Rakehell's Widow (28 page)

From a hilltop south of the Thames, Alabeth looked
back at the sprawl of the capital, the greatest city in the world, but half-hidden now beneath a pall of cloud and mist. Ahead lay Blackheath and the open road, once the route of pilgrims on their way to the shrine at Canterbury, but now frequently the haunt of highwaymen, especially on days such as this, when only a few dared to travel, for there were long periods when the road was quiet enough
for them to do their evil work at leisure.

Piers continually scanned the countryside, and when he
shifted his position once, Alabeth saw that he carried a
pistol in readiness. A swift fear rose in her at this fresh
danger, but it was a danger which must be faced if they
were to reach Dover in time. She looked out at the horizon,
afraid all the time that she would see a break in the clouds, heralding the end of the storm, but the clouds were contin
uous, the rain lashing against the glass. The grays hung their heads low as they battled against a wind which was
more like a winter gale than a summer storm. The magnificent lacquerwork of the carriage was mud-stained, its color
barely distinguishable now, and the horses were foam flecked, their flanks steaming in the cold rush of wet air.

She huddled in a light-brown curricle cloak, beneath
which she wore an apple-green woolen gown. Apple-green
was perhaps not practical, but then what lady of fashion
possessed
practical
togs? Her bonnet lay discarded on the seat beside her, its pretty ribbons shaking to the motion of the carriage.

Ahead the road was a quagmire suddenly, a dip in the countryside catching the rain so that it lay in dangerously deceptive puddles which concealed the depth of the ruts
beneath. The coachman urged the carriage slowly forward,
the team planting their steps with care through the mire.
The carriage lurched alarmingly and immediately Piers reached out to steady Alabeth, his fingers warm and firm
around hers until the danger was past and the carriage was moving more easily again.

She wanted to cling to him, but knew that she must not.
He glanced at her and saw the emotion in her eyes. He misinterpreted it. “We will reach her in time,” he said gently
and with more conviction than he actually possessed.

“I pray you are right,” she whispered, looking out the
window again. She could hear the Count’s voice and see
his face, made ugly by the twist of fury on his lips. “I s
wear that I will make you regret having played games. B
efore I have finished, you will wish with all your heart
that you had accepted me.”

After several hours, the weary team drew the carriage up to a posting inn, Piers knowing that their progress would be even slower unless the horses were either changed or at le
ast rested. To her relief, there were fresh horses imm
ediately available, and after taking some mulled wine, they
were soon on their way again, the new team setting off at
a handsome pace through the rain.

At last they were in sight of Dover, and the break in the cl
ouds which she had been dreading was now visible on the dis
tant horizon, spreading minute by minute until the sun w
as streaming through, turning the patch of sea beneath to
deep turquoise blue amid the gray. She watched it, her
heart sinking, for already it was obvious that the storm was
abating; the wind was less fierce and there were no longer
rivulets of water streaming down the glass. How long would it be before the first ship set out for France?

Charles was dismayed too, sitting forward anxiously to
lower the glass and urge the tired coachman to make more
haste. The carriage began the descent into the old town, which nestled between steep chalk cliffs, on the northern one of which stood the proud old castle, facing resolutely out toward the coast of France, the hereditary enemy. The town crowded a sheltered gorge, the harbor and quay
protected by the cliffs from the worst of the weather. A
forest of masts and rigging swayed on the smooth water
beyond the rooftops, and Alabeth looked at them as the
carriage proceeded down the hill. Now that she was here,
she knew instinctively that Piers had been right—Jillian
was
here somewhere!

Suddenly the wheels were rattling on firm cobbles again
and the carriage moved much more easily. There were
people hurrying along the pavements, and as Charles had
left the glass lowered, they could hear all those sounds of a town which has just begun to emerge after a lengthy storm.
Sparrows cheeped on the roofs and some dogs barked, a
mother was scolding an excited child for jumping in an
inviting puddle, and street vendors were calling their
wares. High above, the patch of blue seemed to fill the sky now, and she could smell the perfume of mignonette from the pots in an open window as they passed.

For her those final minutes seemed like a lifetime. All
she could think of was finding Jillian, and she prayed that
she would be safe and well. So, when the carriage jerked to a sudden standstill because an ox cart blocked the way, she
could have wept with frustration. But had it not been for
that cart, she might never have glanced up at the window
of the small inn outside which they had halted, and she
might never have caught that brief, brief glimpse of
Jillian’s pale, tearstained face peeping out.

Alabeth’s heart almost stopped with shock, for the
glimpse had been so fleeting that she thought she must
have imagined it, but then the poor little face looked
unhappily out once more and she knew beyond a doubt that it was Jillian!

“She’s there, Piers,” she cried, pointing up. “I saw
her!”

He leaned forward immediately, following the angle of
her finger, but there was nothing in the window now. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said, “yes, I’m sure.”
He ordered the coachman to maneuver the carriage into t
he inn yard, and the hooves and wheels echoed beneath t
he low archway for a moment. The yard was ivy-clad and t
here was a gallery. A maid scuttled out, a bale of sheets c
lasped in her arms. She saw the carriage and hurried back inside again, calling to the innkeeper to hurry as there were g
entry waiting to be greeted. In a moment the innkeeper a
ppeared, hastily tying on a fresh apron and beaming all o
ver his round face as he gestured to a tardy ostler to open
the carriage doors.

Alabeth made to scramble swiftly down, but Piers
restrained her. “You must remain here for the moment.”

“But—”

“No, Alabeth, you stay here. Charles and I will find her.
”

“Please, Piers.”

“It will be far from pleasant if we find the Count with her
,
and I would prefer you to be spared anything like that.
Remain here and I will come for you.” Reluctantly she sat back, watching as he and Charles ali
ghted. The door was slammed and she heard them in
quiring of the startled innkeeper, who at first was unwill
ing to give any information concerning his guests, but who swiftly volunteered the necessary details at one cold glance
from Piers’ gray eyes.

The minutes seemed to trudge by as she waited. She toyed over and over again with the crumpled ribbons of
her bonnet, twisting them around her fingers and gazing
out all the while for sight of Piers.

He came at last, opening the carriage door and putting a
reassuring hand over hers. “She’s all right, Alabeth, a little
tearful but quite all right.”

She felt quite weak with relief. “He hasn’t—I mean
she’s—”

“He didn’t touch her.”

“Oh, thank God. He’s with her now?”

“No, he’s already gone to the quay. He had no intention of taking her with him, Alabeth. His intention was only to ruin her name, and this he believes he has done. Charles
and I are going after him now.”

Her eyes widened. “Please be careful.” She remembered
the pistol he was carrying.

Briefly his fingers brushed her cheek. “We will be care
ful.”

He helped her down as Charles emerged from the inn
his face very pale and his eyes glinting with a deadly
resolve. No one would be able to intervene this time should he find Count Adam Zaleski and corner him. He nodded
curtly at Piers. “Shall we go then, sir?”

Piers nodded, and in a moment they were in the
carriage, which was drawing back out into the busy street.
Alabeth stood in the courtyard, listening until the sound of
the carriage died away, and then she turned to the man who was waiting to escort her to Jillian.

Jillian was weeping inconsolably on the bed when Alabeth
entered the little room, but hearing the light step, she sat
up swiftly and then was running into her sister’s arms.
“Oh, Alabeth, Alabeth!”

Alabeth held her close, smoothing the tousled golden c
urls and whispering silly endearments. There were tears in
her own eyes, tears of relief and tears of love for this most exasperating of creatures.

At last Jillian recovered a little, sniffing as she searched for another handkerchief. Alabeth gave her her own. With
small smile, Jillian took it. “I d-don’t know wh-what to
say,” she said. “I f-feel so wretched and I’ve l-let you d
own so much.”

“But you’re all right, and that’s all that really matters.”

“I’m r-ruined, and we both know it. He l-laughed when h
e told m-me about the note he’d l-left at Brooks’s.”

Jillian’s eyes were a little haunted then, for the memory of
that dreadful moment was so very hurtful, so very devastating. “I th-thought he was perfect, I thought he w-was the rom
antic lover I’d b-been dreaming of. I really b-believed hi
m, Alabeth. I wouldn’t h-have gone with him unless I d
id. I wanted it to be l-like you and Robert, I wanted that m
ore than anything else in the world. B-but he only wanted to
r-ruin me, h-he just wanted r-revenge.”

“Oh, my poor darling.”

“I should have l-listened to you, Alabeth, for you
warned me about him.”

“I know how persuasive he could be,” said Alabeth,
leading Jillian gently to the bed, making her sit down, and
then she dipped a cloth into the bowl of cold water on the
table and dabbed Jillian’s tearstained face. “Don’t cry
anymore, for it’s over now and we’ll return to Town and
carry on as before.”

“I couldn’t, I couldn’t face them all.”

“If we are sensible, then everyone will believe the note to
have been a cruel hoax. You may not be ruined, my dearest, you must have hope of that. You don’t imagine Piers
or Charles will say anything, do you?”

A pathetic ray of hope sprang into Jillian’s anxious eyes
“D-do you really think we could carry it off?”

“We have nothing to lose and everything to gain by
trying.”

“I’ve been such a fool, haven’t I?”

“You’ve certainly been having a moment or two
recently.” Alabeth sat down next to her, taking her hands
and squeezing them. Outside, the sun was still shining and
she could hear doves cooing softly on the roof. In the distance the sea was sparkling and she wondered if Piers and
Charles had reached the quay yet, if they had found the Count. Oh, please, God, keep them safe, keep them safe.

Jillian glanced at her. “I really admired your love for
Robert, you know, I could not imagine ever settling for anything less. I thought about it all the time, dreaming romantic dreams and telling myself that I would be as
fortunate as you were.”

Alabeth lowered her eyes then. “Jillian, my life with Robert was not the wonderful dream it seemed to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that although we began our life together very much in love, it was not the same by the time he died in that duel. He was a rake through and through, Jillian, and
even though I think he still loved me, he continued to be
rake until the day he died.”

“Surely not—”

“I knew that he gambled recklessly, but I did not know
how recklessly. He almost lost Charterleigh. He also kept a
mistress.”

Jillian looked quite stunned. “Oh, Alabeth!”

“So, you see, you were admiring something which was quite different from the way it seemed.”

“I had no idea.”

“I didn’t exactly publish it all on a broadsheet.”

“But you’ve never hinted that anything was wrong. I
mean, ever since Robert died, you’ve been so loyal to his memory.”

“I know.”

“Why? Why didn’t you tell me how it really was?”

“At the time it seemed the only way to be, but now— Well, now it’s too late and the damage is done. In so many ways.”

Jillian looked shrewdly at her. “You’re talking about something else now, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

Alabeth stared at the window. “I remained loyal to
Robert after his death because I felt unbearably guilty.
Before he died, I had fallen in love with someone else,
someone I believed to have been as responsible for his
death as the man who opposed him in the duel.”