Virginia Henley (11 page)

Antonia picked up a dark, wavy tress of waist-length hair. “Must we? I can stuff it up under one of Tony’s tiewigs.”

“You know he didn’t wear a tiewig about the house or when he went sailing. He wore his own hair clubbed back unless he was going out and about. I want the servants to
think you are Anthony, save Mr. Burke of course. That will be the test. If the household staff believes you are your brother, everyone else will.”

Off came the waist-length locks until her hair just fell to her shoulders. Tony closed her eyes in misery, hardly able to bear the thought of losing her lovely, shiny black curls. Suddenly she felt as if she couldn’t breathe and her face seemed to be getting very warm.

Roz gathered up the cuttings carefully so she could dispose of them discreetly, then brushed Antonia’s hair back and tied it at her nape with a black ribbon. “Put on Anthony’s bed robe and stand over by the balcony window while I ring for one of the maids.”

Antonia thought this was a waste of time. Their servants had no reason to be disloyal, why go through the rigamorole of trying to fool them? However it would be most interesting to see if she could carry it off.

It was Anna who answered the bell. Roz opened the door when the maid knocked and said, “Anna, ask young James to carry up water for Anthony’s bath. You can make the bed with fresh linen while you’re here.”

Anna dropped Roz a curtsy, then glanced from beneath her lashes toward young Lord Lamb. She blushed to see him in his bed robe, and to cover her confusion the words came tumbling out. “Would ye like me to get ye some breakfast, sor?”

“No, thank you, Anna. I’ll breakfast downstairs as usual,” Antonia replied, hoping her voice was as husky as Tony’s.

“Oh, sor, we were all that worried for ye. Praise heaven yer safe an’ sound.”

“Thank you, Anna,” Antonia said quietly.

The young maid blushed even deeper. It was the first time the young master had remembered her name. She slipped out to find James, and Antonia stepped out onto the balcony in a desperate attempt to fill her lungs with air. For a moment everything swam before her eyes, then
all the strength seemed to leave her legs. She leaned against the balcony wall to steady herself. Her eyes went immediately to the boathouse, but there was no one about. Ironically today the water was calm as a millpond.

Antonia forced herself to go back into Tony’s room while James poured two buckets of boiling water into the small hip bath that sat in a corner. Before James took up the empty buckets he looked furtively toward Lady Randolph and saw that she was busy laying out the master’s clothes. He pressed a guinea into Tony’s hand and said low, “’Ere’s your winnings, sir. Paid twenty to one.”

Roz followed the servant to the door, then locked it. “So far, so good.”

Antonia removed the robe, then stood in front of the mirror to examine her bruises. Her breasts and rib cage had great dark splotches where blood had gathered beneath the skin. One of her hips had a long, tender bruise that spread from front to back. She winced as she touched the scrapes on her shins and elbows. She hoped the water would soothe her skin. That was the last thing she remembered.

Lady Rosalind Randolph had never been so afraid in her life. Her beloved granddaughter had pneumonia. When Antonia lost consciousness and had to be lifted into bed, Roz felt immediately that a fever raged in her body. She bathed her and nursed her continually for six days and nights, holding her hands tightly and talking to her in a soothing voice whenever Antonia rambled wildly or thrashed about the bed.

Mr. Burke stood vigil with her through the long nights, so that if Lady Randolph dozed off, he would be there to tend to Antonia’s needs.

Roz prayed as she had never prayed before. “Please, please, God, don’t take both of them. Leave me this child and I will ask you for nothing more.”

It seemed to Rosalind that God had indeed answered
her prayers, for Antonia’s fever finally abated, and instead of thrashing about she slept much more peacefully.

Major Blount called every day, but Roz was too burdened down for visitors. She sent him a note thanking him for all he had done and asked him to still carry on the search no matter how hopeless it seemed. Major Blount wrote back saying he was afraid the
Gazette
had gotten wind of the accident, but that he had neither confirmed nor denied their tasteless speculation when they had questioned him,
Rosalind realized that even Jeremy Blount did not yet know it was Antonia who had cheated death, but she would wait until she could explain in person. It didn’t do to commit things to paper. Letters had a way of turning up to haunt you.

In the week since the boating accident there had been no further sign of wreckage on the beach. Roz accepted the heartbreaking truth that Anthony would never return. She felt so burdened down, she knew she was defeated. All she could do now was accept the loss with grace and dignity.

With Mr. Burke’s help she began to pack her things. She felt blessed relief when Antonia opened her eyes a couple of times and asked for a drink. At last her granddaughter was in her right mind again and her fever was almost gone. Antonia was very weak and there still remained two bright spots high on her cheeks, but Roz knew she was going to recover.

She took the glass from Antonia’s hand and placed it beside the bed. When Roz saw her eyes close peacefully, she went downstairs and sat at the elegant secretaire to pen a letter. She had been putting off the inevitable for days, but she felt it was her duty to inform Watson and Goldman that Lord Anthony Lamb was missing at sea and presumed drowned.

It was the hardest letter she had ever had to write. She brushed away a tear and sanded the wet ink. Then she
straightened her back and summoned James. She gave him the letter to take to the posting inn in Stoke.

Two hours later, when Antonia awoke and Roz could see how vastly improved she was, she took hold of her hand and told her gently that all hope for Anthony was past.

“How long has it been?” Antonia asked, still quite breathless.

“You’ve been ill for seven days, darling.”

Antonia lay very, very still as she inwardly digested the heartbreaking news about her brother. When she looked at Rosalind she saw how thin and haggard she was and it was brought home to her how much she had endured this last week.

“Thank you, Grandma. You’ve given me all your love, but you’ve given me all your strength too. Now it’s my turn to be strong for you.”

“Dear, I know it will be distressing for you, but it cannot be avoided. I’m going to have Anna go to your room and pack all your lovely things. When you are feeling strong enough, tomorrow or the next day, we will remove to my little dower house.”

Antonia stared at her as if she had gone mad. “There is absolutely no need to pack anything. Lamb Hall is our home. I shall never give it up.”

“Darling, all our time has run out. All my things are packed and crated and I’ve notified Watson and Goldman of the accident.”

Antonia sat bolt upright. “How? When?” she demanded.

“James took the letter to the posting inn a couple of hours ago.”

Antonia threw back the covers and struggled to her feet.

“My God, child, what are you doing? Get back into bed immediately,” Roz cried with great alarm.

“I’m going to get the damned letter back. I’m going to be Anthony!”

“Darling, if we carry on this deception any longer, we are going to be in grave trouble when we are discovered. What we’ve done is against the law. It is a criminal act, to say nothing of being morally wrong.”

“There I don’t agree with you. Criminal perhaps, but to me it would be morally wrong for Bernard Lamb to step into Anthony’s shoes, Anthony’s home, or Anthony’s title!” She was almost completely out of breath now. Her chest rose and fell painfully as she gasped for air.

When Antonia stood up the room swirled about her. She put out a hand to steady herself. “I’m going to take Anthony’s place, not just for now, but indefinitely.”

Roz saw her sway and said whatever she thought would appease her or persuade her to get back into bed. “I’ll send Mr. Burke to the posting inn to try to recover the letter.”

“No,” Antonia said firmly, “I’m Lord Lamb; it’s my responsibility.”

Rosalind feared Antonia was again becoming delirious, but she had expended all her energy and in the face of Antonia’s fierce determination she was silenced.

“You lost Anthony, you almost lost me, but you’re not going to lose your home!” Antonia was adamant.

She donned Tony’s undergarments and decided that they were not all that different from her own underdrawers. She put on his shirt, then searched his night table for studs. She couldn’t believe how weak she felt. Before she managed to get the collar attached, she decided it was a fiddling business invented to try the patience of a saint. She pulled on a pair of the straight-legged pantaloons she’d bought Tony in London, fastening the straps under her instep, then walked over to the mirror to appraise her appearance.

“Thank God my breasts are small,” she murmured. Then she laughed. “I never thought to hear myself say
that!” She imagined the front of the starched shirt was still somewhat raised, so she opened his wardrobe to find a brocaded waistcoat. She stood absolutely still until a wave of dizziness passed. Jehoshaphat, if she felt this exhausted from simply dressing herself, how was she going to ride into Stoke?

The sponge bath she’d been given earlier made tendrils curl about her face, so she again brushed her hair back and tied it with a black ribbon. She stared at her reflection. It was Anthony, yet it was Anthony blended with a smattering of Antonia. Finally she decided it was Tony, the combination of both of them.

She felt strange inside, as if she was waiting for something, and yet it was combined with a sinking feeling that whatever it was would never materialize. Also, a great feeling of melancholy engulfed her. She sighed sadly, trying to accept what had happened. Today must be gotten through … and then there would be tomorrow.

Tony gathered her wits together with difficulty. Here she was wasting valuable time envisioning tomorrow when the thing that was so pressing was the letter. She must get it back at any cost. She gripped the oak banister as she descended the stairs, afraid that with each step her knees might buckle under her.

Tony asked Bradshaw to saddle Neptune, because he would be swifter than Venus. Bradshaw led out the horse and was about to ask the young master if he was feeling better, but the flushed look on his face told him Anthony was not fully recovered. Bradshaw helped him into the saddle and stood shaking his head as he watched Lord Lamb take off in his usual breakneck fashion.

Tony was weak with relief when she reached Stoke and the posting inn came into view. Now, if luck was on her side, the mail coach would not yet have departed for London. When she dismounted she had to lean against Neptune for strength. She was saved from having to gather her energy to go inside because at that moment an ostler
touched his cap and came to take her reins. “G’day to ye, Lord Lamb.”

“Good day, Toby. The mail coach hasn’t departed yet, has it?” Tony asked anxiously.

“Oh, aye, sir. Missed it by half an hour at least. Did ye have summat to post?”

“Damn and set fire!” Tony swore, then she was racked by a deep cough that scorched her lungs. At the ostler’s words Tony’s heart had plummeted to her boots. So near, yet so far. Her resolve hardened. She must get that bloody letter!

“Where does it stop next?” Tony demanded.

He scratched his head. “Let’s see now, from here he dips down to Rochester, then Chatham. But if you don’t catch him before Chatham, you never will. Once he gets on the London Turnpike, he’ll whip up his cattle to breakneck speed. You won’t even see his dust!”

Tony waited no longer. She dug in her heels, urging Neptune to a full gallop. Mile after mile she kept her eyes narrowed for the coach, but with each successive mile the chance of catching it grew slimmer. Tony swayed from the saddle, almost falling over sideways. She caught herself in time and shook her head to clear it. She knew she was making herself ill again and fought with her own common sense about pursuing this hopeless mission further.

A voice inside her head told her if she was really replacing Anthony, he would not give up. Her knees urged Neptune to his top speed, and there far ahead on the outskirts of Rochester she saw the dark shape of the mail coach.

The coach driver first thought he was being held up; then, when he saw the young fellow had no weapon save his frenzied voice, he reluctantly slowed and brought the sweating team to a halt.

Tony had the very devil of a time persuading the mail carrier to give back the letter, and only when she asserted her authority did the man give way. “I’m Lord Anthony Lamb, my good sir, and I shall see you are immediately
dismissed from your position if you do not return my property to me immediately. I’ve already dismissed the idiot footman who posted it by mistake. The information in this letter is so damaging, you’ll likely see the inside of Fleet Prison if you try to overrule my authority.”

The man complied, cursing under his breath, “Wot bloody chance does a bloke ‘ave against the bleedin’ gentry? Sod the lot of ’em.” When he climbed back on the box and whipped up the horses, Antonia knew her good fortune was due to the fact that he thought her a man rather than a woman. She clutched the letter to Watson and Goldman and slid from the saddle. Then, knowing she could go no farther, she sat down on the side of the road and cried her eyes out.

That is precisely where Mr. Burke found her. Lady Randolph had ordered Bradshaw ready the coach so Mr. Burke could go after her to Stoke. When he learned she’d ridden on toward Rochester he couldn’t believe it and urged Bradshaw to pull out the lead.

As Mr. Burke lifted her into the carriage, she looked up at him with deepest gratitude. Two pink spots burned feverishly upon her cheeks. “How would I manage without you, Mr. Burke? You are my knight in shining armor!”

A sinking feeling gripped Bernard Lamb as he read the small notice in the
Gazette.
He read it two or three more times, wanting to reject it, yet finally having no choice but to accept it. He had scanned the newspaper for three frustrating weeks. Now finally here in black and white was the first indication there had been a boating mishap. The thing he had hoped for, prayed for, and planned for had come to pass. Yet it counted for naught. Christ Almighty, if what the
Gazette
hinted at was true, the wrong bloody twin had drowned. Filled with uncertainty, Bernard read the item again. “The heavy squall that suddenly blew up last week along the coast damaged many sailing vessels moored in the Medway. We received an unconfirmed report
that Lady Antonia Lamb was washed overboard and drowned near her home in Stoke.”