Wicked and Wonderful (30 page)

“By Jove, this has been a night of miracles,” the surgeon said. “A lady finally bests this worthless blackguard—” He poured another dose of brandy in the wound, causing Stolford to moan loudly in his stupor and to once more try to wrest himself from the strong stable hand’s arms. The surgeon continued, “and then I find that the lady is none other than Sir Christopher’s daughter. Do you know I once met your father, miss?” he stated proudly. “What a fine man he was. But why have you been absent all these years? And, sir, you may put the bowl on the table. I will not have need of it now. I bled him earlier, but ‘tis enough. Although, if I bleed him a little more he might not recover, and I promise you I am sorely tempted to do so.”

Kelthorne chuckled. “You tempt me as well, but you had best continue your stitching.” He placed the bowl on the table near the wall then resumed his place beside Judith. He addressed her, “The good doctor has asked the most essential question possible,” he said. “Tell him, Judith, why you have been absent for the past eight years. I wish to hear it from your lips as well.”

Judith lifted her arm and pointed at the marquess. Her hand trembled and her eyes suddenly flooded with tears. “I have been hiding from him.”

Kelthorne did not hesitate but took her fully in his arms and held her tightly. “Did he hurt you this night? Did he hurt you, my love? Tell me. Please, tell me.”

At that, she gave a watery laugh. “He did not have the chance, for I used every trick I had learned among the troupe and led him to believe I was weak and ill and all the while I was securing the dagger, which, as you know, John taught me how to use. When I turned into him, while in the coach, he thought—well, I suppose it does not matter now what he thought—but I cut him instead, deeply on the arm as you see now. I... I confess I almost hurt him further once I saw that I had incapacitated him. He does not like to be in pain.”

Seeing her distress, he held her more closely still. “Do not think on it,” he said softly. “You are uninjured and that is all that matters.”

“Give me the word,” the surgeon said, his expression now grim. “And I shall bleed him until there be no blood left.”

Kelthorne placed his hand firmly on the doctor’s shoulder. “Keep stitching, my good man, though I think we shall leave you to it.”

He drew Judith away from the bed. “There is so much I must tell you. For one thing, and this is most important, you have a dowry awaiting you. My sister, who recalled rumors of your disappearance so many years ago, believes it to be some fifteen thousand pounds.”

“What?” she said.

“I am not surprised you did not know.”

“I was so very young,” she said, frowning. “My stepmother led me to believe I was penniless.”

“I also think it possible your father may have left you more. Such a large dowry indicates wealth and a possible inheritance. You are no longer poor as you imagined yourself to be.”

“Is it possible?” she queried, tears once more brimming in her eyes.

“Aye,” he said softly, smiling down at her.

She placed a hand on his cheek. “Thank you again for coming to find me. I am so very grateful, you have no idea.”

He held her tightly once more and even if there was an audience, he kissed her warmly and deeply. How thankful he was that she was unharmed. How much he loved her.

The moment could not last, not with any degree of modesty and her nightdress withheld little from his imagination so that very soon he drew back from her and cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should rejoin the troupe,” he said. “I believe they all came.”

“I should like that very much.”

When they turned toward the door, he felt obligated to warn her. “Charles is here,” he said quietly.

“Indeed? Did he, as I suspect, arrange the matter with Stolford?”

“He did. We are not yet certain what to do with him.” With that he escorted her from the chamber. By now a veritable riot of noise was in progress. Betty had even taken to singing, which was not her strongest ability. The taproom had come alive and at the top of the stairs an old man in his nightcap and gown shouted at them.

Kelthorne addressed him. “It will be of no use. They are quite an incorrigible troupe of actors. However, if you wish for a brandy or perhaps a cup of rum punch, I shall be honored to have you as my guest.”

“And who be ye?” he said hotly, turning back to him.

“The Earl of Kelthorne,” he stated, “at your service.”

“What humbug. Kelthorne is quite old, by Jove and... well, by all that’s wonderful, did that old ferret finally stick his spoon in the wall?”

“Aye,” Kelthorne responded, laughing.

“Well, then. A cup of punch it shall be for he was the worst nipcheese I ever knew. I am an architect by trade and once built a cottage for one of his tenants and what it cost me....” The man ground his teeth. “But that is all in the past now.” He began moving down the stairs.

Kelthorne followed behind with Judith. The man called out to the landlord, “Punch, if ye please and since the lady,” here he winked at Kelthorne, “and since the lady is also in her nightdress, I shall not demur another moment. Actors, you say?
And
actresses?”

“Aye,” Judith said, laughing.

The man hurried down the remainder of the stairs but Kelthorne held Judith back. “It was a terrible insult,” he whispered. “I am sorry. Do you wish to retire? I shall provide a bedchamber for you if you so desire.”

Judith looked up at him and smiled if crookedly. “Have you forgotten already that I, too, am a member of this troupe? Do you think there is even one of the men who has not seen me in my robe and nightdress, in my cap and with my hair tied up in rags?”

Kelthorne stared at her feeling oddly aghast. “I suppose it never occurred to me.”

“Of course not, for you are being ridiculously naïve about it all.”

“Are you certain you do not wish for a private parlor?” he asked again.

At that he knew he had erred for a cool light entered her eye. “Not by half,” she stated and then began a quick running descent of the stairs in what he realized were her bare feet.

“Judy, there ye be,” Henry called to her.

Kelthorne followed slowly after and watched as one after the other, everyone in the troupe, save Charles, embraced her. He felt a profound degree of jealousy that was not in the least reasonable given the truly wretched circumstances of the night’s events. Yet, she was the woman he loved, the woman he fully intended to make his wife and she was being passed from man to man just like any of the ladies.

When he reached the bottom step, his sister Mary approached him. “They are certainly a lively group,” she said. “I could only wish that Judith were not so indelicately clad. ‘Tis quite disconcerting.”

He glanced at his sister. “She has been through a terrifying and difficult ordeal,” he snapped. “Would you fault her for this?” He was being quite irrational since his own recent thoughts had been of a similar nature.

“I do beg your pardon,” she said hastily. “I mean to do better and it was unforgivable that I should complain of her attire.”

“Just so,” he returned piously but his conscience smote him.

After Judith had regaled the troupe of just how she had come to do a fearful injury to the Marquess of Stolford, all eyes suddenly turned to Charles who was hunched in a corner.

Judith stepped toward him. “I knew you were many things, Mr. Hemyock, but not this. I knew you disliked me but to wish to see me ruined at Stolford’s hands? I would not have thought you so cruel.”

He glared at her. Not the smallest amount of remorse appeared in his eyes.
“Ye
never belonged in the troupe. Always above yer company, walking about with yer nose in the air, all yer ladylike manners, so smug and all the time laughing at us all.”

“There you are greatly mistaken, Charles. Do you truly believe that I do not respect John and Margaret, Betty, Henry and the rest?”

“Of course not. Who would when Margaret came from the East End and worked as all girls worked or any of them wat give themselves to the gentlemen.”

“Ye’ve said enough,” John said hotly, intervening by grabbing Charles by the arm and jerking him to his feet. “Now, get out and do not let me see yer face again for as all these good people are my witness I’ll not leave a shred of skin on yer pretty face if ever I see ye. Leave, I say.” He threw him toward the door. Charles turned back as if to speak, but John said, “Ye’ve forfeited everything by wat ye’ve done this night. Yer things I’ll give to the poor.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a small purse and flung it at him. “Twenty pounds and not a tuppence more.”

Charles, after picking up the small purse from the floor, was unable, as always, to resist a dramatic finish. He flourished a grand bow, lifted his head high, turned on his heel, flung open the door and passed through. Dawn had passed and morning was bright on the horizon.

Judith felt the cold morning upon her skin. She shivered and at once felt Margaret’s arm about her.

“Kelthorne,” John suddenly called out. “Will ye not have a cup of punch? ‘Tis a fine bowl the landlord makes.”

Judith turned to watch him and saw his hesitation. His sisters flanked him, each of whom seemed to have grown uncomfortable. Her heart sank. Here was the truth that she already knew, which she understood a thousand times better than Kelthorne ever would. He might have spent much of his career dallying amongst the ladies of the theater but with his sisters to protect and his responsibilities as the Earl of Kelthorne, he could not easily cross the boundaries dictated by their society

“I think it time to go,” he said, meeting Judith’s gaze.

Margaret turned to Judith. “Indeed, it is, Judy. Time fer ye to go.”

“But I have not had a cup of punch yet,” she stated firmly, holding Kelthorne’s gaze. “I should like a cup, perhaps even two.”

Lady Radsbury and Mrs. Newnott looked up at their brother. Kelthorne took a step away from them and toward Judith but there was nothing conciliatory in his expression. He extended his hand to her. “We should all go. ‘Tis time my sisters returned to Portislow.”

“Of course it is,” Judith said. “And I bid you all a safe journey.” She dipped a curtsy, bowing her head, but afterward moved swiftly in the direction of the steaming bowl of punch, which sat on the bar. “A cup if you please, landlord.”

An awful silence reigned behind her. Even the landlord was uncertain what he ought to do.

“A cup please,” she stated again. “You were so kind to me last night and I will always be grateful.”

His expression relaxed and he ladled a cup and handed it to her. She took a sip and then another. Margaret approached her. “Judy,” she whispered close to her ear. “Do but think wat ye are doing. Such a man will not like to have his will thwarted.”

Judith relaxed suddenly and turned and kissed her cheek. She then slid her arm about Margaret’s waist and turned her toward Kelthorne. “This is my family, my lord,” she said. “Mrs. Ash is as dear to me as a sister could ever be. Here my loyalties lie and perhaps always shall. I beg you will take your sisters home.”

His expression was wholly grave. “And you will not attend us?” he inquired, a sad light entering his eye.

“Nay.”

“But Judy,” John began, drawing nigh as well.

She smiled up at him. “You are more my family, Mr. John Ash, than I have ever known.”

There were sudden tears in his eyes. “This is wat ye wish?”

“Aye,” she responded.

“Come,” Kelthorne said, taking his elder sister’s arm. “We should leave.”

“But Aubrey—” Mary protested.

“Yes, Aubrey, this cannot be right.”

“All will be well,” he said, but he did not look at Judith again.

She watched him go and sipped her punch at the same time for fear that the ache in her throat would soon force a flood of tears to her eyes and that would never do. She knew she was doing what was right, especially after he kicked up such a dust about her nightdress. She believed only in that moment had he truly come to understand just what manner of life she had been living for eight years.

Still, her throat ached. She drank deeply, again and again.

So it was that on the following morning, she awoke in her tent without the faintest idea how she had come to be there. The camp was alive with the peculiar shouting that occurred when the tents were being struck and the wagons loaded. How her head ached, though she was not certain to which cause she could ascribe the pain she was presently feeling. After all, she had been struck over the head little more than thirty hours past, but then she had never imbibed so much rum punch in her life.

Sitting on the edge of her bed and wondering as she always did if the corner would hold, she lowered her head gently into her hands and moaned softly. She determined never to become foxed again. Indeed, she could not help but wonder who would ever repeat such an experience as this.

Events of the night before flooded her mind. She did not want to think about anything that had happened, yet the memories rolled through her head one after the other like a tide that could not be turned. Only one thought snagged her, that she had a dowry and a very great one at that. Even her cousins had only had five thousand each. When she had left her home at fourteen, she had taken so very little with her and she had been just young enough that she had not known what she would bring to a contract of marriage.

Now she had a dowry and perhaps an inheritance. She would probably be able to do what she pleased and go where she desired. How was that possible? She truly did not know what to do.

A soft scratching sounded on her canvas door. “‘Tis I,” Margaret said.

Judith lifted her head. “Come,” she whispered, but even then the sound of her voice was like a trumpet to her own ears. She winced and moaned anew.

Margaret entered bearing a cup of tea. “‘Tis very weak. John always takes a cup after such a night.”

Judith took it in trembling hands. She noted that the cup was but half full and nicely warm to the touch. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Margaret sat on the small stool by the doorway. “Be ye feeling better?”

Judith smiled. “Better than what? Better than a lady whose head is being clamped in a vise? The answer must be no.”