Page 4 of An Inconvenient Vow

Sabina knew what it was to face ostracization and judgment. She had withstood the scandal of returning to her father’s roof after the failure of her marriage. It had been hard, even for one as stalwart as she. Only respectable widowhood had brought her back from the brink of social ruin. Isemay would never survive the disgrace of this, she thought with certainty. She must do something.

Hardening her resolve to foil this foul plot against her sister, Sabina turned back to listen to Sir Leland with careful attention. His lying words teased and tantalized but gave no proof apart from the say-so of the dissolute Alfred. She did not need to see Isemay’s bewildered terror to know it for naught but a tangle of lies. Her sister was blameless. This was a conspiracy against her sister’s good fortune in catching a duke’s eye. No doubt it had been trumped up by his superior family and friends, she seethed. The pack of jackals.

She had to find a loose thread to take hold of and unravel the plot in front of everyone now before it grew out of control. Squaring her shoulders, Sabina accepted the fact that in the face of such insurmountable odds, only something drastic could reverse the tide at this point. It did not matter. She would do whatever it took, unflinchingly.

Finally, it seemed Sir Leland had tired of toying with his prey and was set to deliver the killing blow. “Who, you may well wonder, is the co-conspirator in this foul act of wickedness?” he drawled, swinging about to take in his avid audience. “Whose soul could be so blackened as to behave in such a depraved way toward so exalted a personage as His Lordship? For make no mistake, this was the most treacherous act of disloyalty by both parties.”

“My witness,” he said once more indicating toward the wretched Alfred, “Alfred Hendry hath his own reasons for keeping an eye on the inhabitants of Tipton Hall, who would deprive him of his rightful inheritance.”

Sabina spluttered at yet another falsehood and heard her father’s startled protest at the home of his ancestors being brought up so scurrilously.

“Imagine his surprise, when he witnessed night after night the figure of a man creeping under cover of darkness to the Burrell home, climbing the shrubbery to gain admittance to this woman’s bedchamber.” Again, he gestured toward the pale Isemay.

Leland’s voice rose against the faint murmurings of the scandalized crowd. “Finally, giving in to his curiosity, Alfred Hendry followed the guilty party back from whence he came. You may imagine his astonishment when he found him bound for this very residence.” Sir Leland spread his arms wide, indicating the walls around them. “The hallowed halls of Ganford Chase!” The mutterings grew as people looked from side to side at their immediate neighbors, wondering who the culprit could possibly be.

“Speak!” Sir Leland demanded theatrically, turning back to a startled-looking Alfred. “Speak up and shame the guilty party, I say!”

Alfred coughed and scratched the back of his neck. Sabina felt a sudden, savage satisfaction when she saw the look of irritation that flashed across Sir Leland’s face. He had chosen poorly in his false witness at least. Alfred Hendry had never given satisfaction to anyone in his life, it was unlikely he would start now. Alfred mumbled something and Sabina strained her ears to hear him.

“What was that you say?” Sir Leland asked sharply, clearly angry that his dramatic effect was being ruined. “None present can hear you!”

Alfred’s expression turned sullen. “It were that Sir Jeffree de Crecy,” she heard him mutter. Sabina’s eyes widened. So, this was an attempt to discredit the duke’s heir as well? Her gaze sought out Sir Jeffree who must not have heard the accusation, for his face still wore its habitual expression of disdainful hauteur. Unless, thought Sabina with sudden fury, he was in on the plot too!

Suddenly, with horrible clarity, the situation made sense. The rotten swine had been unable to bear the thought of the title and property slipping through his privileged fingers, so he had cooked up this wicked and slanderous charge with the help of his friend! Sabina felt breathless with affront. He would rather seem a nasty sneaking lecher than be disinherited!

“Speak up man!” Sir Leland barked. “Point out the culprit to us! Let us see who is lover to the fair Isemay.”

Alfred straightened his slouching figure and raised a shaking hand, flapping it ineffectually in Sir Jeffree de Crecy’s direction. “’Tis Sir Jeffree de Crecy!” he bleated and then took a quick step behind Sir Leland so that he stood a barrier between himself and the imposing Sir Jeffree who looked suddenly frozen to the spot, his eyes starting from his head.

An unpleasant smile curved Sir Leland’s lips. “And this is where I come into the tale,” he said slowly. “For last night this man and I did fall into conversation at an inn known locally as The Blue Boar. Alfred Hendry did seek to unburden himself to me of his uneasy secret, and armed with this knowledge, I confronted Sir Jeffree last night when he was in his cups and his lips loosened. Then did he confess he had taken Mistress Isemay to his bed.”

“No!” Isemay cried out in distress, half-tearing herself from her sister’s arms. Sabina allowed herself one last glance at Sir Jeffree, whom the accusation appeared to have transformed into a frozen statue, and decided enough was enough. Catching hold of her sister, Sabina thrust her firmly toward their mother and took a step forward.

“Gentlemen!” she said rousingly. “I’m afraid you have the facts all wrong in this matter.” She kept her tone calm, though she lifted her voice so all could hear. “Though you have uncovered an intrigue, it is true, you err in identifying one of the principal players of this sad tale.” She paused a moment, ensuring everyone had followed her thus far, before continuing in a ringing voice. “For ’tis I who have been playing the whore to Sir Jeffree and not my innocent sister at all.”

For a moment, the hall was so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Then the onlookers dissolved into an expostulating, outraged rabble.

“Quiet!” roared a voice, which Sabina was surprised to see emanated from the dark-robed summoner. He did not look as though he should possess such a booming voice. He struck his staff against the flagstones and turned toward his fellows. The white-bearded magistrate cleared his throat.

“Madam, your name?” he asked, directing a coldly disapproving look in her direction.

“It is Sabina Hendry, formerly Burrell.”

The magistrate’s snowy eyebrows rose, and he shot a quick glance at sulky Alfred. “And your relationship to the witness is?”

“The witness is some manner of distant cousin to my late husband, Miles Hendry.”

“And you now reside at this place, this… He turned to look at his colleague who murmured a prompt under his breath. “Tipton Hall?”

“I do,” Sabina confirmed, aiming her voice to the rafters. “My late husband’s property is currently a matter of dispute between myself and your witness, so I am unable to take possession of my rightful home.”

“Why you scarcely lived there when he was alive, you hussy!” fired up Alfred fretfully.

“Quiet!” the summoner roared again, and Alfred cringed.

“So, you then, are sister to the accused,” the magistrate mused. “It seems strange, madam,” he continued, “that Hendry does not seek to heap the blame upon your shoulders if the two of you are in contention as you claim.”

Sabina shrugged a shoulder. “As to that, sir, you have just heard have you not, how he calls me hussy and casts aspersions on the state of my late marriage. I can assure you his tongue has been busy wagging with such tales for the past twelvemonth. He has done his best besmirch my reputation already.”