An Earl To Remember

by Jasmine Ashford

  “Oh, thank you!” Evelyn beamed. She did not need to feign her enthusiasm.

  “Not at all, my dear. Not at all. When she returns with tea, we will tell her she should go with you. Is it just this afternoon? Or should you need help for longer?”

  “Just this afternoon,” Evelyn confirmed. I hope, she thought. However, in truth, this afternoon was all she had. Tomorrow, Barrett would be demanding her attention. Today was the only day she might have some time to talk.

  The earl and Evelyn sat and talked a while, and then Rebecca appeared with the tea.

  “Rebecca?” Lord Tallinn said, “I have told Lady Evelyn you would be able to serve her this afternoon. If you could pack some things – whatever you think you need – and accompany her back to her lodging when she goes?”

  “Very good, my lord,” Rebecca said, curtseying.

  “Thank you,” Evelyn said when she had gone. Her heart soared. She had the closest person to an eyewitness right here, and she could ask her questions in the carriage, without fear of being overheard! It was a gift.

  “Don't even mention it,” he beamed.

  They sat and talked together, drinking tea and sampling the delicious jam-filled tart, and then it was midday, and time for Evelyn to leave.

  She curtseyed her farewells, feeling a pang of sadness as she left the study and the old man, who was still sitting by the fire. Not only because he was so familiar to her, so much a part of her early, half-forgotten childhood, but also, now, because of Lady Brokeridge.

  I have so many reasons to find the truth, Evelyn vowed.

  She and Rebecca waited on the front steps for Preston to return with the carriage, the wind fitful and cold around them. Evelyn was very pleased to get in when he arrived.

  “Rebecca?” she said, facing the slim-faced woman with the graying locks of red-brown hair. “I am Lady Evelyn, and there are some things I would like to ask you, if I may? It regards your previous employment at Brokeridge Manor.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  REBECCA’S INFORMATION

  REBECCA’S INFORMATION

  Rebecca and Evelyn faced each other in the carriage, driving smoothly through the London streets. Rebecca's face fell.

  “I don't want to remember it,” Rebecca began. “I don't want to talk about it.”

  “Take your time,” Evelyn said gently. She winced as Preston jolted the carriage over a bump, not wanting to make any sudden moves that would disturb the frightened woman.

  “What if he finds out? Why should I trust you?” Rebecca said, and then tensed. “Sorry, my lady. I did not mean to insult you by saying that. I just...I'm afraid.” She looked up at Evelyn with wide, frightened eyes.

  “No need for an apology,” Evelyn said gently. “Who are you so afraid of?”

  “Lord Brokeridge. Lady Euphemia's husband.” Rebecca whispered the name, looking down. It was as if even saying it might draw some horrible vengeance down on her.

  Evelyn shuddered. “Why are you so afraid of him?” she asked.

  “He's wicked!” the woman said shrilly. “Sorry, milady. I didn't mean to shout. I just wish the man would burn in hell, as he does deserve.” When she faced Evelyn, her brown eyes burned with fervent anger.

  “Why?” Evelyn asked gently.

  “He made her so afraid,” Rebecca whispered. “Poor, sweet lady! I never saw my lady like she was there. And I know he is responsible for her death.”

  Evelyn blinked. “You do?”

  They were rolling out of town now, nearing the estate. Evelyn sat back, awed. She should have done this ages ago! She had wasted so much time when all she had to do was ask Rebecca.

  “I do,” Rebecca said firmly. “Whether he actually did it or whether he made her so ill she died, I don't know. I only know there was nothing wrong with her before she married. Then she changed.”

  “How?” Evelyn asked.

  “She kept to herself. Never left her chambers. I had to fetch her everything, take care of her. She didn't want to attend balls and parties, but he insisted and she was the Duchess – she had to. Wasn't proper to stay at home when he went out, see?”

  Evelyn nodded. “Was she too sick to attend?”

  “I don't think she was sick,” Rebecca said hesitantly. “Though she was so very tired all the time, and her back ached. Yet she could not sleep. She seemed to be in the grip of some terrible melancholy, which nothing could shake.”

  Evelyn nodded. The cook had told her the same thing. “You think she was afraid of her husband?” she asked carefully.

  “I don't know,” the woman confessed. “I do not see what else it could have been, mind. But she was never clear about what frightened her. She just removed herself more and more from everyday life.”

  “Did the doctor say she was ill?” Evelyn asked. As she said it, she remembered that the doctor had been sent away shortly after he examined the body. He knew too much, she thought grimly.

  “The doctor saw her once, and couldn't say there was anything wrong with her. She felt poorly, but no one could say why, or what caused it. It was strange.”

  The carriage was heading down the drive now, and Evelyn tensed. Soon they would be at the manor. She had to try and conclude this conversation before she could be heard.

  “You say your mistress seemed unhappy in the months before her death. You do not think that maybe...she took her own life because of it?” she asked carefully.

  “I do not,” Rebecca insisted. “That is what everyone else did say, and I think they all believe it. I don't. I think someone brought about her death. That's what her father, my lord Tallinn, thinks too.”

  “But how?” Evelyn asked gently.

  “Witchcraft,” the woman whispered. She looked quite frightened. “The family is the spawn of evil. Everyone knows that.”

  Evelyn shook her head. That did not explain it. “Did you see the body?” she asked directly.

  The woman stared at her. “No,” she said. “No I did not. It wouldn't have been proper. The sisters at the convent prepared her for her burial, and I sat with her a while after. But I never saw her before she was shrouded, no.”

  So she could have had any marks on her – it could have been obvious how she died. And no one would know.

  “Thank you, Rebecca,” Evelyn said gratefully. “I know this is not something you wish to remember, and I thank you for sharing this with me.”

  At that moment, Mr. Preston came to the door. He opened it and helped Evelyn down, and then Rebecca. The moment Rebecca was in the drive, she froze. “I'm not going in there,” she said. “Not for all the money on Earth would I cross that threshold.”

  Evelyn reached out a hand to her, feeling worried. “It is safe, Rebecca, I promise. At least come into the kitchen. You should warm yourself and have some tea before you return home.”

  “No!” Rebecca insisted. She pulled her arm out of Evelyn's grasp and ran wildly back toward where Mr. Preston was heading for the stables. “No!” she shouted.

  Evelyn bit her lip. Anyone in the house might have heard her – the shout was loud enough to echo off the high stone walls of the mansion. All they would have to do is look out of the window and see her, and they would know at once that Evelyn was investigating the death.

  “Rebecca!” she whispered a little desperately. She walked toward the stables, but she saw that Mr. Preston was comforting the woman already. She walked more slowly. “Mr. Preston,” she said as he held the terrified woman in a sheltering hug. “Please, if you could? Take Rebecca home.”

  “Of course, my lady,” he said. He looked at Evelyn a little strangely, as if angry with her for causing Rebecca such distress, but he was respectful as he bowed and turned away. With a long-suffering air, he turned the carriage to face the gate again, then climbed back down and, very gently, helped Rebecca up into the coach. He closed the door and, inclining his hat toward Evelyn in farewell, climbed up to his seat and headed for the gates.

  Evelyn stood in the drive watching them go. The
n, tense with worry, she walked toward the house. She had found out more than she wished to know. Now she knew who the killer was.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  DANGER

  DANGER

  Evelyn headed up to her bedchamber, heart pounding.

  I know who it was who killed her, she thought, feeling frozen with shock. There were still missing pieces, but she was almost completely certain now that she knew. All she needed to do was prove it.

  I need to find the weapon.

  Evelyn looked around, listening for noises. She could hear no one. Barrett's party was probably still out, and who knew where Lord Brokeridge himself might be?

  If he hid something anywhere, it would be in his bedroom, or his study. I know it. She wished she knew where he was! In addition, she wished she knew where his chambers were! She had been shown none of the family's private quarters.

  She guessed they were somewhere close to Lady Brokeridge's and Barrett's own, but there was nothing else on this floor. As the butler passed in the hallway, she had a thought.

  “Rawling?”

  “Yes, milady?”

  “Is Lord Barrett in his chambers?”

  “No, milady. Why do you ask?”

  “I...” She paused, and then smiled winningly. “I wanted to leave a poem on his pillow.” She did not need to feign a blush.

  Rawling smiled. “I could take it there for you?”

  “Oh, no...” Evelyn wrung her hands in her skirt, pretending girlish shyness. “I just...I don't want anyone to read it.”

  Rawling nodded and in an instant became her co-conspirator. “Well, then, my lady. If you will permit me, I shall take you there. His lordship is out, and Lord Brokeridge is at the stables. It should not take long,” he said and grinned at her.

  “Oh, thank you!” Evelyn breathed. She followed him up the passageway and to the stairs, heart thumping.

  The next level of the house was more imposing than the one she was on, with a blue-veined marble landing and parquet floors. She followed the butler down the passageway, past a suite with an impressive oak door.

  “Those are the earl's chambers,” he said, inclining his head to the doors. Evelyn swallowed. She would have to be braver than she could ever imagine to go there. “And here are his son's.”

  Evelyn stood in the doorway of the room. She breathed in the scent of musk and cloves and felt a pain in her heart. It was so strange, so intimate. She looked at the bed, a canopied construction with a blue satiny bed-cover.

  “In you go, my lady,” the butler smiled at her. Evelyn swallowed and nodded.

  “In I go.”

  She slid in and left a piece of folded parchment on the pillow, intending to come back and remove it later. There was nothing written on it – it was simply a blank page torn from her notebook.

  She slipped out and followed the butler back down the hallway.

  When he left her at the foot of the stairs, she counted to ten, then, taking her courage in both hands, slipped up the stairway again.

  His lordship is at the stables. I might only have minutes to check his rooms.

  Evelyn stood in the doorway, heart pounding. He could be in there. She considered knocking at the door, but dismissed the idea as preposterous – what would she do if he answered? Say she was looking for the privy, and thought it might be located behind the most magnificent oak doors she had ever seen?

  Mr. Rawling said he was at the stables. I can see them from that window. She walked quickly and silently to the window at the end of the hall. He was there – she could see a black-clad gentleman talking to a groom.

  Shaking with fear, she went to the door and lifted the latch. It was unlocked. She crossed the threshold and closed the heavy door behind her.

  The room was large and the floor wood, the little sections of parquet cut in triangles and arranged to make a radiating pattern from the center of the room outwards. It was beautiful. A vast bed filled up space against one wall, the coverlet strangely spartan. The whole room was, in fact, austere. Even the curtains were a plain grayish-green, though they were velvet. Evelyn looked at the window and froze.

  The curtain tie-backs did not match.

  One was a rope of green velvet. The other was a silken cord. Exactly like the one in Lady Brokeridge's room. The missing one.

  Evelyn grabbed it, taking it from the hook. She held it up to her eyes, looking at the tiny silken cords, her heart beating. They were frayed in the center.

  This is the murder weapon.

  Heart pounding, Evelyn put it in the pocket of her coat. She did not know if her instinct was to cry or simply to be very quiet. She had solved the mystery. It happened sixteen years before, but she knew now how Lady Brokeridge had died.

  He strangled her with the curtain tie-back.

  It explained everything. Why Lord Brokeridge himself discovered the body. Why the doctor was dismissed. Why Rebecca never saw the body.

  Evelyn finally understood, and that understanding was a terrible thing. A terrifying duty.

  Patting her pocket to make sure the tieback was there, Evelyn walked quickly and lightly out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  In her chamber, Evelyn took the tie from her pocket and hid its silken length in her trunk, with her clothing. She hated the idea of even touching it – it was a weapon, despite its soft appearance. It had choked Lady Brokeridge's breath from her body. The thought was horrible.

  Heart pounding, Evelyn sat at her desk, composing her thoughts. She had taken out her notebook and wrote down her final conclusion.

  Lord Brokeridge murdered his wife by strangulation.

  There were still some elements that did not quite fit: what had made her so ill in the months before her death? Why was she so frightened? Moreover, what, after all, was the motive –money was the only one Evelyn could think of.

  She scattered sand on the page to dry the ink, settling her thoughts.

  As she did so, she heard the door open. She froze, terrified.

  “Lady Evelyn?”

  It was him. Lord Brokeridge. Evelyn stood and stared at him, feeling like a deer about to be hunted. “Yes?”

  “You look startled,” he said smoothly.

  “I'm not startled,” Evelyn said quickly, then, when he gave her an odd look, amended it. “I was merely surprised to see you. I...I had thought you were also in town,” she lied.

  “Usually, I am,” he said silkily. “Today my associates were all busy elsewhere, and I found myself with nothing better to do with my time than peruse the library. I suppose my son has taken you there?”

  “Yes,” Evelyn stammered. “He has.”

  “Good. And you found nothing there of interest? I am sure you snooped about it most assiduously,” he added.

  Evelyn blinked. All her nerves tingled and told her she should run, now, while she still could. “Pardon me, Lord Brokeridge?” she said instead.

  “Forgive me,” he said evenly. “You do not snoop. You merely perused the shelves, as I did earlier.”

  “Y...yes, my lord,” Evelyn agreed. She nodded and turned, looking for an escape.

  “You are far too nervous, dear lady,” Lord Brokeridge continued smoothly. “I merely came to tell you that my son is...delayed in town. I am all alone in the house and thought you might care to join me for tea. It seems appropriate – my son is courting you, after all, so you and I should make each other’s acquaintance, yes?”

  “Thank you, Lord Brokeridge,” she murmured. Inwardly, she was afraid. She recalled his words. You snooped assiduously. He knew. This meant he probably knew she had reached the only obvious conclusion.

  I wonder if Mother received the letter I sent, she thought, shivering. If she had, then she should be here soon. I hope it is soon enough. She thought Lord Brokeridge might try to kill her.

  “Well, then. If that is settled, I shall go and find Rawling and tell him to set out tea in the parlor.”

  “Thank you, my lord. That would be pleasant,” Evelyn force
d herself to say. She was amazed at how calm she could pretend to be. She bobbed a curtsey as he walked to the door, and heard him calling Rawling. She looked about wildly. She almost considered climbing out of the windows and escaping, but they were on the second floor. Besides, there was no time. He had already returned from the corridor and was facing her expectantly.

  “Tea is set, my dear lady,” he said smoothly. “I had thought we could take it to the upper parlor? We have a lovely view of the grounds there at this time, now that the sun is coming out,” he added warmly.

  Evelyn shuddered. He was being far too friendly. What was going on? Still trying to suppress the sense that she was about to be killed, she inclined her head politely. “That sounds lovely, my lord. Thank you.” Inwardly, she could barely believe she was being so icily polite. Her mother's teaching on etiquette must have been bored into her skull if she could even maintain it in this situation!

  “My lady! You look happier. You had an amusing notion?” he said solicitously, seeing a wan smile cross her lips.

  “N...no,” Evelyn said shakily. They were heading down the corridor, toward a room Evelyn had not entered before. They must have arrived on the uppermost floor of the house without her noticing. She was not surprised she had climbed stairs without noting it – she was terrified beyond belief. “I was just relieved at the notion of tea – I missed luncheon.”

  “Oh? Well, then, I am glad Cook always supplies some generously proportioned pastries.”

  “That is nice. Your cook is excellent,” Evelyn said faintly.

  “I agree.”

  “She has worked for you long?” Evelyn asked, walking before him into the parlor and sitting on one of the red-and-green embroidered wing-backs.

  The room was indeed warm, sunshine streaming in through the floor-length windows. The walls were silk-covered and the curtains were patterned chintz, the patterns red and green.