The Mask Revealed (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 2)

by Julia Brannan

  * * *

  The following morning she dressed more carefully, no longer feeling a desire to escape from the house. She doubted that Alex would be influenced by her appearance, but it couldn’t do any harm to look pretty, and it would boost her confidence as well. She sensed that it was going to be a long and difficult day.

  Having fought with her hair and a variety of clips and pins for a while, and bemoaned the lack of Sarah, she gave up the attempt at an elaborate hairstyle. Instead she contented herself with simply braiding it, tying the end with a pale blue ribbon which matched her dress. Not exactly a hairstyle to be seen by society in, but she expected to encounter no one other than her husband, and possibly his brother.

  She was just about to turn the bend in the stairs, when the doorbell rang. She stopped where she was, crouching down to minimise the chance that she would be seen by whoever came to answer the summons. After a moment she heard footsteps in the hall, and then the door opened. There was a murmur of polite voices, one male, who she recognised as Angus, the other female, but at first too indistinct for her to identify its owner. When she did, her heart leapt, and, quick-minded as she was, she realised that here was a chance to prove to Alex that she was indeed worthy to play an active role in his affairs.

  She swept down the rest of the stairs, afraid she would lose her nerve if she hesitated, and presented herself at the door before Angus could do anything to stop her.

  “Isabella!” she cried, walking out on to the step to embrace her startled cousin, who had just been assured that, regretfully, Sir Anthony and his wife were indisposed to receive visitors. “And Clarissa!” Beth continued, seeing her hovering uncertainly in the background. “What a delightful surprise! Please, come in.”

  “Only if it is convenient.” Isabella fluttered. “We were merely taking the air in the vicinity, and called in the hopes that you would be at home. We were sure you would forgive the intrusion. But your footman here said that you were not seeing visitors.”

  “It is true, Sir Anthony and I do not wish to encourage a flood of visitors, as we want to spend the time before we leave for Dover in becoming more closely acquainted. But of course we will make an exception in the case of yourselves,” Beth enthused, ushering her cousins into the hall. “After all, without your kindness and generosity towards myself and Richard, I would not have met my husband in the first place!”

  She turned to Angus.

  “Ah…”

  “Jim,” he supplied, his expression servile, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. He knew exactly what she was about, Beth realised, and did not disapprove.

  “Jim,” she confirmed. “Could you arrange for refreshments to be served in the library, please?”

  He opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemingly thought better of it, instead making a slight bow, and turning to close the door.

  Beth led her visitors, who were observing their surroundings with some curiosity, to one of the several doors which led off the hall, and opening it, turned back to address her company.

  “I am afraid Sir Anthony is still asleep, having had a most restless night,” she began, and then was arrested by Isabella’s gasp of shock. She turned round to see what had caused her cousin’s consternation, and was confronted by the sight of her husband lounging on a sofa reading a book, dressed as yesterday, in only breeches and shirt. When he was not playing Sir Anthony, he took every opportunity to dress as casually as possible. On seeing the shocked countenance of Isabella, he dropped the book and leapt to his feet. For a split second, Beth froze. She had expected Alex to be in the dining room as he had been the day before.

  “Abernathy,” came the helpful voice from the hall behind her.

  “Well,” she declared, walking into the room. “I can see that my husband has permitted his servants to take the most appalling advantage of his generous nature, but I can assure you, Abernathy, that I will permit no such laxity. You will repair to your room immediately, and dress yourself as befits a servant in the employ of a baronet. And if I see you taking such liberties again as I have now discovered you to be doing, you will be dismissed on the spot without a character. Do you understand?”

  The man in front of her became instantly the picture of a servant caught in the wrong, red-faced and ashamed, resentful of the way he was being spoken to, but determined to conceal it in order to keep his very lucrative employment. He made a deep bow to his mistress and hurried from the room. God, he was good, she thought admiringly.

  “I am most terribly sorry,” Beth said, after the door had closed. Her heart was banging in her chest, and she thanked God that her nervous pallor could be attributed to the shock of encountering a half-naked footman. “Please, sit down. Are you all right, Isabella? You look most dreadfully pale.”

  “No, I am fine, I assure you,” replied her cousin, who was too well bred to admit to her shock.

  The two sisters took their places side by side on the sofa Alex had so hurriedly vacated. Beth wondered whether the cousins would comment on the remarkable coincidence that the servant Abernathy appeared to have a broken nose, just like Sir Anthony.

  “We came to see you because we were a little concerned about your state of health,” explained Clarissa. Beth looked at her, somewhat puzzled. “We wished to assure ourselves that you had not suffered any lasting harm from your indisposition.”

  For a moment Beth had no idea what Clarissa was talking about. She was still pondering whether she should volunteer a comment on Abernathy’s bruising, which would draw attention to it, or wait until they said something.

  “Oh, of course,” she said after a moment. “What can I say? I am so bitterly ashamed of my behaviour. I am afraid I must admit that I had drunk a little more wine than was strictly prudent, and when I saw Sir Anthony flirting with that hussy….”

  Iain was sitting comfortably at the table, watching his wife peel vegetables for the dinner, when Angus came speeding through the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong?” he said, automatically reaching for his swordbelt, which was lying beside him on the bench seat.

  “Nothing,” Angus called behind him as he shot through the door into the yard. “I’m just away out to take the air.”

  The couple had done no more than exchange a resigned glance before Alex pounded into the room.

  “Where is he? I’ll skelp the wee bastard when I catch him.”

  “He’s gone to take the air. He’ll be halfway to Oxford before ye catch up wi’ him. Ye ken how fast he is. And he’s wearing shoes,” Maggie said calmly, looking at Alex’s bare feet.

  They both looked at him with interest, awaiting an explanation as to what mischief Angus had caused now.

  “Tea,” their chieftain announced enigmatically. “For three. Formal, on a tray, wi' cakes and such. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  “…Of course I wanted to come immediately and apologise to you, but Sir Anthony thought it better that I wait for a day or two. I never dreamed that you would be worried about me. Really, you are kindness itself.” Beth leaned across and patted Isabella’s hand, wondering if she was overdoing it a little. At least the colour had now returned to the sisters’ faces, and they seemed more at ease.

  There was a polite and hesitant knock at the door.

  “Come in!” she called. “This will be the tea.”

  The footman entered, his arms filled by a huge tray, on which resided an exquisitely decorated teapot, sugar bowl, three delicate cups and a plate of biscuits. He placed the tray deferentially on the table, and stood back.

  “Cook sends her apologies, my lady,” he said in a rich west country accent. “She had no cakes, but hoped that these biscuits would suffice. They’re freshly made this morning.”

  “Thank you, Abernathy,” Beth said. “You may go.”

  “Shall I make up the fire first, my lady?” he asked. Clearly he was still fearful of losing his post, and was anxious to make amends.

  “Yes, that would be lovely,” she replied. “As I wa
s saying,” she continued, offering the plate of biscuits to her cousins and taking the opportunity to shift position so that she couldn’t see Alex as he busied himself by the hearth. “Sir Anthony and I are now fully reconciled. He has apologised for his behaviour to me, and I to him, and we are looking forward greatly to seeing the sights of Italy and France. We talk of nothing else.”

  “Oh, it is so exciting!” cried Isabella. “Which cities will you be visiting?”

  Oh, damn, thought Beth, cursing her last words.

  “That is the most infuriating thing, Isabella,” she replied without missing a beat. “Although my husband has expounded endlessly on the delights of Paris, the Alps, Venice and Florence, I still know no more than that we are sailing from Dover to Calais. He wishes the itinerary to be a surprise, and as he is so well travelled, and I have been so sheltered until now, I am content to let him do so. Although I confess, I hope that a visit to Rome will be included on the tour. I have heard much about the delights of Rome from Mr Fortesque, who of course spent several months there in his youth.” She shot a furtive glance in the direction of the fireplace. The fire now replenished, Alex stood, and with a bow, vacated the room, closing the door quietly behind him and leaving the ladies to their conversation.

  “Verra clever,” came the voice from behind her as Beth stood at the door, having merrily waved her cousins off, promising to write to them from every place of note. She jumped. “And if you try a trick like that again, I’ll tan your arse for ye.”

  She flew round to face him. Alex was standing directly behind her, and stepped back only far enough to allow her to close the door before moving forward again, so that she could not run past him, if she had a mind to. She didn’t.

  “What did you expect me to do?” she said hotly, glaring up at him. “I had to prove to you somehow that I could play a part as well as you.” He looked at her, one eyebrow raised in a distinctly Sir Anthony gesture. “Well, maybe not as well as you,” she admitted, still impressed by his instantaneous transformation from relaxed master of the house to guilty menial, “but you must admit I did well. Their visit was a God-given opportunity. I had to take it.”

  “You didna, as it happens,” he replied. “I’d already decided to give you a chance to see what it’ll be like if you insist on staying with me as you wish. This afternoon Sir Anthony is going on an excursion, and his wife is invited to join him. His footman will also accompany us, if I can keep my hands off the wee gomerel until then.”

  Beth was so delighted at this apparent change of mind that she jumped up on tiptoe and impulsively kissed him on the nose. In spite of his sour mood, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.

  “You’ll find out when we get there,” her husband replied. “It’s a surprise.”

  Although Iain was acting as coachman, and Angus as the footman, Alex advised Beth before they left the house that it was better she treat him as Sir Anthony from the moment they stepped out of the door, so that by the time they arrived at a place where there were other people, she would be well into the role.

  “I can slip in and out of the part as I need to,” he said, checking his make-up in a looking glass hanging in the hall. “But it takes practice.”

  Beth did feel a little foolish, sitting in the coach under the amused gaze of Angus, making trivial conversation with the man she’d been at loggerheads with for the last two days, and who she now saw in a completely different light, in spite of the fact that the man sitting opposite her was indisputably Sir Anthony, from the heavy make-up and nauseating dark violet costume to the star-shaped patch which she now knew covered a disarming dimple which appeared whenever he smiled.

  But this was a test, she knew that. He was clearly having no problems playing his role, even though all those present knew his true identity. She could at least attempt to do the same. She hunted for a topic of conversation as Sir Anthony fussed with the lace at his throat and cuffs.

  “Abernathy is a most unusual name,” she said after a moment. “Is it a traditional Dorset name? I assume the man is from that part of the world, judging by his accent.”

  Angus compressed his lips together in a tight line, and stared out of the window.

  “Indeed, I believe not,” her husband replied in a disinterested tone. “He was apparently named by a relative of his, in a fit of mischief, he told me. He has yet to exact his revenge upon that relative.”

  “He appears to be a most insolent fellow,” Beth continued. “Although after I had chastised him, he was very deferential.”

  “Don’t be fooled by that, my lady,” Angus put in, unable to resist. “He’s a man of most unpredictable temper, devoid of humour at times and liable to become violent at the slightest provocation, venting his anger on any innocent person who happens to be in his way at the time. I live in mortal fear of the man myself.”

  “Do you really, dear boy?” Sir Anthony said. “In that case, on my return home I will dismiss him immediately, and would strongly suggest that his name not be mentioned again, under any circumstances whatsoever.”

  It was obvious there was some private joke going on here, and Beth was curious. But she was curious about a lot of things she had not yet had time to ask. Why did Angus go by the name of Drummond? What had made Alex decide to be a spy? What had possessed him to take on the role of Sir Anthony? And at the moment, where on earth were they going? She had expected them to head for an afternoon entertainment at the house of one of Sir Anthony’s many acquaintances, but instead of going east into the city, they were heading west along the Oxford road. The streets did seem very crowded, with great numbers of people walking briskly along, clearly eager to get to their destination. A fair, perhaps? The mood certainly seemed festive.

  After a while the press of people grew too much for the carriage to proceed and it lurched to a halt.

  “I am afraid we shall have to walk from here, my dear,” Sir Anthony said. “It is not far, but do beware of pickpockets. I suggest you walk between myself and Jim, in order that your safety is assured.”

  The moment she alighted from the coach and looked in the direction the pedestrians were heading, her question was answered, as she saw the unmistakable triangular structure of the Tyburn gallows in the distance. She looked up at her husband, who smiled gaily down at her shocked face.

  “You told me yesterday, my dear, that you had never had the privilege of witnessing a hanging. Imagine my delight when upon making enquiries, I discovered there was to be a hanging…three hangings in fact, this very day!” He took hold of her elbow, and began to lead her along the road. “Of course, it would no doubt be possible to witness an execution in France or Italy, but I thought it better that you see how our own dear nation deals with malefactors before we sail for France.”

  Her shock now gave way to first anger, and then resignation. She could see why he was doing this. The idea was that she would be so horrified by witnessing her possible fate, that she would head for the countryside with the greatest of alacrity.

  I can do this, she thought, determined not just to watch the execution, but to appear unmoved by it. At any rate, judging by the density of the crowd, they would not be able to get close enough to see very much of the proceedings. Sir Anthony led her to an official, a tall, burly man dressed in a blue uniform and armed with a cudgel. As they approached, the baronet produced a paper from his coat pocket, which he presented to the officer with a flourish. After perusing it for a moment, the man nodded, and turning, began to clear a path through the crowd.

  Within moments, Beth was taking her seat between her husband and his brother in the gallery erected for the privileged, mere feet from the scaffold. At this moment she hated him, all the more so because she was trapped. If she expressed a desire to leave, he would have won, and she would no longer be able to insist on accompanying him to Europe. She had no choice but to face this nightmare. She looked up at him as he arranged his coat skirts aroun
d him prettily, and their eyes met in a clash of wills.

  “You cannot imagine, my dear, how prohibitively expensive it was to obtain these choice seats at such short notice!” he trilled. “But I will consider it worth every penny, my darling, if it provides you with a memorable experience.”

  “I am sure it will, Anthony, and I am most grateful,” she replied, leaning forward as if eager to witness the spectacle.

  A shout went up from the crowd, who until now had been busily chatting and buying food, ballad sheets and souvenirs of the day from the numerous hawkers who were plying their wares.

  “Here they come now,” Angus said, reaching across Beth to accept a handful of cherries from his master. Beth also popped one in her mouth, although she had no appetite.

  “There are certainly a lot of people,” she commented, looking at the roaring crowd, which was now making way for two horse-drawn carts, flanked by constables carrying staves. A hail of rotten fruit and jeers rained down on the occupants as they approached the gallows.

  “Oh, this is a very small crowd,” Sir Anthony commented. “No one of note is being hanged today. The two men are highwaymen, but had not the time to become famous, being apprehended whilst engaged in their first crime. And the woman is accused of theft. Now when someone notorious is hanged, say, for example a highwayman who has captured the hearts of the public with his exploits, a murderer, or someone convicted of high treason,” he paused to scrutinise her face, and she returned his look with equanimity. “Then you will see maybe four times the number of people assembled today. People have been known to be suffocated in the crush, and the whole thing can become very unruly and dangerous”