An Heiress at Heart (41 page)

Until she heard the sickening thud of a body hitting the floor somewhere below.

                                                          
Chapter 38

F
or the second time, Lizzie thought how odd it was to be waking up in a strange room, her body aching, with no memory of how she had gotten here. Through half-open eyes she saw sunlight slanting through heavy curtains in a manner eerily reminiscent of the day she had found herself in Ria’s old room in London.

Slowly Lizzie realized her surroundings were not so unfamiliar after all. This was the room she had occupied since coming to Rosewood. The feather bed held her in a gentle embrace like an old friend. She lay still, unwilling to move, savoring the comfort it offered to her sore body. But then a vibrant memory cleared the mist from her brain: the terrible fight between Geoffrey and Freddie.

Lizzie struggled to sit up, crying out involuntarily as her head complained in protest. She caught sight of Martha on the far side of the room. “Where is he?” she exclaimed, her throat dry with panic. “Where is Geoffrey?”

Martha hastened to her. “Don’t fret yourself, miss. Lord Somerville is not here, but he is well. He and Lady Thornborough have gone to London.”

Geoffrey was well. Lizzie thought her heart might burst with joy. But she knew she had heard something—or someone—fall from that landing. Hesitantly she asked, “What has happened to Mr. Hightower?”

Martha’s grim face displayed the answer, even before she said, “Mr. Hightower is dead, miss.”

A strange mixture of relief and anguish flooded Lizzie’s soul. She was free from Freddie, and from the torment of what he might do to her or Tom. But at what price? A terrible thought presented itself to her—what if Geoffrey was held responsible for Freddie’s death? What if he was in London because the police had arrested him for murder? “It was an accident, Martha!” Lizzie cried, as though Martha were both judge and magistrate. “Lord Somerville never intended—he would never—”

Martha patted her hand. “There, there, Miss Lizzie, don’t fret. No one has accused Lord Somerville of any wrongdoing. It was clear he was only trying to protect you.”

Miss Lizzie.
Martha’s use of her real name rang loudly in Lizzie’s ears. She said tentatively, “Did Lord Somerville tell you who I am?”

“Yes, miss. But there was no need.”

Lizzie gaped at her. “You knew?”

“Well, I didn’t know who you were exactly, but I was ready to wager you wasn’t Miss Ria.” She studied Lizzie. “When you first arrived in London, all sick with fever, it was me that got you out of that filthy dress and cleaned you up. Do you remember?”

Lizzie nodded, remembering how she had woken up in a clean nightdress and been overtaken with worry about what had become of the bracelet.

“As I was tending to you,” Martha continued, “I discovered something peculiar. A large scar on your right knee, what had been there from your tree-climbing days as a child, was completely gone.”

Lizzie knew that scar; she had seen it while attending Ria at childbirth. “How astonishing that you should remember that, Martha.”

Martha gave a little nod of her head. “I said to myself, what a wondrous place Australia must be, if it can completely heal such a nasty scar.”

“But you didn’t really believe that, did you?”

“No, but it got me thinking.”

Lizzie recalled Martha’s early admonitions that Lizzie should take care not to hurt Lady Thornborough. “I did wonder, Martha, if you suspected something.”

“I was watching you carefully, to be sure,” Martha acknowledged. “But it was not my place to say anything. As time went by, Lady Thornborough was so happy with you that I was glad I held my tongue. There are stranger things in heaven and earth, I said to myself. It was possible the scar really had healed.”

Lizzie smiled with gratitude, her eyes blurring with tears. “Ria always said you were the most wonderful woman in the world.”

Martha showed a gap-toothed grin. “It’s a good thing her ladyship ain’t here. I would hate for her to hear you say that.”

The mention of Lady Thornborough sobered Lizzie quickly. “Do you know why she has gone to London?”

“She told me there were details regarding Mr. Hightower’s death to attend to, as well as other legal matters.”

Other legal matters.
That had an ominous sound. “She must be furious over what has happened. Perhaps she plans to bring the authorities back for
me.
”

Lizzie half expected Martha to bolster her with another round of reassurances, but the servant’s face was suddenly impassive. “I don’t know what she intends to do. Of course, she would not be confiding her plans to me.”

“Did she leave any word for me?” Lizzie asked hopefully. “A note, perhaps?”

Martha shook her head.

“How about—Lord Somerville?” She had to ask, although she could guess the answer.

Martha gave her a sympathetic smile. “They had to leave very quickly. There was no time to write a letter. I’m sure we will be hearing something soon.”

But Martha’s prediction was unfulfilled. No letter appeared. With each passing day, Lizzie grew more worried. She kept calling to mind the fact that Geoffrey had returned to Rosewood, perhaps to see her, and that he had fought Freddie valiantly for her. But the slim reassurance she gleaned from these facts could not outweigh what now appeared to be a stony silence.

The lack of contact from Lady Thornborough was equally distressing. Perhaps she was planning to do more than merely toss Lizzie out of her home. Perhaps she was even now arranging legal recourse against her. Every hour brought Lizzie closer to what she had begun to think of as the day of reckoning.

She reminded herself that she should concentrate on
regaining her health. She would need it soon, regardless of what happened. But she could only sit, hour after hour, fretting over the mistakes she had made and the hurt she had caused.
Oh, Ria,
she found herself murmuring many times,
why did I agree to your request?
But in the end she had only herself to blame. She had known, but had never once admitted to herself, that this plan would be folly.

After a week of such thoughts, she finally came round to remembering the vow she had made that, from this time forward, she would strive to live honestly and virtuously. She called to mind the comment Rev. Greene had made many years ago—that the Lord would forgive those convicts if they sought Him. Might He not do the same for her? Even if, as the captain had wryly pointed out, men did not forgive.
Dear Lord, you are the searcher of hearts, the great healer. I will trust in you.
Her heart’s burden seemed to ease a little as she prayed.

She had barely reached “Amen” when she heard the sound of a carriage on the drive. She ran to the window, anxious to set everything straight, to do anything in her power to make amends.

She opened the window in time to see James helping Lady Thornborough out of the carriage. James looked up and, seeing her at the window, signaled for her to stay where she was. She held her breath, waiting for Geoffrey to step out of the carriage, longing to see him again. But the footman closed the carriage door, and the carriage pulled out of the drive. There were no other passengers. Her heart, which had begun to lighten only moments before, now sank in disappointment.

When James finally appeared at the parlor door, she
rose and ran to him, breathless with a thousand questions. “James, what is happening? Will Lady Thornborough not speak to me?”

“Calm yourself, my girl,” James said cheerily. “Auntie needs time to rest, that’s all. The train ride has taken a toll on both her nerves and her creaky old joints.”

“Where is Geoffrey? Is he well? Does he—”

“All these questions about everyone else,” James interrupted, pretending to look hurt. “Are you not glad to see
me
?”

Lizzie took a deep breath, genuinely chastened. “How right you are, James. I must apologize to you, too. What I did was terribly wrong. I took advantage of your goodwill.”

“I think it is I who should be apologizing to you,” James said. “If I had spoken to you sooner—really spoken to you, I mean—your nasty encounter with Freddie might have been avoided.”

It took a moment for these words to sink in. Her eyes widened. “Did you know I wasn’t Ria? How long have you known?”

“Why don’t we sit down,” James admonished, leading her to a chair. “You look very pale. Although I understand that is the fashion for young ladies, I must say it does not suit you.”

She sank into the chair, and James took another nearby. “Now let us talk freely,” he said. “You are not the only one who can pull the wool over someone’s eyes, Miss Lizzie Poole. When I told you I was going out to tend to some business, I was, in fact, taking my horse as quickly as I could to Geoffrey’s estate. You see, by then I had concluded that you were not Ria.”

How had he guessed—what had confirmed it? Lizzie
thought back to their discussion before James had left, and realized the answer. “The duets,” she said.

James grinned. “Precisely. I made up that tale to see if you would fall into my little trap. You did, and very nicely, too. I can’t even play the scales, much less a duet.”

Lizzie shook her head in disbelief. “Yet you said nothing.”

“I decided the most important thing was to bring Geoffrey back to Rosewood so that we could all sit down and discuss the matter together. I did not know that Freddie was at that same time setting things up so that you and he could have a private little
tête-à-tête
.”

“
He
set it up?”

“Yes.” James’s expression was solemn. “He thought I was still in Hampshire with the Cardingtons. He arranged a meeting in London with Aunt Thornborough to draw her away from here. He did not, needless to say, keep that appointment.”

“I can hardly believe she agreed to meet him,” Lizzie said. “How did he convince her?”

James shrugged. “I will let Aunt Thornborough tell you about the particulars.”

“You mean… she plans to speak to me?”

“Of course!” He slanted a look at her. “I will be honest with you—she was deeply hurt when Geoffrey filled her in on who you were, and when we had to tell her about Ria’s fate.”

“I wanted to tell her myself,” Lizzie said sadly. “I had every intention of doing it. I wanted to explain things properly.”

“I believe you. You will have time to do that, don’t
you worry. Auntie does not plan to have you thrown into prison just yet.”

His words gave Lizzie comfort, as they were meant to do. Lizzie’s fears returned to Geoffrey. “Geoffrey isn’t in trouble over Freddie’s death, I hope? I have heard talk of an autopsy, and even an inquest.”

“There was an autopsy,” James confirmed. “But the matter ended there.”

“But how can that be?” Lizzie asked, still unwilling to believe it.

“The autopsy brought to light some information that changed the probable cause of death. Freddie had an internal disease, you see. His health was not as sound as one might have guessed by looking at him. The fall merely exacerbated an already fatal state of affairs. The coroner was of the opinion that even without the fall, Freddie’s liver would have killed him within six months.”

“His liver?” Lizzie thought of the smell she had detected when he attacked her. It was the indication of heavy, habitual drinking. When she and Freddie had been together in Europe, his drinking had seemed only occasionally excessive. It must have since become far worse. Lizzie thought back to her recent encounters with Freddie in London, realizing that never once had he appeared entirely sober. Worse, he had been a vicious drunk, as Lizzie had painfully experienced. “I cannot say I am surprised, although it seems cruel to say so, now that he is dead.”

“You speak only the truth,” James said. “I must confess it has been an important lesson for me. We were friends for many years, yet I refused to acknowledge how
he was changing. He had not always been so foul-natured and cynical.”

“Yes, I know,” Lizzie murmured.

James lifted an eyebrow. “So you did know him before? You were the woman he took to Europe?”

“Yes.” Lizzie was not going to shirk the truth now. “And now you know the whole shameful truth about me. I was nothing but a rich man’s dalliance. As my mother had been before me.”

Her words were filled with bitter self-reproach. But James did not offer either rebuke or pity. He simply said after a few moments’ reflection, “Do you know, I believe Freddie’s better qualities began to fall away at about the same time he was forced home from Europe and into a marriage he did not want. It was a harsh awakening to the fiscal realities of life.”

His observation made Lizzie wonder if perhaps Freddie had once loved her after all. Suppose, as James was quietly suggesting, he had not wanted to give her up but had been unwilling to risk his financial security. Lizzie could see how such a decision might cause resentment to grow like a cancer, eventually obliterating whatever decency he had possessed. “Money will always trump true love, will it not?” she said sourly.