The Untold Tale of the Winter Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

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The Untold Tale of the Winter Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 24

by Emma Linfield


  Lillian could see that Sebastian was not going to be moved, so she held out her hand to him. He took it, and brought it to his lips, bowing over it in a courtly fashion. “I will not be long, and I will not be in danger. What I have to deal with next will be easier with you and the boys safely tucked away.”

  “I understand, Your Grace,” she said, dipping into a curtsey. “It shall be as you ask.”

  Lillian then put an arm around each of the boys, and turned away to follow Parson Jamison.

  Chapter 47

  Sebastian watched Lillian and the boys walk away with Parson Jamison. They should be safe at the parsonage, although he was now beginning to question whether he could call anything “safe.” It was so odd that all of this should be happening because of the actions of one jealous woman. In fact, it didn’t make sense at all.

  Lillian’s sister had clearly been unbalanced, but that did not explain the willingness of Constable Michaels to follow her, or the other men who it seemed had infiltrated the constables. He should have seen the warning signs. John Michaels persistence in his need to question Lillian, the odd way Lillian would look at the boys or out a window view, as if she would never see it again. She’d been planning to run since before she became ill, he realized.

  But what was it about her that made her a target? Simply having been the victim of her sister’s deranged jealousy hardly explained why her husband had been murdered, why someone had been willing to poison a special bottle of wine, and how the husband had been persuaded to open it on that fatal night.

  There were simply too many loose ends, and he needed sleep. He was too tired to think clearly, but he could not leave all those men and one woman shackled in the snow. He would take them into the smoke-filled castle, and see if he could get to the bottom of the situation.

  Mrs. Blanchard, he discovered, was already hard at work clearing the smoke from the castle. The big dining room and adjacent drawing room were chilled with the wintry air coming in through the open casement windows. The newly laid fires on the hearths were helping pull the fouled air up through the chimneys. Maids and scullions were hard at work clearing the soiled rushes from the floors and mopping up the pools of water. He could hear the squeak of wheelbarrows in the back halls. No doubt the noxious straw from the cells, which should have been cleaned out a generation or two ago, were being hauled out through the service entrance.

  Evans supervised two footmen as they draped a fur over his big wooden chair that normally sat beside the fireplace. Evidently, the canny butler had also anticipated the state of his clothing, for a sheet was then spread over the furs. When Sebastian had seated himself, Evans himself brought a warmed blanket and tucked it around him.

  Once Sebastian was settled, Mrs. Blanchard set up a large tea tray at his elbow. “I brewed the tea extra stout,” she said. “You’ve been up the whole night. And there are minced beef sandwiches for you. Should I feed the prisoners?”

  “After I have spoken with them. It could be that some of them will no longer be in shackles when I am done. Or it might be that all of them will, and I’ll have to devise a safe way to send them back to London for a proper trial.”

  “I quite understand, Your Grace,” Mrs. Blanchard said, looking disdainfully at the line of men who shivered in the chill air of the dining room. “Such foolishness. You would think that they would know better.”

  Tink Littlesmith, the village blacksmith and Ronald Teggly, the cooper, deliberately herded the men over by the open windows.

  It did not take long to sort out the eight ordinary constables who had come up with the Captain and Inspector. Two of them, it turned out, had been added recently. The others were watchmen of two years or more who had been assigned to the tonnish neighborhood where the deceased Lord Charles and Lady Lillian had lived.

  Sebastian sent the two recent constables back to the now freshly cleaned dungeon cells, and next turned to his own twelve guards. “So, how is it that this happened? We could have all been burned to death in our beds or died of breathing the smoke.”

  The captain of his guard stepped forward. “I take the responsibility for that, Your Grace. I had them searched for weapons, but one of them had what he called a lucky rock. He asked to keep it. Said it made him feel better.”

  “And you did not recognize it as a flint?”

  The man looked ashamed. “No, Your Grace. Now if it had been a diamond or even plain quartz, I would know that. But I grew up in London. I don’ know much about rocks.”

  “I see. You are demoted to plain guard. I’ll assign Nick to instruct you in identifying rocks.”

  Tears sprang to the man’s eyes. “You will entrust me with one of your brothers, Your Grace?”

  “No, I’ll entrust my brother with enlightening you. Nor will he be alone during this instruction. But I think a little humility is in order. A wise man knows his environment. Any of the village lads could have helped you learn about rocks, plants, and various types of wood. That knowledge could save your life some day, and your ignorance nearly cost lives.”

  When Sebastian had his own guard sorted out, it appeared that there was a strict dichotomy between the guards who had been with him before Miss Doyle arrived and those who came later. The men who had been with him, including the now-demoted captain, Sebastian sent off to the barracks, along with the constables who seemed to be what they said they were.

  “Now, I’ll speak with the woman,” he said.

  As Sarah approached him, she hung her head. It was clear that she had been weeping. “I din’ mean to, Your Grace. I din’t. We wus just that near the edge. She slapped me, and I gave her a shove. I din’ mean to.”

  “Who are you, exactly?”

  “I’m Sarah. I’m an orphan Lady Tabitha took in as a sort of pet. She had me trained up as a lady’s maid. Said I could make a good living at it if I learned to talk right.”

  “Ordinarily, she would be right but I’m afraid you have forfeited your chance. Gentlemen,” he nodded to the village militia, “take her to the old winery. Don’t lock her in with the men. I’ll have to think what to do with her after I learn if her story is true.”

  Billy Bob was next. “So what is your story?” Sebastian asked.

  Billy Bob shrugged. “Makin’ a shillin’ or two. They’s a reward out for Lady Lillian. M’wife said she knew the bint, so’s we wou’n’t have no trouble knowin’ who she was.”

  “You will keep a civil tongue in your head when speaking of Miss Lillian.”

  Billy Bob snorted. “Why should I? She weren’t no better’n’ any high priced harlot proppin’ up a . . . .” he stopped at the sight of Sebastian’s glare, “gintlemun’s” reputation. She weren’t no more wife than a caged songbird, ‘cept the songbird would sing purtier.”

  Sebastian’s voice was surprisingly gentle. Indeed, he was surprised that he was able to maintain its mildness. “She was wed officially, was she not?”

  “Oh, aye. Had a big send-off. M’wife wuz just a little girl, bought up from the poorhouse to trail around after Lady Tabitha an’ make her look all charitable-like.”

  “Did Sarah often attend Lady Tabitha when she was entertaining?”

  “Nah. Onct she was tall enough and begun to fill out, she got put to work in the kitchen. ‘At’s when I met ‘er. Purty thing my Sarah, not quite right in the head.”

  Sebastian sighed. “Not quite right in the head” was a poor prognosis for any woman. He had visited the madhouse once when his father had gone there to retrieve a poor relation. Fortunately, the fellow was not violent, merely far more interested in incessantly playing piano than doing anything gainful. The late Duke had installed him in the old dower house where the old fellow made music all day long. He had finally died of malnutrition because he would scarcely leave his instrument long enough to eat.

  “What was your role in all this, Billy Bob?”

  “I ‘us to snatch ‘er, bring ‘er to Lady Tabitha.”

  “And then what was to happen?”

&
nbsp; Billy Bob shrugged. “No idee. Reckon probly off ‘er or turn ‘er over to the gaolers. Not my problem, really.”

  Sebastian sighed again. “Dungeon,” he told the militia man waiting for direction. “Isolate him. Search his pockets first. Don’t leave him so much as a spoon or a shoelace. Make sure he is well shackled, but with enough length on his chains for humanity’s sake.”

  The group shivering by the window was growing much smaller. “Bring me Inspector Michaels,” Sebastian said. “I need someone who can give me a better picture of what is going on here.”

  Inspector Michaels was shivering, having been drenched during the firefighting efforts. One sleeve of his uniform was burned, and he held that arm as if it hurt. The hair on that side of his head was singed, as well.

  “Well, Inspector, perhaps you can tell us your part of this sordid tale.”

  “Gladly, Your Grace. Three days ago, the Captain called me in and said that my brother, Constable John Michaels, was overdue for reporting in. He’d been sent to track Lady Lillian, who was suspected of murdering her husband. The trail was cold, but I was able to track my brother because our horses are usually stabled together. All I had to do was let my mount head after his, because she is a mare that my big fellow has claimed as his own. He takes a dim view of her going off without him.”

  Inspector Michaels swallowed. “Could I have something to drink? I breathed in a lot of smoke and my throat hurts.”

  Because the inspector was still shackled, at a nod from Sebastian, Evans poured half a cup of tea and held it for the man while he drank.

  The inspector then continued his narration. “I followed the trail to the top of the mountain. As I rode over the pass, I could see wildfire down below, and people passing back and forth in front of it as if they were trying to put it out. As I watched, someone hit me over the head, and I came to tied against a tree in the clearing by the sheepfold.”

  “So you were never in the valley?”

  “Not until today, Your Grace. Nor had I ever clapped eyes on Lady Lillian until my brother captured her, and we were shoved into the sheepfold with Sarah. Your Lady Lillian undid my hands and feet, so I was able to help when my brother and his lackeys made their move.”

  “I see. You know, Inspector, you tell a plausible tale, but I don’t quite trust you. Northwest tower.”

  “Northwest tower! But Your Grace,” the man on duty beside him protested, “It is freezing up there. And he is probably already suffering from exposure.”

  “Northwest tower. Take him a flask of tea, some biscuits, and warmed blankets. Ignite the fireplace in the room below. That will warm the chimney. And post a guard from the militia.”

  “Very good, Your Grace. It shall be as you have asked.” The militia man briskly strode away with Inspector Michaels.

  The next person to come before Sebastian was Constable Michaels, the brother who had been hanging around the castle for several weeks. “So. What is your story?”

  Constable Michaels shrugged. “Don’t have one, really. Came up here to investigate a murderess rumored to be in the area.”

  “The chance of earning a bounty had nothing to do with it?”

  “Might, a little. Constables don’ make much, an’ I didn’t get a lucky break like m’brother.”

  “Oh? Want to tell me about that?”

  “Not much to tell. He had a cute smile, so’s a parson lookin’ for a baby for ‘is childless wife picked him, an’ not me. We’us old enough to remember, but too young to have a say. I got picked by a gentleman of business, and got put to workin’ the streets.”

  “How did you wind up being a constable?”

  “My brother. He saw me. Said it was like looking into a cracked mirror at what could have been. Been livin’ at ‘is ‘ouse ever since.”

  “So this is how you repay him?”

  “Look,” said Constable Michaels, “Constables don’ make a lot of money. I was used to living high at least part of the time. There was a crime to be investigated. I went lookin’.”

  “What about your associate, Billy Bob?”

  “Billy Bob is a brother of the streets, Your Grace. He don’ look like much, an’ he don’ have a lot of book smarts. He’s all about Billy Bob and no one else. Nabbin’ a murderess and takin’ ‘er in for a reward just sounded like a chance to get back some of his own.”

  “And he isn’t particular about his methods.”

  “Well, no, Your Grace. You don’t exactly get particular on the streets.”

  “Were either of you aware that Lady Tabitha was the real murderess?”

  Constable Michaels mulled that over for a minute. “Might of. Specially since she was offerin’ the reward, an’ wasn’t like related to the deceased, as it were.”

  Sebastian didn’t like Constable Michaels very much. He wasn’t sure he liked Inspector Michaels. “Take the constable to the southeast tower. Same conditions as Inspector Michaels. Double the guard up there.”

  “Immediately, Your Grace,” said the village militia man, who didn’t seem any more impressed with the constable than Sebastian.

  Only the Captain who had come up from London was left. Sebastian eyed him warily as he was brought over.

  “Well?” asked Sebastian as the man stood before him.

  “First, I am deeply sorry for the terrible inconvenience to you and to Parkforton, Your Grace.”

  “Pretty words. But have you anything of substance to go with them?”

  “Your Grace, I have. But could it be possible for me to sit down and share a cup of tea with you as a civilized man? To some extent. Evans?”

  The captain gratefully sat down in the chair that was brought for him, “Thank you, Your Grace. I am afraid it is a far more tangled tale than can be told in a few short minutes.”

  Chapter 48

  Lillian was glad when the parsonage door closed behind them, shutting out the wind that was beginning to come up. The boys also seemed to be glad to be inside, for they immediately went to the fire, holding their chilled, muddy fingers to the fire.

  “I’ll put you in the guest room, Miss Lillian. It will take a little while to read-up the storeroom, so’s we’ll bed the youngsters down here in the sittin’ room whilst the Parson and I take care of that.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jamison. I’m sorry to trouble you this way.”

  “Think nothing of it. This is how it always is for a parson’s wife. We’ve always got an open door.”

  “Nonetheless . . .”

  “Don’t you be worryin’ about that, now. Come along, and let me get you into a clean nightgown. You must be tired to death what with one thing and another. Parson Jamison will see to the boys.”

  Lillian allowed herself to be led into a small room just off the sitting room. There was no fireplace in the room, but a slightly scorched smell advertised the presence of a warming pan and perhaps even a wrapped brick or two.

  Mrs. Jamison helped Lillian out of her soiled, wet wrap and nightdress. She then helped her use a bath flannel and basin of warm water to sponge off the mud. She even brought a bottle of oil that was sweetly scented with lavender.

  When Lillian commented on the lovely scent, Mrs. Jamison replied, “It will help you rest. Lavender has a wonderfully calming effect.”

  When the two ladies returned to the drawing room, the boys had also been helped into clean sleeping clothes.

  “I’d rather have reg’lar clothes and be up,” Nick protested to Lillian.

  “I know,” she replied gently. “But Parson and Mrs. Jamison do not have a wardrobe full of clothing to fit you. Besides, you have been up more than half the night, on top of being sick. It would be dreadful for your brother if you were to catch a chill on top of all the other things with which he is coping.”

  “I think I could use a nap,” Luke added, yawning. “But I won’t be able to sleep until I get something to eat. I’m hungry as three bears.”

  “To be sure you are,” Mrs. Jamison said. “I’ve not had time to make a
proper breakfast, but do you think you could get by on some pancakes and a bit of cambric tea?”

  “Oh, yes!” Luke said. Then remembering his manners, “Thank you very much, Mrs. Jamison.”

  The good lady made sure that all three of her guests had seats by the fire, then brought a wide pan, a bowl of batter that had the yeasty smell of sour dough, and a ball of butter. She buttered the pan, poured batter into it, and soon the room was filled with the delicious odor of fried bread.

  Lillian scarcely tasted the food. As soon as she had eaten a few bites, and drunk a little of the cambric tea, she felt warm, sleepy. and safe. She could wish for Sebastian to be there, but she knew that he had many duties. She hoped someone had thought to make their Duke some tea and given him a bite to eat.

 

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