Fallen Angel (24 page)

To her dismay, Verity realized she had stayed out much too long. It was now grown so late in the day that Petronella had risen from her bed and discovered Verity was not tending to her chores. But that still did not explain her sister’s present hysteria, which seemed excessive for such a minor offense as taking a couple of hours off from the duties of the household.

“Traitor! Liar! Deceitful little tramp!” Petronella screeched.

Verity decided it would not be a good idea to let the neighbors and interested passers-by hear the rest of this angry tirade, so she pushed past her sister and firmly shut the door behind them.

“You knew—all the time, you knew!” Petronella screeched, “and yet you have been shamelessly betraying me, your own sister! I have nursed a viper to my bosom—an ungrateful viper!

“But—” Verity tried to say, not at all sure what she was supposed to have known.

“Antoinette is the one who is going to marry Lord Sherington—I told you that myself, and you agreed to help me!”

Perhaps it was due to the emotional scene she had just taken part in, but Verity lost control of herself for a brief—and disastrous—moment. In a word, she laughed in her sister’s face.

The idea of Lord Sherington ever offering for Antoinette was so preposterous, even when her sister’s face became redder and redder, Verity could not stop laughing.

She regained control of herself only when Petronella slapped her across the face so hard that Verity was knocked off balance. She would have fallen had Otterwall not caught her and set her back on her feet.

Stunned, Verity stared at her sister, whose face was so contorted with hatred, she seemed a veritable stranger.

“You shameless hussy,” Petronella said, her tone low and menacing. “Sneaking around behind my back, having illicit assignations with his lordship. I’ll not have it, do you hear? I’ll not allow such goings-on in my house. I forbid you ever to drive out with him again or see him or speak to him, do you understand me?”

Verity did not hesitate, nor did she pause to consider the rash step she was taking. “I understand. Now you must understand that I will see Lord Sherington whenever he wishes to see me. I will drive out with him when he invites me, and I will receive him when he comes to call—”

“Not in this house you shall not! I will not allow you to carry on a degrading affair for all the world to see while you are living under our protection. I have my daughter to think about, and I will not have her reputation besmirched by your shameless behavior. You promise me now that you will never see his lordship again, or you shall not spend another night under this roof! Promise me this instant!”

“I shall never promise that,” Verity said, and Petronella lifted her hand as if to strike her again. Raising her own hands but not her voice, Verity said, “But I will promise you this. If you strike me again, I will not turn the other cheek.”

It was quite clear to Verity that she had been deluding herself for years, pretending that despite Petronella’s sharp tongue and caustic manner, deep inside her she harbored at least some sisterly feelings for Verity.

But the animosity that was now evident in Petronella’s eyes clearly was more than merely a momentary displeasure caused by a single event. Her anger was not a passing mood that would vanish once this particular misunderstanding was cleared up—once Verity explained that she had no claim to Lord Sherington’s affections, nor any ambitions to wed him.

Which meant Verity had no real choice as to what she should do now that her sister’s true feelings for her were out in the open. She could, to be sure, follow the safest course and agree to give up Lord Sherington. After which, if she groveled sufficiently, her sister would doubtless agree to allow Verity to continue in her assigned role of unpaid household drudge.

Verity was not proud of the fact that a short month ago she would doubtless have begged for her sister’s forgiveness, even knowing that she had done nothing for which she needed to be forgiven.

But now, after having been with Lord Sherington all these weeks, Verity knew if she chose to knuckle under to her sister’s petty tyranny, he would despise her for being a coward—and she admitted he would have just cause. Indeed, she would not be able to forgive herself if she acted in such a spineless fashion.

With firm resolution, she turned her back on her sister and climbed the stairs to her room, where she began to pack her things.

Deprived of the freedom to express herself physically, Petronella followed, cursing Verity, taunting her, calling her every despicable name she knew. With only a slight effort, Verity discovered she could completely ignore every word her sister was saying.

A bare half hour later, Verity left the Wasteney residence and walked away without a backward glance, carrying all her worldly possessions in a portmanteau and two bandboxes. She felt not the slightest twinge of uncertainty, nor any particular regret that she was so completely severing the connection with her sister.

Gabriel did not waste time returning to his own home. Instead, he sought out Mr. Parkins in his office near the docks.

“I need you to ferret out some information for me,” Gabriel said, staring out the window. Even though the office was on the second floor, they were not high enough to see the river itself. But he could see the tops of numerous masts rising above the neighboring warehouses. “It concerns a rather large sum of money I received fourteen years ago when I turned one-and-twenty. I was told it was an inheritance from a distant relative, whose name was not mentioned on any of the documents I was required to sign when I took control of the money. Now I wish to find out who actually gave me that money.”

“Who was the solicitor handling the affair?” Mr. Parkins asked.

Gabriel told him.

“I have heard of him. He is a member of a reputable firm, and if he was instructed to keep your benefactor anonymous, you may be sure he will do just that.”

“There has to be some way to find out,” Gabriel said with a curse.

“It will not be easy. Fourteen years is in and of itself a severe handicap, and if at the time the documents were drawn up, sufficient effort was made to hide the identity of your benefactor, it may well be that we shall never uncover the truth despite our best attempts.” Mr. Parkins was silent for a long time, mulling over the possible ways to approach the puzzle. “If only you had some additional information, it would greatly increase our chances of success.”

Gabriel did not want to say what he suspected—did not want to put his conjectures into words.

“If you know anything more, no matter how trivial it might seem, you had better tell me,” Mr. Parkins prompted.

Without turning to face him, Gabriel said, “It is quite possible that the money came—may have come—from my grandmother, Mrs. Gabriel Everdon.”

The night was long, and sitting alone in his study, Gabriel had more than enough time to read his mother’s letters over and over again.

He wanted very much to believe that he had at last uncovered the truth, but he could not dismiss the possibility that everything she had written had been the product of an unstable mind—that, in fact, the accusations she had made against her lawful husband had been the hysterical rantings of a mad woman.

Bothered by his inability to see the past clearly, he took a clean sheet of foolscap from his desk and began to set down the evidence, aligning it in two columns.

The servants in Suffolk had hated and feared the previous earl
...
but set against that, the servants in London, recently turned off, had been loyal to the earl even after his death.

The vicar had told tales of petty acts of meanness indulged in by the earl and his elder son ... but even Stephen had had to admit that the evidence was primarily circumstantial—that he had not witnessed the misdeeds in person, and that not even in the most blatant cases had anyone felt sure enough to ask for a formal inquest into the events.

The earl had not been popular in Suffolk ... but he had apparently been liked well enough in London.

Gabriel had his own memories ... but they were the memories of a child. What he remembered was too little
...
what he had forgotten was too much. And even in adults, memories could play tricks—could deceive.

Today his grandmother had told him a dramatic tale, filled with villains and imprisoned ladies, quite like a novel from the Minerva Press ... but he could hardly use his grandmother’s account to validate the letters since she had admittedly gained all her knowledge of the events from the letters themselves.

In point of fact, he did not even have any proof that the letters he was reading had actually been written by his mother, because he had no other specimen of her handwriting.

Even if he were willing to concede that the old lady honestly believed that the events had transpired exactly as she had related them to him, that proved nothing.

And if she knew them to be false? Or perhaps merely exaggerated? Could she be hiding the fact that she knew her daughter had always been unstable?

That behavior would be quite in keeping with what he knew of females, who appeared to be bo
rn
with a thorough knowledge of how to be cunning and devious.

Looking at the double list he had written, Gabriel cursed his lack of solid evidence, but everything he had discovered so far was pure hearsay.

Folding the piece of paper carefully, he tucked it into his pocket, and resolved that on the morrow he would show it to Miss Jolliffe. Perhaps she could see something that he was overlooking.

And if she was likewise unable to reason away his doubts, then he would arrange a comfortable annuity for his grandmother, and that would be the end of it.

Never would he let another man—or woman—control him, nor would he allow the dead to have any influence on him. The past was not important, only the present and the future.

Gabriel’s mood was not improved in the morning, and he was not prepared to tolerate any laxness on Miss Jolliffe’s part. When he arrived in front of Lord Wasteney’s residence and she did not immediately appear, Gabriel did not sit patiently in his carriage waiting for her.

Climbing down, he tied the reins to a hitching post, took the steps two at a time, and pounded vigorously enough with the knocker to wake the dead—or in this case, every member of the household.

Otterwall opened the door, but instead of inviting Gabriel in, the butler stared at him goggle-eyed.

“Fetch Miss Jolliffe and be quick about it,” Gabriel said, striding into the hallway.

The butler opened and shut his mouth as if trying to say something, but then he apparently thought better of it, for he scurried down the hallway and disappeared into the shadows.

Gabriel paced back and forth, and the house was so quiet, he could hear nothing except the sounds of his own footsteps. Where the deuce was Miss Jolliffe? He felt his temper rise. If he had any idea whether she was upstairs or down, he would go find her himself, but she could even be in the attics or cellars for all he knew.

Finally the butler reappeared, still looking completely discomposed. “I have been instructed to ask you to wait in the drawing room if you would be so kind, my lord.”

Since it would not be fair to blame Otterwall for Miss Jolliffe’s lack of punctuality, Gabriel bit back the curses he wanted to utter. “Tell her to be quick; I do not like to keep my horses standing in this weather,” was all he vouchsafed to say, and the butler hastened to assure him that a groom would be fetched to walk them up and down.

Which did not augur well for the rapid appearance of Miss Jolliffe. And Gabriel was correct in that assumption. He was forced to wait a good half hour before the door to the drawing room opened to admit—

He cursed under his breath again. It was not Miss Jolliffe, but her brother-in-law, who entered.

“Now see here, Sherington, what is the meaning of this? You can’t come barging in on a man at this hour of the morning—it’s indecent.”

Lord Wasteney spoke in the same demented way favored by the Rainsford family, and Gabriel began to think that half of London belonged in Bedlam, especially Otterwall, who apparently did not recognize the difference between Miss Jolliffe and the unctuous baron.

Grinding his teeth, Gabriel thought of suitable punishments for the hapless butler, who now stood hovering in the doorway wringing his hands. “I have no intention of depriving you of your beauty sleep, Wasteney. In fact, I have no interest in talking with you at all. I have come to fetch Miss Jolliffe, and if she is not produced forthwith, I shall be forced to seek her out myself.”

Lord Wasteney puffed out his cheeks and turned an alarming shade of red. “I’ll not have such talk in my house! It’s disgraceful enough what you’ve done—indecent is what it is—and don’t think you can foist her off on us after you are done with her, for sister-in-law though she may be, I’ll not take her in again.”

Striding over to the baron, Gabriel caught the little man by the front of his waistcoat. “What the devil are you talking about?”

Rolling his eyes wildly, Lord Wasteney looked around for help, but the butler had prudently vanished. The baron made an ineffectual effort to remove Gabriel’s hands, and began to whimper.

Releasing him in disgust, Gabriel said, “Tell me where Miss Jolliffe is.”

Lord Wasteney straightened his clothing, cleared his throat, and said, “Lady Wasteney gave me to understand that my sister-in-law chose to leave the protection of my roof to—er—that is—to—”