Betrayed (12 page)

At the hope shining in his eyes, Sarah said, “Yes. It's true, and I'd like your help looking it over today.”

“Now?”

“Soon.”

The boys waved and whistled until the sails caught the wind and the ship moved out of the bay. Sarah stifled a bout of melancholy at Michael's leaving, telling herself she was concerned over the delay in the acquisition of the customs house.

Notch replaced his cap. “We'd best be after inspecting the new digs.”

Once at the customs house, he propped his hands on his hips and surveyed the building. “Like I was telling Pic and Cholly this morn,” he said, “the lads'll take turns guarding the doors at night.”

As if reciting a list, William said, “Protecting our womenfolk, our personal effects, and such food as we have in the pantry.”

Sarah spent the afternoon listening to their plans and preferences and vowing to make sure they came true. Thanks to Michael Elliot, the orphans of Edinburgh had a chance. Would he change his mind about helping once he talked to Henry?

She cringed, imagining the lies Henry would tell Michael. On a more sympathetic note, she wondered what opinion Michael would form of his older brother, and what the long-estranged siblings would say to each other.

6

G
ood God, little brother.” Henry gaped, looking up at Michael. “You're a sizeable limb on the Elliot family tree. If I were prone to fanciful notions, I'd swear you were old Hamish come back to life. Come in, come in.”

Ducking beneath the door frame of the cell Henry shared with two other men, Michael drew a shallow breath. From the moment the carriage had crossed London Bridge and turned on to Black Man Street, the stench from gin shops and general debauchery had sickened him. The sight of his older brother after so many years sent Michael's emotions into turmoil.

“Not the most accommodating place, is it, Michael?” Henry waved a hand to indicate the small room with three cots, two crusty lamps, and an untended slop bucket.

Wall pegs hosted an array of fashionable if unkempt clothing. Henry wore a waistcoat and matching knee breeches of dark blue satin over a drab brown shirt. His shoes were missing the buckles, and his legs were bare of hose.

Michael said the only thought that came to mind. “This prison is newly built.”

“Aye. Gordon's rioters destroyed it back in 'eighty, but the owners couldn't rebuild it quick enough. There's a profit to be made on the sins of man.” Moving two stools near a keg that served as a lamp table, Henry said, “Sit down.”

Michael folded his long legs to facilitate sitting on the wobbly stool. “Profit?”

“Costs me a shilling a day for these accommodations. Private quarters can be had for two pounds a week, but . . .”

Michael's expectations fell far short of the reality, which was odd, considering the filth and depravity common in Calcutta. The need to aid his brother came naturally. “I've sold the customs house.”

Henry's jovial expression faded to disdain, making him look even more like their mother. “Without consulting me? How much did you get for it? A fair price, I hope.”

“Fifteen hundred pounds for the Elliot half, once the papers are signed.”

“Give me the money now, and I'll deal with the formalities later.”

To his further disappointment, Michael didn't trust Henry; so he withdrew the document and writing materials from his satchel and put them atop the keg. “Let's just get the formalities behind us now.”

Henry's mood turned decidedly cool. He scratched his name on the parchment and flicked it at Michael.

The rudeness of the gesture set Michael's teeth on edge, but he tried to put himself in Henry's place. Were their positions reversed, Michael would be less
than agreeable. Still, a business transaction was simply that.

Returning the record of sale to the keg, Michael said, “You'll need to affix your seal, if you want the money.”

“How careless of me.” Henry fished through a tapestry bag hanging on a peg above him.

As he watched Henry melt the wax and apply the family seal, Michael couldn't ignore the irony of the actions, the place, and the participants. Usually younger sons looked to their elder siblings for money and advice. To lighten the atmosphere, he said, “We'll chuckle about this when we pass the tale on to our children.”

“Have you any?”

“No, I haven't wed.”

“Neither have I.” Henry laughed. “If I needed a preacher every time the old sap started to rise, I'd be in gaol for different reasons.”

The other occupants of the room laughed, too.

Michael didn't see the humor.

“I say”—Henry looked to the lounging men—“give us a bit of privacy.” Listless and bleary-eyed, the men got to their feet and ambled out the door.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Michael moved his stool so he faced the only exit. For lack of anything else, he said, “Speaking of preachers, congratulations on your betrothal to Lady Sarah MacKenzie. She's lovely.”

Tipping back the stool, Henry braced his shoulders against the wall. “You've met her?”

“Yes.”

Henry stared down his narrow nose at Michael. “Well, out with it, man. What did she say about me?”

Guilt over wanting her for himself plagued Michael,
but now that he was looking at Henry, he couldn't help thinking that she deserved better than the earl of Glenforth.

“She called you worthless and deceitful.”

“For losing fifteen thousand pounds? God, the wench is a country bumpkin.”

“She also said she'd rather wed a toothless and blind draft horse than speak wedding vows to you.”

Henry scratched his unshaven cheek. “She should have thought about that before she proposed marriage to me.”

Michael's mind went blank. Prison noises buzzed in his ears.

“I see you're shocked, little brother.”

Regaining his composure, Michael took out his pouch of candy. The pungent smell of ginger masked the odors here, same as it did in India. After helping himself to a piece, he handed the bag to Henry, who had the ill grace to pour out a handful for himself.

“Yes, well . . .” Michael said, “Lady Sarah has changed her mind about marrying you.”

“Lot of good it'll do her. She's made her bed, as they say, and I intend to frolic in it with her—when the mood strikes me.”

Instinctively, Michael wanted to defend the woman who championed the orphans of Edinburgh. But what of the other Sarah who had proposed marriage to the wastrel Henry Elliot?

Too confused to make an intelligent decision about her true character, Michael changed the subject. “What occurred with the duke of Richmond?”

“The bastard was using hollow dice, but he palmed them before I noticed.” He smiled crookedly. “I was slightly in my cups at the time.”

“Even if you lack proof, surely there were witnesses to speak on your behalf.”

As surly as the carpetmongers in Calcutta's bazaar, Henry snarled, “Richmond bought them all off with money or favors.”

“Who were they?”

“I cannot recall.”

“Then how do you know he bought them off?”

“Because I am an earl,” he declared. “But the word of a Scottish earl doesn't mean much against an English duke.” With an elaborate survey of the room, he added, “You can see how far the title got me.”

“What will you do?”

Sheer arrogance smoothed out Henry's features. “ 'Tis better said what I will
not
do, and that is make a public apology to Richmond. He oversteps himself.”

“Isn't that a bit reckless on your part?”

He shifted his weight until the legs of the stool slammed to the stone floor. Springing to his feet, he paced the small, windowless room. “You forget who is the heir to Glenforth.”

Michael laughed. “Don't expect me to go down on a knee to you.”

Henry grew serious. “What should I expect of you, little brother?”

If that were the only question Henry intended to ask of Michael, they'd be here for some time, so Michael broached the only subject they had in common. “Mother asked me to seduce the dowry from your betrothed—so long as I leave her maidenhead intact.”

“A splendid idea.” He snapped his fingers. “You can even have her damned virginity; just do not burden me with a bastard to raise.”

A perch in the Borgia family tree was looking better to Michael every minute. “What good will it do if you still refuse to make amends with Richmond?”

“I'll deal with that when the time comes. Money is what I need.” He eyed Michael's clothing. “Have you any to spare?”

Why, he didn't know, but Michael had to say, “I could loan you several hundred pounds.”

“Loan me? Good God, man. I'm the family heir.”

“That makes my money yours?”

“Aye, unless you'd rather I disown you.”

Michael could only stare at him.

At length Henry laughed. “ 'Twas only a jest, Michael. Are you always so bloody dour?”

Michael chuckled, too, but not because he thought the remark funny. “Must be the Scot in me. Shall I visit Richmond on your behalf? I served in India with men who know him well.”

“You could, but he's not to think I put you up to it. Find out how far he intends to take this so-called affront. Then report back to me.”

Summoning patience he didn't know he possessed, Michael let the remark pass. For the next hour, they conversed, or rather Michael listened to tales of Henry and his dilemma, Henry's adventures in London, and Henry's ambivalence about the family estates in Fife.

Michael quizzed his brother about Sarah, and Henry was more than forthcoming.

“She's three and twenty and a by-blow of Lachlan MacKenzie. She ought to thank me for even considering her. God, Michael, if you only knew that family. One of the sisters, Mary, lives here in London and fancies herself the next Reynolds.

“I'll readily confess it, little brother, I rue the day I lowered my standards for Sarah MacKenzie. If I could find her father, I'd tell him so.”

“Where is the duke of Ross?”

Henry chuckled but the sound held no humor. “Who the hell knows where he is? I'm tempted to have my solicitor send someone to the Highlands to search for him.”

“I wish you luck in locating him.”

“Oh, I'm resourceful—even in this hellhole.”

Suddenly eager to be away, Michael handed Henry a purse and took his leave.

As he passed through the gates of King's Bench Prison, he again pitched tuppence to the prisoner perched in the begging box. Once in the carriage, he let his thoughts dart from Sarah and her sister to the audience he would seek with the duke of Richmond, and then to the business meetings he must attend at the East India Company. When he'd accomplished all he could in London, he returned to Edinburgh on the first available packet.

*  *  *

Why had Sarah lied about the events surrounding her betrothal to Henry?

That question and dozens of others whirled in Michael's mind as he watched the stableman at the Dragoon Inn harness a pair of horses to the newest of the carriages.

Turnbull stood nearby, deep in conversation with a footman about the advantages of gunpowder over lampblack for the repair of boot leather. The normalcy of their discussion offered Michael a respite from the unraveling tangle of conflicting information he'd
collected since his first arrival in Edinburgh and during his visit to London.

According to Turnbull, Lady Sarah was much sought after by Highland nobility, or at least her maid insisted she'd had marriage proposals from all of the great clans. If that were true, why hadn't she married years ago and into one of the families that could only be called Highland royalty?

She certainly possessed her share and more of feminine attributes. Added to that, she was bright and knowledgeable and passionate. He grew warm just thinking about holding her in his arms and kissing her again.