Shadow of the Raven (31 page)

“You are burning Dr. Silkstone's letters?” she asked. Lydia realized her maid had seen her read them on countless occasions. The script was so familiar to her, and the girl had even bought the ribbon that bound them from Brandwick market herself.

Lydia's gaze fell, as if she suddenly felt ashamed. She did not address her maid directly. “I am,” she replied, the confession clearly paining her.

Eliza shook her head. “But why, your ladyship?”

Lydia felt a wave of despair surge over her. “Because I fear he has betrayed me, Eliza.”

“Betrayed?” repeated her maid, frowning.

Lydia sighed deeply, and her eyes moistened. “He was the one behind my admission to Bedlam.”

Eliza's face registered the shock.

“He was the one who signed the certificate that committed me. I have seen the papers myself.”

Again Eliza shook her head. “No. No, my lady. 'Tis not so!” she protested, rushing toward her mistress.

Lydia rose suddenly and moved over to the window. Eliza followed her.

“Sir Montagu has revealed Dr. Silkstone to be a liar and a fraud,” she said. Her slight shoulders heaved in a deep sigh. “He was using me to gain social status and wealth. I suited his ambitions.”

Now drawn alongside her mistress, Eliza looked her in the eye. “Please, your ladyship. Whatever Sir Montagu has told you is false. Dr. Silkstone came here looking for you, just after they took you away. Frantic, he were. And when he thought you was dead—”

Lydia interjected. “He came looking for me?”

Eliza's words raced in front of her. “Yes. Yes, my lady. He even went into the vault when he thought they'd buried you. He's been here since, too, pleading with Mr. Lupton to let him know where you were. Moved heaven and earth, he has.”

Suddenly Lydia's hands flew up to her ears, and she pressed her palms against them. “No more,” she cried. “I cannot take any more.”

Eliza held her breath. She had overstepped the mark between mistress and maid, but she knew that Lydia's happiness was at stake. Slowly she stepped away, putting a little distance between them.

“Forgive me, your ladyship, but 'tis the truth. Dr. Silkstone's heart belongs to you, and that's for sure,” she said. Walking over to the mantelshelf, she reached for the remaining letters that had not yet been consigned to the flames, then returned. Thrusting them under Lydia's nose, she said, “If you still doubt me, just read one of his letters, and I am sure his own words will convince you.” And with that she bobbed a curtsy and ran from the room, leaving Lydia cradling the sheaves of paper in her trembling hands.

T
he good news from Oxford had come earlier in the day. Thomas had just returned to his room at the Three Tuns after changing Zeb Godson's dressing. All the seriously injured men were now out of danger. He was about to pack for his return journey to London when he heard the clatter of hooves on the cobbled High Street and the sound of cheers. Moving over to the window, he looked down to see the villagers gathering 'round a horseman. Moments later Molly delivered the news he had been awaiting. Without bothering to knock, she flung open the door, set down the tray she was carrying, and with uncharacteristic exuberance declared, “They're free!”

“A great relief, Molly. I am most grateful to you for telling me,” said Thomas, smiling broadly.

“They'll be back before nightfall,” she added. “There'll be some rejoicing tonight!”

Thomas had dearly wished to return to London as soon as Adam Diggott's trial ended but had remained in Brandwick to see to the welfare of the injured and to hear the outcome of the trial of the rest of the accused men before he headed home. The jury at the assizes, he was soon to learn, had returned a verdict that showed not only the strength of public opinion, but Sir Theodisius Pettigrew's valiant efforts to lobby on their behalf, too. While they found the defendants guilty of having been present at an unlawful assembly on May twenty-first in Brandwick, it was their unanimous wish to recommend all the parties to what they termed “the merciful consideration of the Court.” The judges, Mr. Justice Boswell and Sir John Clearhugh, responded favorably to this appeal, and the longest sentence inflicted was for two months' imprisonment.

Such satisfactory outcomes meant that Thomas could now concentrate his efforts on tracking down Lydia's whereabouts. He would return to London to marshal his thoughts and enlist the help of the Westminster coroner, Sir Stephen Gandy, to engage a trustworthy solicitor. He had arrived at the notion that he would have to play Sir Montagu at his own game and force the issue of Lydia's well-being through the courts. Threatening to go public with the revelation that her ladyship was, in fact, the lawyer's illegitimate daughter would throw the future of the Boughton Estate into the air. The Crick bloodline had been broken. The consequences could be dire.

No sooner had he closed the door on Molly and begun to resume his packing, however, when he heard more footsteps thundering along the corridor outside. A second later his door was flung open, and there, his face crumpled into a scowl, was Nicholas Lupton. Seth Talland stood, arms crossed, behind his master.

“Silkstone!” boomed the steward. From his flaming cheeks and the smell that wafted into the room, Thomas could tell he was emboldened by strong liquor.

“Lupton.” Not wishing to inflame his passions any further, Thomas remained calm. “To what do I owe the honor?”

The steward snorted. “Honor? What would you know about honor? An honorable man has guts.” He swayed slightly as he spoke.

Thomas surmised that the outcome in the courtroom and the leniency of the verdicts had frustrated Sir Montagu. He had clearly vented his spleen on Lupton, who had turned to the bottle for solace.

“You need to rest, sir. I shall call the landlord, who will find you a bed,” said Thomas, walking toward the steward. His suggestion, however, was swiftly rebuffed.

“How dare you tell me what I need?” thundered Lupton, slamming the doorjamb with his gloved hand. “You are the cause of all this. Had you not set your sights on a woman not of your class, none of this would have happened.”

Thomas could see that Lupton's fury would not be easily assuaged.

“Please, Lupton.” He moved closer, an arm outstretched, but the steward batted it away.

“You can have her now. You're welcome to her.” He lowered his voice as if he was resigned to his loss. Thomas knew that he had nurtured his own designs on Lydia. He knew, too, that he must surely be privy to her whereabouts. He seized his chance.

“Where is she, Lupton? Why don't you tell me? You have nothing to lose now.” It was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing the steward by the coat and shaking him into submission, but he restrained himself.

Lupton looked deep into Thomas's eyes, and his face suddenly broke into a broad smile. “You really care for her, don't you? You want to know where she is more than anything,” he jibed. Thomas was so close to him he felt his liquor breath hot against his skin.

Thomas bit his lip, but Lupton continued to twist the knife.

“Admit it, why don't you?” he taunted. “Or is it that you are a coward? A cowardly colonist! Yes, that's it.” As he spoke he pulled at the fingers of the glove on his right hand. “You, sir, are a coward, and if you want to know the whereabouts of Lady Lydia, you will have to fight like a man!”

Suddenly he drew back his glove and slapped Thomas hard across the cheek. “I challenge you to a duel, Silkstone!” he cried.

Shocked, Thomas staggered slightly, his hand nursing his stinging cheek. “A duel?” he repeated.

“And Talland is my witness,” replied Lupton, glancing at his henchman.

Emboldened by his challenge, the steward strode into the room, his eyes scanning its contents. Suddenly he turned. “I shall commit her ladyship's location to paper and put it in a sealed envelope. In the event of my death, you will open it.” He slapped his palm with his gloves.

Thomas felt his throat constrict. “And in the event of mine?” he asked.

Lupton sniffed and fixed him with a glare. “England will be rid of an American coward and my honor will be restored.”

“And what if I refuse to accept your challenge?”

“Then you will lose all hope of ever seeing Lady Lydia again.”

With the consequences of his refusal put so starkly, Thomas had no choice. Lupton had him backed into a corner. He cast a glance at Talland, who stared at him with the menace of a vicious guard dog. He had to fight. “Then I accept your challenge,” he replied.

For a moment Lupton was silent, as the realization of the summons he had just laid down sank in; then suddenly his eyes lit up with excitement. Finally he barked, “Good. Pistols at dawn on the common!” He threw a look over to the table. “Enjoy the rest of your meal. It may well be your last.”

 

Lydia had made her excuses. She had spent the early part of the evening in the nursery with Richard and Nurse Pring, although she had not joined in his play. She had mired herself too deep in her own thoughts. Dinner, the little that she could eat of it, had also been taken in her room. And now, by the light of her lamp she read the remainder of Thomas's letters, the ones that had escaped the flames. His words raised a smile, but they also triggered tears. She studied his signature at the bottom of the sheet of paper she held in her hand from an early missive. His tone had been more formal, as befitting their relationship at the time. He had signed himself
Dr. Thomas Silkstone, anatomist & surgeon
. His signature was there for all to see and for her father to plunder. She knew now that Eliza's words were true.

 

In the early hours of the following morning, before the sun had risen above the hills, Lydia was woken from a light sleep. She had stayed awake for most of the night, reading Thomas's letters, her eyes straining in the candlelight's weak glow, and she had wondered. In her head she kept hearing him call out her name in the hallway at Draycott. And the more she wondered, the more she doubted. She recalled how, just before he had mounted his horse outside her window, she had seen him take something from his pocket. The thought had struck her like a bolt of lightning. Could it have been the locket she had given him all those years ago as a keepsake?

Suddenly she felt her bed shaken and someone press hard on her shoulder. Opening her eyes and blinking away the darkness, she saw Eliza standing over her, looking anxious. She raised her head from the pillow.

“What is it?” she asked through the fog of sleep.

“ 'Tis Dr. Silkstone,” came the maid's breathless reply. “He's to fight a duel!”

“What?” The news jolted Lydia into the moment. She threw off her bedcovers.

“Mr. Lupton challenged him last night.”

“Lupton?” Lydia leapt from the disordered blankets that signified a restless night's sleep. “Why?”

Eliza rushed to fetch her mistress's chemise. “Molly heard 'em last night.”

“Molly?” asked Lydia, stepping into her petticoat.

“She works at the Three Tuns. She heard 'em arguing and then Mr. Lupton, he says if the doctor ever wants to see you again, he'll have to kill him first.”

Lydia's hands flew up to her mouth. She could barely register Eliza's words. So Thomas had remained true to her. Everything that Sir Montagu had told her was a tissue of lies.

“How could I have doubted him?” she asked as the maid laced her stays. “Oh, Eliza. I should've known better than to believe. . .” Her voice trailed off wanly.

“ 'Tis no time to fret, my lady,” Eliza told her firmly. “Lovelock's waiting with the carriage. If we hurry we'll make it before a shot is fired.”

Rushing downstairs, mistress and maid bundled into the conveyance and Lovelock set the horses off at a gallop. They thundered along the drive, then veered left to take the road that led to the common. Lovelock knew the spot. Arthur's Hollow had long been a popular place for duels. Lydia's late brother had killed a man there over a gambling debt and injured another.

They arrived as the mist covered the ground like gossamer. Light was beginning to penetrate the gloom of a chilly May morning. Looking out of the carriage window, Lydia could see two clusters of dark figures standing huddled on the grass, several yards apart. It would be useless to take the carriage farther. The ground became boggy at this point, so Lovelock was forced to pull the horses up behind the ridge.

Opening the door, he apologized to Lydia.

“I'm sorry, your ladyship. I can't take you yonder. You'll have to go on foot from here,” he told her.

Sweeping down from the carriage, Lydia lifted her skirts and hurried as fast as she could over the heavy-dewed grass. Her feet kept sinking into the moss as she went. Following behind, Eliza struggled to match her pace. Soon they had climbed the ridge to get a better view. From the vantage point she strained her eyes to focus through the mist. They were not too late. There were five men: two standing back to back, with another close by, and one at either end of the hollow, separated by a distance of fifty yards or more. She could make out Thomas, standing taller than Lupton, but slightly stooped. She veered in his direction, but as she did so, the men began to walk away from each other in straight lines. Five paces, ten. She started to run.

“No!” she cried, but her words were lost on the chill air.

Fifteen, twenty.

“No!” she cried again.

“Fire!” came the call.

Thomas's pistol fired first, but it seemed that he had aimed deliberately too high. Lupton remained standing, steadfast. He took aim.

“No!” screamed Lydia once more. This time her voice carried down the hollow, and Thomas, for a split second, turned his head. It was enough. A loud crack shattered the air, but he did not see the ball as it left the barrel, nor the smoke in its wake. All he could see in that moment was Lydia rushing toward him, her arms outstretched. All he could hear was her voice, calling his name. All he could feel was the sharp jab of a lead ball as it pierced his chest.