Fallen Angel (23 page)

“I am surprised that you recognized me,” he said, “since I do not believe we have ever met.”

The old lady was not discomposed to be caught out so easily. “Oh, but you look exactly like my late husband, God rest his soul. I have his portrait over the mantel if you would like to see for yourself?”

Gabriel rose and followed her to the fireplace, but away from the single window, the room was too dark to see the details of the painting. Taking a candelabra from the mantel, the old woman lit the candles, which were little more than stubs, and handed it over to him.

Holding it up so that he could see better, Gabriel looked at the portrait. Beneath the powdered wig of an earlier generation, he saw his own face looking back at him.

13

“When I learned that
my daughter had named you after my husband, I knew for sure that you were not the son of that monster,” Mrs. Everdon said, setting down her teacup.

Sitting beside Verity, Lord Sherington made no move to drink his own tea, nor to eat any of the meager collection of thin sandwiches Agnes, the old serving woman, had produced at Mrs. Everdon’s request.

But then he had been singularly quiet ever since he had looked at the portrait of his grandfather. Even now, half an hour after he had stared up at it as if thunderstruck, tension fairly radiated from him, and Verity could not begin to guess the emotions he must be feeling. But as yet he had given her no indication that he wished to depart, and so she stayed by his side, hoping that she could be of some help.

“Why do you call the late earl a monster?” she asked when the pause in the conversation began to be uncomfortable.

“Because he was a wicked man—the most truly depraved man I have ever known,” the old lady replied. “My husband was a merchant, and many called him a hard man. He may have been as ruthless as they said he was, but he was honest, his word was his bond, and no one could rightfully have accused him of being mean or cruel. My lord Sherington, on the other hand, was all manner of depravity disguised behind a charming mask. I have three letters—” She stood up and went to a tall secretary and opened a drawer, removing a thin packet of folded papers.

“My daughter wrote us the first letter after she had been married only a few months, begging us to save her from the vile man she had married. We were appalled to read what he was doing to her—his cruelty was unimaginable. My husband went to Grosvenor Square determined to fetch her home.” Tears began to roll silently down Mrs. Everdon’s cheeks.

“What happened?” Verity asked softly.

“The next day they found my husband’s body on Finchley Common. The earl, of course, denied that Gabriel had been to Sherington House the night before, and though I protested, the magistrate ruled that death had been caused by a highwayman. There were several operating in that area, and my husband’s body had been stripped of all valuables.

“But I have always known in my heart that the earl murdered my husband. I tried myself to see my daughter, but I was denied admittance to Sherington House, and when I tried to send messages to her with one of our footmen, the notes were all sent back unopened. Lacking any male relatives to assist me, there was nothing more I could do. Except that during the Season I would go every night to where I knew there was to be a large ball, and I would stand in the street and wait. If I was lucky, I would see my daughter going in on her husband’s arm. I am sure she knew what I was doing, because she would always scan the crowd, as if looking for someone, but she never gave any sign that she had seen me.”

The old woman paused, as if gathering her strength to go on. “The second letter I received from her arrived several months after you were born, Gabriel.”

Lord Sherington stiffened beside Verity, and without thinking, she reached out to him. He immediately grasped her hand and clung to it tightly, still not speaking.

What anguish he must be feeling. It was difficult enough for her to keep from raging at the injustice of it all, and how much worse it must be for him. This was his mother and grandfather, after all, whose sufferings were being recounted.

“What did your daughter say in the second letter?”
Verity asked, her voice steady, betraying none of her emotions.

“She sent it from Suffolk. The servants there were kinder than the ones in London, although most of them were too terrified of the earl to risk helping her. But one of the maids had decided to return to her family in Yorkshire, and she used the opportunity to help my daughter. When the maid left, she managed to smuggle out my daughter’s letter, which she posted to me when she was suitably distant from Sherington Close.

“My daughter wrote that she no longer even had the illusion of freedom she’d had in London—that there in Suffolk she was being held prisoner in her own home and was not even permitted to attend church on Sundays. She also told me that her husband had sworn an oath that she would never be allowed to leave her rooms until she agreed to send her misbegotten son away to a foundling home.”

Lord Sherington’s grip on Verity’s hand tightened until it was painful, but she only clung to him all the more tightly.

“My daughter was not even permitted to see the babe, although sometimes in the middle of the night when her husband had passed out in a drunken stupor and was not likely to awaken, she would sneak up to the little room where the child was kept.”

Verity remembered the pain in Lord Sherington’s voice when he had said, “I was raised in a little room on the top floor of the west wing.” He had wanted to know the truth about his mother, and now that truth was only causing him more pain.

“In the third and final letter,” the old woman said, years of resignation evident in her voice, “my daughter told me that she had gone to your room and found it empty. Without informing her, that monster had sent you away to sea. When I read that, I confess I did not know whether to laugh or to cry. I had to rejoice that you were free from the earl’s clutches—yet I knew not what dangers you might face. And I think even then I suspected that without you my daughter would have no will to live. In truth, I received word of her death not five months later.”

The room they were sitting in was as still and cold as a tomb, and Verity was only glad she had not put off her cloak. Lord Sherington’s face had a white and pinched look about it, but she rather doubted it was the temperature of the room that had chilled him since he was normally oblivious to all but the most biting wind.

But the old woman was not done yet. “From the day you were born, I have prayed to God to keep you safe from all harm. And I have prayed for myself also, asking that just once before I died, I would be able to see you with my own eyes and hold you in my arms and tell you how much I love you—how much I have always loved you.”

Mrs. Everdon rose to her feet, and Lord Sherington did likewise, pulling Verity up with him. Dropping her hand, he stood stiff and unyielding while the old woman embraced him. Stepping back, she held out the letters. “I have saved these for you.”

“Thank you,” he said, and those were the first words he had spoken since he had seen his grandfather’s portrait. And the last words, for he turned on his heels and walked out of the room without saying anything more. A few moments later, they heard the outer door shut.

“I know he must seem cold and heartless,” Verity said, “but I assure you, he cares deeply about his mother.”

Mrs. Everdon said, “He is just like his grandfather. My husband was never one to wear his feelings on his sleeve. Indeed, he considered it a sign of weakness for a man to display any emotions, except, of course in the bedroom. I think I may have made a grave mistake. Perhaps it would have been kinder if I had not told my grandson the whole story today, so that he would have time to adjust gradually? I have had years to reconcile myself to what happened, and even so I cannot
think
about my daughter without weeping. But I have waited so long to see him and tell him about his mother.”

She turned sad eyes toward Verity. “Now I suspect he will not come back to see me a second time. I have followed his career with great interest, and from what I have learned about his character, I am afraid he will not allow himself the weakness of loving an old grandmother who proved to be of no use to his mother and who can be of no use to him.”

Verity wished she could reassure Mrs. Everdon that Lord Sherington would return, but she could not even convince herself. “I know he is ruthless and bad-tempered and quite set on getting his own way,” she said, “but I do not believe he has ever done anything cruel or mean or dishonest. So I think it is possible he may some day wish to see you again.”

“Anything is possible, but in this case it is not likely,” the old woman said, making an effort to smile. “But I cannot complain, because God has, at long last, granted my prayers, and it would be greedy of me to ask for more. But you must not pity me, child, for this has been a most memorable day for me.”

A look of puzzlement crossed her face. “Do you know, it has just occurred to me that I do not even know your name. I am sure that if Gabriel had married, I would have heard of it, but are you perhaps his betrothed?”

“I am Miss Jolliffe,” Verity said, “and we are not betrothed. I am just his friend.”

Mrs. Everdon raised her eyebrows, and Verity hurried to correct her misconception. “No, no, I did not mean that as a polite way of saying that I am living under his protection. I am truly just
his frie
nd—just someone he seems to enjoy talking with.”

“But you, I think, would like to be more? I am not wrong, am I, when I think you love him.”

“With all my heart,” Verity confessed after a brief hesitation. “And doubtless you will think I am totally depraved, but if he asked me to be his mistress, I would not—I could not—tell him no. I rather suspect, in fact, that I shall never be able to deny him anything he wants from me. But he asks for nothing more than companionship, and I can only pray that he will not soon grow bored with me.”

“And I shall add you to my prayers also, child,” the old woman said.

Verity started for the door, then turned back. “Would you like me to come visit you occasionally? I could not, of course, repeat anything Lord Sherington told me in confidence, but I could at least reassure you that he is well and in good spirits.”

“Oh, bless you, my child, I should like that above all things,” the old woman said with tears in her eyes.

To her surprise, Verity found that Lord Sherington was still waiting for her, and when she emerged, he signaled the boy walking the horses that they were ready to go.

Tossing her up into the carriage and then climbing in himself, Gabriel took the reins, then asked in a harsh voice, “What were you doing in there after I left?”

For the briefest moment Verity hesitated, not wishing to betray his grandmother, but then she remembered she had promised never to lie to Lord Sherington. Knowing she owed him her first loyalty, she confessed, “We were talking about you.” She hoped that he would not ask for more information, but of course, he did.

“And what did she say?”

“She is convinced that you will never come to visit her again.”

“More than likely she is correct in that assumption,” he said, staring straight ahead.

“But she is your grandmother—your own flesh and blood!” Verity burst out without meaning to.

“An accident of birth, nothing more.”

“Well, you will have to admit that you were wrong about one thing. She made no attempt to loosen your purse strings.”

“But I suspect she has persuaded you to champion her cause, has she not?”

“She made no mention of money,” Verity said, which was the truth if not the whole truth, because his grandmother had been willing to accept Verity’s assistance when it came to learning more about her grandson’s activities. “And even you must have noticed that she is living in dire straits.”

Beside her Lord Sherington made a sound of disbelief, and they covered the remaining distance back to Curzon Street in silence.

Verity was about to climb down out of the carriage when she was struck by the most astounding thought. So astonishing was it, in fact, that she was momentarily rendered speechless.

When she made no effort to get out by herself, as was her habit, Lord Sherington climbed out, walked around the carriage, and grasping her firmly around the waist, lifted her down.

Looking up into his eyes, which were still bright with anger, she found her voice. “Who gave you your inheritance on your twenty-first birthday?”

Her question had obviously caught him off-guard, and before he could recover, she went on. “Since the earl and your half
-
brother were both still alive then, it is obvious that none of the Rainsford family would have given you a penny. Your mother’s father died before you were born, and your grandmother said she had no male relatives to help her. So who was the unknown relative who provided you with the means to make your fortune?”

She watched the anger drain out of his eyes, and finally he said, “I have no idea, but I intend to find out without delay.” Without bidding her good-bye, he climbed back into his carriage and drove off.

Mounting the steps, Verity suspected she knew already. Given what Lord Sherington had told her about the late earl, he would not have married a merchant’s daughter—unless, of course, she had provided him with a handsome dowry. It would appear that the Everdon family had, at one time, been prosperous. To be sure, they could have suffered financial reverses.

But there was another possible explanation for Mrs. Everdon’s present poverty, and Verity rather thought it would prove to be the correct one.

What Lord Sherington’s reaction would be when he discovered the truth, she had no way of predicting.

Otterwall opened the door, and his eyes were wide with fear. Before he could utter a word of warning, he was shoved aside, and Petronella stood there. It was obvious she was in a towering rage, and from the way she was glaring, it was equally obvious that Verity was the target of her anger.