Lord Phillip's Folly Page 11

  Phillip sat dumbfounded at the words he’d just read. As if God knew exactly what he and Beth were facing. He glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was after one in the morning. He read the chapter a second time. Something in the words of King David resonated within his heart.

  He could avoid the truth no longer. Marcus’s faith was real. At some level he’d recognized this but didn’t want to accept that he himself needed to make a choice. He’d been avoiding it for years. He was not in control of his life. God was. The stakes were too high for him and Beth. He needed Jesus. It all made sense now. His own sin kept him from God and acknowledging his need of a Savior. The necessity of Christ’s death on the cross. He wasn’t ignorant of the facts. He’d gone to church on and off over the years. He might have had a period where he acted like a heathen and church seemed like a way to hedge his bets.

  He’d heard enough sermons. He’d read the history. Suddenly it wasn’t some far off event. A real man, flesh and blood, died for him, Phillip Jerome Allen Westcombe, a prideful sinner. Phillip dropped to his knees and prayed. A deep sense of peace invaded the room, driving out the darkness and terror that had originally awakened him. Phillip rose and read some more before returning to bed.

  The battle had shifted, and Phillip had no doubt he was on the side of victory.

  ~*~

  When Phillip arose in the morning, he was surprisingly refreshed considering his late night meeting with God. He grinned. His step was lighter as he headed downstairs to break his fast. He wanted to share the news with Marcus and anticipated his friend’s happiness. This morning, instead of dread, joy overflowed his heart. He couldn’t find a better word to describe it. Joy. He hugged it to himself and prayed he’d get a chance to share that with his bride soon.

  Phillip entered the empty room, filled his plate and sat at the table to eat in silence. The footman arrived bearing a missive for him. Phillip tore it open as the man awaited a response.

  Lord Westcombe,

  There was a fire last night at your house. The servants managed to escape and attempts were made to put out the fire. We regret to inform you the upstairs suffered damage. Please come to advise what you’d like us to do next.

  Sincerely,

  Masters

  Phillip addressed the footman as Marcus entered. “Convey to Masters that I shall arrive directly to survey the damage.”

  Marcus went to the sideboard to fill his plate. “What is amiss, Phillip?” He sat down and Phillip handed him the note.

  “Fire at our new home.”

  “If you can wait a few minutes, I’ll join you.” Marcus called for the footman, whispered a message and dispatched him. He ate quickly. Dabbing his face with his serviette after his last sip of coffee he stood. “Let’s depart. The carriage should be waiting out front for us.”

  Phillip followed Marcus into the carriage. “I had some other news I wanted to share, but it will have to wait.”

  Marcus studied him. “Good news, for a change?”

  Grinning, Phillip nodded. “Very good news.”

  “Must be since the fire hasn’t dampened your spirits yet. It has been a long time since I’ve seen you this relaxed and at…peace.”

  As they pulled up there was evidence of smoke staining the upper stories and the windows were open, burnt drapes flapping into the breeze. The house was three stories high, tall and narrow but not as close to surrounding homes so as to have caused danger to them. They exited the carriage and entered the house.

  The stench of burning wood assaulted them as smoke still hung in the air casting the hallway in eerie spookiness.

  Masters led them to the bedroom.

  “No one was injured?” Phillip asked his butler.

  “No, my lord. We detected the smoke in enough time to evacuate the servants from the upper floor and developed a bucket brigade to douse the fire. We did the best we could but there is a lot of damage.”

  “Where was the fire?”

  “It started from just inside the door to the master suite.”

  “The doors were locked?”

  “Yes. We kept them locked and the drapes drawn every night as you requested to make it appear you and Mrs. Westcombe were in residence.”

  Phillip glanced at Marcus and motioned to the door as Masters opened it. “Shall we go see the damage?”

  Marcus nodded. Phillip turned the knob and slowly opened the door, gasping as the odor of burnt wood and fabric grew overpowering.

  The master suite of rooms had been well-preserved and it was less urgent to renovate those areas in the house. Phillip walked through to his wife’s sitting room. The door to the hallway was similarly burned. Someone must have shoved something under the doors to start the blaze. Once the rugs caught fire the blaze had spread everywhere. Bedding was burnt and furniture was ruined. There would be no salvaging anything of value. Thankfully they hadn’t yet moved into the home so personal treasures hadn’t been destroyed.

  Beth didn’t own any personal treasures, other than her wedding ring. He’d be rectifying that soon he hoped.

  “They anticipated you being here. If you had been asleep—” Marcus frowned as he inspected the damage.

  “—we would likely not have survived this.” Phillip strode to the hallway where his butler, Masters, stood waiting. “Were all the doors to the house locked? Were you able to discern how someone could enter and do this?”

  Masters shook his head. “I checked all the doors and windows last night, my lord. Everything was secure. I was unable to determine how anyone could enter. ’Twern’t one of us. We were all upstairs.”

  “I don’t blame you. Thank you for your hard work in saving the house. Be careful in who you hire to assist in cleaning this up. Once we get the smell out we’ll look at refurnishing the room.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Phillip headed down the stairs with Marcus at his side. He could barely wait to exit the house and breathe fresh air. A chill traveled down his spine at the methods their enemy would resort to. They didn’t want Beth. They wanted her dead. Lord, how do I keep her safe?

  ~*~

  Michael, Theo, and Phillip rose to their feet as a man entered the study at Marcus’s home. Phillip’s friend greeted the man like an old acquaintance. The face was familiar from when Josie was in trouble, but Phillip had no contact with the Bow Street Runner at that time. At least that was who he assumed this gentleman was.

  “Lord Phillip Westcombe,” Marcus intoned, “please meet Mr. Neville of Bow Street.”

  “A pleasure, m’lord.” The hand extended was calloused and strong. The features on the man’s face showed signs of hard work in the elements but his eyes conveyed genuine concern. The rest of the men were introduced.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Neville,” Phillip replied as they moved to sit down.

  “Call me Nigel, please, Lord Westcombe.” The Bow Street Runner sat down and pulled out some paper and a pencil.

  Marcus gave an abbreviated version of the latest drama in Phillip’s life.

  Nigel leaned back, brows knit together in concentration. “You’re obviously in danger. But it would be hard to hold Wolton or Follett responsible without proof. So far in my investigation, at Lord Remington’s request, I’ve not found anything incriminating. Lord Follett is teetering on the brink of financial disaster, but how would paying out that dowry to Wolton have helped him? I cannot find a motive, unless Follett had sold her to him to get out of debt.”

  “Reprehensible,” Phillip uttered.

  “I agree, but it does happen. But why would Wolton desire a bride anyway? He’s already had three, although they never seem to live very long and have never produced any heirs.”

  “Not another Henry the Eighth, I hope.” Marcus shuddered.

  “I’ve heard tales of satanic activity associated with Wolton,” Theo offered.

  “Satanic? As in demons and animal sacrifices? How would that have any bearing on this case?” Phillip asked.

  Michael sighed
. “I would also suspect he’s somehow connected to the Black Diamond.”

  “How much has your wife explained of her life in Ipswitch?” Marcus inquired.

  “Nothing. You asked me that before. Why is that relevant to the case?” Phillip crossed his arms as he reclined in his chair.

  Marcus rose and paced. “I’m reluctant to say anything, because I’ve heard it from Josie, but I sense this could mean life or death for you, Phillip, so I must speak.”

  “Neither you nor Josie are prone to gossip. Speak.” Phillip leaned forward, elbows on knees.

  “When you brought Elizabeth to us, Josie spent time with her, remember? She spoke to my wife of dark things. Evil practices that occurred at Follett Hall. Did you know your wife is afraid of the dark?”

  Phillip nodded.

  “She used to be locked up for hours on end, bound, in a closet, and denied food, in order for them to make her more submissive to the tortures they would put her through. My wife has withheld details from me.” Marcus sighed. “Your wife is a beautiful woman, Phillip. I would guess she was not a virgin on her wedding night, through no fault of her own.”

  Phillip leapt from his chair, fists clenched, growling.

  Marcus held up a hand to keep him at bay. “Calm down, friend. I meant no dishonor to your bride.”

  “How could you know such a thing, much less bring it up?” Phillip’s face grew warm and he paced, struggling to reign in his temper.

  “You don’t want to believe it’s true. That perhaps others have taken what should have been rightly yours.”

  Michael and Theo were at Phillip’s side holding him back from assaulting their mutual friend. How dare he say these things in front of them all? Was nothing sacred? His heart ached for his wife. He’d never stopped to question how or why…he wasn’t an innocent himself when they’d wed. To think that someone forcibly took that from her filled him with rage and grief. Beth. He knew so little about his wife and he ached to know her better, to take away the horror of her past and give her a future with love and peace.

  She needs Jesus.

  The fight left him and his friends pushed him back into his chair. He bent over and buried his face in his hands. The room fell silent.

  Nigel broke the silence. “Her knowledge of those events and the people involved, along with Lord Westcombe’s, could put both their lives at risk. It still doesn’t explain why Wolton wanted to marry her. Granted, she is lovely and had a dowry, but Wolton has plenty. Why marry her when she was opposed to it?”

  Marcus leaned against the fireplace. “I’m suspecting there is something else going on here. Wolton never seemed ‘right’ and his politics are slightly seditious. I’m not calling him a traitor—yet. He has sympathies for Napoleon and the ‘little emperor’s’ efforts in France, although he is subtle in his expression of those views. It shows in the bills he supports or rails against on the rare occasions he ventures to town.”

  Neville sat up straighter. “You suspect there might be a link between this and the war?”

  “I have no proof other than comments made by him that lead me to speculate he might not be supportive of England’s monarchy.”

  “Not a lot of people are fond of Prince George right now—and his efforts to be named Regent,” offered Sir Michael.

  Phillip lifted his head, wearier than he could ever remember being. “Marcus, I’m sorry. I overreacted. I hadn’t put the pieces together…I’m such an idiot.”

  “You know I’d never speak to cause you distress if I didn’t believe it was pertinent to understanding this situation.”

  Phillip nodded at his friend. “Even if this is all true, how can I keep Beth safe?”

  Nigel cleared his throat. “Where is she now?”

  “Mrs. Westcombe is at Rose Hill with my wife and staff. She should be safe enough there and not as easy to track down as they would likely expect her to be at Stanton Hall,” Marcus assured the Runner.

  “Are you sure they are protected? These men seem determined.”

  Phillip broke in. “They aren’t as smart as they believe themselves to be. Setting fire to empty rooms? That alone proves it wasn’t one of my staff. If they intended to kill us from the smoke or the fire, they failed.”

  “I’m sorry for the damage done to your home,” stated Mr. Neville. “I’m glad, however, that they didn’t succeed in their objective. I’ll be looking into this further. It may take time, but we will find out what’s behind all this.” Mr. Neville stood.

  “Thank you,” Phillip said as he rose to shake the Runner’s hand. He turned to Marcus. “I hope you don’t mind putting me up for a little longer.”

  “Not at all,” Marcus said. “What are friends for anyway? I remember you going out of your way to help me with Josie. This is the least I can do. You are not alone.”

  Phillip took a deep breath and slowly released it and grinned. “I know. There’s still something I need to share with you…later.”

  10

  “Ha!” Phillip crowed as two balls landed in the pocket of the billiard table. They were passing time before attending a few balls later in the evening to listen to the gossip and perhaps spread a better tale amongst the beau monde regarding his marriage. Phillip’s next ball missed its pocket and Marcus took his place at the billiard table.

  “You had to miss some time.” Marcus dropped a ball into the pocket. He lined up his next shot.

  “I had something I was meaning to talk to you about, but in the flurry of this morning, I forgot.” Phillip watched his friend assess the right angle. He muffed the shot and it was Phillip’s turn.

  “What was it you wanted to share?” Marcus asked as he stepped aside to let Phillip line up his next play.

  “I prayed last night, confessing my need for a Savior. I’m a Christian.” Phillip missed his shot and stepped back.

  Marcus stared at him. “You…are? How? You were exhausted.”

  “It’s hard to explain. I was tired and went to bed. I awoke in the middle of the night in a panic. I picked up the Bible in my room and soon I was praying and peace just washed over me. I’ve been to church countless times but never have had an experience like that before. The words on the page were real to me. God became real. I’ve always believed He existed… I had no trouble sleeping after that.”

  Marcus grinned. “I can’t tell you how wonderful this is. I’ve prayed for years for you.”

  “I know. And you never pushed. You’ve lived your faith in front of me and shown me what a true man looks like.”

  “I have my father to thank for that.”

  “He was good man.”

  “Aye, that he was. Some days it’s still hard to believe he and mother are gone. That they never saw Henrietta wed. That they will never hold their grandchild.”

  “They would be proud of you, Marcus.”

  “Enough about me. Your battle may have just increased because of your faith. If we are up against truly evil spiritual forces, they may become more determined now that you belong to Christ.”

  “I was already in a battle, but how do I arm myself for a spiritual war?” Phillip set his cue stick aside. The game was obviously over.

  Marcus racked the balls and set his cue aside as the bell to dress for dinner rang. “Just in time, too. I suggest we stay in tonight and plan a strategy.”

  Phillip nodded. He knew from experience that if he were ever in battle, Marcus was the one he wanted fighting by his side and watching his back.

  ~*~

  “Where is he?” Beth mumbled under her breath as she prepared to leave her room. She was a wife with no husband? Abandoned here for a fortnight in the country. While grateful for a safe place to stay, she was bored. Josie took frequent naps during the day. In spite of that, they had several conversations about the things Beth had been reading in the book of John.

  She gazed at her room. Beautiful furnishings. The room she’d left at home boasted threadbare carpeting, an unused fireplace with missing bricks, and furniture that h
ad been ill cared for over the years. She’d finally been given decent dresses upon arriving in town, and then only enough to be present at a handful of balls, and of course, for her marriage. There would have been no need for more. After the wedding Wolton would have whisked her away to his estate bordering Follett Hall and her own personal hell would have begun.

  Lord, how could my father have ever done this to me? Did my mother suffer too? Protect me. Keep Phillip safe and return him to me. You have given me far more than I had ever dreamed of. Thank you for this haven and forgive me for my discontented heart.

  She hated the fact that she even needed a man. Men had never been good to her, what few she’d known. But Phillip had been a revelation. A delightful fantasy she’d never dreamed or hoped for. When she’d sought him at that ball she’d never imagined being cared for as she’d experienced with her husband. She’d begun to even fancy herself in love with him. Was that possible upon such short acquaintance? Could he also find his way to loving her? Did a man go to such lengths to protect his wife as Phillip was doing, without love?

  She desired for him to know of her faith but she feared writing to him lest her correspondence was intercepted and her location discovered by the wrong people.

  She left her room and headed to breakfast. The butler presented her with a salver upon which rested a letter. “Thank you.” She picked it up and turned instead to the empty drawing room, closing the door behind her. She craved a message from her husband more than food. She snuggled into the chair to read the words written in his bold, distinctive script.

  Dearest Beth,

  We are still seeking to ensure your safety. I miss you.

  Someone set fire to our new home. No one was injured. Our remodeling efforts will need to center on the master suite before anything else. I am more than grateful to God that you are safe at Rose Hill. I have come to know Christ and long to share with you all that God is teaching me. I wish you the same peace and joy I found. I pray for you often. I long for our days at Stanton Hall, where we could hide away from all our troubles. Perhaps our future holds more such days as that. Together, with God, we will overcome the evil that besets us. I hope to be able to visit soon. Stay safe, my love.