No, thought Boreland, and in the cold light of morning neither did he relish the thought. Thurleigh’s plan was a bold one, the stakes were high, but if they succeeded! The sudden excitement died within him as he looked out of the window at the sodden landscape. The rain fell straight and heavy, relentlessly beating into the ground: there would be no travel today.
* * * *
For two days the rain continued, filling ditches and rivers to bursting point and when at last it eased and the servants ventured out for fresh supplies, they returned with ominous reports of flooding in the surrounding farms and villages. Lord Thurleigh’s lodge was built upon a slight rise, and they had no fear that the house itself was in any danger, although the lawns were waterlogged, and my lord’s dour butler announced gloomily that the cellars were growing damp. Boreland cursed his bad luck and could scarcely conceal his impatience at the continuing bad weather. Coming into the breakfast room one morning, Lord Thurleigh found his guest standing by the window, his countenance every bit as forbidding as the lowering sky. The marquis smiled faintly.
‘Is my hospitality so poor that you cannot wait to get away?’
Boreland joined his host at the table, his ill-humour unabated.
‘Damme, sir, ‘tis Christmas Eve! I had hoped to be back at Weald Hall by now. It’s the custom for the parson and his brood to dine with us tomorrow, plus various other respectable neighbours – a parcel of dowds, but I’m expected to play the great lord now and again. With the roads near impassable we could be imprisoned here for weeks. Hell and damnation, Thurleigh, how do you stand this place?’
‘Easily, James. Unlike you, I have no loving family awaiting me. My Lady Margaret scarcely notices whether I am at home or not. I believe she has taken to amusing herself with the stable lads at Thurleigh. Very bad form; I really wonder if I should put an end to it…’ He broke off from his musing, his hard eyes coming to rest upon his guest. ‘You are mighty keen to get back to your – what did you call them? Your parcel of dowds! Or is it perhaps the attractions of this female you have chosen for your son?’
‘As I have already told you, that was Isobel’s idea, not mine.’
‘Is she fair?’
‘A veritable beauty. ‘Tis strange, the girl looks familiar. Can’t quite put my finger on it, but sometimes there’s a look or a word, and I feel certain I know her. Impossible, however!’
The marquis showed a mild interest: after all, the weather was so bad there was little point in hurrying breakfast.
‘My dear Boreland, nothing is impossible. Tell me about this beauty.’
‘She’s somewhat older than Andrew, widow of some Frenchman, and very rich, apparently. Came over from Paris not long ago. If you’d been in Town recently you would have met her – Rowsell was hot for her, even wanted to marry her, would you credit it? When he died, Isobel decided to bring the girl to Weald Hall and see what could be done to promote a match with Andrew. I was surprised she agreed to’t. I had the impression she didn’t like us above half when we first met her. But there, women are strange creatures.’
‘As you say. She came from Paris? How long ago?’
‘Only been in England a few months, I believe. It seems Rowsell had no sooner clapped eyes on Elinor de Sange than he was captivated. Never stopped singing her praises.’
‘The marquis had stopped eating, and now regarded his guest very intently.
‘Elinor - and what does she look like, this paragon?’
Boreland shrugged.
‘She’s tall, good figure, a pretty face, but too solemn for my taste.’
‘And her hair? What colour?’
‘A reddish-brown – in Town she mostly kept it powdered, so I doubt that poor Rowsell often saw its glory, unless he managed to get her into bed, which I doubt. I suspect her virtue was part of the attraction.’
My lord was sitting very still.
‘Would I be correct if I were to hazard a guess that her eyes are green?’
‘Aye, you would.’ Boreland nodded. ‘Very striking. In fact, she’s very like your own lady, when she was younger, of course –’
‘And you say you’ve never met the woman?’ Thurleigh sneered at him, his eyes glittering dangerously. ‘You are a fool, man. She was more of a child at the time, but of course you’ve seen her before, following our disappointment in ‘forty-five. You raped her!’
James Boreland stared uncomprehendingly across the table, then as the realization broke upon him, he brought his fist crashing down upon it, cursing violently.
‘Tell me,’ continued Thurleigh, ‘do you know if she met Julian in Paris?’
‘No. That is, it was mentioned once – I think she did say something….’
My lord sat back in his chair, gazing up at the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling.
‘Does it not seem odd to you,’ he remarked, ‘that this woman should have met Poyntz, who subsequently died in a most mysterious fashion, that she should then turn up in London with Rowsell at her heels, and that, upon his untimely demise, she should accept an invitation from you to stay at the Hall?’
Boreland’s countenance darkened as his brain worked quickly back over events. Suddenly he looked up, fixing his fierce stare upon the marquis.
‘The ruby! I thought I had seen its like before!’
Thurleigh brought his own grey eyes down from their contemplation of the ceiling to meet his guest’s harsh stare. He sat very still.
‘Go on.’
‘She wore a large ruby brooch – ‘twas the night George was murdered, which circumstance put it out of my mind until now, but I recall that at the time I thought it an unusual piece, more suited to a man – in fact, my Lord, it bore a striking resemblance to a certain large cravat pin you yourself possess – if you still have it!’
The two men stared at each other for a full minute, then the marquis spoke coolly.
‘As you have already surmised, my dear James, it is the very same. It was not to be found after the girl had left the inn that night. I sent my men to recover the stone the following morning, but the wench and her family had vanished. No word could be got from the villagers, despite all my – er – persuasions, and you may be sure that I scoured the countryside for news of them.’
‘By God, sir, you’re a cool one! You know that stone contains evidence to send us all to the gallows!’
‘That is why I let you all believe I had recovered the ruby. It ensured your continued loyalty to me.’
‘And have I ever given you cause to doubt me?’
‘No, sir, you have not, and for all his tempestuous nature, I believe George Rowsell could be trusted, but Furminger would undoubtedly like to cut all ties with me, if he thought he could safely do so, and Poyntz, well, I think he too was growing tired of the game. Pray do not look so disapproving, my dear sir. I have been ever vigilant, waiting for the stone to come to light, but there has not been the slightest sign – until now.’
‘Do you think the woman knows what is in the brooch?’
‘It is possible. The compartment is well concealed, and would not easily be discovered, but if it has been in her possession for the past – how long would it be now, eight years?’ The marquis shrugged. ‘She could have found its secret. Yet if that is so, why has she not passed it to the proper authorities and had us all arrested?’
‘That may have been her reason for coming to England.’
‘Perhaps, Boreland, but is it not also possible that she came here purely for revenge, and that she wears the ruby to remind herself of the task? The idea has a certain romance, I think.’
With sudden decision Boreland rose from the table.
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he said, making for the door, ‘I’ll beat the truth out of her!’
A faint, malicious smile spread over Thurleigh’s face.
‘My dear fellow, you can’t go yet – the roads are still awash!’
Boreland paused at the door, fury burning in his eyes.
‘The
n mayhap I will have to swim home!’
* * * *
Christmas Day dawned cold but dry, the rain that had persisted during the past few days had eased, but the easterly winds that drove off the clouds brought a sharp drop in temperature, and as the Weald Hall party set out to attend the service at the village church, Elinor was thankful for the hot bricks her hostess had ordered to be placed in their carriage.
Apart from the servants, there was only Mrs Boreland, her son and Elinor in the corner of the church set aside for the family, James Boreland not having returned. His wife’s disapproval of his absence showed plainly in her face, but to anyone who mentioned the subject she merely remarked that the bad weather had no doubt prevented him from coming home. After the service, during which time Elinor felt her feet turn into blocks of ice on the chill stone floor of the church, they returned to Weald Hall, where a welcoming fire awaited them in the morning-room.
‘Perhaps, Elinor, you would like a game of billiards with me?’ suggested Andrew, warming himself before the flames.
‘That is out of the question,’ Mrs Boreland interrupted before Elinor could reply. ‘Have you forgotten that we have visitors coming today? Madame will want to rest and change before they arrive, will you not, my dear? And you too, Andrew, would be the better for lying down upon your bed for an hour. I was most put out when you fell asleep during the sermon.’
Her son flushed slightly, but cast a mischievous glance across at Elinor as he replied. ‘Well, ‘twas a mighty tedious tale, Mama!’
‘That has nothing to do with the matter. If Parson Tidwell questions you about the text tonight, you will look no-how if you cannot answer him. Now off you go to your room, sir, and let me have no more of your nonsense.’
Realizing that her hostess wished to be free to check over the arrangements for the forthcoming dinner, Elinor excused herself and went up to her room. She did not feel in the least tired, and after changing her sober-hued morning gown for a loose wrap she sat down at the small dressing table and unpinned her hair, brushing out the tangled curls as she gazed absently at her reflection in the mirror before her. When she had finished she put down her brush and upon impulse opened her jewel box and took out the ruby brooch, which she had not worn since the evening of George Rowsell’s death.
The stone held so many memories for her that Elinor felt a slight tremor run through her as she held it in her hand. To her, its red depths seemed to reflect the blood that had been shed – the stain of her own lost virginity, her father’s tragic end and the death of two of the five men she held responsible. It was symbolic of her quest for revenge and yet it was nothing more than an ornament, just what was needed to complete her toilet for that evening. It would secure the muslin kerchief to the bodice of her gown. Why should she not wear it? The jewel seemed to mock her misgivings, and with sudden decision she rose to put the brooch upon the mantelshelf, tucking it slightly behind the marble bust so that it could not slip off into the hearth: it would be ready at hand when she came to dress.
As she closed the jewel box she heard the faint sounds of voices in the hall below. Could the visitors be arriving already? She thought she must be mistaken, for it was still early. Elinor looked around for some occupation. The light was fading, and she decided against trying to read. The servants would be busy preparing for the evening, so she did not ring for a taper, knowing that when her maid came to help her to dress, she would bring a light with her. Kicking off her shoes, she lay down upon the bed to await the girl’s arrival.
Elinor had scarcely made herself comfortable when she heard the door open. Thinking it was her maid, she sat up in leisurely style, but her languid air deserted her when she saw not a servant but James Boreland standing in the doorway. As he shut the door firmly behind him, she slipped off the bed, her eyes wary. He had exchanged his top-boots for a pair of soft-soled slippers, but apart from that he was still dressed in his muddied travelling clothes. Elinor felt a pang of fear, but when she spoke she tried for a light note.
‘What, sir, is the house afire that you must enter in all your dirt?’
‘You may well wish that it were,’ he growled, advancing towards her. ‘What were you planning to do, murder me as you did Julian Poyntz?’
‘Faith sir, I do not understand you.’ She spoke calmly, yet her heart was thudding so hard she feared she would faint.
‘Oh I think you do! Were you not the mysterious woman who lured Poyntz to his death in a Paris bedroom?’
‘Julian Poyntz died of a weak heart.’
‘You must have been mighty rough on him, Madame! But how did you plan to dispose of me? A knife between the ribs, mayhap, as poor Rowsell died?’
She turned away from him, hunching a shoulder.
‘All this is nonsense. You are talking like a madman.’
‘Oh? And what of the ruby?’
‘What ruby?’
Boreland strode across to the dressing table and snatched up the jewel case. He tipped it up, spilling the contents across the tabletop. After a brief glance at the scattered gems he threw down the box with an oath and turned back to Elinor.
‘Where is it?’
‘Do you think I would be fool enough to bring it here?’ Her tone was scathing and she kept her eyes on his face, although she longed to glance towards the mantelshelf. Even in the dim light she could see his anger growing, then he smiled suddenly, which frightened her more than any rage.
‘Well, there’s no hurry. You will tell me what I want to know, eventually. You’ve grown into a very beautiful woman, Elinor. I said you would, that night at the inn. Do you remember?’
‘No!’ She tried to evade his grasp, but his hands caught her wrap and tore it away, leaving her covered only in her shift. Grabbing her wrist, he savagely twisted her arm, sending her crashing back onto the bed, where he threw himself upon her, pinning her beneath him, his hands firmly anchoring her arms above her head. Unable to move, Elinor looked up into his face, just inches from her own, and alight with savage triumph.
‘I made the devil’s own journey to get back here after Thurleigh told me about you and by God, madam, I intend to be paid in full for my trouble!’
She turned her head away as he tried to kiss her, and instead he buried his face in the thick red-gold tresses of her hair. As she felt his hot breath upon her neck, Elinor shuddered, panic rising within her. Dear God, she cried silently, am I to suffer again at this creature’s hands? Suddenly, as if in answer to her prayer, a voice as cold as steel cut through the room.
‘Could not your whoring wait until our guests have departed?’
Boreland raised his head. He was still pinning Elinor to the bed but she could see Isobel Boreland standing in the doorway, stiff with outrage.
‘I have never objected to you taking your pleasures in London,’ she continued in an icy tone, ‘but has it come to this, that you must bring your doxy to the Hall?’
He released Elinor and slowly climbed off the bed.
‘A whore she is, ma’am, but not mine. You forget, madam wife, that it was your idea to bring her here. A fine mate you have chosen for our son. The girl came here for mischief. She intended to kill me’
His lady looked contemptuous.
‘Do you expect me to believe that?’
‘Believe what you will, madam, ‘tis the truth.’
‘As to that, we must talk later. There are a dozen people below waiting for dinner. What am I to tell them?’
‘Tell them I have but this moment come in, and must needs change.’ He looked back at Elinor, who was still upon the bed, raised up on one elbow. ‘There is more I need to know from you, Madame de Sange, but it can wait. For now.’ He bent to scoop up her wrap and shoes which he took over to the dressing room. He tossed them inside, then shut and locked the door, pocketing the key. ‘Just in case she tries to escape,’ he told his wife. ‘There was a frost on the air even as I rode in and she’ll not get very far without shoes or clothes. Now off you go downstairs and look after
our guests, my dear. I will join you as soon as I can.’ He shepherded his wife out of the room, and taking the key from the lock he held it up with a last, mocking glance at Elinor.
‘We will give your apologies to Parson Tidwell and the others, Madame. Perhaps a period of quiet reflection will help you to realize that it would be better for you to co-operate with me. If you do not…’ – he shrugged – ‘either way I shall get what I want from you.’
He closed the door and she heard the scrape of the key as he turned it. There was the soft pad of retreating footsteps, then silence.
Elinor slid off the bed. She did not try the door, for she knew it would be locked, as was the dressing room. She took the coverlet off the bed and wrapped it around her. The fire was dying down and without its blaze the room was now very dark. She went to the window, and after a few moments spent fumbling with the catch she managed to open it. The icy air took her breath away and she pulled the coverlet tighter about her shoulders. It was completely dark now, save for the light of the stars that sparkled in the velvet black sky. It was very still, with no breath of wind to stir the ivy that clung about the window, and it was bitterly cold. Boreland was right, she thought, only a fool would venture out unclothed on such a frosty night.
Elinor closed the window and returned to the fire, what was left of it, and sat down before its glowing embers to consider her situation. From below the sounds of merriment drifted up to her. They would all be at dinner now, she guessed. If her room had overlooked the drive there was a chance that she might have called to the guests as they left and made them aware of her plight, although most likely their host would have told them she was deranged, and not to be taken seriously.
She jumped up angrily and paced the room, berating herself for being fool enough to come to Weald Hall. She had never made any plans; what had she expected to achieve? The anger, fear and frustration within her welled up and she threw herself upon the bed, relieving her emotions with a bout of tears and finally falling into an exhausted slumber.
Lady Vengeance Page 14