The Adventuress: HFTS5 (18 page)

“Mrs. Middleton will think of something to say,” said Rainbird impatiently. “Now, let’s work out our plan of battle….”

The earl collected his bride from the house in Park Lane late in the afternoon. He accepted her explanation that Mr. Goodenough had gone to lie down, and being too taken up with distress over his brother’s death, he failed to notice that Emily was unnaturally white and strained.

He went upstairs to change for dinner as soon as they arrived home—a process that took a whole hour, the earl finding it hard to master the intricacy of his cravats without the help of his valet. He then had to wait downstairs for his wife, Emily being still too shy to share a dressing room with him and having not yet moved her belongings into the back bedroom so that she might have a dressing room all to herself.

When they sat down to dinner, he talked about what he had learned of his brother’s funeral in Portugal. Emily noticed the strain and pain on his face and knew she was about to add to it. Percival Pardon would never keep that secret, of that she was sure. He would demand more and more money until she could not pay him further, and then he would talk.

Unaware that his bride was suffering the tortures of hell, the earl talked in a low voice about how good Harry had been when they had been boys together, before he, Harry, had turned out a wild, unmanageable rake.

By the time Alice and Jenny had cleared the covers and set down the port and walnuts, the earl finally noticed Emily’s pallor.

“You must not take my family tragedy to heart,” he said gently. “Harry’s death is a mercy in a way….”

“I must tell you something,” said Emily, gripping the edge of the table so that her knuckles stood out white.

Mr. Percival Pardon was feeling pleased with the world. The blackmailing of Emily gave him a heady sensation of power. That would teach the little slut to repel his advances.

He finished his toilet by sticking a diamond pin in his stock, took his hat and cane and descended the stairs, and then stood on the pavement looking for a hack, and thinking that he would soon be able to afford a private carriage once more.

A closed carriage drew up beside him, the burly red-haired driver up on the box swathed in a greatcoat and shawls.

“Do you want a carriage, master?” called the driver. Mr. Pardon hesitated. The driver’s accent had been Scotch, and although Mr. Pardon’s country home was on the Scottish borders, he was suspicious of every member of that disgustingly independent race. But the carriage was well set up and rather above the usual standard of hackney carriage.

“Take me to Brooks’s,” he said.

He opened the carriage door and climbed in. There were two men and a boy inside. He opened his mouth to shout and a handkerchief was roughly shoved into it. Hands seized him, ropes bound him, and then, spluttering behind his gag with outrage, he felt himself being thrust into a sack.

“No,” said the earl quietly, “I think what I have to tell you is more important.”

“But, Fleetwood …”

“You must let me speak. I have been plucking up my courage to tell you this since my visit to the War Office.”

“Go on,” said Emily, although she wanted to scream at him that she had just screwed
her
courage up to the sticking-place and felt she would fail to say anything if she had to wait much longer.

But the earl’s next words drove all thoughts of her own predicament out of her head.

“Harry killed Clarissa,” said the earl flatly.

Emily looked at him in wonder. “I fear I cannot have heard you aright.

Did you say …?

“Yes. My brother killed my wife.”

“But
why?”

He sighed. “How can I even begin to describe Clarissa to you? Clarissa was very beautiful, very witty, very amusing. I was head over heels in love with her. But that love lasted only a few months after our marriage. She was a flirt. She demanded, not only all the attention, but was never happy unless she had some man desperately in love with her, ready to die for her. She had that power. Only I seemed to know her for what she was, callous and vain and greedy.

“She tormented one man and then another. In an attempt to remedy matters, I took her out of society, took her to my country estate, and told her she would never see London again until she learned to behave herself. I did not entertain. I knew the marriage was a failure and should have put an end to it, but my wretched pride kept telling me that I had made my marriage vows and must not break them. Then Harry came on a visit. He had to rusticate, he said, for the duns were after him. Harry was wild and heedless. But he was my brother and I thought even Clarissa would leave my brother alone.

“For a time, that appeared to be the case. They did not even seem to like each other. Harry began to become haggard and ill. I suggested we call a physician because I was becoming alarmed about him. He said I should not trouble my head over him because he was such a wastrel, he was not worth anyone’s concern.

“I had ceased to have marital relations with my wife. I did not know, therefore, that she had been having an affair with my brother. They were so discreet, so circumspect, that even those gossipy servants of mine did not find out.

“But Clarissa began to tire of him, as she tired of all men once she had them firmly under her spell. She met him in the wood near my home and there told him she was finished with him. He refused to believe it. She had been promising to run off with him. She taunted him, saying he was only half a man and not good enough to keep such as herself amused. He raised the handle of his riding crop and threatened her. He was drunk, for guilt had made him come to drink too hard and too deep. He said he would strike her. She laughed and laughed and dared him to even try. He was mad with rage and grief and he struck her and struck her.”

The earl fell silent. “And then?” prompted Emily shakily.

“I did not know any of this at the time. I thought she had been having an affair with one of the gamekeepers or one of the servants. At other times, I thought some vagrant had been wandering on the estate and had murdered her for her jewellery and had then panicked and fled without taking the jewels she wore.

“The day before her funeral Harry left without even waiting to say goodbye. I began to have an uneasy feeling about him, about his leaving so abruptly. I learned he had bought a captaincy in a regiment. That was odd because Harry always swore that men who went to fight were fools. He never wrote to me, but I heard of him from time to time, and last year one of his brother officers, home on leave, told me he had set sail for Portugal with Wellington’s troops.”

“How did you find out he committed the murder?” whispered Emily.

“The idiot left a sealed letter for me to be opened after his death. It is a miracle his commanding officer did not read it. I told my sister this day of what Harry had done. Now I have told you. I felt there should be no secrets between us.”

“Oh, Fleetwood, you must be feeling wretched!”

“No, not really,” said the earl with a sudden smile. “You see, I think I had come to know Harry had killed Clarissa. And Harry and I had grown very estranged, even before Clarissa’s death. He was always in trouble. I must tell you the truth, and the truth is that the news of my brother’s death has come as a blessed relief. Can you understand that?”

“I think so,” said Emily.

“I must observe a certain period of mourning, nonetheless, but there is no reason for this tragedy to cast a shadow over our marriage.”

Emily, head bowed, fiddled with her glass. “Now what have you to tell me?” he asked gently. “It can be nothing like as horrible as what I have just told you.”

Emily looked up. She was almost inclined to lie so that she might make love with him, just one more night.

That autocratic, handsome face of his had become infinitely dear. But she knew if she did not tell him that evening, she might never find the courage again.

“I am being blackmailed,” she said in a thin little voice.

“The deuce you are! Whom by? And why?”

“You are going to despise me, Fleetwood, but listen to me patiently and try to understand.” Unable to look at him any longer, Emily addressed her wineglass.

In a tired, flat voice she told him everything, from her days as a chambermaid to her ambition to be a countess, from Rainbird’s forgery to Percival Pardon’s blackmail.

The earl looked as if a shutter had come down over his face. He watched her grimly as she fiddled with her glass and thought he could cheerfully kill her as poor Harry had killed Clarissa.

“I would have told you anyway,” sighed Emily. “Even if I had not fallen so deeply in love with you, I would have told you, Fleetwood. That silly scullery maid was duped into stealing because she thought it would be a grand thing to marry a first footman. But at least she wasn’t in love with him—or I am sure she was not. I will see lawyers and have you released from this marriage. I will—”

“Did you say you loved me?” interrupted the earl.

“Oh, yes, Fleetwood,” said Emily miserably. “Very much.”

“And you were a chambermaid?”

“Yes. And today I looked at your papers and came across a draft of that book, the one about the chambermaid, Emilia. Even if Pardon had not tried to blackmail me, that book alone would have forced me to tell you the truth. I know you despise servants.”

“My darling,” he said. “Do please look at me.”

Emily raised her eyes.

He was regarding her with a mixture of tenderness, love, and exasperation.

“I could have strangled you when you said you wanted to be a countess. When you said you loved me, the sun shone once more on the dull landscape of my life.”

“But I was a servant!” cried Emily.

“And now you are a countess,” he said, beginning to laugh. “You wretched little liar, come and kiss me.”

He stood up to meet her as she flew round the table and caught her up in his arms.

He bent his mouth to hers, but before he could kiss her, a terrified scream of “Help!” came up from the bowels of the house like the voice of a soul crying out in hell.

“Curst servants,” said the earl heartlessly, forgetting for the moment that he held an ex-member of that class in his arms.

“What a terrible cry,” said Emily. “Oh, please find out what is going on.”

“We will both descend to the lower regions, find out, and then go to bed,” he said.

Putting his arm round his wife’s waist, he led her down the back stairs.

As they approached the door to the servants’ hall, they could not hear a sound. “Perhaps we imagined it,” said Emily hopefully.

“Our hearts may beat as one, but not our imaginations,” he said.

He pushed open the door. Emily peered over his arm.

Mr. Percival Pardon was bound to a chair. He was in an abject state of terror. The servants were standing round him. Mr. Pardon rolled frightened eyes in the earl’s direction. “Fleetwood! Thank God. You must remember me. Pardon. Percival Pardon. We met some years ago at the Dunsters,” he said. “They are going to torture me. The red-haired one has gone to heat the poker on the kitchen fire.”

“What an excellent idea,” said the earl. “Come, my dear, and leave these good servants to their evening’s fun and games.”

“May I explain, my lord?” began Rainbird.

“Do not trouble,” said the earl airily. “I am sure you have a perfectly reasonable explanation.

“Help me,” bleated Mr. Pardon, tears standing out in his eyes.

“Fleetwood,” said Emily desperately. “You must do something.”

“Very well,” said the earl, folding his arms. “You may proceed with your explanation, Rainbird.”

Rainbird looked anxiously at Emily.

“He knows, Rainbird,” said Emily.

“We weren’t really going to torture him,” said Rainbird. “Mr. Pardon here was blackmailing my lady and Mr. Goodenough to the tune of ten thousand pounds. He threatened to tell you my lady had once been a servant.”

“And is this true, Pardon?”

“It is! It is!” cried Mr. Pardon. “But it was only my fun. I did not mean any harm. Let me go, Fleetwood, and I will never say a word.”

“No, you won’t,” said the earl, “or your miserable life will not be worth living. Untie him, Rainbird.”

Angus came in at that moment brandishing the poker, which looked as cold as indeed it was, the cook not having the heart actually to wave a red-hot poker over his victim in case he inadvertently burnt him.

He immediately started to poke the fire in the servants’ hall, as if that was what he had meant to do all along.

As Mr. Pardon was untied and helped to his feet, the earl said, “I do not think I want to see your face in London for some time, Pardon. Make sure you leave Town by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

Mr. Pardon babbled his thanks and stumbled out into the night by way of the area steps.