“Not just yet,” said his mother. “In a little bit, we’ll all sit down together. Won’t that be fine?”
“I’m hungry.”
“We’ll have something good to eat very, very soon. I promise.”
They waited, the little boy fidgeting until they heard the sound of quick footsteps approaching. “Here he comes, Archie. Smile and shake hands as I showed you.”
“Gemma!” Vernon cried, almost bounding towards them. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”
“Hello, Vernon,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady as relief coursed through her like a rare tonic. They had surprised him, to be sure. He was still in his silk dressing gown with his shirt collar open. “I wrote to tell you we were coming. Didn’t you get my letter?”
“No, my dear. I received no such communication.”
She studied his face and did not like what she saw there. “Aren’t you glad to see us?”
“Us?” he said distractedly.
“Archie and me,” she told him. “We simply could not wait any longer.”
The dark-haired handsome man glanced down at the small round face peeking out from behind his mother’s skirts.
“How do you do?” said Archie, extending a small hand.
“Hello, Archibald, you have grown a bit,” replied Vernon, bending to grasp the hand. He held it for a moment, then released it. “You should not have come,” he said, rising once more to address the mother.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s awkward. I can explain.”
“But I thought-that is, now that your father has passed-you said-”
“I know what I said,” he growled. “I said a lot of things. We all say things, you know, that… Well, never mind. What is to be done about it now?” Glancing down, he gave the boy a thin smile. “We must find a way to get you home again.”
“Vernon,” gasped Gemma, “what are you saying? We’ve left London for good. We’ve come here to be with you, to live with you.”
“I’m afraid that is not possible,” replied the lord stiffly. “Things have changed. My circumstances have changed. I think it would be best if you were to take a room at the hotel near the station, and I will come to you later and explain.”
“A hotel!” Gemma could not help shrieking the word. “What has happened? What has changed? You said we would be married. You promised.”
Lord Ashmole became stiffly officious. “Now, listen to me. Take a room. I will come to you later, and we’ll talk this over.” He turned and summoned Melton to attend him. “The lady and her son are leaving,” he informed the valet. “Send for a cab to take them to the hotel.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Don’t bother,” snapped Gemma Burley. “We’ll find our own way.”
She spun on her heel and marched to the door, almost yanking the little boy with her. Outside, she paused to gather her wits, and little Archie, bewildered and frightened about what had just taken place, began to cry. His mother picked him up and, holding him close for comfort and warmth, murmured to him, “There, now. It’s going to be all right. There has been some mistake, is all. I’m sure everything is going to be all right.”
She was still standing there when the door opened again. Vernon, in slippers, stepped out, his dressing gown billowing behind him as he ran. At first she imagined he had come to confess that it was all a dreadful misunderstanding, that he had repented of his folly and would now make it right. Then she saw the wallet in his hand.
“I simply cannot bear to see you leave like this,” he said. “Here, take this.” He shoved the leather pouch at her. “Please.”
“Vernon,” she said, her voice trembling, “why?”
“I can’t… I’m sorry, Gem,” he replied. “I meant to tell you. I tried…” He thrust the wallet into the crook of her arm where she held their whimpering child. “It is all I have at the moment. Take it.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“I can’t give you anything else. I’m sorry.” He took a step backwards, already distancing himself from them.
“But why, Vernon? You loved me once. We could have been happy. We can still be happy together.”
“It’s over, Gem. We come from such different worlds.” He spoke as if the words had been rehearsed until all meaning had leached from them. “My father was right. It would never have worked out between us. Surely you can see that.”
There was no reply she could make to that rejection. He turned and, without another word, stepped back inside and closed the door on them. Gemma, stunned, simply stood in the cold and gazed at the tightly shut door. As she turned to leave, she caught a reflection in the bay window overlooking the porch and realised she could see into the room-the morning room. Inside, seated at a table spread for breakfast, was a young lady she recognised. “Juliana!” she gasped, her empty stomach turning over.
As she watched, Vernon entered the room and, pausing to kiss his new bride, resumed his seat at the table. Gemma felt the earth shift beneath her feet as her world crumbled around her. Juliana, in a silk dressing gown, buttered her toast as if nothing had happened.
Gemma had seen enough. Struggling to keep her head high, she started down the long drive, placing one foot in front of the other as if it somehow mattered now that her life was over. Stunned and confused, her mind numb with shock, she paused at the great iron gates at the entrance and glanced back over her shoulder for one last glimpse of what might have been.
A little later, she came to herself once more. They were in the town and people were passing them in the street. “I’m hungry,” whined Archie, tugging on her sleeve. “Mummy, I’m hungry.”
“We’ll get something to eat now,” she said, gathering her thin coat around her. She looked at Vernon’s wallet in her hand and opened it. Inside were three ten-pound notes. “Thirty pieces of silver,” she said absently, staring at the money.
“Mum?”
She stirred herself then, taking the young boy’s hand. “Come along, my sweet one. Let’s go find that bakery.”
PART TWO
Auspicious Meetings
CHAPTER 8
Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open,” said Douglas, casting a critical eye over his accomplice. The soup-bowl haircut was good, a little lopsided-Snipe refused to sit still beneath the shears-but seemed all the more convincing for that. And Snipe’s sullen demeanour seemed especially well-suited for the portrayal of a grudging medieval lackey.
“I’m giving you a knife, and I want you to keep it hidden, right?” He slapped the youth on the cheek to centre his attention. “Look me in the eye and listen-the knife is only to be used in extreme emergency. I do not want a repeat of last time, hear?”
The lad ran his thumb along the blade, drawing a bead of blood, which he licked off.
“Yes, it’s sharp enough,” Douglas continued. “Keep it out of sight. I do not expect trouble, but you never know.”
He released his servant to finish preparing for the leap and turned to his own disguise. He pulled the coarse-woven robe over his head, adjusted it on his shoulders, and knotted the simple corded belt. His enquiries
