Lord Lightning (28 page)

“Hold your tongue, woman. You are only to answer my questions. Did you remove any fixtures or jewelry belonging to Lady Hartwood from the house?”

“I am not a thief!”

He gestured to a clerk before grunting, “Bring over the evidence.” The younger man handed over her satchel. Item by item, the magistrate removed all her things from it, calling out a description of each one for the benefit of the recording clerk. All her precious books and almanacs as well as her collection of horoscopes were pulled out and placed on the table, followed by the purse, which contained the fifty pounds in bank notes. The last thing the magistrate removed from the satchel was the paper knife Edward had given her the previous night. He held it up to view it more closely and noted, “One paper knife in gold and onyx, decorated with the Hartwood crest.”

“This concludes the taking of your statement,” the magistrate intoned. “Your belongings, to wit the contents of the flowered yellow satchel with which you were apprehended in the act of leaving the Neville residence, have been entered into evidence and will be retained by the court.

“That being concluded, you have the right to know what you are accused of. The plaintiff, Lady Hartwood, of 31 Marine Parade, accuses you of illegal trespass, lewd behavior, fortune-telling, and
theft. Your case will be heard at the Michaelmas quarter sessions in Lewes. Until then, you will be held in Brighton as a prisoner. In deference to your sex you will not be held in the gaol but will be entrusted to the custody of the constable, to be cared for in his home at your own expense.”

Lady Hartwood had had her arrested! Though Edward had been so certain of his control over his mother, so sure she would put up with whatever he dished out to her, he had been wrong. Fatally wrong. Even the financial hold he had over his mother had not been enough to keep her from retaliating. He had humiliated his mother beyond bearing and she had struck back.

Eliza’s stomach lurched. What else had she expected, putting her trust in a man whose character was indelibly flawed? She had paid for her father’s foolishness, now she would suffer for the fecklessness of another charming man.

Despair swept over her. It would be six long weeks until her case would come up at the quarter sessions. It might be five more months until she was tried at the January assizes. She had no money with which to pay for her keep during the long months of imprisonment, so she could expect to receive only enough food and warmth to keep her alive. If she was convicted of lewd behavior, the penalty would be transportation. She had no idea what the laws were against fortune-telling. But if they accused her of stealing the paper knife with the Hartwood crest, the penalty for the theft of an item costing over one shilling was hanging.
Edward had said he thought the paper knife was part of his inheritance, but that was only a guess. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps in law it belonged to his father’s widow.

If only she had never met Edward Neville or seen his accursed chart! If only she had heeded the warning of her own afflicted horoscope where evil Saturn stood in the Twelfth House—an indicator of imprisonment—and had avoided the Uranian temptations her aunt had always said would turn her life into an ongoing disaster.

But it was too late for regrets. She had thrown her lot in with Lord Lightning and let his unpredictability give license to her own impulsive nature. Worst of all, despite every warning he had given her, she had let herself fall in love with him.

Now she would suffer the consequences.

W
hen Edward awoke from his own, untroubled slumbers, he knew it was going to be a beautiful day. His body felt wonderful and he quickly remembered why. As he rose and went over to the washstand to begin his morning ablutions, he noticed that his fingers still held Eliza’s scent. A kaleidoscope of sensations washed through his memory as he inhaled her richness. Eliza! He’d never known how deeply a woman could move him. He felt rejuvenated and revived.

He rang for his valet and spent an inordinate amount of time on the selection of his wardrobe for the day. It was foolish, but he wanted to appear at his best when next he saw her.

He hoped that Eliza had arisen this morning feeling something akin to his own excitement. But that thought brought with it a burst of uneasiness
as he remembered the way, when their lovemaking had been over, he had felt her retreat from the closeness they had shared. Coldness settled on his heart. He remembered feeling that coldness before—the one other time he’d opened his heart to a woman in his youth. But he shrugged off his fear. Why make problems where there were none? Eliza must marry him. She had no choice. She might fancy herself free and independent, but in the end she must know there was only one outcome possible after the connection they had forged the previous night. If she were feeling any morning-after regrets they would quickly be dispelled when he made her his offer of marriage.

Certainly there had been nothing in their love-making to prejudice her against him. He might be mistaken about her feelings for him—women’s feelings were a complex area that no man ever truly understood—but he
did
understand women’s bodies and he knew that he’d never before evoked such an overwhelming response from a woman. So it was time to settle the matter and put an end to this turmoil in his own heart. Once Eliza had accepted his offer, their connection would fall back into a comforting routine, and he could get on with his life.

But when he knocked at Eliza’s door there was no answer.

Perhaps she was still asleep. He knocked again and after still receiving no answer, he began to feel a faint irritation at having his plans go awry so soon. Seeing no other choice, he opened the door.

The room was empty.

His immediate thought was that Eliza must have gone downstairs to breakfast, but as he looked around the empty room he knew she hadn’t. There was no sign of the flowered yellow satchel that usually stood by her bed, and the pile of books that had covered the small table beside the bed was gone. The table was completely empty, except for a single sheet of writing paper that had been carefully folded over with his name written on the outside.

A quiver of fear ran through him. Happy women did not express themselves in notes. With shaking fingers he opened it and read the contents.

Eliza wrote that she understood completely that he must send her away, now that she had broken their contract. She had chosen to spare him the unpleasantness of a final interview by leaving before he awoke. She thanked him for his kindness to her and absolved him of blame, as brave to the last as he had always known her to be.

Poor Eliza! Her suffering had been so unnecessary! He cursed himself for having given in to his own weakness and not proposing to her last night. He had acted selfishly. He had not thought she would still feel bound by the terms of that silly contract he had made with her. Not after what they had shared last night. So he must find her and set things straight. Though she gave no hint of where she was going, perhaps he could trace her through the coaching services. Most likely she would
head to London or to her home village—Bishops something. He cursed himself for not having paid more attention to the name. But whatever it took, he would track her down. They would marry. But meanwhile his heart ached as he imagined her alone somewhere, thinking herself seduced and abandoned when she was not.

He strode down the stairs and ordered his best horse saddled immediately. Then he went up to his room to change into riding clothes and pack the things he might need if he were forced to stay somewhere overnight. When he was done he went downstairs. But just as he was about to leave, his path was blocked by his mother.

He was tempted to brush her aside but something in her look made him stop.

“She’s gone,” his mother said in a tone that could only be described as gloating.

“How could you know?” Surely Eliza had not taken his mother into her confidence about the events of the previous night?

His mother took a deep, self-satisfied breath. “I know because I have had her arrested. I grew tired of your childish games, Edward. I decided it was time to end them. Your whore has been taken up for trespass, lewd behavior, fortune-telling, and theft. If the charges stick, she will be on her way to New South Wales or the gallows. If not, she will at least spend some months in gaol awaiting trial.”

He barely restrained himself from flinging
himself at his mother and throttling the life out of her but he knew that he must maintain the appearance of calm if he was to have any hope of saving Eliza.

“This is still my house,” his mother continued, “though you seem to have forgot that. And I warned her to leave though she chose to ignore it.” His mother was enjoying her victory. “When you made me a laughingstock among the people whose good regard means everything to me, you left me with no other choice. She is gone now, and I will no longer be forced to share the same roof with your whore.”

“That whore, as you call her, is the woman who is soon to be my wife,” he snarled.

“Then you are even more depraved than I credited,” his mother replied. “But by all means, marry her. You will be well matched: a rake and a whore. I only hope your children shall not be born poxed.”

Edward just stared at her, as the enormity of the move she had made in their lifelong battle sank in. Surely she couldn’t have done such a thing, not when the terms of James’s will obliged her to put up with him or lose her home! But the confidence she radiated told him louder than words he had missed something. Something important. She was too clever a woman to have taken such an action if she had not found a way to neutralize the power he had held over her. As this realization swept over him all his hard won confidence
evaporated. He was at her mercy again, as helpless as he had been as a small child. And he didn’t even know why.

A stabbing pain shot through his gut. “You cannot be my real mother,” he whispered. “I would rather have been born to the dirtiest whore who works the docks than think that I owed my existence to you.”

Then he slammed the door in her face and rushed out to find Eliza.

It took longer than he expected to find out who served as the magistrate in Brighton. He had to go several places before he found the man’s direction. Once he had it, he made his way to the magistrate’s house driven by a fury stronger than any he had ever experienced. He pounded on the magistrate’s door and when he was let in by a large, muscular, liveried flunky, announced, “Tell your master Lord Hartwood is here. I must see him directly. The matter is urgent.”

As if he had not heard him, the flunky gestured to a bench in the hallway, muttering, “Take a seat,” and adding as if it were an afterthought, “m’lord.”

He ignored the man’s insolence. “Perhaps you did not understand me. I am
Hartwood.
And I demand you take me to the magistrate at once. I will brook no delay. The matter is of the utmost importance!”

The flunky merely waved him toward the bench. “Take a seat, m’lord. His Honor will see you when he’s ready.” He showed no sign of being
impressed, indeed, his response suggested that dealing with angry noblemen was a regular part of his job.

Perhaps it was. Brighton had more than its share of noble visitors. Or perhaps this was simply the magistrate’s way of reminding supplicants of his power. But that power was real. He would get nowhere ignoring it. His mother had started the heavy wheel of justice in motion, and once it started moving it could easily crush a man beneath its weight. So he must calm himself down and speak mildly and reasonably. He would not advance Eliza’s cause by punching out the magistrate’s minion. He must win the magistrate over and convince him of his mother’s irrationality. He must flatter him. He must do whatever it took to get him to release Eliza.

After what seemed like hours another flunky entered the room and called out his name. Edward rose and accompanied the man into an inner office where he found the bewigged magistrate sitting behind an enormous desk. He had the sense that he’d seen the man somewhere, but exactly where escaped him.

“What is your business, Lord Hartwood?” the man asked in a weary voice. “Your mother has already contacted me twice this morning about our interrogation of her prisoner, and I have sent my man over to her twice with my report. I should hope that my diligence in this matter would have given her satisfaction and that she need not send you to inquire into the matter yet again.”

“My mother is a vicious, meddling bitch,” Edward said, “and I come to tell you that you have erred gravely in doing her bidding.”

Only when the words were out did he remember that he had intended to be mild and reasonable. Too late, he attempted to modulate his voice. “I apologize for my vehemence, Your Honor, but my mother is indulging in an ill-conceived vendetta with me. I am partly at fault, I confess it freely. But there is no true basis for her charges. Miss Farrell is blameless and should not have to suffer because of our family quarrel. I intend to do whatever it will take to have you release Miss Farrell immediately.”

The magistrate looked uncomfortable and made a great show of shuffling the papers on his desk. “Please, calm yourself, my lord,” he begged him. “The vast edifice of English law provides many protections for those who are unjustly charged. If Miss Farrell is innocent, she shall surely be found so by the court and released. But the matter is out of my hands. A charge has been brought, and depositions have been taken, and the process is underway. Once a case is entered into the system, the stipulations of the law must be adhered to. Unless Lady Hartwood is willing to withdraw her charges, the only way I can release Miss Farrell is if Miss Farrell’s counsel can convince the judges that the charges should be dropped when her case comes up at the Michaelmas quarter sessions. Until then I must keep her under confinement.”

“But that’s monstrous! The quarter sessions aren’t for another month! There’s no basis to Lady Hartwood’s charges except spite. And her spite is causing an innocent woman to suffer.”