Meg Alexander - The Passionate Friends

“Ma’am?”

“Come, don’t play the innocent with me! You were always a sly, secretive creature, but now I know the truth…”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? Perhaps you will explain why you didn’t tell me that the pauper, Ashburn, is returned to the Wentworth household?”

Judith went cold, but her voice was calm when she replied, “I did not think that it would interest you.”

“If I’m not mistaken, it interests you, my girl. Such deceit! You knew quite well that had I known I should have forbidden you to go there.”

Judith’s hands were shaking. She hid them in the pockets of her gown. “Must I remind you, ma’am, that I am betrothed to Mr Truscott?”

“I wonder that you remember it. To cheapen yourself in the company of that creature is the outside of enough. Have you not learned your lesson yet?”

Judith’s anger threatened to consume her. “I have learned much in these past few years,” she said quietly. “I think you have forgotten that Mr Ashburn is Lord Wentworth’s adopted son.”

A sniff greeted her reply. “And that is enough to transform a slum child into a member of the ton? What a fool you are! The aristocracy may be allowed their eccentricities. Must you try to ape them?”

“I had no thought of doing so. Mr Ashburn is an old friend. I intend to be civil to him.” Judith was surprised at her own temerity. In the usual way she did not argue with her formidable stepmother.

Mrs Aveton’s head went up, and her small black eyes began to glitter.

“Impudence! You are grown mighty high in the instep in these last few weeks. Your husband will knock that nonsense out of you…” She caught herself in time. Judith must not be allowed to guess at the darker side of the Reverend Truscott’s nature.

This quite-looking girl had a streak of iron in her character. Mrs Aveton had seen it only seldom, but her attempts to crush that stubborn will had failed. If Judith should change her mind and put an end to her engagement, she herself might say goodbye to the sum of money soon to be in her hands.

Her malevolent expression vanished. “I mean, of course, that the Reverend Truscott has a position to uphold. His wife must not be seen to gather about her friends who are…er…unsuitable.”

“He seems happy enough to think that I am friendly with the Wentworth family. He tells me that they will always be welcome in our home.”

“That is quite another matter. Judith, you are placing yourself in a most invidious position. You may have forgotten that unfortunate nonsense of six years ago. The same may not be true of Ashburn. You are an heiress now, and a fine catch for him. Has he made further advances to you?”

“He has not!” Judith ground her teeth. The temptation to strike her questioner was strong.

“Doubtless he will do so. You must not see him again before your marriage.”

Judith drew herself to her full height. “I have promised to return,” she said stiffly. “Do you think me so ill-behaved that I won’t conduct myself with propriety?”

“You are headstrong, miss. I have never been deceived by your milk-and-water ways. In this you will obey me. You may not leave this house again before I speak to Mr Truscott.”

Dismissed without ceremony, Judith returned to her room. She was seething with rage. If she’d ever had any doubts of the need to escape from Mrs Aveton’s clutches, they vanished now. She’d thought long and hard before she had accepted the preacher’s offer for her hand, fearing that she was cheating both herself and him. She didn’t love him, but in the materialistic circles in which she moved, love seldom played a part in settling a marriage contract.

And she was no longer the timid nineteen-year-old who had given up her love in the face of calumnies and opposition. The years had changed her. Unless she was to wither away in the Aveton household, she could see no alternative to marriage. What else could she do? She might have taught in some small dame school, or become a governess, had she not inherited her fortune. Now it was out of the question.

And she would not cheat Charles Truscott. In her heart she had vowed to make him a good wife. She could help him in his parish work, run his household, and bear his children.

She buried her face in her hands, knowing now that it would never be enough.

Why had Dan come back at just this time? In another month she would be safely wed, and could put him out of her mind for ever. She would not think of him. She mustn’t. She pulled down the central flap of her writing desk, and pressed a small knob just behind the hinges. A hidden drawer slid out, revealing a pile of manuscript. Listlessly, she scanned the pages, noting an expression here and there which might possibly be improved to make her meaning more exact. With pen in hand she scored out several lines, and began to write.

When the Reverend Truscott was announced, Judith was not informed immediately. Mrs Aveton received him in her salon.

As always, he was quick to sense trouble.

“What is it, ma’am?” he murmured.

“You may well ask, sir. Your bride-to-be is behaving ill, I fear.”

“How so, dear lady?”

She was quick to put him in possession of the facts.

“Judith was besotted with the creature, and he with her. Now he is returned, and I fear that she may change her mind.”

It was only with the greatest difficulty that he forced a smile. He had drunk deep the night before at the house in Seven Dials, and his head was pounding. A day of debauchery had done nothing for his temper, but a man had to have some relief. The strain of leading an apparently blameless life could be borne for just so long, and the intervals between his visits to his trollop were growing shorter.

It was unfortunate that he’d had to go away, but on this occasion he’d had a purpose other than bedding the wench. His mission had been successful, though her brothers were not, at first, as easily persuaded as he’d hoped.

“Not murder?” the younger one had pleaded. “Won’t a beating serve?”

“No! That won’t make an end of it!” He’d indicated the pile of gold upon the table.

“It might make an end of us. I’ve no wish to dance on air at Newgate…” The elder of the two had shaken his head.

“You aren’t thinking straight,” the preacher snarled. “I’m speaking of an accident.”

“To three people?”

“Three drunken sots. They might be run down by a cart or, better still, fall into the river.”

“What do they want you for, Josh?”

“Mr Ferris to you, my lad. And my quarrel with them is none of your concern. Haven’t I always paid you well?”

“Aye, Mr Ferris, if that’s your name, which I take leave to doubt. But it were for smaller jobs. This gelt ain’t enough for what you’re asking us to do.”

“Of course not! There will be more.”

“How much more?”

The preacher named a figure which brought an avaricious sparkle to both pairs of eyes. Then he leaned back, smiling easily, prepared to discuss the details of his plan. He was safe enough. He was known to them only under an assumed name, and they could not trace him.

Now his look was bland as he confronted Mrs Aveton. They’d understood each other from the first, but even she had no idea of the lengths to which he was prepared to go to gain his objective. Inwardly, he was cursing his own ill luck. The fates themselves seemed determined to thwart him, but Judith should not escape. He’d have her and her fortune one way or another.

“I must hope that you haven’t distressed our little Judith, ma’am,” he said mildly. “Nothing could be more fatal to our plans than to set up opposition.”

“She’ll do as she is bidden,” came the sharp reply. “Now, as you may guess, she is sulking in her room. I have forbidden her to go out.”