The Black Widow (16 page)

“I do not find your attempt at humor amusing,” Demetrius said. While Miss Prestwich was indeed a pleasant sort of female—not given to chattering or having the hysterics—she did not at all resemble his neighbor’s wife, and he had long ago decided that if he ever got married, his wife must be just as intelligent and knowledgeable, just as resourceful and ingenious, just as fearless and bold, and just as competent and capable as Anne. Surely that was not asking too much—was it?

“I was not joking in the least,” Uncle Humphrey said, and his tone was indeed quite serious. “You had best marry the girl, and the sooner the better. Once you are hitched, you can forget all this murder nonsense and get on with producing an heir.’’

“Are you forgetting my mother—your sister? Since you are so in favor of this marriage, I shall leave it to you to persuade her to accept the young lady in question.” Not that Demetrius intended to marry Miss Prestwich, but he had promised to be her friend, and it would be an easier task if his mother were at least minimally civil.

“I?” Humphrey said, beginning to edge away. “Much as I would like to help, Nephew, I am afraid I am otherwise occupied for the foreseeable future.”

To Demetrius’s amusement, Hennessey caught Uncle Humphrey by the arm and said firmly, “Listen carefully. By tomorrow we expect to hear that Lady Thorverton is calling upon the Misses Prestwich, do you understand?”

Humphrey opened his mouth, but no bluster came out. The Irishman could be most intimidating when he made the effort, although Demetrius knew his friend was quite mild-tempered by nature,

“You have twenty-four hours, Uncle,” Demetrius said with a smile.

Humphrey was not amused. Jerking his arm free, he departed without a backward glance.

“And as for you, my friend,” Hennessey said, turning to Demetrius, “I think you would do well to consider your brother’s suggestion seriously. It appears to me that Miss Prestwich would be an ideal wife for you.”

“And it appears to me that too many people are trying to mind my business,” Demetrius said, his temper flaring up.

Watching his friend stalk away in a huff, Thomas Hennessey grinned to himself. He should not—really he should not—but he knew he was going to. “That was a good idea you had, Baineton. It is too bad your brother would not listen to you.”

Beside him the boy muttered angrily to himself, then said, “He never listens to me. Doubtless if you had suggested it first, he would at least have considered it carefully, rather than rejecting it out of hand.”

“Do you know, it has occurred to me that it is not necessary for your brother to marry the lovely Miss Prestwich.” Thomas paused, then added, “All that is really necessary is that the murderer think that the two of them are going to marry.’’

Collier Baineton looked at him with dawning comprehension, but then he frowned. “My brother would be in an absolute rage if anyone—especially me—did something contrary to his expressed wishes. In fact, I would not be surprised if he were driven to physical violence.”

Thomas shrugged. “He would get over it. One would only have to lie low until the initial explosion had occurred. And besides, had you considered that if the plan works and the murderer is exposed, your brother would have to acknowledge that he was wrong and someone else was right?”

“And if the plan works too well? If the murderer is successful? I am not all that eager to take over my brother’s title and estate.”

“I brought several stout lads with me from Ireland, and I can vouch for their loyalty. I have already offered them to your brother as bodyguards.”

“He said nothing to me about them.”

“Well, you see, he refused to consider using them—said he could protect himself.”

“There, you see—Demetrius is so devilishly determined to have his own way, he will not listen to anyone else’s suggestions, no matter what their merit.”

Thomas grinned. “But
you
see, my boy, some of the rest of us are equally determined.”

“Do you mean ...?”

“Exactly. There have been two of my men following your brother ever since the first attack.”

The boy laughed, obviously pleased to discover that for once his brother had not gotten his own way.

“Had you heard about the boxing match being held in a little village near Reading this week?” Thomas asked casually.

Baineton was no dummy, that was obvious. “Do you know,” he replied at once, “I have just become an ardent fan of pugilism.” Grinning cheekily, he took his leave and strolled away, whistling softly under his breath.

Collier inspected the brief note he had just written. “Betrothed: Miss Meribe Prestwich and Demetrius Baineton, Lord Thorverton.” Well satisfied with his efforts to imitate his brother’s hand, Collier sanded the note, then folded and sealed it. After clearing away all signs of his presence in Demetrius’s study, Collier sought out one of the footmen and gave him instructions to deliver the missive to the offices of the Morning Post.

An hour later, after packing the necessaries in a small portmanteau, he slipped out of the house and went cheerfully off to meet Charles Neuce and Ernest Saville, with whom he was driving down to Reading.

It was unfortunate that he could not be a fly on the wall and hear the thunderous oaths that were bound to be uttered when his brother found out what he had done. But it was more prudent to be absent until Demetrius’s wrath had cooled to manageable levels.

Aunt Phillipa lowered her newspaper and glared over the top of it at Meribe. “Well, missy, I see your splendid lord has come up to scratch.”

Hester gasped, and Meribe looked at her aunt in bewilderment. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“The list of betrothals in the Morning Post includes your names: Miss Meribe Prestwich and Demetrius Baineton, Lord Thorverton. Well, I cannot say that you did not warn me, but it is still rather shabby of you not to have apprised me of the agreement between the two of you before I read about it in the Post. But it is all of one piece since I have long known that the younger generation has no respect for the proper way of doing things. It has become such a helter-skelter world, there is no telling where it will end. In my day, gentlemen had the decency to cover their heads with wigs, or at the very least they powdered their hair, but now they lark about with their hair clipped indecently short.”

As much as she hated deceiving her aunt, Meribe could not reveal that the betrothal was nothing more nor less than a hoax—undoubtedly a trick on Lord Thorverton’s part to catch the murderer. Would that Lord Thorverton truly wanted to marry her—how wonderful it would be in that case!

Except she was forgetting: by announcing their betrothal, whether legitimate or a clever bit of deceit, Lord Thorverton was making a target of himself—setting himself up for another assassination attempt.

If only he had asked her permission first! Not that she would have given it, of course. Not even the income from her father’s investments was great enough to warrant taking such a foolhardy risk, and so she would tell Lord Thorverton when she saw him.

Aunt Phillipa rattled her paper indignantly, then said crossly, “And as for you, Niece, you would have done better to take my advice and shun the company of men. Well, that is all I shall say on the subject, except for this: you have made your bed, and now you must lie in it.”

Meribe felt her face grow hot at the thought of lying in bed with Lord Thorverton. It had been uncommonly pleasant to have him hold her in his arms ... what would it be like to sleep beside him? To see his face on the pillow beside her? To wake up in the morning in his embrace?

“You are assuming, of course, that nothing untoward will happen to his lordship between now and the wedding,” Hester said, interrupting Meribe’s pleasant daydreams. “I am surprised he is willing to risk being struck down by the curse.”

“There is no curse,” Meribe blurted out. She almost said it had been a hired assassin who had killed her other suitors, but fortunately she bit back the words in time. Under no circumstances could she allow Hester to learn that they had discovered her wicked machinations.

Hester’s expression was now so icy, she seemed a complete stranger, and Meribe wondered if she had ever truly known her sister.

“If I were you,” Hester said, “I would cry off before it is too late to save Lord Thorverton’s life.”

She is threatening me, Meribe realized with amazement. She is actually warning me that she will have him killed if I do not jilt him. Was Hester really the heartless monster she appeared to be? Was there nothing left of the kind older sister who had helped Meribe with her lessons? Who had tucked Meribe in at night after their mother had passed away? Who had smuggled food up to Meribe when she was sent to bed with no supper? Was that sister gone forever?

The love of money is the root of all evil. Did Hester want to be rich so badly that she was willing to condone—no, to solicit—murder?

“If you are quite done picking at your food, then I suggest we call for the carriage,” Aunt Phillipa said, interrupting Meribe’s thoughts. “Madame Parfleur is expecting us at eleven so that we can pick out the fabric for your riding habit. Unless you have come to your senses and given up such ridiculous notions?”

“No, I have not changed my mind,” Meribe said, although she could no longer feel the slightest excitement at the thought of learning to ride. She doubted, in fact, that she could find enjoyment in any activity—even gardening—so weighed down was she by fear for Lord Thorverton’s life.

“Do you come with us, Hester?” Aunt Phillipa asked, rising to her feet.

“No, I have made other plans,” Hester replied, her voice betraying no emotion.

* * * *

Humphrey Swinton rehearsed his speech while he walked along with jaunty step toward his sister’s residence. As head of the family, he would say, it is my decision who—whom?—we shall recognize and whom we shall turn our backs on. And I have decided that Miss Meribe Prestwich is a delightful young lady, quite worthy of Demetrius’s attentions.

We should be thankful, he would point out, that Demetrius’s affections have been engaged by someone whose manners are above reproach, whose countenance is pleasing, and whose station in life is commensurate with that of Demetrius.

A firm tone, that would be best. Override Dorathea’s objections before she had a chance even to utter them. And he would project his voice the way Babette, an opera dancer who had been under his protection for a delightful two years, had taught him.

One must be open-minded, he would explain—though actually, as the head of the family, he owed his sister no explanation. To condemn an innocent young girl because she has the misfortune to have a harridan for an aunt is not only unfair but also ... also ... What was the word he needed?

Unjust... pernicious ... reprehensible ... That was not quite what he wanted to say. He stopped walking and scratched his head with the end of his cane, almost knocking his hat off in the process.

Shameful—that was the word he was looking for. To exhibit such prejudice brought shame upon the fair name of Swinton.

Satisfied at last, he began walking again, muttering his speech over and over, lest the proper words escape into the ether.

He could not help smiling. He could see it all in his mind: himself, standing straight and dignified, laying down the law; his sister cringing back in her chair, fearful of arousing his ire.

Yes, yes, he would have no trouble carrying out his assignment. Demetrius would be quite proud to have such a noble uncle who did his duty in the face of forceful opposition, who did not retreat abjectly when under enemy fire.

Arriving at the Thorverton residence, he mounted the steps, rapped on the door with his cane, greeted McDougal with great bonhomie, then commanded majestically, “And tell my sister that I wish to speak with her at once.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but that would not be wise.”

“What’s that?”

“Lady Thorverton is in a perishing temper. I cannot say what has touched her off, but she threw her breakfast tray at the wall this morning, and then she boxed the maid’s ears—and my lady has never before been given to physical violence. If I were you, I would come back another day.’’

The picture of himself as a general, fearlessly leading his troops into battle, stayed with Humphrey, however, and he said in a firm voice, “Nonsense. I am not now, nor have I ever been, afraid of my sister.” Which was bending the truth considerably, but the new, resolute Humphrey was not afraid of any woman—or any man, for that matter.

“But—”

“But me no buts, my good man. I wish to speak to my sister without delay.’’

“Very well, if you will wait in the drawing room, I shall inform her that you are here.”

The look on the butler’s face was not exactly admiration, but that would change after Humphrey had bearded the lion—that is to say, the lioness—in her den. McDougal would be struck dumb with awe, in fact, when he saw how easily Humphrey handled his sister.

“Lioness” was not quite the word for Dorothea, he discovered to his own consternation. “Avenging angel” was a better description, and he could only be thankful she had seen fit to leave her flaming sword in her dressing room.

Before he could even open his mouth, she rolled over him like a cavalry charge, screaming imprecations—although luckily not directed at him—spouting nasty threats, uttering dire warnings. Relentlessly she forced him to retreat, until he found himself with his back to the wall.

Glaring up at him like one of the Furies, she said, “I expect you to do something about this immediately.’’

“D-do something? About what?”

“Have you not been paying attention? About the betrothal!” She shook a piece of newspaper in front of his face, and with relief he grabbed it.

It was not easy to read since it had already been savagely mangled, crumpled, torn, twisted up ...

“There—there! Read the announcement for yourself! Oh, that any son of mine should have done such a deceitful thing! Betrayed by my own child! Does a mother not deserve even a modicum of respect? Have I nursed a viper at my bosom all these years?” To Humphrey’s relief, she moved away from him and began to pace around the room.