Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt3, Ch29: Searching The Manor
She led the way into the room that still haunted her off and on. Her own face paled and her stomach lurched threateningly, but she held herself firmly in her determination to overcome the fear, face it and move on. She absently figured that since she was back here, she might as well slay as many dragons as possible. "This is- was- his little room for me. The only thing that made it bearable was being allowed to have Lettie stay with me."
Ben looked around the room, a snarl of hatred upon his lips. Sky blue and white. The entire manor seemed to be just as he'd heard it described; one big tomb, but even if this was the only lightly-colored room in the place it was still just as cold and depressing as the other rooms he'd glimpsed. He looked at Felicity then, watching Arthur and Elizabeth look around at the room and the tall windows with their heavy drapes pulled but for a crack in their center parts. He pulled Felicity to him, feeling the need to feel her against him to reassure himself that she was not about to disappear.
"I'm sorry," he breathed into her ear. "It is amazing how you survived this place and the monsters that dwell in it."
"Yes, well..." Her voice sounded almost choked. "When you live among monsters, you have to sort of become one yourself to survive."
He had no words for the sorrow, guilt and emotion that filled him when she said that. He kissed her cheek and jaw, drew back to look into her wary green eyes, but she was looking past his shoulder at where they had come into the room. "There," she said to them all, and pointed. "That is what is called a jib-door. When you close it, it looks like it becomes part of the wall, like there is no door at all."
Ben turned and looked, as did Elizabeth. Arthur was standing nearest the door, so he took hold of it and shut it halfway, looking behind it, then at the wall. He looked back at Felicity with astonishment on his face. "Have you ever seen such a thing? It does indeed look like the wall!" He made to close it all the way, but felicity gasped and blurted, "No, don't-!"
Arthur stopped, blinking.
Felicity blushed crimson. "I mean, do not shut it...it might not...reopen." Her voice faded to an uncomfortable softness.
"No one is locking you or us in here. You just go on and damn this room to hell, and we shall leave it to continue our search," Ben soothed, the promise in his voice warm and believeable as he took her hand again.
Elizabeth laid a hand upon her friend's shoulder. "Come, Lissie, let's go. Knowing this room is part of the nightmare you endured is giving me the chills, so I cannot fathom how you were able to bear it."
Felicity shrugged lightly, pretending to feel nothing now. " 'Tis quite easy when you turn your thoughts to murdering your captors."
Ben and Elizabeth exchanged a worried look.
They left behind the room of Felicity's imprisonment, its stark white furniture and its unkind air. Other than the bed having been made, there was no evidence that she had ever been there at all. What Felicity failed to tell them and the thing that she had noticed right away was that the cot that Lettie had slept on was gone. She didn't have a good feeling about that, but she kept it to herself, hoping Lettie was not here at all. She showed them into the other rooms on that floor, all drab, dark and depressing, all reflecting the manor's atmosphere of foreboding. Ben's breathing had increased again, a sign that he was getting worked up about something once more.
"Where is the little son of a bitch?" he murmured to himself as he looked from room to room.
Felicity cleared her throat. "Knowing him the way I do, I really do not think that he would remain inside the house where he could be found so easily. He is insane and desperate, and he does not want to be imprisoned. I personally think that he will be trying to get away somehow. He may have seen us arrrive and therefore fled." She swallowed bitterly. "This manor has its dark rooms and the basement for keeping the slave women, but there is no real reliable place to hide."
"Then we will look elsewhere!" challenged Arthur optimistically. "His Grace and his footmen are looking the grounds over, and the sheriff will assist them, but they do not know those gardens. Is there a place out there the bastard Forsythe could hide?"
"I-I don't know for certain," Felicity admitted hesitantly. "I wasn't...allowed out that much."
Ben swore, and Elizabeth merely nodded in agreement, whereas a proper gentlewoman would have been appalled by such language, even in a situation such as this one. But the four of them knew the severity of the situation better than anyone else. There was a time when propriety no longer mattered.
"Right. We're going out there, too," Ben growled, taking Felicity's arm to go back to the staircase. "That is, Arthur and I. You and Elizabeth can stay-"
"Oh no you don't, Benjamin Davidson!" Felicity exclaimed, pulling her arm away from him. "I have a friend to look for, and if I have to go outside to look for her, then I will do it come what may!"
"As will I!" included Elizabeth, stepping close to her.
"I understand! But until Reginald is found, will you please stay inside where it is a little safer at least? I doubt any of those other Forsythe idiots will bother you, but seeing as how the little rat isn't here, he must be outside, and we need to apprehend him first!" He sheathed his pistol and took Felicity's face into his hands. "I can't lose you, not ever, ever again, Lissie. I cannot risk you, I will not. We will find Lettie, I promise you, but keeping you safe is my first and most important goal."
She didn't want to argue any more. She sighed and relented. Suddenly she was a little less mad at him than she was earlier.
The four of them returned to the foyer, but they did not wait around for someone to show them where the back entrance and exit to the manor was. But then no one was waiting around to assist them in any way, not that they expected it. Ben had drawn his gun again and Arthur Pratt wished he had a firearm too, for Ben looked awfully sporting with his. He made a mental note to have Elizabeth teach him how to use one sometime.
"Their inside kitchen is this way," Felicity told them, getting ahead of Ben to lead the way. "There is a door that opens out to the path to the gardens and stables; the path splits in two different directions. The right one takes you to the gardens, and the left, well, you know..."
"Simple enough," commented Ben. "Where are all the servants these Forsythes are supposed to have?"
"I have no clue! 'Tis strange, even for this place! All but two of the woman servants are white, the others are black slaves like Lettie, and their quarters are in the basement. Oh, there's a big roundy woman named Madame Helga, but I haven't a clue as to where she is, either." She looked at Elizabeth with a disgusted face. "Helga is the one who carried me into your and Arthur's house that night and helped the Gooch make it look like the worst had happened."
"I hope she is here, then," Elizabeth said angrily. "Though it is my own fault I jumped to conclusions, this 'Helga' should be strangled for what she did to you."
Ben was looking from doorway to doorway at the sunrooms, sitting rooms and parlours they passed, and muttered, "If you see her, Lissie, point her out and I'll give her a bullet for her troub-"
"What, what is it, Ben?" Felicity nervously urged more than she did ask, turning to look back at his wide eyes and opened mouth. He'd stopped himself mind-sentence, obviously caught off guard because of something. "Ben?"
Without a word he slipped into the room nearest to him. Felicity hesitated a moment, then strode after him, determined to find out what it was that had him so distraugt all of a sudden. When she breezed into the room after him, she saw why: above the grey marble mantle of the lit fireplace was her own painted portrait, the very one she'd been forced to sit for, for hours on end until she could no longer feel her own numb rump. So this is what had become of it. This room was Reginald's study. It had been hung here for his viewing pleasure. Knowing that made her shudder right to the bone.
"Is there something awful in here?" inquired Arthur, as Elizabeth pulled him into the room after her.
Elizabeth gasped in shock when she saw the blank-faced painting of her best friend hanging up there like some tribute to depression. "Felicity, it is you!" she exclaimed in morbid wonder. " 'Tis your very likeness! And-and- you look so..."
"Damned miserable," Ben finished for her, mesmirized in both awe and rage. Awe that it looked so real, so life-like, and thn rage that the girl he loved had been forced to sit through the painting process, against her will, just for some mad-man's pleasure. He was filled with a hatred for Reginald Forsythe that went beyond anything he'd felt thus far.
Felicity gulped despite a dry throat and turned to Ben. "Destroy it."
Ben didn't need to be told twice. He immediately holstered his pistol, then bent down to whip out the very knife Felicity had given to him for his eighteenth birthday from its sheath in one of his boots. Arthur readily assisted him in pulling the heavily-framed painting down from its nail, down to the floor, where Ben began to slash and score. Felicity stared at her own stony face in the picture and felt somewhat vindicated. The Felicity in the painting was not the Felicity she wanted to be. Not now, nor ever again. The painted-Felicity was finally being destroyed for good.
She glaned curiously at the doorway, at first wondering why no one had come to see what the ripping and slicing was about, but then it occured to her that no one who lived here would probably care that this particular portrait was being destroyed. After all, it was only hers. None of the Forsythes that lived her now would even care. Good. She didn't want any evidence of her being here any more than they did.
"Ordinarily, I would object to an image of you being harmed in any way," Ben breathed, straightening. His eyes met hers and held. "But I do not want these rotten people to have anything of you."
Felicity smiled at him smartly. "Nor do I."
She held her hand out to him. Ben resheathed his knife and took her hand right away, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Arthur did them all a favor, and took what was left of the now raggedly scored painting and frame, and tossed it into the fire, where it flamed brilliantly for a moment, then began being reduced to ashes nice and quick.
"Let's go," Ben said directly, wanting very mcuh to leave this room and its dismal appearance behind. "I have a weasel to hunt."
Felicity led the way to the indoor kitchen and stopped them in the middle of it. "The slaves' quarters are down in the basement. You go through thaqt little corridor there and there is a door on the left. When you open it, there are stairs that lead down to the basement. That is where Elizabeth and I shall look for Lettie. I'd rather she not be there, but I have to make sure."
"I know," Ben said understandingly. "And this is the back door to the barn and the gardens?"
"Yes. Please be careful, Ben."
He flashed her a beautiful grin. "If I had not been named 'Ben,' I would have been named 'Careful'!"
Elizabeth rolled her eyes.
"I want Arthur to stay with the two of you," Ben continued. "Now I know that you're not helpless, 'tis not that. I would just feel better if he was with you. I...I promised you, Lissie, that I would never leave you, ever again..."
"You are not leaving me!" she insisted. "We will be right here, inside, waiting for you to return with Reginald's body. So go hunt for him." To Ben's surprise, Felicity leaned up tip-toe and kissed the bridge of his nose. "We have hunting of our own to do." And she whirled, heading for the slaves' quarters. Elizabeth gave Ben an annoyed look then she and Arthur followed Felicity.
Ben stared after his girl for a moment, feeling a mix of things; love, awe, wonder...and intense arousal. He was going to kiss her like mad tonight, he decided. But now he had to force his concentration back to the matter at hand: Weasel-poaching. He fumbled beneath his cloak for his pistol again, having been momentarily distracted by the brief kiss from the girl he was going to take for his wife. Surely this meant she was forgiving him. She said she had already forgiven him, but as long as there was still pain in her beautiful eyes, he would never feel forgiven. Not until she was healed inside.
He raised his flintlock and strode to the back door.
Felicity flung open the door to the slaves quarters and saw only a lit lantern to light the way down into the basement. "Hullo?" she called uncertainly, thinking that at this time of the day there really shouldn't be anyone down here unless a girl was sick. But that wouldn't be a surprise, since it was cool and damp down here most of the time, even with an unreliable fireplace. "Anyone down here?"
"What do you want to do, Lissie?" Elizabeth whispered behind her. "Go down?"
"Yes, I must. I have to be sure."
"Then we are with you!"
Felicity nodded. She could aslight from the fireplace flickering from where they stood at the top of the stairs, which meant that they would not be in complete darkness. The girl slaves were probably at work in the vegetable gardens right now. So, who might be down here to need the fire going?
"Pompey!" Felicity exclaimed as she rounded the corner and stepped into view.
"Lady Forsythe!" the aging black butler exclaimed, which for him didn't sound all that surprised, for he was old and too much excitement would probably not be in his heart's best interest. As Felicity breezed toward him, holding her hands out to him, he smiled gently. His hands were cool and rough, but yet fatherly in a way that touched Felicity's heart.
"No, Pompey, I am not Lady Forsythe anymore, not that I truly ever was. The marriage was forced, and never consumated. I am just plain Felicity Merriman from the colony of Virginia. How are you, Pompey?"
"Ah, the same as I ever was, child," he replied tiredly, his smile unwavering, though. "What brings you back here? I thought you'd gotten away?"
"Oh I did! I ran like the very devil was at my heels and wound up, of all places, in the home of the Duke of Bel Hastings. Please, Pompey, tell me if Lettie is here! The Duke has declared all the slaves here free, which means you do not have to stay here anymore, none of you do!"
The black gentleman's deep brown eyes were tinged with softness. "Well that is good to hear, Miss...Merriman. But these young girls and I have no where to go. We'll stay on here until we know what we're going to do. As for Lettie, I had a feeling you'd be back for her. But she is not here anymore, child. We dont know where she is."
Felicity looked momentarily worried, then remembered herself. She gestured widely at her friends standing just behind her. "Pompey, these are my friends from Virginia. Elizabeth Cole and Arthur Pratt."
Elizabeth curtsied and Arthur bowed, removing his tricorn even. Pompey certainly wasn't used to having the white folk bend and bow for him, so he was actually quite pleased. He nodded at them in turn.
"Elizabeth, Arthur, this Pompey, one of the quietest, tolerant gentlemen you will ever meet. To have endured in this house for as long as he has, I figure him to have more patience than Job."
"Pleased to meet you, sir," Arthur said affiably, extending a hand. "Anyone who has been a friend to our Felicity is most and deeply respected."
"Pompey, do you have any idea what happened to Lettie?" Felicity asked worriedly, a lump forming in her throat. "Where she might have run to- if she is even alive? I swore I would not leave without her, and I will not!"
"I know she had taken a liking to you, against her better judgement, she used to say, but we knew she wouldn't have done so much for someone she didn't like. The night of that fire we all thought that she ahd perished, but no remains of her were found, and Master Tristan, he didn't know anything beyond his own suffering." Pompey bent his head forward and said in a hushed tone, "Which was well deserved, Miss, if you don't mind me saying so."
Felicity smiled warmly. "Oh I do not mind a bit. I hate that he even survived it, and I do not mind who knows it!" That seemed to make Pompey feel most relieved, since it was well known that a black slave could be in a world of trouble for speaking out against a white master, even if everyone white and black knew the master was a monster. And when Pompey was saying 'we,' Felicity knew he meant himself and the slave girls, not the white household.
"Lettie is a strong girl," Pompey went on, thoughtfully. "We all hoped that she had gone away with you. Then word got out that that the two of you were missing and a reward was being offered. At first I wondered if Lettie had been caught and turned in for a reward, but she hasn't been back, and it is just not like her to let herself be caught that easily, Miss. I'd say she's just out there, somewhere, making her own freedom."
Felicity didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. "I hoped she would not be here, Pompey, but I had to know for certain. I hope that she is truly out there, free and unfound. Lord, I just wish I knew!" She shook her red head absently. "But where are the other girls? They should know that they have been freed."
"I will tell them," Pompey said reassuringly, in his wise, tolerant way.
"Could we not tell Lord Covington that the slaves here do not have anywhere to go, so that he could help them, Lissie?" asked Elizabeth, having been deep in thought herself. "They should not have to continue living here now that they are freed."
"That is quite correct, Elizabeth!" She turned back to Pompey. "I shall speak to the duke about your leaving here. Is that agreeable to you?"
"Yes, Miss. I would be most appreciative. Never have addressed a duke myself," he smiled modestly. "The young ladies are out in the fields, Miss Felicity, planting. There were some deaths because of the fevers while you were gone, I come down here to clean what needs to be cleaned for them so they don't have to come back to any extra messes."
"Pompey, you're a blessing," Felicity told him, clasping his hands once more. "I hope to see you again, soon. Right now we are waiting for my fiance Ben and the other fellows to return with Reginald in their custody. I hope they find him!"
"Master Reginald is not right in his head, Miss. You should be careful. He has been allowed to stay here, for his Mother's sake, but he's been acting as gone in his mind as she is. Speaks to himself most of the time. He comes in and out of the house like a ghost."
"They will find him. They have to find him. I want all of this over with! Have you seen him about, Pompey?"
"Not since last night, when he was drinking wine in his study. Haven't seen him all day."
"Thank you, Pompey. I promise I will do all I can to help you and the others."
He chuckled lightly. "I know you will, Miss Felicity."
She gave him her best posiitive smile, which right then wasn't very positive at all, seeing as how no one knew the whereabouts of Reginald or Lettie. She turned back to her friends. "I suppose we should go back upstairs and see if they have found him yet."
" 'Twice nice to meet you, Pompey," said Elizabeth respectfully, curtsying again. "Please take care."
Pompey nodded pleasantly, watching them go, a certain twinkle in his eye that went unnoticed by the young white people because they were too absorbed in apprehending Master Reginald. If only he had been able to tell them that which he had known for weeks now!
After an hour or so, Ben, Lord Eric, the sheriff, Tom and James all returned to the manor having found no trace of Reginald Forsythe. "The grounds have been thoroughly searched," Ben told her dismally, his cavalry pistol reholstered. "He is no where to be found! Now what are we going to do?"
With Fletcher Forsythe watching them converse among themselves in the foyer from his stance at a parlor doorway, the duke said contemplatively, "I will organize search parties. Offer rewards for his capture the very same way he did for you, Miss Felicity. He will be found. Tristan is to go to the nearest cell in Bristol, so he is no longer a threat. I will arrange for Reginald's slaves to be removed, as per your request, my dear, and you can be relieved to know that I have friends who will hire them on a paying basis and even provide housing for them. How does that sound to you?"
"Splendid," said Felicity satisfactorilly. "Now I just want to find Lettie...and Reginald. I hate to think of him being out there, plotting and scheming. I thought that was what I would have to worry about with Tristan!"
"Never underestimate the wicked!" advised Arthur (as if he knew all about the habits of lunatics), "for they think in underhanded ways!"
"Er, thank you, Arthur," said Eric, stifling a smile. He knew Fletcher was still watching them with a world of contempt in his grey eyes, so he turned, a look of amusement on his handsome face, and regarded the elder Forsythe with a cocked eyebrow. "I assume I will not be recieving any further trouble from you?"
Fletcher's arms were crossed stiffly over his puffed out chest. "What course of action is there for me to take against a duke?" he replied coldly.
"None that I can think of," Eric told him lightly. " 'Tis your son who created his situaion, not I. Perhaps a barrister can find a way to get him life in prison instead of death by hanging, but I doubt it. See him when you can, Fletcher, and appologize for raising him to be such a blackard." On a more serious note, he added, "Do not cross me, Forsythe, for I can make life extremely hard for you, Do not ever forget that."
"Hrumph!" snorted Fletcher.
"Oh, and another thing: when and if you see your nephew Reginald again, do send for a constable or sheriff. Harboring a wanted felon is an offence, you know."
"You really think I wanted the foul little mole here in the first place? As far as I'm concerned, he merely assisted in getting my only son trapped in this nightmare."
"Glad you see it that way, Fletcher." Lord Eric turned to his young companions. "Well, there is naught for us to do but return to Bel Hall and await report from the search parties I send out. Our work here is finished."
Felicity nodded as Ben put his arm around her. They followed the duke and his footmen out of Forsythe Manor for what Felicity hoped to truly be the last and final time ever. No one bothered to acknowledge the brooding Fletcher Forsythe as they passed him, but then he really didn't care if they did or not. He was too busy thinking of how he was going to save the life of his only son. Tristan himself was sitting on the very bottom step outside the manor, his arms and wrists now bound in front of him. He would not be riding a horse, but trailing the sheriff's horse on foot, all the way back to Bristol, which was about five harsh miles of road away to the south. He did not look at all comforted.
He had given Felicity and Ben the evilest of glares as they got into the duke's fine carriage, but he had been unable to say anything because of the strip of linen Constable Poon had gagged him with. Bound and gagged, he was the complete picture of humiliation...and evil, as Felicity thought, looking at his scarred face. The carriage started out with a gentle jolt, and they were leaving Forsythe Manor somewhat victorious. Lord Eric told them that the butler Smedley would be eventually jailed for his role in all of this, because Ezekiel Gooch had been very specific in confessing to who all did what in Reginald's mad plans here and abroad in the colonies. Confession had spared the Gooch's life, but imprisonment was unavoidable.
During the ride back to Bel Hall, Felicity found herself looking forward to falling alseep in Ben's long, strong arms tonight, with the warmth and solidity of his lean body to both excite and comfort her. Sitting beside her now in the carriage, he was quiet and contemplative, probabaly cursing mentally over not getting to kill Reginald today. But he had an arm around her and his other hand held hers. His forehead rested against her temple and his warm breath tickled her ear.
She was finding herself less mad at him more and more. She didn't know whether to be glad or mad about that, either.
It was getting close to sunset when they got back to Bel Hall, where Elizabeth and Arthur excused themselves to change clothes for dinner and Lord Eric escorted Constable Poon into his grand study to discuss getting together a band of able-bodied men to look for Forsythe as soon as it was morning. That left Felicity and Ben to decide what they wanted to do before supper. Felicity thought about it, and decided that she wanted to see Maggie out in the big kitchen behind the house. Ben decided to go with her, of course.
Maggie was all eagerness and questions as soon as they got out there, sitting themselves at the big prep table for hot tea she already had going. She wanted details, and who all was arrested and for what. The other two maids whom Felicity had become friends with quit their duties to listen to Felicity tell what had happened at the house of the strange Forsythes they had often heard about but never seen. Felicity relented to answer them and tell what all she'd seen and heard, but Ben got distracted by the sound of what he thought were pebbles being kicked just outside the big kitchenhouse.
He excused himself from the ladies, chuckling at Maggies' fussing over Felicity's safety and well-being like a mother hen. The reconaissance soldier in him wanted to find out what was making the pebble-kicking sound, for a man of Lee's Legion left no stone unturned, especially when it was thought that enemies were in the area. He stepped outside the kitchen house, turned the left-hand corner and stopped dead in his tracks:
Looking pale, haggard and eerily unbalanced, Rginald Forsythe was standing there as if he'd been waiting, with a flintlock pistol aimed straight at Ben.