Virtue of a Governess (34 page)

“Sometimes I fear all this happiness won’t last, Nat,” Fran whispered. “I’m not used to it.”

“Nor I, dearest.” He squeezed her hand. Then, as the carriage slowed to a halt at the top of George Street, he opened the door for her. “I’ll be home at five.”

Frances paused half out the door. “Oh, before I forget, has there been any news on Lombard?”

Nat kept his expression neutral and lied through his teeth. “Nothing substantial yet.”

As the carriage rolled away down the street, he let out a breath and thought of the distasteful business ahead. If Lombard thought it safe to return to town, then he was greatly mistaken.

Peering out of the rain splattered window, Nat recognised the grim old buildings along the wharfs at Wooloomooloo Bay. A weather-beaten inn, with the grand name of The Shining Star Hotel stood at one end of an ugly street and here Timms halted the horses. Nat climbed down and shivered in the cold rain-filled wind blowing off the water.

“Is this the right place, Mr West?” Timms called down.

“I believe so, Timms. Stay here, I’ll be back shortly.” Nat crossed the road and headed into the hotel. Inside the doorway, he paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the murky room. Smoke from the ill-kept fireplace and the patrons’ pipes hung in a thick pall at ceiling height. A few villainous looking men straddled chairs by the dirty window, each had a grubby hand around a tankard. Quietness settled over the room as the barman and his two other customers turned to stare at him from their position at the bar.

“Can I help you, sir?” The barman, a big, balding man with a long black beard, leaned his podgy hands flat on the bar top.

Nat stretched to his full height, giving each man in the room a careful assessment. “Indeed you can, friend.” He stepped to the counter, slid his hand across it towards the barkeeper and lifted up his fingers to reveal the wad of money under his hand. “A simple transaction, my good man,” Nat murmured.

The barkeeper’s eyes grew wide at the amount of money he saw. “Which would be?”

Nat leaned closer, dropping his head and shoulder to shield them from the others. “Tristan Lombard.”

The barman straightened, grabbed a cloth from beneath the counter and plucked a glass from the shelf behind him, which he wiped vigorously. “Can’t recall him.”

“Is that so?” Nat grinned, knowing the game. “Very well. I’ll have my friends, the town’s officials, close down this hotel by tomorrow night until they have checked your licence and who knows how long that might take.... Good day.” He turned to leave.

“Wait.”

“Yes?” Nat lingered a moment as the barman shifted his weight from foot to foot, swallowed and then ever so slightly tilted his head to the right, indicating the door in the corner.

“Thank you.” Nat slid his hand across and placed the money near the cloth on the bar. Without looking back, he left the barroom and went through the door in the corner. The narrow corridor was dark and smelt of damp. Beyond a steep staircase was another door, partly opened, showing a crude kitchen area.

Taking a deep breath, Nat looked up at the dimness of the landing above and then took the stairs two at a time.

* * * 

“Where is Nathaniel?” Nicola asked Frances, divesting her wet outer clothes in the hall.

“He said he’d be home for five o’clock.” Frances, her eyes bright and cheeks red, took Nicola’s hand. “Come join mother and me in the parlour, we’re drinking some fine Madeira.”

“How many have you had?” Nicola smiled, entering the hot room. A fire blazed and the dark green curtains were drawn against the dismal weather.

“Not nearly as many as I would like.” Fran giggled, dragging her across the room to sit on the sofa. “Mother started way before I did, I tried to catch up.”

“Are we celebrating?”

“I’ve had a very good day.” Silvana, who sat opposite, announced. “Everything is as it should be, or it will be soon.”

Nicola stiffened at Silvana’s scowl and her low words. “Good evening, mother-in-law.”

“It was a good evening until you came home.” Silvana’s lip curled, something Nicola was used to seeing.

“Mother!” Shocked Frances straightened from her collapsed position at the end of the sofa.

“Well, really, Frances, I find it quite sh-shocking that she is never home.” Silvana hiccupped. “Nicola, you allow your servants too much free-freedom. Why my son married you I’ll never understand.”

Hiding a delighted smile at her mother-in-law’s slip of behaviour, Nicola raised an eyebrow. “Your son married me, Madam, because he loves me, and if allowing my servants too much freedom is my only flaw, then I will be most pleased.”

“Only flaw!” Silvana spluttered. “Don’t make me laugh.” She gulped down the last of her drink and held her glass up to Frances. “More, if you pl-please.”

Frances slowly rose to her feet, the colour draining from her face, and took the glass. “Perhaps you’ve had enough, Mother?”

“Do you dare to tell me what to do?” Silvana’s tone was icy. “I take orders from no one. I refused to take them from your father and I’ll not take them from you either.”

“I wasn’t ordering you, Mother, simply suggesting that...”

Silvana stumbled up from the chair. “Be quiet, damn you.”

Nicola rose also, although it was difficult with her large stomach. “I think a lie down is in order.”

“Shut it, you! How dare you even speak to me, you’re nothing but a trollop. I know all about you and your kind.”

“Mother!” Frances gasped, instantly sober.

It dawned on Silvana that she’d gone too far and she covered her mouth, sinking onto the chair. “Dear God.” She reached out to Frances. “Dearest, oh how could I have behaved so badly? I’ve drunk more than I care to admit. I-I’m so dreadfully sorry, Fran.”

“I think it is Nicola you need to apologise to.” Frances stepped away from her mother’s hand, a look of disgust on her features.

Gathering herself, Silvana smiled lovingly at Nicola. “You must forgive me, Nicola dearest. I am not one who is used to strong liquor. I-I’m not myself, you see…” She squeezed out a tear to go along with her begging tone. “Say you’ll forgive me, I implore you.”

Nicola saw through her act. Yet, as she had continued to do since the woman arrived, she pretended otherwise. “I think, perhaps, you should go and lie down.”

“Er…yes, of course.” Silvana reached out for her, but Nicola recoiled as if burnt.

“Mother, I advise you to retire for the night.” Frances rang the bell and immediately the door was opened by Mrs Rawlings. “My mother is unwell, Mrs Rawlings, will you escort her to her room, please?”

“A pleasure, Miss West.” Rawlings gave Nicola a quick glance before helping the older woman from the room.

Nicola moved past Frances and grabbed the iron poker from its stand and jabbed at the roaring fire to reduce the flames. The crackling sparks going up the chimney was the only sound in the room. She straightened, putting the poker back on its stand. “What were you celebrating to cause you to drink so much?”

“Mother had some good news, but I can’t think if she actually told me what it was.” Fran shivered and rubbed her arms. “Am I wrong to think that this isn’t the first time my mother has been unkind to you?”

Nicola stared into the orange embers falling beneath the grate. “I think enough has been said this evening, Fran.”

“Then I am correct.”

“I’ll go upstairs and change.” Nicola turned, and keeping her gaze lowered, moved past Frances.

“Have Nat and I been so blind?” Her anguished cry halted Nicola as nothing else would.

“You’ve wanted the mother you’ve always dreamed of. There is nothing wrong in that.”

Tears gathered in Fran’s eyes and slipped over her lashes as if they were in a race. “What has she done?”

“Fran, I’m rather tired...”

“Mother is the reason why you aren’t eating or sleeping and why you spend all your time at the Home. I want the truth now. What has she been saying?”

“Hardly anything at all.” How could she shatter Fran’s happiness? She tried to think of an excuse to leave, but gazing into her dear friend’s face she realised that excuses wouldn’t work.

“You’re lying.”

“She…she mentioned that she wants you and Nathaniel to return to England with her.” Nicola shrugged as though they were discussing social gossip.

“And?”

“And that…that she would prefer it if I stayed here.” The hurt of those words clawed at her chest.

Fran blinked. The shock clear on her face. “How have we been so stupid…so gullible?” She went to embrace Nicola, but habit made Nicola jump out of the way.

“What is it?” Anger now replaced Fran’s astonishment. “You recoiled from Mother too. In fact you jumped as though you’d been scalded.” She jerked forward and grabbed Nicola’s arms. “I demand the truth.”

Nicola opened her mouth to speak but her voice dried up.

Frances glanced down and frowning, pulled up Nicola’s sleeves that displayed old and new bruises received from Silvana’s pinches. A punishment Silvana had delivered at every opportunity.

“Mother did this to you?” Fran gasped, disbelievingly.

She could only nod.

“Why?”

“She…she hates me. I’m not good enough for her family and so she punishes me with vile insults and pinching when no one is here.”

“I cannot believe it.” Fran stared at the bruises, stroking them gently. “I should have known her concern wasn’t genuine, but it was so nice to be loved by her at long last…”

“I know.”

“She used to pinch me, too...” Fran looked up, her face the colour of putty. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want to make you and Nathaniel unhappy.”

“I knew something wasn’t right.” Fran’s chin wobbled, anger blazed in her eyes for a second before desolation replaced it. “I-I said to Nat only today, in the carriage, that there was something troubling you.”

“I wanted to speak up, truly I did.”

“Oh, Nicola.” Bent like an old woman, Fran stumbled over to the sofa. “What have we done? What have we
done
!” Her heartbreaking sobs filled the room and Nicola rushed to offer what comfort she could.

“This will crush Nat.” Fran choked on a sob.

Nicola stiffened. “No, it won’t. I will make sure it doesn’t.”

* * * 

On the hotel landing, Nat opened the first door on the left, an empty bedroom. The next door revealed the same, as did the third. The last door was locked. He knocked.

“Who is it?”

Nat grimaced, recognising Lombard’s voice inside. “Barman,” Nat said gruffly behind his hand.

“I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Got a note for you.” Nat waited, heard a thump and a several swear words and then the pleasing sound of the lock being drawn back. When the handle turned and the door opened a crack, Nat put his shoulder to it and shoved.

“What the hell?” Lombard fell backwards onto the floor.

Nat got his balance quickly and hauled him up by his shirt. “Did you miss me, Tristan?” he asked, just before he smashed his fist into Lombard’s face. The pain of bone on bone ricocheted up his wrist and he bit back a groan.

Lombard hung off Nat like a limp doll. “West, look, you don’t need to do this.”

“Don’t I?” Nat brought his fist down again, smashing the man’s nose. The renewed pain in his hand made him drop his hold of Lombard.

Howling, Lombard writhed on the floor, blood spewing from his nose. “You bastard! Ah God, Christ almighty,” he gasped, swearing, crying.

Nat stood over him. “How pathetic you are. Get up.” He dragged Lombard to his knees and brought back his fist again.

“No, for the love of Christ, no. I can’t take anymore.”

“Don’t be a girl, I’ve only hit you twice.” Nat spat, leering close. “My wife was stabbed.”

“I’m sorry, so sorry. I never meant for that to happen.”

“You coward, you can’t even own up to it. You did want it to happen. Own up to it. Say it, for God’s sake before I kill you!” Rage brought Nat’s fist down on Lombard’s cheek. This time the pain of it made Nat cradle his fist in his other hand and swear violently. He had to stop aiming for the face and use the stomach instead.

Lombard, blood covering his face, scrambled away, crab-like, his pitiful wails filling the room. “I’m sorry, Nat. Enough, enough. I never meant for it to go this far.” He spat blood. “I-I just was desperate… I needed Carstairs’s shipment, you knew that. My debts…”

“You’ve always got debts! I’ve bailed you out time and again and this is how you repay me?”

“I’m sorry, Nat. I’ll never go near her again, I promise, no matter what.”

“Too right you won’t.” Nat advanced, the urge to kick his teeth in too strong to resist.

Holding his hand up, crouched over like a wounded animal, Lombard begged. “Enough Nat, no more, please. I’ll not do it, I promise.”

Nat stilled. “Do what?” He waited for Tristan to say more, but the man just cried, dribbling blood down his white shirt. “Do
what
, you bastard?” Nat hauled him up again. “What had you planned?”

“It was her plan, not mine. I didn’t want to get involved but she offered a lot of money - money that I need.”

“Who?” Nat racked his brain trying to understand his meaning. “Tell me or I’ll kill you now, you worthless piece of scum.”

“I can’t.”

“You will.” He shook him like a rag doll. “Whose plan and what was it?”

“She wanted me to get rid of your wife.”

“Who did?”

“Your mother!”

The room spun. Dizzy, Nat dropped Lombard like a sack of coal, uncaring of anything but the one word whirling around his brain. Mother.

A pain so acute ripped his chest apart. It felt like a red-hot poker was thrust through his body aimed straight for his heart. He stumbled. The surroundings blurred then came back into focus making him feel sick. Silence pounded in his ears. Instinct told him to run, to hide from the hurt, but a burning ember of fury grew, replacing all thought.