The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales) (13 page)

‘A gown for mending,’ said Grace. ‘It is only a torn hem, but I thought it might allay suspicions if I brought something.’

The woman put out her hand.

‘If you leave it I’ll see to it, in exchange for your half-crown.’ She added, when Grace gave her the parcel, ‘Come back the day after tomorrow and I’ll have it ready. Now get out.’

Without another word Grace and Wolf left the room.

* * *

Grace and Wolf did not speak until they were in the carriage and on their way back to Hans Place, then Wolf let out a long breath.

‘You were right when you said she dislikes men.’

‘And you in particular.’ Grace clasped her hands together. ‘Will she help, do you think?’

‘Perhaps, when she has thought it over.’

Grace frowned, going back over everything she had seen and heard in Leg Alley. She said slowly, ‘She is frightened, but I do not think she stole the necklace.’

‘Then how did she find the money to set up her own business? Unlike Urmston, there is nothing to verify her story.’

‘I do not know, but you saw that rather than accept charity she has taken my gown to repair. Her appearance, too, is in her favour. Despite the squalor of the house her room was clean, and her cap and apron were spotless. I find it hard to believe she is dishonest. And besides, she said no one had stolen the necklace. That was an odd thing to say, do you not agree?’

‘There is that.’

Grace sighed. ‘Whatever the truth of it, I do not like to think of her living in such penury. Could you not instruct your lawyers to pay her a pension immediately?’

‘And if I do that, how am I supposed to persuade her to confide in me?’

‘You forget, she said she would see you hang, first.’

‘She may well do so.’

Grace flinched at his savage laugh.

‘Pray do not jest about that.’

He reached out and covered her hands for a moment with one of his own. It was large and strong and she had to resist the temptation to cling on to it.

He turned his head to look down at her. ‘You would have me pay an annuity to a woman who clearly hates me?’

‘Your wife left her nothing. That was not kind.’

‘My wife was never kind. Very well, I will visit Baylis in the morning and instruct him.’ His brows went up. ‘Now what is the matter, madam?’

‘We have the carriage at our disposal, should we not do it now?’

‘No. Emphatically not. Your aunt is anxious enough about your coming here today without delaying your return.’

‘You could drop me at Hans Place first. I am sure my aunt would not object to you using the carriage for such a good cause.’ She paused a moment before adding, ‘It would then be done, sir, and you need not worry about it.’

A moment’s silence then his breath hissed out and he gave a ragged laugh.

‘By heaven but you are persistent, Miss Duncombe! Very well, I will impose upon your aunt’s kindness and borrow the carriage to call at the offices of Baylis & Thistle today. There, will that do?’

‘Why, yes, sir, that will do very well.’ She could not help smiling. ‘And perhaps you would like to join us for dinner, afterwards?’

‘Thank you, but I am engaged to dine with my brother and his wife. We have a great deal to catch up on.’

‘Oh, of course. That is perfectly understandable.’

Grace tried to keep the wistful note from her voice as she enquired when they might expect to see him again.

Wolf did not reply and she felt the sudden tension in the air, as if harsh reality must be faced.

He said at last, ‘It would be safer for you and your aunt if I did not call again.’

‘We are too involved now for you to leave us without a word.’

‘Then I shall contact you, when I have any news.’ He turned away to look out of the window. ‘Have you ordered your wedding clothes?’

‘Not all of them. My aunt is taking me to Bond Street tomorrow.’

‘And when do you return to Arrandale?’

‘In two weeks.’ Grace bit her lip, thinking of the latest letter from Hindlesham. It was polite, cheerful and expressed Loftus’s wish for her speedy return, but there was nothing of the lover in the carefully penned lines and his news seemed dull and colourless compared to the past few weeks in London.

‘I shall be glad to go back,’ she remarked, as much to convince herself as her companion. ‘I fear too much time spent in the metropolis could be injurious to one’s character.’

As could too much time spent in Wolf Arrandale’s company
.

The carriage turned into Hans Place and drew up at Aunt Eliza’s door. Wolf leapt out.

He said, as he handed her down, ‘I do not believe you are in danger of being corrupted by the metropolis, Miss Duncombe.’

She stumbled and his grip tightened on her fingers. To steady herself, Grace put her free hand against his chest, it was hard as rock beneath the silk of his waistcoat. He was so close she could smell him, an alluring trace of scents that made her want to cling to him. Or to run away.

‘On the contrary, sir, I think I am in very great danger of being corrupted!’

Oh, heavens, had she really said that? The heat rushed to her face, she dared not look at him, but snatching her hand from his grasp she picked up her skirts and fled.

* * *

Grace went directly to her room. She did not ring for Janet, but paced the floor, confused by the conflict warring inside her. Wolf Arrandale was dangerous, but there was no doubt she enjoyed his company. When he looked at her she found it was all too easy to bury any doubts about his innocence. But even though she believed he was no criminal he was not a good man. He drew her like a moth to a flame and there was only one way that could end.

And she could not ignore the price on his head. The longer she and Aunt Eliza continued to assist him, the deeper they were drawn into the dangerous world of subterfuge. With a little cry of frustration she made a very unladylike fist and punched it into her palm. Before meeting Wolf she had been a truthful, respectable parson’s daughter. She had never lied, never been kissed.

Never lived.

‘No!’ She stopped her perambulations, head up, a new determination building inside her. She had a good life waiting for her. As Lady Braddenfield she could continue her father’s work of looking after the poor, nursing the sick. She could be a wife and mother. It was what she had been born and bred to be. A good woman.

* * *

Grace made her way to dinner that night, resolved upon her course of action. This new restlessness, this longing for excitement and adventure, it would pass, given time. Naturally, she hoped Wolfgang Arrandale would find a way to prove his innocence, but she would play no further part in his life. However, when Jenner brought her a note and she saw her name written in a bold scrawling hand she knew it was from Wolf and she almost snatched it from the tray.

The message was short, merely telling her that a small regular pension would be paid to their mutual acquaintance and that the lawyer was writing to the recipient to inform her of the details.

I would she could know that she has you to thank for this kindness, but that is not possible. Not yet.

W.

She looked at the single letter that passed for a signature. There was no address, nothing incriminating and no polite meaningless phrases of the writer being hers to command. Nor was there any indication that he would write again. She folded the note carefully and tucked it away. It was very likely the next she heard of Wolf Arrandale would be through the newspapers.

* * *

Wolf enjoyed the evening with his brother and sister-in-law more than he had expected. Richard was eager to learn how he had lived for the past ten years, but he took the little information that Wolf offered and asked for nothing more. They discussed politics, family, the lusty baby boy sleeping peacefully upstairs in the nursery. And the future of Arrandale.

‘You talk as if you will never be master there,’ Richard objected, when Wolf told him of the measures he wanted to see put in place. ‘I know I have your power of attorney, but that is only a temporary measure, until you can clear your name. In fact, we should start on that immediately. We will find the best lawyers to represent you. And our great-aunt Sophia, Lady Hune, will help us, I am sure. She has connections.’

Wolf gave a faint, derisory smile.

‘Do you tell me you have not already tried to prove my innocence?’

‘You know I have, but that was before we had your testimony.’

‘And what good do you think that will do?’ Wolf replied bitterly. ‘No, I have considered everything. The only witnesses to Florence’s death are those who heard us arguing on the night she died and then saw me kneeling over her body with her blood on my hands.’

‘But you have found your wife’s maid, have you not? Perhaps she knows something.’

‘I am sure she does, but whether her testimony would acquit or damn me I cannot say. I will have to talk to her again.’

Lady Phyllida had been sitting silently beside her husband, but now she leaned forward.

‘You must have a care, sir.’

‘I am always careful.’

‘Not careful enough.’ She handed him a folded newspaper. ‘There is a piece here about you.’

Wolf read the report, his frown deepening.

‘It claims you have been sighted in town,’ said Richard. ‘It also says the reward still stands. With such an incentive to find you, it can only be a matter of time before posters for your arrest are seen on the streets again.’

‘You are quite right.’ Wolf threw the paper aside. ‘My guess is that Urmston has a hand in this. For all his weasel words to me I believe he wants me hanged.’

‘What will you do?’ asked Phyllida.

Wolf shrugged. ‘If it was not for my daughter I would return to France now.’

‘And leave Arrandale without a master?’

‘You could fulfil that role, Richard.’

‘Dam—dash it all, Wolf, I do not want it!’

Phyllida laid a hand on her husband’s arm as she turned to address Wolf.

‘Let us help you, sir, for your daughter’s sake.’ She added quietly, ‘Little Florence is a lovely child and she looks a great deal like you.’

‘You have seen her?’ said Wolf eagerly.

‘Yes.’ Phyllida nodded. ‘We have been to Chantreys to visit the Davenports.’

‘And...’ Wolf bit his lip ‘...is she happy?’

‘She would be happier if she knew her papa, I am sure.’

Wolf stared at his sister-in-law. He did not want to involve them, but what choice did he have? At last he nodded.

‘Very well, Richard. Write to Lady Hune, let her contact her lawyers, but if they say there is no hope then I will leave England. I would prefer to end my life in exile than on the gallows.’

* * *

It was gone midnight when he left Richard’s house and hailed a hackney coach. He instructed the driver to drop him on the corner of Bench Lane. Halfway along the narrow passage the lights of the tavern were still burning. Muffled in his greatcoat and with his hat pulled low over his brow, Wolf entered and sought out the landlord. A short while later he was making his way to his lodgings, a folded note in his pocket and the first stirrings of hope that his luck was about to change.

Chapter Eight

G
race planned to spend the next day shopping for bride clothes with her aunt. She was obliged to remind Aunt Eliza several times that gowns such as those described in the society pages were not at all suitable.

‘I am marrying the squire of Hindlesham, ma’am, not the Prince of Wales,’ she declared over breakfast, when her aunt was once again poring over the latest newspaper to be delivered. ‘You have already squandered enough of your money on me and I would not have you waste more buying gowns I will never wear.’

‘Oh, very well.’ Aunt Eliza sighed, closing the newspaper and placing it on the table beside her. ‘But you must have a new silk for the wedding day, then you will need bonnets and reticules and a new redingote. Not to mention nightclothes.’

Grace concentrated fiercely on her breakfast. She did not want to think about nightclothes. She was resolved to do her wifely duty, but the idea of being intimate with Loftus was quite, quite different from the excitement she felt when she thought of Wolfgang. She closed her eyes. It could not last, this foolish infatuation that she had conceived. She did believe that. She did.

Grace was suddenly aware that a silence had fallen over the breakfast room. Opening her eyes, she saw her aunt staring in consternation at the newspaper.

She said sharply, ‘Aunt Eliza?’

Silently her aunt passed the paper across the table. Grace looked at the closely printed words and felt a chill as one paragraph stood out from the others. It was slyly phrased, calling Wolf ‘Mr W— A— of A—le’, but there could be no mistake. There could not be many men charged with murdering their wife ten years ago and stealing a valuable necklace. And a reward. Two hundred guineas in exchange for a man’s life.

‘Oh, my dear.’ Aunt Eliza’s anguished whisper brought Grace’s head up.

‘What can we do?’ she asked bleakly. ‘I do not even know how to reach him.’

Grace wanted to stay at home, in the hope that Wolf might call and she could warn him, but her aunt did not agree.

‘We are not expecting him and your nerves would be in shreds by the end of the day, my love. Let us instead write a note for Mr Peregrine. Jenner will see that he gets it, should he call. Trust me, my love, we are much better distracting ourselves in Bond Street. Now, you take Nelson for his morning walk and I will order the carriage.’

Grace wondered how Aunt Eliza could think of shopping at such a time, but a little reflection persuaded her that there was nothing to be gained by remaining in Hans Place. However, it was difficult to concentrate on silk or muslin or lace when she was constantly looking about her in the hope of seeing a very tall, dark gentleman on the street.

* * *

They returned to Hans Place to discover there had been no callers during their absence. Grace tried to hide her anxiety as she and her aunt went over their purchases, checking to see if there was anything else she required.

‘We have done very well,’ declared Aunt Eliza, ticking another item from her list. ‘The gowns we have ordered should be ready for you to take back to Arrandale with you. Indeed, we have ordered so much I wonder if we should hire a second carriage to carry it all. Grace?’ She put down her pen and paper. ‘Dearest, I do believe you have not heard a word I have said!’

‘I beg your pardon, Aunt. I was thinking that perhaps we should seek out Mr Richard Arrandale. I remember him saying they were in Mount Street.’

‘Grace, my love.’ Aunt Eliza reached out and put a hand on her arm. ‘If someone is searching for Mr Wolfgang they will be watching his brother’s house, too. If you begin sending urgent messages to him it may well alert the watcher to
us
and whoever it is might well begin to ask questions about a certain Mr Peregrine. Mr Wolfgang did not give you his direction because he did not wish to involve you.’

‘I know, but if he is in danger—’

‘I have no doubt that he is aware of what is in the newspapers and is taking extra care.’

‘Do you really think so, Aunt Eliza?’ Grace looked at her doubtfully.

‘I do, my love, but if we have heard nothing by the morning I will pay a call upon Mrs Richard Arrandale. After all, there would be nothing untoward about that, since we met at the Hathersedges’ ball the other night.’

* * *

Grace agreed and tried to be content, but there was no denying the relief she felt when her aunt received a letter, just as they finished dinner. As soon as they were alone Aunt Eliza tore open the sheet and confirmed that it was from Mr Wolfgang. She read it quickly.

‘Well, I am very encouraged by his cheerful tone.’

‘What does it say?’ demanded Grace, trying to read over her shoulder.

‘Meesden has agreed to talk to him. He says they are to meet in Vauxhall Gardens at eleven o’clock tonight.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Listen, my love, “...that she is willing to pay the admission price tells me she is not quite so lacking in means as she would have us believe!”’

‘Or perhaps she has learned of the pension he has settled upon her.’ Grace smiled. ‘He went back to the lawyers yesterday especially to arrange it...’ Her smile faded. ‘May I look, Aunt?’

She took the letter and scanned it, a tiny crease settling between her brows.

‘What is it, my love? Is this not good news?’

‘I do not know,’ said Grace slowly. ‘He writes that she sent him word last night, but how?’

‘He gave her his direction, naturally.’

‘No, he did not.’ Grace shook her head. ‘I was with him when he tried to tell her how she could reach him. I remember it distinctly because I thought that I should discover it, too, but she cut him short.’ She handed back the paper. ‘Oh, Aunt, I very much fear that this is some sort of trap!’

* * *

Wolf kept his domino close about him as he climbed out of the coach at Vauxhall. The Season had only just begun, but already the gardens were thronging with crowds and that made him uneasy. He had not been here for over ten years and ticket prices had increased significantly, but it appeared to have made no difference to the popularity of the gardens.

He pulled out his watch as he made his way towards the Italian Walk. It wanted but fifteen minutes to eleven and Meesden might already be waiting for him. He thought it odd that she should want to meet south of the river, but perhaps she was as keen as he not to be recognised and that was definitely easier amongst this vast, masked crowd. An avenue of trees led to the Italian Walk, a series of arches and pediments built in the Roman style with statues placed at intervals along its length. Lamps twinkled from the trees and between the pillars. By their dim light Wolf strode on, looking for the statue of Minerva. Had Meesden known, when she chose the venue, that the goddess was said to have conferred upon women the skills of sewing and spinning? He had not thought her so well educated.

The statue he sought was set in a recess at the very end of the Walk, where there were plenty of people, but not the crush to be found around the orchestra and the supper boxes. Several couples were strolling along and a chattering group of ladies and their escorts tripped past as he stepped off the path.

A sudden breeze carried away the noisy chatter and set the leaves rustling on the thick bushes that enclosed three sides of the recess. Wolf had a sudden premonition of danger. He heard a cry and turned as a cloaked woman staggered from the bushes, her hands reaching out before her. It was only as she collapsed against him that he felt the hard projection of the knife handle beneath her ribs. Quickly he laid the woman on the ground, her cloak falling away as he did so. The lamplight showed him it was Annie Meesden, a stain blooming around the knife and spreading over the front of her gown like a huge, blood-red flower. Wolf pulled the knife from her with one hand while with the other he drew his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it over the wound, although he knew it was too late. There was no life in the sightless eyes that stared up at him.

‘Murder, murder!’

Wolf heard the cry and looked up to find a crowd gathering on the path, staring at him in horror. Four men jumped forward to lay hands on him.

‘Not me,’ he cried, struggling against them. ‘Her killer is back there, in the bushes. Quickly, go after him!’

‘Oh, no, you won’t trick us with that one!’ Leaving three of his comrades to hold Wolf, one of the men knelt by the stricken woman. ‘She’s dead.’ He looked up. ‘And here you are, with the knife in your hand and her body still warm.’

The commotion had drawn more people. There was no escape and Wolf could hear their voices clamouring for the constable to be fetched.

His eyes returned to the bloody body on the ground and with a sickening certainty he knew he had been tricked.

* * *

From the far side of the walk Grace watched in horror as the crowd grew around Wolf, their cries and shrieks like the baying of hounds.

‘No. No!’

She wanted to run towards him, but Richard held her back, saying, ‘There is nothing we can do for him here.’

‘But they will kill him!’

‘No, they won’t. They have sent for the constable.’

‘Can we not go to him?’

‘No,’ said Richard. ‘He is incognito. If I rush to his support it is very likely someone will make the connection.’

‘If only we had come earlier!’

‘You came to Mount Street as soon as you realised the danger,’ muttered Richard. ‘I am only thankful that we were at home.’

Grace nodded. They had arrived at Vauxhall in time to see Wolf heading for the Italian Walk. There had been no mistaking his tall figure, even in the black domino.

‘I do not understand,’ she said now, trembling with the shock of it. ‘The arbour was empty when he stepped into it. And the next moment he is kneeling over a body.’

‘There is a certain familiarity with that scenario,’ drawled Richard.

Grace turned to stare at him. ‘You do not believe he murdered her?’

‘Do you?’

‘No.’ She shook her head emphatically. ‘No, I do not. I was watching closely. She was not there when he walked in and I did not see her enter from the path.’

Her companion relaxed just a little.

‘That is what I thought, too,’ he said. ‘It’s damned suspicious. Come on, we need to know if the woman is Mrs Meesden.’ He took her arm and led her to the edge of the crowd. ‘What is going on here?’

The authority in Richard’s voice caused some of the onlookers to move aside. He pushed into the crowd, Grace close beside him. It was impossible to get to the front, but Grace was tall enough to see Wolf being held by two burly individuals. A sudden shifting of the crowd gave her a glimpse of a woman’s body lying on the ground. Grace forced herself to look at the dead woman’s face. There was no mistaking Annie Meesden’s gaunt features. Pressing her handkerchief against her lips, Grace nodded to Richard.

‘It is her.’

‘What has happened?’ he demanded, loudly enough for his brother to hear.

Wolf looked towards them and briefly met Grace’s eyes.

He said, as if addressing his captors, ‘The woman was stabbed before she came out of the bushes behind the statue. Her killer must have been back there.’

A large woman in a mob cap and torn coat laughed scornfully.

‘A likely tale!’ she scoffed. ‘The poor besom fell foul of her beau, plain as day.’

Several constables had arrived and were pushing their way through the crowd to take charge.

Grace pressed Richard’s arm. ‘Let us look around the back and see if there are signs that anyone has been there.’

It was much darker away from the main walk. Richard unhooked one of the lamps and led the way. It was too much to expect to find anyone lurking behind the little recess, but the lamplight showed them where the smaller branches had been snapped off and the ground was trampled.

‘The bushes are much thinner here,’ observed Grace. ‘It would not be difficult to get through.’

‘I think you are right,’ muttered Richard. ‘The killer stabbed her here, then pushed her forward. I can even see through to the path.’ He stepped back. ‘One of the constables is coming around here to look for himself. We must go.’

‘What about Wolf?’

‘There’s nothing we can do for him at present. We will find out where they are taking him and I will go to see him in the morning. You need not be anxious about my brother, Miss Duncombe. They will lock him up securely, but I have no doubt it isn’t the first time he has spent the night in a prison cell.’

* * *

Wolf was marched away and bundled into a carriage for the short journey to the prison. He cursed himself for being so easily fooled. He had let down his guard, allowed himself to believe that Annie Meesden truly wanted to help him. Had she conspired with the killer to lure him to the gardens? If so she had paid for it with her life. His jaw clenched. How foolish he had been to believe she wanted to meet him. He thought of seeing Grace and Richard in the crowd; she must have read his note and rushed here to support him, bringing Richard with her as the only man she could trust. He hoped, nay, he was sure his brother would realise there was some deep game afoot, but what would Grace think of him now that she had seen him in that incriminating situation? A chill went through him. Henry Hodges, the love of her life, had died from a stab wound. What had it done to her, seeing him there with a bloody knife in his hand? As the carriage rattled on his thoughts were as gloomy as the dark streets. It was too much to expect her to believe he was innocent now.

* * *

New Gaol in Horsemonger Lane was less than twenty years old and rose like a solid black square against the darkness. As the carriage pulled up Wolf was surprised to see the double doors were open. He frowned.

‘I thought I’d be in a lock-up until I had seen the magistrate.’

‘He’s waiting for you,’ was the gruff response. ‘Just your misfortune that it’s Hanging Hatcham on duty tonight!’

The constables roughly manhandled him out of the carriage on to the cobbled yard of the prison. He was escorted into a reception room where a portly figure in a powdered wig was sitting at a desk.

‘I am Gilbert Hatcham, magistrate here.’ The man introduced himself. ‘I was told I might expect you this evening, Mr Wolfgang Arrandale.’