The Spider's Touch (47 page)

She did not dare to wait for Isabella and her mother to come home. With Isabella’s partiality for Lord Lovett and Mrs. Mayfield’s tendency to deny anything Hester said, she could not count on their support. She did not even know if Harrowby would believe her. She would do best to write a letter to the magistrate herself.

She went to use Isabella’s escritoire in the parlour behind the withdrawing room. On her way to it, she passed one of the footmen and told him that she would soon have two messages for him to carry. He promised to be ready when she called. She did not tell him that one would be carried to the nearest Watchhouse. The other would have to go into the Post for St. Mars.

She found paper, a sharpened quill, and ink on the desk, ready for her use. Sitting down, she wrote first to St. Mars, directing this letter to Mr. Mavors in care of the King’s Head at Lambeth. Her hands were still shaking, so writing it took her longer than it should. She wanted to send the footman off before her aunt could question her order, but Hester did not fear this greatly since Mrs. Mayfield and Isabella had not been gone very long.

She was dusting sand over her writing when the door opened and Lord Lovett strolled into the room.

Hester gave a start. Conscious of how frightened she must look, she attempted a smile and covered her paper as discreetly as she could.

Her motion did not fool him, as she could tell by his glance at the desk. Lord Lovett closed the door behind him, and a mocking grin curled his mouth, as he crossed to her side.

“Writing a
billet doux
, Mrs. Kean? Dare I hope that it is for me?”

His flattery insulted her in every possible way—as she deserved, she thought, for had she not admired his stinging wit? She had to struggle to bite back a retort.

Unequal to feigning delight, she looked away and answered seriously, “It is nothing that interesting, sir. Merely a letter for my aunt.”

“Indeed?” She could not miss his incredulous note. “And you accomplish it without her presence. How very talented of you, I am sure.”

There was an unusual hardness beneath his banter. It gave Hester a chill. She met his stare to see if she could put his suspicions to rest.

“I am often employed in such tasks,” she said, forcing a smile. “And there is nothing of a personal nature to communicate, so her presence is not required.”

He took a sudden step nearer, and reflexively she covered the sheet. It was the worst possible thing she could have done.

“If there is nothing personal in it,” he drawled, “then I wonder that you should hide it so earnestly. Indeed, I am almost certain that my original suspicion was correct. Either you are penning a love note to me—or to someone else, in which case I insist upon seeing it.”

Moving so quickly that she did not see him coming, he snatched the paper from under her hand, held it up over his head, and started to read. She jumped to her feet.

His irony mocked her, as he said, “I see it is directed to a Mr. Mavors. Is he the gentleman that I shall have to slay for your hand?”

“Give me that letter, sir! You have no right!”

“Have I not? But what of a spurned lover’s rights?”

His eyes were cruel in their fury, but Hester would not be fooled by his pose of the rejected lover. He was using it for the same reason he had flattered her before, to conceal his real interest. Her only hope was to convince him that the letter had nothing to do with the murder before he read it, and she tried to distract him by reaching for it on tiptoes and shaming him for looking into her aunt’s business.

Her charade was as much as a waste of time as his. He was easily able to fend off her attempts to reach the paper and read it at the same time. “Well, shall we see what you have written to the gentleman? Ah, let’s see. You say here, ‘You were correct. It was not Colonel Potter. I have proof that is good enough for a magistrate and shall send for one immediately. There is no need to speak to the Colonel, so if you have not, please do not risk it.’”

Before he came to the end, Hester stopped her undignified protests to gather her strength for the coming confrontation.

Lord Lovett turned his ironic grin on her. It held a mixture of anger and respect. “A very enlightening missive, my dear. Not a love letter precisely. Still I wonder who this Mr. Mavors is whom you have entrusted with your thoughts, when I had hoped to be your only confidant. A pity for him—and you, of course—that he shall never receive this note.” He folded it and slipped inside his jacket pocket.

Hester said nothing. She eyed him warily. Her fear was that he would look for Mr. Mavors and expose St. Mars.

She glanced at the door in the hope of slipping past him, but Lord Lovett gave her a knowing smile and drew a large dagger from beneath his coat.

She gasped and stared at the blade.

“Now, do not pretend that the sight of this knife astonishes you. I assume from your letter that you have learned that I know how to wield it. I should be very interested to know what the evidence you mentioned consists of. You will tell me, please.”

Hester stood frozen. She could not believe that he would murder her in this house, when a servant must have directed him this way. Probably the very footman she had told about the letters he must carry.

She looked for him to appear at the door, but again Lord Lovett read her thoughts.

“You cannot seriously believe that I will permit you to call a servant. No, no, my dear Mrs. Kean, you have caused me more inconvenience than you can imagine. And, now, because of you, I shall have to leave England, when I had expected to live very comfortably here.” He took a step closer and pointed his knife at her throat. “Before we discuss how I should repay you, I insist that you tell me about this evidence of yours.”

“You would not dare to hurt me here,” she said, “not when the servants saw you come in.”

“I had rather not, but as I said, I’ll be leaving England immediately—today, in fact. In this great big house, I believe I could find a place to hide your body long enough to get away. And,” he added, on a threatening note, “if you doubt it, I suggest you refer either to Sir Humphrey Cove or Colonel Potter. Neither of them thought me capable of murder either.”

Hester experienced a shock on hearing the Colonel’s name. She grew faint. She would have fallen back into the chair if he had allowed her, but he caught her around the waist and held the knife to her breast.

“The evidence, please, Mrs. Kean. What is it?”

She saw no reason to disoblige him. Even if someone else saw it, she doubted they would understand the significance. They would certainly not know who had put the blood stain there.

She told him about the stain and reminded him that he had touched her on the shoulder before he had handled Sir Humphrey’s corpse.

“Ah
...
yes. And I thought that the curtain would protect me from any splatters. I was unhappy to discover I was wrong, but you see, I had to hold Humphrey up for a few moments and his blood ran down the knife. I did not feel it in all the excitement. But you nearly caught me once before, you know. I flattered myself that I had convinced you that it was innocently taken up.”

“You had.” Hester wished she could struggle out of his arms, but did not dare to tempt his blade. “If you hadn’t, do you think I would have received you the way I did?”

He chuckled and pulled her closer. To her horror he kissed her on the neck. “I believe I detect a note of pique. So you were in love with me—I hoped so. But my attentions to you were necessary. For you see, even before I decided to kill poor Humphrey, I discovered that you had a brain, unlike your foolish cousins. And once I decided to kill him, I knew that you would be the only person for me to fear.

“And, sadly, I was right.” As he recollected this, he gave her a hug that was far from gentle.

Her ribs ached in protest.

“Tell me about this gown. Have you shown it to anyone else?”

“No, I just discovered it. That’s why I was writing the letters.”

“Just so. And I doubt that anyone will notice it until long after we have gone—certainly not your cousin or her very unappealing mother.”

He moved his knife to her throat and started pushing her towards the door. Hester went. She could not be sure that he would not kill her in front of the servants now, not after hearing how ruthless he was.

He told her that they would walk downstairs together—she, a step in front. He would hold the knife in his coat with its blade pointed between her ribs. If she tried to alert anyone, he would first kill her and then the servant.

Hester told him that she would not try to give him away, and they left the parlour, walking in lock step down the stairs.

The footman at the door could not hide his surprise on seeing Mrs. Kean leave on the arm of one of her ladyship’s swains, but Lord Lovett mentioned that Lady Hawkhurst had sent him on an errand to fetch her waiting woman. Hester had the impression that he purposefully referred to her serving position in order to humiliate her for accepting his advances the way she had. But she was long past that shame. She was much too worried about her survival to waste precious thoughts to chastise herself now.

Lord Lovett’s coach was standing in the courtyard. One of his own footmen held the door open for her, and she climbed in with Lord Lovett right behind her.

As the coach pulled away from the house, she wondered how long it would be before anyone noticed that she was gone. And even then, there was nothing to say that they would search for her. She would be believed to have run away with Lord Lovett to the Continent, either to be his mistress or—but this was highly unlikely—his wife. In either case, she would be believed to have acted of her own free will, so who would wish to save her? Mrs. Mayfield would rage about her ingratitude and about her daring to think herself fine enough to be the mistress of the baron. Isabella would pout over the loss of her lover and be hurt, perhaps, that Hester had stolen him from her. Dudley would think it all a wonderful joke, and Harrowby would rejoice in having one less mouth to feed.

She had turned her thoughts to St. Mars, when passing through the gate, she saw Katy, waiting just outside it, staring after her in dismay. Hester smothered an involuntary cry. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at Lord Lovett, before curling her fingers over the lowered window and gazing imploringly back. She did not dare call out or even make a sign. But, at least, Katy would tell St. Mars that she had left, and sooner or later he would discover the truth.

Now, all she had to do was stay alive until he found her.

* * * *

Hester did not know, but she had underestimated Katy’s resourcefulness. She had been waiting to approach Hawkhurst House again, but had been put off, first by the departure of the ladies and gentlemen of the house, then by the arrival of the black-browed gentleman. Knowing that Mrs. Kean was likely to be the only person in the house to receive a guest, she had waited for him to leave before speaking to the porter again. She’d been very much surprised to see him put Mrs. Kean inside his coach—and that was exactly how it had seemed, for Mrs. Kean had not looked as if she’d gone very willingly.

The leap of hope in the lady’s eyes when she spotted her told Katy that her hunch was right. She knew that her master had sent her here to warn Mrs. Kean about a man by the name of Lord Lovett, so sidling up to Rufus, she asked him who the handsome gentleman was with Mrs. Kean.

Lord Lovett’s name was no sooner out of his mouth than she turned and ran after the coach, leaving Rufus with his jaw hanging open. Throwing down her basket so she could hold onto her cap, she ran as fast as her hardworking legs could carry her around the far corner where the coach had disappeared.

There, she ran into a bit of luck. A jam of carriages and a waggon pulled by four teams of horses had slowed the traffic to a stop. While the drivers untangled the mess, she was able to catch up with Lord Lovett’s coach, though she realized that she must not seem to be chasing it. If she did not care, the footmen clinging to back would be sure to notice her. She ran on until she passed it, before slowing to a walk. Then she walked on down the street, glancing occasionally over her shoulder to make sure that it was following.

Unfortunately, she reached the bottom of the street before the carriage did, so she had to wait to see which way it would turn. Just before reaching the corner, she noticed a magnificent edifice, which gave her something to pretend to gawk at, while Lord Lovett’s vehicle turned to the left. As soon as it did, she hitched up her skirts and ran again.

They passed a landmark she knew, Charing Cross, which gave her some hope that she would find her way back. The master was waiting in Westminster Abbey, but she was certain that he would want her to see where Mrs. Kean was taken before fetching him.

By the time the coach drew up in front of an elegant, new house, Katy was hot, dirty, and gasping for breath. She collapsed against a lamppost on the corner and tried not to be seen, as Lord Lovett took Mrs. Kean firmly by the arm and marched her out of his carriage and into the house.

Chapter Twenty-one

In Parts superior what advantage lies?

Tell (for You can) what is it to be wise?

‘Tis but to know how little can be known;

To see all others’ faults, and feel our own.

IV. vi.

Gideon had waited impatiently for a reply to his message. Sitting in the cool dark of the nave, he had nothing with which to entertain himself but his thoughts. Over most of one day, these had been divided between the failure of James’s cause and the danger in which Mrs. Kean had embroiled herself.

Both made him angry. Not at James or at Mrs. Kean, but at others who played their dangerous games around them, and at the selfishness and greed that could cause such unhappiness.

What had possessed Ormonde to offer himself as general of James’s troops, if he was not committed enough to organize the rising?

And why did people like Lord Lovett believe that their self-interest was more precious than other men’s lives?