Once Again a Bride

Twenty-one



When Charlotte woke she was moving, and it made her feel sick. She had a dreadful headache; her mouth was dry and foul. But worst was the confusion. She was looking at a square green blur. She blinked, squinted. It was a carriage window, with countryside reeling past. Her stomach protested, and she clenched her jaw. What was going on? She couldn’t think straight.

“She’s come ’round,” someone said.

Charlotte turned her head; even that small movement made her dizzy. She was curled sideways in a carriage seat, and Lady Isabella’s dour servant sat opposite.

“Stupid girl.”

Charlotte turned a bit farther. Lady Isabella sat beside her, dressed for traveling. “What… what is happening?”

“We are going into the country, at the height of the Season,” Lady Isabella replied petulantly. “And it is all your fault.”

Charlotte reviewed the words twice, but they still made no sense.

“And I had to pay for a post chaise. Do you have any idea how much that costs?”

She knew the answer to this. “No.”

“Stupid girl,” said Lady Isabella again.

Charlotte tried to straighten on the seat and discovered that her wrists were bound together with many loops of twine. She held them up before her, astonished.

“It’s no use screaming. We told the driver and postboys that you’re mad and have to be restrained or you will hurt yourself. And that you might be quite noisy when you woke.” Lady Isabella said this as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She must be dreaming, Charlotte concluded. “This is a nightmare.”

She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Lady Isabella sniffed. “The nightmare is that idiot St. Cyr mewling to me about your snooping and how he was going to have to reveal that I provided some of the things Henry bought or his reputation would be ruined. Reputation! He’s nothing but a jumped-up tradesman. What sort of reputation can he have?”

“You provided…?” Her mind still refused to work properly. “Why would you…?”

“For a portion of the price, of course. You really are wretchedly stupid.”

None of this seemed real. “But where did you find ancient Roman…?”

Lady Isabella gave a ladylike snort. “Ancient! I had them made by an acquaintance of Edward’s. Not all young artists find poverty to their taste, you know. Henry was such a fool; it worked perfectly. And if you had not brought in that museum… person, we might have sold them all over again. But you haven’t the least spark of enterprise, have you? And then what must you do but force your way into my house and see… It is no one’s fault but your own that I had to remove you.”

“Remove…?” Charlotte stared at her bound hands. “I will be missed. Someone… people will come after me.”

“I sent a note to your house saying we had a notion to visit the country,” was the smug reply.

“Visit…? Without any luggage or…? Are you insane?” Charlotte leaned toward the window. “Help!”

The dour servant reached across and grasped her upper arm so hard it made her gasp. “We should give her more of the laudanum, ma’am.”

“Yes, yes, very well. This is so tedious.”

Martha had a grip of iron. Charlotte fought her, but she was still dizzy and weak. In the end, she was held immobilized, her nostrils pinched shut until she was forced to open her mouth. Lady Isabella tipped a small bottle into it with scant regard for dosage, and Martha clamped an arm around her jaw until she swallowed.

“There.” Lady Isabella replaced the cork and tucked the bottle into her reticule. “Neatly done. Martha took care of my mother, you know.” She spoke conversationally, as if Charlotte might be interested in this information.

***

Time dropped away. Charlotte barely woke when they stopped for the night at an inn. The next time she was really conscious, they were driving again. Her mouth was dry as dust, and the headache was excruciating. “Where are we going?” she managed to croak.

“My country place,” Lady Isabella replied. “What people will think of me—leaving town in June—I do not know. But you are as inconsiderate as the rest. No one thinks of me.”

Charlotte struggled to gather her wits, to remember the conversation the last time she was conscious. “You sold all your furniture to… that dealer?” She couldn’t recall the man’s name at the moment.

“Not all at once. Or all to him.” She seemed to find it a tiresome question. “And St. Cyr gave me much less than it was worth!”

“But… why?”

Lady Isabella glared at her. “It costs the earth to live decently in London. Clothes, servants, a box at the opera, a carriage and horses. Well, I am reduced to a hired coach now, of course. Edward must have an allowance out of the revenues from the estate; he has a position to keep up. Only think how humiliating for both of us if he could not have a fine string of hunters or a good address for his rooms?”

“Edward was involved…?”

“As if he would be so helpful! No, it is always left to me to find a way to keep things going. Everyone has simply expected it. My parents, Simon, Edward. No one else lifts a finger. When I think how Edward complained about saying a few words to Henry when he saw him at the club.”

“It’s all about money,” Charlotte said. She felt like the stupid girl Lady Isabella had called her. Her mind just wouldn’t work.

“Naturally I thought Henry would leave his fortune to Edward. And well he knew it! I had no idea he’d married. I cannot keep track of everything!” She blew out an exasperated breath. “Henry was always a sneak. And malicious? That ridiculous will. I should have remembered how devious he’d always been and provided a will myself. That was a mistake. I admit it.”

A horrible realization was rising in Charlotte. “Did you kill Henry?” she whispered.

Lady Isabella tittered. “He was so shocked when I walked up to him in men’s clothing. I don’t suppose he even noticed that Mama had made me wear them. He never noticed anything but himself. It was simple to hit him the first time.”

“My lady,” admonished Martha.

Her mistress ignored her. “Edward had told me that it is very dangerous for boxers to be hit just here.” She put a hand to her temple.

“You shouldn’t say any more, ma’am,” Martha advised.

But Lady Isabella didn’t seem to hear. “I had to strike him several times to make sure he was dead, of course. But I’d found a spot that was dark and hidden. Then, it was all for nothing. A museum—the idiot!” She turned to glare at Charlotte. “And now, on top of everything, you!”

“It’s time for her dose, ma’am.” Martha leaned forward and caught Lady Isabella’s eye. She held it for a long moment.

“Is it? Oh, very well.”

Charlotte barely struggled this time. She was too shocked.

Another inn went by in a blur. When Charlotte came to consciousness in the post chaise for the third time, she felt beyond horrible. Her muscles ached; her head pounded; her stomach twisted; her throat and wrists were rasped raw. She didn’t want to open her eyes and reveal that she was awake, but she was desperate. “Is there any water?” She could barely croak.

“We have a flask of tea,” Lady Isabella replied, as brightly as if they were on the way to a picnic. “Give her some, Martha.”

She thirstily drank two cups held for her by Martha, then slowly ate some bread and cheese she was offered. As the day passed, even with the rocking of the carriage, she began to feel slightly better. If only they would stop giving her the drug, she might be able to think what to do. From something Lady Isabella said to Martha, she gathered the journey would end later that day. Suddenly, she remembered something. “We’re going to Derbyshire?”

Lady Isabella raised her eyebrows. “Yes.”

“You live near your parents’ old house.” Now Sir Alexander’s, and he was in Derbyshire! If she could get away and find him… Noticing Martha’s eyes on her, Charlotte kept her face blank.

“Oh, yes,” Lady Isabella replied. “All my life, I was the one who was there, called on for any emergency, complained to… you cannot conceive the continual complaints. And still my father left me next to nothing! What did my brothers ever do for him? James simply… disappeared as soon as he was able. And Henry! He cared nothing for my parents, or indeed for anyone but himself.”

There, Charlotte had to agree. “A liar and a thief,” she murmured.

Lady Isabella frowned at her. “What?”

She hadn’t meant to speak aloud. She was so very disoriented and tired. But what did it matter? “Henry had a whole hoard of things hidden away. We just found them a few days ago.”

“What sort of things?” was the sharp reply.

“A snuffbox, earrings, my father’s…”

“Earrings?” Lady Isabella loomed over her. “A large teardrop pearl? An emerald with a diamond setting? Ruby clusters?”

“I’m not sure about all those. I saw a pearl.”

“Damn Henry!” Lady Isabella clenched her fists, and for a moment Charlotte feared she’d hit her. “Those were my mother’s jewels. They… came to me.”

Her tone made Charlotte suspect that they had not come in the ordinary course of legacy.

“It’s been years since I lost those earrings. Well, I didn’t lose them, did I? Now we see.” She gave Martha a burning look. “How did Henry…? Christmas! He must have taken them when he was up for the holidays, before Papa died. If only I’d known they were there the night I went in, I could have…”

“It was you? The robbery?”

“I had his keys,” Lady Isabella said impatiently. “If Henry could be fooled by the objects Phelps produced, why not others? Then there was no house key, and I made a noise, and you began to shout. You, again!” She turned to glare at Charlotte. “You will give those earrings back to me!”

She made it sound as if Charlotte had stolen them. Under the circumstances, however, this seemed the least of her worries. She simply nodded.

“I sold the mates for a pittance, because what can one do with one earring? And now I shall have to do the same with the others. It is not fair!”

She was so fierce that an idea penetrated Charlotte’s confusion. “We could go back and fetch them.”

Briefly, it seemed that Lady Isabella might do exactly that. Then Martha leaned forward and put a hand on her arm. “No, of course not. I will get them… later.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Charlotte couldn’t help but ask. She received no answer, and she began to suspect that Lady Isabella had no idea. But whether that was good news or bad in this insane situation, she didn’t know.

It was nearly dark by the time they pulled up before a sizable country house. Charlotte got only glimpses of the brick façade and a few pieces of sheeted furniture as Martha hustled her inside and up two sets of stairs. The place felt empty, however. The ancient housekeeper who’d hobbled out to meet them was obviously surprised by the visit.

Martha took her to an unused maid’s room, barely lit by one tiny window under the eaves, empty but for a sagging bed. She pushed her down on the iron bedstead, which creaked under her weight.

“Please,” Charlotte said as the woman turned away. “You must see that this is mad. You cannot keep me here.”

With an uneasy look, Martha simply left her in the growing dark. The lock that clicked behind her sounded sturdy. But she did not give Charlotte any more laudanum, and for that at least she was thankful. She began to tear at the twine on her wrists with her teeth.

***

Battered by the endless rocking and bouncing of the stagecoach, Ethan and Lucy stumbled into the inn and found a small table in the corner of the common room. It was low-ceilinged, smoky, and crowded; the coach had been jam-packed, too, and poorly sprung. If he was worn out, how must Lucy be feeling, Ethan wondered? The long hours crammed in with other passengers, nosy ones and rude ones, had been hard enough for him. He was big, and he had a thick skin. Lucy was more delicate, and eaten up with worry as well. He’d shielded her as much as he could by sitting between her and the rest, but there was only so much he could do. He looked her over, saw the dark circles under her blue eyes. You couldn’t sleep on the stage, not unless you were half dead already, which they weren’t, quite yet.

The barmaid plopped down plates of stew and mugs of ale. Ethan paid with what he feared was pilfered coin. He hoped Miss Anne wouldn’t mind, in the end.

“Somethin’s got to be done,” railed a drunken voice from the other side of the room. A man in a much-patched coat banged his tankard on the tabletop. “Twice-damned gover’ment wants to let us starve, I say take what we need, any way we can, and let ’em shove that down their fat gullets.”

There was a growl of agreement from other tables, and Ethan was torn between further worry about Lucy’s safety and a reluctant understanding. Just yesterday, he might have disapproved of the outburst. But he’d seen a thing or two since then.

The farther north they went, the worse it got. They saw ragged people trudging along the side of the road with their meager belongings piled in hand carts. Skinny children with hopeless eyes followed as they could, the youngest riding atop the carts. Evicted, one of the passengers had explained, for not being able to meet their rents, there being no work or no decent wage to be earned. Some of the villages they passed through had an abandoned air, like the war had been here in England rather than foreign parts. In one of them, children had flocked ’round the stagecoach when it slowed, hands out, begging. Begging! Beggars were creatures of the city, to Ethan’s mind, created by the filthy, crowded conditions there. It had shocked him for sure to see them out here, and made his beloved countryside seem an alien place.

He’d known that times were bad. He’d read the letters from home, listened to James rant about news in the papers. But that wasn’t the same as seeing it, not by a long shot. He knew Lucy felt the same; he’d seen it in her face as they traveled. And not a blessed thing he could do about it.

Now, she sat slumped across from him in the loud, smoky room, every line of her showing how tired she was. “Eat your dinner,” Ethan urged. “You need to keep your strength up.” To set an example, he took a bite of stew. It was passable, not like the swill at the last stop.

“What’ll we do when we’re there?” Lucy asked wearily, and not for the first time.

Ethan didn’t mind repeating himself. “We’ll go to Sir Alexander’s place first. It’s nearest where the stage stops. They all know me there, o’ course, and they’ll lend me a horse. I’ll ride over to Lady Isabella’s house. It’s not far. And then we shall see.”

“What if she’s not there? What if we made a…?”

“The note said the country. Has to be her house. Where else would it be?”

Lucy’s lip trembled. “Oh, Ethan, what if something bad’s happened to Miss Charlotte?”

“Now why would it? No need to think that.” Though how could you help it, Ethan thought, with the way things had been going.

“What else am I to think?” Lucy pushed her stew around the plate.

“Eat,” Ethan urged her again. He spooned down his own portion. “And quit worrying. I’ll take care of this,” he assured her.

“How? We don’t even know what it is…”

“However I can. However I have to. I’d do anything for you, Lucy.” The flash of fear in her face touched him. He longed to sweep her into his arms, and for far more than comfort.

“You mustn’t… you must take care. If there’s danger… you don’t think Miss Lizzy could have been right, do you? About kidnappers?”

He shook his head. “Don’t see how. Doesn’t make sense.”

Lucy extended a hand across the table. Ethan took it and held it in his much larger one. His heart swelled within him, and he smiled at her. What better could a man ask than to help and protect those he loved? Yes, he’d like to take her upstairs to bed, and so he would someday. For now, her trust in him was almost as gratifying. “Don’t you worry, Lucy,” he said again. “We’ll make it right.” The smile she gave him in return, tears glittering in her pretty blue eyes, made Ethan feel he could do anything.