Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (37 page)

“It’s none of your business!” she retorted, but her eyes instinctively darted to the mantel where she had placed the small embroidered bag after entering the library.

Perceptive as ever, he intercepted her glance and marched straight over to the fireplace to pick the bag up, undoing the little clasp and turning it upside down to shake the contents out over the Aubusson rug in front of the hearth.

“How dare you!” she cried in outrage, running across the room and bending down to retrieve her small personal possessions, which she scooped back into the bag that he had also dropped on the rug. His sudden silence alerted her to danger, and she looked up from her crouched position to see him standing menacingly over her, holding a small green leather case in his hand. Spilling out of it over his fingers was a rosary, its amber beads joined by delicate silver links. The crucifix swung gently to and fro, gleaming in the firelight.

Beth straightened up very slowly, her reticule lying forgotten on the floor.

“A mo niggan loo-a...”
Richard read haltingly the words embroidered on the silk-covered leather. “What the hell language is this?”

“
A mo nighean luaidh,”
Beth repeated fluently. “It’s Gaelic.”

“What does it mean?”

“It says, ‘to my darling daughter,’” Beth answered, watching with satisfaction as his eyes widened with shock. He opened his mouth soundlessly then closed it again, and Beth took the chance to snatch the beads from his hand while he was off guard. In doing so the case was also dislodged from his fingers and she caught it neatly in mid air as it fell, pouring the rosary back into it and buttoning it closed.

“Are you trying to tell me you’re a bloody papist?” Richard gasped.

“I’m not trying to tell you anything at all,” she replied coolly.

“Then what the hell are you doing carrying a rosary around with you?” He didn’t seem to notice that she had not answered his question. She weighed up her chances of escape, but he was between her and the door. Beth resigned herself to giving him an explanation of sorts.

“They were my grandmother’s,” she said. “She gave them to my mother on her confirmation, and when she knew she was dying, she gave them to me.” They were the only physical reminder she had of her mother, and were her greatest treasure, but she was not about to tell him that.

“And has it not occurred to you that carrying papist prayer beads in a case covered with Gaelic around in public, may be just a little dangerous?” He spoke slowly as though to a child, but his voice trembled with rage. He had a point there, but she was not about to concede it to him.

“No one knows about them,” she countered.

“How do you think
I
knew about them?” his voice rose in volume, and without waiting for an answer, he continued. “I saw them trailing out of your reticule when you were at the haberdashers!”

She remembered now, just a couple of beads had made their way out of the corner of the case as the bag had sprung open. But she had pushed them quickly back into the case, and no one else had noticed. Except him. None of her companions would have been able to identify them as a rosary anyway just from that glimpse, and judging by the look on his face a few moments ago, neither had he.

“I remember that,” she said. “Nobody else saw them at all, and even you with your hawk’s eyes didn’t know it was a rosary until just now, did you? You thought a secret admirer had bought me some jewellery, someone who might interfere with your ridiculous plans to marry me off to a crusty old general who would further your career.”

“My career and your hopes for any marriage at all will be in ruins if anyone sees those, to say nothing of our lives,” he cried dramatically, gesticulating wildly at the hand still holding the offending item. “You might as well sew a white cockade on your hat and declare for the Pretender now, you stupid bitch!” His face was red, his fists clenched, and she swallowed back her retort that she had no intention of marrying anyone of his choosing and couldn’t give a damn about his career. She had come to know him well in the last months; he was close to violence and it would be unwise to provoke him any further.

“I know you avoid being alone with me,” he continued. “But as we are alone now I will tell you this. I am not at all satisfied with your conduct at present.”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“Don’t think I haven’t heard the story Lord Daniel put around about your mother. You told him what she was, didn’t you? How could you be so stupid! Or was it perhaps deliberate?”

“What are you talking about?” she replied angrily. “Of course it wasn’t deliberate. I was stupid, that I will admit. I should not have trusted him. I assure you, I will never trust or confide in anyone again.”

“Are you sure of that?” he asked. “I am not so sure this is not just a ploy to avoid having to marry anyone at all. Don’t think I’m taken in by that preposterous suggestion that your crony Caroline has put around that the duke of Cumberland has his eye on you. Beautiful as you are, the prince is hardly going to ask
you
to marry him. And if you continue to publicise your Catholic connections, no one will! I’ll tell you this. If you think I will wait for seven years while you hide behind Edward and avoid marrying anybody, you are sorely mistaken.”

“I am not hiding behind anyone,” Beth said, enraged, “least of all that pompous idiot Edward. If you are talking about Daniel, you know full well why I didn’t marry him. If I had, my dowry would have been swallowed up by his debt. You would certainly not have got your precious cornet’s commission from him!”

“I am not talking about Lord Daniel. But you have had sixteen marriage proposals in the last four months, Be...Elizabeth, and you’ve said no to all of them.”

“You’ve actually been counting?” she said, incredulous.

“Of course I have! It’s in my interests to see you well married. But you must admit I have not interfered, or tried to get you to accept anyone against your will.”

“Huh!” said Beth. “Only because none of them suited your purposes. Or Edward’s, for that matter. I promised you I will marry if I find someone suitable, and I will.”

“Yes, but you are doing your level best to make sure nobody suitable asks you, aren’t you, flaunting the fact that your mother was a bloody Highland savage!”

“Be careful what you say, Richard,” she said, her voice suddenly low and threatening. “I will tolerate a lot from you for the sake of our bargain, but do not push me too far.”

“That is the problem, I think,” he declared haughtily. “I have not pushed you at all since we came to London. But it is high time you found a husband, Beth, and if you do not do so soon, Edward and I will find one for you.”

Beth had started to bend down to retrieve her reticule from the carpet, but at these words she stood up again.

“You already have someone in mind, don’t you?” she said. “Who is it?”

“Lord Redburn is very well connected, and is actively seeking a wife.”

“Lord Redburn!” she shrieked. “That decrepit drunken old fool! I would rather shoot myself than marry him!”

“Then you had better find a suitable husband before Lord Redburn throws his next party in two months, or resign yourself to him. Otherwise you will find yourself out on the streets, you and your precious servants. I will not support you indefinitely, and neither will Edward.” Richard’s face was puce with anger, and the muscle jumped in his cheek.

“That’s twice in a matter of weeks that you have used the servants to threaten me, Richard,” she raged. “If you do it again, I swear to God that the next time I meet the king, I will declare for the Pope and King James and stab the stupid old fool through the heart myself! Then we’ll see how your precious military career goes!”

He stared at her. She was serious. She had gone mad. No, she was calling his bluff, that was all. Wild and stupid as she could be, she was no Jacobite. Even if she was, she would never attempt such a suicidal act. Would she? To his horror, he realised that he was not absolutely certain
what
she would do if pushed too far. He had no doubt that she would have castrated him if he had tried to disarm her that night in Manchester.

He fought down the impulse to strangle her on the spot, and cleared his throat.

“I would suggest then,” he said, controlling himself with difficulty, “that you make yourself more amenable to prospective suitors, and find a husband within the next two months.”

“Very well, you are right,” she said through gritted teeth, which diminished the conciliatory effect of her words somewhat. “I will not carry the rosary beads around with me any more. I will secrete them in my room where they will be safe from discovery. Does that satisfy you?”

He didn’t answer, and taking his silence for acquiescence she bent down to retrieve her reticule from the rug.

In a flash his fingers had entwined in her hair, pulling her back to her feet, and with his other hand he snatched the precious leather case from her grasp before she had time to react. She swung her fist at his face, but he ducked his head back so the intended blow barely grazed his cheek. Still holding her hair in his fist, he pulled her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

“No,” he growled. “That does not satisfy me.” And with one flick of his wrist he sent the leather case spinning into the back of the fire which burned merrily in the hearth.

“No!” she screamed in anguish, fighting for release, heedless of the pain of her scalp as she pulled against his grip in a desperate attempt to retrieve the case from the flames. He wrapped his free arm around her, pinioning her flailing arms to her side.

“Ahem!” came the theatrical cough from the doorway, seconds before the cloying scent of violets assailed the nostrils of the struggling siblings. Richard spun round, still holding Beth, who had not noticed the intruder, so intent was she on trying to escape.

Sir Anthony minced into the room, resplendent in peacock blue coat and breeches and cerise silk waistcoat.

“I do hope I’m not disturbing anything,” he said. “I decided to go for a short walk to assist the digestion of the excellent meal. Only it is so excruciatingly cold out of doors and I simply had to get warm before I could take another step. I declare I would have fainted away otherwise.”

“I am having a private discussion with my sister, sir,” said Richard icily, releasing his grip on Beth’s hair, although he kept a firm hold on her arm. She had ceased to struggle, recognising even through her anguish that the discovery that she owned a rosary by a man who was not only one of the king’s friends, but was also indiscreet enough to regale the whole of society with his find, was extremely risky to both of them. In spite of her dramatic threat of a moment ago, in reality she had no wish for her religious views to be revealed to the world.

“Carry on, my dears,” Sir Anthony said, waving a gloved hand airily about as he made his way to the fire. “Don’t take any notice of me.” He stood with his back to the flames, absorbing all their heat. He obviously had the sensitivity of a carthorse, and was not going take the hint and leave Richard and Beth alone.

Richard sighed, and retaining his firm grasp on Beth’s arm, dragged her from the library.

“Close the door behind you, dear boy, if you don’t mind,” Sir Anthony called cheerily from the fireplace.

Once outside the room, Beth glanced around once to make sure no one was observing them, then rounded on her brother, tears of rage and misery sparkling in her eyes.

“I will never forgive you for this,” she hissed at him.

“
You
will never forgive
me
?” he retaliated. “You had better pray, sister, that your precious memento has melted beyond recognition in the fire, and that that empty-headed nincompoop doesn’t find it. If he does, you will beg me for forgiveness before I’ve finished with you.”

He stalked off, leaving her standing by the library door. She dared not go back in to retrieve her precious beads. All she could do was to wait and return later when Sir Anthony was gone. Maybe some of the amber would survive the fire, at least.

She went to her room and paced up and down impatiently for an hour, by which time she assumed Sir Anthony would surely have warmed himself and left the library. The man was a butterfly; he was sure to have gone off in search of company and gossip by now.

The library door was closed when she returned, and she opened it carefully. To her consternation Sir Anthony was still in the room, seated by the dying fire, a book on his knee. He was gazing vacantly into the embers, but looked up as she tried to retire unnoticed.

“Ah, it is the delightful Elizabeth! Come in, come in! You left your reticule here, you know. Clarissa was kind enough to offer to return it to you. Although perhaps you would rather I had thrown it away.” He gestured to the chair opposite him, but Beth did not take up his offer of a seat, although she did move further into the room, thinking it would be highly suspicious were she to flee.

“No, I would not be so ungrateful as to throw it away. It was a gift, after all,” she replied.

“You are too kind, my dear, but I assure you I will not be offended if you pass it on to someone who would derive more pleasure from it than you have.” He paused for a moment. “I presume you have finished your discussion with your brother, then?” His dark blue eyes were innocent and friendly in his painted and rouged face.

“Er...yes, thank you. We were having a little disagreement, but it has been resolved now.” She moved a little closer to the fire, trying to peer into its depths surreptitiously. She couldn’t see any sign of the remains of her rosary, but there was a lot of ash on the hearthstone under the grate. Perhaps it was there.

“Are you cold? Come, come a little closer, warm yourself.” He placed his book on the table and started to stand, obviously intending to usher her into a seat. She backed off hurriedly.

“No, I’m not cold,” she said, trying to come up with an explanation as to why she’d returned. In a moment of inspiration she seized on her previous reason for entering the library, which had been completely forgotten following the altercation with her brother. “I came to get a book. I have been told that Pamela by Samuel Richardson is a most interesting story.”