Page 53 of Lady Beast's Bridegroom
Marjorie crooned, “Poor Arial. You’ll need to get out your blacks, darling cousin.”
Arial’s heart clenched, understanding their meaning before her dazed mind caught up. Peter! What had they done?
Majorie giggled. “Not that you will need your blacks, where you are going.”
Arial shook her head, trying to clear it. No. Peter was safe at Three Oaks. They were lying.
“Now, Marjorie.” Josiah’s playful scold made little headway against the glee in his voice. “Arial can avoid the asylum if she will just sign the document.”
He shook the paper. It had the numbering used in contracts and other legal documents. She must not sign! It was the only thing she was certain of, as her mind struggled to focus through the lingering effects of whatever they’d drugged her with, her fear for Peter, and her dread for herself and the baby.
Josiah slapped her face, the blow stinging and whipping her head to the side.
“Stupid bitch.”
He strode towards the door. Marjorie put out a hand to stop him. “Josiah? We need her to sign that will!”
“She’ll sign it.” Josiah’s voice was a threatening growl. “After a couple of nights in that place, she’ll sign anything I put in front of her.”
Marjorie looked doubtful. “I suppose.”
Josiah pulled out a handkerchief, and after he whipped opened the door, he dabbed it to his cheeks, while saying to those in the other room, “Alas. I cannot get through to her. She refuses to believe she has no husband. Completely mad, poor woman. I’ll have to let you take her away.”
Arial opened her mouth to tell the people from the asylum, for that was who they must be, that Josiah had kidnapped her; that Peter would be coming for her. Before she could say a word, Marjorie slapped a cloth over her mouth, and the same sickly-sweet smell stole her senses.
*
By the timePeter arrived in London, it was early evening. He and John had taken the would-be murderer to the nearest magistrate, who had called a doctor for the still unconscious groom and taken their statements. Peter also told him about the night he had slipped on a patch of grease at the head of the stairs, the odd-tasting tea he had poured out because it was too bitter, the dead rats after he’d left a snack uneaten in his room, and the night when he’d been certain he’d had an intruder in his room. He could not imagine that a groom he’d never spoken to had a personal grudge against him, so he feared a wider plot.
At his request, the magistrate sent a groom to Three Oaks to enquire about his sisters’ welfare. The groom returned with a message from Miss Tulloch saying both girls continued to improve and were anxiously waiting for him to fetch their new sister home. He also brought a message from Edwards, saying nothing appeared to be out of place in the house, but that he would be fully alert until Peter’s return.
John sent a message, too, to his brother. “I’ve told Deerhaven I’m going with you to make sure that Lady Arial is safe. If I’m not back in time, I can be made godfather by proxy. Deerhaven will understand.”
He had come out for a morning ride, fortuitously for Peter, but insisted he didn’t need to be any better-equipped for a trip that may extend to several nights. “I have clothes in my rooms in Town, and if we detour past Deercroft, we’ll never make London by dark.”
As it was, even without the interruption to deal with the assailant, Peter would not have arrived before his wife left. The knocker was off the door, but Barlowe opened when Peter hammered on the wood with his first. “My lord! We were not expecting you. My lady has already left for Greenmount.”
She had been gone for hours, apparently.
“We’ll stay overnight, and travel on to Greenmount at first light,” Peter decided.
Barlowe arranged for beds to be made up, and even managed a tolerable dinner, though he apologized it was not the kind of meal he was used to serving his lord and lady.
John and Peter were sitting over their port when there was another hammering on the front door.
Several minutes later, Barlowe entered. “Miss Turner has called to see Lady Arial, my lord. She wonders if she might see you, instead.”
Peter nodded. What did Pauline want with Arial? Something nasty, no doubt. He would give her a piece of his mind and turne her out.
But when Pauline entered the room, she hurled herself on to Peter and burst into tears.
At first, all he could gather through her sobs were the repeated words, “I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead. I am so glad you are not dead.”
In the light of the incident on the road, not to mention the earlier accidents, her words were extremely sinister, even if her emotion was surprisingly flattering.
John thrust a glass of port into Peter’s hands, and he settled Pauline on a chair and encouraged her to drink.
She took a couple of deep gulps, which seemed to calm her, even though tears continued to stream down her cheeks. “Where is Arial? The butler said she is not here.”
