by Regina Darcy
“Why are you behaving in this manner?”
“I will not go to prison, Frederica,” he answered her.
Dread showered over her. He knew?
She decided to feign ignorance. “Prison? What are you talking about?”
“Spare me your protestations,” he said. “I am aware that you are in the confidence of the Earl of Gilberton and that you have aided him in his efforts over the past weeks.” He gripped her upper arm so tightly that it began to hurt.
“Rowland, please. You are hurting me.”
He released his grip and growled, “I will not go to prison. You will be the surety for my freedom.”
“I don’t understand!” she exclaimed, trying one last time to feign innocence.
He laughed, a brusque, mirthless sound that almost sounded as if were a noise emitted from a machine, not a man. “How prettily you protest,” he sneered. “One might almost be tempted to believe you. But I know you for the obstinate woman that you are, determined to have your own way, even if it means abdicating your duty. I have already told you - I will not go to prison.”
“Where are we going?”
“You have never been to my rooms,” he commented. “I found it useful to keep them after I inherited the title after Father’s death. The lodgings are located near a graveyard. You would be surprised at how effective graveyard meetings can be. To be among the resting place of so many dead persuades a man to turn from reluctance to eagerness, in order to avoid the fate of those lying beneath one’s feet.”
“Graveyard?” Had the Earl found out that information from Muller after luring him to her brother’s rooms, she fretted? Or had the plan gone so completely awry that even now the Earl was in danger?
“A graveyard. Yes, Frederica. Where people are buried after they die,” he mocked her. “You are unfamiliar with the concept?”
“I should not describe a graveyard as a concept,” she told him. “It is a concrete location, a—”
“How dare you speak so impudently to me!” he shouted, as he gripped her shoulder and shouted at her.
“Will you never learn your place? You have always been insolent and I failed to perceive it until I became your guardian. Now I see you for what you are: a willful, selfish, deceitful and disloyal sister who must be taught a lesson,” he spat, before releasing her.
She heard madness in his tone. How had she never perceived it before? What could have caused him to evolve so manically into such a creature, one who sought to do her harm?
She knew it was useless to speak any further and she remained silent. When the carriage stopped, her brother got out and, grabbing her by the arm, pulled her from it. The lodging house where her brother kept his rooms was dark; no one was present.
Where was the Earl? For the love of Christ, she needed him to come and save her.
Rowland dragged her deeper into the graveyard, past the stones that memorialised those who had passed from life into death.
“Are you looking for us?”
The Earl’s voice, sounding conversational, broke the silence of the night. Relief poured over Frederica.
He is here.
“There was a slight change of plans and time. Very fortuitous, as you can see. Muller and I have renewed our acquaintance.”
Then Frederica saw him, standing by the wall that encircled the cemetery. At his feet, bound to a gravestone, was a man she assumed to be Muller.
“I was able to persuade Mr Muller to let me know your latest plans after he arrived, thinking that you had summoned him to an earlier meeting time. We had time for a most useful conversation while waiting for you to arrive for your ten o’clock rendezvous.”
The Earl looked like a man completely in control of the situation. He barely glanced at Frederica. “You obtained one of my daggers and killed Dalton with it. Careless of me to lose sight of it, but you see, I have so many . . . The trail of the money that you spent to purchase the stolen artefact leads to your own account. Runners have been sent to the footman who claims to have seen me murdering Lord Dalton. You will pardon me, I think, for saying that the noose is closing in. And so, here we are. If you surrender peacefully, I shall ensure that your cell at Newgate is reasonably free of vermin and that there are a minimum of worms in your food. What do you say?”
“Yes, Gilberton; here we are,” her brother said, tightening his grip on her arm as he laughed. “I suggest that you burn the documents you have obtained or I shall be forced to send my sister to join these other inhabitants below our feet. You understand that I expect to be allowed to flee to the Continent and Frederica is my bargaining chip. Let me go and I shall release Frederica at a convenient point, one which is far enough away for me to be certain that you have not set the law after me, but close enough that you shall be able to find her.”
Frederica’s heart sank.
Oh Rowland, what have you become?
“You have no option, Gilberton. I know that you will not allow a woman to die if you can prevent it; you are rather chivalrous that way. And even if you were not, I believe that you have a tender spot for my sister, do you not? You will not let her die.”
“You are not in the most advantageous position for giving me orders, Cumbershire,” George said. “I have Muller’s confession. Now I need your surrender. Release your sister so that we can devise some means of addressing this dilemma.”
“You mistake me, Gilberton. I did not present you with a choice. Rather, I give you an ultimatum. Give me time to leave England and I will release my sister. Refuse, and I will kill her. I see that I must prove that I mean what I say.”
Maintaining his grip on Frederica’s arm with one hand, he took a pistol from his coat pocket with the other, took aim, and shot Muller in the shoulder. The dead man’s head lolled to one side, as he bleed upon the gravestone to which he was bound.
Frederica stifled a scream.
The Earl seemed unperturbed.
“Excellent aim. Muller was expendable, of course. I have his written confession.”
“You seem to be uncommonly thick, Gilberton. Did you not see what I just did? I have removed one of your witnesses.”
“But not his written confession.”
“Meaningless if I am gone from England and you are still suspected of the murder of Lord Dalton and the theft of the artefact. You are on your way to prison, my lord; I regret that I will not be able to find you a more amenable location, but it’s Newgate for you, vermin, worms and all.”
“I must decline,” the Earl said with a polite tone of regret. “I have no intention of going to prison for a murder that I did not commit. You have just added a second murder to your list of accomplishments.”
“No one knows that I killed Dalton; the evidence has been very deliberately placed to convict you. I shall be on the Continent, where I often travel. I shall remain there for a time; I’ve money enough to keep me in comfort.”
“So we learned,” the Earl said. “In tracing the web of your finances, the bankers uncovered a network that leads from England to France to Italy. You have prepared for your flight well, but as I have said, you shall not flee.”
“Then Frederica shall die.”
“No,” said a new voice, one belonging to someone who was concealed in the shadows of the cemetery.
“I suggest you drop your weapon,” the voice, which could only belong to the Duke of Summersby continued. “Frederica shall not die. And the Earl shall not go to prison. Quite simply because there are witnesses to your dastardly deed against poor Muller and your confession tonight.”
Rowland blanched.
“Do not make me repeat myself. Release your weapon. Frederica shall not die. Release her or else I shall be forced to put a bullet between your eyes.”
Slowly, with maddening pace, the Marquess’ fingers released their grasp upon Frederica. Before she ran to the Earl, she thrust out her hand so that the pistol would fall from her brother’s grip. When she reached George, he thrust her behind him.
“Excellent,” Summersby, still unseen in the darkness, said approvingly.
Frederica watched with trepidation. She did not know where the Duke was concealed, but she could tell by the direction from which he spoke that he was near the opening in the stone wall which led to the cemetery, If she could discern that, so could her brother.
“Cumbershire, bend down slowly,” Summersby continued, “pick up your pistol and throw it away from you.”
He wouldn’t do it. Frederica knew that her brother would not surrender. She watched from behind the Earl’s arm as Rowland bent down slowly. But instead of throwing the pistol from him, he stood up and raised it to his head.
She was not prepared for how swiftly the others would respond. The Earl, whose own pistol was concealed, raised his arm and shot the weapon from Rowland’s hand. Such aim took an impressive measure of marksmanship and she knew that his target had been hit when she heard her brother cry out.
“My hand! You’ve shot my hand!”
“The constables will see that you receive swift medical attention,” Summersby said, emerging from the dark curtain of the night and flanked by three constables, who picked the Marquess up from the ground where he writhed in pain from his wound. “Gentlemen, see that he receives medical care as quickly as you can before taking him to Newgate. The Prince Regent himself has ordered that he pay not only for his crimes, but for attempting to blame an innocent man for his misdeeds.”
Once the constables had vacated the Marquess and his accomplice George finally put his pistol away. He swiftly turned and focused his entire attention on Federica.
“Do you forgive me?” he asked Frederica, putting his arms around her.
“You had no choice,” she said, burying her face against his coat. “He meant to kill you. This entire nightmare was in order for him to kill you.”
“You should not have had to witness such a scene,” he told her. “I owe my very life to you. I would not have it marred with the knowledge that I have exposed you to sights which you ought never to experience.”
“I told you before this,” Frederica said, “I want to share your life, not be shielded from it. If you intend to honour your agreement to my marriage proposal, then you must understand that I do not intend to be sheltered. I am not hoping that we shall endure many scenes such as this; graveyards ought to be private and quiet places, not sites where vile murders take place. But I wish to be as much your associate as your wife.”
George chuckled and held her closer. “I am not accustomed to wooing fair ladies with bullets flying about,” he said. “I hope Summersby has made provisions for us to complete any paperwork or witness reports in the morrow. I suggest that we leave the graveyard, if you are willing? I am mindful of my marvel.”
“Your marvel?” she repeated, not understanding.
George paused. “’The grave’s a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace.’”
Frederica chuckled softly in pent-up release as he drew her into his arms.
EPILOGUE
When Great Aunt Elspeth learned that a woman was an overnight guest, she examined her nephew as if he had taken leave of his senses.
“She’s of a very good family, Aunt,” George explained at breakfast. “Except for a brother who is a murderer and going to hang at Newgate. Her parents, however, were exemplary folk.”
Great Aunt Elspeth, her knife in one hand, fork in the other, did not look away. “What are you saying? That you have brought one of your doxies home?”
George could not help but laugh.
“Aunt,” he said gently. “She is not a doxy and, in any case, I believe the term you are looking for is ‘bit of muslin.’ I don’t believe ladies of ill repute have been called ‘doxies’ since the Tudors were on the throne.”
“I’ll call a strumpet by any name I choose,” Great Aunt Elspeth snapped.
“But you cannot refer to the future Countess of Gilberton in that manner,” George said reproachfully. “Your eggs will get cold if you don’t eat them, Aunt.”
“Countess—what sort of woman are you marrying, George? I have told you that marriage is a state to be entered into with the utmost seriousness. Your Great-Great-Great Uncle James married one of Charles the Second’s mistresses and there’s no telling what happened to the Devon heritage through that line. They weren’t in line for the title, so it made no difference, but still, he married a strumpet.”
“You must introduce Frederica to the Portrait Gallery when we are married,” George said. “That way, she will be familiar with all of the scapegraces to which she will claim kinship.”
“If her brother is a murderer, then she can hardly look askance at our family line.”
George smiled. He did not tell his great aunt how close he had come to being branded a murderer himself through the machinations of the Marquess. If not for Frederica’s help, he would be the one in Newgate Prison.
He hoped that Frederica was sleeping well this morning after the terrible events of the previous night. She had borne it all well, but he knew that what the waking mind tried to understand, the sleeping brain sometimes could not. He had instructed the servants not to wake her so that she could recover from the experience—
“Good morning,” Frederica stood in the entrance to the breakfast room. She was wearing the dress she had had on the night before, but it seemed none the worse for wear despite its time in the cemetery. She had done her hair and made a splendid picture as she approached. “I apologise for rising so late,” she said to Great Aunt Elspeth. “May I join you?”
“This is Lady Frederica Beecham, Aunt. I have just spoken of her. Lady Beecham, this is my Great Aunt Elspeth Devon Gardner. Please sit down, Lady Beecham. I am sure that you must be quite hungry. The maid will fill your plate for you while Great Aunt Elspeth subjects you to the Ordeal.”
His great aunt glared at him, “I do not know what you mean, George. I am sure that asking Lady Beecham one or two pertinent questions cannot be regarded as an ordeal. You must pardon my nephew, Lady Beecham,” Great Aunt Elspeth said. “He is subject to these fits of whimsy. Now then, where were we?”
“The Ordeal,” Frederica said with a twinkle in her eye.
Great Aunt Elspeth noticed it and a flicker of a glint appeared in her own gaze. “Why don’t you tell me a bit more about yourself.”
George got up and took the plate from the maid. “I beg you, Aunt, give her time to chew and swallow in between answering your questions?”
“It’s quite all right,” Frederica smiled at him. “I understand that my presence here must seem somewhat unorthodox.”
“Very unorthodox. We shall have to come up with some sort of excuse before word gets out and there is a scandal.”
“I am afraid that there will be a scandal in any case. My brother is in Newgate Prison. I am preparing to break off my engagement to Lord Oakland. I did not want to marry him but my brother gave me no choice. Now that I can make my own selection, I plan to do so.”
“A broken engagement? Dear me—tell me, has it already been published in the papers?”
“I’m afraid so,” Frederica replied gravely.
Great Aunt Elspeth sighed. “Dear me,” she said again. “I can see that this will take some managing.”
“It will be nothing for you compared to planning our engagement ball,” George said.
His great aunt brightened.
“Of course,” she said. “We shall announce your engagement at the ball, and in the meantime, you can surely find a relative to stay with?”
“I could stay with my cousin Petronella,” Frederica said. “She would, I think, be glad to have me as her father is very ill.”
“That will get rid of the scandal,” Great Aunt Elspeth said with relief. “Yes . . . Petronella Hastings. Is she not the sole heir, and will inherit the title, even though she is female?”
“Yes. Petronella will inherit the barony from her father, including the title. Her father’s barony is one of the few in the
country that can be inherited by a female descendent.”
“How very fortunate,” Great Aunt Elspeth said. “And what of you, my dear? Your parents are gone, I understand, and your brother . . . well, if he is in Newgate. . . ”
Frederica looked uncomprehending. “I . . . I don’t know. I suppose I shall have to find out,” she said.
“Summersby already has,” George told her. “The family inheritance and the title of Marquess will go to your closest male relative, but there is a provision in the inheritance for you, placed separately by your father. It bestows you a very generous dowry. You my dear are an heiress.”
Great Aunt Elspeth did not approve of forward thinkers, except when they brought wealth into the Gilberton family.
“How fortunate,” she said again.
“Won’t some of the money need to go to those who were robbed and cheated by my brother?” Frederica pointed out.
Great Aunt Elspeth’s face fell.
“The money from your brother’s accounts in Europe will be used to repay those unfortunates who were robbed, and the artefacts will be returned to their land of origin. It will be a consuming task, but Summersby is already on it.”
“Excellent,” Great Aunt Elspeth said as she thought of the various parts of the country home that were in need of repair. “It seems that the wedding will be able to proceed without delay.”
“I promised Aunt Elspeth that we would be married before the end of the year,” George explained to his fiancée.
Great Aunt Elspeth rose from her chair.
“Where are you going, Aunt?”
“There is so much to do George and not a lot of time. First I must do what I can to curtail any speculation about darling Frederica—you will allow me to call you by your Christian name, will you not, as we are going to be related soon—so that scandal does not ruin the ball. I must plan the guest list. George, you must promise not to go abroad on any of your foolish excursions during this time. It would be very unfortunate if the wedding were cancelled because you were off in some forgotten corner of the Continent.”