by Susan Lodge
Hetty’s pulse skipped. “When?”
“When I visited him in Portsmouth. You were back at Avebury Hall at the time. He had written to you and was quite troubled because he had not heard back.”
Hetty couldn’t quite fit all these revelations into the right place in her mind. “But he has been in love with you all these years, imagining you felt the same way.”
“Robert held an image of me that wasn’t quite true. He knew the woman he wanted.”
“When he met you?” Hetty asked.
“No, when he met you!” Rose replied impatiently.
Hetty sighed. “I owe you a huge apology, it seems. But when Annie told me about the late night meeting behind locked doors, and then you kissing Robert goodbye…”
“My, my! Robert has been under surveillance.” Rose arched her brows in disapproval. “Annie saw us kissing as friends – old family friends. And the locked door was necessary as we needed the privacy of patient and doctor. He was the only one I could think of to trust with my secret. There would be a terrible scandal if this came out. So, Miss Avebury, I hope things are clear to you now. I am part of Robert’s past – you are his future.”
***
Robert responded to the urgent summons back to Haslar with irritation. He could only guess it concerned Thomas Brown or some other important patient whom they thought he could bring back from the dead.
All he wanted was to get back to Hetty. He could not tell her of his business with Rose, of course, and this obviously upset her. He would just have to convince her that she was the only woman he wanted to marry and Rose was simply a friend. This he would do once he had sorted out the latest emergency.
He was jolted out of his thoughts by the sight of a stout figure crouched by the side of the road examining the wheel of a wagon which was half submerged in a muddy gully. The man hailed him as he approached.
“Could you give me a hand, sir? My friend is hurt.”
“For sure,” Robert replied as he saw another figure laid on the grassy bank.
He swiftly dismounted, unhitched his medical bag, and moved toward the injured man. As he bent down to examine the patient, the corner of his eye registered a slight movement in the shrubs, and he cursed himself for carelessness. In seconds, he was surrounded, and the injured man leapt to his feet with a smirk.
Robert desperately swivelled and weaved between the figures, managing to deliver a few well-targeted blows to his assailants before his breath was pumped out of him by a vicious barrage of fists and boots.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hetty felt light-headed as she made the journey back to Longwood. She now thought of Rose as a friend – but having a friend so breathtakingly beautiful would certainly test her trust. So she was secretly relieved that Rose intended to move to Yorkshire, as she considered this a safe distance away from Robert.
As Handy helped her from the coach, a warm surge of emotion engulfed her at the sight of Longwood. She had already fallen in love with the place, but now she could allow herself to belong.
At last Robert’s motives for making her his wife were clear. And they were indeed excellent motives, which exceeded such things as honour and duty. As soon as he returned, she would tell him she wanted to marry him as soon as possible. Despite her exhaustion and the late hour, she climbed the staircase to her bedchamber with a spring to her step, and for the first time in weeks slept long and soundly.
After breakfast the next morning, Hetty decided to explore the library. The room had not yet been restored to its former splendour and most of the shelving remained empty. A few of the books had been unpacked from storage, but there were still chests of dusty volumes dotted around the room awaiting attention.
She rummaged through the first chest, sorting the books into piles on the floor according to subject – art – science – travel – Shakespeare. She paused as she pulled out the next batch. Novels! Ah, splendid. She lingered over a copy of Robinson Crusoe then put it aside to peruse later.
She moved to the next chest and grinned in delight at a two-volume set of Chambers’ Cyclopaedia. Ephraim Chambers was famous for his painstaking work in compiling the Universal Dictionary of Arts and Sciences. The books were conveniently set out in alphabetical order where she could find out facts on all subjects. They would be a wonderful reference; she would be able to find out everything about – well, everything.
She flicked through the entries for A and studied the plates on anatomy. She smiled, picturing a young Robert poring over the well-worn page. She moved on to the subjects of architecture and astronomy before closing the book with a contented sigh. If she attempted to study one subject per day she would be extremely well-read by the time she reached Z.
She giggled, imagining the disapproval of her peers. Thank goodness Robert valued knowledge in a woman. Her heart did a little tumble as she remembered his words on the ship. Your intelligence, Miss Avebury, is very attractive. Heavens, how she missed those green eyes.
When Handy brought her a tea tray, she was on her fourth chest, struggling with a rather large book on European art. She sat down to browse through it and found it wasn’t a book at all. She had seen such things before, books fashioned as compartments to hide valuables. Her fingers traced the ornate inlay on the front and spine. It had certainly been crafted with great care. She opened the cover, which acted like a lid to a box. Inside she retrieved a smaller book – a journal of some sort.
Did it belong to Robert? Her fingers paused on the cover. She had read his correspondence before with disastrous results. She should have learnt her lesson. But perhaps if she just glanced at the writing to make sure it was not Robert’s hand – if it was, she would put it back immediately. Her mind made up, she opened the creased leather cover of the journal.
The handwriting was not Robert’s. Thank goodness. Now she could read without the danger of misinterpreting anything he had written. Settling down in a chair she began to examine the notes for the month of January 1800.
The first few entries concerned estate business, all quite mundane. Frowning in disappointment, Hetty flicked forward until the entry for the eighteenth of March caught her eye.
Stephen’s birthday. I have bought him the finest pair of greys. I have also been promised a handsome thoroughbred for Robert, which should be delivered by the time he returns from University.
Her hand stilled. The words were written with the affection of a parent. Her pulse quickened as she flicked to the last entries. They stopped on the nineteenth of June, ten years ago. She realised she was reading some of the last words written by Robert’s father.
***
Robert winced. The familiar rhythm of a ship didn’t disturb his senses too much but the multitude of bruises he had just received did.
He had been stripped and redressed in some coarse clothing, and had a beard of three days’ growth. Bound and gagged, except for the times when he was given food and water, he had seen no one except the two men who took it in turns to guard him. They frequently amused themselves by landing a foot or fist to his body as they passed him by.
Blindfolded when he had been taken on board, he had no idea where he was or where he was going, but he was convinced his capture had everything to do with Anthony Avebury. The man needed him out of the way for a reason. Had he found out about Thomas Brown, or was it just to keep him from marrying Hetty?
The motion of the vessel had altered after the first day and Robert guessed they were anchored somewhere off the south coast of England. Perhaps his assailants were waiting for instructions.
He sat against the bulkhead, arms tied behind his back and legs stretched out in front of him, bound at the ankles. His latest guard, a stocky man with a bulldog neck, had just drained the contents of a bottle of brandy and moaned softly.
Robert studied the man’s pain-filled eyes for several minutes before he lifted his bound feet off the floor and banged them down, indicating he wanted to talk. The guard ignored him at first, but when Robert co
ntinued to bang his feet, he came over and yanked down the gag, holding the point of a knife to his face.
“Stop yer noise or I’ll slice yer ears off.”
“Are you ill?” Robert’s question brought confusion to the man’s eyes.
“Shut your mouth. I ain’t feeling like yapping, that’s for sure.”
He returned to the table to retrieve the brandy. Robert watched as the man swore then threw the empty bottle in his direction. It smashed against the oak timbers, narrowly missing his head. Robert persisted, despite the shards of glass that had settled around him.
“It must be bad then, the pain. I may be able help you with that tooth.”
“Stow it!” the man roared and then winced again. There was silence for a few moments as he studied his prisoner. “Now why would you want to help me?”
Robert shrugged. “I’m a physician; that’s what I do, tend to the sick. Don’t get me wrong, it’s for my benefit as well. I would much prefer my jailer to be in a hospitable mood. Perhaps then, you and your colleague could refrain from kicking me every time you pass by.”
The man frowned. “How do you know it’s me tooth?”
“Your face is swollen. I have a few remedies in my medical bag that might help, if they have not been pilfered already. There should be some phials in there. I always carry them with me.”
The man stared at Robert before he walked over to where the bag lay. Some of the contents had already been strewn across the floor. He reached in and found the box that held the collection of small phials. Holding one up to the lantern, the guard narrowed his eyes and examined it.
“Just take a few drops from the larger phial and apply it to your tooth. It will deaden the area,” Robert instructed.
“How do I know you ain’t trying to kill me? It might be poison.”
“Why would I carry poison? I’m a physician, not a murderer.”
“Same thing sometimes.” The man’s face contorted and he put a hand to his jaw. “Bugger!” He opened the phial and smelled it.
Robert picked his words carefully. His jailer was not very bright, but he was vicious.
“What have you to lose? I’m hardly likely to risk upsetting the rest of the crew by giving you something harmful.”
The man sat considering the medicine for a few seconds, then he took off his neckcloth and soaked the end with the liquid from the phial. Under Robert’s guidance he cautiously dabbed the offending tooth with it, then bit down to hold the cloth in place. Five minutes later his mood had improved considerably.
“That’s good, Doc. I’ll keep this.” He put the phial in his pocket then continued to examine the rest of the potions. He held one milky coloured one up. “What’s this for?”
“That is also for pain, but you drink it in a little water,” Robert replied.
“Will it help me guts? They’ve been rumbling around like thunder for days.”
“Gripping pains?” Robert enquired, relieved that his guard now seemed happy to let him remain free of the gag.
“Like the devil is inside me!”
I’m sure he is. “Just tell me why I have been brought here and what fate awaits me, and I will do my best to dispel your pain. It can do no harm, can it? I’m not going anywhere.” He gestured with his chin toward his bindings.
The man eyed the phials, then Robert. “All I know is we have to keep you for a few days and make sure you ain’t found. Someone wants it to look like you ran off on your own free will, only they don’t want you able to run back again. A sighting of you here and there just to lay a trail, then…” He drew his thumb across his throat in a theatrical gesture.
Robert wondered how on earth anyone could believe he would run off. Someone was obviously planning his demise. It had to be Anthony Avebury.
“One last thing. How much is Avebury paying you?”
“Don’t know any Avebury. That’s it, I ain’t saying any more ’cause I don’t know any more.”
Robert thought he was probably telling the truth. Avebury would never implicate his own name. These were hired thugs, easily bought and easily eliminated – if they needed to be.
Robert nodded to the phial with the milky coloured liquid. “Take a few drops in water.”
His guard looked round impatiently then shrugged. “Never mind the water.” He took a long swig from the phial then screwed up his face. “Tastes like piss!”
Robert waited silently. It didn’t take long before the man laid his head down, his pain forgotten. His jailor would sleep for hours, if not forever. Remedies worked when administered correctly, but they could be equally deadly in their misuse.
Robert shuffled with his hands until his fingers found a shard of glass from the broken bottle. Gritting his teeth he started the painful business of cutting through the ties behind his back.
By the time he was had finished, his hands and wrists were streaming with blood from a mass of nicks and cuts. He tore a strip of cloth from his shirt and wrapped it around the worst of the damage then worked on the bindings around his ankles. Finally free, he stretched his cramped limbs and stepped over to check on the guard. The man was unconscious and Robert judged he would remain so until the morning. He turned to retrieve his bag and sorted through the remnants.
His papers and money were gone, but so was Hetty’s locket. He had questioned Sir Philip’s steward about the workmanship of the piece and had discovered some interesting leads to its possible origin. Cursing his captors, he padded over and put an ear to the cabin door.
He judged, from his observations over the last few days, that they would change his guard in around an hour. He could hear the clatter of food being served and hoped the majority of the crew were busy with their meal. Quietly, he slipped out of the cabin and made his way up to the deck.
The vessel was a small trading schooner, and he counted three men aft involved in a game of dice. He crept toward the stern, peering out at the horizon as he travelled. Relief flooded him as he recognised the coastline. They were anchored off the Isle of Wight, a mile or so west of Ryde.
Hiding amongst a stack of barrels, he contemplated his chances of surviving such a swim. They were not good. But he had to act quickly, before his escape was discovered. He needed to get back to Longwood. This was definitely Avebury’s work, which meant he intended to take Hetty. An icy hand clenched at his heart at the thought of her being harmed.
Dusk was beginning to settle, casting a murky shadow over the water. He had to go now. His battered body rebelled with every move as he slipped over the side. Silently, he sank beneath the surface and struck out for the coast. He had no other options – he had to get to Hetty.
As the cold water numbed his body, he prayed his strength would hold out.
***
Annie had commandeered a protesting Handy to help clear the small bakehouse attached to the kitchen, and Hetty had left them to their bickering, wanting to spend some time on her own.
It had been the best part of a week and no word from Robert. She missed him with an intensity that surprised her, and she was beginning to feel a little anxious. She had expected him back by now. She couldn’t wait to tell him of her discovery in the library. Robert would surely be comforted by some of the entries in his father’s diary. Everything was working out wonderfully, and she dared to think her future would be splendid. All she needed was Robert to return.
Feeling restless, she took a walk along the west side of the house and set about examining the overgrown rose bushes. The sun warmed her shoulders, and she hummed a tune as she stopped now and again to pick assorted blooms.
“Hello, Hetty.”
Her hand tightened around the stem of a yellow rose, causing a thorn to create a small dot of blood on her glove. Her good mood was blown away by the smooth, familiar tone.
“Anthony!” She spun around.
He looked at her with a callous smile that made her heart stop. There was no fondness or adoration in his eyes now. How clever an actor he was. He had so easily fool
ed her.
She took a step back, wishing she had not wandered quite so far from the rest of the household.
“What do you want?”
“You, of course, Hetty. Have you forgotten that we are to be married?”
“Marriage to you is out of the question. Father has already given his blessing for my marriage to Doctor Withington – The Earl of Chedbury,” she added fiercely. “You can go to the devil, or even better, back to my stepmother. There is not much difference, as far as I am concerned.”
Anthony raised his brows, the smile still intact.
“That little bit of sport with Diana was just fun. Grow up, Hetty. That is the way the world works. As for your doctor, well, he seems to have deserted you.”
“He is expected back at any moment.”
Hetty had the horrible feeling that Anthony Avebury was just about to smash her newly-found contentment.
“I think that is highly unlikely. The last I heard, he was being encouraged to take a little trip. I took the trouble to have him relieved of this, as I thought you might like it back.”
She let out a small cry and snatched the locket he dangled in front of her.
“Where is he?”
“He is being entertained by some associates of mine. They can be a trifle boisterous at times, but I am pretty sure Withington will survive their company, as long as you cooperate.”
“You are despicable. Have you no sense of honour?”
Anthony laughed. “Really, Hetty, you are a little hypocrite. I could question the way Withington stole my betrothed away and seduced her while allegedly attending her as a physician. When that story comes out, then his disappearance will not seem so suspicious. Some will say he couldn’t face the disgrace.”
Hetty fought the panic that engulfed her.
“You can have the blessed money, just leave the doctor alone. You don’t need to marry me. When I am wed, my fortune will be mine to manage. I will give you the money, and Doctor Withington need not know of the arrangement.”