had changed also, on the inside.
His blue eyes finally met hers. But all they showed was a deep battle being waged within. If she had felt pain, he appeared to have suffered thrice what she had undergone. She steeled herself for what she would have to do.
Charles turned to James. “Sir, could I have a private moment alone with your sister, please?”
The words had been spoken politely. But in this request, Charles had erred for he had neglected to bow. Fatal. Especially at this point in time.
Berd had not expected Charles to bow to her for they had, while in the Engine, come to a comfortable understanding. And he had been her intended...
But here was James. Her brother. And an earl. And like most earls full of his own importance. If Charles had forgotten etiquette, James had not. In fact, after they had been treated so ill, James’s pride now became a rallying point. Standing beside her brother, she sensed James’s hackles rise in anger at the insult. She predicted James’s answer even before he spluttered and turned away.
Charles’s lack of decorum was not lost upon his legal representation either. The lawyers regarded him, nodding their heads like pigeons, scattering hints like crumbs. “Please, sir, we beg you regard our advice—”
“Thank-you,” Charles’s tone was harsher as he dismissed them.
Mr Abbey swallowed as if he had a small pebble in his throat then turned apologetically to James. “My lord, I beg you remember how unwell Mr Fotheringay is.” Then they bowed and departed.
Even before the lawyers were out the door, James stepped between Berd and Charles. “What the devil is going on?”
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