One day the cook, who also was his father’s favorite nurse, informed Philip that his father refused to leave his bed. Philip sent for the doctor. He was told that the old man was in a critical condition. He had a stroke that night, which left the lord knocking at heaven’s door. The power of speech, which he had entirely lost previously, was restored to him. Philip immediately dismissed all servants and nurses, who had been watching by his father’s bed. He was overcome by fear that his father’s feverish mind might cause him to utter the words “Murder” or “Poison.” At eleven o’clock he seemed to fall asleep. Suddenly he sat up in bed and screamed, “Philip, come here!” James, who had ignored the young master’s orders and had stayed by his old master’s side, sprang up from his chair next to the window, where he was reading through the estate’s ledgers was much startled at the sight. The lord looked like his former self. His eyes flashed cold fire and his eyes and nose were contorted into a hawkish mask of serious danger to the beholder, as they always did, when he was in a state of murderous fury.

  “Forgive me father. Please forgive me,” cried Philip, falling on his knees next to his father’s bed.

  The lord stretched out his hand.

  “Leave, James!” he ordered.

  The reliable servant immediately left the room. His face showed his happiness at the return to this world of his old master.

  “Son,” said the old man, looking if no one was watching, “I am mad with family pride and God almost punished me for it. My son, for you are my son, I have nothing to forgive you for.”

  Philip’s sobs broke the stillness of the room.

  “My son, never renounce my ideas,” continued the lord. “Now more than ever now that you have wed Miss Harcourt. Even if you feel that you cannot love her, love your son.”

  “Father,” said Philip, “I’ve obeyed you and she’s now my wife.”

  A fire of immense pride showed in the old man’s eyes. A mocking smile curled his lips. He raised his hands as though to give permission to a final act of murder, which might be considered against his person for the betrayal he was admitting to. “I have done it! You hear, my son!”

  He fell back on his back and laughed uncontrollably. Lord Swaffham did not see the morning.

  After being rejected by Philip, Jane made her way back to the Manor of the very ancient and very noble Worrall family. She was chilled to her bones. Her heart had died. Slowly she walked back down the same road, which only a short time before she had walked upon full of hope and love. The sudden appearance of Lord Swaffham had made her see reality. She now knew the truth of the matter. Philip would never love her as long as the old man was there to remind him of his crime against nature. No matter how heavy the load she was carrying, her brain was not one to occupy itself with defeat. As soon as she slipped into the house and up to her room, she changed her clothes and cleaned the mud from her shoes. Slowly she once more became herself. Soon she was able to think of the future and that gave her renewed hope for the future. She smiled as she combed her hair in the mirror and even laughed a little laugh at her own expense.

  “What is there to worry about?” she admonished herself. “There is always tomorrow, so don’t stop thinking about tomorrow.”

  Overwhelmed with hate, she had used hateful words against Philip, but as she calmed her self with her comb, she reasoned that it was not he for whom she felt the most hatred. It was directed at the young woman, who had come between them. She would have her revenge on Renee Harcourt.

  “Who’s that lady with my man?”

  These questions remained on her mind all night. As her hair slowly regained its former glory, her mind regained its agility. Nothing would be easier for her than to break up the proposed union, if only she could find something hidden in Renee’s past.

  “Who does she think she is? He’s mine!”

  With this happy thought, she made herself ready for bed. And that night, instead of counting sheep, she counted a million ways to hurt her rival.

  It was not long after this that Count Bletchley was introduced to Jane. He was tall and well-built, with handsome, chiseled features. Apart from being blessed with great physical attributes, Howard Bletchley had the additional advantage of being of aristocratic descent and having what even Mr. Harcourt would consider a princely sum in current assets. He was raised by two women, both renowned for their wit and beauty. One was his aunt and the other one was his mother and both of them did such a splendid job, that even the most acid tongued critic would admit that he was a shining light in high society.

  Dispatched to London, at the age of twenty, to further his education and obviously provisioned with ample funds, he found himself, thanks to his name and family friends, in the very center of the beautiful world. He had met Miss Worrall and her beauty, in love as he was with beautiful things, touched his heart for the first time. Jane was never more charming or fascinating than she was just after her defeat. No matter how much she was hurt by Philip, Howard Bletchley didn’t suit her fancy. He was not Philip. Nothing Howard did for her or told her could remove her first love from her memory. Every time she thought of him, she didn’t remember him at the window, she remembered him as he looked on the first day she met him on the hilltop in Bourne on Trent. Then he was just a quiet country boy in his hunting clothes, with the game he had shot that day dangling from one hand and his rifle in his other hand, while Luke was running here and there. She daydreamed of their walks through the fields and woods and thought fondly of his shyness, when the first few times he hardly dared to look her in the eyes. Howard was not much different from Philip, however. He fell for her at first glance. He was swept away by his emotions. His love became deeper with every visit he paid to Worrall Manor. Like a knight in medieval times, who wished to gain the love of his lady by fair, honest and open means, Howard wished to inform Jane directly of his feelings. After many attempts, her parents seemed always near, fawning over him like they used to do over their late son, he succeeded in finding himself alone with her. He asked her, if she would permit him to go to her father, Lord Worrall, and ask for the honor of her hand. His feelings for her surprised Jane, because she had been so engrossed in her own worries that she had not even noticed his interest in her. She did not smile, nor wince, nor cry, when he made his declaration of love. She glanced impassively at young Bletchley and after a moment’s hesitation, she told him that she would give him a reply the next day. After spending hours locked up in her room, brushing her hair, she decided to write a letter to attempt one last time to persuade Philip, she was the one for him. She told her maid to fetch Matilda, who carried the letter to Philip. Only a condemned man looking at the noose through his prison cell window, waiting for the decision of the judges in regards to a last ditch appeal lodged by his solicitors, could appreciate Jane’s state of mind as she waited in the garden at Worrall Manor for the return of the woman, who would tell her if she was saved or if her life would be spent in private misery. She waited for three hours then she saw Matilda hurry towards the garden gate.

  “What did he say?” asked Jane, almost in a whisper.

  Out of breath, Matilda told her, “Never!”

  Miss Worrall tried to smile in order to deceive the young woman and prevent any suspicions rising in her mind.

  She answered, “Ah, yes, indeed! That was just the answer I had hoped for.”

  Matilda seemed to want to add more to her message, but Jane had heard the answered she had been waiting to hear. She hurriedly dismissed Matilda by pressing some coins in her hand and quickly entering the house through the kitchen door. For her time stood still. There was no more anxiety. Any suspense or anguish had come to an end. Her struggles had led to her defeat. Her defeat, in as much as love was a battle field, she had lost a battle, but by no means the war. After all Howard wished to marry her and once married she was free from any restrictions her parents or her rank in society put on her.

  “Once married,” she thought to herself, “I will be free to pursue Philip.”

  On her return she went into the drawing room. She found Howard there waiting for her. His hopeful eyes asked her the question, which his lips didn’t dare to broach. Placing her hand in his hand with a gentle nod of the head, she assented to his prayers.

  Jane believed marriage would end the first stage of her life over which she had no influence and mean the beginning of the second stage of her life, one she was able to conduct the way she saw fit. She was not alone, however. Other persons were just as involved and interested in her life as she was. On hearing that his scoundrelous attempt at murder had failed, the Weasel was for the second time in his life overwhelmed with fear. He hardly dared leave his cottage. He carefully planned the sale of all his belongings and made plans to flee. Mr. Harcourt’s news of the debilitating illnesses afflicting the once formidable old lord and later the happy news of his daughter’s engagement to the young viscount had calmed his mind considerably. His trunk remained packed and ready at his bedside. His most valued possessions were the promissory notes, signed by Philip for the amount of twenty thousand shilling, which he could demand, if he so wished, at a moment’s notice, now that Philip was the reigning Lord of Swaffham. He wished to know where he stood in relation to Jane Worrall. It was never good to let either an enemy or a friend out of sight, where he could creep up on you and attack you with the silent precision of a cobra. He took his evening strolls in the direction of Worrall House. He hoped luck would be on his side and favor him with an opportunity to meet Miss Jane for a little conversation about their mutual interests and enemies. For several days he didn’t see her anywhere, no matter how long he halted near the house and its magnificent gardens. One day, however, he was delighted to find her alone, walking in the direction of Bourne on Trent. Without her noticing his presence, he followed her, until the road made a small detour through a dense group of bushes. He sped up and it was only when he was beside her that she noticed him. She looked at him angrily.

  “What do you want with me?” she asked.

  He began by apologizing profusely for his boldness in addressing her. He offered her his congratulations on her approaching marriage. He hoped to curry favor by telling her she had made the correct decision as Mr. Bletchley was a much better man than her erstwhile lover Mr. Swaffham.

  “Is that all you have to say to me?” asked Jane, interrupting him without pity.

  He turned away from him and was about to walk away. He, however, put his hand on her shoulder. She froze at his touch and gave him an angry look.

  “I have more to say,” he said calmly. “Please honor me with your attention for only one more moment. It’s about…” He hesitated. “Well, you know.”

  “About what?” she asked, making every effort not to remove his hand from her shoulder and spit in his face.

  He smiled. He ostentatiously glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

  “It’s about the poison.”

  She took a step back. His hand fell from her shoulder. Her mind urged her to run away, but she stayed.

  “What do you mean poison? What poison?” she cried. “Sir, how dare you speak to me like this?”

  His attitude was all servile. He complained that she had abused his trust and had taken, without asking, a certain little green glass bottle from his office.

  “Miss, be fair to an old man,” he continued. “If anyone ever hears about my part in the gruesome crime, which has been committed, it will cost me my neck. Please consider that I had no involvement in it and knew nothing about it.”

  He told her that he was quite ill, because of all the sleepless nights, worrying over his fate, when the police would knock on his door.

  “Enough,” cried Jane, stamping her foot angrily on the ground. “Enough of this, I say.”

  “Young lady, please have pity on an old, sick man. I can not stay here. Staying here will surely do me in. Miss, it’s my heart. It can’t stand any more strain.”

  “Then leave! What do you want from me? Come on, out with it.”

  Having won the first part of the argument, Newton now postulated the amount of compensation, which he thought was owed to him.

  “Miss, I’m reasonable. I only wish for a small present, which will help me on my journey out of town and will allow me to buy the frightfully expensive medicines I so desperately need. Think of my anguish, leaving the town I wished to remain in for the rest of my life. I thought a little token of your appreciation for my services to you, mind you only a small sum, which would bring me an income of three thousand shilling a year, will suffice, but only barely.”

  “Ah, so the ugly truth shows its face at last,” replied Jane. “You wish to be paid off.”

  Newton was again surprised at her surprising maturity of thought.

  “Ah, Milady, I’m your humble servant!”

  “And for your kind service you demand sixty thousand shilling. Rather unreasonably high, is it not?”

  “It’s a pittance to what you will have, when you are married, Milady, a nothing at all.”

  “Your demand is outrageous.”

  “Demand?” he cried. “Milady, I make no demands. I come to you and beg you respectfully for a little charity. I do not approach you, Miss, on an empty road, telling you bluntly, “Pay me sixty thousand shilling or I will make sure you hang for the crime against the old lord.” I have nothing to lose, if the whole story comes to light. I’m a poor old man and I am growing older every day, crying tears of desperation. Where will my next meal come from? You and young Master Philip are the ones, who have something to fear, a future to lose.”

  Jane thought for a moment, looking fixedly in the old blackmailer’s cold and everything but humble eyes.

  “You’re speaking,” she said at last, “quite foolishly. When you file a charge of such hideous proportions against someone, you better have proofs of the crime.”

  “Quite right, Milady. I had thought you would ask for these proofs. Should you wish to buy them, you’re welcome to do so.”

  He reached under his coat and took an old leather pocket-book from his pocket. He took a sheet of paper from it, which, after having been crumpled, had been carefully smoothed out again. Jane glanced at it and immediately recognized her last letter to Philip. She was inwardly crying with rage and fear, “Matilda, you ungrateful wretch, you betrayed me, while all I ever was to you was kind. I saved you and your mother from a death from hunger,” but showed no emotion on the outside.

  The Weasel held out the letter to her. She immediately showed her feelings by trying to grab it from him. The old fox, however, was on his guard and moved his hand away with a sarcastic smile on his face.

  “No, Milady,” he taunted her, “this is not my engagement present to you and your future husband. It is not the little green bottle filled with deadly poison, you stole from my office. For this you must pay me. I will give you this letter and another one I have in my possession, when give me what I ask. Remember, the hangman will never see a prettier sight than his beloved rope breaking your lovely neck.”

  Miss Worrall’s mind was in a whirl. She knew she was lost. For a moment she wished to throw herself at his feet and beg for mercy. A woman’s tears would not persuade him.

  “But I have no money,” she stammered, looking into the unblinking blue eyes of the shrewd master manipulator, her despair obvious to him. “Where is a woman to find such a sum?”

  “Ask your fiancé. I mean the previous one. Viscount Philip would be only too happy to give you the money to help you.”

  “Why don’t you go ask him for it, then?”

  Newton shook his head, without once disconnecting his fixed gaze from her eyes.

  “I’m not a fool for your love or tears, Miss,” he said. “Master Philip is like his father. I have no wish to see or deal with him. But you should have no problem to play on his emotional strings. A man always remembers his first love. Use your female intuition.”

  “You weasel!” she screamed, childishly.

  “Oh, but that will get you nowhere, young lady. There is no use in hurling insults my way. I don’t accept them as payment. Today is Tuesday, if on Friday, by six o’clock, I don’t have what I’ve asked for, your father and your new fiancé, Count Bletchley will receive a letter from me and then your marriage will not occur.”

  With these parting words, he quickly walked away. She only had to remember the look he gave her to know that he was capable of keeping his word. He would gain nothing, if he did denounce her to her fiancé, but she knew he would risk everything now, like a card player putting all his money on the outcome of one hand, even if staring at financial ruin, if the cards went against him.

  Jane was not a woman to be held down for long. As soon as the Weasel had left, her mind went into gear and new ideas to solve her predicament began springing up from her fertile imagination. She knew as things stood she had no other choice but to appeal to Philip’s generosity and maybe even fear of being found out. She felt that he would do everything he could to ward off the danger, which was threatening both her and him. At first her pride would not allow her to sink so deep as to beg her former lover for money, she was at the mercy of an experienced blackmailer.

  She went to the small cottage of Mrs. Jarrett and asked Matilda to go to Swaffham Manor and look up Philip.

  She asked her to tell him that she needed to see him without delay. She would be expecting him at the small garden at Worrall Manor Houser that night. It was a matter of the most importance, one of like and death.

  As Jane talked to Matilda, the young woman’s face betrayed her guilt. She had given Newton the crumpled up letter. She was under orders from Newton to spy and collect evidence. Miss Worrall knew it would be unwise to go after her now. The damage was done. She did decide to never again send her on a confidential errand.

  As the hours went by and the hour of the meeting came near she sat in a chair and looked out of her window in the direction of Swaffham Manor. She wasn’t sure whether Philip would come to the meeting. She didn’t even know if Matilda had been able to talk to him, because there was a good chance he was not home.