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“Apparently, not as well as I thought I did,” the Frenchwoman said bitterly. She sighed and sat in the corner of what Charlotte now realized was a pantry. She seemed defeated, which made Charlotte instantly want to comfort her. Charlotte sat beside her.
“Who are you?” Charlotte asked. “Why are they keeping you prisoner too?” She knew that spies had targeted her brother once before, but what did that have to do with this Frenchwoman?
“I am Collette, Lady Ashbrooke,” she said. “My husband, was Sir Richard Ashbrooke and loyal to the English Crown.”
“John,” Charlotte said softly. “You are John’s mother.”
“You know my Jean?” the lady asked. She said Sir John’s name in the French pronunciation.
“I do. I am Lady Charlotte Keening,” Charlotte said. “Sister to the Earl of Keegain.”
“Ahh.” Collette said sadly. “Then they have doubly attacked my son, by taking both his mother and his love.”
Charlotte’s heart did a little leap.His love? Had John told his mother about her? Had he said he loved her?How could her heart rejoice in the middle of this crisis, she wondered? Yet, the thought of John still made her heart fill with excitement.
“John spoke of me?”
“Oh, yes,” his mother said. “He told me that he was looking for an heiress, to help us in our troubles.”
“Well, he found one,” Charlotte said, somewhat bitterly. Her hopeful heart sank.
The elder lady took Charlotte’s hand. “I prayed that my son would not be bound in a loveless marriage,” she said. “I would rather do without than see him so bound. I loved his father, you see, and he loved me. I prayed that Jean would find the same. And he has done.”
“John does not love me,” Charlotte said sadly.
“Ah,ma Chérie,I think you are mistaken.” Collette corrected and Charlotte could almost hear the smile in her voice despite the darkened room. “I know my son. Although he was foolish to deceive you, men are often foolish. I know he had the best of intentions.”
“The path to hell is paved with good intentions.” Charlotte muttered.
John’s mother nodded. “It is. And that maybe where we are now headed. Have courage,ma Chérie. I know, it will not be easy. Love never is,” she said. “But love is a precious and fragile gift. Do not spurn it,oui? Love is worth fighting for. This is what I told my Jean.”
Charlotte didn’t answer.Wasn’t that just what Jane had said?And yet how could she commit to love when she had not heard John’s side of the story. While sitting here, held prisoner in an unlit room, the wager did not seem to have the same import, she had previously given the act. It was a deception. Yes. But perhaps only a small one. And they were in far more trouble than that now. She had to do something. Charlotte once more began to formulate a plan for escape. It would have to be simple, she thought. John’s mother spoke bravely, but looked like she was near the end of her strength.
Collette was silent for a long moment and then looked away. “If I am to join, my own love in heaven. You will tell my Jean I loved him,oui?”
“No!” Charlotte cried. She had only just met Lady Ashbrooke, and she knew how much the woman meant to John. His mother was his only family. Charlotte had imagined meeting John’s mother, when she had thought she and John would marry. It seemed a long time ago now, though it had only been a few short days. “He will find us,” she reassured the older woman. “Sir John and my brother. “They will find us, and rescue us. We must not give up.”
“Non,” the woman agreed. “We shall not give up hope. We shall pray,oui?”
“Yes,” Charlotte agreed. Although Charlotte was of the opinion that God helped those who helped themselves, a little help from the Divine would not go amiss just now. “We shall pray,” she said. “And then we shall plan.”
Charlotte liked the small woman who had given birth to Sir John. She was tiny, but had a spunk that surprised Charlotte. She hoped that she would be as direct when she had gained her own advanced age…if she gained her advanced age. The two women sat in the dark. They attempted to plan an escape, but all they managed to do was release Charlotte’s hands. Time raced on apace, and it was too little time in the end. The brigands waited only a short while until their leader, a Frenchman with a scared face and watery blue eyes burst into the cottage ordering the others to pack up at once. Charlotte was surprised. The young man could hardly have been any older than she was herself. His speech was erratic and his eyes darted wildly about the room.
Charlotte wanted to run, but instead, she shrank back against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. Surprisingly, Collette stood up to the man, even as Madeline ingratiated herself to him. Charlotte was disgusted with the woman. She was supposed to be Collette’s companion. She should have been trustworthy. Collette glared at them both.
“Fine gentleman you turned out to be, Henri. Your mother is weeping in heaven. She is weeping,” Collette admonished.
“I care more about who will be weeping on earth, Aunt Collette,” Henri said.
Aunt, thought Charlotte?This man was related to Collette? To John?She could see little resemblance except that they both had blue eyes and black hair. Still, the man was familiar. She squinted her eyes. She realized she knew this man, or at least, had seen him at some point in her past. The recognition hit her suddenly. She did not at first recognize him, due to his now scarred face, but he was at the masquerade ball, last Christmas. “You!” she spat. “You were one of the villains who was at my house last Christmas!”
“Villain, am I?” Henri approached Charlotte and stood breathing his fetid breath upon her. “It is your brother who is the villain! Him and his whore wife. He did this to my face.” The man leaned impossibly close to her. “Damned carriage turned over and I nearly lost my eye.” He pointed to his scarred face. “Keegain will suffer for it.”
As Charlotte saw it, it was not Ruddy who injured Henri at all. It was Jane, but Henri blamed the man. Perhaps it was hysteria, but Charlotte burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. It served the scoundrel right, she thought. If you were a villain, you deserved your comeuppance. She told him so, laughing at him.
“You will not laugh long,” he snarled, pulling Charlotte close, by the neck of her dress. The fine lace ripped and Charlotte was suddenly afraid. Indeed, her laughter stopped dead in her throat. She did not breathe.
Henri backhanded her. Her already bruised face was throbbing. She fell back, seeing stars, the sharp taste of blood in her mouth. Collette rushed forward to try to reason with her nephew in rapid French. This escape was not going at all the way she had planned, Charlotte thought as she clung to consciousness.
