part0006

The horse was panting as Hirsh pushed it hard. She hated that she had to do this, but the letter that reached her had almost stopped her heart. Over the years, they had been comforted by the knowledge that Chester was there to take care of them should they be left incapacitated. She was the invincible one.

Or so they had thought.

The Hampton Estate came into view and she let up on her horse a little. She would make sure the stallion was taken care of at the Hampton Hall stable. Her heart ached when she saw a few people congregating outside Chester’s cottage. She was out of the saddle even before the horse had come to a stop. The onlookers scattered as she ploughed through them on her way to the door. Abigail was already there, but Hirsh pushed past her to get to Chester’s side.

There was a lot of blood and it was soaking into the bedding. A large cut was visible on Chester’s head and she looked frighteningly pale as she lay unconscious. She reminded herself to remain calm and looked at Abigail.

“Can you help her?”

“Yes, but I need you to give me some room to work.” She met Hirsh’s gaze head-on. “I’ll have to ask you to leave the room for now.”

“No.” There was no way she was leaving.

“At least move away from the bed.” She grabbed Hirsh by the arm. “The longer we argue the further Chester’s situation worsens. I know you don’t want that.”

Hirsh quickly moved aside. “Tell me if I can help with anything.”

“I need hot water and bandages. We need to clean him up to assess his injuries.” She reached for a pair of scissors.

“What are you doing going to do with that?”

“I need to get his clothes off.” Hirsh hesitated, wondering if it was her place to tell Abigail about Chester. Luckily, the decision was taken from her. “I also know that she’s a woman.”

“Fine. I’ll get the water and bandages.” She stoked the fire and put on a cauldron with water and returned to the bedroom to remove Chester’s medical bag from the closet. “Everything else should be in here.” She went to assist Abigail, by removing the clothing as gently as they could. She moved away when Abigail began to run her hands over Chester’s body the way she had seen Marlin and Chester do before.

There was a commotion at the door. Hirsh walked over to stop whoever it was to happen upon Chester in a state of undress. She opened the door and to her shock found Lady Florence Hampton surrounded by her workers. A young boy stood crying.

“The horse’s reins slipped from my grip and it entered the stall where Chester was helping a ewe that was in labour. When I tried to retrieve the horse, it pushed me to the ground and Chester covered me with his body to keep the stallion from trampling me.”

Florence looked pale as she listened to the boy.

“It was just an accident, Mark.”

The boy sobbed louder. “No, it’s not. Chester always warned me to roll the reins around my hand a few times.”

Florence spotted her, but quickly returned her attention to the boy. A flash of pain crossed the older woman’s face. Hirsh noted that she was leaning heavily on the cane. “Chester would want you to be strong for him now. I need to go see how he is doing, but I want you to know that he doesn’t blame you for what happened.” She gave the distraught boy a reassuring smile. “Be brave.”

Hirsh held the door open for her and Elodie. The two women immediately proceeded to the bedroom. Florence came to an abrupt stop and Hirsh realized that although she knew that Chester was a woman, she was faced with the truth of it at that moment.

Hirsh took note of the male pronoun usage. Jane did the same and had explained that it wasn’t necessary that anyone besides their immediate friends know about Hirsh’s gender. It seemed Lady Florence was of the same mind.

“There are no broken bones, but except for the cut to her head, I see several deep tissue injuries. The fact that she is unconscious, worries me.”

Florence limped over to the bed, apparently having recovered from her shock at Chester’s state of undress. She reached out and Hirsh noticed that the woman’s hand was trembling as she placed it on Chester’s knee.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the knock to his head might have caused some bleeding or swelling on his brain.” There was a soft gasp and Abigail quickly glanced at the noblewoman. “We’ll know more when he wakes up. Until then we can only make him as comfortable as possible.”

“In that case, he should be transferred to the main house.”

“I would not recommend moving him again, especially if there is a possibility of brain injury.” Florence shook her head and Abigail gave her an apologetic look. “I have to give you the facts, Florence.”

Abigail turned to Hirsh. “I need the water and the bandages. We can treat the head wound and soft tissue injuries.”

“Can I help? Please.” This time the question was directed at Hirsh. The woman looked devastated. Hirsh nodded and left the room with Elodie following behind her.

If Chester knew what was good for her, she would wake up. A beautiful woman was waiting impatiently for her to do so. Especially now that she had finally come to the realization that she did indeed have feelings for Chester.

Chester, the female pirate .

Jeremiah read the letter and carefully folded it and locked it in his desk drawer. He had to travel to Plymouth in the next few days, but he wasn’t sure how he would explain his trip to Abigail without giving away the reason for his journey. It would take him about four days of travelling with one day for his meeting. That meant he would spend four days away from Abigail. How was he going to cope? He could barely survive the three days alone when she had to travel to London four weeks ago.

The man appeared at the door. “Yes, sir.”

“Could you book transport for me to London for the end of the week?” That was two days from now. That meant he had to tell Abigail tonight.

Roger nodded and left. With that out of the way, he moved on to the next issue on his schedule.

Gordon McAllister. The man had asked to see him. Whatever for, Jeremiah didn’t know. Nor did he want to have anything to do with the man. But in a rare interference into his business, Abigail had asked him to hear the man out. He glanced at his watch. He had ten minutes to walk over to the prison. He would draft Old Mrs Chadwick’s will when he returned. Not wanting to speculate about McAllister’s request to see him, Jeremiah kept his thoughts on Mrs Chadwick and her updated will. The woman was going through her premonition phase again and this time she wanted to make sure that her nephew was removed from the last will she had drawn up. Jessop Chadwick was the local Lothario and had been stitched up by Abigail quite a number of times over the past year. The young man was a gifted barber, but his recklessness where women were concerned would be his downfall one day.

He reached the prison and was waved through by one of the constables. The prison was located in the building currently occupied by the constabulary. Another constable opened a door that led to the rows of cells and he noticed that the prison was a far cry from the rat-infested, smelly dungeon at the army barracks.

McAllister was in a cell at the end of the row and Jeremiah took note that the cells were all filled. That was troubling. Many farmers and other yeomen were struggling to make ends meet in the current economic situation, which brought them to the city in droves. With no work opportunities available, many of them got drawn into the growing criminal activities in the area. The constable stopped in front of a cell and Jeremiah was shocked by McAllister’s appearance. The man was still heavily bruised and when he approached the gate, he moved with a heavy limp. The pain-filled grimace almost made him feel sorry for the man. He had heard that the District Parliamentarian had issued an immediate transfer for McAllister from the hospital to the prison yesterday.

“Thank you for coming, Mortimer.” McAllister’s arrogance was gone as were a number of his front teeth.

“Why do you want to see me, McAllister?” There was no point in acting civil. He disliked the man and he was sure the feeling was mutual.

“I’m looking to sell Craddock Hall.”

Jeremiah was taken aback by that. Not that he had speculated much about McAllister’s request for a meeting, but he had expected the man to plead his case and ask for representation since no one wanted to work with him. That he wanted to sell his estate was logical. McAllister faced time in prison, how long would be determined by a judge, and he would need money if he hoped to defend himself and apply for a diminished sentence. The only problem with the plan was that Craddock Hall was a burnt-down shell. McAllister would be lucky if he found a buyer, for it would cost a lot of money to restore the place or to raze the entire building to the ground and rebuild it. However, that wasn’t his problem.

“What price did you have in mind?”

McAllister gave a price and Jeremiah didn’t react to it. The man was mad if he thought he would get that much. There were very few people in the region who might be able to afford to buy the estate and fund the restoration of the house, but none of them would be stupid enough to sink money into a lost cause.

“You would agree that Craddock Hall is not an attractive prospect for buyers at present. I’ll find out if there is any interest.”

“I understand, but if I hire you, would you try to find a buyer.”

Jeremiah gave the man a long, hard look. The beating had obviously damaged the man’s brain. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea considering the way you treat your solicitors.”

McAllister sighed. “I have a temper, but that shouldn’t exclude me from making use of a reputable solicitor.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“That’s fair. You know where to find me when you have made up your mind.”

Jeremiah wasn’t planning on working with the man.

Oliver took a step back and cocked his head as he studied the painting. He had struggled with the bridge of the nose, but it looked good now. Countess Collard would be pleased. He placed the palette down and stretched his arms over his head. He had been working on the portrait for two weeks nonstop. The Countess wanted the portrait completed in time for her birthday party in two days’ time. The feat had been possible thanks to the woman’s commitment to the project. She was on time for all the sittings and she followed his instructions to the letter. If only all his clients were so disciplined.

He turned to find his secretary standing in the door of his studio. He held up a letter. “This came for you.”

He turned back to the painting. He didn’t have time for unnecessary distractions. He had hoped that once he had completed the project, he could take a short trip to clear his mind.

“Who’s it from?”

“It’s from a Mr Jeremiah Mortimer.”

He spun around and walked over to take the letter from the man’s hand. “Thank you, Theodore.”

“Shall I bring you lunch, sir, or will you be dining at the Grill?”

He frowned at the man. He had avoided going to the Grill for the past two weeks. He wasn’t going to compete for the affections of a woman, especially not with the likes of Percy Bannon sniffing about as well. That didn’t mean that the redhead hadn’t haunted his thoughts and dreams.

“I would appreciate it if you could bring me lunch.”

He unfolded the letter. It had been a while since he had heard from Jeremiah. The short visit of his fiancée and his goddaughter had been followed by a missive to express gratitude for hosting the two women. With the wedding still two months away, he couldn’t think of anything else that might be the reason for the letter. He noted that the letter had been penned yesterday.

His curiosity was boundless as he tried to think of what possible reason his long-time friend would want to discuss with him. They had grown up together. Both ‘sons’ of affluent men, who couldn’t sire male heirs. As youngsters, they had done everything together. It had broken Oliver’s heart when Jeremiah had decided to go off to war. His need for adventure was greater than his love for the law profession. Upon his return, Jeremiah was a changed man. Shadows of sorrow had coloured his eyes and his body was wrecked by the savagery of war. It had become clear quite quickly that when men faced death together a connection stronger than anything bound them together. He had lost Jeremiah again when he left London for the quiet, open fields of Coventry and his military friends.

Oliver poured himself a brandy and took a seat on the daybed that faced the easel. He yearned for a closer tie with his childhood friend, but was careful not to make it too obvious. Jeremiah wasn’t the carefree young man he had once known. He would hate to put pressure on the man and push him further away.

He finished his drink and went to sit at his desk where he penned a quick reply. It would be great to spend some time together.

She sighed as she walked away quickly before she snapped at the young man. Her eyes met Teresa’s as she walked past her. The other woman had returned to work the day after Geon had sent her home. She had gathered everyone and made it clear that no fraternizing with the patrons would be tolerated. As the days rolled by it had become clear that her warning had been unnecessary. Oliver Potts had been absent from the Grill for the past two weeks.

If only the pompous Lord Percy Bannon would stay away. The man had been intolerable. He would march into the kitchen as if he owned it, no matter how many times she had told him that the kitchen was off-limits to patrons for a reason. As if to emphasise her point, on one of his visits, a server entering from the dining hall, had crashed into the young Marquess and upended his tray on the man’s expensive suit. That had kept Bannon away for a few days, until he started accosting her outside the Grill as she locked up for the day.

Teresa stood in the doorway of her small office. “Yes, Teresa.”

The young woman looked concerned. “You’ve been working very hard for the past two weeks. Why don’t you take the day off? I’ll make sure that nothing goes wrong.”

Geon scowled. “You think I can’t cope?”

“On the contrary, it’s because you cope too well.”

She grinned at that. Teresa was refining her persuasive skills and getting very good at handling her. She rubbed her hands over her face. She could do with a day off. If she left now, she could take a short nap and maybe write to Marlin before she needed to be at the soup kitchen. Five hours of doing nothing sounded rather appealing.

“I think I’ll do that. Thank you, Teresa.”

Five minutes later, she was walking down the bustling street. Her house was located six blocks from the Grill, in an area where most of the wealthy middle class resided. She entered the double story brownstone and found her housekeeper looking up from where she was busy dusting the stairs. Confused, she glanced at the large grandfather clock.

“What are you doing home at this hour? Are you unwell? Should I call for the doctor?”

She waved the woman’s concern away. “I’m fine, Joan. I’ll be taking a short nap before I have to be at the soup kitchen.”

“Would you like me to prepare you something for a late lunch?”

“I’m not hungry. I’ll have something at the soup kitchen later tonight.”

She climbed the stairs to her room, but stopped when Joan spoke again,

“Some letters came for you.”

Geon shook her head. “I’ll attend to them later.”

The sanctuary of her bedroom was comforting and she threw herself on the bed. It had been a while since she last had anyone in her bed. Maybe after her nap, she would be rested enough to find someone for the night. Her nipples hardened in response to the idea.

Yes, she should do that. Her mood lifted a little at the prospect of sex.

Percy shrugged into his shirt, his back to the woman on the bed. He prayed she was still sleeping so he could slip out. As a matter of fact, this was getting exhausting. Thanks to Geon bloody Degas, he had been dragging himself through the beds of every available woman in London over the past two weeks. He grabbed his shoes and jacket, but when he glanced at the bed, he found the occupant watching him with alert eyes.

He cursed mentally as he smiled. Lady Rosalinde Moore was the daughter of Lord Harold Moore, a close confidant of King George. Her father could make things very uncomfortable for his own father. The man held somewhat of a fascination for the monarch. As a renowned explorer, Lord Moore always returned with exotic adornments for the king; something his father, the duke, could only aspire to.

“Are you leaving already?”

He sat on the bed and ran his hand over her naked breasts. She was a delightful lover, but even then, she wasn’t who he really wanted.

“Yes, I’m having a breakfast meeting with my father in an hour.”

She sighed and stretched her lean body languidly. “Too bad for you.”

Percy loved vivacious women. They were uninhibited in every sense of the word. Especially in bed, where they were daring and loud. He would love to come back to her when he eventually tired of the cook. Percy tweaked a nipple and enjoyed the gasp his touch elicited from the woman.

“I’m well-aware of what I’m missing.” He moved to the door. “You know where to find me.” He slipped from the room and down the stairs. At the front door, he encountered two servants in the process of opening the house. They didn’t even react to his presence at this early hour in the house of their unmarried mistress.

The town was slowly waking up, with mainly servants making their way to their places of employment. Amongst the working mass, were the odd gentlemen or two, like him, making their way home after a night of revelry. They gave each other curt nods as they walked briskly past each other.

He entered his home and listened for sounds coming from the first floor. His parents were still asleep. He moved to the stairs, but as his foot landed on the first step, the library door opened. His father still wore his dressing gown. Percy froze as he met his father disapproving gaze.

“We need to talk.”

The tone was cool and terse. Percy felt his body tense up. He nodded and followed his father into the library. The curtains were already drawn and a fire was burning in the fireplace. A tray with tea sat on his father’s desk. The servants were already here.

“Have a seat.” When he took the chair opposite his father’s desk, the Duke rubbed his hands over his face. Percy noticed only then that his father looked exhausted. “Lady Blanche Morris. Do you know her?”

He blinked. Why would his father ask him about Lady Blanche? He hadn’t seen the woman in months. With very few exceptions, he didn’t return to women often after he had managed to get them into bed.

“Yes, though I must add that I haven’t seen her in long while.”

His father nodded. “There’s a reason for that. She gave birth to a child she swore was yours.”

The blood froze in his veins as he stared at his father. “I…I …”

“She died during childbirth and her father is baying for your blood.”

Percy sat motionless as the horror at what he had just heard spread through his body. His stomach roiled violently. The youthful, angelic face of his one-time lover flashed before his eyes. She had been young. Nineteen. A virgin. He made a dash for the garbage bin and emptied his stomach until only dry heaves remained. He sat back and took deep, gulping breaths.

“Your reaction tells me what I need to know.” His father stood to put his hand on Percy’s shoulder and press a glass in his hand. The smell of brandy wafted up to Percy’s nose. He quickly gulped down the fiery liquid. “We need to find a way to distance you from this debacle. Do you know of any other men who also shared Lady Blanche’s bed or even just showed a passing interest in the girl?”

Percy allowed his father to help him to his feet. “Oliver Potts.”

The Duke frowned. “Are you sure? Lady Blanche’s maid confessed to only seeing the two of you together on numerous occasions. She also noted the few times you asked her to give you and Lady Blanche some privacy. If you have to sully another man’s name it better not be someone with as much influence as Oliver Potts.”

His father’s words made him reconsider. If found that he had been responsible for seducing a young noblewoman and impregnating her, which led to her death in childbirth, he faced being ostracised from polite society. His peers could be cruel, especially if they regarded him as a pompous ass, which he was aware most of them thought him to be. There was no way Percy could take a chance of that happening.

“Oliver Potts has been sniffing around her. I can attest to that.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, son.” The Duke’s voice held a subtle warning. Hearing it made Percy’s stomach churn again.

“Four days are so long,” Abigail muttered as she ran her hand down Jeremiah’s chest. “Your client couldn’t have chosen a worst time to insist you accompany him to inspect his property.”

Jeremiah grimaced. He hated lying to Abigail and he prayed that the surprise would be worth it. If Abigail didn’t like the surprise, he would find himself in a tight spot. He kissed Abigail gently.

“I don’t like it either, my love.”

“This will be the first time you’ll be away from me for that long.” Her eyes were gleaming with unshed tears. “Damn you, Jeremiah Mortimer, for making me love you so much. I never thought I would ever be this emotionally involved with another human being.”

“Please, don’t cry, Abi. You’ll force me to postpone the trip. I wouldn’t want to do that and risk being away from you so close to the wedding.” He held her in a tight embrace. “I don’t want to give you the slightest opportunity to change your mind about marrying me.”

She scoffed at that. “That would never happen, my darling.” She pushed away from him. “Come, let me help you finish your packing and then we can have breakfast together before you leave.”

He kissed her again and rolled out of bed. Naked, they packed his clothing and Jeremiah never felt so free and secure being himself with another person. When they were done, he hauled piles of hot water up to the bedroom for their bath.

“Any changes in Chester’s condition?”

“Not yet.” Abigail sighed as she leaned forward a little. “The longer he remains unconscious, the more worried I become. It could be a sign of a much more serious head injury. Then there is Florence.” She rinsed her face. “I think she finally came to the conclusion that she loves Chester. Seeing him that way is eating away at her. I swear she has aged visibly in these past three days.”

Jeremiah pressed himself against Abigail’s back. “You’re the best doctor I know, and so does Florence. Chester will fight her way back to Florence. She was willing to kill three men in cold blood for their involvement in Florence’s accident. That’s not the action of a person ready to give up so easily.”

“I didn’t know that.” Abigail’s eyes were wide as she turned to look at him. “Do you think she was the one who…?”

“No. There are very few people in Coventry who don’t want to harm Gordon McAllister.”

“That’s true. Have you found there to be any interest for Craddock Hall?” He had given her a brief feedback on his meeting with McAllister since she had been on her way out to see a patient as he was coming home.

“I don’t think anyone would want to buy those ruins. The price is ridiculously high, considering how much should still be ploughed into the reconstruction of the house.”

“He needs funds if he hopes to survive this murder charge.”

“That’s a fact, but what he expects for the house is blatant exploitation.” Jeremiah shook his head. “But I will ask around, if it means not having to see the man again.”

Abigail planted a kiss on his outstretched arm. “That’s the best approach.” She turned around so she could face Jeremiah. “Do you think we have some time before you leave?”

“We’ll make time.” He leaned forward and nuzzled Abigail’s neck.

Florence rubbed her eyes and rolled her head to loosen the stiff muscles in her neck and shoulders. She had been sitting up the whole night. The first night of Chester’s accident she had dreamed that Hirsh asked her to deliver the eulogy at Chester’s funeral. She had woken from that dream shaking hard. Elodie had found her the next morning sitting up straight in bed with bloodshot eyes.

Her maid would have the same concerned look in her eyes this morning if she saw her, but Florence had stopped caring about that. She had stopped fighting herself and everyone else who thought it strange that she would limp from the manor to Chester’s cottage and sit there for hours on end.

She loved Chester Vaughn.

It was liberating to admit that. Even if only to herself. She, Florence Hampton, the daughter of Mason and Elizabeth Stafford, was in love with a woman. She had never thought growing up that fate would steer her into the arms of a member of the same sex. It hurt to come to that realisation and not be sure if the object of her affection would live to hear her declare her love for her.

The soft knock on the door signalled Elodie’s arrival. The maid came over to the bed to position the breakfast tray in Florence’s lap. “I will come back to help you with your bath after breakfast, ma’am.”

“I love her,” she whispered.

Elodie’s hand froze on the door handle. The green eyes were sad when they met Florence’s. She closed the door and came over to sit on the bed.

Florence snorted. “How could you? I didn’t even know until three days ago.”

“You were already in love with Chester long before you knew his true gender.” She caressed Florence’s hand. “Nothing was going to make you stop loving him. Not even that.”

Florence clutched Elodie’s hand in hers. “I thought you were in love with him and it ate at me that I was stealing him from you.”

Elodie chuckled as she brought Florence’s hand to her lips. “It didn’t take much to realise that Chester was in love with you. What we had was simply two people trying to ease their loneliness.”

Her heart sang at hearing that Chester was indeed in love with her. It still galled her a little to think that Elodie had intimate knowledge of Chester. On one hand, it provided her with a unique opportunity to find out what happened between two women. She had no reference to draw on. She never read any literature about it. It was safe to assume that women kissed on the lips like men and women. Anything more than that was simply a blank.

“If you finish your breakfast, we can finally relieve Hirsh from his vigil. Mrs Egerton must be wanting her manservant back after three full days.”

The other woman was even worse off than Florence. She barely slept or ate and when she did it was in a chair next to Chester’s bed. Florence had watched with admiration as Hirsh tenderly tended to her friend. She would bathe Chester and administer those cringe-worthy saline injections that she needed to give almost every two hours.

“Yes. Hirsh could do with some sleep.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Florence smiled. It had been a good idea to tell Elodie. They were at a stage in their friendship where they were truly sharing everything.

Jane gently cradled Hirsh’s head against her stomach. She hadn’t seen her lover for three days and the short notes she had received sounded more tense every time. The pain seeping through the words was almost tangible. After trying to keep from smothering Hirsh at a time she needed to concentrate on her friend’s recovery, Jane had caved. The last note arrived last night and after debating her next step, Jane had decided that she wouldn’t be able to ease her anxiety enough to sleep unless she saw Hirsh.

What a timeous decision it had been.

She had arrived just in time to find Hirsh looking like she was on the brink of falling apart. The look of relief and gratitude in the hazel eyes when she strode into the cottage, had made her rush towards Hirsh. There were no tears, but she could feel the tension in Hirsh’s body. She gently combed her fingers through Hirsh’s hair as she quietly held her lover, who had her clasped in a desperate embrace.

Hirsh took a shuddering breath and lifted her head to meet her eyes. Jane held the tormented gaze and made sure that hers reflected all the love she felt for Hirsh.

“Thank you for coming.”

She cupped Hirsh’s face. “Nothing could ever keep me away from you.” She leaned over and kissed Hirsh tenderly. “I want to share everything with you, especially your tragedies.”

They kissed again and Hirsh pulled her in her lap. They sat in silence for a while as they kept a vigil over Chester.

“What did Abigail have to say about Chester’s condition?”

Hirsh exhaled loudly. “She said the longer Chester remains unconscious, the greater the chance of her not recovering. I’ve sent a note to Marlin; not because I don’t trust Abigail, but because Marlin has the uncanny ability to keep us all from dying.”

“I’m sure Abigail would welcome the assistance.”

There was a knock on the door and Jane slid off Hirsh’s lap to stand a few feet away. She smiled at Florence as the woman entered. They exchanged a quick kiss to the cheek.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

“I wanted to come see how Chester was doing and to make sure that Hirsh was not overexerting herself.”

Florence placed her hand on Hirsh’s shoulder. “You can have a few hours rest while I keep watch over her. Elodie will have a room ready for you after you’ve had breakfast.”