Lady Farquhar's Butterfly Read online

  ‘I was taking Julian for a walk yesterday morning when the reverend stopped and told us to get into his carriage as the mistress were asking for us.’ Her voice quavered. ‘We drove a short while to an inn just out of the town. He told me to wait in the carriage and he took Julian inside.’

  Gripping the arm of the sofa Max found it difficult to curb his impatience. ‘What about Olivia?’ The litany of fear kept repeating itself, over and over, in his mind. If Julian had been taken hostage, Olivia must be in grave danger.

  Miss Dingley grasped his arm and drew him back. ‘You’ll frighten the girl, Max,’ she warned. ‘Let her tell her story.’

  Supporting himself against the mantelpiece Max tried to quell the ferment in his heart and mind.

  Dear God, what had he done? Where was Olivia and what danger was she in?

  Charlotte sniffed before resuming in a querulous voice. ‘One of the inn servants brought Julian back to the carriage. She didn’t tell us nothing though I heard her talk to the coachman about a grand lady inside. Then the coachman just whipped up the horses and drove us what seemed like hours to a village I’d never seen.’ She wiped her nose on her apron and hunched forward.

  ‘Go on, Charlotte,’ Miss Dingley prompted.

  ‘When we stopped I asked the coachman where we were and where Miss Olivia was, but he ignored me. Then a man came out and took us inside his house though it were a hovel, really. He started to speak nice, but as soon as we were upstairs and in a room where he said we could rest, he snarled at us that we were his prisoners now and we better behave ourselves else great harm would befall us and our mistress. Then he locked the door.’ Charlotte’s small bedraggled form shook with sobs. ‘I don’t know where Miss Olivia is!’ she wailed.

  ‘When I took Julian to the privy we were alone after the man went inside, so I grabbed Julian and ran. There were a passing cart and we jumped in the back.’ She turned to Max, her face reflecting the same hopefulness as Miss Dingley’s that he would be the architect of Olivia’s salvation. ‘You’ll find her, won’t you, Mr Atherton?’

  Still gripping the gold coins, Max muttered, ‘If it’s the last thing I do, Charlotte.’ Never had he felt so called to action. He raked his hand through his hair. ‘I’ll bring The Reverend Kirkman to justice, too and when I’ve finished he will be the one facing the opprobrium of the world.’

  He just wished he knew where to start. A double measure of the brandy which had revived Charlotte didn’t seem such a bad idea.

  As he paced, he turned the possibilities over in his mind. ‘Why would Mr Kirkman do this?’

  ‘Revenge, Mr Atherton!’ cried Aunt Catherine in her first burst of anger. ‘Olivia wouldn’t marry him so he made her write a false confession and kidnapped her son.’

  Miss Dingley added in a menacing undertone, ‘He wanted to destroy what was left of her reputation and take away that which meant the most to her.’

  Still puzzling over events in an undertone, Max shook his head as he muttered, ‘Why would he kidnap his own son?’

  The aunts gasped, their outrage competing for an audience.

  Miss Dingley’s eyes blazed as she leapt to her feet. ‘Is that what you inferred from Olivia’s confession?’

  ‘How could you believe Olivia would betray her own husband?’ cried Aunt Catherine, also rising.

  ‘What confession, please, ma’am?’ Charlotte’s voice came out a strangled thread, but with enough intensity to cut through the mayhem.

  Forcing himself to remain calm, Max said tightly, ‘Today’s newspaper reported that Lady Farquhar confessed that Julian is the result of adultery and not Lord Farquhar’s rightful heir.’

  ‘Oh, Lordy!’ Charlotte clasped her hands to her bosom and the colour leeched from her face. She looked close to tears. ‘He finally used it against her.’ Her whisper was not directed at the others.

  She jerked with surprise when Max snapped, ‘What do you mean?’ Immediately he felt ashamed of himself. Charlotte’s lip trembled and she exhaled on a sob. ‘I can’t tell you.’

  Max covered the distance between the mantelpiece and the arm of the settee in less than a heartbeat. ‘Charlotte!’ He gripped her arm as he crouched before her. ‘Tell us what you know about Julian and your mistress!’

  The girl buried her face in her apron, pulling her arm free of his grip, shaking her head. ‘I swore I’d never speak of a word of it and I never have. I never will!’

  ‘Charlotte, please, you don’t know how important this is!’ He tried to sound soothing but heard the croak of desperation in his own voice.

  ‘For Miss Olivia’s sake, you must tell us. What secret did you promise your mistress you’d always keep?’

  ‘It weren’t a promise to Miss Olivia ’cos Martha and I never knew if she knew that we knew her secret.’

  Max shook his head at this convoluted logic and tried again. ‘What secret? And who is Martha?’ Exasperation threatened to get the better of him.

  Charlotte rubbed her swollen eyes. ‘Martha were Miss Olivia’s lady’s maid before she married the publican of The Pelican and became Mrs Mifflin.’ Her expression remained mutinous as she added, ‘We promised each other we’d never say a word to anyone.’

  Max rose and went to the fireplace, kicking a log that threatened to dislodge itself. Turning, he told Charlotte, ‘Lady Farquhar confessed her adultery in this morning’s new sheet. Everyone now knows Julian is not her late husband’s legitimate heir. There is no point in keeping your secret any longer, Charlotte.’

  The apron dropped. The girl’s white face appeared above it like a frightened rabbit’s just as Amelia bustled into the room, adding her contribution, ‘Yes, Charlotte! Lady Farquhar’s sins were made public this morning—’

  She stopped short and looked uncomfortable when she saw Olivia’s aunts to whom she’d been introduced so recently at Lady Glenton’s, before exclaiming, ‘Good gracious, Charlotte! What have you been doing?’

  ‘Charlotte has come through quite an ordeal, Amelia.’ Max spoke crisply. ‘Please! It would be better if you left us alone.’

  ‘No!’

  Max turned back to Charlotte. ‘If you wish her to stay then—’

  ‘That’s not the truth!’ The girl started to her feet, her hands cupping her cheeks. ‘Why would Miss Olivia say such a terrible thing when Julian is Lord Farquhar’s son what she’s brought up as her own? Her own husband’s child what she’s fought for so hard. It don’t make sense!’ The log in he fireplace thudded from the grate with a hiss; the only sound in the confused silence. Max ignored it, concentrating on Charlotte’s horrified expression.

  There was no suggestion of play acting. Shock, outrage and confusion were etched into every soft, dirty feature.

  Miss Catherine’s quailed, ‘I don’t understand. If Julian is Lucien’s son there is no secret, no sin—’

  Her sister added her objection. ‘I told you from the outset, this confession is a lie which Olivia’s been forced to fabricate by Reverend Kirkman.’ A flash of inspiration crossed her face. ‘It would only be a secret if Julian were not Lucien’s legitimate son.’ Turning, she addressed Charlotte, ‘This is no time for keeping confidences, however honourable your intentions, Charlotte. Only the truth will help us find Olivia.’

  He heard Charlotte’s quavering voice while he cursed himself for the arrogant fool he was. Gripping the mantelpiece he forced himself to remain calm. Charlotte was about to reveal the truth which had torn his beloved Olivia asunder. A truth which, he suspected, would turn his – and the world’s – harsh judgement of her on its head.

  ‘I were with my mistress the night the babe was born,’ Charlotte began in a soft voice. ‘I were to be the child’s nursemaid, Miss Olivia said. My reward as I’d been with her since I first went into service.’

  ‘Yes, yes! But what happened that night?’ Miss Dingley asked impatiently. ‘Where was Lord Farquhar?’

  Surprisingly, Amelia intervened as the voice of restraint. ‘With due respect, Miss D
ingley, I think the girl needs to tell her story in her own words.’

  Max cast his sister a grateful look as he took the fire irons and crouched to tend the fire, listening as Charlotte went on.

  ‘Lord Farquhar had never been good to my lady and she’d lost so many babes. Her first went full term but died within the hour and he beat her for it.’

  Miss Catherine let out a wail of distress. Turning, Max caught the dismay in his sister’s eyes. He knew the story of Olivia’s sorry treatment at the hands of her husband. It did not help hearing these abuses reinforced by Charlotte, but it might not be too bad a thing for Amelia to hear the truth.

  ‘Miss Olivia was happy Lord Farquhar was on a hunting trip because she was afraid of what would happen if she gave birth to a girl, or if the babe died.’ Charlotte blushed. ‘Lord Farquhar was determined to have an heir. My mistress told it to me a hundred times the week before the babe was born. She were terrified something would go wrong.’

  ‘And something did?’ Amelia shook her head as she put her hand on the back of the sofa and looked at Max. ‘I’ve heard such terrible things about our cousin—’

  ‘Your sympathies didn’t exactly extend towards his wife,’ Max responded drily.

  ‘She was the season’s most outrageous debutante. They eloped, Max!’

  ‘She was seventeen, Amelia! A child! Lucien was a dashing rake! Perhaps you’ve forgotten how smitten you were with Lord Sylvester when you were an impressionable debutante. If he’d crooked his little finger—’

  ‘With due respect,’ Miss Dingley cut in, as Amelia, embarrassed and outraged, turned away, and Max, ashamed, ceased his defence of Olivia at the expense of his sister.

  ‘What happened to the child, Charlotte?’ asked Aunt Catherine.

  ‘The baby to which Miss Olivia gave birth?’

  Charlotte smiled, dreamily. ‘It were such a beautiful little thing. Perfectly formed with dark hair and eyes nearly black, just like his father. And it seemed so healthy. Miss Olivia were entranced.’

  ‘But it died?’ Max could barely contain himself, now, despite his earlier deviation. Here was the crux of Olivia’s great secret upon which she would be condemned or otherwise. ‘And where was Miss Olivia’s physician during all this?’

  ‘Attending a breech birth an hour away.’

  ‘You delivered Miss Olivia’s child, yourself?’

  ‘Mrs Flannigan, the village midwife came. We sent one of the stable boys to fetch her but she were already overcome with spirits by the time she got here and soon sleeping in a corner so Martha and me did it. Martha had delivered her mother’s last six so she knew what to do and I just followed orders.’

  ‘When did the baby die?’ Max asked.

  Charlotte sniffed and wiped her nose with the corner of her apron.

  ‘Within the hour. Martha and me were bawling our eyes out. The mistress were in shock. She kept saying, “My beautiful baby’s dead. Another one gone to Heaven”. She kept saying over and over, “He has gone to Heaven, Martha! He has!” ’ Charlotte choked on the words, adding in a whisper, ‘Then she said, “Lucien will tell me it’s not true. He’ll say if the baby was not baptized it’ll be writhing in the flames of Hell and that it’s my fault. Martha! Charlotte! One of you must fetch Reverend Kirkman to baptize him. We must beg him not to tell Lucien the baby died before he came”.’

  She took a shaking breath. ‘Mr Kirkman arrived later the same night bringing with him another baby boy. It were Meg Dorling’s from the village, ’is lordship’s mistress who’d died birthing the babe. Everyone thinks her babe died as well, ’cept for the reverend, Martha and myself – and Miss Olivia, o’ course – who only did what any good wife and mam would a’ done – looking after the little one like her own.’

  He brought his head round at his sister’s gasp.

  Dear God, Julian was Lucien’s illegitimate son.

  A weight like an iron bar rested across Max’s shoulders. Why had he never considered this? Olivia had intimated Julian was illegitimate. Not for one moment had he imagined the boy was not her natural child. He had drawn the only conclusion that seemed to offer itself in view of her insistence upon marrying Kirkman.

  Charlotte looked down at her hands in her lap. ‘The reverend was Lord Farquhar’s confessor and his lordship paid him well for telling tales on my mistress.’ Her lip curled. ‘Although he kept Miss Olivia’s secret I knew he would one day use it to his advantage. I knew I should never have trusted him when he told us to get into the carriage yesterday. Oh, Mr Atherton, we must find Miss Olivia!’

  ‘Yes, we must!’ Max agreed, rising, his mind racing to answer the call to action. ‘Finish your story, quickly, Charlotte,’ he said, striding to the door. ‘If there is something which casts light on the man’s motives for forcing Olivia to make that confession and for taking Julian—’

  ‘Oh, I know that, sir, because the man what was keeping us prisoner told us,’ said Charlotte, blinking at Max. ‘It’s because Miss Olivia discovered Lord Farquhar’s grandfather’s fortune and he used Julian to blackmail her into telling her where it was. Reverend Kirkman spent years trying to find it himself, especially after my lord died.’ Glowering, she muttered, ‘If you ask me, that’s why he wanted to marry Miss Olivia. So he’d have a better chance of finding it if he were living at The Lodge.’

  The women gasped. Even Amelia.

  Nothing surprised Max any more.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  DESPITE MAX’S URGENCY to reach The Lodge, he saw the merit in his sister’s argument that local knowledge was always the best source of information. He also needed to speak to the publican’s wife. If Mrs Mifflin could provide independent testimony of Charlotte’s claims with regard to Julian’s origins it would cast new light upon Olivia in the eyes of the world.

  In the shadows of the tap room, Pat Dorling grinned a welcome from the settle as Max bent his head to step beneath the lintel.

  ‘I ’ear the Merry Widow took to ’er pretty feet and scarpered leaving both you and the good reverend in the lurch, my lord.’ He guffawed into his drink, as the publican handed Max his ale.

  ‘Out with you, Dorling, if yer plan on speaking disrespectful!’ The publican gripped the old man by the scruff of his neck and hauled him to his feet.

  ‘Let him be,’ Max protested.

  Raking the old soldier with a scornful glance, he asked, ‘If you’re such a fount of knowledge perhaps you can tell us where the reverend and Lady Farquhar have disappeared to.’

  Dorling shrugged and took another swig as if the matter was of no interest to him. ‘Only ’eard the news this morning, didn’t I? Whipped the village into a frenzy it ’as.’ He looked thoughtfully into his ale. ‘So the reverend’s gone, too, ’as he?’ He sniggered. ‘And you’re here to bring wicked Lady Farquhar to justice, are ye?’

  ‘Any ideas you might have regarding her whereabouts would be much appreciated.’

  Despite the old man’s sour look Max could tell Dorling enjoyed being solicited for his thoughts. The old soldier tapped his nose, waving his mug to be refilled.

  Max tossed the publican a coin and Dorling acknowledged Max’s largesse with a nod. ‘Reckon there’s more’n a thing or two I could tell you about the reverend,’ he said. ‘Mean feller. Wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of him, but he’s canny. Knows how to make things go his way.’

  Max gave a short laugh as he shifted position on the hard wooden bench opposite the old man. ‘Intimates, were you?’

  Dorling grinned. ‘Like I told you afore, I teached ’is late lordship how to hide a couple of aces up their sleeves and were well rewarded for it.’

  In the dancing firelight he looked like an elf creature who had been admitted to the inner sanctum. ‘Reckon he finally found the fourth viscount’s fortune. Lady Farquhar led him to it and they’ve skipped to the Continent to enjoy the fruits of their greed.’

  ‘Slandering my good mistress, Dorling? So you’s heard all them lies today, too?’
/>   The three men turned their heads. With hands on hips an enormous, ferocious-looking woman blocked the doorway: Mr Mifflin’s wife, judging by the publican’s cowed smile.

  Thrusting out her impressive lilac-upholstered bosom, she sailed majestically into the centre of the room. ‘If you’re going to get gleeful about a good woman’s fall from grace you can get out of this ’stablishment, Mr Dorling’ – the woman pointed to the door, knitting beetling brows – ‘or I’ll get my Jeremiah to throw you out!’

  Max intervened. He needed to keep the peace if he were to learn anything further. ‘You’ll find no more ardent champion of your mistress than me, Mrs Mifflin.’ Bowing, he introduced himself before assisting her into a shabbily upholstered chair by the fire.

  ‘Lordy! His lordship’s cousin! Why, I can see it in yer face!’

  Mrs Mifflin’s mouth dropped open before she jerked her head in Dorling’s direction. The fruit display which adorned the top of her bonnet trembled perilously. ‘Pay no mind to the lies others would have you believe. Miss Olivia were the kindest, gentlest lady and what that husband of hers did to her would make a grave robber cry.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ muttered Dorling with a baleful look, ‘but she danced to her husband’s tune! On the dining-room table all covered in cream before the men lined up to—’

  ‘Get out!’ screeched Mrs Mifflin, leaning forward and stabbing a stubby, beringed finger in the direction of the door. ‘Your Meg was a harlot, enticing his lordship into her bed. Well, she got her just deserts, didn’t she?’ She shook her head, adding sorrowfully, ‘If you only knew how good her ladyship was to your Meg.’

  ‘She slapped her face!’ Trembling from outrage and too many ales, the old man rose to his feet. ‘Lady High and Mighty slapped my Meg’s face because she were jealous that my Meg knew how to please ’is lordship when she didn’t!’ His thin voice quavered while his ale splashed upon his boots. ‘Not five minutes after she called my Meg a harlot Lady Farquhar were dancing naked on the table—’