by Mona Prevel
“That would depend on the circumstances, would it not? I mean to say, we cannot just storm the place. This Reston chap is liable to shoot the three of them just for the pleasure of it.”
“I quite agree. Treat it like a military exercise. Reconnoiter and go in as soon as we see an opening. That is, unless …”
John turned sharply in his saddle. “Unless? What is that supposed to mean?”
“Steady on, John. We have to face the fact that Althea and Celeste are at the mercy of one of the most depraved beasts of our age. Mind you, he will keep them alive so long as they are useful to him—but at what price? There might come a point when risk outweighs prudence.”
“That has been on my mind since we left Camberly Hall,” John said. “That is not something one can plan ahead. Circumstances are sometimes the deciding factor.”
“Very well,” said Marcus, “then it is agreed that we have to remain flexible?”
“I see no other way.”
By the time they reached the esplanade it was getting close to evening. The only place open for business was The Boar’s Head and only a few stragglers were to be seen strolling about.
John’s gaze strayed toward the harbor. The boat that had been home to him for so long was moored there. “See that Fennimore has The Seafoam out there. Wonder what he is doing here. You would not happen to know, would you?”
Marcus grinned. “Hear he has an itch for the little tavern maid. You must admit she is a toothsome little morsel.”
“She is also far too young to know what she is doing.”
Marcus laughed. “I think she has a fairly good idea. In any case, one can safely presume that the captain will be spending tonight at The Boar’s Head.”
When they neared Hansford’s, fearing the sound of their horses’ hooves would alert Reston of their presence, John approached a youth whom he recognized as a local and offered him a shilling to mind their horses. Promised a sovereign on their return, he agreed with alacrity.
The living quarters had to be to the rear of the shop, so they entered the side gate leading to the back garden. A horse neighed. It was the plaintive sound a horse makes while waiting to be fed.
“Dammit,” Marcus whispered. “I hope Reston does not decide to feed that beast.”
“I hope he does,” John whispered back. “If we can divide, we can also conquer.”
“That would be too much to hope for. Besides, I am sure that with two helpless women at his mercy, a complaining horse would not even register with him.”
John felt the hairs on his arms stiffen. “If that swine so much as lays a hand on them, I swear I will tear him apart with my bare hands.”
At this point they had reached the back garden. In spite of the stables boasting a small paddock, it was a sorry-looking affair. Next to this was a privy made of weathered boards. The garden proper was comprised of cracked flagstones bordered with weed-choked flowerbeds.
As they had surmised, the living quarters faced the neglected garden and to the right a scullery jutted out to form an ell. Marcus tried the latch to this and found it was open.
“Obliging of them,” he whispered.
John gestured to a window to the left of the scullery. “Better take a look first. See how everyone is situated.”
Marcus nodded, and they tiptoed over and crouched under the window. A quick glance showed that Reston held Celeste firmly by the arm while Joubert was in the process of tying Althea to a chair. The marquis stood next to the fireplace, a hangdog expression on his face.
“This is completely unnecessary,” Althea said. “I gave you the name of our liaison and I am perfectly willing to tell you everything he told me about his associates on the continent He has several, you know.”
“Shut up and sit still,” Reston replied, his soft voice belying the menace it carried. “Even a child would not believe that silly story you concocted. A Corsair pirate ship sailing up the Camber estuary, indeed.”
“The brave little thing is trying to stretch it out in the hope that I’ll rescue her in time,” John said, “but she is no match for Reston.”
“Do as Citizen Reston tells you,” Joubert said. “It will make my job a lot easier, although I must admit it is much more interesting when a prisoner struggles.” He lowered his voice. “Especially a pretty one. We shall have fun with these two later on—now?”He ran a caressing hand the length of Althea’s throat.
“Non,” Celeste screamed. She broke free from Reston and landed a kick on Joubert’s behind, which sent him sprawling. Reston retaliated by striking Celeste on the face.
With pistol in hand, John made a dash for the scullery door, Marcus following close behind. When they came though the door to the main room, Reston was waiting for them, pistol cocked. John stopped short and aimed his own pistol, but Reston had the advantage. His finger curled around the trigger and squeezed. There was a loud report.
John fully expected to be hit but to his amazement it was the marquis who lay at Reston’s feet. The man had taken the shot for him.
John had a clear aim at Reston’s heart, but at the last minute, he lowered his pistol and aimed for his kneecap instead. Howling in pain, Reston toppled like a ninepin.
Seeing that his brother had his pistol aimed at Joubert, John hastened to inspect the marquis’s wound. He was relieved to see that he had only sustained a grazed shoulder. John stuffed a handkerchief inside the old gentleman’s shirt and led him to a chair.
Joubert threw down his pistol and raised his hands in surrender. Evidently still enraged by the threat he had imposed on her little ewe lamb, Celeste kicked him once more. He joined Reston on the floor, clutching his manhood and, if possible, screaming even louder than his partner.
Marcus winced. “Tut, tut, my dear, that was scarcely cricket”
Celeste shrugged. “No. I think it is called revenge, and in case you are interested, it is sweet. Very, very, sweet.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He looked askance at the two men writhing on the floor. “Must you make that noise? You sound like a couple of pigs on slaughtering day.”
“Would someone take the trouble to untie me?” Althea interjected. “I am losing the feeling in my hands.”
Once freed, she ran to her uncle’s side. “I pray that your wound is not too severe?”
He brushed her away. “It is nothing, more’s the pity. It would have been far better had I died. I most assuredly deserved to.”
“I will not have you say that. You were incredibly brave.”
“Brave? Thanks to me, you and your mother almost suffered the most horrible of deaths.”
“See here, sir,” John interjected. “You might not always make wise choices, but as far as I am concerned, you more than proved your nobility. Every single day, for as long as I live, I shall remember that you were willing to die for me.”
Reston chose that moment to utter a loud moan and Althea saw that he was losing a lot of blood. “For pity’s sake, if he is to live, we had better stanch his wound.”
She tore a strip off her petticoat and looked to John. “Do you have a knife?”
He nodded.
She handed him the torn strip. “Then cut his trouser leg and use this for a tourniquet while he still has some blood in him.”
Afterwards, they left their prisoners in the local gaol, with strict orders for the gaoler to summon a doctor to see to Reston’s injury.
“An exercise in futility, really,” Marcus said. “As soon as they have been thoroughly questioned, they will be executed, of course.”
They escorted the ladies and the marquis safely back to Camberly Hall. While Lizzie and Colette swept their mistresses upstairs, clucking and fussing over them like mother hens taking their chicks on their first outing, Marcus and John took the marquis off to the library for a chat.
Once they were seated and sipping the marquis’s cognac, which in a rare fit of generosity he invited them to share, Marcus brought up
the matter of the former’s culpability in the affair.
“You realize, of course, that the authorities have to be told.”
The older man sighed. “I am aware of that. If I wait for them to wring it out of Reston and Joubert, it will only go the worse for me.”
“I am dreadfully sorry, sir. If it were up to me, I would let you go.”
The marquis looked wry. “Do not concern yourself. I would not be in this predicament had I not put worldly things before my honor.”
“We all make mistakes. I think you more than atoned for yours,” Marcus said.
The marquis shrugged. “It would appear that the devil knows the asking price of every man’s soul. In my case, it was getting my old life back. According to Reston, all I had to do was keep him informed as to the movements of my fellow exiles and Buonaparte would restore my beloved Avencon to me.” He laughed. It was a hollow sound without a trace of mirth to it “It was a complete fabrication on his part. Buonaparte had no hand in this.”
“Far be it from me to judge you. It must be hard to reconcile losing everything that defines one’s place in the world. I like to think that under the same circumstances I would do the right thing—but who knows?”
The marquis sighed. “You are far too charitable Lord Ridley. There is no excuse for my behavior, and you know it My honor was the one thing of any value that I could still call my own. How ironic that I would give it up of my own accord on the strength of the idle promises of a rogue.”
“See here, sir,” John interjected. “You might have lost sight of it momentarily, but in the final analysis it was your sense of honor that helped save all of our lives.”
The marquis shook his head. “One could think so, but I know better. My niece, Celeste, once said that we de Malignys are a dreadful lot. In my case, that is true. I took that shot for my sake, not for yours. I am sorry to disillusion you, sir, but saving you was the last thought on my mind.”
John leaned forward. “Are you saying you were trying to get killed?”
“Not exactly. The gallantry my nieces displayed in the face of certain death reminded me of what it meant to be a de Maligny. Were they not magnificent?”
John nodded. “I knew that of the older Lady Camberly almost from the moment we met. I would expect no less of her daughter.”
The marquis gestured impatiently. “Do you not see? Under the circumstances, my hand was forced—there was nothing for it but that I rise to the occasion.”
He was silent for a moment, then erupted into a short laugh. “Come to think of it, my pathetic little show of bravery was in itself a manifestation of cowardice.”
John emptied his glass, placed it on a tray atop a small walnut table, and stood up. The marquis’s descent into self-loathing had become far too painful for him to witness. Marcus quickly followed suit.
“Come, sir,” John said. “You are being far too hard on yourself. Any soldier will tell you that the greatest acts of bravery during battle are brought about by such fears.”
The marquis held up his hand. “No more. I appreciate your kindness, but it is to no avail. I violated my own standards. The worst part is the consequences I have brought down on the head of my grandson, Philippe. The poor boy must also suffer the shame I have brought upon the de Maligny name.”
Marcus put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I shall speak to the authorities on your behalf. I have the ear of the Prince Regent—his influence might be brought to bear on your part in this.”
“Naturally, I would be most grateful for anything you can do to mitigate the damage I have done. I sincerely hope you do not withdraw your friendship from my nieces because of my misdeeds.”
“Rest assured, our friendship for them is in no way impaired.” Marcus held out his hand. “Or for you, sir. And I know my parents will agree. Regardless of your culpability, the Ridley family will always be grateful to you for savingjohn’s life.”
Seeing that the old gentleman was hard-put to hold back his tears, John and Marcus took their leave of him. Once out of earshot, John said, “Phew, that was getting rather sticky.”
“I quite agree. The marquis has suffered enough humiliation for one day without breaking down in front of comparative strangers. I think even the French would draw the line at that”
At seven the next morning, John and Marcus were awakened from a well-earned rest by their respective valets and informed that Squire Collins, the local magistrate, was in the library waiting to speak to them.
John and Marcus stumbled into one another on the landing.
“Damnation,” Marcus muttered. “Bunch of incompetents. What could be so difficult about keeping two prisoners under lock and key—one of them wounded at that?”
“Perhaps he has come to tell us that Reston has taken a turn for the worse.”
“This early in the morning? I would hardly think so.”
“Then we should waste no more time in idle speculation. Let’s get to the library and listen to what Collins has to say.”
Chapter 18
Later the same morning, Althea and Celeste were about to take a turn around the gardens when they encountered Marcus and John being admitted into the entrance hall by Jarvis.
They exchanged greetings. John smiled, and Althea’s lips tingled at the remembrance of the kisses they had shared. To cover her embarrassment at harboring such an immodest thought, she hastily offered her guests the hospitality of the small reception room.
Marcus declined. “If it is all the same to you, John and I would far rather accompany you both on your morning constitutional.”
When they came to the lily pond, Marcus motioned them toward the bench. “Please sit down. This should be far enough out of earshot.”
“Then I am correct in thinking that this is not a social call?” Celeste asked.
Marcus nodded.
Celeste put a hand to her throat “Then it is as I feared—those monsters have escaped! You should have killed them when you had the opportunity. If anything should happen to Althea—”
“Calm down, dear lady,” John interjected. “Those villains are in no position to harm anyone. The gaoler found both of them dead when he went to give them their breakfast this morning.”
“But how could that be?” Althea inserted. “Reston’s wound was in no way fatal and I fail to see how the—er, retribution Mama exacted upon Joubert’s person could have caused his demise.”
“You are correct on both points, Althea,” Marcus said. “This would be a good time to interject a word of caution on the subject. Should you, or any member of your household, meet with an accident involving even the slightest amount of blood loss, on no account call upon the services of your local doctor. Reston died because that fool parted him from whatever was left of his blood.”
“But what of Joubert?”
“He was beaten to death by a couple of drunken fishermen who were put in his cell later on in the evening. He was foolish enough to complain that the noise they made disturbed his sleep.”
Althea was aghast “And for that, they took his life?”
“Not quite,” Marcus replied. “His French accent was his downfall. It seems that both men had lost a brother at the Battle of Trafalgar.”
Althea shook her head. “Those drunken fools. Now they have managed to heap more sorrow upon the heads of their families.”
Celeste laughed nervously. “I had better watch my step when walking about Camberly.”
Althea put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “You have nothing to fear, Mama. The village people love you. Besides, your English is flawless—you do not have the slightest trace of a French accent.”
“You are missing the point,” Marcus said. “Joubert and Reston are dead, therefore cannot implicate your uncle in this matter. I am sure that for your sake, Celeste, the Prince Regent will use his influence to see that your uncle’s part in this intrigue is not mentioned. His Royal Highness is well aware of y
our role in our effort to bring about the downfall of Buonaparte’s government—and greatly admires you for it”
Celeste glowed with pleasure. “I am grateful for his gracious condescension.”
“It is well earned,” Marcus rejoined. He stood up, and the others followed his lead. “That about covers it, I should think. As soon as this incident has been resolved by the powers that be, you will be hearing from me.”
Althea held out her hand. “We are most obliged to you, Marcus. Your news will afford our uncle great comfort. He is really torn up by the guilt and shame.”
“Pray do not tell him,” Celeste said. “It will do the old rapscallion good to suffer for a while.”
“But Mama,” Althea remonstrated, “how could you be so heartless?”
“Very easily. Do not forget, my darling, that I, too, am very much a de Maligny.” As she said this, she linked arms with Marcus. They walked back to the house, drowning out the birdsong with their chatter and laughter. John and Althea trailed behind them, the awkward silence that hung between them a stark contrast.
Althea and Celeste watched the brothers ride away.
“It seems that is all I ever do,” Althea murmured.
“What might that be, darling?”
“Watch John Ridley ride out of my life.”
Celeste rolled her eyes. “And whose fault might that be, do you suppose? You must be the most difficult young lady to court in all of England.”
Althea sighed. “I know that, Mama. I wish it were otherwise. What do you suppose is wrong with me?’’
“Foolish pride. Lack of trust. A feeling deep inside that no one on earth could possibly love you for yourself, and not chancing that it might be otherwise. Would you like me to continue?”
“No, Mama. I think that is enough.”
Celeste looked rueful. “Forgive me, darling. I should think before I speak.”
“You only spoke the truth. I am a very puzzling creature.”
Celeste put her arm around Althea. “One that I happen to love very, very much.”
Althea laid her head upon her mother’s shoulder, and kept it there until John and Marcus disappeared from view.