Only a Hero Will Do

by Susan Lodge

  “Anthony is a fine man, and it seemed a perfect solution.”

  “Perfect for you,” Robert replied. “Why has Miss Avebury never been told about her inheritance?”

  “Her mother died, and then it was – awkward.”

  “Awkward!” Robert thundered. “She may have liked to know she did not have to marry if she didn’t wish to. She should have been told she would be a woman of independent means in time.”

  “Every woman needs a husband, rich or poor. I have no dowry for her. Her inheritance was her dowry. It is not so terrible.”

  Robert leaned over the desk again, forcing the old man into eye contact.

  “Let’s talk business then, Avebury, as all you understand is money. I will take Miss Avebury, with or without her inheritance. I will not force her into marriage. In fact, I will set her up in her own establishment until she turns twenty-five if that is what she wishes. Then she will have the money in her own control.”

  Avebury began to shake. “I cannot agree to anything until Anthony comes back. In the meantime, Hetty is missing. She must be found.”

  ‘That is the only thing we agree on, even though it is for completely different reasons,” Robert replied.

  ***

  Robert left the house and retrieved his horse. He was just about to mount when a servant hurried out with a note for him. Quickly scanning the neat hand, he followed the man through a door, around the side of Avebury Hall, and into a small drawing room.

  Hetty’s aunt sat, waiting for him.

  “Doctor Withington, I am delighted to make your acquaintance again. Now! What have you done with my niece?”

  Robert bowed politely, sidestepping the question.

  “Are you aware of the treatment Miss Avebury has been subjected to in this household? I can hardly refer to it as her home.”

  “Hetty is my first priority, Doctor.” She gave him an icy stare. “I am aware of the conniving plans of my nephew, but I took no part in them. I advised Hetty to seek you out, although she thought you had abandoned her. However, I knew you were an honourable person, and that you had feelings for my niece other than as a substantial addition to your funds. So, what has happened to her?”

  Robert told her of his meeting with Hetty and her disappearance, leaving out as much detail as he could. The woman’s eyes bored into him, making him feel like a badly behaved schoolboy.

  “Did you quarrel with her?”

  “I asked her to marry me.”

  “Obviously, you made a hash of it.. The girl is in love with you. That is one fact that has been plain to me since you returned her home.”

  Robert’s heart leapt at her words.

  “She ran off under the misconception that I was proposing out of duty.” He grimaced as Hetty’s aunt looked at him accusingly. “Returning her to Avebury Hall was my first mistake. My rather clumsy proposal was my second. I will not make a third.”

  Amelia Avebury frowned. “Have you no idea where she might be?”

  “I was about to ask you the same question,” he said.

  She pondered. “Hetty knows a few people in the village. They might shelter her, but it is more likely she has gone somewhere she would not be noticed.”

  “I am rather afraid she might try to find a card game, especially if she is short of funds.”

  “What! Gambling?” she said.

  Robert realised he had overestimated Amelia’s knowledge of her niece’s habits. He hesitated, then decided he needed to be frank with her if it helped to find Hetty.

  “When I came across her the night she fell from the tree, she had been to a card game disguised as a young man.”

  The lady groaned and Robert wondered if he needed to fetch the smelling salts.

  “Gambling,” she said faintly. “Dressed as a man. I thought the breeches were to ride astride. She’s a fine rider and an excellent whist player, but gambling in gambling dens? She will get herself killed. Doctor, you must find her.”

  Robert, aware Hetty’s aunt was not likely to assist more with her niece’s whereabouts, decided to recruit some help about her parentage.

  “Do you know who Miss Avebury’s real father was?”

  She shook her head. “My brother had been widowed and was looking for a wife. Hetty’s maternal grandmother arranged the match, which Hetty’s mother resisted for a while. Then she heard her lover had died, and settled on Henry and respectability. Things were good for a while, especially after Anthony went away to war. But then poor Hetty’s mother took sick and died. And Diana came along.” Amelia’s lips set in a tight line. “She sweet-talked my brother into her clutches and then proceeded to spend his money with abandon. She has been no mother to Hetty and no wife to Henry, except she looks well enough. But Avebury Hall fell into her control and then Anthony came back.

  “I thought he had changed at first, and his marriage to Hetty meant she would remain here and not have to marry Stark, so I was not averse to the idea. But of course, it was all a charade. He is just as ruthless as he was in his younger days. It seems cruel justice that he was the only one spared in the attack on his company. Now I am terrified for Hetty if he marries her. She would be a good source of income alive, but even better if she died after the marriage.”

  “Good God! Is the man that ruthless? Has Avebury no backbone, no control over his son?”

  “His health is fading. To his credit, he always took care of Hetty materially, and I think he truly did have some affection for her. Hetty tried so hard to make him love her. But once Diana came up with the deal with Stark, he went along with it. Stark and Diana even planned her ruination in the rose arbour to sabotage her chance of other suitors. When I discovered this, I could have killed the pair of them.”

  Robert took his leave of Hetty’s aunt, promising her that he would not rest until her niece had been found. As he travelled back toward Portsmouth, he wondered how Amelia Avebury fitted in with the household. Was she a contributor or an encumbrance on the family funds? If she was the latter, he rather feared for her future under Anthony Avebury’s care.

  ***

  Guvere was a strange operator. Robert felt uncomfortable with the man who shadowed his patient, but he had to admire his determination. He now relayed the latest mutterings of Thomas Brown.

  “He said, ‘Avebury left in red, returned in blue.’ That is all I heard, Doctor, and then he slipped back into unconsciousness,” Guvere explained. “If he was referring to Miss Avebury, she must have had a red gown as well as a blue one.”

  Robert frowned. “She only had a blue gown on the ship. Besides, I had already checked, when Brown first said the name, that she had not entered the enclosure where he had been stationed.”

  Guvere looked thoughtful. “Perhaps I need to talk to the lady.”

  Robert shook his head. “That will not be possible. She has disappeared.”

  “Really!” Guvere’s interest seem to escalate. “She disappears a lot, does she not?”

  Robert briefly informed him of Henry and Anthony Avebury’s attempts to control her fortune.

  Guvere sighed. “Well, when you do find her, Doctor, I would like a word with her.”

  Robert looked sharply at him. “She has nothing to do with any of this.” He gestured toward his patient.

  But he developed his own theory as Amelia Avebury’s words echoed in his head. It seems cruel justice that he was the only one spared in the attack on his company.

  Cruel, indeed, and highly improbable. He had always doubted Anthony Avebury’s story, and the man had already proved himself a manipulative liar.

  “Suppose Miss Avebury triggered the name. Could Thomas Brown be referring to another Avebury? Did you know that Anthony Avebury was the only survivor of the massacre of his company?”

  Guvere looked at him, but his expression didn’t change.

  Robert continued. “You said Brown’s words were, ‘Left in red and returned in blue’. What does that tell you? A reference to someone who might have changed allegian
ce, swapped the red of the infantry to the blue of Napoleon’s troops? I presume Thomas Brown has important information, as you guard him so diligently. Perhaps his information contains something to do with Anthony Avebury and the six years he has been missing.”

  Guvere gave Robert a long, penetrating stare.

  “You should keep those thoughts to yourself, Doctor. It may be that your dislike of Avebury’s treatment of your lady has prejudiced your logic. However, I will check out Avebury’s history and his account of his captivity in France.”

  ***

  Henry Avebury sat in silence, cowed over his desk. His son had not taken the news of Hetty’s disappearance and Withington’s proposal well. Anthony Avebury now paced the room in an alarming silence.

  Amelia sat straight-backed and tight-lipped in the chair opposite. She flinched as his son stopped in front of her.

  “This has your mark about it, dear Aunt. I know you spoke to Withington, and I know Hetty would have told you of her intentions. So where has she gone?”

  He put his face inches from Amelia’s. She looked back at him coldly.

  “I have no idea where Hetty is. Perhaps if you controlled your behaviour a little more, she wouldn’t have seen through your charade, but I am glad she has.”

  Anthony straightened up and resumed his pacing then turned to face her again.

  “Since you find this house so disagreeable, perhaps you should leave. I think Father has supported you for sufficient years. I am sure you can find some nice comfortable rooms somewhere. I have suffered enough of your sanctimonious looks and remarks.”

  Henry staggered to his feet.

  “Apologise at once, Anthony! How dare you talk to your aunt so. Do not forget I am still head of this family and…”

  He was interrupted by a spasm of coughing, and collapsed back into his chair.

  “Of course you are, Father.” Anthony gave him a knowing smile then turned back to his aunt. “I apologise, of course. I forgot it is Father’s house – for now.”

  ***

  Henry Avebury felt wretched both in body and spirit. Alone in his study, he wondered how he had managed to raise such a heartless son.

  He had been too weak with the boy. Ever since Anthony could talk, he had manipulated people. He remembered when his son had caught him bedding the housekeeper. Anthony had only been seven at the time, but he knew he had something to bargain with. Instead of thrashing his son soundly when he had demanded money in return for not telling his mother, Henry had paid him for his silence. That had been his first very serious mistake, and he had paid regularly ever since.

  When he had met Diana, the woman had captivated him, but she had hoodwinked him as well and bled him dry with her extravagance. Now, she had betrayed him yet again with Anthony. He had known for some time of their sordid little affair. It wasn’t the first time she had been unfaithful, and he had always forgiven her. But with his son!

  It seemed to reinforce the contempt they held for him. This was the woman he had let control his moves and his mind for the last years, who had persuaded him to treat Hetty with the same heartlessness she had treated him.

  When he really thought about his family, Amelia and Hetty were the only ones who showed him any true affection and respect. Whenever he had taken to bed with his illness, Hetty had always taken the trouble to sit and read to him and make sure he was comfortable. She treated him as if he mattered more than just as a provider, and in return he had treated her terribly.

  The one thing she wanted from him was love, and he did have affection for her. Why could he never show it? He had always put it down to the fact she was not his. He wished she had been.

  He shouldn’t have let Diana persuade him to marry her off to Stark or let Anthony persuade him to ill-use her again. He would do one last thing for her – see the lawyers in the morning and tell them she could marry Withington under whatever arrangement she wished.

  He also had to make sure Amelia was taken care of. She had stood by him all these years, and he would not see her treated badly. She deserved better.

  He had not long to go in this world, and he would let Hetty marry her earl.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hetty knew several things about the effect of liquor on men. It made them talk overmuch, it made them cross and cruel, or it made them jolly and ridiculous. But most of all, she knew it made them reckless. This helped her immensely, and in two sessions at the tables last night she had accumulated almost one hundred guineas.

  This morning, she intended to take a carriage back to Winchester, where she planned to find respectable lodgings and take a respite to think of her next move.

  Frowning at the scene from the window of the inn, she realised she would be hard pressed to secure transport on the coach that had just pulled in. The forecourt was milling with the latest travellers rushing to and fro, trying to dodge the rain and find the shortest route to the door. It was clear no one was going anywhere until the weather improved.

  Hetty adjusted her neckcloth and entered the private rooms at the back of the building where a game was already in progress. She had hoped to avoid the people she had won money from the previous night, because she didn’t want them to challenge her to another game. She just wanted to pass the time and sit quietly in a corner until she could secure some transport.

  “Blake! Good to see you.”

  Blast! She fixed a smile and turned to Sir Sidney Fetherington, a man of fifty or so with a fleshy, purple face, bandy legs, and a ball of a body. Hetty looked around for an escape route while he continued.

  “Have a glass of claret with me, Blake. Your luck must be due to end, you naughty lad. Fleecing us all yesterday.”

  He clamped a hand on her shoulder, and she let out a squeak.

  “I really need to be getting on my way, sir.” She rose from her seat, dislodging his hand. “But I will certainly look forward to a rematch when I pass this way again.”

  The landlord wiped his sleeve across his brow as he passed by. “You won’t be going anywhere for a while. The bridge a mile up has flooded, and the surrounding paths are too boggy to chance. You might as well amuse yourself with another game.”

  Fetherington beamed at the news. “How about letting me have a chance to win my money back then, Blake?”

  Hetty’s wine splashed as the man clapped her on the back.

  “Perhaps later,” Hetty replied, her heart sinking.

  The room was filling up, and she noticed with relief that Fetherington had moved away and settled at one of the tables with two newcomers.

  She made her way to the corner of the room and sat down to study the latest copy of The Gazette. As a gentleman about town, she was supposed to be fully informed on the latest topics of debate. A few minutes later she looked up, distracted by the sound of Fetherington’s laughter.

  The newcomer must be a terrible player to lose to Fetherington. She watched as he scooped up his winnings and then nodded to the seat next to him.

  “Join us, Blake, the game is on my side. Wainwright here is having no luck.”

  Hetty shook her head then caught Wainwright's eye. He wore a smile that seemed more like a jeer to her. He exchanged a few words with his companion – an older man with a grey wig and thick glasses – before glancing back at Fetherington.

  “Let the lad keep his money. His lucky streak might not happen again.” He paused and, although he had lowered his voice, she was sure he added the words “milk sop”. And he looked at her in a most insolent way.

  Hetty glared back at him. How dare he insult her skill at the tables.

  There really was nothing else to do. The man was rude, arrogant, and a poor player. Gaining funds from fleecing him would be infinitely satisfying. She held her chin up and took her seat at the game.

  “You were warned,” Wainwright said.

  Hetty nodded and the man with the thick glasses started to deal.

  ***

  Hetty felt a wave of nausea as, for the very first time,
she tasted the fear of being on the losing side. She had lost six games in a row. Her calculations were inaccurate, and she could not understand the flow of the cards. Neither could she read Wainwright. He was either very lucky or a cheat. She was breathless at the thought.

  How should she proceed? She could not challenge the man. She was wise enough to know that would result in her death. He would surely call her out; she was a rotten shot and her swordsmanship was non-existent.

  The older man with the glasses and Fetherington had thrown their cards in, but Hetty needed to retain her winnings. Her hundred guineas had dwindled to ten.

  The two of them played on.

  ***

  “I have nothing left, sir.” Hetty fought hard to remain calm.

  This situation was alien to her. She was usually worried about the mood of her opponents, but now she realised being a loser was far more terrifying. She had lost a lot more than her initial stake and anxiously glanced at the written note she had put on the pile.

  Wainwright sighed as he scooped in his winnings.

  “I do not like notes.” He tossed it back at her. “I only take notes from gentlemen I know. Have you anything else to gamble with?”

  Hetty took a steadying breath. “You have to take my note, sir. You have my word I will repay you soon.”

  “With what? Who exactly are you?” Wainwright’s stare challenged her.

  “Blake. I am the son of Sir Henry Blake of St Ives!”

  She groaned inside. This had been her cover before. She figured the address was far enough away not to be questioned, but before today no one had really cared that much.

  Hetty watched Wainwright as her money flooded his pockets. He turned to speak with his companion who now sat a little away from the tables. She sensed the older man studying her through the thick lenses of his glasses. The two men conferred for a few moments then Wainwright looked back.

  “We have never heard of a Sir Henry Blake. Have you anything else of value? Any gold or silver? A time-piece perhaps. Something you can settle your debt with.”