Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) (47 page)

“Shouldn’t we send for a doctor?” Mrs. Camborne asked.

“Mother….” Everett stared at her as if just realizing she was there. “Please go upstairs and sit with Oleba and the children. He might have other riffraff skulking about,” he said in a low tone. Mrs. Camborne darted her gaze from him to Hollis. “Please,” her son repeated.

She frowned and walked up the stairs, throwing furtive glances over her shoulder.

Everett dragged over a chair and placed it before Hollis. He sat, taking another deep breath. “Now, the best thing for you, Prescott, is to confess everything. I want the truth, about what happened to Miriam. You’ve already admitted you saw her in London.”

Hollis sputtered a laugh. “You’ll never get anything from me. So you’ll never marry your whore.”

Bettina flinched and glanced at the stairs, praying Mrs. Camborne didn’t listen in.

Everett raised his fist, then jerked it down. “The Justice will be here shortly. You’ll be hauled off to Bodmin gaol. Why don’t you clear your conscience?”

“Don’t you know by now, Camborne, I have no conscience? You can’t keep me from my son. I will get him, someday….” Hollis coughed, spittle on his chin. He drooped his chin to his chest. When he lifted his head and stared back at them, his eyes bulged.

“Tell me what happened. Is she dead? Did you kill her? Where is her body?” Everett leaned forward, his face grim and anxious. Bettina clutched at her dress collar and found herself bending with him.

Hollis laughed, a high-pitched wail that cut to her bones. Then he resumed coughing. His face mottled purple and saliva dripped from his lips. Bettina ran to get him a glass of water so he could reply. When she came back, Everett had untied him and sat him on the floor like a rag doll. She crouched and held the glass to his lips. Hollis smacked it from her hand. The glass smashed against the wall, tinkling shards everywhere. She shielded her face and hopped to her feet.

He looked right through them, his body twitching. “Miriam
… the beautiful bitch!”

“We should get a doctor,” Bettina said to Everett, worried that it was too late. “We must keep him alive to confess.”

Everett tried to hold him up, but Hollis pushed him away and slumped back prone on the floor. His eerie laugh started again, lower and guttural.

“Tell me. Did you kill her? Tell me! Strive for peace before you meet your maker.” Everett shook with restrained fury as he kneeled beside him, his fingers curled above Hollis’s face. Bettina hugged her arms around her torso, instead of flinging them around Everett.

The cough rattled again deep in Hollis’s chest. “A pretty neck, so small. My hands fit…I laughed …when she turn blue. Fine color … went with her eyes.” The skin around Hollis’s skull stretched so taut he already resembled a skeleton. His eyes rolled back into his head as his body gave another convulsive twitch. Blood dripped from his slack mouth onto the dining room floor.

Chapter Thirty-Four

A rooster crowed. Bettina blinked, but she’d slept little. She sat up, head pounding. Her shoulders throbbed, muscles stiff. Beside her, Everett stared up at the bed canopy, his lids heavy from lack of rest.

Trethewy had removed another body from Bronnmargh the night before. Bettina remembered that first body, Bernard Little’s
‘fall’ into the garden. His cruel tale of her father jabbed into her mind. She shivered. This manor seemed to draw danger and encourage death.

She rubbed her temples and wondered what Everett would think about selling this place and moving elsewhere. No one wanted to give up their ancestral home, but the rebels had forced so many in France to do so, she thought little of the prospect. “I suppose that is as close to a confession about your wife and Hollis as we can expect.”

Everett reached over and caressed her fingers. “Yes. An awful business. As I said before, I don’t relish that Miriam came to a cruel end. But at least we can be fairly certain.” He sat up, raised her hand and kissed it.

His warm lips soothed her. The confirmation of his wife’s demise left them truly free to marry. No one could step out of the past and claim previous rights. She gripped his fingers. “You will have to speak with Mr. Trethewy on the subject of marriage documents, soon.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.” He brushed his knuckles along her cheek. “I won’t allow anything to happen to you.”

She leaned over and kissed him. Rising, she lumbered to the washstand, her arms and legs heavy with fatigue. The tepid water felt cool on her face, the towel rough yet cleansing. “I cannot help but be glad Hollis is gone and out of our lives forever. But
… we will have to tell Frederick.”

“I know. Let’s not put it off.” Everett sighed, climbed from the bed and stretched. “If the poor lad hasn’t been through enough with losing his mother.”

“That is what concerns me, dear child.” Bettina dumped the water out of a window and poured more into the bowl.

“I have some good news. We have an important shipment of gold from Africa scheduled soon. That should help with our limited money.” He splashed water on his face.

“As long as we are together, that is what matters.” She smiled. His returned smile relaxed her.

After dressing, they went out into the hallway. Oleba walked toward them with Christian on a leading string. The maid widened her eyes at Bettina as if in question about last night’s commotion.

Everett scooped up his son and kissed him. “And how are you, young man?”

“Papa is home.” The two-year-old threw his arms around his father’s neck.

“I hope to be home for awhile.” Everett kissed him again and handed him back to Oleba. Since his birth, she’d become more nursemaid than ladies’ maid, but seemed to enjoy the duty. Everett touched the boy’s nose with his fingertip. “I’ll be back to visit you later.”

Downstairs, Bettina found Frederick in the kitchen helping his grandmother with breakfast. “Frederick, please come into the library. Your uncle wishes to tell you something important.”

Mrs. Camborne stared at her, but said nothing.

Bettina walked with Frederick down the dim hallway. The previous evening’s shouts and cries echoed in her head. In the library, after Everett explained, the boy stood stiff then turned away from them. He fingered the books in the bookcase. “I don’t feel bad about it. I don’t think I feel anything.”

Bettina noticed his hands trembled. “It is all right to feel sad … or angry.”

“I'm angry he was never a real father to me.” He turned and glared at them, his blue eyes like stone, his brow furrowed. “I know he escaped from Newgate. Uncle, you didn’t think I knew anything, but I did. I heard arguing last night, but Oleba wouldn’t let me go downstairs.”

“We only intended to protect you. I’m sorry for the kind of person he was. You understand it had nothing to do with you?” Everett walked over and rested a hand on his nephew’s shoulder.

Frederick flinched away, staring off into a corner. “He was never a decent father or husband. You’re right, he has nothing to do with me. I refuse to cry for him, or anything else. It isn’t worth it.” He stared toward the door. “Uncle, I’d like to be excused.”

Everett nodded and the boy strode out.

“He needs to think this over alone now.” Everett put his arm around Bettina. “I wish I could wipe all of this from my mind.”

“So do I as well. I worry about the feelings Frederick hides. He sounds so cold, so adult. If he did hate his father, and who could blame him, the news is still a shock.” She laced her fingers with his. “But you men are better at hiding your feelings than we women are.”

Everett squeezed her against him and kissed her firmly on the mouth. “Are my feelings obvious now? I want to keep my family close and safe.”

“
Mais oui
.” Bettina returned his kiss, their contact her own version of security. But they were still unmarried, and she could be deported if the JP carried out his threat. “Please speak with the Justice today. We don’t need any more difficulties.”

* * * *

In the inn’s taproom, Peder set the basket of cucumbers and celery on a table in front of Maddie. He stepped back, dusty as ever, his hair flopping into his eyes.

“Thank you, Peder. Please have a beer.” Bettina waited for Maddie to fill a tankard. Everett had ridden to Port Isaac to speak with Trethewy and she felt restless with worry. Though she doubted the JP would bother her as long as Everett remained at Bronnmargh.

“These look delicious.” Maddie picked through the vegetables. “I’ll make a stew an’ fill the villagers’ bellies to make ’em forget about bread. You is always generous.”

“I wish I could do more.” Bettina massaged the back of her still aching head.

“You look worn out.” Maddie stepped close, her gaze sharp. “Heard there were trouble up there last night.”

“A horrible night. I will tell you about it sometime.” She tried to smile it away.

“Oh, here’s a letter from London for your husband.” Maddie snatched up an envelope from a side table and handed it to her.

The letter came from Everett’s business partner, Willard Hobart. More trade problems, Bettina feared. She paid the postage.

Dory entered the front door, fluffing her fuzzy blonde hair. Bettina broached her other purpose for coming. She’d never forgotten the dismal cottage and scrawny siblings. “Dory, I would like to invite your little brothers and sisters up to Bronnmargh. I am teaching my nephew, and perhaps they would like some free reading and writing lessons.”

“Why? We ain’t no charity case.” Dory gave her a sly look, her mouth pursed. “Schoolin’ don’t help none when you be hungry. The cotton imports is gone thanks to the French war. We got no spinnin’ prep to do now.”

“I will also provide a hot meal. Please, think it over.” Bettina didn’t know how much longer she could give her secret stipend to Maddie for Dory’s salary. Everett had been draining his inheritance just to keep Bronnmargh running. There was little money in reserve—another reason she wished to talk him into selling the place. With Hollis dead, they could move to London, nearer the émigrés. Yet she’d hate to leave Maddie and Kerra.

“Don’t let no pride keep your family from a good offer.” Maddie poked Dory’s shoulder.

A coach pulled up out front and Maddie walked to the lattice panes. “Looks like rich customers, thank gawd. Don’t get so many travelers no more. Have to get out the pewter plates. Don’t have much else since them miners busted my few good plates last Michaelmas.”

Soon a woman and man entered. Nose high, the woman looked around. Her breasts spilled over the bodice of her low-cut diaphanous short-sleeved gown. A gold ribbon tied just under her bosom accentuated the gown’s high waist. The cream-colored muslin with gold thread clung to her figure as she moved.

Peder’s half covered eyes looked about to pop from his head at the woman’s unabashed décolleté.

“Must we stay here? We could keep going.” Her glare raked over everyone. The ostrich feather in her short curled coif wavered. She fingered a thin red ribbon around her throat. “I’m not certain how clean it might be.” She stepped away from Bettina as if she crawled with lice.

Bettina clenched her fingers around the envelope, fighting the urge to slap away the woman’s arrogance. Had she once sneered at the poorer people like that?

Maddie approached them with her brightest smile. “Welcome, Sir and Madam. We has very clean beds upstairs. Warm food to fill you up.”

The woman frowned at her companion, but the man shrugged and yawned. Maddie led them toward the back of the inn, where the three mounted the stairs.

“That dress be a scandal.” Dory snickered, making her breasts jiggle above her bodice. “Wish I could afford one. I’d look better in it than her.” She trailed her hands along her generous curves.

“I heard this Greek style is the new fashion.” Bettina stifled her own yawn, her exhaustion creeping up on her. “Such a snobbish woman. She wastes money on expensive material—that gold thread would feed an entire family for a week.” She glanced at Peder, who still looked about to topple out of his chair. “And I am certain she wore no corset under her attire.”

“Was told they wear a kerchief under the breasts, tied in back, a knot ’tween the shoulders. In Paris it’s all the kick, celebrating their republic. Women there is shocking in their dress.” Dory flicked her gaze at Bettina. “But you French like things scandalous.”

“You cannot judge me by what is happening. With the way France is acting, I am not surprised by anything they do. But fashion should be the least of their concerns.” To talk of her once beloved homeland like an outsider left a sour taste in her mouth. “Their former bloodshed, it is now full of gaiety and depravity. I read that they dance in the prisons where they once feared losing their heads.” How quickly life changed from one extreme to the next.

“Sounds like fun to me. Did you see the red ribbon round her neck? That’s for sympathy for victims of the guillotine, or if someone’s related to a victim.” Dory picked up Peder’s empty tankard and cast Bettina another speculative look. “Gent I met from London told me ’bout that.”

Bettina knew of this affectation. Her mother’s small white throat slid into her thoughts. She prayed she’d never have to wear such a ribbon and turned away. “I must return to Bronnmargh. Please send your siblings for lessons and dinner, soon. Come, Peder.”