“Dammit, there’s no comparison!” Royce said explosively. “I had no intention of forcing the woman—nor did I intend to put her on the streets to whore!” Yet even as he said the words, with a sinking feeling in his gut, Royce realized that there really wasn’t a great deal of difference between his actions and what the one-eyed man had planned for Morgana. She had been a virgin until that day in his study, and now, by the very act of making her his mistress, he had put her on the same path that the one-eyed man intended for her. Angry with himself all over again, Royce growled, “Oh, have done with it! You’re right, of course. I think I must have gone a little mad these past weeks.” His face grim, he added, “But I have every intention of setting things right just as soon as I can! And seeing your magistrate will be the first step in that direction. Shall we leave?”
Upon their arrival, they had been shown immediately by an ever-so-correct butler into the liberally stocked library of the magistrate’s elegant home just off Berkeley Square. The man they had come to see, Mr. Blackwell, had been a well-known barrister within polite society before he had become a magistrate, and he looked every bit the representative of the King’s justice, being a tall man with a leonine head full of silvery hair, and brilliant hazel eyes which were filled with a keen intelligence.
Royce had been a bit wary—with George, one never quite knew what to expect—and he was relieved to discover that Mr. Blackwell seemed to be exactly the sort of man he needed.
Succinctly Royce explained the situation, leaving out everything that he thought irrelevant, concentrating just on the event that had put Ben in Newgate, making no mention of the one-eyed man or of Ben’s other siblings. Mr. Blackwell listened gravely, nodding his handsome head now and then. When Royce had finished speaking, he said slowly, “Between your arrival here this afternoon and my receipt of the note that George had sent to me this morning, I took the liberty of doing some checking on Ben Fowler.” Bending a particularly severe look at Royce, he asked heavily, “Are you aware that Fowler has two brothers and that all three of them are closely associated with one of the most dangerous master criminals London has ever known? They are part of a vicious gang run by an individual known only as the ‘one-eyed man.’ Did you know that Bow Street has long been aware of this connection and of the many unlawful activities of your young friend and his siblings?”
Royce kept his face perfectly blank, although he deliberately allowed a faint expression of shock to cross it before he said, “No, I wasn’t. I assumed that Ben sailed rather close to the wind, but I had no idea he was as steeped in crime as you indicate.” Leaning forward in his chair, his eyes fixed intently on Blackwell’s, Royce said persuasively, “But despite all that, the young man has many good qualities, and I believe that if I can remove him from this criminal environment, get him a new start in America, he will do very well. He is an intelligent youth, a clever youth, quick to learn and not uneducated. I would very much like to help him. I have the means to do so and would be willing to expend whatever is necessary to free him. Will you help me?”
There was a long, thoughtful silence as Blackwell stared consideringly at Royce. Looking down at some papers on the desk in front of him, he asked almost idly, “Do you know the gentleman that he attempted to rob? A Mr. Martin Wetherly, I believe.”
“Wetherly!” George said with shocked surprise, entering the conversation for the first time. “It was Wetherly the little whelp was trying to rob?”
Hiding his own shock at the identity of the man, Royce was inordinately grateful for George’s timely interruption, since it momentarily focused Blackwell’s attention on his cousin. His mind racing, Royce only half listened to Blackwell’s reply to George’s question, but when the magistrate turned back to him, he left off his wild speculations and admitted readily, “Yes, I am acquainted with Mr. Wetherly. But I do not see what bearing that has on the situation... .”
“Perhaps none,” Blackwell replied easily. “I was merely wondering if you knew him, and if you did, do you think you could convince him to drop his complaint against Ben Fowler?”
Confident that it was no coincidence that Ben and Jacko had been sent to rob Wetherly and that Wetherly was somehow connected with the one-eyed man, Royce shook his head decisively. “No. I don’t think that, under any circumstances Wetherly could be made to drop his complaint. Is that the only way that Ben can be set free? If there is any other way that I can gain his release, I swear to you that he will leave the country immediately! Wouldn’t that be satisfactory? ...That and a generous donation to whatever charity you think appropriate?”
It was a delicate moment, and there was another long, pregnant pause before Blackwell finally nodded slowly and murmured, “I think that we can arrange his release ... especially since you are willing to vouch for the young man and intend to wean him from his deplorable ways.” Giving Royce a hard look, he said bluntly, “After I have secured his release, I will indeed want him immediately escorted to a ship by a pair of Bow Street runners, who will remain on the docks until the ship actually sails and can confirm that he did leave the country.”
“The ship is due to sail tomorrow morning,” Royce told him, meeting the eaglelike gaze.
Mr. Blackwell shook his head. “Unfortunately, that is too soon. Even though this is all highly irregular, there are still proper channels that must be followed, and I am afraid that it will be at least a week, if not two, before your young friend can be freed.” When Royce would have objected, he held up a warning finger and said crisply, “And even when I have secured his release, he remains in Newgate until he is escorted to the ship. I would suggest that you see a shipping agent tomorrow and see what vessels are sailing for America at the beginning of August. Get his passage secured on the first ship sailing around that date and I shall do the rest.”
Royce considered arguing with the man, desperately hoping that there was still some way that he could get at least Ben on the ship sailing tomorrow, but the granite expression on Mr. Blackwell’s face made him realize that further discussion was useless. Grateful that some progress had been made and that he could tell Morgana and Jacko that Ben would be free, although not as speedily as they had hoped, Royce smiled charmingly and graciously expressed his profound thanks for Mr. Blackwell’s intercession.
After leaving Blackwell’s house, Royce declined George’s invitation to join him in a visit to White’s, and yawning hugely, he murmured, “What I’d like to do is sleep for several hours—you forget that I have been up and about since before dawn this morning, and it is already nearly five o’clock in the afternoon.”
A place to sleep presented a slight problem—the house on Hanover Square had been closed up and the linens stripped, and Royce was considering staying at an inn when George spoke up, saying thoughtfully, “Sleep at my place. Have an extra room with a bed.”
It was nearly eight o’ clock in the evening by the time he sank blissfully into the softness of the feather bed mattress in George’s spare room, and he was sleepily aware of one vital thing missing that would have made the prospect of the next several hours spent in bed even more appealing ... Morgana in his arms. It was his last conscious thought for some time as sleep caught and held him deeply in its toils.
He had assumed that he would probably sleep the entire night away, but after only five or six hours of rest, he woke, his mind instantly filled with the problems that faced him. Fragments of thoughts about Morgana, Wetherly, the one-eyed man, and Ben all swirled through his brain, and realizing that further sleep was impossible for now, he put his arms behind his head and lay there thinking about the best way to keep Morgana safe. The best way, he decided grimly, would be to get her out of England, but now, with Ben in Newgate, that particular option was no longer available to them. He had suggested it to her last night and she had adamantly refused! Lime Tree Cottage could only provide so much protection, and he was beginning to fear that nothing less than a contingent of heavily armed guards would stop the one-eyed man from getting his
hands on Morgana. And the more people I introduce to the household, he concluded grimly, the more likely it is that one or several will be placed there by the one-eyed man.
So how do I protect her? he wondered. She won’t leave England without her brother, so until then, how am I to keep her safe? Lock her in a nunnery? A faint smile crossed his face. Hardly. Appeal to the Earl to put her under his protection as his bastard daughter? Would that halt the one-eyed man? Royce didn’t think so, and he was conscious of a disagreeable chill sliding down his spine at the idea of Morgana being placed in the care of the Earl. Might as well give her to the one-eyed man!
So. Beyond doing what he had, until Ben was free and the three Fowlers were on a ship sailing for America, how could he insure Morgana’s safety? The one-eyed man had power, but there were places where his power did not extend.... If she will not leave England; if a nunnery is out; if armed guards are not practical and the one-eyed man is as determined to possess her as it seems he is ... how can I put her in a position where the one-eyed man dare not touch her?
The answer, when it came to him, hit him like a lightning bolt, and with a half-cynical, half-wry smile, he admitted that it was the perfect solution—he would get precisely what he wanted, and Morgana should be safe from the one-eyed man! Respectability provided its own impenetrable barrier against the likes of the one-eyed man!
Easy within himself, a sense of rightness seeping through his big body, Royce gradually let himself be lulled to sleep again. Thank God, he thought drowsily in those last waking seconds, George knows a bishop!
CHAPTER 24
Royce had hit upon the solution to his most immediate problem, and coincidentally, so had the Earl of St. Audries. But while, in London, Royce fell back to sleep, sleep was the last thing on Stephen Devlin’s mind! Nearly floating with euphoria at his own clevernesses, he excitedly paced the elegant confines of his room in Martin Wetherly’s home near Tunbridge Wells, a pleased smile on his handsome features.
Stephen was not alone; Lucinda sat tensely in a blue velvet Hepplewhite chair and watched her husband’s movements with a slight frown. “But are you sure that it will work?” she demanded for perhaps the tenth time since she had entered his room over an hour ago.
Stephen threw her an impatient look. “Of course it will work! All I need now is to see that she swallows it and all our troubles will be over, my dear.”
It was an odd hour for them to be meeting, but the day had been a busy one, with several new guests arriving in the afternoon, and in the evening, Wetherly had arranged a dinner party, inviting several local people to swell the ranks of the guests already staying at his home. It was only after everyone had retired that Lucinda, following Stephen’s whispered command, had been able to leave her room, just across the hall from his, and meet with her husband.
Lucinda’s frown increased. “But how will you do that? You can’t simply walk into the house and hand it to her!”
“Of course not!” Stephen said indignantly. Smiling smugly, he added, “I made it a point to chat up one of the new kitchen maids at Lime Tree Cottage this afternoon—told her a most affecting story.”
“Stephen, you bloody fool! Don’t you realize that when the chit dies, there are going to be questions asked? How do you know that you can trust whoever supplied you with the poison to keep their mouth shut? And how can you be sure your little kitchen maid won’t realize precisely who you are?”
Looking highly affronted, Stephen demanded angrily, “Do you take me for an utter idiot? I secured the poison—and very discreetly, I might add—in London, before we even came down here. Do you really think that the local authorities are going to trace a poison bought by a mysterious stranger several days ago from an, ah ... accommodating physician in London to the sudden death of a little doxy in Tunbridge Wells?” Not expecting an answer, he sent her a scathing glance before continuing harshly, “As for the kitchen maid, I didn’t just drive up to her and introduce myself! I took the precaution of wearing a disguise—a very handsome pair of mustaches and a rather dapper beard which I obtained from a theatrical company in London. In disguise, I rented a gig and a horse from one of the local stables in order to dazzle my innocent little dupe!”
Lucinda was impressed in spite of herself; her frown vanished and she regarded him more favorably. “At least this sounds far more sensible than your ridiculous attempt to break into Manchester’s London house and stab her in her sleep. Do you think your amateurish effort was noticed?”
A spot of red burned high on each cheekbone as he said coldly, “It doesn’t matter! This idea will work!”
Reluctantly she admitted, “You’ve obviously thought it all out and planned well.”
“Naturally!” he retorted sharply. “I don’t intend to hang! I’ve been very clever in my activities, and I doubt that there is anyone who can connect the Earl of St. Audries with anything that I have done so far.”
“But getting the poison to her ... How will you do that?” Lucinda asked worriedly.
Stephen smiled. “The little kitchen maid, of course! I told her the most affecting tale this afternoon, swearing her to silence.” Contemptuously he said, “She is a simple creature who believed every silly word that fell from my lips. I told her that Manchester had wickedly stolen Morgana away from me, that he had cast a spell over my beloved and that he was cruelly keeping us apart, plying Morgana with evil drugs so that she did not remember me and had eyes only for him!”
Lucinda looked incredulous. “And she actually believed this Canterbury tale of yours?”
“Lapped it up like a cat at a cream bowl!” Stephen said with a pleased chuckle. “I told you—she is nothing but a thick-witted country simpleton! I could have told her I was Father Christmas and she would have believed me! I have her thoroughly convinced that behind Manchester’s handsome face and charm lies a villain with an evil heart! She thought my story the most touching.” He laughed. “Do you know the stupid cow actually cried when I told her of my anguish when Manchester cruelly tore Morgana away from me and would not let me see her?”
Since Lucinda had no very high regard for those of a lesser degree than herself, she found it easy to believe Stephen’s words, but she still wasn’t totally convinced that Stephen’s plan would work. “Well, you may have told her a most convincing and affecting tale, but how does that get the poison to Morgana?”
He smiled. “I am meeting Clara—that’s our simple-minded dupe’s name—tomorrow ... to give her a ‘love potion’ to administer to my beloved. A love potion that will instantly counteract the evil poisons that Manchester has fed my darling and will allow her to remember me and the love we share. Clever, don’t you think?”
On the surface, Lucinda could find no fault with his plan. Her paramount concern, however, was that their part in it, hers particularly, remain undetected no matter what the outcome, and she questioned sharply, “You’re positive that no one can connect you to the deed?”
“How can they? Once Morgana is dead, they will be searching for the mythical stranger who accosted Clara—not the Earl of St. Audries! Believe me, I have covered my tracks well!”
Slowly Lucinda nodded. “You have been rather clever about it. I’ll just be glad when it is over and done with—as it should have been years ago! I still can hardly credit that she is alive!”
His face dark and grim, Stephen said viciously, “Rest easy, my dear, in the certain knowledge that by this time tomorrow, Morgana Devlin will be dead!”
Rather pleased overall by Stephen’s plan, Lucinda left shortly and crossed the wide hall to her own room. The room was in darkness except for the small pool of light coming from a candle that she had left burning near the bed when she had gone to see her husband. Her thoughts were still on the recent conversation with Stephen, and so it was that as she walked to her bed and tossed aside the silk robe she had donned over her nightgown, she didn’t notice the sinister outline of the man hidden in the shadows.
Oblivious to anything but her own
musings, she blew out the candle and got into bed. A catlike smile on her face, she lay there a moment savoring the knowledge that soon, a deed that they had thought safely accomplished long ago would in fact be done. And my child will be the lord of St. Audries Hall, with no one to gainsay him! Hester’s brat will finally be dead and done with!
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she wasn’t aware of the man’s stealthy approach to the bed until it was too late. Her first indication that she was not alone was the feel of his hand clamping down brutally across her mouth and his voice in her ear whispering threateningly, “One sound. One little sound, my sweet, and it will be the last one you ever make.”
The scream died in her throat, and with wide, frightened eyes she peered fearfully through the darkness, her heart thumping madly in her breast. Dear God! What did he want? Who was he?
She didn’t have long to wait for answers. There was a slight movement and then suddenly the candle flared into light, and to her horror, she found herself staring up into the face of the one-eyed man!
He enjoyed her shock and fright, noting with pleasure the way her eyes dilated in sheer terror when she recognized him. Smiling faintly, he nodded his head, his face half-shielded by the low brim of his slouch hat. “Yes, my dear, after all these years, it is I.”
There was a soft, strangled croak from her, and he smiled even more widely. “Now, let me see, didn’t I ask you not to do something?” His other hand closing menacingly around her slim throat, he purred, “Didn’t I warn you not to make a sound?”
The powerful fingers tightened and Lucinda blanched, nodding her head in desperate haste. Merciful heavens! He was going to kill her!
As if reading her thoughts, he shook his head and said softly, “No, my dear, I have no intention of killing you. I’m going to let you speak, but don’t even let the idea of screaming cross your mind, hmmm? Because if it does ...”
The threat was unspoken, but Lucinda was aware that it was very real nonetheless, and she breathed only slightly more easily when the brutal pressure of his hand was removed from her mouth. With terror-filled eyes, she stared at his half-hidden dark, intimidating features, wishing frantically that she were a thousand miles away and that she had never, ever sought his particular help....
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