Anne Barbour (14 page)

“My mother refused to believe the legitimacy of Carstairs’s claim, but it was all in order—notarized and all the proper steps taken. Carstairs moved into Ravencroft almost immediately, but he magnanimously declared that he would not force Mother and us children out of our home. Of course not! Was he a monster, after all? He would be happy to marry Mother, and adopt her children as his own.

“Mother, who had read his true character long ago, refused his offer, and stole away in the dead of night, with my sisters and me, to live with her sister and her husband in Stepney. My uncle was a fairly prosperous merchant, and for two years we lived in reasonable comfort. I—I grew rather fond of them. Then, unfortunately, hbard times befell him, and he and my aunt declared themselves unable to keep us in their home. Mother moved to spartan quarters in an unsavory section of London and took up a career as a seamstress. I was fourteen then, and my sisters were twelve and nine.

“It was here that I began my education, for it was quickly borne upon me that life in Seven Dials”—here a sound that might have been a whimper escaped his listener, but again, Jem continued as though oblivious—”was far different from anything I had experienced in Gloucestershire, or even Stepney.” He smiled grimly. “I took my surname, by the way, from the month we arrived there. Nice touch, that, don’t you think?” Claudia shivered, but he went on, unheeding. “I was, fortunately, a quick learner, and it was not long before I was able to contribute my mite to the family income. To my mother’s questions about the source of my funds, I resolutely returned the most innocent and false of answers, for it would not have done for her to discover that the heir to the barony of Glenraven had become an accomplished pickpocket.”

Claudia was crying openly now, but Jem still ignored her as he continued doggedly.

“Two years after our removal to London, my mother contracted a fever and died. My younger sister followed within a few days. I did my best to take care of Beth—my only remaining family.” Jem’s voice broke, and for a moment, Claudia feared he would break down, but after a moment he continued dryly. “I was able to protect her for a time from the ugliness around us. I managed to find us a place to live in an unused nook above a tavern. Beth helped out in the scullery while I— followed my own pursuits. At night, we would escape to our room, hardly big enough to shelter the two of us, and I would tell her stories of Ravencroft—of the trees that I climbed and the meadows I roamed, and I promised I would take her back someday.”

Jem rose abruptly and returned to the window. “One day I returned from my day’s activities to find Beth gone. I—I searched for her for days, pelting the tavern keeper and his wife with frantic questions and wandering the neighborhood streets calling her name and asking passersby if they had seen a young girl with straight dark hair and blue eyes. Only thirteen, she was. At last I discovered from another girl who she talked to from time to time that she’d been kidnapped. The two had been looking in a pastry shopwindow, when a man came up behind them and simply scooped Beth up and threw her into his waiting carriage.”

“But, I don’t understand. Why would anyone...”

“Beth was a very beautiful child, Mrs. Carstairs,” returned Jem harshly. “And very young—just the sort in demand in some of the more select brothels lining, for example, St. James’s Street.”

This time, Claudia was bereft of speech, merely staring at Jem in horror.

“I never saw her again,” he continued quietly. “I did, however”—here his voice took on a note Claudia had not heard before—”discover that there was a man known to be working in the area whose specialty was abducting likely prospects for the delectation of some of the more jaded customers of these brothels. He worked for a man named Giles Daventry.”

“Oh!” cried Claudia, her hand to her mouth.

“Despite my continuing efforts, I never saw Beth again,” finished Jem, his words dropping into the stillness. He returned to his chair, and as though disturbed at having revealed so much of himself, assumed a lighter tone.

“As you can imagine, I became intensely interested in Giles Daventry’s activities—and not simply because I was trying to discover Beth’s whereabouts.” He leaned toward Claudia, resting his arms on his knees and steepling his fingers. “An ugly suspicion had festered in my mind ever since my father’s death. You see, the well into which he had fallen had been carefully covered with wooden planking some years before. It was meticulously maintained and had always been considered safe. In fact, I had stood upon it only the day before he died. As I crossed it, I jumped up and down, as I always did, because I liked the satisfying thump of hollow wood it made. The covering showed no signs of giving way, and was, as far as I could see, whole and sturdy. Yet the day after father’s death, the planking over the well could clearly be seen to be rotted, with a gaping, jagged hole in the center.”

Claudia moaned softly as the words flashed before her eyes, “Tues, nt.—repl. boards” written on the crumpled pages she had left upstairs. She had an urge to leap from her chair and run from the room.

As though he had read her thoughts, the man before her said in a voice devoid of expression, “Do I disturb you, Mrs. Carstairs? But there is much more. So very much more.”

Chapter Ten

“Over the years,” continued Jem, “the suspicion grew in my mind that Father had been murdered. I thought of returning to Ravencroft and accusing Carstairs to his face, but even at fourteen, I knew the futility of such an action. I had no proof, and Carstairs would have simply laughed in my face— or killed me as well. Therefore, I made the study of Giles Daventry my life’s work, so to speak. I found where he lived and followed him everywhere. When I began to see some small success in my own slightly nefarious activities, I formed a network of associates who helped me in my research and watched him when I could not. I made records of his associates—of all his comings and goings—who he spoke to, and what dealings he had with whom. I began to compile a dossier of his criminal activities with which I hoped to blackmail him into revealing all he knew of Carstairs’s plot against my father.”

Jem glanced at Claudia for the first time since he had begun his monologue and smiled faintly at the expression of horror that lingered in her eyes.

“Don’t take it to heart, my dear. It all happened so very long ago, after all.”

“Oh, but Je—my lord,” the words erupted in a sob. “You have—”

He placed his hand over hers, cutting off her speech. “Jem will do very nicely, don’t you think, under the circumstances?”

She found his words cryptic, but so aware was she of the pressure of his fingers on hers that she merely lifted her brows. He continued without haste.

“Then, a few months ago, an opportunity dropped into my lap. I had begun receiving some odd information of Daventry’s association with a young man, one Chad Lockridge, who was apparently in love with a woman Daventry had staked out for himself. An earl’s daughter, and very wealthy. Daventry, by the by, had cut a swathe for himself in the Polite World and was received by the highest sticklers in the
ton.
He had, however, due to his proclivity for cards, women, and other expensive pastimes, found himself in very low water recently and was in desperate need of an advantageous marriage. Lockridge had left the country suddenly some years ago, and I believed Daventry had something to do with his departure. Then, Lockridge returned, a much wealthier man when he had left, and it became apparent to me that Daventry had once more taken an interest in the fellow. One evening, as I stood outside a house in Mayfair waiting for Daventry to emerge from a party, I observed Lockridge leave the place first—by himself. He strolled away from the house, and on a hunch I followed him. Thus, I was on hand when he was set upon by a band of thugs, and was able to give him a hand.

“Lockridge and I formed a sort of partnership, the happy result of which was the ultimate arrest of Giles Daventry for a number of things, including theft and attempted kidnapping. It turned out that Daventry had indeed done his best to ruin Lockridge, employing some highly illegal methods in doing so.”

Claudia drew a shuddering breath. “And Giles Daventry told you ...?”

“Everything I wanted to know. Under pressure from Lockridge, who had become an extremely influential man by then, the magistrate agreed to transportation for Daventry instead of a death sentence. For three days, information spewed from him like poison from a lanced boil.”

“But what part had he played in Emanuel’s scheme?” asked Claudia, afraid to hear the answer. Her hands were still clasped tightly in Jem’s, and she found herself without the will to disengage them.

“Ah. Giles Daventry, among his other accomplishments was a skilled forger. He had done a bit of work for Carstairs from time to time, and the two had formed an extremely profitable association. When Carstairs arrived in the neighborhood and met my father—and my mother—the idea for taking Ravencroft apparently leapt into his brain full-blown. Father was an innocent, you see, with no idea of the evil that could lurk in the hearts of other men. He saw Carstairs as Carstairs wished to be perceived, a bluff, kindly soul who was fond of the occasional game of cards. Father was also weak—and overfond of the occasional game of cards. In short, the perfect mark.

“It did not take long for Carstairs to plunge my father into debt, and like all gambling addicts, the more he lost the more he believed that the next hand would see him come about. He apparently had no idea of how deep he had fallen into your husband’s clutches, for when Carstairs pointed out the sum to him one evening, he was appalled. It was a few days after this that Carstairs suggested Father put up Ravencroft as security. Father, of course, believed him when he said that Ravencroft would never actually pass from Standish hands. There was no question, said Carstairs, but that Father would soon recoup his losses. And Father believed him. He had papers drawn up promising Carstairs full ownership of Ravencroft if his debt were not paid by a date some two months in the future. Father, you see, felt that if worse came to worse, he could sell off the horses to pay what he owed.” Jem’s voice hardened once more. “This may well have done the trick, but Father never had a chance to resort to this option.”

He gazed down into Claudia’s stricken face. “I told you this would not be a pleasant story. As I said,” he continued without giving her a chance to reply, “Father had begun to drink heavily, and on one of their visits to Ravencroft—how my mother dreaded those visits, by the way, for as a guest, Carstairs left a great deal to be desired. He lost no opportunity to waylay her as she moved about the house, touching her in a familiar manner and making every effort to establish a liaison with her.”

Jem felt Claudia’s fingers tremble beneath his, and without volition, he brought them to his lips for a moment. Hastily, he continued.

“On one of their visits to Ravencroft, Carstairs and Daventry prevailed upon Father to show them the small wall safe in his study, where the deed to the estate was kept. The date agreed upon came and went, with still more drunken card games taking place here.

“One night, after a particularly boisterous session, Daventry returned to the house, much later. Did I tell you he was also an expert cracksman? A safe robber,” he explained, at Claudia’s expression of puzzlement
“He removed the title from the safe and within a matter of minutes, had forged Father’s name to a transfer deed.”

“But how ...?” Claudia felt as though she could not bear to hear more, but the words seemed forced from her. “Do you mean Emanuel...?”

“Yes. The next day he came to Ravencroft and with the utmost regret began to speak of ‘what happened last night.’ In the face of Father’s blank ignorance, he said, ‘Oh, my dear fellow. Do you not remember?’ Well, of course Father remembered little of the previous evening’s occurrences, having spent most of it in a semi-drunken stupor. Carstairs then informed him that the two of them had reached an agreement in which Father signed Ravencroft over to Carstairs. As you can imagine. Father was stricken. Carstairs, however, hastened to assure him that he, being a good friend, had no intention of taking possession of the estate. No, no. He would merely hold the title, and allow Father more time to repay the debt.

“It still did not occur to Father that Carstairs had duped him. Numb with grief, but like an obedient child, he accompanied Carstairs to the magistrate’s office, where he filled out the appropriate papers and had the deed notarized. By the end of the day, Ravencroft belonged, lock, stock, stables, and lands, to Carstairs.”

“Dear God,” said Claudia again. “I know what Emanuel did was vile, but how could your Father have let himself be so duped?”

Jem laughed shortly. “Do you not think I have not asked myself that question a thousand times? I could almost loathe him for his—emasculation, yet, he could not help being as he was. I still remember him as the laughing man who threw me in the air only to catch me in his arms for an enveloping embrace. He loved my mother—he loved my sisters and me, only—”

“He loved gambling and drinking more,” finished Claudia harshly. “I know—my father was such a one. He bartered his daughters to feed his appetites.”

Jem looked at her, startled. “Yes,” he said gently. “I heard that was the case. I am sorry.”

Claudia glared at him. She snatched her hands away and let them form into fists. “Well, don’t be,” she replied fiercely. “I survived Emanuel Carstairs, and I will survive this. I am beholden to no man now, and I thank God every night for it.”

To this, Jem made no reply, but continued softly. “I’m sure you have guessed the rest of my story. A month or so after signing Ravencroft away, your husband replaced the solid planks over the dry well with rotted boards and the next day, Father had his ‘accident.’ The well lies near our orchard, and it was one of Father’s favorite walks. Carstairs immediately began his persecution against my mother.”

Jem paused, a bitter smile curving his lips. “I confronted him one day and in the blithe ignorance of my twelve years, ordered him to ‘stop bothering Mama, for she would rather die than marry you.’ He roared with laughter and with one swoop of the back of his hand, knocked me to the floor. I did not tell my mother what had happened, but she saw the bruise on my cheek and drew her own conclusions. Within a week, she and my sisters and I were on our way to Stepney, taking only what we could carry with us.”