Storiesonline.net
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                           His Lucky Charm II
                                by Argon

Copyright© 2012 by Argon


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Description: Jim returns to England with his wife Rose, his children, and a fortune in gold. For Jim it is a coming home, but for Rose it is a strange new world, exciting and frightening. And then there is Priscilla, once Jim’s object of adoration. How can Rose, a former saloon girl, fit in with all the lords and ladies? Just watch her!

Codes: MF FF cons rom bi het hist
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Foreword

This is the sequel to His Lucky Charm. It is assumed that you, the reader, are familiar with the characters and events featured in that story. If you are not, you may want to read it before you start with His Lucky Charm II. Knowledge of other stories in the universe, particularly Ellen Trilby, will also help to understand certain allusions and connections.

The readers familiar with the Anthony Carter Universe will recognise quite a number of regulars, chief of all the indomitable Lucy Wilkes, the last survivor from Anthony Carter's generation. Ellen Trilby and her family feature prominently as well.

Please note that moving the story to Ye Olde England also marks a shift of spelling and diction. Forget the "-ize" endings and don't mind the local colour!

I planned to name this sequel "A Victorian Lady", but then the story took on its own path and suddenly it was not about Jim and Rose alone anymore. I debated other titles ("TwoWomen"), but that was already taken by another story on SOL. Thus, and because it is really not a separate story from the first book, I decided to go with Roman numerals.

Fortunately, SpikeCO stayed on board as editor, and I am grateful for his help, his patience, and his insightful comments and corrections.

Lastly, I have reasons for posting my stories exclusively on SOL and possibly Finestories. I do not want my stories to be reposted or circulated anywhere else. Please, no forwarding the story by email either! Thank you for respecting my rights.

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Chapter 17: Return to England


New York, London, Berkshire, Autumn 1865

Lady Carter kept her promise and took Rose and Raven Feather on a shopping tour through all the fine stores along 5th Avenue. From Lady Carter's reaction to the offerings, Rose and Raven could gauge whether a garment was appropriate or not according to English standards. Much to her dismay, the experience taught Rose how much there was to learn for her to fit in. If Lady Carter noticed she never let on but was friendly and helpful without showing even a hint of superiority. Rose thought and hoped that she had found another true friend.

She also came away from the afternoon with enough dresses and accessories to last her through the ship passage and the first weeks in England. A few noses were held high by shop attendants and customers over Raven, but as Lady Carter had predicted,  they became positively subservient when Raven produced a purse filled with Gold Eagles to pay for her first purchase. Lady Carter winked and smiled at them and Rose realised that everybody – not just whores – had their price.

The new friends even visited a few art galleries. At one gallery, Rose and her friends made the acquaintance of a rather young painter who specialised in landscapes. Not only landscapes, but mountain landscapes from the American West. He had returned from an expedition to the Yosemite territory in the last year, and his paintings showed spectacular views.

Rose fell in love with a canvas that showed a place called Yosemite Valley. The painter had captured a morning scene with mist hanging over a creek and the sun rising behind a rocky bend. It was so eerily reminiscent of the South Park region that Rose for once did not consult Jim before making a major purchase. $27 was a princely price, but it was a large painting and it would forever remind Rose of the happy times near Tarryall. The painter, a Mr. Albert Bierstadt, rolled the canvas up in person between large sheets of paper, and in his German accented English he gave instructions how to transport, store, and later mount the painting.

Over the remaining week, Rose and Lady Carter met a few more times and they developed a tentative friendship. Jim and Sir Anthony on the other hand rediscovered the comradeship of their school days. That was an advantage, for Sir Anthony was able to help with the transfer of funds from America to England being a director and shareholder in his father's bank house. Together they set up the connection between the First Philadelphia Bank and Lambert & Norton Bankers, to channel Jim's earnings to London where he would have the use of them.

Jim and Rose spent two evenings watching theatre plays, and they dined in the best restaurants New York had to offer. The time passed almost too fast, but when they had to transfer their belongings to the Scotia, Rose's wish to see all that New York had to offer was almost fulfilled.

Their two cabins were side by side with the Carters' and they shared a table during lunch and dinner. The latter arrangement was beneficial for there was a strong resentment against the presence of Raven Feather among many of the American passengers. Among the British travellers curiosity ruled over disdain, and Raven was often approached by passengers who would not pass on the opportunity to make the acquaintance of a 'Red Indian', even if she was thoroughly 'civilised'.

One passenger in particular began to follow Raven around as the Scotia ploughed through the Atlantic waves. His name was Colonel Oliver Wendell Burton, an English officer who had served in British North America and was returning home via New York. From 1858 to 1859, he had led an expedition into the Western Territories, and he had, as he proudly told Raven, even spent a whole winter with a northern Lakota band when he was thrown from his horse and had broken his leg. To Raven's delight, Col. Burton even spoke some Lakota,  and he was eager to reacquaint himself with the culture of 'those noble braves' who had accommodated him during his recovery. Very soon Col. Burton was constantly seen around Raven causing tongues to wag in the dinner room.

It was towards the end of their passage when Raven asked Jim and Rose for a meeting in privacy. They retired to their cabin and Raven calmly told them that Col. Burton was courting her. She admitted to having feelings for the weather-beaten frontier officer and she asked Jim and Rose for their understanding if she would not share their bed anymore.

Jim and Rose felt both saddened and relieved. Their unique relationship with Raven had been at once fulfilling and confusing. Raven hastened to assure them that she loved them both. She pointed out, however, that they would be under scrutiny once they arrived in England and that sharing a bedroom then would be out of the question. In the end the three friends hugged for quite some time. Raven kissed both Rose and Jim with deep feeling before they rejoined their friends in the dinner cabin. For the remainder of the journey, Col. Burton joined them at tables.

After eighteen days, the Scotia put into Liverpoool, and England greeted the Tremaynes with gale force winds and a drizzling rain. They spend another night in their cabins while Jim and Sir Anthony organised their travel onwards to London. They were able to secure a first class compartment on a train that left on the next morning. The train was a fast one, travelling at over twenty miles per hour, but they did not reach London before late evening.

Col. Burton bid his farewell promising to call upon Raven at Hamden Gardens, and the Tremaynes found hospitality for the night in the Carters' city house on Bond Street. Exhausted from the long journey and the dreary weather they slept late into the next morning. After breakfast, Jim busied himself finding transport to western Berkshire. He also endeavoured to convert the two thousand American Gold Eagles he had carried along into almost £2,800. Afterwards, Jim met Sir Anthony's father, Lord Lambert. It had seemed like a lifetime ago that Jim had seen the man, over ten years to be more exact. At High Matcham, Lord Lambert's country seat, Jim had met Priscilla Bywater during the annual New Year's soiree he and his father held for their neighbours.

Lord Lambert shook his hands and expressed his delight over Jim's good fortune in the gold fields. After all, Jim was a neighbour's son who had gone missing overseas, and people had been worried. His Lordship offered the services of his bank house should Jim want to invest his gains for profit, an offer that Jim accepted immediately. Lord Lambert had not become a millionaire by being imprudent with funds and Lambert & Norton enjoyed the reputation of a reliable institution.

Meanwhile, Rose was whisked off by Sarah Carter to an impressive mansion on Cavendish Square. Here, at Lambert House, Rose met a woman in her late fifties whose face showed a mature beauty that let Rose guess at the breathtaking allure she must have possessed as a young woman. Lady Lambert received her daughter in law with obvious pleasure and a motherly hug and when introduced to Rose gave her a friendly welcome.

"Oh dear! You just arrived from America? You must be exhausted after such a long journey. Whence did you come again?"

"From Denver, in the Colorado Territory. We had a few stays en route, though, and we met your son in New York."

"Imagine, Mother: Rose's husband went to Eton with Tony, and they met by chance in a hotel in New York!"

"It just goes to show that the world is not as big as people make it seem," Lady Lambert stated with a smile. "Now, I do know New York from a stay in '48, and I visited Boston in '31, but I have never heard of a city called Denver or of a Colorado Territory. Can you perhaps show me their location on our globe?"

To Rose's surprise there was a huge globe in a study next to the tea room. Rose took a few moments to get her bearings, but then she was able to point at what was annotated on the globe as Western Kansas. "This area is now the Colorado Territory, and Denver should be here, on the South Platte River."

"Truly amazing!" Lady Lambert opined. "It must have taken you months to travel to the East Coast alone."

Rose smiled wryly and nodded, explaining how they had traveled on horseback, by mule wagon, and by train. Lady Lambert made sympathetic noises, and then she recounted how she herself had once traveled on horseback from Suez through the Egyptian desert to Cairo. She showed Rose the route they had taken from East India and Rose was surprised at how adventurous this Lady was or had been.

Lady Lambert rummaged through a cabinet and produced a book. "Here, my dear. I even wrote a book about my experience, if with the help of a dear friend. Come to think of it I really must acquaint you with Colleen MacAllister."

Rose knew that Colleen MacAllister was an author of travel books and adventure stories, and she had read one of her books during the ship passage, a loan from Lady Carter. She thanked her hostess for the welcome gift and promised to read it at her earliest convenience.

They stayed for another hour, and Rose related some of their adventures. She was careful not to reveal anything about the years before she met Jim. Their story was that she had come to Fort Laramie accompanying her friend Amanda who was to be married and that she met Jim Tremayne who was the best friend and partner of Amanda's groom. That was no outright lie and she delivered it without even so much as a blush.

When questioned further, she revealed that she was an orphan and that she had come to the West with her fiancé to meet his family, but that the man abandoned her forcing her to earn her keep using her singing voice.

Lady Lambert almost shocked Rose when she frankly admitted to herding sheep for a livelihood before she met Lord Lambert. She laughed when she said she knew a few things about being miserably cold. When Lady Carter excused herself for a moment, the older woman leant forward and lowered her voice.

"We shall have to sit together some time and work a bit on your story, my dear. It is not bad but liable to incite more questions than you may care to answer. I like you, my dear, and I can help you."

Rose felt dejected. On her first day out she had already let down her cover. "Is it that obvious?" she asked.

"No, not at all, my dear. Most of the little signs I saw will be attributed to you being an American. That is as far as most people will think. Don't worry too much. I know your husband's mother and his brother's wife. They will help you fit in. Once you have settled down, I would like you to visit with me. By all means, you must also bring your Indian friend. I have met only one Red Indian in my life. It was in Boston, and I fear he rather looked like a bookkeeper and decidedly not like a savage."

Rose had to smile. "Raven does not look a savage either, Milady. She is an avid reader, and she looks like a school teacher only with darker skin."

"You have to bring her! She will also draw attention away from you," Lady Lambert added with a wink.

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On the next morning, a large Clarence Brougham carriage owned by Lord Lambert took the Tremaynes and their baggage to Reading and then onwards to the Tremaynes' lands. Jim was apprehensive as Rose could tell. When she asked him he admitted to being nervous. After all, he joked, he was bringing his intended home for the first time. Rose herself was not at ease either feeling self-conscious.

Rose found that the house to which they drove up was smaller than their Denver City home. It was older, too, by a century or more. It consisted of three wings which enclosed a cobbled court yard. The wing to the left, the east wing, seemed older. It looked well kept and smoke came from the chimneys, but it looked empty. The central wing and the west wing showed the signs of habitation. The carriage came to a lurching halt in front of the steps.

"We're here," Jim said with a nervous smirk. He kissed Rose. "I love you."

He alighted from the carriage before he helped Rose, Raven, and Samantha. The latter were holding the children, and they quickly wrapped them into blankets. They had not finished when the two-winged door flew open and a man came running down the steps.

"Jimbo! By Jove, it's you!" A heartbeat later, Jim found himself in the violent hug of his brother. "Jim, old boy, you're back at last!"

"Ed, you old rascal!"

They stayed like that for a minute at least before Edward Tremayne let go of his brother. He had tears in his eyes and used his coat sleeve to dry them off. His eyes then focused on the women with Jim.

"My brother Edward; Ed, this is my wife Rose," Jim introduced.

Rose was glad that she did not carry Bobby, for Edward almost crushed her with his hug.

"Welcome to Hamden Gardens!" He held Rose at arm's length. "Oh dear, my brother is a lucky man!"

"Not as lucky as I am to have found him," Rose answered firmly, but then she gave her brother in law a beaming smile.

"Please meet our daughter Samantha," Jim continued the introduction. "Adopted daughter," he added with a laugh, since Edward looked incredulously at the young woman.

Edward recovered his wit immediately. "I should have known, Samantha. You are far too pretty to be my brother's daughter."

"Thank you, Uncle Ed," Samantha answered with a mischievous smile, causing laughter all around. "Please meet your nephew, Robert."

Edward briefly inspected the wrapped boy before Jim made the last introductions. "Ed, this is Mrs. Linkletter, our very good friend and companion, and her daughter Julie."

"Enchanted, Madam," Ed said, bowing politely.

"I am pleased to meet Jim's brother," Raven answered.

"Raven was widowed last year. She has been our friend for years and in rough times, and we offered her to come with us."

"Well, let me show you in. I'll have somebody look after your bags, but I bet mother is waiting already."

He led the way in and Jim followed with an eery feeling. This was his childhood home, but he had been gone for so long that he felt strange. Rose was apprehensive again. She would meet Jim's parents now.

They followed Ed into a large and well-lit room where a large fire was burning. Robert Tremayne was standing, holding and supporting his wife, Jim's mother. On his mother's other side stood Penelope Tremayne, still pretty, still with a friendly smile on her lips.

"Mother! Father!"

Jim rushed forward, wrapping his arms around his parents. Rose could see that the woman was racked by sobs as she, too, closed her frail arms around her son. After a minute or two, Jim let go, but he still kept his mother's hands in his.

"Mother, Father, Penelope, this is my wife Annabelle Rose."

Rose stepped forward, smiling shyly. The older woman shuffled forward and held out her hands. A heartbeat later Rose held the frail woman in her arms.

"My dear girl, you have given Jim back his happiness, and for that we love you already. We thought we'd never see him again, and now look at you all!"

Rose felt her left hand in a firm grip and looked up to see Robert Tremayne.

"It is a true pleasure to finally meet you. We had despaired of ever hearing from Jim again, and you have given him back to us."

Rose blushed at the praise. "Mr. and Mrs. Tremayne, it is I who have to thank you for raising Jim to be such a wonderful man."

Meanwhile, Jim had given his sister-in-law a hug. "I knew it when I first saw you that you are the woman Ed had been looking for."

"And I knew that one day you would find the woman you deserve," Penelope answered hugging him with feeling. "I didn't know it had to be that far away, though."

She turned to Rose. "Welcome. I have so many things to ask you, so much to tell you, but let us postpone that. You must be hungry and tired, and you need to look after the children."

"So true," Jim said. "However, I would like you to meet our adopted daughter Samantha, and our dear friend and companion Raven."

More hugs were exchanged while the elder Tremayne helped his wife into a chair. Then he turned to his younger son. "When you wrote of your plans to return we had the east wing made habitable again. I know it's old, but it should serve you until you find something more appropriate."

Jim had to smile. When he was a boy there had been one rule: stay out of the east wing. His grandmother had enforced that with terrible stories of ghosts and skeletons, only to make him more curious. He could still feel the beating he had received when his father had caught him climbing through a window into the mouldy basement.

"Does that mean that there are no ghosts in the east wing?" he asked jokingly.

"Given the shape some of the floor boards were in you would have been a ghost yourself before long had we allowed you in there," his father answered. "Everything is new now: beams, floorboards, doors, and windows. We also put in cast iron ovens and closed the fireplaces."

"When we were done I wanted to move in, but Father wouldn't let me," Ed joked. "It's ready to move in. Once the ovens heat up the rooms, they should be warm and dry. Did you bring anything, bedding, drapes or carpets?"

Jim shook his head. "No, we sold our house complete with all furnishings. Money is easier to transport. The only things that we took with us are two bear skins and our weapons."

"Why weapons?"

"I brought almost £3,000 in gold. The rest will go to Lambert & Norton by Letter of Exchange, but I should hate to be robbed anyway."

"Of how big of a rest are we speaking?" Ed asked a little shakily.

"At last count, a tad over £84,000," Jim answered modestly.

Ed whistled in appreciation. "That'll buy you a county, a small one at least."

"More may be coming in," Jim added. "We will certainly look for a property of our own come the spring. Right now we'll be happy to stay here."

"Let us show you the east wing then," his father said with a laugh.

It was all he could do to keep his hands from rubbing. His older son had enlarged the family property by prudent management and sensible investments, but now his younger son had come back from the American wilderness with a veritable fortune. The Tremaynes would be counted among Berkshire's leading families.

Jim sensed his father's line of thought.

"Father, I would ask you to keep our arrival a secret for now. If people know of my return and of the fortune I made the prices for property will go up. Let us enjoy a week or two here. I will then return to London to set things in motion. Lord Lambert has offered his help and advice, and his bank will act for us when we move to buy property. I would also ask you to point out any property that might help you to round out your possessions."

"Only if we split the earnings," Ed insisted immediately but eagerly. There were indeed a few pockets of tillable land and a sizeable wooded area that he would like to include into the Tremayne lands.

Robert Tremayne had thought about his son's request. "It will not be easy, but I can try. If it helps, I didn't brag about the fortune you made. After all, I had no idea how much you won in those gold fields. Even if people learn of your return it should not create any attention."

"Thanks, Father. That will help. Still, I would like for us to settle in before every neighbour deems it his duty to have us for tea and story telling."

"That is sensible, Robert," Mrs. Tremayne entered the discussion. "Poor Rose must learn her way around first, and the same goes for Samantha and Mrs. Linkletter. Have them read every newspaper and take them to the theatre and the symphonies. After the Christmas holidays we shall have a few close friends over, for you and your family to meet. That will be early enough."

"Of course, Mildred my dear," Robert Tremayne hastened to agree.

Whilst Jim's mother stayed back with Penelope, the rest of the family went to see their accommodations. The rooms smelt faintly of paint and the furnishing was sparse, but the walls and ceilings had a fresh coat of plaster and paint, the windows were new, and the doors fit the frames well. They would live well here, Jim decided.

Suddenly, a new face showed.

"Mrs. Twining!" Jim exclaimed, recognising the family's housekeeper. She was ten years older to be sure, but she had hardly changed Jim decided.

"Master Jim, it is good to have you back," the woman beamed.

Jim saw a young woman at her side and he did a double take. "Lydia?"

"Yes, Master Jim," the woman smiled. "I came to help my aunt. She was having a hard time with all the extra cleaning and laundry."

"Oh, of course!" Jim exclaimed. "These added rooms must cause a lot of additional work. Now, with us here, it will be even more. We should hire our own servants, even our own housekeeper. We should look up an agency. Or perhaps Mrs. Twining would know of suitable candidates?"

The venerable Mrs. Twining just rolled her eyes at Jim and then jerked her head at her niece who was standing at her side wringing her hands nervously. Finally Jim understood.

"Perhaps Lydia would be open to an offer?" he asked.

"I should like that, Mr. Tremayne," Lydia gushed. "I'm a good cook, and I learned how to direct the servants. That is, if Mrs. Tremayne will not object... ?"

Rose gave the woman a friendly smile. "Why don't we give it a try for a month? If we agree with each other I can see no problems."

Privately, Rose made a mental note to ask her husband about his past relationship with their housekeeper's niece. The young woman had that sort of wholesome prettiness that Rose had seen in women before and that attracted men like honey drew bees. But then Rose reconsidered. Lydia was in her early twenties, and Jim must have left his family home eleven years ago, when he was shipped to the Crimea. There was no way her Jim would have molested a twelve- or thirteen-year-old girl!

Given the scarcity of furniture they decided on a preliminary allocation of rooms. Raven would have a guest room on the second floor of the centre wing. Jim and Rose, with Bobby, would have the large, second-floor bedroom in the west wing, while Samantha would have a small bedroom on the same floor. Lydia –or "Bennett" as she was to be addressed – sprang into activity at once. With the help of two other maidservants the beds were made and the clothes from the bags were taken out to be aired and ironed.

All the Tremaynes assembled then for their noon meal, and Rose had her first glimpse at the pride of Hamden Gardens, the garden room. Along the entire garden front, glass paned doors let in the weak wintry light. Rose could see that the garden was well maintained. There were rose bushes, now naked and bare, but also evergreens. A yew-lined path covered with gravel led towards a pond, perhaps thirty yards away. Jim's mother followed Rose's gaze.

"My joy and pride, my garden," she smiled. "Nothing gives me more peace than sitting in the shade of a tree and smelling the fragrance of flowers, or the fresh smell after a spring rain!"

"It looks so pretty, even in winter," Rose answered.

"Can we perhaps sit together after the meal? I would like to know more of the mother of my grandson, and I imagine you want to hear about us."

"That would be very nice. We have made no plans other than being with you."

The food was a cottage pie, a dish Rose new well from Mrs. McGuinn's cooking. The taste was slightly variant, but it was delicious all the same. Thin ale was served with the meal, and Rose found it to be of excellent quality, far better than any of the ales that reached Denver City. Little Bobby ate potatoes off her plate which she mashed with her fork, and he seemed to like it as he demanded more and more. The elder Tremaynes looked at Bobby and Rose with adoration. Penelope fed little Gwendolyn on her lap who was of Bobby's age.

After the meal the men retired to the study for a brandy and for a thorough briefing of the past ten years' events. The women assembled in another room with Bobby and Gwendolyn. While the small children played with Gwendolyn's toys, the women had tea and entered into a mutual interrogation. Of course, Rose was the main focus. Penelope's friendly curiosity and her mother-in-law's interest soon brought Rose to the limits of what she was willing to reveal. It was Jim's mother who noticed her daughter-in-law's discomfort and who put a restraining hand on Penelope's knee.

"We should not intrude too much on poor Rose. She hardly knows us, and we ask her such intimate details already. It is not really important. Rose, you have made my son happy. I can see that. Anything else is immaterial. I can imagine how your youth must have been difficult with you being orphaned so early. Let us just keep quiet about those years until we have earned your trust."

Rose gave her a grateful smile. "I can see now how Jim grew up to be the gentleman he is," she answered.

"Yes, he always was a fine young man, even when that girl tore his heart out. Well, that's old news, and it wasn't entirely her fault. I wonder how she will react to his return."

"Oh, she'll be jealous and envious of Rose, that is a certainty," Penelope answered. "Look at the facts: she had to marry that abominable man who has squandered his fortune, and here comes Jim, wealthy, good looking, and with a beautiful wife. It will kill her."

"Are you speaking of Jim's former fiancé?" Rose asked, to make sure she understood.

"The very same," Penelope answered. "We better have you prepared before you meet her. She will not be your friend."

Rose sighed and shrugged. "I shall watch out. I pity her though. Judging from what we read in your letter, she was forced into the marriage. I cannot but commiserate with her."

"Never tell her that!" Penelope exclaimed, laughing. "She is likely to bite your head off if you do. No, if you are to speak to her, her life is perfect, her husband is perfect, and everything is as she dreamt her future to be."

"Well, perhaps it is?" Rose asked feeling bewilderment.

"Hardly," Penelope snorted. "Her husband's a cripple and living on laudanum. Do not misunderstand me: I shall never speak ill of those so unfortunate as to lose their health or their limbs, but that man is beyond my compassion. He owes his injury to his vices, and he is a shameless liar and all around scoundrel. He has managed to ruin his father's property in just a few years and from what we hear he curses her all day. Their housekeeper told our Mrs. Twining that he wets his bed almost every night out of spite, even though he has the facility to control his bladder. Nobody's visiting them either because of his disagreeable character and his ruined repute."

"Leave the poor woman her pride," Mildred Tremayne chided her daughter in law. "It is all she has left. Think how hard it is for her. She was the most sought-after girl in the county, and now her life is in ruins through little fault of her own. She must pretend to be happy, if only to retain her sanity."

Rose sighed again. This new life would not be easy.

Edited by SpikeCO



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Chapter 18: Outmatched


New Year's Eve, 1865

The New Year's reception at High Matcham was the highlight of the social year for most of the Northern Berkshire gentry, and Priscilla Marsden-Smith was very careful in her preparations. The appropriate dress was always a concern, but even more so in recent years as the income from her husband's possessions had dwindled away. This was only in part due to bad harvests. As she was also woefully aware, her husband Lucius spent more and more of their income on Laudanum; to alleviate his pains as he claimed.

Priscilla had decided to add a little modification to an older dress, one of good quality, and she believed she could get away with it. She had never born a child and that had helped her retain a trim and youthful figure. this allowed her to wear dresses from her younger years and thus cut down on expenses.

She sighed. This was not how she had dreamt her life to be when she was a young woman. When Lucius Marsden-Smith had courted her and wooed her away from Jim Tremayne, one weak consolation had been the Marsden-Smiths' wealth.

Lucius' ill-fated duel had been a big blow. His failure to refute Jim Tremayne's insulting accusations had forced Lucius to resign his patent with the 13th Light Dragoons and to accept a far lesser posting in India. Priscilla had tried then to get out of the engagement, but the older Marsden-Smith threatened to ruin her father and held her to her promises. They were married, and she had to accompany her husband to Bombay.

In a rare show of consideration, Lucius had agreed to her staying back in Bombay while he would set up a household in the city of Lucknow where his native regiment was stationed. This turned out to be a stroke of good luck for her for when the native soldiers rebelled, Lucknow was besieged for months under heavy loss of human life. Lucius was less lucky, and once the siege was lifted months later, he was transported back to Bombay with a back wound that had left him paralysed from the hips down. At first he was treated as a wounded hero, but then the rumours spread that he had received his injury by falling off his horse in a state of drunkenness.

As soon as practicable, the Marsden-Smiths relocated back to England where Lucius was once more able to pose as a wounded hero. That lasted for a year or until another survivor of the siege of Lucknow returned to Berkshire. Then the truth came out. The Marsden-Smiths lost almost all their standing and Lucius' father literally died of a broken heart.

Now, six years later, Lucius had squandered almost his entire inherited fortune and Priscilla Marsden-Smith counted herself lucky to receive an invitation to High Matcham at all. She was doing her best to present herself as worthy of the distinction.

As Lucius had sunk deeper and deeper into a physical dependency on Laudanum, Priscilla had to take up the reins and run the family possessions. They could not afford a caretaker anymore and less and less servants remained them. Priscilla had to deal with the tenants and with merchants, a task that she was ill-prepared to fulfill. She was also unable to curtail Lucius' consumption of the accursed opium concoction and this seemed to foil all her efforts to reduce their costs of living.

It was four o'clock now, and Priscilla walked downstairs, satisfied with her appearance. Lucius was already in the hall, sitting in his wheelchair, and for once he had shown the consideration to reduce his Laudanum intake to the point where he was clear in his head. Their remaining man-servant and coachman wheeled his master to their converted coach. It opened in the back and Lucius could be pulled in over a ramp by using a pulley system. Priscilla sat with her back to the driver as usual, and then the coach lurched forward.

The ride to High Matcham took almost an hour and that hour was spent in silence. The Marsden-Smiths had long ago run out of topics. Most conversations eventually ended in verbal sparring anyway and thus they wisely refrained from speaking at all.

The sight of High Matcham woke pleasant memories in Priscilla. Here she had debuted in society fifteen years ago. Here she had met her first fiancé, Captain James Tremayne, who was now lost in the Americas. She could still remember old Admiral Carter, Lord Lambert's father: tall, erect, with a commanding presence and with an overt dislike of Lucius. Lord Lambert was a more conciliatory and gracious host as became evident when Lucius and Priscilla entered the hall.

"Ah, Marsden-Smith, how good of you to come," his Lordship greeted them. "Mrs. Marsden-Smith, always a pleasure to see you!"

"Hello, my dear," came the greeting of Lady Lambert who pointedly ignored Lucius, something she had done for the last ten years.

A man-servant showed up to be of service to Lucius, pushing him about and freeing Priscilla from the necessity to stay with him all the time. Priscilla knew the man from the past years. He would see to it that Lucius would disappear in a side room if he over-imbibed.

Next, they were greeted by Sir Anthony Carter, Lord Lambert's only son, and his new wife. Priscilla could not help but feel superior for a brief moment. Lady Carter had been Sarah Turner, the illicit daughter of a London merchant's son and a chambermaid. The maidservant ended up as wet nurse for the infant Anthony Carter, and when she died in India, Esra Turner, the father of Sarah, adopted his illegitimate daughter. In effect, Sir Anthony had married the daughter of his wet nurse. Here was a mésalliance if ever there was one, even if the Carters were considered mere upstarts themselves.

Fortunately, Lucius saw an acquaintance and Priscilla was able to escape. She wandered through the hall greeting the people she knew when she suddenly stopped cold. Her heart began to hammer and her ears felt like they were burning. There, in a throng of people stood her former fiancé James Tremayne: tall, still trim of figure, and dressed to perfection in a black swallowtail suit. He sported a bushy moustache and side whiskers as was the current fashion, and he exuded wealth and dignity. His face looked slightly weather-beaten, with traces of a deep tan much like a Navy officer, but there was no denying that he was easily one of the most attractive men present.

His eyes fell on her and his eyebrows rose for a split second as if in amusement. He sauntered over, a beautiful and expensively dressed, red-haired woman at his side.

"My dear Priscilla, what a pleasant surprise," he said turning to his lady. "I mentioned Priscilla Bywater to you, didn't I?"

"I think you did, dear," the woman answered looking Priscilla up and down.

"Is it Mrs. Marsden-Smith?" Jim asked Priscilla.

She could only nod.

"Rose, this is Priscilla Marsden-Smith; Mrs. Marsden-Smith, this is my wife, Annabelle Rose Tremayne."

"Enchanté!" Mrs. Tremayne said in passable French and Priscilla answered in kind.

She looked at her erstwhile fiancé. "I had no idea that you had returned to England."

"We only arrived two months ago, but we spent most of that time in London to arrange for the transfer of my fortune. Well, it has been good seeing you again. We shall meet frequently I expect. For now I wish you a pleasant evening."

With another bow, Jim turned and left her standing with her face burning over this cavalier treatment. Margot Tinsdale, one of the worst gossipers for miles around, suddenly stood beside her.

"You didn't know that he was back? Isn't it amazing, him returning after ten years and with a huge fortune in gold? They say he's worth almost ninety thousand pounds with more to come; and he owns a gold mine in America, imagine that! One would have thought that he should have been more selective with the wife he chose, her being an American and not even from a good family, always assuming they do have good families there. They say he found her in the wilderness. You couldn't tell now with that Wilkins creation she's wearing, but I heard they shovelled dirt together looking for gold. Not a dignified occupation if you ask me."

"He found a fortune?" Priscilla asked weakly.

"Oh yes. Lord Lambert himself handles his finances, and that should tell you enough! They say he may buy Thornfield Abbey for his use, imagine that! It's been on the market for years but nobody had the means to purchase it. Old Mr. Masters tells me it'll be a blessing for the county seeing how much money will be spent when he starts to rebuild the old abbey."

Meanwhile, Priscilla's thoughts had drifted further. The fact that Jim had married some woman of dubious background should be exploited she thought. It was infuriating how he had left her standing. Even his lack of hostility had been insulting, as if he were indifferent to her and to the fact that she had left him in favour of Lucius. After a few words to Mrs. Tinsdale, Priscilla set out to corner Jim's wife. She found her with Sarah Carter of all people and with Siobhan Pryce, Lord Lambert's widowed daughter and one of Priscilla's childhood friends.

Smiling sweetly, she joined the women. "We did not have the chance to really get acquainted, Mrs. Tremayne," she started. "You may know that your husband and I were engaged once. I really liked him but I had to break up the engagement when my present husband declared for me. Jim just didn't have the prospects."

The petite woman tilted her head slightly and unashamedly put a soothing hand on Priscilla's arm. "You should not fret over that error in judgement anymore," she said with faux sympathy. "You must have been frightfully young and the young are apt to make such mistakes."

The redheaded colonist affected a cultivated speech although nobody would mistake her for being English. Her words were condescending though and Priscilla blanched. Anger fuelled her next words. "I assure you that I never regretted choosing my husband over James Tremayne."

"Really?" the person asked sweetly, the single word conveying an abyss of mocking disbelief. She shrugged and smiled beatifically. "If you say so, then I suppose it must be true."

"Well, I do and it is!" Priscilla shot back, her dander up.

Siobhan Pryce cut sharply into the sparring. "My dear Rose, you can be more than proud of your husband. Unlike others I could name, he displayed both gentlemanly conduct and bravery when he fought at my Reginald's side! Even badly wounded himself, he conveyed Reginald's last words to me. A finer man you could have never found, not here and not in the Americas."

Priscilla flinched at Siobhan's stinging words. In her anger she had forgotten that Major Reginald Pryce had fallen at Balaclava while riding the same charge that had left Jim Tremayne wounded. This had happened while Lucius had stayed with the depot troops in England and had courted her.

"I-I never meant to assail the courage and the fine soldierly conduct James displayed," she hastened to say. "Let me assure you, nevertheless, that my husband was deeply dismayed when he was ordered to stay at the regimental quarters. He would have been happy and proud to serve alongside his comrades."

"Oh, certainly," Siobhan answered with hard eyes.

Priscilla felt defensive. Siobhan had been married but for two months when her husband had to leave for the Crimea. She could not forget nor could she forgive those who had been luckier than her husband.

"I really did not mean to sound condescending," Priscilla tried to placate her former friend.

"And yet you do, Priscilla," Siobhan retorted. "How can you stand here and claim any superiority of Lucius over James Tremayne, or any man for that matter? Don't you see that people know how Lucius came by his injury? Don't you realise that your servants talk and gossip? We know how he berates you when he is under the influence of his Laudanum. We know the sorry state of your lands. We still see you as one of us though and we sympathise with you; yet you make it hard for us when you sit on your high horse."

Priscilla flared up, deeply hurt. "What do you expect me to do, then? Renounce my husband? I gave my vows to stand by him, whatever my reasons were. How would you think of me if I spoke ill of him in society?"

"She has a point here I believe," Rose Tremayne said. "Look, Mrs. Marsden-Smith. Since you seem to have an issue with me, why don't we speak in private? I am sure that Sarah and Siobhan will excuse us."

Without offering resistance, Priscilla let the petite redhead steer her into an adjacent study.

"It is hard, isn't it; to see the man you spurned return in wealth? All the more since the man you married instead turned out to be inferior in all respects and unlucky to boot. I can relate to your feelings, my dear Mrs. Marsden-Smith, but they are unhealthy. How would you profit in your daily struggles if Jim had returned alone and broken? How does it better your lot in life if you showed me up as an uncouth American woman, unfit for being the wife of a gentleman? That's at what you aimed, isn't it?

"Anyway, the whole issue is pointless. Who knows what sort of man Jim would have become here in England and married to you? He certainly would not be a rich man. That could only happen because he left England and his preordained path in life. He might have become an unhappy man, stuck in his rank and married to a wife who would constantly remind him of the opportunities she gave up for him. He would have to serve under a superior officer who unsuccessfully tried to woo you. By breaking up with Jim you set him free to find happiness."

"How can you say that I would have made his life unhappy?" Priscilla protested, now genuinely hurt.

"Because it is true. Can you honestly tell me you that would have been content being the wife of a mere major, or perhaps even just a captain who was stuck in his rank? A captain, perhaps, who had to leave his regiment as an invalid? Jim didn't have the prospects you expected of a husband as you just said yourself. You handled the break-up badly, but you did the right thing. You were right: Jim was not the right man for you, but neither were you the right woman for him."

"I take it that you are the right woman for him?" Priscilla snapped.

"It would certainly seem so. I believe he is happy with me. He tells me so and he proves it on a regular basis."

The simple, self-assured statement baffled Priscilla and the hidden innuendo made her blush, even more so since she herself had – by necessity – gone without the physical aspects of married life for over eight years. Rose Tremayne smiled at her.

"We don't have to keep treating each other with snide remarks. I have no quarrel with you. Even Jim has long since forgiven you. He knows full well that his present good fortune is owed to those events a decade ago."

Priscilla fought an inner battle. What the woman said was true, highly embarrassing but true. What had she to gain by putting down Rose Tremayne? With sudden insight she realised that she might even lose her last remaining social contacts. Rose Tremayne was the wife of a rich and well-respected man. If people had to choose between Rose Tremayne and Priscilla Marsden-Smith, wife of a disgraced former officer, there was little doubt about the outcome. This was how things worked as Priscilla knew only too well.

She sighed. "I suppose you are right. I acted out of petty jealousy and I regret my words. It is true. It hurts me to have my ill fortune rubbed into my face. However, I strongly resent the notion that I would not have been a good wife for Jim. I am not as shallow as you seem to think me. There were ... I was not free in my decision to break the engagement."

"Then I apologise," Rose Tremayne answered amiably. "I will readily admit to my own jealousy and that it may have clouded my perception and opinions."

"Jealousy?"

The redhead bowed her head. "But for your breaking up with Jim, I could have never met him or be his wife. You were his first choice after all. Cannot you see how that can cause feelings of inadequacy, even jealousy?"

"Oh, and I even harped on that," Priscilla conceded contritely. "I am sorry. Can we just start from the beginning?"

Rose Tremayne's smile reached her eyes now and Priscilla briefly held her breath. She was not immune to female charms; in fact she had found transient comfort in a dalliance with a cousin, before that cousin had moved to Manchester with her husband. Rose Tremayne struck a chord in Priscilla that had long been silent.

Her voice had a soft, soothing quality, too. "I should like that. Let us join the others again and ease their concerns."

Together, they left the study and found their way back to the dinner hall. Lady Lambert found them. "Oh, good, here you are. I trust you have resolved your issues?"

"I believe we did," Rose answered with a smile, and Priscilla nodded her consent.

"Splendid. My dear Priscilla, may I trouble you to tend to your husband? I'm afraid he's had too much of his medicine and our servant has problems keeping him from making a scene."

Priscilla felt the blood rush into her face. Why now? Why here? "I shall go at once," she said, dejection in her voice.

Now that she was warned, she could easily hear Lucius' voice over the din of conversation. She headed for the far corner and found her worst fears materialised. Lucius was arguing heatedly with Jim Tremayne. Lord Lambert was trying to calm Lucius, but to little avail.

"I say you evaded my challenge," Lucius railed in his whiny voice. "Now you come back and you think it's all forgotten?"

"I stood your challenge as attested by all the gentlemen involved. It was you who refused a second rendezvous. That was after defaulting the agreed-upon rules during the first engagement, I may add." Jim's voice was cold and oozing disdain.

"My ankle was hurt, damn you!"

"My ship was sailing. Damn you, Sir!" Jim returned.

"Gentlemen, please!" Lord Lambert pleaded. "This is a ten-years-old quarrel. Cannot you find it possible to reach an amiable settlement, please?"

Priscilla saw Jim about to start a hot reply but now his wife stood at his side and put her hand on his arm. He calmed himself with an effort.

"Very well then. What his Lordship says is true. This affair is truly dated. Are you open to an apology for my remarks, Mr. Marsden-Smith?"

"That is indeed a most welcome offer, isn't it?" Lord Lambert said with emphasis before Lucius could say a word. Priscilla caught the implied warning in his Lordship's voice. Even Lucius seemed to understand.

"A proper apology should settle the affair," Lucius grumbled.

"Very well then," Jim started. "I spoke in haste then and my hurt pride dictated my words. I regret my words and I wish I had never spoken them. After all, you showed the true extent of your valour with your conduct in India. Whatever I said to you is immaterial in the face of your well-earned reputation."

Priscilla felt the blood leave her face, and she prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Jim Tremayne had heaped even greater insult on Lucius with his apology, yet Lucius did not even seem to notice.

He nodded, obviously satisfied. "Well, I guess that after ten years we can let bygones be by ... Blast you, Tremayne! What's that supposed to mean? That's a new outrage!"

"What do you mean by that?" Jim answered silkily. "I only acknowledged that I cannot maintain my old accusations in the face of the well-known fact that you returned from India severely wounded. The word is that you were thrown by your wounded horse in the heat of a battle against a superior number of foes. How can I question such conduct?"

Around them the men and women had a hard time maintaining their composure. That was the story Lucius had spread after their return from India. Of course, all the neighbours knew better, knew that he had fallen off his horse while heading for a brothel – as his fellow officers had been happy to recount once they, too, had returned to England. In spite of his inebriated state, Lucius recognised the corner into which he had manoeuvred himself.

"Oh, I um ... think that I may have overreacted here. People've been telling rumours, unfounded rumours, and for a moment I thought that you were alluding to those. My fault, really. Of course, with your apology the matter can now be seen as settled."

"What a wonderful conclusion, Gentlemen!" Lord Lambert exclaimed genially. "Let us celebrate the end of a decade-old feud. More wine, please! Gentlemen, I salute your prudence!"

In the ensuing babble, Priscilla could hear more than one snide remark against Lucius. She closed her eyes for a second letting the despair wash over her. She could not even blame Jim Tremayne: It had been Lucius who had started that battle of wits in which he was decidedly outmatched. Now those stories would make the rounds again and people would be uneasy around her. Deep resentment against her husband filled her. She almost flinched when she felt a hand on her arm. Opening her eyes she saw Rose Tremayne who bore a sympathetic smile on her lips.

"I suppose that with our husbands on speaking terms again we can deepen our acquaintance without a breach of etiquette." Her wink told Priscilla that she was not overly concerned with etiquette.

"Your husband has a quick wit and a sharp tongue, but I'm afraid that Lucius invited that," Priscilla sighed.

"I'll have a word with Jim. It was not necessary to bait your husband as he did."

"Try as I might, I cannot begrudge him that small satisfaction after all those years. Still, I appreciate your concern."

"Your husband seems to take quite a lot of that opium tincture. Is he suffering that badly?"

"He claims pains but Laudanum is habit forming, too. It's a costly habit, too."

"I imagine that your life is not as you once dreamt it to be. I'm sorry for that."

Priscilla looked into the eyes of Rose Tremayne. They were open and guileless. She meant what she said.

Priscilla forced a smile on her face. "I believe that, having you for his wife, Jim's life has easily exceeded any of his dreams." She straightened her shoulders. "I had better keep an eye on my husband. He may yet understand what transpired."

For the rest of the evening Priscilla stayed close to Lucius. It was not for long anyway. Even with his mind fogged by opium, he could not fail to notice the disdainful looks people cast at him. With his Laudanum bottle already empty, he resorted to the plentiful wine offerings. Priscilla suspected that their hosts fostered that to keep him quiet or at least unaccountable for what he said.

When his chin finally dropped to his chest, Priscilla offered her thanks and a good-bye to their hosts. She called for their coach which drove up minutes later. Lucius did not even wake up during the ride home and it was with some difficulty that Priscilla managed to have him transferred to his bed. Of all things, he had also wet himself again in his drunk sleep and Priscilla had to rouse the maidservant to get him cleaned up. It was a fitting end to a dreadful and embarrassing evening.

Edited by SpikeCO



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Chapter 19: Misadventure


Berkshire, England, January 1866

Sleep did not come easily to Priscilla Marsden-Smith in that New Year's night. For the first time in years she allowed her thoughts to stray into the past, into those two years when she and Jim Tremayne had been engaged. Jim had been a shy young man, conscious of his position as second son, and he courted her with reverence. He always seemed awed by her acceptance and she vividly remembered the deep love in his eyes when she consented to the engagement.

Lucius Marsden-Smith coveted her, too, but more as a thing he wanted to possess. This was why Priscilla spurned him and why she preferred Jim Tremayne. Lucius would never let up though, not being used to not getting what he wanted.

Then Priscilla's father had met that woman, a dancer from Italy, and he had become infatuated with her to the point of obsession. She was charming, she was beautiful, and she incited feelings in the widower that he had never known. He fell in love head over heels.

Aware of the competition for her favours, he bought her expensive presents. It took him three months and more than his entire fortune to find out that she gladly exchanged favours for gifts with all her suitors. His heart broken, and feeling like a fool, he was overwhelmed with the need to pay off the outrageous debt he had accumulated in the three months of his benightedness. His main creditor was his neighbour, August Marsden-Smith.

In this situation Lucius' father had made his offer to forgive the debt if Priscilla married his son. Twenty-year-old Priscilla was quite unprepared for making decisions of that magnitude. Breaking the engagement with Jim Tremayne ran against her feelings. It also ran against her concept of decency since Jim was away with his regiment to fight the war in far away Russia. Yet, refusing August Marsden-Smith's offer would mean ruin for her father. It would also mean that no dowry or inheritance for her would come forth and that, she feared, would end the engagement with Jim anyway.

Those thoughts might not have swayed her, but her father, mortally afraid of the bankruptcy, besieged her day and night to accept Lucius' courtship. After two months of constant pressure, the young girl relented, sending off the letter to Jim that he never received. She thought it her duty to inform his parents, but she was mortified by the abject anger shown by Jim's father. He called her every bad name he knew, and a few he obviously invented for the occasion, and she was in tears when she left Hamden Gardens that day.

The Tremaynes were not the only ones to express their disapproval: whatever common friends she and Jim had had, they sided with him. Then the newspapers came out with the shocking reports of the Attack of the Light Brigade. Those were gruesome depictions of the battle and of the high fatality numbers among the regiments involved, and they were a shock to everybody she knew.

Priscilla did not dare to show her face anymore in public nor did she want to. She did not sleep for days, realising that Jim might have died, might even have sought death in the terrible battle knowing that she had betrayed him. In her deep desperation, she went to see his parents to learn of his fate, but his father was beside himself in his own anxiety and did not allow her in. Then, when fatality lists were published, she learned that Jim was listed as severely wounded, but it was weeks before news emerged that he had survived his wounds.

Others had not been that fortunate. There was a memorial service for Major Reginald Pryce from Jim's regiment. Knowing his widow Siobhan Pryce as a childhood friend, Priscilla attended the service together with her new fiancé. It was a frog-march for them under the scathing comments of neighbours, relatives, and fellow officers. Somebody opined openly that Reginald Pryce had been lucky at least inasmuch as he had known the love of a worthy woman. Priscilla waited in vain for Lucius to defend her. He showed his true colours for the first time pretending not to hear the insults. For weeks thereafter, Priscilla rarely ventured outside her father's house.

In the meantime, Lucius had purchased the patent of Major Penniworth, an elderly officer in the regiment who wanted to retire. That was further fuel for malignant rumours, but Lucius and Priscilla's fathers used this to point out that Lucius had far better prospects than a mere captain who might return an invalid. All through the winter they hammered into her that she had merely decided for the better man. In the end she almost believed it.

At least, she pretended to believe it when she saw Jim Tremayne one last time. Lucius had bragged that he would certainly finish off Tremayne and make it clear once and for all who was the better man. In her dread over the mortal peril Jim faced, she had gone for a last attempt to forestall the duel, but the hostile reception made her say things that she regretted for years to come.

She awaited the following morning in absolute misery, believing that Jim Tremayne would perish and that she was to blame for it. Instead, the word spread by midday how Major Marsden-Smith had twice fled the sword of his opponent and had been saved only by spraining his ankle. Within days, Lucius was the laugh of the county while Jim Tremayne was praised as a true hero who proved his mettle even suffering from barely healed battle wounds. During the following days, Priscilla watched on with incredulity as Lucius refused to renew the duel, resting his thickly bandaged foot on a chair and complaining about the excruciating pain in his ankle. This went so far that even his own seconds ended their office in protest and reported his questionable conduct to the regimental headquarters. Lucius was the only person who was surprised when Lt.Col. Caldwell tentatively suspended his patent.

Meanwhile, Jim Tremayne had taken passage on a ship bound for Boston, and Lucius had missed the chance to clear his name against the accusation of cowardice. Strangely, Lucius showed no dismay over that. On the contrary, he seemed relieved that he did not have to face Jim Tremayne again. He could not understand why Priscilla asked for their engagement to be resolved. This was her final, pitiful attempt at rebellion. On the very next day her father was taken to debtor's prison, and August Marsden-Smith made it clear that her father would stay in prison forever if Priscilla did not marry Lucius. Facing complete destitution and being left without a friend, she gave in.

Her father was released from prison on the very morning of her wedding, and all she remembered of the ceremony was the hatred that she felt against her father, the Marsden-Smiths, and against the world as a whole. Strangely, it was that last episode that lifted the public condemnation from her. The bald-faced coercion had been noticed by the neighbours, and they finally understood Priscilla's dilemma. Even Robert Tremayne approached her after Sunday service and apologised for judging her so harshly.

This forgiveness did not extend to Lucius Marsden-Smith. With the regiment returning from the Crimea, Lucius' position became untenable. Col. Payden was livid over Major Marsden-Smith's conduct and his fellow officers stood against him as a man. Jim Tremayne had fought bravely at their side and they felt no sympathy for a man who had stayed behind to poach on their wives and fiancés. The resentment against him was so severe that Lucius Marsden-Smith saw no choice but to offer his commission for sale. Even then, there were no takers, for the officers of the 13th refused the tainted commission. In the end, Lucius had to relinquish it with a loss of over £5,000.

Using his contacts with the East India Company, August Marsden-Smith was able to procure another patent for his son in one of the native regiments in India. Thus, Major Marsden-Smith and his wife embarked on a passage to Bombay. Lucius' regiment, the 13th Rajputs, was stationed in Lucknow but it was decided that Priscilla would stay in Bombay until Lucius could set up a household. When the Sepoys revolted against the British in May 1857, Priscilla was still waiting in the relative safety of Bombay.

Lucius was already serving with his regiment, and on June 30 he was sent to reconnoiter to the north of Lucknow. It being a hot day and with insufficient supplies of clean water available, he seemed to have quenched his thirst with Brandy from his hip flask. With no enemy showing yet, he rode over to a house of ill repute that he frequented. The combination of heat and alcohol was his undoing. Not watching the path as he should, he allowed his horse to step into a rodent burrough. The charger stumbled and broke its leg. Lucius was thrown and hit a tree stump causing a spinal cord injury that left him paralysed from the hips downward. He was rushed back to Lucknow while the loyal men of his regiment fought off the attacking Sepoys.

All through the five-month siege, Lucius was confined to a stretcher with no other treatment but opium fumes, and when the siege was finally lifted, he was transported to Bombay for shipment to England. Priscilla, who had been without news from him for over nine months, was overwhelmed with the need to care for a man who had not only lost the use of his legs but also his pride and self-respect.

The passage back to England brought some improvement. Lucius went through opium withdrawal since the ship's surgeon refused him the drug. He was of clear mind and in upbeat spirits when they arrived in London. This was mostly owed to the fact that the other passengers had treated him as a wounded hero, as a man who had survived the gruesome Siege of Lucknow. In the first months back in England this treatment continued and Priscilla – herself ignorant of the truth – was even a little proud of her husband. However, in late 1858, another officer of the Lucknow garrison burst that bubble telling everybody who wanted to hear – many people indeed – that Lucius had fallen off his horse in a state of drunkenness while heading for a whorehouse.

While Priscilla had to face the fallout of that revelation in her daily life, Lucius found solace for his misfortunes in the accursed opium tincture, Laudanum. In her terrible situation the only satisfaction came to her when August Marsden-Smith apologised to her for forcing her to marry his 'unworthy offspring'. The old man never lived down the shame his son had brought down on the family, and he died of a simple cold in early 1859.

In the meantime, Priscilla's own father had recovered from his ill-fated infatuation, both mentally and financially. He was mortified over his daughter's misfortune which he rightly saw as his fault. He supported her as best he could but he, too, died in late 1859. He showed his love by leaving his estate in a trust. The trustee, Lord Lambert, would dole out the interest directly to Priscilla, thus preventing Lucius from getting his hands on the small fortune.

Soon, the monthly payments from the trust were the only money she could use for groceries and their servants' pay. Lucius controlled what income came from his father's estate and he used it for his own vices. Now, seven years after his father's death, Lucius income did not cover the costs for his habits and vices anymore and he had started to sell off his lands, further reducing the income. Two caretakers had resigned and the estate had fallen into dissolution.

Seeing Jim Tremayne at High Matchem had made Priscilla realise the depth of the misery that constituted her life. Rose Tremayne had been right, of course. Had Jim continued his career in the regiment they would never have become rich. He would have been a husband to be proud of nevertheless, and for Priscilla that would have been enough. He would have never met the red-haired beauty from the American wilderness and he would be the devoted, loving husband of Priscilla Tremayne. Priscilla knew without a doubt that she would be happy with him. She would have children from him and live the life for which she had hoped a decade ago.

She barely slept that night, and when she answered the call for breakfast from their old housekeeper, her long-suppressed, deep-sitting resentment against her husband was nearing the boiling point. Sure enough, when she joined him at the breakfast table he was already nursing on that accursed medicine bottle. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. With newly found resolution Priscilla snatched the bottle from his hands.

"That's enough! You are drinking away your estate and our livelihood. As of this morning one bottle will have to last you two days, one glass every six hours. That is what Dr. Claxton prescribed."

"Give me back my medicine, woman!" Lucius snarled.

"No! You have no pain, all you have is a craving for this poison! From now on you will get what you need and nothing more."

Lucius switched to whining. "But Pris, I need my medicine. The pain kills me!"

"That's nonsense! What pain? You claim to have no feeling in your legs. How can you have pain then?"

"You would not say that if you knew how much my open skin hurts."

"Yes, so you had better control your bladder! I know that you can do it. You wet yourself out of spite and that's what causes the sores. This will end, too! Every time you wet yourself you will forfeit the next dose of Laudanum."

When pleading did not work, Lucius reverted to cussing. "Damned woman, this is still my house! As long as you put your feet under this table and eat the food I buy..."

Priscilla interrupted him with an angry snort. "When did you last buy food with your money? I pay for the food from my inheritance, I pay the servants, and I pay for clothing. Since I pay for everything it is time that I decide, too. No more Laudanum!"

"Are you out of your mind, woman? I'll have you whipped! I'll have you thrown out of my house!"

Priscilla looked at him, surprised at her own calmness. "Just how do you propose to do that? Nobody visits you. Dr. Claxton will not come for another month. The servants will side with me because I do not wet myself every night. They will side with me because I pay them. They will side with me because they despise you and hate you. You have embarrassed me for the last time."

"Oh, it's because of that," he crowed, suddenly upbeat again. "Your old sweetheart saw you with your crippled husband. How did you like his red-haired hussy? He's forgotten you in her arms, believe me. She is far better looking than you are. Maybe I should take her away from him, too?"

Priscilla laughed for the first time on this morning. It was a laugh so full of disdain that Lucius cowered a little before her.

"How will that work out? She is married to an able-bodied, rich man. A man, I may add, who is a perfect gentleman and well-respected for his bravery. How do you think you will win her? Your father is not alive anymore to blackmail her. Do you think your crazy ramblings will endear you to any woman? Do you believe that a woman who enjoys the loving touch of her manly husband will leave him for a man who wets himself every night? You are but a shadow of the man you used to be, Lucius, but even when you were a man you could not hold a candle to James Tremayne."

He cackled madly. "That got your dander up! Hah! You're stuck with me and all the loving touches will come from my cane! You are mine and you will knuckle under."

"Oh, will I? Just you watch me, Lucius!"

With determination, Priscilla left the room and went into Lucius bedroom. She returned with the wooden crate that held his stock of Laudanum bottles. She picked up one and smashed it against the back of the fireplace.

"Stop that, you crazy bitch!" Lucius shrieked, unable to mask the panic he felt.

The next bottle crashed inside the fireplace, the contents sizzling on the glowing logs.

"Stop that! Pris, please! My pain!"

"Will you agree to my rules?"

"I can't, Pris! I need my med ... Stop! I'll do it. I accept."

Priscilla lowered the next bottle and put it back into the crate. "I shall lock this in my room. Mrs. Buller or I shall give you your doses. Remember: one slip, and the next dose is forfeit.

"Now we shall wash you and we shall cut your hair and beard. You will keep a civil tongue with the servants and thank them each time they help you. You will also eat this porridge. Do it!"

Priscilla felt utterly drained when she left the breakfast room. Their housekeeper, Mrs. Buller, intercepted her.

"Bless you, Mrs. Marsden-Smith! It was high time to put a stop to his madness, beg your pardon. You're doing the right thing, and I'll back you up all the way."

"Thank you, Mrs. Buller. I was hoping that I could count on you."

"Mr. Travis from Brompton Abbey lost both his legs at Sebastopol. Look at how he handles his life! He's serving as a councilman and on the church board, and how lovingly he treats his doting wife! They did a bad thing when they gave your husband all that accursed opium, but then again he was weak before. I cannot count the number of times when we had to carry him upstairs when he was still with the regiment."

"I shall consult Dr. Claxton today to ask about the best way to rid him of the habit."

"Throwing those accursed bottles on the dung heap sounds like a good start," Mrs. Buller stated.

-------

Priscilla found Dr. Claxton at home. He asked her in and offered her a tea which she accepted.

"Dr. Claxton, I came about my husband. His Laudanum habit has grown into a problem that may be our ruin, to say nothing of his mental state. Do you know of a way to rid him of his craving?"

Claxton looked at her over his half-glasses. "Are you serious about this, Mrs. Marsden?"

"Dead-serious, Doctor."

"There is but one way: complete refusal of the drug. Laudanum contains opium, and it is highly addictive. Anything but a complete cessation of intake is useless. The results will be dramatic in the beginning. He will be rabid. You will have to tie him down and be careful lest he might bite you. This will take at least three to five days before he will calm down eventually. If he ever has another dose of Laudanum you will have to start over again. Can you handle that or should I have him confined to an asylum for as long as it takes to wean him off the poison?"

"Asylum, Doctor?"

"Yes, Mrs. Marsden. You must also face the possibility that he will never quite regain his mental facilities. The withdrawal may leave him a lunatic. Yet, if he continues on his current path, the drug will kill him inside a year, and it will leave you ruined, too."

"I believe we can handle him on our own, Doctor. I have trust in my housekeeper. Our coachman may be a problem as my husband frequently provides him with drink, but I am confident."

"Do you want me to come along with you and explain it to him?"

"I fear he is not open to reason anymore. Thank you for the offer, Doctor, but we shall try this on our own."

"As you wish, Madam. You have your work cut out for you."

-------

Returning home, Priscilla assembled her three servants: housekeeper, maid-servant, and coachman, to lay down the rules. She made it clear that no violation of those rules was permitted and that she had the full backing from Dr. Claxton.

Next came the real test of her resolve. She entered Lucius' first floor room. When he looked up at her she saw the mad craving in his eyes. They darted towards her hands, and seeing them empty, to her face.

"You promised!" he almost sobbed.

"I know. It's not the first time I had to break my word for your benefit," she answered with bitterness. "I interviewed Dr. Claxton. He told me that the only way to free you of that poison is an immediate and complete withdrawal. I am sorry, Lucius. There will be no Laudanum for you now or ever again."

He stared at her with his mouth hanging open. "You promised," he whimpered.

"Lucius, you are my husband. I may hate you and despise you. Yet I will not stand by idly while you are slowly killing yourself. You will be very sick for the next days and even weeks. But once you are through that you will likely get much better. The craving will stop, and you will be able to reclaim your life. You will curse me in the next weeks, but I am confident that in three months' time you will thank me. You weaned yourself once during the passage from India, and you can do it again."

"You ungrateful hussy! I married you with no dowry coming forth and this is how you thank me?"

"Yes, Lucius, this is how I thank you. Once your mind is clear again, you will acknowledge the necessity."

She turned and left the room as he let loose a stream of profanity. Mrs. Buller looked frightened.

"We will have to force him to drink water and broth to nourish him over the next days and weeks," Priscilla stated. "And mind that nobody goes in there alone. He will be rabid with craving and pain."

With tired steps she walked upstairs to her room and looked at the crate of Laudanum bottles. She decided to get rid of those bottles the very next day. She might even realise some much needed money from selling them.

Priscilla went to bed after a lonely supper. She could hear the crying and whining from Lucius' bedroom but she steeled her heart against it. Even after she had gone upstairs to her bedroom, Lucius continued to beg and whine and Priscilla resigned to sleeping badly over the next weeks. Thankfully, the crying and whining stopped around midnight and Priscilla finally fell into sleep.

She woke to a loud crash from the hall. It took her a full minute to clear the cobwebs from her sleep-deprived brain and by then, cries from outside made her get up. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and peered out of her bedroom door. The excited babble came from downstairs. She stepped forward and almost fell from the dark landing. With a shock she realised that the old, decrepit bannister was missing entirely. She walked down the stairs keeping to the wall. There, under the stairs, lay Lucius with his head bent back at an unnatural angle. Mrs. Buller was hovering over him wringing her hands.

"What happened?"

"We don't know, Madam," Mrs. Buller wailed. "We heard the crash and there he was lying. I fear that he's dead, Madam."

Priscilla's eyes fell on the wheelchair at the base of the stairs and she understood instantly.

"He must have tried to pull himself upstairs on the bannister to get to my room and to his Laudanum."

"Oh dear! I believe you are right, Madam! Oh, the accursed poison! It still killed him."

Priscilla sent the coachman for the doctor. They covered the body with her blanket and sat silently around the kitchen table until Dr. Claxton arrived. He examined the body carefully and afterwards joined them at the table.

"Do you have any idea what might have happened, Madam?" he asked.

"We don't really know. We woke from a loud crash and found him lying underneath the stairs. I believe he was trying to pull himself up to the second floor, up along the bannister, and it must have collapsed."

"Why would he want to be upstairs, Madam?" Dr. Claxton asked.

"I locked away the Laudanum in my bedroom," Priscilla said miserably.

"Oh, I suppose that makes sense. We will have to have a public inquest but I find no evidence suggesting anything but an unfortunate accident. Do not take this too hard, Mrs. Marsden. You tried to save his life, but his habit was too strong already. No blame attaches to you."

"Thank you, Doctor. Might we remove him from the hall?"

"Yes, you should. Let me lend you a hand."

Together, they moved Lucius' body back into his bedroom and laid him on his bed. For the next hours and until morning, Priscilla sat in that bedroom staring at her husband's body and trying to determine her feelings. There was no real mourning she noted, only a sense of pity. His unbridled cravings had been Lucius' undoing she realised. His inability to see other people's justified interest had alienated him from most people he knew. It was a sad thing that nobody would truly mourn him.

When the morning broke, Priscilla had a quick breakfast and took the coach to Reading to inform Lucius' solicitor of his demise. The news of his death spread quickly, but hardly any condolence visits happened with one surprising exception. It was by mid-afternoon when the doorbell rang. Priscilla opened herself since Mrs. Buller was out buying food for the burial dinner. There, wearing a black suit with black gloves and shoes, stood Jim Tremayne. At his side stood his wife Rose, also dressed in black, her glorious red hair bound into a tight bun.

"We came to offer our sympathy, Cilla," Jim said softly.

Priscilla broke out in tears, not because of her loss but because Jim had called her "Cilla" instead of "Mrs. Marsden-Smith". It had been his private name for her, back in the days of their engagement. Rose Tremayne hugged her and for the first time in almost a decade Priscilla revelled in the comfort of a hug. When she overcame her emotions, she bade them both come in and showed them to the tea room. Smiling apologetically she left them to brew the tea herself. Coming back she found them sitting close and holding each other's hands. The scene gave her a warm feeling.

After serving them tea, Priscilla thanked them for the consideration. Jim was showing some discomfort.

"Cilla, I do not wish to sound hypocritical. You know my opinion of Lucius and it did not change. Nevertheless, I want you to know that I feel sadness. Even with all the things between us I would have wished for him to find a more dignified end."

"It is almost ironic," Priscilla sighed. "He died because I tried to save him. After the reception at High Matcham, I drew the line and took away his opium tincture. Dr. Claxton advised me that it was the only way to save him. He tried to pull himself up along the bannister to get to my room where he knew the Laudanum was. The bannister broke under his weight, and he fell to his death."

"Do not blame yourself, Cilla," Jim replied. "He did not die because you tried to save him, but because he was beyond saving. I believe you did a courageous thing and so will everybody else."

"You are a good man, Jim. Thank you for being so forgiving in this moment. May I expect you at Lucius' funeral?"

Before Jim could say a word, Rose Tremayne nodded. "Of course, my dear. Is there anything you will need? Will you need help with the guests?"

"Not many will come I fear," Priscilla answered dejectedly.

"You'll be surprised," Jim said. "They will come to show you support. I know of at least twenty neighbours who plan to attend."

"At least twenty? Oh my dear!" Priscilla looked up in alarm. "I'm not prepared for so many guests!"

Rose put her hand on Priscilla's arm. "Do not fret, my dear. We shall come here tomorrow and help you with the preparations."

"We?"

"Well, I count on Penelope, our daughter Samantha, and our friend Raven. Don't worry. A widow should not shoulder such a situation alone."

"Oh, that is very kind of you. I have to be at the inquest, though. Dr. Claxton will report to the Jury."

"I know," Jim sighed. "I was summoned for jury duty."

"I'll know when Jim returns from Abingdon and we'll come over after," Rose Tremayne suggested.

-------

In the early morning, Priscilla and her servants took the coach to the county seat, Abingdon. There in the Court House the inquest was held under Mr. Justice Wolseley. Priscilla was called to the witness box first and had to recount the events of the day and night in question. Mr. Wolseley had a few questions.

"Mrs. Marsden-Smith, the bannister in question, why would it collapse?"

"Milord, it had been shaky for two years already. I told my husband several times, but he ... you have to see that he was mostly under the Laudanum ... he said we'd just have to be careful."

"Your husband did not act on your warnings, then?"

"No, milord. I took it upon myself to call Mr. Hodges, the carpenter, and he made my husband an offer to replace the uprights. He said they were ruined by woodworm. My husband did not allow the work done."

"I see. You also said that you withheld the medicine your husband used against his pain. Why would you do that?"

Priscilla's face felt hot. "He consumed more than two bottles of Laudanum each day, sometimes more, and he was rarely the master of his senses anymore. At first I only wanted to ration the medicine to what the apothecary recommended. I consulted Dr. Claxton about it and he recommended a complete withdrawal as he called it. He told me the tincture was habit-forming and should be withdrawn completely for my husband to regain his mental health."

"Very well. Do the jury members have questions for Mrs. Marsden-Smith?"

Nobody spoke up and Priscilla was allowed to step from the witness box. Mrs. Buller was next and she retold how she woke from the noise and found her master lying under the stairs, the broken handrail still clutched in his hands.

Next came Dr. Claxton. He recounted the health state of Lucius Marsden-Smith and described him as habitual Laudanum user. He affirmed that he had counselled Priscilla to withdraw the drug completely. He described the condition of the body, affirming that the injuries were consistent with a fall from a fifteen feet height. He also added the observation that the fragments of the bannister in the dead man's hands showed woodworm damage.

Two jury members asked a few questions, but they seemed to be more for personal interest in the harmfulness of Laudanum. In the end the jury concluded that Lucius Marsden-Smith had died from misadventure after trying to climb the bannister in spite of his feeble state and failing to remember the decrepit state of the structure. No further action was deemed necessary, and Lucius Marsden-Smith's death was recorded as a fatal accident.

Several of the people who had attended the inquest made a point of offering their sympathy to Priscilla and promising to attend the funeral. This caused some worries in Priscilla since she had no good reckoning of her financial status. On the way home she stopped at the apothecary's and returned sixteen unused bottles of Laudanum against a refund.

Returning to her home she found Rose and Penelope Tremayne with two women she did not know. One, a pretty blonde maiden of eighteen years, was introduced as Samantha Tremayne, Jim and Rose's adopted daughter. The other woman had a peculiar name: Mrs. Raven Feather Linkletter. Priscilla was given to understand that she was indeed an American Indian woman and a close friend of the Tremaynes.

Priscilla appreciated the help as all seven women began to tackle the task of preparing the house for the funeral to be held on the next day. Twice, Rose Tremayne sent off her driver to "fetch a few things" and Priscilla had the suspicion that her new friend smuggled in food and supplies, for the dishes looked to be more than could have been prepared with the food stores Priscilla knew of. Her volunteer helpers bade their farewell a little after six o' clock, and Priscilla went to bed early after adding the last touches to her mourning dress.

The carpenter and his helpers came early to lay Lucius into his casket. The casket would be closed, for the fall had caused terrible bruising of his neck and face. A number of neighbours assembled shortly after nine o'clock to carry the casket from the house. It was loaded on a hearse which had come from Reading and driven to church. Priscilla followed in her coach accompanied by Mrs. Buller, while the maid-servant, Maria, was to receive visitors and put the finishing touches to the tables.

The service was mercifully short, mostly because nobody spoke a eulogy. There was not much to say about Lucius Marsden-Smith that would not cause hurt to his wife and his memory, and the Reverend simply summed up the various stations of Lucius' life.

The graveside ceremony was also short. The cold January winds did not encourage long-winded sermons, and soon the casket was lowered into the grave. Priscilla threw the ceremonial shovels of dirt after it, but nobody else did as there were no living relatives. Priscilla was standing to receive the condolences when a woman her own age approached who was leading along a boy of perhaps twelve years. The woman did not offer condolences.

"My name's Emma Brown. I came about my son, your husband's natural son. Lucius has been paying for his upkeep and I want to make a claim on his behalf for his inheritance."

People around them gasped while Priscilla felt her face burn, first with shame but then with growing anger. Before she could react, Jim and Edward Tremayne stood between her and the woman.

"Madam, this is by God neither the time nor the place for such crude and tasteless behaviour!" Edward Tremayne said coldly. "I suggest you make your claims known to Mr. Marsden-Smith's solicitor and you had better provide proof for them."

The woman was smug. "Oh, aye, that I'll do. I have it all in writing from Lucius, and his solicitor knows of my son all right. I just thought I'd give fair warning."

"Be that as it may, you are not welcome at this ceremony and I must insist that you leave Mrs. Marsden-Smith in peace," Edward said.

The woman was undaunted. She simply shrugged. "Come, Will, we are not wanted here. I bet that'll change when we'll own that fine house and estate."

Priscilla's mind was whirling. What new indignity had Lucius heaped on her? He had illicit offspring? What did the woman mean by owning 'that fine house'? Had Lucius bequeathed the house on that boy?

"Wait!" she called sharply, and indeed the woman stopped in her tracks.

Priscilla's eyes sought out Mr. Pennington, the solicitor. He looked away, clearly embarrassed. Unconcerned with propriety Priscilla left the graveside and strode over.

"Shouldn't you have informed me of this?" she asked belligerently. "I would have appreciated a little advance warning."

The man squirmed as all eyes were fixated on him. "I was under obligation, Madam! Your husband, God bless his..."

"God damn his eyes!" Priscilla stormed to the gasps of the assembled mourners. "That lad inherits the estate?"

Pennington shrunk and nodded, obviously afraid of a Priscilla whose eyes were burning with an unholy fury.

"What about me?"

"There is a provision for you in his will."

"Is there? Well, it so seems that I am not the principal mourner. I must ask you all to follow Mrs. Brown after the service. It is for her to entertain you." She turned on Pennington again. "I refuse his bequest and anything he owns. I shall leave the house within the week. Oh, better tell your client that the bannister's unsafe!"

"Mrs. Marsden-Smith..." the Reverent began, flinching when Priscilla whirled to face him. "Shouldn't we conclude the service?"

"Ask Mrs. Brown," Priscilla answered while a grim smile appeared on her lips. "I am not concerned with Lucius Marsden-Smith anymore. Have Mr. Pennington reimburse you from the estate."

She looked around. Mrs. Buller and the coachman were staring at her.

"We are leaving," she commanded tearing the black veil from her head with an impatient gesture. "I have to change out of these silly mourning clothes!"

In the end she still had the prepared dinner with a small group of friends who had attended the funeral. The Tremaynes came, as did Siobhan Pryce and her sister Harriet York, and so did several neighbours who expressed their sympathy and support. Before the main course Priscilla stood and raised her glass of wine.

"I shall not lower myself to speak about today's events and about the man who posed as my husband for ten years. The food is prepared though, and rather than to see it go to waste I ask you to partake of this meal in the memory of all the valiant soldiers, all the good husbands, and all the loving fathers who died before their time."

Siobhan had tears in her eyes when she stood and hugged her girlhood friend.

Edited by SpikeCO



-------

Chapter 20: Settling Down


Berkshire, England, Spring 1866

Thornfield Abbey was a rather large property with some seven hundred acres of tillable land plus sizeable wooded areas. The old Abbey had been converted into a manor house under King James I, but in 1807 the last owner, the Hon. Rodney Wilberton, had built a new and roomy regency style manor house which had served as living quarters for his family. The old Abbey building had fallen into disuse and only the sturdy stone walls had saved it from dilapidation.

Jim and Rose had visited the property repeatedly over the winter and they had found the manor house to their liking. Through Lambert & Norton they were preparing to bid for it. After Wilberton's death, Thornfield Abbey had been on the market for two years already and due to a lack of demand the price was coming down. Landed estates were increasingly replaced by industrial investments as source of income.

It would be ideally suited for the Tremaynes, located just a half hour carriage ride away from Hamden Gardens and even less on horseback. Rose had already made up her mind in favour of it. She was wary of living in sooty London, with its myriad of chimneys and a high society that still scared her. Here in rural Berkshire things were easier for her. Her own standing, while not at the very top, would be akin to what she had experienced in Denver City and that suited her fine.

Jim also tended towards Thornfield Abbey. He was unsure, however, what to do with the old Abbey buildings, and thus he dutifully visited other estates if only to make it clear that he had other options.

Interestingly, the Marsden-Smith estate had come on the market as well. The exciting rumour that dominated the gossip du jour was that the "unspeakable Mrs. Brown and her bastard son" had got a taste of Lucius Marsden-Smith's patented medicine. He had indeed bequeathed his house and the lands to his natural son and heir. However, within a week, Mrs. Brown found out that the estate was so laden with debt as to leave her no option but to put the property on the market. Rumours had it that she would be lucky to settle the outstanding debt from the sale.

Jim and Rose put out cautious feelers to Priscilla Marsden-Smith asking her whether she wanted to put in a bid for the house. Priscilla's answer had left nothing in doubt. The manor house held nothing but bad memories for her and she would rather torch it than ever live in it again.

Tongues were wagging about Priscilla Marsden-Smith's antics, as they were called. Her refusal to wear black and her open defiance of the rules and customs made her the talk of all the tea parties. She had found temporary accommodations with Siobhan Pryce who not only seemed to tolerate the unwilling widow's brazen defiance of convention, but she defended her conduct publicly. Rose met her frequently, and while not entirely at ease with each other, the two women developed a tentative friendship.

Col. Burton had repeatedly called upon Raven at Hamden Gardens. He was currently bringing his affairs in order as he called it. That included his impending retirement and the remodelling of an inherited cottage near Abingdon. Burton, though healthy and able bodied, was over forty years of age. He was no man of great means and his weather beaten and scarred appearance was a decided deterrent to the spinsters and widows who were looking for husbands. Raven did not mind that in the least. She had been raised in a culture where scars defined a proven man and a warrior. Her dowry would be over £1,200. This was sufficient to add 300 to 400 acres to Burton's lands, enough to provide a decent rent income and to secure them a modest position in the rural society. Therefore, Col. Burton and Raven were progressing in their courtship and eyeing a May engagement.

If Burton was not visiting, Rose and Raven rode the country side. They enjoyed the time on horseback, the freedom to move about. Raven in particular basked in a rare feeling of acceptance. To most neighbours, Raven was an exciting addition to their quiet lives and they often invited her for teas just so they could hear the stories she could tell of the wild life of her youth. When they saw her out in the meadows they greeted her friendly. Raven felt safe for the first time in years. Not that there was no racial prejudice. Some people gave Raven derogatory names behind her back. However, the neighbours had no reason to fear Red Indian attacks, they had no interest in the land of the Indians, and accordingly they bore none of the hatred Raven had encountered on the American frontier.

With spring approaching, they were increasingly joined by Priscilla and Siobhan which usually led to having tea at Siobhan's house. Meeting regularly, Rose and Priscilla learned more about each other and Rose had to admit that she rather liked the tall and slender blonde woman. Once she overcame the inhibitions that were caused by years of social isolation, Priscilla proved to be a warm-hearted and animated companion.

By April Rose and Priscilla often rode out alone to explore the surrounding countryside. Rose defied convention by refusing to use the side-saddle and that left only Priscilla Marsden-Smith as a riding partner, a woman who herself was prone to break rules. Rose did not wear buckskins of course, but she had skirts altered to allow an astride seating in the saddle. They were basically pants with wide, flowing legs. When Rose was standing on the ground the legs flowed together looking like a skirt, but they parted in the middle for sitting astride the saddle.

Priscilla was comfortable in the side-saddle but she could understand Rose's thinking. She used the outings to question Rose about life in America, in particular about the western parts. She wanted to know everything in great detail and soon Rose recognised that her newfound friend was not asking those questions out of idle curiosity. One afternoon they were resting their horses sitting on a small hillock and Rose decided to ask.

"Cilla, I cannot but feel that your interest in America is more than idle."

Priscilla sighed. "I admit to being tempted to leave all this behind. Don't misunderstand me: you and Jim have been nothing but kind and friendly and so has Siobhan. Even Jim's family has been. Yet, almost everybody else seems to disapprove of me. I don't know whether I want to live the life of a social outcast. Can you imagine how they will treat me at Lady Lambert's next New Year's ball? Of course I'm only assuming that Lady Lambert will invite me." She shook her head and stared into the distance. "Yet, I'll be utterly damned if I pretend to mourn for Lucius! All my plans, all my future were ruined by him. He had to have me, yet when he had me, he did not even seem to care for me. I spent ten years, the supposedly best years of my life, with a man I hated and who regarded me as a mere possession, as a trophy. Ten years spent with a man who showed not a single endearing quality. Thinking of him I want to scream. I want to ride over to his grave and – forgive me – piss on it."

Rose raised her eyebrows at the unladylike outburst but she nodded in understanding. "Cilla, honestly: do you resent me? You know what I mean, don't you? Finally, you are free of that man. At the same time Jim returns to England. He understands the pressure you were under and he forgives you. Everything could fall into place for you weren't it for me."

Priscilla shook her head vehemently and her blonde tresses danced. "I could never resent you, Rose. You are the best person I have ever met. You opened your heart to me even though I tried to ridicule you. You stood, and stand by my side, in spite of your fear of disapproval. Oh yes, I know that you must hide something, something that would make you unacceptable for all these stuffy, bigoted, stupid biddies. You are afraid it will come out and yet you face them down in my support.

"Rose, I still love Jim. There is no way to deny that and I shall always see him as my lost love. However – and I beg you not to feel uncomfortable – I have grown to love you just as much. It is a deep love, like I would love a sister if I had one. With all the bad things that happened to Jim I am truly and honestly overjoyed that he found you. Can you believe me?"

Rose looked at her companion. "I can, and feeling your goodness increases my bad conscience. You are everything Jim could have wished for, and now he is married to 'that dubious American woman'. I love Jim with all my heart, but I cannot help but feel inadequate. When all is said and done, I am a woman whom he found in the wilderness of West Kansas who has little to offer. I am an orphan and I had to work from childhood to earn my keep. My education was woefully haphazard."

Priscilla shook her head again. "Rose Tremayne, this does not change one iota of my esteem and love for you. To overcome such adversity and to become such a warm-hearted, loving person makes me proud to know you."

"Really?" Rose asked.

"Really! Does anybody know of your humble origins?"

Rose shook her head. "Some dear friends in Denver City know; Raven too. Lady Lambert, like you, suspects that I have a secret."

"Rose, this scares me," Priscilla admitted. "What if something leaks out? How can you believe me then that it wasn't I who told on you?"

"I know that I can trust you, Cilla. You are a good person, honest and caring."

Priscilla blushed deeply and she had to fight with tears. With brimming eyes she looked at Rose. "For all my life I have been looking for a friend such as you."

-------

"Those horses are magnificent," Rose commented under her breath.

"Yes, and quite costly, too," Robert Tremayne answered. "Fortunately, Jim always took good care of his chargers."

They were watching the 13th Hussar Regiment from the stands of the parade ground along with almost a hundred spectators, mostly the officers' relatives. Jim's parents were there, as were Edward and Penelope with their children. Standing with Rose was Priscilla whose hands were clenching nervously. Several of the more senior officers who still remembered her, first as Jim's fiancé and then as Marsden-Smith's wife, had cast surprised looks at her, but Rose knew that Jim had explained her presence. So far she was treated with an indifference that probably suited her perfectly.

Of course, Rose's eyes were on Jim. He looked so different! The tight fitting black coat, the shining, high boots, and the black trousers with red stripes almost made a different man of him. For a brief moment Rose asked herself whether she could ever be comfortable with Jim as a Hussar. Thankfully, she had heard him curse the tight fitting uniform when he dressed this morning and his amused grin at seeing his mirror image had been comforting.

Now he was leading a troop past the stands. His rigid posture told her of his uneasiness and she realised that Jim felt like masquerading. The regimental commander, Colonel Payden, rode along the lines in a canter until he reached the centre of Jim's troop. Rose guessed him to be in his late fifties but he was a splendid figure on his jet black charger.

A trumpet sounded and the 13th Hussars presented their gleaming swords. Colonel Payden walked his horse over to where Jim was sitting astride his own stallion. Payden stood tall in his stirrups and his voice carried over the parade ground.

"Captain James Weston Tremayne, of the 13th Hussars, formerly the 13th Light Dragoons, in recognition of your supreme valour and exemplary conduct shown on the occasion of the Battle of Balaclava when in command of E Troop, you were awarded a brevet commission as Major."

He gently nudged his horse forward until he stood at Jim's side. He offered his hand and Jim shook it. Backing his horse until he stood opposite Jim, the Colonel smiled.

"My felicitations, Major! A pity you did not stay with the regiment." He smiled wryly. "I can see, however, how being the owner of a gold mine can have its appeal."

"Thank you, Sir," Jim answered. "While I have missed my comrades in arms, I cannot say that I regret the turns my life has taken."

"Quite so," Payden smiled.

He wheeled his horse and resumed his ride along the lines. There were three promotions in the ranks he had to announce, and then the regiment paraded once more before the stands before the ranks returned to the stables.

After the parade, the officers and their families and guests assembled under a pavilion where food was served. Jim had arranged and paid for this to celebrate his brevet rank. As hostess, Rose had to greet each of their guests and her head whirled with all the names she heard. Finally, another man approached who was wearing a different uniform. Seeing him Jim almost ran to meet him.

"Malone!"

Of course, Rose knew immediately who this man was and she hurried to follow Jim. He held the newcomer's hands and shook them vigorously. Seeing Rose approach Jim smiled.

"Rose, darling, this is Riding Master Joseph Malone, of the 6th Dragoons. He is the man who saved my life. Mr. Malone, please meet my wife."

Malone could only be in his early thirties Rose guessed, but he looked older. He bowed to her making her blush.

"I am eternally grateful to you, Mr. Malone," she said sincerely.

Malone smiled. "Well, Madam, seeing how my horse had been shot, I was right grateful to sit behind the Captain, err, the Major, begging your pardon. We should both thank his horse for carrying us back to our lines."

"Yes, they awarded him the Victoria Cross for catching a ride back to the lines," Jim smiled.

The small gunmetal cross on Malone's chest caught Rose's attention. It was unpretentious but Rose knew already that it was the most coveted award. Malone blushed. Meanwhile Jim had given Edward a sign and he came over carrying a wooden box. Jim took it and opened it. In the box was a silver plated, brand new Army Colt revolver with an ivory handle and the inscription, To Lance Sergeant Malone in Deep Gratitude, Capt. James W. Tremayne. Malone's eyes opened wide.

"Sir! This is a magnificent weapon! Do you really want me to have it?"

"Well, after all this engraving I can hardly keep it," Jim joked.

Reverently Malone took the weapon and weighed it in his hand. "I'll need a permit to carry it as my sidearm, but I suppose I can get that. Thank you, Sir!"

"See? Now please have a seat with us."

"Beg your pardon, Sir. It's officers only at the table."

"It's my table, Malone. Have a seat please."

Blushing Malone sat at the table with the Tremaynes. Colonel Payden welcomed him.

"Yes, Major Tremayne is right. Have a seat, Malone! Another good man I had rather not lost. Would we'd have had an opening for you back then. They're treating you right at the 6th?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Sir." Malone managed to say, flustered at speaking socially with his former regimental commander.

"And you, Mrs. Marsden-Smith? Are you quite all right?" Payden asked jovially.

"I'm getting better, Colonel," Priscilla answered with an effort. "Fortunately I can rely on my friends."

"Bad business, with your husband, bad business," Payden shook his head. "If only he could have curbed his desires."

"I would he had, Colonel, for his own sake and mine."

Meanwhile, Samantha was basking in the attention that she was getting from the younger officers. She was a delectable sight to be sure and in the first bloom of womanhood. Being the adopted daughter of a rich man certainly added to her appeal. The seating order, however, did not lend itself to mingling, perhaps fortunately so.

For the next hour Jim was grilled relentlessly about his time in America. He had to describe the land, the time on the Oregon Trail, the encounters with the Indians, and of course the gold rush. He managed to include Col. Burton who was able to add his Canadian adventures. Unable to curb his curiosity, Col. Payden also asked Raven about her background. Without giving any specifics that might incriminate Rose and Jim, Raven told them about being widowed twice before accepting Jim Tremayne's offer to leave the American West and come to England.

Next, the fates of former officers Jim had known were rehashed but it soon became clear that the topics were exhausted and Col. Payden pulled his fob watch.

"It's been a delightful occasion, Tremayne! I hope to see more of you now that you have returned. I'm afraid though that I have to attend to some duties. Ladies, Gentlemen, if you will excuse me and my officers?"

They all stood. Bows and curtseys were exchanged, and before long Jim and his family and friends were left alone. Already the hired help disassembled the tables and the pavilion. The coaches arrived and the ladies climbed in, followed by Robert and Edward Tremayne. Jim and Colonel Burton rode their horses as it would seem inappropriate for a freshly promoted Major of the Hussars to ride a coach.

They returned to Hamden Gardens and their provisional home. Thornfield Abbey was already theirs after some haggling and last minute negotiations. The price was adequate at £7,200, but Jim expected to spend another £1,500 on renovation and necessary changes. The old abbey building would also be renovated and converted into four separate units, each equivalent in space and layout to a comfortable cottage house. Those could be rented out later or used as quarters for visitors. Jim and Rose expected to move into the renovated manor house within the next weeks.

Concerning the tillable lands, Jim had reached an agreement with his brother who would manage them together with the Tremayne's lands. In turn, Jim had provided the funds to expand the original Tremayne property. In fact, the sale at auction of Marsden-Smith's lands had provided that opportunity. Having Edward oversee all of the Tremayne lands gave him a very good position in price negotiations as he was now managing the largest estate far and wide even exceeding the property owned by Lord Lambert.

Apart from the acquisition of properties, Jim had been busy finding other investments and Lord Lambert and his son were helping with their knowledge and expertise. There was a great buying opportunity even, since the collapse of the London bank of Overend, Gurney and Cº had created a crisis in the City and interest rates soared to over 10% due to the shortage of monies. A man with a fortune made in gold was set to exploit that opportunity and Jim made good use of it.

By July, he had acquired shares of steel works, ship yards, and railroad companies that were easily worth over sixty thousand pounds, but he had paid less than £38,000. In addition to that, his latest share of the earnings of the mining partnership arrived at Lambert and Norton, amounting to another £23,400 even with the deduction of the running costs.

A letter written by Amanda Thrush arrived along with the payment giving them the latest news from Denver City. Governor Evans had to resign in the aftermath of the atrocities committed by Col. Chivington's troops after a raid on a peaceful Cheyenne village on Sand Creek. They had raped and killed over a hundred Indians, mostly women, children and elders, and a special commission from Washington was investigating the crime. It was expected that Chivington would face a court-martial.

Jim felt a shiver running down his spine reading this. He had been right about that man all along. A spineless drunk, Chivington was a disgrace for a soldier's uniform.

There was also a strong influx of regular settlers into the territory, mostly former soldiers with their families, who were looking for land grants and a fresh start. The placers along the rivers were exhausted by now and only a few mining operations still yielded satisfactory earnings. The renaming of the Miners' Bank to Miners' and Settlers' Bank of Denver reflected the changes in the territory.

Hiram Kennedy expected the mine to produce well into '67 but even there an end seemed to be getting close. Tarryall was almost abandoned except for the mine workers' quarters. Their old cabin had burned down during the winter due to negligence on the part of the last occupants. The Golden Nugget was already closed and Mr. Golding and his wife had headed south to New Mexico.

Ned and Amanda were planning to stick around Denver City until the mining operations ceased and then to live off their accumulated wealth. They were eyeing at living in St. Louis, but they would travel for a year or two before moving. Amanda let them know to expect their visit at some point of time. They were both curious to see Jim and Rose in their new role as English landowners.

With this prospect, the letter ended on a happy note. Jim and Rose would both be overjoyed to see their friends again, even if it was only for a visit. Rose sat down immediately to compose an answer, and Jim added his postscript note, telling Ned of his recent investments and of their acquisitions. He knew his old partner to be thrilled hearing this. He also thanked Ned and the other partners for the prompt transfer of his share in the earnings.

All this preceded the next great event. On a Sunday in mid-August, Col. Oliver Wendell Burton (ret.) and Mrs. Raven Linkletter were joined in matrimony in a small ceremony. On the same day Julie Rose Linkletter became Julie Rose Burton as Burton moved to adopt the little girl at once. They were an odd pair, and the group of friends who attended the wedding were a strange and diverse group.

For once, there was a group of officers who, like Burton, had served in British North America. Those were nothing like the officers Jim had known in his regiment. They were very much frontiersmen, self-reliant and competent, with an outlook on life very much like their American counterparts. Then there were the friends of the bride, the Tremaynes mostly, only recent transplants from the Colorado territory. A few neighbours, childhood friends of Burton, completed the mix but they, too, were down to earth people.

Samantha played a key role in the ceremony, serving as Raven's Maid of Honour. Her opposite number so to speak was Burton's godson, Mr. Alistair Donovan, who was a senior fellow at the St. Albert's Hospital in London just looking to complete his education in the near future. He was a well-mannered young man of seven and twenty years with a ready smile and a cultivated speech, and he fell helplessly in love with Samantha before the wedding ceremony was over.

Young Samantha basked in his attention and did her very best to deepen the state of Mr. Donovan's infatuation favouring him with her most dazzling smiles and flirting with him as much as propriety permitted and then a little more. With a shake of his head and a sigh, Jim agreed to the young man's wish to pay a visit to "Miss Samantha".

A thought struck him then, and upon his questioning, Mr. Donovan confirmed Jim's suspicion that he was related to and in fact the eldest son of that surgeon in the Scutari infirmary who had removed the musket balls from Jim's chest and abdomen. Jim learned that Mr. James Donovan RCS was Head Surgeon at the St. Albert's Hospital and still active. Jim asked the young man to convey his gratitude and greetings to his father.

When the reception ended, a giddy Samantha sat with them in their coach for their return to Hamden Gardens. It would be one of the last nights spent there, for Thornfield Abbey was now ready for moving in. There were still a few things to finish, but even the old abbey was habitable.

Over the next week their possessions were moved, and in the last week of August, the Tremaynes set up residency in their new home. It was a proud evening for Jim and Rose when neighbours and friends came to the first soiree in their new home. Jim had hired a group of musicians and after dinner they danced in the large garden hall and on the terrace in front of it.

Several events made that evening noteworthy. Firstly, Mr. Donovan came with his parents. The elder Donovan was looking older and more distinguished than twelve years ago in faraway Turkey. His wife, Millicent Donovan, was still a pretty lady with dark hair who almost ran into Lady Lambert's arms upon seeing her. Obviously they were trusted friends of Lord and Lady Lambert which in turn made young Mr. Donovan even more acceptable. The young man sought out Samantha immediately. They were table partners anyway, and they stayed together closely for the entire evening.

The second event was that Jim danced with Priscilla. This happened with Rose's approval, or rather due to her scheming, and it flustered Jim and Priscilla considerably. It was the first dance for them in over thirteen years and they were self-conscious. Their dance also caused some tongues to wag, but most scandal mongers were disappointed when a laughing Rose Tremayne took over after two dances but not before giving Priscilla Marsden-Smith a friendly hug.

The third happening was when Jim and Rose announced the opening of an alms house in Abingdon, dedicated to the care for orphans. Jim had chartered the charity the week before, after acquiring a run down former Latin school which had been defunct since the death of its last headmaster. The younger boarders would be trained in crafts and Jim had won over several master craftsmen in Abingdon for this purpose. The elder occupants would work to keep the alms house running, a concept that had worked well in Denver. This time, Rose herself would oversee the operation but Priscilla and Siobhan Pryce volunteered spontaneously to help her.

Later that evening, Rose found herself cornered by Lady Lambert who gave her a friendly smile. "I will admit, my dear, that you have astounded me. The way you have made friends in the county in such a short time is testimony to your friendly nature. Now you even run your own charity. That is quite commendable and a worthwhile activity."

"Thank you, Milady," Rose answered with a smile. "We had a similar charity in Denver City in which I was involved."

"That confirms the good opinion I formed about you from the start," Lady Lambert smiled.

Rose felt a tingle when she saw the elderly lady smile so openly. She must have been a glorious beauty in her young years Rose realised and she could still turn heads. Rose knew and took some pride from the fact that she, too, was favoured by nature with her looks, but she readily admitted to herself that she would have been no match for the young Lady Lambert.

"We have enjoyed so much good fortune, my husband and I, and we feel that we should give something to the less fortunate," Rose said a little belatedly.

"You should meet my mother," Lady Lambert mused. "She is eighty years old now and she still chairs the charity that operates St. Albert's Hospital in London. She has done it for close to fifty years. When my father passed away ten years ago I thought she would quit, but I suppose it is something that keeps her occupied."

"That is astonishing, Milady. I would like to meet such an extraordinary person," Rose smiled.

"That is easily accomplished, as she is staying with us until the fall season. Then, when the charity soirees will start again she'll be in the thick of it," Lady Lambert laughed. "Why don't you come over, say the day after tomorrow?"

"I'd love that, Milady. Thank you," Rose smiled back.

She really liked Lady Lambert. She seemed like a person who had known good times and bad and had decided to ignore the bad and live for the good. Then again Rose suspected that Lady Lambert was drafting her to help her mother. That was nothing bad in itself. One thought came to Rose.

"May I perhaps bring Priscilla Marsden-Smith? She needs to meet people."

Lady Lambert raised her eyebrows. "I will readily admit that the friendship you two seem to have is not what I would have expected. I am glad for her, though. I have known her ever since she made her debut in society. She and your husband became very close in short time. They seemed like such a good match, too. But then old Marsden-Smith had to meddle. Oh, I'm sorry. Of course, for you it proved to be a stroke of good luck."

Rose smiled easily. The history of Jim and Priscilla did not bother her anymore. "Yes, but for that man's meddling I would have never met Jim. Then again he would not be a rich man either."

"So true, my dear. Sometimes fate is strange. He had to lose all that he cherished to be able to win a much larger treasure. I am not referring to gold either. Well, do come over, my dear, and bring along Priscilla."

Edited by SpikeCO



-------

Chapter 21: A Connection


Berkshire and London, 1866

At age eighty Lady Wilkes was still a person to behold. From the moment Rose saw her she was awed. Under white hair, a pair of blue eyes looked at Rose with honest friendliness over half-glasses that sat perched on her nose.

"Ellen tells me only good things about you, Mrs. Tremayne," the old woman stated. "She also tells me that you were orphaned early?"

Rose blushed a little. "Yes, I ... My mother died when I was fourteen years old and my father had died long before. I had to ... work in a tavern to earn my keep."

"Don't let any of those old biddies know that," Lady Wilkes cackled.

Somehow it was funny how this wizened old woman called other women "old biddies". Rose smiled.

"Very few and select people know," she answered and she caught a warm smile from Priscilla.

"Wise, my dear. Oh, they don't know it but I was an orphan, too." Her voice changed into a conspiratorial whisper. "Worse even, I stole a loaf of bread to feed my siblings. In '02 it was, and they had me deported to New South Wales. The transport was taken by pirates but I escaped with another woman. We were picked up by a Navy ship under Anthony Carter. He brought me back to England and Harriet's father, Old Lord Lambert, had my sentence revoked."

Rose recognised the names "Lord Lambert" and "Anthony Carter" but they could not have been alive in 1802.

"Anthony was the current Lord Lambert's father. He was one of the naval heroes of the Great War. He even fought under Nelson at Trafalgar. There are few men whom I consider better than Richard, but his father was one of them. Harriet, his wife, was my best and dearest friend. Oh, well, I'm talking too much again.

"Ellen seems to think that you might be able to help me with my charity. I hear you ran an alms house in the past?"

"I mostly collected contributions. My friend, Prudence Pilkins, organised the shelter."

"My dear Mrs. Tremayne, collecting contributions is exactly what we need," Lady Wilkes cackled. "The hospital treats many poor people who would never get treatment elsewhere. The doctors perform the treatments pro bono publico but there are other costs incurred and those are paid for by the St. Albert's Benevolent Society. Do you think you might find it worth your while to help?"

"I would like to, Lady Wilkes, but I know almost nobody," Rose answered. "I am American, too."

The old woman gave her a smile. "Believe me, I was less suited for the duty when my late husband first tasked me with it. Are you planning to live in London?"

"We are not fully decided," Rose temporised. "My husband is looking into opportunities with His Lordship's help."

"Should not be too difficult. Come to think of it, Anita Heyworth's house still has not sold. It is a charming property, right on the river."

"Should I know that name?" Rose asked.

"No, my dear. She retired from the stage in the '30s. She was exceedingly famous in her heyday and many considered her one of the most beautiful women of her time, along with Moira Palmer and the hapless Emma Hamilton. She was a dear friend to all of us. Perhaps your husband can look at the property. It would be nice to see it pass into the hands of somebody we know."

"I can let my husband know, Lady Wilkes," Rose answered. "Although I should admit that neither of us would want to live in a shrine."

"Heaven forbid!" Lady Wilkes laughed. "All her personal belongings were sold at auction as by her will. The proceeds were substantial and the interest contributes to our efforts. No, the house is about empty."

"How do you propose I should help you then?" Rose asked.

"At first, by joining the Society. We do need an infusion of fresh blood. Come to think of it, what about you, Mrs. Marsden-Smith? You are young. You should have a task to keep you busy."

Priscilla turned pink. "If Rose thinks it is hard for her to gain acceptance, my own situation would be even worse."

Lady Wilkes laughed again. "Aah, I see. Your 'antics', isn't it?"

Priscilla nodded.

"Frankly, my dear, I cannot imagine that anybody in London ever heard of you, your husband, or your understandable lack of mourning. Besides, your mourning year will be over soon and a young woman should see people."

"I can certainly help, but I am afraid that my current situation does not allow me to live in London."

"You still lodge with Siobhan?"

"Yes, I do. I can afford to live on my own, just not in London."

"Then you can consider yourself a welcome guest in my house when I return to the City. I should like the opportunity to see a young face around me at dinner."

Priscilla was hesitant. "That is indeed kind of you, Lady Wilkes. In what function would you envision me? I do have an income you know."

"I was thinking of you perhaps helping me with some letters. My own handwriting is deteriorating a little and I find it increasingly difficult to keep up with all my correspondence. It is not much, an hour or two a day at most, and I could certainly hire some help. Then again, I would prefer somebody I can trust. My daughter Violet used to help me but after her stay on the Slave Coast she lost most of her eyesight. We believe it was a case of the dreaded African river blindness. At least that is the opinion of our friend, Dr. McNeill."

"May I give this some thought?" Priscilla asked. "I will admit that the thought of spending the season in London is appealing but I have also acquired friends here in recent months which I should hate to miss."

-------

Back home in Thornfield Abbey, Rose related her visit to Jim. When she mentioned the house of the late actress Jim looked up and smiled.

"I have already seen it. Lord Lambert had alerted me to its current uninhabited state. Perhaps we can both view it on our next visit? It is indeed located beautifully and Chelsea has become quite fashionable."

"Did you ever hear of her?"

"Anita Heyworth? As a matter of fact I saw her a few times at High Matcham. She was one of the oldest friends of old Admiral Carter and his wife, and she always spent the holiday season with them. The stories she could tell!"

"Is such a town house within our means?"

Jim smiled. "We can buy it three times over with our last dividends alone. Besides, I promised you a life in style."

Rose shook her head. "Jim, really, coming here was the best thing that could happen to us. Everything turned out well. I found so many new friends and I feel accepted and liked."

Jim pulled his wife close. "That is because you are likeable in the extreme. Did you know what Colonel Payden said to me?"

"No?"

"It was after the parade. He went, 'Damn it, Tremayne, they do raise lovely lasses in the Old Colonies.' I could not agree more with him."

Rose beamed at her husband. "And they raise sweet-talking devils in Berkshire. I suppose I should change for the night. Are you coming, too?"

Jim raised his eyebrows and grinned. "I guess I should turn in early today. Nothing to say against a good night's sleep."

-------

Rose fell in love with the house immediately. Located on the River with only a promenade between it and the bank, it appealed to Rose's sense of modesty. There were no pillars or statues out front, only a glass enclosed winter garden that overlooked the promenade. Its state was on the run down side as far as its outer appearance was judged but inside they could not detect much damage. The outside would take some work but fresh coats of paint and some plaster work would suffice to make the interior habitable.

Forty-eight hours after viewing it, the Tremaynes closed the deal and within days workmen began to tear off rotten shutters and broken gutters. They decided to adopt its colloquial name, Heyworth House, and Jim had a bronze plate cast to be affixed near the entrance to memorise the first owner.

The next weeks were spent in London hunting for furniture and fixings, something Rose enjoyed tremendously. She even came upon a portrait of Anita Heyworth, an original Melissa Martin canvas showing the actress at an advanced age but nevertheless capturing the astounding appeal of the woman. The gallery owner was a hard case and the painting cost more than Rose could accept. She decided to let it go but in the afternoon when she had tea with Lady Lambert she related her experience.

Talk turned to the reasons why Rose wanted the paintings, mainly her own complete lack of family heirlooms. Tentatively, she told Lady Lambert of her mother, Suzie Donegal neé Potter, and how she had been wooed by a handsome Irishman named Timothy Donegal who had visited Boston where Suzie worked as a nanny. Hearing Rose's reminiscences Lady Lambert suddenly stared at Rose.

"Are you telling me that you are Suzie Potter's daughter? Did you have an aunt by the name of Charlene Evans?"

"Charlene Evans? No, the only aunt I knew was named Annabelle Fourtnoy. I am named after her."

Lady Lambert wiped a tear from her eye, visibly touched. "My dear child, did your mother ever tell you how she came to Boston?"

"No, she wouldn't talk at all about her youth, but then I was only twelve when she died."

"Annabelle Fourtnoy was the name your aunt assumed when she left England. Her real name was Charlene Evans. Your aunt was instrumental in reconciling Lord Lambert and me after our first engagement had broken up. She was also under threat from a ruffian by the name of Jeremiah Cook, and my husband helped her to leave England. I saw her only once in person before we travelled to Boston in '31, but when I met her there, I gave her a three-tiered pearl necklace for the three times she helped us."

Rose almost choked over her next words. "She visited us once. I was perhaps eight years old, and Aunt Annabelle let me put that pearl necklace on. She died not long after, back in Boston. My mother said that she was run over by a shying horse. But how did you know my mother?"

"When I met Charlene – pardon me: Annabelle – in Boston I asked her if there was anything I could do for her and she asked me to look after her cousin Suzie. I was able to recruit the help of Admiral Wilson – well, he was a commander then – and he found your mother. She had suffered greatly herself under that Jeremiah Cook character and we made haste in getting her on a ship bound for Boston. Black Jeremiah Cook was hanged for murder not a half year later and I list alerting the police to his activities as one of my best deeds ever."

"What did my mother do back then?"

"What many orphan girls are forced to do, my dear. Do not judge her, please. She worked in the Treasure Trove,  off Driver's Alley in Stepney. She ... she provided entertainment for gentlemen who visited the establishment. Don't take this as to have any meaning, my dear. As I said, orphan girls can have a hard time surviving, and there are always rascals around who take advantage of them."

Rose did not hear her mentor. She sat there with her mind in a turmoil. Evidently whoring was in her blood. First her mother, later Rose herself.

"Rose, dear, what is it?"

With eyes full of anguish, Rose stood. "Milady, I never told you how I earned my livelihood, did I?"

Now it was Lady Lambert's turn to look mortified. "Oh dear, I did not know. Really?"

"It was after my mother's death. When I turned fifteen, the man who owned the tavern where I cleaned took me. For a week it was only him, but after that I had to go with the patrons. If I didn't, he'd beat me and worse. I lived like that for four years before I was sold to a man who in turn traded me to a saloon owner in Independence. I worked in his saloon for another four years. He was better with us girls, kind and respectful, and I started my singing in his saloon. Then, one night a patron wanted to hurt me. I fought him and he lost his eye. They sentenced me to prison for hurting and maiming one of their upstanding citizens but a man paid my fine and took me westward to Fort Laramie, to be married to some trapper or another man who would reimburse the agent. The man who had 'placed the order for me' had been killed before we arrived and I was auctioned off. At first nobody made a bid because I had a bad reputation for gouging that man's eye. Jim made his offer then, I suppose more out of pity and because his partner urged him on. That is how we came to marry."

Lady Lambert shook her head in amazement. "If I had heard this story from a less reliable source, I would discount it as an outlandish fantasy. Yet, from your mouth I have to believe it. I suppose providence brought my son and your husband together so you would land in my close circle of friends many of whom have similarly tales to tell. You have yet to meet my old friend Maddalena Palmer, Lady Brougham. It is not for me to tell her story but perhaps I can bring you together with her. There is my mother, too, who suffered deportation and cruelty from the gaolers. I doubt there is any circle of friends in London that could be more understanding and accepting of your past, my dear."

"Would you rather I left, Milady, now that you know who and what I was?"

"Tsk, tsk, what nonsense, my child! On the contrary. You and I have a connection that runs over thirty years into the past. Your aunt – I guess you should know that she also worked in the Treasure Trove – was a good person through and through. She ... wait, why don't I show you the first letter she ever wrote."

Lady Lambert did not wait for Rose's answer but went to a writing cabinet rummaging through drawers. She returned to the tea table with a letter that was brown with age and covered with awkward letters. Looking at Rose over her reading glasses she commenced her tale.

"This was in 1828 and my husband had just inherited the title from his uncle. He and I had declared for each other long before; we had even planned our wedding in 1827, but the deaths of his grandfather and then of his uncle delayed our plans twice. Once Richard became a Peer of England there was much resentment against me. I was, after all, the daughter of an insignificant officer. One person in particular hated me because her former paramour had died in a duel over me.

"People also needled Richard and he was not as self assured back then as he is today. He found himself with a circle of friends of whom the leader was the nephew of my nemesis. On the eve of our planned wedding, he enticed Richard to go on a bachelor farewell and they brought him to a place of ill repute. You guessed it: it was the Treasure Trove and the woman they found for Richard for the culmination of the evening was none other than Charlene Evans, although neither of us knew her by name then.

"At the same time my enemy had sent me an anonymous letter detailing Richard's whereabouts in that night. Hurt and angry, and stupid too, I set out for the Treasure Trove and I saw what I was supposed to see: namely my fiancé leaving the tavern with your aunt at his arm and heading for her quarters. Needless to say I broke the engagement surmising that my fiancé had indeed spent the night in the bed of a ... ah, let us refrain from using unwarranted epithets. For almost a year we had hardly any contact until the mutual thirst for revenge against that scheming woman made us accomplices if not friends again.

"Here, your aunt came in. From her Richard heard who had been behind the scheme and it was Charlene who became a cornerstone in Richard's plan for revenge. She was in dire straits herself after she had stabbed to death a notorious ruffian, the brother of the aforementioned Black Jeremiah. Fearing for her life she asked Richard for help. In exchange she performed a clandestine act for Richard which, along with other events, led to the conviction for theft of our common enemy. In return Richard saw your aunt to a ship bound for Boston whereupon she changed her name to Annabelle Fourtnoy and her profession to nanny.

"Before she sailed she spent a few weeks in the household of a family friend and from the children in that house she picked up a little writing. Her first use of that skill was a letter to me which I have kept ever since as a reminder to always trust my husband."

With that, she handed Rose the brownish paper and Rose started to decipher the haphazard jumble of letters and words.

'Dear Miss Trilbi, ' the letter started,

'You do not know me but you have seen me one time. My name is Charlene Evans and you must excuse my writing but I learned it only the other day. I have caused you much grief when I spent the night with your bridegroom. Yes I am the woman that you saw. As I said I caused you grief but I did not mean to, honestly. I always steer clear of married men seeing they are just trouble. Only your bridegroom did not do nothing wrong. That is what you must know. When we went to my room and I took off my dress he just looked at me and next he cried. He said we could not do such a bad thing seeing that he was to marry a wonderful girl the next morning. He gave me some more money and asked me not to tell his stupid friends. He slept some time in my bed because he had drunk too much wine but I stayed on my chair. So you must see that nothing did not happen that night. Maybe you can forgive him now because he really did not do nothing bad.

'Your anonymous friend

'Charlene Beckham'

Rose did not know whether to cry or to laugh. To think that this jumble of words was the first letter written by her respectable aunt was too funny. 'Your anonymous friend, Charlene Beckham', was a riot! Yet, between the lines she could tell of the young woman's honest attempt to put to rights a misunderstanding in spite of her woeful lack of writing skills or of proper use of words. Rose shook her head.

"I'm touched. I never really knew her but she must have been a good person deep in her heart."

"Exactly, my dear Rose! A good person, an unselfish person, and that in spite of the way she was raised and had to live. She was much changed already when I met her in person upon our visit to Boston. She only needed a chance, somebody treating her right, and her qualities came through. If that is in your blood, my dear Rose, you can be proud of it! I should bet that your husband was the first man who treated you as more than a pretty plaything and see how you rose to the opportunity!"

Rose had to smile at that. "Yes, he led me away from that auction and apologised for 'the undignified spectacle'. I mean I grew up in Baltimore and I lived in Independence but I had to travel to the farthest backwoods to encounter my first civilised man. It was impossible not to fall for him right away. He was the first real gentleman I ever met."

"You love him dearly; it is obvious for anybody with eyes and a heart."

"Much like you love His Lordship," Rose countered, more at ease now. "Lady Lambert, I would thank you for your understanding. I am trying hard to be the wife Jim deserves. It is he who would suffer most if my past came to the light."

"Why would I betray trust and friendship? You have to see that my ambitions are more than fulfilled. I call my sovereign by her first name, and whosoever may serve as her lady-in-waiting in name, it is me to whom she turns for advice. My husband neither holds nor aspires public office; it is rather that office holders depend on his advice and good will. We are both loath of the scheming that goes on in the salons. No, your little secret is safe with me."

"Oh, I never insinuated that you might reveal anything. I just want to explain my purpose and reason. Jim has been so good to me and I do not want him hurt, meaning I have to hide my past. It is good though to talk about it once in a while to trusted people."

"In that case I feel flattered. Now, when can you move into Heyworth House?"

"Jim thinks within a month. The works are proceeding according to plan. Your mother says she needs me soonest when the soirees and balls start in earnest."

"Yes, I saw her yesterday. She had poor Priscilla slaving for her at the writing cabinet."

"I was thinking of offering hospitality to Priscilla in our own household but I'm afraid it would be awkward. Tongues are wagging enough as it is."

"Oh, that they are. Some people already see you living in a menage-a-trois with Priscilla Marsden-Smith. Living with my mother should quell the gossipers' imagination."

-------

Jim made big eyes when Rose told him about the revelations of the afternoon. They spoke about the ramifications but also about Rose's feelings. She was shocked to have learned that her past had caught up with her in the most unlikely manner. Of all the places around the world she was living only a few miles from where her mother had plied the trade of a whore. Her memory of her mother was a little blurry since no picture of her existed by which to refresh her memory. She remembered that her mother had had light brown hair, that she was petite like Rose and that she had a sweet, comforting voice. Her facial features were not that clear in Rose's memory.

Had she been forced into a prostitute's life like Rose? Had she lived a miserable life like Rose's growing years in Baltimore? Suddenly, Rose knew that she had to see the place where her mother had worked. But did it still exist? When she tentatively voiced her wish Jim only nodded and promised to find out about the place. In that night Rose cuddled against Jim with fervent need, seeking the reassurance of his embrace and the comforting words he whispered into her ear.

It took Jim until the next noon to scout for the Treasure Trove. Apparently, the establishment was still in operation and from what Jim gleaned its reputation was not the worst. It was not one of the expensive places where noblemen consorted with high-priced cocottes, but it was a place which the well-to-do merchants and public servants frequented, often for business contacts. Rose still had not changed her mind about seeing the place, and so on the same evening they donned unassuming clothing and rented a cab to drive them to Driver's Alley. There between other moderately well-kept houses stood the Treasure Trove. Rose swallowed and licked her dry lips.

"Will you bear with me, dearest, if I'll go in there but for a moment? Embarrassing as it is, this is whence my mother came."

Jim kissed her dry lips and smiled at her. "We may as well go in. I've never been to a place like this and I admit to my own curiosity." With a wink he added, "Who'd have thought that I'd be led astray by my own wife?"

His easy acceptance filled Rose with warmth and she pressed his hand. She smiled back. "Just so you know: you'll be leaving this place with me!"

They told the smirking cab driver to wait and crossed the street. A big, burly man guarded the front door and a six-pence coin changed hands before they were allowed in. Obviously, the doorman was used to couples coming to the place for thrills. The taproom was surprisingly clean, even homely, and illuminated by gas light. There were small sofas with low tables each of which was occupied by young and not quite so young women who were wearing well made, gayly coloured dresses and just a little too much make-up.

"Can I offer you a drink, Miss?" Jim asked with a twinkle in his eyes. "I imagine you must be thirsty."

"Well, Mistah, if'n you can spare me a good drink, maybe we can reach some agreement for laytah!" Rose answered with an exaggerated drawl, trying to fight the awkwardness of the situation.

In no time at all, an older woman was confronting them. "Can't say that I know you, Lass, and can't say that I care for you being here," she challenged Rose.

To her surprise and secret amusement Rose felt the hair on her neck rise and she was close to readying herself for a good and honest cat fight. She caught herself though and laughed easily. "I'm not here to poach. He's my husband."

"That's what they all say," the woman returned unperturbed.

"Mistress, have you been here long?"

"A good thirty-three years it is, but what's it to you, Lass?"

"Did you ever know Charlene Evans or Suzie Potter?"

Under all the paint, the woman turned white.

"What do you know of them?" she asked shakily.

Rose had already decided on a cover story. "I am from Baltimore, in America. Suzie Potter was a nanny and she raised me. She died many years ago, but I recently learned that she used to work here and that she had to leave England on account of a ruffian."

"That would have been Black Jeremiah," the woman hissed, "And may he rot in hell! He and his chums, they had poor Suzie for nigh on a week and they fairly f ... they almost killed the poor girl. What happened to Charlene?"

"She also became a nanny, but in Boston. I saw her a few times when I was a child."

"That is good news at last. We feared the worst for those lasses. Hey, Master Jennings, this young lady here says that Charlene and Suzie made it to America. Suzie Potter was her nanny, says she."

A very old and grizzled man rose from behind the bar his eyes fixating on Rose who did not dream of correcting the old whore's assumptions which she had fostered with her ambiguous wording.

"Nanny, eh?" he croaked. "If she taught you all she knew I'll just bet the gennelman will keep you."

"He most definitely will, for I am his wife," Rose smiled.

She felt strangely at ease in this house, not embarrassed and certainly not ashamed. For a few moments she imagined herself in this establishment. It would have been better than the dump in Baltimore she decided.

"What do you have on tap, my good man?" Jim asked the old barman.

"Red Rooster brown ale or St. Mark's stout," came the answer.

"Why don't you draw a round for all the ladies and gentlemen in here. I invite you to drink with us to the memory of Suzie Potter and Charlene Evans."

Jim placed a sovereign on the bar, and a small man came from behind a curtain to fill mugs with stout ale. Fifteen were filled and passed around in the taproom.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the old man intoned in his croaking voice. "Let us drink to Suzie and Charlene's memory and let us bring out a toast to the old hangman who stretched Black Jeremiah's neck!"

The toast was drunk to much acclamation; obviously the memory of the vile Jeremiah Cook was well alive in this district. The ale was something else Rose found. She was no novice to beer drinking but she had never encountered a stout ale before. Jim smacked his lips too.

"You draw a good stout, Sir," he said solemnly. "We may be back one day to sample more of it, but now I'm afraid that we shall have to leave. Our cab driver is not happy to wait for us in this part of the city."

"Can't blame him," the older woman laughed. "Thank ye for the ale, my good Sir, and no offence, Lass. Pretty as you are, I thought you were ... Let's leave this before I make an ass of myself again!"

Jim and Rose retreated back to the cab and had themselves driven back to the city. They walked a few streets and then took another cab to their lodgings.

"A colourful place, this Treasure Trove," Jim remarked.

Rose snuggled close. "How did you know how to make me feel at ease?" she asked.

"That's easy, Rose. I love you. Your happiness is my happiness and your sorrow is mine."

"That is very sweet of you. You know that for a few moments I tried to picture myself in that place? You know, the me of fourteen years of age. I believe they would have taken better care of me than that lout in Baltimore did."

"Yet, we would have never met then," Jim answered.

"So true. Honestly, Jim, does my past embarrass you?"

He looked at her and kissed her. "I feel bad about your sufferings. I feel bad about the injustice you encountered. Above all, however, I feel that without our past we could have never found each other. So, forgive me for being grateful for everything in our past."

Rose looked at Jim and she felt a wave of love and passion wash over her. "Care to find out what I learned from my nanny?" she asked her husband in a husky voice.

"You will find me an eager recipient of your learned efforts," Jim grinned back with an affected leer.

Edited by SpikeCO



-------

Chapter 22: Charity and Other Issues


London, Autumn 1866

The re-opening of Heyworth House garnered more attention than either Jim or Rose had anticipated. They planned a soiree in their new home a week after moving in, and Rose found herself beleaguered by casual acquaintances who tried to get invitations. Shrugging, but secretly pleased, Jim and Rose stepped up their preparations to accommodate the over fifty anticipated guests.

Rose was as nervous as a fox in a dog kennel when the first visitors arrived. She was surprised to see Jim showing nerves, too. This was their first real exposure to London's society and a lot could go wrong. Thankfully, some of their best new friends showed up first which was probably intentional on their part.

Lady Lambert surprised Rose and Jim with a present. It was an early painting of Anita Heyworth done by one Ludwig Stiegler, the court painter of the former Bavarian King Louis. Lady Lambert explained that it had been a part of Louis' famous collection of ladies' portraits. However, following his abdication, he had sent the painting to Lady Lambert along with her own portrait, asking her to forward it to the former actress. Alas, Anita Heyworth had refused it claiming she did not like to dwell on the past and it had thus remained in Lady Lambert's care. She had decided that now was a good time to put it on display.

A workman was quickly summoned, and when the bulk of the guests arrived, the portrait was already hanging on the wall of the dining room drawing much attention from the visitors.

Lady Wilkes arrived a little later. She was accompanied by Priscilla and she stared at Anita Heyworth's portrait for a while. Rose saw tears forming in her eyes.

"My dear Mrs. Tremayne, it gladdens me so much that my dear old friend is remembered here in her old home. You have to know that this painting was done when she was almost thirty years old. She was so much more beautiful when I first met her. We were quite the quartet then – Harriet, Anita, Moira, and I. It's a pity that not more of her early portraits survived." She turned. "Priscilla my dear, I must insist that you go and mingle with the other guests. I shall not allow you to hover around me as if you were my servant. Enjoy this evening."

Rose smiled at the blonde woman. "Yes please, enjoy yourself, Cilla. Let me take care of our guests."

As it turned out, Priscilla stayed with Rose anyway for most of the evening. They drew a lot of interest as both were new to society. Priscilla satisfied their curiosity by explaining that she was the widow of the late Major Marston-Smith, formerly of the 13th Rajputs, and Rose had to repeat her own vita at least ten times. It was the whitewashed version of it, but even so she found that some new acquaintances stepped back a little after hearing of Rose's 'colonial' origins. She caught a few amused smirks from Priscilla and from Lady Lambert.

As it turned out, many of the visitors were more eager to speak to Jim. It had become known that he had returned from America with a fortune in gold, and everybody seemed to know of a golden business opportunity for him. It was a good natured Lord Lambert who ended these fruitless efforts by announcing that they should all contact him at Lambert & Norton since his house represented Mr. Tremayne in all business matters. That stopped the flood of offers, confirming Jim's suspicion that many of those proposals had been little more than attempts to relieve him of a portion of his gold.

Both Jim and Rose felt dizzy when the last visitor left well after midnight. They sat together over a glass of Sherry to catch their breath when Jim suddenly grinned.

"Can we sell this place again?" he asked with a wink. "What's the use of spending good money on a city house and then to spend one's evenings in the society of obnoxious snots and crooked businessmen? Good God, I'd much prefer an evening spent in the Treasure Trove!"

"With me I should hope! I know what you mean, though," Rose sighed. "The way those biddies looked at me I cannot see how I can benefit Lady Wilkes' charity."

"Speaking of her, she is quite the character, isn't she?"

Rose giggled. "She is amazing! Cilla told me she keeps correspondence with no fewer than eight medical colleges all over Europe. Cilla learned hundreds of new words just by writing letters for her. She looked good tonight, didn't she?"

"Who, Lady Wilkes?" Jim grinned.

Rose laughed brightly. "Smashing repartee, my dear!" she gave back, mocking the speech mannerisms she had heard all evening.

"Quite!" Jim answered unabashed, causing Rose to giggle as she remembered his first instructions concerning conversation skills, three years before in Denver.

"I'm wondering – do other people also feel silly at these soirees?"

"Why don't you ask your friend, Lady Lambert?" Jim answered.

"With her, I am sure," Rose said with conviction. "I am very lucky to have her as my mentor. Now about Cilla – didn't she look good?"

"Yes, she did, my dear. May I qualify this by emphasising that I have grown quite fond of a certain redhead in recent years and that my appreciation of Priscilla's good looks is merely from an aesthetic viewpoint?"

"Very eloquently phrased," Rose grinned. "Still, I wonder how she really feels about me. I do not doubt her friendship, mind you, but it is hard for me to fathom how she can see me without feeling resentment."

"You mean jealousy?"

"Yes. Just think about it – here she was, married against her will with that loathsome man and fearing that her true love was lost forever. Then her lost love re-appears as a rich man and her husband obligingly has his fatal accident. It would be an almost perfect situation but for my existence."

"Perhaps she does not see me as a lost love but merely as her former fiancé? Perhaps she is disenchanted with men?"

"You mean..."

"Remember that men ruined her life. Her hapless father, old Marsden-Smith, young Marsden-Smith, even I. After all I ruined her fiancé in that duel, not the least for the purpose of hurting her in the process."

"I don't think she feels any resentment towards you. At least I never picked up on it. You have a valid point though. She may be sick of men in general. I can relate to that – it is exactly how I felt before I met the first decent man of my life."

Here, Rose blew Jim a kiss to make it clear to whom she referred. Jim smiled at her.

"I was mortally embarrassed then knowing what you were or had been. You were exactly the sort of woman of whom I had been warned all my life, but then you said something magical in that first night. You said you'd never betray me."

"It was how I felt, Jim. You were ever so polite to me, so considerate, and then you told me of Cilla's betrayal and I thought it was so unfair. That's why I made that promise – it was all I had to offer."

"That is how I see you foremost – the one person in the world whom I trust completely and without reservation."

Rose blushed violently. "Thank you," she whispered, overwhelmed by her emotions. Rising quickly she walked around the small table and sat in Jim's lap. His embrace was infinitely comforting. "You darling man, do you know how happy you make me?"

"I do, for I feel the same bliss with you. And to answer the question you did not dare to ask – no, I do not feel the slightest regret over being married to you and I would always choose you over Cilla if presented with the choice."

Rose gave her husband a rueful smirk. "I wish I could return such a compliment. Alas, I never met a man whom I could name for comparison. I am sure you would not like to hear that I would choose you over Landon Bunion."

"What if Caplan had matched you with Ned? He's a decent man if ever I met one."

Rose considered this. "I would have been a good wife for him but I could have never felt for him the way I feel for you. How about you and Mandy? Wouldn't she have been more ... fitting?"

Jim thought about that. "I would not have bid for her. Mandy said what danger you were in if left unmarried, and then they both prodded me to make a bid. I saw you there – small, slender, and so pretty. I felt that I had to protect you somehow."

"You darling man," Rose positively purred. She snuggled close. "Jim, we still haven't made love in our new townhouse."

"Then by all means let us adjourn to the bedroom," Jim answered with lust in his voice.

He rose from his chair already carrying Rose on his arms. He stumbled a little making Rose squeal, but then he regained his balance and carried her from the small parlour and into the hallway. Their housekeeper, Lydia Bennett, was standing there fighting a smile as Jim carried his wife upstairs but he did not care a whit. Once on the second floor landing he managed to open the door to their bedroom where he dumped a giggling Rose unceremoniously onto the bed.

"Either you gained weight or I am getting soft," he panted.

A pillow landed in his face for his troubles and Rose shrieked when he pounced on her.

"No! Watch my dress! Eeek!"

He had his mouth buried in her neck suckling on the soft skin and tickling her in the process. When he let go, Rose looked at him reproachfully.

"If I had any say I'd shave off those bloody whiskers! They tickle like hell!"

"What? You don't like that?" Jim asked innocently before nuzzling her neck again.

"Eeek! Stop that, please!" Rose shrieked. When he let go she glowered at him. "You can't make me scream like that. What will the servants think?"

"They'll think that I'm a lucky man!" Jim smiled down at his wife. "Will you take off that dress now or shall I have to tickle you some more?"

Rose stared back at him with smoky eyes. "If I take off my dress will you put that moustache to a better use?"

"You mean on your boobies?" Jim asked.

Rose shook her head.

"Your belly button?" he hazarded.

Another shake of Rose's head was the answer.

"Your armpits?"

"Don't you dare! No, can't you think of a better place?"

"Behind your knees?"

"Oh God, I'd die!"

"You mean that unspeakable place then?" Jim faux-gasped. "I am properly shocked."

"You are playing the ass tonight, Jim. I want you to lick my fanny, and if you do it right I can think of a place that you would love for me to kiss."

"A proper quid pro quo then. Off with that dress, wench!"

With Jim's help, Rose opened the buttons of her dress and pushed it down. Her silk underwear showed but Jim eagerly removed that too. Watching a naked Rose reclining on the bed he quickly shed his own clothing. Rose watched him too languidly caressing her breasts and stomach with her hands and winking at her husband.

"You are so beautiful, Rose!" he exclaimed and Rose smiled.

"You're not put together that badly either. Now hurry! I have been dying to feel you, my darling man!"

°°°

A week later, Rose was invited to a meeting of the Benevolent Society of St. Albert at Lady Wilkes' house. Pledges of support were expected and she had Jim's approval for a sizeable contribution. She arrived early finding Lady Lambert already there. With some time to spare, Lady Lambert showed her protégé the house. The study with its collection of artefacts and biological specimen was interesting even for Rose. She was surprised to be shown the upstairs as well.

There was a lovely second story room that Lady Lambert identified as her old bedroom. With a sad smirk she pointed at a ceiling fixture. "This is where I hanged myself," she said simply.

"Ha-ha-hanged y-yourself?" Rose stammered, completely shocked.

The older woman nodded sadly. "I was a stupid, self-absorbed girl of seventeen. In my vanity I caused an altercation between Richard and another man. A duel ensued in which Richard stabbed that man to death. I was mortified over what I had caused and when I erroneously assumed that Richard had perished in the duel, I saw no way out of my guilt. Fortunately my stepmother found me in time and my stepfather was able to revive me."

"You seem to have had a turbulent youth," Rose said.

"Had I ever! My dear Rose, you excel at understatements. Yet, all those turbulences have given me a far better perspective of life. I told you this so you will understand that everybody you'll meet at my mother's teas will have dark secrets. You can be at ease. Yours are at least highly unlikely to become unveiled."

"I still cannot see how I can be of help," Rose admitted.

Lady Lambert gave a short snort. "My stepmother is a crafty old woman. I shall not spoil her scheme by divulging her purpose. Please my dear, just attend and when it's time to make contributions to the cause, announce the amount your husband agreed to donate."

A sly smile of understanding spread over Rose's lips. "I begin to understand. I am to drive up the bids. Seeing that I am 'that person from the old colonies' they will all strive to surpass my contribution."

A cackling laugh sounded behind them. Turning, Rose saw Lady Wilkes and Priscilla. The former showed a set of surprisingly complete teeth when her wrinkled lips opened wide in a satisfied smile.

"I told you she'd see through our ruse, Ellen. My dear, your contribution will be the bait to pry the money from some of those tight-fisted biddies."

Suddenly, Rose had to laugh, a full belly laugh that left her in tears. When she calmed she cast an admiring look at the old woman. "I suppose you watch those people as an outsider too" she said.

"Quite so. Once you step back and do not let yourself be part of this set of people you see their way of thinking. From there it is only a small step to using that knowledge for a good cause. We spoke about that, didn't we, Priscilla?"

Priscilla smiled and nodded. "Yes, once you watch the people from a detached viewpoint you see a pattern of actions and reactions develop. It is most amusing. I learned a lot about myself, about my senseless striving to better myself at the costs of others. Even then, when you had been in the country for only two or three months, you looked through that already, didn't you, Rose?"

Rose nodded. "In a way, yes. You wanted to establish yourself as my better so you'd have one more person to look down on."

Priscilla shook her head and addressed the older women. "With just a few words full of reason she broke through to me and showed me the silliness of my efforts. That's why I love her so much. She set me free. She let me see myself and my situation. From there on I could take back control of my life."

Priscilla's words touched Rose deeply and caused a blush. "You credit me too much, Cilla. It was Siobhan too who gave you incentive."

"My dears, this is a dispute that cannot be resolved," Lady Wilkes smiled. "You two are a most unlikely pair of friends. Let us focus on this afternoon, though. My dear Rose, I would ask you to announce your donation immediately after Mrs. Gainsworth. She aspires to follow me in my role. Given her personality and viewpoints she will likely ruin what took me a lifetime to build. To see her upstaged by you will reduce the support she has. I shall introduce you to her when she'll arrive."

"If you think so, Lady Wilkes," Rose sighed.

°°°

Only thirty minutes later, Rose was looking forward to upstaging Annabelle Gainsworth. When introduced to Mrs. Annabelle Rose Tremayne, the woman had turned to one of her friends and spoken snidely and in bad French, "Bon Dieu! Gênant que je partage mon prénom avec cette personne!" (Good God! It is embarrassing to share my given name with this person!)

Rose seized the opportunity without thinking, for once profiting from her French lessons with Mr. Beaumont. "Personne ne regrette plus que moi!" (Nobody regrets that more than I.)

The rebuke set off a titter among those close by. It also earned her a vitriolic stare from her namesake. "I'll thank you not to intrude into my conversations!"

Remembering the conversation with Lady Wilkes and Priscilla, Rose almost smiled. It was the same theme – put the newcomer down. She smiled unconcernedly. "Then you should not make snide remarks about me within my hearing. It shows a certain want of tact to say the least."

The woman had got up Rose's dander and she would not back down. Her opponent was taking a deep breath when Lady Wilkes spoke up at her side.

"My dear Annabelle, let us not escalate this. Must I remind you that we pursue a common interest in a charitable organisation?"

Looking Rose up and down once more, Gainsworth turned sharply and left them standing. Lady Wilkes shook her head. "She has a lesson to learn, my dear."

"A lesson I shall be glad to provide," Rose answered grimly.

During the tea Rose sat away from the woman and she spent that hour wishing to be somewhere else. The women and men sitting near Rose pointedly excluded her. They were talking about people and events she did not know. Nobody made the slightest effort to include her into the conversation. All this made Rose wish for the speedy conclusion of the afternoon. Once tea and biscuits had been consumed, Lady Wilkes rang a little porcelain bell.

"My dears, as you know this is our last meeting for this year and as usual we shall hear pledges of support now. Now, remember, my dears – this is not a contest. Give as much as your heart tells you but not more than your bank balance allows."

There was a titter among the attendees.

"Let me call you all by name now. Mr. Penrose?"

The man was old and looked frail. His suit looked well used and Rose did not think him to be of great means.

"You all know my circumstances. £12 is all I can spare this year."

"Thank you, my dear," Lady Wilkes said warmly. "Miss Primrose?"

An elderly woman stood and shyly pledged £10. Again, Lady Wilkes thanked her warmly. She called three more persons who all made pledges of similar amounts, no doubt offering as much as they could afford. With a beatific smile Lady Wilkes called the next name.

"Mrs. Gainsworth?"

"I can pledge £20," the woman announced proudly showing a self-satisfied smirk.

A small group of friends even gave her applause. Rose caught old Lady Wilkes wink and readied herself.

"Mrs. Tremayne is new to our circle. How much can you pledge, Mrs. Tremayne?"

Rose felt all eyes on her when she answered. "Can you perhaps give me an idea of how much the charity needs in an average year, Lady Wilkes?"

"Our annual budget runs at around £1,200, my dear, but half of that comes from a few major donors."

Rose nodded, quickly deciding to up the ante above the £40 Jim and she had planned. "Then I believe that £60 should help a lot towards raising that other half," she said sweetly, spearing Gainsworth with a challenging look.

There were gasps all over the room and Gainsworth blushed hotly with embarrassment.

Lady Wilkes nodded appreciatively. "That is certainly a very generous pledge, my dear Mrs. Tremayne."

"Say nothing of it, Lady Wilkes," Rose answered sweetly. "It is for a good cause after all, and my husband and I can easily afford it."

Across the table, Annabelle Gainsworth's eyes bugged out with suppressed anger. Rose had rarely seen a more satisfying sight.

°°°

On Lady Wilkes' bidding, Rose stayed behind until after the other guests had gone. The old woman grinned smugly all the time and she had a reason for that. She held pledges for over £940 since those who could afford it had matched or outdone Rose's pledge if only to show the 'colonist upstart' her place. Rose's contribution had shamed other women and men of equal means into giving more freely. The four women, Rose, Cilla, Lady Lambert, and their hostess sat in Lady Wilkes' private study after the last guest had gone.

"I should call this a most successful afternoon," Lady Wilkes laughed. "I must thank you, my dear Rose, for playing the bait but also for upstaging that insufferable person."

"It was my pleasure," Rose answered dryly causing the old woman to break out in a cackling laughter. Rose understood at once and shook her head. "Oh, I see it now! It was a two-way baiting?"

"Are you angry, my dear?" the old woman smiled.

Rose shook her head. "No, I guess it was a valuable lesson for me, easily worth the extra £20."

Lady Lambert was shocked. "Mother, you didn't!"

"Oh yes, Ellen, I did. Come now, they picked up the gold from a river bed without effort. They can afford a little charity." Lady Wilkes looked at Rose. "Can't you?"

"Of course we can," Rose answered sombrely. "Although I should disabuse you of the idea that one can 'pick up gold without effort'. Easily a fifth of the prospectors we knew perished in the eighteen months I spent in the diggings. Stabbed or shot, starved or frozen to death, we lost one or two fellow prospectors every month. Some winter nights were so cold that we had to huddle together six persons in one bed, covered with bear skins to avoid freezing to death. Most of the others had to give up their claims for lack of success and left the diggings poorer than as they had arrived."

Rose shuddered involuntarily with the memory. Priscilla touched her friend's arm with sympathy.

"It is a small wonder that Jim worships the ground on which you walk. You spent those months at his side sharing all the hardships and giving him your support."

Lady Wilkes shook her head. "Forgive me if I spoke flippantly about your experiences. It was ignorance, not malice. The way the newspapers write about these gold finds it does sound like it is effortless."

Rose shook off the memories. "How could you know? I should not forget to mention that the time spent in that log cabin was also a time of friendship and sharing, and of many wonderful experiences. I remember the morning when I found the first nugget. I was washing myself down at the little creek and bending over the water. Then I saw this lump of gold among the pebbles."

She pulled the polished nugget from under her blouse where she wore it on a simple gold chain, showing it to the other women. Three pairs of eyes opened wide.

"I forgot all modesty and ran up to the cabin without even thinking of covering myself again. Poor Jim did not know where to stare – at the nugget or at me. Since then he has called me his lucky charm."

"You seem to have experienced good and bad in the extremes," Lady Lambert said. "I almost envy you for the experience. I must bring you together with my friend Colleen MacAllister. She will be out of her mind over your story or even that of your friend, Mrs. Burton. How would you like to be a literary figure?"

Rose shook her head. "I do not believe this to be a good idea. Ms. MacAllister has a readership in America too and I should hate to raise any public interest in my person. I am quite happy to stay in the back and help as best I can. Raven may elect to allow her story being told. She is a ravenous reader..." Rose stopped for a second and laughed. "Can you believe that this pun was unintended? Anyway, with her love for books she may even want to try her hand at writing one."

Lady Lambert nodded in acceptance. "Yes, of course you must protect your past. You can be assured of Colleen's discretion, though. Did you know that The Perils of Young Lord Henderley is based on the life of a common friend? Colleen changed the characters so skilfully that nobody ever suspected our friend to be the mould for the book's main character."

"I did not know that. I will give it some thought.

"Why don't you visit for dinner with your husband? I shall invite Colleen and Melissa so you can form your own opinion of them. I have to warn you though – both of my friends entertain a lifestyle which you may find objectionable."

Rose smiled wryly. "I am hardly in a position to point my fingers."

Edited by SpikeCO



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Chapter 23: Pneumonia


London and Berkshire, Winter 1866/67

Colleen MacAllister was an astounding character and so was Melissa Martin. The latter was not en vogue anymore as a painter but that did not change the fact that her name was a household word. MacAllister on the other hand enjoyed a still growing popularity as writer of adventure and travel novels. She had also recently published a biography, For the Sake of Love: The Life and Times of Admiral Sir Anthony Carter, which Rose had seen heralded in the newspapers as an outstanding effort.

The petite writer and her wholesome friend – Rose understood their relationship within seconds – were sitting opposite Jim and Rose while the also invited Burtons sat next to Rose. Miss MacAllister and Raven were an instant match while Rose found herself in a lively conversation with the painter. Rose learned that Miss Martin was in fact a native of Boston, and over the first courses, the charming woman entertained Rose and Jim with her stories from the Bavarian court and her travels through Italy, France, and Greece. Colleen MacAllister had been her constant companion in those travels, a fact that benefitted the travel tales greatly, as the writer had firsthand knowledge of most locations she described. The two women had led a rich and unconventional life.

When Rose mentioned that she owned a canvas painted by Albert Bierstadt, Miss Martin became quite excited; so excited that Rose invited her to visit Heyworth House where the painting adorned the dinner room. Melissa Martin promised to visit explaining that Mr. Bierstadt's fame was spreading to Europe.

While the gentlemen retired to the smoking room for their cigars, the ladies sat in Lady Lambert's tea room enjoying tea or sherry depending on their tastes and habits. Here, Colleen MacAllister was able to corner Rose.

"You have a most intriguing friend, Mrs. Tremayne," she opened the conversation.

"To me she is a dear friend first and foremost," Rose answered cautiously.

"Yes, she mentioned the hardships you had to endure. I would love to weave a tale around Mrs. Burton's life but there are many points where her path intersects with your fate. I would need your approval."

"That would depend on many factors," Rose hedged. "I would not like to be known as the mould for a literary figure."

"Yes, Ellen said that you are not comfortable with public exposure. Could I perhaps present you with an outline at some point and then ask you for your opinion? I would only use snippets of Mrs. Burton's life and combine them with fictitious events, but I have so little knowledge of the American West and I would appreciate your advice and input. Mrs. Burton's views are unique, given her background, and I would like to see things from your vantage as well."

"I would have no problems with that. I just do not want to have people confusing me with any of the characters in your book."

"That will not happen, I assure you. Ellen told me that you are a special friend to her and I will never compromise you. Believe me when I tell you that I can appreciate the need to keep parts of my life confidential."

Here, Rose had to smile. "The way you and Mrs. Martin feel for each other is hard to hide, I'm afraid."

Colleen MacAllister raised an eyebrow. "Oh. You are perceptive. Then again, you being able to see through our pretences rather indicates that you are not unfamiliar with ... err ... unusual arrangements?"

"I prefer not to comment on this, but I will stipulate that I had not a sheltered youth."

"That much is obvious. You remind me of Ellen when I first met her, and in more than one respect. I always saw her as somebody tempered by adversity, and you strike a similar chord in me. You have nothing of the silliness and the penchant for inconsequential issues that seem to be the hallmark for most young women your age."

"Doing hard work will do that to you," Rose returned. "Starving and freezing will tell you the value of simple things such as food and firewood."

Colleen MacAllister nodded. "That is what I meant. I hope that we can get to know each other better. Melissa told me that you invited her?"

"Indeed. It would seem that she is very interested in a painting that I bought in New York by chance. Of course we would be happy to welcome you as well."

"That is kind of you. Melissa does nothing but boring portraits these days, and even that is dwindling away with those infernal daguerrotypes being produced in just hours."

"We found those photographic portraits a very useful invention," Rose protested. "We were able to send a print to my husband's parents, all the way from the Western Territories to England, and we still had prints to keep."

"Yet, for painters it is a loss of livelihood, wouldn't you agree?"

Rose wagged her head. "I should think that most new inventions cause changes for people. Look at the railroad! Wagoners are cursing it, yet for the average person the transport is infinitely more comfortable. Sitting for a portrait takes days for the person to be portrayed, whilst a session with a daguerrotypist takes but a few minutes, at a fraction of the cost. I hear they can even apply coloration to the photographic prints."

"You are seeing things from the viewpoint of a client, Mrs. Tremayne," Miss MacAllister remarked, slightly piqued.

"And why shouldn't I?" Rose retorted. "Even for an artist, the invention offers opportunities as well as threats. I should think that an artist with his – or her – eye for proportions and settings may produce superior images with photographic equipment when compared to the chemists who ply that trade right know."

Their arguing had caused a halt in the conversation around them. Melissa Martin in particular had listened to Rose with her head tilted and with a smile of understanding, and now she joined the discussion.

"I believe I see what you are trying to say, Mrs. Tremayne. Rather than complain about the new way to create images and portraits an artist should strive to master those new techniques." With a smile she turned to her petite friend. "Colleen, dearest, do you recall my greatest successes? I thought you did. Mrs. Tremayne, my claims to fame on the continent are due to the etchings in which I began to dabble while living at King Louis' court. My plates from that time are still being printed, and they provide me with a steady income. Using a photographic apparatus should yield similar results."

Colleen MacAllister stared at her friend. "You consider taking up daguerrotypes?"

Melissa Martin smiled. "Let us see how my artist's eye will benefit me."

"But needn't you be a chemist of sorts for that?" MacAllister asked dubiously.

"Some knowledge is needed, I suppose," Martin shrugged. "Just think of Mr. Worthingham, the chemist on Kensington Road. Does he strike you as a genius?"

Colleen MacAllister giggled. "No, I believe he has to take off his shoes to count past ten."

"There you are!" Melissa Martin nodded. "Why then, my dearest, would you think I may lack the faculties to master a craft that this man could learn?"

At this point, Lord Lambert raised his hand. "I, for my part, have the highest opinion of your talents, Melissa. I shall endeavour to procure the necessary implements so you may experiment with daguerrotypes."

"Would you, Richard? I shall of course reimburse you."

"I shall leave that to you, my dear," Lord Lambert smiled easily, and Rose could tell that His Lordship regarded the odd couple of Melissa Martin and Colleen MacAllister much like a pair of kid sisters or favourite cousins.

Colleen MacAllister shook her head and regarded Rose with a tilted head. "This is not how I envisioned our conversation to proceed."

Rose had to laugh. "My dear Miss MacAllister, I did not envision anything. I learned however, and my husband encourages me in it, to think and to speak my mind. I had long formed an opinion on the subject of our discussion, and you provided me with an opening. How could I resist?"

Colleen MacAllister sighed and smiled. "I should not complain. I constantly join the clamour for self-sufficient women. Yet, when I meet one I find myself defensive. Forgive me. Could we perhaps talk more when we visit? I admit that I am intrigued by you, and in more than one way."

"I enjoy our discussion and I should welcome a continuation. Perhaps you could give us some of your insight into life on the Continent in return?"

"I'd be glad to. You will return after the season?"

"That is our plan. It may be difficult to pry my adopted daughter away from London but I suppose young Mr. Donovan will find opportunities for visits."

"He is only a half-year away from becoming a full fellow," Lady Lambert threw in. "You may as well start with the wedding preparations."

Rose had to giggle. "I may become a grandmother at age thirty. Young people these days!"

-------

Christmas was approaching, and the Tremaynes prepared to leave London for Thornfield Abbey. Old Lady Wilkes was set to spend the holidays with her daughter on High Matcham, leaving Priscilla somewhat stranded. Conscious of her isolated social position, Priscilla was hesitant to accept Lady Lambert's offer to stay with them. Too many visitors would call, and many of those scorned the unwilling widow. Jim and Rose talked at length about the issue, and in the end Rose offered Priscilla the use of one of the quarters in the old abbey building. Priscilla accepted, but only after Jim accepted rent payments. Tongues would wag nonetheless, but the well being of her friend was too important for Rose.

They moved their household on December 17 and found the manor house well prepared for their stay. The cottage-sized quarters in the old abbey were also ready for any guests that might show, and Priscilla moved her meagre belongings into one of them.

Whatever the outward pretences were, Rose did not allow her friend to spend a single day alone, and Priscilla mostly entered her rented rooms only after supper in the manor house. Jim had become completely relaxed around her, accepting her to be a fixture in his wife's life and even in his own. Seeing her former fiancé interact with Rose gave Priscilla a taste of what she had lost, but she was grateful nonetheless for the acceptance and the comfort she was allowed to share. The Christmas spent with her friends was her most peaceful in recent memory.

A few days after Christmas, Jim had to travel to London and then further to Manchester to look into an investment opportunity. He would be accompanied by Sir Anthony Carter in his capacity as vice-president of Lambert & Norton. Jim expected to be gone for at least a week. Samantha accompanied him as far as London where she would be a guest of the Donovans. Millicent Donovan was at least as much in love with Samantha as her son, and she promised to supervise the girl closely to avoid all possible scandal. Samantha would attend a New Years Ball with young Mr. Donovan and his parents.

For Rose, Jim's absence was the first in more than a year. She had even contemplated accompanying her husband, but she felt unwell suffering from a cold and a sore throat since Christmas. The cold would not go away and seemed to aggravate, but Rose scorned Priscilla's suggestion to consult Dr. Claxton.

"It's just a cold. It will go away by itself," she said.

Five days after Jim had left, Priscilla came to pay her daily visit when the maidservant informed her that Mrs. Tremayne felt unable to welcome her due to a fever she had developed over night. Priscilla felt concern immediately. A fever coming after a stubborn cold could be the first sign of pneumonia. Against the insistence of the maid, Priscilla visited Rose's bedroom.

"Forgive me for not..." a coughing interrupted Rose... "for not welcoming you. I'm not feeling well."

"So I see, my dear," Priscilla answered. "Will you allow me to call Dr. Claxton? Or better yet, ask Lady Wilkes for advice?"

"Please, do..." another racking cough interrupted Rose. "Please, do not trouble the old lady. It's just a cold."

Priscilla had her hand on Rose's forehead.

"Just as I thought, Rose. You have a raging fever. You really need help. What is it?"

The latter sentence was directed at Lydia Bennett who was holding a cup in her hands.

"I have prepared warm milk sweetened with honey for Mrs. Tremayne. It's an old remedy against the coughs."

An alarm bell rang in Priscilla's head. She had not kept Lady Wilkes' correspondence without learning something, and right now she remembered the letters by the French Drs. Roux and Pasteur.

"Did you heat the milk?" she therefore asked sharply.

"No, of course not," came the indignant answer. "It's fresh from the cow and still warm."

Priscilla controlled her upwelling anger. The young woman could not know what even learned doctors in England would not accept, but Lady Wilkes had opined that the germ theory as proposed by the French doctors was in good agreement with her own lifelong observations.

"Miss Bennett, I must insist that you not give Mrs. Tremayne cow's milk without heating it first. I learned from Lady Wilkes that unheated cow's milk may cause the wasting."

Bennett snorted disbelievingly. "Then we should all be wasting away. My aunt always gave me fresh milk."

Patiently, Priscilla answered. "Yet, you never had the pneumonia, had you?"

"No?"

"That is when fresh milk may cause wasting. Listen, I'm not saying that I know this for sure. Let us call for Lady Wilkes or Dr. Claxton. They can settle our little dispute. You would not want to be the one causing harm to Mr. Tremayne's wife?"

Lydia's eyes flew wide open. "Lord 'a' mercy! No!"

"Why don't we do this: prepare some tea with honey and let it cool down a little. In the meantime I shall try to find Lady Wilkes. Is that agreeable?"

Lydia nodded. "I shall go at once. What if I heated the milk, though?"

Priscilla remembered the lines in Dr. Pasteur's letter. According to him, a brief heating not quite to the boiling point sufficed to kill the harmful germs.

"Bring it not quite to the boiling point, my dear Miss Bennett, and then let it cool a little. That will suffice to render the milk harmless."

Lydia nodded. "I shall see to it myself. I'll also tell the other servants."

"Thank you. Now, could you perhaps rouse the coachman?"

Fortunately, the weather was not too cold, and Priscilla arrived at High Matcham not an hour later. She was self-conscious asking for Lady Wilkes, and the doorman hesitated for a few moments before he admitted her into the hall, but there came Lady Lambert.

"Milady, may I please speak to Lady Wilkes? I come from Thornfield Abbey. Mrs. Tremayne has a very severe fever, and I fear that it may be the pneumonia."

"Oh, dear!" the good Lady Lambert exclaimed. "The poor Rose! Let me see if my mother is up already."

It took only a few minutes for the old woman to appear downstairs. In rapid order, she barked instructions at a few servants before she turned to Priscilla.

"Tell me all, my dear!"

Priscilla told her mentor about Rose's ailments from the first signs of a cold, to the aching throat, and now to the fever and general malaise. Lady Wilkes nodded to all that.

"You did right, my dear, to come for me. There is no time to lose. I only hope those stupid servants won't have her drink raw cow's milk."

"Oh, they won't. I spoke and instructed Miss Bennett against it," Priscilla answered quickly.

The old lady cackled. "Learnt something from my letters, didn't you? And good it was. Still, we had better travel back at once. Where the deuce is the stupid girl with my valise? Where is my herb box? Quickly, you dawdling girls!"

Still, they were an hour before the coach rolled back to Thornfield Abbey. On the way, Lady Wilkes asked more questions in her brusque way. Priscilla answered them to the best of her knowledge, but she was slightly dismayed at Lady Wilkes tone.

"Did I do anything wrong?" she finally asked almost timidly.

The old woman shook her head.

"Not much. You should have come yesterday, but that's not your fault. No, I am only worried. I really like the woman."

"Is she in danger?" Priscilla gasped. "Oh, no! I couldn't stand to lose her. Jim couldn't stand it, and he'd hate me for letting it happen!"

"If it is a real pneumonia, then yes, she is in grave danger. There are things that can be done, though. It is good that you had the presence of mind to come for me. Those country doctors..."

Once they arrived at Thornfield Abbey, the old woman took over the household resolutely. A very intimidated Lydia Bennett jumped whenever Lady Wilkes barked an order. In no time at all, soothing sage and camomile teas were fed to a barely conscious Rose.

Towards the evening, Rose's fever increased. On Lady Wilkes' urging, Priscilla had driven into Reading to send a telegraph letter to Jim Tremayne, care of the Royal Oaks Hotel in Manchester. In it, she urged Jim to return with haste telling him that Rose had fallen severely ill. She assured him that Lady Wilkes was in charge and that everything was done. It cost her twenty-seven shillings, but she hoped that Jim would be back soon.

Old as she was, Lady Wilkes needed very little sleep. Still, Priscilla spent most of the following night at her friend's bedside, changing the cooling vinegar poultices on Rose's calves, washing her forehead, and speaking soothingly to her whenever she woke from her feverish nightmares.

The fever lessened somewhat towards the morning, and Rose was able to find some untroubled sleep, but during the next day her temperature went up again and towards the evening she became delirious. Priscilla made it through that second night on sheer power of will, forcing herself to stay awake, feeding Rose the soothing teas, and changing her poultices with regularity. They managed to contain her fever just enough for her to survive that second night, but Lady Wilkes was deeply worried over the outcome.

On the morning of the third day, the fever broke a little, and they were able to change the sweat-soaked bedding and nightshirt. Rose looked terrible, her skin ghostly pale and her eyes hollow, but she was reasonable. By noon time, Penelope Tremayne appeared, a little reproachful that she had not been alerted before, and she took over for the exhausted Priscilla. Priscilla hovered around nonetheless, unable to find rest while fearing the next fever bout.

Her fears did not materialise. Although Rose's temperature rose again towards the evening, she remained conscious and aware, and she was even able to take some nourishment. Around seven o'clock, Rose's caretakers heard loud noises from downstairs, and just seconds later, an agitated Jim Tremayne burst through the bedroom door still wearing mud splattered travelling clothes. In a flash he was kneeling at Rose's side gripping her hands and pleading to her.

"Rose, my Rose! I came as soon as I found Cilla's telegram. I shouldn't have left you alone, my darling! My dearest, my life, what can I do for you?"

Smiling weakly, Rose touched his stubbly cheek.

"You're back Jim! I was so afraid to ... I was afraid to leave before I could see you one more time. I had terrible dreams." She looked at Priscilla, all of a sudden. "Jim, if something will happen to me, I want you to keep on living. I want you to find happiness again and a mother for Robert. If I die, please allow Cilla back in your life. She will be a good mother for Robert."

Without her knowing it, Priscilla was already kneeling at Rose's other side, frantically grabbing her friend's hand.

"Don't speak like this, Rose! You scare us! How could Jim live without you? How could I? We need you. Please, be strong! How can I or Jim ever find happiness without you?"

"You're a dear, dear woman, Cilla," Rose answered calmly. "If I die from this, I want you to look out for Jim and Robert. As your friend I beg you. Will you do it?"

Almost angrily, Priscilla shook her head. "No! Never! You will survive this, you hear! Don't give yourself up. You're Jim's Lucky Charm, aren't you? Don't leave him!"

"I feel so weak, Cilla."

"That's because you had a terrible fever, but you're over it." Priscilla turned towards her mentor. "Lady Wilkes, please tell her that she will be all right again!"

The wizened old woman bent over the bed, too, and tenderly touched Rose's cheek.

"You're over the worst, my dear. Now you have to recover from the ordeal. You will be weak for a while, but I can see that you will be cared for."

"Thank you, Lady Wilkes. I remember now seeing you at my side, and Cilla, and Penelope. I was just so afraid of..."

"Sshh! I am here now, Rose. I'll get changed, and then I'll lie down beside you, and you can cuddle up to me and sleep," Jim said soothingly.

A small smile crept into Rose's pale features.

"That would be so nice, Jim. You are a darling man."

"She'll be better soon," Lady Wilkes told Jim. "I do seem to remember that cuddling with a loved person can be the best medicine. I shall leave you alone now. Do not hesitate to have me called should she become delirious again."

She rose with surprising agility for one so old and left the bedroom. Priscilla tried to rise as well, but Rose held on to her hand.

"Cilla, please stay for a while longer. I remember bits and pieces of the last days, and I know that you lay by my side to comfort me."

Priscilla thought her head would explode with embarrassment.

"I ... It was ... You were thrashing and..." she stammered helplessly.

It was Jim who suddenly held her other hand. "Cilla, I want to thank you. Whatever happened between us, whatever hurt we inflicted on each other, caring for Rose the way you did has earned you my undying gratitude."

Suddenly, all the years of hurt flew out of the window as Priscilla let herself get lost in the gaze from Jim's eyes. Unable to speak, she cleared her throat twice, but her vocal cords did not obey her. In the end she just shook her head silently, while tears both of sorrow and of happiness ran over her cheeks.

"Stay with me, Cilla, dearest," Rose whispered fervently. "Let me sleep between the two people I love."

Jim and Priscilla started hearing this, but Rose forced a smile on her lips and pressed their hands.

"Do not be alarmed. We shall find a way to deal with all the complications. If I ... No: after I recover we shall talk. For now I want you both near."

While Jim briefly retired to the dressing room to change out of his splattered travel clothes, Priscilla kept holding Rose's hands. She had something on her heart.

"Rose, do you think it is wise for me to spend the night with you and Jim? Won't Jim be uncomfortable? And what will people say?"

"Whenever did you start to care for people's opinions?" Rose countered, and it was her witty repartee that finally convinced Priscilla that her friend was indeed on her way back to health. Priscilla smiled, a deep, happy smile.

"You are right, Rose. What do I care? I am the unwilling widow anyway. Would you mind if I went to fetch a nightshirt and freshened up?"

"No, my dear, go! But do come back! I will hold you to your promise."

-------

Jim Tremayne slept like the log he was sawing, in the deep exhausted sleep that was caused by travelling for two days while being sick to his heart with worry. Later, he thought he had woken twice or thrice during the night, checking unconsciously on Rose's breathing, and falling back to sleep relieved when her chest moved evenly. Rose, too, slept the sleep of complete exhaustion, but her soft snoring was like a lullaby for Jim.

When he slowly drifted out of sleep towards morning, he heard a second, almost synchronous snoring to Rose's. Recognition and memory came to his aid and lifting his head slightly he saw Priscilla's blonde head on Rose's other side. He watched her fondly. She was a good woman, a dear and reliable friend, and Jim felt the stirrings of long hidden feelings. She had been his guiding star once, the woman he idolised. He knew now that his idolising had been wrong. She was human, with weaknesses and failings. She was not perfect. She had succumbed to pressure, but what young woman of nineteen years would have stood up against her own father?

Next, Jim regarded his Rose. Could he have been happy without ever knowing Rose? Would he have had the same fulfilment with Priscilla? If he was honest, he would have to admit that in all likelihood Priscilla would have made him a happy man. Yet, he would not be the same man he was now. Not rich, but that was less important. His life and ambitions would be limited to the small world of the regiment, to reach the next rank, and maybe one day command the regiment. He would know nothing of America, and he would have missed out on the experience of hard labour and life in the wilderness.

It was certainly strange how fate had denied him his fondest wishes and then given him more than he could have ever dreamt of. By contrast, fate had been nothing but cruel to Priscilla. She was the only true victim of Marsden-Smith's scheming, yet she did not begrudge Jim and Rose their happiness. He returned to the conclusion that Priscilla was a truly fine woman.

Lying on his left side, he regarded both women. Outwardly, they were as different as two beautiful women could be. Rose was a well-formed redhead exuding the vivacity that came with her colouring, while Priscilla had maintained the slender and trim body of a young girl. Yet they had the same goodness to them, a goodness they had maintained in the face of cruel adversity.

Without conscious planning, his right hand had wandered over to Rose's tummy, to feel her even breathing, and the sleeping Rose had covered his hand with one of hers whilst a hint of a smile played on her lips. Suddenly, a third hand joined them. It was Priscilla who was waking up and feeling for Rose. Then her eyes flew open and she almost jerked her hand away but for Jim shaking his head softly.

'Good morning, ' he mouthed silently so as not to disturb Rose's sleep of recuperation.

Swallowing first, Priscilla mouthed back her own good morning wish. Then she regarded Rose with a fond look.

'She is much better, ' Priscilla's lips signalled.

Jim pulled his hand from under Rose's and placed it on top of Priscilla's.

'Thanks to you, ' he mouthed, and Priscilla blushed deeply.

They maintained their contact for a while, looking at each other silently, but communicating nonetheless. It was in this half hour while they waited for Rose to wake up that they laid a new foundation to their complicated relationship. Their hands remained joined on top of Rose's tummy all the time.

When Rose began to stir, Priscilla tried to extract her hand but Jim would not let her. It was useless anyway.

"I am so glad that you two are truly reconciled now," Rose suddenly said, and they realised that she had been waking for some time. They looked sheepishly at their joined hands, but Rose simply placed her other hand on top of the pile, holding them together and confirming the newly found bond.

Edited by SpikeCO



-------

Chapter 24: An Unwelcome Visitor


London, Spring 1867

For weeks, Rose was confined to the house while slowly recuperating. Lady Wilkes had left strict instructions for the convalescence, and Priscilla enforced those rules without mercy. In this she found loyal support from Jim who would not allow Rose to exert herself at all. In her enforced idleness Rose busied herself with reading.

Outwardly, Priscilla was living in the guest cottage, but for all practical purposes she spent the days and even some nights in the manor house. Ostensibly, this was for the purpose of looking after the convalescent Rose. Jim and Rose settled into a platonic menage a trois with Priscilla, somewhat akin to the relationship they'd had with Raven. Rose was not up to any physical form of relationship with Jim, but they slept cuddled up to each other enjoying the closeness. More often than not Priscilla was lying close to Rose's unoccupied side. Everything was innocent and friendly.

Come the March, Jim had to attend a series of meetings in London, and with Jim unwilling to leave Rose behind, the Tremaynes moved into their Chelsea house. While Priscilla resumed her duties as Lady Wilkes' private secretary, she lived as a guest at Cheyne Walk spending her evenings and some nights with Jim and Rose.

By this time, Rose was feeling well enough again to become active in her charitable roles, and often the two friends met at Lady Wilkes' home during the day. As for Jim, he spent increasing time with Lord Lambert and some of his exalted friends. The American Civil War had brought changes to the political situation in the Americas, and Lord Lambert's friends were in need of a person with insight. Thus Jim spent many hours explaining the situation in the westernmost territories of the United States, but also the shape of commerce and infrastructure, as well as the natural resources found there.

One evening in April, Jim arrived at Cheyne Walk and found Rose and Priscilla working side by side at a desk in their study. Rose jumped up to give Jim a welcoming hug and kissed him. She seemed slightly flustered and glowing at the same time. Jim cast a look at Priscilla, but their friend gave him only a short, shy nod and focussed on her writing again.

Jim also caught a whiff of a scent when Rose kissed him, a scent both familiar and strange at the same time.

"Darling! You're home!" Rose smiled, hugging him closely. "You've been gone all day again."

Jim nodded. "I know. I'm sorry, dear."

Rose gave him a smile. "I understand."

Jim smiled. "Let us speak about our day at dinner. Can we expect you to join us, Cilla?"

Priscilla barely looked up, but she nodded. Jim thought he saw her blush. He shrugged. Perhaps Rose could enlighten him.

"I'll go up and change. This collar is choking me to death!"

"Poor darling!" Rose sympathised. "Let me help you get changed!"

She accompanied him to the upper floor and their bedroom. While Jim stood still, she opened his buttons with her small and nimble fingers.

"What is it with Cilla this evening?" Jim enquired. "She looks as if she had a bad conscience."

"Oh!" Rose blushed. "I was going to tell you tonight. Something happened this afternoon."

"What happened?"

"We kissed." Rose stated, looking at Jim sheepishly.

"You and... ?"

"Yes. It just happened, Jim. That horrible Gainsworth woman harangued Cilla again, and when she came home she was so despondent that I wanted to give her solace. I held her while she cried and when she had cried herself out she looked at me with so much tenderness and love that I had to kiss her."

Jim swallowed. This was clearly beyond the casual intimacy they had shared with Raven.

"Did she... ?"

"She kissed me back," Rose nodded. "Jim, Cilla had been with a cousin years ago. She is not adverse to exchanging ... hugs and kisses with a woman."

"And you?"

"You know my story, Jim. Sometimes, when a day had been truly horrible, one of the other girls and I gave solace to each other."

He could tell that Rose was getting worried. Oh, well! He was getting worried too.

"Hrhm, you and Cilla, you're not going to ... I mean, I need you, Rose!"

"Oh Jim!" Rose gasped. "Of course not! Never! I could not stand losing you! No, it's just that Cilla has nobody like you, and I owe her so much as you know. It's exciting too," she ended in a whisper blushing furiously.

"So you're not like Colleen MacAllister and her painter friend, Melissa Martin?"

Rose shook her head. "No! My love for you is stronger than ever. I think ... Maybe I'm wrong, but I have the feeling that Cilla is still in love with you."

Jim made a face and could not help but blushing himself. "That's ... I ... How can that work?"

Rose shrugged. "Say a word, and I'll never kiss Cilla again. That's how much I love you. We could also ... I think Cilla may be willing to ... be involved with us?"

"I have heard of such relationships but they rarely work in the long term."

"So, do you want me to stop things with Cilla?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know! I owe her your life. I don't want to make her miserable. Only I ... when she shared our bed ... I cannot help it! Rose, she once was all I wanted! I don't want to..."

"Be tempted by her?" Rose asked. "She would be a temptation. She is beautiful, and she is a good person. She looks so youthful too. Yes, I can see how you are tempted by her. Yet, is that so terrible?

"Jim, I know that you don't place much value in the teachings of the church, and neither do I. You also view society and its rules with the same amused distance as I do. Why do we have to abide by the rules in the privacy of our home?"

"What are you suggesting, Rose?"

"I'm suggesting that you and I will be open-minded."

Jim took a deep breath. "I admit to being flustered. Cilla and I have made our peace, but I have always tried to ... suppress any improper thoughts and feelings."

"Jim, poor Cilla has never known the loving touch of a man. You were too much of a gentleman, and that lout of her husband was as rotten as a lover as he was rotten as an officer. You can finally give her a taste of what love can be."

"And you would ... agree?"

"I might even watch and assist. Jim, you give me so much love! If I share a tiny fraction of this love with Cilla, she will have plenty to be happy, and I shall miss very little."

"What if she ... what if she develops feelings for me?"

"I would hope that she will. I am almost certain that she has them already. Will you give it some thought?"

"I don't know how I can have dinner with her without blushing but I will think about it."

He was changed by now and they returned downstairs. Little Bobby was already sitting at the table with his nanny watching him, and Cilla joined them shortly after still intently studying the pattern of the floor boards. Once Miss Bennett had served the soup, Rose looked at Priscilla.

"Cilla, I told Jim. He is not angry."

Priscilla closed her eyes in anguish. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Jim gave her a wry smile. "Don't be. I know from experience how little say one has when Rose sets her mind on something."

That brought a weak smile to Priscilla's face and she looked up. "She is like that, isn't she? Jim, do you wish for me to move out?"

Seeing her and her obvious fear of losing his friendship he could not help but feel deep tenderness for her. "Only if you want to. It's Rose's mess anyway. Let her clear it up!"

-------

By late summer, a wedding had to be organised. Mr. Donovan was now a fully established surgeon, and he was eager to complete his courtship of Samantha. On the ninth of September 1867, Mr. Alistair Donovan, RCS, and Miss Samantha Tremayne spoke their wedding vows in the presence of family and friends. The ceremony and the subsequent festive dinner were held at Thornfield Abbey. Bride and groom would have their honey moon on the continent giving Samantha an opportunity to put the French to good use that she had so diligently practised. They would return to their own household. Jim had found a comfortable house in Chelsea that he gave Samantha for a dowry. This ensured that she could stay in touch with Rose and with Bobby for whom Sam had been almost like a second mother.

In late September, the Tremaynes moved back to London. The season was about to start and Rose was looking forward to it with mixed feelings. In early October, Jim had to leave for two days to make arrangements with his brother. Rose and Priscilla were reading upstairs when the doorbell sounded. Lydia Bennett had gone to the market, and so Rose went downstairs to open the door herself. A man was standing in front of the door, a man whom Rose did not know. The cut of his suit marked him as American.

"Yes? What can I do for you, Mister?"

"I'm Landon Moore. Landon Bunion was my uncle," the man said coldly.

Rose felt alarm but also anger. "What do you want, Mr. Moore?" she asked in her coldest voice.

"I want what's mine!"

"Then you have obviously lost your way. There is nothing here to which you have claim."

"That's where you're plain wrong," Moore sneered. "You have a lot to which I'll lay claim."

"I believe you had better leave, Mr. Moore. I have nothing to say to you," Rose answered closing the door in the man's face.

He put his foot in the door. "You wouldn't want me to knock on doors here telling all them stuffy Englishmen that you were nothing but a lousy saloon whore, would you? I reckon that would hurt your repo ... repudiation, wouldn't it?"

"So it's blackmail you're after?" Rose asked, outwardly cold but having a sinking feeling inside.

"Let's just say you owe my family. It's with you our troubles began." He pushed himself into the entrance hall. "Not bad, not bad at all! But then I knew you'n your man struck a bonanza."

"How'd you ever find us here?" Rose could not help but ask.

"Easy. Once I told your good friend, Mrs. Kennedy, that you were nothin' but a whore, a dirty, cock-sucking Irish wench, she was right angry. Told me everything, she did."

Scarlet Kennedy had run her mouth on Rose. That two-faced, self-righteous bitch! Rose felt hatred at the stupid cow. She knew she had to control her temper now. If Moore told on her the effects would be disastrous for her, but even more so for Jim and Bobby. Yet, she knew without a doubt that Landon Moore would expose her anyway. She had to provoke him. He had already entered the house against her will, but she needed a bit more as justification to silence the man.

"There is a problem with paying off blackmailers," Rose said forcing her voice to be even. "They never stop. And then things will get out anyway. It's only a matter of time. Paying you money will only delay the inevitable. Leave our house now! You will not receive a single penny. Go!"

Rose knew that Priscilla had to hear them, and she hoped her friend would be able to get help if things turned ugly. The housekeeper would not be back for some time, and Jim was not expected back until the late evening.

"Are you crazy, you bitch? I'll ruin you!" Moore spat.

"You'll do that anyway. There is no sense in paying you for it too, is there?"

"You... ! My uncle was right about you! You're a shameless whore!"

"Your uncle was a deviant drunkard. He had to pay for companionship because none of the women in Independence would even look at him."

Moore's eyes burned with anger. "You whore! Somebody has to teach you manners."

Rose had moved backwards, her back now against a chest of drawers. The top drawer held Jim's old Navy Colt she knew, and it was loaded. Unfortunately, Bunion was too close already for her to reach for the weapon. She needed a diversion but could not think of one.

"That would take a man, not a Bunion," she snapped back nonetheless.

"By God, you dirty whore! I'm gonna fuck your dirty ass until you scream! I'm gonna rip you open!"

"Your uncle tried that, and you know what happened to him," Rose answered hotly brandishing her nails.

"Yeah, he kinda messed it up. Too soft, the old bugger. I'm smarter."

With that, Moore rushed at Rose who had barely time to shriek. With two, three brutal blows he knocked her to the floor. Looking down at her with a sneer, he opened his flap.

"Time to get me a piece of ass, don't you think?"

"Stay away from me, you pig!" Rose hissed, scared and confused and with her head far from being clear.

Moore chuckled nastily. "I don't think so. I'm gonna fuck your ass bloody, and then I'll wring your neck. That's how your precious husband will find you."

He pulled out his member shaking it with his left hand to get it hard. "Afraid?" he asked.

"No, not anymore," Rose returned, her hot anger overriding any caution. "Why, for a moment you had me afraid that you might get it hard!"

"Bitch!" Moore roared, and his arm swung back to deliver another violent slap when Rose suddenly saw a length of red-tinted, gleaming steel protrude from his stomach. A dark crimson stain spread from his belly, and he looked down incredulously. Behind him stood Priscilla where she had sneaked up on Moore, and when he slowly turned she let go of the sword hilt stepping back in apprehension.

"You bitch!" Moore gasped stumbling forward while Priscilla shrank back.

Desperately, Rose clawed her way up to her feet. She was feeling the effect of the beating, but her hand found the knob of the drawer.

Moore advanced further on Priscilla spreading his arms as if wanting to hug her. Priscilla screamed in fear knowing that the protruding sword tip would tear into her. Moore made one more stumbling step and then the Navy Colt in Rose's hand spit fire, thunder, and smoke. The noise in the confined space of the hallway was nothing less than shattering, but Rose kept cocking and firing the weapon until the hammer fell on the empty chamber. Through the dense smoke that filled the hallway, she was barely able to make out the form of Landon Moore, but stepping closer she saw that he had fallen against the wall clawing at a candle holder which broke off. Slowly, Moore sank down to the floor. He looked at Rose.

"You stinkin' whore!" were his last words.

Both women sank to the floor as well.

"Oh, dear God!" Priscilla gasped.

"Dear God is right," Rose panted, but then she rose shakily.

Stepping close to the man she kicked him tentatively. He did not move. She kicked him harder still, but Landon Moore was beyond feeling any pain. Having made sure that he was dead, Rose quickly searched his coat pockets. She found a leather purse with £8 and $42 in banknotes and newspaper clippings yellow with age. She flattened the clippings and saw that it was the Independence Courier with a short description of the trial against the "notorious Jezebel Baltimore Rose" who was found guilty of "a most brutal attack against an upstanding citizen and a pillar of our city".

Now shouts could be heard outside and even the sound of a police whistle not far away. Priscilla came to her feet.

"What now?"

Rose thrust the folded paper into her friend's hand. "If you love me, burn this in the kitchen. Quick!"

Priscilla nodded and on shaky legs she rushed to the kitchen. Rose had her head clearer by now and she checked her appearance in a wall mirror. Not bad enough! There were bruises on her face, but she needed a stronger appearance. With a deft grip she tore the front of her dress open and ripped off a small piece of cloth with a button. This she quickly stuffed in Moore's hand. Then she placed the wallet back in his breast pocket.

Priscilla returned from the kitchen and nodded, and then a heavy knock sounded.

"Yes?" Rose cried making her voice shrill. "Who is there?"

"It's Constable Bull! We 'eard pistol shots."

"Oh thank God!" Rose cried with pathos and opened the door.

There was a police constable and several neighbours outside, and they gasped at Rose's appearance.

"It was terrible!" Rose gasped. "That man! What he wanted to ... Oh please, can you make sure that he's dead? He wanted to ... Thank God my friend was visiting!"

With heavy feet, the constable stepped in and surveyed the scene.

"That scoundrel attacked you, Madam?"

"Oh yes, indeed he did. He beat me brutally. Oh, my face will be black and blue in no time!"

"Blimey! That's a sword in yon man's back, Madam."

"That was I, Constable," Priscilla uttered in a tiny, fearful voice. "I did not know what else to do! He was attacking Mrs. Tremayne."

"Bloody 'ell! 'E's got 'is johnson 'angin' out!" the constable expostulated, blushing immediately. "Beggin' your pardon, Madam! 'E was attacking you?"

"Yes," Rose nodded. "Had it not been for Mrs. Marsden-Smith's bravery I would have fallen victim to his ruthless schemes!"

"But 'e's been shot, wot, five times?"

"He wasn't dead yet, and then he turned on Mrs. Marsden-Smith. It was then that I remembered where my husband kept his Colt revolver. I did not really aim. I just couldn't let him hurt my friend!"

"Easy now, Madam. Nothin' can 'appen to you now," the constable said in what had to pass for a soothing voice. He stepped outside and blew his whistle a few more times until more policemen came running. In yet another twenty minutes, a heavy set man arrived introducing himself as Inspector Mellard. He took the report from the constable. After hearing the facts, Mellard surveyed the scene and indeed found the piece of Rose's dress in Moore's hand.

"Is that yours, Madam?" he asked, and Rose affected a shudder before nodding.

Mellard officiously entered the fact into a little notebook. Asking Rose and Priscilla questions he ponderously reconstructed the violent event. In the end he gave Rose a questioning look.

"Did you know that man, Madam?"

"I have never seen him before. However, he gave me his name as Landon Moore, and he claimed to be the nephew of a notorious ruffian whom I had once encountered while living in Independence, Missouri. I had to defend myself against that man and I injured him. To guess from what this man Moore shouted, he was trying to revenge his uncle who was shot three years later."

"Did you kill that uncle, Madam?"

"No, I bit him and scratched him, and he lost his eye. Landon Bunion was shot to death by the Sheriff of Independence after he committed a murder."

"Well, Madam, whatever you or his uncle did in America has no bearing for my work. There will be an inquest, of course. From what I see here, you and Mrs. Marsden-Smith acted bravely and in rightful defence of your life and your honour. Constable? Is that undertaker here yet?"

He was, and with the help of the policemen he lifted the dead Moore into a roughly built wooden casket.

"May we have the walls and floor cleaned?" Rose asked the inspector.

"You had better, Madam. We shall notify you if your presence at the inquest is required."

"Thank you from my heart, Inspector," Rose said nicely. "It is reassuring that the Police of London are so able."

Mellard puffed himself up under the praise. "Say nothing of it, Madam. I shall leave Constable Bull with you to keep watch until your husband returns."

"That will be such a relief! If I may, I will now look after my son."

Upstairs, Rose relieved the nanny who had hidden with the boy when she heard the sounds of the violent altercation. Rose did not blame her – on the contrary. The fact that the woman had looked after Bobby's safety first gave her great relief. Questioned, the nanny professed that she had not understood a word, but had gone upstairs with Bobby when she heard Moore's curse words. Rose sighed with relief. Maybe, her secret was still safe.

-------

Miss Bennett had returned, and the worthy Constable Bull immediately seized the opportunity to watch over the safety of the house from the hallway where Bennett began to attack the blood stains and other traces with brush and soap water.

Rose and Priscilla had gone to Rose's dressing room where they repaired as best they could the damage done to Rose's face. Rose was feeling the shock now, and she was worried too. Looking into the mirror she could see the sympathetic looks of Priscilla.

"What did you hear?" she asked.

"Everything, I'm afraid," Priscilla sighed. "This is what you tried so hard to keep secret, wasn't it?"

Rose nodded morosely. Now Cilla knew, and she would turn away from Rose with disgust.

"Won't you tell me the whole story?"

Rose shrugged. The cat was out of the bag. Rose stared into Priscilla's eyes.

"My secret, Priscilla, is that I was a common whore. When I was fifteen, the tavern owner for whom I worked forced himself on me, and once he had broken my maidenhood, he let his patrons have me. Then he sold me to another man who took me west to Independence where I had to work in another tavern, a regular saloon. I had to sell my body for money."

Priscilla's eyes went wide. "Did Jim ... did he find you there?"

"No. In early '61 I had a nasty patron, one Landon Bunion, who wanted to force his ... thing into my behind. I screamed bloody murder, but he wouldn't relent. I fought him, he beat me, and I clawed his eyes. He went blind on one eye and they had the gall to convict me for assault on an upstanding citizen. Do you think people here are bigoted? Well, let me tell you: they did not even let me speak in my defence. They just convicted me to the Work House, another word for a women's prison.

"Another man bought my freedom along with that of other convicts. In return we were to be married to the men on the frontier. I accepted out of fear of the Work House. When we arrived at this god-forsaken outpost, Fort Laramie, the man who had pre-paid for my release had died already and I was auctioned off like some surplus cattle. Jim's partner had paid for my friend Amanda, and they egged Jim on to bid for me. I was sold to him for sixty dollars – ten pounds. We were married within the hour."

"He bought you at auction?" Priscilla asked incredulously.

"As I said, his partner and friend had paid for my friend Amanda and they both convinced Jim. I thought then that I was lost but he was so kind, so polite to me. He apologised for the embarrassment of the auction as if it had been his fault. He refused to take advantage of me before we came to know each other. When we finally consummated our marriage I already loved him. That is my story, Cilla."

Priscilla regarded Rose with sadness. "And now you are afraid that I might turn my back on you, even tell on you?"

Rose's eyes were brimming. "Why shouldn't you?"

"Rose, you are like a sister for me. I love you, and I mean that in every respect. To see you hurt is unbearable for me."

"You're not repulsed by me?"

"Tell me: does Jim know all this?"

Rose nodded. "He even helped me to overturn my conviction."

"See? Is he repulsed or was he repulsed?"

"No. He never so much as mentions it on his own."

"That's because he loves you dearly, and for the same reason neither am I repulsed."

The ghost of a smile appeared on Rose's lips as she regarded Priscilla.

"I love you too. Tell me, Cilla: are you still in love with Jim?"

Now it was Priscilla's turn to be flustered. She blushed violently.

"In a way, yes. I try to keep those feelings at bay, but there are moments when I imagine him and I..."

"In bed together, with Jim making love to you?" Rose asked softly.

Priscilla nodded guiltily. "Part of it is the curiosity. I've never been with a good man. I know that I can feel arousal and lust; we both know it." Rose smiled knowingly. "I am unsure of myself, Rose. Can I feel the same with a man for whom I care?"

Rose reached out and pulled Priscilla's head to her chest.

"There's only one way to find out."

Edited by SpikeCO



-------

Chapter 25: Surprises


When Jim returned that evening, Priscilla and Rose were nowhere to be seen. Miss Bennett received him and told him about the disturbing events. She assured Jim that the summoned doctor had not seen any signs of concussion on Rose but had recommended a few days of rest nonetheless. The last pieces of information were already directed at her employer's back as Jim was rushing upstairs taking two steps at a time.

When he entered their bedroom rather hurriedly, his eyes caught a sight he had never seen before. When engaged in lovemaking with Rose, his perspective of her petite but well formed body was one from up close. What he saw now of her was her naked derriere winking at him from at least ten feet away while her upper body was lowered on the bed and her head and face were buried between a rather naked Priscilla's legs. A naked Priscilla! The closest he had ever come to see Priscilla in a state of undress had been after Rose's recovery from pneumonia when they had shared a bed for Rose's comfort. Priscilla had of course worn a nightshirt that pretty much covered whatever physical charms she possessed.

Seeing Priscilla now, her head arched back on the pillow, her smallish firm breasts pointing upwards, and her long, smooth legs bent at the knees and splayed, his mouth went dry. From the rhythmic rocking movements Rose was making it was obvious to him that she was exploring their friend's most private regions with her mouth, and from the glistening wetness that surrounded Rose's own quim he could tell that his wife had derived at least some pleasure herself.

He stood mesmerised watching the two women, his mind undecided between his impulse to flee the situation and the fascination he felt over the erotic sight and sounds, for neither Rose nor Priscilla were silent in their rapture. While Rose by necessity – her mouth was occupied otherwise – was only uttering mewls and moans, Priscilla's vocal appreciation was at least in part intelligible.

"Oh, you darling ... Yesss! Oh dear! There, yes there! Mmmmh! Oh, Rose!"

Belatedly, Jim realised that his presence might just cause a terrible embarrassment, and he had the good sense to retreat towards the door. However, his attention was so riveted on the two lovers that he forgot about a particular floor board close to the door. It groaned when he stepped on it, and Jim stood there like a deer in the light of a powerful lantern.

To his mortification, both women looked up. As expected, Priscilla shrieked with mortal embarrassment and clawed for a pillow to cover herself. It was Rose's reaction that made his heart miss a beat. Complete naked, her spectacular body open to his hungry gaze, she slithered off the bed and with swaying hips and boobs walked over to where Jim stood rooted. Before he knew what and when she was close, and then she reached up for his head.

Her kiss electrified him, and the taste on her lips was like the most expensive perfume. Jim loved to give Rose pleasure, and he had learned to use his lips, his tongue, but also his bushy moustache to best effect. He knew Rose's taste and smell by heart. The taste on her lips was familiar yet strange, and with a start, Jim realised that he tasted Priscilla's juices on his wife's lips. Rose gave him a sultry wink and pulled him over to the bed. There she made him sit, and by the light of the bedside lamp he saw her split lip and her swollen cheek.

"Rose, you're hurt!"

"Don't fret, not now! Jim, dearest man: this woman, this wonderful friend, this precious girl, she saved my life again. She stabbed that terrible man with your old sabre when he had beaten me to the floor and readied himself to rape me. Jim, we talked about having Priscilla join us, and I beg you to let it be now that she will become a part of us. Please let us give her the love she deserves so much. Can you please agree to that or is the thought still too unsettling?"

"Rose, what happened today? Who was that man? Why did he... ?"

Rose kissed him. "A Bunion. Landon Bunion's nephew who came from Kansas to hound me. The stupid Kennedy woman betrayed our whereabouts to him. He came to extort us, but I am certain he wanted more right from the start."

"I could have given him..."

"It would have been of no use. He would have taken the money, but he would have exposed me anyway. I refused him, I provoked him, always hoping I could get to the Colt in the top drawer if he attacked. He was too fast, too violent for me. He hit me hard. When I fell, he opened his flap. I was ready to fight him, but then Cilla sneaked up from behind and ran him through. When he turned on Cilla, I was able to grab the Colt and shoot him."

"Does your face hurt much, darling?"

"I'm alive and he is dead," Rose shrugged.

"Do you think he might have something on him to... ?"

"He had. I found it and Cilla burnt it. Be at ease, Jim. It's over, and neither of us nor Bobby were harmed."

She hugged him, and this hug woke him from the stupor in which he'd been ever since opening the door to the bedroom. His gaze moved to where Priscilla was still hiding under a pillow.

"Cilla, I have to thank you once again." She peeked over the pillow. "You are growing into a true lucky charm for us."

"I..." she cleared her throat. "I couldn't let him hurt Rose. Oh, Jim! I'm sorry for what you had to see. I will move out, I will leave England. I couldn't destroy what you and Rose have."

"Cilla, this is all very confusing for me. I mean seeing you like this, like I never saw you before. I don't know yet how we can resolve this, but you leaving us will not make any of us happy."

"Jim," Rose said earnestly. "Why don't you just undress and join us? You don't have to do anything. Just join us and give us assurance that you are not angry with us."

He cast a doubtful eye at the two women.

"I am not sure that I can be a passive watcher."

To this, Rose smiled a wide smile. "The better it'll be. We could be kissing and cuddling if this is what you want. We could be doing more."

"How does Cilla think about that?" Jim asked looking at his blonde ex-fiancé.

Her look told him all before she opened her mouth.

"Jim, I have lived without love all my live. You know that. The last weeks and months with you and Rose have been wonderful and heart-rending, all at the same time. To be included in your lives has given me so much happiness, but seeing your love has also made me aware of what I have been missing. If you and Rose are willing to share just a tiny bit of your love with me..."

Her voice was fading and tears were rolling down her cheeks. Jim was not even aware of his actions as he moved up on the bed and put his arms around the naked woman. Gratefully, she leaned against him while Rose looked at them with a blissful smile. She, too, moved to Priscilla's side and together, the couple hugged the love-starved blonde.

"Jim, you are wearing entirely too many clothes," Rose chided her husband.

He looked at her and saw her eyes filled with love and happiness. If making Priscilla feel loved was the price for seeing Rose this happy, Jim was more than willing to pay it. With slightly trembling hands he opened his tie and his collar, and then unbuttoned his shirt. Undershirt and then breeches came next, but he'd forgotten to take off his boots. Hopping around with the breeches around his legs he found the bootjack and forced his feet out of the tight boots. Breeches, stockings, and then his small clothes quickly followed and then he joined the women on the bed.

Both Rose and Priscilla reached out with their hands to pull him up between them. With a pretty woman on either side, Jim was at a loss over how to proceed.

"Kiss Jim!" Rose prodded her friend.

Priscilla leaned closer and offered her lips. Jim could feel her apprehension, her fear of rejection and his heart melted. He had dreamed of those lips once, and it was not too hard for him to rekindle that attraction. Their lips touched in a soft, almost chaste kiss. That kiss was followed by a more demanding variety, and before long their lips were locked and their tongues duelled. Priscilla's eyes were rolled back in her head and she was breathing laboriously into his mouth.

Her level of excitement grew even more now and Jim realised that Rose had a hand in this, so to speak. She was reaching across Jim's body and between Priscilla's legs with her left hand while her right hand had a firm grip on her husband's straining member. Her own sex was plastered against Jim's hips and she rubbed against him unashamedly. Then her copper-red head moved downward and Jim gasped at the exquisite feeling of his wife's lips on his manhood.

Priscilla was torn from her rapture and looked aghast at her friend's bobbing head. Then she scooted down herself, her face inches away from Rose's face.

"Will you let me try?" she asked, her voice crackling with emotion.

"Wherever are my manners?" Rose quipped, offering the saliva-coated member to her friend. "Remember: lips and tongue, no teeth!"

Jim briefly asked himself where Priscilla could have practised because she took his manhood in her mouth with all the care and tenderness of a loving wife. She licked and suckled, she kissed the tip, she even let her tongue travel down the shaft and to his bollocks. Then she licked up the shaft and engulfed the head in her mouth sucking fiercely.

"You are doing well," Rose praised her apprentice, for it was clear to Jim that part of their activities had been directed towards tutoring the naive Priscilla in lovemaking.

Finally, Priscilla let go of his member and looked up. "Am I doing it right for you?"

"You are wonderful, Cilla!" he confirmed before he grinned at the women. "Somebody has been practising it would seem?"

"Rose taught me using my godemiché," Priscilla whispered.

Seeing Jim's bewilderment, Rose giggled. "It's a likeness of a male organ, Jim. Many lonely women have one and even a few who are not that lonely."

"It's for practicing this?" he asked, still bewildered. "Why would a woman who is alone want to practice French love?"

"Oh, you are too precious, Jim!" Rose laughed. "Don't you know how much I love your ... I learned a new word today: your johnson in my quim? Well, if you were away for a long time, and I felt the urge to be filled like that yet were determined to stay true to you..."

"Oh!" Jim said again.

"Oh, indeed," Rose giggled. "The French call it a godemiché, but I would call mine Jimbo."

Priscilla's giggle felt wonderful as she was still suckling on the head of Jim's member. Her lips let go for a moment.

"The name is already taken."

Now it was Jim's turn to laugh at Rose who had a perplexed expression on her face. It cleared quickly.

"When did you perform the baptism?" she asked slyly.

"It was a while ago," Priscilla answered with a blush before returning to suckling on Jim's member.

He let his hands roam over her back and down to her buttocks. They were smaller than Rose's but not less delectable he found. He also found that Priscilla's ministrations were taking their toll. He felt the urge to give in to his mounting lust but he controlled himself. With a soft touch, he dislodged her from his erect member and made her lie on her back.

"Allow me to return the favour," he smiled at her before he kissed her.

He started with her lips, nibbling and licking them, but then he moved to her neck. It was slender and graceful, and he spent time to acquaint himself with it while his hand found Priscilla's breasts. This was much to Priscilla's liking, and she purred under his ministrations. The purr intensified when Jim replaced his hand with his lips and tongue, sucking and licking her pink nipples. He spent time on them, alternating between them, before he moved on to her taut stomach.

He felt the muscles under her skin flex as he kissed and sucked on the soft skin. When he let his tongue sneak into her belly button she sharply sucked in the air and arched up. His nostrils picked up the scent of her womanhood, a scent he already knew from Rose's lips, and he moved lower to where the soft, blonde down of her pubic hair covered the entrance to her pleasure box.

The lips of her sex were swollen and reddish, testament to Rose's earlier ministrations, and her love juices were seeping freely. When he lapped those lips briefly, her midsection shot up from the bed, and she squealed in delight. With his nose he dove between those lips nudging the tiny button at the upper juncture, and Priscilla's hips began to rotate to meet his movements. His tongue, as stiff as he could make it, was next to explore her folds, stabbing into the opening while his bushy moustache rubbed against her love button. Priscilla shrieked a little, but then her hands wrapped into his hair and she pulled him closer, mashing his face against her opening while his tongue buried itself into her sex. Priscilla was building up to a climax Jim sensed. He slowed a little before he freed his head from Priscilla's grip.

Crawling up over her body, he quickly placed the tip of his hard member against the inflamed opening and pushed down. Heaven! The slick but tight canal fit his manhood like a tailored glove. She was not as tight as he had feared. Perhaps, he thought lewdly, "Jimbo" had loosened her up in the past weeks. He did not mind in the least, and Priscilla had no complaints either. She looked up at him with shiny eyes.

"Oh, my! So full! Oh, Jim! Darling! How I longed for this!"

He had the presence of mind to turn and look at Rose. She smiled back at him, nodding her encouragement, while she played absentmindedly with her right breast.

Priscilla's legs closed around his hips now, and he felt that she hooked her feet for better leverage. He looked into her eyes and she nodded. "Please!" she whispered.

Carefully, he started the pumping movements, withdrawing only an inch before driving back in. Priscilla sighed. He pulled out further and pushed back in, and her sighs morphed into low moans. She was lubricating profusely, and his member felt as if it was in a hot, wet, vice. He withdrew even more and plunged back in.

"Aaagh!" Priscilla exclaimed. "Aaahh!"

He kept his rhythm for the next thrusts, withdrawing slowly, hovering over her with only the tip of his member still in, and then plunging down. Each time, the pitch of her voice grew higher when she moaned in response, and each time, Jim would wait a bit longer before his downward plunge. It was almost like waiting her out. He could feel her sex as it fluttered in anticipation, and the longer he waited at the apex, the stronger the flutter grew.

Priscilla had her head thrown back now, her mouth half open, her eyes pinched shut, and her forehead wrinkled in concentration as she waited for his next penetration. He resisted the urge to kiss her, not wanting to break her concentration. Instead, he kept going. Pull out. Wait. Wait longer. Plunge!

By now, Priscilla moans became shrieks intermixed with babbled endearments, and her legs clamped almost painfully around his midsection. Then, suddenly, he felt her sex become hot and almost liquid. Her sinewy arms closed around his neck and her legs clenched harder than ever while her whole body went into rigour. He felt the spasming around his prick and he new it was time. His hips began to blur as he hammered into her as all his control was abandoned. There was only one goal now, to penetrate, penetrate, penetrate as deep as humanly possible. From underneath he heard a keening sound and then his own climax washed over him. His member pulsed with the spurts of semen that shot through it and deep into Priscilla's womb.

When he came to, he was lying on his back next to a still Priscilla while Rose was wiping his body with a sponge. She smiled down at him.

"She's still out," she whispered.

She proceeded to wash him and wiped him dry with a towel. Next she busied herself on Priscilla's prostrate body, and the blonde slowly came to.

"Did I pass out?" she whispered.

"You did," Rose giggled.

"That was ... I never ... Dear God!"

"Amen!" Jim exhaled, causing Rose to laugh outrightly.

"You two should see yourself!"

Priscilla turned to look at Jim. "That was wondrous. I never thought I could be so wanton!"

"You were beautiful, Cilla," Jim answered earnestly.

"And you, Jim, are a hundred times the man Lucius ever was. To even think of his uncaring, clumsy humping and to think that I mistook it for this ... wonderful ... thing!"

Jim blushed but his wits were back. He reached for Rose's hand.

"I would have been clumsy too had not Rose taught me the art of loving."

"Oh, you!" Rose purred and plastered herself over his naked body. Inexplicably, his spent member revived under the contact, and Rose purred more. "You should have another one in you, shouldn't you?"

Jim decided that having two women in his bed was not without challenge.

"A man can but try his best," he grinned up at Rose. He pinched her buttocks and she shrieked. "How can I resist you?"

"Not a chance!" Rose smiled with conviction.

°°°

An inquest was held over Landon Moore's death two days later. A police surgeon reported his findings first, explaining in just so many learned words that Landon Moore had indeed been stabbed and shot. The stab wound inflicted by Priscilla would have been inevitably lethal, but not immediately so. However, of the five lead balls fired by Rose three would have killed him on the spot as each of them lodged in the front ribs after piercing the heart. One shot was slightly higher and broke the left clavicular bone, and one shot was found stuck in the shattered left shoulder blade.

Rose had to give an account of the events, but she had recounted those minutes so many times already that she was able to give a coherent description.

Next came Priscilla who was more apprehensive than Rose. She had to interrupt her testimony twice to regain her composure, and by this time the prosecutor, a Mr. Barstow, was sweating with embarrassment. She was quickly excused.

Inspector Mellard and Constable Bull also gave accounts of their observations before an interesting witness was called. He was the purser of the steamship Northhumbria in which Landon Moore had crossed the Atlantic coming from Philadelphia. The purser, a Mr. Woolcot, remembered Landon Moore as an often drunk passenger who gambled heavily, lost heavily, and was involved in at least two violent brawls during the crossing. Mr. Woolcot then told the jury that Moore had spent the latter half of the journey in the ship's brig on the captain's orders.

With all this evidence given, the jury needed only five minutes to return the verdict of "death by shooting in an act of self-defence". The prosecutor added that he saw no reasons for further investigations and apologised to Rose and Priscilla for the ordeal of their testimony.

Many of Rose and Priscilla's friends had rallied in the courtroom, and hugs were exchanged after the Justice declared the inquest closed. Lady Lambert was there to lend support, and she introduced Rose and Priscilla to another lady of around sixty years. Her face was tanned and covered with a myriad of freckles, and her greying hair still showed the remnants of a once strawberry blonde colouring.

"My dears, this is my husband's sister, Eleanor Ruiz de Costa. She returned from Venezuela a few days ago with her husband. Eleanor, darling, you may still remember Priscilla Marsden-Smith, née Bywater?" Mrs. Ruiz de Costa smiled wryly. "With her is my dear new friend, Mrs. Tremayne."

The two redheads looked at each other with smiles.

"I have heard of you from Lady Lambert," Rose said. "It is my pleasure to meet you at last."

"I should say the same, my dear," Eleanor Ruiz de Costa smiled. "My sister in law has quite a penchant for making interesting friends. Of course, I knew your husband back in the day when he and Priscilla were promised."

There was no malice in the words and Priscilla did not even blush anymore.

"Will you be using your house on the River Thames again?" Rose asked politely.

"Not very likely. First, I have to catch up on all the gossip," she grinned. "We may visit Oxford House, but only to see my daughter-in-law and the children. No, my battleground is London."

It was an almost girlish grin, full of mischief, and Rose liked the woman immediately. Lady Lambert felt the need to explain.

"Eleanor is very active in the suffrage movement. Things will be lively now that she has returned."

"A worthwhile cause to be sure," Rose nodded and Priscilla bobbed her head in agreement.

"It has made for some excitement in the past," Eleanor Ruiz de Costa smiled giving her sister in law an affectionate look. "Poor Ellen had to protect me against the consequences a few times. Be that as it may, I congratulate both of you on your bold actions. You are proof that women are victims not by necessity but only through their own inhibitions."

"We were both victims enough in our lives," Priscilla answered grittily. "Not any more."

"Yes, Ellen filled me in on your admirable stance against customs. 'The unwilling widow', wasn't it?"

"I stood by my wedding vows for as long as we both lived, but not a day longer," Priscilla answered frankly. "I never vowed to cherish his memory."

"Take heart, my dear Mrs. Marsden-Smith," Eleanor said soothingly. "There are good men out there who appreciate a woman of character."

Priscilla and Rose could not help but look at Jim. "I am positive of that," Priscilla answered with a serene smile.

°°°

The St. Albert's Benevolent Society had their next meeting just ten days after the inquest over Landon Moore's death. Priscilla had assisted Lady Wilkes in the organisation of the event and she had suffered much under the attitude of Annabelle Gainsworth. That woman saw herself as natural successor to Lady Wilkes, and she resented Priscilla for being Lady Wilkes' confidante. Priscilla's friendship with Rose and her status as widow without a household of her own made her a natural target for Gainsworth's barbs.

As against that, the Society had a new member. Sir Hamilton Crewes, a man in his early thirties and the heir to his grandfather, Sir Mortimer Crewes, had moved to London a year before. He had come into the title and the fortune of his grandfather at that time, but he had been a schoolmaster near Birmingham before learning of his heritage. In consequence, he was not well accepted in society and very conscious of his humble roots, for his father had been in disfavour with Sir Mortimer. Given his leanings towards the sciences and his sympathies for the plight of the workers, he was a natural for the St. Albert's charity.

Fifteen minutes before the appointed time, Priscilla was fretting in front of a mirror in Lady Wilkes' house wondering for the tenth time whether her appearance could give rise to ridicule. She was wearing a new costume made by Lady Lambert's tailors at Wilkins Fashion. It was certainly fashionable and well made, but Priscilla could not afford any costly adornments. Rose hugged her from behind.

"You look fabulous, darling!" she whispered.

"I was never so self-conscious," Priscilla confessed looking at her friend with envy.

Rose was wearing a beautiful dark green creation that showed off her red hair to utmost advantage. All she wore in the way of jewellery were a three-tiered gold chain holding the nugget talisman, and an emerald solitaire ring, but those sufficed. Rose noticed her friend's look.

"I offered you my sapphire necklace," she remarked. "It would have looked perfect on you."

"I know," Priscilla sighed. "It shouldn't be important. Yet, the woman gets to me in some way."

"I'm with you today," Rose smiled. "I owe you support too. Don't worry."

The visitors trickled in slowly. Most of them were elderly Priscilla noted, and later they would have to honour three members who had passed on in the year since their last meeting. The society was ageing. Even the next generation led by Gainsworth was in their sixties already and younger members were scarce.

At least one young face showed. It was a beaming face. Samantha Donovan née Tremayne, wife of Mr. Alistair Donovan, RCS, was to be inducted in this meeting, and she arrived fresh from her honeymoon. She hugged Rose with great feeling before she approached Lady Wilkes.

"Lady Wilkes, Dr. Roux sends his compliments and this letter," she said handing an envelope to the old woman who gave her a warm hug.

"Thank you, my dear! How was Paris?"

"Rainy," Samantha sighed. "There is also a lot of tension. Some people said there might be a war with Prussia looming."

"Let us hope not!" the old woman sighed. "I trust there was more than rain and war mongering for you?"

Samantha nodded and smiled shyly. "We had a wonderful time!"

"Humpf!" a voice sounded. It was Gainsworth who had listened in. "I cannot fathom why people would visit Paris or any other place on the continent. It's smelly, noisy, and the food is deplorable."

"But it's not!" Samantha protested. "At least not in the good establishments."

The second part was just an innocent qualifying addition, but Gainsworth almost choked.

"Are you insinuating that I frequented cheap establishments?"

Samantha was taken aback at first but she rallied back nicely.

"No, not at all. All I wanted to say is that my experience is limited to the upper tier of restaurants. Given what you said I assumed that you have not visited Paris yet."

"Why would I offer an opinion without having firsthand knowledge?"

"Because you do it all the time?" Priscilla heard herself blurt. Her eyes widened at the realisation that there was no possibility of a friendly intercourse with Gainsworth henceforth. Strangely, the realisation amused her and she actually smiled.

Gainsworth gobbled at her, rendered temporarily speechless at the audacity of the comment.

"A valid explanation, my dear Priscilla," Rose was heard. She took position between her stepdaughter and her friend. "Besides, being opinionated is not the same as offering opinions."

Lady Wilkes had watched the interplay and the wrinkles around her eyes deepened with mirth.

"My dears, let not the merits of French cooking interfere with our common purpose."

Gainsworth was still staring at Priscilla, Rose, and Samantha. All three stared back with their hackles raised. Gainsworth could not control her anger.

"You had better mind your station, all of you! An American woman of dubious provenance, the widow of a disgraced officer, and an orphan girl raised by an upstart. I cannot see for the world how you could be invited into our circles. You, Mrs. Tremayne, in particular seem to have a penchant for socialising with unsavoury people!"

Of course, she meant the "visit" by the late Mr. Moore. The riposte came to Rose without any thinking.

"Regrettably, this is true. However, with both of us society members, I cannot see a way to avoid you, much as I would prefer that!"

"Touché!" Lady Wilkes cackled. "My dear Annabelle, I invited Mrs. Tremayne because of her experience in the running of charities. Mrs. Donovan is the wife of one of the staff surgeons, much like I was once the wife of a staff surgeon. Lastly, Mrs. Marsden-Smith has been an invaluable help for me." More people were surrounding them now listening intently. "Most importantly, we are all getting older. To infuse fresh blood into our group is of vital importance for its continued existence. In the last years you were one of those who talked down to prospective members discouraging them from joining. I will not allow you to do it again."

"This used to be an exclusive group. When Lady Wheeler was still alive..."

"When Lady Wheeler was alive she charged me with the running, and I was but an orphan myself and barely older than either Mrs. Tremayne or Mrs. Marsden-Smith. There was nothing exclusive about the Society until my daughter was able to win Her Majesty as patron. Only then it became fashionable to join us."

"Then perhaps you want to return to those unfashionable days?" Gainsworth spat. "I and my friends can find better and more deserving causes."

"I am certain that my husband can find the extra £15 to compensate for that loss," Rose commented with her head thrown back in defiance.

Gainsworth stared back at her, unable to find words to counter this effrontery. When she finally took a deep breath, Lady Wilkes made a harsh gesture with her hand.

"Enough now! This is still my house. If you wish to leave, then leave!"

Gainsworth looked around. Some of her friends nodded back at her, some evaded her gaze.

"It would seem that we are not appreciated anymore. Lady Wilkes prefers her fellow-upstarts," she spat. "Let us leave then!"

She turned and left the room for the entrance hall, and five of her close friends followed her. The maidservant rushed to find their coats and hats, and a few minutes later they were ready to go. Lady Wilkes saw them to the door and watched with amusement as they headed for Gainsworth's coach. Just as the coachman pulled down the steps, two more coaches drew up accompanied by a Horse Guard detachment of twenty.

With gaping mouths, the renegades watched as Lady Lambert alighted from the leading coach accompanied by her eldest daughter Siobhan. They stepped up to the second coach from which the small figure of the Queen in her black widow's dress emerged. All the women present curtseyed in reflex, but the monarch had only eyes for wizened Lady Wilkes.

"My dear Lucy, you look healthy and hale."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I am well indeed. Will you step in?"

"Of course. That is my purpose, after all. Ellen talked me into attending, of course."

Surrounded by Guard soldiers, the queen entered the Wilkes' house. Like moths after a flame, Annabelle Gainsworth and her coterie tried to follow, but they were thwarted by Lady Wilkes.

"I am sorry," she said acidly. "This meeting is members only."

Inside Lady Wilkes' salon, the members of the St. Albert's Benevolent Society received their figurehead and sovereign with great surprise, mixed with both delight and apprehension. The queen had not made many appearances in public since the Prince Albert's untimely death. Lady Lambert affected the introductions. Men bowed deeply and women performed their best curtseys while the monarch nodded to them with a solemn face.

Rose, Priscilla, and Samantha were among the last to be introduced, and the queen looked them over with a trace of interest.

"Ellen told me that you are an American?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Rose was able to answer. "I am, and so is my daughter Samantha. Stepdaughter, of course."

"Finally some younger blood," the queen commented. "And you, Mrs. Marsden-Smith, are responsible for those well-written reports I receive?"

"I help Lady Wilkes as best I can, Your Majesty!" Priscilla answered with barely suppressed excitement.

"A worthwhile occupation. Please accompany her on her next visit. I want to learn more of you."

"Y-yes, Y-your Majesty!" Priscilla fairly squeaked.

The queen then claimed her place at the head of the table, and the members of the society sat down in their order of seniority. Priscilla was so excited that she could not stop shaking. Rose and Samantha led her to the table and held her hands until she calmed down. Her afternoon of excitement was not over, however, for Lady Wilkes claimed to have misplaced her reading glasses and asked Priscilla to read the annual statement. Priscilla was close to fainting, but Rose leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"Cilla, it's just a part of Lady Wilkes' ploy. Read the report. You wrote it, after all!"

Swallowing heavily, Priscilla stood.

"Your Majesty, Ladies and Gentlemen,

"Reporting on the proceedings of the Benevolent Society of St. Albert, I shall give you account of the activities in this year of the Lord, 1867, and of the monies taken and spent according to our by-laws..."

It took almost a quarter-hour to report the activities and to account for the expenditures. With every sentence she read, Priscilla became calmer. Nevertheless, when she finally came to the ending, she felt the sweat as it trickled down her spine. A polite applause ensued and Lady Wilkes rose.

"Thank you, my dear Priscilla. Your Majesty, honoured members, now is the time to ask questions."

Very few members were brave enough to ask questions in the presence of their sovereign, and the members soon moved to the annual pledges of support. It fell to Priscilla to call on the members for their pledges. The list still included the names of the renegades, and Priscilla could not help but read them out, to each of which Lady Wilkes announced a short, "Left the Society!".

The pledges were more or less the same as the year before, perhaps a bit higher which might have been due to the presence of the queen. Sir Hamilton made a very large contribution, more than compensating for the loss of six members. When the calls ended, the result was almost as high as the year before, a fact on which Lady Wilkes commented with satisfaction.

Refreshments were served next, and the members toasted to the health of their queen who nodded solemnly to all this. A little while later, they all had to rise as the queen was whisked away by her escort. Only after she had left began the excited babble that had been suppressed for over two hours. For over seven years, the queen had not shown at the annual meetings of the Society, and the members were excited and delighted.

Priscilla sought and found Lady Wilkes.

"Why should I accompany you to the palace on your next visit?" she asked her mentor.

The old lady smiled benevolently.

"I thought that was clear, my dear Priscilla. I have picked you as my successor."

Edited by SpikeCO



-------

Chapter 26: Priorities


London, Winter 1867 to 1868

A very conflicted Priscilla returned to Heyworth House with Rose. The latter only knew that Cilla had spoken privately with Lady Wilkes, but upon her gentle probing Priscilla had not revealed anything. Thus they rode the coach in silence, and in silence they entered the house and went to their respective rooms to change.

Even over the next days, Priscilla did not reveal the subject of her conversation with the old lady, and Rose gradually forgot about the matter. She noticed other things, however. The quality of their nights together changed. There was a new urgency to Priscilla's lovemaking. No longer did she wait for an invitation by either Jim or Rose, but she initiated their lovemaking with less and less subtlety. Rose ascribed this to her friend's growing self-confidence and awakening libido, and she enjoyed the sexually charged atmosphere that permeated their household.

The season continued, and on most evenings Jim and Rose attended soirees and dinner parties. Priscilla accompanied them to most such events, but not all. One particular soiree was to feature a reading by Mr. Wilkie Collins of his new, yet unpublished novel The Moonstone. Priscilla was very eager to attend, but their hosts rather pointedly insisted on Mr. and Mrs. Tremayne attending by themselves. Jim's first impulse was to scorn the invitation entirely, but Priscilla would not have it.

She surprised her friends on the next day by announcing that Sir Hamilton Crewes had asked her to accompany him and that she would be at the reading after all. Obviously, Priscilla was acceptable to the hosts in Sir Hamilton's company but not with the Tremaynes.

For the next week and until Christmas, Priscilla claimed the malaise and abstained from joining her lovers in their marital bed. Rose felt guilty, yet she had no inkling as to where she had offended her friend, and Priscilla herself was not forthcoming about the reasons. She left the house a number of times without much explanation and stayed away for hours. She would be deep in thought on her return and often went up to her room wéschewing dinner. Christmas was subdued for the friends.

Priscilla became animated again in the days before New Year. The Tremaynes held their own New Year's soiree at their Cheyne Walk house. It was close friends and family only, and Priscilla seemed to thaw from her reclusive mood. She was gay and outgoing, and as the evening wore on, she exchanged brief touches with Rose and with Jim.

Indeed, after the last of their guests left at two o'clock, Priscilla took her two friends' hands.

"My darlings, I know that I was remote and withdrawn in the last weeks. I promise to explain my reasons tomorrow, but tonight, I ask you to allow me in your midst again. Will you indulge me?"

Rose beamed at her friend. "You are not angry with us anymore?"

Priscilla shook her head so fiercely that her tresses danced. "Rose, I was never angry at either of you. I'm sorry if I gave that impression. I had to mull things in my head and that made me moody, but I have come to a decision. Can we just be lovers tonight?"

"We can never be just lovers, Cilla," Jim answered earnestly. "You know that we care about you too much to enter into a cavalier tryst."

Priscilla accepted the gentle rebuke and nodded. "Then, will you make love to me?"

"To that I happily agree," Jim smiled back.

They quickly adjourned to Jim and Rose's bedroom. The women helped each other to peel off their dresses, corsages, and various accessoires, and before long they joined a naked Jim under the bedcovers. It was chilly in the bedroom, and Jim felt two pairs of puckered nipples press against his sides. Two pairs of legs scissored his thighs, already leaving traces of female nectar on his skin, while two pairs of lips took turns nibbling on his skin.

He felt that the usually shy Priscilla was needful of his attention, and thus – after giving Rose an apologetic look – he focused his attention on their paramaour. He rained kisses on her face, her neck, and on the sensitive skin just below her ears before he moved lower, capturing her protruding nipple with his lips.

"Oh, yes! Kiss my boobies! Suck my boobies!" Priscilla moaned in the little-girl voice that she used only in the privacy of their bedroom.

By silent agreement, Rose slipped out of the bed and fairly skipped around it until she could slip back under the covers on Priscilla's other side. Jim moved into the vacated space pulling an oblivious Priscilla with him. He switched his attention to the left areola whilst Rose took over the right nipple from Jim. Their combined assault made Priscilla arch her back with pleasure and intensified her girlish babble.

"Oh, heaven! Yes! Make my titties feel good! Ow! You bad girl! You're tickling! Not fair!"

Playfully, Priscilla tickled Rose back who squirmed under the attack. Giving up her passive role, Priscilla gave Jim a playful kiss and turned to her right. Latching her mouth on one of Rose's much larger boobs, she continued poking and prodding her ticklish friend. Rose alternated between giggling and squealing, protesting and cooing, while her whole body shook under Priscilla's ministrations.

The women's antics left Jim incredibly aroused, and presented as he was with Priscilla's delectable backside, he lost no time aligning his straining member with her snatch. He pushed forward.

"Aargh!" Priscilla exclaimed, for once releasing Rose's boob. "This is sneaky!"

Jim chuckle reverbrated through his body and Priscilla squealed with delight.

"I'm only defending my poor wife against your vicious attack," he maintained whilst starting a steady in-and-out movement.

"My hero!" Rose giggled, looking at her friend's face which was taking on an expression of rapture. "Will you help Cilla in the same way when I attack her?"

"Oh, no! Not yet!" Priscilla panted. She looked over her shoulder. "I wa-as a very ba-ad girl tickling your wife, Mr. Tre-mayne. I de-e-serve yo-ur pun-ish-ment."

Her speech was certainly suffering under Jim's forceful thrusts. He had picked up on her mood and for once he did not hold back. Pounding her from behind, he latched his lips on her graceful neck under her left ear and sucked. He could feel how this made Priscilla's quim contract around his member, and he kept nibbling and sucking on her soft skin while his belly smacked against her jiggling buttocks.

Rose was not idle. She had slipped downward, and her lips tortured Priscilla's breasts while her own ample boobs were pressed against the blonde's taut belly and her legs scissored her thigh. Sucking on Priscilla's breasts and rubbing her own sex against her friend's thigh, Rose experienced a minor peak. Once recovered, she resumed her actions until a second, stronger climax made her tremble again. Whilst working towards her third release and frantically humping Priscilla's leg, she suddenly felt her friend tense up. Priscilla arched her back pressing her titties against Rose's lips. Her thigh pressed hard against Rose's mound, whilst her behind met Jim's thrusts with counter-thrusts.

A wailing sound escaped from Priscilla's throat. Hearing this, Jim hammered into her like a man possessed, feeling her pulsing flesh around his member, until his own violent release came over him. He pressed forward then, unconsciously aiming for the deepest possible penetration, and then his manhood spewed forth his essence deep into Priscilla's womb.

It was good that they were all lying on their sides already. They took a while recovering with Jim still embedded in Priscilla. Rose was the first to speak. She looked into Priscilla's eyes.

"Something is different tonight."

Priscilla gave her friend a pleading look. "Tomorrow? I'll tell you everything tomorrow."

Rose nodded silently while Jim extracted his member from Priscilla's opening. She flinched and moaned feeling the sudden emptiness and turned to Jim.

"Thank you, you darling man."

"It was my pleasure," Jim smiled back.

°°°

Priscilla waited until the housekeeper had left them alone at the breakfast table before she spoke up.

"Jim, Rose, you have given me a new life. With your kindness, your acception, your understanding, you have allowed me to find myself again. The last years were the best since my childhood, and the last few months opened my eyes for the beauty of life."

"You gave us back a lot, Cilla," Jim threw in.

"Yes, that, too! I felt useful for the first time in my life. I know now that I can be more than a bitter widow, disappointed and betrayed by my scoundrel of a husband." She took both Jim and Rose's hands in her own. "Our time as lovers must end."

Rose's face showed her shock and dismay. Pressing Jim's hand, Priscilla looked into Rose's eyes.

"Darling, it has nothing to do with you or Jim. I love you both. I can think of nothing better than to stay with you, and I can think of nothing worse than to stay with you. You give me all the love a woman can ask for and more, yet there are things I can never be, never achieve while attached to you.

"I can never be a mother for one. I know how we could arrange for things. We could travel abroad. I could give birth, and you would present the child as yours. But I would not be the mother."

"I can also never go to a soiree on Jim's arm, I can never proclaim my love for him, never be more than his ex-fiancé whom he tolerates out of the goodness of his heart. This is how it looks to people, at least to those who do not suspect me of being his paramour. Add to that the impression that I am trying to take your husband away from you. You, whom I love so dearly!"

"We could move back to Thornfield Abbey!" Rose protested.

"And expose us to the gossip there, don't you think?" Priscilla countered. "There is more. Lady Wilkes wants to step down. She offered to sponsor me as her successor. It is a worthwhile task, a modest role that I can play, and something to be proud of. I could be my own person. I would not be alone either. Sir Hamilton is courting me."

"Sir Hamilton? What of us?" Rose asked with a trembling voice.

"You, Rose, have the most wonderful man in the world. Before we became friends, he was enough for you, wasn't he?"

Blushing deeply, Rose nodded and gave Jim an apologetic look. "Of course. Forgive me, darling. Can I help it though that I love you, Cilla?"

"No more than I can help loving you," Priscilla answered with a sad smile. "Yet, I cannot live my live leeching off your marriage. There is more. The thought of remaining Mrs. Marsden-Smith is unbearable."

Jim nodded. "I cannot give you my name, but there are ways around that. We could travel abroad and you could return as Mrs. Dupre or Mrs. Martin or whatever surname you fancy. You married and your poor husband succumbed to disease or fell off his horse. Documents to that effect can be obtained, and nobody will be the wiser."

Priscilla pressed his hand. "You mean well, Jim. Yet, I would still be unable to look at you in public with the love I feel for you. I would be unable to express my deep affection for Rose. My whole life with Lucius was a lie. I want to live honestly. I want to display my affection for my loved ones. Please, set me free!"

"If this is what you really need, Cilla, so be it," Jim sighed. "Will you at least stay our friend?"

To this, Priscilla smiled openly. "Of course!"

"And will you keep us company?" Rose asked.

"In all but one sense. Rose, last night was the last time I shared your bed. I am not receptive in this part of my cycle. To continue would be to risk being with child."

"We could..." Rose began.

"Why prolong something that cannot last?" Priscilla interrupted. "You have your life, and I shall find my own destiny. The earlier, the better. Please, understand!"

"I do, but it tears into my heart!" Rose protested. "Jim, cannot you talk sense into her?"

"Her reasoning is sensible," Jim answered calmly. "We must not be selfish. Cilla, have you thought about your accommodations?"

"I shall have to live more modestly," she returned with a wry smile.

"You could continue to live with us. So far nothing is decided between you and Sir Hamilton, is there?"

"Not really, but given the rumours that are flying I should prefer to live on my own if frugally."

Rose shook her head. "I haven't heard a single bad word about you."

"I believe that. After all, you are the betrayed wife. I believe that it may be Gainsworth having her revenge, but it could be others, too."

Rose sighed heavily. "Is your mind made up?"

"Yes, Rose. I mulled this for weeks. Sir Hamilton may not be the dashing man Jim is, but he is a good person and a learned man."

"I hope that he is all that," Jim said. "You deserve a good man."

°°°

For Rose more than for Jim, it was a depressing day when Priscilla moved out from the house on Cheyne Walk. Rose felt physically sick every morning when she'd wake up and realise that her dearest friend was gone. She was very careful not to let out her mood on Jim, deeply afraid to cause a rift with him, but he could feel her sadness nonetheless.

Jim, for his part, understood Rose's feelings. After all, their blonde friend had proven to be an invaluable support for Rose. For Jim, the feelings were quite mixed. For one, he felt the renewed attraction to the woman he once had idolised. On the other hand, her presence and her closeness to Jim and Rose had added complications to their lives as well as the constant need for subterfuge. Hardly anybody in Denver had raised an eyebrow over Raven living with them, but this was London and the circles in which they moved abounded with idle gossipers.

Indeed, the visit of Raven with her husband helped to pull Rose from her doldrums. For a week, Rose all but forgot about Priscilla. Her sickness did not wane however, and it was Raven who pointed out the obvious while the two women were sitting together.

"Rose, you are with child."

Rose stared back at her old friend with incredulity at first, but then her eyes widened.

"Oh dear! But of course! How could I miss this?"

"You were preoccupied, my dear," Raven smiled back. "Do not tell me that Jim has been neglecting you?"

"No, he never did. He is a dear, dear man, and I ... I suppose I have to make amends to him. He had to put up with my moping for long enough. Morning sickness! How could I not see this!"

"I am surprised that it took that long for you to be with child again."

"At times I despaired of ever having a child. I was once forced to have my fruit destroyed, back in my days in Baltimore. The tavern owner did not want to put up with a bastard child. It may be that my fertility is compromised but not entirely damaged."

"Be that as it may, now you have a good idea. Oliver plans to stay in London for four weeks. I can keep you company."

"You are a dear!" Rose beamed back, her whole outlook on life changed in a few minutes. "I cannot wait to tell Jim!"

"He will be thrilled, no doubt," Raven smiled back. "Bobby will be five in April. It is time for him to have a sibling."

°°°

Rose waited for another two weeks, noting that her monthlies had now twice failed to happen, before she told Jim. They were at home, having dinner in leisure, and Bobby was sitting with them. After the dessert had been served and Bobby had returned to his room, Rose spoke up.

"Jim, it would seem that I am with child again."

Jim nodded to that. "I had a hunch, but I did not want to pressure you."

"You had a hunch?"

"Certainly. You were feeling nauseous and a little irritable. I asked Ed and he said that's how Penelope was when she had her youngest."

Rose smiled wryly. "I only made the connection when Raven confronted me with the idea. Are you happy?"

Jim stood and walked around the table. She rose as well, and then they were in a tight embrace.

"I love you, Rose. I had been worried that we might not have more children. So yes, I am happy. Happy for you and for me. If I'm not mistaken, the knowledge also contributed to your improved outlook of late?"

Rose smiled. "Yes. The thought helped me a lot. I'm looking forward to the child. It will distract me from my fruitless pining."

"Have you heard anything from Cilla?"

"She wrote me a billet the other day. It would seem that Sir Hamilton is pursuing the courtship with determination."

"She deserves the happiness," Jim said neutrally. "Just as you deserve happiness."

Rose wagged her head. "It is likely that I caught on that last night we had together with Cilla."

"What could have been a more perfect ending to our affair?"

"You are right. At least, we have something out of that last night to remember our friendship forever. If it is a girl, would you mind naming her Priscilla, at least as her second given name?"

"You can ask her, Cilla I mean, if she wants to stand in as godmother."

"Thank you. I have been a bit reproachful towards her, and I would like to make amends."

"It's a good idea. I would hate to lose her from our lives entirely.

Edited by SpikeCO



-------

Chapter 27: Old Friends


London, March 1868

Three days later, another piece of good news arrived. It was shortly after breakfast when the postman delivered a letter in a battered looking envelope bearing a 25¢ stamp from the United States Post Office. Jim and Rose sat down on a sofa and he opened the envelope with a pen knife. It was a letter from Amanda Thrush.



Denver, Colorado, December 7, 1867

Dear Rose and Jim,

I am sending you this letter to advise you of our imminent departure from Denver. We are headed for New York from whence we hope to find passage to your London. After a string of sad and even catastrophic events, we are glad to turn our backs on the Colorado Territory.

Last Summer, Scarlet Kennedy died from a festering tooth. She had been complaining about her tooth hurting but she refused to have it pulled in spite of our warnings. Poor Hiram was terribly wrought up of course. Mildred and Millicent have been living with us ever since because Hiram had to go back to the mine. The poor man!

In late October, we received the devastating news that there had been a terrible explosion in the main shaft of our mine. Hiram was killed along with twelve of the workers. Three more were injured. Ned and Albert rushed to Tarryall, but there was nothing anybody could do. Hiram was trying out that new blasting oil made of nitroglycerin and gunpowder, and the mine collapsed when it exploded prematurely.

Ned and Albert immediately shut down the mine after paying off the workers and the widows of the dead men. A consortium of California mine owners bought the claim from Ned for $220,000 while Albert finished the last shipments. The Californians plan to drive a new main shaft into the mountain, and we wish them good luck.





Ned and I have adopted poor Mildred and Millicent who are now alone in the world save for us. Using your power of attorney, Ned and Albert dissolved the mining company properly, and we shall forward the final share of the earnings including the proceeds from the sale to you when we reach St. Louis.

Come March, we shall all travel towards the East Coast. The Tennisons plan to visit Mary's parents in New York, and they will probably settle there. Ned and I have decided to make use of the opportunity and to travel onward to England. Ned discovered that his family came from a town named Peterborough, and he wants to visit it to find out whether there are still Thrushbottoms alive there.

We hope to find you in good health and spirits, and we plan to travel for a year or two at the least. Hiram's death has reminded us of how short life is, and we want to enjoy our hard-earned wealth while we can. Mildred and Millicent will of course accompany us. The girls need the change to get over the loss of their parents, and the excitement of the imminent travel has done its part to lift their spirits.

We hope to reach New York by late May and plan to take the first steamship sailing for England. For some reason of which Ned will not speak he does not want to stay in New York for more than a short time. Therefore we anticipate our arrival in England at some time in July. We sincerely hope that our visit will not inconvenience you overly, but I seem to remember that we got along famously even in a rather crowded cabin! Prudence sends her loving regards, and I am to convey Mary's fondest greetings!

Hoping to see you and your dear husband soon, I remain your loving friend

Amanda Thrush



Jim and Rose were quite shocked over these news. Poor Hiram had died while working to make them even richer. They could not quite muster the same feelings for Scarlet Kennedy, but Rose really felt for her daughters whom she had liked a lot.

Jim shook his head. "Damn! I read just last week that a Swedish fellow by the name of Nobel has invented some amalgam of nitroglycerine which is completely harmless unless ignited by a burning fuse. It's even safer than gunpowder. If only the fellow had been faster with his invention!"

"Hiram was like this, always trying new things. He should have been more careful. Now his poor daughters are alone," Rose said shaking her head. "Well, I suppose they are not really poor."

"No. The dowry hounds will be after them soon," Jim said with disdain.

"Well, we can trust Ned and Amanda to keep those at bay," Rose smiled, but then she turned sober. "I am just as happy though to not ever see Scarlett Kennedy again."

°°°

Spring came, and on a day in late April, the Tremaynes and many of their friends congregated at the St. Albert's Chapel, a part of the St. Albert's Hospital, to witness the wedding of Sir Hamilton Crewes and Mrs. Priscilla Marsden-Smith. Rose put on a happy face to mask her true feelings as she watched her beloved friend speak the vows that made her the wife of a somewhat unimpressive man.

Rose did not like nor respect Sir Hamilton. He was a man of middling height but with a rotund figure that not even the expensive swallowtail suit could disguise. He also had a way of not looking into people's eyes but rather speak to them with his eyes downcast. For her life, Rose could not understand what Priscilla saw in the man. Yes, he seemed well learned, but he was prone to uttering his opinions in a pontifical style that brooked no contradiction, at least to his mind.

Still, the Tremaynes played nice at the reception following the wedding offering their felicitations to bride and groom. Priscilla was grateful for the happy front they put up, and she hugged Rose with much feeling.

"Thank you for being here, my dearest! I was afraid that your state would preclude your coming."

"I am not that far along," Rose smiled. "I would not miss your happy day for anything."

"You are a dear, Rose," Priscilla answered with feeling.

The reception at Sir Hamilton's inherited city house was rather moderate, with no more than thirty guests, most of them from Priscilla's side. There was only one distant cousin on the groom's side, his best man almost by default, and his solicitor, a taciturn man of sixty years who seemed to deplore the expenditures incurred.

The food was of excellent quality, and the person to be praised for it was Sir Hamilton's housekeeper, a brunette woman of at most twenty and five years, uncommonly pretty with hazel-coloured eyes and a trim figure. She, too, seemed subdued, and the looks she cast at the bride were not overly friendly as Rose noticed.

"I wonder whether Priscilla's choice is a wise one," Siobhan Pryce told Rose when they were both standing a bit to the side. "That housekeeper spells trouble, and Sir Hamilton is not really a catch."

"I shall give him the benefit of the doubt," Rose sighed back. "She is my friend. I owe her to at least accept her choices."

"I still don't like the man," Siobhan maintained. "Let us face it: poor Priscilla does not have a lucky hand when picking husbands."

In spite of her friends' misgivings, Priscilla seemed to be happy enough when they bade farewell to the wedding guests at shortly after ten o'clock. Rose and Jim returned to Cheyne Walk in their coach. In the privacy of their coach, Jim admitted to not liking Priscilla's new husband.

"He has a coward's eyes," he said. "I know I should not judge him, but the less I'll see of him, the better I shall like him."

Rose had to agree, and she was afraid that their connection with Priscilla was going to suffer from her association with her new husband.

°°°

The water to both sides of RMS Scotia churned when the huge paddle wheels were put in reverse. The huge ship slowed and bumped gently against the pier. Lines were thrown, and a couple of longshoremen secured them against bollards. The paddle wheels came to a stop and a huge cloud of steam mixed with smut was released from the stacks.

Jim and Rose watched as a bridge was laid out between the ship's deck and the quay. Hundreds of passengers already crowded the decks but Ned's tall, lanky figure and his huge nose made him stand out even in a crowd of this size. Jim waved at his friend standing tall himself, and then Ned evidently spotted him and waved back. Rose, by virtue of her short stature, was unable to see much, but Jim could make out Amanda and even the two blonde heads of the Kennedy girls.

Fifteen minutes later saw the friends reunited in a group hug. Rose and Amanda cried tears of happiness holding each other while Jim and Ned kept slapping their shoulders and babbling the nonsense good friends say to mask their emotions. The retrieval of the baggage would take another day, but for now everybody was bundled into the two coaches they had brought along and taken upriver towards Chelsea.

Rose rode the coach with Amanda and the Kennedy sisters who in spite of their tiredness craned their necks at the sights along the route. New York had been awe inspiring for them, but London was by far the biggest city in the World and rivalled in splendour only by Paris. They gaped at The Tower, at St. Paul's Cathedral, and at St. James Palace. They marvelled at the huge crowds in the streets. They also scrunched their noses at the stench. This was July in London after all.

Once they arrived at Cheyne Walk, they alighted from the coaches and entered the Tremayne's town house. Orville Thrush and Robert Tremayne had spent untold hours babbling and drooling together as infants, but now they watched each other with deep distrust. Rose and Amanda laughed at their little cockerels and decided to give them more time to warm to each other.

Then it was time to tell stories, all the small and big adventures they'd had. Samantha came to visit a short while later, and this was a signal for the Kennedy girls to leave for the upstairs so they could hear from their age mate about the wonders of marriage. This left Jim, Rose, Ned, and Amanda alone, and Rose took the opportunity to report the encounter with Landon Moore and the indiscretion committed by Scarlett Kennedy.

Amanda shook her head. "That was why she kept making snide remarks about you. I'm afraid she was never quite one of us, was she? She was always sitting on that high horse. She refused to see Mr. Israelson, the dentist, because he is Jewish, and look where it got her. That festering tooth killed her."

"Do you..." Rose began but her voice faltered. "Amanda, do the girls know about our past?"

Amanda shook her head. "Scarlett always shielded them from anything she considered unsavoury. The girls were really looking forward to seeing you again. Do not forget that you are Mildred's heroine."

"I liked the girl. Did she bring that old guitar?"

"She would not part with it for anything," Amanda laughed. "Did you buy a new one?"

Rose smiled and nodded. "I have not played it in a while, but Jim found a very fine instrument that was built in Spain."

And on they went. It was easily after midnight when they finally went upstairs and to sleep. Rose was giddy and felt amorous when they settled under the sheets and blankets.

"Jim, darling, I had almost forgotten what a close and wonderful friend Mandy is. We had such a wonderful time back in that cabin in Tarryall."

"We did. It was crowded, and you could hear each and every sound, but we made it work."

"We did. Jim, I may not be able to engage in such activities for much longer. Would you mind confirming our bond once more?"

Jim looked at his wife in her silk nightshirt, her tummy already showing her state, and her breasts swollen and with prominent nipples. He smiled at her.

"Would I mind? Rose, I feel privileged whenever I can enjoy your charms."

"You don't find me too fat already?" Rose asked with mock self-consciousness.

"I believe I can get over my apprehensions," Jim grinned back.

"Then stop talking and start kissing me!" Rose commanded sternly only to dissolve in giggles. "I love you, Jim. Seeing Ned and Mandy again has reminded me of my priorities."

"Yes, it's good to have them here," Jim agreed. "Although I prefer to have our bedroom for ourselves."

°°°

For the next week, the Tremaynes showed their visitors the sights of London. Rose also introduced Amanda and the girls to Wilson's Fashion House on Bond Street. A good natured Ned established an account there and then wisely made his escape with Jim.

The two friends and partners visited the bank house of Lambert & Norton where Jim deposited the final money draft, a little over $130,000, from the mining partnership. This was a juncture for Jim: from now on he would depend on his capital investments for his livelihood. It was with this in mind that he instructed the bank clerk to buy government bonds with the newly arrived funds. £22,000 in government bonds was a secure cushion for bad times.

Jim and Ned had dinner at a gentleman's club owned by the grandson of a French Marquis, Etienne de St. Croix. The St. Croix had the best food in all of London, and Ned was suitably impressed. He confessed to having received lessons in good table manners from the dancing instructor in Denver. Mr. Beaumont's knowledge of good behaviour may have been dated and it had been the good behaviour of the Old South. Still, Ned managed to dine without mishaps or embarrassments.

When the two friends returned to Cheyne Walk, the women were also back from the fashion house. After having tea, the two families went for a stroll along the river. It was astonishing how quickly the easy friendship returned.

Two days later, Raven and her husband came to visit. Amanda and Raven shared a long embrace, and even Ned received a hug. Colonel Burton, a man of the West himself, fit in easily. On the spur of the moment, Jim sent a billet to Sir Hamilton Crewes, inviting him and Priscilla to dinner that evening. An answer came not two hours later declining the invitation due to prior commitments.

They had not seen Priscilla in weeks, and the Tremaynes began to accept that Priscilla would not be a part of their future lives. Even a letter from Rose asking Priscilla to be godmother to Rose's child had been answered with a non-committed answer citing possible conflicts. Rose and Jim suspected that the dislike they felt for Sir Hamilton was mutual.

Ned's family had once come from Peterborough. He had never cared much about his family roots, but in the recent years he had established a contact to his cousin in Buffalo, and that cousin had sent him copies of family documents pointing at Peterborough as origin of the Thrushbottom family. Naturally, Ned wished to visit the town and to meet any surviving relations. Since the town was located at the main railroad from London to York, it was decided to make the journey.

On Monday next, the Tremayne and Thrush families boarded a train for York, and they alighted in Peterborough four hours later. They found lodgings on Priestgate, close to the Cathedral, and then went out for a first look at the city. Peterborough had been a bishop's seat since 1541, and the cathedral was a fine example of Norman architecture amended by its imposing Gothic western front. Jim and Rose had become used to the splendour of English churches, but Ned and Amanda were overwhelmed. All afternoon, the two families strolled the streets, and Jim could not help but see a gleam in Ned's eyes as he drank in the sights.

They had a good night's rest in the guest rooms of their inn, but the night was short. Come the morning, Ned dragged Jim away from the breakfast table, and together the two partners found the guild hall, another fine old building. There, in the ancient ledgers, they found out that one Jeremiah Thrushbottom, grain merchant and miller, had in the Year of the Lord 1721 built a house on South Street.

Fifteen minutes later, the two men found themselves in front of a rundown building that showed the traces of a well-to-do past but also of long neglect. Asking around the neighbourhood, they found an elderly man who pointed them towards a Mr. Landsdown who supposedly had inherited the building but was living in his far better conserved own house two streets to the north.

Indeed, Mr. Landsdown was present when they called upon him. He was an elderly cloth merchant, related by marriage to the last of the Peterborough Thrushbottoms. His eyes took on a gleam when he heard Ned's name and saw his interest in the old house. It was a sturdy house he claimed, a little neglected but easily fixed with "a bucket of paint and a box o' nails". He readily agreed to give Mr. Thrushbottom a viewing of the ruins, and they presently set out for Ned's family seat.

The inside did not look quite as terrible as the outside, but it was clear that many buckets of paint, new floor boards, and many fixings would be needed to convert the ruin into something habitable. Nevertheless, Ned was in haggling mode at this point. He never made mention of his fortune earned in the gold fields only allowing for some savings after a life of toil. In fact, in his American-cut suit and with his short cropped hair, he did not look wealthy at all. Within forty minutes, Mr. Landsdown agreed to sell the property for £1,300, and Ned returned to the inn to tell his wife that for some time Peterborough would be their home.

Amanda was not in the least surprised, and Rose told Jim in private that Amanda and Ned had already fallen in love with the old city. They all visited the place once more, and Amanda was slightly dubious seeing the state of the house. Yet, they all agreed that the location was a fine one, and that the rest could be fixed with enough money. Of that Ned had plenty after all.

On the next morning, the Tremaynes left their friends in Peterborough to return to London. Ned and Amanda would stay for a week to get the rebuilding started. Carpenters and builders, painters and plasterers had to be hired. Ned had great plans for the house. Jim suspected that a man of Ned's wealth would soon become an important part of Peterborough's society and that Ned was indeed aiming for such a position.

Jim could understand his friend's desire. He, too, had returned to his home to establish himself with his fortune. It was natural for Ned to do the same, even if no Thrushbottom had lived in Peterborough for the last three decades. It would be nice if Ned and Amanda settled down just four hours away from London by train. They would see their friends on a regular basis.

Arriving in London, they took a hackney coach back to their house in Chelsea. Much to their surprise they found a letter that had been left for them. It was from Priscilla.



Dear Rose and Jim!

I regret that we were unable to follow your invitation last week. I am afraid that Hamilton is more of a recluse than I thought. He is leery of eating out – why, I do not know – and even at home he only eats what Miss Wharton cooks for him. It may have to do with his frequent bouts of indigestion which I ascribe to a nervous stomach.

I have learned that you travelled north with your American friends, but I hope to find an opportunity for a visit once you have returned. There are many things that I need to discuss with you, and I hope that you are not too disappointed in me.

Your loving friend

Cilla



"That does not sound like a happy wife," Jim commented.

Rose scrunched her nose and shook her head. "He sounds like The Imaginary Invalid to me. Frequent bouts of indigestion! He's a ninny, that's what he is."

Jim sat down to write a short note on a billet.



Dear Lady Crewes,

Having received your note I encourage you to visit at any time you see fit during the next days. You will always be welcome.

Your friend

James W. Tremayne



"Why so formal?" Rose asked.

"I better not compromise her with endearments. We cannot know whether Sir Hamilton might read it first."

"Of course, you are right." Rose shook her head again. "It is so sad."

A messenger was sent with the billet and returned with a short answering note.

At tea tomorrow? Love, Cilla.

°°°

Indeed, Priscilla showed at their door at tea time. Jim welcomed her with a short hug, followed by a far longer hug from Rose.

"How do you feel, darling?" Priscilla asked Rose, eyeing her expanding midsection.

"So far, nothing seems amiss," Rose smiled back. "And you?"

Priscilla shrugged. "It is not that I can complain, but it is not what I expected either."

"Let us sit, and then you can explain," Jim offered, leading the women into the winter garden that served as their parlour.

Tea was served, and the three friends settled into their chairs much like they had done so many times when Priscilla had been living with them. At first, Jim and Rose told Priscilla about the visit by the Thrush family and about their plan to purchase a house in Peterborough. Raven's visit was mentioned, too, before Priscilla began to relate her own experiences.

"Hamilton is at once a very kind and gentle man, and then again he acts strangely. He has strange eating habits, eschewing almost any food not prepared by Miss Wharton. Just the other day, Miss Wharton had her free day and I prepared dinner. Hamilton claimed a stomach ailment and declined the food, but after I had started to eat he suddenly professed a miraculously restored appetite and ate his fill."

Jim snorted. "Is he afraid that you might poison him?"

"It almost looks like it. Then, twice a week, always on Monday and Thursday, he appears to suffer from stomach cramps and Miss Wharton has to prepare warm milk for him. We never dine out either."

"This sounds strange indeed," Jim remarked thoughtfully.

"Oh well, I should not complain too much. He is gentle and considerate, and he cares for me."

"There is that," Rose agreed. "So I take it that dinner invitations will not be accepted."

Priscilla gave her friend an apologetic smile. "I shall try to convince him to be more open."

°°°

A week later, the Thrush family returned from Peterborough. Builders were already at work stripping their future home of rotten wood and rusted iron. A half century of neglect had to be repaired but Ned was confident that the work could be concluded in two months' time. Amanda was not quite as enthusiastic as her husband, but she indulged him saying that she liked Peterborough well enough. For the Kennedy girls the prospect of living in provincial Peterborough was not as tempting, but they were mollified by the promise of frequent visits to London.

During the next weeks, while Rose was still able to travel, they visited Bath and other places, showing their friends a good time and having one at the same time. They also spent two weeks at Thornfield Abbey where they met Jim's family and a number of neighbours. When they finally returned to London, Rose was only seven to eight weeks away from the estimated birthing date.

When they entered their house they found their housekeeper almost in panic. Time and again she tried to spell out the news, but in the end she could only point at the newspaper front page with its screaming headline:

LADY CREWES TO STAND TRIAL FOR MURDER

Edited by SpikeCO



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Chapter 28: A Friend in Distress


John Barstow, prosecutor at the Central Criminal Court, alighted from the rented cab that had taken him to Newgate Prison. The case of the attempted murder of Sir Hamilton Crewes had been assigned to him just an hour ago, and the suspect, Sir Hamilton's wife, was already kept at Newgate. He wanted to interview her first to get an impression of her.

The magistrate rose when he recognised the Crown attorney.

"Good afternoon, Sir."

"Good afternoon. I wish to speak Lady Crewes."

"Certainly, Sir! I shall have her brought to the interrogation cell."

"No need for that, my good man. I can see her in her cell."

"But, Sir! She's not in a private cell. Her husband refused to pay. She's in..."

"Don't tell me she's in the common cell!" Barstow expostulated, horrified by the thought of a mere suspect to be locked in with the whores and thieves that were usually kept in that common cell.

"But she is, Sir!" the man answered miserably. "She had no money on her when she arrived, and she refused to give up her valuables."

"Good God! Have her brought out here at once!"

Barstow was truly shocked. His shock went deeper when the woman was brought in. She had bruises in her face, and a nasty bruise around her neck where somebody had apparently tried to strangle her. Her dress of blue cotton was torn in some places, too. The worst were her eyes that showed the terror she had endured for the last hours. With a shock he recognised her as the woman who had so resolutely defended her friend against a violent attacker.

"Madam, words fail me to express the regret I feel over the treatment you had to endure."

She gave him a bitter smile. "Well, my husband promised me to leave me to the wolves, and at least in that he did not lie."

"He refuses to put you up in a private cell? Has he no concept of the consequences?"

"Oh, I believe he does. I should not have married a lunatic."

Barstow turned to the magistrate. "Have a private cell readied for her!"

"You see, Sir, she has..."

"Never mind! I shall pay for it if need be. See to it at once!"

"As you wish, Mr. Barstow," the magistrate answered with a little smirk.

Barstow turned back to Lady Crewes and found her looking at him with a crooked smile.

"Mr. Barstow?"

"Yes, indeed, Madam. Perhaps you remember me from the inquest after Mr. Moore's death? I am a prosecutor at the Central Criminal Court of London."

"I did not poison my husband, Mr. Barstow. If you hope to elicit a confession with your generosity, then I suggest you have me brought back into that cesspool at once."

Barstow blushed. "I hope that you do not think that I might have something like that in mind."

She blushed under the bruises. "Forgive me then. In a place like this a gentleman is very hard to find."

"Firstly, and before we begin the interview, let me ask whether you may have friends in London who might be willing to assist you."

She exhaled deeply. "There were many, although I have no way of knowing whether they will stand by me given the accusations levelled against me. Of my friends Mr. and Mrs. Tremayne of Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, I am certain, however. If you were to alert them to my predicament, I should hold you for a true gentleman whatever your duty will compel you to do."

"I shall act accordingly, Madam. Now, if you were to tell me your side of the events?"

Lady Crewes nodded and took a deep breath.

"I met my husband during a function of the Benevolent Society of St. Albert where I act as secretary to Lady Wilkes ... Well, that is over, too. Nobody will ever want to be seen with me again."

"Your guilt has not been established yet."

"Yes, but I am confined to this prison, and my husband will no doubt spread his views in this moment."

"That cannot be helped I fear," Barstow acknowledged. "Madam, should I better call on you tomorrow? You need to recuperate a little. If you'll allow it, I shall also see to it that you will receive adequate food. A good blanket and other items, too."

"Will you do that? You are indeed a ray of hope for me. I cannot pay you back with a confession to a deed I did not commit, but I will remember you as a shining example from which other men should learn."

Barstow blushed a little, and he bowed. "I take no satisfaction from this case, Madam. I shall call on you tomorrow, and I hope that you will be able to find some rest."

He did not leave without giving the magistrate stern instructions as to the treatment the woman was to receive, and when he left he could not banish the thought of Lady Crewes from his mind. Accused or not, she had left an impression on him.

°°°

Rose stood with her mouth open staring at the newspaper. It proclaimed to the world that Lady Crewes stood accused of attempted murder by poison of her husband, Sir Hamilton Crewes. The reporter then assured his readers that the evidence against her was unshakeable and that she would owe her life to the miraculous survival of the victim. She was, the public was assured, held at Newgate Prison until her trial and conviction.

"This is horrible!" Rose whimpered, and Jim regarded his wife with immediate concern. Thankfully, Amanda was already supporting her. There was more, however. The housekeeper produced a billet which she handed to Jim.

"This is from the prosecutor. He informs us that Lady Crewes is at present held at Newgate Prison and that she cannot expect support from her husband. She named us as her closest friends," he ended with a small smile. He looked at Rose. "Rose, darling! I shall look into the matter at once. Please calm yourself. I am certain that this is a terrible misunderstanding. Let me get to the bottom of this."

"Jim, we must help her!"

"And we shall," Jim replied with his jaw set in determination.

He studied the newspaper article once more. He knew that to go off half-cocked was a sure way to make things worse. His own solicitor, Mr. Turnwell, had his office in the City. It was there where he had to find help.

"Tell the coachman to stay ready!" he snarled at the poor housekeeper who jumped and ran from the hallway.

"Ned, will you watch over Rose?" he asked his friend who nodded grimly.

"I'll do just that and don't you worry none about her. Us and Rose and Mandy, its the same all over again."

"Let her rest, and don't allow her to leave!" Jim bent over Rose. "I shall be back with news as soon as possible!"

Within twenty minutes, the coach came to a stop in front of Mr. Turnwell's office, and seconds later, Jim stormed up the front steps. Thankfully, Mr. Turnwell was in, and he received his wealthy client immediately.

"My dear Mr. Tremayne, you look in haste. You had better come in medias res without ado."

"Mr. Turnwell, I need you to identify the best barrister London can boast."

"For a property dispute?"

"No. A criminal murder trial."

"Mercy! You are not... ?"

"No. It is about our friend, Lady Crewes. We wish to render her any possible aid."

Mr. Turnwell whistled softly. "The best man for a case like this would be Sir Archibald Pendrake. I happen to befriend him. If you wish we can visit him this minute."

"That would indeed be helpful," Jim sighed with relief. "My coach is waiting outside."

"Splendid! No need for a coat on a sunny day like this."

Mr. Turnwell was already heading for the door and Jim followed him in haste. Mr. Turnwell gave the directions to Jim's coachman, and a minute later the wheels of the coach were rattling over the cobble stones. Sir Archibald's office was in the City, too, and the coach ride took but five minutes. Mr. Turnwell was well known, and they were admitted before Sir Archibald with only a minimal delay.

"Roger, my dear! Welcome! Pray, who is your client with the lack of patience?"

"Archibald, this is my client, Major Tremayne. Mr. Tremayne and his wife befriend the Lady Crewes, and he inquired about the best barrister for her defence. Naturally, I thought of you."

"The Crewes case? How very interesting! Mr. Tremayne, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Pray, be seated and state your interest."

In brief words, Jim described how they had returned from a stay at their country seat only to find the alarming newspaper reports.

"Are you a personal friend of Lady Crewes?" Sir Archibald inquired with a neutral tone.

"I owe her my wife's life," Jim answered without hesitation. "I promised my wife to do my utmost to clear up the misunderstanding that must undoubtedly lie at the heart of the affair."

"Quite. Are you prepared to post sureties against Lady Crewes' release from Newgate Prison?"

"Certainly. Any amount."

"This may run up to £1,000," Sir Archibald warned.

Jim just gave him a cool smile and a nod.

"Major Tremayne owns a gold mine in the Americas," Mr. Turnwell felt compelled to explain.

Sir Archibald gave a brief laugh. "Then I suggest that you procure sufficient funds or a bank letter guaranteeing them. Where do you bank?"

"Lambert & Norton. It is around the corner."

"Splendid! Why don't we do the following: while you engage in the procurement of the bank letters, I shall have my clerk warn the magistrate of our intentions. Once you return we can then proceed to offer bail."

Jim nodded briefly, clapped his hat upon his hair and left the offices. Five minutes of brisk walking brought him to the bank house. Fortunately, Sir Anthony Carter was in presence and helped to expedite the process. Jim was issued fifteen bank letters, each of them guaranteeing £100, and he left the bank in a brisk walk not thirty minutes later.

Mr. Turnwell bade his good byes wishing Jim luck and success, and Jim set out for Newgate Prison with Sir Archibald. The coachman did his best, and not thirty minutes later they arrived at the prison. Newgate had been built eighty-six years before in a style intended to induce fear in the lawbreakers, and Jim shuddered thinking of Priscilla being locked up in this place.

The magistrate in charge received them being warned ahead of their arrival.

"I am here to represent the Lady Crewes. Major Tremayne here is prepared to post sureties against her release from prison."

The magistrate looked them over.

"It's late already," he said.

Jim nodded to that. "Then we should better hurry, shouldn't we? I shall be grateful indeed for your help."

The magistrate did a neat magician's trick and Jim's two folded pound notes vanished from the desk.

"Where has she been kept?" Jim asked next, and he detected uneasiness on the part of the magistrate.

"In the common cell at first," he mumbled.

"In the common cell?" Jim exploded. "With whores and thieves?"

The magistrate cowered before Jim. "You see, she had no means to pay for the better cells. Her husband being the victim, he did not see fit..."

"That worthless coward will hear from me," Jim snarled. "Quick, man, name the bail."

"F-five hundred pounds, Major?" the cowed magistrate offered. "You have to see that Mr. Barstow, the prosecutor, had her set up in a private cell after only a few hours. Paid for it, too. She's safe."

"Better, but still not good enough! Now bring her out and be quick about it!" Jim shot back, placing five of his bank letters on the desk.

The magistrate fairly ran from the office and could be heard bellowing in the adjacent hallway. Only a few minutes passed before a prison guard appeared leading Priscilla into the office. Her face and neck showed some bruises, and her dress was torn in the front. She looked like a wounded animal. Seeing him, she began to cry helplessly.

"Who did this to her?" Jim demanded, and his tone was such that both the magistrate and the prison guard flinched noticeably.

"Common cell, you have to understand, Major," the magistrate grovelled.

Jim stepped close and lifted Priscilla's chin.

"Cilla, did the guards molest you?"

"No," she whispered.

"Who beat you then?"

"There's this woman. She took what possessions I had on my person, and she beat me to get more. Only, I couldn't give her more. Hamilton disavowed me. He'll not even let me use what possessions I brought into the marriage."

"What's the name of the woman?"

"Maggie Bullson."

Jim looked at the magistrate. "I expect Lady Crewes' possessions returned to her immediately! What sort of place are you running I feel compelled to ask?"

Sir Archibald stood to the side, an amused smile on his face, and watched the guard run from the room. He felt the need to establish his presence.

"Lady Crewes, I am Sir Archibald Pendrake, barrister, at your service. Major Tremayne retained my services for your defence, and I shall represent you in court and in all proceedings related."

Priscilla swallowed hard. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Archibald," she said with a shaky voice giving Jim a grateful look.

"Major, I suggest that once Lady Crewes' possessions have been retrieved, we shall return to the City. I have but a few questions to ask of Lady Crewes that cannot wait until tomorrow, but the coach ride will afford me with the opportunity. After that, I would suggest that you find her a comfortable resting place."

Jim nodded.

"I would also abstain from any action regarding Sir Hamilton. It would only hurt our case."

Jim nodded again, although he balled his fists involuntarily.

They had to wait for close to a quarter hour before the prison guard returned with scratches in his face but also with a mother of pearl comb, two rings, and one brooch that belonged to Priscilla. Another two pound notes changed hands to console the guard over his injuries, and then they were able to leave.

People stared at the two richly dressed gentlemen who escorted a woman in torn dress from the prison. This would be a problem, Jim and Sir Archibald decided. Priscilla would need her wardrobe. The barrister suggested that Mr. Turnwell would tend to this, perhaps assisted by one of the Tremaynes' servants. Jim found that a sensible suggestion.

They let Sir Archibald alight in front of his offices and he promised to pay a call on the next morning to interview Priscilla. This left the two friends alone, and while the coach rumpled towards Chelsea, Priscilla sat close to Jim leaning against his shoulder.

"I was such a fool," she said dejectedly. "You and Rose offered me love and security, and I scorned it to find a husband of my own."

"It doesn't matter, Cilla. We're still there for you, and we'll see you through this."

She looked up with a tear-streaked face. "I did not poison him!"

"Sssh! Nobody in their right mind believes in this utter rubbish. Rest now, and when we arrive you will take a long bath. You will dress nicely then, have a good dinner, and then go to sleep."

"Don't you want to know... ?"

"That can wait. You'll have to tell Sir Archibald anyway."

"You're far too good to me, Jim."

"Nonsense. We are friends after all."

°°°

Mr. John Barstow, Public Prosecutor at the Central Criminal Court, looked at the police inspector sitting in front of him.

"What do you make of the victim, Sir Hamilton, Inspector Mellard?"

"He's deathly afraid of being poisoned, Sir. I mean, Sir, why else would he eat arsenic for years to harden himself."

"I quite agree, Inspector. Did you question the man? Is it conceivable that he overdosed all by himself?"

"I asked just that, Sir, and he launched into a quarter hour diatribe explaining how he was a teacher of chemistry himself and how learned men such as him never made such mistakes."

"So the point is that he has been hardening himself by a regular intake of arsenic for years, and when he was given a deathly dose three days ago, he survived with little more than a bout of the dysentery."

"Precisely. He then performed the Marsh test on the food leftovers and found arsenic in the chicken broth. The chicken broth had been from the day before and warmed over, so it had been standing in the food locker for a day."

"Lady Crewes did not eat of it?"

"She attended a meeting at one Lady Wilkes' house. She is involved in a hospital charity, the St. Albert's Benevolent Society. She did not return before nine o'clock."

"How about that housekeeper? Has she reason to poison her employer?"

"This is just an impression, Sir, but I believe she's secretly in love with him. Besides, Sir Hamilton stated that she knows of his efforts to harden himself against arsenic poisoning. Had she been behind it she would have given him a higher dose."

"Quite so. The other servants?"

"None of them had access to the kitchen. Miss Wharton was adamant. Lady Crewes has the only other key."

Barstow sighed. "What do you make of her?"

"I've known her, Sir. Last autumn she came to the aid of her friend, Mrs. Tremayne, who was attacked in her home by some American brigand. Lady Crewes stabbed the assailant with Mr. Tremayne's sabre whereupon Mrs. Tremayne grabbed a loaded Colt revolver and shot him to death. She appeared to be quite a courageous lady then and a very close friend to Mrs. Tremayne. I held a rather favourable view of her."

"So did I. Perhaps you can speak this Mrs. Tremayne. Ask her opinion."

"I tried already. They have visitors from America and have gone to the country. I'll try again tomorrow."

"You do that, please. Nevertheless, we are left with only one person with motive and opportunity. Or perhaps you can think of another suspect?"

"Afraid not, Sir. Lady Crewes really does not strike me like a poisoner, but she is our only suspect."

"Did you search the Crewes' house for poison?"

"I did it myself, with my sergeant and two constables. Found nothing."

"This will not be an easy case. It is all conjecture and no proof. Yet, the man was poisoned and his wife is the only suspect."

"Very true, Sir."

Barstow looked at the inspector. "What if he did it himself to rid himself of his wife?"

"I cannot see a reason. They were married only a few weeks ago. He is a rich man, and she lived with the Tremaynes, so he does not stand to gain anything."

A messenger entered the office. "Mr. Barstow, Sir, here's a note from the magistrate at Newgate Prison."

Barstow accepted the note and read it. He made a face.

"Our problems have just doubled. Sir Archibald Pendrake will represent Lady Crewes. She was released against a security paid by Mr. Tremayne."

"He's back then," Inspector Mellard said drily. "We better search for better proof or Pendrake will tear us apart in court."

Barstow shook his head. "We better."

"He'll make Crewes look like a fool and a ninny," Mellard said darkly.

"He is a fool and a ninny," Barstow answered. "Yet, even fools and ninnies must not be poisoned."

°°°

Sir Archibald arrived shortly after nine o'clock and was shown to the winter garden. No fewer than six women had worked on Priscilla's appearance: Rose, Amanda, Samantha, Raven, Siobhan Pryce, and Lady Wilkes, and like a squadron of frigates around a treasure galleon, these six women escorted Priscilla to the winter garden. Priscilla herself was wearing one of Samantha's dresses, and with her hair freshly washed and her bruises disguised under makeup, she looked nothing like the beaten, frightened woman of the day before.

On the male side, Jim and young Mr. Donovan completed Priscilla's support group.

Sir Archibald rose and was acquainted with the ladies and with Mr. Donovan. Jim explained that Mr. Donovan had an understanding of poisons and would lend them his advice.

When Priscilla was seated, Sir Archibald asked her to recount the last days from her viewpoint. Priscilla then told them of the events of the last week, stressing that nothing untoward had happened until four days ago when she returned from a meeting at Lady Wilkes' house and found her husband in severe pain and discomfort being attended by Miss Wharton. Priscilla recalled that Miss Wharton fed him a thin oatmeal soup in milk. Naturally, she offered her help and assistance and even demanded that a physician was called. However, her husband angrily forbade that and asked her to leave him alone.

At breakfast on the next morning, her husband was almost recovered. He was absentminded and brusque with her. He left her alone to go to his private study where he often conducted chemical experiments. When he emerged from that study three hours later, he accused Priscilla of poisoning him. She protested her innocence, of course, but shortly after, a police inspector called at their house and arrested her for murder.

For the first hours, she was kept in the common women's cell at Newgate Prison, the butt of cruel jokes and violence at the hands of her fellow prisoners. This part was recounted by Priscilla in a voice full of despair and hurt, and only when she came to the last part, her release into Jim's custody did her voice regain its normal quality.

Sir Archibald had made some notes during the recount and when she finished, he looked at her with his head tilted.

"Lady Crewes, is there any reason for your husband to suspect you of the deed? Had you any disputes or quarrels? Have you or your husband any illicit affairs?"

Priscilla blushed deeply. "I have been true and loyal to my husband, and I believe he was loyal to me. Only..."

"Only, what, Lady Crewes?"

"When I returned that evening, and my husband was violently sick, I had the impression that Miss Wharton was somewhat possessive about him, or protective."

"I see. Has Miss Wharton displayed any jealousy towards you?"

"I cannot say that she welcomed me with open arms, but she never gave me the impression that she resented me in any way."

"Have you ever purchased or otherwise come into possession of white arsenic?"

Priscilla thought about it. "There may have been arsenic in my first husband's house to prepare rat bait, but that was the coachman's task and I never saw any, that is knowingly. I would not know how to recognise arsenic as such."

"Was there any rat infestation in Sir Hamilton's house?"

"Again, not to my knowledge. This would have been handled by Miss Wharton or by my husband who is versed in chemistry."

"I see. Lady Crewes, I interviewed Inspector Mellard this morning, and I learned a few interesting facts. Did you know that your husband is a habitual arsenic eater?"

Priscilla's eyes widened. "Why would he do that?"

"Apparently, and I am not very knowledgeable of such matters, the regular intake of small, non-deathly quantities of arsenic will render the arsenic eater partly hardened against deathly doses of the poison."

"No, I had no idea. Is that why he frequently complained about indigestion?"

Sir Archibald shrugged, but the young Mr. Donovan cleared his throat.

"If I may be so bold as to interrupt, the regular uptake of arsenic should show in his fingernails. We also know that chronic poisoning with arsenic frequently causes the body to accumulate water, probably through a damage to the kidneys. He is trading his health against a very dubious benefit."

"Thank you for the clarification, Mr. Donovan," Sir Archibald nodded. "Lady Crewes, your husband claims that his hardening saved him when you poisoned him with arsenic in a leftover bowl of chicken soup. He claims that the dose would have killed any normal person."

"He is certainly not a normal person," Lady Wilkes grated causing small chuckles.

"But why should I want to kill my husband?" Priscilla asked.

"You would stand to inherit his fortune, Lady Crewes."

Priscilla snorted, but then she looked at Jim.

"James, would you recount the offer you made to me?"

Jim cleared his throat. "I, well, seeing how she twice saved my wife's life, I offered Mrs. Marsden-Smith a sizeable funding in government bonds which she refused. I had meant it as a way to give her some independence."

"How sizeable?" Sir Archibald inquired.

"£10,000," Jim answered. "The capital gains would have allowed her a comfortable life."

"A generous offer to be sure. Would you testify to this effect?"

"Certainly."

"A point in our favour," Sir Archibald opined. "Our problem is that the police – and admittedly I, too – can see no other suspect."

"What about Miss Wharton? Perhaps she felt slighted by Sir Hamilton?" Rose asked.

"Yes, of course. However, Miss Wharton knew of Sir Hamilton's habit of arsenic eating. If she had been the culprit she would have used a much larger dose of the poison. Sir Hamilton himself pointed this out it would seem."

"He finds excuses for his housekeeper but condemns me without a second thought!" Priscilla said bitterly.

"Perhaps we should attempt to find out more about that woman," Siobhan Pryce opined. "There is something fishy about her."

"I am afraid that personal feelings about her will not sway a jury," Sir Archibald answered.

"If I may, perhaps we are interpreting the evidence from a wrong premise?" Alistair Donovan mused.

Sir Archibald nodded. "Pray, elaborate, Mr. Donovan. After all, you are the expert in our little group."

Donovan blushed. "If we look at the evidence under the premise that Sir Hamilton was poisoned to kill him, then Lady Crewes is indeed the only plausible culprit. If we, however, exclude her as culprit to which we should all agree, then we must rethink the premise."

"You mean ... But of course!" Rose expostulated. They all looked at her, but she was too excited to feel self-conscious. "Not Sir Hamilton was the intended target, but Cilla was! Somebody wanted to make Sir Hamilton think that she poisoned him. Somebody who is jealous and wants Sir Hamilton for herself!"

"Wharton!" Priscilla gasped.

"Precisely!" Rose beamed. "She was aiming to win him for herself, but then he met you. She knew about his arsenic eating habits, thus she knew that a normal dose would not kill him. He would get sick nonetheless, and she would be there to care for him and plant the suspicion in his mind."

"She even had a milk soup ready as an antidote," Alistair Donovan added excitedly.

Sir Archibald cleared his throat. "I believe this has been a quite fruitful session, and I agree that the hypothesis proposed by Mr. Donovan and Mrs. Tremayne is attractive. However, lacking any corroborating evidence we shall be hard pressed to convince a jury."

"What evidence would help?" Jim asked very matter-of-factly.

"According to Inspector Mellard, only Sir Hamilton had the key to his poison cabinet where he kept the arsenic. If we assume that to be true – and I tend to believe that Sir Hamilton was unwitting of the scheme – then the poisoner had to procure the arsenic from a chemist."

"The chemists must record any sales of arsenic in the poison book," young Alistair Donovan contributed.

"Then we need to question the chemists in the neighbourhood whether Miss Wharton made any such purchases," Jim said.

Sir Archibald nodded. "That is certainly a good idea."

Amanda spoke up for the first time. "Lady Crewes, do you know which agency provides the servants?"

"Millbrand & Penniweather. Why?"

"I was thinking that perhaps some former servant or maidservant may have observed something about the relationship between your husband and Miss Wharton."

"Excellent thought!" Sir Archibald agreed. "Perhaps Major Tremayne can establish the contact under the pretence of needing servants. How to find out about former servants though?"

Jim grinned. "As you had to notice yesterday, I have means of persuasion. Judging Sir Hamilton's character, I somehow doubt that he is very popular with the agency."

"Splendid!" Sir Archibald exclaimed. "Since the Recorder of London, the esteemed Sir George Wallaby, is currently on sick leave, the Common Serjeant of London will conduct the trial. I shall interview him now to find out about the trial date. I must impress on you gentlemen the need for discretion. It were unwise to forewarn the culprits or even my esteemed colleague, Mr. Barstow, who will represent the Crown."

Sir Archibald then left, and briefly later, Jim and Ned left as well, heading for Talavera Square. Here, in the vicinity of Sir Hamilton's house, they inquired about chemists. Indeed, two chemists plied their trade in neighbouring streets. Both were more than willing to allow Jim an inspection of their poison books for a sovereign each, but both proved dead ends as all the buyers of arsenic in the previous weeks were personally known to the proprietors, and Miss Wharton or any of the servants were not among them.

Jim and Ned decided then to find the offices of Millbrand & Penniweather. A two-horse coach took them there, where they were received by Mr. Millbrand himself, a rather youngish man. Jim made the introductions and then identified himself as a friend of Sir Hamilton Crewes. He was immensely satisfied to see a brief expression of disdain flit over Mr. Millbrand's face. He quickly changed course then.

"Well, to be quite honest, to call Sir Hamilton a friend is a slight exaggeration. Associate is a better description. The point is – can I trust you to keep confidence?"

Mr. Millbrand assured him of that.

"Well, Sir Hamilton caused me some embarrassment the other day, and I wish to retaliate in a subtle way. I was thinking that perhaps you can name two or three former servants of Sir Hamilton whom I could employ for an evening or two when I shall entertain Sir Hamilton and his wife. Make them serve food and wine perhaps?"

"Doesn't Lady Crewes stand accused..." Mr. Millbrand started.

"Poppycock!" Jim expostulated. "You know the man! He accused his wife in a fit of his usual lunacy! Lady Crewes is already free again."

Mr. Millbrand snorted to that and mumbled something under his breath while he went through a neat register.

"Alison O'Hare, chambermaid. She has new employment at 354 Hanover Lane." Jim wrote down name and address. "Then there is Maria Simpson. She's a stolid elderly matron and a good housekeeper. She wouldn't tell me the reasons, but she left Sir Hamilton's employ in a rush one year ago. She lives with her husband in Bascombe Alley, Nº 28 I believe. Kindly leave out my role in this prank."

"Be at ease. Please allow me to imburse you for your efforts!"

Mr. Millbrand gratefully accepted £2 for his troubles, and Jim left with Ned to find Mrs. Simpson. Bascombe Alley was not an illustrious address but neither was it a bad one. Mrs. Simpson was in her early forties, stout and plain looking. Jim introduced himself explaining his purpose. Mrs. Simpson was dubious.

"I'll never find new work if it gets known that I tattle about my employers."

"Mrs. Simpson," Jim argued, "an innocent woman stands accused of a heinous crime. We are trying to clear her name, but we urgently need to know whether other people had reason to poison your former employer."

Mrs. Simpson shook her head. "The Wharton woman would never hurt Sir Hamilton. 'Least not before she'd got her hooks in him well and proper-like."

"You are saying that she was after Sir Hamilton?"

"She after him, he after her, whatever! I was his housekeeper then, and one evening he brings her home and tells me he'd hired her as housemaid. So I detail her to do the beds. Turned out she had more talent to mess up the beds than to tidy them up! Came from Sir Hamilton's bedroom the very next morning wearing nothing but her shift. When I told her to dress decently and to tend to her work she just gave me that smile and left me standing. That's when I quit."

"You are positive that she spent the night in Sir Hamilton's bedroom?"

"I cannot vouch for the night, but the way she looked she wasn't tidying the beds in there."

"Did you speak Sir Hamilton about it?"

"I told him why I quit, and he just became haughty telling me to mind my station and not concern myself with his private life."

Jim nodded. "Well, Mrs. Simpson, seeing how my wife is close to giving birth and considering the number of guests whom we are currently hosting, my housekeeper may have need for some competent support. Would you be interested to fill in, for say, three months?"

Mrs. Simpson smiled. "I get paid twenty-four shillings per week."

"Why not say thirty to compensate you for the transient nature of the employment," Jim smiled back. "My house is on Cheyne Walk, Chelsea. You can start tomorrow."

"You'll want me to give testimony, won't you?"

"Let us say that your pay will continue during your attendance to witness duties."

She shrugged. "You say the Lady is innocent?"

Jim nodded earnestly. "She is that, and I owe her my wife's life."

"Well, I should hate to see an innocent woman suffer. If my testimony helps, I'll do it."

"Excellent, Mrs. Simpson. We expect you tomorrow at eight then. Have a nice evening!"

"Thank you, Major Tremayne. I'll be there and on time."

Leaving the Simpson house, Jim grinned at Ned rubbing his hand.

"This looks good."

Ned looked back at him and grinned. "You sure sound different from the man who wished that girl to the Seven Hells."

Climbing back into the coach Jim smiled back ruefully. "I was wrong about her. That was hurt pride speaking back then. Anyway, I am still grateful to you for dragging me to Fort Laramie."

Ned laughed as the coach started to move. "Ayup! That was the damndest luck a growed man ever had! You have to give it to Caplan: for the rotten whore son he was he sure knew how to match couples. Too bad he was too greedy. Got him killed, too."

"He's dead?"

"Ayup! Traded with the Cheyenne he did, and cheated them, too. That fellow, that friend of yours, Roman Nose, got him on the trip back to Independence. What he left of him the coyotes took care of."

"A fitting end for a scoundrel to be sure."

Ned grinned widely. "The day I told Mandy 'bout his demise she gave me the best ... Oh well, you know she can get excited, don't you?"

"I seem to recall some of it!" Jim laughed. "You're one lucky digger, too."

Edited by SpikeCO



-------

Chapter 29: Detective Work


At 354 Hanover Lane, they were received by the lady of the house, Mrs. Warner. The house belonged to Mr. Albert Warner, a grain trader of obvious means. Jim introduced himself and Ned.

"Madam, I am Major James Tremayne, and this is Mr. Ned Thrush. We call on you to ask whether Alison O'Hare is in your employ."

Mrs. Warner was alarmed. "Yes, indeed. She is a good girl."

"I shall never doubt your word on that, Madam. The reason we came, is that with your permission, we'd like to interview Miss O'Hare for a few minutes."

"May I ask for the reason?"

"Yes, of course. We investigate the attempt on Sir Hamilton Crewes' life, on behalf of Lady Crewes I may add who was falsely accused in the matter. We are trying to establish her innocence, and since Miss O'Hare was once in Sir Hamilton's employ we hope that she might remember a thing or two that may give us a lead."

"Oh, I read about the case. Isn't her guilt established?"

"Decidedly not, Madam. In fact, I give you my word that she is an innocent victim."

Jim could be very convincing, and Mrs. Warner nodded. "We can use my husband's study."

-------

John Barstow corrected the seat of his necktie before he knocked. He had made inquiries about Major James Tremayne. The man had shown an exemplary conduct as a field officer, but he had left England after the Crimean War. Tremayne had returned from America ten years later and as a rich man. Some of Barstow's sources claimed that he was worth over £100,000, all the result of a major gold find. He was married to a beautiful American woman and he lived off his capital investments.

The door was answered by a woman of perhaps twenty-five years who was wearing the apron of a housekeeper.

"Good day! I am John Barstow, Public Prosecutor at the Central Criminal Court. I wish to interview Lady Crewes."

It was immediately clear to Barstow that his popularity in the household was very low.

"I shall ask my mistress for instructions," the woman said and closed the door in his face!

Barstow shrugged. He could not expect a warm welcome, and he had no right to enter the house of a gentleman without invitation. Fortunately, his patience was not tried for long, for the door opened and the housekeeper showed again.

"My mistress will see you," she said while giving him the evil eye.

He was shown to a lovely winter garden. A very beautiful woman sat in an upholstered chair. Her creamy skin showed sprinkles of freckles, and her hair was of a glorious shade of red. She was also far advanced in a pregnancy.

"Welcome to Heyworth House, Mr. Barstow. Please excuse me for staying seated, but the last days have been exhausting to say the least."

There was more than a trace of American to her speech Barstow noted. He stepped forward and bowed, accepting her hand for a formal kiss.

"Thank you for indulging me, Madam. I was informed that Lady Crewes was released into your husband's care. I had not the opportunity to interview her in proper surroundings, and I was hoping to find her available."

"Her husband disavowed her and left her to rot in a common cell with whores, thieves, and whatever criminals the magistrate has under lock."

"Madam, I had no idea!" Barstow protested, his face hot with embarrassment. "Once I found out, I found her an adequate cell. You find me shocked, Madam, and not a little disappointed at Sir Hamilton's conduct."

"I am certainly glad to hear of that, and I must thank you for your gentlemanly conduct. Poor Priscilla will be down shortly. You have to understand that she is destitute, not even able to access her clothes."

Barstow cringed a little. He knew very well that the case against Lady Crewes was weak to begin with, and while he felt it his duty to prosecute her, he was very much giving her the benefit of the doubt as to her guilt. That she had been thrown together with the dredges of London's lowest classes was still filling him with guilt.

The door opened and the young woman entered. He looked at her and immediately saw the bruises and the scratches on her long and graceful neck. They showed stronger than three days before. His feelings could only be summed up as mortification.

"Mr. Barstow! It is good to see you again. Again, my thanks for your assistance! You asked for an interview?"

Her voice was pleasant, of medium pitch, and her speech was cultivated. He could not help it that his eyes took in her appearance. She had a trim figure, almost girlish, and her bosom was still high. There were some worry lines around her eyes and on her forehead, but she looked much younger than her thirty-one years.

"You asked for an interview?"

Torn from his reverie, Barstow blushed again over his oafish behaviour.

"Hrhm! Yes, indeed. I missed the opportunity to interview you at ... Firstly, let me assure you that I had no idea of the deplorable circumstances under which you held at Newgate Prison. I apologise profusely for the ordeal that you had to undergo. I had assumed that your husband..."

"Funny you should call him that," she answered with cold disdain in her beautiful blue eyes. "I myself have come to call him my second blunder. I do seem to have an unlucky hand in picking my husbands."

"Madam, do you feel able now to answer a few questions?"

She shrugged and flinched a little with pain. "I shall be more than happy to refute the outrageous accusations against me."

She sat in a chair, and he could see that she was in pain. She smirked.

"My fellow prisoners did not confine their attention to my face."

Again, a wave or mortification washed over Barstow. She made a negligent gesture.

"I shall get over it. Pray, start your questioning."

With an effort, Barstow focussed on his purpose. With few questions he made the young woman recount the last days. Of course, she denied any involvement in the poisoning of her husband and maintained that she had not touched the leftover chicken soup. It all sounded credible, but somehow somebody had tainted the soup with poison, and Lady Crewes was the only viable suspect. Then she challenged him.

"How do you know that the poison was in the soup?"

"Er, your husband performed a test, the Marsh reaction, and found arsenic in the soup leftovers."

"Did you order an examination by an expert?"

"Er, no. I was under the impression that your husband is an expert."

"He was a schoolmaster at an obscure boy's school in the Midlands before he inherited the title from his grandfather."

Barstow felt the blood in his face again. Somehow, Mellard had made it sound like Crewes was an expert. He rallied back though.

"Nevertheless, your husband was poisoned."

"Or so he claims," she returned.

"There are ways to establish the poisoning, and I shall order such tests performed."

She just shrugged. He tried to engage her eyes next.

"Madam, if you were to confess the attempt on your husband's life, and given that he survived with little or no ill effects, I could recommend a lenient sentencing."

"Lenient?" she asked, her eyebrows arched.

"Not more than ten years. Your friends could petition the Queen for a pardon, too, if you showed remorse."

She pointed at her face. "Ten years of this? No, Mr. Barstow, I'd rather take the gallows. Besides, I am confident that my innocence will be established and my name cleared."

"Very well, Lady Crewes. I hope that you are making the best decisions."

"I can count on the help and advice from my friends."

"I wish you luck, Madam. Mrs. Tremayne, I thank you for the hospitality and ask you to convey my respects to Major Tremayne."

"I shall do that," she answered politely. "He will be disappointed to have missed your call."

All things considered, he was thoroughly confused when he left the Tremaynes' house. The woman had left him with a very favourable impression, but he knew from bad experience that the outward beauty of a woman was no measure for her character.

Seven years before, John Barstow had been courting a young lady of great beauty. She had been responding encouragingly to his courtship and he had high hopes. After a half year of courtship, as was proper, he had been prepared to ask for her hand. Only, when he finally thought the right moment had come, he was too late. Another man, bolder than John Barstow, had been introduced to her, and that man, a wealthy cloth merchant from Birmingham, had asked for her hand within a week of meeting her. To John Barstow's horror, the girl of his dreams accepted the proposal without so much as a second thought.

He shook himself out of his sad reverie when he arrived at Old Bailey's. Inspector Mellard was waiting for him, and he looked satisfied.

"The case is clear now, Sir. A glass vial labelled as 'White Arsenic' was found among Lady Crewes' possessions in her bedroom."

John Barstow was shocked at first. He had begun to believe the woman, and now this! His jaw set.

"Then it is settled. I shall charge her with murder," he declared. "Kindly leave your report with me."

In his office, John Barstow began to dictate the written charge, and when it was finished, he signed it with so much force that he almost broke the nib. Damn all beautiful women!

-------

Jim and Ned returned to Heyworth House in good mood. They reported their findings about the involvement between Sir Hamilton and his housekeeper. Everybody agreed that it was a first important step towards establishing alternative motives and suspects.

Priscilla gave both men a grateful smile.

"I should be entirely without hope were it not for my loyal friends. I am disconsolate over being entirely dependent on your support."

Jim shook his head. "Cilla, what nonsense! You have given us so much in the past years. What's a little detective work against that? No, tomorrow we shall widen the radius around Crewes' house to find the chemist where somebody purchased the arsenic. The Wharton woman must be known in the neighbourhood."

"Perhaps she did not buy it at all close to the house," Rose mused. "What would keep her from taking a cab and make the purchase somewhere where she is not known?"

"A valid point, darling," Jim responded. "It is certainly something we should consider. In that case, we could never trace her."

"Well, I wouldn't know 'bout that," Ned cut in. "There was a bunch of them cabs waiting 'round that corner. She might've hired one of them."

"We'll have to interview the cab drivers, ask them about an unusual fare. We shall have to ask them for a good looking brunette woman."

"She looks striking enough," Priscilla said slowly. "I should be surprised if a woman like her did not catch the cab drivers' eyes."

"I suppose we'll try."

Rose had an idea. "Wait! Jim, let us try to involve Miss Martin! If she was calling on Crewes' house, Wharton might answer. Miss Martin could sketch her from memory."

Jim bent down to kiss Rose. "You are brilliant, darling! Let us do that first thing tomorrow."

With that, the Tremaynes and their guests settled into a rather uneventful evening.

-------

Rose insisted on paying the call on Miss Martin herself. She was not even close to her delivery, and she was the closest to Miss Martin. Jim insisted on accompanying her, and in the end, Ned, Amanda, and Priscilla joined them. They were in luck. Miss Martin was at home and received them on short notice. She smiled at Rose.

"I had hoped to see you again, Mrs. Tremayne. And you brought friends?"

Jim introduced their group, and Miss Martin's eyebrows shot up at learning that the notorious Lady Crewes was among the visitors. Rose explained hastily.

"My dear Miss Martin, we came to ask your help. We have good reason to believe that our friend, Lady Crewes is the victim of a conspiracy. We believe in fact that her husband's housekeeper has poisoned Sir Hamilton. Only, we somehow must establish her as a possible culprit. For that, we need to investigate her movements prior to the attempt on Sir Hamilton's life. What we need is a good sketch of the woman's face so the men can show it to cab drivers and shop owners."

Miss Martin considered the request, but only briefly. "How am I to sketch her?"

"We thought you might come with us when we collect Lady Crewes' personal effects at Sir Hamilton's house. Standing back, you might memorise her features for a sketch."

Miss Martin smiled widely. "But why so complicated? There is a much better way to do that."

She explained her plan, and it was so simple and beautiful that they all agreed.

An hour later, Miss Martin arrived at the steps to Sir Hamilton's city house with a disreputable Ned Thrush in tow who carried an oblong wooden case. She rang the bell and waited. It took only a minute for a very good looking brunette woman to open.

"Yes?"

"Madam, is this Sir Hamilton Crewes' house?"

"Indeed it is," came the proud answer.

"I am looking for Miss Wharton," Melissa Martin announced. "My name is Melissa Martin, and I am currently working for the Morning Chronicle."

"I am Miss Wharton. What can I do for you?"

"I am so proud to make your acquaintance!" Melissa gushed, gripping and shaking Miss Wharton's hand. "I was sent to ask for the favour of taking your picture. It has come to Mr. Campbell's attention – he is the editor of the Morning Chronicle – that you thwarted and discovered the evil plot of Lady Crewes against her poor husband. Would you be so kind as to stand for a photograph?"

Unconsciously, Miss Wharton checked the seat of her hair and her bowtie, but she grew by an inch and stuck out her chest proudly.

"I really don't know what to say!"

"Please, say yes! Our readers would love to see your picture together with the tale of your brave actions. Sir Hamilton must be so grateful to you! And doesn't she look quite like an angel, Mr. Thrush?"

"Oh, aye, that she does," Ned replied.

"What would you need?" Miss Wharton asked excitedly. She was hooked properly. Now to net her, Melissa thought.

"If you were to just stand here in front of the steps? I need but a minute to set up my camera."

Indeed, within a minute's time, the tripod had been erected and the camera mounted. The plate was already loaded, and Melissa disappeared under the black hood. With short commands, she directed the unsuspecting Miss Wharton to look straight into the lens and then asked her to stand still and hold her breath. She opened the shutter and counted to three. Then she emerged from under the hood and gave Miss Wharton a brilliant smile.

"Excellent, Miss Wharton! I cannot thank you enough. I shall have a copy of the article sent to you by day after tomorrow. You may expect quite a lot of friendly mail!"

Ned had already disassembled the camera and packed it back into the case. They left the woman standing and left walking briskly. Once around the next corner, they met Jim and Rose waiting in their coach and climbed in.

"Our ruse worked," Melissa declared. "She posed willingly."

"You are quite crafty, Miss Martin," Rose laughed. "We shall owe you for your help."

"Oh, it was fun. Now, give me a ride home so I can develop the plate and make prints!"

By early afternoon, Jim, Ned, and two detectives hired by Jim were in the possession of photographic prints of Miss Wharton which they began to show to the cab drivers in the vicinity. They had no luck on that day, but they would continue their efforts on the next day. Returning to Heyworth house, they found Sir Archibald visiting. He looked grave.

"The trial is imminent," he declared. "According to Mr. Barstow, a vial containing residue of arsenic was found among Lady Crewes' possessions in her bedroom. He has asked for a trial date, and the Common Serjeant of London has agreed to hear the evidence on Tuesday next."

That was only four days, Jim calculated.

"We could establish that Sir Hamilton had an affair with Miss Wharton. We have two witnesses for that."

"That should help our case, but it is highly circumstantial. Did you succeed with your other goals?"

"Not yet," Jim sighed. "Those cab drivers work over the entire city. We need time."

"You have four days. I believe I can instil doubt in the jurors' minds over the evidence presented by the crown, but the best we can hope for is a verdict of 'not proven'. You can imagine how this will ruin Lady Crewes' reputation."

Jim looked at Priscilla who was composed.

"I trust my friends," she said simply. "If there is evidence in my favour, they will uncover it."

"I do hope so," Sir Archibald nodded. "May I count on you, Major, to act as character witness for Lady Crewes?"

"Of course," Jim answered without hesitation. "We may ask Lord Lambert, too, and Lady Wilkes."

"Yes, that might count for something. Yet, I cannot stress enough the importance of finding evidence, even circumstantial in nature, to link either Miss Wharton or Sir Hamilton to the purchase of arsenic prior to the incident in question."

That evening, the mood at dinner was subdued. A lot was riding on their success in the next days. Yet, there were thousands of cabs in London, and they were but four. It was a daunting task.

-------

By Monday morning, their effort had still not been rewarded. Weary and dispirited, Jim and Ned started out again, hoping against hope that they might find the elusive witness yet, not even knowing if there was one. They started out around Sir Hamilton's house again, always hoping to see a new cab driver, one they had not questioned yet.

It was almost eleven o'clock when luck smiled at them. Two streets away from Sir Hamilton's house they saw a one horse cab at the curb, the horse tied to a lamp post. This cab looked a little out place for the well-to-do surroundings, the horse looking too tired, the cab dirty, and the leather of the seats worn. The driver was absent, but soon enough he emerged from a baker shop holding a small bread roll. The man sneezed badly, cleared his throat and spat out a wad of phlegm, cursing under his breath.

"Bless you!" Jim offered. "Bad cold?"

"Aye, and in the middle o' summer! 'Ho would believe that? Kept me from working for nigh on a week, too!"

Jim and Ned looked at each other.

"May I ask you a question, my good man?" Jim asked, holding out a shilling.

"Ask away, Sir!" the cab driver replied accepting the shilling.

"Have a look at this picture, my good man. Did she hire you in the last weeks?"

Jim held out the picture of Miss Wharton. The cab driver looked at it and his eyes widened. Then a sly look entered his features.

"If I did, wot's in it fer me?"

"Three days hire, for a Guinea a day," Jim shot back quickly. Again, the man's eyes widened. He'd make two weeks' earnings in three days.

"Deal!" he gushed. "She jumped into my cab 'bout two weeks past. Made me ride all over the city an' to th' east. That's 'ow I remember 'er. She was donning some old dress, but I's seen 'er boots an' they was mighty fine, an' she was looking lady-like any'ow."

"Why don't you take us to where you drove her?" Jim suggested. "Here's a crown for starters."

With their coughing and wheezing driver, they set out for the East End after a detour to Heyworth House where Jim and Ned armed themselves with Jim's Colt pistols. As they headed towards more and more unsavoury parts of London, Jim repeatedly patted his coat to ascertain that his trusted Navy Colt was still in the underarm holster. They continued until they reached the Whitechapel district. Fortunately, the driver stopped on Whitechapel High Street and did not venture into the maze of alleys to either side. This was just about the worst place in London, and Jim asked himself what a respectable housekeeper was doing there.

"Say, good man, where did she go here?"

The driver grinned smugly. "She made me stop 'ere an' wait, and then she'd walk back to the corner. 'Ad to wait for a while an' started being worried wot wit' a nice lady 'ereabouts."

"Well then, why don't you wait for my friend and me for some time now? We should be back presently."

"It's your 'ead wot's getting bashed in 'ere, Gov'nor," the driver shrugged.

"Oh, I believe we shall be quite safe," Jim answered grimly.

The climbed from their seats and onto the dirty cobble stones. The corner where Miss Wharton had disappeared was only thirty steps away. Better be quick about it, too, Jim thought seeing the eyes of half the street on the two well dressed men. With a casual movement, Jim opened his coat to give the onlookers a view of the massive butt of his Navy Colt. Ned, too, made it known that he was well armed as they briskly walked the short distance. They peered into the narrow alley, and next Jim's heart began to pound. There, just ten steps beyond the corner, was the sign of a chemist hanging over a narrow house front.

The man behind the counter in the chemist store was young and surprisingly neat in appearance. He looked at the two well dressed men in surprise.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked.

"Are you the owner and proprietor of this store, Sir?" Jim inquired politely.

"Indeed I am."

"Very well, then. I came to inquire whether you may have had a woman customer, two weeks ago, who might have purchased rat poison, arsenic in particular."

The man became alert and worried. "Are you of the police?"

"No, we investigate for a friend."

"Well, I'm keeping my poison book here."

"Would you allow us a look at it? Of course, I am prepared to compensate you for your trouble."

This eased some of the chemist's worries. He bent and retrieved a bound ledger from under his counter which he opened.

"Two weeks ago you say? That would be the 5th, or around the 5th, wouldn't it?"

Jim agreed.

"I have about thirty entries here in that week. Can you tell me more?"

"Why don't I show you a picture of the person," Jim smiled and produced the photograph.

He could see the immediate recognition in the eyes of the chemist.

"That's Betty! Betty Morlake."

"Are you certain of this, Mr. – I'm sorry, I never asked your name."

"Israel Hayes, Sir."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hayes. I am Major Tremayne and this is Mr. Thrush. So, do you know the woman?"

"Yes, I recognise her, although I hadn't seen her in over a year before she came into my store two weeks ago. Here's the entry: two grains of arsenic."

"Would that be a deathly dose for a grown man?"

"Just hardly, Sir. It's peculiar that you ask. Betty Morlake asked me the same."

"Did she now? This Miss Morlake, did she live here in the district?"

"Oh yes. She used to work in the Watkins Inn, a brothel on Pinch Street."

Now it was Jim's turn to look surprised. "Of this you are certain?"

"Yes. Saw her there, too. Mighty fine looking girl. Had her thrice myself. Even thought I'd ... Never mind. Then, a year or so ago, she up and ran away with a gentleman visitor whom she'd entertained for a night. She'd been destined for something better everybody agreed."

Mr. Hayes seemed a bit sad, but Jim smiled widely by now and Ned underwent his typical change from ugly to likeable as he, too, grinned with relief. Jim looked at Mr. Hayes.

"Mr. Hayes, would you be willing to testify to the same effect at the Central Criminal Court?"

Mr. Hayes looked dubious. "I need to keep the store open."

"How about I compensate you for the loss of sales? Two sovereigns for every day you need to be at the court?"

"That is generous, Major, but I earn not nearly that much."

"Mr. Hayes, the life of a very dear friend is at stake. I do not care about money, but I do care about her life. Please accept the compensation."

Mr. Hayes thought about it, but then he nodded. "If it is that urgent, I shall make myself available. Where should I show?"

Jim had already made up his mind. "I shall pick you up at seven o'clock tomorrow. Is that agreeable?"

Mr. Hayes nodded. "I shall hold myself ready, Major. Just one question: did Betty kill somebody with that arsenic?"

"No, in fact your testimony will prove that no murder was intended at all."

"That's a relief, Major. I was fearing ... you know, I have always been careful with the poisons, and to think..."

"You did nothing wrong, and come tomorrow, you will save a young lady's life and repute. Please, accept this sovereign as a token of trust and appreciation."

Mr. Hayes nodded solemnly. "You will find me ready, Major."

Outside the store, Jim did a little jig on the street. "We did it!" he exclaimed.

Ned grinned back, but then his face froze. At the mouth of the alley, three men were blocking their path. Jim saw the significance, too, and looked over his shoulder. Two more men in rather ragged clothing were coming up along the alley. The two friends swiftly stood with their backs against a wall and drew their weapons. The sight of the two shining Colt revolver pistols checked the approach of the footpads.

"You gentlemen would be ill-advised to proceed further," Jim warned in a gentle voice while aiming at the leader.

"Yep. There's just five o' you gents, an' twelve rounds in these here Colts," Ned added, the veneer of fancy talk vanishing in an instant.

The men at the mouth of the alley retreated already. "We's jus' wanted t'ask for the time," the leader said carefully.

Ned grinned at him. "I'd say it's high time to beat it!"

The men stood undecided, but then Ned cocked his Colt. The sound underscored the threat sufficiently, and the street thugs disappeared like roaches in the light. Ned uncocked the Colt and put it under his coat.

"Nasty place here."

"I'd say," Jim agreed.

"Major Tremayne, Mr. Thrush, is everything all right?"

That was Mr. Hayes who looked uneasily in the direction where two of the thugs had disappeared down the alley.

"I believe so," Jim answered. "Will you get in trouble with those?"

Hayes exhaled. "I might. They want me out here. They sometimes work for a man who owns another chemist store. He never liked it when I opened shop here."

"Why did you, if I may ask?"

"Not enough capital to open elsewhere," Mr. Hayes shrugged. "And there's more than enough sick people here for four chemists."

Jim was worried. The worst that could happen would be if his precious witness disappeared before he could give testimony.

"Mr. Hayes, would you like to be a chemist in Chelsea?"

"Who wouldn't," Hayes snorted. "It'd cost three times as much to open a store there."

"What if I fronted the money? I assure you that it would not be a problem for me, but for you to disappear tonight would be a disaster for my friend."

"A store in Chelsea? Major, Sir, I'd give my arm for such a chance."

"Then it would be best if you were to gather your belongings. We have a cab waiting."

"But my store, Major! If I leave it, even locked up, they'll break into it!"

Yes, that would be likely, Jim mused. But then again, perhaps not.

"Let us pay a visit to your rival, shall we?"

With a very hesitant Mr. Hayes leading them, they walked along Whitechapel High Street and past their cab. Jim gave orders to the driver to follow them as they walked another 200 feet to find a slightly larger chemist store. They all entered to find an elderly man behind the counter who looked at Hayes with surprise and a little bit of sneering.

"That's Mr. Wayne, Major," Hayes explained.

Jim fixated the proprietor. "Mr. Wayne, I am Major Tremayne. I believe you have quarrel with Mr. Hayes. I also believe it to be in your own best interest to call back your ruffians."

"Is that so, Major?" the man sneered.

"Yes, indeed. You see, Mr. Hayes is now under my protection. He will leave the district in the next days to open his store in another location. In the meantime I should advise you to leave Mr. Hayes' property alone. If not, I may feel compelled to pay you another visit."

The sneer was still there in the man's face. "I'm not afraid of no Majors."

Jim laughed easily. "Perhaps I did not explain myself sufficiently." He saw a bottle on the shelf behind Mr. Wayne bearing the label Aqua Fortis – nitric acid. In the blink of an eye, the Colt was out, the store was filled with noise of the shot, and the bottle behind Mr. Wayne exploded into hundreds of shards. Wayne screamed and scurried from behind his counter while acrid fumes rose from where the acid had been spilt.

"Are you crazy?" Wayne screamed, but then his mouth closed and he looked into the still smoking muzzle of the Colt.

"Do we have an understanding, Mr. Wayne?" Jim asked cocking the Colt for a second shot and aiming at another bottle.

Terrified, the man nodded.

"Better have Mr. Hayes' shop guarded. If something should happen to it, I shall return to hold you accountable. As I said, Mr. Hayes will be gone in a few days. Why invite trouble?"

Thoroughly cowed, the man Wayne nodded again. Ned checked the street outside before they left the store while Jim covered their retreat on the inside. Once on the street they found their cab and rode back to Hayes' store. An hour later, they left with Mr. Hayes' earthly belongings riding in a horse drawn wagon that Jim had hired. By mid-afternoon, Mr. Hayes had found temporary lodgings in a boarding house close to Cheyne Walk, and Jim set out to inform Sir Archibald of his discoveries.

Edited by SpikeCO



-------

Chapter 30: The Old Bailey


The court room at The Old Bailey was packed with spectators, but the Tremaynes found seating with Sir Archibald opposite from Mr. Barstow's group that consisted of Barstow, his secretary, and two police detectives. Also included with them was Sir Hamilton and Miss Wharton, the latter two serving as the Crown's chief witnesses.

Priscilla had to stand alone in the dock. Her bruises had faded completely, and she looked every bit the virtuous young lady in her new charcoal grey dress. So much indeed that Mr. Barstow felt doubt about her guilt encroaching again. He frequently looked at her, but he also saw how her husband was shooting her angry looks, too. Miss Wharton was careful not to show any emotion. She, too, looked splendid in her dress of creme coloured cloth that was obviously as new as that of Lady Crewes.

They all rose from their seats when the Common Serjeant of London, Mr. Thomas Chambers, with four more justices entered the court room, all wearing purple robes and long powdered wigs. The bailiff banged his staff.

"All stand to attention! The Common Serjeant of London is in court!"

When the Serjeant and the justices were seated, he nodded to those present.

"Be seated. Will the parties make their pleas now!"

Barstow cleared his throat and rose again.

"For the Crown, John Barstow, Esq. Milord, I bring charge against the woman known as Lady Crewes, formerly Mrs. Marsden-Smith, née Bywater. The charge is murder by poison."

The Serjeant nodded to Sir Archibald who also rose.

"Milord, Sir Archibald Pendrake for the Accused. We deny the charge, and we shall present compelling proof of her innocence."

"Very well. Lady Crewes, do you declare yourself innocent of murder or the attempt thereof?"

Priscilla would be standing all through the trial as there was no chair in her box. She stood even more straight during her answer.

"I deny the accusations and declare myself innocent, Milord!"

The Serjeant nodded. "So recorded. Mr. Barstow, the Crown can plead its case."

Sir Archibald sat and Barstow turned to his main witness.

"The Crown calls Sir Hamilton Crewes, the victim."

Crewes stood and was sworn in. With quick, precise questions Barstow made Crewes recount the evening in question. Crewes had been alone that evening, with his wife visiting at Lady Wilkes' house about the hospital charity. He had supped early on a chicken soup left over from the evening before. He ate little else and had only two glasses of port wine to help his digestion.

By eight o'clock he was feeling increasingly ill, with violent abdominal spasms, and he called his housekeeper for help. Fortunately, she had a milk soup prepared which she fed to him. His stomach cramps did not worsen, and when by ten o'clock his wife returned, he had a strong suspicion against her. He forbade her entry to his bedroom against her protests and relied on the care he received from his dedicated housekeeper.

On the next morning, he felt well enough to collect the leftovers from the evening, and suspecting the soup from the start, he performed a Marsh Test on it and on his own vomit. The arsenic sublimation showed on the glass tubes immediately, and at this point he felt compelled to call in the police.

Barstow then went over the important points, establishing that Sir Hamilton as an arsenic eater was partly immune against the poison and that his housekeeper was the only person to know of this fact. He also claimed that only his housekeeper – who would certainly use a higher dose or a different poison – and his wife had access to the food locker.

It was then Sir Archibald's turn to examine the witness.

"Sir Hamilton, you performed the Marsh Test in person?"

"Yes indeed."

"Did you afford the police with material to have the Marsh Test performed by a police doctor?"

"My word was accepted. I am myself knowledgeable."

"Are you a member of the Royal Society of Physicians, Sir?"

"No, and there is no need for that for such a simple test. I have performed the test many times."

"In what capacity, pray?"

"For my own purposes. I have studied the effects of arsenic for quite some time."

"This is somewhat of an obsession for you?"

"Not an obsession, but a favourite study object."

"Might I assume that you felt quite justified in your interest by the recent events?"

"You assume correctly. Had it not been for my regimen of hardening myself against the poison I should have suffered a fatal poisoning at my wife's hands."

Sir Archibald looked expectantly at the Serjeant who nodded.

"The witness will refrain from any such accusations. It is for this court to establish the guilt of the accused."

"Thank you, Milord! Sir Hamilton, your housekeeper, Miss Wharton, took care of you in your distress. I take it from your testimony that you trust her implicitly?"

"Absolutely!"

"Was she not very disappointed when you announced your engagement to Lady Crewes?"

"She accepted it and ... What do you mean by that, Sir?"

"She had been your paramour, had she not?"

"Decidedly not!"

"I see. I have no further questions." Then he turned back to Sir Hamilton. "Did you allow Miss Wharton to wear your wife's dresses?"

Crewes' mouth opened and closed twice. "I ... aah ... allowed it. I supposed my wife will have no further use for them."

"I see. Your loyalty and adherence to your wedding vows is indeed touching."

Barstow jumped up but the Serjeant quieted him giving Sir Archibald a glare.

"My apologies," the barrister said glibly. "In truth, the witness' conduct is of course deplorable."

"No tomfooleries, no play-acting for the spectators' benches, if you please!" the Serjeant said sharply.

Bowing, Sir Archibald sat down.

Next, Mr. Barstow called Miss Wharton. She was questioned much about the handling of the food in her kitchen, about the key to the food locker, about the times when she had been absent from the kitchen and even from the house that day. She answered all the questions with a nervous undertone to her voice. Her whole appearance bespoke uneasiness.

When it was Sir Archibald's turn with her, he started his questioning slowly.

"Miss Wharton, you are to be commended for the aid that you rendered to Sir Hamilton."

She blushed nicely. "Thank you, Sir!"

"Not at all. To think that you had the perfect antidote prepared, the milk soup, before you could even know of the poisoning. What foresight!"

She shot back an angry glare. "I prepared the soup for myself. I quite enjoy it."

"A perfect explanation!" Sir Archibald beamed. "Now for the household. Your employer, Sir Hamilton, is an arsenic eater as you know?"

"Yes indeed. I don't like it much. He always feels so sick on those days."

"Do you prepare those doses for his immunisation?"

"No. Sir Hamilton prepares the doses himself. He is a learned man, and I am but the housekeeper."

"Where is the arsenic stock stored then?"

"In Sir Hamilton's study. In a safe. Only he has the key to it."

"Are there any other stocks of arsenic in the house?"

"Of course not!"

"You have no rat infestation to fight?"

"Decidedly not!"

"So, am I correct assuming that there is no plausible reason for anybody to keep around arsenic, except for Sir Hamilton?"

"Yes," came the curt answer.

"And you never had the key to Sir Hamilton's safe?"

"No!"

"Not even back when you were his paramour?"

"No, not even then!"

"Thank you. I am quite satisfied," Sir Archibald closed with a smug smile.

Barstow was already standing. "I object, Milord!"

The Serjeant eyed him wearily. "Your reasons, Sir?"

"The witness was misled by the Defence, Milord."

The Serjeant shook his head. "I cannot see how she was misled. The questioning was concise and to the point, and no false impression was made. I overrule your protest."

Barstow sat down with a sinking feeling. He did not doubt for a moment that Pendrake had extracted the truth from Wharton. She and the victim must have had an affair, and Pendrake had neatly tricked her into confessing it. Well, there was still Inspector Mellard and his discoveries.

"Milord, the Crown calls as witness Inspector Mellard of the Detective Branch of the Metropolitan Police."

Mellard was sworn in quickly and sat in the witness box. Barstow asked but a few questions to establish Mellard's investigations and his arrest of Lady Crewes, the latter based on the accusations levied against her by her husband. The final piece of evidence was left until the end of Mellard's testimony.

"Inspector, what else did you discover?"

"A vial with a residual white powder was found between Lady Crewes' stockings in her chest of drawers."

"Had you that powder tested, Inspector?"

"Indeed, I had, Sir. The police surgeon, Mr. Howard, attended to it."

"And pray, Inspector, what were his findings?"

"The powder was white arsenic, Sir. The vial itself was labelled so too."

"And it was found among the Lady Crewes' stockings?"

"Indeed, Sir."

There was some nodding and shaking of heads among the jurors, and Barstow sat back down, feeling a mixture of satisfaction and regret. This testimony would surely condemn the woman.

Sir Archibald rose with deliberate slowness, and with the same slowness he approached the witness box.

"Inspector, is it not true that the evidence against Lady Crewes is circumstantial at best?"

"She is the only possible suspect in our view, Sir."

"I see. It is your belief then that a person is guilty if you cannot think of another suspect?"

"No, Sir. You are welcome to present other suspects," Mellard answered huffily.

"Oh, I shall do that in due time. Let us turn our attention to the poison vial. When was it detected?"

"Wednesday last, Sir."

"In the stockings drawer of Lady Crewes?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Was it hidden under the stockings or inside a stocking?"

"Under the stockings, I should think."

"You should think? Did you make the discovery yourself?"

"No, Sir. Sir Hamilton found it and called on me to hand it over."

Barstow jumped up, but then he could not think of a reason for an objection. He sank back down on his chair, his mind whirling with the implications. He had naturally assumed that Mellard had made the discovery in person. Now it would seem that even this key piece of evidence was questionable.

"How very accommodating of him," Sir Archibald grated in the meanwhile. "Am I correct to assume that there is no way to ascertain where that vial came from except through Sir Hamilton's testimony?"

"I cannot see why he would lie, Sir. He's a gentleman."

"I see. To summarise, you accepted the accusations by Sir Hamilton at face value and did his bidding to arrest his wife, the Lady Crewes. Following that, you accepted a piece of evidence from him without any attempts to verify its authenticity. Is that the gist of your police work, Inspector?"

"You make it sound as if I had been slack in executing my duties, Sir!" Mellard protested.

Sir Archibald rolled his eyes. "I congratulate you on this unexpected show of astuteness."

This time, Mr. Barstow rose for redirection.

"Inspector, when I instructed you to search Sir Hamilton's house for evidence, did you execute that order?"

"Not on the same day, Sir. And then Sir Hamilton came forward with the poison vial, and there was no real need for it anymore."

It was Mr. Barstow's turn to roll his eyes.

"No further questions, Milord."

The Common Serjeant looked at the large wall mounted clock.

"Was this your last witness, Mr. Barstow?"

"Yes, Milord."

"Let us break for an hour."

The courtroom emptied and Barstow thought about his options. That he could secure a conviction seemed out of the question now. There was not sufficient evidence, and what evidence existed was tainted to some degree. The jury would return a verdict of 'not proven', and everybody would lose. He and Mellard would be painted as being sloppy, but Lady Crewes would stay tainted for the rest of her life after a second-class acquittal. The pendulum had swung back again, and Barstow could not believe in her guilt anymore. He made up his mind.

"Sir Archibald, a word if you please?" he asked his opponent who was talking to Lady Crewes. She had been released from the stand and Barstow gave her a polite bow. "Lady Crewes."

"Yes, Mr. Barstow?" Sir Archibald asked while Lady Crewes looked at him curiously.

"Given this morning's testimonies I feel inclined to ask the jury for an acquittal."

There. He'd said it. Sir Archibald raised his eyebrows.

"That is kind of you."

"Yet, I feel that doing so I might do a disservice to Lady Crewes."

"How so?"

"A verdict of 'not proven' even following my recommendation will likely leave Lady Crewes reputation tarnished. If, however, you have witnesses or evidence to establish her innocence, I should hate to interfere."

"Would that not make you look worse, Mr. Barstow?" Lady Crewes asked curiously.

Barstow smirked. "Not much. I fear that this trial will not be numbered among my better efforts."

Sir Archibald was all cordiality now. "My dear Mr. Barstow, how could you know the indifference with which the inspector handled this case? It is indeed so that, due to the diligence of Lady Crewes' friends, we have found a number of witnesses and also material evidence that will convincingly point at another culprit."

"Then I shall refrain from taking any initiative and rather allow you, Sir Archibald, to clear Lady Crewes of any suspicion. I feel relieved that a lady whom I have come to admire for her steadfast conduct will be exonerated in full."

A warm smile from Lady Crewes was his reward.

"You are indeed a gentleman, Mr. Barstow, and I hold you not responsible for the affair," she said nicely.

"I thank you humbly for your forgiveness. Sir Archibald, I look forward to the revelations you will bring about. Your servant, Sir and Madam!"

He beat a retreat then and headed for his office, again in the curious mix of sadness and elation that had dominated his mood for almost two weeks. Now, however, the reasons were different. He would not be responsible for sending a beautiful and gentle woman to a life in prison, but then his own reputation would suffer for certain. In the end, the elation was stronger.

°°°

Precisely an hour later, the Serjeant entered the court room again. Now it was for Sir Archibald to call his witnesses. Mrs. Simpson, Sir Hamilton's former housekeeper recalled how Miss Wharton had entered the household and how she emerged from Sir Hamilton's bedroom in the early morning hours wearing little more than a shift.

Alison O'Hare was more timid. She had entered Sir Hamilton's service when Miss Wharton was already the housekeeper. She was a very pretty girl, with a nubile body and big, blue eyes. Apparently, Sir Hamilton admired her, too. Then she told of an evening when Miss Wharton had entered the girl's bedchamber to tell her that she was let go. When Alison protested, the housekeeper told her in a menacing voice that Alison better not come between Sir Hamilton and herself.

Barstow asked both witnesses questions, but he did not try to challenge their testimony. Thus, it became established that Sir Hamilton and his housekeeper had indeed been closer than Sir Hamilton had admitted when on the stand. He was still watching the proceedings from the spectator stands, but by this point he was the subject of many impolite comments from other spectators.

Sir Archibald then called Mr. John Higgs. The worthy cab driver was over his cold now, but he was tongue tied at first.

"Mr. Higgs, had you on the 5th of this month an unusual fare?"

"Yes."

"Would you also explain what made the fare unusual?"

"It was a lady."

"Is that unusual?"

"No, Sir. She was a lady, but she wanted me to go to Whitechapel."

"I see. Is that unusual?"

"Indeed, Sir! It's the gennelmen wot want to go to Whitechapel."

A smatter of laughs rose from the spectator banks.

"And this lady wanted to go to Whitechapel."

"Yes, Sir! Whitechapel 'Igh Street she ordered."

"Anything else unusual about her?"

"Er, yes, Sir. She was wearing a real old dress, patched too, but 'er shoes were shiny an' new."

"What happened after you brought her to Whitechapel High Street?"

"She tole me to stop, and then she walked back and 'round a corner, sneaky-like."

"What corner then?"

"The second after Thomas Street, Sir."

"How long did she stay?"

"I don't own no watch, Sir. She went after the full hour and returned before the half hour bell sounded."

"You then took her back to the cab stand?"

"No Sir. Seeing that it started rainin' cats 'n' dogs she tole me to drive 'er to Talavera Square. Nº47 it was, Sir. But when I'd stopped an' she'd paid my fare, she ran back a ways to Nº41."

"41 Talavera Square you say?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Was it the lady over there?" Sir Archibald asked pointing at Priscilla.

"No, Sir. The lady was a brown hair, Sir."

"If you look around the spectator stands, can you see her anywhere?"

Higgs looked at the spectators and pointed at Jane Wharton.

"That's the lady, Sir."

"Thank you Mr. Higgs," Sir Archibald closed the questioning.

Barstow stood up then. "I can see no connection to the case tried here. I have no question for the witness."

Sir Archibald bowed. "The meaning behind this will be clear after the next witness, Mr. Barstow. Do you wish for Mr. Higgs to stay until then?"

Barstow bowed back. "That is exceedingly kind of you."

The Serjeant interceded. "The witness is excused for now but will hold himself available."

Sir Archibald now readied himself for the coup de grace.

"The Defence calls Mr. Israel Hayes."

Hayes stepped forward and was sworn in.

"Mr. Hayes, will you please state your name and profession?"

"My name is Israel Hayes. I am a chemist, and I own a store off Whitechapel High Street."

The court room became quiet as everybody leaned forward. Jane Wharton uttered a little shriek and tried to leave the stands but was prevented from doing so by the crowding.

"Did you, on the 5th of this month, sell a quantity of white arsenic to a woman?"

Mr. Hayes nodded solemnly. He had brought his poison book, and he opened it.

"Yes, Sir. I have the entry in my poison book: 2 grains of white arsenic powder to Miss Betty Morlake."

"Splendid. Did you know the woman on sight?"

Mr. Hayes blushed a little bit. "Indeed, Sir. I'm a bachelor, Sir, and sometimes I frequent the houses on Pinch Street. Betty used to work there, in the Watkins Inn."

"How long had you not seen her there?"

"A year or more, Sir. Word was she found a gentleman visitor who took her home with him."

"I see. The Watkins Inn, does it provide entertainment for gentlemen?"

"Indeed, Sir. Pretty girls, Sir. None as pretty as Betty though."

"I shall take your word for it, Mr. Hayes. Can you see this Betty Morlake in this courtroom?"

Hayes looked around, and he sadly smiled at Jane Wharton.

"It's her," he said, pointing at her. And then, "Sorry, Betty."

"Bailiff! Take that young woman under arrest!" the Serjeant ordered, but before the ponderous official reached the spectator benches, the young woman had wiggled her way out and was running for the door at surprising speed. Another bailiff tried to cut her off, but he came too late. She burst through the door and was gone.

For a few minutes, pandemonium reigned in the courtroom until the bailiffs were able to restore order. The Serjeant looked threateningly over his reading glasses.

"Quiet now! Mr. Barstow, Sir Archibald, can you be brief in your closing statements so that we may poll the jurors before evening?"

Both nodded, and then Mr. Barstow had the first word. He made it simple.

"Milords, gentlemen of the jury, in the light of the testimony presented by my learned colleague, Sir Archibald Pendrake, the Crown views the accused as fully exonerated. It only remains for me to ask you to return a verdict of 'most honourably acquitted' and to offer my most sincere apologies to the Lady Crewes. Thank you."

He bowed towards Priscilla first and then towards Sir Archibald who returned the compliment. The barrister then looked at the Serjeant.

"Milord, the whole affair was a misunderstanding from the beginning. Nobody ever aimed to kill Sir Hamilton. It was his own injudicious conduct that precipitated the events. Let me recount the events in chronological order. Sir Hamilton frequented a house of ill repute in Whitechapel and became attached to a – let us be fair – beautiful wench, a wench with aspirations to a better life. He brought her to his home to supersede his housekeeper with his new paramour, and the wench soon believed to be on her way to become Lady Crewes.

"Alas, Sir Hamilton met the present Lady Crewes at a charity and presently decided to woo her, probably ending the affair with his housekeeper who saw herself reduced to the role of a mere servant. Her employer's obsession with arsenic and his acquired immunity to the poison gave her the idea to rid herself of her rival and win back Sir Hamilton's affection. She took a cab to the Whitechapel district where she knew a chemist, Mr. Hayes, reasoning that nobody would ask for purchases of arsenic there. From Mr. Hayes she obtained a dose of poison that would almost kill a man of Sir Hamilton's stature, but that would cause a mere indigestion in a man hardened against the poison.

"She chose an evening when Lady Crewes was absent and administered the poison, holding ready an antidote of sorts, milk soup. She then cared for her employer and no doubt planted the seed of suspicion against Lady Crewes in his head.

"This, gentlemen of the jury, is the true story in which Lady Crewes is the innocent victim of a deceiving husband who kept his former paramour in his employ and of Jane Wharton, alias Betty Morlake, who schemed to regain the love and favour of her employer. I leave it to my learned colleague, Mr. Barstow, to take the appropriate action against the culprit, but I join in his plea to have the Lady Crewes acquitted with all honours. Thank you!"

"Thank you, gentlemen!" the Serjeant intoned. "Gentlemen of the jury, do you need a recess to reach a verdict?"

As one, the men in the jury box shook their heads. Whispering briefly they polled their number before the foreman stood.

"Milord, we have reached a verdict."

"All rise!" the Serjeant intoned again, and there was a brief shuffle as everybody stood. "What verdict have you reached?"

"We find the accused innocent of the charges, Milord."

"Thank you, gentlemen!" The Serjeant's voice took on a friendly and warm tone. "Lady Crewes, a jury of your peers has found you innocent of murder. You are therefore most honourably acquitted. This court joins the prosecutor in his apologies for the ordeal which you endured and we praise your brave and composed demeanour in the face of a treacherous scheme. We also praise the efforts of your friends who not only brought proof of your innocence but also identified the true culprit. You are free to go, Madam!"

Priscilla curtseyed and kept up her brave and confident facade while applause filled the courtroom. Sir Archibald himself helped her from the stand and led her to where her friends were waiting for her.

Priscilla first hugged a Jim who was grinning from ear to ear, and then she fell into Rose's arms.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she whispered into her friend's ear. "I owe you my life and my future."

"Oh, pooh! Don't even mention it! Nobody save for that ninny of your husband believed a word of that rubbish!" Rose stated in a voice that was designed to carry.

However, when the attention of the crowd shifted to Sir Hamilton, he was gone. So was of course Jane Wharton, and the bailiffs were still cursing each other for letting her slip away. Meanwhile, Priscilla's friends hugged her one after the other, and seeing so much support, Priscilla finally gave in to her tears. Seeing this, Jim led her gently to where Rose stood before he faced the group of supporters.

"Sir Archibald, dear friends, you are all invited to a soiree at Heyworth House in honour of our friend, Lady Crewes. We shall start at eight o'clock. Let us celebrate the victory of truth over deceit and scheming!"

"Hear, hear!" Sir Archibald replied. "'Tis a happy moment when the wicked are downtrodden and virtue triumphs! Gentlemen, may I trouble you? To Lady Crewes! Hip, hip!"

"Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!" twenty voices shouted.

There was Mr. Barstow, trying to find his way to Priscilla.

"Lady Crewes, I offer my sincere felicitations and also my deepest apologies!"

Priscilla was smiling again. "My dear Mr. Barstow, it is you who deserves no little praise, for you acted in the most gentlemanly fashion, rescuing me from the mob in the common cell and relaying my plea for help to my friends. I can bear you no ill will, and I should feel honoured were you to join our celebrations tonight."

"My dear Lady Crewes, once again you awe me with your gracious conduct and your kind heart!" Barstow replied. "It is I who feels honoured by your forgiving words and your kind invitation."

"Let us forget the unpleasantness, Mr. Barstow," Jim replied. "We shall be merry tonight, and may a certain husband be damned!"

His words made Priscilla start. "Oh, dear! I forgot him already. But how can I rid myself of the man now? Surely he violated his sacred marriage vows when he left me destitute at Newgate Prison?"

Sir Archibald wagged his head. "This is clearly a topic for another day."

[The 1857 Matrimonial Causes Act allowed men to divorce their wives for adultery, but for a woman to obtain a divorce, adultery must be compounded by incest, bigamy, cruelty or desertion. A case could be made for desertion, but adultery after the wedding would be hard to prove.]

Some thirty minutes later, the Tremaynes with Priscilla managed to board their coach. Priscilla shivered when she looked at Newgate Prison from whence she had escaped but a week earlier. She sat opposite Jim and Rose, but she reached out with both arms to hold their hands during the coach ride.

Edited by SpikeCO



-------

Chapter 31: Forgiving Nature


London, September 1868

Upon reaching Heyworth House, Jim insisted that both women went to their bedrooms to rest. Rose was eight months pregnant and the day had exhausted her. Priscilla had been missing sleep for over a week, and she had stood in the dock all day. Jim promised to wake them in time while he gave instructions to his housekeeper and the staff to prepare the house for an impromptu soiree.

He had some time to think as well. With Priscilla's acquittal, the Tremaynes could now focus on the impending addition to their numbers. It would be good for Rose to be relieved of the anxiety over her friend, and Jim would be able to give his attention to his wife.

There was a problem looming ahead, and that was Priscilla's situation. It was unthinkable for her to return to her husband, yet Jim was dubious of her chances to be granted a divorce. Unless the Morlake woman testified there was little hope to prove adultery on Crewes' part, even if cruelty and desertion could be claimed. No, in all likelihood, Priscilla would spend her life as the estranged wife of a maniac.

Jim sighed. What he almost feared was that Rose would once again try to bring about a menage a trois. Jim liked Priscilla well, he cared for her in no small way, but he saw the future complications of such an arrangement and the consequences for all involved.

At six o'clock, the maidservants woke Rose and Priscilla so that both would be able to prepare themselves for the soiree. Rose was the first to come downstairs to join him, and he realised that she was now very close to giving birth. His heart went out to her, and he held her for a moment.

"I love you, my darling. We shall have more peace now."

"Oh, I feel very well now," Rose smiled back. "Poor Cilla is rehabilitated with not even a small blemish to her reputation, and it was my husband who brought that about. You are quite the detective."

"Let us not get carried away. It was a stroke of good luck that let us find the cab driver."

"I should rather ascribe it to your tenacity," Rose contradicted. "Whether it was luck or tenacity, I am proud of you."

A little while later, Amanda with her two stepdaughters appeared, and then Priscilla descended the stairs wearing the same charcoal dress from the trial. The Kennedy girls had not been allowed in the courtroom, and they were eager to show Priscilla their adoration.

Thanks to the efforts of their staff, the downstairs of the house were now ready for the guests to show. Among the first was Lady Wilkes who upon entering gave first Priscilla and then Rose emotional hugs. She was then introduced to the Thrushs and their stepdaughters before an upholstered chair was produced for her use. Lord and Lady Lambert with their son Anthony, his wife Sarah, and their daughter Siobhan Pryce arrived next, all offering a blushing Priscilla felicitations and sympathies for her trials. Samantha and Alistair Donovan showed then, and both hugged a grateful Priscilla.

Sir Archibald Pendrake arrived together with Mr. Barstow. Their greeting was slightly more formal, but Barstow showed no sign of grudge over the outcome.

Higgs, the cab driver, had begged off the invitation, but the young Alison O'Hare and her employers, the Warners, came and also Mr. Hayes who was shy in such illustrious company. Priscilla made it a point to greet each of them and she thanked them for the help they had provided. Mr. Hayes looked as if he had something on his mind, but he never spoke up.

Melissa Martin and Colleen MacAllister were the last to arrive long after ten o' clock, both looking satisfied in the extreme. The former had been able to sell the picture of Jane Wharton to several newspapers while the latter had reported about the trial for The Times. They had printer proofs with them from which Colleen read to the assembled guests. She certainly had a way with words, and she managed to describe the rather dull proceedings in a fetching manner. It was clear to everybody that for a few days, Priscilla's would be household name all over London.

They had to describe then how Melissa Martin had taken the photograph with the help of which Jim and Ned had questioned cab drivers and chemists alike. Mr. Barstow opined that this was a wonderful idea and that the Metropolitan Police should have a collection of photographic images of all notorious criminals.

Rose could not help but give Colleeen MacAllister a smug grin, and the writer gave her a lopsided smile in return. But for their discussion at Lambert House, Melissa Martin would not have taken up photography.

The soiree broke up a little after midnight, for the main protagonist showed signs of fatigue after a more than taxing day. One of the last to leave was Mr. Barstow, who again made it a point to assure Priscilla of his support in whatever she needed in the aftermath of the trial. Rose stood by her friend's side when she watched the prosecutor leave.

"You have made quite the impression on Barstow."

"He is a good man," Priscilla sighed. "Would I had met him or a man like him rather than the ninny I married."

"He is a barrister. He can help you to win a divorce," Rose said practically before she started a giggle. "He'll have a personal motivation to succeed."

Priscilla blushed only a little. "We shall see," she said almost dreamily.

°°°

By necessity, breakfast in the Tremayne household was late on the next morning. At eleven o' clock, they were still sitting around the table. Rose was a little preoccupied this morning because the growing child was lively, and several of the other house dwellers were a little the worse for wear after indulging freely in the offered wines and spirits. When the maidservant breathlessly announced that Mr. Barstow was asking to see Lady Crewes, Jim could not help but laugh.

"The fellow's forging that iron while it's red hot!"

"I'm neither an iron nor am I red-hot, Mr. James Tremayne!" Priscilla retorted fighting a smile. She turned to the maid. "Ask Mr. Barstow in, Emmy!"

When Barstow entered a few moments later, his face showed that courtship was not on his mind. He bowed to the men and women before he approached Priscilla.

"Lady Crewes, I fear that I bring the worst of news. Last night, on approaching midnight, there was an altercation at Sir Hamilton Crewes' house. To deduce from the testimony of a maidservant, but also from the evidence found, Sir Hamilton tried to choke the Morlake woman to death. In the struggle which took place in his study, she managed to get a hold of a brass microscope with which he hit him on the head. His skull was bashed in, and he died. From all we know so far, it was a case of justified self defence."

Priscilla sat silent for a moment shaking her head. Then she looked up at Barstow.

"Did she escape?"

"No, she was in no shape to run after being almost throttled to death. The detective constable in charge called the police surgeon when there were signs of suffocation, but she recovered somewhat later in the night. She is at Newgate now awaiting her trial for poisoning Sir Hamilton."

Priscilla took another deep breath and shook her head. "I wanted to rid myself of him, but I should have preferred a divorce. Please, Mr. Barstow, do not think badly of me if I fail to mourn him. He abandoned me in the cruellest way, he deceived me, and he slandered me. I cannot think of him as my husband anymore."

"Madam, in my humble opinion, you have every right to feel the way you do. I for my part will not think badly of you."

"You are very understanding, Mr. Barstow. Now I shall have to find mourning attire." She shook her head again, now with a touch of anger. "Another year of my life wasted on a worthless ninny!"

"He was that as even Inspector Mellard observed," Barstow sighed. "Be that as it may, Lady Crewes, let me please be the first to offer my condolences, if not over the loss of your husband then over a year spent in mourning."

"I accept and thank you for your kindness, Mr. Barstow. Once again you have proven to be a man I should be happy to have as a friend."

He bowed deeply and kissed Priscilla's hand. "I do not merit such distinction, Lady Crewes, but if you will deem me worthy of it, I shall gladly and with pride call myself your friend."

Priscilla contrived a sitting curtsey before she looked down at herself.

"I don't suppose this charcoal grey will pass for black, at least until we finish breakfast?"

"To me it looks black," Jim judged. "Mr. Barstow, if your duties allow for it, why don't you sit and share the breakfast with us? You must be famished after this morning."

John Barstow nodded and gave a polite smile in return. "This is kind of you, and I accept gratefully."

It was another hour before Priscilla reluctantly left the table. Amanda volunteered to raid Sir Hamilton's house for Priscilla's clothes, and Ned declared that he would accompany her. In the meantime, Mr. Barstow thanked his hosts and bade his farewell.

"That's not the last we'll see of this fellow," Jim mused. "Mark my words: there'll be another wedding a year from now."

Rose put her hand on her husband's arm. "She could do worse. Oh dear, she did worse twice already! He's by far a better man though."

"That's how I judge him, too. Let us see whether his devotion will hold through a mourning year."

°°°

Sir Hamilton Crewes' funeral was a small affair attended only by those obligated. Rose begged off, but Jim accompanied Priscilla to the service. Luckily, it was over quickly enough, for it was a hot day and Priscilla almost suffocated under the black widow's dress and the layers of black veils.

Sir Hamilton had died intestate, and he had no close blood relations. Priscilla thus became the sole heir by default. The house became hers, but also investments in the amount of over £21,000; not quite a fortune but close. This, together with the trust fund from her father, would allow her a comfortable existence.

Naturally, at dinner that evening, she, the Tremaynes, and the Thrushs discussed the case again. To Priscilla's amazement, Rose expressed an understanding for Betty Morlake. Speaking in a low voice so as not to be overheard by the staff, she professed a feeling of sympathy for the plight of the young woman.

"Had I met a man such as Jim or any decent man in the Baltimore tavern where I was forced to give myself away, I would have readily killed for the chance to stay with him."

Priscilla thought a lot about that, and on the next morning she surprised her friends with the request to be driven to Newgate Prison. Jim accompanied her of course, and it was already past ten o' clock when she sat at a table across from Betty Morlake in the visitation room.

The woman had been at Newgate Prison for four days, and like Priscilla she had nobody to pay for a private cell or for outside food. She looked terrible, and the dress she wore still bore the signs of her deathly struggle with Crewes.

"Are you satisfied to see me such?" Morlake asked in a calm voice.

Priscilla slowly shook her head and shuddered. "I would not wish for my worst enemy to be locked up in the common cell."

This brought a reaction from Morlake. "That wasn't my intent. I never thought he'd be so cruel to you. I thought he'd just separate from you, honestly!"

"Your testimony did not help me, did it?"

Morlake lowered her head and bit her lips. "I was mortified. I never thought things would go that far. Ham ... Sir Hamilton was quite set on having you condemned. I ... That wasn't my plan!"

"Your plan was for a separation and a future as his live-in paramour?"

"I only wanted you away. I thought..."

"Tell me about that Watkin's Inn."

That startled Morlake. She was quiet and Priscilla could see pain in her eyes.

"Watkin's Inn was not so bad. I was young, I was the prettiest of the girls, and I could get every man there. Well, the men who visited such a place. But I saw the older wenches, the ones who'd been there for five or ten years, some for twenty years. They were so miserable! I couldn't stand the thought!"

"And then Ham ... Sir Hamilton showed up. I was the first girl he chose, and on his subsequent visits he chose me too. He began to bring me presents, small things but quite beautiful, and when he spoke I could hear that he was a learned man. I ... I had hopes then, hopes to escape a future as a worn-out whore. I found a man who would teach me the letters and numbers. He is a drunk; we could only do it in the late mornings when he was still sober. I tried to better myself to be acceptable. Hamilton complimented me, and then he offered to take me to his home!"

In her voice, Priscilla could hear all the happiness and hope the young woman must have felt when asked to live with Crewes.

"It must have been a dream come true, mustn't it?" Priscilla asked more gently than she felt towards the woman.

The dark eyes were brimming now. "Call me stupid! I believed his words. He said if I did well by him there'd be a future for me. That housekeeper, she left in a huff on the first morning, and Hamilton gave me her position. It wasn't what I'd hoped for, but I was respectable for once. I had nice house dresses, the maids had to obey me, and I thought if I just were the perfect Miss Wharton for him, he'd make me his wife one day. I tried to get with child to force the issue, but when I finally felt the growing life in me, he told me he'd found the perfect bride. I told him I was with child, but he became only angry with me. The same day he brought me to a midwife to ... She made me lose the child."

Morlake had to stop at this point, so overwhelmed was she by the memories. Priscilla felt a burning anger at her late husband. She had already known him to be a coward and a ninny, but now she could see how cruelly he had treated Betty Morlake. He must have known about her hopes, and he had exploited them for his own selfish gratification.

"How you must have hated me," she remarked neutrally.

Morlake looked up. "I knew it was not your fault, but you were the living proof that I had no hopes. I tried to be on your good side at first, but you were not too friendly with me."

Had that been true? Priscilla thought about it. It could have been. After all, what newly wed wife appreciates the presence of a beautiful housekeeper?

"I may have been jealous, too," she allowed. "What will become of you now?"

Morlake shrugged apathetically. "They'll find me guilty of murder, either for the poisoning, or for bashing in his head. I'll spend ten years in this hell hole, and when they'll let me out, I'll be a worn-out whore just the same as if I'd stayed at the inn."

Priscilla made up her mind. "I'll have some of your clothes sent here for you, and I'll arrange for a private cell. I shall also ask Sir Archibald to represent you."

Morlake looked at Priscilla incredulously. "I ruined your life. Why would you do that for me?"

Priscilla shrugged. "Let us face it: Hamilton was a mean little coward, and a lunatic as well. Your actions only precipitated what would have happened anyway. Let us also say that I can relate to your hopes to better yourself. I hate what he did to you, how he led you on. Think of what you might do if you can evade the prison."

"Do you by chance need a housekeeper? That's all I learned excepting my old trade."

Priscilla had to smile. "I fear that might raise suspicions I should rather not have floating around. I shall make some inquiries. I held you for a good cook, and the house was in good order. I'll leave now. I wish you luck!"

Priscilla felt better about herself now as she left the huge, ugly prison building. Jim was pacing the street outside and he was relieved to see her.

"That must have been a long talk," he remarked.

"Jim, my dear, you have no idea!"

°°°

Sir Archibald had no reservations to act on Morlake's behalf, but he advised Priscilla to keep her involvement a secret. Her visit at Newgate had not gone unnoticed though. Mr. Barstow asked her about it two days later when he called on her. Priscilla admitted to the visit and to retaining Sir Archibald.

"My anger at my late husband is stronger than my anger at her," she explained. "He used the desperation of a young woman for his own lewd designs. I feel pity for the woman."

Barstow sighed. "I should not complain about your forgiving nature, Lady Crewes. Do you feel strongly about this?"

"I do, Mr. Barstow. I feel sorry to be on opposing sides with you again."

Barstow gave her a lopsided smile. "With Sir Archibald at her side it would be foolish to accuse her of murder. I quite agree with his view of things anyway. Nevertheless, she administered poison to your late husband so you would be blamed."

"According to her, things quite got out of control. She claims that she thought he'd just separate from me."

"Does she? That is a claim which will be hard to disprove. However, there is the perjury she committed with all the lies she told."

"She was no worse than Inspector Mellard," Priscilla contradicted.

"Former Inspector Mellard," Barstow corrected grittily. "The man is no longer with the Detective Branch. He was demoted to mere constable at the Stepney Station."

Priscilla flinched hearing this, but then she shrugged. Mellard's obsequiousness towards Crewes had been instrumental in the affair.

"I hope you will understand my lack of pity."

Barstow sighed again. "I shall speak the magistrate. Perhaps a fine will be enough. I would advise you, however, against paying her fine. That might raise renewed suspicion against you."

"I shall refrain myself from acting directly on her behalf," Priscilla promised. "Now, if you will not mind my curiosity, I should like to hear a little bit about yourself."

Barstow swallowed at first, and Priscilla tilted her head.

"My mourning year will be so much less dispiriting should I have something to which I can look forward."

A weak smile played around Barstow's mouth. "I shall be happy to lend you any such comfort and hope as I can provide."

°°°

Mr. Israel Hayes called on Jim on the same day to discuss the promised help with a chemist's store in Chelsea. He had been busy walking the streets to look for appropriate premises, and it seemed as if he had found an opportunity. There was an opening on King's Road, in a modest house with a two window front facing the street. The property was for sale and empty, and Mr. Hayes had found out about its owner from the neighbours. The house belonged to the widow of a grocer who'd had his shop there, but being elderly she was now living with her daughter on Mulberry Walk.

Still grateful to the man, Jim agreed on a visit to the house owner. It was close enough to walk, and soon they were standing in front of the house. Upon their knock, a middle aged woman opened and identified herself as Mrs. Linley. Her mother, Mrs. Tomlinson, was at home, and she asked the two men in. Jim established his interest in a purchase of the late Mr. Tomlinson's house on King's Road, and soon after, Mr. Linley joined the conversation upon his wife sending a message to his shop.

Mr. Linley showed Jim and Mr. Hayes the house, and they both agreed that it was ideal for the purpose if needing paint work. Jim had experience by now with remodelling work, and he estimated the costs at £100 to £150.

The asking price for the property was £2,400, but Jim knew enough about property prices to discount this as mere opening offer. He bid £1,500 which Mr. Linley rejected with much indignation. It took them a half hour to reach common ground at £1,900, and they agreed to have the contract drawn up by Jim's solicitor.

Mr. Hayes was subdued when they left.

"Major, this was quite costly, and I don't know how I can pay enough rent to cover the interest."

Jim smiled negligently. "How high was your rent in Whitechapel?"

"£3 s4 a month, Major," Hayes replied.

"But that was Whitechapel, and you will find better paying customers here in Chelsey. Let us say for now that I can let you rent the place for £5. Will that be affordable?"

"That is a very generous offer, Major."

"You helped me and my friend, Mr. Hayes. Now it is time for me to help you."

"Then I accept with gratitude, Major."

"Splendid. Let us all meet at Mr. Turnwell's offices tomorrow to draw up the contracts, and by next month you can start your business."

"It is a dream come true, Major. Umh, Sir, can you perhaps tell me what will happen to Betty?"

"Are you still sweet for her?" Jim asked rather surprised.

"She was kind to me, and I always thought that she did not belong there, I mean in the Watkin's Inn."

"The prosecutor is still determining what crimes she may have committed," Jim sighed. "She might get away with a fine, although I cannot see how she can pay a fine. Lady Crewes knows more. She visited her a few days ago."

"May I ask Lady Crewes, Sir?"

"Mr. Hayes, Lady Crewes is free to speak anybody. You'll have to ask her."

"Thank you, Sir."

°°°

A trial before the magistrate was far less awe inspiring than proceedings at The Old Bailey. The magistrate handled petty crimes, and Mr. Barstow had determined that Betty Morlake's deeds did not warrant a criminal trial by jury. The charge read was for perjury and for causing bodily harm. There was not much to do for Sir Archibald since the proceedings were in the hand of the magistrate. Betty Morlake's confessed to lying in the witness stand and to giving a small dose of arsenic to Sir Hamilton. The magistrate weighed the case and then handed down his sentence: a full year at Newgate Prison. In lieu, a fine of £120 was to be paid within a week.

Betty Morlake accepted the sentence without emotion. The magistrate might have asked for £1,200 instead for all she cared. £120 far surpassed what little savings she had. She was shackled again and returned to her cell.

She was surprised to have a visitor, but the ghost of a smile showed on her face when she recognised Priscilla.

"Do I owe you the lenient sentence?" she asked immediately.

Priscilla wagged her head. "I tried to persuade the prosecutor, but I have no way of knowing how much I achieved. I suppose you cannot raise the £120?"

"All I have are £23, the savings of many years," the young woman answered sadly.

"I cannot pay your fine. It would look as if we had been in collusion."

"I understand, Milady," Morlake answered. "You have been more than kind considering what I did to you."

"There is a young man, however, who would be willing to spare you the prison cell provided you accept his conditions."

Morlake closed her eyes for a moment, but then she shook her head.

"Madam, I cannot. I shall rather stay here for a year than to offer my body for money again."

"You will find that his conditions are not what you expect. Tell me: did you ever meet a decent man in that inn where you worked?"

"A few were. Mr. Alwyn was, but he is married. Mr. Hayes, the chemist who testified for you, was always kind."

"That is good to hear. Mr. Hayes is waiting outside. Will you at least hear him?"

Taking a deep breath, Morlake nodded, and Priscilla left the cell. Outside, Mr. Hayes was pacing the dark hallway. Seeing Priscilla he rushed to meet her.

"She will see you now. Good luck!"

"Thank you, Lady Crewes! I ... I'll go in now. Bless you!"

With quick strides, Hayes headed for the cell and asked the guard to be admitted. Priscilla turned then and left the grim prison building, hopefully for the last time.

When Israel Hayes opened his new chemist's store on Kings Road almost two months later, his pretty young wife stood at his side behind the counter, helping with the simpler orders and keeping things in order. Nobody knew who Elisabeth Hayes was. After all, nobody had seen the new chemist before either, and people simply assumed that they had been married for some time. Soon the young couple had neighbourly relations with other shop owners, and if their new neighbours noticed anything, it was their obvious devotion for each other.

Edited by SpikeCO



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Chapter 32: Somebody Deserving


Late summer 1868

Even in the aftermath of the Crewes trial, life at Heyworth House continued to be exciting. Priscilla was – at least for the moment – a person of public interest, and a number of newspaper reporters visited to interview her. Melissa Martin produced a photographic portrait of her which sold well to newspapers and even to private persons.

Priscilla received those visitors at Heyworth House pending a complete renovation of Hamilton Crewes' house on Talavera Square, and she apologised to Jim and Rose for the constant stream of visitors. Jim and Rose bore that burden with patience. If anything, the excitement helped to carry Rose over the last weeks of her pregnancy.

Nevertheless, Priscilla was uneasy around Rose feeling her conscience nagging. After all, she had left her friends in favour of Crewes, and she was aware that Rose had not taken that lightly. It took two weeks for Priscilla to realise that Rose was indeed over their affair, and that she now saw it as a past episode in their lives. Priscilla was not sure whether to be relieved or hurt over her friend's change of heart, and one evening when they were sitting alone, she spoke up.

"Rose, dear, something is on my mind. You have both been so loyal and helpful during my trial that I hesitate to bring it up, but..."

"Speak up, darling!" Rose encouraged her.

"Oh, well! When I told you and Jim that I could not be part of your marriage, you seemed devastated. I felt terrible then doing that to you. Now I cannot help but sense that your feelings for me have ... I don't know ... waned?"

Rose patted the free seat on the sofa that she sat on, and Priscilla obediently sat at her friend's side.

"Cilla, what we had was wonderful, but it was not meant to be. It was not fair to you, and after a while I saw the underlying reason for your decision. I also saw that I had placed you above my husband for a while, and that was wrong of me. I still love you dearly, but Jim owns my heart. When I learned of my pregnancy this became very clear to me. Having first Raven and then Mandy around me again also helped me to put things into perspective."

"So I was a transient infatuation for you?" Priscilla asked, her voice a little laced with hurt.

"There is nothing transient about my feelings for you," Rose assured her. "I will always cherish the memory of those nights we spent together, and so will Jim. I would not even be averse to a repeat now and then, but I don't feel the need for it anymore. You see, I saw myself obligated to share Jim with you. You were so unhappy, so alone, and I was so lucky. I did not realise that I was holding you back from your own pursuit of happiness."

"What made you change your views?"

"Being with child. I carry Jim's child. I could never give up Jim for you, even if he agreed, and that would always leave your dreams unfulfilled. Cilla, you have to find your own happiness. I can help you and support you, but it cannot be Jim with whom you can find it."

Priscilla squinted at her friend. "You mean to say that... ?"

"Find somebody you can love and claim for yourself," Rose answered. "Get to know him well to avoid another unpleasant surprise. Show your true self to him so he won't be disappointed either."

Priscilla made a face. "What makes you so wise? You have been lucky meeting Jim."

Rose grinned smugly. "I know that. I am not wise either. I just wish for you to meet a man who will treasure the Cilla we know and love, not the public facade you project."

Priscilla nodded slowly. "There is something in that. I'll give it some thought."

°°°

Ned and Amanda had returned to Peterborough to claim their new home. For Jim this meant that he had to visit his club alone again. This was where he met important contacts, heard of investment opportunities, and caught up on the male side of London's gossip mill.

He was sitting in the reading room studying The Times and enjoying a cup of the club's excellent coffee when somebody approached him. Jim looked up to see Mr. Barstow. He folded the newspaper and rose.

"Good morning, Mr. Barstow!"

"And a good morning to you, Mr. Tremayne. I am sorry for interrupting your reading, but would it be possible to have a private talk with you?"

"Certainly!" Jim answered genially pointing at the chair next to his. "Why don't you have a seat?"

"Thank you, Mr. Tremayne," Barstow answered sitting down.

One of the club's waiters showed and Barstow ordered a cup of tea. He seemed a bit hesitant at first, but then he seemed to make up his mind.

"I was wanting to ask you, Mr. Tremayne, what your relationship with Lady Crewes is. I am not asking out of idle curiosity either. I harbour a sincere interest in Lady Crewes. However, I was misled once by a woman and I wish to avoid a similarly unpleasant experience."

Jim could not help but clear his throat and he pondered the request.

"My relationship with Lady Crewes is complicated to say the least."

"I gathered that much. Let me also assure you that anything you will say will be treated in the utmost confidentiality."

"Well, if you insist. I met Priscilla Bywater at the New Year's Ball at Lord Lambert's country seat in Berkshire. I was a freshly commissioned captain in the 13th Light Dragoons and I owed the invitation to being the son of a neighbour. Miss Bywater was there with her widowed father. I was able to secure two dances with her, and by the time the second dance ended I had fallen in love."

Jim smiled with the memory.

"She was everything of which a young man could dream. Young, pretty, vivacious, and the heiress to a sizeable property I should add for the sake of honesty. She was obviously not averse to my advances, and over the following year I saw her whenever possible. We found that we were compatible on almost all issues. The only problem was her father who did not see me as the best opportunity his daughter could have. In the end, he relented however, and on the next New Year we announced our engagement.

"Mr. Bywater attended that ball with a very beautiful woman, an actress, and his infatuation with her may have had something to do with his grudging approval of my person. Be that as it may, come the spring the 13th was ordered to the Crimea. Priscilla's miniature image was what kept me going for the months to follow, and when I was wounded at Balaclava, her face was my last conscious thought.

"Alas, when I returned as an invalid, I had to learn that she had broken our engagement in favour of a fellow officer, Lucius Marsden-Smith, who had stayed behind with the depot troops."

Jim looked up when the waiter appeared with Barstow's tea. Barstow took a sip and set down the cup.

"Pray continue, Mr. Tremayne, if the memory is not too unsettling."

"I have had enough time to get over it," Jim answered with a wry smile. "Anyway, I was devastated and disappointed at Priscilla, and I felt hatred at Marsden-Smith for poaching on my bride while I was risking my life in the Queen's service. I quit the regiment, and on the same day I insulted Marsden-Smith. As expected he issued a challenge. A day after that, Priscilla showed up at my father's house trying to forestall the duel. I know now that she was mortified over the possibility that I might be killed over her, but I was too vengeful to hear her out. One word led to another, and she left in tears.

"Suffice to say I bested Marsden-Smith in the ensuing duel. He even breached the rules of engagement, ruining his reputation in the process. I left England shortly after. I felt I had nothing to hold me back, and I took a ship for Boston. Over the following years, I plied the trades of a wagoner and a guard on the wagon trains heading for the wilderness of Oregon. The hard work, the deprivations, the dangers, everything worked together to give me back my balance. Then, it was in '59, we heard of gold finds on the South Platte river. With two friends I raced there to stake a claim. Mr. Thrush – you met him at my house – and I were lucky. The claim was a good one and yielded us sizeable returns. In '61 I met my wife at a place called Fort Laramie where my partner and I were provisioning. She and my partner's wife returned to the diggings with us, and over the next two years we struck a major gold vein. In 1863, we formed a mining company with two more partners, and by 1865 my wife and I decided to return to England.

"It was on the New Year's Eve of '65 that I saw Priscilla again. She was indeed married to Marsden-Smith who had managed to ruin not only his reputation, but also his body and his inherited property. On Lord Lambert's urging, we settled our differences, but a day later, he died from a fall in his home leaving his wife almost destitute.

"Strange as it seemed, my wife and Priscilla took a liking to each other and even developed a deep friendship. In turn, I learned that what I had viewed as Priscilla's betrayal had been the result of a bald-faced extortion on the part of Marsden-Smith and his father. They even had her father thrown into the debtor's prison to break her will. Learning of all this, I forgave her entirely. After all, I had benefited immensely from the break-up being now married to a wonderful wife and being rich beyond any hopes I ever had. Priscilla and I rebuilt our relationship as a friendship.

"Then, last year, she twice saved my wife's life. Once when my wife contracted a severe pneumonia Priscilla saw to it that she received treatment and watched over her for three days and nights. Then, last fall, when that man Moore broke into my house, ... Oh well, you know about that."

"During that last year, Priscilla lived as a member of our household. She and my wife developed into the closest of friends, and I discovered that she still holds a small part of my heart. Let us leave it like this."

"Priscilla realised the dangers of our growing affection, and she broke away from us to pursue her happiness with Crewes. When that went sour, she moved in with us again, but I assure you that the relationship is now nothing but a deep friendship and nothing that should deter a serious suitor."

Jim stopped his narration and looked at Barstow. The man was digesting the information he had just received. In the end he nodded as if satisfied.

"I have to thank you for indulging my curiosity so openly, Mr. Tremayne. You have a very high opinion of Lady Crewes?"

"The highest. She is warm hearted, loyal, and blessed with a sharp mind. She has her opinions, but she is never opinionated. Given her history, she reacts strongly to disloyalty, but that should be understood."

"Yes, that is my own impression too," Barstow said with a wry smile. "It is an attitude that I share. If you were to hazard a guess, do you believe that the lady might hear my suit?"

Jim allowed himself a smile. "This is not for me to answer. All I can say is that without asking you will never know. I believe that she enjoys your calls."

"That is also my impression. I am not very experienced in this, however, and I fear that I might misconstrue something that is mere gratitude for the assistance I rendered her."

"My dear Mr. Barstow, gratitude or rather appreciation plays a role in most successful marriages. We give and we take – first material things, then trust and then affection. She knows and appreciates your gentlemanly conduct. I can think of worse foundations for a blossoming romance. If you feel appreciation for her too, you must let her know this. She is her own person. She will not take another husband who does not value her."

Barstow nodded to that and even smiled.

"You have given me ample fodder for thought but also hope, Mr. Tremayne. I take it that you hold your own wife in high esteem?"

"I would be nothing but for her," Jim answered simply before he smiled. "Strangely, she thinks of me in the same way."

Again, Barstow nodded. "Mr. Tremayne, there is one more favour I would ask of you and your wife. Could you perhaps persuade Lady Crewes to act the mourning widow in public? You have to see that my father, the Earl, has conservative views, and that a woman who does not mourn her husband properly would be unacceptable as his daughter-in-law. I can certainly appreciate her attitude towards the late Sir Hamilton, but..."

"Yes, I see your point, Mr. Barstow. I shall speak Lady Crewes and encourage her to consider the public sentiment."

Barstow sighed. "I must really thank you, Mr. Tremayne. I am in your debt."

Jim nodded. "Make her as happy as she deserves, and I shall consider any debt satisfied."

"I shall, if only she allows it," Barstow promised solemnly.

°°°

The notice was placed in the major newspapers a few weeks later, and the numerous friends of the Tremaynes read it with joy.

Born:

Major James Weston Tremayne and his wife, Mrs. Annabelle Rose Tremayne, announce the birth of their daughter, Priscilla Amanda Tremayne on the 12th of this month. Mother and child are in good health, and Mrs. Tremayne is expected to resume her charitable activities soon. The baptism will be held on the 23rd at All Saints Church in Chelsea.

Consequently a large number of friends showed to attend the baptism. The birth had been comparably easy on Rose, mostly due to the small size of the infant girl, and she was almost completely recovered by the time of the baptism. Priscilla and Amanda served as godmothers, the former in her black widow's dress, but it was a day of complete bliss for the Tremaynes and their friends after the excitement during the summer.

Priscilla was indeed being sensible in playing the role of the widow. On Lady Wilkes' insistence, she had also resumed her activities with the hospital charity. She could credibly claim that her late husband would have wished for her to continue the work as he had himself been a member. Being "Lady Crewes" and the sole heiress to the Crewes fortune actually strengthened her position. She was also recruited by Mrs. Ruiz de Costa, Lord Lambert's sister, to join and support the suffrage movement. Given her recent experiences she was inclined to lend her support. On this day, however, Priscilla was seen mingling with the guests and enjoying the contact with the many people who had offered her encouragement and support during her trial.

Her little namesake slept through most of the excitement being held in turn by all the female guests. The afternoon was far progressed when Samantha Donovan, while holding her little stepsister, told her stepmother and a small group of female friends that she was expecting her first child.

"You'll make me a grandmother at thirty-one?" Rose asked with mock-indignation causing laughter among the friends.

Millicent Donovan gave her daughter-in-law a hug of deep affection.

"I for one will not mind becoming a grandmother, my dear girl!"

Priscilla watched the exchange with an amused smile. She already knew Millicent Donovan's story. She had been a homeless orphan girl picked up by kind-hearted Lady Lambert, and she became Lady Lambert's trusted maidservant. She was bitten by a poisonous snake when the Lamberts were visiting in India. Millicent survived with luck, and she later married the young doctor who treated her – Doctor Donovan.

It was an odd group of friends Priscilla mused. From Lady Wilkes, once a transported thief, down to Samantha, once a starving orphan in the frozen Colorado territory. Yet, they had all found a respectable existence, and they had no qualms helping others to better themselves. Compared with them, Priscilla's pedigree was impeccable, but even she was now following the pattern as when she fostered the romance between Mr. Hayes and Betty Morlake.

Perhaps there was something to learn from that. Almost four years ago, Priscilla would have scorned most of the people who attended the baptism had she known about their past. What a loss she would have suffered! Even her newest acquaintance, Amanda Thrush, was a treasure to know, and she had been a convict along with Rose.

Rose. Priscilla looked at her friend with a warm feeling – her friend, her one-time lover, her guiding light during the past years. Their relationship might have changed – it was clear that Rose was over the physical side of their love – but they had an even stronger bond now. It was Rose who advised Priscilla to mask her feelings and to playact the mourning widow. It was Rose who pointed out that the mourning period would afford Priscilla with the opportunity to assert herself as an independent person who was not even in need of financial support anymore. She would be able to meet potential suitors at eye level, and she could screen them at leisure in the coming year.

If Priscilla regretted anything, it was the physical aspect of the ménage a trois she had shared with Rose and Jim. The weeks of married life with Hamilton Crewes had shown Priscilla that a man such as Jim was indeed a rare find -- being at once considerate and manly. One of her main reasons to pull out of the threesome with her friends had been her realisation that she could never claim that man, and that he would never let her claim him. He was Rose's, and he would stay Rose's forever. He was also the most wonderful and loyal friend Priscilla could ask for, and she had come to the conclusion that she rather had him as her most trusted friend than as her reluctant lover.

On the next morning, Priscilla would leave Heyworth House for good to claim the house on Talavera Square as her own. Hamilton Crewes' cousin had come to visit a week after the funeral, but he had not disputed her claim to her late husband's property. She had hired back Mrs. Simmons as housekeeper, and she would alter the house to her liking during her mourning year. Mr. Hayes had already gone through Hamilton's study to dispose of any of the chemicals stored there.

She had incurred one extra expenditure, and it was voluntary: she had asked the solicitor to give Betty Morlake £800, ostensibly a bequest specified in Hamilton Crewes' fictitious last will. Some people might shake their heads over her actions, but Priscilla had learned that giving people second chances could be rewarding. Besides, Mr. Hayes had been the linch pin to her defence at The Old Bailey, and he had lost his store in Whitechapel in the process.

Yes, things would look up now. She would still be able to visit Rose and her other friends at leisure, but she would also be able to entertain visitors herself. John Barstow came to her mind. Now here was a good man, a man who might even measure up to the standard set by Jim Tremayne. Barstow's father was the Earl of Ravenhurst, but John Barstow was the third son, and he was almost forty. Priscilla was hopeful to finally break her streak of bad luck with regard to husbands.

She had already seen him thrice in the last weeks when he visited her at Heyworth House for one trumped-up reason or another, and Priscilla was confident that he would make up more reasons in the coming weeks and months, at least until they established an understanding and a common intent. Even now she could feel his eyes on her. It was a good feeling.

°°°

Epilogue, October 12, 1869

Priscilla was looking at her mirror image with appreciation. The light blue of her dress complimented her complexion and hair colour, and she could not find fault with the hair dresser's work either. She was looking as good as humanly possible on this, her last day as Lady Crewes.

She smiled serenely as Rose and Samantha fussed around her, altering the seat of the combs, adjusting the little bow tie at the front of her dress, and casting admiring glances at the bride. This was so different from her second wedding when she had hired help to prepare for the ceremony. Now her friends took care of that, and that calmed Priscilla and made her enjoy the preparations.

John would be waiting downstairs, pacing up and down the hallway. He had courted Priscilla with patience and with respect all through her mourning year. She felt at ease with him, something that she had not achieved with either of her late husbands, and she had come to trust him – another new experience.

If anything, his family was less than welcoming to Priscilla. His eldest brother, The Hon. Spencer Barstow, who would serve as John's best man was particularly arrogant letting Priscilla know that she was nothing but an insignificant member of the gentry compared with the exalted position of the Barstows. This was a source of worry for Priscilla even though John assured her of his love and respect.

Now she was ready. Looking into the mirror one last time, she smiled at Rose and Samantha and nodded. Just then, voices seemed to float into Priscilla's boudoir. She held up her hand when she recognised John's voice, and both Rose and Samantha fell silent. The voices came from the fireplace and had to originate from the study below that shared the flue with the boudoir. Straining her ears, Priscilla could make out the words of an argument between John and his eldest brother.

"Bloody damnit, John! This is your last chance! Tell the woman you reconsider!"

"Spencer, how many times do I have to repeat myself? I am not interested in marrying Bishop Abernathy's daughter. She's vain and an insufferable blabbermouth."

"Yet she'll bring quite a dowry into a marriage. You'll also have her father's support, and the man is certainly not without influence."

"To hell with it! I shall marry Priscilla Crewes today. Spencer, you have to decide: will you serve as my best man today, or shall I have to find a replacement?"

"Good God! If you are so set on marrying that woman, so be it!" Spencer Barstow spat.

"I am. I trust her, I respect her, and I certainly love her."

"Oh, well, love..." The Hon. Spencer Barstow snorted. "At least she brings some funds into the marriage, and I won't have to subsidise you in the future."

To Priscilla, John's voice sounded very cold now. "I cannot remember ever asking for your support. Now will you be civil to my bride?"

"Damn you, yes!"

"All right then. Let's go out and wait in the hallway. She'll be downstairs any minute."

The voices died away, and Priscilla looked at her friends. Rose smiled and nodded.

"I suppose you can be certain of his feelings now," she stated.

A big smile spread over Priscilla's face. "I can, can't I? It seems I made the right choice for once."

"Oh dear, he is defying his family to marry you!" Samantha gushed. " You are so lucky!"

If possible, Priscilla's smile widened. "I guess I am for once. Rose, on the peril of embarrassing Samantha to death, will you give me one last kiss?"

It was a long kiss. Nobody looked at the wall clock, but it must have taken minutes before Rose and Priscilla's lips parted.

"I love you, Cilla, and I always will," Rose stated with a shaky voice. "My only solace is that you will marry somebody deserving."

"I love you too, Rose. And I have know for a long time that you are married to somebody deserving."

The smiles were back on their faces when they descended the stairs to meet the rest of the wedding party. Another hour and Priscilla would be Mrs. Barstow. Casting a loving look at her groom, she stepped forward.

"Ready when you are, my dear!"

Edited by SpikeCO


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The End
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Posted:  2012-01-16
Last Modified: 2012-02-16 / 06:20:40 pm
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