A Simple Lady (28 page)

But then irrationality was not supposed to make sense, Elizabeth reminded herself, sighing as she turned away from the window and lowered herself onto her cot. Still, she couldn’t stop speculating about what Gerald would do next. What lies would he tell Mary when he returned alone? Did he also pose a threat to her mother-in-law? And Jeremy—did Gerald intend to harm him too?

Elizabeth sat up straight on her cot. Of course. That must be the answer. Gerald planned to step into Jeremy’s shoes, but did not wish to have Jeremy’s widow as an unwanted responsibility when that time came. She recalled the attack on the bailiff and the fires at Oak Groves. That these incidents were part of a plot to end Jeremy’s life now seemed obvious. But Jeremy must not die. She would not want to live if Jeremy died.

Elizabeth jumped up and dashed to the window. Although closely spaced bars covered the square opening, the glass had been removed for the summer months, and there was nothing to prevent her voice from carrying to the street below. Elizabeth prayed she could make someone hear her. She had to get word to Jeremy. He must be warned that his cousin wanted him dead.

There was just enough light for Elizabeth to see the street below and determine whether anyone was walking in front of the house. At the moment there was not, and so she bided her time and conserved her voice.

Perhaps five minutes passed before Elizabeth saw a couple strolling by. There was little doubt that the two were lovers, for the young man’s left arm was resting on his lady’s shoulders and her right arm was wrapped firmly about his waist. They were looking into each other’s eyes as they walked, perhaps murmuring soft words of affection, and Elizabeth nearly reeled as their closeness brought home to her the near unendurable agony of her own aloneness.

But this was no time to indulge in self-pity. She took a deep breath and then called out, at the top of her lungs, “You there, the couple on the street below me. Stop, for I need to tell you something of an urgent nature.”

The couple paused, obviously surprised as they jumped apart and then looked up at the window from which Elizabeth’s cry had sounded.

“You must go to Kenrick House,” she called. “Tell the Marquess of Kenrick that I am here, and also warn him that his life is in danger. Tell him his cousin plans to kill him. I promise that you will be amply rewarded for your trouble.”

It was only a matter of seconds before the man’s scoffing words reached Elizabeth’s ears. “A looby house,” he was explaining to his lady friend. Then, grinning, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called back to Elizabeth: “Sure, lady, and while we’re at it, we’ll just pop by Carlton House to tell the Prince of Wales that he needs to watch out for hisself too.” Then, as their laughter floated back to Elizabeth, the couple, again entwined in each other’s arms, continued on their way.

She should have expected such a reception to her words, Elizabeth realized, but she was no less disappointed. Her shoulders slumped as she turned away from the window. It was growing too dark now to see if anyone walked on the street below, and she didn’t want to waste her voice or her strength by yelling unless she was positive she could be heard. In any case, such actions, she realized, would surely provide her jailor, should he be listening, with proof that her mind was indeed disordered.

Elizabeth once more lowered herself onto the cot while she struggled to retain her optimism. Tomorrow morning she would try again. Surely someone would listen. Surely someone would go to Kenrick House to warn Jeremy and perhaps even lead him back here to rescue her. Yes, she would find someone on the street who would listen to her and she would be rescued.

Elizabeth was feeling almost cheerful again when she heard the bolt being drawn back outside her chamber. She sat up quickly, staring at the slowly opening door, dread hastily replacing her momentary optimism. But the Horrible Horace, as she had mentally nicknamed her jailor, was not returning. Instead, two young women, both as wide-eyed as Elizabeth herself, slipped into the room. One, equipped with a large cudgel and a lighted candle stub, scooted a chamber pot through the door with her foot, keeping her eyes trained on Elizabeth the entire time. The second female, who carried a tray holding a wooden bowl and a slab of bread, slowly edged into the room, keeping her back to the wall.

“We’ve brung yer supper, lady,” the cudgel-bearer said, her voice trembling a bit from her fright. “Now don’t ye try nothin’. I’ll brain ye if ye do. We heard ye hollering at them people on the street. Ye had best hush or Horace’ll come and board up yer window. Ye behave yerself or it’ll be the worse fer ye. Janie, set that tray down on the table and let’s get out of here. I think this un’s dangerous.”

“Wait, please,” Elizabeth cried, jumping to her feet. But her action obviously terrified both girls. Janie plopped the tray on the floor and nearly backed over her companion in her haste to exit the room.

Elizabeth sighed, even as she admitted to herself that her actions were not helping her cause. She must be careful to appear calm or she would succeed only in convincing everyone that she was indeed insane. Perhaps, however, if she managed to appear coherent and composed…

But no. It was time to be realistic. Elizabeth knew from past experiences that if one were perceived as simpleminded or deranged, the chances of changing that impression were practically nil.             

On the other hand, she’d convinced first Mary and then Jeremy that she was not simpleminded. Perhaps, if she was very careful and very clever, she could eventually convince one of those poor girls that she was sane and then enlist her help.

Determined not to give up, Elizabeth groped her way across the room and, by feeling about in the floor, eventually located her tray. She was just wondering if she could feed herself in the dark when the room suddenly brightened. Rays of the full moon had begun to filter through the branches of the oak outside Elizabeth’s window, and she realized, with a surge of gratitude, that she could now see the outlines of her furniture.

Sitting at her table with her tray before her, Elizabeth forced herself to eat her evening meal, which consisted of watery soup and stale bread. She was not hungry, and even had she been, she could not have enjoyed such unappetizing food, but she knew she must keep her strength up if she was to have any hope of eventually freeing herself.

And hope, she knew, was more essential now than even the food that would help her retain her physical strength. Without hope to fight off despair, it would be too easy to lie down on that cot and allow her mind to slip away, to hide forever from the ugliness of reality.

When she had finally forced down the last crumb of bread and the last sip of soup, she went back to the window and stood staring up at the brightly lit evening sky. A mild breeze ruffled the oak leaves, reminding Elizabeth of the forest at Oak Groves and of the joyful mornings she and her husband had spent there playing with Apollo and Billy.

Would she ever see her summer companions again? She already missed Billy and Apollo, but she knew Mary would take care of them.

But what of Jeremy? Mary could not protect her son. She didn’t even know he was in danger. Perhaps he already lay dead beside the road leading from Oak Groves. Perhaps Gerald had used the story of her disappearance to lure Jeremy into a hurried journey toward the city with an ambush awaiting him around some darkened bend. Had Jeremy’s willingness to marry her already led, indirectly, to his death? Elizabeth barely managed to stifle the scream that threatened to tear through her throat. Control, that most elusive of virtues in her present circumstances, was slipping away from her.

Clutching the bars of her prison, Elizabeth forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly for long moments until the overpowering desire to shriek had faded. It had been a feat of will—holding back that scream—and the effort had weakened her. When she at last released her cramping hands from the metal bars, her legs would no longer support her and she slipped silently into the floor where she lay, allowing the tears to roll off her face and disappear forever into the parched wooden floorboards.

Jeremy was dead, and she was dead. There was no other explanation, Elizabeth concluded, to account for the fact that Jeremy was cradling her in his arms, whispering his love to her, begging her to awaken.

Unless she was dreaming.

She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy and too swollen. How long had she cried, she wondered, before she had finally drifted off to sleep? And how long could she go on reveling in this wonderful and impossible dream before the reality of wakefulness intruded?

“I must get her to a doctor,” Jeremy was saying to someone, his tone frantic, his voice cracking.

“Take ’er ’ome, if ye wants my advice, gov’ner,” a much younger and calmer voice replied. “She jest needs to be back where she feels safe.”

“Yes, home,” another little voice agreed, even as a small hand smelling faintly of onions patted her gently upon the cheek.

Elizabeth recognized that odor. She had smelled it too often on Billy to mistake it now. But Billy could not talk. Could he?

Elizabeth forced her eyes open at last. Morning light now poured through her small window, and she blinked as the brightness bombarded her. Several seconds elapsed before she could keep her eyes open long enough to see where she was and to determine what was happening to her. At last she deduced that she was on her cot, but now she was being cradled in her husband’s arms. Jeremy had snuggled her into his lap and was holding her fiercely against his chest, while Billy and Johnny stood on either side, watching her with concern and affection written clearly in their eyes.

Despite the miracle of Billy’s speech, Elizabeth found her interest claimed solely by her husband. Never would she have expected to see such joyous relief in his eyes as when she looked up at him and smiled. Nor would she have dreamt of finding so much love for her reflected in his gaze.

“Yes,” she said, lifting a hand to very gently caress the lines furrowing Jeremy’s forehead while she echoed Billy’s words. “Yes, home.” Then, more softly, “My love.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

After a somewhat less than subtle suggestion that Billy and Johnny might enjoy riding on the box with the coachman, Jeremy carefully assisted a now fully awake and joyous Elizabeth into the carriage and sat down beside her, pulling her close into his embrace.

Elizabeth happily snuggled against her husband’s chest, but she was much too excited to keep her questions to herself. “How did you find me?” she demanded as soon as the carriage had begun to move through the city streets.

“You can thank Billy for that. He apparently did not trust Gerald and so followed his curricle when the two of you left together. He saw where you went, and he saw Gerald leave alone, but he did not know how to tell anyone except his friend, Johnny. It took some time for Billy to locate Johnny and for the two of them to return to Kenrick House. Then Billy could not recall the exact location of the house where Gerald had left you, but, fortunately, Johnny is unusually familiar with this city and from Billy’s description was able to tell me where to go. I regret taking so long to rescue you, my love. On the other hand, without Billy’s and his friend’s assistance, it could have taken me days or even weeks to find you. I can never repay either of those boys for what they have done, but I shall certainly try. Both will have a place with us for as long as they want.”

“Mmmm,” Elizabeth responded, happily snuggling more deeply into her husband’s embrace. Then she quickly pulled away to look up into his face. “Jeremy. I have been terribly worried about you. I fear that Gerald plans to kill you for the title. Should you not—?”

“Hush, my love,” Jeremy said, gently placing his index finger across her lips. “You must not worry about me. I, too, have suspected that Gerald wishes me dead, and I’ll be paying him a visit as soon as I have returned you to Kenrick House. By the way, have I ever told you how very lovely you are?”

Elizabeth had intended to continue cautioning Jeremy, despite his obvious attempt to change the subject, but she found it impossible to do while his lips were covering hers. A few seconds later, she had forgotten her desires to warn him because other much more pleasurable desires were commanding all of her attention.

Lost in the joy of her husband’s deepening kisses, Elizabeth’s next conscious realization was that they had arrived at Kenrick House and that she had squandered her chances to dissuade Jeremy from going in search of Gerald. Determined to try at least one more time, she opened her mouth, only to find Jeremy again pressing a finger gently against her lips.

“Don’t try to stop me, my dearest. This is something I have to do. But first, I’ll escort you inside. Mother will be delighted at your safe return.”

“But Jeremy—”

“My lady!” Larkman was hurrying down the steps and reaching with eager hands to help Elizabeth descend from the carriage. “We are all so thankful to have you safely returned to us.”

But the butler’s delighted smile was quickly transformed to a concerned frown when he turned to Kenrick. “My lord, if I might have a moment of your time?”

“Certainly,” Jeremy replied. “I am at your disposal as soon as I place Elizabeth into the care of my mother. Where is the dowager marchioness, Larkman?”

Larkman did not reply at once. Then, with a sigh: “That is just it, my lord. Her ladyship has gone out.”

“Out where?” Kenrick asked on a deep frown.

“I cannot say for certain, your lordship, but I fear she has gone to confront Master Gerald.”

Kenrick did not question how his butler knew there was reason for a confrontation between his mother and cousin. He had learned long ago that servants were always conversant with a household’s affairs.

“Dash it all,” he muttered beneath his breath. “Larkman, there is a set of dueling pistols in my desk drawer in the library. Please ask one of the footmen to bring them to me.”

“I’ll fetch them for you myself, your lordship,” Larkman said. “Her ladyship took both of the footmen with her.”