The Arrangement

by Joan Wolf

  Raoul continued to hold his cousin’s restless blue gaze captive. “For one thing, there was no guarantee that you were going to inherit the Devane estate at all, and if you did you would probably be able to stave off your creditors, at least initially, without the extra twenty thousand set aside for Nicky.”

  I frowned and shifted in my seat so that I could look at Roger. I was not as sure of him as Raoul appeared to be.

  Raoul’s eyes left Roger’s face at last and went back to the contemplation of his clasped hands. “No matter how I tried, I could not put aside my belief that the danger to Nicky originated with that legacy. However, it was not until I traveled to Sussex a few days ago that I began to understand what it was that must be at the root of these attacks.”

  I froze in my chair. He couldn’t do that, I thought in horror. He had promised me that he would never tell!

  Raoul did not look at me as he continued, “I don’t think any of us ever had any doubt that Nicky was George’s son. A man like George does not leave twenty thousand pounds to a boy whom he has met in passing on the street.”

  Ginny did not look at me either. Roger and Harriet and Mr. Cole did. I felt their eyes burning my skin.

  Raoul said, “We all assumed that George was Nicky’s father and that Gail was Nicky’s mother, and that is where we were wrong.”

  I will never forgive him for this, I thought. I will never forgive him.

  It was then that Raoul dropped his bombshell. He lifted his gaze and for the first time since we had come into the library he met my eyes. He said, “Nicky’s mother was Gail’s sister, Deborah, and she and George were married.”

  I stared back at Raoul incredulously. “What?”

  He nodded gravely. “The paper you heard that fellow Wickham trying to sell to Cole? It was the record of the marriage. This gentleman here,” he nodded to the man sitting next to him, “is the parish priest of Hawton, a village where George had a small property. George and your sister Deborah were married there by license in February of 1809.”

  “That ain’t so!” said Mr. Cole.

  “That can’t be true!” Harriet cried in a strangled voice. “George and I were married in July of 1809!”

  There was absolute silence in the room as we all registered what this might mean.

  Deborah’s marriage was legal and Harriet’s was not.

  “My God,” I finally said in a shaky voice. “Does this mean that Nicky is George’s legitimate son, Raoul?”

  “His legitimate son, Gail, and his heir.”

  “My God,” I said again. I could not take it in.

  Roger said sharply, “And just where is Gail’s sister, Savile?”

  “She is dead,” Raoul said gently. “Gail has reared Nicky from the time he was born.”

  “Fine words indeed, my lord, but where’s your proof?” Mr. Cole said scornfully. “If there is no official marriage record, then there is no marriage.”

  “That is true, Raoul,” Ginny said. “If the marriage between George and Deborah did indeed take place, there should be a record of it in the parish register at Hawton.”

  “Slater?” Raoul said. “Will you tell us what you found at Hawton?”

  “Yes, my lord,” the young man said. His level eyes regarded the five of us seated before him. “The whole page from the book that listed the marriages for the months of January, February, and March of 1809 was ripped out. When I asked Mr. Wickham here,” Slater nodded to the man sitting on the other side of Raoul, “what had come of the page, he said it had fallen out of the binding and been lost.” Slater curled his lip. “There was nothing wrong with the binding of that book, my lord. That page had been ripped out, pure and simple.”

  Wickham. The name rang familiarly in my mind and I looked at the clergyman and frowned. This was not the Mr. Wickham I had met.

  “Papa!” Harriet said shrilly. “What are they saying?”

  “Now, there ain’t nothing here to concern you, Harriet,” Mr. Cole replied. “There ain’t a scrap of proof to back up any of this. It’s all Savile’s speculation.”

  “Cole is right,” Roger said, agreeing with the merchant for probably the first time in his life. “A missing page in a parish register is no proof of anything.”

  For the first time, the thin pale man sitting next to Raoul spoke. “His lordship is telling the truth. Nine years ago, Mr. George Melville came to me and asked me to marry him to a young lady in a manner that would avoid the attention of his father. As both parties were over the age of twenty-one, and Mr. Melville’s family held property in the parish and he could be considered a resident parishioner, I did not see how I could fail to withhold my consent.”

  “I’ll bet he sweetened your pocket to do it for him, too,” Roger said sarcastically.

  A dark flush came across the pale, meager features of the clergyman.

  Raoul said, “The witnesses to the union between George and Deborah were Mr. Wickham’s wife and his brother, Vincent, who was on a visit before he left for India.”

  I thought of the dark, sunburned face of the man who had been trying to sell a paper to Mr. Cole, and saw how the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together.

  “I can only surmise what must have happened after the marriage,” Raoul said. “George and Deborah obviously went home and told no one what they had done, but one can only assume that Deborah thought it was only going to be a matter of time before George would reveal the truth to his family.

  Then George’s father brought the Coles to Devane Hall and began to pressure George to marry Harriet.”

  A sound came from Harriet and once again I felt that uncomfortable stab of pity.

  Raoul went on, “The financial situation at Devane was desperate. If Uncle Jack could not pay off some of his debts, he would lose Devane Hall completely. This was the kind of pressure that was brought to bear on George.” Raoul shrugged. “One must assume that George shared this information with Deborah.”

  “Of course he must have, the spineless worm,” I said scornfully.

  Ginny said, “Why didn’t the girl simply insist that George tell his father the truth? Or if he was afraid to do it, why didn’t she go to Uncle Jack herself?”

  I answered that question. “Deborah would have had too much pride. And when she found herself with child, instead of telling George she came to me.” I put my hand up to shade my eyes. “She didn’t tell me about the marriage for the same reason, I imagine.”

  “That is what must have happened,” Raoul agreed. “She ran away to you, and a month later George married Harriet.”

  Harriet moaned and stood up so abruptly that her chair fell over. I had not thought her heavy body capable of moving so quickly. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she said.

  “I am sorry, Harriet,” Raoul said gently. “This must be dreadful for you. Would you like to go and lie down?”

  “Yes, yes, yes.” Her voice grew higher with every yes, and I became afraid that perhaps we were going to have to deal with hysterics.

  Ginny went to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “Let me summon your maid for you, Harriet, and you can go to your room. Come along now…”

  Ginny’s soft murmuring could be heard as the two of them left the library.

  I sat in the sudden silence that their exit had produced and thought about what Raoul had just revealed. I remembered how Deborah had been during the last months of her pregnancy. Something terrible and destroying had happened to her when George had caved in and married Harriet.

  Roger said, in his light, brittle voice, “Mr. Wickham, one can’t help but wonder why the minister who performed this secret marriage was so reticent on the subject. Surely you knew that my cousin’s subsequent marriage to Harriet Cole was bigamous.”

  “I did, of course,” Mr. Wickham said wretchedly. “But Lord Devane came to see me shortly before the second marriage took place, you see, and he told me that he would be forced to remove me from my living if the first marriage should become known. I…I
do not have many connections, Mr. Melville, and at the time I had a young family to support. I did not think I could afford to reveal what I knew.”

  “It surprises me to learn that George had the backbone to make such a threat,” I said contemptuously.

  “Oh, it wasn’t Mr. George Melville who came to me, Mrs. Saunders,” the minister said in surprise. “It was Lord Devane. His father.”

  A brief silence fell, during which time Ginny came back into the room.

  “George did tell Uncle Jack, then,” Raoul said.

  “Oh yes,” said the minister. “Lord Devane was quite furious. He wanted me to give him the page from the register upon which the marriage was recorded. I would not do that, however. There were other marriages recorded on that page, you see. So I told him that I would tear the page from the book and hide it and that no one would see it unless I should have to produce it to verify one of the other marriages, which was unlikely as everyone was still living in the parish.”

  For some reason it made me feel slightly better that George had told his father about his marriage to Deborah.

  “Yes, well, this is all fine talking, my lord, but you ain’t got the proof,” Mr. Cole said. “And I’ll tell you this, there ain’t no way I’m going to allow you to brand my girl a whore and my grandchildren bastards! I’ll take you to court and we’ll tie that bloody estate up for so long that it will molder into the ground before I let that happen!”

  “There is proof, of course,” Raoul said softly. “Even if you have the register page in your possession, there is still the sworn testimony of Mr. Wickham here, and of his wife and his brother. There is Mr. Vincent Wickham’s testimony that he offered to sell you the page from the marriage register and that you agreed to buy it.”

  “I never did that,” Mr. Cole said immediately.

  I said, “Oh yes you did, Mr. Cole. I heard you. You were talking to Mr. Wickham here in the library. I was sitting in the chair in front of the fire and you didn’t see me. You agreed to buy the paper for ten thousand pounds. Mr. Wickham wanted twenty thousand but you wouldn’t give him that much.”

  Mr. Cole surged to his feet. “You’re lying, you Jezebel!”

  I leaped to my own feet. “Murderer! You tried to kill my son! I’m going to see to it that you hang, Cole! I’m going to stand there and watch as you choke to death! I’m going to…”

  Cole had turned purple, as if he were indeed choking, and was advancing upon me. Suddenly, Raoul’s arm was around me and he was holding me against him. Restraining me, actually.

  “That’s enough,” he said to Cole in a voice that stopped the older man dead in his tracks. “You must accept the fact that while I may not have the register paper in my possession—I assume you have destroyed that—I have enough evidence to establish that Nicholas Saunders is in fact Lord Devane’s legitimate son.”

  “Well, we’ll just see about that, my lord,” Mr. Cole replied. He was breathing heavily. “Harriet and I will be packing our bags and leaving Savile, and the next you’ll be hearing from me will be from my solicitors!”

  “It will be a futile enterprise, Cole, but if you desire to pursue the matter, then by all means do so,” Raoul said coldly.

  As the merchant stomped from the room, I looked up at Raoul incredulously. “Are you just letting him go like that? He tried to murder Nicky!”

  “We don’t have any proof of that, Gail,” Raoul returned.

  “We don’t need proof! It’s perfectly obvious that he’s guilty.”

  “We need proof if I am to ask Sir Robert Warren, our local magistrate, to arrest him,” Raoul said.

  I glared up at him in furious frustration. “Well then, are you going to try to find some proof?”

  “I can promise you, Gail, that I will do my damnedest.”

  “He deserves to be hanged,” I said again. “He may not have succeeded in killing Nicky, but he killed poor little Johnny Wester!”

  “Yes,” Raoul said quietly. “I know that, Gail.”

  I felt like screaming, I was so angry.

  Ginny said, “Speaking of proof, is there anything beyond your word to verify that Nicky is Deborah’s son, Gail?”

  I gave her my reluctant attention. “I’m quite certain there will still be people living in Highgate who will remember that Deborah was the one who was with child, not I.”

  “What about the midwife?” Ginny asked.

  “I suppose she could be traced if she has moved,” I said. “She was not that old a woman.”

  Roger said acidly, “Congratulations, Gail. It seems that you have just found a new home for your horse business— Devane Hall.”

  I shut my eyes as the full ramifications of what had just happened began to sink in.

  “Oh God,” I said. “I am going to have to tell Nicky who he is.”

  “Yes,” Raoul returned in a very gentle voice, “you are.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “Take him for a ride,” Raoul suggested. “You can stop at one of the buildings along the lake to talk, but get him away from the house. You both need to be alone together when you tell him.”

  It was half an hour after the meeting in the library. Everyone else had left the room, and for a few minutes at least Raoul and I were alone. He was standing next to the window, which had been closed against the cool and cloudy afternoon. I was standing facing him, with my hands on the back of a carved oak chair.

  I said acidly, “True. It is excessively unpleasant to have tremendous personal surprises sprung on one in the midst of a large group of people.”

  He said, “I’m sorry I did that, Gail, but I didn’t know about the marriage for certain until Slater arrived this morning with Wickham.” He leaned his shoulders against the pale green wall next to the tall window, regarded me with a mixture of bewilderment and anger, and said, “Why in God’s name didn’t your sister ever tell you that she was married? Didn’t she know that she was depriving her child of his birthright?”

  I repeated what I had said earlier: “Deborah would have had too much pride to push herself in where she was not wanted.”

  He shook his head in sharp disagreement. “This was not a personal matter, Gail. This was a matter of law.” His mouth hardened. “And a matter of justice as well. Nicky should have been acknowledged as the heir to Devane Hall.”

  “Well, from what you have told me, my lord, Devane Hall would have to have been sold if Nicky inherited,” I flashed back, furious that he was criticizing Deborah. “I am quite certain that Deborah knew that Nicky would be much better off with me and Tommy than he would have been with a profligate for a grandfather and a spineless…creature…for a father!”

  His mouth retained its hard line for a few more moments, then it softened very slightly. “Perhaps that is so,” he conceded. “She could not have foreseen that your husband would be killed and you would be left to support the boy on your own.”

  I said evenly, “I believe I have told you before that I have never found Nicky to be a burden.”

  His reply was just as even. “I know you have not, Gail. That is not what I meant.”

  I wasn’t sure what he had meant, but I decided not to pursue the subject. It didn’t take a genius to see that the subject of Deborah was not one on which we were ever likely to agree.

  I said instead, “Are you certain it is safe to take Nicky for a ride? You don’t think Mr. Cole will keep trying to harm him?”

  “Cole is not a fool,” Raoul replied. “Even if something should happen to Nicky now, Harriet’s marriage is still invalid. Once the information about George’s prior marriage was made public, Nicky was perfectly safe from Albert Cole.”

  I looked at him suspiciously. “You sound as if you don’t intend to pursue the matter of Mr. Cole any further.”

  “I have assured you that I will not let the matter of Johnny Wester’s murder drop, Gail,” he replied a little irritably.

  I let my thoughts turn to the man who had been my other suspect. “What about Roger? If
something happens to Nicky, then Roger will inherit Devane. Do you think I can trust him not to harm Nicky?”

  Raoul replied in a supernaturally patient voice, “I know you don’t like Roger, Gail, but I do not believe that he is a murderer.”

  I felt myself flush. “I suppose you think that I am being hysterical.”

  His smile was warm and reassuring. “Not at all. You have had good cause to be concerned about Nicky’s welfare. But I can honestly tell you that I think it is safe for you to take him for a ride around the lake.”

  * * * *

  So I fetched Nicky from the nursery party that was playing bowls on the lawn and induced him to come riding with me by promising that he could ride Narsalla. I rode one of Raoul’s extra hacks, and Nicky and I set off over the causeway under an overcast, mid-afternoon sky.

  We did not speak much until we had reached the lakeside cottage. Nicky was doing fairly well with Narsalla but there was no doubt that she was a bit of a challenge for him. There was color in his cheeks and his eyes were sparkling, however. Clearly he was enjoying himself enormously. Like me, Nicky always preferred to ride a high-spirited horse, and he had been missing Squirt badly.

  He was not pleased when I suggested that we stop at the cottage.

  “Why, Mama? I am just beginning to get the feel of her. I don’t want to stop now.”

  “I must talk to you, sweetheart. It’s important.”

  “You can talk to me anytime, Mama,” said my bewildered son.

  “I know, but this is a very important, very private kind of talk. Let’s just let the horses nibble the grass for a bit and we can have our discussion, shall we? It won’t take long, I promise.”

  “All right.” He gave in with the sweet unselfishness that had always been his mother’s, and slid down from Narsalla’s back. After he had tied her he turned and asked suspiciously, “You’re not going to talk about sending me away to school, are you?”

  “No, sweetheart, it’s nothing like that.”

  He gave an exaggerated whistle of relief.

  “Come and sit on the bench,” I said, but when I had him there beside me I didn’t know how to begin.