“It is a tale told by an idiot.”
MACBETH, MACBETH ACT V, SCENE V
“Hush,” Temperance said, watching every twitch of his face carefully. “You don’t wish to cause a scene, do you?”
“I—where? How?”
She’d forgotten cousin Robert’s utter lack of imagination. “Dance with me if you want to chat,” she said, surprised to find herself more filled with annoyance than fear. If he was feigning his own startlement, he was doing it very well, and she couldn’t quite guess why—unless, of course, it was to hide the fact that he’d known who she was for at least a week and had been trying to kill her.
Damn him, anyway. Temperance clapped her hand against his, put her other hand on his shoulder, and practically dragged him into the dance. He continued to gawp, and she stifled a scowl.
“You feign surprise well,” she commented, keeping her voice pitched low so the dancers around them couldn’t hear their conversation, “but I’m unconvinced. When did you recognize me? Did you go to a performance of As You Like It, perchance?”
Beyond his shoulder, Coll swung by, his sister-in-law Amy in his arms. She ignored his inquiring look, though. This was not the time for her to allow herself to be distracted.
“What are you talking about?” Robert whispered. “Were you at the theater? I thought … I thought you’d run off to America or somewhere. I’m sorry, but after all this time you can hardly blame me for not noticing you in the middle of a crowd while I was watching a performance, especially when I thought you to be halfway across the world.”
Temperance blinked. Was he saying he thought she’d been watching the same performance he’d attended? “You were at the Saint Genesius, then. I knew you’d recognized me.”
“I did not see you at the Saint Genesius, Temp. I would have told your parents if I had, and they would stop holding your idiotic inheritance over my head every time I mentioned wanting to live in Devonshire instead of damned Cumbria. God, I hate it there.”
“You’re living in Devon?”
“I’m trying to. My mother’s brother, my uncle William, had an estate there. It’s mine now, but your father keeps telling me that the Bayton title belongs in Cumbria, and if I want him to disown you so I get your blunt, I’d best remain there.”
“But you’ve relocated anyway?” None of this made any blasted sense now.
“A year ago. I’d tell him to his face that I don’t want the money if it means living in that drafty old hall, but that inheritance has to go somewhere, doesn’t it? After you left, I figured I would end up living there eventually, because they’d make me agree to it—and a million other things, more than likely—before they’d hand over the blunt. Now that you’re back, though, they’ll stop torturing me with it and I can finally settle where I want to.” He frowned. “But what does that have to do with going to the theater?”
“Nothing, apparently.” For heaven’s sake. But he had been there. And someone was trying to kill her. “With whom did you attend?”
“Your parents and Carolyn. You know, maybe Carolyn saw you there. She was very quiet afterward, but I thought it was because she was angry with me for not pressing your father about having you declared dead. No offense, of course, but eventually they would have had to realize that Bayton will belong to me whether I live there or not, and the only difference would be that with the blunt to hand I could actually renovate it. If it’s so precious to them, you’d think they would at least wish for it to be maintained properly.” He sighed. “No hope of that now, unless you did marry a butcher and have a litter of pudgy butcher’s children. Did you? You’re not dressed like a butcher’s wife.”
“I’m not married,” she said slowly, the exchange swirling about in her head as she tried to make sense of it. To make sense of anything, really.
“That’s that, then. If I were you, I’d make them promise me the blunt in writing in exchange for you marrying someone of whom they approve. Though that didn’t work out for you before. Why’d you run, anyway? All you had to do was keep Dunhurst happy in his doddering old age.”
“Because I didn’t want to marry a doddering old man forty years my senior. And he wasn’t doddering. He was cruel.”
“I don’t like him much, I’ll admit, but that’s no real business of mine.”
The music stopped, and so did they. While the other couples separated to applaud, Coll was abruptly there beside her. “Well?” he prompted, his very level gaze on Robert. “Do I get to kill him?”
Robert blanched. “I say, you’re that large Scotsman, the one who’s taken Persephone Jones as a lov—” He trailed off, his white face taking on a gray tinge. “Good God, Temperance. You’re—”
Grabbing her cousin’s hand, she towed him toward the doorway. With Coll falling in behind and shoving Robert from behind, they sped down the hallway and through the first closed door she found. Only then did she release Robert, turning to glare at him. “Keep your voice down,” she ordered.
“You’re her!” he exclaimed in a hushed, husky voice tinged with excitement. “You’re Persephone Jones!”
Behind him, Coll lifted an eyebrow. “What the devil?”
She waved her hand. “He’s an idiot.”
“Who is?” both men said in ragged unison.
“Him.” She jabbed a finger at her cousin. “You.”
“Why? Because I didn’t happen to recognize my cousin, whom I haven’t seen in eight years, when she reappeared as a famous actress three hundred miles from her home?” He put a hand over his mouth. “Definitely have your parents put in writing that you’re to inherit before you tell them what you’ve been up to.”
Temperance wanted to cover her eyes and her ears all at the same time. For Robert’s immediate conclusion after not seeing her for eight years to be that she would simply resume her life from the point where she’d left off, as if she’d never had any cause to leave in the first place … “I need a moment to think,” she said, taking a seat and bending her head over her knees.
“And keep him away from you,” Robert went on. “If Uncle Michael and Aunt Georgiana realize you’ve been fucked by a Scotsman, they’ll never forgi—”
His voice stopped, followed by a dull thudding sound and something heavy hitting the floor. Temperance lifted her head to see cousin Robert crumpled on the carpet. “Coll!”
He shrugged, uncoiling his fist. “He wouldnae shut up. And he insulted ye.”
“He didn’t say anything untrue.”
“I still didnae like it.” Stepping over him, Coll approached to crouch beside her chair. “I’m guessing ye dunnae think cousin Robert is the one who tried to kill ye.”
“No. He was surprised to see me, only wants my supposed inheritance because it needs to go to him if it doesn’t go to me, and only figured out that I’m Persephone Jones after he saw you.”
“I hoped it was him. I’ve a need to see ye safe, Temperance. And a need to know that now I’ve found ye, nae a man will be able to take ye from me.”
Reaching for his face, she cupped his cheek with its beginnings of evening stubble. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted someone who simply valued … me,” she whispered. “I’d almost forgotten who that person was.”
He smiled, kissing her palm. “I’d have known ye anywhere, mo chridhe. Now tell me, did he say anything at all of interest?”
“He did see a performance of As You Like It, but had no idea it was me onstage.” She took a breath, wishing she could simply sink to the floor with Coll and let everything else go away. “My parents and his fiancée were there, as well.”
“Ye still reckon yer folks have nae reason to harm ye?”
“I suppose if I was enough of an embarrassment, they might wish me dead, but killing Persephone Jones would more than likely cause the truth about my identity to emerge. They certainly wouldn’t want that.”
“I agree. It’d make less of a stink if they quietly disowned ye or paid ye a sum in exchange for allowing them to declare ye dead.”
“Yes.”
“What about Miss Caroline Rilence, then? Ye said ye went to school with her.”
She was past being surprised that he’d remembered Caroline’s name and where she first made her schoolmate’s acquaintance. “Finishing school. I didn’t know her well. Just well enough to remember the name, I suppose.”
Coll tilted his head a little. “Was she an ambitious lass?”
“I don’t really know.” She closed her eyes for a moment, attempting to ignore both her cousin crumpled on the floor and Coll’s assessing gaze on her. Mrs. Paulton’s Finishing School for Ladies of Good Breeding had been twelve years ago. When she summoned Caroline’s name, she recalled a thin, blonde girl with a hesitant smile and a tolerable singing voice. “She’s just … there,” she finally said, opening her eyes again. “I certainly don’t think we were well-enough acquainted for her to wish me dead.”
“And yet she was at the theater. Is she here tonight?” Despite his easy tone, the steel beneath his words reminded her that he was not a man with whom one trifled.
“Yes. She’s a duck—a white one with green beading.”
He stuck out his hand. “I cannae leave ye here. I’ll send Niall back to wake yer cousin and tell him that he hit his head on someaught. And that if he doesnae wish to hit his head again, he’ll be keeping his gobber shut about seeing ye tonight.”
Coll helped her step over her groaning cousin as they made for the hallway again. “I’ve nae hit a woman in my life, but if this Caroline Rilence has been trying to harm ye, I mean to make certain she stops. Whatever that takes.”
Back in the ballroom, Coll found his brothers and caught them up, sending Niall back to threaten Robert and Aden to watch the front doors for a female duck’s departure. He handed Temperance over to Amy and Miranda, who each took a hand to lead her to where Lord and Lady Aldriss stood.
“Caroline Rilence,” the older of the two, Miranda, said in a musing tone. “I know her, but only slightly. She always seemed rather timid. Seeing her as a killer … It seems so odd.”
“We can’t be certain it’s her,” Temperance countered. “Simply because we know she was at the theater doesn’t mean anything. A half dozen people I’ve seen here tonight would know me as Temperance, if they thought to look for me.”
But no one other than Robert and the MacTaggerts knew her as Temperance Hartwood tonight. People were beginning to whisper behind their masks at each other, though, sending her glances or outright staring. They’d begun to recognize Persephone Jones. This wouldn’t end well—not if she continued trying to be incognito.
As another country dance ended, a plump woman clothed in white and pink marched forward, a unicorn’s head with a towering horn perched above her graying black hair, a half dozen other masked ladies behind her. Yes, it was always the women who didn’t like seeing her about, as if they all expected her to cast some sort of spell on their husbands.
“Perhaps we should depart,” Lady Aldriss murmured, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Just a moment,” Temperance countered. “I think I can be of some help to Coll.”
Walking forward to meet their hostess, she sketched an elegant curtsy to Lady Fenster. “My lady,” she said grandly, “I thank you for your indulgence. Gentle people, tomorrow the Saint Genesius Theatre will premiere our first ever rendition of the Scottish play, otherwise known as”—she leaned forward a little, cupping a hand to her mouth as she conspiratorially lowered her voice—“Macbeth.”
Her name—her faux name—began echoing through the ballroom, and she made a broad, beckoning gesture. “Might I further indulge you, my lady, and your radiant guests? Perhaps a portion of Lady Macbeth’s sleepwalking soliloquy? Something to cast a few shadows and make the ladies long for a husband’s arm to protect them?”
The exaggerated shivers and muttered approvals from the gathering crowd answered her well enough, but she didn’t move until Lady Fenster nodded her approval. Taking a deep breath, Temperance blew out the nearest set of candles and turned her back, then slowly faced forward again. With the mask on, she would have to rely more on her tone than her facial expressions, but she was accustomed to that. The audience in the rear seats of the Saint Genesius could barely see the stage, after all.
Lifting her hands, she slowly rubbed them together as if washing them over a basin.
Out, damned spot! Out, I say!—One: two: why,
then, ’tis time to do’t.—Hell is murky!—Fie, my
lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we
fear who knows it, when none can call our power
to account?—Yet who would have thought the old
man to have had so much blood in him?
She tilted her head, still staring at her hands, silently reciting the lines that weren’t hers, noting the audience surrounding her in a half circle, mesmerized and silent. Good. That should make finding Caroline a bit easier on Coll.
The thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now?—
What, will these hands ne’re be clean?—No more o’
that, my lord, no more o’ that: you mar all with this starting.
Catching sight of Coll at the rear of the room, she gave a slight nod, and he motioned at her to continue, his father and Niall now there with him.
Wash your hands, put on your nightgown;
look not so pale.—I tell you yet again, Banquo’s
buried; he cannot come out on’s grave.
To bed, to bed! There’s knocking at the gate:
come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What’s
done cannot be undone.—To bed, to bed, to bed!
With that, she lifted her head and took a quick step forward, seemingly startled by her surroundings. One woman toward the front of the crowd shrieked, and several others jumped. Temperance lowered her shoulders, put on a smile, and gave another deep curtsy.
The roar of applause would have made Charlie Huddle weep. No doubt every performance would be packed to the rafters now. More importantly, though, Coll approached, his hand around the arm of a young lady in a duck mask as he half dragged her forward.
“This her?” he asked without preamble.
The hair was blonde, but the duck’s beading was simpler, and the feathers not as full. “No,” she whispered. “Let her go before you frighten her to death.”
“What is—Lady Aldriss!” The young lady sketched a nervous curtsy.
“Ah, Lady Agnes,” the countess said, taking the hand Coll released and squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry my son has no manners. I know you enjoy the theater, and I thought you might wish to make Mrs. Jones’s acquaintance.”
“Oh.” Lady Agnes began a curtsy, then stopped, evidently remembering that one did not bow to a commoner. Instead, she inclined her head regally. “Mrs. Jones, that was wonderful. I don’t think I shall be able to sleep tonight.”
Persephone smiled. “You are very kind, my lady.”
Once she’d hurried back to her friends, Lady Aldriss frowned. “Do stop grabbing women, dear,” she said to her oldest son. “Whoever they might be, or whatever you think they might have done.”
“She was the only bloody duck in the house,” Coll responded. “Where’s Robert Hartwood?”
“On his way home, I reckon,” Niall said. “Poor fellow, knocking his head on a post like that. He’ll keep quiet, but nae for more than a day or two, I reckon. He mentioned being out from under his uncle’s thumb nae fewer than three times as I dragged him out of the house.”
She’d fled, then. Caroline had left Fenster House, and without making an excuse to her betrothed. Cold crept down Temperance’s spine again. How could it be her? Someone she barely remembered wanted her dead? Why? Because of the money? That had to be it, but killing someone who only wanted to remain hidden had a cruel, brutal ring to it.
“Robert may nae care whether he gets the blunt meant for ye,” Coll said, “but I’d wager money now that his fiancée isnae so happy to see it gone.”
“I will discover her address,” the countess stated. “The rest of you, we’re going home. Then you may call on her, Coll. With your brothers.”
Lord Aldriss stepped forward. “I’ll be with ye, wife. We dunnae stand alone, ye ken.”
Now everyone wanted a word with Temperance as the MacTaggerts headed for the front door, and their exit slowed to a crawl. When a fox and a swan appeared in the line to add their accolades, she reached for Coll’s sleeve.
He moved immediately, putting himself between her and the well-wishers. “The lot of ye are suffocating me,” he grunted, creating a space for the rest of the MacTaggerts just by virtue of his presence. They filed out the door in pairs, with Coll bringing up the rear.
“Lass, that was sterling,” Aden said, taking her hand and shaking it. “If Coll ever gives ye trouble, ye just give that speech. I reckon that’ll settle him down.”
“‘Sterling?’” Miranda repeated, grinning.
“Aye. I’ve been learning to speak Sassenach, ye ken.”
“Well, stop it, for Saint Andrew’s sake,” Coll muttered, taking Temperance’s arm and pulling her close against him. “We know who it is, lass. Now we only need to find her.”
“And then what?”
“And then I reckon we’ll see just how much power Lady Aldriss can wield with a judge or two. Or I’ll put Caroline Rilence in a crate myself and ship her off to America.” He lowered his head. “And that’s me being as civilized as I can manage.”
Strictly legal or not, it sounded definitive enough to settle her a bit. The logical part of her could see why it might have happened—Caroline wanted the money for herself and Robert, and so when she’d seen the person meant to inherit it, she’d taken steps to keep Temperance from claiming it. Perhaps it was because Temperance had walked away from the money without a second thought that the whole idea seemed preposterous—certainly not worth anyone’s life.
As she stepped into the coach behind Lady Aldriss, she glanced over her shoulder to see Coll mount Nuckelavee, his monster of a black horse. If they couldn’t find Caroline, there remained one way to stop her. Walking up to knock on the front door of Hartwood House was the very last thing she wanted to do, of course. But this wasn’t just about her any longer. The MacTaggerts had taken her in, and one of them loved her. She would not allow them to be put in danger because of her.
MacTaggerts, she’d begun to realize, did not stand alone.