Miss Westlake's Windfall

by Barbara Metzger

  On her way toward the viscountess’s raised dais, Ada heard a commotion at the door. A latecomer had just arrived, but the butler was not at his post. Epps was in the wine cellar fetching more bottles of champagne, the toasts having depleted his prepared stock.

  The under butler was stationed at the front door, making certain carriages were called and wraps were found for the early departures. The junior footman left at the entrance to the ballroom did not know what to make of this gentleman who rushed by him without giving his card, his name, or his current persona. Neither did the other guests.

  “What’s he supposed to be?” one of the dowagers shouted to her nearly deaf companion.

  “I can’t tell, what with all those cloths wrapped around him.”

  “Is he part of the play?” the first one yelled.

  “Lud, I hope so. Deuced attractive, this ‘un, and more our age than that half-naked pirate.”

  “Hah! You haven’t seen this buck’s age in half a century either.”

  Other guests were also wondering, as the man lurched past them. “Could the fellow be dressed as one of those mummy chaps?” A fop in a faun’s costume, complete with pan pipes, pulled out his quizzing glass.

  His friend, a portly King Henry, answered, “If so, it’s in poor taste, I say. Frighten the ladies, what?”

  The new arrival more than frightened the females, he created pandemonium when he took his hand away from the wrappings on his side and the cloth fell away, bloodstained. Ladies screamed and swooned, gentlemen felt their stomachs turn; half ran toward the man to see better, half ran away to safety.

  Tess and Leo happened to be nearby when the man staggered. He would have fallen but for Leo’s strong arms under his shoulders. “Ashmead?” the man gasped.

  “Close, but no.” Leo half carried the man toward the viscount, Tess supporting his other side. She handed Jane the gold trident, to get a better grip on the wounded stranger. Jane could not decide whether to be faint or to follow, but the man was good looking despite his pallor. She followed, the better to find out what was happening.

  Ada quickly got up from her chair to make room, thinking, Lud, Algie had finally shot someone, but Chas and Leo laid the man on the floor, as gently as possible. Chas shouted for servants, the doctor, towels. Lady Esther was already unconscious, so Ada ripped off one of her many petticoats. Chas stuffed it under the man’s head.

  “Je suis ...” the stranger tried to say. “Je suis ...”

  “Bloody hell. Prelieu.”

  Leo had looked beneath the wrappings. “Too much blood to say, but it looks like an old wound, reopened, though. Bullet went straight through his side, so he should live if we can stop the bleeding.”

  “He better,” Chas said, followed by words not meant for a lady’s ears.

  Ada tore another petticoat from the shepherdess’s skirts and handed it to Leo. “Monsieur Prelieu? Isn’t he the one who was supposed to retrieve the money from the orchard?”

  “Our money?” Jane asked, dropping the trident.

  Prelieu groaned as Leo pressed the petticoat against his side. “I know nothing of this orchard, n’est ce-pas. I was to come to the Mermaid Tavern for the money, but I do not need your little douceur, Monsieur Vicomte. I brought my own, non?” He laughed, clutching his injured side. “Oui, I did. Napoleon tips well, certainement.”

  Jane stepped closer.

  “Why the deuce didn’t you show up at the Mermaid, then?” Chas demanded. “Or send a message?”

  “But I did, mon ami. Only I made a petit error. After being so careful in leaving Paris, and so secretive about boarding a boat, I trusted one of your men to carry the message, Sim Fuller.”

  “Not one of my men,” Leo said with a growl, helping the Frenchman sit up so he could drink the wine Chas held to his lips. “But I will take care of him.”

  Prelieu shrugged, wincing. “That was my error. The fisherman was working for your traitor, one of those on my lists of Englishmen receiving moneys from Bonaparte for information on the ships around Dover.”

  Chas and Leo both cursed.

  “This cochon Fuller, he sent for his master. They shot me, and left me for dead in an old shack with the mice.”

  “I suppose they took the list?” Chas finally recalled the ladies present and did not express himself as fully as he intended. He pounded his fist on the floor instead.

  “But of course, monsieur.” Prelieu smiled and tapped his forehead. “But the list, it is all in here.” He reached down and tapped his high boots. “And the money, it is all in here.”

  Chas breathed a sigh of relief. So did Jane. Then, “This trailer,” Chas said, “do you know him, other than by name? Would you recognize him again?”

  “Would you not recognize the man who tried to end your life, monsieur?”

  Everyone nearby was trying to get closer, to hear the Frenchman’s tale of betrayal. Everyone but one man, who was trying to push his way through the knots of people near the door. Servants were rushing in, though, with a plank to be used as a stretcher, so he found no exit there. The man edged closer to the orchestra’s alcove, knowing there must be a door behind the musicians, but the music had stopped and the players were standing close together to watch the events below. Finally the man made a dash for the balcony doors, which were a quick leap down to the gardens and freedom.

  Prelieu raised his hand and shouted: “There is the batard, Filbert Johnstone!”

  Now Jane fainted for real.

  Tess yelled, “He’s getting away!”

  Chas set off after him. “Like hell he is.”

  Leo dropped Jane to the floor next to Prelieu and pulled his sword. He cursed when he realized it was the mock curved scimitar, then grabbed up Tess’s trident. Emery’s lap was filled with Lady Esther, and he could not have run far or fast at any rate. So he yelled for men to go below, to the gardens, to head the turncoat off before he reached the woods. Lady Ashmead just yelled.

  Uncle Filbert, a traitor? Ada had always wondered where he got the money for his wardrobe. Now she knew. She also knew she was not letting Chas go out there empty-handed and alone—discounting Leo and a score of servants—not after a dangerous would-be murderer. Not even if it was fat and foppish Filbert Johnstone. She looked around for a weapon and saw the shepherd’s crook that had tripped Emery. She picked it up and raced for the balcony.

  Chas and Leo were there before her, wrenching open the door Filbert had slammed behind him, shattering glass onto the balcony. The noise joined with the screams in the ballroom.

  “This way!” Chas shouted, racing down the balustrade to the corner of the house, where a set of stairs led to the terraced gardens. Leo was right behind him, but the trident caught on one of the ornamental urns and he went down, landing awkwardly. Servants were pouring out of the lower levels, but they could not see the fleeing man in the darkness.

  “Fetch lanterns,” the viscount ordered.

  Up on the balcony, Ada could pick out Filbert’s white shirt, still in the gardens. “The fountain,” she called as she tore past Leo. “He is headed for the fountain.”

  The fountain, one-time scene of Tess’s solo ballet, was enclosed at the rear by a tall yew hedge. Footmen with fireplace pokers and kitchen knives were coming at it from the east. Chas skidded to a halt from the west, with Ada careening into his back moments later. Trapped in the middle was Filbert Johnstone, with a gun.

  “Put down your weapons or I shoot Ashmead,” he threatened. The servants dropped their utensils. “You, my lord, stay where you are. Ada, my dear, how nice to see you. You can put down that ... shepherd’s crook—doesn’t quite go with your outfit, does it?—and step over here. You are about to become my passport.”

  “No!” Chas shouted, but Ada was already handing him Lady Esther’s staff, the gaily trailing colored ribbons in stark contrast to the perils of the shadowy night. She took another step away from Chas’s side before he could grab her arm to hold her back.

  “I am coming, Uncl
e. Lower your weapon.”

  He didn’t, but Johnstone trained the pistol on Ada instead, knowing that would keep Ashmead from moving. Then Ada pretended to stumble on the paving stones. As she started to fall, she yelled, “Throw it!” and flattened herself on the ground.

  The crook went flying through the air, ribbons and all. A shot was fired. Leo’s trident went spiraling past Ada, who kept her hands over her head.

  When she looked up, Johnstone was bleeding from the cheek and the chin, but he was still holding off both men with the pronged gold trident, the spent pistol at his feet. They would overpower him eventually, Ada knew, but she was tired of seeing Chas scraped and bruised. The dirty dish was her connection, besides. So she picked up that blasted heavy princess crown where it had fallen beside her, and threw it at Filbert. She hit him right in the middle of that ugly waistcoat, too.

  * * * *

  “That went well, I thought.”

  Ada thought her sister must have windmills in her upper stories after all. “Well? We might as well have tied our garters in public.” Ada very much doubted that her sister was wearing garters this evening, or stockings. She thought she had seen bare toes poking out of soft sandals, with the toenails painted gold.

  They were quite a different party going home from the ball. Uncle Filbert was too guilty to take home; Jane was too ill; Algernon was too foxed. Those three would be kept at the Meadows this night, under various watch guards. Emery was with his sisters in Lord Ashmead’s borrowed carriage, but he was half asleep, with a dreamy expression on his face that made Ada distinctly queasy, if the rest of the night had not.

  “How could you think the evening a success, after our familial connections ruined Lady Ashmead’s ball?”

  “Ruined it? Pish-tosh. The ball will be the highlight of the year, and people will be speaking of it for ages. Lady Ashmead should thank us for enlivening a rather dull evening, in fact.”

  “If she recovers from the heart palpitations.”

  “She will be fine. When we left she was already berating Chas and Epps and poor Rodney for marrying into the Johnstone family. I don’t doubt she will tell the surgeon how to treat Monsieur Prelieu.”

  Ada had to agree with her sister’s assessment. “Still, it was frightening to a lot of her guests.”

  “Of course it was, frightening and exciting, heart-pounding and heart-stopping. They loved it, even the ones cowering behind the potted plants. Oh, how I wish I could capture such heightened awareness, such intense storms of emotions. But that last scene, Ada dear, oh, my. I shall have to write it into the play somewhere, don’t you think?”

  Ada thought that if Tess had had a pistol aimed at her, or at the man she loved, perchance she would not find the drama quite so entertaining. The man she loved? Oh, yes, without the last, least shred of doubt. Seeing Chas in Filbert Johnstone’s sights cleared whatever cobwebs might have been clinging to Ada’s conscience. She loved Charles Ashford and wished to marry him, no matter what. She might be unworthy of him, she and her odd family might even be a burden to him, but Ada did not think she could live without him. Hadn’t she been ready to give her own life to save his? Surely that was a valuable dowry to bring to the wedding.

  The problem was, there was no wedding. Chas had sworn he would never offer for her again, and Ada knew he always kept his word, except for a few instances about which she was beginning to have doubts.

  She had no doubts whatsoever, now, that Chas loved her, although he had not said it in so many words since that once when she’d ridiculed his avowal. He wouldn’t have shaken her and shouted at her for putting herself in the way of Filbert’s shot, Ada believed, if he did not love her. He would not have called her a turnip head, and he would not have kissed her as he handed her into the coach.

  He could not say much, not with Emery waiting to step up after her, but his kiss had spoken volumes. For one thing, the fact that Emery was in sight made the short kiss as good as a declaration, the one Chas would never make. For another, the kiss was hard and fierce and full of relief that the danger was past. Ada knew it because she felt those same emotions herself. The brief touch of Chas’s lips was tender at the same time—how that could be was a mystery to Ada—a gentle promise of tomorrows to come, of never being parted again.

  While Tess went on about the changes she was going to make to Sebastian and the Sea Goddess for its debut, and Emery snored softly in his corner, Ada fretted.

  How could she and Chas be together if not in holy matrimony? Tess might be willing to sail off with her pirate, sans service, license, or blessing, but Ada did not think she could do so. Her life she might give, but not her principles. Otherwise, she feared, she’d end up hating herself and Chas for compromising them so badly. Ada saw only one solution to her difficulties: Chas loved her but would not propose? Elementary. She’d just have to make the offer herself.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “Chas, I—”

  “I am sorry, Ada, you will have to excuse me. I need to go work on those lists with Prelieu now that he has had his breakfast. The physician dosed him with laudanum last night before he could finish giving me the names we need, and I want them on their way to London as soon as possible. Otherwise word will get out and some of the other traitors will go into hiding.”

  “I understand, of course.” Actually, she was relieved.

  Before he left, Chas told her, “Prelieu will be fine, incidentally, so Johnstone will not be charged with homicide as well as treason.” Since treason itself was a hanging offense, the charge of attempted murder was moot. Chas headed past Ada toward the stairs with a stack of papers in his hand. “Mother has not come down yet this morning. The physician dosed her with laudanum, too. I’ll have to double the man’s fee. Oh, and Jane is waiting for you in the Crimson Room.”

  He went up the first three steps, then turned and came down, lifting her hand to his lips. “And did I tell you how lovely you looked last night?”

  “Chas, would you—”

  He kissed her fingers and took the steps to Prelieu’s bedroom two at a time.

  Ada and Emery had come to fetch their sister-in-law home late this morning, and to inquire as to the viscountess’s health, as good manners dictated. That’s what Ada told herself she had come for, at any rate, in addition to proposing marriage to Lord Ashmead, of course. Emery had come to see if Lady Esther was as angelic as he remembered, and if she would step down from her cloud long enough for him to ask after her welfare, after the upsetting events of last night. He would not mind if she fainted in his lap again but that was beside the point. She hadn’t minded that he’d only the one working arm to hold her.

  Lady Esther was not a whit worse for wear, wearing a blue muslin gown that matched her eyes, tied under her rounded bosom with a pink sash that matched her rosebud lips. Ada was green with envy. She’d wager Chas had paid the heiress pretty compliments over the kippers and eggs.

  The earl’s daughter was more excited about what part she could have in Tess’s play than in last night’s events. Not being at all loath to discuss whatever the little beauty wished to, be it dress patterns or the polarity of magnets, Emery led her off to the viscount’s portrait gallery to consider the possibilities.

  Ada shook her head. Emery hadn’t even read the script. He had not so much as recalled that his older sister was writing a play, despite numerous letters mentioning it, and was only reminded when he asked Tess about the odd costume she was wearing—albeit not wearing much of it—last night.

  And Chas hadn’t invited Ada to take tea with him, not even when she’d worn her prettiest dress—which of course could not compare with Lady Esther’s—and screwed her courage to the sticking point with an extra cup of chocolate this morning. Which was now sitting in the pit of her stomach like the anchor of Sebastian’s ship.

  Chas could only say no, couldn’t he? She asked herself that question for the hundredth time. For the hundredth time she answered that no, he could laugh at her, too. Ada thought she�
��d perish of the last, if the first hadn’t already killed her.

  She wished Tess had come along to give her courage. She used to think Tess was afraid of nothing, until she decided her sister never noticed half the perils in her path. Either way, though, Tess was off with Leo Tobin, consulting his ship’s carpenter and sail maker about constructing a makeshift stage, with curtains, on the raised dais in Chas’s ballroom. Two weeks was not a lot of time to produce a setting worthy of a London theater, much less rehearse her amateur players, make costumes for them, and finish writing the last act. No, Tess could not be bothered.

  Neither, it seemed, could Chas.

  Ada made her way to the drawing room where Jane was gracefully arrayed in a pink frock her maid had brought over this morning, selected, knowing Jane, to match the Crimson Parlor.

  Ada needn’t have asked about her sister-in-law’s health, for Jane was looking the picture of well-being, but she did ask anyway, out of politeness. In return, Jane made sure that Emery had suffered no reverses.

  “No, he is very well, thank you, except for his arm. He, and Tess and I, of course, want to assure you that you will always be welcome at Westlake Hall, and we hold you entirely blameless for your uncle’s activities.”

  “Of course I had nothing to do with that unsavory business. Ashmead sees no reason to mention the connection whatsoever when he reports to London. Why, if I had known of that man’s activities, you can be certain I would have protested.”

  Ada was certain Jane would have claimed a fair share of the filthy money. She had already heard from Leo over breakfast that Chas was doing everything he could to see that none of Johnstone’s dirt touched her family. The viscount was arranging for Uncle Filbert to be shipped out of the country for the Canadian wilderness, never to return, in exchange for his silence, to avoid a trial and hanging. The government would be agreeable, liking such matters handled expeditiously also, without the public’s knowing how easy it was to exchange information with the enemy. Whitehall might have chosen to give Johnstone the gentleman’s choice of a locked room and a loaded pistol, but Chas could not count on Filbert being a gentleman.