Beth was utterly daunted. It could hardly be coincidence that Guy was here. Had he realized that Bessie Alder and Beth Tremoille were the same person? Had the solicitors’ notice brought him? Did he think she’d murdered Joshua and stolen the money? She didn’t know what to do, except hope he was calling somewhere nearby. When she didn’t alight, the hackney coachman climbed down to come to the door. He had a bulbous red nose and bushy eyebrows, and wasn’t in the best of tempers. ‘How long are we going to hang around like this, miss?’ he growled.
‘I wish to wait a while.’
‘It’ll cost you. I charge double for standing around!’
It was outrageous, but she nodded. She didn’t dare alight in case Dickon recognized her, nor did she want to drive on before ascertaining if she was worrying unnecessarily about Guy. Another twenty minutes passed before the doors of the building opposite opened and two men came out. She recognized one as the senior partner, Mr Arthur Withers, who had been summoned to Tremoille House on occasion in the past. He was a strangely chinless man, short and well upholstered, in a powdered wig and stern black clothes. The other man was Guy, and she was aghast, having begun to convince herself that he was calling elsewhere.
He was as perfectly dressed as before, his chestnut hair shining in the sunlight, and he was smiling at something the solicitor said. His maroon coat and cream trousers were a superb fit, and he was the personification of stylish nonchalance as he tapped his hat on his head and began to tease on his gloves. A jewelled pin flashed in his neck cloth, and she distinctly heard him laugh. He really was an extraordinarily attractive man, she thought, trying not to remember that he was the source of the sensual ecstasy she’d experienced the last time she’d lain with Jake. She bowed her head and toyed unhappily with her reticule. It would now be utter madness to approach the solicitors, because doing that would in all probably lead to her arrest, maybe even the gallows. If she simply drove away, at least she would keep her freedom.
Suddenly the coach door was snatched open and she gave a start on finding herself face to face with Guy. ‘Well, now, if it isn’t Miss Alder,’ he declared, ‘or is it Miss Tremoille?’ She blanched, too intimidated to move or even think. ‘Have you no swift ripostes this time?’ he taunted.
She couldn’t look away from his spellbinding eyes, but her wits rallied a little. ‘Who are you, sir?’
‘You know me well enough, although I admit I almost didn’t recognize you.’
Beth felt completely trapped. Dread flowed over her as the worst seemed about to happen, but at the same time she experienced such a devastating sense of attraction toward him that he might have been a magnet and she a helpless pin. Her body ached, and her lips were tender and expectant, as if anticipating his kiss. She was shaken by her feelings; ashamed, betrayed and haunted by them.
He tried to read her thoughts. ‘I’m curious about your transformation from beggar to fine lady. Exactly how much did that pheasant weigh, mm? Somewhere in the region of one thousand guineas?’ The colours she wore reminded him of the fascinating portrait at Tremoille House. She was Oberon’s daughter again, a tree spirit from the depths of an enchanted wood. He drew himself up sharply. Fantasy had no place in this. She was the hunted, and he the hunter. For him she was simply Esmond Tremoille’s heir, and therefore nothing more than a matter of unfinished business. A tricky matter of business at that. What part she’d played in the death of the man Joshua was yet to be uncovered, but a common thief she certainly was, and criminal or not, he needed her in order to regain Valmer property. He’d marry her if she were as ugly as sin itself.
His silence puzzled her. ‘Why do you persist in this case of mistaken identity?’
‘Hardly mistaken identity. I’ve been looking for you, Beth Tremoille. I even found out about your blacksmith and paid him a visit.’ He smiled as her lips parted. ‘So he still means something to you? You certainly mean everything to him, but he’s grateful for the memories. He’s at the forge in Frampney now, should you wish to return to him.’
So Jake had purchased the half-share he wanted so much. She was glad, but this time nothing showed on her face as she regarded Guy. Suddenly she shouted to the hackney coachman. ‘Drive on! Drive on! This gentleman is pestering me!’
Guy grabbed her wrist. ‘Oh, no, you don’t! You’re not going to give me the slip!’
‘Let me go!’ she screamed. ‘Drive on, for pity’s sake! I’m being attacked! Help! Help!’ The coachman’s whip cracked, and the horse set off at a strong trot. Guy tried to pull her out of the coach, but she resisted with all her might, even going so far as to kick out at him. She felt his gloved fingers slipping, and at last he had to release her. The door swung wildly, and she sobbed as she tried to close it. For a moment her eyes locked with Guy’s as he stood in the street behind. His lips moved, and she knew what he was saying. I’ll find you again, Beth Tremoille, I’ll find you! She sat back weakly on the seat, trembling and feeling sick. Guy was quick-witted enough to have noted the coach’s licence, so it would be stupid to direct the driver to the Swan. Glancing out she realized she was in Easterden Street. Well, two could be quick-witted, she decided, and leaned out. ‘Stop now, if you please!’
The coachman hauled on the reins and, as she climbed out, he stretched a hand down to her. ‘That’ll be three shillings,’ he said, ‘unless you want me to tell that fancy cove where I’ve dropped you off?’
She disguised her feelings as she took the coins from her reticule, but then held them up just beyond his reach and let them drop into a heap of fresh horse dung. She walked away with some satisfaction hearing him curse foully as he got down to retrieve the money. As soon as he wasn’t looking at her, she dodged into a circulating library on the corner, and observed through the window as he wiped the coins on his coat, climbed back up to his seat and turned the coach around to return to Caradine Street. He was going to tell Guy anyway! She hurried from hiding and ran along the street toward the entrance of Mr Henry Topweather’s premises, slipping inside without attracting any attention. The door gave on to a shadowy, unlit staircase to the first floor, where another door admitted her to the house agent’s offices. An elderly clerk, thin and stooping, looked curiously at Beth from his stool behind a high, narrow desk. The quill behind his ear had stained his lopsided wig as well as the top of his ear, and his drab clothes were so comfortably worn they looked as if he hadn’t changed them in six months. ‘May I help you, madam?’
‘I wish to see Mr Topweather.’
‘He is engaged with a client at the moment, but will not be long. If you’d be so kind as to take a seat over there?’ He indicated an upright chair in a corner, then sanded some papers and blew the excess away noisily. As Beth sat down she became aware of low male voices and the smell of cigar smoke in the adjoining room, the door of which stood slightly ajar. After about five minutes there came the scraping of chairs, and two gentlemen emerged – at least, one gentleman came out, accompanied by a short, fat man of about forty, with perspiration on his high forehead and a fixed smile on his wet lips. He wore a baggy blue coat and grey breeches, and his small dark eyes were like polished pebbles as he fawned upon his companion. The gentleman was maybe ten years older, tall and muscular, with a high complexion and drinker’s nose. His manner was blustering and his temper disagreeable as he jammed his expensive top hat on his sparse hair. ‘I’ve been assured that you are in Baynsdon’s confidence, Topweather. I trust it’s true?’
‘I’m his second cousin, my lord.’
‘All I want is to be tipped the wink about his decision. Damn it all, not only do I refuse to be defeated by my scheming bitch of a wife, but I also intend to make money out of it as well! I never imagined that my thrice-cursed marriage would cause more flutters in Belvedere’s than Wellington’s final tilt with Boney!’
Topweather hurried to open the outer door. ‘I will be in touch with you the moment I learn anything, Lord St Clair.’
‘See that you are, Topweather. Baynsdon must find for me, d’you hear?’ His lordship stomped out angrily, and Topweather closed the door thankfully, and then saw Beth. He raked her from head to toe, and evidently found her much to his liking, for his face creased into a rather oily smile as he crossed lightly toward her, almost on tiptoe. ‘Why, madam, I had no idea you were here.’ He bowed over her hand, holding her fingers longer than was necessary and thus making her uncomfortably aware of him. ‘May I be of assistance?’ he enquired.
‘You are seeking a tenant for a property?’ She drew her hand away.
‘I have many properties on my books, Miss…?’
‘Mrs Alder. I am a widow.’ He glanced at her far from sombre clothes, especially the area of her breasts. ‘My husband passed away five years ago,’ she said, annoyed to feel the need to explain, and filled with distaste by his obvious male interest.
‘You must have married exceedingly young, Mrs Alder,’ he replied smoothly, perhaps intending it to be a compliment, or perhaps to convey his suspicion that she was not telling the truth. Neither possibility was pleasing, and when she didn’t answer he cleared his throat. ‘I, er, I have no idea which property interests you.’
‘I saw an advertisement regarding an isolated house on the coast.’
‘Ah, yes. Please come this way, and I will show you the property.’ He glanced at the clerk. ‘Jones? Some tea, if you please.’
She got up to enter the other office, and was disagreeably aware of his hand resting against her waist as he ushered her toward a green leather chair that faced his cluttered desk. The room still hung with Lord St Clair’s cigar smoke, a blue haze that floated and swirled in the draught from the door. As she sat down, she knew that Topweather was leaning over her in order to ogle her breasts. Not only that, he was rubbing his right hand against the front of his breeches. Revolted, she wished she hadn’t come here, but it was too late now, and anyway, she really was interested in the house. Topweather went around the desk to sit down and rummage through a drawer. At last he brought out a document from which depended a bright vermilion seal. ‘The property in question, the Dower House, is situated on the Devon shore of the Bristol Channel, at a small fishing hamlet and creek called Lannermouth.
‘Dower House? So it’s part of an estate?’ That wasn’t what she wanted at all.
‘Originally, yes. The nearby Haldane estate owns Lannermouth, but the Dower House was sold several years ago. The Haldanes have always been an important West Country family, and the village next to their ancestral home is named after them.’ He spoke to her, but looked at her bosom. His right hand was thankfully out of sight, but she knew he was rubbing himself again. Was she the only young woman ever to set unfortunate foot over his threshold?
‘Can you describe the property?’ she asked coolly.
‘It is thatched, part old, part modern, and has been got up in a gothic manner. The proportions are modest; it’s tastefully furnished, with five bedrooms, three reception, a kitchen, stables and all the usual offices, a kitchen garden, hen coop and so on and so on. I understand there is also a very fashionable veranda, thatched like the house itself, around three sides of the ground floor. Oh, and a secluded pleasure garden on the landward side, sheltered from the sea winds and planted with flowers and shrubs of an almost Mediterranean nature. A housekeeper is in residence, a Mrs Cobbett. Other staff can be hired locally. If this is agreeable to you, the sum of fifty-five guineas will secure it for twelve months.’ He placed the document in front of her.
It seemed idyllic, she thought, and affordable. She would take the house in spite of the agent’s disgusting inclination to fondle his private parts in her presence. A year at the Dower House in Lannermouth would enable her to consider at leisure what to do with her future. ‘I will take it immediately, Mr Topweather,’ she said, ‘if that is in order? I have the money with me.’
He regarded her thoughtfully, still smiling, and then nodded. ‘Excellent.’ The clerk brought in a tray of tea, which when poured proved to be weak and colourless. Topweather waved Jones out again, and placed a cup before her with his offending right hand. ‘Now, I need a few personal details, Mrs Alder,’ he said, wiping his damp palms on his coat as he sat back and then, reaching for a notebook and a pencil. ‘Your full name, maiden name, the name and circumstances of your late husband, your present address, and so on.’
Beth was resigned. She’d already invented her surname, so why not everything else too? It was as well to be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. ‘Eliza Mary Alder, née Wilkes, widow of Jacob James Alder, sea captain. Presently staying at the Swan with Two Necks in Lad Lane, but formerly of Queen’s Crescent, Scarborough.’ It sounded impressively plausible, she thought, pleased.
He scribbled it all down, and then rose again. ‘Please excuse me while I have Jones prepare the necessary documents. It will not take long.’
The tea remained untouched as Beth discreetly counted fifty-five guineas on the desk, and glanced around the room. All was not as it should be, she thought, sensing something in the atmosphere that had nothing to do with her personal abhorrence of Mr Henry Topweather. He definitely ran an agency, because apart from the details of the Dower House, the desk was laden with letters and documents concerning other properties around the country. Why then did she feel so ill at ease? It wasn’t that she was afraid of Topweather’s unwelcome advances, because Jake had taught her how to defend herself. She was just aware of something yet to come.
After a while Topweather returned with the new documents, and resumed his seat to go through them with her. When she was content that the Dower House was indeed hers for the next twelve months, she appended her false signature and then pushed the money toward him. ‘I trust I am now the legal tenant, Mr Topweather?’
‘Indeed yes.’ The constant smile continued to crease his cheeks, and she wondered if his facial muscles ever ached, but then he asked something startling. ‘Tell me, Mrs Alder, why is it that a lady of your obvious quality takes the risk of carrying such a great deal of money on her person? Don’t be afraid, for I am not about to seize your purse and steal whatever is left. On the contrary, I may be able to increase its contents by a considerable sum.’
‘I think my business here is done,’ she declared firmly, getting up.
‘At least do me the courtesy of hearing me out,’ he said in a reasonable tone.
‘I would rather not.’
‘Then I fear I may have to turn you in to the authorities, for it is clear to me that you have given me false information about your identity. It’s my guess there’s a warrant out against you. So sit down again, if you please, and let me tell you how we can win ourselves a splendid pile of money. I know you’d like that, because if you were already rich you wouldn’t be looking at the Dower House, so far away from London. But I’m not interested in your secrets, just in your co-operation.’
The light in her eyes changed. So that was it. He wanted her favours in exchange for his silence! ‘You revolt me,’ she breathed.
His smile became lecherously rueful. ‘Much as I’d enjoy dipping my wick in you, my dear, I fear my proposition is far from carnal. What I want is that you be an errand girl, someone who looks the picture of fashion and breeding, and who will be accepted without question. Believe me, it will be to your own advantage too.’ She hesitated, intrigued against her will. Gauging her indecision, he proceeded. ‘When you were waiting in the other room, you saw Lord St Clair. He and his wife are cousins in the process of divorce, and each believes they have sole right to the title and Ulsbourne Castle in Sussex. Lord St Clair is the present titleholder, but she is the only remaining member of the senior branch of the family, and has produced papers that apparently cast doubt on his legitimacy. The matter is a great cause célèbre. If Mr Justice Baynsdon, to whom I am related, finds for her, Lord St Clair will lose everything to her, title included, because in the absence of a legitimate male claimant, the title can go to the female side. Belvedere’s Tearooms are the place this season, where the beau monde will bet upon anything, and the St Clair business has them chasing their tails in a veritable frenzy. Vast wagers are being laid, mostly upon the verdict going to Lord St Clair outright. But there are other possibilities; for example, Lord St Clair might retain the castle but lose the title; Lady St Clair might win everything, or the title and nothing else. Now then, what would you say if I told you I already know the judge’s exact decision?’ he asked.
Her lips parted. ‘Do you?’
Again the smile, ‘Oh, yes, my dear, and what my partner and I need is a go-between to place our bets. In short, Mrs Alder, someone like you.’ Beth was no fool, and guessed that his partner was none other than Mr Justice Baynsdon himself. ‘Place the bets, for us at Belvedere’s Tearooms,’ Topweather continued, ‘and at eight o’clock tonight you, personally, could be in possession of at least two hundred times the outlay for a year at the Dower House.’
She was silent for a moment, and then regarded him again. ‘You believe me to be dishonest, Mr Topweather, so surely you see that I might abscond with all the money?’
‘You would be very foolish to try it, because my man will be following you all the time, and believe me, he is most adept at such matters. You would not escape with anything that was not yours.’
‘I begin to wonder if I would escape with what was mine,’ she countered.
He gave her his first genuine smile. ‘Honour among thieves, Mrs Alder. I am scrupulously fair when dealing with associates. Do we have an agreement?’
‘It’s very tempting, but—’
He wagged a finger and tutted. ‘That’s the wrong answer, dear lady. You must agree or I will see to it that the relevant authorities know all about you.’
‘Then I have no choice, do I?’ She got up. ‘What am I expected to do?’
‘Come here at seven tonight. I will tell you what to bet, and give you the funds to place at Belvedere’s Tearooms for my partner and me, under the names of Harrison and Connor, both of Richmond. What you call yourself is up to you. I will have a carriage waiting to take you there. When you have the winnings, keep what is yours and bring the rest back here for me to divide with my partner, and then we can all go our separate ways. Believe me, with funds like that you could live in luxury at Lannermouth. Just remember to be circumspect between now and then. You will be watched. Behave yourself and all will be well. I’m a fair man.’
‘I wouldn’t call blackmail fair, Mr Topweather.’
For the rest of that day Beth thought long and hard about the evening ahead. She dared not defy Henry Topweather because he would certainly carry out his threat. Fleeing London now was an option, of course, but to go where? The Dower House was hers for the next year, so to bolt elsewhere would mean forfeiting that precious money. And there was the rather unworthy fact that she would dearly like to have more in her purse. It had to be faced that the funds she had would not support her for the rest of her life, and no matter how contemptible Henry Topweather might be, he offered her a chance to become truly wealthy.