by Gloria Cook
‘Good, but this means she and my uncle’s damned widow will be staying on instead of leaving tomorrow.’ Laketon banged one fist against the other. Blood and hell’s damnation! How could he have been so stupid as to allow Joshua to suffer for so long?
‘You’re all tense, my dear sir.’ Aaron put on a child’s voice and fluttered his exquisite eyelashes. ‘Would you like me to relieve you of that?’
‘Not now, you fool!’ Laketon ached to slap his simpering face. ‘You need to write a letter of apology to the squire, one that’s full of remorse. Do it quickly. The doctor will be expecting you to be dismissed. Tara Nankervis would already have done so if she wasn’t nervous of me. I’ll dictate the words.’
Aaron wasn’t happy with what he was forced to write down but accepted he had to take the responsibility for his master’s neglect. Laketon read it through, grunted in satisfaction and placed it on the youth’s pillow. ‘Pull up the window, I need some fresh air,’ he growled. He joined Aaron at the window. ‘Any sound of the doctor arriving?’
Aaron stuck his head outside, blinking through the drenching rain. ‘Not yet.’ He made to get back inside to shelter. The wind was fierce and battering against the side of his face.
Laketon put one hand on the youth’s collar and one on the seat of his breeches. ‘I’ve had enough of you, you loathsome frog.’
‘Sir? Laketon, what are you doing? Not here, please.’ Aaron felt the icy fingers of fear. He hated heights and the lantern-lit ground immediately below was swimming in crazy circles. ‘This isn’t what I like.’
‘You think I want to do that? God damn you, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing with Joshua so ill. What I want, Hobbs, is you out of my life and Joshua’s for good.’
Aaron realized Laketon’s intention. He opened his mouth to scream in terror. A violent wrench on his neck forbade it. His neck wasn’t broken and he didn’t lose consciousness, and he was fully aware of every terrifying second as he was sent plummeting to the ground.
His eyes glowing in dark ecstasy, Laketon smiled a sated smile. After a moment he dusted his hands and straightened his cuffs. ‘Off to hell with you, Hobbs. You’d better not have crushed my new bay shrubs.’
Fourteen
‘Here, girl! Missy! Missy, will you obey me? Come back!’ Kit threw a hand up in resignation. He had got over his dislike of dogs and had taken on a Burnt Oak lurcher puppy but he’d not got to grips yet with the training of the young bitch. He was riding to Burnt Oak, taking his time on a long way round that skirted the downs. The weather was dry, crisp and fresh, and after years of locking himself away in unhealthy atmospheres he took advantage of every moment to be outside. He had stopped several times to allow Missy to explore the bleak landscape of old gorse, ragged heather, sprawling brambles and wind-bent spindly trees, but now she was just in sight down in a dip sniffing and worrying at something and ignoring his calls.
Sighing light-heartedly, he dismounted the black stallion, also a recent acquisition, and pushed through the hostile growth which scratched his riding boots and snagged his riding breeches. Here and there his feet were twisted to the side by odd-shaped stones which threatened to sprain an ankle or unbalance him. He slithered in some places and sank an inch or two in soggy patches, making him fear he might have lumbered into a bog. ‘Missy! Come here, I say!’
He imagined his grandmother as if she was actually witnessing the scene, smiling softly at his impatience and ineptitude. She had a smile for everything he did or said. She seemed fascinated by all there was to know about him and she questioned him endlessly about his life, while listening to him intently without interrupting. It was a warm, amazing thing to have someone genuinely interested in him at last, who sought to understand and soothe him. He was beginning to believe that the woman he had hated so much, on whom he had planned revenge, had actually come to love him. He couldn’t say he loved her, not yet, but he liked her, approved of her and respected her and fully appreciated the comfort she lavished on him. Sometimes he thought he felt a glimmer of what it would be like to be a small child given a treat, a child who was cherished, and to feel the delight taken in its delight. He had never thought about getting married and raising a family, assuming his former unhealthy existence would burn him out and kill him while young. He had been sure he’d be unable to relate to a life of commitment. But perhaps if he did meet the right woman one day, someone who would be devoted to him, and they had a family, he’d make sure his children would know what real parental love and attention was all about.
‘Missy, what have you got there?’ The dog was fussing with and growling at what looked like a bundle of black rags. ‘Here, girl. Here!’
Missy was too absorbed in her find to heed him. Kit marched up the last few feet and pulled her away by the collar. Missy whined, eager to get back to sniffing and pawing the object. Kit crouched down for a closer look. What was so interesting about some old rags? He reached out and pulled on the black cloth. ‘Dear God!’ His guts gave a tremendous jolt. The cloth was a dress on the bones and remnants of flesh of a woman. She had been dead for some time. Some poor unfortunate, who had wandered in the wrong direction, got lost in the dark and had perished in the cold. There wasn’t much left of her; as well as the putrefaction, animals and crows had taken advantage of the carrion.
Missy rounded him and began investigating the body again. Kit tried to ease her away. ‘No, Missy, leave it!’ The dog had one of the corpse’s arms in its mouth and was tugging on it. Kit saw something down on the dark flattened ground where the arm had been. It was a leather pouch and with it was something that glinted in the sharp winter sunlight. He picked them up. The pouch chinked, it obviously had coins in it. He rubbed the dirt off the other item. It was an exquisite piece of jewellery, a topaz and silver pendant. It seemed the dead creature had been a thief, fleeing with her pickings.
He knew whose body it was. Dinah Greep, the girl who had attacked Sarah and stolen her money and her most precious belonging. He got up and slipped the pendant into his coat pocket.
‘Leave, Missy!’ This time he got the right authority into his voice and Missy dropped the skeletal arm, which fell down with a flop, the bones loosening from shoulder to the smallest finger joint. Missy sat at his side, fidgeting sheepishly. So after running off into the night Dinah Greep had come to grief. From Sarah’s statement, the girl had been seized by madness. She had died lost and alone. Kit shook his head. Apparently, there had been no need for the girl to cheat and steal. She’d had a roof over her head, had never starved, and had lived under the protection of a kind and God-fearing brother. Yet she had become bitter and envious, the two most self-harming of emotions, which all too easily led to hatred and instability. He had come so close to a wretched end himself.
He owed Dinah Greep nothing. If he had seen her when alive he would have demanded she was hanged for attempting to murder Sarah. She had tried to maim her brother’s babies. She had been rotten right through. But he couldn’t just leave her like this. Something had made the girl, just sixteen years of age, bitter and vengeful. She had probably had a distressing story to tell. The weather was turning damp, the wind was getting keen and ruffling his hair and chilling his face. He cared not for his discomfort but for the girl’s dignity. Taking off his coat he laid it over her body.
He rode for the village to seek the Greep home. Afterwards he would leave Missy at Burnt Oak and go on to Poltraze. Sadly, Tara Nankervis did not welcome him there but he now had a reason to go to Sarah, to return her treasured property. Perhaps her friend would see him in a kinder light.
‘I have urgent business with Miss Sarah Hichens,’ he breathed down on the butler’s scrawny frame at the entrance of the grim place. ‘I’m sure that in the circumstances Mrs Nankervis will allow me entrance.’
‘I’ll enquire for you, sir,’ Fawcett intoned, as grave as a judge and as haughty as a duke.
‘Be quick about it,’ Kit snapped. Damnable little prig, if he narrowed his eyes any tighter he wouldn
’t be able to see at all. If Kit was master of this house the pompous flunkey would be turned out with a strategically placed boot. ‘I’ll wait in the hall.’
Sarah was on her way down the stairs, carrying a basket overflowing with materials and lace. ‘Kit! This is a pleasant surprise.’ She hastened her steps.
‘Hello, Sarah, my dear.’ He came to the foot of the stairs and gazed up at her. How well she looked. More than that, she was as lovely as a spring day. Her raven-black hair was pinned up with ringlets about her ears. She seemed content but he hoped she wouldn’t dry up in this gloomy environment. She had gained her freedom and dignity and she should always stay that way. He leaned his head to the side and brought his fingers up to his chin. He could picture Sarah running barefoot through a meadow, a daisy chain circling her long flowing tresses, and dancing beside a stream. It made him smile deeply; he had never been given to romanticism before.
Tara came out of the winter parlour to meet Sarah. They were there busy making scented gifts for her next fundraising event. Her hand holding up yards of trailing ribbon fell to her side. Kit Woodburne was there and he and Sarah were smiling at each other, obviously firm friends and perhaps more. There was no denying they would make a handsome couple. No! She couldn’t lose Sarah’s companionship so soon, not now she was forced to stay here and oversee Joshua’s nursing. He was still debilitated from the pneumonia. It would have been easy to desert him, but how could she after he had begged her not to leave him, grasping her sleeve so tightly it had left a weal in her arm. He was like a helpless child, heartbroken over the suicide of his valet, who had rightly been full of shame over his master’s decline. He was terrified of Laketon Kivell. ‘Don’t let him near me again, Tara. I can hardly bear another day.’
She had engaged a nurse, a formidable-looking woman of masculine build and a manner fit for a navvy. She excelled at her job and was loyal to her charge and to Tara. ‘Don’t leave Mr Nankervis for a minute,’ she had ordered. ‘I’ll relieve you twice a day.’ Thankfully, at the moment Kivell was keeping low. He sent Joshua caring messages and kept his visits brief. She had lain awake night after night pondering on how Poltraze could be rid of the loathsome man, even to arranging for an assassin to dispose of him, but every option seemed either futile or too dangerous. Kivell was deadly in his intelligence. He was keeping a close watch on the house and seemed to anticipate all that went on. Now she was suffering another Kivell in all but name under her roof.
‘Mr Woodburne,’ Tara said coolly, after dismissing the hovering Fawcett. Kit Woodburne’s closeness to Sarah was going to cause gossip in the servants’ hall. ‘I take it you are here on some business or other with Sarah?’
‘Good morning to you, Mrs Nankervis. Yes, I have some news for her.’
‘What possible news could you have that would interest Sarah?’
Kit was disappointed with the frosty reception but not for his own sake. It was a pity the lady’s stifled life was making her cold and unfriendly. She was as fair as a snowdrop, as delicate as thistledown, but a continuing unfair fate would inevitably lead to her making a frosted shadow of herself. Serious now, he turned to Sarah, who had descended the stairs and was facing him. ‘If we could go somewhere to talk …’
‘Is it something dreadful?’ Frown lines creased Sarah’s brow.
‘Yes, it is really, but you have nothing to worry about. It concerns the money and property stolen from you.’
‘You had better come into the winter parlour,’ Tara said, before Sarah could reply.
Sarah dropped the basket on the table where she and Tara had been sewing. The room was filled with the scent of rose potpourri. She looked expectantly at Kit.
First, Kit glanced at Tara. She was close beside Sarah, her hands folded in front of her slender waist, her expression grim. She made her dislike of him obvious. Sarah was the only one to light up her day and she begrudged giving away even a few moments of her time to others. ‘A short while ago while riding by the downs I happened to come across the body of a girl. There’s no doubt it was Dinah Greep, and I discovered your money and pendant under her body.’ He produced the items from his coat pockets.
‘My pendant!’ Ignoring the pouch of money, which held little importance to her, she took the pendant from him. ‘Thank you, Kit. This is the best thing ever.’
‘It was good of you to bring it to Sarah straightaway, Mr Woodburne,’ Tara said, delighted for her. ‘Don’t put it on now, Sarah. It needs to be cleaned properly. It’s a really beautiful piece.’
Laughing, Sarah went to a window for clearer light, studying the pendant in the palm of her hand. Having it back was like having part of Tabbie with her again.
Tara started to follow her. Kit saw this for what it was meant to be, a dismissal of him. He wasn’t having that. She should at least be polite to him. He stepped into her path, ignoring her irritation. ‘I was sorry to hear about Mr Nankervis succumbing to illness. I do hope he is progressing well.’
Tara held herself stiff and formal. Insolent man, how dare he act as if an equal, his subterfuge gave him no right to authority. Apparently, he had been called on at Trengrove House by some curious socialites, but only because he was attractive and rich and would have a fine new house by the end of the year. He had made a good impression on some silly females who’d reported he was a gentleman of charm – contrived charm they would have seen if they didn’t have feathers for brains. Again, because he was rich, men of business and speculators had been sniffing round him. He would, no doubt, be putting money into the mining ventures. ‘He is. Thank you for your enquiry.’
‘Would there be an opportunity to see him for a few minutes? I would so like to meet him.’
‘My husband is still confined to his room.’
‘I am sorry to hear that.’
‘How did she die?’ Sarah rejoined them, shivering at the memory of the terrifying night of the attack. ‘Have you any idea, Kit?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Kit’s mind fought to unscramble her words for he was so absorbed in Tara. ‘Oh, the girl … I should say she got lost and perished during that very same night. Her brother and one of the parish constables will have collected her body by now.’
‘You went to the Greeps’ cottage?’ Sarah asked.
‘Well, yes, it seemed the decent thing to do.’
‘That was very thoughtful of you,’ Sarah replied with admiration, glancing at Tara to include her in the comment, aware that her friend hated Kit being here.
Tara nodded. It was a thoughtful act. Kit Woodburne had some kindness in him. In the circumstances, rather than going to a lowly cottage to inform the kin, many a gentleman would have informed the first person he met of his find and forgotten about the matter. It was what Michael would have done. Joshua would have gone to the Greeps’, albeit a little reluctantly. Joshua had been a good man in the old days. He had comforted Amy when her younger brother had been found dead in Poltraze woods. It was only since the beast Laketon Kivell had tightened his hold over him that he had become weak and hard-hearted. She hated seeing him so scared and defeated.
‘You must know the family, Sarah. How do you feel about the girl’s death?’ Kit said.
‘Jeb Greep is one of the kindest, most genuine people I’ve ever known.’ As for Dinah Greep, she couldn’t be wholly unforgiving now her life was so much better. Poltraze had dejection overhanging it but she had found a lot in its merit. It was good to have formed a close friendship with Tara and she got on well with Rosa Grace. ‘I suppose I feel sorry more than anything for Dinah. Jeb will be relieved to be able to lay her to rest.’
There was silence. Sarah would like to invite Kit to sit down but felt it wasn’t her place to.
He said, ‘You have not been to Burnt Oak since you moved in here, Sarah. Grandmama Tempest misses you. And so does Jowan. He asked me to pass on his regards if I saw you before he did.’
‘I haven’t forgotten them. Actually I’ll be seeing Jowan later in the week. He’s going to do so
me work in the house.’
Silence fell again, longer this time. Tara knew her inhospitality was out of order. Kit Woodburne was here for a legitimate reason, on an act of kindness. She shouldn’t continue to be churlish, and she had promised Sarah she would always make her feel comfortable here. ‘Would you care for some tea, Mr Woodburne?’
Kit raised a careless eyebrow – Tara Nankervis deserved to be teased. If he flirted with her no doubt she would grow as cold as iron. It was tempting, but poor Sarah was feeling awkward enough. ‘That would be delightful, Mrs Nankervis.’
‘How are you finding it here, Sarah?’ he asked when they were all seated about the dark wood fireplace. ‘I hope the servants are being respectful towards you.’
‘It’s like living in a different world.’ She was gazing at the pendant; none of the wonders here matched it for its sheer simple beauty. ‘I’m getting quite used to all the changes. As I’ve told Mrs Nankervis, there are some creepy places. The Long Corridor is definitely haunted. I’m convinced I saw a shadowy figure flitting along there on my second day here. It gave me goosepimples all over. Most of the servants don’t know what to make of me but I don’t mind them. There’s only one fly in the ointment here, a very big nasty one.’
‘The disdainful butler, I dare say.’
‘Not him, I think he’s rather funny.’
‘Who is it, then?’ Tara asked, determined to know even her friend’s smallest thoughts. ‘Mr Michael Nankervis? His fiancée, Miss Phillipps? Have they been rude to you?’
‘No, I’ve only seen them from a distance. I was talking about Laketon Kivell, that devil who is terrifying the house.’
‘Sarah! You should not say such things in front of outsiders.’ Tara was vexed and blushed, embarrassed.
‘Kit is not an outsider, he’s my friend.’ Sarah shrugged. ‘It doesn’t alter the fact that Laketon Kivell is all but running things here and there’s no one who can stop him.’