Chapter 27
“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”
“Mrs. Sweete, do you have the weapon?” I asked as the three of us approached the Pratts’ residence on Rosemont Street. The entrance was smothered by hundreds of crimson-red roses wrapped around the columns and arched over the door. The vast swath of red reminded me of a battlefield.
How fitting.
“I have it here.” Mrs. Sweete handed me a folded handkerchief. I thanked her and tucked it away in my pocket.
“Are you both ready?” Edmond asked. Though he stood tall, the set of his jaw betrayed his nerves. He was not the only one who was anxious for the war ahead.
I slipped my arm into Mrs. Sweete’s, banding us together in a united front. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends.”
“Shakespeare?” Mrs. Sweete asked.
I shrugged. “I like to diversify.”
We walked inside. Roses overran the interior as well, stifling the air with an overly sweet perfume.
To match the miserable theme, every lady’s gown was a different shade of red—except for mine.
The red dress I had commissioned for tonight had been sold, along with all my other possessions.
Instead, I wore a simple, white day dress.
“I feel like we’re reliving the quarrel of the roses,” I muttered.
Edmond raised an eyebrow at me. “The 15th century dispute between the House of York and House of Lancaster?” He glanced at my dress. “And you’re the white rose faced against the red?”
“Exactly.”
“History will not repeat itself, Helena,” he said, the tips of his fingers grazing mine. “I promise.”
“I hope you’re right.”
That war had ended with the defeat of the white rose, the House of York. The red rose, House of Lancaster, married into victory. It was Sybella’s plan exactly.
We quickly retreated into a side hall, and I asked, “Is everything in place?”
“Almost,” Edmond said. “I spoke to Cranford earlier, but I haven’t seen him here yet.”
“I will find him,” Mrs. Sweete offered.
I shared a look with Edmond. “You’re leaving us alone together?”
“I’m not your chaperone anymore, Miss Weston. Besides, Mr. Hawke needs to bring Sybella and Mrs. Pratt to our staging ground.”
“Smart thinking. I’ll await the enemy in the parlor.” I looked at my allies—the two people closest to my heart—and said, “Remember, attack like the Fire and be still as the Mountain.”
Edmond looked at me with a bemused smile. “Did you just quote L’Art de la Guerre?”
Mrs. Sweete laughed as she turned to leave. “Oh, Mr. Hawke. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
∞∞∞
“—are about to announce the engagement!” I heard Mrs. Pratt say from the hallway.
“This will take but a moment,” Edmond’s voice said.
“I hope so,” Sybella cooed as the parlor door opened. “Eddie dearest, I don’t want to postpone our happiness a second longer—” Her eyes landed directly on me, and her sweet demeanor crumbled. “What are you doing here? You weren’t invited to my engagement ball.”
“Mrs. Pratt, Sybella,” I said with a curtsy. “We have business to discuss.”
Sybella looped her arm through Edmond’s and looked up at him with a pout. “Everyone is waiting for our big announcement. Shall we return to the ballroom, Eddie?”
“It’s Edmond.” He peeled his arm off of hers. “No—in fact, to you, it’s Mr. Hawke.”
Sybella stiffened and glared at me, as if his rejection had been my doing—which, in a way, it was.
“Mother, get rid of her. Hel’s just trying to ruin my night because she’s jealous.”
“I think you’ll find it in your best interest to hear what I have to say, Sybella.”
“What could you possibly have to say to me, Hel?”
I straightened and looked Sybella square in the eye. “That you must end your engagement to Mr. Hawke.”
Sybella scoffed.
“Miss Weston,” Mrs. Pratt said, “that simply isn’t possible. My daughter and Mr. Hawke were…” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “found compromised.”
Edmond stepped forward. “As I explained a dozen times before, Sybella kissed me—”
“But it still happened!” Mrs. Pratt said. “And if anyone found out, my dearest Sybella would be ruined.” Her reptilian eyes narrowed on Edmond. “Don’t forget what my husband told you.”
“Believe me, I remember every word,” Edmond said.
Mrs. Pratt turned to her daughter. “Let’s get your father. He’ll handle this.”
“No,” I said firmly. “There’s a reason we didn’t ask Mr. Pratt to join us.” I looked at Sybella. “I want this to be your choice, Sybella. Not his. You can still do the right thing. We can end this farce here and now.”
Sybella laughed. “And why would I do that? I finally won, Hel. You just don’t like losing.”
I sighed. So it was war, then.
“Sybella, I saw you alone in the orangery with Mr. Marceaux the night of the baron’s ball.”
The color drained from Sybella’s cheeks.
Mrs. Pratt latched onto her daughter’s shoulder. “My Sybella would never do such a thing!”
“Wouldn’t she?” Edmond said dryly.
“That was different!” But as soon as the words left Mrs. Pratt’s lips, it was clear that a small thread of doubt was winding itself around her.
“I wasn’t the only one who saw her,” I added. “Mrs. Sweete witnessed it as well. If word gets out that Sybella was seen compromised with two gentlemen, her reputation would not survive—married or not.”
“She’s lying,” Sybella said. “Clearly she’s upset that I’m marrying Eddie. She’s trying to steal him from me just like she stole Mr. Knight. She’s in love with him and can’t stand that I have him.”
Edmond caught my gaze, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he mouthed, “You’re in love with me.” I feigned a glare and mouthed back, “This is not the time.”
Mrs. Pratt pointed her thin finger at me. “How dare you accuse my daughter again! Sybella has only treated you well, and you, in turn, have acted venomously toward her—throwing around accusations without any proof.”
“Ah, proof.” I laced my hands behind my back. “That has always been my downfall, hasn’t it? Not enough proof.”
“I believe that’s where I step in.” Edmond gave a charming smile and opened the parlor door. As planned, Mrs. Sweete and the baron were standing behind it.
“Lord Cranford? What are you doing here?” Mrs. Pratt blubbered. Sybella’s frown deepened, her glare darting to me, sharp with suspicion.
“Forgive my intrusion, Mrs. Pratt.” The baron bowed, and he and Mrs. Sweete stepped inside the parlor.
His fingers tapped on his cane as he took in the tense scene.
“Hawke requested my assistance with this delicate matter. As it happens, I have a testimony to offer that may shed light on the situation.”
“A testimony?” Mrs. Pratt said, paling.
“Funny thing, actually,” Edmond said. “It turns out the baron’s gardener is a man named Jenkins. Odd fellow. Doesn’t like the indoors much, thus his profession. In fact, he hardly ever goes inside. He usually wanders the gardens late into the night, pulling weeds and the like.”
Mrs. Pratt looked at Edmond as if he were speaking in tongues. “What is this nonsense about?”
“You don’t remember Jenkins?” Edmond’s brow lifted with amusement.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me? Jenkins was your head gardener for nearly twenty years—that is, until you dismissed him a few weeks ago, Mrs. Pratt.
Apparently you thought Jenkins was too old to work efficiently, so you cast him out. ”
Mrs. Pratt sputtered. “I—I have many servants. I cannot be expected to remember a mere gardener’s name.”
“What does an old gardener have to do with anything anyway?” Sybella demanded.
“Mr. Hawke recently recommended that Jenkins work for me,” the baron said.
“I know Jenkins,” Edmond said. “Quite well, actually. And I guessed—rightly, might I add—that he was out in the gardens the night of Cranford’s ball.”
Sybella’s gaze snapped to Edmond, her lips parting as if she hadn’t realized until now that he was not her prize, but her opponent.
Lord Cranford stepped forward. “At Hawke’s request, I asked Jenkins if he saw anything that night. He reported witnessing two guests leaving the orangery around 11:30pm—a man and a woman. He could not identify them, but he said the woman had golden hair and wore a red gown, the color of a rose.”
Sybella blanched, and Mrs. Sweete and I exchanged a triumphant glance.
“Red is a popular color,” Mrs. Pratt said quickly. “It could have been someone else.”
“Actually,” Mrs. Sweete said, “there were only two ladies dressed in red that night. The other was Mrs. Remington, who is so old, she can hardly walk.”
“H-how could you possibly know that?” Mrs. Pratt said.
I grinned. “Mrs. Sweete is very observant.”
“And so are gardeners,” Edmond added, his tone pointed. “Especially since they’re so often overlooked by their masters.”
Sybella’s voice grew high-pitched. “Clearly this Jenkins man wants revenge against our family for losing his position. That, or he was paid off!”
“I can assure you that Mr. Jenkins was not paid off.” Lord Cranford leveled the Pratts with an impressive stare, something I didn’t know he was capable of. “Unless you’re accusing me of bribery.”
Sybella’s mouth snapped shut, and her mother quickly said, “Of course not, Lord Cranford. We have only the highest respect for you. But as for the Weston girl—well, she has a history of lying, especially when it concerns my daughter. The word of a lowly gardener isn’t enough to condemn Sybella.
We saw Mr. Hawke compromise our daughter with our own eyes.
That’s reason enough for them to marry. Immediately. ”
I had suspected that Jenkins’ testimony wouldn’t be enough to force Sybella’s hand, but it was just one step in our plan to unsettle her.
The strategy was to appear at points which the enemy must hasten to defend; march swiftly to places where you are not expected.
Sun Tzu taught that an off-balance enemy would be much easier to defeat, and considering Sybella looked like she had forgotten how to breathe, our plan was working.