by Anne Ashley
Viscount Kingsley surveyed his long-time friend with a trace of pathos in his expression now. Hugo had seemed to alter very little in appearance during the fifteen or so years they’d been acquainted. He was as tall and straight-limbed as he had been in his youth, and what changes had taken place all seemed to be for the better. The faint scar he had won during his last year in Spain and the lines now visible about his mouth and eyes only added more character to a wholly masculine face. The bushy side-whiskers he’d sported throughout the Peninsular Campaign were now gone, but the red-brown hair was as thick and shining with health as it had always been.
‘Do you never envisage a future visitor to this house taking up permanent residence one day?’
Hugo didn’t pretend to misunderstand and considered carefully before answering. ‘There was a time, and not so very long ago as it happens, when I would have answered that question with an emphatic no. But now...well, now, I’m not so very certain.’ He shrugged. ‘I must be honest and admit, though, that at five-and-thirty I’ve become somewhat set in my ways and content with my own company for the most part.’
He took a moment to consider further before adding, ‘Contrary to popular conceptions, I do not believe I’ve been guilty of actively seeking a replacement for Alicia, a replica, if you like. That said, I’ve always betrayed a distinct preference for statuesque, blue-eyed blondes. So I suppose I must hold up my hand and say, yes, I have been guilty of making comparisons down the years. Sadly, I’ve found most all unattached young women wanting...with perhaps just one exception. And that was because she resembled Alicia not at all, so there were no comparisons I could possibly have drawn.’
‘Oh, so someone has at last succeeded in igniting a spark of warmth in that great barrel of a chest of yours after all this time,’ his lordship ventured when Hugo all at once turned his head to stare silently out of the window.
‘Perhaps,’ he conceded, before his well-muscled shoulders shook in silent laughter. ‘But maybe it was fortuitous we were destined to part company after the briefest of associations...as I might well have discovered, had I stayed, that she was, in all probability, a murderess.’
‘You jest, of course!’
‘Not at all,’ Hugo assured him. ‘She was undoubtedly the most likely suspect, and yet...’
‘You find me positively agog with curiosity!’ His lordship looked it, too, as he made himself comfortable in one of the chairs. ‘What the devil have you been about since leaving the army?’
‘Absolutely nothing at all!’ Hugo assured him. ‘Pure chance, old fellow, that I happened to be putting up overnight at a place where a decidedly suspicious death occurred.’
Seeing at a glance his guest wasn’t going to be satisfied with that sketchy explanation, Hugo relented. ‘Oh, very well, but without revealing any names, I’ll tell you this much—last autumn, while work was being carried out here, I decided to get away for a few weeks. Having an army of workmen invading the house almost daily was tedious to say the least, so I accepted a long-standing invitation and went to stay with some friends of mine in north Devon. You know my partiality for travelling in the open. So when Finn and I set back to Dorset on horseback, I decided not to take the coast road, but to cross Exmoor, as I’d never seen that part of the country before. Without warning the weather set in. Before we knew it we’d been caught in an unseasonably early snowstorm and were forced eventually to seek shelter.’
Hugo paused briefly to shake his head, wondering at himself. ‘You might have supposed by now I would have learned to trust my instincts. The moment I caught my first glimpse of that unprepossessing pile I felt a distinct shudder run through me. Being a practical sort of fellow, of course, I put it down to the biting wind.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘To be fair, though, inside the house was far more—how shall I phrase it?—pleasing on the eye—at least in one particular quarter it most definitely was.’
There was a return of that glimmer in Lord Kingsley’s eyes. ‘Handsome filly, was she?’
Smiling faintly at the clear memory, Hugo shook his head again. ‘No, pretty—sweet face, lovely large, trusting brown eyes.’ All at once he was no longer smiling. ‘That’s what made it all so damnably hard to comprehend, Luke! She appeared so honest...and so astonished by the demise of the widow who owned the property. Yet, apart from myself, and a young cub who’d got himself stranded through his own crass stupidity, the other sheltering travellers were all complete strangers to the area and, more importantly, unacquainted with the owner of the house.’
‘And the young woman...? Was she related to the owner?’ his lordship asked, after digesting what he had been told, and received an immediate shake of the head in response.
‘No, she was... Well, it’s difficult to explain exactly her position in that household. She wasn’t a servant, nor, strictly speaking, a companion either, I wouldn’t have said. All the same, she seemed at the owner’s beck and call much of the time. She certainly ran the household. That said, the widow must have had some regard for her.’ Hugo frowned as a further damning recollection returned. ‘It transpired the young woman was destined to inherit the bulk of the widow’s estate.’
‘A strong motive for murder,’ his lordship suggested, and Hugo acknowledged the truth of it.
‘Even so, I just couldn’t bring myself to believe her capable of such an act.’
‘But, then, you hardly knew her well enough to be sure what she was capable of doing,’ his lordship pointed out and again Hugo was obliged to agree.
He released his breath in a sigh, wondering at himself. ‘For a man who has always prided himself on doing the right thing, even if it meant going against inclination, for once I behaved quite out of character.’
‘In what way, old friend?’ his lordship prompted, once again breaking the silence that followed the startling admission.
‘I felt suspicious enough about the death to believe the local Justice of the Peace ought to be informed. Although the widow’s demise was put down to natural causes by the doctor who happened to be taking shelter in the house at the time, I suggested a second practitioner’s opinion ought to be sought. Whether this ever happened I have no way of knowing. Somehow I doubt it. And as for the local Justice of the Peace...’ Hugo smiled ruefully. ‘When it came to it, I simply couldn’t bring myself to make contact with the fellow, simply because I knew I would be placing that young woman, guilty or not, in the most precarious position. And I just couldn’t do that to her, especially as...’
‘Although perhaps not already struck by Cupid’s dart, you were very much attracted to her and simply couldn’t bring yourself to believe that such a damnably lovely girl might be guilty of such a despicable act,’ his friend finished perceptively.
‘That’s it exactly!’ Hugo acknowledged. ‘I’m still not entirely sure in my own mind one way or the other... And I doubt now I shall ever know the truth for certain. Soon after my return here, I did write a letter, offering my services should she ever feel the need of help. Her reply, courteous and brief, gave me no reason to suppose she’d suffered any difficulties with regard to the sudden demise of the widow. Which strongly suggested that no second doctor’s opinion had ever been sought. And just why was that? I asked myself. Was it a genuine oversight on her part...or was she merely ensuring that no further inquiries into the widow’s death would ever take place?’
‘A mystery, as you say, old friend,’ his lordship responded, after the housekeeper had entered briefly in order to inform him that all his luggage had now been safely stowed away on the carriage. He then rose to his feet, smiling faintly. ‘For my part I’m deriving a deal of satisfaction from the knowledge that you’re as human as the rest of us poor males and, as such, susceptible to a pretty face. You’re not the first to fall victim to a clever female’s cunning and I doubt you’ll be the last. My advice is best forget the whole business. After all, there’s not much you can do
to unearth the truth after all this time.’
* * *
Half an hour later, still ensconced in his library, Hugo was attempting to deal with several urgent matters requiring his attention when he detected the sound of a carriage pulling up before the front entrance. Although it was not unusual for him to receive visitors so late in the morning, he’d given instructions that he didn’t wish to be disturbed. So when his housekeeper appeared a few minutes later, he felt the conscientious servant would never have dreamt of ignoring his expressed wishes unless there was a very sound reason for doing so.
‘There’s a young lady wishful to see you, sir.’
As this hardly seemed an adequate enough reason for the interruption, Hugo experienced a stab of irritation. ‘Is there, indeed!’ He scowled as he placed his pen in the standish and gave the servant his full attention. ‘And does this young woman have a name, Mrs Bailey?’
‘Indeed, she does,’ a pleasingly light and refined voice announced, before a trim figure, clad in a fetching pearl-grey carriage dress and matching pelisse swept gracefully past the housekeeper. ‘But was reluctant to make it known for fear of being thought to importune a gentleman on so short an acquaintance.’
Although he automatically rose to his feet in order to clasp the gloved hand held out to him, it was several moments before Hugo fully appreciated that the unexpected visitor was none other than the female who’d returned to his thoughts all too often for his peace of mind during the past months.
‘Good gad!’ he muttered, staring in dawning wonder at the pretty face framed in a bonnet fetchingly trimmed with pink ribbon. ‘Why, Miss Harrington! What an...unexpected pleasure!’
The sportive gleam that instantly sprang into her brown eyes was just as he remembered. ‘That is kind of you to say so, sir. But I suspect you’re more stunned than anything else. I’m much changed, I know, since last we met. That is the result of now having more than enough money for my needs, not to mention receiving the attentions of my late employer’s personal maid.’
Hugo found his smile coming effortlessly to his lips. He’d forgotten how unashamedly honest she could be. Truthfulness seemed to shine out of those unforgettable brown eyes of hers like a beacon!
Suddenly conscious that he was in the gravest danger of devouring her every wholly feminine feature with his gaze, he turned to his housekeeper. ‘Be good enough to pour wine, Mrs Bailey. I’m sure Miss Harrington will join me in a glass of Madeira.’
‘I should be delighted, sir,’ she assured him, while accepting his offer of a seat by the fire. ‘Although Somerset is a neighbouring county, I feel as if I’ve been travelling for weeks. The post roads are well enough, but some of the others are little more than dirt tracks.’
‘And that is why I frequently travel on horseback, most especially round these parts,’ he responded, before a disturbing thought occurred to him. ‘I trust you’re not travelling alone, Miss Harrington?’
He was obliged to wait for the assurance he sought until after his guest had been handed a filled glass. ‘And I should be very much obliged to you, sir,’ she added, ‘if you could ensure my maid receives refreshment. Poor Aggie has even less experience of travelling about the land than I do.’
‘See to it, Mrs Bailey,’ he said, then waited for the housekeeper to leave them alone before favouring his visitor with his undivided attention again.
Although his fiercest critics would scarce describe him as a libertine, he had enjoyed a number of pleasurable relationships with females throughout his life thus far. Some women he had admired for their intellect and some for their beauty, grace and charm, while with others he had enjoyed more intimate relations. Not for a very long time, though, could he recall a female who had left him with such a lasting impression on so brief an acquaintance as the young woman now sharing his hearth had done. She was certainly not the loveliest creature he had ever clapped eyes on and, although not slow-witted, he would hardly describe her as a bluestocking. Yet there was something distinctly enchanting about her, unforgettable; something that had instantly roused his interest, and had aroused, too, his every masculine protective instinct.
Disturbingly, he experienced those same reactions stirring within him anew and sustained some difficulty before he could concentrate his thoughts. ‘So, what brings you to my part of the world, Miss Harrington?’
Ruth didn’t attempt to hide her surprise. ‘Why, I came for the sole purpose of seeking you out, sir,’ she admitted and then saw his hand check, before finally raising the glass to his lips. The reason for the reaction seemed obvious, so she didn’t hesitate to reassure him. ‘Believe me, Colonel, I have no intention of attempting to put you, or myself for that matter, in a compromising situation by remaining here longer than necessary, so I shall come straight to the point of my visit. Were you completely satisfied that Lady Beatrice Lindley’s demise was due to natural causes?’
Although a gentleman of no little experience, Hugo was somewhat taken aback by the bold directness of the question. Yet, he ought not to have been, he told himself. Her frankness was something he’d admired from the first—had made him doubt her guilt when everything else only served to confirm it. That same doubt at her guilt stirred again and rapidly welled.
‘Since you’ve taken the trouble to travel all this way to hear the answer from my own lips, I’ll tell you plainly...no, I was not.’
Despite the seriousness of the response, and its worrying implications, Ruth couldn’t help experiencing a degree of satisfaction knowing she had been right. ‘I knew it! Knew I couldn’t have misjudged you so!’ The spark of gratification quickly faded from her eyes. ‘I could have wished I had realised at the time, but I’m ashamed to say I did not.’
After releasing her breath in an audible sigh, she added, ‘My only excuse for not suspecting anything untoward was, I suppose, the suddenness of the death and the fact that Lady Beatrice had told me herself that she suffered from a weak heart, a condition that might shorten her existence at any time... And I had no reason, then, to disbelieve it.’
‘But you do now,’ Hugo suggested, after studying her intently over the rim of his glass.
Ruth nodded, returning his gaze unblinkingly. ‘I recall quite clearly you advising me to seek a second opinion. Sadly, it will be to my everlasting regret...my everlasting shame, that I didn’t act on that good advice. You see, I discovered Lady Beatrice’s own practitioner, Dr Maddox, had left the county early that very same morning to visit a sick relative and was not expected to return before the end of the month. But that’s no excuse,’ she continued in a voice clearly edged now with bitter regret. ‘I should have called on the services of another practitioner...but I didn’t. Mr Pearce, Lady Beatrice’s man of business, betrayed no surprise either at her death. In fact, no one betrayed the least surprise—not the vicar, nor any of her acquaintance. The doctor was a frequent visitor to Dunsterford Hall, perhaps the most frequent, and I can only imagine, like me, everyone assumed she suffered indifferent health.’
Again Ruth shook her head as the memories came flooding back to taunt her. ‘I had so much to organise at the time...so many people to contact... And, I suppose, when I didn’t receive a visit from Sir Cedric Walsh, I automatically assumed he wasn’t sufficiently concerned, or wasn’t prepared to bestir himse—’
‘Ah!’ Hugo interjected, instantly claiming her full attention. He had the grace to look a little shamefaced. Although he might have acted from the purest of motives, there was no denying the fact that he, too, was guilty of concealing a possible crime. ‘The reason you received no visit from Sir Cedric is because I failed to enlighten him as to what had taken place at Dunsterford Hall.’
Ruth was puzzled and it clearly showed. ‘But why, sir? Something made you suspicious at the time, I know it did. I myself only began to feel uneasy quite recently.’
‘May I be permitted to know why?’ Hugo enquir
ed, thereby neatly avoiding answering her own query.
Ruth shrugged. ‘Oh, there’s no mystery there. It was simply because I had reason to call on Dr Maddox’s services. It was the first time he’d set foot in the house since his return from Bath the previous autumn. Naturally, we fell into talking and he mentioned he’d been surprised to discover Lady Beatrice had died whilst he’d been away. He went on to reveal that, for her age, she was in reasonable health and that there was nothing wrong with her heart. He did add that seizures and heart problems can strike at any time and without any prior warning. All the same, he had succeeded in placing a seed of doubt in my mind. If she hadn’t died of a heart attack...then, what had killed her?’
Raising her eyes from their contemplation of the liquid in her glass, Ruth looked directly across at him once more. ‘Then I remembered you, sir...the expression on your face when you had stood by the bedside, and I knew—knew you hadn’t been wholly satisfied with Dr Dent’s judgement.’
Hugo’s smile was distinctly crooked. ‘You were there at the time, Miss Harrington,’ he reminded her. ‘The examination was brief in the extreme. Why, the incompetent fellow hardly looked at her. He was more interested in getting away from the house at the earliest opportunity.’
‘You thought him incompetent?’
‘I certainly wouldn’t entertain him as my own practitioner,’ Hugo responded bluntly. ‘For one thing, he quite failed to notice there were traces of dried blood round the nose.’ He observed her surprised start. ‘Would I be correct in thinking you noted that, too?’
‘No, I didn’t. But Aggie did. She mentioned it when I questioned her quite recently. She helped with the laying out, you see. She also confirmed there were no marks on Lady Bea’s body at all, not so much as a scratch.’