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“You didn’t!” she gasped, thrusting away the now empty cup. “Mama, please, tell me you didn’t…”
“You need your sleep.” She sounded hurt. “Mother knows best, Portia.”
“How much laudanum did you put in?”
“Not much, just the usual draught. It will help you to sleep, and in the morning you’ll be better, you’ll see.”
Portia groaned. “We are unveiling Lord Ellerslie’s statue tomorrow! I am to go to Green Park with Victoria and Albert…everyone will be there! Lara will be furious with me if I don’t do everything I ought. Oh Mama, how could you! Hettie!” she wailed.
By the time Hettie was sent for and came hurrying into the room, the awful drugged sensation was already enclosing her, like a sheep’s fleece. Hettie’s plump face was tilting oddly and blurring at the edges. Portia tried to lift her hand, but it was too heavy.
“I must be there tomorrow. Please make sure I wake in time, Hettie…”
“It was for her own good,” her mother was saying sullenly.
“How much did you give her, Mrs. Stroud?”
“Just the usual draft. It isn’t safe in those woods, you know.”
“I know. My lady? My lady, it will be all right. I will see that you are awake and ready in time. My lady?”
But her voice was fading, and then there was nothing.
Hettie sat by the bed for a long time, watching over her sleeping mistress. Mrs. Stroud had not given her as much laudanum as she had feared, but nevertheless she was concerned enough to stay and see that all was well. With luck, the effects would have worn off by morning. They could send excuses, citing fever, but Portia would be distraught if it came to that. These days she was afraid to say no to anything the queen said, but to say no when it was a memorial statue to her own husband…
Hettie shuddered at the consequences.
It was all the fault of that man. Getting her clothing wet and stopping her from catching the train, causing a rift between her and the queen. Hettie didn’t trust him, and despite what she’d said to Portia, she wasn’t satisfied that he was gone for good. He was bound to be plotting some new mischief.
The way he’d looked at Portia that day by the seaside! He’d wanted to possess her completely, and he was the type who was used to getting what he wanted. Selfish, spoiled, and completely without scruples. He could destroy Portia on a whim and then claim it wasn’t his fault. And now he was interfering with her mistress’s sleep, enticing her out into the night like some sort of…of demon.
Hettie’s expression grew grim.
The lingering presence of Marcus Worthorne might require her to take serious steps. She’d never thought she would go behind Portia’s back, but now she was beginning to think it might be necessary if she was to save her mistress from destroying herself utterly.
Arnold Gillingham had spoken to her not long after the soiree given by his wife. Hettie, surprised that a gentleman would seek her out, was at first suspicious when he began to speak about Portia and how they must all do their utmost to “look after her.”
“It is in all our best interests,” he’d said, his cold blue eyes boring into hers. “I want you to know that if you ever feel it necessary, you can come to me. I am fond of Lady Ellerslie, and I would not want to see her in any bother. None of us would want that.”
Hettie had pretended not to know what he was talking about, thinking to herself that she could never be so disloyal. But she remembered it now with a sense of relief. Perhaps Arnold was right. Perhaps there would come a time when it was necessary to ask for his help. Perhaps she would be grateful to do so.
And that was Marcus Worthorne’s fault, too.
Chapter 16
The crowd was immense, spilling over from Green Park into the Mall and St. James’s Park. There was a holiday atmosphere, with bunting and streamers and children waving little union jacks. The people of London had come out on this bright summer day to pay their patriotic respects to their dead hero, and to gawp at the royal couple and the “widow.”
Marcus used an ungentlemanly elbow to force his way through the onlookers until he was no more than a few rows back from the dais that had been set up to accommodate the royal party.
Once again Martin O’Donnelly had proved invaluable when it came to information concerning Lady Ellerslie’s whereabouts.
“She’ll be there,” he’d stated. “The statue is in memory of the late Lord Ellerslie. How could she stay away? Besides, the queen takes her everywhere these days. Won’t let her out of her sight.”
Marcus said nothing, mulling over his words.
“Excuse my impertinence, sir, but why don’t you call on her in the usual fashion?” Martin’s bright eyes were full of curiosity.
“Because I don’t want to speak to her, I want to see her,” he said quietly. “And I want her to see me. After that I’ll know what I have to do next…or if there is to be a next.”
