Arabella of Mars(10)

“Your entire inheritance?” Beatrice asked, but Arabella could see that she, too, was unsurprised by the outcome of Simon’s investment, and though her voice quavered her pistol remained firmly pointed at Arabella’s heart.

“I am afraid so, dearest.” He swallowed. “Only the family silver remains. And if nothing intervenes, before the year is out I shall be lodged in the sponging-house, and you and Sophie … you shall, I suppose, be cast upon the mercy of your parents.” Beatrice’s expression left little doubt as to how little mercy she expected from that quarter. “But now it seems an opportunity has presented itself.” He straightened, firming his jaw and his grip upon his pistol. “And so, my dear cousin, I must ask you to retire to the pantry.” He gestured curtly to the door.

Warily, keeping her eyes upon her cousins and watching for any opportunity of escape, Arabella sidestepped in the indicated direction. “I do not understand what you hope to accomplish by this.”

Simon gave a grim smile. “I suppose I should thank you, Cousin. Until this afternoon I had thought all hope lost. But your presence here—a living reminder of the entailment which has stolen my rightful inheritance from me—together with your very helpful explanation of our current astrological situation with respect to Mars…”

“Astronomical,” Arabella corrected automatically.

“The point is,” he fumed, “that with a mere two hundred pounds—which can be obtained as a loan, with the silver as collateral—two months’ time, one dueling-pistol, and an entailed estate … I can very shortly correct my financial circumstances for good and all.” Then, quite improperly, he grasped Arabella’s arm and propelled her out of the room, pressing the pistol’s muzzle to her side.

Simon marched Arabella to the kitchen, silencing the maid Jane’s enquiries with a stern expression, and shoved Arabella roughly into the dark and noisome pantry, slamming the door behind her. She immediately pressed her shoulder against it, but with his greater strength and weight he held it shut. Simon shouted something to Beatrice, and a moment later Arabella heard a scrape and thud as something heavy was thrust against the door, followed by a clatter as of chains.

“Cousin, you cannot!” Arabella shouted through the door while impotently rattling its handle. “This is murder you are contemplating!” For she was now certain exactly what Simon planned. As the only remaining male in the line of succession, in the event of Michael’s death the entire Ashby estate would pass to him.

“I am sorry,” he replied, “but I have no alternative. Goodbye.” And then, after a brief whispered colloquy with Beatrice, his footsteps beat a hasty retreat.





3

ESCAPE

Arabella tried the door again and again, but no matter how hard she pressed against it, it would not shift even half an inch.

“Pray do not continue in your efforts, Cousin,” came Beatrice’s voice from without. “The door is securely shut, and even if you should succeed in opening it, I remain here with the pistol. And I will use it, if necessary. Please do not require this of me.”

“This mad scheme cannot succeed!” Arabella cried. “To put an end to one’s own relatives for personal gain would surely render the inheritance invalid!”

“You underestimate my husband, Cousin. Despite his occasional follies, he is a barrister, and very clever. He will find some way to avoid suspicion.”

“Murder will out,” Arabella said, but even as she spoke she realized that platitude was not always true. Mars was but thinly peopled; many had met their end there in lonely circumstances, with no witnesses and no evidence. If a cousin from Earth were to pay a visit, a convenient hunting accident could easily be arranged, and accusations of foul play would be difficult or impossible to support. “If nothing else, I will not let him escape blame.”

“And who are you?” Beatrice gave a nervous little laugh. “A seventeen-year-old girl—a wild child known for headstrong, intemperate actions—a jealous cousin deprived of her inheritance and ten thousand miles away from the court where the issue would be tried. Even if you could make your opinion known, who would listen to you?”

Arabella leaned against the door, breathing hard.

Though she did not want to believe what Beatrice said, she feared her cousin might be correct.

*

Hours passed. The light in the tiny window near the ceiling faded and dimmed as the sun sank toward the horizon. From time to time Arabella tried the door, but on each attempt Beatrice’s voice dissuaded her from further effort.

Simon had said that he would be on the last coach to London. She must find some way to stop him. But how? Her reticule contained nothing but minor toilette articles and a bit more than nineteen shillings—not nearly enough to bribe her way past Beatrice or even the maid. The tiny pantry had but a single window, quite high up, and the shelves held nothing more than a paltry selection of bread, potatoes, and other foodstuffs. Not even a butter-knife could be found.

Whatever could she do?

Arabella removed the silver locket which hung on a chain around her neck—the locket which had never once left her person since her exile from Mars—and opened it. Up from her trembling palm smiled a miniature portrait of her brother, painted by an itinerant artist when he had been fifteen years of age. The companion portrait, of herself at age twelve, rested in Michael’s watch-fob.