Authors: Anne Ireland
On the evening that began their second week in Bath, they had been invited to a private dance given by Lady Blackwater. Her nephew Henry, a handsome gentleman of whom she was very fond, had joined her in Bath. As her favorite, Henry was expected to inherit a large part of her fortune. She introduced him to Geraldine with an air of expectancy, clearly hoping he would take to the pretty young woman of whom she approved.
Henry, mindful of his aunt’s fortune, obligingly asked Geraldine to dance, but gravitated to Hester’s side shortly afterwards.
“Will you grant me the honor of a dance, Miss Weston?”
“Thank you, sir.” Hester checked her card. “Yes, as it happens I am free for the next.”
Hester had carefully kept three spaces on her card in case Captain Crawford should ask her for a dance, but he had not yet arrived. She willingly accepted Mr. Blackwater as Captain Crawford’s substitute, and since he was a pleasant companion as well as an excellent dancer, she enjoyed herself very much.
Indeed, Mr. Blackwater was truly one of the most striking gentlemen present. He had a most elegant figure, dark eyes, and short, fashionably cut hair. His cravats rivalled any that Beau Brummell might have sported in his heyday. As if that were not enough, he had a droll humor, and his comments about various gentlemen, who considered themselves to be high steppers and fine fellows, made her laughter ring out again and again. She had seldom enjoyed herself more for he had a wicked sense of fun.
“You are a terrible tease, sir,” she charged him, tapping her fan lightly on his arm. “I do not believe you should say such things to me.”
“But it makes you laugh, and you look so delightful when you laugh, Miss Weston, that I cannot think it wrong. Indeed, I would do far more for the privilege of amusing you. You can have no idea of how charmingly you laugh.”
“Oh no, do not say it,” Hester denied with a flush. She found him charming company, but his compliment frightened her because she could not permit him to come too close. He seemed to approve of her, but what would he think if he knew her shameful secret?
“But I must say it for it is true and I am a very honest fellow, don’t you know? Now, look at that turban, Miss Weston. It patently outshines my aunt’s own and that is an achievement of moment, do you not agree?”
Hester looked at the towering monstrosity of purple, yellow, and gold and understood perfectly. She had the greatest difficulty in hiding her mirth for the turban was quite the worst she had seen in an age.
“Sir, you are incorrigible,” she said in mock disapproval but inwardly she was smiling. “And now I believe your aunt looks for you and my next partner will soon on his way to claim me.”
She left him and went to join Geraldine and Lucinda. Geraldine was looking unusually pale, and she complained of a headache, which was most unlike her.
“I think it must be the heat. Is it stuffy in here? Or is it just me?” she asked.
“It is a little over-warm,” Hester said. “Shall we go outside to the terrace for a few minutes? Or would you prefer to go home?”
“No, no, I am sure I shall be well enough once I have cooled down,” Geraldine assured her. “Lucinda’s partner comes now. Would you mind accompanying me, Hester?”
“You know I shall not. Come, let us go at once.”
They walked together to the long French windows, which were opened to let some air into the room, but the press of bodies and the heat of the candles had combined to make it almost unbearable. The terrace had been strung with pretty lanterns that hung from poles, and beyond in the trees there were more lanterns that twinkled as they swayed a little in the slight breeze. One or two other ladies and gentlemen were taking the air, but the girls soon found themselves alone as they strolled to the far end of the terrace, where deep-scented yellow roses were spilling over the stone balustrade.
“Oh, how gorgeous they smell,” Geraldine said. “I am so foolish to have this wretched head!”
“You cannot help having the headache.”
“I have not been sleeping well,” Geraldine confessed. She looked at Hester oddly, her bottom lip trembling as she asked, “May I confide in you please?”
“Yes, of course, if you wish. You know that I shall respect your confidence.”
“It is so uncomfortable, but I have not wanted to tell Mama, because it would upset her terribly.”
“Does it concern the gentleman who so obviously admires you?”
“Oh no. Thomas is the sweetest thing and never causes me the least distress. It is the letters. . . .” She blushed. “I have received five of them so far.” She hesitated, then said, “I think I am being blackmailed.”
“Blackmailed?” Hester was shocked. “But why?”
“It concerns my youngest brother William,” Geraldine said. “The first letter purported to be from an admirer, and I simply ignored it for it was unsigned. The second told me that the writer had some news of William, and it was signed by a well-wisher, but I knew it was from the same person for I recognized the hand. And then . . .” She gave a little sob. “The others have seemed to threaten me. They said that unless I agreed to meet the writer alone, he would expose my brother for cheating at the card table.”
Hester was horrified, for it was one of the worst things that could happen to a young man, and even if it were proved false, the mud would stick to him forever and his reputation would be tarnished.
“That
is
blackmail. You must continue to ignore the letters, Geraldine. No true gentleman would send such a letter to a young lady. And they must have come from a gentleman, I think.”
“Oh yes, I think so.” Geraldine’s eyes held a look of apprehension. “I believe I know who may have sent them. I have refused to have anything to do with him thus far, and this could be his revenge.”
“Can you mean . . . Richard Mortimer?” Hester read the answer in her eyes. “You must never agree to meet him. He is a dangerous man, ruthless. Please, promise me you will not give into his blackmail!”
“But what of William? Supposing Mortimer does what he has threatened? My brother would not cheat. I am easy on that score, but he has a hasty temper. If accused, he would call Mortimer out, and he might be killed.”
“Could you not tell your Mama?” Geraldine shook her head emphatically. “Why not write to your brother? Warn him never to play cards with Richard Mortimer.”
“Yes, I have considered that,” Geraldine said looking thoughtful. “Except that William would probably come haring down here and find a way of challenging him. He is such a firepot! That is why I fear for him. I know that he would not walk away from a fight.”
“There is an alternative,” Hester said. “Speak to Captain Crawford. I believe he might be the right person to advise you.”
“I had intended to do so this evening,” Geraldine said, “but he has gone off somewhere on important business. I think to Yorkshire or some such place. He may be gone for some days.”
“Nevertheless, you must continue as before,” Hester stressed the point. “Believe me, Geraldine. I know that man. He is not suitable for you to meet alone. He is ruthless and . . . inconsiderate of other’s feelings. You do so at your peril.”
Geraldine’s eyes widened. “Has he hurt you, Hester dearest?”
“Yes. Once, a long time ago.” She hesitated, then, “I cannot tell you all, but he ruined my life. He does not remember me now, and I thank God for it but . . . he broke my heart.” Other factors had contributed to her misery, but it had been Richard Mortimer who had seduced and had left her to her father’s anger.
“Then I shall have nothing to do with him, but I shall write to William and warn him that he may have an enemy who may try to trap him and then accuse him of cheating at cards—and what you have told me, Hester, remains with me. None shall hear it from my lips.”
“I know that you would never betray a confidence. Are you feeling a little better? Shall we return to the ballroom or would you rather go home?”
“I am very much better now that I have spoken to you.” Geraldine’s color had returned, and she seemed happier.
“Then I am pleased I could help a little.”
The two ladies returned to the ballroom and their friends, and Hester was gratified to see that Geraldine smiling again as she allowed her partner to take her onto the dance floor. However, an hour or so later she happened to see Richard Mortimer making his way towards them. Knowing that Geraldine had for some unaccountable reason left a space on her dance card, she turned to Henry Blackwater urgently.
“Please take Geraldine as your partner. Ask no questions, do it!”
“At your service, Miss Weston!” Henry’s eyes danced with amusement as he whisked Geraldine off from under the nose of the outraged Richard Mortimer.
Hester was, for a moment, alone. Mortimer came up to her. She steeled herself to withstand his glare. She had feared him the first time that she saw him in company, but she had learned to control her nerves and was able to greet him with a cool nod.
His gaze went over her. Hester was looking particularly lovely that evening in a fashionable gown of deep emerald and, had she known it, her preference for rich colors made her stand out from the young girls dressed in white or pastels. She had an air about her, something that had become more marked this week as she gained in confidence.
“Do I know you?” Mortimer asked. His brow creased as he struggled with an elusive memory.
“No, I believe not,” Hester lied. Inside, she was trembling, but outwardly, she remained calm, a little aloof. She was not the young innocent who had fallen for his charm and been so cruelly betrayed.
“I seem to remember you from somewhere but the memory escapes me.” There was a sudden predatory gleam in his dark eyes. “Will you dance?”
“I thank you, no,” she replied with dignity. “My partner comes now.”
She smiled as the young man came up to her. “Our dance I believe, Mr. Jones.”
“Yes, Miss Weston.” He bowed and took her hand. A slight, fair man he had a gentle air about him that was appealing to a very young girl, and for her own part, Hester liked him well. She believed he would make Geraldine happy if they were to wed. “Was that gentleman annoying you?” he asked as they joined the other dancers. “I believe he is a gentleman of unsavory character and you might do well to avoid being alone with him.”
“You do not need to warn me, sir,” Hester said with a little shiver. “I have no wish to speak to that particular gentleman at all.”
* * * *
Had Hester realized that Mortimer’s eyes continued to follow her for the rest of the evening she would not have slept a wink that night.
Fortunately, the gentleman in question had not yet recalled just where he had seen the enigmatic Miss Weston, but she intrigued him. Had he not been certain that Geraldine Holbeach had been left twenty thousand pounds by her godmother Lady Furnley, he might have abandoned his quarry in favor of Miss Weston.
* * * *
Paul sat his horse, looking down at the foundry built on the outskirts of Yorkshire. He had arranged to meet Mr. Joseph Hanwell at a nearby tavern to discuss his findings before paying the owner of the foundry a little visit. As he had expected, Mr. Hanwell was every bit as outraged over the fraud as he. That the owner of this foundry could be persuaded to tell them what they needed to know was to be hoped.
Joseph Hanwell greeted him with a grim smile as he entered the tavern, which was a poor sort of place that smelled strongly of spilled ale and body odors. It looked in need of a thorough clean, but Paul had encountered worse during his campaigns abroad, and he ignored the stink of some of the worst customers as he joined the man he sought at a table in the corner. They shook hands and sat down over a tankard of ale, which both ignored.
“My news is not good, sir,” Hanwell said at once. “Stern’s foundry is undoubtedly the source of the shoddy work that killed your men. They were cast there and our mark forged in the metal. I knew the work as soon as I saw the cannon you withdrew and had shipped back to England as proof. Walter Stern once worked for me. I dismissed him for dishonesty and bad workmanship. However, I fear our quest has come to an unsatisfactory end.”
“Why? I believe I may persuade our friend to loosen his tongue one way or the other.” Paul frowned, his eyes icy cold, akin to a mountain stream, his mouth hard.
“Aye, I do not doubt it, sir,” Hanwell replied. “But unless you can raise a dead man from his grave, I fear his secrets remain lost.”
“Dead man? You are saying that the owner of the foundry is dead?”
“Yes, sir. This three weeks past.” Paul swore, furious at being thus frustrated, and Hanwell nodded his agreement. “Aye, curse away, captain. There has been foul play, and I believe we know who is behind it.”
“You think our man murdered Stern?”
“He leaves a widow. Mistress Judith Stern and their young son are left penniless. They know nothing except that he was anxious for a week or so before he was killed. Mistress Stern believes that he went to meet a customer the morning that he was beaten to death.”
“The devil he did!” Paul ejaculated. “It seems our man will stop at nothing to cover his tracks!” He hesitated, then, “Will Mistress Stern see me? I would not distress her at such a time, but I should like to speak with her. She believes that she knows nothing but she may recall something—a small detail that may help us.”