A Wicked Deception (20 page)

Spring drifted into summer
. As the days grew warmer, she spent most of her time going for long walks down the pretty country lanes, or in the wooded areas backing on to Peter’s property. Her skin was tanned to a light honey color from being out of doors so often, but when she glanced into the mirror her hollow cheeks gave her a wraithlike appearance. She told no one of her terrible predicament because Michael would come back for her as he promised. He must.

Ann anxious
ly fluttered about, offering all kinds of dainty treats to tempt her non-existent appetite. “You must eat something, my dear. You’ll get ill if you don’t.”

Things came to a head one evening in the sitting room. On standing
Melanie felt the room sway, a mist rose up before her eyes and everything turned black. She regained consciousness to find Ann plying her with smelling salts.

“You’re fading away
. He isn’t worth it. No man is.” Ann massaged her cold hands to bring back some warmth.

“I’ll take you over to Greystones tomorrow.” Peter carried her to the couch and peered anxiously into her face. “I’ll never understand women. After what he’s done, you’re pining away for him. Be glad
. Michael Guilford isn’t for you. Any woman married to a cad like him would have a frightful time. They would have to contend with Lord and Lady Guilford as well.”

“Michael loves me.” But did he? The little voice of disquiet raised its ugly head as it had on several occasions before, adding to her turmoil.

“Tomorrow we’ll go over to Greystones and sort this out once and for all,” Peter promised.

Ann, Peter and Melanie
left for Greystones early next morning. Peter decided to handle the carriage himself. It was pleasant driving along with the warm summer breeze gently fanning their faces. They packed a picnic lunch to eat on the way.

Greystones at last. The oak trees seemed even taller and more majestic than before.
She felt a little thrill at being back here again.

A manservant came out to greet them
. When Peter asked for Michael, they were informed he had embarked for the Crimean War.

Michael had gone to fight in a war?
Melanie felt the color draining out of her face, and she slumped on to the step. She must have turned so white, Ann pushed her head down between her knees to stop her passing out.

“It can’t be true
. It can’t be. Peter, ask if I can speak to Lady Guilford, tell the man it’s urgent. I have to contact Michael. Lady Guilford will have heard of me.”

T
he servant beckoned for them to enter, but left them standing in the great hall, much to Peter’s fury. His face turned red with rage. He was obviously not used to being treated in such a fashion.

The servant returned
within a short time. “Her Ladyship has agreed to see you,” he said stiffly, beckoning them forward.

Peter insisted on coming in, too, fortunately as she was absolutely beyond walking in on her own.
He held her arm in a supportive grip. “You look frightful, Melanie.”

“I feel terrible.”

The back view of Lady Guilford showed a slim, tall lady, dressed in brown silk, but when she swung around to face them, Melanie knew there would be no welcome here. The cold aristocratic face might have been hewn from a piece of white marble.

“I’m Melanie O’Dea, Your Ladyship. Michael would have spoken about me.”

“He has mentioned you once or twice.” Her frigid tone was as unbending as her stance.

“Once or twice? Lady Guilford, Michael loves me.”

“My son love the likes of you? Born in the colonies of Irish descent?” Her nostrils flared. “I have never heard anything so preposterous.”

Melanie
clenched her hands at her sides. Why was Michael’s mother so antagonistic?

“The servant said Michael went to the Crimean
War. It can’t be right, he promised to come and see me. He wouldn’t leave without saying a word. Are you sure he didn’t leave a message?” She was gabbling but had to make this horrible woman understand.

“Certainly not. My son, at the time of his departure to fight for queen and country, had more important things on his mind than the likes of you.”

The Countess chose that moment to sweep into the room. “I heard we had visitors asking for Michael. Have we met before?”

“Yes, at your last party, Countess.” Peter gave a slight bow.

“And you, Miss O’Dea.” Lady Guilford said with a cruel smile. “Have you met Michael’s wife?”

“Wife!”

Melanie woke to find herself lying on the floor.

Peter knelt beside her
and frantically fanned her face with his handkerchief.

Groggily she sat up. “I misunderstood, didn’t I, Peter
? Michael isn’t married to the Countess?”

“
It’s true. I’m sorry, Melanie.”

“Get me out of here, please.” A maid came over with some liquid in a glass, but she turned her head away. “Help me up, Peter, please.”

Her voice sounded flat, lifeless. Just the way she felt. Michael had lied. Betrayed her trust, exploited her naivety. She should be screaming instead of rising slowly to her feet. Her eyes beseeched the two regal women to tell her it wasn’t true, he wasn’t really married. They remained silent, cold, uncaring of her distress.

“Get me out of here
. Now,” she pleaded again.

Peter half carried her out of the room
. The great hall leading to the outside door stretched for an eternity.

Melanie barely remembered the ride home, or Ann and a maid putting her to bed. After three days she knew it was useless prolonging the agony any more. She had to tell Ann of her condition and suffer the consequences of her own foolish behavior.

She summoned a maid to help her dress. Tottering out on to the terrace she found her friend sitting in the sun sewing embroidery.

Peter who never appeared to work, sat
sprawled in a chair, with a drink in one hand.

“There’s something I have to tell you, Ann.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Want me to go?”

“It doesn’t matter, it affects you too.
” She took several deep shuddering breaths, willing herself not to go into hysterics. “I’m carrying Michael’s child.”

Peter spluttered into his glass.

“Melanie, you aren’t?” Ann dropped her embroidery and the color drained from her face, leaving it ashen.

“It’s true
. I’m sorry. I’ll leave straight away.”

“How could you do such a thing?” Ann wrung her hands. “It reflects badly on us, too.”

“Shut up. It isn’t her fault.” Peter stood up, his body rigid, his hand clenched around his glass. Melanie couldn’t believe he was defending her so staunchly. “Guilford tricked her. He’s an expert at seduction. What chance would an innocent little colonial girl have against a rake like him?”

“But, Peter
….”

He waved his sister to silence. Even in her own misery, Melanie noticed that he now looked pale and agitated with perspiration beading his upper lip
. Could this be more than her announcement?

“None of us can stay here,” he stated flatly.

“What did you say?” Ann’s voice rose.

He downed his drink in a gulp and
glanced around for the decanter. “We have a week to get out.”

“You’re drunk.”

“No I’m not, only wish I was. David Pendelbury owns this place now, lock, stock and barrel.”

“You lost our home?” Ann hit out at him,
alternately screaming and moaning. “You promised me. You swore you would stop gambling.”

He pushed both hands behind her back and held her firm, moving his legs out of the way of her threshing feet. “I’m sorry
. I did everything I could to get it back, but my luck ran out. I couldn’t do a thing right.”

A
maid rushed in and Peter ordered tea for them. Ann collapsed into a chair and sobs shook her body. Melanie blinked back bitter tears. Why do these terrible things keep happening to me? Her presence had brought bad luck down on her friends as well. Had killed Robbie and James. Was she a jinx?

Ann berate
d her brother. “Where will we live? We’re destitute.”

“
You still own grandfather’s hunting lodge.”

“
Isn’t that lodge out in the middle of nowhere? Snowbound in winter?”

“It’s quite comfortable. There’s a village only a mile or so away. I still
have some investments to cash in, but that will take time. Later on we could go to Paris. Remember Aunt Helen? She’s a widow and quite wealthy. How often has she begged us to visit? We’re her only living relatives.”

“I hope everything turns out for you both,” Melanie interrupted. At least they had some hope of a future
. She had nothing to look forward to except poverty and degradation. “I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble. I’ll go and pack.”

“Don’t go, Melanie
,” Ann pleaded. “I acted beastly before, it wasn’t your fault. We need each other more than ever now. I couldn’t stay in that lodge without another woman, and you need somewhere to live.”

Ann kissed Melanie on the cheek, and they hugged each other.

Chapter
Ten

Melanie
shoved the fine clothes Michael had bought her into a trunk. The sight of pretty pastel gowns curdled her stomach with distaste. What a trusting fool she had been. She wanted to throw them in a fire and burn them. Stand and watch the flames devour every last shred, but she denied herself this luxury because she might be able to sell those that couldn’t be cut down for baby clothes. How could she bear to dress her baby in such tainted garments? Sheer desperation.

She laid both hands flat against her stomach and splayed her fingers. Was there a slight thickening?
Oh poor little baby, I don’t hate you. You are as much a victim of Michael’s treachery as I am. I’m scared I won’t be able to love you as a mother should.

A fist hammered on her door.

“Are you packed yet?” Peter yelled. “We have to leave now. I want to be gone before Pendelbury takes possession. Otherwise we won’t even have a coach to travel in.”

Melanie dragged the trunk out into the hallway
, too heavy to lift, she bounced it downstairs. Peter had disappeared and the servants refused to lift a finger. Who could blame them? Unless the new owner kept them on they would be homeless and destitute as well.

“Melanie, can you help me with my trunk?” Ann called down the stairs.

With a sigh, she trudged upstairs to help. Still no sign of Peter. How could a young man be so selfish? He obviously had no real concept of what he had done. A pregnant woman shouldn’t have to lug heavy things around. Ann’s trunk felt like it was packed with bricks. They grabbed a handle each and dragged it to the staircase. Each time they bumped it down a step, pain shot up Melanie’s arm. Her breath came out in short, labored gasps and her heart rate escalated.

“What
’s in here?” she panted.

Ann’s eyes, red and swollen from crying, stood out against her white face and crimson blotches marred the once perfect skin. “
My linen and some books.”

“Books! What do we need books for?”

“We’ll need something to read and we can sell them afterwards. Several of them are valuable first editions that my father collected over the years. I’m not letting David Pendelbury have them.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I don’t think I’ll be able to survive this.”

“You will,” Melanie reassured.
“We have to.”

At last,
Peter returned, driving a small open coach pulled by two black horses. A scowl marred his handsome features. “If we don’t leave here before Pendelbury arrives, we’ll have to walk.”

“
Help us with these trunks,” Ann said. “Melanie and I dragged them downstairs, but we can’t lift them.”

“Oh, very well. Bloody servants. There’s gratitude for you.”

“You can’t blame them,” Ann shot back. “Thanks to you, they’ll be homeless like us.”

“
Hell’s teeth,” he snarled.

“Don’t fight
, you two.” Melanie interrupted what could quickly become a heated argument. “If we’re going to survive, we have to work together and not snipe at each other all the time.”

Peter grunted something incomprehensible, but
he did step down from the coach to pick up Ann’s trunk. “God, this is heavy. What did you pack? Bricks?”

“A few of father’s books, some blankets, linen
. There’s another trunk upstairs with my clothes.” She hurried off and returned clutching a small carpet bag.

“My jew
elry,” she followed Melanie’s gaze. “I haven’t got much left. Peter rifled through my drawer and stole most of it.”

“I
bloody needed the money.”

Melanie turned a gasp of shock into a cough. No point antagonizing him
with criticism.

Peter
stomped off to retrieve Ann’s other trunk. He dumped it in the coach without speaking then headed back inside. On his return he carried a brown leather case with gold fittings. Between the three of them their worldly possessions consisted of several trunks, Ann’s jewelry bag, two horses and a coach.

They journeyed along
in a silence broken intermittently by Ann’s sobs. Peter drove staring straight ahead, his features set into sullen lines. They passed through several small villages then travelled over the moors, mile upon mile of brooding emptiness.

Dusk fell
as they left the main road. A sliver of foreboding slid up Melanie’s spine when Peter stopped the horses at a dark stone cottage with age blackened door and window surrounds. The place seemed to blend into the landscape, lonely, bleak. Melanie alighted.

“This is it?” Ann
clutched her shawl more tightly around her. “We have to live here?”

“Yes, until I can get some money. We’ll be out of here in a few weeks at most.”

Melanie shivered. The cottage looked spooky, and it was summer time. What would it be like covered in snow?

The hinges
screeched as the door swung back. They followed Peter across the threshold. A damp mustiness assaulted her nostrils. Clearly, no one had been here in years.

Peter
clomped around until he found a lamp. On his third attempt he managed to get it to splutter into life. Without a word he dumped it on a wooden table.

Even in the subdued light Melanie noticed i
nches of dust coating everything. The floors were of cobblestone, the walls appeared whitewashed beneath their grimy coat. No stove, just a large stone fireplace with a blackened pot dangling from a chain fastened to the inside of the chimney. Above the mantel someone had hammered up a deer’s head. It might have been a glorious trophy once, but was now moth-eaten, filthy, and one of the giant antlers had snapped off.

“I can’t live here,” Ann wailed. “It’s primitive and filthy.”

“You’ll have to,” Peter snapped. “Do you think I like it? Bloody hovel.”

“I’m sure we’ll all feel better in the morning,” Melanie
consoled, wondering why she had to be the strong one. The last time she was in a dingy hut like this was in Ballarat, cradling a bleeding Robbie in her arms. She had been brave then. Could she resurrect this courage?

H
ours had passed since lunch at a wayside inn, where Ann had used a couple of her precious sovereigns to pay for their meal and buy bread, cheese and a bottle of cider to take with them. Peter had no money, Melanie only a few pennies.

By the light of the small lamp they at
e the bread and cheese, washed down with a few swigs of apple cider.

“I remember father saying he nearly fell down the well when he was drunk, so there must be one out the back,” Peter said.

“Why don’t we organize where we’re going to sleep before it gets too dark, in case the lamp goes out?” Melanie didn’t like the way it flickered and spluttered.

Two back rooms each contained
a timber slatted single bed and nothing else. No mattress. No pillow.

“
Someone must have broken in and stolen everything,” Ann said. “From what I remember of grandfather, he liked his creature comforts even on a hunting trip.”

“You ladies have the bedrooms,” Peter said, “I’ll sleep on the floor in the kitchen
.”

Taken o
n face value it sounded like a gentlemanly gesture. Did he have a conscience after all? Melanie found that hard to believe.

Maybe sleeping on the floor wouldn’t be such a hardship after all.
She was too exhausted and traumatized to dwell on that for now.

Peter dragged in their trunks and d
eposited them on the kitchen floor. “There’s a stable of sorts out the back, plenty of firewood too.” He swung on his heel and strode outside.

“I can’t put my good linen on those beds,” Ann wailed
. “They’re too filthy.”

“Maybe if we wrapped ourselves in a blanket for tonight,” Melanie suggested
. “We could clean the place up in the morning and make it more presentable. My head is thumping.” She feared her skull would split in half and spill the contents out.

“I’m a selfish beast
.” Ann gave her a hug. “I’m not used to having to do things for myself, and I keep forgetting your delicate state.”

“I wish I could forget about it
.” Melanie couldn’t help the bitterness edging her tone. “It’s like a heavy black shroud pressing me into the ground.”

“
We’ll have to pretend you’re widowed like me otherwise we’ll receive no help from the villagers. Some of these places are steeped in religious superstition and pious bigotry. They could even drive us away from here.” Ann picked up Melanie’s left hand. “I’ve got a plain gold wedding ring you can wear.”

Melanie shuddered. She had read about what religious zealots did to fallen women and their bastard children. She couldn’t risk it, even if it meant living a lie.

Peter breezed into the kitchen. “Things will seem better in the morning.”

No wonder he sounded so chirpy. His breath
reeked of alcohol. He must have been outside drinking and didn’t even have the decency to bring in a few logs so they could light a fire. Selfish, like all the other male aristocrats she had come in contact with. Michael, of course, was despicable as well.

Peter stayed in the kitchen
; she and Ann retired to bed. Wrapped in a blanket and lying on bare wooden slats without a pillow, Melanie closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Images of her comfortable homestead and the happy life she had lived in Ballarat paraded through her head.

Someone betrayed us
,
Robbie’s ghostly voice whispered from the grave. She closed her eyes tightly to shut off the tears. Where was James? Hunted down like a wild dog? Dead maybe? He was tenacious, brave too, but in a different way to Robbie. He thought things through, whereas Robbie always acted on impulse. She had to believe her brother was safe. That one day they would both return to Ballarat and pick up the threads of their old life. What of Uncle Alex? He would be a broken man. Surely he would not stay on the goldfields now, not when their homestead would be empty. What a sad, lonely old man he would be without Robbie, her or James.

Next morning,
Melanie awoke to a sliver of sunlight penetrating the grime on the window. Every muscle and bone screamed in agony as she eased herself out of bed. Her headache had gone, but nausea rolled around in the pit of her stomach. She dressed, plaited her hair and wandered out into the kitchen. The sun rode high in the sky so she must have slept in, even on the hard uncomfortable bed. Dirt and dried leaves littered the kitchen floor. A rotting piece of carpet lay in one corner.

A full bucket of water stood on the table, Peter must have been to the well. A
few words scrawled on the wall with charcoal caught her eye. A rush of foreboding raced through her. The brevity of it chilled her.
I am leaving. There’s a well out back. Water good to drink. Goodbye. Peter.

Just like that. He had
abandoned them in the middle of nowhere and taken the coach and horses, left them to their own devices with no means of transport. Didn’t care whether they lived or died, bad enough him doing something so despicable to her, but his sister? She staggered outside and vomited on the grass.

Ann’s screams rent the air
, truly horrible to hear. Melanie dashed inside. Her friend marched around the kitchen, beating her chest, pulling her hair.

“How could he do this to me?”

“Stop it! You’ll injure yourself.” She grabbed Ann’s flailing arms. “We have to be calm, rational. Work out what to do. I feel like screaming too, but if I do we’re both dead. My baby too.”

With strength dredged from God alone knew where, she led Ann to one of the battered wooden chairs. “We can survive this if we help each other. There’s obviously water in the well, so that’s something. We’ll have to work out what we need. Make a list, then try to find our way into the village and buy the necessities. With clean hay we could make our own mattresses and pillows. I’ve seen it done on the goldfields.
You did bring your sewing box?”

“Y
… yes,” Ann blubbered. “I … I never travel anywhere without it.”

“Good.”

A battered tin mug floated in the water bucket. Melanie half filled it and took a tentative sip. The cold, slightly brackish water was drinkable. She drained the mug, filled it up again and handed it to Ann. After a nervous sip, she too emptied it in a few gulps.

They shared the last of the bread
. Dry and unpalatable as it was, they needed to eat every crumb.

Behind a thick wall of spider webs
Melanie discovered a floor to ceiling corner shelf. With a stick she gingerly poked away the cobwebs. “Look, I’ve found a few things!” A blackened kettle, a tin dish, and several dirty china cups and bowls were buried under a thick layer of dust. There was also a broom and an axe.

“
I’ll light the fire so we can boil the water for a cup of tea and a wash.”

“I bought my
favorite silver teapot,” Anne said, “and a box of tea leaves.”