‘By God, sir, you’re a cool one! You know that stone contains evidence to send us all to the gallows!’
‘That is why I let you all believe I had recovered the ruby. It ensured your continued loyalty to me.’
‘And have I ever given you cause to doubt me?’
‘No, sir,
you
have not, and for all his tempestuous nature, I believe George Rowsell could be trusted, but Furminger would undoubtedly like to cut all ties with me, if he thought he could safely do so, and Poyntz, well, I think he too was growing tired of the game. Pray do not look so disapproving, my dear sir. I have been ever vigilant, waiting for the stone to come to light, but there has not been the slightest sign – until now.’
‘Do you think the woman knows what is in the brooch?’
‘It is possible. The compartment is well concealed, and would not easily be discovered, but if it has been in her possession for the past – how long would it be now, eight years?’ The marquis shrugged. ‘She could have found its secret. Yet if that is so, why has she not passed it to the proper authorities and had us all arrested?’
‘That may have been her reason for coming to England.’
‘Perhaps, Boreland, but is it not also possible that she came here purely for revenge, and that she wears the ruby to remind herself of the task? The idea has a certain romance, I think.’
With sudden decision Boreland rose from the table.
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he said, making for the door, ‘I’ll beat the truth out of her!’
A faint, malicious smile spread over Thurleigh’s face.
‘My dear fellow, you can’t go yet – the roads are still awash!’
Boreland paused at the door, fury burning in his eyes.
‘Then mayhap I will have to
swim
home!’
* * * *
Christmas Day dawned cold but dry, the rain that had persisted during the past few days had eased, but the easterly winds that drove off the clouds brought a sharp drop in temperature, and as the Weald Hall party set out to attend the service at the village church, Elinor was thankful for the hot bricks her hostess had ordered to be placed in their carriage.
Apart from the servants, there was only Mrs Boreland, her son and Elinor in the corner of the church set aside for the family, James Boreland not having returned. His wife’s disapproval of his absence showed plainly in her face, but to anyone who mentioned the subject she merely remarked that the bad weather had no doubt prevented him from coming home. After the service, during which time Elinor felt her feet turn into blocks of ice on the chill stone floor of the church, they returned to Weald Hall, where a welcoming fire awaited them in the morning-room.
‘Perhaps, Elinor, you would like a game of billiards with me?’ suggested Andrew, warming himself before the flames.
‘That is out of the question,’ Mrs Boreland interrupted before Elinor could reply. ‘Have you forgotten that we have visitors coming today? Madame will want to rest and change before they arrive, will you not, my dear? And you too, Andrew, would be the better for lying down upon your bed for an hour. I was most put out when you fell asleep during the sermon.’
Her son flushed slightly, but cast a mischievous glance across at Elinor as he replied. ‘Well, ‘twas a mighty tedious tale, Mama!’
‘That has nothing to do with the matter. If Parson Tidwell questions you about the text tonight, you will look no-how if you cannot answer him. Now off you go to your room, sir, and let me have no more of your nonsense.’
Realizing that her hostess wished to be free to check over the arrangements for the forthcoming dinner, Elinor excused herself and went up to her room. She did not feel in the least tired, and after changing her sober-hued morning gown for a loose wrap she sat down at the small dressing table and unpinned her hair, brushing out the tangled curls as she gazed absently at her reflection in the mirror before her. When she had finished she put down her brush and upon impulse opened her jewel box and took out the ruby brooch, which she had not worn since the evening of George Rowsell’s death.
The stone held so many memories for her that Elinor felt a slight tremor run through her as she held it in her hand. To her, its red depths seemed to reflect the blood that had been shed – the stain of her own lost virginity, her father’s tragic end and the death of two of the five men she held responsible. It was symbolic of her quest for revenge and yet it was nothing more than an ornament, just what was needed to complete her toilet for that evening. It would secure the muslin kerchief to the bodice of her gown. Why should she not wear it? The jewel seemed to mock her misgivings, and with sudden decision she rose to put the brooch upon the mantelshelf, tucking it slightly behind the marble bust so that it could not slip off into the hearth: it would be ready at hand when she came to dress.
As she closed the jewel box she heard the faint sounds of voices in the hall below. Could the visitors be arriving already? She thought she must be mistaken, for it was still early. Elinor looked around for some occupation. The light was fading, and she decided against trying to read. The servants would be busy preparing for the evening, so she did not ring for a taper, knowing that when her maid came to help her to dress, she would bring a light with her. Kicking off her shoes, she lay down upon the bed to await the girl’s arrival.
Elinor had scarcely made herself comfortable when she heard the door open. Thinking it was her maid, she sat up in leisurely style, but her languid air deserted her when she saw not a servant but James Boreland standing in the doorway. As he shut the door firmly behind him, she slipped off the bed, her eyes wary. He had exchanged his top-boots for a pair of soft-soled slippers, but apart from that he was still dressed in his muddied travelling clothes. Elinor felt a pang of fear, but when she spoke she tried for a light note.
‘What, sir, is the house afire that you must enter in all your dirt?’
‘You may well wish that it were,’ he growled, advancing towards her. ‘What were you planning to do, murder me as you did Julian Poyntz?’
‘Faith sir, I do not understand you.’ She spoke calmly, yet her heart was thudding so hard she feared she would faint.
‘Oh I think you do! Were you not the mysterious woman who lured Poyntz to his death in a Paris bedroom?’
‘Julian Poyntz died of a weak heart.’
‘You must have been mighty rough on him, Madame! But how did you plan to dispose of me? A knife between the ribs, mayhap, as poor Rowsell died?’
She turned away from him, hunching a shoulder.
‘All this is nonsense. You are talking like a madman.’
‘Oh? And what of the ruby?’
‘What ruby?’
Boreland strode across to the dressing table and snatched up the jewel case. He tipped it up, spilling the contents across the tabletop. After a brief glance at the scattered gems he threw down the box with an oath and turned back to Elinor.
‘Where is it?’
‘Do you think I would be fool enough to bring it here?’ Her tone was scathing and she kept her eyes on his face, although she longed to glance towards the mantelshelf. Even in the dim light she could see his anger growing, then he smiled suddenly, which frightened her more than any rage.
‘Well, there’s no hurry. You will tell me what I want to know, eventually. You’ve grown into a very beautiful woman, Elinor. I said you would, that night at the inn. Do you remember?’
‘No!’ She tried to evade his grasp, but his hands caught her wrap and tore it away, leaving her covered only in her shift. Grabbing her wrist, he savagely twisted her arm, sending her crashing back onto the bed, where he threw himself upon her, pinning her beneath him, his hands firmly anchoring her arms above her head. Unable to move, Elinor looked up into his face, just inches from her own, and alight with savage triumph.
‘I made the devil’s own journey to get back here after Thurleigh told me about you and by God, madam, I intend to be paid in full for my trouble!’
She turned her head away as he tried to kiss her, and instead he buried his face in the thick red-gold tresses of her hair. As she felt his hot breath upon her neck, Elinor shuddered, panic rising within her.
Dear God
, she cried silently,
am I to suffer again at this creature’s hands?
Suddenly, as if in answer to her prayer, a voice as cold as steel cut through the room.
‘Could not your whoring wait until our guests have departed?’
Boreland raised his head. He was still pinning Elinor to the bed but she could see Isobel Boreland standing in the doorway, stiff with outrage.
‘I have never objected to you taking your pleasures in London,’ she continued in an icy tone, ‘but has it come to this, that you must bring your doxy to the Hall?’
He released Elinor and slowly climbed off the bed.
‘A whore she is, ma’am, but not mine. You forget, madam wife, that it was your idea to bring her here. A fine mate you have chosen for our son. The girl came here for mischief. She intended to kill me’
His lady looked contemptuous.
‘Do you expect me to believe that?’
‘Believe what you will, madam, ‘tis the truth.’
‘As to that, we must talk later. There are a dozen people below waiting for dinner. What am I to tell them?’
‘Tell them I have but this moment come in, and must needs change.’ He looked back at Elinor, who was still upon the bed, raised up on one elbow. ‘There is more I need to know from you, Madame de Sange, but it can wait. For now.’ He bent to scoop up her wrap and shoes which he took over to the dressing room. He tossed them inside, then shut and locked the door, pocketing the key. ‘Just in case she tries to escape,’ he told his wife. ‘There was a frost on the air even as I rode in and she’ll not get very far without shoes or clothes. Now off you go downstairs and look after our guests, my dear. I will join you as soon as I can.’ He shepherded his wife out of the room, and taking the key from the lock he held it up with a last, mocking glance at Elinor.
‘We will give your apologies to Parson Tidwell and the others, Madame. Perhaps a period of quiet reflection will help you to realize that it would be better for you to co-operate with me. If you do not…’ – he shrugged – ‘either way I shall get what I want from you.’
He closed the door and she heard the scrape of the key as he turned it. There was the soft pad of retreating footsteps, then silence.
Elinor slid off the bed. She did not try the door, for she knew it would be locked, as was the dressing room. She took the coverlet off the bed and wrapped it around her. The fire was dying down and without its blaze the room was now very dark. She went to the window, and after a few moments spent fumbling with the catch she managed to open it. The icy air took her breath away and she pulled the coverlet tighter about her shoulders. It was completely dark now, save for the light of the stars that sparkled in the velvet black sky. It was very still, with no breath of wind to stir the ivy that clung about the window, and it was bitterly cold. Boreland was right, she thought, only a fool would venture out unclothed on such a frosty night.
Elinor closed the window and returned to the fire, what was left of it, and sat down before its glowing embers to consider her situation. From below the sounds of merriment drifted up to her. They would all be at dinner now, she guessed. If her room had overlooked the drive there was a chance that she might have called to the guests as they left and made them aware of her plight, although most likely their host would have told them she was deranged, and not to be taken seriously.
She jumped up angrily and paced the room, berating herself for being fool enough to come to Weald Hall. She had never made any plans; what had she expected to achieve? The anger, fear and frustration within her welled up and she threw herself upon the bed, relieving her emotions with a bout of tears and finally falling into an exhausted slumber.
How long she slept Elinor could not be sure, but when she awoke the house was silent and her room was dark save for the starlight that gleamed palely at the window and showed her the barest outlines of her prison. Suddenly she heard a noise outside her door. The key was fitted into the lock and quietly turned. She sat up, ears and eyes straining to know who was there. The door opened quietly and someone entered carrying a single lighted candle in its holder. For a moment she could not see the figure behind the light, but as she recognized her visitor she gave a sigh of relief.
‘Andrew!’ she whispered, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘Papa said you were going to run away. He said he had to lock you up to keep you here.’
‘And how did you get the key?’
‘I took it from Papa,’ he said simply, locking the door behind him and dropping the key into his pocket. ‘He’s asleep downstairs in his chair.’
Although he was dressed for dinner in a black velvet coat and knee breeches, she observed in the candlelight that his neck-band was loosened and his flowered waistcoat unbuttoned, while a few strands of lank brown hair fell across his pallid brow. From his appearance and the strange glitter in his eyes, Elinor guessed that he had been drinking. It seemed most likely that Parson Tidwell and the other guests had already left Weald Hall, for Elinor could not imagine Andrew escaping from his mother’s vigilant eye while visitors were present. She thought it must be quite late, and in all probability most of the staff – and their mistress – had now retired, leaving Andrew in his father’s care. Elinor saw a glimmer of hope. She spoke softly.
‘Will you give me the key, Andrew?’
‘Can’t do that,’ he said, putting the candle down carefully upon the mantelshelf, ‘Papa would be angry with me.’
‘But he will be angry when he knows you came to see me.’
‘He won’t know. Shan’t tell him.’
‘Give me the key,’ she coaxed. ‘I won’t tell on you, you have my word.’ She added, ‘I thought we were friends.’
‘We are. That’s why I want you to stay.’
‘But surely not if it makes me unhappy.’
‘Mama says you are a wicked woman.’
‘That’s not true, Andrew.’