His Countess for a Week Page 13

  ‘Very well. Let us finish our game. Then you must give me a little time to find somewhere we can talk privately.’

  ‘I will not slip off alone with you, Mr Teddington!’

  ‘No, no, a quiet corner, that is all. Believe me, madam, you will not wish to hear what I have to say in full view of everyone.’

  She gave a little nod and tried to concentrate on her cards. Could it be so very bad? Surely nothing could be worse than her imaginings.

  * * *

  Every minute dragged for Arabella as they played out their game. At last it was over and Teddington escorted her back to the drawing room before walking off. He had regained his cheerful humour and was all charm as he made his way out of the room, whereas her own face ached with the effort of smiling. She glanced around the room, looking for Randolph, but he was not to be seen. Panic threatened and she immediately beat it back. She did not need his help. Did not want it. Lord and Lady Sweigne were good, kindly people; their guests were respectable. She was in no danger here. As soon as Charles Teddington had told her what he knew she would take her leave.

  Arabella joined a group standing beside the fireplace which included Mrs Darby and Lady Prees. They gave her a welcoming smile and she tried to look interested as the conversation moved back and forth around her. From the corner of her eye she noticed Teddington’s return and she waited for him to approach. Before he could do so, supper was announced and the little group around her began to move. It was then that Teddington walked past and slipped a folded piece of paper into her hand.

  She hung back. Everyone was making their way out of the drawing room, and when she was sure no one was watching, she opened the note and scanned it quickly. He had scrawled that they would talk in the hall while everyone was at supper. She should meet him by the bust of Aristotle when the clock next struck the hour.

  She was reassured by the message. The marble hall was large, but there would be servants posted by the entrance, too far away to overhear, but she would not be alone with Charles Teddington. She threw the paper in the fire and hurried after the crowd.

  Arabella followed everyone down to the supper room and, as she descended, she spotted the plinth with its bust of the Greek philosopher. It was almost opposite the supper room, but shielded from view of the big double doors by the sweeping rise of the grand staircase.

  An extravagant supper was spread over the white-clothed tables, but Arabella had no appetite. She took a little of the beef and spiced rice, but ignored the pressed tongue and scalloped oysters. There was a fancy ormolu clock on the mantelshelf and she watched the hand making its agonisingly slow progress. The supper room was bustling and noisy and, as the hour approached, she hovered close to the table, as if trying to decide between the selection of small cakes. At last she slipped, unnoticed, from the room, closing the door behind her.

  The hall appeared deserted, but as she hurried around the foot of the staircase she saw a solitary footman sitting on a bench by the front door. He was slumped against the wall and appeared to be dozing. There was no one near the bust of Aristotle.

  Arabella approached the marble head slowly, making a show of studying the face. She was standing in front of it, gazing into the blind eyes, when the door beside it opened.

  ‘I thought it best not to be found hovering out here,’ said Charles Teddington, by way of explanation as he sauntered out.

  He had left the door ajar and Arabella could see by the dim candlelight within that it was some sort of sitting room.

  She said, ‘Tell me everything, then, and quickly.’

  He looked at her, his countenance and his voice oozing sympathy when he spoke.

  ‘George was my friend, dear lady. I was very sad to see him...destroyed.’

  She clasped her hands tightly together. ‘He was m-murdered?’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’ His voice broke and he covered his eyes with one hand. ‘It was wicked, wicked!’

  Arabella stared at him, aghast.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said at last. ‘I must compose myself.’ He stepped back into the sitting room.

  Arabella followed him, sick with apprehension as her imagination ran riot with the most horrendous scenes. ‘I had no idea, but what happened? If it was so very bad, why were we not informed?’

  He shook his head, reaching out to push the door shut behind her.

  ‘The matter was too...delicate.’

  ‘Delicate!’ Her initial shock was receding, replaced by anger. ‘If there was foul play, then the perpetrators should be brought to justice!’

  ‘It is not quite so simple,’ he said sadly.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Laudanum.’ He walked across the room and leaned on the back of a chair, his head bowed. ‘Poor George was an opium-eater. I had known it for years, but he was deaf to every remonstrance. It was gradually destroying his reason.’

  His voice was so low she had to come closer to hear him, but even then his words made no sense.

  ‘Wait, wait, are you saying he was dependent upon it? No, it cannot be. I never saw any sign of it.’ She had said as much to Randolph. ‘George always seemed so happy.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure he could hide it from you. He would not wish to worry you or his family.’

  She frowned. ‘George told me he had been betrayed.’

  ‘Did he? That was because we, his friends, would not pander to his habit and refused to provide more laudanum. That month in Devon, we all tried, believe me. We wanted him to get better.’

  ‘Who was there, beside yourself?’ she demanded.

  ‘The Fingells, of course, and Lord Caversfield. And Freddie Letchmore.’ He sighed. ‘All his closest friends.’

  ‘Not all,’ she corrected him. ‘Someone took advantage of his precarious health to take his money from him.’

  ‘No, no, ma’am, you mistake. You would not understand.’

  ‘I understand only too well, sir. When George returned from Meon House he had lost a vast sum.’

  She saw he was about to argue and said quickly, ‘I have studied the accounts, Mr Teddington. I know exactly when he withdrew the money and how much.’

  He spread his hands. ‘Alas, we could not watch him all the time. I suppose he slipped away to the village, or into Tavistock. He would have been able to procure more laudanum there and I don’t doubt he found several gambling hells, too.’

  Arabella shook her head. ‘No. I have it on good authority that the guests rarely left the house.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘That is not important.’ She said stubbornly, ‘If he lost his fortune, then it was to the house guests. Unscrupulous persons who would find it a benefit if George’s wits were befuddled by drink or...or laudanum.’

  ‘Not I, my dear! I had only George’s best interests at heart.’ He reached for her hands. ‘As I now have yours.’

  Startled, she jumped away. ‘Do not touch me!’

  ‘You cannot be blind to the fact that I have come to care for you.’

  ‘I do not want your attentions. I want to know who murdered my husband.’

  He cursed and said in exasperation, ‘No one murdered him. He killed himself by taking too much laudanum. I did not want to tell you, but there you have it. Now let us forget poor George!’

  He stepped closer and Arabella quickly retreated behind a chair.

  ‘I cannot forget him,’ she said, her voice outraged. ‘I am still in mourning!’

  He was standing between her and the door, blocking her escape, and she felt her panic rising. She tried an appeal.

  ‘You purport to be my husband’s friend, sir.’

  He put his hand on his heart. ‘I was, my dear. I was his best friend. We can grieve for him together.’

  ‘No. Never! If you have any feelings of friendship for George, you will allow me to leave this room now.’ When he
did not move she added, ‘He would not thank you for importuning his wife.’

  He said, in a tone of indifference, ‘I doubt it would concern him greatly.’

  ‘How dare you!’

  He gave her a contemptuous smile. ‘Do you think Roffey would ever have married you if you had not been rich?’

  ‘George loved me!’

  ‘I’m afraid not, my dear. I know you thought you were childhood sweethearts, but did you never wonder why it took him so long to make you his wife? He liked his bachelor life, the wine, the women. Once he had run through his own funds, he needed yours. He never really cared for you. I, on the other hand, do care. Passionately!’ He put out his hand. ‘You are overwrought, my dear Arabella. Come and sit down. There is wine on the table over there. Let me pour a glass for you. It will calm your nerves.’

  ‘The only thing I want is never to see you again!’ she replied, her voice shaking with anger.

  ‘Ah, how unjust, my fair beauty, when you have led me on. Encouraged me to hope.’

  ‘I have done no such thing!’

  He had been edging closer and she saw her chance. She stepped around him and ran for the door. He lunged at her and she jumped aside, but not far enough. His fingers clutched at her shoulder, tearing the neck of her gown and almost ripping off the delicate puff sleeve. Then he caught her arm and dragged her towards him so violently that she collided with his chest. He clamped a hand over her mouth.

  ‘No, no, don’t cry out. It is futile. As is resistance. I mean to have you, one way or another.’

  He removed his hand, but he was crushing her so tightly she could not draw in the air necessary to scream. He brought his head down to kiss her, his hot breath fumed with wine and brandy. She turned her face away in disgust, crying out as he grabbed at her hair and forced her head back.

  ‘You cannot escape me, madam.’

  ‘This is no way to win my regard!’

  ‘Oh, you will come around, Arabella. You women always do.’ He tightened his hold, crushing her to him and making it impossible to breathe. ‘In the end.’

  Arabella closed her eyes against his triumphant leer, but she could not shut out his savage laugh.

  It stopped abruptly and suddenly she was free. She collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. There was a strangled, choking sound, as if Teddington had been hauled away by his collar. Then she heard the crack of bone against bone. When she looked up, her erstwhile assailant was lying on his back, arms raised protectively across his face. Standing over him, fists clenched and looking positively murderous, was Randolph.

  * * *

  Ran breathed deeply, steadying himself, curbing his anger. A red mist had descended when he had entered the room to see Arabella struggling with Teddington. It had been the work of a moment to pull the fellow off and knock him down, but he had to fight the temptation to thrash the cur to within an inch of his life. He stepped back and waved towards the open door.

  ‘Get out.’

  Teddington clambered unsteadily to his feet, putting a hand to his nose, to check if it was bleeding, then to his jaw. He glared at Ran, murder in his eyes.

  ‘Damn you for interfering!’

  He staggered forward, fists raised. Randolph sidestepped neatly and caught him by the back of his coat.

  ‘I won’t brawl with you in front of a lady,’ he said, pitching Teddington unceremoniously out of the open door.

  Only then did Randolph notice that people were emerging from the supper room, but it was too late. Teddington had stumbled into the hall and landed in an undignified heap on the floor. He dragged himself to his feet, his face almost purple with rage.

  ‘You will meet me for this, Westray!’

  ‘I think not.’ Ran’s lip curled. ‘You are drunk.’

  ‘Drunk, am I? At least I can take my wine, Lord Westray! I am not afraid of it!’

  Ran stiffened. People were crowding round, hushed and expectant.

  He said coldly, ‘Taunts will not make me accept a challenge from a drunken sot, Teddington. And as for being able to hold your wine—’ his lip curled again ‘—you cannot even keep your feet.’ He threw a disdainful look towards his audience. ‘I would be obliged if someone would help this poor wine-sodden fool away.’

  Then he stepped back into the sitting room and closed the door behind him.

  * * *

  Arabella stumbled to a chair as Randolph propelled Charles Teddington out of the room. She crossed her arms, trying to stop herself from shaking as she listened to their altercation. From the murmur of voices in the background, she knew the scene was being witnessed by any number of Lady Sweigne’s guests. The thought made her shiver even more.

  The door closed and she looked up. Ran was frowning at her. It was too much. She gave a sob and buried her face in her hands. In two strides he was across the room and kneeling before her.

  ‘It is all right, Arabella. You are safe now.’ He spoke gently, making no attempt to touch her.

  She swiped a hand across her wet cheek and he held out a handkerchief.

  ‘Here.’

  She took it with a word of thanks. ‘I b-beg your pardon. I am not hurt, just...just shocked.’

  ‘Of course. Would you like me to fetch someone? Our hostess, perhaps?’

  ‘Thank you, no. I would rather not see anyone.’ She straightened, one hand holding her ripped bodice in place.

  ‘Then let me order your carriage. You should go home.’

  He rose and she said quickly, ‘Please do not leave me!’

  ‘Only to speak to a servant.’ He smiled. ‘I shall not go far beyond the door and will ensure no one disturbs you. I give you my word.’

  Within minutes he was back and telling her he had ordered her cloak to be brought in.

  ‘Lady Sweigne asked after you,’ he told her. ‘She is mortified this has happened under her roof and has promised to do what she can to prevent gossip.’

  ‘If only that were possible!’

  ‘I know, there will be some talk, inevitably. However, the blame is being heaped squarely upon your assailant, where it belongs.’

  She shuddered. ‘He—he said I had encouraged him.’

  ‘He is so clearly in his cups no one will pay much heed to anything he says.’

  ‘But it does not alter the fact I was here alone with him.’

  There was a soft scratching at the door. Randolph opened it just enough to take the garments proffered by the servant.

  ‘Your cloak,’ he said, coming back to her. ‘And your carriage is at the door. Let us be gone.’

  As she rose and reached for her cloak, she noted the greatcoat over his arm.

  ‘You are leaving, too?’

  ‘I am going to escort you home.’

  Arabella did not have the strength to argue. She was still trembling and it was as much as she could do to tie her cloak strings. She allowed him to arrange her hood to cover her dishevelled hair, then accompanied him from the room. The hallway was mercifully empty, save for the servant who opened the door for them to step outside. Randolph handed her into the waiting carriage and jumped in.

  ‘There,’ he said, sitting beside her. ‘You will soon be safe in Park Street.’

  Safe. Arabella’s hand crept again to her shoulder. The torn bodice was hidden now by her cloak, but Esther Hatcliffe would be waiting for her, wanting to know at least something of her evening. And the servants, too.

  ‘I cannot,’ she blurted out. ‘I cannot let anyone at the house see me like this, my hair all awry, my gown torn.’ She clasped her hands in her lap. ‘I suspect—nay, I am sure the servants report everything back to the Roffeys.’ When he muttered angrily she added, ‘They are very anxious for me.’

  ‘That does not give them the right to spy upon you.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but it is their house. I saw no harm in
them arranging everything, at the time.’ She twisted her hands even tighter together. ‘There is my companion, Mrs Hatcliffe. She always waits up for me. She is Sir Adam’s kinswoman and will undoubtedly tell him what has occurred tonight. I know, once he learns of it, he will order me to return to Lincolnshire.’

  ‘You are of age and a widow, too. They cannot insist upon your obedience.’

  She sighed. ‘You do not understand. The Roffeys brought me up as their own, took me into their family. They have been very good to me and I care for them a great deal. I cannot turn my back on them.’ She shook her head. ‘If Esther sees me like this, it will not be possible to make light of any gossip that might follow.’

  ‘And how long will she wait up for you?’

  ‘All night!’ She chewed her lip. ‘She says if she does not accompany me of an evening then the least she can do is be there to greet me upon my return.’

  Arabella had felt a degree of comfort, knowing her household were looking out for her. Until now.

  After a moment Ran spoke again, decisively.

  ‘Then we must make you presentable before you see her. We will go back to my hotel. Mivart’s has several entrances and we can be very discreet, I promise you. Joseph has needles and thread and is as good as any seamstress. We will return you to your people safely and in good order, never fear.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘We are turning into Park Street now. I’ll tell the coachman you need some air and we will walk from here.’

  It was the work of a moment to stop the coach and Arabella alighted, standing beside Randolph on the flagway while he ordered the carriage to return to the stable. As it rattled away he took her arm.

  ‘Come along. It is only a step to Brook Street from here.’

  The cold air was bracing and it kept her hurrying along at his side. Her thoughts were in turmoil. She was still trembling and part of her wanted to scream and cry. Instead she clutched Ran’s arm as a drowning man would cling to a floating spar. He would take care of her. She trusted him.

  Randolph hurried his companion through the darkened streets to enter Mivart’s Hotel by a side door. They reached his suite of rooms without meeting anyone in the dim corridors. Joseph was building up the fire when they walked into the sitting room and he could not suppress an exclamation of surprise when he saw Arabella.