Anna Jacobs (27 page)

“I’m sure I shouldn’t,” she sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“I’m sure you should,” he countered. “You must be worn to a frazzle with the worry about your aunt on top of the strain of finding something to say to those fools.”

“You don’t like the Smeathleys either, do you?” She smiled in spite of her worries.

“Can’t stand them. Know the type well. The son will get on in the church, though not, perhaps, to as high a position as he expects. He’s got an inflated opinion of his own worth, but an imposing appearance and a loud voice isn’t all it takes to become a bishop.”

She shuddered. “I sometimes wonder if he isn’t quite ruthless beneath that affability.”

He stared at her in surprise. “I doubt it. He’s shown no signs of it, anyway. But what can he do to you, even if he is the most ruthless fellow on earth? You’re perfectly safe here in your own home.”

“Not what he might do to me, but to Eleanor. She has definitely led him on, but I noticed at dinner she appeared to have completely lost interest in him, didn’t you? And he glanced at her angrily when he thought no one was looking.”

“I never thought she did have any interest in him.” He frowned. “And she told me she’d wagered with you that she could make him believe she was enamoured of him.”

“Wagered with me?”

Her amazement was so patent he frowned.

“Wagered!” she repeated, in a disgusted tone. “Do you really think I’d encourage her to behave in such a vulgar way?”

“Then what was she up to with him?”

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out, I promise you!”

But Eleanor wasn’t in her room when Beatrice went to bed, so she was left wondering.

* * * *

The following morning the Dowager was feeling a little better, but the doctor, who had called upon her very early, refused to let her receive any visitors and even Beatrice was only allowed to go in for a minute to ask how she was feeling.

“Tired,” sighed the old lady. “I thought I could manage it one last time, but I can’t, Beatrice, I can’t. What are we going to do about them all?”

“Nothing at the moment,” said Beatrice firmly. “You’re not well enough to think clearly and as the guests are no trouble to me, we’ll just leave things as they are until you’re a little better, shall we?”

Lady Marguerite nodded, her eyelids already drooping toward sleep.

Beatrice watched her for a moment, nodded to Lippings and tiptoed out, feeling as if the world were topsy-turvy. She’d never seen her aunt quiescent like this and it terrified her.

During breakfast, Smeathley was so attentive to Beatrice that she couldn’t fail to realize he was now courting her again. When he requested that she walk with him in the gardens, she made an excuse of having a lot to attend to in her aunt’s place. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel nervous of being alone with him, she couldn’t understand why. He put her in mind of a stable cat stalking an unsuspecting bird. Only she wasn’t unsuspecting, thank goodness.

Later in the morning Augustus Smeathley took himself off into the woods with a gun, but that was the only period of relief for Beatrice. He was so assiduous in his attentions to her for the rest of the day that she begged Justin to stay near her and not allow Smeathley a chance to be alone with her.

Like Eleanor, she was beginning to find him more than a little frightening. While Justin was with her, she could dismiss her fears, but when she was alone, they returned to torment her.

* * * *

The following day, the Dowager was so much better that she started demanding to get up again. As the weather had turned showery and the whole house felt damp, Beatrice and the doctor both felt she would be better keeping to her well-heated rooms. However, they did allow Crispin and Justin each to visit her briefly, at her request.

Crispin took one look at the pale sunken face and knew this was not the time to press his suit.

It was Justin who left her looking happier, for he chatted quietly of his home and of his closest neighbour, her granddaughter, Jennice. He even made the Dowager splutter with laughter several times.

“How did you do it?” Beatrice asked him afterwards, for she’d been listening outside the door and was awed at his skilful address.

“The secret is to treat old ladies as if they were still young,” he told her with a smile. “Did you think that age rendered them impervious to a little attention?”

“My Aunt Marguerite?”

“Even your aunt. She’s very proud of having outlived most of her generation, you know, and of still being in full possession of her faculties.” He smoothed the frown from her brow with a gentle fingertip.

She gasped and clutched him as that feathery touch sent sensations fluttering around her body and made her feel suddenly short of air.

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry, my love. Your aunt is on the mend now and will last a while longer, long enough to watch us marry, I hope.”

“If we can keep her from shocks and annoyances.”

“We’ll do that.”

She stared into his eyes, still astonished that he should care for her so deeply, and as his arms opened to her, moved into them without hesitation and rested her head against his shoulder, feeling as if she had reached the only safe refuge in the whole world. “I hope so, Justin.”

They stayed like that for several moments and neither felt the need to speak.

Somehow the rest of the day crawled past. The weather worsened, with grey skies and more showers, quite in tune, Beatrice thought, with her mood. However was she to bring her aunt round to the idea of Justin as a husband for herself instead of for Eleanor? But she now knew that she would marry him, whatever happened. She couldn’t even imagine a life without him, so quickly had he become a part of her.

* * * *

Shortly after Beatrice had retired to her room that evening, there was a knock on the door. She gestured to Tilly to answer it and continued to brush her hair, an activity which always helped her to think clearly.

“It’s a note from Mrs. Smeathley, Miss.” Tilly held out a screw of paper.

“Oh, bother, what does she want? I’ve only just left her.”

Beatrice opened the note, read it with a frown, then looked at the maid in puzzlement. “She wishes to see me immediately upon a matter of extreme urgency. Well, you can just tell her maid that I’ve gone to bed and can’t see anyone until the morning.”

“The maid told me Mrs. Smeathley was already waiting for you in the library, Miss. She didn’t wait for an answer.”

Beatrice scowled into the mirror, then sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to go down to her, then. She is a guest, after all, though why she had to wait until now to speak to me, I don’t know!” She pulled her hair back and tied it with a ribbon, examining the result in the mirror. “That’ll have to do. Don’t wait up for me, Tilly. I can easily manage to remove this dress myself afterwards and I know you’re tired.”

She whisked out of the room without waiting for an answer.

Tilly began to tidy up the rest of the room, then sat down stubbornly to wait for her mistress.

Downstairs, no one was waiting in the library and Beatrice looked round in puzzlement. She heard a sound outside and realized that the French windows were open. It seemed a strange time for an elderly woman to take the air, but then, she found the Smeathleys a strange family. She shook her head irritably and went out to investigate.

Before she had realized what was happening, some thick material was thrown over her head and a heavy hand muffled her mouth. The whole operation was conducted so rapidly and skilfully that she had no time to scream before her mouth was filled with choking layers of cloth and she was dragged forward, away from the house.

Amazement as much as fear prevented her from struggling at first, but then she realized the danger she was in and tried to free her arms from the encumbrance. When she could not, she bit the hand that held her mouth. A voice cursed and someone cuffed the side of her head, making it spin for a moment or two. Her attacker continued to drag her along the terrace.

With fear mounting, Beatrice struggled desperately, but the man holding her was immensely strong and her efforts were in vain. After a minute or two she was thrown face down upon the ground and he pressed her head against the damp earth with what must be his knee while her hands were tied firmly behind her back.

She suspected there was more than one assailant, but the cloth blanketed out sound as well as sight, so she had no idea of who they were. Something was tied over the material across her mouth, which effectively prevented her from making anything but the most muffled of noises.

This left only her feet free and she tried to use them, kicking out vigorously. At one time, she felt her right foot make contact with something soft and a yelp issued from her mystery kidnapper, which gave her a brief feeling of satisfaction, but apart from that, he was very much in control of the situation and tied up her feet next.

She felt panic surging up. What did this person want of her? Why would anyone want to kidnap her?

She was picked up and slung face down over someone’s shoulder, then he began moving. She could hardly breathe for the stifling layers of cloth and terror filled her, as she realised there was nothing she could do to free herself, that she was completely in his power.

After a few minutes of intense discomfort and jolting, she was dumped on the ground again so hard that she could only lie there for a moment, feeling disoriented and helpless. There was the sound of a door opening and she was dragged unceremoniously into what felt like some sort of building. The door slammed shut and she was left alone with her fears. Throughout the attack, her kidnapper hadn’t said a word and that seemed to make it all so much more sinister.

She could only lie on the cold floor and wait for something dreadful to happen.

Who was doing this?

When time passed and nothing further happened, she began to recover a little from her fright and grow angry. The darkness seemed suffocating beneath the thick folds of material, but she told herself firmly that she’d managed to breathe so far inside it, so she wasn’t likely to choke to death now. She forced herself to take deep, even breaths and gradually her heart stopped fluttering.

For a time, she struggled against the ropes binding her wrists, but in vain, for they were tied tightly enough to bite into her flesh, so she abandoned that.

Her mind kept darting from one thing to another in the most disoriented way. A heroine in a novel wouldn’t have been caught out like this, though a heroine would probably have fainted first, then done something ingenious and making her escape against improbable odds.

Only this wasn’t make-believe and Beatrice was beginning to realise how helpless one really was when one’s hands were firmly tied behind one’s back.

* * * *

She heard the door open again and at once froze where she lay, making a quick decision to pretend to be unconscious. But no one touched her. She strained her ears and thought she heard the sound of a scuffle and grunts as if two men were struggling close at hand. A cry, then something fell against her skirts. The door slammed again and she distinctly heard a bolt being shot from the outside.

If she had been able to, she would have shrieked with terror when she felt someone moving on the ground beside her, but the gag prevented this. Hands groped across her body, but she forced herself to lie still. The hands reached her head and to her relief began to unfasten the gag. When the stifling material was removed, a voice asked in the darkness, “Who are you?”

To her astonishment it was Augustus Smeathley’s voice. That didn’t make sense, so she continued her pretence of being unconscious. The way his hands roved across her body increased her fear and bewilderment, for this wasn’t the way a clergyman should behave with an unknown and unconscious female.

When the hands lingered and began to caress her breasts, she decided it was time to wake up. “Uhhh. Where am I?” she asked, annoyed that she could think of nothing more original to say. To her great relief, the hands stopped touching her.

“Miss Dencey! Is that really you?”

“Mr Smeathley!”

“It is indeed I, dear lady.”

“Where are we?”

“In a garden shed. We appear to be prisoners here. Are you all right? They haven’t hurt you?”

“I’m not hurt, but my hands are tied behind my back, and my feet are tied, too. Can you unfasten them?”

He fumbled with the ropes for a moment and freed her feet, then moved to her hands, but stopped quite quickly and said, “I’m afraid these knots are too tight.”

Her intuition told her that his presence here was no coincidence and the feeling persisted that he must have been involved in the kidnapping. It made a sort of sense, if he were now intending to marry her instead of Eleanor, she supposed. He was unsure of her and wished to compromise her. Well, whatever happened, she would not marry him! She would as soon marry a toad! Sooner!

“How did you come to be here?” she asked, judging it safer to behave as though she believed what he told her.

“I saw a stranger, an uncouth-looking man, behaving in a suspicious manner near the house, so I followed him. I must have made a noise, because he was waiting for me behind this shed. I fear he overpowered me and cast me inside. I am a man of God, not a pugilist!”

“But why should anyone lock me up here in the first place?” she demanded. “What could he want with me?”

There was a silence, then he suggested dubiously, “Ransom, perhaps?”

“I have no money!”

“But your aunt is an extremely rich woman.”

Beatrice sucked in her breath. “And she’s a sick one, too. The shock of this could kill her! Mr Smeathley, I’ve got to escape!”

“We must pray for guidance.”

She gave an angry snort. “Well, I’d find it easier to pray if my hands weren’t tied behind my back!”

“The knots - “ he began.

“Why don’t you see whether you can find something to cut the ropes with?” she asked tartly. “Even a man of God should be able to do that!”

“It’s very dark in here.”