My Lady Domino, page 1
My Lady Domino
Sandra Heath
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Chapter 1
The sound of the alley door closing was only faint, but it was sufficient to carry through the open casement and into the bedroom at the rear of the small house in Bath’s most fashionable shopping street. Adele stirred, drowsily opening her eyes and looking up, not at the half-expected elegance of a stuccoed ceiling adorned with birds and garlands of flowers, but at a low expanse of plain whitewash, unrelieved by any pretty decoration. She was not at Beech Park, she was in the haberdashery in Milsom Street.
As always when sleep left her, the reality of her severely reduced circumstances came as a dreadful shock. Each morning it was the same; sleep receded and with it so did the happy past, leaving only the awful truth of the present. She was no longer the heiress daughter of Bath’s richest banker; she was dependent upon the kindness and love of Miss Cat Rogers, once her nurse at Beech Park but now the lessee of the haberdashery where Adele served behind the counter.
For a moment she lay there, and then, remembering the sound of the alley door, she threw back the patchwork counterpane and slipped from the bed. Please let that sound mean that the carrier had at last brought the fancy ribbons ordered so long ago from the London manufactory! Pouring some water from the chipped china jug into the bowl on the dressing table, she began to wash.
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A little later she was attired in a neat dimity gown that smelled of cloves from the orange pomander she kept in the wardrobe. The gown’s dusty lilac color became her very well, for it emphasized the largeness of her blue eyes and the cornfield hue of her hair. She wore the neat apron of a shop assistant, but there was something about her that betrayed the truth—that she had not been born to the life she now led, that she had been born into a world of lace and silks, of wealth and plenty, of elegant rooms with glittering chandeliers and fine furniture, of magnificent carriages and gracious parks. But for Miss Adele Russell this was all in the past, a vanished world that only returned when she was asleep.
Pushing the final curl beneath her day bonnet, she went to the window to look past the rooftops toward the stark ruins on the hillside overlooking the busy spa town. The scent of summer flowers rose from the garden below, but she hardly noticed it as she looked at Beech Park, her former home, the scene of so many happy years, but now just a shell after being destroyed by a mysterious fire one snowy January night five years ago.
After looking at the ruins for a moment, she turned and left the bedroom, hurrying down to the kitchen where Joanie, the maid, was busy sweeping the flagstoned floor.
“Good morning, Joanie.”
“Good morning, Miss Russell.”
“Did you hear the alley door a little while ago?”
“No.” The maid stopped working, her eyes brightening. “Do you think it could have been the London ribbons?”
“Oh, I hope so, we seem to have been waiting for simply ages, and with the Duchess of Bellingham’s masquerade almost upon us now ... Well, the ladies of Bath will go to the shop which provides them with the latest thing, and if we don’t, then they’ll go elsewhere.” Adele went to the back door and then paused, smiling a little wickedly at the maid. “Joanie Smith, I do believe you’ve missed a speck of dust in that corner over there, that won’t do anymore, you know.”
Joanie’s plump, freckled face fell. “Miss Rogers isn’t coming back from Bristol!”
“Yes, I’m afraid she is.”
“Oh, no—”
“Let me give you a word of advice, Joanie,” said Adele gently. “Only the Lord knows you should have learned it for yourself by now. Cat Rogers’ bark is far worse than her bite; she doesn’t mean half she says.”
“That isn’t how it seems to me.”
“I should know, she was my nurse for long enough.”
“I know she was your nurse, but she can’t have scolded you like she scolds me! I mean, you were a fine lady in that great big house—”
“I was only a little girl then, a spoiled, willful one at that, but I soon learned how to conduct myself once Cat Rogers took charge of me.” Hardly knowing that she did so, she glanced out through the window in the direction of Beech Park, but the surrounding buildings hid it from view. “Well,” she said more briskly, “I’ll go and see if those dratted ribbons have arrived.”
The walled garden behind the haberdashery was a tiny piece of the English countryside transferred to the center of the busy spa. It was bright with July flowers, roses that nodded against the mellow stone and sweet-smelling herbs that bordered the ash path. Adele’s skirts brushed against them as she passed, and their perfume was released into the warm air. It was a perfect morning, the sky was a flawless blue, and she felt lighthearted as she hurried toward the wash-house; she even hummed a little tune.
The wash-house was built against the alley wall, next to the door which every Thursday night was left unbolted to admit the London carrier, should he be expected. Inside, it was always cool, the same temperature whether it was winter or summer, and it always smelled of boiled linen and potato starch. Its red-raddled floor was spotless and it had the air of a place that was frequently used and that was always looked after with great care.
One of Cat’s best blankets had been washed the previous day and was hanging up to dry, and a basket of laundry awaiting ironing stood on the floor next to the door where Adele entered. In a far corner was the dolly tub, and leaning against it the scrubbing board, an indication that the carrier had indeed called. Her face breaking into a smile, she knelt by the tub to take the brown paper package which had been hidden in the agreed place. But as she stood again the wash-house went suddenly dark as a shadow blotted out the sunlight streaming in through the doorway.
With a frightened gasp, she whirled about to see the silhouette of a gentleman, a silver-handled cane swinging lightly in his hand. There was something very menacing about his silent appearance, and she backed slowly away, pressing against the wall, the package of ribbons clasped tightly to her breast. She knew who he was. “You!” she breathed, the loathing she felt only too evident in that single word.
Sir Frederick Repton sketched a graceful bow. “Miss Russell.”
“Why have you come here?”
“That is hardly a gracious greeting, nor, given your circumstances, is it a sensible one.”
“Why should I stoop to being polite to you?”
“Come now, you aren’t the fine lady anymore, Miss Russell, and I am certainly not your father’s clerk now.”
“I don’t need to be reminded of your spectacular advancement since my father was murdered, sir,” she replied, hating him so much that she found it hard to even look at him.
“You make that sound dreadfully like an accusation, Miss Russell.”
“It is an accusation!” she flashed, her eyes very bright. “You murdered my father, you and your fine patron, the Duke of Bellingham!”
“Do go on, you are really most entertaining.”
“After promises of patronage and advancement from the duke, whose financial straits the world and his wife knew about, you embezzled huge sums from my father’s bank.” She paused, expecting him to silence her, but he merely smiled and so she went on. “My father found out and so you started that fire which killed him, and after that you laid the blame for the missing funds on him.”
“Dear me, what a catalog of odious crime. I must credit you with exceptional powers of imagination.”
“I haven’t imagined anything; everything I’ve just said is the truth.”
“But can you prove it? No, you cannot.” The cool smile continued to play around his colorless lips. He had a sallow complexion, pale-lashed eyes, and those toneless, gaunt looks which do not seem to register the passing of the years. He was somewhere between fifty-five and sixty, but his figure was that of a man in his early thirties. He looked every inch a gentleman, which was the very thing he was not. Oh, he wore costly apparel, which had been tailored in London by the same craftsmen who clothed Mr. Brummel, his cravats were always wonders of starched intricacy and his waistcoats a byword in elegance, but no amount of peacock finery could turn Frederick Repton into anything remotely resembling a true gentleman.
The cologne he wore wafted over her as he came a little closer, pushing the blanket aside with the tip of his cane and coming to a halt at last within inches of her.
“How very lovely you always manage to be, Miss Russell. In spite of all that has befallen you, you are still one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. I recall how once you wore Paris muslin and Brussels lace, how the services of an excellent maid produced a coiffure which showed off your magnificent air to such advantage that your appearance in a room eclipsed all other ladies present, no matter how grand they were. Oh yes, you were quite a lady, exquisite in appearance, vivacious in character and so very delightful in your charm. Denzil Russell’s daughter, a famous beauty, feted, courted, sought after by numerous young blades eager for such a dazzling bride ... Dear me, how you must miss all that, but all things must pass,” he said softly. “Even what remains of Beech Park will soon be gone forever and totally forgotten.”
She looked away from him, but the silver handle of his cane pressed warningly against her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze once more.
“I am tired of those grim ruins on that hillside, Miss Russell. They overlook Bath too much and can be seen from too many windows. They are a reminder of what once was, and I d
She stared at him. “No!”
“But yes, Beech Park is mine.”
“Not legally!”
“Don’t be childish, Miss Russell; it is hardly necessary to always work within the letter of the King’s law! You should know that by now, or do you never learn your lessons?”
“One lesson I have learned, and that is to know that you are a rogue and a thief, a murderer and an arsonist!” she cried.
The cane pressed harshly against her cheek, the silver very cold. “How very tiresome you Russells are, always so innocent and above all else, honest! Your father was a brilliant banker, an extremely clever accountant and a bookkeeper par excellence. With skills such as his he should have had half a dozen estates like Beech Park. But he was an honest man, and he was a very dull fellow. How fortunate for me that I learned my skills from such a master, for I knew so much better how to go on in this world. I was prepared to manipulate books, transfer this to that, juggle a little here, assess something else there. I just had to wait until a suitable patron came along.”
“The Duke of Bellingham.”
“But of course, the noble Duke of Bellingham. He and I understood each other from the outset, Miss Russell. I knew that he was in desperate financial straits, and he knew that I was ambitious. We worked very well together, very well indeed, an excellent partnership. Had the duke not come along, it could have been that I would still be your father’s wretched clerk, still not fully appreciated and still chafing at the unfairness of my lot in life. But fate chose to advance me. I am where I am now, Miss Russell, but you, I am afraid, are where you are.”
“You have not set foot near me for five years, Sir Frederick, but then suddenly you came creeping along before Bath is fully awake, you use the side alley so that no one will see you, and then all you have to say seems to be that you’ve been exceeding clever over the years and that you’ve now acquired Beech Park to add to your list of stolen prizes. Somehow, I don’t think that you’ve told me the real reason why you’ve come here this morning.”
“How very perceptive you are. Very well, Miss Russell, I will tell you that my true purpose this morning is to issue due warning that from this moment on I shall be watching your movements very closely indeed, and that should I suspect you of unwise actions, then it will be the worse for you—and for Miss Cat Rogers. What befell Beech Park and Denzil Russell can as swiftly and anonymously befall the haberdashery and its plump lessee.”
Her eyes widened. “But why?” she whispered. “Why threaten me like this? I have not been able to harm you in five years, although God knows I would if I could, so why do you come here like this now?”
He looked a little taken aback and then a flat chuckle escaped him. “You haven’t heard, have you? News has not reached your little establishment yet.”
“News of what?”
The humorless smile faded. “David Latimer, Earl of Blaisdon, is about to return to Bath. He has taken a house on Royal Crescent. Ah, I see that the gentleman’s name is not lost upon you.”
“I recall him,” she replied shortly.
“I’ll warrant you do; you almost married him!”
“Why should I be interested in his return to Bath?”
“Come now, don’t let’s be silly. Of course you’re interested in what he does.” The cane tapped her cheek a little playfully. “His reason for returning is outwardly to accompany his mother, the countess, whose health requires her to take the cure, but apparently there is an ulterior motive—he is soon expected to announce his betrothal to the Duke of Bellingham’s daughter, Lady Euphemia.”
“But she is already married, to the Marquis of Heydon!”
“The late marquis; he passed away some ten months ago. The lady is very much free to marry again, I promise you. Which, alas, brings me to the crux of this whole matter—well, one of the cruxes anyway. Five and a half years ago, or thereabouts, the Earl of Blaisdon was again on the point of proposing to Lady Euphemia, after many years of patient work behind the scenes by the duke and duchess and by the Countess of Blaisdon. Then you came along, Miss Russell, and the earl abruptly terminated his association with Lady Euphemia and pursued you instead. You greatly interfered with matters, inflicting humiliation upon a great house. That is not to happen again.”
“Earls do not pay court to haberdashers’ assistants,” she pointed out dryly.
“Maybe they don’t, but haberdashers’ assistants can make a dreadful amount of trouble by approaching earls and by seeing to it that the teacups of Bath rattle to the Russell tune again.”
“Those teacups will rattle to a certain extent anyway the moment David Latimer sets foot in this town again. But you may rest easy, for I am fully aware that no purpose would be served by attempting to stir things up again. As you point out, sir, I cannot prove anything against you or the duke. Making noise now would be tantamount to beating my head against the proverbial wall, and whatever else I am, I am not a fool. As to approaching the Earl of Blaisdon, well I promise you that nothing on this earth would make me willingly do that, for I despise him almost as much as I despise you.”
“What a waspish tongue you have, to be sure. But in this instance, I think you are protesting a little too much where the earl is concerned. Possibly you do regard him with some acrimony, for it must have been galling indeed to receive his curt note, ending the betrothal and expressing a wish never to communicate with you again. But then, that was after the fire and you were no longer rich. As you say, earls do not pay court to haberdashers’ assistants.” He smiled.
“There was no need for you to come here today. I am totally uninterested in the earl’s arrival here or in his betrothal to the Marchioness of Heydon.”
“Indeed? Then you will be the only unconcerned soul in Bath. You must understand, Miss Russell, that with so many important things about to happen where the House of Bellingham is concerned, too much care cannot be taken to see that all runs smoothly. The Waterloo masquerade promises to be the social event of the year, and it is taking place not in London but in out-of-season Bath. It is quite a coup for the duchess as a hostess. The last thing she wishes is for there to be any undue whispering to spoil it all. You do understand, don’t you?”
She felt the cane touch her cheek once more. “Yes, I understand.”
“Excellent. Oh, there is just one more small item and this time it concerns my good self. I am an ambitious man, Miss Russell, but then you already know that, don’t you?” He smiled again. “I thrive on wealth and on power, and so I have turned my eyes toward the world of politics, where lies the greatest power of all for such as I. The duke has in his disposal a parliamentary seat which he has kindly promised to me. He is also, God bless him, a kinsman of our first minister, and I am soon to be a houseguest at Lord Liverpool’s country estate. My sights are set very high indeed, as you can imagine, and so my reputation must be as pure as the driven snow. It would not please me at all to learn that you have been stirring undue chitter-chatter about your imagined wrongs—no, it would not please me at all. But if you behave yourself, I think the interest will all die down again nicely. Don’t you think so?”
She said nothing.
“Just remember my warning, and think on the welfare of your Miss Rogers. You wouldn’t like to have her on your conscience, would you? So, just be a good girl, serve dutifully behind the haberdashery counter, and go about your daily business without attracting any undue attention. All will be well for you if you do that, and in due course you will probably marry some cloddish wagoner or market porter and your life will pursue its allotted course.”
He lowered the cane. “There, that was not so bad, I think we both know where we stand now, hmm? Good day, Miss Russell, it was so pleasant talking with you again.”
Touching his top hat and inclining his head once, he turned and was gone. She heard the alley door close behind him. Holding the package of ribbons tightly, she remained motionless. The brightness of the morning seemed duller now, and the lightheartedness with which she had come to look for the ribbons had vanished as if it had never been. The past, the unhappy past, had returned to envelop her, slipping over from her nightmares to her waking hours as it had not done for a long time now. Its bitter tendrils twined remorselessly around her.
