Page 102 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
“Not precisely, my dear. Oh, his death was his own fault. But I met him out upon his estate and suggested the direction in which we should ride. When we got to the stone wall, I simply had to rein in. He was so careless the way he took his jumps. The plow was ready and waiting. It was all his own doing.”
Jonathan spoke as though it were the most reasonable thing in the world. Phaedra ran a hand over her eyes. This was a nightmare, and she couldn’t seem to wake.
“Everything would have been all right then.” Jonathan sighed and regarded her with mild reproach. “Except by that time, you had started that Robin Goodfellow business. I hated it. I knew it be only a matter of time before that old woman found you out.”
“Old woman? What old woman?” she asked.
“That Searle woman, of course. She was always prying. Dreadful creature. I told Sawyer never to employ her.”
But her grandfather had paid no heed. No one had ever paid heed to Jonathan, least of all herself. Perhaps, Phaedra thought sadly, that was what had reduced him to this. Feeling her legs ready to give out, she sank down upon the chair at the dressing table. Dreading what he might say next, she felt it far safer to keep him talking, clinging to the desperate hope that someone- perhaps one of Jonathan’s servants-might return to the house to help her.
“So Hester knew about my writing?” Phaedra was astonished that her voice could sound so calm. They might have been conversing over the tea table, as they had so many times before.
“Aye, Hester found your drafts, and she wanted money to keep silent. She knew better than to approach Sawyer, but being aware of my fondness for you, she came to me instead.”
Memory rushed back to Phaedra of Hester’s conversation in the garden that night, the unseen man. It had been Jonathan, and not James. Phaedra played with the ivory handle of a fan; the gesture, she hoped, would conceal how unnerved she was. “So then you planned to kill her, too?”
Jonathan looked hurt. “I didn’t plan it, Phaedra. I was very reasonable and paid her what she asked. But the wretch was too greedy. Even as I placed the money in her hands, she was already sniggering, saying this would do for a start. I knew I never would be able to trust her or rest easy again.
“We were alone in the kitchen the day of Sawyer’s fete. When she turned away from me, I had to do something to stop the greedy witch. There were logs stacked by the hearth. I snatched up one and struck her over the head.
“She was only unconscious. I knew I had to act quickly before anyone else returned to the house. I realized I had to make her death appear more like suicide or an accident. So I carried her up to the garret and thrust her body out the window.”
Phaedra tried not to tremble when Jonathan rested his hand upon her shoulder. “I felt so relieved when you gave up your writing. The worst part of it all was when those riots began and I overheard Jessym at the coffeehouse, threatening how he would expose Robin Goodfellow if he had to-to save his own miserable hide.”
The grim thought crossed Phaedra’s mind that Jessym was lucky to find himself still alive. It was a wonder that Jonathan hadn’t- Suddenly another realization clicked in place with painful clarity.
She stared up at Jonathan. “You! It was you who took my papers, forged grandfather’s seal, and gave them to Jessym.”
Her accusation agitated him. “Short of killing Jessym, there was nothing else I could do. I hated to shift the blame to Sawyer, but he is nothing next to your happiness. I would destroy anyone who threatened your safety.”
Phaedra leapt out of the chair and backed away from him. The vehemence in his words frightened her. She paced toward the window and shifted the curtain aside, hoping to find help in the streets below. But as she drew back the material, she found the glass boarded over, the wood covered with a landscape scene painted in pastels. She was as much a prisoner here as she had been in Bedlam—only now she had a madman for her gaoler. Phaedra clutched her hands together resisting the urge to beat futilely against the boards.
Jonathan stalked toward her, pleading, “Don’t turn away from me, Phaedra. You must see that I have done all this for your good. I never meant to hurt you. The most difficult thing of all was helping to rid you of that babe. “
Phaedra felt her face drain of all color. Jonathan!”
She cried out in protest, wanting an end to these horrible confessions, wanting this all to be a bad dream and Jonathan to transform back into her calm, dependable friend again.
“I thought the cold water of the pond would be enough. The shock should have made you miscarry. I knew you swam far too well to drown, and of course I was right there, to protect you.” He shook his head mournfully. “But it didn’t work. And then I was afraid that when you recovered, you would go back to Ireland, just as you had threatened to do. It was then that I thought it might be best to have you looked after, until this room was ready for you.”
Phaedra drew in a sharp breath as the final piece of this nightmare fell into place. Jonathan had often spoken about his patronage of various charities, and Sawyer Weylin had chaffed him about throwing away good money.
“Bedlam,” she murmured. “You are one of the patrons of Bedlam.”
“Indeed I am. I have always been most generous, so that it was not difficult to arrange your stay there. I kept praying that somehow you would yet miscarry by natural means. But in the end, to protect you from that sinful child, I had no choice but to put the tansy root into your stew.”
Phaedra bit down hard upon her knuckle, drawing blood. She ought to hate him, this madman who had destroyed her child. Yet she could fell nothing but horror at his twisted logic, his mind diseased past all healing.
She cowered back when he advanced upon her, but he only stroked her cheek. It was like a caress from the grave. Her friend Jonathan was dead, and now some demented stranger was using his gentle voice and soft eyes to terrify her.
“You must put everything behind you now, Phaedra. You are safe. No one will find you here.”
No, that couldn’t be true. James. Hadn’t Jonathan said earlier that James was looking for her? Her lashes swept down to conceal that hope, but with the cunning of madness, Jonathan seemed to read her mind.
“No one,” he repeated. “Not even the Marquis de Varnais. I will see to that.”
Phaedra could hardly speak for the fear strangling her. “What are you going to do?”
