Whisper Always

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  The villainy you teach me I will execute,

  and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.

  --WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 1564-1616

 

  *Chapter Twenty-five*

 

  Blake had been in residence at Lawrence House for nearly a week before he received the summons he was expecting from Meredith. It came in the form of a brief note demanding his immediate presence in the country. It was a command and not an unexpected one, for Meredith's spies had been at work since Blake's return to England. Blake was aware of their presence. He had been under surveillance from the moment he'd left Vienna. There had been several attempts to frighten him since he had returned from Everleigh and the burial of his son.

  Blake reread the note then crumpled it and flung it into the fireplace. Meredith was very insistent in demanding his immediate presence at Willow Wood. Her spies had probably reported the news about Nicholas and now she calmly expected him to dance to her tune.

  Well he wasn't ready to make his appearance, regardless of the threats and attempts on his life. He was making the rules and this time he intended to prepare for his meeting with Meredith very carefully. A delay would infuriate her and her anger might prove to be his ally. It might make her reckless and boastful and it might just keep her off-balance while he planned his course of action. He would answer her summons in good time and until then he planned to wait and give Meredith's temper time to simmer.

  In the end, he waited a full fortnight and by the time Blake reached Willow Wood, Meredith's fury had reached its peak.

  She began her attack the moment he walked calmly into her bedroom without knocking. "What do you think you're doing?" she hissed at him.

  "I'm here at your request," he replied smoothly. It took every bit of Blake's self-control to stay in the same room with her and to carry on a reasonably civilized conversation. Every time he looked at Meredith, he saw Nicholas's tiny, stillborn face.

  "I sent for you two weeks ago!"

  "And now I've arrived."

  "You certainly took your own sweet time about it," Meredith commented acidly.

  "I assure you, Meredith, I came as soon as I could. I do have other things to do. I can't come running every time I receive a note from you." He spoke as if he were accustomed to receiving notes from her, as if it were commonplace for the wife he'd believed dead these past six years to begin sending him notes that demanded his presence. "If you had been seriously ill your lawyers would have notified me."

  "I suppose you were hoping they would notify you that I was on my deathbed," Meredith taunted.

  "Actually I'd rather hoped you'd be off your deathbed and six feet under the ground," Blake told her. "But I'm not foolish enough to think you'd do anything to suit me."

  "You're absolutely right," Meredith confirmed. "And you must know that I'll never agree to divorce you. You married me for better or worse and I won't be shoved away at your convenience. The very idea! I am surprised at you, Blake, to even think of divorcing an invalid wife. Imagine what the scandal would do to your precious career. It would be a pity to lose everything you've worked for all these years."

  "I'm sure my career would survive." Blake politely seated himself on the chaise longue near the fire and nonchalantly lit a thin cigar. "After all, it survived my marriage to you."

  "And your very public affair with Cristina Fairfax," Meredith charged.

  Blake carelessly blew a ring of smoke before turning to Meredith. "What I had with Cristina wasn't an affair. It was a marriage."

  Meredith wheeled herself within inches of him, her lovely face horribly contorted as she mimicked him. " ' What I had with Cristina wasn't an affair. It was a marriage.' How sweet! Too bad it wasn't legal. Too bad you married me first." Her voice rose an octave, taking on the characteristics of a shrieking harpy.

  Blake nodded. "I suppose you're right, Meredith. I suppose there are some mistakes for which we never stop paying. What do you think? Have you paid for the mistake you made in marrying me? Have you sat in that chair long enough to repent?"

  "Don't you dare try that on me! Don't you dare pity me!"

  Blake's sharp laughter echoed across the room. "Pity? Good God, Meredith, there are vipers more in need of pity. I don't pity you. In fact, I don't believe it's possible for anyone to pity you."

  "I despise you!" Meredith spat at him, whirling around in her chair with her back to him.

  "Then there's no need for this pointless discussion. You despise me and I don't particularly care for you--a divorce should settle everything." Blake flung the remainder of his cigar into the fire.

  "There will be no divorce."

  "Why not? It would seem to be what we both want."

  "Don't patronize me," Meredith warned. "And don't play games with me. A divorce is not what I want and you know it." She faced him again. "Oh, you thought you were clever sending your whore to Vienna under an assumed name and in the company of the crown prince, but I wasn't fooled. I knew better. I knew she wasn't in Italy with her mother because my sources informed me that she was at Lawrence House with you. I knew she was your mistress. I make it my business to know everything about you--including the fact that you're in mourning for your infant son."

  "You must be mistaken, Meredith." Blake pretended ignorance. "I have no son, or daughter either, yet. My child isn't due to arrive until later this month."

  "Don't play dumb with me. I know about the coffin you brought from Vienna. I know about the trip you made to Everleigh."

  "I visited my mother. I usually do whenever I return to England."

  "Don't toy with me," she warned again. "I'm not a fool, Blake. My sources are very reliable. I know, for instance, that Cristina Fairfax was injured in the Vienna bombing and that shortly after the bombing you returned to London with the body of a male infant--your son, whom you buried at your parents' home."

  "You must be mistaken, Meredith. I heard about the bombing in Vienna, of course. Everyone has. But I can assure you that Cristina wasn't involved."

  "Don't be ridiculous! Of course she was. I knew about it...." Meredith faltered for a split second.

  "Really? How was that possible? How did you learn about a bombing a half a continent away from London?" Blake asked pointedly.

  "The papers, of course. It was in all the London papers. Such a tragedy," Meredith told him.

  Blake's eyes narrowed until they were dark slits in his dangerous face. "Cristina Fairfax's name was never in any papers."

  Meredith realized her blunder at once and attempted to brazen it out. "Well," she waved a dismissing hand, "someone must have mentioned it. You know how embassy gossip travels. I know I heard it from someone...."

  "Someone who was there, perhaps?" Blake suggested helpfully. "The man who hurled the bomb? Someone named Oskar von Retterling?"

  Meredith paled slightly. "I'm not acquainted with anyone named Oskar von Retterling. You know how I detest Austrians."

  "You didn't detest him when you employed him. Surely you remember one of your most ardent admirers?" Blake jeered. "You know the one. You gifted him with the emerald and diamond necklace you took from the safe at Lawrence House. Remember the Austrian cavalry officer? You see, Meredith, I know a great deal about you, too. I know, for instance, that you were living in Jack's hunting lodge in Ireland during the time you were supposed to be dead. You spent the winters there and the summers in a schloss in the Tyrols--a schloss owned by one Oskar von Retterling."

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Blake, or why you insist on accusing me."

  "Oh, yes, you do," Blake grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her viciously. "I'm talking about revenge, Meredith. The petty sort of revenge you extracted on an innocent baby for things you imagined I did. I'm talking about the revenge you tried to extract on me because I committed the unpardonable sin of failing to go along
with your grand scheme by falling out of love with you faster than I fell in into it. You wanted to marry the heir to the marquess of Everleigh and you did. You wanted a title and you got one. You wanted money and position and power and you got it. You could have had everything, Meredith, but you got a little too greedy when you decided to keep Jack. You wanted Jack and you thought I'd share you with him. You overplayed your hand when you thought you could have us both."

  "I love Jack," she said. "I always have. And Jack has always loved me."

  "Then God help him," Blake told her. "Because wanting has cost you dearly. It's cost you my fortune and your chance to own Lawrence House."

  "The mansion that belongs to the mother of the Lawrence heir," Meredith said. "Only now there is no heir. And if you persist with this idea of divorce, there will be no more Cristina Fairfax."

  "You aren't in any position to make threats, Meredith." Blake shook her again.

  "Try me," Meredith challenged. "I'll do anything to keep what's rightfully mine and I stand to lose a great deal if you divorce me in favor of Cristina Fairfax or Comtesse di Rimaldi or whatever name you've given her this time."

  "Meredith, you can't win."

  "Maybe not," Meredith agreed. "But either way, Cristina Fairfax won't be alive to witness it. If you make any attempt to see her I'll arrange another accident. I'll find her no matter where you've hidden her."

  "The world is a very large place, Meredith, and you will have to do a great deal of traveling in that wheelchair if you hope to find her," Blake informed her.

  "I have my methods. And I know you too well, Blake. You won't be able to stay away from her. One day you'll lead me to her. This wheelchair has taught me infinite patience. I can just sit back and let someone else dispatch Miss Fairfax."

  "And how do you intend to pay them?" Blake asked bluntly. "You can't barter with your body any longer and from this moment on, you are without funds. Willow Wood's household bills will be sent to my solicitor to be paid and any goods purchased for Willow Wood will have to meet my approval. In other words, the generous allowance allotted to this estate is at an end. I intend to make sure you never have the money to pay your spies and henchmen again."

  "Don't be so sure, Blake," Meredith purred. "There are other ways to obtain money to pay my henchmen, as you call them, and I would like nothing better than to be a rich widow. You're not indestructible...."

  "I expected something like that from you," Blake replied cryptically, then turned on his heel and left Meredith alone to speculate on his next move.

  She didn't need to speculate long.

  By early morning, Willow Wood was in total turmoil.

  The sounds of busy feet scurrying throughout the large house woke Meredith long before her accustomed hour.

  Unable to contain her curiosity, she levered herself out of bed and into her chair. She wheeled herself out the bedroom door and down the hall to the landing.

  Below her, the main hall of Willow Wood was a beehive of activity. And Blake was at the center of it all, issuing orders.

  "What is going on here?" Meredith demanded of the crowd beneath her.

  Blake tilted his head to look up at her. "Ah, Meredith, I see you're awake. As you can see, I've decided to make a few changes. I apologize if the noise woke you." He somehow managed to sound sincere and concerned for her well-being, but there was an edge to his voice. An edge of utter contempt.

  "What sort of changes?" Meredith asked suspiciously.

  "Oh, a few pieces of furniture, a few paintings I think would look much better at Lawrence House, and some staff changes," came the bored reply from Blake.

  "I don't want any staff changes!" Meredith shouted. "I want things left the way they are."

  "I'm afraid that's impossible. I've already interviewed the staff and decided who will remain here and who will be forced to seek other employment."

  "You can't do that!" Meredith gasped, her voice trembling with rage.

  "I can," Blake answered scathingly. "And I have. Although I'm sure you and Jack probably used this house while I was out of the country, the fact remains that Willow Wood is mine and my money pays the salaries of the staff. I'll hire and fire whomever I please." The expression in his dark eyes and the stern look on his face issued a warning to all present. "My employees will answer only to me or they will look for other jobs."

  "What about me? Don't I have some say in all of this?" Meredith demanded.

  "No, you don't. Unfortunately for you and fortunately for me, England has yet to reform its antiquated laws regarding wives and property. I grew careless during the time I thought you were dead. I didn't pay enough attention to my property. But I've decided to remedy that unfortunate situation." Blake's insinuations were crystal clear to Meredith.

  "You won't get away with this. I won't let you treat me this way."

  "At the moment, you have no choice. I'm tired of having my money used against me. Oh, I know you'll find some way to pay your spies, but it won't be with my money any longer and it won't be with my family treasures. I'm taking everything of value that I don't want to see sold or pawned back to London with me. And that includes the Lawrence family jewelry."

  "You're taking my jewelry?"

  "I'm taking my jewelry," Blake corrected. "You may keep the jewelry I gave you, including the wedding and betrothal rings. They were family heirlooms, but I don't think anyone will care if you pawn those. You see, I don't wish to have any reminders of you and I know the future Lady Lawrence won't mind the loss." He smiled. "By the way, the pawnshops in London won't be accepting anything from you or Jack or any of your family members. Neither will anyone around here or at Everleigh. If you want to pawn the jewels you have left, you'll have to go farther afield. Unfortunately my influence only extends so far."

  "I'll still find some way to fight you. And I'll never consent to divorce."

  "You'll agree to anything when I've finished with you," Blake predicted. "And you'll do it on my terms. You see, Meredith, I have sources of information as well as you and by the time I've finished collecting my evidence to present to the courts, you'll sign anything just to keep your lovely neck out of the hangman's noose. Murder and attempted murder happen to be against the law." Blake turned away from the staircase and began giving instructions to two of the footmen standing nearby. "Take the former Lady Lawrence to her room. Help her back to bed and place her wheelchair outside her door on the landing when you've finished. Her supervision is no longer required."

  "I won't allow this!" Meredith screamed at Blake as the footmen approached her. "I'll see you dead and buried for this!" she promised.

  "I'm sure you'll try," Blake agreed. "But I've fired your esteemed footmen, your cook, and everyone else I thought was too loyal to you. You'll have to find your allies elsewhere."

  "That might be true," Meredith conceded as the footmen reached for her chair, "but you won't stop me, Blake. I won't quit until one of us is dead."

  "I never thought you would," Blake replied before turning his attention back to the employees gathered around him listening to the angry exchange. He appeared able to ignore the threats and insults that rained down on him from overhead, but he heard them. And later, alone in his bedroom, Blake worried. He no longer had any illusions concerning Meredith. She was capable of murder and she had made her threats against him known. He believed everything she had promised him. She wouldn't stop until one of them was dead. He was absolutely certain of that. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, he remembered, and now he realized that he had scorned Meredith in the worst possible way. He had withdrawn his blind adoration and become indifferent to her charms.

  Blake knew he had to execute his plan very carefully. He must not make a single mistake and he must not leave any room for Meredith to maneuver or he wouldn't live to see Cristina again. His plan required precise execution, all the self-restraint and self-sacrifice h
e could muster, and a great deal of time.

 

  *Part Three*

 

 

  Was ever a woman in this humor woo'd?

  Was ever a woman in this humor won?

  --WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 1564-1616

 

  *Chapter Twenty-six*

 

  April 1880

  New York City

 

  The late arrival stood for a moment on the sidewalk listening as the melodic strains of violins drifted through the open terrace doors of the glittering Fifth Avenue mansion. Inside the house, William Fairfax played host to the cream of New York society which had turned out on this cool spring night to help his daughter Cristina celebrate her twenty-second birthday.

  William had spared no expense on this special occasion. The immense marble ballroom was decorated with a profusion of red roses, white orchids, and lush greenery imported from hothouses all over the world especially for Cristina's birthday. Unfortunately the heady scent of the blooms mingled with the heavy, expensive perfume of overdressed society matrons to fill the ballroom with a too-sweet, almost nauseating fragrance.

  Cristina sniffed the air, idly wondered how the musicians in the orchestra managed to breathe. The only breeze circulating the room was generated by the swishing of skirts during the dancing and that wasn't nearly enough to cool the crush of people.

  Cristina longed to escape to the cool, fresh air on the terrace, but as the guest of honor she was obliged to dance at least one dance with the men who had signed her dance card.

  But she didn't want to dance any longer. She was tired of dancing. Her slippers were new and tight and she was reminded of another dance when her dancing slippers had been too tight. Her feet ached and she wanted to be left alone to prop them up on the railing of the terrace and to fill her lungs with fresh air. But that wasn't possible any more than it was possible for her to skip the rest of the dances.

  The musicians were already beginning to tune their instruments in preparation for another dance and Roderick was on his way to claim her.

  "He's too good for her," complained one young lady as the tall, slightly built man took Cristina in his arms and led off the waltz.

  "Anyone can see that," agreed her companion.

  "Mother says that she's spoiled rotten," continued the first girl. "She says Cristina's father indulges her every whim because she was injured in a fall from a horse on the Continent when she lived with her mother. She nearly died. That's why she came to live with her father. Mother says Cristina's mother's affairs are common knowledge in Europe. You know Sir William"--she whispered this last bit of information--"divorced Cristina's mother almost a year ago."