Regency Brides Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set Page 19

  Behind her, she could imagine the chaos as Alexander shouted for a horse, cuffed the grooms to hurry them up, raced after her. But she did not turn round.

  She was on the road home. She was free.

  It was only when she heard the shot whistle past that she realized she was still not safe. Not yet.

  Chapter 25

  It was cold. The wind was rising, chilled and frettish, tugging at her hair which already streamed loose in the motion of her passage. Matilda did not care. She could hear the hoofs behind her now and knew that, despite her head-start, he was gaining on her.

  “Come on, Bruno, go!” she whispered at the stallion. He was newly-returned from exercise, and tiring fast. Matilda knew how wrong it was to ride him like this – he was in bad need of rest and riding him like this would ruin his legs for the next month, possibly forever. But she had to escape! The man meant murder.

  “I can see you, hussy!” a voice shouted from closer than she would have wished to imagine. “When I reload, I'll...”

  Matilda felt a sight sense of tranquility. He had to reload the pistol, which he couldn't very well do while riding the horse. All she had to do was stay ahead of him long enough to disappear up a lane. But how?

  She was on a straight road she barely knew. She had traveled it once, in a carriage, a week ago. How was she going to hide?

  “There!”

  She saw a side lane, perhaps thirty steps ahead. Leaning forward, gripping with her knees, she waited and then turned her horse to the right.

  “Come on! Right!”

  She yelled in thanks as she turned the corner, her horse valiantly carrying her round at a speed that made her slew left and almost fall. She screamed, then righted herself. Then they shot on ahead.

  Her eyes were watering, her nose was dripping, the wind sawed at her face, her hair flapping in the breeze of their passing. She was wearing a day-dress, rucked up around her legs and if she had a moment to think about the properness – or not – she would have fainted with horror. But she had no time.

  “Clever plan!” a voice shouted behind her. He was not as close now, the voice faint. She guessed herself to be perhaps forty paces ahead of him now. She had gained some advantage by turning right. But where were they?

  Surely I must be almost home? She thought. She guessed they had been riding for perhaps thirty minutes – alternating slow patches with faster ones – and at the speed they had gone, she must be perhaps twenty minutes from home.

  She raced ahead.

  Where am I?

  The thicket had opened onto a hillside, and she found herself overlooking a valley. The grass was green and the place looked vaguely familiar, but...

  “Whoa!”

  She screamed as her horse reared. Somewhere, a dog had bayed. Bruno stood on his hind legs, crashing down. Then he pitched forward, veering to the edge of the path and the valley beyond.

  “No! Please!” Matilda screamed. Behind her, she had heard the voice that had come to haunt her waking dreams.

  “Got you!”

  A hand shot out and grabbed her cloak. Matilda screamed and felt herself dragged back even as the horse drew alongside her.

  “No...” Matilda sobbed. At that moment, the dog barked again, closer now.

  “You lying, thieving little harlot...”

  “That is quite enough from you,” a voice said, very quietly. Matilda felt the hand that held her suddenly fall. She looked up.

  She found herself looking at the barrel of a gun. It was a hunting rifle, long-barreled and dark gray and efficient. On the end of the barrel was a long-fingered pale hand, and it rested on a brown doublet. Above the doublet was a face. Golden hair, blue eyes, a firm jaw.

  “Henry,” she sobbed.

  “Drop the gun,” Henry said very dangerously to her assailant. The pistol dropped. Then he looked to Matilda. “Come, my dear.”

  Matilda, crying tears of fear and amazement, felt herself slip nervelessly from the saddle. She landed on her feet and, still holding the reins, walked to Henry. Slipped into his embrace.

  “Ride,” Henry said in that same tight, dangerous voice to Alexander. “Go on. Leave the gun and ride away. Go.”

  Matilda leaned on Henry's shoulder and heard, rather than saw, as Alexander, face stiff with rage, turned the horse and rode from the clearing. Leaving her alone with Henry.

  “Matilda,” he said, holding her in his arms as she felt her legs grow weak under her. She dropped the reins and let him embrace her. They stood there for what seemed an age, his arms around d her, as she leaned against his shoulder and sobbed.

  After a long time, he leaned down to her. Kissed her hair.

  “Come, dear,” he said gently. “Come away. It will all be well.”

  “Henry,” she whispered. “Oh, Henry.”

  “It is well dear. Come now. We'll walk to my horse. Take yours with us. Come, we'll go slowly. Easy, now. Easy, dearest...you're well.”

  They walked down the hill slowly. Beside them, his dog, Hunter, leaped through the grass, barking happily and running off after every movement. Matilda felt her heart slowly return to its normal pace.

  They reached his horse and he lifted her into the saddle and then walked beside her, leading both horses as they went down the long path and up the hill, taking the shorter route back to his home.

  When they reached his father's manor, Matilda was shivering, feeling as if the cold had lodged inside her and would never be cast out. She let him lift her from the saddle, feeling frozen inside, and he carried her, very tenderly, in his arms, her head cradled on his chest.

  “Matilda,” he said over and over again. “My dear Matilda.”

  “Henry,” she whispered, looking up at him. She clung to his coat, still feeling terrified. That man had meant to kill her, she knew it now. She shuddered, remembering his face.

  “It's all well now.”

  “Henry,” she whispered. “You saved my life.”

  “And you save mine every day,” he said to her. “Without you, I wouldn't want to live anymore. And that's a sort of saving, don't you think?”

  Matilda felt herself smile up into those blue eyes. Her heart melted. She reached up and touched his face. He kissed her.

  Then, very gently, he carried her upstairs and put her softly down on the bed where she had slept last time she stayed.

  “I'll call our maid, Mercy, and ask her to help you get ready for bed.”

  “Oh, Henry,” Matilda murmured. Her heart was full of love for him, her body weak with relief. She smiled at him as he kissed her head and retreated downstairs.

  Then, before she knew it, she was asleep.

  Chapter 26

  The next morning, Matilda awoke with an aching head. Her first thought on waking was rank terror. Part of her mind was still in the fields, riding, pursued by Alexander Dartmoor with a gun. She sat up in bed, a cry of terror, wordless, on her lips. Her eyes opened.

  She found herself looking at the dark oak washstand in the upstairs room at Henry's home. She sighed and, letting out a shuddering breath, leaned back on the headboard and closed her eyes.

  I'm safe. I'm here. It wasn't a dream, but now it's over. I'm home.

  Her first thought was that she had to see her sister. Had to tell her what happened. She still had the papers.

  She stood and, slipping her feet into the slippers that she had hoped would be waiting for her, walked to the bell-rope. Summoning the maid took all her strength. Every bit of her body ached and she was huddled in the chair by the window, unable to stand, when Huston found her.

  “There, mistress Matilda! Well. I've fetched some clothing of the mistress that were down for you. There's a white gown that could be quite becoming, if it fits. I think it will. She was always a tall lady.”

  Matilda smiled pallidly and let the woman dress her in Henry's mother's gown and then, wincing as she stepped onto her right leg – everything hurt – she headed down to the breakfast room.

  “Matilda!” />
  “Henry.”

  Henry stood as she entered, and she was touched to see the care with which he looked at her. He drew out a seat for her himself then sat down opposite.

  “I've sent word to the manor,” Henry explained, “and they're sending a coach. I have also sent word to the bailiff in Warrington, but I doubt he'll be of much use to us,” he added, sighing. “If Lord Epworth wanted to flee, he's long gone.”

  Matilda nodded slowly. She poured herself some tea. Closed her eyes as she sipped the warm sweetness. Yesterday, she had thought herself dead for sure. Today, here she was, with Henry, sipping tea. Life was so precious. She swallowed the scalding, reviving drink and promised herself to enjoy each day more.

  “...and we should send word. Matilda?”

  “Mm?” Matilda looked up from her view of the window, aware that Henry had been speaking to her. She had only caught half of it. “What is it, dear?”

  “I was just saying Pauline could perhaps come here? I don't think it's safe for you to travel. I should summon the physician.”

  “The physician?” Matilda remembered what she was doing here. “Henry?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Do you have my purse? The blue one? I had it yesterday...”

  “I think Mrs. Wells has it. I asked her to clean your clothes. Why?”

  “Please, have it sent up? There are important things in there. Then, I would like to tell you what has happened.”

  “Only if you're ready...” Henry said kindly.

  Matilda nodded. She was ready. She had to tell someone, and soon.

  After their breakfast, she and Henry talked. She explained about her father, about the axle that had broken. About her suspicions about Alexander. She mentioned the doctor and she and Pauline suspecting that their father was being drugged. Henry sent for her bag and had it brought up to her.

  She showed him the notes. After he had read the one from G. J., he looked agitated.

  “Matilda?”

  “Yes?”

  “You have heard of Geoffrey, Dr. Jarvis?”

  “No?”

  Henry looked grave. “He left London in disgrace. It was a minor scandal. He had been the physician for a notable family and he was accused of attempting to poison an elderly relative of theirs. The man left and the scandal died down. It's been forgotten now. But I am sure the name was Jarvis.”

  Matilda felt suddenly icy. “Henry. Oh, my...What have we uncovered?”

  Because it was true. All her suspicions, all the ideas that she and Pauline had discussed, which she had half-believed were girlish fancies, born of a desperate hope to believe their father could be cured. All of it was true.

  And Alexander had been behind it. The man she had almost married.

  “Henry,” Matilda said, feeling her vision growing dark. “Please, dearest. I want to go home now.”

  Henry crossed the room and lifted her up. Carried her to the parlor. Summoned Huston and asked her to fetch Matilda's things, pack them in a case for her. She was going home.

  He rode with her in the coach, when it arrived, and carried her up the steps of Braxton house. She heard Pauline cry out, and heard Henry's low reply. She was home.

  In her bedchamber, Matilda and Pauline sat and talked. Stella had brought them some tea and then left them alone, going to see to their father.

  “Matilda!” Pauline said, horrified, as soon as she had finished speaking. “My dear! I almost lost you.”

  Matilda felt her heart melt as Pauline reached out and held her wrist.

  “I was terrified,” Matilda admitted. “And one of the worst things about dying would have been not seeing you.”

  Pauline blinked, holding back tears. She leaned forward and they clung to each other in a fierce embrace. Then she let go.

  “I am so glad you are returned, sister.”

  “I, too,” Matilda agreed. Then she noticed a certain look in Pauline's eye. She had something to tell. “What is it? You found something?”

  “At breakfast yesterday,” Pauline said, evading the question, “I finished early and slipped upstairs to Father's room, thinking to look around. I opened his drawer, where he keeps his snuff and pomade and other things and there, I found a little phial. It had a bitter-scented substance in it, so I slipped it out and took it with me. After lunch I took it to Braxley, to Jarrow.”

  “Oh?” Matilda frowned, caught up in the story.

  “I showed it to him and, after looking at the phial, told me it was a bottle of tincture he had given our father to help him to sleep. I felt surprised – after all, I had expected to find something...more sinister, as we said – and so I said I'd take it back. But he told me to wait. He'd examine it first?”

  “And?” Matilda asked, feeling impatient for information.

  “Well, he took it to his back room, where he mixes his compounds, and came back two minutes later, looking grave. He said it was not Lethe, after all. It was tincture of belladonna.”

  “What?” That explained a lot. It explained everything.

  Belladonna. Used for centuries by women to make their pupils dilated, as eye-drops. Consumed, it would make a person pale and interesting, with wide eyes and a sheen to their skin. It did that because it was deadly poisonous. Enough would kill a man in a single dose. But taken gradually, over time? It would wear on a person, making them shaky, disorientated; giving them headaches, chest-aches and sudden fits of faintness. It would make a person pale, sweating and make their heart race. They would feel confused. Tired. Delirious. All the symptoms her father had shown.

  All the symptoms they had thought were aging and death.

  “Father...” Matilda sobbed.

  Pauline, eyes swimming, nodded.

  “He's not dying, Tildie! He's being poisoned.”

  They looked at each other, numb with horror. They knew, now.

  But could they save him in time?

  “What did Doctor Jarrow...”

  “He's here now.”

  Looking at each other, they stood. The tea stayed, unfinished, behind them. They had to see him and find out if there was any chance at all that they could save him. That the damage could be stopped. That they had not found out the truth far too late.

  Chapter 27

  Matilda and Pauline left the sick room twenty minutes later, Doctor Jarrow walking behind.

  “Thank you, doctor,” Pauline said, saying farewell to him in the hallway.

  “Of course, my lady. His lordship, the earl, is a fine man. It is an honor to be helping him.”

  “Thank you!” Matilda said impulsively. He smiled.

  “Farewell, ladies.”

  He lifted his hat then hurried off. Pauline and Matilda looked at each other.

  “We should go and find Mama...” Pauline began. They had not yet seen her. No sooner had they mentioned her, it seemed, then an ear-splitting cry rent the air.

  “Matilda! Girls! Oh...”

  Matilda and Pauline smiled at each other, then headed up the stairs just as Lady Braxton, dressed in deep russet velvet, drifted down.

  She embraced Matilda, gripped Pauline's shoulder and then swept them along with her to the downstairs parlor, pulling the bell for more tea.

  They sat and talked together. As their mother talked about how distressed she had been for their father, Matilda forgot she had ever suspected her. Quick tempered and determined she was, stubborn as six mules on a cart, she was not cruel. She would not harm their father, nor any living thing with intention.

  “...and Doctor Jarrow gave you some hope?”

  Pauline and Matilda looked at each other. Pauline cleared her throat.

  “Mother,” she said, “we have something to tell you.”

  “Well, don't just look at me,” she admonished. “Say it now!”

  They told her. When they had finished, she sat looking at them, an expression of horror on her face.

  “So that means...Oh girls! I am so sorry!”

  Matilda and Pauline looked
at each other in horror as she sobbed. Matilda had seen her mother lose her temper before, but she had never yet seen her cry.

  They both stood and held her and together they wept with sadness for Lord Braxton and relief that it was all finally over.

  “He says there is a chance Father can recover now,” Pauline explained. “With the right treatment – plenty of water, solid foods, some fresh air – his body will slowly flush out the poisons. He can be well again, Mama.”

  “Oh, girls!” Lady Braxton sobbed. “How wonderful. You saved him! And to think that I...”

  “Now mother, we all trusted that wretched man,” Matilda admonished her gently. “How were we to know?”

  Her face set grimly. “When I catch him, I'll...” she breathed out, her hand unclenched from its fist.

  But it was not to be. Two days later, they heard the news from the investigator their mother sent to Warrington house. Lord Epworth had fled the country.

  “It doesn't matter,” Matilda said gently.

  “No,” Pauline agreed. “All that matters is that Father get better soon.”

  A week later, Doctor Jarrow had positive news. Their father had sat up, his mind unclouded, and recognized him. He had asked for his family.

  “Father!” Pauline cried. They had been sitting in the drawing room, meeting with the doctor who was a permanent guest in their manor. Pauline leaped up from her seat and ran to the door. “We must see him...”

  Matilda followed her downstairs.

  They all sat round his bed. All had wet cheeks. Matilda could barely stop her tears as her father smiled at her from his bed. He was thin, but a good color, blood flushing his sunken face.

  “Matilda,” he smiled. “What have you been up to?”

  Matilda wanted to sob. She smiled at him, blinking at pouring tears. “I've not been up to much, father,” she managed coughing.

  “Life's been dull without you,” Pauline said.

  They all laughed.

  His recover was swift after that. A week later, he was walking in the garden with a cane for support. Another week, and he was sitting in the dining-room, eating with the family. Aunt Allectia and Cousin Cornelia returned on a return visit, and the family dined together in celebration.