The Dowager's Daughter (16 page)

“But they were kissing.”

Celeste threw up her hands. “What am I to do with you? He told her he was awaiting the arrival of another young lady. The kiss was for your benefit An act of pure malice on her part.”

Althea wanted to believe that it was so. Not seeing John left her with a hollow feeling. On the other hand, if what her mother said was true, she had not proved to be worthy of his love. Althea felt wretched and yet she needed further reassurance.

“How came you by this knowledge?”

“Jarvis, of course. He and Reeves, the Underhill butler whom John kept on, have been friends for years.”

“He does not keep his master’s secrets too well.”

“The way Jarvis put it, the man has known Mr. Ridley since he was in leading strings and is terribly concerned for his happiness.”

Althea was contrite. “You are right, Mama, I have treated John dreadfully. I feel so unworthy, so thoroughly lacking in compassion. How could I have been so wrapped up in myself, so—”

“Althea, stop it this instant! You are absolutely wallowing. No one should be allowed that much pleasure.”

“What do I do now? Dash right over to Seacliff, or send a footman there with a letter asking his forgiveness?”

Celeste patted her hand.
“
A letter will do nicely, but practice restraint. None of that sackcloth and ashes nonsense—it does not do to let a gentleman get the upper hand. Just let him know that you are willing to listen to his explanation, and then, after careful consideration, say you will forgive him. After all, you are not entirely to blame. I am of the opinion that he could have handled the situation far better.”

“Would you help me write it, Mama? I should be most terribly grateful if you would.”

Celeste rose from the bench and smoothed her skirt “Of course, darling. If we get right to it, this whole misunderstanding can be settled by morning.”

They returned to the house with arms linked, Althea responding to her mother’s humor with outbursts of delighted laughter.

When they reached Althea’s private sitting room, she pulled an extra chair up to a small rosewood escritoire in front of the window and urged her mother to sit down. Althea sat beside her, removed a quill from the inkstand, and turned to face her, a look of anticipation on her face.

“Well, Mama, how should I start?”

Before she could answer, Lizzie opened the connetting door to Althea’s dressing room and poked her head around. “I thought I heard voices. I was just sorting through your things, madam. I can come back later, if you like.”

“No, go right ahead, Lizzie. You might want to inspect the dress I wore to dinner last evening. I believe I had a mishap with some wine. White wine, fortunately.”

“I have already attended to it”

She closed the door once more and Althea and Celeste exchanged smiles. Lizzie had sounded enormously pleased with her own efficiency.

Althea put the quill in the inkstand and turned to her mother once more. “Well, Mama, how should I address him? Should it be ‘My dear Mr. Ridley’—or ‘My dearest John’?”

Celeste laughed. “Mr. Ridley, of course. Otherwise, he will know he has been forgiven. You must not make it too easy for him—gentlemen sometimes take it as a sign that they may get into all sorts of mischief with impunity. One must begin as one means to go on.”

“In that case,” Althea rejoined, “I shall accord him a mere, ‘Dear Mr. Ridley.’ I should not like him to think that I lay claim to his affections.”

“Brava. You will do beautifully.”

Before Althea could put pen to paper, there was a knock at the door. “Botheration,” she muttered, returned the quill to the inkstand, and got up to see who was there.

She expected to see Jarvis on the other side, with some footling complaint regarding below-stairs intrigue, but to her surprise she found her uncle at the door with Monsieur Joubert and—what was his friend’s name? She could not remember. Both were hovering at his shoulder, and in light of the warm weather, both were even more sorely in need of a bath than the last time they came to Camberly Hall.

Althea gave the marquis a questioning look.

The marquis lowered his gaze and cleared his throat. “These, er—gentlemen are desirous of an audience with you, niece.”

Althea narrowed her nostrils to alleviate the stench emanating from the hall. “Kindly inform your, er—friends that it is inconvenient for the present.”

He gave her a look that bespoke of abject misery. “Please do not be difficult, I
implore
you.”

Before Althea could reply, Monsieur Joubert pushed the marquis into the room. The shorter man followed close behind, taking care to close the door behind him.

Celeste put herself between Althea and the intruders.

“What is the meaning of this outrage?” she demanded.

“Hold your tongue, madam,” the shorter man replied softly. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to strike your pampered, aristocratic face.”

“Please,
you swore on your honor that no harm would befall my nieces.”

“Spoken like an
aristo.
Only your kind can afford the luxury of honor.”

He turned to his associate. “Listen to the fool, Joubert. He thinks that keeping his word is somehow more important than treating the common people in a decent and humane manner.” He spat on the carpet. “This is what I think of your honor.”

Althea moved forward. “That is quite enough. Leave my uncle alone. You did not come here to spout your egalitarian rhetoric. You want something from me, so tell me what it is and have done with it”

The man gave her a look of pure hatred. “I am thinking that before this day is over, madam, you will have lost some of your arrogance. But you are right, I do want something from you, and if not from you, then your mother.”

“You seem to be in charge and I have forgotten your name, monsieur. Before we go any further, perhaps you should refresh my memory,” Althea said.

“My name is Reston. Auguste Reston.”

“Hmm. That does not sound familiar.”

“That is because it is not the name he went by,” the marquis interjected. “Forgive me, Althea, I had no idea. Auguste Reston is the most ruthless man in all of France. He is known to derive great pleasure from torturing secrets out of those who fall into his hands. In fact, it is said that he is disappointed if his victims break too soon.”

Reston bowed. “Just so we understand one another.”

Before more words could be exchanged, there was another knock on the door.

“It is probably my housekeeper,” Althea whispered. “She sometimes comes to confer with me this time of day.” Reston pushed Althea forward. “Get rid of her. If you try to warn her in any way, I shall be forced to kill her.”

Althea decided it would be safer not to even open the door. “Who is it?” she called out.

“Mrs. Denchforth, my lady. I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time.”

“I shall send for you later, Mrs. Denchforth. I am in the middle of writing a very important letter.”

It occurred to Althea that in all probability she might not get to finish the letter. Her scalp tightened at the thought. Then it occurred to her that perhaps John was the only chance that any of them had of getting out of this predicament alive.

“You handled that very well,” Reston said. “I am glad you decided to be sensible. I take no pleasure in killing innocent peasants.”

Althea raised her voice, hoping that Lizzie would take heed.’ ‘Neither do I, Monsieur Reston. I would not want any of my servants put at risk. Mark my words, if my friend, Mr.
Soames
were here, that would be another matter entirely. Mr.
Soames
would put you in your place.”

“Do not waste my time with your silly bravado. By now you should know better. You and this red-haired devil who gave birth to you are enemies of France. You plot to bring about the downfall of our republic.”

“What made you suspect us?” Celeste asked.

“Joubert and I saw you in Paris. I was struck by your beauty and the fiery color of your hair. I thought to while away a night or two in your company, but the street was crowded and I lost sight of you. Further inquiry did not shed any light as to your whereabouts, or indeed, if you had ever existed. Imagine my surprise when your fool of an uncle presented me to you. There was no doubt in my mind that the French peasant and the Dowager Countess of Camberly were one and the same.”

Celeste’s eyes flashed scorn. “While away a night or two with you? Pah! We have pigs who smell sweeter.”

Reston smiled. “Do not hold back your venom, dear lady. Later, you will pay for every syllable.” He turned to Althea. “Sad to say, but I am of the opinion that you are both very difficult women.”

Althea shrugged.

“I am thinking that it will take a lot of persuasion on my part to get either one of you to tell me what I want to know. Therefore we shall continue this interview in a place where we are less likely to be disturbed.”

“That would be Hansford’s, the linen drapers? Good—perhaps he has some fresh laces in stock.”

“For pity’s sake, Althea, are you quite mad?” her uncle wailed. “Do not play games with Monsieur Reston. Just tell him what he wants to know. He will get it from you eventually.”

“You would do well to follow his advice.”

“Tell me, Uncle. How did you manage to get involved with these two?”

“I was promised that if I kept them informed of what was taking place within emigre circles, my estate in France would be restored to me. I had Buonaparte’s word on that.”

Reston laughed. “You gullible old fool, how you babble—’word,’ this, ‘honor,’ that. Buonaparte does not even know of your existence.”

The marquis seemed to shrivel.

Althea turned on him, feeling nothing but scorn for him. “You would spy on your own flesh and blood? Have you no heart?”

His eyes welled with tears. “I was given two options. Cooperate, and your lives would be spared. Otherwise …” He threw up his hands in despair.

“Either this maudlin drivel ends
now,
or you will suffer the consequences. Enough is enough,” Reston interjected.

“What more can he do to us?” Althea muttered under her breath. “We are as good as dead as it is.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing you would care to hear, Monsieur. Just a few Anglo-Saxon epithets questioning your parentage.”

He grabbed her jaw and stared into her eyes. His breath bespoke teeth in various stages of putrefaction. “It is
Citizen
Reston. I scorn all bourgeois titles.”

“I find that strange, Citizen. Your hygiene might leave much to be desired, but your English is flawless, your accent as well-bred as any member of the
ton.
I suspect the same might be said of your French.”

“It is none of your concern, but I shall satisfy your curiosity anyway. I sometimes indulge the condemned. My father owned a boys’ school not too far from Paris. St. Françoise by name. My mother was an English governess whom he met quite by accident when the family she worked for was touring France. They both believed that education was best applied with the use of the birch. They achieved their goal. I know an inordinate amount about the most inconsequential matters, and bear the scars to prove it As for you, madam, be warned. You will pay for your impudence. By the time I have finished with you, you will find little humor in your situation. I, on the other hand …”

On first encounter, Althea had thought him to be such a jolly-looking man but today she had seen expressions on his face of such malevolence, she was surprised that they had not all turned to stone.

“I want you to listen very carefully. The lives of some of your servants may depend on your following my instructions to the letter.”

“I understand.”

“You will summon your butler and arrange for three horses to be saddled for you. When they are ready, we shall go downstairs. We will laugh and talk as if we are all having a—how do the English put it? Ah, yes, as if we are all having a jolly good time. Do not try to be clever, or someone is bound to get hurt”

“I give you the word of an English gentlewoman. Contrary to what you might think, it is possible to value one’s honor while at the same time care for the welfare of those in one’s service.”

“Pah! Sanctimonious claptrap. Just follow my orders, then, as you guessed, we shall ride over to Hansford’s.”

“I understand.”

While waiting for Jarvis to answer her summons, Althea decided to question Reston further. There was always the possibility that they might survive the ordeal, in which case, any information she might get out of him could prove useful.

“Tell me, Citizen Reston, what sort of person is your superior, Citizen Savary? Is he as clever as they say?”

“Pah! He is a carrion crow.”

“Oh?”

“He feeds on others and sucks their bones dry.”

“I do not understand.”

“It is simple enough. He plots and schemes and takes the credit for the accomplishments of his subordinates. He has climbed to where he is at the expense of better men.”

“But you will get the better of him, will you not? You are far too intelligent to let him use you twice.”

“You have the right of it. For instance, he has no idea that I have uncovered your nest of vipers—and shall not in time to do himself any good.”

“You play a clever game.”

“Be quiet. You are beginning to bore me.”

With every step she took, she prayed that Lizzie had stayed in the dressing room long enough to hear what had transpired. It occurred to her that with the threat of death hanging over her head, it was the thought of dying without having reconciled with John that gave her the most trouble.

John and Marcus pounded on the door to Camberly Hall, each compelled by a feeling that he had not a moment to lose. Jarvis, apparently affronted by their lack of decorum, admitted them with a disapproving sniff.

Knowing that his brother was not being received by Althea, Marcus spoke for both of them.

“Good afternoon, Jarvis. We have come to see your mistress on a matter of the utmost importance.”

“I am sorry, your lordship, but you just missed Lady Camberly, I fear.”

“The older Lady Camberly, then? The situation is really grave, else I would not persist.”

“I do not doubt it, sir, but they left together. They rode off with his lordship and those two French acquaintances of his.”

“Tell me, Jarvis, do you happen to know if they were going to the village?”

“If they were going into Camberly, surely you would have passed them?”

“Not if they cut through the fields.”

John groaned. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Suddenly their attention was caught by the sound of a horse approaching. They turned to see Lizzie coming from the direction of the stables, riding a dun-colored mare.

She slipped from the saddle and rushed over and bobbed to them. “Thank goodness you are here. I had the devil’s own time convincing someone at the stable to saddle a horse for me. I was just on my way to get you, Mr. Ridley.”

John grabbed her by the shoulders. “Just tell me where they are taking them—that is, if you know.”

“Hansford’s on the esplanade, if you can believe it, sir.”

“I should have known,” John said grimly.

Without another word, the brothers retrieved their horses and took off for Camberly with all speed.

They rode in silence for the first mile, then Marcus said, “How are we going about this? After all, we have to have some sort of plan.”

“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.