The Education of Mrs. Brimley Read online

  Emma brushed errant grass off her dress, then crossed the music room to the front hallway, trying to keep a dignified pace and not break into a run. He returned for her! All the excitement and glamour of London couldn’t keep him away. Her heart surged with gratitude and love and delicious anticipation.

  Cecilia’s footsteps sounded two steps behind Emma, as if she were guarding against retreat. Emma stopped and glanced back, but Cecilia’s face proved unreadable. A shadow of unease dampened Emma’s enthusiasm.

  Beatrice waited in the sitting room. As soon as she spotted Emma approaching, she became quite animated. “Here she is, Mr. Heatherston. This is our Mrs. Brimley. As you can see, she is hardly a young, innocent runaway.”

  Bile rose to Emma’s throat, even before she saw her uncle on the far side of the room. Cecilia took up position beside her sister.

  “My dear Emma,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “I’ve been searching all over London for you. I’m so glad to find you safe.”

  Emma nodded stiffly. “Uncle George.”

  His appearance hadn’t changed since she last saw him. The buttons on his yellow silk vest barely closed over a stomach that never missed a meal. His long white side-burns crawled down his pudgy cheeks like milk running down the side of a pail. His tiny black eyes beetled out from bushy tufts of disorderly white eyebrows.

  “This man is your uncle?” Beatrice gasped. “He said as much, but we didn’t believe him.”

  Emma nodded, keeping a steady eye on him. How much did he know? How much had he confided to the sisters?

  “May I have a few minutes alone with my niece?” Her uncle effused a false sort of charm. “We have so many things to discuss.” He never broke eye contact with Emma even as his words addressed others.

  “We shall be nearby.” Cecilia stiffened, then ushered her sister out the door. Thank heavens for Cecilia’s general mistrust, Emma thought, not wishing to be left alone with the man, but accepting that privacy would be best.

  Once the door clicked, her uncle advanced, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Mrs. Brimley, is it now? And a widow by the looks of that black dress? Is this some masquerade, or did you marry some poor bloke just to cheat me out of what’s mine?”

  “How did you find me?” she hissed.

  “There’s a painting hanging at the Royal Academy.” His gaze swept her from toes to shoulders. He sneered. “A real show-stopper it is too, if you know what I mean.”

  “A painting?” She gasped. There could only be one painting that might merit his leer: Artemis’s Revenge. Cold comprehension chilled her blood. Nicholas had promised that no one would see that painting, yet he had taken it to London to put on display for the entire civilized world. Suddenly, she understood the true purpose for his urgent London trip, as well as the true extent of his respect for her reputation. What a fool she had been. A bloody, blasted, stupid fool.

  “An enormous painting of a naked woman thinking she’s some kind of goddess. She has a striking resemblance to you, even to that strawberry birthmark right about—” He lifted his hand as if to touch her breast, but she knocked it aside. He chuckled. “Still have a streak of rebellion in you, I see.”

  “What do you want here?” Her lip curled. His touch was still as revolting as she recalled.

  “You.” The laughter left his face. “I want you.” He held her stare for a moment, then looked away, sneering. “Actually, I want money. I need it for some debts I’ve accumulated. I haven’t got the coin, but I do have you, and I’ve found me a buyer for your womanly charms.”

  “You no account, gutter-thriving flesh peddler. Surely, you don’t think I’ll just go off with you.”

  “Now isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.” He circled around her as if he were looking for a weakness. She turned on her heel to keep him in her sight.

  “Do those old biddies know about that painting of you displaying your privates?”

  Her entire face heated. He sneered again, obviously pleased with her confirmation. “No, I didn’t think so. You wouldn’t be stashed away in this cozy place if they knew, would you?”

  He edged over to a table decorated with a variety of porcelain knickknacks. “Do they know that you’re no more a widow than a newborn babe?” He glanced up at her. “That one’s got me pickled. Why are you pretending to be a widow?”

  She didn’t answer. Rather, she edged around to the far side of the room, putting as much distance between them as possible.

  He shrugged. “No matter.” He slipped something into his pocket. “Now, here’s my proposition. If you come with me quietly, I won’t share our little secret. If you make a grand fuss, I’ll set them straight as to the type of woman they have teaching at this fancy school. You won’t be able to hide out here away from your own relations, that’s for certain.”

  “Where are you planning to take me?” She slowly backed up to Cecilia’s desk. Her fingers searched frantically for something that could be used as a weapon.

  “Right now, I’m planning to take you out to my waiting carriage. You’ll know the final destination soon enough.” His lips opened in a sickening parody of a smile.

  Emma’s stomach turned even as her fingertips touched Cecilia’s letter opener. She slowly turned it on the table behind her, so she could slip it into her hand.

  “The old biddies left us some tea. Would you like a cup?”

  She shook her head.

  “No? I hope you don’t mind if I pour some myself.”

  The instant his back was turned she dashed for the door. He lunged and caught her wrist, twisting her back against his chest. The hand with the blade flailed ineffectively in the air above her head while he clamped a cloth across her mouth.

  “I knew you would be trouble. That wasn’t tea I was pouring, missy.”

  Her eyes bulged open as a sickly sweet vapor filled her lungs.

  “That’s right. Breathe deep. We’ll be on our way in no time.” His voice drifted in and out of her consciousness. Something metal clanged to the floor seconds before her knees crumbled. The last thing she remembered was her uncle’s ugly, sneering face. Her eyelids refused to remain open. In a matter of seconds, her world simply dissolved.

  His niece’s limp body weighed heavy in his arms. “You’ve been eating well, I see.”

  Heatherston chuckled at his own wit, then laid her gently on the floor. His laudanum-soaked handkerchief disappeared in his pocket. With a swift kick, the useless letter opener slid under the skirts of a chair. After visually checking to make sure he’d removed all appearance of a struggle, he yelled, “Help! Help!” He flung open the door. “Something terrible has happened to my niece!”

  “Oh dear!” Beatrice tumbled into the room first. “Whatever happened?” She knelt beside Emma, placing a hand on her forehead. “Saints be praised, there’s no fever. I know she’s not been her vital self lately, but she shouldn’t have collapsed.”

  Cecilia looked over Beatrice’s shoulder. “Bea, go run and get your smelling salts.”

  “No, no,” Heatherston protested. “She needs a doctor. My carriage is just outside. Help me settle her inside and I’ll take her to the village.”

  Cecilia sniffed the air. “Do you smell something peculiar?” When no one responded, she turned back toward Heatherston. “I don’t think she should be moved. The doctor will come out to see her. Perhaps by then she will be recovered and can tell us what happened.”

  Heatherston reddened. “She’s my niece and I know what’s good for her. I will take her to see a doctor and that’s that. It could be too late by the time the doctor found his way out here.” He scooped her up in his arms, heaving with the effort. “If one of you ladies will see to the door, I’ll take her to get proper medical attention.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Cecilia said.

  “No!” Heatherston turned to face the two of them. “Who knows what you’ve done to my poor niece already. She’s better off with me. I’m family.”

  The two sisters ex
changed a glance, then accommodated the stranger.

  “Emma did say he was her uncle,” Beatrice observed sadly. “One family member would not hurt another.”

  “I’ll get the door,” Cecilia said.

  Twenty-three

  A FAINT SICKLY ODOR LINGERED IN HER NOSTRILS and clung to the back of her throat. The side of her face bounced repeatedly on a stale cushion. Although her eyelids refused to open, her ears registered the familiar creak and rumble of a carriage in motion. Emma smiled. Why else would she be in a carriage if not to travel to Black Oak? Still, at this pace, she’d be lucky to arrive whole.

  “Henry, slow down.” Her voice drifted back to her ears, slurred and distant as if from a fog. “One rut in the road could kill us all.”

  “It’s good that you’re awake,” a frighteningly familiar voice said. “If you behave yourself, I won’t have to administer another dose of laudanum.”

  Uncle George! What was happening? Her stomach roiled in a surge of nausea. She tried to retrive her mother’s handkerchief, but her arms wouldn’t move. Panicked, she forced eyes open, only to see what she thought might be her uncle’s knees.

  “Your hostility forced me to tie your arms. You gave me no choice.” Uncle George hoisted her to a sitting position, then leaned her body toward the near side of the carriage. “There you go.” He grinned. “All upright and proper.”

  “Proper? You consider this proper?” The dry, scratchy texture of her throat robbed her of enunciation. Her spectacles were missing, robbing her of focus. If only this were a nightmare, she’d soon wake up and the world would be right again.

  “Wait. You’ll need these I suppose.” Her uncle reached over and pushed her missing spectacles in place. “Thought you might break them, bouncing on the seat the way you were.”

  Emma blinked, seeing clearly that this was not some horrible dream. Her heart sank. How could she possibly extricate herself from this?

  The corner of her uncle’s lips twitched. Reaching into his jacket, he removed a silver flask and shoved it under her nose. “Drink this.”

  Emma clenched her lips tight and shook her head.

  “The water will help with the nausea. Drink.” He held the metal opening to her lips, but the liquid ran down her chin to drip on her dress bodice.

  “You don’t trust me, is that it?” He lowered the flask. “Well, I can’t say that I blame you.” His eyes brightened. “Tell you what. Look at me.” He tilted the flask to his own lips and swallowed. “See it’s only water.”

  “It would be easier if you freed my hands,” Emma said, still not sure she believed the man. Her arms and shoulders ached from their forced confinement. While she was tied, she was at his mercy. That, she could not abide.

  “You won’t cause me any trouble?”

  She shook her head, although she felt no obligation to honor her response.

  “I suppose there’s nothing you can do.” He cast a quick look out the window. “At this speed, you’d break your neck if you jumped from the carriage.”

  He pulled a small knife from his pocket, then sawed through the rope. Once free, she rubbed her chafed wrists and shook her aching arms. Accepting the water flask, she sniffed it first, then sipped the water, letting the refreshing moisture soothe her mouth and throat.

  “Where are we?” she rasped between sips. The water did nothing to settle her stomach, but it did lessen the pounding in her head.

  Her uncle settled back in a corner of the swaying carriage, a satisfied smile across his face. “We’re miles from Pettibone. No one can hear you if you scream. No one will come to your aid.”

  Scream? Just the thought made her throat ache more. No, that would do no good.

  “Where are you taking me?” She braced her arms on each side, trying to stay as still as possible to settle the protests of her stomach. Burning bile still rose in her throat.

  “Scotland. We’re not that far.” He smiled. “It is fortunate indeed that you ran someplace so close to the border. At this pace we can stop for a right proper supper, then drive on and reach our destination before the cock crows.”

  Emma frowned, trying to will her swirling thoughts to some order. Scotland . . . There was something important about Scotland.

  “Cheer up, Emma. You should be happy. I could have left you in that convent to become a shriveled-up old prune like those other two.”

  Dear heaven, his smug smile told her he supposed he was doing her a favor stealing her away from the very people she loved.

  “Do not pretend you are my benefactor. You wouldn’t have bothered with me at all unless there was some profit in it for you.”

  “Aye, you were always the smart one, you were.” He winked and stretched out his legs. “It’s a shame Penelope isn’t more like you that way. Maybe if she were smarter I wouldn’t have had to hire that chatty Lady Cavendish to find her a proper husband.”

  “Lady Cavendish!” Emma couldn’t have been more surprised than if he had said Beatrice was assisting Penelope. What was going on?

  “She sought me out, she did. Said she could help find Penelope a wealthy husband with her connections and all.” He leered at Emma. “Come to think of it, that’s what I’m doing. Helping you find a husband.”

  The Scotland connection suddenly made sense. She recalled old stories about eloping couples dashing off to Gretna Green in Scotland. The place was legendary for quick nuptials. However, laws were passed to change all that about the time she was born.

  “You can’t force me to marry someone against my will.” Now it was her turn for a smug smile. “You’d have to hold me hostage in Scotland for three weeks before I could marry there. I think that would be difficult even for you, to say nothing of the expense.”

  If her uncle had a vulnerability, it would be in his purse.

  “That would be true enough, missy, if you hadn’t had the good fortune to be born in Scotland.” His rat face almost split in two by the size of his grin. “Your mother never told you that, did she? She was so afraid you’d run off and leave her that she kept the truth from you.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Emma snapped.

  “Believe what you will.” He shrugged, then leaned close so that his nose bobbed mere inches from her own. “But know this. Enough coin in the right palm will buy a proper marriage whether you agree to it or not. There’s ways to make a reluctant bride eager, if you know what I mean.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You’d drug me!”

  He laughed. “I did it once already, didn’t I? What do you think?”

  Emma sank back on the cushions. What was she to do now? She had no doubt that her uncle would stoop to just about any measure to ensure his nefarious scheme.

  “If all goes according to plan, you’d be a right proper married woman within the week. You should be grateful to your old uncle. Looking out for you, I am.”

  He had someone in play; she could see it in his beady little eyes.

  “Who?” She managed with a grimace.

  “Do you remember Mr. Perichilde?”

  “The old man from Sussex?” Emma recoiled at the memory. They had met at one of the dinners she attended with Penelope. Now that she recalled, Uncle George did sequester himself with a tall thin man who resembled the grim reaper himself.

  “That old man is desperate for an heir. Desperate enough to pay handsomely for a young untried bride like yourself. He’s waiting for us in Gretna Green.”

  “He’s so old!” Emma gasped.

  “I wouldn’t divest of those widow’s weeds, if you know what I mean.” He laughed heartily. “Perichilde will wear out long before you will.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “I told you, it’s for your own good. Who wants an old plow horse when there are young fillies on the market? You’re lucky to have an uncle like me. Besides, the fee Perichilde will pay will clear some debts.”

  “I’m not an untried woman,” Emma said, desperate to make her uncle reconsider his plan. “Perich
ilde may not pay when he discovers that I’m no longer a virgin.”

  Her uncle’s mouth dropped open. “That artist! You gave him your maidenhood? You silly chit. Did you think he would marry you?” He laughed, a harsh, cruel sound. “Why, he’s gallivanting around London looking for his next conquest. He even gave Penelope a twirl around the dance floor.” His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t believe he really loved you, did you?”

  Penelope and Nicholas! Emma felt like she had been punched in the stomach. Her eyes burned; she struggled for breath.

  “You did, you did. I can see it in your face.” He cackled, then shook his head. “I should have known. I always said you were just like your mother. I thought you might have had more sense than lifting your skirts for the first pretty man that came sniffing.”

  Her cheeks burned. Is that what she had done? Given herself to a man who chased after a woman’s virtue as another would hunt down a fox. In her mind, she heard his voice. I have no knowledge of anything but debauchery. She gasped. He had warned her on her first visit to Black Oak, yet she had refused to listen.

  “I should have sold you to a brothel when I had the chance,” her uncle muttered, oblivious to her turmoil. He glanced up at her. “I would have, if you hadn’t run away. I gave my word to your mother that I wouldn’t harm you while she was alive. I waited all these years, watching you grow, spending good money on your education. I even chased off those two sorry suitors who came asking after you. All my scheming and then you up and disappear. You lifted your skirts for what? A bit of paint?”

  He shook his head as if in true misery. Good, Emma thought. If nothing else, she had ruined her uncle’s plans. She had given her heart and her virtue for more than a “bit of paint,” as he so cruelly suggested. But her uncle wouldn’t understand that.

  “Still,” he continued, “I gave my word to Perichilde, and a gentleman’s word is his bond.” George frowned, staring at her stomach. “If you’re lucky, you’ve already got a baby planted in your belly. If I don’t miss my guess, Perichilde will leave you alone once an heir is on its way.”