The Desirable Duchess (17 page)

A small, wizened groom came staggering past, carrying a bale of hay. Alice started in surprise. “Sam?” she said.

The groom stopped and put down the hay. “You are Sam, are you not?” asked Alice. “You worked for my parents.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“I remember, you took that letter to Sir Gerald for me.”

“In a way, Your Grace.”

“What do you mean, Sam?”

He scratched his head. “You probably know now, Your Grace. Your parents called back the footman when he was on the road to the stables and read that letter—and went to see Sir Gerald themselves.”

“Ah, yes,” said Alice bitterly. “And they told Sir Gerald that I was in love with His Grace.”

“Not ’zactly,” said Sam, reaching for the bale again.

“Stay. What do you mean?”

“Shouldn’t be talking,” muttered Sam.

“I command you.”

“That footman, he went with Mr. and Mrs. Lacey. He heard them say they would pay Mr. Warby a large sum of money if he went away.”

“Which,” said Alice in a small voice, “he accepted.”

“That he did.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

Alice moved away, her heart heavy. The final confirmation of Gerald’s perfidy. Now she was trapped here in the country, and even now he might be trying to murder her husband.

She looked back at the house. Mr. Shadwell was standing on the terrace, watching her.

She turned away from the house and leaned her back against the branches of an oak tree.

“Don’t look up,” said an urgent Irish voice above her head. “It’s me, Donnelly.”

She opened her mouth, but he said, “Don’t speak. He’s watching from the terrace. Me and Dunfear and Mrs. Duggan are at the George and Dragon in the village. We tried to see you but were turned away. So here’s the plan. If you can get out of the gardens and as far as the wall of the estate, there’s a broken bit of wall about one hundred yards west of the south lodge. Be there at two this morning and we’ll be there in a closed carriage to pick you up. Now back to the house with you before they become suspicious.”

Alice pretended to go to sleep that night, but she lay awake, listening to the rumble of snores from Betty, who slept in a little dressing room on a truckle bed adjoining the bedroom.

At midnight, she rose and dressed quietly. She dared not take any luggage with her. She put a cloak on and raised the hood to cover her bright hair. She crept down the main staircase and then stopped on the first landing. A footman was sleeping in a chair in front of the door.

Alice moved very slowly, down and across the hall and into the Yellow Saloon, which she knew had French windows opening onto the terrace. To her relief, the windows were not locked but simply bolted on the inside. She eased the bolt back and opened the window, her heart in her mouth as it gave an ominous creak.

Outside lay a vista of moon-washed lawns—and freedom!

She took to her heels and ran.

By the time she reached the wall of the estate, she was feeling exhausted because the south wall was several miles from the house. She felt her way along the wall, Stumbling through briars that tore at her cloak and stubbing her toes on fallen bits of stone from the estate wall.

At last she heard the gentle whinny of horses and could make out the black shape of a carriage through the broken section of wall.

With a glad cry, she scrambled over the stones and wrenched open the carriage door.

“And now,” said Mrs. Duggan, “you’d better tell us what you’ve been doing.”

At breakfast in a posting house on the road to London, Alice wearily told her rescuers over again about the attempts on the duke’s life and how he had not believed her. “And I had to leave Oracle behind,” mourned Alice, “for the bird would have squawked and alerted the servants when I was escaping. I hope they treat it well, but Betty has a fondness for the bird and I am sure she will see that no one harms it.”

“If it hadn’t been for that silly bird, your husband might have listened to you,” said Mrs. Duggan. “But all we can do is this. We’ll need to disguise ourselves and watch the duke’s house, and try to foil any other attempts.”

“How can we disguise ourselves and wait outside his house?” demanded Alice. “The servants would come out and ask us our business.”

“We’ll think of something,” said Mrs. Duggan.

“I always do, at any rate.”

Ten days later the duke stood at the window of the drawing room of his town houses staring bleakly out into the street. He had been to Clarendon and back looking for his absent wife. He had called on Sir Gerald and had threatened him. If Alice even approached him, he was to report to him immediately. Lucy had been distressed but said she had not heard anything from Alice. Alice’s parents were distraught, not helped by a lecture from the duke in which he had told them that they had destroyed their daughter’s life.

Somewhere in England was Alice, without money, without luggage. Where could she have gone?

Hoskins entered the room. “Those strolling players are back again, Your Grace. Shall I send one of the servants to move them on?”

“No, leave them,” said the duke curtly. Yes, they were there again, that odd troupe. An old, fat woman banged a tambourine, a thin man in a slouch hat played the flute while the Pierrot and Columbine danced, the Pierrot in his harlequin costume with his face hidden under a black mask, the masked Columbine in ballet skirt and spangled top who reminded him achingly of Alice, despite her straggling red hair.

In the street below, the Pierrot circled the Columbine and muttered, “Well, sure now, your husband’s at the window so he’s still alive.”

“But for how long?” murmured Alice. “And he is bound to become suspicious of us sooner or later.”

“Your own mother wouldn’t recognize you in that red wig,” said Mr. Donnelly, who was playing Pierrot.

The duke went out in the afternoon, and Lord Dunfear, in his slouch hat, hired a hack and followed the duke’s carriage, then returned to Mrs. Duggan’s to say the duke was in the House of Lords.

“That should keep him safe for a couple of hours,” sighed Mrs. Duggan, massaging her feet. “Do you know, I’m thinking we’ve been wasting our time following the wrong person.”

“What do you mean?” asked Alice.

“Why, we should have been following Warby to see what he gets up to. It’s proof we need.”

“I’ll do that,” said Mr. Donnelly, rising and stretching. “Good idea. You all wait here.”

He was lucky enough to find Gerald just leaving his lodgings, and, pulling his hat down over his eyes, he followed him. Gerald set out in the direction of the city with Mr. Donnelly in pursuit. He went into a coffeehouse in Cheapside, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Mr. Donnelly followed him in.

A brief glance was enough to tell him that Gerald had joined Lord Werford and his son, Percy, in a booth. Mr. Donnelly slid into the next booth and strained his ears, breaking off only to order a tankard of Dog’s Nose.

“I can’t do anything at the moment,” he heard Gerald say petulantly. “I am sure he is having me watched in case that wife of his turns up on my doorstep.”

“But you can,” said Percy in his mincing voice. “We have managed to get a copy of the key to the back door of Ferrant’s town house. The maid who is walking out with our servant will leave the door unbolted. She thinks she is letting in her lover. You arm yourself, go straight to his bedroom and shoot him, and then let yourself out. Simple.”

“Something will go wrong,” said Gerald, raising his voice and then lowering it so that Mr. Donnelly had to strain to hear his next words. “Have I not tried and tried? And what happens? Some dog eats the poisoned pâté at that picnic, Mrs. Tregader eats the poisoned pudding meant for the duke, and that gargoyle falls and kills someone else after I had spent hours up on Lord Rother’s roof hacking away. So what is going to happen this time? I tell you something will go wrong.”

“You’d better do it,” said Percy silkily, “or it will be the worse for you.”

Gerald groaned. “So what time?”

“Two in the morning,” said Lord Werford. “He is not going anywhere tonight, so he has no reason to be in bed late. Here is the key. As soon as Percy here is duke, you’ll get your money.”

Mr. Donnelly goggled. He must tell the others. The duke must be warned.

But when he returned, despite her horror to learn that Lord Werford and his son were behind the attempts on the duke’s life, Mrs. Duggan was adamant in her refusal to tell the duke. “What if he doesn’t listen to us, the way he did not listen to his wife? No, we will catch Warby in the act.”

The duke tossed and turned but could not sleep. Faintly, from down below, came the shrill sound of a pipe and the steady beat of a tambourine. Those odd strolling players and that Columbine who reminded him of Alice. How odd that they were still there. He had ordered his servants to pay them well. No doubt they felt they were giving him a free concert.

His thoughts turned again to Alice and her mad story of Warby trying to kill him. But the blinding jealousy he had felt that day was fading. All he knew was that he would do anything, promise anything, if only he could have Alice back. His mind turned back to her tale of attempted murder. Yes, there had been that odd shooting in the Park, then pâté, then that odd business with Mrs. Tregader, and then the gargoyle, which would have crushed him to death had he not changed places with Doggie’s wife. But it was all coincidence, he thought fretfully. But if Alice came back, it did not matter what lies she told him, he would accept them all. Where was she? Was she lying cold and dead in a ditch somewhere?

He fell into an uneasy sleep at last.

“The door’s locked,” said Mr. Donnelly frantically. “He’s locked it behind him.”

“It’s got glass panes. Stand back!” said Mrs. Duggan.

She swung her heavy tambourine at the glass pane near the lock and shattered it. Dunfear leaned in and turned the handle. “Fast, Alice,” hissed Mrs. Duggan. “Donnelly’s got the gun. Get us to the duke’s bedchamber. Oh, hurry!”

Gerald ran silently about upstairs, opening door after door. He had been told where the duke’s bedchamber was but had lost his way in the dark. At last he opened a door and saw a figure lying in a four-poster bed with the curtains drawn back. With shaking hands, he fumbled and lit a lantern he had brought with him and held it high, the weak rays shining across the room and on the sleeping duke’s face.

With a sigh of relief, he set the lantern on the floor and raised the pistol. At that moment the duke opened his eyes and sat up.

It took a split second for the duke to see Gerald, to realize in that awful moment that Alice had told nothing but the truth. Gerald’s hand wavered. It was one thing to shoot at a man from behind the shelter of bushes in the Park, another to gun him down at close range.

And the next second, Mr. Donnelly took careful aim from the doorway and shot Gerald dead while the duke stared in amazement at the troupe of strolling players, and then at the redheaded Columbine who was tearing off her mask and red wig, who was crying, “Oh, John, do you believe me now?”

Lord Werford and Percy had not gone to bed. They were waiting to hear from Sir Gerald that the duke was dead.

“And then what do we do with him?” asked Percy.

“Thought of something,” said his father, and looked away.

Percy yawned and stretched. “At least suspicion won’t fall on us. Everyone will think Warby was so madly in love with Alice that he shot him. I wonder if it ever crossed his mind that he would be the first person the law picked up.”

“That one will probably have an alibi all ready,” remarked his father.

Percy chuckled. “We’re the alibi. It was all arranged. We’re to say he was with us.”

“The fool! As inheritors of the dukedom, the last thing we want to be is associated with Warby.”

“So what are you going to do with him?”

Lord Werford rose and went to the sideboard, lifted a decanter of port, and held it up. “This is poisoned,” he said. “One glass of this and he’s out of our lives.”

“And out of his own life, too,” said Percy, and
sniggered. He cocked his head to one side. “Devil of a noise approaching. Not another riot.”

“Lean out the window,” said Lord Werford, “and tell me what you see.”

Percy opened the window, bent forward, and looked down into the street. Torches and lanterns were bobbing and shining on the uniforms of the militia, all armed to the teeth.

“Well?” demanded Lord Werford’s voice behind him.

But Percy did not reply. A feeling of apprehension was beginning to seize him. Down the street the soldiers marched—and then stopped outside the street door below.

Percy swung round, his face ashen. “They’re here. They’ve come here. The soldiers. They’ve come for
us
!”

A banging on the door sounded from below and a great cry of, “Open in the king’s name.”

Lord Werford rose and went to the sideboard. He poured two glasses of port and held one out to his son.

Scandal rocked London the following day as the news spread and spread; Mrs. Duggan busily added fuel to the rumors by saying the duke was aware all along of the attempts on his life and had sent the duchess, guarded, to the country for her protection.

Lady Macdonald left for Paris. Although she had known nothing about the attempts on Ferrant’s life, she had paid Warby a large sum of money and was afraid that the authorities would descend on her to ask the reason why if her bank ever revealed that information to them.

The duke was remorseful. He swore to Alice that he would never, ever raise his voice to her again, would never disbelieve anything she said, and was such a tender and considerate husband that Alice was quickly able to recover from her own shock at the death of Gerald—and from her guilt at having ever known or loved such a man.

Betty, the maid, arrived back from Clarendon, bearing Oracle in his cage, explained that the bird had been in poor health after Alice had left, but that it had transpired that the groom, Sam, had turned out to have a way with birds and so Oracle had been put into his care.

Mrs. Duggan, Lucy, Edward, Lord Dunfear, and Mr. Donnelly were constant visitors, all reliving the adventures, and much as the duke would have liked more time alone with his wife, he was so grateful to Alice’s Irish friends in particular that he always gave them a welcome.