Attack on Julia
For days after the party, Julia’s heart was in turmoil. She had wanted to give David Carstairs his chance to see his beloved Alice again. She had hoped to save Worthington by giving Cal the chance to be happy. How much of his anger was driven by having to walk away from the woman he loved for his brother’s sake?
Finally, Cal had admitted to her he wouldn’t “rat out” to her brother as he’d put it. But he was hurt, angry, protective as a bear. He’d cut off the liquor and shut down the party after that. David had coerced him to let Alice Hayes stay at Worthington. Would Cal surrender to love with Alice so close?
Ellen had been sent home from the hospital yesterday, having improved a great deal. She’d only just learned Cal had taken Ellen back to the cottage, and had taken Ben, too. Ellen’s pimp was still at large and Ellen still refused to give his name. She had admitted the man had beaten her badly because she had refused to prostitute herself anymore.
What had happened to Ellen—and Cal’s anger—made Julia question herself. Was she making things better for people—was she truly helping, or making things worse?
Now, carrying her umbrella—it had proved invaluable—she knocked on the door of Ellen’s cottage, rather startled when a burly-looking man answered it. “Who are you?” she asked. This was not the man who she had confronted in the village about Ellen. This specimen stood even larger.
Off went his cap and he bowed. “Makepeace Jones, my lady,” he answered. “Hired by his lordship to keep watch over Miss Lambert and her lad.”
So Cal had thought of that. “I have food for Miss Lambert.” She saw Ellen, and shared the special sticky buns between Ben and Makepeace. She did not launch into a plea for Ellen to give the name of her attacker. Instead she ensured Ellen was eating well, and she took a look at the bandages—Dougal had shown her how. It had been awkward dealing with Dougal. Julia could not forget how he had dismissed the possibility Ellen had shell shock. His stubborn acceptance of the prevailing male point of view had shocked her. And even now, she could see Ellen tremble. She had seen Nigel do that, even though he used to hide it well.
But when she left the cottage, at least she knew Ellen would be safe, with Makepeace to watch over her.
Julia walked back to her car. She’d had to leave it down the lane as there was an enormous muddy hole between her motorcar and Ellen’s gate. After the hot night of the ball, the weather had been stormy. Many places had flooded, creeks had spilled over their banks, and it made for a wet, mucky trudge on the lane. At least the rain had stopped today.
Ahead of her sat her car, the cream-painted sides and chrome spattered with mud. She had to turn it around. But that put her at risk of getting stuck in the quagmire of mud in front of her car.
“I’m going to have to reverse,” she murmured aloud.
She did, twisting around and moving slowly to ensure she didn’t drive off the track and get stuck. Then, as she put her foot on the accelerator, a large figure jumped out from a laurel bush behind her. Julia slammed down on the brake. In her shock, she jerked the wheel and the car shot sideways, off the track. She lurched to a stop and had to swallow hard for her heart was in her throat.
“Are you all right?” she cried, her hand on the door handle.
Suddenly the man was at the side of her car. Her door was ripped open. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her toward him—fast enough to pull her right off the seat—and she went down on her knees on the muddy track. Stones bit into her knees. She cried out in pain.
Julia saw mud-encrusted, battered brown boots, then looked upward. His face—it was covered by a black mask from his hairline to his lips. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing?”
Was it Ellen’s pimp? He towered over her as that man had done. He wore the same clothing as most laboring men of the village—checked cap, heavy brown coat, worn trousers.
Why was he wearing the mask?
So she couldn’t bear witness against him? So no one else could?
Fear swamped her, running through her veins like ice water. She must fight. She thought of what Ellen had been through. She lashed out with her leg, trying to kick him.
The slap he gave her sent her head snapping to the side.
“Who are you?” she demanded again, trying to sound like the angry daughter of a duke and not a terrified woman, while her face throbbed with pain. “You would be a fool to hurt me. You will end up in prison.”
Apparently he didn’t fear her threat for he pulled her to her feet as if she had the weight of a pillow. He started down the lane away from her motor, dragging her with him. Without saying a word. She tried to dig in her heels, grabbed at branches. Desperately, she screamed, hoping sound would travel past the bushes to the cottage. He jerked her to him and slammed his gloved hand over her mouth.
She bit his hand and he pulled it away. “You let me go or you will suffer the consequences. My brother is a duke. Hurt me and he will see you—”
He put his hand back to silence her, cursing low under his breath. And he raised his other hand to hit her again.
She kicked at his legs and her shoe connected with his shin. He stumbled. In rage, his other hand shot forward and wrapped around her neck He was throttling her. All she could see was the triumph in his dark eyes in the eyeholes.
His fingers tightened and she tried in vain to pull them away from her throat.
Julia struggled. Her lungs oddly felt like exploding when nothing was going into them. Like the sound of a hundred mocking crows, his laughter filled her ear.
Wildly she swung her arm and tried to drive her finger into the eyehole on the right side. At the same moment she drove her knee up and hit as hard as she could into the front of his trousers.
She missed his eyes. He gave a grunt of pain, but it wasn’t enough. It was like poking a bull with a sewing needle. She’d only provoked him.
He pulled out a knife. A horrible, wicked-looking dagger-type thing.
Was this what had happened to Sarah, Eileen, Gladys? It wasn’t Anthony or John, but some brute who had surprised them and dragged them away? She had no weapon. She had nothing but her social position and that was hardly going to stop this man—
A large shape suddenly appeared behind the fiend and she cried out before she realized who it was. Her attacker jerked, started to turn, but before he could, Cal grabbed the knife out of the man’s hand and pressed the blade to her assailant’s neck.
“I would suggest you let Lady Julia go. Let her go gently and I won’t be forced to draw this blade in a quick slice across your throat.”
He said it in a ruthless tone that made even her blood run cold—and he was saving her.
Pressing the blade harder against the man’s throat, Cal forced the man to release her. Then Cal gripped the man’s muscular arm, twisted it, bent it behind the man’s back. She was stunned at his strength and the way the simple maneuver immobilized the brute. Her attacker stood about the same height as Cal.
“What’s your name?” Cal snapped. But he didn’t say it quite like that—he spoke in a low, ruthless tone that made her shudder. And he threw in a very shocking, naughty word.
Then Cal’s gaze met hers and he jerked. It was as if he’d forgotten she was there.
The man didn’t answer.
Cal twisted the man’s arm and the cry of pain made her wince. “Oh, don’t—” she began.
“Julia, he was going to hurt you. Don’t waste your good heart on this scum. We have to get him to the local jail,” Cal said. “I’m going to get some rope to tie up his hands.” To the man, he growled, “Get walking.”
She followed. This all seemed so unreal. Cal shoved the brute along the lane back toward the cottage. Her neck was so tender. She touched it. Then the full miracle of her escape hit her. “You saved my life. If you hadn’t come—But what are you doing here?”
“I was keeping an eye on you. I didn’t like the idea of you going around alone after Ellen was attacked.”
“You were protecting me. Even after you were so angry with me at the ball.”
“I was mad, but I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
Cal’s prisoner made a grunting sound of disgust. Julia stumbled on the rough track in her heeled shoes. She regained her balance, but Cal turned to her. His attention was on her, not on her attacker. In that moment the man jerked around and he managed to pull the knife from Cal’s grip. Snarling in rage, he slashed it at Cal.
“Look out!” she cried.
Off balance, Cal stumbled as he avoided the slicing arc. The man took off running. He left the lane and sprinted down a slope into a valley.
Cal ran after him, his tweed jacket open and flapping. He almost lost his balance on the ground. He threw himself forward and grabbed the man by the legs. They both went down, rolling over and over. They slapped into the stream, which was a bubbling rush of water after the rain. And the attacker had a knife.
Oh God. Julia couldn’t breathe—her heart pounded in her throat. She had to run to the cottage and fetch Makepeace and a weapon of some kind.
But at that moment, Cal slammed his fist into the man’s jaw, water spraying around him. She heard him shout. “That’s for hurting Lady Julia.”
He hit the man again and again. Violence had erupted in him. If the attacker still held the knife, he was given no chance to use it.
The man slammed his fist into the side of Cal’s face. The knife must have been dropped when they fell. Huge, heavy, the man managed to shove Cal over and Cal landed with a splash. He kicked Cal with his heavy boots.
She shouted, “Help! Help us!” and she ran for the cottage. Alerted by her cries, tall, powerful Makepeace Jones was coming out of the cottage. “Have you got a weapon?” she cried. “A shotgun? A man is attacking Worthington!”
“I do!” Ellen cried. “I’ll fetch it.”
That took precious moments and Julia shouted for Ellen to stay with Ben. She dragged Jones up the lane. They reached the place where the man and Cal had run down, just as Cal was making his way back up, panting hard. His clothes and hair were soaked. Blood tinted the water that streamed down his face. “You’re hurt,” she gasped.
“Flesh wound,” he said. “But the bastard got away. Damn—beg your pardon, Julia.” Then he asked, “Who was he?”
“I don’t know. With the mask, I have no idea.”
“Are ye all right, milord?” Makepeace asked.
“Yes. I’m going to get you back to Brideswell, Julia, then do a sketch of the bas—The man,” Cal said.
“But I didn’t see him.”
“It has to be the man who attacked Ellen and you’ve seen him before. He must have been waiting for you to come here, to get revenge. I’ll take the sketch around the village. Someone has to know who he is. Maybe the sketch is what will make the difference and someone will finally be able to identify him. And you are not to come out alone again. Do you understand?”
Julia nodded. The insulation of shock was wearing off. She felt sick and cold. “I won’t. I promise I won’t.”
“He’s frightened you a hell of a lot.”
She winced again at his harsh words. “He threatened to kill me.”
“Hell, he tried to do it,” Cal said. His voice was half growl, half thunder.
Ellen joined them, her face white.
“He didn’t seem to care that such a thing was against the law,” Julia said primly. “This might be the modern world where there are laws, rights and civilization, but there are still men who believe violence can get them what they want.”
“That, sweetheart, is the brutal truth. And something I don’t think you understood.”
“I do now,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Cal said. “I’m being too harsh.”
“You’re bleeding,” she pointed out. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right, because for a damned moment there, I thought I was going to lose you. But I’m going to find him. I’m going to hunt him down.”
“You absolutely cannot! It’s too dangerous.”
“Hunt down a goon like him? That isn’t dangerous. I’ve done worse.”
Ellen said suddenly, “No. I’ll tell you who he is. I’ll tell you, my lord. I don’t want Lady Julia hurt again. I didn’t mean to cause this. I’m so sorry.”
Ellen hurried to Cal, whispered something, then Cal told Makepeace to take her back to the cottage, warning the man to keep the weapon on hand and to watch over Ellen and Ben.
With that, Cal carried Julia down the lane to his car. “What did Ellen tell you?”
“Precious little,” he growled. “She only had his first name—Jack. Doesn’t know his surname. She doesn’t even know where he lives. Unless she’s still lying—”
“I don’t think she would now. Cal, what did you mean you’ve done worse? In war?”
Cal set her on her feet at his vehicle. “I’ll get men from the local garage to get your car out, Julia.” He didn’t answer her question or say another word as he drove her to Brideswell. There, he carried her to the front door.
“Cal, I am fine. I am capable of walking.”
His hand lingered at her waist as he set her on her feet. Then he took her inside and told Nigel and Zoe what had happened to her—even though she begged him not to.
“Not this time, Sheba,” was all he said. And she knew—everything she loved to do would be over now.
Zoe put her arm around Julia’s shoulders. Next thing Julia knew, she was in her dressing room and Sims had drawn a steaming bath for her.
The warm water was lovely—she hadn’t realized her teeth were chattering until she sank into the steamy water in the deep tub. Plumbing was a marvelous thing. She was glad Zoe had insisted on it. But even the warmth didn’t melt fear—she knew what was to come.
After she’d dried, put on fresh clothes, a knock sounded and Nigel called out, “May I talk to you, Julia?”
“Of course.” She swallowed hard.
Her brother closed the door behind him. He was pale, his mouth tight with fear. He looked a dozen years older suddenly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “You look terrible, Nigel.”
“I’m just thanking God you are all right.” He bent and hugged her. And Nigel was not a demonstrative man. He was very much a cool, aloof Englishman. But he bent and kissed the top of her head.
Then it began, of course.
“Julia, I will not allow you to do this work anymore,” he stated. “It’s too dangerous. It is putting you in the path of dangerous, ruthless people.”
Panic flared. “I’m twenty-seven. You can’t forbid me.”
“You live in my house and you are dependent on me. So that does give me the ability—and I believe the right—to tell you what you can do.”
Her heart sank. “Nigel, I need to help these women.”
“No, Julia. This has become too dangerous. You are not to continue. That is the final word on the matter.”
She tried to make him see how important this was. It was who she was! The thing of value she could do in the world. But Nigel was unmoved.
All the rest of the day, Mother fussed over her. And urged her to consider marriage as a much safer and happier thing to do. Grandmama arrived and laid down the law with Nigel. Julia could hear them in the drawing room. “She is your sister—how could you condone this behavior? Rough laborers. Women of the night. You are to protect her until she is married!”
Julia hurried into the room to protest. “Nigel is not my jailer.”
“No, he is your guardian. And you must obey him.”
“Grandmama, this is 1925!”
“And a woman is still vulnerable and at risk, Julia.”
It was true—she knew that so very well now—but it made her so thoroughly angry.
She’d frightened them all. It made her feel guilty, but she couldn’t simply be packed away in a closet until she decided to marry.
By the next morning, Julia couldn’t cope with being treated like an invalid for another moment. When her sister-in-law came to her room, she cried, “Zoe, I’m going to go mad. Nigel insists that I continue to rest. It has been a whole day. I am quite recovered. And nothing really terrible happened to me. Cal got there in time.”
“He did. But it was still a frightening experience,” Zoe said. “And you know Nigel—perhaps you’ve recovered, but he hasn’t.”
In her vanity mirror, Julia glimpsed her reflection. She had covered the bruises on her neck with foundation powder, but she could see them faintly. The imprint of the man’s fingers. But what was worse was she was realizing what Nigel said was true. She lived under his roof. She was dependent on him. In that circumstance, she was expected to obey him.
“Dr. Campbell has come to see you,” Zoe said.
“Dougal? Heavens, I’m not wounded, I assure you. Just bruised.”
Zoe waved her hand. “Nigel didn’t send for him. He came himself.”
* * *
Sunlight spilled through the drawing room windows onto Dougal’s auburn hair as he paced, making it glint like copper. She assumed he’d come in a professional capacity. The moment he saw her, he blushed and he hurried to her. He grasped her hands. She’d never seen him so...passionate. “Julia, I heard you were badly hurt. Of all people, I do understand your desire to help people, especially the less fortunate. You know, as I do, how those people can end up ignored. But, Julia, you must not do this any longer.”
She blinked. “Dougal?”
“This woman consorted with dangerous men and brought you into danger. You say she has resisted your every attempt to help her. You must leave this alone.”
“How can you say that? You save lives—you know how important this is. I can’t just give up, Dougal. This is not like you,” she said desperately. “I don’t understand. And you certainly can’t tell me what to do.”
“I haven’t done this well. I haven’t expressed it properly. I mean to say, that I will help her, Julia. I will study her condition, determine if she has shell shock and treat her.”
“Thank you. What has changed your mind?”
To her surprise, Dougal dropped to one knee. “Julia, being here has made me realize I need you at my side.”
He couldn’t be...that was impossible. “But you are engaged—”
“It’s not a formal engagement yet. I tried to throw myself into work, into research, but I can no longer focus, no longer think. All I can think of is you, Julia. I knew I couldn’t have you, and I knew Margaret, as a doctor’s daughter, would make me a good wife. I care very deeply for her. But being here, with you again... I was a damn fool to ever leave Brideswell. Julia, would you ever consider marrying me? I know I have no right to ask, but I knew, after I saw you in London, that I could not live without you.”
“You would end your...not formal engagement?”
“How can I make Margaret happy when I am in love with you?”
In love with her. She had longed for this moment before—to find out Dougal loved her deeply and would surmount the obstacles for her, overcome the bridge of their class difference. But—
He was waiting for her answer, hope in his eyes. This man who fought to save lives every day had told her he needed her. “Julia, I know there is no other woman in the world for me but you.”
She could be a doctor’s wife, and have a family of her own. She would have purpose. She could do good things. But—
“Dougal, I can’t. I admire you. I did love you very much. But I—I can’t marry you now.”
“Because of my engagement?”
“Because I fear I have fallen in love with someone else.”
“Are you engaged?”
“No and I won’t be, because he has no intention of marrying, and even if he did, I think he would marry someone else. I believed I wouldn’t marry and I thought I had found my place—helping women like Ellen. Now, all the men in my life insist I can’t do it. So I no longer have a purpose and I am supposed to...do nothing but wait for marriage. But I can’t do that. Not anymore. And I can’t make you happy if I’m not deeply in love with you. I want you to find happiness with your fiancée. If you believe you can’t, you shouldn’t marry her. Don’t marry her to simply have a wife.”
The pain on his face sliced to her heart. “Julia, are you certain?” he begged.
She could change her mind. She could embrace everything she’d always wanted... No, she could not. “I’m so sorry, Dougal. I hope I haven’t hurt you.”
“And I am sorry if I ever hurt you,” he said gruffly. He bowed stiffly, then took his leave. From the doorway, she watched him walk away through Brideswell’s salon, out through the front door, holding his hat in his hand.
She never dreamed Dougal would propose. Two years ago, she would have happily accepted. But that was before she’d met Cal.
She glanced up to find Bartlet, Brideswell’s butler, standing in the doorway. “Mr. David Carstairs to see you, my lady. I have taken him to the south drawing room. The doors are open, the breeze is pleasant today and Mr. Carstairs should be able to maneuver in the room as it is more spacious.”
“Thank you. That should be perfect.”
She was tremendously worried about why David Carstairs had come—until she reached the drawing room and he smiled at her. He reached out. Warmed by the gesture, she went to him and clasped his hands.
“I had to come—forcing a lot of footmen to carry me downstairs and put me in my chair,” he said, wearing that endearing, self-effacing smile. “I had to come and thank you. I heard Cal was angry with you at the ball. He was afraid I was going to be hurt when Alice told me she is in love with someone else. I’m actually happy. When you really love someone, you just want them to be happy.”
Her heart stuttered. Was Cal the person Alice loved? “I was afraid I had meddled and hurt both you and Cal,” she admitted.
“I know Cal told you not to do it. I’m really glad you didn’t listen. It was good to see her again.”
“But didn’t it hurt?”
“Yeah, there was some pain. But that’s how I know I’m alive—because I can still feel some pain in my heart. Cal was trying to spare me pain. But he’s wrong. I can take it.” He squeezed her hand gently. “I know you understand. You survived losing your fiancé.”
“I managed to get through it. Survived is probably too generous a word.”
“I told Cal he has to apologize to you, Julia. For his outburst. When he returns, he will come and tell you.”
“Returns? Where is he?”
“He’s found the man who beat up Miss Lambert. I guess that’s the same man who attacked you.”