by Kirsty Ferry
Alex lowered his head and smiled at the thought. He wasn’t in any hurry. The only thing waiting for him away from here was the pewter box, and that wasn’t going to run away. It was much more preferable to be here with Elodie. He looked up and cast a glance over at her. She was looking right back at him and she gave him a little wave and a smile. He grinned and waved back. She was still nursing the free glass of wine Bob had given them as a “thank you” for stocking some of his micro-brewery ales in the Hall gift shop.
Bob was deep in conversation with someone about horses, usually something Alex would be interested in listening to; but instead he perched on the edge of a bar stool and found himself drifting off. The modern-day world seemed to slip away until he realised he was sitting at a much older sort of bar …
There was rowdiness, singing and bawdy jokes all around him; the smell of fetid, sweaty bodies and ale, and the feel of dirt and sawdust beneath his feet. He became aware of rising voices nearby and turned slightly to see what the commotion was. His pistol was comfortably at his waist, his hat pulled low-down over his face as he waited for his associate. He feared nobody in the gambling den; nobody at all, but he sat up a little straighter when he realised what was happening close by.
One of the men in the group was in his early twenties. His face was handsome, with that aristocratic look that might be taken for arrogance. He was dressed in a dark coat, a white shirt and tight, pale-coloured breeches. A white cravat was knotted around his neck and his hair was fair and curled, carefully styled with long sideburns and falling to just below his collar. He was a young Dandy, and, more than that, was the young man he’d last seen tied, by his own hands, to a coach wheel.
The young man –Viscount Somersby, no less, Georgiana’s brother Jasper – was sitting at a table, several empty bottles of wine near him and a glass half full at his elbow. He was dealing cards, then there was some sort of altercation. Jasper stood up and thumped the table with his fist. He knocked over the glass and the men opposite him stood up.
‘My sister is not a whore! How dare you tarnish her name as such?’
‘It’s true, little Viscount. The bitch can’t keep off her back long enough to stand upright.’
‘You lying piece of filth! Take that back at once!’
‘You take me back to that nice Hall of yours and let me have my pleasure with the whore myself. She’s givin’ it away to any man that asks!’
‘How dare you—’
‘I dare very well. I could take payment for your debts by using the dirty little slut’s body – that suits me very well, Sir. Very well.’
‘You—’
Ben was just about to intervene and himself defend Georgiana’s honour – he couldn’t stand by and hear her insulted like that – but he never got a chance. Before he had time to even stand up, Jasper had reached for his pistol, but out of the shadows one of the thug’s henchmen grabbed Jasper’s arm and slammed it hard into the table top. His pistol fell onto the floor and the man bent his arm around his back; there was a sickening snapping sound and Jasper howled in pain. Another man came over and seized a handful of Jasper’s hair, pulling his head backwards.
Ben was halfway out of his seat, his hand on his own pistol, when there was a glint and a flash of metal. Jasper’s shouts stopped abruptly and there was blood-dripping onto the floor and soaking into the grime. The men laughed and shouted and dragged Jasper out of the inn, his feet leaving a path in the sawdust. Jasper’s handsome face was grey, drained of blood. In contrast, there was a huge, dark patch of the stuff staining the front of his shirt.
Ben was frozen to the spot. He had seen men die before, but never like that – and never someone he felt he had known, even slightly. He was sickened and horrified, and he wished he’d shot the bastards first. He looked at the door and the people spilling out of it, the crowds clamouring for more entertainment; but he knew the lad was gone. His thoughts now fled to Georgiana and his heart screamed in pain. The lad had died defending his sister’s honour and it seemed likely it was because of him.
He would carry that guilt to his grave and he cursed under his breath, swearing that someday he would avenge Jasper’s death and show him for the hero he was. He watched as the customers began to shout and point, then, unnoticed, he moved swiftly to the table where Jasper had been. He picked up his pistol and slid it into his waistband. There was no need for anyone to find that and sell it. The least he could do was try to give it back to Georgiana.
‘Sorry about that, lad. Terrible business.’ Bob was shaking his head. ‘Dairy herd trampled the tents again at the campsite. Fence broke. Nobody hurt, but the fence was destroyed between the horses’ field too, and they ended up in the barns eating the hay. What can I get you?’
Alex stared at him. The man he’d been discussing the horses with was walking across to his table with two drinks and Bob was ready to serve him.
‘Oh. Sorry. I was miles away.’ He smiled weakly. ‘Yes, terrible business, Bottle of red please. A lasagne and a penne arrabiata as well. If you don’t mind.’
Bob looked curiously at him. ‘Why would I mind?’
‘Yeah. Good point. Sorry.’ He raked his fingers through his hair. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘At the end of a long day, it’s good to sit in the pub and enjoy a meal,’ said Bob with a nod.
‘It is.’ Alex looked over his shoulder at Elodie. She had picked up the menu and was skimming through it, unaware of the tragedy that had just played out.
One thing was for sure, though. Jasper had been a hero after all and he’d died protecting his sister. Alex had always thought he was one of the most fascinating relatives he had and at that moment he felt closer to him than he ever had done before. He looked back at Elodie. He knew he had to tell her. She was the only one who it would make sense to.
He carried the bottle over to her.
She saw him coming over and drained the glass she had, before smiling and putting it on the table next to his empty one. ‘I bet that bottle wasn’t free,’ she said.
‘It wasn’t. I needed a refill, though. Do you know what the biggest legend of this old pub is?’ He filled up the glasses and pushed Elodie’s towards her.
‘The Green Dragon? Isn’t this the place where Jasper was supposed to have died?’ Every villager had heard that tale.
‘Yes. And I just found out that he did.’ Alex sat down and put his elbows on the table, staring at Elodie.
She mirrored his pose. ‘Really? How come?’
‘Ben saw it happen. It was an honourable death in the end; his father should have been immensely proud of him.’ The words were sarcastic and Elodie looked shocked.
‘You saw it, you mean? Just now?’ Her eyes travelled over to the bar, then came to rest back on Alex. He felt that little jolt, so familiar and so damned painful now, as the bright blue depths stared into his.
‘Yes. Ben remembered it and let me know about it. The pistol we found – it’s Jasper’s for sure.’
‘But why didn’t he protect himself? He was supposed to be a brilliant duellist. Isn’t that the term for it?’
Alex nodded, distracted. ‘Yes. Duellist.’ He pushed his hair away from his forehead and looked towards the door. ‘But that’s not much use when you’re not dealing with honourable men. He never had a chance to draw. He was drunk and they grabbed his arm and kind of twisted it back.’
‘Ouch!’
‘More than that, I think they broke it.’
Elodie clamped her hands over her mouth. ‘Oh, no!’
‘It gets worse. They held him down and stuck a knife straight into his heart. Poor guy. And do you know what he was doing?’ Elodie’s hands were still covering her mouth and she shook her head, eyes wide and troubled over the top of her fingers. Alex took a drink of his own wine, then spoke: ‘Jasper was defending Georgiana’s honour.’
‘Oh, God.’ Elodie removed her hands and grasped the stem of her glass. She tipped it up and took a big gulp. ‘Her honour! That’s awfu
l. Oh, no – what a messed up … mess it all is.’ Tears sprang into her eyes. ‘Poor Jasper.’
‘Completely. So yes, it might have been a brawl he died in, but he died to protect his sister’s reputation. Ben knew it, as well. He took Jasper’s pistol from the floor and hid it. That must be how it ended up back with Georgiana.’
‘I have no words.’ Elodie shook her head.
‘You know,’ said Alex stonily, ‘I’m thinking their father was a tyrant and their mother was mentally unstable. Who the hell would let their kids be treated like that? What is so bad that you have to make your daughter an angel to hide whatever she did and go so far as to take an advert out to spin lies about your son’s death? Although who am I to talk? Our mother’s denied us for years. Maybe it’s a thing with the Hartsford families.’
‘You’d never be like that with your children. But I’m equally sure Cassie would never, ever be classed as an angel.’ Elodie tried to smile and put her hand on top of his briefly. It was warm and it didn’t stay there long enough. ‘I’m sorry your mother is an old soak. I really am.’
Apparently Alex’s mother was very partial to a drink or two. Or three. It was one of the few things the old Earl had told his children about her, commenting that her choice of a wine merchant as her second husband was probably for a reason. Elodie had always thought that a particularly harsh thing to say, but Alex had tried to joke about it instead, coming up with the nickname ‘the old soak’ about his mother. It seemed a bit cruel, but who could blame him?
‘Me too. I’m quite glad she’s in France.’
‘Anyway. Should we talk of nicer things? Cassie did a great job on the locket, didn’t she?’
‘She did. And you know something?’ He leaned back as Bob’s wife appeared with the food and put it in front of them. ‘Thanks, Sue.’ He waited a moment until Sue had disappeared out of earshot. ‘We’ve still got the box to investigate, not to mention the pistol, and maybe they’ll help us fathom it all out.’
Elodie paused and poked at her pasta with the fork. ‘Would you come back with me tonight Alex? After we’ve finished here? I’ve decided I want to look at the box and get it over with. We owe it to Jasper as well as Georgiana and Ben. Will you stay a little while with me at the cottage, and we can sort it out? Please?’
Alex paused. If only the reason she wanted him back was nothing to do with the pewter box and everything to do with the fact she wanted him to go back. End of. But no. He’d blown it too long ago. Forget it.
He raised his eyes to hers and smiled. ‘Of course.’
‘Thank you.’ She hid her face as she ploughed into her pasta sauce. Her cheeks were tinged with pink, but he wasn’t sure if it was the heat or the wine or the spicy pasta.
‘My pleasure,’ he replied. It seemed inadequate, somehow.
Chapter Seventeen
If she was completely truthful, it was more the fact she wasn’t really ready for him to go home at all. It was too nice being with him and she had loved that brief touch of their hands. She had pulled away before she took hold of his properly and scared him off.
Although, with how it all panned out in the end, she was awfully pleased that, in the twilight of a long, summer’s day, Alex escorted her back to the cottage. It was, after all, Alex who saw the smoke curling out of her partially open front window. ‘Hey, look at that!’ he cried. ‘Smoke!’
‘My cottage!’ Elodie started running towards it, until Alex grabbed her and pulled her back towards him as easily as if she was on a bungee rope.
She sort of boing-ed back to him, he thrust her behind him and then he began hurtling towards the cottage. ‘You stay back!’ he yelled.
Elodie faltered, but she fell back. It was impossible to keep up with him anyway. All she could do was shout after him: ‘Be careful!’
When Alex pulled up in front of the cottage, he stopped and sniffed. ‘It’s that stuff you used to smudge the place with. The sage,’ he called over his shoulder. He ran over to the lounge window, then banged his fists on the glass. ‘Bloody hell, Elodie, it’s set the pewter box on fire!’
‘Impossible!’ She hurried over next to him and waved some smoke away. Coughing, she peered through the neat little panes; but, sure enough, the smoke was coming out of the box and filling her lounge, then drifting out of the window. Nothing else was on fire; nothing at all.
She could have sworn that she didn’t leave the box on the windowsill.
And she knew for a fact that the box was still closed when they left to go to the Dragon, but the key was sitting in the lock, almost defiantly.
’Who did that?’ she asked, tears springing to her eyes. She didn’t know if it was worse that someone had gone into her little house uninvited or that someone had set the precious box alight. Without thinking, she walked over to the door and pulled it fully open. The smell of sage was incredibly strong and that, combined with the smoke, made her choke. Her house looked like a Victorian opium den and her airways were constricting. What a horrible end to the evening! ‘Bloody hell!’
She felt a hand on her shoulder and then she was gently pulled away from the door.
‘You’re not staying here tonight,’ said Alex. ‘It’ll kill you. I haven’t forgotten finding you in the squash courts last year. Let me check what’s going on.’
‘Can I at least come in and get my inhaler?’
‘No. I’ll get it – where is it?’
‘Upstairs. In the bathroom.’
‘Okay. Stay there.’ Alex disappeared into the smog and came back with it. It was just as well, because the more agitated she was becoming about the fire, the more she started to lose the capacity to breathe, and the more her chest tightened.
‘There you go.’
He handed it to her and she grabbed it gratefully. ‘Thank you.’ She took a big puff of it and sat on the grass outside the house, taking a few gulps of fresh air before going to the window pane again. She peered inside, knocking pathetically on the glass like the ghost of Wuthering Heights’ Catherine Earnshaw. Alex had opened the window wider and managed to douse the smouldering contents of the box with a vase full of water and the beautiful roses from Margaret’s garden which had filled the vase were lying on the floor.
Alex looked up, seeming to register the fact Elodie was at the window and came over to see her. ‘Are you okay? Blue lips don’t suit you.’
‘I’m fine. What’s going on?’
‘Exactly what it looks like. Someone opened the box and set fire to the contents. I’m coming out now, but just tell me where I can grab you some overnight things first. You’re coming to the Hall tonight.’
‘The Hall?’
‘The Hall.’
‘Oh!’ Then she remembered the weekend case she still had packed from her last trip to her parents’ place in the South of France. She’d washed everything there and just repacked the case. Sure, it had flimsy stuff in it, in the hope of nice warm weather; but she never really wore any of her holiday clothes in Suffolk – so what was the point in taking it all out again at home, just to repack for her next visit? ‘You could try the top of my wardrobe in the main bedroom. There’s a pink overnight case. I’ve got enough in there for tonight.’
‘Great. I won’t be a minute.’
He found the bag exactly where she said it would be and lifted it down easily. It was quite light, but he assumed it must have everything she needed in it. He was glad she had already taken her inhaler and crushed the horrible image of her having some kind of attack and dropping dead at his feet that night.
She hadn’t looked particularly well when she was peering in at the window before. One more thing to blame Piers for. She’d told him her ex had taken to smoking cigars and that had made the whole condition worse. She’d been hospitalised for it once, apparently. But he felt he had no right to comment on it and had cursed Piers long and hard for that one.
And secondary to his worries about Elodie, were those about how the sage had just happened to light up and how the box had
just happened to open up.
He pushed the thought out of his head. The most important thing was to get Elodie back to the Hall and sort out a bed for the night. It was almost ten o’clock and it was getting quite dark.
Elodie was hovering about outside the cottage and she looked like a restless spirit herself. She reached out to try and take the bag from him and he held it up, out of her way.
‘No. I’ll carry it.’
‘But you’ve got the box and stuff,’ she said and reached out again.
‘And I’m happy to carry them all. Come on. I’d pick you up and carry you too if I could, but it’s not very practical right now.’ He began to walk towards the Hall.
‘But Alex—’ She suddenly stopped and doubled over, fighting to inhale. ‘Wait … a second … please.’ She took another puff of her inhaler and stood up again.
‘Look at you. That’s just with walking up here.’ Alex slowed down and continued, trying not to show how worried he was about her. ‘I’ve opened all the windows. The place will be quite safe tonight and we’ll see how it is tomorrow. Why didn’t you tell me how bad it is?’
‘How bad what is?’ she asked, breathlessly.
‘The asthma.’
‘Because it’s too embarrassing to admit it! It’s because of London and …’ Her voice trailed off helplessly and Alex felt the anger boil up again. Bloody Piers!
‘But what if you had an attack at the cottage? What if nobody was around to help you?’
‘I’m fine,’ she insisted. ‘It hasn’t been like this for a couple of weeks—’
‘A couple of weeks,’ he interrupted. ‘Well that says it all, really. Weeks.’ He felt his face close up. She was impossible. She could have died. ‘Have you even told your parents? I bet you haven’t. I feel like ringing them up myself!’
‘I wouldn’t want them to worry, and anyway, I don’t often have a houseful of smoke.’
‘Regardless. I just want to …’ It was his turn to trail off. I just want to look after you. I just want to be there for you.