“Oh, by no means,” she said. “But I do not believe this is a trial, is it? It is a sentencing. I have nothing more to say. Except perhaps to ask how my phantom lover inflicted such very real punishment on Lord Uppington’s face.”
“A tone of defiance and sarcasm hardly becomes you, Mrs. Mannering,” the earl said severely. “Lord Uppington, still believing that you were perhaps an innocent victim, went to find your lover last night in order to punish him as he deserved. The coward was waiting for him but had two accomplices in hiding who held him while he was beaten senseless. Is this the type of man with whom you choose to consort on my property and on the time for which my daughter is paying you, Mrs. Mannering?”
“If there only were such a man,” Kate said, looking the earl calmly in the eye, “I should be delighted to meet him and thank him in person, my lord.”
“You see?” Lord Uppington said, wincing as he moved his lips. “She is not at all the sort of companion you would wish for your daughter, Barton, or me for my intended bride. I hope, however, that you will give her letters of recommendation before you cast her off. I understand that she is impoverished and I would not wish the woman permanent harm. Only keep her away from Lady Thelma.”
“But Kate says it is not true, Papa,” Lady Thelma said timidly.
“Do you call Lord Uppington a liar then?” Lord Barton almost barked at her, his brows drawn together in a heavy frown. “You heard that Pickering fellow. You have seen her hands. You see his lordship’s face.”
Kate stood straight and apparently relaxed and said nothing.
“I am disappointed in your moral weakness, Mrs. Mannering,” the earl said, turning and looking gravely at her, “and in your denials and defiant attitude. It is true that you are my daughter’s employee, but Lady Thelma is a minor and must abide by my decisions. I cannot have you remain here to contaminate her by your influence. I do not wish to be overharsh. You have conducted yourself with proper decorum here at the house. I will give you a week in which to gather your belongings and make arrangements to go wherever you will. But the day after the ball, you will leave, Mrs. Mannering. Neither Lady Thelma nor I will provide you with letters of reference, of course. You may leave.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Kate said. “May I ask what Josh’s sentence is to be?”
“I have never been happy with his presence at the lodge, where visitors may see him,” Lord Barton said. “I have sent notice to the Pickerings that they are to leave Barton and find employment elsewhere by the end of the month. Again I have been merciful, taking into account the state of the son’s mind. I could have had him charged with assault. Good day, Mrs. Mannering.”
“Good day, my lord,” Kate said, and let herself quietly out of the cabinet. She ran along to her own room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Sir Harry was playing a game of billiards with Lord Stoughton. He had lingered longer than usual in the breakfast room in the hope of seeing Kate and assuring himself that she was recovering from her ordeal of the day before. He had also hoped for a private word with her in order to convince her that she must report to the earl what had happened. No lady, employed or otherwise, should have to live in terror of such assaults as Uppington had been guilty of in the last two weeks. But she had not put in an appearance.
He had agreed with some reluctance to play billiards. Both the earl and the marquess were upstairs with Thelma, apparently. Probably making marriage arrangements. Poor girl. She was another reason Katherine should tell of her experiences. Nicholas did not have a great deal of love for Clive Seyton, but he bore the son and daughter no ill will. The girl lacked character, but she seemed good-natured enough. He would not wish to see her consigned to Uppington’s tender care for life. Of course, if the earl only made the expected trip to France, with the anticipated results, he supposed that Thelma would be saved from the marriage. Uppington, he gathered, was somewhat short of money and must marry a wealthy woman.
Nicholas was not too worried as he played, however. Dalrymple and several of the servants had been alerted to watching Lord Barton’s movements, though it was very unlikely that he would leave for France before the house party came to an end. A certain footman who, being the same age as Nicholas, had always been something of a friend, had also been assigned the task only that morning of knowing the whereabouts of the Marquess of Uppington at all times. Not that that gentleman was likely to pose a problem today, Nicholas thought with grim satisfaction.
“Tate, whatever happened to your hands?” Lord Stoughton asked curiously as Nicholas stretched one hand along the billiard cue.
“Ah.” Sir Harry straightened up and held up both hands, the backs facing him. He sighed. “Most unbecoming, are they not, dear chap? I had hoped the lace of my cuffs would cover the damage, but I see my knuckles are red and raw for all to see. My manicurist would have an apoplexy. I had one of my sleepless nights and took myself off early this morning to examine that hermit’s cave again. I slipped on the way down and made the mistake of trying to save myself with my hands. It would have been better to sacrifice a pair of breeches, would it not? Careless of me, and quite mortifying to have to admit to, I must say. I had thought of making up some story, but usually the truth slips out.”
He resumed the game, Lord Stoughton, Mr. Moreton, and Sir Peregrine Lacey having all commiserated on the bruised state of his hands. He wondered if any of them would eventually make the connection between Uppington’s face and his knuckles. And Katherine’s hands, for that matter.
He had heard Uppington’s story already. Nicholas had told the marquess, of course, the previous night, when he left him semiconscious north of the house, that he might tell what story he wished to account for his appearance, since Sir Harry would not tell the truth. It was enough for him that punishment had been administered. No, not enough. He would have preferred to carry out his earlier threat to kill Uppington for what he had done, but that had been a rash threat. Of course he could not kill the man. He could never knowingly kill anyone. But a broken nose and probably a few broken ribs too was a marginally satisfying revenge.
Uppington’s story had been quite absurd, though the other occupants of the breakfast room to whom he had been telling it when Sir Harry walked in had seemed to accept it. Nicholas had been hard put to it to contain his glee when he saw Uppington’s face in the light of day. His appearance certainly lent credence to his story. He had gone for a ride the previous night, he had said, after everyone retired. He had felt like some air before going to bed. He had ridden along the clifftop, then tethered his horse so that he could walk a little. Three thugs had suddenly set upon him. He had fought valiantly for perhaps a few minutes, but they had overpowered him and two of them had held him while the other beat him senseless. They had stolen a watch and a diamond pin. Fortunately he had no money on his person.
Uppington had become something of a hero. The thugs must be part of the smuggler gang for whom the coast guard had been searching, everyone had agreed. They did not all approve of the marquess’s decision not to report the assault and theft. But what was the point? he had asked. It had been dark. He had not had a good look at any of his assailants. He would merely make a fool of himself if he tried to find them and bring them to justice.
Sir Harry had drunk his coffee and contributed little to the conversation beyond remarking that a raw beefsteak might reduce the swelling in the worse eye, though it might be indistinguishable from the rest of the marquess’s face when applied.
He had gone to Uppington’s room the night before after everyone had retired. He had not knocked on the door. He had told the upstairs maid that she might leave and find herself another bedfellow for the night, and waited for her to dress herself hastily and slip from the room. She had always been reasonably faithful to the second footman in the days when there were few visitors at the Abbey, he had mused. Then he had given Uppington the choice of having his cork drawn right there within the hearing of everyone in the house or of having it done outside where they could depend upon a little more privacy. Uppington had chosen the garden.
Nicholas had not expected it to be so easy. It had been almost disappointing, in fact. The large frame of the marquess hid a soft, pampered, and unfit body. He himself had sustained no injury beyond one cut on the inside of his lip and painfully raw knuckles from prolonged contact with Uppington’s body, notably his face. Fortunately the man had been too stupid or too proud or too dazed to go down easily. Even when the woman one loved had been cut with a whip and sexually threatened, it was difficult to overcome one’s sense of honor and continue to pound a man once he had measured his length on the ground, Nicholas felt. On the other hand, he had no compunctions about making meat of that arrogant face as long as it was above the level of his own shoulders, even after he realized that the sense had gone from the puffed-up eyes. He had felt quite regretful when Uppington’s legs had finally done him the favor of buckling under him.
The punishment was not sufficient, of course. He would have liked to order Uppington from the house before morning. Unfortunately it could not be done. Although he finally had hopes that one day he would be master of Barton, at present he had no power there whatsoever. And unless Katherine chose to make a complaint, he had no right to make public what had happened earlier in the day. He did not think Uppington would tell the true story. It seemed almost unimaginable that the marquess would stay after sustaining a beating whose effects could not very well be concealed. But Nicholas had not been surprised that he had chosen to stay. Lady Thelma was at the present a very lucrative prize.
So nothing essential was changed that morning, Nicholas thought, straightening up and relinquishing to Stoughton his place at the billiard table. Beyond knowing that his opponent of the night before had been serious when he had told him to stay away from Katherine, Uppington was still largely free to pursue his desires. Nicholas even doubted if the man really still desired Kate. It was far more likely that his pride demanded that he possess her at least once. There was certainly no guarantee that he would now stay away from her.
And so, Nicholas thought, he must continue to keep an eye on the marquess during the idle, frustrating days while he waited for Barton to make his move. And that probably would not be until all the guests had left. He would be forced to move back to Evans’ cottage and rely on the efficiency of his spies. But the earl would not delay much longer than that. He believed that Nicholas was going to France himself within a month of writing the letter to Dalrymple.
Sir Harry sauntered back to the table and considered his next shot with half-closed eyes and languid manner. Then a vivid mental image of the soft white skin of Kate’s palms scored across with red lines sent him to bending over the table, his teeth firmly clamped together.
Lady Thelma sought out Kate in her dressing room after luncheon. Kate had gone downstairs for that meal, but she had been careful to sit between Sir Peregrine and Lord Toucher and to retreat to her room as soon as luncheon was over.
“Kate,” Lady Thelma said earnestly, rushing across the dressing room to hug her companion, “I do believe you, you know. I do not for a moment believe the story told by Lord Uppington. Please tell me what really happened.”
Kate smiled wearily. “Thank you,” she said. “No, of course his story is not true. The marquess has been trying to seduce me ever since he arrived here. By yesterday he had become somewhat impatient and tried to frighten me with his riding whip. Josh Pickering came along when I screamed, but I somehow succeeded in catching the whip across my hands.”
