The Waylaid Heart (22 page)

Branstoke came over to her, pulling her to her feet. She leaned against him, sobbing. "It was like being in a locked case, a porcelain doll on display. I was never allowed to go anywhere, see anything, except for the once-a-year treat. He took me to the opera. Oh, he brought me books and jewels and fine clothes and anything else I desired, except freedom. I was suffocating in that existence, but how could I not be thankful? He saved my father and brother from debtors' prison, and me from the life of a charity case. How can I be so ungrateful? I have to do something in gratitude!"

"You don't owe him anything, Cecilia. You paid every day of your wedded life."

She looked up at him then, studying his expression, trying to read she knew not what there. She clung to his lapels. "I want that to be true. But now, when I fear Randolph may have led him to his death, my debt increases."

"No, it doesn't. Come, sit down on the sofa and dry your eyes. Do you have any sherry about?"

"No, but Loudon will bring it if I ring."

"Then do so. You could use it, or some brandy if you have it."

She gave a watery chuckle and did as he suggested. "I believe I consumed enough brandy last night. What a fright I must look."

"I doubt you could ever look a fright, but then, I am a smitten gentleman so I may be unnaturally blind," he said lightly, dappled gold light shining from his eyes.

She looked at him in surprise, her eyes dark blue pools of emotion. "Never say so unless you mean it," she whispered, searching his face for truth.

"You rang, ma'am?"

Cecilia started and turned toward the doorway, color surging up her pale face, her eyes sparkling. "Yes. Yes I did, Loudon. We would like refreshments, please."

"I anticipated as much, ma'am, they are right outside the door." He backed out of the room then came back in almost immediately bearing a large silver tray. He set it on the sideboard and poured glasses of Madeira for each of them. "Here you are, ma'am. May I get you anything else?"

"No, thank you, Loudon, that will be all," Cecilia said, ruefully studying the glass he handed her. It was Lady Meriton's best crystal. Trust Loudon to judge people and situations to a nicety.

Branstoke held up his hand in toast. "To never saying anything we don't mean," he said solemnly.

Cecilia felt tears prick her eyes again, but they were tears of happiness. She raised her glass. "To trust." They sipped their drinks and stared at each other, silly smiles on their faces.

"Now do you understand why I wish you to go where you'll be safe?"

She sighed and turned away. His fingers cupped her chin and turned her back toward him. "Cecilia?"

"I'm sorry, James. I can't. This is something I have to see through for myself. I think it long ago became more an exercise to find myself than a sacred quest. I can't run away. I won't go back into a glass case where nothing can touch me. No matter what happens, I have to see this through."

A stubborn expression locked his jaw, and he looked at her in silence for a long moment. "Damn," he swore softly, raking his hair with his hand, messing immaculate waves. Cecilia smiled at the gesture for it was one he used only when particularly exasperated. "At least grant me the right to watch out for you."

She laughed. "You've been doing that without my permission before now, and probably would continue to do so no matter my answer."

A wry smile curved his lips. "But I would like your permission."

"I know when to compromise. I agree," she said.

He pulled her into his arms, her head resting on his chest. A knock on the door interrupted them. Branstoke groaned while Cecilia giggled and slid away from him while granting admittance.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Waddley, but there is an elderly gentleman here to see you. A Reverend Thornbridge, he says."

"Reverend Thornbridge! Mr. Thornbridge's father?"

"So he says, ma'am."

"Show him up, show him up immediately! Oh James, do you think something's happened to Mr. Thornbridge? It's all my fault!"

"Hush. Wait and see what the man has to say."

"Yes, of course,” she said as Loudon opened the door again.

“ Reverend Thornbridge?" she said, rising to greet the man Loudon ushered into the room. Only a slight quaver to her voice betrayed her nervousness.

The man who entered looked as if he'd aged years in a night. His skin held a gray pallor, and his blue eyes looked washed and empty. He moved slowly forward to greet Cecilia. "My dear, dear child," he murmured, shaking his head. He tried to smile, but it was more wistful than warm.

Cecilia grew increasingly frightened. "Mr. Thornbridge, is he—is he—"

"David is alive and recovering as well as can be expected," he said, taking her hand in his and patting it gently. "He's told me a great deal about you. You've been a very brave lady." He glanced over at the man standing by the sofa. "May we talk in private?" he asked, looking apologetically at the man.

"I'm sorry," she said, drawing him toward Sir Branstoke, "I'm being terribly remiss. Reverend Thornbridge, this is Sir James Branstoke. He is the one responsible for saving your son's life. He's conversant with Mr. Thornbridge's investigation. You may feel free to talk in front of him"

Reverend Thornbridge's face relaxed into a thankful smile. He grasped Branstoke's hand. "If what she says is true, God bless you, my son."

"Please, Reverend Thornbridge, won't you sit down and tell us what has brought you here?" Cecilia said, gently guiding the older man to sit on the sofa. She sank down next to him, Branstoke sat in the chair.

Reverend Thornbridge took Cecilia's hand between his and patted it absently. "My dear, I have said you've been brave. Now I ask if you have it within you to be braver still."

Cecilia exchanged alarmed, covert glances with Branstoke, but calmly told the old man she would be brave. He patted her hand again and sighed deeply, not knowing how to begin.

"Perhaps we should tell you we believe Mr. Thornbridge's investigation led him to uncover a possible white slavery ring," Sir Branstoke offered, giving the older man the lead-in he needed.

Reverend Thornbridge looked from one to the other, then addressed Branstoke, though his weathered and wrinkled hands kept Cecilia's tightly captured. "According to David, it is not a possibility. It is an actuality. From information he obtained—it pains me to tell you this, my dear, but I must—from information he obtained, Mr. Waddley was not killed because he discovered this sordid affair. It was more in the nature of a falling out among thieves."

Cecilia blanched. "No!"

Branstoke nodded. "I was afraid that might be the case."

"How could you?" Cecilia cried, rounding on him. "Mr. Waddley was good to me. He—"

"Cecilia! He may have married you, but you were kept like a purchased possession. Like the upper-class spice in which he traded," Branstoke said harshly.

Cecilia shook her head, horror in her eyes. "No, no," she murmured, anguished. Yet if what he said were true—

Reverend Thornbridge put an arm around her shoulder. "It was a partnership," he told her softly, sadly, "between Mr. Waddley and some member of society with foreign connections. My son doesn't know who. The women and young girls they sold were primarily flash house residents and their like. Though, on occasion, there were whispers of others of higher position." He turned back to face Branstoke.

"Since Mr. Waddley's death, another manager at the company, a Mr. William Kearney, a brash young man with only one year seniority to my David, has become the Waddley's contact for the shipment of this heinous cargo."

"Does your son have any clues as to the society member involved?" Branstoke asked.

The old man nodded. "He believes it to be either Sir Harry Elsdon or Charles Dernley, Lord Havelock. He says your brother is involved, albeit as of late, reluctantly. But he is not the leader."

Cecilia nodded, a rueful smile touching her lips. "I would find it hard to believe Randolph having the intelligence to mastermind something of this nature. I suppose I should be thankful for small favors."

Reverend Thornbridge nodded, taking his hand from her shoulder to reach into his pocket, pulling out a crumbled slip of paper. "David also believes there is another shipment due to leave within the next ten days. He has identified what orders for finished cotton goods are actually orders for these poor pathetic creatures. They are all stamped with this device." He held out a paper for them to see. On it was stamped a rose with a sword through it.

Cecilia shuddered at the symbolism. Closing her eyes she saw it again. This time on a signet ring. Her brother's signet ring.

"Jessamine, how many visits like the last do you suppose we'll have today?" Cecilia asked, collapsing in a chair near her aunt.

Lady Meriton, ensconced on the daybed amid a nest of pillows and covers laughed. "Branstoke certainly set the cat among the pigeons yesterday. Mr. Rippy must have made the rounds of all London's gossiping haunts after he left here. Can't you imagine him whispering in some prominent society belle's ear the latest on dit: Branstoke is taken! Then when neither of you appear at any party or play last evening, society went wild with speculation. I think our three charming guests who just departed will only be the first of many coming here today to ferret out the truth!" she said in dire accents, her narrow eyebrows wriggling dramatically.

"You could avoid this by remaining above stairs and claiming your recent illness continues to lay you low."

"Nonsense! I'm having too much fun! This is just the restorative I needed," she said, adjusting the light throw spread over her legs.

Cecilia made a face at her. "It is all so awkward. Some of the questions those old tabbies asked quite put me to the blush! All I can do is agree he is a frequent visitor here; admit he is allowed to enter unannounced, and I swear I'll have words with Loudon about that, and then admit—in the face of sympathetic—nay, pitying looks—that he has not made me an offer! The entire situation is unbearable. To say nothing of the fact that I have more pressing concerns than assuaging society's voracious curiosity."

"I know, my dear. Frankly, I cannot help but agree with Sir Branstoke. There may be extended safety for you in having his intentions publicly known."

"That's sheer arrogance. There could also be greater risks!" snapped Cecilia. Furthermore, he has not stated that he has intentions."

Lady Meriton smiled and shook her head. "When do you expect him?"

"Not until later today. He's gone to talk with Bow Street about setting a watch on Mr. Kearney. Then he wants to visit with members of that Select Committee investigating corruption and flash houses to see if they might take an active interest in this matter as well."

She did not add that she hoped he would come soon for she found among the items she took from her brother's rooms at Cheney House a certain ring and a very disturbing note.

A knock on the parlor door was followed by the entrance of Loudon announcing Lady Amblethorp and her daughter. Cecilia groaned while her aunt, chuckling, instructed him to show them up.

"Ah, my dear friend, Lady Meriton," gushed Lady Amblethorp surging into the room, her hands stretched out before her. "I'm so delighted to see you recovering from that nasty indisposition. We have missed seeing you these past few days, and so I've several times told Janine. Isn't that right, Janine? I said, I do so miss seeing my dear friend Lady Meriton." She pushed aside the covers at the foot of the daybed and sat down on the end. "Now that you're feeling better, we have time for a nice, comfortable coze. Janine, why don't you go talk to Mrs. Waddley. I'm sure you two younger women have much news to share."

Cecilia exchanged wry glances with her aunt, and received an apologetic one from Janine. Obligingly, Cecilia led Janine to a sofa closer to the windows. "You don't need to tell me," she told her young friend, a wry smile on her lips. "You've been sent on a reconnaissance mission. Your instructions are to discover all you can about the truth of the gossip regarding Sir James Branstoke and the Widow Waddley."

Janine blushed, pursed her lips, and nodded. "It is all the talk. London is buzzing with speculation." She looked up and smiled mischievously.

Cecilia was stunned at the transformation it effected in her plain little face. Her eyes sparkled and dimples carved into her cheeks. The expression lent her an attractive gamin prettiness.

"Miss Cresswell is livid," Janine continued. "She is doing her best to discredit Mr. Rippy. Dropping nasty innuendos about him on the side; but no one is paying her much mind. I believe society wants to see Miss Cresswell get her comeuppance. Beautiful though she may be, she is a spiteful cat without much else to offer besides her looks. Society is wearying of her."

"She will learn the hard way that beauty does not last. It is style, countenance, and wit that provides a woman with the wherewithal to stay in the forefront of society. She should look to Lady Melbourne or Lady Hertford to see that," Cecilia offered.

"Yes, but our regent's tastes are a bit out of the normal," Janine said drily.

Cecilia laughed. "True enough. But now, so you will not be embarrassed at asking, I will tell you Sir Branstoke has not asked me to marry him. He has been a frequent visitor here during which time we have had more arguments than pleasant chats. I don't know why Loudon lets him come up unannounced. I suspect he's been bribed, but I do not know. What he said to Mr. Rippy, could, in Sir Branstoke's dry way, be taken several different ways. It is obvious which way Mr. Rippy took it."

Janine looked at her shrewdly. "I believe that is what you tell yourself. I will not press you for confidences you'd rather not give. I will say I am happy for you, though I admit I'd hoped it would have been Lord Havelock."

"Havelock! But that's the gentleman you bear a tendre for—"

"Did bear a tendre for. In another time and place. He is not the man now he was then. I was hoping you could help him recover a bit of himself."

"Me? Oh, Janine, my dear. I don't know that anyone could." She bit her lip. How would this fragile young woman take the notion that the man she adored may well be a warped monster? She licked her lips. Now was the time when she could discover when Havelock's cousin disappeared, if she had the courage to ask. "Janine, speaking of Lord Havelock, I was wondering, when exactly did Dorothea Rustian, his cousin, disappear? Was it before or after his house burned down?"

"About a month afterward, why?"

"I was just curious if it had any bearing on his change in manner."

"I couldn't say. After the fire he was unapproachable for a while, stoic, locked within himself. Then too, the family was in mourning and his mother was being perfectly beastly. I believe he disappeared about the same time Dorothea did. He did not return to England until after the official mourning period for his father and brother was over."

The expression on Janine's face was so melancholy that Cecilia felt the lowest worm for bringing those memories out. "He does seem to be increasingly personable. Perhaps if he could be brought to rebuild Havelock Manor, it would lay to rest the remaining ghosts."

"But how to—"

"Excuse me, my lady," exclaimed Loudon, bursting into the room. His face was unnaturally pale, his eyes wide. "There's a man below, just come from Cheney House," he gulped and looked toward Cecilia. She rose unsteadily to her feet. "I'm sorry, ma'am, he says Mr. Haukstrom's dead!"

Cecilia swayed at the bald pronouncement. Janine, a soft cry on her lips, rose to support her.

"How?" she whispered past dry lips.

Loudon looked miserable. "Hung himself, ma'am."

Cecilia moaned softly and did something she'd never actually done before. She fainted.

Cecilia opened her eyes to a sea of faces swimming above her. A sharp ammonia smell waved under her nose mingled distastefully with the lavender water bathing her brow. Her eyes watered and she coughed, batting at the helpful hands fluttering over her. She struggled to sit up.

"Please, stop. I'm all right. Give me a moment," she said, her voice husky. She cleared her throat and shook her head to dispel the last of the wooziness. She took stock of her surroundings. She was lying on the daybed hurriedly vacated by Lady Meriton. Loudon stood at the head, wringing his, hands. Janine knelt beside her, a lavender-water drenched handkerchief in her hand. Jessamine held the sal volatile. Lady Amblethorp hovered behind her aunt, eyes bright and inquisitive; beyond her, near the door, stood an array of servants openly staring. One man she did not recognize.

"You there, are you from Cheney House?" she asked weakly. Janine helped her to sit up against the pillows over the protests of her aunt and Lady Amblethorp.

"Yes, ma'am," said the fellow, nervously twisting his hat in his hand.

"Come here," she ordered, her voice stronger. The man hesitatingly approached her. She turned to look over her shoulder at Loudon. "A glass of brandy please, and see that the rest of the company here disperses."

At her words there was a scurrying of feet by the door. She closed her eyes a moment to gather her thoughts and waited until Loudon brought the brandy. She took a healthy swallow, to the consternation and surprise of the others, then handed the glass to Janine. Somehow, the two of them had achieved a rapport. It was that hidden strength she once mentioned to Jessamine. She knew she could count on Janine to be of assistance. She hoped it would stand Janine in good stead should her suspicions concerning Lord Havelock prove true.

She looked at the man standing before her. "When and where?"

"Sometime last night, ma'am. He were found this morning by a housemaid. Screamed like a banshee she did, and we all come running'. He were dangling from the chandelier in the library, his face all black and mottled."

Gasps came from the others in the room. Lady Amblethorp muttered something to which Lady Meriton snapped back at her. Cecilia ignored them, She raised an eyebrow, thinking. Haukstrom never went near that library of his own. She discovered that two nights ago. "I see. And have messages been sent yet to Baron Haukstrom or the duke?"

"No, ma'am. We didn't know what to do, 'cept cut him down and lay him out," he explained, plainly and painfully looking at her for advice.

She nodded. "Loudon, fetch pen and paper."

"Mama, I think it best we leave now," Janine said, rising to her feet.

Lady Amblethorp started to protest. She wanted to stay and hear all the sordid details.

Janine was unnaturally cool and firm. "Lady Meriton and Mrs. Waddley have much on their minds and much to do." She turned to Cecilia. "If there is anything I can do….”

Cecilia smiled up at the blossoming young woman. "I shall be sure to contact you. Thank you for your assistance and understanding."

Janine nodded, bid Lady Meriton good-bye and escorted her mother from the room. On the steps they met Sir Branstoke dashing inside. Lady Amblethorp made to turn back and follow him but Janine forestalled her. "No, Mother, you shall have to be content knowing Sir Branstoke came hurrying to her side."

Lady Amblethorp looked mulish, but the calm, determined expression on her youngest daughter's face gave her pause. Meekly she allowed herself to be led away.

Branstoke entered the parlor to find Cecilia acting the general to her troops. She sat on the daybed using Lady Meriton's lap desk as a writing surface. Her pen flew across paper while she issued orders to others in the room. He lounged against the door frame, his arms across his chest, appreciating her. She sanded another note, handing it to a man Branstoke didn't recognize.

"See that this gets to the duke immediately. Take Randolph's fastest horse."

"And the baron, ma'am?"

"I have no idea at what watering spa he is at the present. It may take some time to locate him. I'll send someone else to chase him to ground."

The man nodded, bowed, and turned to go. Cecilia looked up then to see Branstoke. "You heard?"

"Yes, the news is spreading like wildfire throughout London." He walked toward her. "Can you dismiss the rest of your cavalcade? We need to talk."

"Of course. Loudon, I will call for you and the others later. Jessamine, stay please. I've told her nearly everything," she quietly explained to Branstoke.

He nodded. "I anticipated as much. Bow Street is setting a man on Kearney. I have not, as yet, had luck meeting with anyone on the committee."

"James, I think we had best examine the library at Cheney House. That is where Randolph was found. He never used the library."

"You suspect murder?"

She looked down at her hands and bit her lip for a moment, then moved the lap desk aside. She rose from the daybed to cross to a carved and painted box on the mantle. She opened it and took two things from inside. She brought them to Branstoke, dropping them into his hand.

The cold metallic shape caught his attention first. It was a gold signet ring. He turned it over. The raised cartouche of a rose and sword was on the flat bezel. A dark eyebrow rose as he examined it.

"It is identical to the stamp Reverend Thornbridge showed us."

"Yes," she said noncommittally. She waited while he unfolded the note. She knew what it said without looking at it. She knew what it meant:

The Widow Waddley is not the fool you or she would have us believe. Stop her. Lest she meet that fate scheduled eight years ago.

At the bottom was stamped the rose and sword.

Branstoke looked up at her, puzzled.

"Eight years ago I married Mr. Waddley," she said softly, "but I don't think that is what the message means. With the stamp on the bottom, I believe I was to be part of their spice trade."

He nodded slowly. "You certainly meet the criteria. Why did Mr. Waddley marry you?”

Cecilia shook her head and turned away.

"Mr. Waddley married her sight unseen," put in Lady Meriton quietly. "He expected Randolph's sister to be older and plainer."

Cecilia turned back to face Branstoke. "Remember what Randolph said at Oastley? That he saved my life by marrying me to Waddley? I thought, have thought all along, he meant he saved me from a life of poverty and drudgery."

"When he may actually have been saving you from being kidnapped by him. But that still doesn't make any sense. How would Randolph know his plans?"

"I don't know. Perhaps, with him dead, we'll never know. It was also eight years ago that Dorothea Rustian disappeared."

"Dorothea Rustian?"

"Lord Havelock's cousin. A vibrant redhead, I understand. Havelock also went abroad at the time for an extended period."

"E'gad," mouthed Branstoke. "I know Havelock is one of the two suspected by Thornbridge, but—"

"I know. I haven't seen Havelock in two days. Have you?"