Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy

by Cheryl Holt

  How many chattels did a man actually need anyway?

  Sarah watched as he hefted his bag over his shoulder, and she inquired, "What are you doing?"

  Irked at being delayed, he snapped, "I told you: I'm leaving."

  "You mean leaving Gladstone?"

  "Yes."

  "Forever?"

  "Yes. What did you think I meant?"

  "But... where will you go?"

  She acted as if he were begging for spare coins on a street corner, and her snobbery aggravated him.

  "I'm sure it will come as a huge surprise to someone as grand and glorious as yourself, but before I returned to England I had a decent life. I wasn't a wealthy nabob, and I didn't have fashionable clothes to wear, or rich foods to eat, but I got on all right."

  "But I... I... thought you loved it here. I thought you were happy."

  "I guess that just shows how little you know of me."

  His gaze was cold, and he was being cruel, but he owed her no courtesy.

  He spun away again, but suddenly she was there, halting him with the slightest weight of her hand on his arm. Her touch was like a brand, and he shook her away, hating to be reminded of how he'd have once done anything for her.

  "Does Anne know about this?"

  "No."

  "Let's speak with her, shall we?" Sarah cajoled as if he were a lunatic escaped from an asylum. "She wouldn't want you to go with this storm brewing."

  "Anne is busy. She's upstairs in her sitting room with your cousin Percy."

  "Percy is here?"

  "I tried to tell her not to let him stay, but—" "He's staying?"

  Sarah was aghast, and Jack took some comfort from her reaction. At least one person in the blasted house realized that Percy's presence spelled disaster. Jack had warned Anne, but she viewed her cousin as a nuisance, not as a threat, so she refused to heed Jack's dire counsel.

  Jack could have bodily tossed Percy out on the road, and he'd been seriously considering it, when it had dawned on him that he didn't care enough about the accursed place to fret.

  It was Jamie's property and Jamie's authority that were being maligned, but Jamie couldn't be bothered. Why should Jack enforce the rules and douse the fires? Why should Jack bloody his knuckles over a pompous ass like Percy Merrick?

  When Ophelia had first slithered home, Jack had pitched a fit, but it had been a waste of energy. The vexing shrew was quietly wresting control of the manor, though Anne hadn't yet noticed the small ways her orders were being contravened.

  With Percy on the premises, it would only get worse, and Jack wouldn't tarry to observe the trouble

  Ophelia and Percy would foment. It was obvious that they had schemes in the works, and when those schemes were implemented it would be bad for all concerned, but what could he do? It had been the story of his life that he had no genuine power or influence.

  He'd cautioned Anne, he was alerting Sarah, and he'd stop in London to notify Jamie before he headed out. Whatever any of them did—or didn't do—after that was none of his affair.

  "Yes," Jack said, "Percy's here, and he's already demanded possession of his old suite."

  "Why ... that's absurd. It belongs to your brother."

  "I hate to break the news to you, but Jamie will never be back to claim it. He made his position very clear when your sister and I went to London."

  At memories of that failed journey, Jack grimaced. Anne had been crushed all over again, and Jack had been left with no more illusions. He'd had to accept the fact that Jamie was an unredeemable lout and unworthy of any loyalty.

  Most pathetic of all, during the short period Jack had been gone he'd missed Sarah, and if there was any greater evidence of how Gladstone had driven him completely insane, he didn't know what it was.

  His mention of Jamie had set a spark to her temper, but he was too weary to bicker. During his last argument with Sarah, she'd spewed every harsh word he ever planned to listen to from her, and as he prepared to walk out the door forever, he wasn't about to go with her snide remarks ringing in his ears.

  "So that's it?" she seethed. "The two of you swept in, wreaked havoc, and now, you're simply moving on?"

  "That about covers it."

  "But what will Anne and I do?"

  "I don't know," he truthfully replied. "If you need anything, I suppose you could try writing to Jamie, but I wouldn't expect an answer. And were I you, I'd be extremely wary of Ophelia and Percy. I don't believe they have your best interests at heart."

  Sarah studied him, her mind awhirl. She'd always had too much to say, more than he'd ever wanted to hear, and he wouldn't tolerate any nonsense.

  "You're not going because of me, are you?" she pestered.

  "Don't flatter yourself."

  "Because ... if that's why, we can talk this out. We don't need to quarrel."

  "We're beyond quarreling, Sarah. You know that."

  "Where will you be living? What if I need to contact you?"

  "I can't imagine why you would." "Humor me."

  She appeared sincere, so he told her. "I'm off to London, where I intend to find a woman who'll marry me; then I'm taking our ship and sailing it to America. To start over."

  "You'd rather wed a ... a... stranger and trek off to the wilderness than remain here with me?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't do this, Jack. Don't go."

  She stepped forward and laid her palm on his chest, and she gazed up at him with her pretty green eyes. It would be so easy to get sucked in by those eyes, to begin dreaming of things that could never be, but he'd learned the hard way that it was foolish to depend on her, foolish to hope she might turn out to be someone other than who she was.

  "Good-bye, Sarah." He was proud at how he managed to quell any hint of lingering affection.

  "If I did anything or said anything that—"

  He snorted with disgust. "Just leave it be."

  "Will I... will I... ever see you again?"

  "If I'm very lucky—which I haven't been so far— no."

  They stared for an eternity, and finally she ludicrously declared, "I think I could have loved you." "I doubt it," he countered. "I'm sorry it didn't work out between us." "I'm not."

  He pulled away, spun, and hurried outside.

  Twenty

  “Where is Tim?" Ophelia glanced up from her breakfast plate. 'Tim? Who is Tim?" "You know who he is," Sarah growled. "No, I don't. I guess you'll have to clarify who you mean."

  "Where is he, you witch?" Sarah shouted. At the outburst, Ophelia chuckled and kept buttering her toast.

  "Honestly, Sarah, you're positively unhinged, and I have no desire to deal with you when you're in such a state. Perhaps I should advise Percy to find you a husband. Or perhaps I should simply have Percy get you under control, himself."

  She laid down her knife, her warning clear. Percy could do anything to Sarah, and Sarah couldn't stop him. While he'd never made an inappropriate advance, there had been times when he'd unnerved her with a leer or a gesture. She didn't trust him and never had.

  The Merrick brothers were gone, the scant protection

  they'd afforded having vanished like smoke, and the family had resettled to its original condition. Percy and Ophelia were lording themselves over everyone, so the servants were in continual turmoil, wondering who to obey.

  Anne quietly and discreetly rescinded their more outrageous demands, but it was impossible to assert any significant authority. What could Anne do? Was she to summon the law and have her own cousins evicted? Would she have them dragged out to the road kicking and screaming? Such a scenario didn't bear contemplating, yet Ophelia was more of a shrew than ever, and Percy was drinking too much and seemed downright dangerous.

  Sarah had begged Anne to write to Jamie, but Anne wouldn't lower herself, and Sarah couldn't blame her, but with Tim missing, the gloves were off, and Sarah might contact him, herself. Ophelia had always claimed that she could make Tim disappear, and it would be just like her to seek revenge aga
inst Tim when she was actually angry at Jamie.

  Feeling as deranged as Ophelia had accused her of being, Sarah went to the sideboard and grabbed a knife. She walked to Ophelia and thrust the blade under her chin.

  "If you sent him away," Sarah threatened, "if you so much as harmed a hair on his head, I'll kill you. Now where is he?"

  Ophelia shrieked and pushed Sarah away, as Anne rushed into the room.

  "What is it?" Anne asked, frantic. "What's happening?"

  "Your sister is mad," Ophelia fumed. "She attacked me for no reason."

  Sarah felt capable of any violence. She lunged at Ophelia, and if Anne hadn't jumped between them, she would have been delighted to stab Ophelia through the center of her cold, black heart.

  "Sarah!" Anne scolded. "What's wrong with you?"

  "Shall we explain why you're upset?" Ophelia taunted. "Shall we destroy the pretty picture you've painted for her all these years?"

  "What are you talking about?" Anne inquired.

  "Sarah is a whore. She always has been."

  Both sisters gasped at the harsh term, and Sarah hurled, "You bitch."

  Ophelia was unfazed. "When she was sixteen, and she was away at school, where do you imagine she really went?"

  "Sarah?" Anne frowned.

  "She was pregnant," Ophelia crowed, divulging the secret that had tormented Sarah for over a decade, and to Sarah's amazement, the earth kept spinning. No one dropped dead in shock. No one leapt away as if she had the plague. The facts were just words spewing from Ophelia's mouth.

  There was a lengthy pause, as the three of them digested the announcement; then Anne queried, "Is it true, Sarah?"

  "Yes." Sarah turned to her sister, relieved that Anne didn't recoil in horror.

  "Why didn't you confide in me?"

  "Because I was young and afraid." Sarah reached out and squeezed Anne's hand. "Ophelia constantly berated me till I didn't know what to do. She said I'd disgraced the family and that if anyone ever learned of my shame, they'd cast me out."

  "And the child?"

  "A boy—named Tim."

  "He's been right here," Ophelia raged, "all this time, rubbing his bastardry in our collective noses."

  Anne was incensed and uncharacteristically ordered, "Shut up, Ophelia."

  "I won't be silent. Your sister prances about as if she's the bloody Queen of England, and I for one—"

  "Shut up!" Anne said more forcefully, then to Sarah, "Who was the father?"

  "I'll tell you about it later," Sarah promised. "I won't discuss it in front of her."

  "It could have been anyone," Ophelia sneered. "One of Percy's friends. One of the neighbors' summer guests. The vicar's brother. Did you know who it was, Sarah? Or did you refuse to identify him because there'd been so many you couldn't be sure?"

  Sarah dived at Ophelia, yanking her hair and scratching her face. Ophelia was shrieking again and several servants ran in to check on the ruckus.

  Ophelia would have charged at Sarah, but Anne's fury—and a footman's strong grip—kept her in place.

  'Tim will be brought to live in the manor at once," Anne declared, her livid gaze locked on Ophelia. "No," Ophelia hissed. "I won't allow it." "You won't allow it?"

  "I won't have that little urchin welcomed as if he ... he... belongs."

  Anne peered at the maids. "Lady Ophelia is leaving the property immediately. Go upstairs and pack her things."

  "Don't you dare!" Ophelia countered. "If any of you try, my brother will have you whipped, then tossed out without a penny or a reference."

  The poor maids were in a quandary, the standoff embarrassing and awkward, and it was precisely the sort of debacle Sarah had been expecting from the day Jack had left. When he'd still been present, Ophelia had been manageable, but without him to quell her influence, there was no stopping her.

  "All of you! Out!" Anne commanded, and the servants were more than happy to comply. They raced away.

  Once the door was closed behind them, Sarah said, "Tim is missing, Anne."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He's been working in the stables, but he's disappeared. I think Ophelia sent him away. In the past, she often bragged that she might. That's why she and I were quarreling. I'm worried that she's finally done something awful."

  "Have you?" Anne demanded of Ophelia.

  "What if I have?" Ophelia boasted. "Why would you suppose it to be any of your business?"

  Anne stared her down, weighing their options, but there didn't seem to be many good ones. They could muster some burly tenants and have them wrestle Ophelia outside, but Percy would let her back in. So they'd have to bodily throw him out, too, the trick being to make him stay gone. He'd find a way to return, and when he did, there'd be hell to pay.

  Sarah stepped in so that she and Ophelia were toe-to-toe, and Sarah's wrath was so evident that, for a brief second, Ophelia's smug expression flickered with alarm.

  "I'm finished being terrified of you," Sarah stated. "My worst fear has always been that Anne would discover what I had done. You told her, and I survived. Your hold over me is severed."

  Ophelia shrugged. "If you assume you can proudly introduce your bastard to the neighborhood, then carry on as you have previously, be my guest. I can't wait to see what happens to you."

  Casually, she sat at the table to continue eating her breakfast, but Sarah snatched Ophelia's plate and flung it at the wall. It shattered, eggs and toast oozing down the plaster.

  "You are insane!" Ophelia bristled.

  "Your days of sponging off Anne are over."

  "Says who?" Ophelia replied. "Since this is—and always has been—my home, your gall is astounding."

  "We'll see, Ophelia. We'll see who is still standing at the end."

  "Yes, we will. Why am I positive it will be Percy and me?"

  Sarah looked at Anne. "I'm having the carriage prepared. Would you have the servants pack a bag for me?"

  "Why?" Anne asked.

  "Jamie Merrick needs to know what's occurring. / am going to London to fetch him to Gladstone."

  "He'll never come with you," Ophelia insisted.

  "We'll see," Sarah said again.

  "Try his mistress's house," Ophelia snidely suggested. "I hear he spends every waking moment in bed with her."

  The terrible remark was meant to wound Anne, but Anne would never let Ophelia know that it had had any

  effect.

  "Sarah," Anne calmly said, "would you tell my husband that I wish he'd come personally, but if he's busy, have him send some of his sailors, would you? They're just as ruthless as he is. Advise him that they should be heavily armed and ready for trouble."

  "That's a great idea," Sarah agreed. "I'll let him know. Will you be all right while I'm away? Would you like to go with me?"

  "One of us should remain here," Anne asserted.

  "If you stay by yourself," Ophelia simpered, "aren't you scared of me and what I might do to you?"

  "No," Anne answered. "Jack taught me to shoot a pistol. I intend to load it, then follow you around so you don't have a chance to steal any of the silver."

  "If I take anything," Ophelia retorted, "it belongs to me and Percy—not the paltry, common wife of an impostor."

  "I'm certain Jamie will have an interesting opinion on the subject," Anne sweetly responded. "Be sure to mention it for me, will you, Sarah?"

  "I'll make Ophelia's position very clear."

  Sarah spun and hurried out.

  .

  “Anne, there you are. I've been searching everywhere."

  Anne whirled to see Percy lurking in the doorway of her bedchamber.

  Without argument, she'd relinquished the earl's suite to him and she'd moved to the other wing of the large mansion. She'd wanted to be far away from him and Ophelia, and in light of the morning's events, she didn't care to have him dropping by.

  In the months he'd been away, he'd begun falling apart. He'd lost so much weight, his pudgy torso turning lean and lithe, and h
is clothes—about which he'd always been so fussy—were stained and messy. She could smell alcohol on his breath and figured he was inebriated, which was his usual condition. She didn't like dealing with him sober, let alone half-foxed.

  "What is it, Percy?"

  "You've been quarreling with Ophelia."

  "It's much more than a quarrel, Percy. She's pushed me to my limit, and we can't go on as we have been."

  "I understand that you're upset, Anne, but it's not your place to order her to leave. I've notified her—and the servants—that she'll be staying."

  Anne's temper flared, but she reined it in. At that moment, with little power on her side, it was pointless to fight with him. She would trust that Sarah could convince Jamie to come home as she—Anne—could not, but Anne wouldn't count on Jamie.

  While Sarah was away, Anne would talk with the vicar, would perhaps discuss the situation with a lawyer and seek legal assistance.

  Percy and Ophelia would ultimately be evicted, but Anne would inform them when she had a few brawny men to back her up.

  "Sarah told me about her son," Anne said. "You and Ophelia constantly threatened her."

  "We hardly threatened her. Everything we did, we did for her own good."

  "How can you justify your conduct?"

  "If she wants to make a fool of herself and publicly claim the lad, it's fine by me. The two of you simply need to consider the consequences before doing anything rash."

  "I plan to have the boy found, then brought into the house to live."

  "Then don't come crying to me if Sarah is shunned afterward."

  He walked into the room, so he was between Anne and the door, and an odd prickle of fear slithered down her spine. She felt as if he was blocking her in, and he seemed bigger than she remembered.

  He took a step toward her, then another, till he was very close, and she forced herself to keep from retreating. She'd never been afraid of Mm, and whatever peculiar whim had spurred him to visit, she wouldn't be intimidated.

  "You know, Anne, I've always been particularly fond of you."

  "I'm glad to hear it, Percy."

  "And I've been very generous over the years. Haven't I been generous?"