To be in bad bread - in a disagreeable scrape
- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.
Keziah lay in bed but didn't sleep. The young duke's disarming smile flickered in and out of focus, and she felt a surge of fury at the unfairness of it. This situation was none of her making, and there was nothing she could do to stop it, so why should she be the one losing sleep? Her father would no doubt come home and snore his head off as though he had not a care in the world, he usually did.
Except, then, she heard voices from below her room and realised that her father and his valet, Martin, were in the front parlour. Slipping out of bed with as little noise as she could manage, she pulled a shawl around her shoulders and got to her knees, putting her ear to the cold, wooden floor.
Her father's and Martin's voices were low but nonetheless audible.
“I’m sure something could be arranged.” There was a dark tone to her father’s voice that sent shivers running over her, making the chill of the wooden floor seem colder still. “We’re going to be invited to visit the duke’s seat, Chartley House, very soon, Martin, and that will be our chance.”
“You sure she’s strong enough to face her family down? I’ve heard the old woman is a proper tartar.” Keziah could hear the scepticism in Martin’s voice and her father’s scornful reply as he moved about the room.
“Oh, she’ll do it,” he said, his complacent manner provoking a spark of anger that he should treat some poor woman in such a way. “The foolish creature is so in love with me that she hardly knows which way is up. So we’ll have an invitation, but the duke will be forced to come, too, for propriety’s sake, and because he won’t trust me an inch, and that will be our chance.”
Keziah felt her breath catch in her throat and sat upright, breathing hard while her mind tried to deny the plot the two of them were hatching together. Surely not? Surely even her father wouldn’t…?
Returning her ear to the floor, she froze, horrified as the depths of their wickedness were revealed to her.
“And, in any case, he’s just a young pup, by all accounts, it should be an easy enough manner to dispose of him. A hunting accident, perhaps?” This last was said with amusement as Keziah’s blood seemed to turn to ice water in her veins.
“Oh, yes, my lord,” Martin replied, apparently sharing her father’s enjoyment of the idea. “Always a popular choice, that, and so very hard to prove as anything but an accident.”
Keziah clutched at her throat, scurrying away from her position on the floor and sitting on the bed before her knees gave way. Her mother had died in a hunting accident when she was just a tiny child. There had always been something about that, something in her father’s eyes when he spoke of it, that had unsettled her and made her wonder, but now … now she could no longer doubt it.
Her father had killed a man in his youth, that she knew, for she’d heard him boast of it when he was in his cups - how he’d gotten away with murder and the law couldn’t touch him. That had been shocking enough, even when she’d known he was a monster since she was old enough to realise what the word meant. But to know he had killed his own wife, her mother … and now, he was planning to kill the Duke of Chartley. Once the duchess was married and her only son gone, he would control their finances. It would all be his.
Nausea roiled in her stomach and she choked back tears as the horror of it unfolded before her. She might want an end to this meagre existence, she might want her life back where pretty clothes, good food, and comfort had been hers, but not at that price. She’d not gain at the expense of a man’s blood.
But her father was right about one thing. The young man who had visited her here, who had stared at her with such guileless admiration, he would be no match for her father.
He was as good as dead.
Keziah got back into her bed, shivering under the covers as she considered what could be done. She would have to warn the duke, Lord Ashwicke. Though she had no idea where he lived, it ought to be easy enough to track him down. She’d have to wait until her father was out of the house, and he rarely rose before midday, so she’d have to take care to avoid him until then. She’d had years of practise at hiding her thoughts, at remaining placid when she was inwardly quaking, but her temper was something she still struggled to control. Her father’s legacy, no doubt, she thought with a grimace. And this, this had pushed her past any anger she had known before.
She might have sorrow enough to last for several lifetimes over the way she had been treated by him, sorrow aplenty for the loss of her mother, but now she was full of fury. Rage ate away at her like a disease in her blood, making her seethe with restless energy when she should be at rest, and it wanted retribution. The fury within her wanted revenge for her mother’s sake, revenge for her own sake, for every backhanded slap, for every blow and kick and cruel word, revenge upon the man who had squandered their fortune and her future on gambling and women and vice of every conceivable kind.
She wanted revenge, and by God she would have it.
***
As it happened, it was only mid-morning by the time her father emerged. Keziah avoided him, her only contact a brief nod of greeting as he descended the stairs, dressed like a prince in the clothes that she had sold every last scrap of her mother’s jewellery to buy for him. She swallowed down the bile that rose in her belly, have patience, she muttered inwardly. Her father had eluded the law for so long, firstly, by dint of being a peer, and secondly, by being sly and cunning. Well, that she had inherited some of his traits might be a matter of revulsion to her, but in this she would embrace those aspects of her nature. She would prevail and grind this wretched creature beneath her heel, if it was the last thing she did.
So Keziah contented herself with pottering in the kitchen, all the while listening for the sound of her father getting ready to leave the house.
Fortune was smiling on her that day as Martin left with him, though they went off in different directions. Swiftly pulling on her coat and pelisse, Keziah ran from the house and then hesitated as she saw her father’s towering figure disappearing around the corner. A nagging sense of anxiety tugged at her mind, unsettling her further still. Deciding to listen to her instincts, she hurried after him, keeping a good distance back in case he turned around and spotted her.
From the house they’d rented on Abbey Green, he strolled in a leisurely fashion in the direction of the abbey itself, which was only a few minutes’ walk away. This seemed a most peculiar location for her father to be found at voluntarily, and so she kept with him. Passing the Roman Baths without a second glance, he moved towards the west front of the impressive abbey building with its surprising and, to Keziah’s mind, somewhat whimsical ladders of angels. The angels both ascended and descended the ladders which climbed the towers on both sides of the huge west door.
Keziah hung back, not wanting to cross the open expanse before the Abbey and risk catching his attention. She huddled into her pelisse, threadbare as it was, and wished she had a muff to warm her hands. It was bright now, with fast-moving white clouds scudding across the sky, but a chill wind blew nonetheless, plucking at her skirts and making her shiver.
Too cold to keep still, Keziah began to move forward, and then, with astonishment, she watched as her father paused to take a furtive look behind him, causing her to throw herself into a doorway and startle an elderly man in the process. Apologising for her clumsiness, Keziah turned, just in time to see Lord Todd slip inside the building.
With curiosity burning, Keziah moved forward, and after a few moments of dithering outside, followed him in.
It was dark and hard to see anything, at first, after the bright sunlight of the late morning. Squinting and hugging the shadows in case she was seen, Keziah lingered in the darker corners until her eyes adjusted. Once they had, however, she rather wished she hadn’t followed her instincts after all. For there was her father, sitting side by side with a pretty, dark-haired girl, young enough to be his daughter.
Younger than his daughter!
Keziah swallowed hard. She had little doubt in her mind that this was Lady Ashwicke’s daughter, the one who would not inherit until she was twenty-one. Feeling quite overwhelmed with revulsion, she realised that her father was playing a long game indeed, for he foresaw a day when he would tire with Lady Ashwicke, and so would lose no time in replacing her with the daughter. Seeing her father lift the girl’s fingers to his lips and the fluttering look she sent in return as a flush rouged her cheeks, Keziah felt she’d seen quite enough.
She had to track down the girl’s brother, the duke, and tell him just what disaster awaited him and his family if he didn’t heed her warnings, and do exactly as she directed.
***
Ash woke late after an uneasy night’s sleep. His grandmother’s taunts had hit their mark, as they always did, and left him feeling a trifle out of sorts. It wouldn’t last, of course, it rarely did for any length of time. Ash would occupy himself with more enjoyable things until the sting of her tongue had ceased to trouble him. For the time being, however, he found that her words had found their mark with even greater accuracy than usual. He was disturbed by the idea that he must do something to save his mother from a man who could well turn out to be a fortune hunter. How to do such a thing when the woman was clearly besotted was beyond his comprehension. The idea of facing the man and risk being called out was something he couldn’t consider with equanimity, but being thought a coward … he thought that might be even worse.
On top of all that was the lovely vision of the man’s daughter, staring at him with those challenging eyes. There was something defiant and fierce about her that had intrigued him, yet his instincts told him there was a rather more vulnerable girl hidden behind that cool façade, and he longed to discover her.
Sighing with frustration, he went to stand by the window of what had been his father’s study. It was his now, of course, had been for some time. Yet it never felt like his study. He often felt like he was merely playing the part of Duke of Chartley, and that his father’s, and most certainly his grandfather’s shoes, were simply too large to ever dream of filling.
Now, looking at the most fashionable people of Bath as they promenaded along Royal Crescent, a blue sky beckoned him and he toyed with the idea of going out, though he doubted any of his friends would be about yet. He was still pondering this when their butler, Grant, informed him in disapproving tones that a young lady was asking for him. On hearing that it was Lady Todd, Ash could hardly disguise his astonishment, but demanded that Grant show her in immediately.
The self-assured young woman he had seen last night seemed rather less in evidence today, however, as she appeared to be in considerable distress.
“Lady Todd,” Ash said, greeting her with warmth. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
He looked her over with concern. The pelisse she wore was old and faded and her lovely face was white, her blue eyes shadowed.
“I’m afraid pleasure is the last thing you will gain from my society,” she said, her voice so grave that her words underscored the unease which had been plaguing him since the evening before. “And you’ll certainly find no joy in the intelligence I must bring you, but … but my conscience will not have it otherwise.”
She clasped her hands together, her stance rigid and miserable, and Ash realised that she was trembling. Sitting her down with all the reassurance he could muster he hurried to pour her a small glass of brandy.
“Here,” he said, sitting down beside her and pressing the glass into her hand. “Sip this, it will make you feel better.”
She did as he bid her, and after a few moments she seemed to gain control once again and took a deep breath.
“You are very kind, your grace,” she said, though the words bore no inflection. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”
Ash smiled, having no trouble in answering this one. “I think the same of you as I did last night,” he said, watching as she looked up and met his eyes. “That you are a perfectly charming young lady with rather more secrets and troubles than you are comfortable with sharing.”
She smiled then, and fleeting as it was - born perhaps of surprise - the expression turned her face from simply lovely to something that stole Ash’s breath. “You are rather more perceptive than I gave you credit for, your grace,” she said, her voice low and apologetic.
Ash laughed at that and nodded. “A problem I face often, I assure you.”
She glanced up at him from under her lashes, as if to assure herself that he was still in good humour and hadn’t taken offence. “Come now,” he said, hoping he sounded like the sort of chap a young woman might confide in. “Won’t you tell me what has brought you here is such distress? And please,” he added with a smile, “drop the your grace; here, and in the circumstances, I think you might call me Ash. All my friends do.”
Her expression cooled under the invitation of intimacy, and Ash realised he’d overreached himself, but she did at least begin to speak.
“I am afraid that what I must tell you will seem extraordinary and … and perfectly dreadful,” she began, and he got the impression that now she had committed herself to this course of action, whatever it might be, she was determined to see it through. She turned her blue eyes on him, and for a moment he lost the thread of the conversation, so struck was he by the depth of colour, and of sorrow, that he found there. “But I must tell you that you are in great danger,” she continued as Ash struggled to return to her words; “My father is planning on marrying your mother and I tell you now that you must stop this at all costs. For if he succeeds, he … he intends to kill you and take control of the Chartley fortune.”