Mistress of Sins (Dredthorne Hall Book 3): A Gothic Romance

by Hazel Hunter

  Jennet took something from the coat she wore, and wordlessly offered him a pistol. He saw it was the same one he had left with her in the bed chamber.

  “I was saving it so I might shoot you,” she advised him. “Fortunately, I have changed my mind.”

  “The Secretary at War will appreciate your restraint.” He heard the agents’ voices echoing in the hall as they called for Catherine, and he pointed to a spot some yards away from the door. “If you would stand over there, look terrified, and call for help when I tell you, that will draw them out.”

  “You wish to ambush them, then,” the vicar said.

  “Yes, Mr. Branwen. We will take flanking positions beside the outer door.” Even with Jeffrey’s help it might go badly, but this was the best chance they had of surprising the agents. “Aim for the knees of the first to come through, and I will see to the others.”

  “I cannot condone murder, my lord,” the vicar warned him.

  “Then you have come to the wrong house tonight, sir.” Greystone turned to his lady, who had not moved, but looked prepared to argue. “Jenny, please. They will be in the kitchens in another moment.”

  “I have been abandoned, ruined, throttled, abandoned again, and now I am made bait. To think I once wanted to marry you.” She stalked over to the spot, folding her arms as he and the vicar moved to either side of the door.

  Jeffrey met his gaze with a stern look. “Remember the sixth commandment, William.”

  “I have been too busy keeping the fifth, sir.” Yet as he said that, Greystone realized that he no longer wished to kill anyone, even Catherine Tindall, who would have happily gutted him like an eel and draped herself with his entrails. “Do you believe a man of sin can start his life over again, no matter what he has done?”

  “God does,” the vicar assured him. “You should talk to Him about that.”

  Greystone looked over at Jennet. She was terrified, he knew that, and yet the worse the situation had grown, the braver she had become. She knew all of his secrets now—save one—and still she had forgiven him, and again offered him her heart.

  She saw him watching her and her exasperated expression softened. “It is almost over, I hope. You can keep the pistol. I may want your ugly rings, however.”

  Hope was everything he had taken from her seven years ago. Whatever became of him, he had to do right by her this time. The kitchen door banged open inside the house, and he nodded to her.

  “Do not let them shoot me, Liam.” In a louder voice Jennet called out, “Oh, please, someone, help me.”

  Her cry drew the agents out through the door a moment later. As soon as Jean-Pierre barreled out the vicar swung the firewood like a cricket bat at his knee. The impact made bone crunch and buckled the man’s leg, sending him sliding across the ground. He choked on the dirt filling his face, but could not rise.

  As the second agent saw him go down he turned toward Greystone and brandished a long blade. He pointed Jennet’s pistol down and shot him in the foot, toppling him with a howl. A boot to the jaw knocked him out cold.

  The third man stopped on the threshold, staring at his comrades and then the vicar, who stood ready with the firewood. His jaw tightened.

  “You should know that this man is the Raven,” Jennet told him in French, and nodded at Jeffrey Branwen. “Surrender to him immediately, or I daresay he will impale you where you stand.”

  Greystone almost laughed out loud as the vicar took a step forward and smiled with all of his teeth.

  “I have seen him do such a thing to another, my friend,” Greystone told the agent, and made a gesture toward his own buttocks. “It is perhaps the worst way to die that I know.”

  The Frenchman stared wide-eyed at him, and dropped the blade. Gingerly he dropped to his knees and held up his hands in surrender.

  Jeffrey kicked away the blade and surveyed all three men with visible satisfaction. “I do believe I came to the right house tonight.”

  Jennet knew the vicar wanted her to accompany him to the magistrate’s house. With three French agents now tied up and stowed in his carriage, and a very narrow driver’s perch, there was no room for her to ride along. They also couldn’t risk leaving any of the agents behind at Dredthorne Hall.

  “Baron Greystone will take me home,” she said to the vicar, knowing it was the kindest of lies. “I will be safe with him.”

  “Very well, if you are certain.” Jeffrey took hold of her hands. “You are truly a remarkable young woman, and your mother should be very proud of what you did here. And I promise you, I will never breathe a word to her about any of it.”

  “For which you will have my eternal gratitude, Mr. Branwen. God speed.” She squeezed his hands, and then stood by the lions guarding the gate and watched as he drove off.

  The short walk back to Dredthorne Hall gave Jennet some time to prepare herself for what she suspected was coming. At the entry Greystone stood waiting beside two horses. Catherine, who had been gagged and securely tied across the saddle of one horse, glowered at her. She turned her back on her former friend and regarded the man about to climb onto the second mount.

  He was leaving her behind again, only this time she knew why.

  “You saved my life tonight,” Greystone said as she removed and handed him the coat in which she’d hidden his book. He removed his own cloak, and wrapped it around her. “More importantly, you saved countless lives by helping me capture Catherine Tully and her men, and keeping the cipher out of their hands. I do not know how to thank you, Jenny.”

  “You are going back to France.” Somehow she wasn’t surprised when he nodded. “I think I knew you would. It is a time of war, and you are soldier, like my father.”

  “If you are…” He stopped and turned his face away from her, as if he needed to collect himself. “If you discover that you are increasing, please write to my mother, and tell her it is my child. She will not welcome the news that I am responsible, but I believe she will help you.”

  “What I do if I am pregnant is not your concern. Look at me, please.” When he did she walked up to him, until she was close enough to touch him, until he could feel her breath on his face. “You think that you are abandoning me again. I tell you now that you cannot. I have loved you since the first time I saw you in church. That quiet girl with the braids dreamed of meeting you again someday, so she might have the chance to become better acquainted with you. She wrote your name in her diary, over and over, next to her own. Mrs. Jennet Gerard, wife of Mr. William Gerard. You were my every hope of happiness.”

  “Do not do this, Jennet,” he muttered.

  “I have already. I saved myself for you, Liam. I always will, and whatever you choose to do, you will never truly leave me. For you will always be in my heart.” She stepped back. “Good-bye, my love.”

  Jennet stood and watched him mount his horse, and then gazed at his back as he rode down the drive with Catherine in tow. Only when he had disappeared from sight did she wrap herself more securely in his cloak, and turn to regard the old house.

  All of the windows had gone dark now, but they reflected the full moon as if it were dozens of lamps glowing just inside the panes. The aura of menace she had sensed before had faded now, leaving behind an old, somewhat neglected house built in a time when all things French had been admired and celebrated. Perhaps someday they would be again, and someone would properly restore the place to its former glory.

  Had she managed to break the curse? Jennet would never know for sure, but she had the feeling that saving the man she loved and then letting him go would have earned the approval of even the most vengeful spirit. It was what they had not been able to do as the mistresses of Dredthorne Hall.

  “Perhaps you should do the same,” she told the old house Hall before she started down the drive toward the road.

  The walk to Reed Park on foot took most of an hour. Mrs. Holloway, who was waiting up in her nightdress and robe, unlocked the door and let her inside.

  “Mrs. Reed took
Barton’s horse and rode it to the parsonage,” the housekeeper told her, and related the details.

  The thought of her terrified, panicking mother having the courage to go for help in the middle of the night made Jennet sigh. It also meant that as soon as Jeffrey returned home he would have to bring Margaret back to hers. The poor vicar wouldn’t get much sleep tonight.

  “I must wash and change before she returns with Mr. Branwen,” she said as she took off Greystone’s cloak, revealing the bedraggled, wine-soaked shirt. “Can I impose on you to keep watch for them?”

  Mrs. Holloway nodded. “I’ll warm some water for you and send it up with Debny.”

  Upstairs Jennet gratefully stripped out of Greystone’s wine-stained shirt and her undergarments, and donned her dressing gown. When her mother’s maid arrived with the steaming jug, she also offered a bottle of rose water.

  “For your hair, Miss.” Debny grimaced at the snarled mess hanging around Jennet’s face. “I’ll brush it out for you once you’re dressed.”

  “Thank you, but since I am responsible for this disaster, I will see to it.” She hesitated before she asked, “I need to speak with Mama when she arrives, and what I have to say will be distressing to her. You may want to prepare for one of her episodes.”

  The maid frowned. “Mrs. Reed saddled a horse to go after you tonight, Miss, and I’ve never seen her stronger or more determined. She panics only when she feels helpless and can do nothing. That’s when her fears prey on her thinking.”

  Jennet felt astonished. “I have never seen that about Mama.”

  Debny nodded. “You always want to calm her, Miss, as you should. But the real remedy is to give her something to do about her worries. Then she is like the tiger.”

  Once the maid left, Jennet attended to washing and dressing herself, and brushed out her hair, braiding it as she did every night. As she did she thought of everything she had meant to conceal from Margaret, and silently debated the wisdom of doing so. If she was with child, she would need her mother’s help and support. She would also have to contact William’s mother, and inform her she was to become a grandmother.

  Even if there was no child, Jennet still needed to explain what had happened at Dredthorne Hall. Margaret had been right about the old house, and it would gratify her to know that for once her fears had been justified.

  The vicar arrived a short time later with Jennet’s mother, who looked pale and exhausted. The moment Margaret saw her she opened her arms, and caught her in a tight embrace.

  “Go home, dear Mr. Branwen, and bless you for delivering my girl back to me,” Margaret said. “We will forever be in your debt.”

  Jeffrey caught Jennet’s eye, and she nodded to him. “Think nothing of it, Mrs. Reed. Miss Reed.” He bowed and departed.

  Mrs. Holloway took Margaret’s coat, and smiled as her mistress thanked her for her efforts. Jennet thought her mother might wish to retire, and suggested the same, a notion that the older woman promptly squashed.

  “You will explain to me why you remained behind at Dredthorne Hall,” Margaret said, and marched her into the sitting room.

  After Jennet lit the lamps, she sat down with her by the banked fire, and tried to think of how to begin.

  “It was William, was it not?” her mother prompted. At her incredulous look, she added, “Debny told me last week that he had come to stay at Gerard Lodge.”

  “Yes, he was there.” Jennet took hold of her hand. “Mama, I still love him. I wish you to know that before I tell you the rest—and after tonight, I will need you.”

  Margaret put her arm around her, and offered Jennet her handkerchief. Only then did she feel the tears slipping down her own cheeks.

  “Take your time, my dear,” her mother said gently.

  It did take a great deal of time to relate all of the shocking turns the masquerade ball had taken. Jennet did not go into great detail about her intimacy with Greystone, but she did not baulk at confessing she had made love with him twice. Her voice wavered as she spoke of finding Arthur Pickering murdered, and learning that the man she loved had spent the last seven years working for the crown as a spy and an assassin. But her tone hardened as she told her mother that Catherine Tindall had been doing the same for the enemy.

  Jennet did not make light of seeing Greystone being tortured, or what she had done to her former friend in order to save him from that. At last she came to the moment before she had bid him farewell, and what they had said to each other.

  During that time Mrs. Holloway came in quietly with two cups of chamomile tea and some toast on a tray, and left it on the table between them. By the time Jennet finished, the first rays of dawn began to lighten the room.

  “That is everything, Mama.” She was almost afraid to look at Margaret. “William has gone to London with Catherine and the cipher. I expect once he has turned them over to his superiors that he will return to his duties. I am sure that I will never see him again.” She met her mother’s gaze. “I am sorry for many things, but not for becoming his lover. Even if there is a child, I will never regret that.”

  The older woman handed her the now-lukewarm tisane. “I will not condemn you for loving him, my darling. Now drink, and have some toast. It will settle your nerves.”

  Despite her dismal mood Jennet chuckled. “I am usually the one to say that to you.”

  “Mrs. Branwen did the honors tonight after I arrived all hysterics at the parsonage.” Margaret sighed. “She is so kind. She made tea for me, and added a jot of brandy to it. We had ginger nuts and talked of her plans for Christmas. I will have to send a note to her after I write to Lady Greystone.”

  “I do not think you can tell the baroness about William’s work,” Jennet said. “His identity must remain secret.”

  “I have absolutely nothing to say to Amelia about her son,” her mother assured her. “But if she is to be a grandmother, then I must renew our acquaintance. Perhaps I will invite her to spend Christmas with us. She will be lonely now that her husband is gone, and we will enjoy the company.”

  “By then we should know, too.” Jennet put down her tea cup. “What will we do if I am increasing, Mama?”

  Margaret’s expression turned astonished. “Why, we will go to Scotland on an extended holiday, and find a nice cottage. Perhaps on one of the islands, for they are said to be lovely. I have always wished to visit the Isle of Skye. You will wear my wedding ring, and choose a suitable surname for a married lady who has just lost her husband in the war—not Gerard, of course. Then we will go on long walks, and eat sensibly, and wait for the child. The baby will be born in the summer, when the weather is so very fine. I daresay we should invite Lady Greystone to join us there, too, once the baby has come.”

  “You have it all sorted.” She pressed her lips together for a moment to stop them from trembling. “And if I am not with child?”

  “Then we shall still go, and tour the country, and buy many fine plaids to bring back to Reed Park.” Her mother kissed her cheek. “Leave it all in my hands, my darling. Whatever comes, we will be happy.”

  Chapter 22

  From Renwick Greystone rode directly to London, stopping only once to water and rest the horses. Dawn came before he reached the city, so he covered Catherine Tindall with the coat Jennet had given him. Tucking it around her concealed her form as well as her bonds, but she made furious sounds and struggled under the heavy wool.

  “Be silent and still, and you may live to hate the English another day,” Greystone told her. “Keep fighting, and I will finish what Jennet started at the hall.”

  He rode to a livery in Cheapside that did much more than hire out carriages and horses, and gave the burly stable hand who came to meet him his passcode. The station to which he reported was not his usual stop when he came to London, but as soon as he explained himself to the chief officer he was provided with fresh clothing and a carriage with an armed driver. The last he saw of Catherine was when she was marched back to one of the cells hidden behind t
he stalls to await transport to prison. They had kept her hands tied behind her back, but removed her gag.

  She glanced back over her shoulder at him, her pretty face smeared with dirt and her eyes dull with defeat. Then she spat in his direction.

  Greystone felt a curious sense of seeing his own fate, had it not been thwarted. If not for Jennet, that would be me.

  From the station, the carriage took Greystone to Whitehall, and the Horse Guards building across from St. James’s Palace. Soldiers and certain members of government were permitted into the old red brick building, which most of London regarded as a barracks and stable for the most senior Army regiments. The Secretary at War and his staff encouraged this illusion.

  Guards stopped Greystone at five different checkpoints before he was permitted access to the war room, where his superiors worked tirelessly to gather and analyze the latest reports to advise Wellington and Parliament on the war effort. Today he found three older statesmen with one of the general’s most trusted spymasters, a quartet wryly known among their agents as the Four Horsemen.

  He wasted no time after greeting them as he placed the cipher onto the map table. “Gentlemen, Arthur Pickering died last night to protect this from French agents on English soil. I was obliged to deliver it myself. I hope it was worth his life.”

  The spymaster, a reedy man with little hair and flat eyes, picked up the book and skimmed through it.

  “We shall see to it that it is.” He glanced at the other three men, who abruptly left the room, and then regarded Greystone. “My station chief advises that you captured and brought in Ruban as well. Quite unsettling for me to learn that he is actually an Irish woman.”

  Reporting on what he had learned from Catherine Tully, Greystone also recommended they collect her parents and the other three agents from the magistrate in Renwick before any of them managed to get word out of their capture.

  “Yes, that will keep the French using the same cipher for some weeks yet, until one of their more intelligent generals works out that we have it.” The spymaster smiled a little. “This, along with the elimination of Ruban, could very well turn the tide of the war to our favor. You are to be commended, Raven, even if I can never do so officially.”