The Wicked Wager

by Anya Wylde

  He then called Pickering to his side.

  “You are all wondering why I have not suspected Pickering? Why have I left him off the suspect list from the very beginning? What has he done to deserve my trust? Again I must convince you through deduction rather than sentiment. Lady Babbage refused to acknowledge anyone not of her class. The amount of money her son required was large. A mere butler could not provide such sums on the salary he makes. He has been my eyes and ears for a long time. He was the first person to discover my sister’s dark activities. He did not wait for proof, but immediately informed me of what he had discovered. He knows me well enough to not dither on such important matters. I knew he had no reason to lie to me. Now, what could he gain from murdering my sister? Did he hold a secret tendre for her and was denied her favours? Or perhaps she had slighted him on more than one occasion. He works in the kitchen and could easily procure a knife. He knew of the blackmail being conducted and how many people had a reason to kill her. It would be difficult to pin it on one single person. He could have also been aware of all those people who were out of bed that night, giving him the perfect opportunity. He knew of at least two people, Emma and the earl. He had even noticed Mr and Mrs Barker awake on the night of the murder. He had my permission to roam the house that night. What could be a more ideal situation? He did not kill her for those very same reasons. He knew I was aware he was within the household that night. A servant would never believe he would be trusted over other members of the household. Unfortunately, they are the first to be suspected. If you remember, upon hearing of my sister’s murder, Mr Barker immediately said that a servant did it. The last thing Pickering would have used to commit the crime was the butcher’s knife, for it came directly from the kitchens, and hence pointed straight at him. The moment my eyes fell on the blade, I knew he was innocent.”

  “But then what about the blonde man seen roaming that night with a blade. Who was he?” Nutters asked, caught in the web the duke had been weaving.

  “Precisely! That is why I must now come to its source.”

  Everyone turned to stare at the last person left to be discussed.

  “There was only one person who always had a reason to roam at night, only one person whose presence in the hallways at one in the morning would be overlooked as a common occurrence. The insinuation that a blonde man with a blade committed the crime came from the mouth of my dear wife, the duchess. She had been aware of my sister’s dark habit of blackmailing people. She knew who was being blackmailed and how many people had reason to do away with her. She was the only one who had no reason to remove the incriminating blackmail letters. She was also aware of Joe’s existence. That is why the entire drama of seeing a vision or a ghost of a tall blonde man with a blade was played out for my benefit. What she did not know was that I had the doors locked that day or that Pickering was keeping so close an eye on things. The fates played a cruel joke on her. Everyone was out of bed that night, in a sense aiding her plans, though their actions that night proved their innocence. Even Joe had been lucky enough to get inebriated …”.

  “Oh, I have had enough,” the duchess said irritably. She leapt up, pulling Prudence along with her. A glint of metal sparkled in her hand in the firelight.

  The duke was the first to realise that she held a tiny pistol jabbed into Prudence’s side.

  Someone let out a horrified shriek. The shout didn’t even procure a blink from the duke who kept his eyes trained on his wife.

  “I will say what I need to and then leave you all in peace. I suppose you know?” the duchess asked, lifting her brow at the duke.

  He nodded.

  “Fine, let me enlighten the rest. You have been speaking long enough these last two days. I am getting heartily sick of your voice. Now, credit me with the same respect you all afforded the duke and stay silent while I speak,” she said, glaring around the room.

  No one moved an inch. Satisfied she continued, “I was a famous burglar in Italy and I have conducted some fabulous thefts in my days,” she said, smiling reminiscently, “I fled from there when my identity was discovered. I found the duke ripe for plucking, still grieving for his dead wife. I was going to steal his family jewels, but by then I was tired of running. I fashioned myself into something exotic, different from prim English misses. He fell in love with me. Imagine my surprise when he actually proposed. I would have been content as his mistress. We married and I soon became bored. My life had been filled with excitement, romance, and drama. Now I was a boring duchess of an equally uptight duke. I became restless and soon got in touch with my old accomplices. I could only advise them as to techniques and plots through letters. Yet those moments gave me a thrill like in the olden days. Then my dearly departed sister-in-law discovered my secret. She tried to blackmail me, threatening to tell the duke. However much I wanted to return to my old life, I could not afford to do that. I had created such a comfortable place here with all its luxuries. Besides, I am older and no more as nimble. I can no longer scale walls or run as fast. My feigned madness allowed me to write late into the night to my friends. I loved annoying everyone with my little speeches of the spirit world. No one took me seriously, and that suited me fine. That is exactly what I wanted. Perhaps I planned to run away for a short time and cheat some rich man of his treasures for the fun of it. I could then return to my home at my convenience, and what could one say to a mad woman? I could run away when I pleased, since I was loony. It was so perfect until she spoiled it all. I placated her with some paltry sums, but her demands kept increasing until I could take it no more. I knew she was blackmailing a number of you, and I knew of this whole game of the earl and Joe being present. It was the perfect opportunity, so I stole into her room while she slept and stabbed her.”

  She kept her eye on the duke, as she jabbed Prudence with her pistol. She forced Prudence to stand and inched her way towards the door. She stopped and spoke again,”I was smart enough to plan my escape if I were discovered. I, for one, have never underestimated the duke’s intelligence … now, my friends wait in the dark night, so I bid you adieu,” she said, smiling happily.

  She dragged Prudence to the door, and no one dared stop her. She had murdered once; she could do it again. She pulled her hostage to the front door and out into the garden.

  A carriage sat waiting on the outskirts. She climbed into it, pushing Prudence to the ground. She kept the pistol trained on the girl until the carriage went out of sight.

  “Will you follow her, My Lord?” Pickering asked.

  “We will never catch her. She would have planned it well,” the duke replied sadly.

  “Did you know?” Catherine asked her father.

  “I became suspicious after my sister hinted once that I should look into my wife’s past. I started keeping a closer eye on her and noticed how intelligent she was. I wondered if she was pretending to be mad and could not understand her reasons for doing so. I hired Nutters to do the investigation. I started the investigation out of curiosity, wondering where she came from, what kind of madness did she have, and whether it ran in the family, since I was expected to produce an heir. I stopped visiting her in bed as soon as she showed her unstable traits. It took me a long time to find out the truth. My sister tried to tell me a few days before she died. I think my wife had refused to play her games anymore. I had brushed her aside and warned her to stay out of my business. I did not want to confess that I suspected the same thing. I wanted the proof that Nutters was going to procure for me before I took any action. I became worried having her under the same roof, and I think somewhere deep in my mind, I knew what she was capable of … and she proved me right.”

  Catherine slipped her hand through his and led him inside. He looked as if he had aged years in those last few moments.

  It was a considerable time before the house was calm again.

  Epilogue

  “Lord Raikes,” Catherine said, crushing her white silk gown under her fingers.

  “Call me, William.”


  “Don’t you think our wedding has happened too soon? You did promise me a courtship. Perhaps we should wait a while before …” Catherine said nervously.

  “Before?” he prompted, smiling.

  “Well, you know?”

  “No, I don’t. Elaborate, my dear. The wedding wine is making me feel a bit dim,” he said wickedly.

  “To become husband and wife …”

  “Too late, we are already married.”

  “I mean to … to … share the bed,” she whispered finally.

  Lord William Raikes stared at his trembling wife, his face serious.

  “Answer me first. Do you love me?”

  Catherine bit her lip and then slowly lifted her lashes. She saw his intense expression and understood his fear. She knew he loved her, and he was afraid that once more he would be rejected by his love.

  Her heart squeezed painfully and she caught his hand in hers and nodded, her eyes darkening with emotion.

  He grinned in delight, “Then I no longer have to woo you. As for not sharing the bed, then you are in for a disappointment.”

  Then they did, and she was not disappointed.

  ***

  Emma sat in her wedding finery in her new home. She watched the earl pour them a glass of wine.

  “So you admit the duke is far cleverer than you?” Emma asked, pulling the pins out of her hair.

  “I do not! The point of the wager was to show that the duke could be fooled, and he was fooled by his wife no less … for ten whole years!” the earl replied.

  “Humph, but you lost. You did not prove it. He knew who you were from the very beginning.”

  “Yes, but the point is he was duped, and I managed the end I wanted.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why, marrying you within two months. I even got my poor friend married off to your cousin in the bargain.”

  “That was not your doing. You could not have imagined that they would fall in love.”

  The earl grinned as he leaned in for a kiss, “Are you sure about that, my love?”

  Emma eyed her husband sceptically. He pushed her back on the bed and dived under the covers. He had the rest of his life to convince her of his intelligence. For the moment, he had work to do…

  “Ooh, is this even possible?”

  “Yes, and more”

  “Oh, I don’t think … I see …”

  “There is more …”

  “Nooo”

  “Yes”

  “Ah, I see now what you mean.”

  “You will see a lot more, my dear, I am just getting started.”

  And they lived happily ever after.

  ***

  The Duchess of Arden tapped the ash off her cigar, “So, he is the richest man in all of France?” she asked huskily, sizing up her prey.

  “He is a sharp one. He didn’t make all that money by acting a fool.”

  Her full lips curved into half a smile.

  “If I could dupe the duke, then this frog faced man is hardly competition.”

  “Don’t be over confident, he is brilliant. Be careful, I think you have met your match.”

  “I hope so,” she whispered, throwing the glowing stub away.

  She took a sip of her whisky and arranged her face into a helpless expression before sashaying towards her new target.

  The End

  (Continue overleaf for a sneak peek of my upcoming release and how to get a complimentary copy.)

  Sneak Peek: Penelope

  Prologue

  It was April in England. Therefore, it stood to reason that it was raining.

  The English, it also stood to reason, were delighted because the weather was horrible and they had a reason to complain. But today the Londoners specifically were even more ecstatic because it was not only raining but also storming. Thunder, lightning and raging wind swept through the streets of London carrying with it pounds of garbage, scrawny cats, chimney sweeps, and the unfortunate young lady in ballooning pink skirts who had decided to sneak out of her respectable home to canoodle with a not so respectable man.

  In the better parts of the town the plump aristocrats sat on plump cushions deploring the state of the economy, politics, and literature. The exception to this was the Blackthorne mansion, a veritable fortress where the current Duke of Blackthorne, Charles Cornelius Radclyff, resided. It was said that the history of the Radclyff family could be traced back hundreds of thousands of years (that is if one had an open mind and considered Darwin’s theory to be utter rubbish).

  Sir Henry Woodville, the oldest living creature in the Blackthorne mansion, could not be sure how far back the history could be traced, but if one tried, he was positive that the ancestors of the Radclyff family were the original creators of Plato’s Atlantis, and after bit of drink, he confessed they could possibly have been Adam and Eve. It is whispered in expensive drawing rooms that Sir Henry Woodville could be a teensy weensy bit senile.

  So the Blackthorn mansion stood bold and proud fighting the onslaught of stinging rain while within its grey walls the dowager and her daughter, Lady Anne Radclyff, sat huddled by the fire, wincing ever so delicately every time the thunder roared. They did not discourse on appropriate topics but awaited the arrival of our heroine, Miss Penelope Winifred Rose Spebbington Fairweather, and this is where we begin our tale.

  Chapter 1

  The dowager cast a worried glance at the door while Lady Radclyff stared at the grandfather clock, willing its giant needles to move.

  “She is late, mama.”

  “She will be here soon enough.”

  “Do you think she is dead?”

  “Annie! She is not that late!”

  “Yes, but she is coming all the way from that … that Finny village. It has been raining all day and she refused our offer of a carriage. The post chaise could have lodged itself in a pothole and overturned. I suppose she is lying in some gully, blood pooling underneath her awkwardly twisted body and not a soul in sight.”

  “It’s Finnshire not Finny, and she has her maid with her.”

  “Well, then the maid is dead too. The weight of the carriage finished her off well before her mistress. Poor Miss Fairweather twitched and trembled for eons, fighting for that last breath.”

  “I will seriously contemplate your very vivid scenario if Miss Fairweather does not arrive in the next five hours. Until then can we converse like gently bred women? If your brother heard you speaking like this, he would have you sent to the country for the next three seasons.”

  “I am bored. I can’t go to the shops, drive or feel excited about the season. Do you know that I attended one hundred and five balls last year alone, and that does not count the dinners and tea parties?”

  “Miss Fairweather would have loved to attend one hundred and five balls last year. You have had the pleasure of three seasons, while the poor dear has never been to anything but the village dance.”

  “What do you think she is like? Have you ever met her?”

  “I have not met her … but her mother and I attended the same ladies academy. Her mother, Esther, was bright, full of life and laughter, and if her daughter is anything like her…”

  “Was?”

  “She died giving birth to Miss Penelope Fairweather. Mr Thomas Fairweather, Penelope’s father, married the vicar’s daughter Gertrude within a year of Esther’s funeral. Gertrude went on to have five more children. I initiated a correspondence with Gertrude to ensure that Esther’s daughter was well looked after…”

  “You couldn’t have the step mother drowning the child …” Lady Radclyff interrupted.

  “Anne! Miss Fairweather is not an unwanted kitten! Where was I? Oh, yes, Gertrude writes to me often. Her letters are full of her children’s antics. I feel as if I know them, “the dowager said dreamily. “I have imagined them growing up. They used to wail all night and then they were falling off apple trees …”

  “You are rambling again, Mama. I don’t care about Miss Fairweather’s
siblings. I want to know about her.”

  “Why? You have never shown this much interest in any of my other guests before.”

  Lady Radclyff sucked on a lemon drop, her mouth pursing in thought.

  “The other guests were all the same. They say the same things, they are brought up the same way, and they all wear the same clothes. It is as if a single London lady and a London gentleman have been put into different moulds by God and recreated again and again. I can predict what the replies to my questions will be. No one is original. While Miss Fairweather sounds original.”

  “Original?”

  “I have never met a country bumpkin before.”

  “Annie!”

  “Well, it is true isn't it? How in the world are you going to introduce her to polite society?”

  “Esther, her mother, was very well mannered, a little enthusiastic but still a lady. And I expect Gertrude has brought up her stepdaughter correctly.”

  “How many siblings does she have?”

  “Five younger sisters.”

  “Six girls and not enough money to pay for a season for even one child. I think your friend would have had more to worry about than teaching the girls how to curtsy and hold a fan.”

  The dowager sipped her tea and didn't reply.

  “So I am right!”

  “No, I am sure Miss Fairweather knows the basics.”

  “I can hear a but …?”

  “Gertrude sounds as if she dotes on Miss Fairweather, yet when I asked if I could sponsor Penelope’s season in London … her reply was a little damp. She cautioned me against the idea …”