Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) (46 page)

Mrs. Camborne wiped sweat from her brow. “It was wise of you to ask Frederick to teach Cadan to read,” she whispered. “He’s much more enthusiastic now about learning.”

“I am relieved it worked. I will ask the boys to fetch water from the creek.” Bettina gazed about. “I wish we could plant wheat to help with bread.”

“That political paper, the
North Briton
, says people are so desperate, they demand to be paid in bread to keep their families from starving,” Mrs. Camborne said. “With all the bad harvests and inflated prices, few can afford even a quartern loaf.”

“It is sad that many young men enlist in the military to survive. Though Everett says that is good for the war effort.” Bettina dug another row, the muscles in her arms straining. “Now I understand how the poor in France suffered, causing the riots. People starved and I was unaware in my sheltered life. But I do not see how the revolution has improved anything. Those radicals and their ‘terror’, as they call it, it is the correct word. They murder aristocrats along with their own conspirators.” She swung the hoe and chopped at the earth, putting her disgust into the force of movement.

“It must be so frightening for you, coming from the aristocratic classes as you have.” Mrs. Camborne dropped in more seeds.

“At first I was against the idea of revolution. Now I agree that much of the privileges of the upper classes needed to be torn down, though not by losing their heads.” She couldn’t help the morbid image of her relatives and the friends she’d grown up with being shoved into tumbrills and driven to the guillotine. “I never realized what a struggle life is for the poor. After seeing the beggars in London, I am ashamed of my ignorance.”

“The poor are suffering now, with the pea harvest infested with lice.” The older woman shook her head. “Dried peas are a staple for them in the winter, poor dears. If we’ve stared aghast at the vileness across the Channel, starvation at home may turn the sympathy.”

Bettina stopped, flexed sore fingers and took a deep breath. “I have invited Maddie to take some of our harvest, to give out to people at the inn. We will share our bounty. Morley and Peder will help.” She smiled at the other woman to sweeten her next words. “If we sold the manor, perhaps, we could save more money. It is so big to keep up.”

“Sell Bronnmargh? Never. Don’t be silly, dear.” Mrs. Camborne waved her hand in the air as if the suggestion was insane. Bettina had expected no less. She’d have to hope things improved, or address this another time when Everett was home. Horse hooves sounded coming up the hill.

Bettina dropped the hoe. “I hope that is Everett.” She picked up her skirt and stepped down the gravel drive. But she halted, heavy with disappointment.

Mr. Trethewy clopped up and raised his hat. The JP had finally discarded his wig, though his gray hair looked just as bristly.

“Morning, ladies,” he said when Mrs. Camborne joined her. “Is Mr. Camborne home?”

“He is still in London,” Bettina said, not caring for his calculating expression. “Why do you wish to see him?”

“Business.” He dismounted and walked up to them, stinking of horse and perspiration. “I don’t like to discuss such things with women, but times are changing everywhere. The local magistrates are trying to raise money to arm the few men left around here. I thought Mr. Camborne would want to contribute. We can’t ignore rebellion. There’s been miner’s rioting down in Truro. Soldiers fired on them and several were killed. The government’s passing stricter laws. Now any crime by the poor, or reform in their favor, is considered treasonous.”

“That sounds severely unfair.” Bettina’s words spewed out in a rush of anger. “The government is appropriating food for the military. But the poor still need to be fed. There are food riots all over England.”

“Would you like your revolution to come here?” His boots crunched over the gravel as he strode closer, eyes assessing. “By the by, you still haven’t shown me your passport, Mrs. Camborne.”

“Oh, pardon my mistake.” Bettina stepped back. She turned to hide her distress. With his preoccupation with his business, Everett had forgotten to obtain a fake one for her. “I apologize to you.”

“Mr. Trethewy, how is your wife?” Mrs. Camborne smiled and moved between them.

“She is well.” He flicked a finger on his hat brim. “Good to see you again, Mrs. Camborne. Excuse me.” He walked around her and faced Bettina. “Since I’m here, let’s go inside and you can fetch it for me. The laws are that much stricter over the French now too. We don’t want any traitors to England living here, now do we?”

Bettina suppressed a shudder. She swallowed hard. “The truth is, Mr. Trethewy, I have lost my passport. I have searched everywhere for it.”

His gaze turned flint hard in his creased face. He reached out a hand and gripped her arm. “Then I have no choice but to arrest you.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Bettina glared down at Trethewy’s fingers clamped on her sleeve, but cringed at his threat. She thrust up her chin, anxious to convey insult. “You cannot be serious, monsieur.”

“Don’t be tiresome, sir.” Mrs. Camborne pulled his hand away and hugged her arm around Bettina. “She is married to my son. Doesn’t that make her a citizen of England?”

Bettina’s head reeled and she almost sank into the ground. Another problem to overcome. “The records of my marriage are in London.” The lie came quickly to her lips. “I will write to my husband and ask him to bring them when he returns.”

“Seems to me that for an
immigrant you don’t care much about documentation.” Trethewy put his hands on his fat hips and scrutinized her from head to toe. “I’ll give you two weeks to show those papers.” He walked back and mounted his horse, tipped his hat and rode down the hill.

“Insufferable man,” Mrs. Camborne said. “You’ll give him his comeuppance.”

Bettina let out her breath. “I will send a letter to Everett this moment. Peder can run it down to the inn so the mail coach will pick it up.” She hurried into the shadowy manor and the library. Sitting at the desk, she pulled out paper and dipped a quill in ink. She hated to drag Everett from his business concerns, but didn’t know what else to do. He may not make it back in time.

* * * *

Bettina trimmed the wicks on the dining room candles. The children were upstairs in bed. Mrs. Camborne sat near the window mending one of Christian’s gowns. Thirteen days had passed since her letter, and Bettina had heard nothing from Everett. She only had one day left before the JP returned to demand her passport or proof of marriage. If she asked Maddie to find someone who could forge a passport for her, she’d have to admit she wasn’t married. Bettina’s hand shook and she cut a wick too low.

“What a day. I’m exhausted.” Mrs. Camborne laid down the sewing. “It’s so much work to have to do everything without a housekeeper. Not that I had more than one maid on the island. At least until winter we have more sunlight in which to toil. Oh? Did you hear that?” The older woman stiffened in her chair, eyes darting. “It sounds like someone’s outside.”

“I hope it is Everett.” And not Mr. Trethewy. Bettina strode down the hall toward the front door. Sounds of scuffling and men’s grunts came through the open window and she halted before reaching it. Pulse jumping, she turned to Mrs. Camborne, who had followed. “Please, hurry and fetch Peder,” she whispered.

“Oh, dear me.” The woman bustled off.

Bettina waited, frozen. Someone outside shouted. She clenched her hands.

Peder ran from his back quarters, straightening his wrinkled shirt with one hand, a pistol in the other. The front doorknob rattled. Bettina sucked in a gasp. Mrs. Camborne gripped her shoulders from behind.

“What do you want?” Peder shouted. “I have a loaded gun.”

“Don’t fire. It’s me!” Everett’s voice came through the closed door.

Bettina reached out and snatched the door open. Everett stumbled in, his arms gripped around another man. The other man wriggled and protested. Everett flung his burden down onto the floor.

Hollis sneered up, his face gaunt, flushed. Bettina lurched back. Mrs. Camborne muffled a squeal behind her fingers.

“Keep your hands off me.” Hollis kicked at the floor. His torn clothes dripped with filth. “I have a right to be here. A right to what’s mine.”

“What has happened?” Bettina rushed to Everett and clasped his shoulder.

Everett glared at Hollis as if he were a dung pile. “Pete kept an eye out for him. He came to warn me he caught Hollis boarding a coach … headed out of London. I borrowed a horse and followed. Lost him, he changed coaches, but I found him….” Everett leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. His eyes were pouched with exhaustion. “Peder, help me haul him into the dining room.”

The two men dragged Hollis down the hall. He reeked of the stews and gutters.

“Unhand me! You can’t keep a man from his son.” Hollis struggled against them as his words rasped out. His shoes and Everett’s boots left a trail of dirt.

They plopped him into a chair. Hollis cringed and rubbed his left shoulder.

Peder pointed the pistol at his chest. Hollis shifted in the seat.

“Keep still, or I’ll tie you to that chair,” Everett said.

“Should I have Mr. Slate summon the Justice?” Bettina asked, though she didn’t relish seeing that man again. She grasped Everett’s arm, his shirt stiff with dirt. “Are you all right?”

“I soon will be.” He pressed her hand.

“The Justice can’t keep me from claiming my own son.” Hollis strained for breath. His blood-shot eyes were wild; perspiration glistened on his forehead and upper lip. “I need the boy, and mean to have him.”

“You once denied him and are the worst kind of father. What did you intend to do?” Bettina grimaced at the emaciated man before her. He looked like a living cadaver.

“I need to put him to work.” Hollis wobbled to his feet.

Everett lunged forward and shoved him back down. Hollis hit the chair with a thump. He gasped and grunted.

“Should I shoot him, Mr. Camborne?” Peder asked. Pistol waving, he pushed unruly hair out of his eyes. Mrs. Camborne covered her ears as if waiting for the shot.

“No. Fetch rope. We’ll tie him up.” Everett took the pistol. Peder hurried off.

Hollis, his face scarlet, clutched his left shoulder where blood seeped through his shirt. “You started me bleeding again.”

“Pete finally tracked him down, remarried, living under a false name.” Everett wiped his arm across his face.

Oleba poked her head over the stair banister from above, but Bettina motioned for her to stay upstairs. She dearly hoped Frederick stayed there as well.

“How did you receive that?” Mrs. Camborne asked in a fluttery voice, staring at the wound on Hollis’s shoulder.

“This inconvenience? From my new father-in-law.” Hollis spat the words. “Appears he didn’t care for me to be in his family either. But I did him a favor, marrying that ugly daughter of his. An heiress, until daddy decided I wasn’t worthy of her and cut her off.” He slid his gaze to Everett. “Sound familiar, Camborne?”

“He sounds an astute man.” Everett handed the pistol to Bettina when Peder returned with rope. They grabbed Hollis’s hands and bound them behind his back.

“Careful, friends!” He twisted up his face and groaned. “It upset my new wife when I brought whores around, so she runs to daddy to complain. And this is what I get, a lead ball.”

Mrs. Camborne crept close and picked open the shirt at his shoulder. The wound stank, a festering yellow-red mess. She shuddered and looked away. The woman left the room and returned with a cloth smelling of vinegar, which she attempted to place over the wound.

“Don’t touch me, old hag! Slunk back from your island, eh?” Hollis jerked about, rattling the chair, his face contorted with the effort, until she backed off. “Now I need my boy to work for me. I can sell his services to any number of people.”

“You are a vile man. You will never be allowed near him.” Bettina gripped the gun and hoped Frederick didn’t overhear them. Tempted to shoot this scoundrel dead, she tapped her finger near the trigger.

Hollis narrowed his eyes to red slits. “My bride was thrilled to have me at first, the ungrateful baggage.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself. “But daddy expected me to work. It was work just to look at her in bed. The gin made it easier.”

“Peder, take my horse and ride for the Justice.” Everett grasped the pistol from Bettina, as if he’d gleaned her murderous intentions.

Peder tugged his forelock and ran down the hall toward the front door.

Everett laid the pistol on the table and looked at Bettina. “I received your letter, but this delayed me. I caught up with him down the hill.”

“I understand. You must thank Pete for me, for keeping up his search.” Bettina raked a hand through her hair. Now maybe one problem in their life would be solved.

“I just wanted my boy. A son should take care of his father.” Hollis wrenched at his bindings, then grimaced in pain. More sweat shimmered on his skin. “I can find work for him in London. He could have done so many things to support me.”

“Shut your mouth, Prescott. You’ve caused enough misery. I have my own business with you.” Everett left Bettina and stood over him, his tall frame thrumming with anger.