Many were horrified at the baron’s antics, yet some stared at Charlotte, their eyes questioning, while the committee whispered amongst themselves.
St. Michaels’ ravings appeared mad. Yet no matter the committee’s decision regarding the fox hunt, many in the audience would wonder about the truth of St. Michaels’ words.
Charlotte knew she would suffer for her forthcoming revelation, yet she must act.
Before she did so, she observed those around her. Her family. Her friends. Her supporters.
Her breathing deepened as she contemplated the result of her words to come. Her dear husband—Patrick would survive, for he cared little for the ton. Rhys and Rose, given their elevated station, would survive as well, her taint affecting them little. The same was true for Thomasina and Susannah.
But Mama and Claire. Her heart wrenched—they would be the most affected. Darling Claire’s amber eyes peered at her, warm and serene. She nodded, as if she knew Charlotte’s intention. Mama, on the other hand, surveyed the hall, vertical brackets of worry scoring the bridge of her nose.
She leaned close. “I must speak, Mama.”
Much to her surprise, her mother’s smile appeared. “Of course you must. We shall weather this storm as we have all the others.” Her mother waved a hand toward the committee. “Compared to Lord Fielding, this contretemps is child’s play. Give that blackguard St. Michaels hell.”
Charlotte smiled inwardly and rose. “I wish to speak to the assembly regarding this painting.”
Patrick quirked a brow, but he tipped her a small nod. The knowledge that he would support her meant everything. She smiled down at him and he winked, which made her startle.
“Of course, Lady Hawthorne,” Howard said.
“The painting is indeed in the style of my father.”
St. Michaels raised his fist. “It is yours!” he screeched, as Abbot wrangled him away from the painting.
That released the wolves amongst the chickens. The ensuing din near made her laugh, and if her hands clasped any tighter, she would break a bone.
Much gavel banging ensued until the room stilled.
“Pray continue, Lady Hawthorne,” Howard said.
She surveyed the crowd, making eye contact with as many as possible. Mr. Turner appeared particularly bilious. Her family was wide-eyed, all except for Patrick whose eyes streamed warmth and support. He’d sussed out her plan.
She focused on the committee, and only them, and after a deep breath, she spoke. “I painted this as Lord St. Michaels watched me work. You see, Lord St. Michaels held me captive at his manor house, Penrhyn Creigiog, in Cornwall, forcing me to paint in the style of my father, Reginald Pheland.”
That did it. If the previous din was loud, it now reached cacophonous levels. Charlotte focused on Patrick, and only him.
“Do proceed, Lady Hawthorne,” Howard said after settling the crowd.
“Lord St. Michaels kidnapped me as I was delivering a painting of my father’s to a client. Said ‘client’ was a ruse, for it was St. Michaels himself who took me. Lieutenant Banby here,” Charlotte gestured to the lieutenant seated in the third row, “accompanied me and was incapacitated by St. Michaels’ ruffians, who used ether to render him unconscious. I was then taken under duress to his manor in Cornwall and forced to paint in the style of my father. He did thus so he could sell the forgeries to raise money. He kept me under lock and key for three long weeks, and I have witnesses who can attest to that fact.”
“How did you escape, my lady?” A voice hollered from the crowd.
The audience hushed.
“With the help of a maid, Mercy, I fled out my third-floor window using bedsheets. Simultaneously, Lords Hawthorne, Ravenscroft, Ashworth, the Duke of Devonshire, and others rode to my rescue. They, too, can attest to the truth of what I say.”
Silence absolute. Then the committee began to whisper amongst themselves.
Charlotte had discussed her possible revelation with the family. They knew what would occur—in a blink she went from reputable viscountess to tarnished woman, the implied intimacy with St. Michaels under speculation. Lady Ablethorp was scribbling away.
But Charlotte had given her confession great thought. She sat, and Patrick winged out an arm, and she slipped her hand through it, holding on for dear life.
Howard addressed the baron, who remained standing with Abbot. “What say you to this allegation of Lady Hawthorne’s, my lord?”
St. Michaels threw up his hands. “The absurdity astonishes me. These proceedings are a mockery of justice. I am done!” He stalked from the room, Abbot following red-faced.
Charlotte panicked, then watched the runners slip from the doors they guarded, while Ashworth and Rhys moved from their seats to follow the baron.
“Lady Hawthorne,” Howard bowed. “The assembly would hear your witnesses.”
She remained seated, too discomposed to rise. “I believe His Grace of Devonshire has a few words.”
Devonshire told of racing to Penrhyn Creigiog, of her escape, and of the ensuing fire. He noted the many guards, her bedsheet rope, and more. Mercy followed, and then her Jemmy spoke.
“We were accompanied by many,” Patrick said. “And we would be pleased to present them at another time if needed.”
“That is not necessary, my lord.” Howard walked to the assembled committee, addressing them in quiet tones. When he returned to the podium, all in the room leaned forward in their seats.
“We understand,” Howard said, “the reason Lady Hawthorne forged Fox Caught. These extenuating circumstances lead us to dismiss any charges of forgery against Lady Hawthorne, the two previous paintings already verified. We apologize to her ladyship for these proceedings and hope she fares well in all future endeavors.”
The infernal St. Michaels had escaped their net. Again. No one could say the man wasn’t clever for how he had done so eluded them.
The papers were riotous with the news, speculation and innuendo running rife. Caricatures in windows depicted Charlotte in various postures of incarceration, humiliating, yet they did not distort her face or make her look the fool. St. Michaels, on the other hand, was drawn with numerous monstrous expressions, more gargoyle than man.
Even anticipating the brouhaha, Charlotte found the gossip and maligners bruised her soul. All whilst her captor remained at large.
A week after the inquiry on a crisp, sunny November day, Charlotte rode to Woodbine accompanied by Banby, her riding stamina and skills increasing with daily practice. For all his protestations, the lieutenant proved a fine rider.
The previous week, she had sent notes to the ladies, for she had a plan, one she hoped would erase St. Michaels from her life forever.
Today, Patrick was overseeing his workshop’s refurbishment, and Charlotte was confident he would be engaged for hours, perhaps into the evening. She and Banby would spend the night at Woodbine, and Patrick was pleased with her visit.
Arriving at the manor, Susannah and Thomasina flew down the steps, while Rose toddled out the door with Lucy to stand on the landing. Rose was the size of a medicine ball, looking like she would drop the babe any minute. She could not get any bigger, could she?
Mama and Claire were coming from Halafair Hall with a special package, and Charlotte longed to see them.
“Lottie!” Thomasina exclaimed, wrapping her in a hug, Susannah not far behind.
“Stay on the landing, Rose!” Charlotte hollered. “I will come up.”
Banby headed to the stables with their mounts. He would visit with Arjuna for they’d formed a friendship. Perhaps Banby would speak of Akiko, Henry’s governess, for she’d spotted their interest in one another. Then Arjuna would tell Lucy, who would tell Charlotte.
Charlotte raced up the stairs to Rose and Lucy, hugging both. She doffed her hat and pelisse as she entered the hall, and handed them to the butler with thanks. She was bursting with energy and excitement, eager to explain her idea, but would wait for Mama and Claire’s arrival.
“You are in a dither, Lottie,” Rose said entering the salon. “You mentioned a plan in your note. What is it about?”
“Yes! Do tell!” Thomasina bounced with excitement.
“We must wait for my family’s arrival,” Charlotte said. “And the package they bring.”
Beside Rose, Lucy sat ramrod straight, her face dour, whilst it was obvious Susannah was dying to know, too.
All began to talk at once, words folding over words held in check since their last gathering when sounds of a carriage interrupted their chatter. Susannah and Sina followed Charlotte outside just as the carriage came to a halt.
Her mother descended the steps aided by a footman. Next came Claire, who paused and spoke to the man assisting her. He, in turn, waved over a second footman and once Claire was on the ground, both men entered the carriage.
“What are they doing?” Susannah said.
“Retrieving a package,” Claire said “A rather strange one.”
“Strange?” Susannah said.
Her mother’s lips twitched. “Unexpected.”
The footmen reappeared carrying a huge, narrow wooden box.
“Bring that to my studio, if you would,” Charlotte said to the footman, then collected Rose and Lucy. They proceeded to the family dining room where luncheon sat on the sideboard—a tower of fresh fruit, along with meat pies, cold meats, breads, cheeses, and triangular sandwiches eaten with a knife and fork. Cakes and other desserts perched at the end of the table.
Charlotte’s mouth watered. Once they made their plates and poured their drinks, the staff vanished and they dug in.
“Do you know what is happening?” Rose said to Claire as she cut a sandwich.
“I do not.” Claire slipped a grape into her mouth.
Susannah reached for a meat pie. “I suspect our conversation shall prove interesting.”
Rose lifted a forkful of meat pie. “The babe and I are starving.”
“I smell trouble.” Lucy crossed her arms.
“You would be right, Miss Lucy,” Charlotte said buttering a slice of warm bread.
All eyes swiveled Charlotte’s way.
“St. Michaels has haunted Patrick and me for months.”
“But you defeated him at the inquiry!” Thomasina said.
Charlotte nodded. “That we did, but he eluded capture when he left the exhibition room and remains on the loose, his threats hovering over us like a poisonous spider.”
“You know how I hate spiders.” Susannah shivered.
“Not near as much as I loathe St. Michaels,” Charlotte said. “We shall pounce on him!” She held the eyes of every woman at the table. “I propose we set a trap.”
Thomasina clapped. At least one of the family was onboard.
Rose laid a hand on her belly. “I doubt I could trap much these days.”
Charlotte smiled. “Oh, you will play a part, dear sister.”
“Ah!” Claire said, waving her fork. “I know your plan, well, at least part of it.”
“Do tell, Claire!” Rose said.
Mama’s eyes gleamed. “We brought Halafair, as you requested, Lottie.”
“How did you bring a house with you?” Thomasina said.
“Not the house itself, Sina,” Charlotte smiled. “The painting.”
“The same as was here for the auction?” Thomasina lifted a wedge of apple and nibbled.
“Yes.” Charlotte reached for the lemonade. “An irresistible lure to St. Michaels.”
“And how, exactly,” Lucy said, “shall you bring the two together?”
“That is what we are here to discuss,” Charlotte said. “After I returned from Cornwall, I began writing him letters. I wrote one, but life grew frantic, the Royal Academy and all, and I never sent them. A good thing given the inquiry. But letters might prove useful.”
Claire smirked. “This should be interesting.”
She winked. “I believe, now that he has lost the inquiry, my letter will push him to respond. I hope so. I shall write how I miss him, how we could be together and I could paint for him again. I would apologize for my actions at the inquiry, but that I now have finally realized his passion for Papa’s work harmonizes with my own. I could add something about Patrick’s disinterest in my painting, too. A lie, of course, one of many I hope to feed him. Our plan can work. You see, I will gift him Halafair as proof of my devotion.”
“What makes you think he will fall for this ruse?” Rose said.
Charlotte frowned. “The baron is mentally unwell, desperate for me to paint for him, day in, day out. Halafair would be the crown jewel in his collection. As I see it, we have two challenges.”
Lucy snorted. “Only two?”
“One, we must find a way for the letter to reach him. And heaven only knows where he is situated at this moment. Two, we must find a clever way to trap him, the location and timing being equal of importance.”
Skeptical faces stared back at Charlotte as she peered around the table.
“Should we not bring the men into your plan?” Susannah said. “They will be furious if we do not.”
“No,” Charlotte said. “Patrick would forbid me to use myself as bait, and I would find it a challenge to oppose him. They would watch us like hawks and interfere. Now that St. Michaels is in the wind, I desperately want him locked away. He crouches in my mind, an ever-present threat.”
Claire hugged her. “I understand, dear one. I am so sorry.”
“I agree with Lottie,” Rose said. “Our men will commandeer the whole operation and squeeze us out. Rhys and Patrick are especially watchful.”
“I agree!” Thomasina said. “They are always trying to protect us.”
“But how will you keep this a secret from them?” Susannah said.
“Not a problem,” Rose said. “Not only are they busy with the estates and projects, but they are racing around the countryside hunting for the very man we hope to trap. I must think on this, Lottie.”
“I will do it!” Thomasina said.
“Thank you, Sina!” Charlotte said. “St. Michaels will never suspect that a group of women could defeat him. He is far too arrogant and misogynistic.”
“He will surely bring guards,” Rose said. “Those awful men you described.”
“I expect so.” Charlotte thoughts became threads weaving a plan. “While you cannot use your kalari, Miss Lucy is most able.”
Lucy nodded.
“You are clever with a gun, Susannah, yes?” Charlotte said.
Susannah ducked her head. “So the family claim.”
“Humph,” Rose said. “Dear sister, you hide your light under a bushel. Susannah’s skills near match Billy Broad’s. She has uncanny aim.”
Susannah’s fingers threaded together. “Billy is a true sharpshooter. I do well, though.”
“We can practice our kalari forms,” Clare said to Charlotte. “They will serve us well.”
“We must build our strength,” Charlotte said. “I did so when imprisoned.” She turned to Thomasina. “Perhaps one of your horses may help. They can be frightening.”
Sina grinned. “I will bring Dancer! He can charge the guards or strike out, plus any number other tricks.” A fast clap of the hands. “Dancer already rears with my whistles. I can teach him new tricks. Dancer is very smart.”
“Excellent, Sina,” Charlotte said.
Claire reached for a sugared plum, a sly smile tipping her lips. “And my knives, of course.”
“She has been instructing me.” Lucy nodded. “Lady Claire has much expertise.”
Rose was frowning.
“What is it, Rosie?” Thomasina said.
“I hate this.” She rubbed her belly. “I love the babe, but I hate missing out on the action and—”
“I believe you should orchestrate, Rose,” Charlotte said. “Watch us practice, coordinate our timing and moves, along with keeping Rhys away.”
Rose chuckled. “That, I can do. What of Patrick, and you must consider Banby for he sticks to you like a tick when you venture out.”
“I have yet to devise a ruse for them,” Charlotte said. “But I shall.”
“Daughter?” Her mother cleared her throat. “You have conspicuously left me without an assignment.”
“I am working on that.” She tapped a finger to her lips. “I know, you shall come for a visit to Hawthorne.”
“Lady Fielding…Humm.” Susannah said. “You can be Patrick’s and Lieutenant Banby’s diversion!”
“I like that idea immensely,” Mama said.
“Miss Lucy,” Charlotte said, “your martial arts expertise is unparalleled.”
The Indian woman remained contemplative.
“You may join us, Lucy,” Rose said. “Or recuse yourself.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said. “There is no conscription here.”
Lucy’s mysterious eyes rested on Charlotte. “If all the ladies participate, I will consider it as well.” Power resonated behind her soft words.
“Thank you,” Charlotte said, fervently hoping she would take part.
“Your scheme sounds dangerous, Charlotte,” Mama said with obvious concern.
“We women are a mighty force,” Claire said. “But I, too, must think on the idea. Much could go wrong.”
“It could,” Charlotte said. “We all must ponder the plan before committing to it, for it is, indeed, dangerous.”
Lucy’s lips tipped into a slow smile. “For us to defeat St. Michaels would be a coup. My Arjuna would be most impressed.”
The tension snapped with their laughter.
“When we catch him, shall we feed him to the dogs?” Sina said with laughing eyes.
Charlotte chuckled, shaking her head. “Much as I would like to, Sina, a magistrates writ exists for his arrest. We will turn him over to the Bow Street constables I will hire to assist us.”
“Excellent,” Claire said.
“As I am spending the night here,” Charlotte said. “Shall we convene in the morning?”
Rose burped. “Apologies. The morning will be good for now my babe demands a nap.” She stood.
“I cannot wait to meet him,” Charlotte said. “Or her!”
“Not nearly as much as I.” Rose shook her head. “In truth, I am quite eager to have this little one out of me.”