The Purloined Papers (15 page)

“Liar. Everyone stares at me and whispers behind their fans. It’s bad enough for an hour in the village, but I can’t endure it day and night for a week.”

Andrew’s fist slammed into the fireplace surround. “Do you honestly believe anyone cares a fig for a few scars?  You should be grateful to be alive.”

“Alive?  This isn’t living,” Laura cried. “Locked away in this godforsaken place, with nothing to do day after day, week after week. Laughed at and ridiculed wherever I go. Cut by fools who—”

“You live here by choice. As for the scars, people notice them only because your veils and your behavior draw attention to them. Plenty of people are marked by misfortune, yet most live normal lives.”

“But they were unimportant to begin with, so nobody cares. My scars are a great tragedy, and everyone knows it.
Poor Laura. She used to be so beautiful
.”  Her voice cracked.

“I can’t imagine anyone saying that,” said Andrew stoutly.

“How would you know?” she demanded. “You disappear for years, reveling in glamour and adventure without sparing a thought for those you left behind. How can you possibly understand the pain I’ve suffered?”

Andrew’s voice grew dangerous. “Glamour?  Adventure?  You are missing more than a few bricks if you believe that. War is sordid at best and a nightmare the rest of the time.”

“But you can travel and seek excitement. I am imprisoned.”

“It is true that following the drum offers a host of new experiences. Like being packed so tightly into a ship’s hold that the smell of unwashed bodies makes it impossible to keep food down. Or being billeted in peasant huts for months on end.”

“Huts!”

“I don’t mean to brag, but officers enjoy the best accommodations. My men sleep in tents and sometimes in the open. Then there is the adventure of being shot. Of course, you managed that without leaving England.”

“That’s not adventure. It ruined my life.”

“Ruined your life?  What ruined you is your own stubborn arrogance. If you’d listened to the doctor instead of fleeing only two days after your injury, you would have sustained only a mild blemish. It’s your own fault the wound festered. I’m sorry for it, but that was two years ago.”

“Right!” choked Laura. “Two years of stares and pity. Two years without society, without parties, without seeing anyone but servants and merchants and that annoying Mrs. Tubbs. The pain is worse every day.”

“That’s not pain. That is cowardice and self-pity. Pain is watching friends torn to pieces by cannonballs. Pain is marching three days through blinding heat without food or water. Pain is the agony Kevin suffered because you drove him to a life that killed him. There is nothing adventurous about the military, Laura – long marches in stifling heat or biting cold, setting up camp in pouring rain and a foot of mud, sharing space with a dozen others.”

“Quit exaggerating. You’ve traveled the world.”

“The world is a dirty place, Laura. And the parts of it I’ve seen have all been at war. You would have hated it – mean accommodations, wearing the same clothes day and night for months on end, constant irritation from boils and insects and festering cuts. Dinner is usually a mess of pottage, with a few shreds of meat if we are lucky. Kevin would have gone mad having to face that for years on end. He nearly went mad as it was, for he wasn’t lucky enough to expire poetically.”  His voice rolled over her protest. “He endured three days of agony before it was over. The surgeons tried to save him, removing an arm and a leg. That inflicted more pain, for they didn’t have brandy to dull the feel of knives slicing into flesh and saws cutting through bone. It was his only chance of survival, so he endured it. But in the end, it was hopeless.”

“Why should I care?” demanded Laura. “He chose to leave, then chose to mutilate himself. He’s better off dead. Who wants to live as a cripple?”

Chloe gripped a table to keep from clawing at Laura’s throat. Thank God she could leave soon. Laura’s callousness turned her stomach.

“Heartless as ever,” said Andrew with a sigh. “How I wish you had been at Waterloo. Seeing men insane from pain, delirious from fever, or black from blood poisoning might have knocked some sense into you. Or perhaps not. You care only for your own aggrieved self. It means nothing to you that I nearly lost my leg only ten weeks ago. If I’d been unconscious when the doctor reached me, it would be gone.”

Chloe swallowed tears, both for Kevin and for Andrew. She’d had no idea war was so cruel. Death she understood, but she’d never considered the many awful ways one could achieve it.

Laura threw herself onto a chair, sending it screeching across the flagstone floor. “What difference does it make now?” she demanded. “You recovered and can go your merry way. I’m marred for life.”

“As am I and many others,” he snapped. “My leg still hurts, and will likely do so forever. But unlike you, I don’t waste time wallowing in self-pity.”

“Wallowing!  Why, you pigheaded, arrogant—”

“Wallowing,” he confirmed, ignoring her outburst. “What else have you been doing for the past two years?  Even worse, you use your self-inflicted misery to justify hurting others. Does that really make you feel better?”

“You have no idea what I’ve endured!” she screamed.

“Nor do you.”

“How dare you lecture me after ignoring us for years?  You know nothing about society. Only the perfect are acceptable. Now that I’m scarred, people hate me. Even the family tries to make me miserable.”

“No one is plotting against you,” snapped Andrew. “And you are the only person I know who dismisses people for imperfect appearance.”

“Hah!”

“Truth, Laura. I’ve met most of the members of society at one time or another, for I was often in London before the Peninsular campaign. They turned their backs on your behavior, not your appearance. This entire situation is of your own making. You spread scurrilous tales about your rivals. You arranged an assignation with the worst scoundrel in England. You fled London without even a maid, then didn’t turn up in Devonshire for two full weeks – that scandal alone banished you from polite drawing rooms. Then you begged and pleaded and threatened until William finally let you leave Seabrook. If you are unhappy, you’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

“Liar. Even peasants ridicule me. I cannot go outside without being spit upon.”

“I doubt it. Wake up, Laura. If others seem uncomfortable, it is because you make them so. Not your looks, but your irascible temper and spiteful tongue. People are sick of your megrims. They are tired of your criticism and endless complaints. Your appearance doesn’t matter.”

“If they are so tired of me, then leave me alone.”

“No. William wants everyone at Seabrook, and I promised to fetch you. You have five minutes to collect your bonnet and whatever else you need. Then we are leaving. And don’t make the mistake of thinking I can’t carry you. I’ve toted larger bundles than you, even with this leg.”

“You hate me, too.”

“No, though you may drive me to it if you keep this up. It’s time to take a good look at yourself. If you don’t like your present life, then change it. Find something useful to do. Make friends. Help others. If you show a pleasant face, the world will welcome you.”

“You don’t understand!”

Chloe cringed against the wall as Laura stormed from the sitting room and stomped up the stairs. Andrew followed.

“You will regret this,” she murmured, conscious of the thin walls. “Laura cannot tolerate being wrong, so she will lash out at anyone who forces her to look at the truth. And she hates rules. If you want her to behave at Seabrook, you have to convince her that cooperation is in her own best interests.”

He snorted. “Laura loves power, so she revels in making people grovel. Placating her feeds her arrogance by confirming her power. Papa spoiled her rotten. It’s time somebody put a foot down and made her behave. Rockhurst managed it when she lived with them, but William let her revert.”

“Laura wanted a London Season. Since Rockhurst was the only one who could provide it, she did everything possible to turn him up sweet. But the moment she arrived in town, her true nature emerged. She hates Rockhurst for forcing obedience. If she hadn’t left London so suddenly, she would have sought revenge. She might do so yet. After two years of her company, I can guarantee that she has not forgotten a single slight.”

“But that’s mad.”

“Exactly. Laura is not right and never was.”

“No. She’s just spoiled and willing to play whatever role will win her way. But I’m glad you will soon be out of her household. Have you given notice yet?”

“Not until William’s guests leave. She will cause even worse trouble if I mention it now. And I need to find a cottage.”

He nodded. “I looked at several yesterday. The best is Rose Cottage, just outside Exeter.”

She remembered passing it. Charming, with roses climbing the façade and crossing the thatched roof. “Perhaps I can visit it tomorrow morning. Laura won’t rise before noon.”

“We’ll plan on it.”  He glanced up the stairs as something crashed above.

“Thin walls.”  Chloe hesitated, but Laura would remain in her room for several times the five minutes Andrew had specified. “Why did you never tell me Kevin died in pain?”

His shoulders sagged. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t hear that.”

“I don’t need protection.”

“Not now, perhaps, but when he died, I hadn’t seen you in years. Death is shocking enough. There seemed little purpose in hurting you worse.”

“But three days of agony?”

“I exaggerated. It wasn’t quite that bad.”  He frowned. “Once the fighting stopped, I sought him out, then stayed with him until the end, making sure he had water and what little laudanum I could find. He was comatose much of the time, surfacing only occasionally. That is typical of amputation patients, by the way. The mind protects against too much pain. Even when he was awake, fever kept him delirious, so he wasn’t aware of his condition. His voice would ramble, recalling childhood incidents, but he didn’t know what he was saying or who was with him. He was lucid only once, quite briefly, on the last day. He knew he was dying. I convinced him that God was not punishing him for fleeing Laura’s plots, but peace of mind was all I could give him. He begged me to break the news to you gently, as he did not want you to grieve more than necessary – he knew Sir Nigel would not return his body to England, so there was no need to divulge the extent of his injuries.”

“That was so like him.”  She shook her head. “Perhaps that’s why I suspected there was more to his death than anyone had said.”

“Put it behind you, Chloe. He is at peace – far more than he would have been had he lived. He was my closest friend, and his death tore a hole in my heart that remains to this day. But he was too sensitive. The horrors of war would have overthrown his reason. Perhaps God was merciful in taking him so quickly.”

“I have tried to believe that. Hearing how bad war can be will make it easier. I’m amazed you survived intact.”

A sad smile twisted his mouth, but Laura’s return prevented a reply.

Andrew grimaced at Laura’s scowl. “Feel free to indulge your temper on me,” he said as he helped her into the carriage. “Yell as much as you want. But the moment we pass Seabrook’s gates, you will be on your best behavior. This is William’s party. If you disrupt it, no matter how mildly, I will personally humiliate you in front of every guest.”

* * * *

Andrew’s ears rang by the time they reached Seabrook. Laura’s megrims meant he couldn’t leave Chloe alone with her, so he’d tied his horse to the back and ridden inside. And just as well. Laura had complained every step of the way, her grievances running from ridiculous to spiteful. She definitely needed discipline. If only he could set her on a battlefield for a few days. She would learn what was important – and it wasn’t her whims.

But he let her rant, hoping that the exercise would satisfy her.

“Smile,” he reminded her as they climbed the steps to Seabrook’s front door. “Remember that you are a guest. Mrs. Moulding has assigned you the rose room.”

“But I—”

“You moved away, so can no longer call this home.”  His glare shut her mouth. “Miss Fields will join you in a moment. You gave me no opportunity to tell her about her brother.”

Laura tensed, but finally headed for the house.

“What about Peter?” asked Chloe.

He led her to a corner of the portico to assure privacy. “Someone broke into Fields House after we left on Monday.”  He described the damage. “Either the intruder believes that Sir Nigel hid money from Peter, or he is searching for something. Do you know of any secret niches or safes he might have used?”

She frowned. “There’s a priest’s hole behind the wardrobe in Father’s dressing room.”

“How does it open?”  Perhaps that was the key. While its bottom had been torn up, the wardrobe had not been moved.

“Peter might know. I only know about it because it was open when I entered Grandfather’s room without knocking one day. But that was at least twenty years ago. It was empty.”

He nodded. But the existence of an unsearched priest’s hole meant the household remained in danger. If Sir Nigel had indeed hidden money, that was the most likely spot. William must warn Peter.

“Have you any idea who the intruder might be?” asked Chloe.

“There is no way to tell until we know what the man seeks.”  Jinks had learned that Sir Nigel had spent freely in recent weeks, but no one knew where the money had come from – which might explain the missing journal.

Changing the subject, he led Chloe inside. “The house is so crowded, we had to put you on the nursery floor. I hope you won’t mind.”

“Never.”  She smiled. “It is entirely appropriate for a companion. And I can manage anything except sharing Laura’s room.”

“I’m not that cruel. Let me know if she threatens to cause trouble.”

She nodded, then followed a footman upstairs.

* * * *

Laura slammed the door behind her and glared at the rose room. It was insufferable to lodge the daughter of the house in such squalor. The size alone made it suitable only for servants.