Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse (16 page)

Brigitta grabbed her aching head.
She attempted to sit up, but was immediately pushed back before she had time to
glimpse her surroundings.

“You shouldn’t move, my lady,”
said Letta.

“Wh-what am I doing here?” She
groaned. “My head pains me dreadfully.”

“I’m sorry, my lady. Here, drink
this.”

At first Brigitta sipped at the
juice, but then she grabbed the glass and downed the contents, the liquid
soothing her dry throat.

“My lady, do slow down. You’ve
had a dreadful fright.”

Brigitta gave up the glass. “I
have?”

Letta placed the glass on a tray.
“You have. Don’t you remember?”

Brigitta settled back against the
pillows and frowned. She was in her room? “I don’t. What has happened?”

“Oh, my lady, it was most
dreadful. Three days ago I was in the west wing—”

“The west wing?”

“Yes, I know we aren’t supposed
to be there, but I–I, well, I was invited, and anyway, something happened
there.”

Brigitta blinked and Letta rushed
to explain. “It was a ghost!”

“A ghost? Please, Letta, make
sense.”

The maid paced and talked
rapidly. “First the candles blew out, and then I saw a shadowy figure. I ran
back to the ball to tell Roland, and while the matter was being investigated,
you went missing.”

“Missing?”

“Yes, my lady. You were gone for
days. The estate has been quite frantic to find you. I told them the ghost had
you, but they didn’t believe me. But when they found you last night in the west
wing, they knew I spoke the truth.”

“I was in the west wing?”

“Yes, my lady. There you were,
surrounded by the extinguished candles, all curled in a ball and shivering.
Roland ordered you brought back here.”

“And you say I was gone for days?”
She glanced around the room. Morning sunshine spilled past the curtains in a
cheerful, happy manner, yet something seemed wrong. Why was she here?

“Yes, my lady. I dare say Roland
will be by any moment to question you about the event.”

“I dare say he will.” Brigitta
gnawed on her lip before venturing to ask, “And what of the baron? Was he
concerned?’

Letta looked away.

“Letta, you must answer me.”

“My lady, it is not my place.”

“Letta, I demand that you answer
me. I might have very little personal influence within the household, but over
you I have complete control,” she mentally added,
I think,
before
continuing. “Now, answer my question.”

“Very well, my lady. He has been
indisposed.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were formally announced
missing, he was nowhere to be found, either.”

“I don’t understand.”

Letta sat beside her on the bed
and cradled her hands. Conspiratorially, she whispered, “Those that don’t
believe a ghost took you, believe the baron whisked you away for a private
tryst.”

“What?” asked Brigitta, aghast
the staff would suspect such a thing.

“They believe it was the only way
he could get you away from Roland’s prying eyes, and rightfully so. The man is
everywhere Chadwick is, and we all believe the baron secretly wants to be with
you.”

Brigitta massaged her temples.
The maid’s explanation seemed flawed, but how? What was wrong with her? Why
couldn’t she remember more?

“Letta?” Roland spoke from the
doorway. The maid twisted around. “You must leave the baroness to rest. She has
had a very trying experience.”

The maid curtseyed, sent a
melancholy look in her direction, and fled the room. Her concern brought fear
and Brigitta moved farther up in her bed and settled against the pillows.

“Brigitta,” said Roland as he took
a seat. The concern etched on his face seemed insincere, and she suspected foul
play. “Do not fear. I only come to check on you and ensure you are healing.”

“Healing from what?” she asked,
crossing her arms over her chest.

“Why, your experience, of course.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“My lady, I am truly sorry I wasn’t
around to protect you, but surely you can’t hold it against me.”

Brigitta clamped her mouth tight
and moved her hands to her lap. Let Roland tell her what he knew then she might
explain her feelings. Or not, since she didn’t really know what they were.

“The night of the ball, everyone
was distracted. Who could have fathomed someone would take you.” The butler
tsked
and reached for her folded hands, but she kept them clenched in her lap. He
sighed. “We must bring your kidnapper to justice to maintain your good name. In
order to do that, I need to know who took you.”

Brigitta massaged her temple and
wished she were still asleep. All these baffling questions caused the pain in
her head to increase. “I tell you I don’t know what you mean.”

He sighed and she perceived his
impatience rising. “My lady, as the baroness, certain rules of decorum apply.
The barony will wish to know that you were, shall we say, not tainted in your
absence.”

Brigitta straightened her posture
in anger. “How dare you!”

“My lady, do calm yourself. I can
see this has been a distressing time.” He stood. “I will return later and
question you further.”

Jumping from the bed, Brigitta
rose to her full height. “You will do no such thing, for I will have no more to
tell then than I do now. I haven’t the slightest idea what you are alluding to.”

He stepped forward and she
stepped back and bumped against the bed frame. “What I am alluding to is that
you’ve been missing for days and no one seems to know where you went, how you
got there, or who you were with.”

“I-I—”

“You left the ball and didn’t
return.”

Brigitta grabbed her head with
one hand and the bed post with the other. “I d-don’t remember.”

“Very well. You may continue to
spout that for as long as you wish, but eventually your whereabouts will be
discovered. Let’s only hope they aren’t something that will stand in the way of
your relationship with the baron.”

The door clicked shut behind
Roland, and Brigitta hugged the bedpost to keep from falling.

****

Luke hid in the shadows outside
his suite. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for his
valet to pass. Faint sounds of whistling echoed and Luke straightened.

“Ah, Jarvis, just the man I hoped
to see.”

The valet jumped and twisted. “My
lord?”

“Yes.”

“My lord!” Jarvis glanced around
too causally before scurrying over to the shadows. He whispered, “Where have
you been? Why, you’ve missed the most interesting event.”

“Such as?”

“Brigitta disappeared!”

“Indeed?”

“It was most unusual. During the
ball, when several guests went to search the west wing for ghosts,” Jarvis
paused at Luke’s upraised brow, “that is a completely different tale. But as I
said, Brigitta disappeared. Roland had the staff search for her everywhere.
Then this morning, Letta received a note, which she thought from a friend,”
Jarvis paused, a heavy blush covering his cheeks, and he continued, “and s-she
was told to go to the west wing. When she arrived, she found Brigitta wrapped
in a blanket, in the very room where the ghost had been spotted.”

Luke listened and nodded soberly
as Jarvis rattled on. When would the valet get to the point? When he paused for
breath, Luke said, “I see. And what does Roland think happened to her?”

“Roland is confused and waits to
question her.”

“And my brother?”

“To my knowledge, Chadwick has
yet to be consulted.”

“Why?”

“He too has been absent the last
several days.”

Luke pondered those words.
What
are you up to, brother?
Jarvis stared expectantly and he added, “And
Brigitta, what does she say?”

“She has yet to awaken, my lord.”

He frowned. The powder should
have worn off by now. What could be taking so long?

“Don’t let it concern you. Letta
will tell me when she wakes.”

“Close with Letta, are you?”

The servant’s blush deepened and
he fidgeted with his hands.

“So that’s the way of it.”

“Oh, your lordship, forgive us.
It is just that Letta is, and well I’m… and I just couldn’t help myself. I love
her.”

“I see. And have you told her
this?”

“Not in words, but I believe she
knows.” Jarvis studied the ground.

The teasing was a welcome respite
from his worries, but he couldn’t continue. Luke said, “I wish to know as soon
as Brigitta reveals what happened to her.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Also, I wish to know when she
awakens. Do you understand?”

“Of course. You want me to tell
you when she wakes and what she says.”

“Precisely. You are dismissed.”
The valet turned to go, but Luke called out. “Jarvis?”

“My lord?”

“Feel free to let everyone in the
estate know I’m home.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You may go.”

Jarvis shuffled his feet and didn’t
make a move to leave.

“Is there something else?”

“My lord, forgive me for being
forthright, but there have been some comments circulating the estate regarding
Chadwick and the baroness being missing at the same time.”

“And?”

“And nothing, my lord. I will be
sure to make you aware of any updates regarding Brigitta.”

Luke nodded and Jarvis bowed and
exited the room.

The door clicked closed and Luke
sighed. So the staff had noticed how the absences coincided. That could prove
to be a problem.

But what of the news that
Chadwick hadn’t been about the estate in days? Where had his brother gone in
his absence? And where was he now? If he returned while Brigitta was in her
current state, what would it mean for Luke?

And without Chadwick to impress,
Brigitta would be ready to flee. If she fled, he would never be given the
opportunity to help her fall in love with him.

He fell into a seat and cradled
his chin. He would need to find out what Brigitta remembered before he did
anything else. If she remembered being with Luke, the baron’s brother, and if
word circulated around the estate, then he would admit to his folly and marry
her. At first she would be angry about the lies, but she would get over it.

However, if she remembered
nothing, then he would have an opportunity to impress her and win her over in
his own time. The possibilities left him feeling intoxicated and he reveled in
the moment.

Later, he shuffled through the
mail on his desk. As he picked up a letter from the Archbishop of Canterbury in
London, Luke let his smile widen. The proof that Brigitta had never married was
grasped tightly in his hand, as well as their special license to wed without
reading the banns. Everything was in place.

Head back, he studied the ceiling
and prayed the doctor’s draught had worked.

The pain stopped, but Brigitta’s
memory failed to return. No matter how many times Roland questioned her, she
couldn’t recall the days before. Day after day the insinuation that she lied
about her condition seemed as if it threatened to fall from his lips, which
only served to anger her further.

A knock resounded on the door and
she called, “Enter.”

An elderly man with thinning hair
and sagging jowls entered. She straightened as he approached and placed his bag
on the edge of her bed.

“I’m Doctor Hall. I understand
you are suffering a memory loss.”

She nodded and sucked on her
lower lip.

“I’ve been asked to look in on
you.”

She waited patiently as he held a
candle before her face, looked down her throat, and turned her head back and
forth, all while saying, “Hmm,” under his breath.

Next he asked questions
concerning her time as a child. Her favorite color, her favorite food, if she’d
ever eaten frog legs, and all matter of other nonsensical things. When he
finished with his examination, he closed his bag and sat next to her. “I see
nothing wrong with you.”

She narrowed her eyes. Those were
not the words she wanted to hear. “Then why can’t I remember what happened to
me?”

The doctor shrugged. “You could
have hit your head, or accidentally ingested a memory-affecting herb. Whatever
the case, as you have retained most of the memories of your life and only lost
the most current ones, I believe the loss will be temporary.” He patted her
hand and stood. “I will inform the butler of my findings. Now you rest. I will
revisit you soon.”

The door clicked shut behind him
and she mulled over his conclusions. She stumbled across the room to her
mirror. The faint yellow line of a disappearing bruise covered her forehead.
Maybe an old head injury was the cause for her amnesia?

The pale blue gown she had worn
to the ball lay across the back of the dressing table chair. She fingered the
material in hopes of recollecting that event, but was rewarded with only fuzzy
flashes of people and the vague notion of stringed instruments.

Letta entered unannounced and
hovered, increasing her frustration.

“Letta, please go away.”

“But I’ve been ordered—”

“I don’t care if the King himself
has ordered you to watch me, I want you gone.”

The maid cringed and Brigitta
felt a rush of guilt. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel well.”

“May I bring you something, my
lady?”

“Letta, there is nothing you can
do. I just need time alone.”

“Yes, my lady.” Letta bowed and
left.

Alone at last, Brigitta found
herself regretting her decision. Even if Letta had been hovering, at least
there had been noise about. The quietness of the room brought back haunting
memories of what seemed like being imprisoned and praying for a visitor. Why
did this have to be the only memory she’d retained?

Opening the shutters, she looked
into the gardens. Something there touched on the fringes of her memory. She
barely remembered shimmying down a wardrobe full of gowns tied into a rope. She
covered a snicker at the outlandish idea.

But the event seemed so real. She
could almost feel the rain beating against her side, the waterlogged bed rope
in her hands. She sighed. If it were true, then why didn’t she remember how she’d
regained access to the estate?

Perhaps, as Letta had suggested
earlier, she was trying too hard. If she could convince Roland to take her for
a walk around the grounds, maybe that would clear her head. But did she really
want to face him and give him time to question her further?

She pulled the bell rope and
waited. Letta ran into the room, her face bright red and hopeful as she
curtseyed. “My lady?”

“Letta, would you ask Roland if I
may be escorted through the gardens?”

“My lady, I don’t think…”

Her excuse drifted off and
Brigitta said, “Please do as I ask. He is likely to say no, so tell him I
believe the jaunt will jog my memory.” She didn’t expect her last words to move
Roland, but it was worth a try.

“Very well, my lady,” said Letta
as she left.

Brigitta waited patiently and
when Letta returned, she was surprised to see a manservant with her.

“My lady, this is Jarvis. He will
escort you around the grounds.”

Jarvis held out his arm. “My
lady.”

Brigitta took it willingly. “Thank
you, Jarvis.”

Awkward stares and whispers
followed them downstairs. Brigitta worked hard to ignore them but was reminded
of the staff’s wariness as Jarvis tensed more with every step.

“Jarvis, how long have you worked
at the estate?”

The question drew his attention
and he visibly relaxed. “Since I was a wee lad, my lady.”

“Are you from Scotland?”

“Aye, I am. And pride myself on
it, I do.”

She nodded, satisfied with his
answer.

He opened the side door to the
garden and held it as she swept past. “If you don’t mind me saying, my lady, I
detect from your hair and skin that perhaps you have a bit of Irish in you.”

“Oh, am I to believe my temper
didn’t play into your assumption?” she asked with a smile. Jarvis stammered and
stuttered and Brigitta patted his arm. “Do not fret, Jarvis. I take no offense
in my heritage. You do assume correctly that I have a bit of the Irish in my
family.”

“What brought you so far from
home?”

They descended from the terrace
to the side gardens. Brigitta studied the pebbled path as they walked, barely
noticing the formal beds and Grecian fountains. A wistful tone filled her voice
and her heart. “I was but five when we left Ireland. My father played
instruments for a noble and was relieved of his position after a run-in the
with the noble’s daughter.”

“He wouldn’t accept her advances?”

“Very astute, Jarvis.” The
servant preened under her encouragement and Brigitta continued. “We traveled to
the coast and there my father was commissioned to create a pianoforte for
another noble. So impressed was this man with Father’s work that he granted us
a house in Stockport and paid him to make more. The noble sold the instruments,
making a tidy profit, and passed the rewards on to my father.”

“Why did your father not do the
selling on his own?”

“I fear my father wasn’t much of
a businessman.”

They rounded a clump of alders
and the sweet scent of roses reached her. Pink blooms covered the bushes to the
right of the path and yellow ones to the left.

“And where is your father today,
my lady?”

She sighed. “My father and my
mother are buried in the village cemetery.”

“Oh, I’m so very sorry.”

“Don’t be, Jarvis. The passing of
my parents was a dreadful time in my life, but I’ve come to realize they are in
a much better place. Much better than I.” She whispered the last sentence.

“Pardon, my lady?”

“Nothing but ramblings, Jarvis.”
They climbed the steps to the central cobblestone courtyard, and she released
his arm and stood under her window. Images flashed before her eyes. She
remembered swinging against the estate wall, and then falling. The landing wasn’t
as hard as she’d expected—

“My lady, perhaps we should walk
on.”

“What?”

“You are frowning fiercely and I
don’t wish for you to create a wrinkle.”

She scrunched her nose and he
laughed and held out his arm. They continued along the path beside a yew hedge,
weathered statues in niches at odd intervals and a bench at the end. Brigitta
urged him to take her to the west wing or to the creek, but he vehemently
refused. “You are lucky Roland allowed you out at all. Let’s not push our luck,
shall we?”

“So my memories of being locked in
my room were correct?” The worry she felt was replaced by relief at knowing her
memory seemed to be on the mend.

“Well—” He tugged his collar away
from his neck.

“You needn’t lie to me. Letta has
hovered over me and not allowed me out of my room in days, and now you are sent
to escort me with express orders not to leave the path. It seems fairly certain
I have been a prisoner here at the estate.

“I guess what I don’t understand
is why. I seem to believe this was a question I had even before my disappearance
and subsequent memory loss. Why am I being kept in the estate without means of
leaving? Why do I remember some things but not others?”

“The doctor did say some memories
might take longer to retrieve, my lady.”

“Indeed he did.” She gnawed her
lip. They continued along the path, past the bench and toward the lime walk.
Hesitantly, she asked, “Why does the baron, my husband, not come and visit me?”

“The baron is very busy, my lady.”

Astonishment consumed her. “Busy?
Too busy to see his own wife? What kind of man doesn’t take a few moments for
the woman he married? I guess if he loved me it would be different. Ours was a
marriage merely of convenience, but how I remember that I’m not sure. The
entire situation baffles me.”

“So you don’t remember this
either?”

“Nay, I do not. In truth I don’t
even remember what the baron looks like! Letta tells me I’ve seen him every day
since our wedding, but I can’t recall the first inkling of our time together.
It is very distressing.” Suddenly she stopped and squeezed his arm. “You must
promise not to tell him. Why, he would be devastated to believe his bride had
completely forgotten him.”

Jarvis looked at her and
earnestly said, “I promise not to tell your husband.”

She started them walking again. “Good.
I’m sure with time my memory will return.”

****

Luke sat in the sitting room in a
cushioned chair and waited impatiently for word on Brigitta’s condition.
Several times he had snuck through the tunnels and peeked into her room, only
to find her concentrating on needlepoint, reading a book, or staring blankly at
the fire. His worry had increased with each passing day.

The door clicked closed and Luke
swiveled to find Jarvis. The valet looked flushed and unkempt. If he’d just
quit another tryst with Letta, Luke would have him boiled alive.

“My lord, I have word.”

Luke jumped to his feet and raced
to him. “You do? Pray tell me the news. And be quick about it.”

Jarvis licked his lips in a
nervous gesture and struggled, as if trying to form his thoughts. He blurted, “Brigitta
doesn’t remember a thing.”

Luke stood straighter. “What do
you mean?”

“Her memories of the ball are
sketchy, and her memories of the disappearance are completely nonexistent. But
most important of all, she doesn’t even remember what the baron looks like.”

Luke’s heartbeat increased with
hope. “Did you say she doesn’t remember what the baron looks like?”

“Yes, your lordship, that is what
she said. Oh, she remembers where she hailed from and her parent’s death, and
she knows she married the baron, but she remembers little else.”

Luke hugged Jarvis. “This is
delightful news.”

Jarvis leaned back and said, “It
is, your lordship?”

“Of course! And now I wish to
speak with Roland posthaste.”

“I believe he has left for the
village, which was the only reason I was able to take Brigitta for the walk and
question her.”

“Then you must stop him!”
Desperate, he grabbed the valet and shook him.

“I must?”

“Yes, you must! Hurry after him.
Tell him there is an emergency. Tell him I’m ill. Tell him the estate is on
fire. I don’t care, just get him back here. I must speak with him. And no
matter what else happens, Chadwick is not to return to the estate, do you
understand?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

Luke released the valet and
straightened his own cravat. “Good. Now be about it.”

Jarvis raced out and Luke
summoned Manny. The footman entered and stared at his feet.

“Yes, your lordship?”

“Manny, has anyone questioned you
about the night of the ball?”

“No, my lord.”

“Good. Now I need another favor.”

“You need only ask.”

****

Arriving precisely on time,
Chadwick sauntered in with the well-dressed crowd. Just the day before, Lady
Vonda had offered to spot Chadwick the coin to join the Faro game within the
confines of her secret gaming establishment, but with uncommon restraint he had
resisted. The news of Zilla Elis and her fortune spurred him to find a horse
posthaste. The impassibility of the summer estate’s road, and the fact that
Zilla Elis remained unattached, had caused his impromptu change of venue.

He had arrived the next day and
shored up with friends. Without hesitation they offered him room and board for
as long as needed. Word reached him of a party at the Elis house, and his
friends had finagled an invitation.

Chadwick grabbed a glass of
sherry from a passing tray. Lord Zedekiah Elis introduced his daughter and
Zilla proceeded to mingle. Several men vied for her attention and Chadwick hid
in the background as conversation, champagne, and dancing flowed around him.

Her gaze caught him and she
narrowed her eyes to tiny slits. Moving forward as if gliding, she stopped in
front of him and struck him lightly across the chest with her folded fan.

“My lord, you have returned. I
did wonder where you had gotten yourself off to. London has been a complete
bore since you left.”

The shadows caused his face to
resemble his brother more so than normal. Stepping into the light, he expected
her to scoff or recoil, but instead she grabbed his hand and introduced him
about the room as the Baron of Stockport.

Delighted, Chadwick accepted the
praise and well-wishes. Dances from fine ladies were offered and he heartily
accepted. When the night ended, he had secured several invitations to future
Mayfair events and his future looked exceedingly bright.