The Notorious Widow

by Allison Lane

  “No doubt, but better you than a court.”

  He nodded. “I will see that it is done.”

  Blake let the subject of reparations drop. They could resume it later. “I will call on Mrs. Telcor tomorrow. If she does not accept the truth, I will give my evidence to another magistrate.” He named a man known for despising arrogant young men.

  “Agreed.” Rankin glared at Jasper. “We will visit Mrs. Telcor immediately. A ship leaves Plymouth on Thursday. He will be on it.”

  Blake waited until Jasper met his eyes. “If I file these statements with a court, you can never return. No matter how many years pass, you would be arrested the moment you set foot in England. Keep that in mind while making your calls. Even acceding to your father’s honors will not protect you from a murder charge.”

  Jasper nodded.

  Satisfied, Blake bade farewell to Lord Rankin. With luck, it would be over by morning.

  * * * *

  “You are free,” he told Catherine in the drawing room before dinner, having described his meetings with Pott and the Rankins.

  “Do not celebrate too soon,” she warned. “I know Jasper. He will find a way to twist this to his advantage. And now that he knows his true peril, he will destroy you.”

  “I’ve taken steps to deal with every contingency,” he insisted, wondering why she remained wary. “Even Rankin believes him guilty. And Jasper knows that if his confession is inadequate, I can have him tried for murder.”

  “It won’t be enough,” she insisted. “The man has an uncanny knack for protecting himself. He has probably warned people that his father intends to disown him or even kill him so the viscountcy can pass to someone else. Whatever he actually says, some will believe that he is caught in a trap and will utter any lie to escape with his life.”

  “That is insane!”

  “Is it?” She tried to glare, but her gaze softened when it met his. “You agreed that Jasper is unbalanced. If you expect to defeat him, you must think in unbalanced ways.”

  “I’m not sure I can.” He examined the wineglass in his hand. “What do you think he will do beyond depicting me as a weak-minded, delusional fool – which he has already done?”

  “That I can’t say. But he will do something. You had best be prepared.”

  “He is too concerned about his own future to bother with mine,” he insisted.

  “Have it your way.” She threw up her arms in exasperation. “But at least do me the favor of saying nothing about this until we learn which of us is right. I’ll not have you raising hopes that will immediately be dashed."

  She left him when Mary arrived, giving him no chance to question her further. But his mind fretted as he chatted with William. Her words had made too much sense. Jasper left no insult unavenged. His investigation had been an insult even before today.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Catherine completed another circuit of the drawing room, then cursed herself. Rockhurst had left for Exeter two hours ago, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not keep hope buried. If anyone found her here, they would know something had happened, but she couldn’t talk about Jasper just yet. The others would assume that Rockhurst had erased the unpleasantness of these past weeks, which would cause more pain when they discovered that little had changed. Doubts would remain in most people’s minds. It was always safer to assume the worst, which was why losing one’s reputation was permanent.

  She only hoped that Rockhurst’s own reputation wouldn’t suffer. And maybe suspicion of Laura and Mary was not yet fixed. If they recovered, she would be content.

  In the meantime, no one must see her nervous fears, and the best way to accomplish that was to avoid everyone. Mary was with Sarah in the schoolroom. William was meeting with the steward in the library. But the servants were everywhere, and Laura could appear at any time.

  Donning a warm cloak, she headed for the rose garden, seeking its peace. Hope had been battering her defenses since last night. If she allowed it free rein, learning that she remained an outcast would destroy her. She could not afford to collapse in front of Rockhurst. He would feel guilty and insist on trying again to redeem her.

  But the rose garden proved to be a poor refuge. Not only was it visible from the upper windows, but it was too imbued with Rockhurst. It was here he had kissed her, devouring her in a surge of desire she needed to forget.

  So she fled to the orchard. It was a barren place in November, but that was exactly what she needed. A brisk walk would burn off energy, and a brutal reminder of the facts would finally banish hope.

  The facts were clear, she insisted, striding through drifts of leaves. Rockhurst did not have enough evidence for an arrest, which Jasper must know. And he was acting hastily, spurred by his need to escape Seabrook before Laura could stage another compromise. When Jasper called his bluff, Rockhurst would lose.

  She pulled her cloak tighter as anger replaced her restlessness. If Laura hadn’t pushed him into haste, they would not be facing this disaster. This was not the first time Laura had precipitated a crisis by ignoring potential consequences, though it was by far the worst. Jasper would plant some new calumny before leaving England, and the gullible Mrs. Telcor would spread it far and wide. They would suffer for years to come. Even if people doubted the tale, they would hesitate to accept a Seabrook. It was easier to avoid anyone of questionable virtue.

  Tears overflowed. They were tied to the estate, so they would have to endure the inevitable ostracism. Laura would never wed, nor would Mary. She even doubted if William could ever find an acceptable wife. Would he settle for a title-hungry merchant’s daughter or allow a distant cousin to inherit the barony? Not that it mattered. Society would shun them once Jasper’s poison did its work. Even helping the poor must cease, for they would lose too much by allowing her to care.

  Sarah would also suffer.

  And it’s all your fault!

  She sank onto a stump, dropping her head into her hands as the tears fell in earnest. She was wrong to blame Laura. In the end she had caused this tragedy all by herself, and through the same selfish blindness. In this very place, she had let temper rule, insulting Jasper despite knowing what the consequences would be. She had enjoyed flinging his offer back in his face. Remembering Amy Carruthers had lent extra force to her knee, and she had relished the pain exploding through his eyes.

  Stupid woman. Two minutes of pleasure had destroyed her family.

  * * * *

  “I won’t be long,” Blake told his coachman as he descended from his carriage. Taking a deep breath, he rapped on Mrs. Telcor’s door.

  Doubt had clouded his mind since Catherine’s outburst in the drawing room last evening. It had cast a pall over his satisfaction, keeping him awake much of the night and restless the rest of it. Nor did morning produce calm. Catherine had flatly refused to accompany him today.

  “I can’t face another round of cuts,” she’d claimed over breakfast. It was the first time they had shared that meal.

  “You won’t,” he’d sworn. “News of Jasper’s confession should have reached every drawing room in the area by now.”

  But she had refused to listen, reiterating her previous claims. Her utter certainty was contagious – so much so that he dreaded this call. If Catherine remained under suspicion, he would have to file formal charges against Jasper, knowing that his evidence was not strong enough for a conviction. Jasper might well arrange a fatal accident for his father. The evidence was even less likely to convict a viscount.

  He was reaching for the knocker a second time when the door opened.

  “Welcome, my lord,” said the butler, motioning him inside. The man seemed harried.

  Blake soon realized why. The drawing room was crammed with nearly as many people as had been at the assembly. Chairs, benches, stools, and even a flour keg had been pressed into service to seat every gossip from miles around. A score of gentlemen leaned against the walls. No one cared about the proper length of calls this day. He suspected
some had been here since breakfast.

  Everyone fell silent as he squeezed across the room to accept tea from his hostess. A footman handed him refreshments as a maid rushed another tray from the kitchen. He could almost feel the cook’s panic at having to produce so much food without notice. The items on his plate looked decidedly odd – a bit of bread topped with blancmange and a nut, another sprinkled with coarse sugar.

  Miss Crumleigh uttered a meaningless comment on the weather. Miss Ander added a remark about the price of coal. Desultory conversation on topics of no interest soon filled the silence. Blake wondered how long they could avoid the subject they were here to discuss. Even the observation that Cavendish had closed his stationer’s shop and disappeared raised no excitement.

  Blake smiled to himself. Hawkins must have started asking questions.

  “Did Jasper Rankin really make up the stories about Mrs. Parrish?” demanded a new arrival as she walked through the door. Her question freed tongues paralyzed by his presence.

  “He said so, didn’t he?” scoffed Hortense Peters from her seat at Mrs. Telcor’s right hand. “I heard him myself in this very room.”

  “But he had no choice,” declared Mrs. Telcor. “His father dragged him to town and forced him to say those dreadful things. The poor boy has feared for some time that Rankin’s wits were wandering, and this proves it. Why else would he ruin his own heir? Even he should know that the next in line is a vulgar fool who would call all manner of ridicule onto the title.”

  “I saw no sign of weak wits when we spoke recently,” said Blake. “While Lord Rankin is naturally concerned about his health, that hardly indicates senility.” He locked eyes with an elderly lady he suspected was Miss Mott. Frail and wrapped in several shawls, she had nonetheless come out on this momentous day to discuss Jasper’s fall from grace.

  “Of course it does not,” she answered. “Lord Rankin is as rational as any of us.”

  “And he has ample reason to lock Jasper away,” added Hortense. “Ruining Mrs. Parrish is bad enough, even without the rest.”

  “He didn’t ruin her,” swore Mrs. Telcor. “Rankin forced him into that falsehood. Why would he wish to harm her?”

  “To keep her quiet about how her husband and father died, of course.” Hortense glared.

  “That is absurd. We all know how they died. Seabrook was so drunk that the Frenchman’s ghost startled him into driving into a ditch.”

  “Hah!” snorted Mr. Fester. “Jasper killed them because they’d discovered what a swine he is. When he found out Mrs. Parrish knew the truth, he destroyed her reputation so we wouldn’t believe her.”

  “I’ve never heard anything so preposterous in my life,” spat Mrs. Telcor. “Where did you hear such nonsense?”

  “From Jasper.” He shrugged.

  Hortense cast a triumphant smile at her rival, ignoring the fact that Mrs. Telcor was the hostess.

  Miss Ander nodded. “I was in the confectioner’s shop yesterday when he came in. And I must say I’ve long distrusted him. He tried to force my maid last year, for all she’s over fifty. He is a spoiled little boy who wants his own way in all things and punishes anyone who impedes him. Seabrook fell afoul of his temper, so Jasper forced his curricle off the road.”

  “Lies his father placed in his mouth,” insisted Mrs. Telcor.

  “Truth even you must accept,” snapped Hortense.

  “You wouldn’t recognize truth if it bit you in the ankle.” Mrs. Telcor turned away in a direct cut.

  “Are you blind, Hermione Telcor?” demanded Clara Peters, looming over the woman like an avenging Fury. “That boy has twisted you ’round his finger since he was a lad, but you refuse to see it. Open your eyes. How many times have you believed his excuses even when witnesses claimed differently?”

  Mrs. Telcor blanched. “But his father gloated.”

  “No.” Hortense motioned her sister back to her chair. “I sat here during every minute of their call, as did others.” She glanced at several ladies, who nodded agreement. “Lord Rankin showed no triumph over Jasper’s downfall. He was shocked and heartbroken. For a man proud of his breeding, discovering that his son is a lying, seducing murderer was a terrible blow. Yes, he is forcing this confession. But only to atone to Jasper’s victims. Jasper agreed because he wants to avoid being hanged. There was no trace of remorse in his eyes, only defiance, tinged with fear.”

  “Of his father,” insisted Mrs. Telcor, though uncertainty had crept into her voice.

  “For his life,” said Hortense. A dozen heads nodded.

  “You needn’t rely only on Rankin’s word,” added Fester. “Jasper’s confession has unleashed a host of tongues. This morning alone, I’ve spoken with a dozen witnesses to other incidents, from the boy who was punished for damage Jasper caused, to the groom who watched him ride after Seabrook that night. Jasper is an arrogant tyrant who uses intimidation and brutality to enforce his will. No one is safe from his spite. Three deaths and countless injuries have already been laid to his account, and that doesn’t begin to address the other damage he’s caused.”

  “He left the chandler’s girl with child,” said Miss Ander.

  “And stripped the West boy of everything he owned,” added Clara.

  “What about the tailor?”

  “And Farmer Lansbury?”

  “Sally Parker’s broken arm.”

  “Peter Winslow’s shattered wrist.”

  “Those dismembered cattle last year were his doing.”

  “So was Mr. Howard’s favorite terrier.”

  Mrs. Telcor moaned, sliding to the floor in a faint. Blake leaped to assist her, for the collapse was genuine. No trace of color remained in her face. She must finally believe that Jasper had tricked her. Scooping her up, he followed the butler upstairs.

  By the time he returned, the Peters sisters had carried the day. Opinion had shifted firmly against Jasper, with voices vying to outshout one another with yet another example of the man’s dishonor. Blake paused outside the door to listen.

  “I feel sorriest for Mrs. Parrish,” Hortense was saying. “She’s lost her husband, her father, her friends, and her reputation to that man’s spite. We cannot continue blaming her for his sins.”

  “I shouldn’t have cut her without evidence,” a matron said with a sigh.

  “I should have known there was something wrong with those stories,” said another. “She’s always been kind. The bazaar she arranged last year raised enough to start a school in the village.”

  “And she’s selfless,” someone added. “She skipped part of Christmas with her family to soothe my grief after poor Jimmy died in Portugal. The villagers call her Saint Catherine.”

  “He should hang for what he’s done to Seabrook’s family,” murmured a gentleman.

  An enormous weight lifted from Blake’s shoulders. Success. Justice was served. Smiling, he slipped outside. He would stop at the White Hart long enough to thank George. Then it was time to consider the future.

  * * * *

  Catherine fumbled for her handkerchief. Cursing the past was useless, as was crying. But she couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Are you hurt?”

  She jumped to her feet, frantically scrubbing away tears as Rockhurst strode closer. “I am fine.”

  He turned her to face him, his hands burning into her shoulders. “You act like you’ve lost your last friend.”

  “Haven’t I?” His expression finally penetrated her gloom — joy rather than defeat.

  “You are free, Catherine,” he said softly. “Truly, forever free. Jasper’s reputation is in shreds. His downfall is being celebrated both high and low.”

  “He actually confessed?” Shock made her voice squeak. “I was certain that he would offer new lies.”

  “He tried. As you expected, he had laid the foundation for his mad father’s attempt to destroy him. He also blamed William for your father’s death – supposedly William schemed to wrest control of the barony.”

  �
�My God! Even I had not expected such calumny.”

  “Relax.” His thumbs stroked her neck. “It was a stupid attempt concocted without thought by a desperate man. Miss Ander remembered that William had been away at the time.”

  “He was in Plymouth. We had to send for him.” Her head spun.

  “Exactly. Jasper miscalculated badly. His father is furious. He is sending Jasper to the Caribbean under guard. Instead of running the estate when he arrives, he will be kept under close supervision and locked up if he misbehaves. The Misses Peters were so eloquent in your defense that even Mrs. Telcor now accepts the truth.”

  “Mrs. Telcor believes me innocent?” She was having trouble breathing.

  He slid an arm around her shoulders, tucking her against his side as he walked toward the house. “Yes. It was a shock, of course – she actually fainted when the truth penetrated her stubborn head. When I left her, she swore she’d been uncertain of the tales for some time, though I suspect she is saving face by revising her memories. She will soon recall incidents that prove Jasper was a sneaky liar even as a boy. She’ll have to. Already his confession is bringing victim after victim into the open. By tomorrow he will be credited with every misfortune to befall anyone since the day he was born. If she expects to retain her credibility as a gossip, she will have to go along.”

  She laughed. “I cannot believe they would turn on him so fast. They considered him a saint only yesterday.”

  “Public opinion is fickle,” he reminded her, shrugging. “The higher a person starts, the farther he has to fall – which explains your own problem. Saint Catherine started on a pedestal so high it scraped heaven.”

  She actually blushed at his foolishness.

  “But that works in your favor now,” he continued. “No one enjoys feeling gullible. Admitting that he pulled the wool over their eyes implies that they are fools, so they need an explanation that absolves them of guilt. Thus Jasper must be a tool of Satan with evil powers that go beyond human comprehension. If he fooled everyone, then no one is to blame.”

  “Profound. So we will vilify him, and our children will remember him as Evil Incarnate. Ultimately, he will dwindle to an ogre used to scare toddlers into behaving.”