The Wrong Bride Page 3

  “Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Jones,” Winnie said humbly. “You have in good measure restored my faith in mankind.”

  “Wal, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in quite a spell,” he told her, blushing. It hurt her mouth to smile, but his reply made it impossible not to. He looked away, suddenly embarrassed at the little feeling that passed over him to warm his heart to this child. “I’ll jes’ go fetch me horse.” His voice was brusque, matter-of-fact, but Winnie felt the under-tide of genuine feeling and was touched.

  “Oh! Tea! I can make tea. And coffee!” she said. But he had already shut the door behind him. She sighed, and feeling much better, made her way through the house. Winnie found the discarded cover, blanket, and top sheet from Miranda’s bed on the floor of what appeared to be a dining room, its table laden with old newspapers and other odds and ends. She forced herself to go upstairs to the bedroom she’d been in and looked through the pile of Miranda’s clothes, finding an older dress that might fit more decently than the one she now wore. Looking through other items upended on the pile, she found a brush, comb, and pins to help straighten the mess of unruly hair. Undressing, Winnie washed again with clean water from the pitcher and put on clean clothes, the undergarment closest to her skin soiled. Shuddering, she had dropped it on the floor before finishing and taking a look at herself in the mirror. She’d already discovered the goose egg-sized knot while combing her hair, hurting herself. The face in the mirror revealed bruises and a half-dozen cuts, swollen lips, a fleck of blood between her upper lip and nose, immediately wiped away.

  Feeling mildly better, now all Winnie longed for was a nap. She’d avoided looking at the bed before, but wondered, where would she sleep tonight? Instead of the nap, she decided to visit the library Mr. Jones had mentioned, but, one look at its disordered contents and Winnie was too disheartened to look more closely. Instead, she wandered through the rest of the house, both to orient herself and find the place for her temporary bedroom. The house was of decent size but so filthy it would take an army of workers to bring it to rights. In the end, Winnie found herself back in Master Lance’s bedroom, which was at least kept in some kind of decent order. The other rooms were in pitiful condition, so she would brave it and sleep here tonight. But, on seeing the dirty sheets under the cover, stained and rumpled, Winnie had a change of heart. Earlier, she’d spied a cot in what she guessed was a second pantry off the kitchen, likely used by a cook, and that would have to suffice for her bedroom.

  By now, it was dark, and Winnie yawned as she lit lamps and waited in the kitchen. What good am I, really, she asked herself, the idea coming from Mr. Jones that she wasn’t of much use, though he hadn’t actually said so. I can’t cook or do any of the other functions of running a house. Winnie tried to recall deliberately how things had run at her own home and was able to bring to mind the happy days in the kitchen when she would pester Mistress Sherman for a sweet. She sighed. Gone for good, all gone. Still, there was the hope that her parents might be of an understanding nature and welcome her back, though she would be disgraced because of recent events. But Winnie found she didn’t care about marriage after all if it entailed a repeat of what had happened to her the previous day.

  Winnie heard the noise, not just of the one horse of Mr. Jones, but of a carriage! Her face blanching of color, she stood nervously. The thing Winnie had most feared had come to pass. The devil had returned for her! In the earlier of her rummaging, Winnie had come across a drawer of knives and other odd-looking utensils, the use of which she knew not. Hurrying for that drawer, she picked up a particularly lethal-looking weapon, a long, sharp carving knife, and held it against her skirts and waited. Her heart tripped so loud and quick Winnie wasn’t sure she wouldn’t faint again. Gritting her teeth, however, she decided to be done with that, fainting. She’d already had a lifetime of faints in the past couple of days. No matter what happened, Winnie was determined to be strong and not give in to feminine weakness ever again.

  Winnie breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Jones came through the door. But the knife was still held firmly, just in case. “Is he with you?” she asked in a husky voice.

  “No.” Barnaby shook his head, an unhappy frown knitting his brow. “I doubt he’ll be troublin’ ye, not fer a good long while at least. He’s gone for a soldier, it seems.”

  A soldier! Good God! Had he already found her so disagreeable he’d committed himself to a life of soldiering? Contrarily, the news, which should have been a relief, angered her. “I am sorry it comes to my mind not to care one way or the other,” she said bitterly, “just so long as I don’t have to see him again.”

  It was plain that Mr. Jones didn’t like that. “Ye might be able to conjure up a wee mite o’ sympathy fer the lad. He was tricked into it, or so I heard from one of the taverns where I went to check on him.”

  Winnie’s mouth rounded in surprise. “Tricked into it?”

  “Aye. The lad had the sour luck to be in town just when there appeared a recruitin’ party offerin’ free beer and bounty to sign up. Seven pounds. Jaren, the light-brained fool who couldn’t see beyond cash in hand signed up right off. Master Lance was havin’ none of it, but by acceptin’ his mug o’ beer, unbeknownst to the lad he had enrolled himself. In the bottom was a shillin’, an’ drinking the beer an’ takin’ the shillin’ was as good as signin’ a paper, so the innkeeper himself, who did the nasty deed by puttin’ the King’s shillin’ in the mug, told me. I could have thrashed the man, but,” he shrugged, “twouldn’t a done any good.” He sighed. “Mebbe it will turn the lad, who is a good lad, all in all.”

  A good lad? Winnie wanted to shout her protest at Mr. Jones. She wanted to laugh, too, at Master Lance’s poor luck, but somehow couldn’t, especially not in front of Barnaby. “He has no recourse, then? What will happen to him?”

  “He has no money, er very little, anyway, so he can’t buy a commission. He’ll be a foot soldier. They’d have taken him back to the billet, kept him liquored up until they leave fer trainin’ at the nearest depot. Once that’s done, he’ll be shipped out. Ah,” he moaned, shaking his head slowly, “the poor lad.” He gave her a cross look, as if this all had somehow been her fault. Then his face changed, softened. “It’s not yer fault, o’ course. I only hope he survives. It ain’t a heathy sort of life.”

  Winnie tried to dredge up some modicum of sympathy for Master Lance but couldn’t. She couldn’t even remember what he looked like. The last two days had been a blur in her mind. She sat down and slid the knife onto the table. If he noticed, Barnaby said nothing. “So, though it may seem mean of me to bring it up, we will have our own transport to return to my house, Mr. Jones?”

  He sighed again and sat down heavily in one of the rickety chairs in the kitchen, staring at the table top. “Aye. We’ll go when you say, lass.” He turned to look at her more closely. “May I say, ye look a mite more decent as a lady than ye did a few hours ago.”

  The compliment brought a wan smile. “Thank you, M. Jones. If you don’t mind, I’m sore tired now, and I should like to go to bed.”

  “Aye, I, too. It’s been an interestin’ day. I’ll just take care of the horses and go off to me own place.” He looked hopeful. “I don’t suppose I’d find a plate o’ fried bacon and flat cakes should I come by in the mornin’? I think we’ve a couple of fletches left in the cellars.”

  Once again, Winnie felt very small. “I am sorrier than you’ll know, Mr. Jones, but I shall see if I can contrive something. Perhaps some more of that delicious cheese. I can do coffee, too, if there is some in the pantry.”

  Barnaby chuckled. “Well, that’s lookin’ up a bit, at least.” He rose with a groan and walked slowly out of the kitchen after pointing out the key on a little hook by the door. “Ye’ll not need it most likely, bein’ this far out, but I would lock the door anyway.” Winnie nodded, and the unhappy man, shoulders and head down, left. She watched him go and locked the door behind him. She changed her mind about the sleeping arran
gement, made her way through the house, taking a kitchen lamp with her and lighting other lights along the way. Back downstairs, she picked up the bedclothes from the floor of the dining room and went back upstairs, changed the old bottom sheet off the bed and made Lance’s bed to her liking. It was hard work new to her, but Winnie stayed with it, in the end proud of this small achievement. She would wait three more days for her face and the rest of her to heal, and then they would leave for home. If they were lucky, she would be there before the rest of the family.

  Hearing the carriage, Winnie stood upright, nervous suddenly. Mr. Jones had apprised her of the financial situation at Greenwood, Lance’s small estate. There was very little income, not much more than enough to pay the taxes and the barest minimum to live on. But there was as least the possibility of shelter, just in case she wouldn’t be taken back by her parents. One of the tales Winnie had heard was of a girl who eloped with a fellow who didn’t stay, she became with child, and her parents wouldn’t take her in. The poor thing had drifted into the city and no one knew what became of her.

  While alone, Winnie had a lot of time to think. She hadn’t given consent to the marriage, and that was one idea of the way out of it. She admitted to herself that no longer was she the same young, just turned sixteen, girl. Winnie felt different; she was different, even looked changed to herself in the mirror.

  All of Melanie’s clothes were returned and Winnie put them away in her sister’s bedroom. And she’d found the note, considered it and folded it again, tucking it in the pocket of the apron over her best dress after having a thorough bath and washing of her hair.

  Winnie was waiting in the sitting room as the family tumbled into the house, tired and grumpy. “Mama, may I please have a word with you.” Her hands shook and she clutched them together.

  “Now? Surely it can wait until I’ve had chance to draw breath.”

  “Please.”

  “Humph! Very well, since Miss High and Mighty cannot wait at least five minutes.” Perhaps the girl had started her menses and needed…oh, how she hated this little discussion What a bother!

  Alone with her mother, Winnie dropped the news. “Married!” the woman shrieked.

  “But not with my consent!” Winnie tried to explain to Mistress Alexander she was taken by force, but her mother was talking to herself, to the wall, to the ceiling. Then suddenly, she calmed down. The news of Winnie’s new situation was already in the kitchen where Mr. Jones was sitting at the table consuming a piece of pie and having coffee. The news had been relayed from one servant to the next in a line that most resembled a bucket brigade. Barnaby went on calmly eating the most sumptuous apple pie with a flaky crust, browned just right, over a thick body of sliced apples with the right amount of beaten sugar and just the right touch of cinnamon.

  “Well,” Mistress Alexander sniffed, “since you are married, there is nothing more to say, is there?” She drew herself up. “And where is this so-called husband of yours?”

  “He’s gone in training to be a solder.”

  “And why are you not with him, then?”

  “I tried to explain the circumstance to you, Mama. I was kidnapped…” She was interrupted by a doubting ‘likely story’ “and…well, leaving behind the peculiar circumstances, I was hoping you would try to help me resolve the issue. I don’t wish to be married.”

  Her mother’s eyes narrowed, and she gave a short bark of laughter. “Dear girl, you are not the first to pray to be released from the married state. But,” she sighed heavily, “there’s simply nothing to be done about it.”

  “Very well, then,” Winnie said quietly, all the while twisting her hands together nervously, “I’ve come to see about my dowry…”

  Her mother shook her head firmly. “There will be no dowry forthcoming, Miss Winifred, since you’ve been so foolish to run off with a man without our consent. You should have been more thinking in the first place. And now you will reap the rewards of that misstep.” Her mother smiled, and Winnie scented triumph in the spreading of her mother’s mouth. It meant her mother would have fewer worries with the dowry for Miranda, the Alexander finances being somewhat tight. The air of it all angered Winnie.

  Her voice shaking, she said, “Perhaps you will change your mind, Mother, when I read to you the little missive left in Miranda’s bedroom.” She read the letter which was short and to the point. “You see, it was not I who was to be taken away and married forthwith, but your other daughter.” She tilted her head. “I wonder, if the Munsters were to be apprised of this, what should they think of it?”

  Her mother stared at Winnie for three seconds. “George!” The sound rang through the entire household, and Barnaby, just finished with his pie and emptying his second cup of coffee, stood and made his way to the room around which was gathered nearly the entire household save Miranda, who had taken herself off to her room for a lie-down, not even noticing the bed was poorly made with a different cover than her beautiful blue damask one.

  “What is it, m’love?” Mr. Alexander popped his head into the room, a worried expression on his face. He hated it when his wife had one of her spells.

  “And the rest of you,” Mistress Alexander shouted, “go on about your business.” The servants, all of whom had their ears attuned to the spectacle: the housemaid, looking shy and embarrassed, the housekeeper with the mouth thinning to hide the grin below malicious black, beady eyes, and the man who served as butler and footman, straightened his spine and nodded at the others in a superior manner. Except for Mistress Sherman, who was in the kitchen and hadn’t been snooping, they all shuffled slowly away.

  “And who might you be?” Mistress Alexander asked of Barnaby as he sauntered into the room. He explained himself, and the woman sniffed at the intrusion. “We’re having an intimate family discussion. You may be excused.”

  Barnaby gave a small dip of his head. “I will stay, beggin’ yer pardon. I am here to see to the safety of the young lady’s person,” he said, nodding at Winnie, visibly relieved by his entry. “I’m not likely to be leavin’ until she has satisfaction.” He had little idea what he was saying, but he’d heard enough of the gossip passed through to be worried for Winnie, whom he’d taken a particular liking to in the time he’d spent in her company at Greenwood. From the sound of things, it hadn’t been going well for the girl. And there was no man in the household larger than Barnaby. Even though he hadn’t the scars to prove it, he looked as if he might have been a prizefighter at one time.

  “Give your father the letter,” Mistress Alexander commanded Winnie.

  “I’m sorry, Mother, but I shall not. Please explain the circumstances to Father as succinctly as possible.” Embarrassed color blotched her fine features. “It appears I shall not have the satisfaction I desire…”

  “It’s blackmail!” Quickly Winnie’s mother explained to an increasingly befuddled husband what had transpired while they’d been gone. And then Winnie read the contents of the letter, emphasizing the words ‘your daughter, Miranda’ to his horror.

  “Regardless of what you call it, Mother….”

  “Miranda!” This was loud, too, enough so the servants, who were milling around outside the sitting room, trying to appear inconspicuous while still listening in, scattered. “Come here at one.”

  Miranda, just settled into her bed and having laid her head down, still dressed she was so tired, moaned but rose from her bed and trudged slowly downstairs, the green eyes narrowed to angry slits. She would have it back on Winnie later, whatever the trouble was.

  “Read to your sister the contents of the note,” Mistress Alexander said stiffly to Winnie.

  As Winifred was going over the letter again, Miranda’s brain began to clear. “Oh, thank the Lord I wasn’t here. To think I might have been taken by that awful man.” It was said with a horrified face and drama laid on inches thick. Miranda looked around at the assembly, wondering who the large, muscular older man might be. Perhaps a new servant? Thank God. There was enough work for
two or more new ones, and this fellow looked as if he might fill the bill. Miranda smiled. “Is that all?” She yawned without covering her mouth. “May I go back to my bed now?”

  “Yes, you were fortunate.” Her mother’s voice was cold. “Your sister, however, had not such good luck.”

  What did she mean? Miranda stared at her mother. And then the residual fog in her brain swiftly dissipated. “You, Winnie? You were taken?” Sparks flew from her eyes. “You slept in my bed. How dare you,” she wailed. “I only had use of the new covers for a month.” Another thought occurred to her. “Did you marry him?” She asked in an accusatory manner. Winnie turned from her mother to Miranda.

  “Yes,” she muttered weakly.

  “You married my Lance?” Miranda burst out all too quickly without thought. Her mother gasped, her father’s bloodshot eyes bulged, and his jowls shook. He raised his fist and began sputtering at Miranda.

  “Never mind, Miranda,” her shocked mother said. “Go to your room. We’ll deal with you later.” The silence in the room was stunning as Mistress Alexander watched her elder daughter leave. She turned to Winnie. “Give me that letter, Winifred.”

  “I shall not,” she declared firmly. Quickly, she rose from her seat and handed the missive off to Barnaby with trembling hands. “For safety. For proof. For…whatever,” she added lamely before returning to her seat. Mr. Alexander, his chin elevated and jutted out, rose and approached Barnaby. “You will hand it over, my good sir.”

  “I don’t think so. An’, beggin’ yer pardon, upon lookin’ around, I see no fellow among us who could take it from me.”

  Mistress Alexander sighed. “Never mind, George.” She turned to Winnie. “What is it you want from me, from us?” Her hand drifted in the direction of her husband though her eyes were fixed on Winnie.

  “Will you help me, please, to extricate myself from the travesty I’ve just endured?”