A Porcelain Viscountess by Hazel Linwood

Chapter 18

“How good is this disguise? Truthfully?” Lady Ridlington asked as they stood in the solicitor’s office, awaiting the arrival of Mr Preston. Francis smiled as he looked at her, appraising the outfit. She was wearing the boy’s clothes again. To his mind, the breeches showed off her legs quite a lot, but he was the only one really looking at her that closely, with keen admiration.

“You are looking a little close,” she said with a giggle.

“You asked me how good the disguise is, I have to look,” he said, looking up to her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. She reached out and tapped his chin. He loved the touch, even if it was brief.

“Eyes up,” she said with a chuckle. He laughed too, looking at the way she had lifted the hat on her head, revealing her face a little more. Her brown hair had been fastened low at the back of her head, hiding the usual curls that framed her face.

Before any more words or flirtation could be exchanged between them, the door opened. Josiah walked in, followed by Mr Preston.

“Thank you for coming,” Mr Preston said as he walked toward his desk ready to take his place.

Francis pulled out a chair for Lady Ridlington to sit down in, not missing the way that Josiah was eying him with evident suspicion. Francis offered a warning glare. After the sadness of talking to Lady Ridlington over dinner the night before, and the acknowledgment that they could be separated from each other forever, he was in no mood to listen to Josiah’s jests and teasing.

“I wanted to discuss the next steps with you,” Mr Preston said as he pushed forward some paperwork on his desk.

“Now we go to court, don’t we?” Lady Ridlington asked, moving to the edge of her chair, looking rather anxious as she struggled to sit still.

“We do,” he said with a solemn nod. “With the testimonies of the bruises and the letter containing the Viscount’s own threat, we stand in good stead for court, but…” he paused, looking as uncomfortable as they all felt.

“What is it?” Francis asked, leaning forward a little in his seat.

“I know what I would argue if I was sat on the other side of the courtroom,” Mr Preston said, steepling his hands together as he sat back in his chair. “I would say that no one ever saw who delivered her bruises. They could argue she may have given herself the bruises.”

“She would grab herself around the neck!?” Francis asked in outrage, sitting forward so far that he felt Josiah clasp his shoulder, trying to pull him back in the chair.

“I know, Your Grace,” Mr Preston said, holding up his hands innocently. “It sounds absurd, but such cases have been argued before and could be argued successfully again.” He turned his eyes on Lady Ridlington. “What we need is a witness account, other than your own. Someone who can categorically say that they have seen the Viscount hurt the lady.”

She instantly hung her head, looking downward.

“There is someone else who has seen it all,” she said rather miserably. “But I cannot ask her to stand up in court.”

“What?” Josiah asked before Francis even could. Francis realized exactly who she was speaking of, covering his mouth with both hands in frustration.

“She would willingly stand up for you in court,” Francis said, thinking of the maid back at his house that was so devoted to Lady Ridlington.

Louisa.

“I cannot do that to her,” Lady Ridlington said with surprising strength as she looked up. “She is in my service in hiding, Your Grace.” She held his gaze with the words.

He remembered very well what she had said of Louisa’s past, how she had been at the hands of a brutal man herself, and Lady Ridlington had given her the path out of that life.

“If I were to put her in court, her name would be repeated in the papers, wouldn’t it?” she said, looking between all three men.

“It could not be avoided,” Mr Preston agreed. “This is a high-profile case, of a viscount and his wife. You are also the daughter of a baron, my Lady. When this hits the courts, it will be reported in the papers.”

“I cannot risk someone reading her name in the papers,” Lady Ridlington said, shaking her head.

“My Lady, please,” Francis said, heading the desperation in his own voice as he leaned toward her. “If it is the only way to convince a court –”

“I will not risk her life in exchange for my own.” Her tone was emphatic as she held his gaze and lifted the flat cap on her head a little higher. “We stand a chance of convincing a court without her, yes?” she asked, looking at the solicitor.

“A small chance,” he accepted with a nod.

“Then I am willing to take that gamble.”

Francis looked to Josiah, seeing the same look of worry that he was sure resided his own expression. Without Louisa’s testimony in a court, the jury could well come down on the side of the Viscount, deciding there was not enough evidence that he was the cause of her bruises. The thought of seeing her go back to the Viscount disgusted Francis.

“As you wish, my Lady,” Mr Preston said as he rearranged the paperwork on his desk. “Now, let us discuss the particulars of the procedure we will now go through. After that, I will appeal to the courts for a date where we can make out appearance.”

“Very well,” she nodded, “go on.”

Francis stayed quiet throughout it all, only offering a word every now and then. He was happy to give support where it was, but any hope that had been inside of him before the felt was now slipping away.

Lady Ridlington’s protection of her friend showed how kind she was, but it might have damned her to a life where she would always be married to the Viscount.

* * *

Phoebe was walking down the stairs of the solicitor’s office now that their meeting was concluded, with her eyes firmly on Hayward’s back. She was no fool, she could see easily how upset with her he was, but she couldn’t undo that upset.

I would never exchange Louisa’s safety for my own.

As they reached the bottom of the steps, Hayward and the Marquess of Dodge settled up invoices with one of the secretaries, meanwhile Phoebe walked toward the door of the office, peering out into the street. Across the road and sat leaning against a building was a scruffy man dressed in rags.

There was something familiar about him, enough to make Phoebe squint and press her face closer toward the glass set in the door, looking toward him. It took a minute to realize where she had seen him before.

It was the thief who had attacked Hayward when they had last come to visit the solicitor’s office.

“Your Grace?” she called from to him. He looked up from the paperwork he was attending to with the secretary, looking toward her.

“I’ll be there in a second,” he assured her, before looking back down to the paperwork, clearly trying to get it done quickly now.

She turned her head back to look out of the glass toward the road where the thief seemed to be talking at people passing him by, possibly begging for money. It continued in this way for a few minutes when a carriage pulled up at the side of the road. From the position it meant Phoebe could see both the carriage, and the thief. His eyes seemed to light up at seeing the carriage, probably thinking he had another target to try and steal from.

Phoebe turned her eyes on the carriage with worry, then realized she had seen the carriage before. There was a time when she had frequently clambered inside it, being carted to assemblies with Graham at her side, insulting what dresses she had chosen to wear, saying she was making a spectacle of both herself and him.

“Oh no…” she muttered in realization, watching as the carriage door opened and Graham stepped out. “No, no.” She turned and called to the secretary. “Does Mr Preston have a meeting today with the Viscount of Ridlington?”

“No, my Lady,” the secretary said, shaking his head.

“What?” the Marquess of Dodge said, moving away from the desks and coming toward her side.

“Well, he’s here!” Phoebe said, gesturing out of the window. Hayward was quick to follow, coming up to her other side so they could all look out together.

To her mind, Graham looked rather different. His hair that was usually slicked back so neatly in a ponytail was not so neat today, and he was clearly angry, his gait striding forward with purpose and his fists clenched together.

“God’s wounds!” Hayward exclaimed loudly. Another string of curses followed but she did not pay attention, her mind too fixed on the fact that Graham was walking toward the office, about to discover her. “Is there a back door out of here?” Hayward asked the secretary.

“No,” he said hurriedly, “but there is a window.”

“And a back street?” the Marquess asked.

“Yes, it leads round to the road behind, adjoining this one,” the secretary answered.

“Lady Ridlington, you must come now,” Hayward said, reaching forward and taking her arm.

“Look,” she said, pointing out again. The thief she had been watching before stepped forward, engaging Graham in conversation. To her surprise, the thief didn’t seem to be trying to rob him. They just talked. “What is that about?”

“We do not have time to find out,” Hayward said, pulling on her arm a little more. She was towed away from the door, through the downstairs office and toward the back of the building.

She felt a little numb, not able to understand what had just taken place, so she just followed the others. The Marquess of Dodge found the window that had been discussed and slid it up. It was set high in the wall, meaning he himself had to clamber up to climb out. She expected Hayward to go next, but he didn’t. Instead, he took hold of her waist and turned her toward the window. The intimate touch woke her up from her numbness, making her look up to him in surprise.

“Any other time, I would comment on this too,” he said with a mischievous smile. “But we do not have time.” He lifted her up toward the window. It was enough of a push to allow her to scramble through the gap and jump down the other side. Had she been wearing her gown, it would have been incredibly difficult, but the breeches allowed the free movement of her legs.

As she landed beside the Marquess on the other side, they waited for Hayward to climb through too before they hurried off toward the street. Phoebe kept glancing back a few times toward the solicitor’s office, fearful that Graham would appear and follow her at any second. She was not allowed to dally though, for Hayward came back to her side, took her hand and dragged her forward. She clung tightly onto that hand as they rushed together through the back streets.

“Why is here?” the Marquess asked as they came out on a back road.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Phoebe said, shaking her head. “The secretary said they didn’t have a meeting with him.” The Marquess waved down the street, catching the eye of the coach driver who had been waiting at the junction to the next road. He pulled on the harnesses of the horses, urging them forward.

“He sent back the paperwork yesterday though, didn’t he?” Hayward asked, his tone angrier than she had ever heard it before. They were still holding hands, despite the fact they were now in an open street, and could be seen by strangers, two supposed men holding onto each other. She tried to disentangle her hand, but he didn’t let it happen.

“What’s your point?” the Marquess asked.

“He sent back the paperwork ripped up!” Hayward said in anger, waving his other free hand with animation. “He laid a threat at the solicitor’s door. He hasn’t gone with any kind of formality in mind. He is there intending to threaten Mr Preston, I do not doubt it. He’ll demand to know where Lady Ridlington is.”

“Speaking of which, let go of her hand before anybody else looks at you in the street,” the Marquess said, gesturing between the two of them. Hayward instantly released her hand, his expression suggesting that in his angry tirade, he had barely noticed. “Stay calm.”

“Calm? How can I be calm? If Mr Preston caves, he’ll tell where she is.”

“Mr Preston won’t do that,” the Marquess said with feeling. “He is a good man. I saw the fear in his face the day Lady Ridlington showed him that bruise around her neck. He will unequivocally deny knowing where she is.”

“God, I pray you are right,” Hayward said, running his hands through his hair.

The carriage pulled up at their side, and both Hayward and the Marquess urged her inside first. She sat on the far side of the carriage, leaning forward with her hands pressed into fists.

Hayward and the Marquess climbed in after her before the carriage set off. They were clearly still talking loudly, Hayward unable to settle his mind out of anger, whereas the Marquess of Dodge was pleading with him to be calm.

Phoebe couldn’t pay any attention to their conversation. She was startled by her body’s reaction to seeing Graham again. She had been numb at first, but now the fear was settling in. Her hands were trembling, with the fingers shaking as she tried to keep them clenched into fists. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and staring at the floor.

Having been away from Graham for a while, her heart had clung onto the hope that she might never have to see him again, might never have to fear being hurt by him again. Yet seeing him had brought back memories, thoughts that she didn’t want to see. She closed her eyes, revisiting the moment he had grabbed her around the throat and torn her dress into shreds.

She wasn’t aware she had made a sound until she felt the touch on her shoulder. She looked up a little, feeling Hayward holding onto her from where he sat opposite her.

“What is it?” he asked. She shook her head, unable to answer him. “Please. Tell me.” He begged of her, with his voice soft.

“I was thinking of when he…” she trailed off and lifted her hand to her throat, showing what she was thinking of. She saw Hayward’s face darken, the expression going from his previous anger to pure fury. “No, Your Grace. You cannot think of it too.”

“How can I not?” he asked, leaning forward. He reached toward her, then looked to the Marquess who was watching the two of them, second thinking his actions and letting his arms fall limp. “He will not get anywhere near you again. You can depend on that.”

“It is not within your power. It is not a promise you can make,” she said, hanging her head.

“Yes, it is.” The vow made her look up again, seeing the sincerity in his gaze. There was something there she hadn’t seen before. A sort of determination that was new.

They all fell quiet, with nothing more to say. The ride back to Hayward’s estate was silent, with not a sound uttered between any of them. When the carriage pulled up outside of the estate, Phoebe hovered in the carriage, uncertain how to get inside without being seen by the staff.

The coach driver clearly knew their secret by now, having had to carry her to and from the solicitor’s office, but she had seen Hayward speaking to the driver, pleading for his silence in this matter, and he had given his firm promise. The rest of the staff though, didn’t yet know.

“Stay here for a moment,” Hayward pleaded with her as he stepped out of the carriage, looking toward the house. The Marquess descended too. They hovered by the door of the carriage for a minute, discussing how to get her inside when there was a commotion coming from inside of the house.

“My Lord! Your Grace!” It was Mrs Goodman’s voice. They all turned their heads to the door at the panicked tones, watching as she ran out of the house with a note being waved madly in her hands. She faltered when she got near to the carriage, her eyes slipping toward Phoebe in the carriage.

Phoebe grimaced, realizing now another person would have a few more hints as to the fact she was not who she claimed to be.

“Mrs Goodman, please, this has to stay secret,” Hayward said, motioning toward Phoebe. “Could you get the lady inside without being seen?”

“Yes…of course,” she said, nodding. “I can take her in through the side entrance. The other staff are at luncheon.” She turned her head toward the Marquess and proffered the letter in her hand forward. “My Lord. You must see this. It was delivered only fifteen minutes ago, with a lot of urgency by one of your own messengers.”

The Marquess took the note from her hands as Phoebe moved to the door of the carriage, trying to find out what was afoot. He read it quickly before looking up, connecting his gaze to Hayward’s.

“It’s from Diana. Something has happened. She begs me to come home as soon as possible.”