A Debt Paid in Marriage Read online

  ‘You ruined yourself.’

  ‘Don’t think I didn’t guess what the three of you were up to with this proposal coming so fast after he stole everything from me.’ Her uncle took a step forward, his red-rimmed eyes blazing, and Laura and her mother backed up. Laura nudged her mother to the side, away from where they would be trapped against the fireplace and towards the open bedroom door. Hopefully, one of them could slip through it and alert Philip’s men. ‘Do you know what I’ve had to suffer since you two rode away laughing at me in your hoity carriage? I’ve been sleeping in gutters, bitten by rats and fleas, while you’re here lounging in your silk sheets.’

  ‘You could have sold your necklace to help yourself, but instead you used it to try to ruin us, wasting it like you wasted the chance my father gave you to make something of yourself.’

  ‘Your father gave me a chance?’ He snorted. ‘He and our parents never gave me a chance. They shipped me off to hell before I was even a man while my brother was taught a trade, given a business, a wife and family. They were so eager to be rid of me they never stopped to think what I might have wanted.’

  ‘Killing us won’t change the past, it’ll only make things worse for you,’ Laura countered, careful to keep her words low and steady so trembles of fear didn’t warble them. ‘You think Philip will just let you go if you hurt us? You think life in gaol or swinging from the end of a rope will be any better?’

  ‘My life will be better and you’re going to make sure of it.’ He jabbed his thumb against his dirty shirt. ‘I want my share of the money from the sale of the inventory and whatever else the rat paid to take your virtue.’ He moved a step closer and Laura and her mother took another cautious step back. ‘You thought you could cut me out of whatever deal you made with the moneylender—well, you’re wrong. You’ll pay me and you’ll do it now.’

  ‘We don’t keep money in the house.’

  ‘Liar. He gave me a lot when I visited before so there must be something here.’ He waved the gun in a large circle at the room. ‘So fetch it.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  He stepped forward again and Laura and her mother backed achingly close to the door. ‘Don’t think I won’t send a ball through you.’

  ‘The safe isn’t here. It’s downstairs, in the sitting room.’ She said nothing about not having the key. All she wanted was to escape and alert Philip’s men.

  He waved her towards the door with the pistol. ‘Then get to it and don’t tell anyone what you’re about or I’ll kill your ma, do you understand?’

  She adjusted her grip on the poker. ‘You would stoop so low, wouldn’t you? You’re disgusting.’

  ‘Look at both of you, cornered and still looking down your noses at me.’ Her uncle’s lip curled, revealing one dark tooth before his mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘Now get me my money.’

  Laura nodded. Her heart pounded in her ears as she turned slowly, gripping the poker tight. He was so focused on his hate and bent on revenge, he hadn’t thought to tell her to get rid of it. Or he just didn’t see Laura as a threat, dismissing her as he always had. Tonight, it would be to his detriment.

  Laura took one step forward, shifted her weight to her legs, then swung the poker in an arc to slam against her uncle’s arm. The pistol clattered to the floor as he clasped his wrist and howled, his heavy eyes flaring with hate and anger.

  ‘You bitch!’

  ‘Mother, run!’

  Her mother fled, screaming out for Philip’s men.

  Laura bolted for the door. Her uncle grabbed her by the arm and tugged her back, flinging her at the other side of the room. Her feet left the floor before she stumbled and slammed hard against the wall. An explosion of light and pain ripped through her head and she sank to the floor, catching her head on the edge of the table and sending another sharp pain tearing along the tops of her eyes. Weakness washed over her and she reached up to feel warm blood slipping down her forehead. It streaked against the side of the chair as she rested her head against it, exhaustion settling over her like a heavy blanket. She fought against the sensation and the room spun as she rose to her knees to face the man storming towards her.

  ‘You never respected me like you should’ve.’ He swept the gun from the floor, his form growing larger and more menacing as he came to tower over her. ‘You thought yourself too smart and too good for your own uncle. Well, I’ll show you who’s smart.’

  Laura sagged against the soft side of the chair, aware of the dark end of the pistol barrel dancing before her. The thud of footsteps and deep voices sounded from somewhere down the hall. She’d be dead by the time her mother and Philip’s men made it up the stairs. Regret and pain pounded hard through her head and her stomach clenched, threatening to revolt.

  The pistol swam in front of her, the barrel dark, menacing, ready to swallow up her whole life the way the throbbing along her temples and the light dancing around the corners of her vision had swallowed the room. Somewhere down the hall Thomas let out a wail. No, she thought, she would live for Philip, for Thomas, and the life they would build together. She grabbed the arm of the chair, trying to haul herself to her feet, refusing to give up and be shot like a dog in her own house.

  Her uncle stepped closer, eyes burning with hate and satisfaction for what he was about to do. ‘Now you’re going to pay, you little bitch, for everything your father did to me, for everything he denied me.’

  The trigger clicked and the hammer hit the pan. A deafening roar filled the room, followed by the sharp stench of smoke and burning wood, metal and flesh. The mangled pistol dropped to the floor in front of Laura, the cracked barrel and singed handle smoking. Behind it, her uncle tipped back, his bulk dropping to the floor with a thud.

  A commotion of voices clattered through the swaying room, increasing the throbbing in Laura’s head. Her mother’s high-pitched voice stood out among those of Philip’s men, but she couldn’t see her. All she saw was the worn-out bottoms of her uncle’s shoes before everything went black.

  * * *

  Philip was out of the carriage before it stopped, racing across the front walk and through the open door. The emptiness of the hallway confirmed his worst fear.

  He started for the stairs when Jane swung around the banister at the top, her braid flying to one side. ‘Philip! Philip!’

  She rushed down the steps as he flew up, the two of them meeting on the landing. ‘He came. He tried to kill her.’

  Philip’s hand tightened on the banister as he faced his sister, trying to guess what had happened from her expression.

  ‘He didn’t,’ Jane whispered. ‘But she’s hurt, badly. I summoned Dr Hale. He’s with her in your room.’

  Philip raced past his sister, barely aware of her soft footsteps falling in quick succession behind him.

  He flung open the door to the bedroom, coming up short when he reached the poorly lit scene before him. In the centre of the carpet lay Robert Townsend, his face a mess of black powder and blood. The mangled pistol lay at his feet. Philip’s stomach clenched, but not from the gore. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a man in such a state.

  It was the scene greeting him in the four-poster bed that rattled him. Laura sat up against the pillows, Mrs Townsend rubbing her back as she retched into an old porcelain basin. A white bandage with a dark spot of blood covered her forehead. Dr Hale stood on her other side of the bed, his grey hair wild at his temples, his face grim.

  It wasn’t the blood or the vomit which nearly sent the contents of Philip’s dinner up to join the mess on the floor. It was the terrifying familiarity of it all.

  Philip rushed forward, but Dr Hale rounded the bed to stop him.

  ‘Move aside,’ Philip commanded.

  Dr Hale clenched his arm, refusing to let him pass, his grip just as firm as it had been that fateful morning a year ago. ‘Come with me int
o the hallway and keep your voice down. The noise will only disturb her and increase her suffering.’

  ‘You can tell me here,’ Philip insisted.

  ‘The cut on her forehead is more bloody than serious, but she’s suffered concussion. She’s confused. The best we can do is to keep her awake tonight, not let her sleep. I saw too many men during my two years in the army fall asleep after hitting their heads only to watch them slip into a coma and pass before the night was out.’

  Laura retched again, crying despite Mrs Townsend’s soothing words. Philip looked to her, eager to be by her side. Dr Hale’s hand tightened on his arm, keeping him where he stood.

  ‘Will she be all right?’

  ‘Her eyes are responding well to light and she’s behaving as I would expect after such an injury. By morning she should be better, assuming there isn’t some deeper wound which prevails. Sadly, all we can do is wait.’ Philip tore his gaze away from Laura to meet Dr Hale’s eyes. In the grey depths was the same sickening seriousness he’d used to deliver the news which had changed all their lives. ‘She must not be allowed to sleep tonight.’

  ‘I’ll make sure of it.’ Philip wasn’t going to relive that dreadful morning.

  ‘Brace yourself, Philip, she’s confused. She may behave strangely.’

  Philip nodded, drawing in a steadying breath before Dr Hale let go of his arm. He strode to the bed, barely aware of Dr Hale taking up his former position on the far side.

  Mrs Townsend rose as Philip approached, removing the bowl Laura had been hunched over. The older woman’s worried eyes met his, the concern in them so deep it was nearly Philip’s undoing. He saw no blame in her gaze, but none the less he felt deeply responsible. He should have guessed, he should have sensed what Townsend was up to and prevented it. He should have kept Laura safe, but he’d failed her as he’d failed Arabella.

  Philip settled on the bed beside her. ‘Laura, I’m here.’

  ‘I’m so tired.’ Her eyes began to close and Philip slid his hand in hers. It was cold, deathly so. The terror of it struck him deep in his soul.

  ‘You can’t sleep. Dr Hale says so.’

  ‘Who?’ Her half-mast eyes cast about the dark room in confusion, alighting on Dr Hale.

  He cast a smile at the patient, but she didn’t offer one in return.

  ‘I don’t know him.’ She looked to Philip to ease her confusion. ‘Should he be here?’

  ‘Yes, he should.’

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of his men moving in with a blanket. Philip shifted on to the bed, sitting in front of Laura to block the view of his men cleaning up the mess that was Robert Townsend’s body. He’d send Justin for the constable and have him see to the legal matters. Helping Laura heal was all Philip cared about tonight.

  ‘What’s this on my head?’ Laura tugged at the bandage.

  Philip gently pulled her hand away from it. ‘You’ve hurt yourself.’

  ‘How?’

  He looked to Dr Hale, who shook his head, warning him off the truth. ‘You slipped and fell.’

  The explanation left her more confused than before. Soon her eyes began to slide closed again.

  Philip patted her hand. ‘Stay awake.’ Stay alive.

  ‘Philip?’ Jane’s shaky voice carried through the semi-darkness. He twisted around to see his sister standing at the doorway, just as she’d done that morning a year ago, sniffing back her falling tears. The sound of her young, frightened voice rattled him, her fears too much like his own.

  ‘I’ll see to her.’ Mrs Townsend laid one hand on Philip’s shoulder and offered a light squeeze before going to Jane. ‘Come, come, my dear, everything will be all right.’

  Her reassurance seemed as much for Philip’s benefit as Jane’s.

  Jane’s scared sobs were muffled by Mrs Townsend’s embrace as she escorted her into the hall.

  ‘Why is it so dark in here?’ Laura looked around the room in confusion, her voice weak and tired.

  ‘We can light some candles if you wish.’

  ‘No.’ Dr Hale’s objection stopped Philip from rising to see to the matter. ‘The darkness is better. It helps the mind to rest.’

  ‘Then what should I do?’

  ‘Talk to her. Keep her awake.’

  Philip settled in across from Laura, telling her first of the fire, his success in retrieving the merchandise and how his guards were safe. She didn’t seem to comprehend, asking him who set the fire and where it had been. Casting about for something, anything to say, he studied her small hands in his. The clock chimed sweetly and the crystals on the candlesticks clinked together in the soft breeze from the slightly opened window. Philip wasn’t a man to chatter, to fill the air with words, but once he began speaking to Laura tonight, he couldn’t stop.

  * * *

  He spoke to her constantly as the hours wore on, surprised to find there were so many things inside him to say. He described his father and mother and his many happy memories of them both alive and in love. He spoke of the awkwardness of hearing, at sixteen, that his mother, after so many barren years, was with child again. He described the worry he’d experienced the night she’d been delivered of Jane. It was the same worry nipping at him now. His father had sent him to the boxing club with Justin to keep him away. Justin had made many jokes about the horror of his parents being intimate at their age while Philip had pummelled a dummy so hard, his hands had hurt for days afterwards. Then Chesterton had arrived with the news his mother and new baby sister were safe. In the midst of his relief, he’d realised how pernicious fear could be.

  Laura listened, sometimes asking questions in her struggle to follow the thread of Philip’s stories. He told her of warm Christmases in the sitting room with his parents and cuddling a very young Jane, who’d cried because she couldn’t reach the red berries on the mistletoe hanging in the doorway. He asked Laura about her Christmas memories, hope filling him as she began one story about receiving a yellow dress she’d wanted so badly. Then her voice drifted off, along with all memory of the happy day.

  ‘What was I talking about?’ she asked and Philip’s hope faded as another minute of this long night fell away.

  Philip ran his hands over his face, exhaustion pulling at him, but he fought it, determined to keep his vigil, to keep talking, to keep Laura awake.

  The clock chimed four times. Mrs Townsend slipped quietly back into the room, taking the chair next to the bed.

  ‘How’s Jane?’ Philip asked.

  ‘Sleeping. She’s very shaken. We all are.’ She leaned forward. ‘How are you, Laura?’

  ‘My head hurts.’ Laura tugged at the bandage again before Mrs Townsend took her hands and laid them in her lap.

  Judging by the questions Laura peppered her mother with about why she was in bed and why her head was bandaged, Philip guessed she would have little memory of the evening. He was glad. Glancing at the dark, stained wood floor, he wished he could remove tonight from his memory as easily as his men had removed the ruined carpet.

  ‘You should get some sleep, Mr Rathbone,’ Mrs Townsend urged.

  He raised Laura’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the soft skin. ‘I won’t leave her.’

  He’d lost one wife. He couldn’t lose another, or face Mrs Townsend the way he’d faced Dr Hale that ugly morning.

  ‘Then I’ll sit with you and read.’

  Mrs Townsend read aloud from one of Jane’s novels. It was a simple story, but Laura kept losing the thread of it. It shook Philip each time Laura stopped her mother to ask a question. Mrs Townsend answered them with patience, often rereading a sentence two or three times until at last Laura seemed to grasp it.

  Philip couldn’t help Laura with the plot. He couldn’t focus on anything but Laura’s eyes and keeping them open and fixed on him. She blinked hard ag
ainst the exhaustion making her shoulders sag and darkening the skin beneath her lashes. From time to time she would offer him a weak smile, propping up his spirits, only to make them fall again when she looked at him with puzzlement, unsure for a moment who he was or why people were gathered around her in the room.

  * * *

  Dr Hale’s soft snores from the stuffed chair by the window punctuated the noise of a nightingale perched in one of the bushes outside.

  Then slowly the darkness began to turn to grey, and the nightingale’s call was replaced by the trills of songbirds. Dr Hale awoke and leaned over to look into Laura’s eyes, holding up a candle to examine first one and then the other. Laura watched the flame move across her line of vision, the confusion which had so disturbed Philip a few hours ago replaced by a more concentrated scrutiny of Dr Hale.

  The doctor blew out the candle and set the brass holder on the bedside table. ‘I think we can let her sleep now.’

  ‘Thank heavens,’ Laura breathed, as if at last aware of the long hours which had passed.

  Philip was relieved to hear something of the usual Laura in the remark, but it didn’t ease the worry stiffening his back.

  With Philip and Mrs Townsend’s help, Laura settled down into the bed. She was asleep before Mrs Townsend could even draw the coverlet up to her chin.

  Down the hall, Thomas’s loud wail broke the morning quiet.

  ‘I’ll help Mrs Marston see to the lad,’ Dr Hale offered. With his grey hair in some disarray, his cravat wrinkled and his waistcoat undone, he staggered out of the door, a sigh escaping him as he turned the corner. Philip recognised the release of tension in the subtle sound, and envied it.

  His worry only increased with the daylight filling the room.

  Mrs Townsend kissed her daughter on the cheek, then moved around the bed to the window. She tugged the curtains shut. The rings rattling against the rod made Philip flinch.

  ‘Rest, Mr Rathbone. You won’t help her by wearing yourself thin.’