The Dowager's Daughter

by Mona Prevel

  Celeste nodded. “I am sure she is pleased with it, but I did not come out here to talk about Philippe’s affairs.”

  The smile left Althea’s face. “Please, Mama, if you have come here to talk about John, do not waste your time. As far as I am concerned, there is nothing to discuss.”

  Celeste shrugged. “Very well. I pity you, Althea. It makes for a very lonely existence to have such little capacity for love and understanding in one’s heart.”

  Althea felt a rising resentment. “Are you suggesting that I overlook his outrageous behavior?”

  “No. I am just wondering how you can deny a fair hearing to someone you claim to love. The lowliest prisoner at Newgate gets as much.”

  “Mama, I was there. I saw him kiss that girl. He knew I was going to meet him in that room—why would he play such a cruel trick? It was as if he deliberately went out of his way to humiliate me.”

  Celeste rolled her eyes. “Althea, for an intelligent girl, you can be most obtuse. Think carefully, and tell me exactly what you saw when you entered that room.”

  “He held her in his arms and was kissing her.”

  “Where were her arms?”

  “Wrapped around his neck. But I fail to see—”

  “And his?”

  Althea was at a loss. “Holding her close to him, I suppose.”

  “You suppose? Come now, darling, that is not good enough. I want to know exactly where his arms were. Around her waist? Or perhaps he held her firmly between her shoulder blades?”

  “I do not recall. Does it really matter?”

  “Only if you are interested in justice. Think, child, think. You have a clear picture of her arms being entwined around his neck—but where were his?”

  “On her shoulders. He was grasping her shoulders.”

  “Althea, a lack of trust turns love into a travesty. John was pushing her away. She is Belinda Vickery, the young lady—and I use that term loosely—who jilted John for a man whom she deemed to be more flush in the pocket.”

  Celeste caught her breath.’ ‘To make a long story short, it turned out he was not, and she found out that John was, so she saw her family’s invitation to Carlton House as an opportunity to woo him back. Naturally, he repudiated the scheming little baggage.”

  “But they were kissing.”

  Celeste threw up her hands. “What am I to do with you? He told her he was awaiting the arrival of another young lady. The kiss was for your benefit An act of pure malice on her part.”

  Althea wanted to believe that it was so. Not seeing John left her with a hollow feeling. On the other hand, if what her mother said was true, she had not proved to be worthy of his love. Althea felt wretched and yet she needed further reassurance.

  “How came you by this knowledge?”

  “Jarvis, of course. He and Reeves, the Underhill butler whom John kept on, have been friends for years.”

  “He does not keep his master’s secrets too well.”

  “The way Jarvis put it, the man has known Mr. Ridley since he was in leading strings and is terribly concerned for his happiness.”

  Althea was contrite. “You are right, Mama, I have treated John dreadfully. I feel so unworthy, so thoroughly lacking in compassion. How could I have been so wrapped up in myself, so—”

  “Althea, stop it this instant! You are absolutely wallowing. No one should be allowed that much pleasure.”

  “What do I do now? Dash right over to Seacliff, or send a footman there with a letter asking his forgiveness?”

  Celeste patted her hand. “A letter will do nicely, but practice restraint. None of that sackcloth and ashes nonsense—it does not do to let a gentleman get the upper hand. Just let him know that you are willing to listen to his explanation, and then, after careful consideration, say you will forgive him. After all, you are not entirely to blame. I am of the opinion that he could have handled the situation far better.”

  “Would you help me write it, Mama? I should be most terribly grateful if you would.”

  Celeste rose from the bench and smoothed her skirt “Of course, darling. If we get right to it, this whole misunderstanding can be settled by morning.”

  They returned to the house with arms linked, Althea responding to her mother’s humor with outbursts of delighted laughter.

  When they reached Althea’s private sitting room, she pulled an extra chair up to a small rosewood escritoire in front of the window and urged her mother to sit down. Althea sat beside her, removed a quill from the inkstand, and turned to face her, a look of anticipation on her face.

  “Well, Mama, how should I start?”

  Before she could answer, Lizzie opened the connetting door to Althea’s dressing room and poked her head around. “I thought I heard voices. I was just sorting through your things, madam. I can come back later, if you like.”

  “No, go right ahead, Lizzie. You might want to inspect the dress I wore to dinner last evening. I believe I had a mishap with some wine. White wine, fortunately.”

  “I have already attended to it”

  She closed the door once more and Althea and Celeste exchanged smiles. Lizzie had sounded enormously pleased with her own efficiency.

  Althea put the quill in the inkstand and turned to her mother once more. “Well, Mama, how should I address him? Should it be ‘My dear Mr. Ridley’—or ‘My dearest John’?”

  Celeste laughed. “Mr. Ridley, of course. Otherwise, he will know he has been forgiven. You must not make it too easy for him—gentlemen sometimes take it as a sign that they may get into all sorts of mischief with impunity. One must begin as one means to go on.”

  “In that case,” Althea rejoined, “I shall accord him a mere, ‘Dear Mr. Ridley.’ I should not like him to think that I lay claim to his affections.”

  “Brava. You will do beautifully.”

  Before Althea could put pen to paper, there was a knock at the door. “Botheration,” she muttered, returned the quill to the inkstand, and got up to see who was there.

  She expected to see Jarvis on the other side, with some footling complaint regarding below-stairs intrigue, but to her surprise she found her uncle at the door with Monsieur Joubert and—what was his friend’s name? She could not remember. Both were hovering at his shoulder, and in light of the warm weather, both were even more sorely in need of a bath than the last time they came to Camberly Hall.

  Althea gave the marquis a questioning look.

  The marquis lowered his gaze and cleared his throat. “These, er—gentlemen are desirous of an audience with you, niece.”

  Althea narrowed her nostrils to alleviate the stench emanating from the hall. “Kindly inform your, er—friends that it is inconvenient for the present.”

  He gave her a look that bespoke of abject misery. “Please do not be difficult, I implore you.”

  Before Althea could reply, Monsieur Joubert pushed the marquis into the room. The shorter man followed close behind, taking care to close the door behind him.

  Celeste put herself between Althea and the intruders.

  “What is the meaning of this outrage?” she demanded.

  “Hold your tongue, madam,” the shorter man replied softly. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to strike your pampered, aristocratic face.”

  “Please, you swore on your honor that no harm would befall my nieces.”

  “Spoken like an aristo. Only your kind can afford the luxury of honor.”

  He turned to his associate. “Listen to the fool, Joubert. He thinks that keeping his word is somehow more important than treating the common people in a decent and humane manner.” He spat on the carpet. “This is what I think of your honor.”

  Althea moved forward. “That is quite enough. Leave my uncle alone. You did not come here to spout your egalitarian rhetoric. You want something from me, so tell me what it is and have done with it”

  The man gave her a look of pure hatred. “I am thinking that
before this day is over, madam, you will have lost some of your arrogance. But you are right, I do want something from you, and if not from you, then your mother.”

  “You seem to be in charge and I have forgotten your name, monsieur. Before we go any further, perhaps you should refresh my memory,” Althea said.

  “My name is Reston. Auguste Reston.”

  “Hmm. That does not sound familiar.”

  “That is because it is not the name he went by,” the marquis interjected. “Forgive me, Althea, I had no idea. Auguste Reston is the most ruthless man in all of France. He is known to derive great pleasure from torturing secrets out of those who fall into his hands. In fact, it is said that he is disappointed if his victims break too soon.”

  Reston bowed. “Just so we understand one another.”

  Before more words could be exchanged, there was another knock on the door.

  “It is probably my housekeeper,” Althea whispered. “She sometimes comes to confer with me this time of day.” Reston pushed Althea forward. “Get rid of her. If you try to warn her in any way, I shall be forced to kill her.”

  Althea decided it would be safer not to even open the door. “Who is it?” she called out.

  “Mrs. Denchforth, my lady. I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time.”

  “I shall send for you later, Mrs. Denchforth. I am in the middle of writing a very important letter.”

  It occurred to Althea that in all probability she might not get to finish the letter. Her scalp tightened at the thought. Then it occurred to her that perhaps John was the only chance that any of them had of getting out of this predicament alive.

  “You handled that very well,” Reston said. “I am glad you decided to be sensible. I take no pleasure in killing innocent peasants.”

  Althea raised her voice, hoping that Lizzie would take heed.’ ‘Neither do I, Monsieur Reston. I would not want any of my servants put at risk. Mark my words, if my friend, Mr. Soames were here, that would be another matter entirely. Mr. Soames would put you in your place.”

  “Do not waste my time with your silly bravado. By now you should know better. You and this red-haired devil who gave birth to you are enemies of France. You plot to bring about the downfall of our republic.”

  “What made you suspect us?” Celeste asked.

  “Joubert and I saw you in Paris. I was struck by your beauty and the fiery color of your hair. I thought to while away a night or two in your company, but the street was crowded and I lost sight of you. Further inquiry did not shed any light as to your whereabouts, or indeed, if you had ever existed. Imagine my surprise when your fool of an uncle presented me to you. There was no doubt in my mind that the French peasant and the Dowager Countess of Camberly were one and the same.”

  Celeste’s eyes flashed scorn. “While away a night or two with you? Pah! We have pigs who smell sweeter.”

  Reston smiled. “Do not hold back your venom, dear lady. Later, you will pay for every syllable.” He turned to Althea. “Sad to say, but I am of the opinion that you are both very difficult women.”

  Althea shrugged.

  “I am thinking that it will take a lot of persuasion on my part to get either one of you to tell me what I want to know. Therefore we shall continue this interview in a place where we are less likely to be disturbed.”

  “That would be Hansford’s, the linen drapers? Good—perhaps he has some fresh laces in stock.”

  “For pity’s sake, Althea, are you quite mad?” her uncle wailed. “Do not play games with Monsieur Reston. Just tell him what he wants to know. He will get it from you eventually.”

  “You would do well to follow his advice.”

  “Tell me, Uncle. How did you manage to get involved with these two?”

  “I was promised that if I kept them informed of what was taking place within emigre circles, my estate in France would be restored to me. I had Buonaparte’s word on that.”

  Reston laughed. “You gullible old fool, how you babble—’word,’ this, ‘honor,’ that. Buonaparte does not even know of your existence.”

  The marquis seemed to shrivel.

  Althea turned on him, feeling nothing but scorn for him. “You would spy on your own flesh and blood? Have you no heart?”

  His eyes welled with tears. “I was given two options. Cooperate, and your lives would be spared. Otherwise …” He threw up his hands in despair.

  “Either this maudlin drivel ends now, or you will suffer the consequences. Enough is enough,” Reston interjected.

  “What more can he do to us?” Althea muttered under her breath. “We are as good as dead as it is.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing you would care to hear, Monsieur. Just a few Anglo-Saxon epithets questioning your parentage.”

  He grabbed her jaw and stared into her eyes. His breath bespoke teeth in various stages of putrefaction. “It is Citizen Reston. I scorn all bourgeois titles.”

  “I find that strange, Citizen. Your hygiene might leave much to be desired, but your English is flawless, your accent as well-bred as any member of the ton. I suspect the same might be said of your French.”

  “It is none of your concern, but I shall satisfy your curiosity anyway. I sometimes indulge the condemned. My father owned a boys’ school not too far from Paris. St. Françoise by name. My mother was an English governess whom he met quite by accident when the family she worked for was touring France. They both believed that education was best applied with the use of the birch. They achieved their goal. I know an inordinate amount about the most inconsequential matters, and bear the scars to prove it As for you, madam, be warned. You will pay for your impudence. By the time I have finished with you, you will find little humor in your situation. I, on the other hand …”

  On first encounter, Althea had thought him to be such a jolly-looking man but today she had seen expressions on his face of such malevolence, she was surprised that they had not all turned to stone.

  “I want you to listen very carefully. The lives of some of your servants may depend on your following my instructions to the letter.”

  “I understand.”

  “You will summon your butler and arrange for three horses to be saddled for you. When they are ready, we shall go downstairs. We will laugh and talk as if we are all having a—how do the English put it? Ah, yes, as if we are all having a jolly good time. Do not try to be clever, or someone is bound to get hurt”

  “I give you the word of an English gentlewoman. Contrary to what you might think, it is possible to value one’s honor while at the same time care for the welfare of those in one’s service.”

  “Pah! Sanctimonious claptrap. Just follow my orders, then, as you guessed, we shall ride over to Hansford’s.”

  “I understand.”

  While waiting for Jarvis to answer her summons, Althea decided to question Reston further. There was always the possibility that they might survive the ordeal, in which case, any information she might get out of him could prove useful.

  “Tell me, Citizen Reston, what sort of person is your superior, Citizen Savary? Is he as clever as they say?”

  “Pah! He is a carrion crow.”

  “Oh?”

  “He feeds on others and sucks their bones dry.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “It is simple enough. He plots and schemes and takes the credit for the accomplishments of his subordinates. He has climbed to where he is at the expense of better men.”

  “But you will get the better of him, will you not? You are far too intelligent to let him use you twice.”

  “You have the right of it. For instance, he has no idea that I have uncovered your nest of vipers—and shall not in time to do himself any good.”

  “You play a clever game.”

  “Be quiet. You are beginning to bore me.”

  With every step she took, she prayed that Lizzie had stayed in the dressing roo
m long enough to hear what had transpired. It occurred to her that with the threat of death hanging over her head, it was the thought of dying without having reconciled with John that gave her the most trouble.

  Chapter 17

  John and Marcus pounded on the door to Camberly Hall, each compelled by a feeling that he had not a moment to lose. Jarvis, apparently affronted by their lack of decorum, admitted them with a disapproving sniff.

  Knowing that his brother was not being received by Althea, Marcus spoke for both of them.

  “Good afternoon, Jarvis. We have come to see your mistress on a matter of the utmost importance.”

  “I am sorry, your lordship, but you just missed Lady Camberly, I fear.”

  “The older Lady Camberly, then? The situation is really grave, else I would not persist.”

  “I do not doubt it, sir, but they left together. They rode off with his lordship and those two French acquaintances of his.”

  “Tell me, Jarvis, do you happen to know if they were going to the village?”

  “If they were going into Camberly, surely you would have passed them?”

  “Not if they cut through the fields.”

  John groaned. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Suddenly their attention was caught by the sound of a horse approaching. They turned to see Lizzie coming from the direction of the stables, riding a dun-colored mare.

  She slipped from the saddle and rushed over and bobbed to them. “Thank goodness you are here. I had the devil’s own time convincing someone at the stable to saddle a horse for me. I was just on my way to get you, Mr. Ridley.”

  John grabbed her by the shoulders. “Just tell me where they are taking them—that is, if you know.”

  “Hansford’s on the esplanade, if you can believe it, sir.”

  “I should have known,” John said grimly.

  Without another word, the brothers retrieved their horses and took off for Camberly with all speed.

  They rode in silence for the first mile, then Marcus said, “How are we going about this? After all, we have to have some sort of plan.”