CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“You were let go?”
“Yes.”
“All of a sudden? With no notice or warning?”
“No, I had no warning at all.”
Sarah stared at Mrs. Ford, and Mrs. Ford stared back with an animosity Sarah didn’t understand.
They were in the woman’s London office, with Mrs. Ford seated behind her desk and Sarah in the chair across from her. Mr. Fenwick had been good at his word and had found her a ride to the city. To her relief, she hadn’t seen Nicholas or Clayton Farnsworth again. She’d simply clung to Mr. Fenwick and followed his advice. She’d been that overwhelmed by events.
As her carriage had prepared to depart, he’d even slipped her a purse of coins to use as traveling money and to steady her circumstances once she arrived.
Now she was in the city and desperate to regroup, but from how Mrs. Ford was glaring Sarah wasn’t sure of what the ending would be between them.
For most of a decade, Sarah had worked through Mrs. Ford’s agency. She’d been industrious and diligent, and she’d never caused an ounce of trouble. Yet Mrs. Ford was assessing her as if she was a sluggard or a criminal.
“What happened with Mildred Farnsworth?” Mrs. Ford asked. “I could have sworn you were a perfect match for her.”
“I was. She and I became great friends.”
“Then why are we sitting here in London with you requesting a new assignment?”
“There was an issue with her nephew. He insisted she was…ah…acting erratically.”
“Was she?”
“No, but he felt she should be hospitalized. He sent her away, then told me my services were no longer necessary.”
“You had no clue this was about to occur?”
“No. I had been out running errands, and when I returned Miss Farnsworth was gone and her nephew was closing up the house she’d rented. A housemaid had already packed my bag.”
Mrs. Ford’s expression grew caustic, and she evaluated Sarah in a spiteful way. Snidely, she inquired, “That’s what transpired? You’re certain?”
Uneasy about the entire meeting, Sarah scowled. “Yes.”
“Are there any other details you’d like to share?”
“None that I can think of. I merely wanted to inform you I’m back in town and that I need another position.”
“Your audacity is stunning,” Mrs. Ford muttered. “I’m speechless.”
“What do you mean?”
“I might have believed you—if I hadn’t received a letter from Mr. Farnsworth as to the reason you were terminated.”
“He wrote to you about me?”
“Yes. You weren’t let go as you so casually describe it. You were fired. Would you care to tell me why? I’d like to get to the truth of the matter.”
“Yes, I was fired, but it was because Miss Farnsworth had been taken away, and Mr. Farnsworth wasn’t interested in keeping me.”
“I don’t suppose an unsavory blackguard named Nicholas Swift had much to do with it.”
“No.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve ruined yourself, all while pursuing a scheme with Mr. Swift to steal money from Mr. Farnsworth’s aunt?”
“No! How dare you accuse me of such ghastly conduct!”
“It’s quite simple actually.”
“Clayton Farnsworth is a lunatic and a liar. He’s defamed me with spurious charges.”
Mrs. Ford bristled. “You’re lucky you weren’t arrested and that doesn’t begin to account for the trouble created by your affair.”
“There was no affair!”
“Mr. Swift is a confidence artist and felon, Miss Henley. I’d like to think you’d have had more sense than to involve yourself with such a seedy character.”
“Mr. Swift is a friend of Miss Farnsworth, and he stayed with her for a few days. I hardly know him.”
“A likely story,” Mrs. Ford fumed. “I can’t figure out what’s plaguing you Henley sisters this summer. You were always such moral, decent girls.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Perhaps it’s your advanced age. It’s unnatural for a young lady to avoid matrimony. Perhaps your status as spinsters is to blame.”
“You’ve insulted me and my sisters. Why is that precisely?”
“The three of you are a trio of harlots.”
Sarah gasped with outrage. “You have the gall to voice such a despicable slur to my face? What is wrong with you?”
“In light of this most recent Henley fiasco, there’s no other conclusion to be reached. You haven’t the proper temperament to be represented by me. I can’t be sending you out to unsuspecting employers. Not when you’ve demonstrated such low standards.”
“My behavior has been above reproach.”
“Really, Miss Henley? You’re innocent as a lamb?” Mrs. Ford held up Mr. Farnsworth’s letter. “Mr. Farnsworth tells a different tale, and I can only accept that I am well-rid of you.”
“You’re dropping me as a client?”
“Yes—as I’ve dropped your sisters.”
“What did they do?”
“You have all revealed yourselves to have passionate tendencies. Although I could never have predicted it, the three of you are easily swayed by rogues. Have I—or have I not—counseled you about scurrilous libertines? Haven’t I warned you to be cautious? Haven’t I explained the dangers?”
“Yes, and why won’t you listen to me? You’ve known me for ten years, and you don’t know Clayton Farnsworth at all. Yet you’re taking his word over mine.”
“He advises me your cousin, Lady Middlebury, can vouch for his veracity and is fully cognizant of the details of your amour. Shall I contact her and seek her corroboration? Is that a shame you could bear to endure?”
So…there it was. Desdemona hated her, and she would be especially jealous over Nicholas’s relationship with Sarah. She’d want to retaliate. She’d want to make Sarah pay, but it was all so ridiculous.
Sarah’s affection for Nicholas had burned to ash the minute he’d claimed to be Mildred’s son. It had seemed so sneaky and underhanded. She wasn’t certain she could forgive him for engaging in such deceitful dealings, particularly when she liked Mildred so much. Mildred had been like a mother to Sarah. How could Sarah love a person who might harm her?
“My cousin, Lady Middlebury, is a shrew and a fraud,” Sarah said, “who has problems with gambling and drink. I wouldn’t believe her if she told me the sky is blue.”
“Everyone is lying except you? Is that your position?”
“Yes.”
Evidently, Sarah had exhausted Mrs. Ford’s patience. She stood and waved to the door. “Get out of my office. Get out, and don’t come back.”
“But…but…how will I find another job?”
“I have no idea. And don’t slither over to my boarding house to obtain lodging. I’ve notified them that they shouldn’t let you in.”
Mrs. Ford contracted with a boarding house where her girls stayed when they were between posts. It was clean and quiet and affordable, and Sarah had intended to head there once the appointment was over.
Not only was she out of a job, she had no place to stay either. The indignities were piling up so high that they were crushing her.
“Where are my sisters?” she demanded.
“I don’t keep track of whores.”
At the comment, Sarah was so angry she was surprised she didn’t throw something. “I swear, Mrs. Ford, if you denigrate Abigail or Catherine again, I will march around your desk and slap you silly.”
“You little tart! Don’t you dare threaten me.”
“If you had any notion of the humiliations I’ve recently suffered, you would tread more carefully.”
She stood too, and she leaned forward and clamped her palms on the desk, her fury wafting out for a change. Mrs. Ford lurched away as if Sarah frightened her. Good! With rage roiling through her, she was feeling very, very dangerous.
People really needed to stop upsetting her. It was becoming blatantly clear that courtesy and polite manners were ineffective. She was about to start reacting in a violent way.
“Tell me where my sisters are! I will not depart until you do.”
“They were both fired by their last employers,” Mrs. Ford said, “and I can’t guess where they’ve slinked off to.”
“Why were they fired?”
“For moral turpitude. Why would you suppose?”
“Where were they working?”
“I have destroyed all their records.”
As Mrs. Ford voiced the remark, she glanced away, providing Sarah with the distinct impression she was lying.
On the wall, there were numerous cabinets where Mrs. Ford had files of all the girls she represented. Sarah stomped over to the first one, pulled it open, and began yanking out papers. She’d take a quick peek, searching for Abigail’s or Catherine’s names, and when she didn’t see them she’d toss the papers on the floor.
“Sarah Henley!” Mrs. Ford bellowed. “Cease this instant!”
Sarah glowered over her shoulder. “Where are my sisters?”
She pitched another stack onto the floor, and Mrs. Ford rushed over and wrenched her away. They braced like pugilists in the ring. Mrs. Ford was taller, older, and heavier than Sarah, but Sarah had never been more incensed in her life.
She was descended from a long line of aristocratic women. In any war of wills, she couldn’t be bested. Her gaze was cutting and brutal, and Mrs. Ford was immediately cowed. She eased away.
“All right, all right, I will show you their files,” she said, “then you are to leave my office and never return.”
“Gladly.”
Mrs. Ford went to a different cabinet and retrieved the documents. She handed them to Sarah, and Sarah studied them. They indicated Abigail had traveled to the country to serve as governess for a man named Alex Wallace. Catherine had been a chaperone in London to a young lady named Priscilla Bolton.
When Sarah finished perusing the information, she glared at Mrs. Ford. “Where are they now?”
“I told you I have no idea, but they caused irreparable harm to those two families. If you knock on either door and announce who you are, I can guarantee those doors will be slammed in your face.”
“Well, it’s my face so I’ll risk it.”
She folded the papers and tucked them in her reticule, and Mrs. Ford bristled. “You can’t keep them. They’re mine.”
“So call for the law and have me arrested. And while you’re at it, tell that fool, Clayton Farnsworth, he owes me a month’s wages. After I’m settled, I’ll send you my address, and you can forward the money to me.”
“I doubt he’ll pay.”
“Then you can pay it to me yourself.”
“I never will.”
“We’ll see about that. I’d be happy to take it out of your hide, and with the mood I’m in you shouldn’t tempt me.”
Sarah spun and marched out. She’d left her portmanteau in the reception area. She grabbed it, wincing when her blisters cried out in misery. She stormed off, a stunned clerk watching her go. The girl had to have been shocked by Sarah’s ferocity. Sarah was a tad shocked by it too, but apparently she’d reached her limit with the entire world.
* * * *
Desdemona hurried down the stairs toward the front parlor of their town house. She was wearing chemise, petticoat and robe, her feet bare, her hair down. She’d been preparing to dress for the evening when her maid had dashed in to whisper that Sarah had arrived and was demanding to speak with Jasper.
Desdemona didn’t like it when any of the three Henley sisters visited. They were rude and condescending, never displaying proper deference to her elevated status. They always glanced about to check if there were dust balls under the furniture so they could scurry away and convince themselves she was an incompetent manager.
She didn’t have to be courteous to them, and she didn’t have to welcome them. And after recent events in Bath, she most especially couldn’t have Sarah sniffing around. Jasper was an accommodating husband, but he didn’t share Desdemona’s dislike of the Henley sisters. He’d be irked if she’d been deliberately awful to one of them.
Of course any difficulties Sarah suffered in Bath were her own fault, but Jasper viewed her as a sympathetic character. He hated to hear about her struggles. Not enough to help her financially, but still…
If Sarah was indiscreet, Jasper would discover some of Desdemona’s antics in Bath. They’d quarrel, but she didn’t have the energy. She needed to calm herself by smoking some opium, but the footman who usually purchased it for her had quit, and she didn’t know who else to approach about buying more.
She had to ensure Sarah told no tales, and she was also desperate to find out where Nicholas was. He’d departed Bath without a goodbye, and no one was certain where he was. That charming Michael Fenwick had departed too so she’d had only Clayton Farnsworth for company.
If Nicholas had flitted off to a house party, she had to determine where it was so she could show up there too.
She skidded into the parlor, her feet sliding on the floor. Sarah turned, her expression icy with disdain.
Desdemona forced a smile. “Sarah, how nice to see you again.”
“I’m here to talk to Jasper—not that it’s any of your business.”
Desdemona ignored the snooty comment. If she let Sarah pick a fight, she’d never win her over. “When did you get back from Bath? I trust you had a pleasant journey?”
“If you say another word to me”—Sarah’s tone was scathing—“I will walk over and claw your eyes out.”
“Sarah, Sarah, why are you so angry? You can’t hold a grudge over that stupid Clayton Farnsworth. I realize he fired you, but you should be glad of it. Who would want to work for him? He’s such a disagreeable fellow.”
“Is that why you’re such great chums with him? You’re just alike.”
“You have to remember that what happened in Bath was fun and games. You shouldn’t take everything so seriously.”
Sarah was across the room, and Desdemona tiptoed over, studying the wretched girl as if she were a snake that might bite.
Once she was close enough, she murmured, “Let’s not tell Jasper about our little entertainments there.”
“Shut up, Des.”
“He doesn’t have to learn about your…trouble with Clayton. We’d upset him for no reason.”
“You are laboring under the odd perception that I give two figs about you and Jasper.”
“I’m delighted to hear it. Now what is it you need? Perhaps I can assist you. Is it money? Is that why you’ve come? I have some! Up in my bedchamber. Wait here, and I’ll run up to grab my purse.”
“I’d rather choke to death than accept money from you.”
Desdemona stepped nearer, and she laid a hand on Sarah’s wrist. “Where is Nicholas? Where did he go when he left Bath?”
Sarah shook her away. “Mr. Swift is in jail.”
“Jail! Whatever for?”
“It was between him and Clayton Farnsworth, but I don’t have the faintest notion what occurred. You should ask Mr. Farnsworth. You seem so fond of him.”
Desdemona’s mind was racing. That last day, Clayton had been insufferable. He’d bragged that he was about to inherit a fortune, how he would finally garner what he’d always craved. For the most part, she’d barely listened, deeming him a boor and a dolt. She had only socialized with him because Nicholas was his friend.
But he’d had Nicholas arrested? She simply couldn’t fathom it.
“What jail is he in? What town? Is he still in Bath?”
“I have no idea.”
“Please, Sarah, when Jasper arrives, promise me you’ll be circumspect.”
“About what facts?”
“About…well…Bath and Clayton’s birthday party and any number of topics.”
“Again, Desdemona, I don’t care about you, your seedy acquaintances, or how you spend your time.”
“It’s just that you’ve never been married so you can’t be aware of what it’s like to have a husband like Jasper.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “If you start complaining about how your husband doesn’t understand you, I might be ill all over your expensive rug.”
“Seriously, Sarah, if our relationship has ever meant anything to you—”
“It hasn’t,” Sarah caustically stated, “but don’t worry, Cousin. It doesn’t matter to me if you have secrets from Jasper. You can behave like the gambling-addicted, adulterous trollop you are. Have at it—with my blessing.”
Desdemona might have shrieked with offense and kicked her out of the house, but Jasper took that moment to saunter in. He was dressed for the evening, his formal black suit and the lace of his cravat not masking that he’d gained more weight. His rich living was really catching up. He’d never been handsome, and with each passing year he was a bit less handsome.
“Hello, Sarah,” he said, and he grinned at her.
“Hello, Jasper.”
He glanced derisively at Desdemona. “Honestly, Des, you might have put on some clothes before coming down. I realize Sarah is family, but we have standards to maintain.”
Desdemona might have protested the scolding, but Sarah spoke first.
“Jasper, have you heard from either of my sisters?”
“Well, it’s lovely to see you too. Don’t I get a word of greeting?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry. Have you heard from them?”
He scowled. “I expect they’re both at Wallace Downs.”
“Where is that?”
“It’s a country property owned by a man named Alex Wallace.”
“Abigail was working for him, wasn’t she?” Sarah asked.
“Ah…yes, and the ninny thinks she’s going to marry him.”
“She’s marrying?”
Sarah looked flummoxed, and Desdemona was a tad flustered too. Jasper hadn’t informed her about Abigail’s plans. And she’d chosen that scandalous fiend, Alex Wallace, for a husband! What was happening in the world?
She wanted to discuss how Jasper would prevent the ridiculous match, but with Sarah present she couldn’t raise the subject.
“Yes, she hopes to wed Mr. Wallace,” Jasper told Sarah. “I sent Catherine after her to bring her to Middlebury so I could talk some sense to her, but so far they haven’t returned.”
“Abigail is about to wed,” Sarah mumbled. “I didn’t know.”
“It was all very fast, and he’s a criminal. We have to stop it.”
“Abigail picked a criminal?” Sarah inquired. “I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s the truth.”
“But it’s Alex Wallace of Wallace Downs?” Sarah didn’t sound concerned in the least about his felonious tendencies. “You’re positive that’s the man and the place?”
“Yes, yes, that’s it.” Jasper gestured to the sofa. “Won’t you sit for a minute? Tell us how you’ve been.”
“I don’t have the time,” Sarah said, and she started out.
Jasper’s scowl deepened. He didn’t like to have his wishes ignored, but Desdemona was glad to see her go. She’d get the bloody girl out the door, and she’d order the butler to never let her in again. If he forgot that edict in the future, it would cost him his job.
She thought she’d dodged a bullet, but as Sarah walked by Jasper she said, “Desdemona and I were in Bath last week.”
Jasper shot an angry glower at Des. She’d lied to him about where she’d been, and now there would be hell to pay.
“Don’t listen to her, darling,” she cooed. “She’s just eager to cause trouble.”
Jasper yanked his focus back to Sarah. “The two of you were in Bath?”
“Yes, and I probably oughtn’t to mention it, but you are my cousin. I decided you should be aware that Desdemona is having a torrid affair with a roué named Nicholas Swift.”
Jasper sucked in a sharp breath, fury coloring his cheeks. “Nicholas Swift? You’re sure?”
Jasper and Nicholas gambled together constantly, and Jasper owed him a fortune. Of all the rogues Desdemona could have selected for an amour, Nicholas was the one who would enrage Jasper the most.
“Des appeared quite smitten,” Sarah claimed. “It embarrassed everyone who witnessed her infatuation. Apparently, the other people in attendance were friends with whom you frequently socialize. We were all worried about how she was betraying you, and you were a hideous laughingstock.”
“None of that is true!” Desdemona seethed. “You little slut! How dare you waltz into my home and level accusations!”
Yet Sarah was already in the foyer and marching to the front door. The butler was there to jerk it open, and she kept on outside. The energy she’d carried into the residence quickly vanished, and a deadly silence descended.
There was just her and Jasper and the butler who was all ears and waiting to hear what Jasper’s next comment would be.
* * * *
Clayton staggered into his bed in what had once been his aunt’s bedchamber, but it was his bedchamber now, and she’d never get it back. When a woman was locked away by a male family member, it was impossible for her to free herself.
He had moved into her house and assumed control. It was much larger and nicer than the paltry country property his father had bequeathed to him. He was intoxicated, his balance unsteady. He’d been celebrating for days, and his aunt had a delicious and expensive wine cellar.
In Bath, it had been easy to convince the rural magistrate that Mildred suffered from hysteria, and he’d hastily dispatched her to the asylum. But he was unnerved by the fact that he couldn’t find her important documents, and until he did he couldn’t put his name on anything.
He needed to gain access to her bank accounts, and he also needed to talk to her lawyer, Thumberton, about changing the trustee. He’d written to the man to schedule an appointment, and he’d been rebuffed with the news that Thumberton was busy with a legal case and wouldn’t be available for weeks.
A bigger issue involved the paperwork Nicholas had given to Mildred. Winston had hidden in the bushes by the parlor window and had eavesdropped on their entire conversation. He swore Swift had provided all sorts of evidence to support his claim, but Winston and Clayton had searched the rented house from top to bottom and hadn’t turned up a single item. But Clayton would locate all of it. He had no doubt.
He smirked. Nicholas Swift was very smart, but not very shrewd. He’d befriended Clayton so he could ingratiate himself to Mildred, but Clayton would never relinquish what was his. Mildred was in possession of what remained of his grandfather’s money, and it was her own fault that Clayton had had to take such drastic action. If she’d just listened for once, she wouldn’t be in the bind she was in.
It was Swift’s fault too. Clayton would never let a usurper swoop in and seize what was his. He would kill any idiot who was that brazen.
He blew out the candle and snuggled under the blankets, thinking how it had all been so bloody simple! Why hadn’t he resolved the situation years earlier? His father had wanted to, but he’d been too much of a coward. Clayton had had the courage, and he would now live the life he deserved.
A noise sounded in the hall, and he frowned at the door. Was someone walking out there? The house was locked up tight, and the servants had better be asleep in their beds, but it was highly probable they roamed in the night.
Typically, they had no supervision during the summer. Why, that very minute, they might be raiding the wine cellar! The thought of them drinking his wine made him unbelievably angry, and he considered getting up to check, but it was too cold.
He sighed and was drifting off when suddenly an object was pressed to the center of his forehead. It was round and hard, and his eyes flew open. Even though it was dark, he realized a pistol was aimed directly at him! The villain holding it was huge and menacing and dressed all in black.
Clayton attempted to lurch up, but a palm was slapped on his chest to keep him firmly in place.
“Hello, Clayton,” a man murmured in his ear.
“Who is it? Who’s there?”
“Take a guess. Who hates you more than anyone?”
“Help! Help!” he bellowed. He hoped a footman would burst in to investigate, but they were a surly bunch who constantly disrespected him. He didn’t imagine he could count on any of them. Still, he tried again. “I’m being robbed! I’m being murdered!”
His effort earned him a wallop alongside the head with the butt of the pistol. For a moment, he saw stars, and it was lucky he was lying down or he’d have fallen down.
“You haven’t guessed yet,” his tormentor hissed.
“What do you want? Is it money? I have plenty!”
“You don’t have any money, you little worm.”
The brute flung back the blankets, grabbed Clayton by his nightshirt, and yanked him out of the bed. Clayton collapsed onto the floor, then he was dragged over to the window. There was a bit of light reflected off the clouds, and he peered up and blanched. His bladder contracted, and a trickle of urine gushed down his leg.
“Swift!”
“I’ve surprised you.”
“You’re in jail! You can’t be in my home. It’s impossible.”
“The funny thing about jail, you dolt, is that a man can bond out.”
“No, no, I was told you couldn’t. I was told it wouldn’t be allowed. Your charges are too dire.”
“Ask me why I’m here, Clayton.”
“No, I won’t ask. Go away, go away.”
“I came to give you a message.”
“What message? What?”
“I am off to rescue my mother.”
“You have no mother. Your mother is dead.”
“No, my mother is very much alive, and you’ve harmed her. Would you like to know how I react when a person I love is harmed?”
“I’ve harmed no one.”
“You sent Mildred to Bedlam Hospital, and you fired Sarah Henley and tossed her out on the street without a penny in her purse.”
“They both deserved it!”
Swift clucked his tongue. “You’re a pathetic dunce, Clayton.”
“You can’t talk to me that way.”
“Yes, I can, and I need you to hear me and hear me well.”
“I won’t listen to you! I don’t have to!” He yelled again. “Help!”
His shouting garnered him another clout on the head, and Swift had a tight grip on his nightshirt. He leaned down so they were nose to nose, and Clayton couldn’t miss the murderous fury in his eyes.
“I was planning to kill you,” Swift said.
He paused, the gun leveled, and Clayton had to admit he might very likely pull the trigger.
“Don’t shoot, Swift! For God’s sake, please!”
Swift grinned a malevolent grin. “I was planning to kill you, but it would be too easy. I’ve decided on a better scheme.”
“What scheme? Just tell me. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“I want you to suffer and pay forever.”
“You’re mad,” Clayton spat.
“Yes, people have always thought so, and it’s your turn to discover how crazed I can be. I’m going to take everything from you. I will make it my life’s work. I will take and take and take from you until you have nothing left but the clothes on your back.”
“You’ll never succeed.”
“I will,” Swift vowed. “Best start looking over your shoulder, Clayton. I’ll be standing there, ready to strike.”
He released Clayton, and Clayton sagged, assuming the assault was ended, but Swift hit him with his fist, right in the face. Blood squirted everywhere, and Clayton flew into the small table by the bed. It wobbled, and the candle he’d blown out fell onto him, hot wax burning his arm so he yowled in pain.
“I will begin tomorrow, Clayton.” Swift sounded sinister and evil, as if he was a sorcerer who practiced black magic. “None of your dreams will ever come true.”
He kicked Clayton in the ribs, then he vanished like smoke. Clayton huddled on the floor, whimpering, shivering, wheezing, and wishing a servant would rush in to tend him. But none of them appeared, and he was all alone.