Philanderers Gone Page 2

  Ro laughed but reached out and encircled Hettie’s wrist with her hand, drawing her back to sit in the pool. “Sit back down, girl. It’s not your fault that Harvey took advantage of you. Your beauty mark stays and once you are free of your ball and chain, it can do the work of attracting the right man. And we will find a way free, even if we have to set sail for other lands and spread false rumors of our widowhood.” Ro extended her hand to Hettie. “Pinky swear to me that we will help each other find a way out of the hellish life we were tricked into. One way or another.”

  “Escaping our fate, first in the bathhouse and then forever,” Hettie said, hooking her pinky with Ro’s.

  “Swear it!” Ro insisted.

  At the same time they both said, “I swear.”

  “Honestly,” Hettie said, slurring her words a bit from the excess of blackberry wine. “I have so much money. I’m certain it can buy at least some freedom.”

  “Excellent. What shall we do next? I can’t bear to go home to my empty house and wait for him to return like a good, little wife. Wherever we go, whatever we do, it can’t be my house. Leonard should come home to an empty house, a cold hearth, a lonely bed. Not that he’d notice or care, but it will make me feel better.”

  “Come with me back to my rooms at the Hotel Cristina. We’ll dream up our travel plans over fried tomatoes and toast.”

  Ro raised her eyebrows in question. “Won’t your lecherous other half return eventually? Surely you don’t want to be there for that?”

  Hettie snorted and then grinned merrily. “Oh, darling. I moved into my own rooms long ago and ensured there was but one key.”

  “That is brilliant. Perhaps I can talk my dear stiff-upper-lip aunt into releasing enough funds for me to do likewise. How did I miss this obviousness?”

  Hettie shrugged, then smirked. “Think of how great things will be now that we have each other. I feel as though I’ve been handed a gift from the gods tonight.”

  “I am pretty wonderful,” Ro said with a wink. “I’ll need to gather up a few belongings, grab the old toothbrush. Perhaps I’ll leave a vague note for Leonard, vague enough to keep him from finding me. I’ll tell him I’ve decided to go on holiday from witnessing him with his trollops.”

  “Appropriately sharp.”

  Ro giggled as they climbed out of the pool and wrapped themselves in luxurious bath towels of Turkish wool. “These towels are the softest thing I’ve ever touched. Let’s put Turkey on our list of places to visit on our Freedom Tour.”

  “Done and done, my new love.”

  “The sun is coming up,” Hettie said as they stepped outside the bathhouse where Peterson waited for them. “We stayed out all night. I’m beyond proud of us. Who is the scorned wife? Not either of us.” As they motored to Ro’s home, they debated going first to Turkey or to Spain. Paris was their launch point, of course, so they could engage in a marathon of shopping.

  “What has Leonard done now?” Ro asked as the auto pulled into the massive drive leading to her front door and she noticed the two police cars.

  “Let’s make a run for it, Ro. You don’t need any of your things. We can buy everything new in Paris.”

  Ro chewed her lower lip thoughtfully as the car came to a stop. Go in and face Leonard and whatever he’d done or use this moment to escape?

  “I’d love to simply go, truly I would, but I must at least know what he’s done and what my leaving will cause. Wait here. I’ll be back in a flash. I’ll see why the police are here, grab a few things, and then we’ll make a run for your rooms.”

  Hettie tugged at the handle on the back door. “You are absolutely not going in without me. Who knows what you’ll find when you get inside? Aren’t you even a bit worried that he’ll lose his temper if you try to leave?”

  “Leonard?” Ro laughed and shook her head. “He’s no dream come true, but he’s never laid a hand on me. I hate to say it, but it would almost be better for me if he had, just once. It’s the only way my aunt would allow me to leave him without being disowned, and even then divorcing him wouldn’t be an option.”

  “You don’t need your aunt to give you permission to live your life. Money is nice, Ro, but it isn’t everything. We both have too much, and neither of us are happy.”

  “Too true! Come in, then. You’ll be my pack mule.”

  They walked up the stone path, past the manicured lawn and stone appointments that made up the grand front driveway, and onto the front porch.

  “Oh, I know,” Hettie said glancing at the front doors. “Let’s sneak in the servant’s entrance and discover what we’re walking into.”

  Ro’s grin turned mischievous, and she waved Hettie on, leading the way around the side of the house. “With any luck, if Leonard is home, he won’t know I’m here and we can eavesdrop on his conversation with the constables.”

  “Very sneaky,” Hettie said. “I like a woman who spies on her man.”

  They tiptoed through the servant’s entrance where a daily maid watched without a word as she started the kettle for the servants’ tea. It was very early, after all. Ro pressed a finger to her lips while Hettie winked at the girl and handed her a fiver with another silent gesture.

  They managed to get through the rooms without anyone else seeing them and then raced on silent feet up the back stairs to the east wing. Ro opened a door and went in, motioning for Hettie to follow.

  “These are the guest quarters. I hide in here when Leonard’s face starts to make my back teeth hurt. Wait here for a moment. I’m going to sneak into our rooms and see if Leonard is there or if he’s dealing with whatever the bobbies want.”

  Hettie nodded without speaking, and Ro slipped into the hall and quietly closed the door behind her.

  She padded her way down the carpeted hallway, amazed at how different her home looked at this hour of the morning. She’d had high hopes as a newlywed when they’d picked out this house. She’d imagined filling all the rooms with little babies and perhaps a spaniel or two. She’d pictured the parties they’d have on the lawn, and the ballroom filled with laughing faces.

  None of that had come to fruition. It had taken less than two weeks for Ro to realize the measure of her mistake. The only thing good about her marriage was that someday it would be over.

  Ro slowly opened the door to the bedroom that they still shared, shaking her head at the absurdity of this charade. The bed was still made.

  She muttered to herself about the empty bed as she moved to find a suitcase. “What a shocking turn of events.”

  The sarcasm in her voice made her snort. She threw a few of her favorite items of clothing in her bag, dumped the contents of her jewelry box on top of the clothes and then gingerly placed the picture of her parents and siblings on the top.

  Ro took a moment to look in the mirror. Her eyes were sadder than she’d ever thought she’d be. There was, however, the sparkle of hope in her gaze when she thought of Hettie. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t alone in facing the disaster her life had become. Traveling with someone who understood wasn’t Ro’s happily ever after, but it was better than this.

  “You’ll be all right, Ro.” For once, she felt as though she wasn’t lying to herself.

  Ro closed her bedroom door quietly and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. As she turned to leave, she heard voices from down the stairs.

  She’d nearly forgotten about the police in her relief that Leonard wasn’t in their bedroom. Ro left her suitcase in the shadows at the top of the steps and slowly tiptoed down the stairs towards the low hum. The sounds were coming from the open parlor door at the base of the steps.

  She heard the butler, Maurice, speak. “Are you certain Mrs. Ripley wasn’t also on the yacht?”

  “There were a few survivors. She doesn’t appear to be with those taken to hospital and we are still dredging the river looking for victims. The yacht is utterly submerged. It’s possible Mrs. Ripley has not…ah…surfaced.”

  Ch
apter 3

  A few survivors. Could it be…was it possible…

  Ro’s heart thudded in her chest as the pronouncement echoed in her ears. Leonard’s yacht had gone down? People had died?

  Then she remembered, once again, Hettie waiting for her upstairs. Her waste of a husband was also on that yacht. Was he alive or dead? Bloody hell! Her ears were ringing as she tried to process what she’d heard.

  A fierce whisper from behind her reached her ears. “Ro! What are you doing? I see your bag. Let’s go. Flee!”

  Ro wanted to go. To not have to deal with the next round of trouble and woe that Leonard had inflicted on her. Instead, she waved Hettie down the stairs.

  Hettie shook her head, but Ro nodded. “Come!” she mouthed.

  Neither of them would be able to disappear if their husbands were actually dead. A part of Ro prayed that she truly had been set free. Another part of her was appalled at the tenor of her thoughts.

  She hadn’t really wanted Leonard to die. Just to get syphilis after she divorced him and left him without her fortune to tap into. Ro took in a deep breath and told herself that whatever she heard today, she’d find a way to follow that light of hope she’d found. She’d find a way to something better than her current life.

  Ro paused at the door of the parlor before stepping in, pulling Hettie alongside. It was, after all, her house. Ro wasn’t going to wait for permission to enter.

  “I’m afraid I heard voices,” Ro said. “Enough to understand that something happened on my husband’s yacht.”

  “The yacht?” Hettie gasped. “An accident? Did they run it aground?”

  “I heard enough, Hettie, to understand that people didn’t survive.”

  “What?” Hettie gasped. “That can’t be…”

  “Mrs. Ripley!” Maurice came forward and nearly grabbed her hands. “I—we were so worried!” He appeared to remember himself and stepped back, clearing his throat. “My apologies, Mrs. Ripley. I forgot myself. Allow me to present Detectives Truman and Harris. I’m afraid something terrible has happened.”

  Ro turned to the detectives. She was aware enough to notice that Truman was handsome in the leading man kind of way, with a square jaw, dark eyes, and a fit form, and that Harris was rounder and scruffier, but they both had gazes as sharp as razors. Beyond that, she didn’t know what to think or how to feel with the overwhelming pressure of all the possibilities of what had happened to Leonard.

  “I’m Detective Truman. You may want to have a seat. I have difficult news,” the dark-haired, annoyingly handsome detective said.

  “I’m rather on edge, detective,” Ro replied. “Sitting won’t help me feel better and hysterics are not going to be an issue.” She heard the edge in her voice, and winced at it.

  Hettie shot Ro a look and took a seat. Her expression said she’d do whatever it took to find out what had happened.

  “As you wish, ma’am,” the detective replied, although it was clear that he was irritated. “I’m afraid your husband’s yacht sank in the Thames earlier this morning. The survivors, few as there are, have been taken to the nearest hospital.”

  “Few as there are!” Hettie repeated, sounding sick. “There were a good two dozen people going to that party.”

  “Do you know if my husband survived?” Ro locked gazes with the detective, waiting for his answer.

  “He hasn’t yet been identified,” he said with an edge in his voice. What was he upset about? It wasn’t his husband potentially dead in the water. Did he expect hysterics? She was in shock. She was adrift, lost. She blindly held out a hand toward her friend and Hettie grasped it.

  Ro pressed her other hand against her chest. She hadn’t wanted Leonard to die. Did she hate him? Goodness yes. So much. However, her preferred revenge would have been divorce and then watching him self-destruct from a distance.

  “What about Harvey Hughes?” Hettie asked with a shaking voice. “My husband was also on the yacht.”

  Maurice answered when the detectives didn’t. “Until you arrived, we weren’t sure if Mrs. Ripley was alive or dead. Very little is known yet. I’m sure you’ll discover more at the hospital.”

  “Oh Hades,” Hettie muttered, placing her hand on her stomach as though she were about to sick up. “They were so, so drunk. Harvey can’t swim.”

  “A miracle might have happened,” the second detective told Hettie, who stared at him blankly. He couldn’t know that Hettie despised Harvey as much as Ro despised Leonard. What did Hettie want? What was she hoping for?

  “Shall I summon a car for you to go to the hospital?” Maurice asked, glancing between the women.

  Ro’s watery laugh had both detectives turning to her, but tears were welling in Hettie’s gaze. They stared at each other in crystal clear understanding. They both wanted their husband to be among the living and yet didn’t want it. The dueling feelings were painful in the extreme.

  “I am overcome with feelings,” Hettie told Ro. “My heart is withering. I…I…I need to know. I need to know what happened to Harvey. I’ll know what to do then. I think…I’m not sure. I don’t know.”

  “Yes, Maurice, of course,” Ro told her butler. “We’ll go to the hospital. We have Hettie’s driver. He’s already outside and ready.”

  “Perhaps a coat, madam?”

  Ro blinked stupidly at Maurice and then nodded. “Bring one for Hettie too, please. It was chilly when we came inside.”

  Hettie and Ro rode to the hospital in silence, holding hands to stave off their nerves. Their lives were on the threshold of potential change. If their husbands were dead, they’d just been handed a guilt-ridden gift. If they yet lived, they could still lose themselves traveling the world and pretend they’d never had that flash of hope that they’d been set free.

  “I hate myself right now,” Hettie said. “I wouldn’t have killed Harvey. I only wanted him to…” She laughed, glancing at Ro, and admitted, “go mad, attack some passerby and end up in an asylum for the criminally insane. You know—alive—but far away from me.”

  Ro sniggered for a moment before wiping a tear. “I keep seeing the child version of him,” she told Hettie. “We used to love to play tag in the wood near our houses. To be honest, however, I had only been wishing for the divorce act and a post-marriage affliction of syphilis.”

  Hettie bit back another laugh while they wound their hands together, clinging to the only person who could understand their fate.

  “What if they’re really gone?” Ro asked Hettie and their gazes met in the guilt-stricken realization that their wish might come true, an entirely different wish from the ones they had before their marriages.

  “What if they aren’t?” Hettie bit down on her bottom lip viciously, and Ro winced.

  They arrived at the hospital and the ladies were handed out of the auto. Moments later they’d found a nurse and asked after the victims from the yacht.

  “We were told the survivors were brought here,” Hettie said, holding onto Ro as if she were a life preserver. “We’re looking for our husbands.”

  “Those who didn’t are ending up here too,” the nurse said grimly. “The others are coming in by a different door. You weren’t on the boat?”

  Both women shook their heads.

  “You look like you’ve been dunked with that mess of your makeup and hair.”

  “We were at a bath party.”

  The nurse huffed, disapproving. “You’ll have to determine for yourself if that’s a mercy. Being a widow is no picnic.”

  “We’d rather like to know if we are widows,” Ro snapped. “Could you please see if Leonard Ripley or Harvey Hughes have been brought in?”

  The nurse’s face fell. “Been working that ward all night. They’re not here.”

  “What does that mean?” Hettie breathed almost too low to be heard.

  “As far as we’ve been notified, all of the survivors have been admitted. I’m afraid we don’t have a patient by either of those names. I’m sorry.”

 
Ro staggered back, held on her feet only by Hettie’s iron grasp on her wrist.

  “Bloody hell,” Ro started, grabbing her throat. She didn’t have tears or anything but the ringing in her ears.

  “We’re widows,” Hettie finished.

  Ro nodded slowly. Their gazes met and then Hettie hysterically laughed while sobbing until the nurse slapped her hard.

  “I don’t think she needed to slap me,” Hettie said, holding her cheek. She could feel the heat of it under her hand and was sure the strike would leave a mark.

  “You were alarming,” Ro told her. “As your bosom friend, I must tell you that you would have made children cry.”

  Hettie sniffed and sipped at the tea that a far nicer nurse brought. She was young and pretty, and her eyes trailed one of the handsome doctors.

  “Don’t fall for him,” Hettie advised the young nurse. “They’re all philanderers who leave their girls home while they step out with a new flavor of female.”

  The nurse stared, clearly shocked. “I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. I’m sure you aren’t feeling yourself.”

  “I suppose I’m not normally this bluntly honest,” Hettie said dryly, looking to Ro.

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. We have only been friends for a day.”

  “Perhaps,” Hettie mused to the nurse, “on another day, I’d leave you to your mistakes and hope for the best. This isn’t that day. It’s the day I found out my husband died during a yacht party that I wasn’t invited to attend so he could enjoy his mistress in peace. I suspect the average woman—myself included—might be less inclined to be romantic even to a pretty, young thing like you. Don’t worry, all of your romantic notions will turn into your own specially flavored disillusionment.”

  The nurse’s gaze widened and she whispered, “Did you want biscuits with your tea?”

  “Do you have any whiskey?” Ro demanded.

  “I could use a whiskey,” Hettie agreed, smiling and then wiping away an errant tear. The nurse rushed away.