Joy V. Sheridan writes

Charity Amour

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

In keeping with the duplicitous dual nature which was inherent in Mellors and furthermore, underlining that old adage that a bad penny will always turn up, the said gentleman was secreted in the darkened environs of Lord Seyton Clover’s temporarily - rented house, awaiting the return of His Lordship. Though he, to be fair, had no idea of the purpose behind their excursions on that dry, cold December day. 

It had passed eight of the clock and far from being recuperated from their early evening nap, Charity and Lord Clover were still desirous of having an ‘early’ night. His Lordship noticed the tethered grey, still saddled, which was stationary outside of the softly-illuminated porch-way and apprehensive as to who might await the party on their return, he called boldly enough through the opened door.

“Who’s there? Show yourself man, or risk having a foot or two of ill-tempered steel through your silhouette.” “’Tis only I Your Lordship, John Fibbins’ friend. Me name is Mellors. George Mellors.” He came to greet the home-comers, his hands out wide, indicating that he was there with no thought of evil in his mind or about his person. “I wish merely to speak to your good self, Your Lordship, for I have come, more or less, straight down from the capital. I journeyed via Bordeaux and ’tis because of what I learned there that I thought it as wise to offer you this very important news. For your own good and safe-keeping, you understand? And for your party’s, naturally.” Fibbins threw the light from the lantern which he held, so that it shone directly into Mellors’ face, making that same gentleman, recoil an inch or two. “Eh, ’tis Mellors alright, though I swear the man’s got so many Christian names, he would have personally substituted for the family of that old dame who lived in a shoe!” 

Fibbins whispered hard and low into Lord Seyton Clover’s ear. Lord Clover ushered Charity slightly behind him and brandishing his sword - for he had withdrawn it before attempting to vocalise their presence - he pushed Mellors further into the passage-way. “Believe me, Your Lordship, I am up to no mischief. Why, should my visit here be known about by his other Lordship, then I daresay I’m in danger fer me life!” “I do believe he's tellin’ the truth, Sir.” Lord Seyton Clover made to resheath his weapon. “O.K. my man, spill out what you have to say. But first, let us move into the drawing room. 'Tis too damned nippy holding public verbal intercourse in this breezy passage-way. Lead on Fibbins, we shall follow.” 

John Fibbins led the group into the warmth of the drawing room, and His Lordship, after handing Charity into a seat, sat down himself and beckoned that every one else do the same. Mellors, obviously spurred on by his prominent role in the proceedings, opted for standing near the dull red gleam of the logs. Molly disturbed his posturings by heaving a few more dry logs onto the fire. 

“Shoot ahead man; what are you waiting for?”

Lord Seyton Clover broke off: “John, d'you mind fetching us some drink? There, that decanter and glasses look all about set for us.” 

He indicated a large tray and tumblers, sitting on a broad, oaken side-board. Fibbins did as bade, interrupting the orator yet again by handing him a glass of rich, red port. Mellors accepted, stifling his wrath in his throat. Which throat he once more cleared. All eyes were fixed upon him. 

“Your cousin, me Lord Rispian of Andover, has hatched a plot against you and ’tis already believed now, by a distinguished diplomat in His Majesty’s service, that you are dead. Shot to death this morning, in fact, whilst duelling - supposedly - with your kinsman, Lord Rispian. Indeed, Sir, you are under threat of death, even as I speak now. But not from the ball of a pistol: NO!” 

Lord Seyton Clover looked askance, muttering lowly to himself: “So my vile kinsman did not perish after all in the flames of the Château des Amourettes. More’s the pity!” Another thought crossed his mind also but he gave no audible heeding to it. 

Charity, who had caught the gist of his lowly-muttered exclamation, had gone pale about the cheeks and brow. Mellors’ voice was harsh, stentorian, dramatic, as he continued with his monologue. 

“Your Lordship, your cousin even now wishes to have your throat cut!” He drew his thumb quickly and silently across his own throat, “And your dismembered carcass scattered about the countryside of this fair land.” Lord Seyton Clover’s face set hard. His eyes were glassily affixed on the speaker’s own countenance. Impatiently, Lord Seyton Clover threw back that same lank strand of hair which had earlier fallen over his bride’s face as it was upturned to adore him. Charity dug her fingers so that they pressed hard into the stuff of her husband’s dress jacket; her underlip wobbled as she tried to calm the trembling by sinking her teeth hard into that timorous lip. Fibbins was all a fidget with his drink, his gaze directed as keenly as Lord Seyton Clover, to Mellors. Molly sat dumb and voiceless, but that she had comprehended the message was all too clear. Her fingers were beating in tiny crescendos against the glass she nursed between her flexing fingers. 

Finally Lord Seyton Clover broke the ominous silence “Well, well, this IS news indeed! Might one ask, Mr Mellors, how one has come by such extraordinary knowledges.” Charity was fearfully mesmerised by her erstwhile abductor and shrank even further back into the sofa, shielding her right thigh with her husband’s left arm.

“As you might realise, Your Lordship, I still am indebted and employed by his lordship, me Lord Rispian. I heard - by let us say, a roundabout route - that Lord Rispian and a certain lady were in this vicinity. Yes, yes...that is correct, Your Lordship. You see, it paid me to have knowledge of what went down at the Château and also in the village. Therefore, after I began my tour down south, I saw the charred remains of the Château des Amourettes and was dubious meself how any souls could have escaped the dreadful goings-on. But I was assured that that was the case. There was word of you, Your Lordship, and a small party travelling with you. I determined to ride on to Madame d’Esprit, for she has a house in this area.”

At the sound of the woman’s name, Charity gave a stifled gasp and knocked her glass over her sleeve. Her new spouse, exhibiting his total awareness, extracted a lace-edged handkerchief and passed it to her, so that she might dab off the spillage. But not for one second did he remove his eyes from Mellors’ face. “Carry on, man!” “As it happened, I dropped by a tavern I knows of in Bordeaux, and ’twas there that I learnt, by a roundabout fashion ye might say, of a duel to be fought twixt two English milords. Over love fer the same woman, so ’twas muttered. Your cousin’s name was mentioned as being the victor; whilst, you, yourself, Your Lordship, appeared from the chat, so to speak, to be the loser. Indeed, I came by this news through two gentlemen who are personally very closely associated with me Lord Rispian. Ebenezer Hinches and Johnny-the-Dark Jarvis, Your Lordship!” 

Fibbins gave a knowing look in Lord Seyton Clover’s direction, nodding his head up and down almost imperceptibly as he did so. “Your Lordship, they confided in me that so far it was all rumour which set you as being a dead fellow. They know that you are lodged here, Your Lordship, and they have plans afoot to dispatch of you in compliance with their master’s wishes. And that, Sir, is about the grist of the news I bring ’e.” He swallowed. A long draught from his hitherto untouched port. “There is one more thing. ’Twould seem that they are intent ’pon an armed ambush of some kind. Whether it be on the roads from here, or at this house, I really don't know. I could,” he lowered his face so that his thick eyebrows shot up, “if you wish, try an’ wheedle more knowledge from ’em and deliver the news to you yourself.” “Why should you want to do that, my good man?” Lord Clover asked this question with an imperious air. 

Again Mellors cleared his throat: “W...e...l...l, Your Lordship, though I am in many respects a bondsman to yer cousin, I do not ’old wif what ’e is up to. It don't seem somehow decent like, not on the level - as it should be between gentlemen of the first pedigree. Let us merely say that it upsets my own sense of conduct, as I should wish it to be conducted between my betters.” “How very noble of you, to have come and warned me of my peril!”

Lord Seyton Clover’s voice was laconic, a bored drawl, highly spiced with sarcasm. He had not forgotten that this was the conductor who had batonned him on into danger in quest of the vanished Charity Cottrell some weeks prior. Mellors chose to dispense with the heavy sarcasm, just stood moodily by the fireplace, examining his by now empty glass. Lord Clover indicated impatiently that Fibbins should do the honours by refilling all the glasses. “What do you propose I - I mean – we, should do about the situation?” 

There was a faint snap as Fibbins surreptiously checked his pistols. Molly, likewise, was feeling that her arsenal of sharp blades were in their proper locations. Charity made to move, but she was reassured by the slight pressure of the leathered knives she wore about her own gartered thighs now. 

“That needs some pondering on, Your Lordship,” Mellors spoke, after taking an appreciative swallow from his glass. Lord Seyton Clover - a wicked glint in his eyes - looked slightly bemused. 

“What I cannot understand,” His Lordship said, “is why my cousin so earnestly wishes to see me dead. You cannot think for a minute that we two men would have any appetite for the same lady. Thus, if you say of rumour is true, occasioning such a passionate height of unrealistic logistics?” 

Lord Clover addressed the thin air rather than he did any person specific in the room, but Mellors - stuffed little upstart that he could be on occasion - thought that the remark had been directed towards him personally. 

“No, no, Your Lordship. Lord Clover. I think it is now evident that you should have done some closer investigations into the coffers of your cousin. He is over ’is eyeballs in debt an’ he has all but lost the estates ’e has in Hampshire. These went, more or less, at the gaming tables last October. He has some ’eavy pressurings to contend with from various quarters and those he is indebted to would not hesitate ’bout cutting his own throat. Well he knows this, and well, Your Lordship, he desires your death so that he might inherit the fortune he believes that you possess and which he thinks he is heir to. He might also be covetous to hold your own title....” 

“I see .... You have put the case most succinctly, Mr Mellors. Yes,” here Lord Seyton Clover's voice became all but a low whisper, “I did indeed show him my will - and made out it was in his favour should I decease without issue. But, times have changed and that can NEVER be now! But methinks it a trifle unintelligible that he should think he could inherit my fortune after he has - in effect - murdered me!” “He’s thought that one out too, Your Lordship. If one might believe what ’is ’enchmen say. Should your death not be believed then he would bring forth these very same two men, who imitated yourself and his lordship, Lord Rispian, in a duel this morning and claim it was all by way of a jape. Put on with thoughtless buffoonery to send up that elderly English representative, Sir Dickens Mortimore, who forsooth, thinks he witnessed the event.

“Then Lord Rispian, I am very sure, would swear that you parted on good terms on French soil and that ’e could only construe, seein’ as to how certain effects were passed to him later in London, by a certain French gentleman, that you were after all, truly dead. Mayhap ’aving met yer end during these perilous times. Maybe even by a member of this fearsome ‘Justice Party’. 

 “An’, Me Lordship, you know what they can do! ’Tis my belief that ’e would ’ave yer throat cut, as I said, then your body chopped up into smallish pieces and scattered hither and thither.” 

Charity gave a loud sob and pressed the handkerchief she had been holding hard against her mouth, the tears beginning to pour down her cheeks. “He even has some inn-keepers bribed. Of that I know,” concluded Mellors. “He has done his homework,” Lord Seyton Clover snorted. "We shall have to settle with this Machiavellian cousin of mine once and for all." His eyes became dark with ill-suppressed anger as he brooded on all that Mellors had imparted. “Have I not yet a debt to settle with him: a debt of a lady’s honour - considering as he had my finacee abducted - by a person, or persons unknown?” 

He watched as Mellors coloured for a second, then the blush receded. He continued, "Abducted my fiancee and all but ravished her! Her soiled honour does, after all, need to be avenged! . . . Now, Mr Mellors,” Lord Seyton Clover broke off: "John -  a refill for Mr Mellors.” Fibbins did as he was bid. 

“Any notions or ideas on how we can approach and surprise this motley crew?” “I ‘ave indeed, Your Lordship, but it looks as though I must buy my way deeper into their confidences: that is, Hinches and Jarvis especially melord, makin’ it seem that I shall lure you into an ambush. Shall we arrange something?”

“Why not! Sounds like a plausible idea, my fellow. Pray, do continue. If the plan is good, I shall see that you are furnished with sufficient coin to clear the way with those boon companions of Rispian’s.”

“Milord, I could ride back tonight. Oh, no fear on my account. The roads at present around here are quiet enough, and say that I have come by fresh information with regard to your plans and movements. That I ’ave bin able to bribe one or two people around these parts. Then I shall ride out an’ tell you of the outcome - for example, if you are meant to travel in a shuttered coach, say at eight on the day after tomorrow, going in such and such a direction, - then we shall arrange that your party travels by another route and that there is no one inside the shuttered coach, bar a ghost or two!” Mellors laughed at his own thin humour. 

Lord Seyton Clover stroked his face: “Very well. That sounds good enough to my ears. Here,” he beckoned John Fibbins towards him, “John, give Mellors here some small coin from the cache, will you? But make it enough to be a good bribe. As for your own work on my behalf, Mellors, I should like you to accept this.” 

Lord Seyton Clover drew a stick diamond pin from his cravat and gave it to the man. “Much obliged and ’onoured, Your Lordship. Thank you so very much indeedie, Melord.” He squirmed with gratitude. “Now I think that you had best be on your way back. When shall we expect you?”

“I’ll try, like, to ride over here tomorrow, jus’ after sunset, then I shall inform you of the plans.” “Fine, fine. Well, it only leaves me to wish you a safe, easy ride back, Mellors. Oh, before you depart, mayhap you would care to extend your good wishes to the new Lady Seyton Clover?”

Mellors, on the point of placing his hat upon his head, all but dropped the headwear to the floor. “Forsooth ... I really ... had no idea! Many hearty congratulations, indeed, Your Ladyship!” "Accepted,” replied Charity, icily. She had not forgotten about a certain coach ride but a few weeks prior. Blistering at her iciness and possibly embarrassed, Mellors let himself from the house and was away without further ado. “I think he is going to have a tough canter back to whatever hole he has crept forth from,” said Lord Clover. 

Molly, who had suppressed her own wrath, for she regarded with malice and had no great love nor trust in the man, flushed one of her knives from beneath her petticoats and played a thudding tattoo with the instrument upon the opened palm of her hand, all the while looking after the closed door. “You are right, my love. Listen to that wind!” replied Charity. For by now the storm which had come up from nowhere was blowing hard about the rafters of the stone house and was whistling an eerie lament down the stone fire-place chimney. “John, d’you think we can trust him?” “As much as a mouse should trust a viper when they are on the same pathway, Your Lordship.” “Do you think, then, that one or the other of us should follow him to locate his final destination?” “I’m not sure of that, Your Lordship. Neither of us is that familiar with the roads and tracks around here. And think, we couldn’t leave the ladies on a night like this.” “So be it. No, not on a night like this!” echoed His Lordship, seeming to realise that this was still, after all, his and Charity's nuptial day. “Come, let us find the best that the cellar has to offer and celebrate, albeit, mildly” Lord Seyton Clover turned and winked at the now scarlet face of his new wife.