Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

It was late in the afternoon when Stanton opened the door and Omsbury stood at the threshold, top hat cocked over his graying locks and his greatcoat opened to display his dark superfine beneath. His Hessians gleamed black, and his ‘look’ suggested superiority. Jewels, who had been crossing the central hall when the front door opened, was moved to revulsion.

“What, my lord, are you doing here so late in the day?” she asked, unconcerned with polite pretense.

“I should like a word with you,” he said softly, ignoring the snub.

“I am sorry to advise you that you have made the trip for naught as I don’t have a moment to spare just now …” She started to give him her back.

“Ah, but I think you don’t want what I have to say delivered to your aunt via servant,” he said with the hint of a warning.

She turned away from him again, saying over her shoulder, “I have no notion what you are talking about …” She felt a fear trickle through her body as she spoke. What was he up to?

“I will then go over your head, but I had hoped to please you and keep this between us,” he said with something of a sneer.

She wanted to slap his face and say, ‘Right then, Omsbury … do your worst, and we shall see!’ However, she maintained control over herself and held back those words, saying instead, “I am certain it is nothing my aunt cannot know.”

“Fine, I am sorry for it—I thought I could advise you of what I have just learned and perhaps save your brother some embarrassment.”

She turned back to him. He must be bluffing—yet, something inside her gut told her that he had something on Jimmy. In fact, he looked as though he were bursting with news—just the kind of news that would most certainly distress her aunt, and she had no wish to do that.

She put up her chin and said, “Very well, then … a moment …,” and led him to the morning room, which thankfully she found empty. She made a show of leaving the door wide open.

She turned, and as he looked as though he were about to get comfortable in a winged chair she put up her chin and said softly, “At the risk of being rude … I cannot ask you to sit. Simply say whatever it is you have to say …”

He was on her in the flash of a moment, obviously outraged enough to forget himself. He grabbed her arms. “When you are mine, Jewels … you will not speak to me thusly.”

So saying he shook her hard enough to rattle her brain. She was momentarily in shock, but her temper came to save her. She stomped on his foot and then kicked him in the calf, and he bent over with a wail of pain.

“You will pay for this, little bitch—see if you don’t … for I will break you, damn I will and enjoy every minute of it!” he hissed at her.

Stanton, who had obviously remained nearby, came running in. “Miss Jewelene?”

“Show Lord Omsbury out …” She gave his lordship a killer look and said in a low, hard tone, “If ever you try and touch me again, in any manner—it is you that shall break … I promise you.”

“And your brother? I now believe him a bigger fool than you. As it happens he has put you now in even greater debt. He has stooped so low as to visit a moneylender. Tell me, miss, how will that serve to end your problems—and who will help you out of them?” He glared at her. “No one can, except I.” Still outraged, he pointed a finger at her. “You will come begging to me to save you from debtors’ prison … see if you don’t!”

“How dare you … !” Jewelene was seething, but her heart was contracting with fear. If Jimmy had gone to a moneylender, then they were in severe and everlasting trouble. How else would he obtain the money for the entrance fee? She should have guessed, but how could she? The thought had never entered her head! It was unthinkable.

This would put an end to them. No one ever got out from the moneylenders. “Get out, Omsbury, and know this—I will not under any circumstances admit you to Henshaw House again, so do not come back here—ever!”

“We shall see, woman … we shall see,” he said ominously before he turned his back and stomped off.

*

It was nearly dusk when Jimmy and Arthur had made some headway backtracking towards Swindon. The sun was vanishing quickly, and already shadows were being cast along the edge of the woods. Sir James remarked unhappily, “Don’t like this…”

A breeze came up, and Jimmy began to feel ill at ease himself. However, not being given to fanciful notions, he shrugged it off and said to his friend, “Damn, if you haven’t gotten me spooked as well.”

Art wasn’t listening to him though. He had heard something—something that made him bring his reins in and his horse to a complete halt.

Sir James turned around and eyed him, as he and his horse had plodded on. “What in thunder are you doing now?”

“Don’t you hear it?”

“Yes.” Jimmy shrugged. “No doubt a rider approaches … nothing more.”

But no one appeared. Jimmy’s hand moved to his horse pistol sheathed at the back of his saddle. “Right then …” he whispered to his friend. “ … ready?”

They waited, but that wait was in vain as no one appeared. And then they heard the unmistakable sound of a horse’s whinny—not one horse, but two. They eyed one another doubtfully.