Anita Mills (16 page)

“Tonight? But what about this afternoon?”

“Bertie and I are going into Nottingham.”

“No!” the girl wailed. “I cannot!”

“Stuff.” Anne leaned over Charlotte Deveraux and said clearly, “Meg will stay with you today. Your son has been taken into custody, and I am going to see a solicitor on his behalf. I shall also attempt to see him, and I will tell him you are much better. When I come back, I will report all I have discovered to you.”

“Do you think you ought to have told her that?” Meg asked anxiously. “About Mr. Deveraux, I mean?”

“If she loves him, ‘twill give her a reason to get well.” She straightened and looked at the younger girl. “When you feed her, make certain she does not choke. Count at least to fifty between each spoon.” Reaching to clasp the old woman’s hand once more, she squeezed, then released the bony fingers. “Do not worry, Mrs. Deveraux. Your son shall prevail.”

She started to leave, then remembered the hat. “As I shall be visiting Mr. Deveraux and then seeking out a solicitor, I do not suppose you would consider lending me one of your hats, would you? I rather think I ought to look as respectable as possible.”

“But of course you must! You are welcome to anything I have, Annie,” Meg answered sincerely. “I should not know how to go on without you here.”

“Stuff, Meg—one does what one must. Otherwise, one must surely perish.”

It was not until after Anne had left that Meg settled into the chair again. Sighing in resignation, she reached to pull the covers up to her godmother’s chin. It was then that she noted that the old woman’s eyes watered. For a moment she wondered if she ought to tell Annie, then decided it did not signify. Instead, she picked up the book Anne had left, opened it, and began to read aloud.

Owing to the muddy roads, it took nearly two hours to travel the eight miles to Nottingham, and much of the way Bertie Bascombe fretted about the effect of the mud on his carriage and his cattle. But Anne stared out the window, scarce hearing him, her thoughts on helping Dominick Deveraux. Her hands clasped her borrowed reticule tightly, afraid to set it down for fear of losing the hundred pounds inside.

As she passed the cottages of starving hosiers and weavers, she worried greatly about breaking down. That she was in the area of the great Luddite Rebellion but a few years back did nothing to reassure her. With thousands now on the poor rolls, it would not do to be discovered carrying money.

Even in the miserable weather, there was a commotion at the side of the road, and as they passed it, she could see a stockinger loom being repossessed. She sighed heavily, feeling for the family that stood watching it being loaded onto a wagon. If she were rich, she’d have tried to help them.

Finally, through the misting rain, she saw the town itself, its old castle rising above it, and she could not help recalling the story of how the evil, ambitious Earl of Mortimer had been taken there in adultery with Queen Isabella, the she-wolf of France, nearly five hundred years earlier. Below it, the Trent River meandered past, a gray ribbon threading through the dirty snow.

The carriage turned down a narrow street, passing a row of Georgian terrace houses, winding into the old town. “Have you ever been to a jail, Bertie?” she asked suddenly.

“Lud, no! Don’t want to go now, if you want the truth of it, but you got this maggot in your brain—well, I told you what I thought. Leave it to Trent.”

“I was just wondering what sort of place it is.”

“Ain’t anywhere you’d want to be,” he declared. “If it was, nobody’d mind going there, don’t you know?”

When the carriage stopped, Anne nearly wished she hadn’t come. The soot-covered edifice appeared grim and forbidding. When Cribbs opened the door, she clutched the reticule even more tightly, something she’d not thought possible. Bertie jumped down and turned to help her out. Holding the skirt of Meg’s checkered gown, she tried to step across the puddle.

“Well, we are here,” she said, trying to keep her voice bright. “ ’Tis not a pretty place, is it?”

“And we ain’t been inside it yet,” Bertie reminded her sourly. “Tell you what—we ask around for the solicitor first. Come back later.”

“No. We have to discover of Deveraux whether he wishes one.”

“Ten to one, he’s got one already. If he ain’t, Trent’ll get him one.”

“Come on, Bertie.” Taking his arm, she started up the steps. “If you wish, I will do the talking.”

“I ain’t saying nothing.”

Her fingers pressing into his forearm, she steered her reluctant companion to the nearest guard. “Your pardon, sir, but could you tell us if Mr. Deveraux is still held here?” she inquired politely.

His eyes raked over her insolently; then he jerked his head toward a man who sat against the wall. “Ladybird to see Deveraux!”

“Now, see here,” Bertie began, bristling. “Miss Morland is a respectable female!”

“Is he here?” she repeated.

“Aye.” The other man rose and walked toward them. Addressing Bertie, he asked, “You his relation?”

“No. Name’s Bascombe.”

“Only his relations get in.”

“Mr. Bascombe is the Earl of Haverstoke’s heir,” Anne told him, “and we are come to see how Mr. Deveraux fares.”

His eyes took in her form, then her face, but his manner was impersonal. “And who might you be, miss?”

“Told you she is Miss Morland,” Bertie protested.

Anne exhaled, then managed to smile at the jailer. “I am Mr. Deveraux’s betrothed,” she announced baldly. Beneath her fingertips, Bertie gave a start. Her fingers closed, nipping him in warning.

“I dunno. Will! This lady says she’s Deveraux’s betrothed!”

Anne felt the blood rise to her face, but she tried to brazen her way in anyway. “Surely you will make allowance … that is, after all …”

“Will, ask him if he’ll see her!”

As the other fellow disappeared, Bertie and Anne exchanged glances. “Make it sound like he holds audiences,” Bertie muttered under his breath. “Wish you’d quit giving out about m’father,” he added.

“Well, being an earl’s son must be useful for something, don’t you think?” she pointed out reasonably.

“You got gold?” the jailor asked.

“Well, I …”

“Give him the grease,” Bertie hissed.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Got to bribe ’em.”

“I thought you’d never been in a jail before.”

“Ain’t. But you got to grease the hogs everywhere, you know.”

Aware that the jailer was waiting expectantly, Anne turned away, using her body to shield the contents of the reticule from him, and drew out several coins. Drawing the string closed, she held them out.

“Here.”

“Five shillings!” he fairly howled.

“Annie, that ain’t enough,” Bertie snorted.

“ ’Tis all I have,” she lied. “ ’Tis a week’s honest wages, in any event.”

“He says he’ll see her.”

The one apparently in charge slipped the money into his pocket, muttering he’d get the rest from Deveraux himself. Jerking his thumb toward the door, he ordered, “Take her back.”

“I say, but—” Bertie protested.

The jailer spat onto the dirty floor. “Didn’t ask for you.”

“Miss Morland is a respectable female!” Bertie called after her. “If aught happens to her, you’ll answer to me—m’father too!” he added forcefully.

The fellow led her past a row of dirty cells, down a narrow passage, down a stairwell, and her resolve nearly deserted her. “Down here?” she asked faintly.

“Ain’t any rats in the daytime,” he reassured her. His dirty hand steadied her elbow. “Way’s steep,” he offered in understatement.

At the bottom was a door, and she envisioned a hellish dungeon behind it. But as the door swung inward, she was surprised to discover a large room. Her eyes darted around it nervously, taking in the cot, the table and chairs, the wine bottles, the chamber pot, and finally the man who stood waiting for her. He was freshly barbered and elegantly attired, and gave no appearance of having suffered in the least for his ordeal.

“Leave us,” he ordered curtly, nodding to his valet. “You also, Will,” he told the guard. As he turned his attention to Anne, one black eyebrow quirked upward and his mouth twisted wryly. “My betrothed, Miss Morland?”

“Yes, well, I apologize for
that,
of course. When we arrived, we discovered that only your relations could see you. I’m afraid I gambled a bit,” she admitted ruefully. “I thought perhaps they might admit your intended.” She managed a smile. “Well, you are looking rather well. Much better than I expected,” she added lamely.

He shrugged. “I get on. For enough money, they provide whatever I need, and then I win the blunt back over cards. ’Tis tolerable, I suppose.”

“I had to bribe my way in here. It cost you five shillings. You, sir, have completely corrupted me,” she told him with feeling. “Before I encountered you, I did not believe I had told half a dozen falsehoods in my life, and since, I seem to have done nothing but lie.”

“The resourceful Miss Morland,” he murmured, moving forward. She backed up a step. He stopped. “What—no kiss? What sort of betrothed are you, my dear? I was rather looking forward to that at least.”

“
Will
you be serious?” she demanded crossly. “Ever since you left so precipitately, I have read to, bathed, fed, and tended your mother night and day, I have listened to Meg until I have wished her at Jericho, I have been cooped up in your house worrying over what has become of you, and you … you apparently have scarce been in jail! And … and I have ridden the worst roads in the mistaken notion that you might have need of aid!”

“Annie … Annie …”he said softly. He reached for her, and would have drawn her into his arms, but she ducked away. “Annie, I am sorry for this, you know.”

The way he said it made her want to cry, which in turn made her feel utterly ridiculous. “Oh, stuff!”

He let her back up. “I collect this is not a social call, then? That you have not come merely to commiserate with me?” he murmured regretfully.

“Not precisely. That is, I have come to discuss certain matters with you.”

“Very well, my dear. You behold a rather captive audience.” His mouth twisted again, this time downward. “Ah, my lamentable memory. I forgot for a moment that you are not anyone’s dear.” He gestured toward the table. “Would you care to sit down, Annie? Alas, but I have no ratafia. However, there is a bit of port.”

“Yes, well, I should prefer to sit and not drink anything, I think.” As she spoke, she took a chair. Looking away, she apologized also. “I am sorry about claiming a betrothal, you know, but I saw no other way.”

“I assure you I am not repining.” He took the chair on the other side and leaned his elbows onto the table. For a time he sat there looking at her, saying nothing, thinking she was perhaps the best discovery he’d ever made. Finally, aware that she was watching him also, he smiled. “So … what is it that has brought you flying to my side?”

“The money.”

“The money?”

“In the box. I should like to engage a solicitor with it.”

“Burton’s news was not good.”

“Oh, no! ’Twas the best mine ears have ever heard, I assure you!”

“Fordyce lives?”

She nodded. “Apparently, though I cannot think how he managed to do it, Mr. Fordyce recovered his senses and refused to discuss the matter at all. And, as he had the foresight to sign in as a Smith, there’s none to place me at the Blue Bull.” She looked over at him to see the effect of Burton’s information. “So you see, I have been a fugitive without reason.”

“I’m glad. You relieve my mind.”

“ ’Tis for you that I should engage the solicitor, sir,” she told him, returning to the matter at hand. “I owe you much for all you have done for me.”

“Dominick,” he reminded her. “Or Dom. Formality will be remarked between us.”

“There’s no one here,” she pointed out reasonably.

“Practice brings fewer lapses—not to mention I should like to hear you say it.”

“Can I not call you Deveraux? Dominick sounds so personal.”

“Would you like to be called Morland?”

“No.
Do
you have a solicitor, si … Dominick?” she asked, determined to pursue her purpose. “I’d know before that horrid man returns.”

“I have a man of affairs in London. But he is scarce the sort to represent one in a criminal matter, I suppose.”

“Then do you object if I engage one? ’Tis possible he could delay your return to London. And more to the point, ‘tis possible that bail can be arranged until your mother is better.”

“Annie, I am ready to get this over. I don’t mind going to London, you know.”

“But she’s better! And if you were home to encourage her—”

“She’s better?”

“I think so. Her eyes focus now, and she tried to speak. And there is some control to her hands. But it will take time and a great deal of patience ere she regains what she has lost. She needs you, Dominick—she
needs
you!”

He snorted derisively. “You never had that of her, I can tell you.”

“What is it that is between you? Your pardon. I should not have asked,” she countered hastily. “I do not mean to pry, I assure you.”

“Ah, but you do, Annie. There is that female mind in you that either will take me for an undutiful son or will know the tale, isn’t there?”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she insisted.

“There’s not much to tell anyway. We do not deal well together, she and I—we never have. When I was a small boy, I thought ‘twas because I was bad. I have since realized that she made me what I am, Annie. She did not want me—she had her precious son in Cass.”

“Sir … Dominick, there is no need—”

“Do you know what my great sin was, Annie?” he demanded. “I look like Nicholas Deveraux—I look like my father! There have been times when I would have ripped this face off for her, Annie—I swear it. But no more.”

“You could not help your looks,” she murmured. “And it would have been a shame to wish for any others.”

“She left him, you know. The year before I was born, she left him and returned with Cass to her family. He was rather indiscreet, you see, and she could not stand his endless parade of Iightskirts. Finally, when he brought one home, ‘twas the end of whatever she’d ever felt for him.”

“How awful for her.”

“He wanted her to make the girl her maid, so I am told, and she left him for it.” He reached to pour himself a glass of the port. Leaning his chair back, he ran his fingers through his hair, combing it. “The upshot of it was, there was a devil of a dust over it. Her father met my grandfather Deveraux, and between them ‘twas decided she had to go back. Nicholas was to give up his bit of fluff in exchange for their clearing his gaming debts.”

“And she went back to him.”

“She had no choice. Much as I would she hadn’t, I know she had no choice. The devil of it is that I am the result of it.” He made no move to touch the port he’d poured. Instead, he leaned back to stare at the ceiling. “Nicholas Deveraux was everything she ever called him, you know—and worse. I am told that about the same time Mother learned of me, she also learned that he still kept a woman in the village. And one in Nottingham. And several in London.”

“It made her bitter, I suppose.”

“Bitter?
Bitter?
Annie, you know not what bitter is! She left him again, and this time my grandfathers decided that for the sake of appearances, she would return to the Haven to have me. Nicholas, on the other hand, was forbidden to come back except for my christening.” Abruptly he leaned forward, and the front legs of his chair hit the floor. “That, my dear Annie, is the tale. Charlotte Deveraux was never a mother to me, and I am not much of a son to her.”

“Perhaps it is not too late for either of you,” she said quietly.

“You cannot love that which you have come to hate.”

“You can pity her.”

“She could accept that less than love or hate. You do not know her.”