Taste of Temptation (37 page)
Read Taste of Temptation Online
Authors: Cheryl Holt
Tags: #Romance - Historical, #American Light Romantic Fiction, #General, #Romance, #Fiction, #Fiction - Romance, #Love stories, #Romance: Historical, #Historical, #American Historical Fiction, #Regency novels, #Regency fiction
Clarinda sat, too, and gazed at Amelia.
“Do you recall what I told you, Amelia?”
“Yes. Mrs. Seymour is angry at Helen and Jane, but I don’t see why that means I can’t say good-bye to Rose. How can that hurt anybody?”
“Mrs. Seymour is a witch.”
“Yes, she is,” Amelia fumed.
“And since she’s a witch, we should make her resemble one.”
“How?”
“We’ll slip her a potion so that warts grow on her nose.”
Amelia’s eyes widened with wicked fury. “Have you such a thing?”
“Not with me. I left my supplies in my brother’s wagon, but I promise I’ll get even with her someday.”
“I want to accompany you when you trick her into drinking it. I want to watch her suffer.”
Footsteps sounded above them, and Clarinda stood to move out of the way. Grudgingly, Amelia stood, too.
They peered up to see Mrs. Seymour descending. She was very smug, exhibiting not a hint of embarrassment that she was tossing three destitute females out on the street, one of them being only twelve years old.
Seymour walked over to Helen and extended a small leather pouch.
“What’s in it?” Jane snidely asked. “Poison? Should we swallow it before or after we leave?”
“If I deemed you worthy of a reply,” Seymour retorted, “I would speak to you. As it is, this is my home, and you’re a disgraced harlot. I don’t have to listen to you, so shut your mouth.”
“I hate you,” Jane seethed, “and the best part of this eviction is that I never have to see you ever again. Please tell your daughter that I think she’s fat, stupid, and ugly.”
“How dare you!”
Jane stormed out onto the stoop as Seymour shrieked, “Get back here, you pathetic ingrate!”
Jane had no intention of obeying, and Helen distracted Seymour by saying, “I assume you came down for a reason. What is it?”
“I’m paying you your wages. I won’t have you running about town claiming you were cheated.”
Clarinda breathed a sigh of relief. She had brought a full purse of her own, so they’d hardly starve, but until Helen could land on her feet, every penny was vital.
Without comment, Helen snatched the pouch away and stuffed it in her reticule. She didn’t count the coins, but it would have been pointless to quibble. If Seymour hadn’t provided the amount owed, who could force her to cough it up?
“I’ll give your regrets to Captain Odell,” Seymour taunted. “I’ll inform him that you were weary of living off his charity, so you made other arrangements.”
“You do that” Helen turned to Amelia. “Come, Amelia, let’s go.”
Amelia ignored Helen and marched over to Seymour.
“I want to talk to Rose,” Amelia boldly declared.
“That won’t be possible,” Seymour tightly responded.
“You’re the cruelest person I’ve ever met,” Amelia charged. “I’m going to find Captain Odell and tell him how you treated us.”
“He already knows,” Seymour fibbed. “Weren’t you aware? This was his decision. He was tired of supporting you.”
“You are such a liar!” Amelia spun and stomped out.
In light of Amelia’s youth and friendship with Rose, Seymour’s remark was particularly vicious. What was the woman’s problem? Her behavior enraged Clarinda as nothing had in ages.
Helen followed Amelia out, but Clarinda dawdled until she and Seymour were alone.
“Who are you,” Seymour snapped, “and why are you in my home?”
In reply, Clarinda mumbled a mouthful of gibberish, a nonsensical mixture of Latin and French that seemed important and grave and scary.
“What are you saying?” Seymour scowled, looking a tad unsettled. “Speak English—if you know any of the language.”
Clarinda held out her index and pinkie fingers, a pair of horns, indicating the sign of the devil. Seymour recognized it and stumbled back.
“I am a white witch,” Clarinda boasted.
“There’s no such thing,” Seymour countered, but her alarm was obvious.
“Isn’t there?”
“No.”
“Occasionally, I dabble in the black arts.” Clarinda uttered more rubbish, then clapped her hands three times, the sound echoing off the high ceiling, giving it an extremely portentous flair.
Seymour jumped. “Stop that!”
“It’s too late,” Clarinda hissed.
“Too late for what?”
“Too late for you.”
“What are you blathering about?”
“I’ve cursed you. It’s already taking effect.”
“Are you insane? You can’t just come into a woman’s residence and ... and ... curse her.”
“I can, and I have. Beware.”
“Beware! Of what?”
“There’s been wicked business carried out this day.”
“The only
wicked business
is my listening to you. Get out!”
wicked business
is my listening to you. Get out!”
She hurried over and flung the door wide, pointing to the street.
Clarinda studied her, then she approached until they were toe-to-toe. Seymour was trying to stand firm and not retreat, but she was superstitious, and thus, very afraid.
“Whatever plans you have for yourself,” Clarinda warned, “or for your daughter, they will never come to fruition.”
“Be silent.”
“Your fate has been altered. I can’t stop it now; it’s out of my hands.”
Seymour pushed her outside and slammed the door, the key spinning in the lock. Clarinda chuckled and went to join Helen.
“What did you say to her?” Helen asked.
“I put a curse on her.”
“You didn’t!”
“I died.”
Clarinda hadn’t actually done anything, but Seymour thought she had, and that’s what mattered. In the future, whenever Seymour suffered the slightest mishap, she’d remember Clarinda and wonder if the curse was working. The more she fretted, the more her troubles would increase.
“Thank you,” Helen said.
“You’re welcome. I’ll avenge you in other ways, too. I just need some time to ponder my retribution.”
From above them, a window was thrown open, and Rose called, “Amelia, up here! It’s me!”
They all glanced at her, and Amelia waved and jumped up and down.
“I asked to say good-bye,” Amelia told her, “but Mrs. Seymour wouldn’t let me.”
“She wouldn’t let me, either. When I tried to come downstairs, she locked me in my room!”
“She didn’t!”
“Just wait till my brother gets back and discovers what she—”
She was grabbed from behind and yanked inside, the window banged shut, and she appeared to be wrestling with someone, but they were powerless to intervene. None of them was related to Lady Rose, and they had no authority to defy Seymour. Clarinda hoped that Odell wasn’t in Scotland too awfully long, that Rose wouldn’t be imprisoned for months.
“Can’t we help her, Helen?” Amelia pleaded. “There must be something we can do.”
“There’s nothing, Amelia. It’s not our business anymore. Let’s go.”
Helen herded them into the rented hackney, with Amelia balking and Helen having to lift her in. As they settled on the hard seat, they were a sullen, depressed group.
“At least we have some money,” Clarinda mentioned.
“It’s more than I had when I arrived,” Helen responded.
The driver stuck his head in. “Where to, ladies?”
Helen was at a loss, and Clarinda offered, “I know of a lodging house, out on the edge of the city. It’s clean and affordable.”
“Fine,” Helen murmured.
Clarinda gave him the directions, and he climbed onto the box and clicked the reins. They started off, and as they rattled away, Jane was the only one who gazed out at the mansion.
“I can’t believe it’s ending this way,” she said. “I can’t believe he did this to me.”
“Let it be a lesson to you,” Clarinda counseled. “You should be wary of men and their promises.”
“I thought he was different,” Jane insisted.
“He wasn’t.”
Helen snorted but didn’t remark.
They rode along, miserable and brooding, when suddenly, the carriage slowed and was eased off to the side of the street.
“What is it?” Helen asked.
Amelia peeked out. “Some men are talking to the driver.”
The door was yanked open, and a burly fellow loomed in. He was blond and tough-looking, dressed in a gentleman’s coat and trousers, but he exuded menace. He might have been a pugilist or a criminal.
“Are you Helen Hamilton?” he inquired.
“Yes.”
“You’re Jane Hamilton?”
“Yes.”
The two sisters frowned with concern.
“Would you step out, please?”
“Why?” Helen demanded. “What’s wrong?”
“Get out, ma’am.”
“Who are you,” Clarinda asked, “and what do you want with us?”
“I am Mr. Mick Rafferty. Who are you?”
“I am a friend of the family.”
“And
I
am not. I must speak with the Misses Hamilton on a rather delicate matter. If you’ll humor me for a moment... ?”
I
am not. I must speak with the Misses Hamilton on a rather delicate matter. If you’ll humor me for a moment... ?”
He gestured for them to debark, his demeanor indicating that refusal was not an option. If they didn’t comply of their own volition, would he drag them out?
Helen scowled at Clarinda, then shrugged.
She went first, Mr. Rafferty assisting her as if he was a gallant. Jane and Amelia came next, with Clarinda bringing up the rear.
“Miss Hamilton,” he said to Helen, “were you previously employed by Michael Seymour, Lord Hastings?”
“I was.”
“Is it true you recently left under less than satisfactory circumstances?”
“You could say so.”
From behind the hackney, a man called, “I’ve got it. It’s here.”
Clarinda shifted over to see that another ruffian had been searching Helen’s trunks. Clothes and shoes were scattered on the cobbles. A crowd had gathered to watch, and people parted as the oaf pushed toward Rafferty.
He brandished a gold ring with a large emerald in the center, waving it like a prize.
“Look at this beauty!” he exclaimed as he placed it in Rafferty’s palm.
“Would you like to explain this?” Rafferty asked Helen.
“I can’t.”
“Is it your contention that you have no idea whose it is?”
“Yes, that’s exactly my contention.”
“And I suppose you haven’t a clue why it’s in your luggage.”
“Not”
“A likely story,” a bystander muttered.
Jane neared to get a better view. “It’s the betrothal ring Lord Hastings gave to Miriam.”
“So you admit it!” Rafferty crowed.
“It certainly seems to be the same one,” Jane affirmed.
“May I see your purse, Miss Hamilton?” he said to Helen.
“No, you may not”
Rafferty’s accomplice, the swine who’d riffled through their trunks, stepped in so that Helen was trapped between the two men. Rafferty plucked the purse from her grasp, and though she lunged to retrieve it, his partner clutched her arms and restrained her.
Rafferty opened her bag and removed the pouch that Maud Seymour had given to Helen—almost as if he knew it would be there. He loosened the string and dumped out the contents. A pile of shiny gold coins clinked out.
The spectators gasped.
“Miss Helen Hamilton,” Rafferty announced with great formality, “and Miss Jane Hamilton, I arrest you for committing grand theft against Lord Hastings.”
“You’re mad!” Helen fumed. “Mrs. Seymour paid me that money herself!”
“I’ll just bet she did,” Rafferty sneered.
“She did!” Helen insisted, but denial was pointless.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me.”
“I won’t!”
Helen tried to walk away, but she was immediately seized. Jane tried to flee, too, but she met the same fate.
Clarinda had observed the encounter with a horrid fascination, and as she saw where the cards were falling, she let herself be swallowed by the mob of passersby. She had a tight grip on Amelia, and she pulled her away. Amelia frowned at Clarinda, but Clarinda motioned for silence.
Helen’s and Jane’s hands were being bound with ropes, the onlookers mesmerized by the spectacle, as Rafferty said, “Where’s the little one?”
“She was here a minute ago,” his companion answered.
“We’ve got to locate her. We were supposed to nab all three.”
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