A Traitor's Touch

Henrietta thought that was comical coming from her. Hadn’t Jeremy plucked her off the stage in Drury Lane? She would have laughed out loud had the situation not been so serious.

‘She will be, my love. I guarantee it.’ Jeremy looked Henrietta over, noting her trim figure, with its tiny waist, her prim beauty, the red-gold of her hair and softly rounded curves beneath her mourning dress. As much as he had intended exacting revenge on his uncle’s ward, with her proud head elevated to a lofty angle and her eyes blazing defiance, as much as he might have wished otherwise, it was blatantly obvious that Claudia suffered badly in comparison.

‘You cannot do this,’ Henrietta said. ‘I beg you to reconsider.’

‘I suppose I could—for a price.’

‘Now don’t you go making any bargains with her, Jeremy,’ his wife chided. ‘She’s going and that’s final.’

‘I suppose something could be worked out between us,’ Jeremy said, his gaze dwelling on a rounded breast, giving no indication that he had even heard his wife.

Henrietta shrank as she felt the weight of his stare. She could feel his eyes burning into her flesh through the fabric of her dress. Her heart pounded and she looked up at him, suddenly wary. His eyes held a hard, predatory gleam and a confident smile stretched his thin lips that made her skin crawl. His thoughts were the kind a decent young lady would not invite.

‘Of course there is the matter of your guardianship to consider, Henrietta. It cannot be overlooked. As the legal ward of my late uncle, I expect the responsibility has fallen on me. In which case I have legal ownership of you. You must obey me. Obviously you have not yet come of age whereby you can make lawful decisions on your own. I am duty-bound to provide for you.’

It was the smugness of his expression which finally brought Henrietta’s senses to life. ‘I am not your ward,’ she retorted, seething at his arrogant assertion. ‘I do not believe there is the mention of any guardianship being transferred to you in any will. A moment ago you were prepared to throw me out on the street. That was hardly an act of solicitude.’

Jeremy’s eyes became less threatening. ‘I acted a tad hastily, I admit. As I said, I will allow you to remain for the time being—’

‘But for a price,’ Henrietta said, cutting him short, incensed by what he was suggesting. ‘How dare you insult me so? To have made such suggestions at all is disgusting, but to make them in the presence of your wife is doubly so. How dare you come here prancing about like some arrogant lord, you graceless fop? I would rather take my chances on the streets than remain here with you and your wife. I would rot first.’

Jeremy’s eyes flared as her insults hit their mark. His face darkened to a motley red. ‘And you will. I’ll see to that, I promise you,’ he flared, his whole body shaking with rage. ‘Now go to your room and don’t come down again until I give you permission.’

There was a warning in his voice which sent a shiver of fear through Henrietta. She backed away. ‘Most willingly.’

She turned on her heel, leaving the room as two maids came in carrying trays laden with a silver tea service, fine china and a plate of sweet delicacies to tempt the palate.

She was halfway up the stairs when, having second thoughts, she decided to return to try again to inform Jeremy about his uncle’s change of solicitor. The door was ajar and she paused, steeling her nerves for further confrontation, but on hearing Claudia’s shrill voice she remained where she was.

‘I thank the Lord she’s going. She couldn’t continue living here.’

‘Don’t worry, my love,’ Jeremy said, biting into one of cook’s delicious iced cakes, scattering crumbs down his fine silk waistcoat. ‘You won’t have to put up with her for long. Henrietta Brody no longer has any place here and, as soon as the will is read, one way or another she will cease to exist.’

‘It’s a pity we failed to get rid of her along with the old fools. But then we must be thankful that everything went off as we hoped, better even since they had the sense to die and leave you everything.’

‘It had to be done. I couldn’t wait any longer. With creditors baying at the door, it was either that or the debtors’ prison.’ A sudden vision of himself locked in a filthy prison cell at the mercy of other prisoners and the guards flashed into Jeremy’s mind’s eye. It was a vision that had haunted him too much of late for comfort. ‘It’s not too late for Henrietta Brody. I vow I’ll see her hanged before I let her touch an object or a penny of what’s mine.’

Henrietta listened in amazement and shock to this eruption of venom. Horrified, she saw at last the cynical calculation of these two, who had coolly set about playing on her guardians’ goodness and her own innocence. Even more than their revelation was the contemptuous way this creature who was Jeremy’s wife dared to speak of her guardians’ memory that roused her anger.

‘Not only that, the girl’s a papist, isn’t she?’ Claudia added with scorn. ‘They’re likely to stab one in one’s bed with the smallest hint of an uprising. Don’t forget what happened to her father.’

Having heard enough and horrified at what their words implied—that they had been responsible for the death of her guardians and that she would have suffered the same fate had she not pleaded the onset of a cold, which had prevented her attending the theatre that night—Henrietta backed away from the door and, turning quietly, made her way to the baron’s study. The desk where he kept his private papers was locked, the key kept in a drawer in a separate bureau, although the deeds to the house and other important papers he kept with Mr Goodwin.

Opening each drawer in the desk in turn, she sifted through some household accounts until she found what she was looking for. Jeremy was right. There was a copy of the will, but it was the recent will drawn up by Mr Goodwin. Hearing Jeremy leave the morning room and cross the hall to the kitchen where he proceeded to bark orders at the staff, clutching the will in her trembling hand, gingerly she closed the study door. Afraid of making a sound, stealthily she tiptoed across the hall and flitted up the stairs to her room.

With shaking hands she opened the copy of the will and scanned what was written. She read enough to know that if she valued her life she must get away immediately. As Baron Lucas’s sole heir it was natural that Jeremy would expect to inherit his entire estate, but he had excluded Jeremy in favour of her.

Caught in a nightmare, she realised she was completely alone, at the mercy of demons that were intent upon destroying her. Who was to know what Jeremy would be tempted to do if he found out she had knowledge of the terrible crime he’d committed, one he would hang for? And on the morrow when he discovered his uncle had changed his solicitor and made a new will, leaving her everything, the knowledge would elicit terrible repercussions from Jeremy and she was not strong enough to stand against him.

Briefly she considered throwing herself on the mercy of her guardians’ friends, but dismissed this immediately. Jeremy had always been a golden boy and, because of the shocking events in her family’s background, they had quietly resented the position she had acquired in the Lucas household. No one would believe the conversation she had overheard between Jeremy and his wife and that he had murdered his uncle and aunt to get his hands on their money to keep him out of debtors’ prison. It would be her word against his, and were she to seek out Mr Goodwin, he would ensure the inheritance came to her, but he would never believe she was under threat from Jeremy.

So, with no one to whom she could turn to for help and with only herself to rely on, knowing that if she was to save her neck she had to do something, she acted on pure instinct. She would not be beaten. She would not sit and wait for Jeremy to destroy her with the same vicious cunning as he had his aunt and uncle. She had to get away and get away with all speed.

A concerned Rose followed her into her room, where Henrietta lost no time in telling her what had occurred and that she must leave the house with all haste. That Jeremy and his wife had admitted to killing her guardians she kept to herself. The fact that Jeremy could have done something so horrendous was difficult for her to take in, but if he could take the lives of his own flesh and blood without a qualm, he would not turn a hair in getting rid of her.

Sending Rose to find her some clothes suitable for riding a long distance, preferably male attire since she didn’t want to attract attention to herself and her very gender rendered such an undertaking dangerous, she also asked her to instruct Robbie to saddle her horse and bring it into the yard at the back of the house, and not to say a word to anyone. When Rose had disappeared to do her bidding she snatched up some small items she would need—the copy of the will, a purse containing several coins and some of her jewels, so that she could sell them if it became necessary. She also had the presence of mind to arm herself with a small dagger to defend herself from vagabonds and highwaymen. It had belonged to her father and she prayed she would not have occasion to use it. Rose returned with some clothes she’d commandeered from the young groom.

‘Robbie won’t miss these,’ she said, handing her the breeches.

They were ill-fitting and stained with saddle oil and other distasteful substances, but they would serve their purpose. The shirt, which came down to her knees, she tucked into her breeches, and her youthful breasts she bound flat with a snug-fitting chemise. Shoving her arms into the sleeves of one of her old jackets, she thought she was beginning to look the part, but how Lady Lucas would have admonished her ward for riding in such an immodest and unladylike style.

Glancing in the mirror, she considered her features for the hazard they might pose. Was there something that might betray her: the pert nose, the large green eyes that slanted upwards, her long silky black lashes and the soft, too-pink and delicate mouth? Small and slender, she would have no trouble passing herself off as a youth—not even Jeremy would recognise her dressed like this, but she would have to do something about her hair. The long, soft, curling tresses would become a liability she could ill afford.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Rose said, deeply concerned for her safety.

‘I don’t, Rose,’ Henrietta said, handing her the scissors. ‘All I know is that I cannot stay here with Jeremy. What I heard tonight gives me reason to fear for my life. I have to get away and it’s imperative that I look the part, which is why I want you to cut my hair.’

Rose was appalled at what she was being asked to do. ‘But—your lovely hair? I can’t do that.’

‘Yes, you can. It’s necessary. This is a time for survival, Rose, not girlish longings. It will soon grow again. Now hurry. I have to leave before Jeremy comes looking for me.’

* * *

When Rose had completed her task and disposed of the shorn hair, Henrietta heard Jeremy down below, his voice raised in anger. Hearing the noise of the study door banging shut, the noise reverberating through the house, she trembled with fear.

‘Where is she, damn you?’ he shouted to a terrified servant, having decided to take a look at his uncle’s documents and being unable to find the key to his desk. ‘In her room, is she? Get her. She will not hide from me.’

Suddenly Henrietta felt Rose’s arms around her. A sudden tug of emotion made her hug Rose in return. Before the feeling could turn to tears, she pulled away and stood upright like a soldier.

‘This is just terrible,’ a tearful Rose said, wiping her wet cheeks. ‘That you are being forced to leave your own home without a place to go. Where will you go?’

In her present terrible plight, there was only one place Henrietta could go, only one person who could help and advise her—her uncle—and he was hundreds of miles away in the wilds of Scotland. She was in no doubt that it would be a monumental undertaking for her to get there safely. Fearing that Jeremy would interrogate Rose and demand to know her whereabouts, Henrietta considered she was better off not knowing. ‘I can’t tell you that, Rose, but I mean to leave London. I’ll write to you when I reach my destination. I promise. Wish me luck, Rose.’

‘I always do, miss. God keep you safe,’ Rose whispered. ‘I will be praying for you.’

Shrouded in a black woollen cloak, her cropped red-gold hair dulled with a smidgen of soot and hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat, hearing Jeremy’s loud, harsh tones, with hate beating a bitter note in her breast, Henrietta hurried out of a back door to her waiting horse. She shivered as the reality of what she was planning to undertake hit her. It would be wiser to wait until morning, to set out on her journey in the light rather than in the dark, but she could not wait. Without a backward glance, like a shadow she slipped away on to Hampstead Heath without encountering a living soul.

* * *

As she rode on to the heath, Henrietta looked around with renewed spirit and saw that no black clouds hung in the sky to mar her plans. There was no hampering wind, either, and, since it was late August, the air was warm. Fortunately for her, she knew the heath well and there was no lane or byway with which she was not familiar. It was a rambling, hilly place embracing ponds and ancient woodlands. Unfortunately Hampstead Heath had a sinister reputation for criminals. There was no doubt that there were major hazards to crossing it at night and that ordinary dangers were compounded by those threatened by highwaymen.

Driven by some compelling need to put as much distance as she could between her and the threat Jeremy Lucas posed, digging in her heels she rode off at a gallop, the horse’s hooves thudding over the turf. Approaching woodland, fearing she might be knocked from her horse by low branches, she slowed her horse to a walk and entered the interior. Every now and then she paused to listen, straining her ears for every sound. All was silent in the darkness. The moon and stars were hidden behind thick cloud.

She picked her way through the undergrowth and stopped when she came to a clearing, staring at the dark silhouette which was the tumbled ruin of a cottage. There were no lights showing. Intending to ride on by, she looked ahead. As she did so, something flashed in the corner of her eye. She swung about—a lantern had been put out and she realised there was someone outside the building. Afraid that if she rode on whoever it was that lurked there would come after her, dismounting, she tethered her horse to a branch. With her heart thudding in her chest, she crept forward and ran the last few paces, crouching against a side wall and creeping towards the corner of the building. Pressing herself against the wall, she realised only then that her legs were shaking beneath her. For a panic-filled moment, the mere awareness of her fear threatened to collapse her self-control, but she pressed trembling fingers to her lips, resolving to overcome her trepidations by her own will and fortitude. Though the full moon gleamed brightly overhead and cast a strip of moonlight over the ruin, deep in the shadows along the walls the blackness was almost palpable.

Holding her breath, she peered around the corner, seeing that she was several feet from what had once been the door. A man was skulking in the gloom, long and dark like the shadows. She waited until her heart had slowed and her breathing had steadied. Somewhere on the heath she heard an owl calling, the haunting sound echoing in the silence. Hardly breathing, soundlessly she pressed herself against the wall and waited.

Suddenly she heard the sound of horses, the thump of their hooves on the ground and the clink of their harnesses. Retreating along the wall, she stood in the shadows. Three men rode up and halted in front of the building. They slid to the ground and the man in the shadows stepped forward to greet them.