“This is not going to be very discreet,” Allan said. “I had envisaged one man, a lawyer, easily explained, who would ask casual questions of the footmen, that sort of thing. But formal interviews… You will not interview my mother, will you?”
“If she was in the house at the relevant time, yes, my lord.”
Allan thought about that, then grinned. “I wish you good fortune with that, Mr Willerton-Forbes. And you will interview me?”
“You must be first on the list, my lord.”
“How so? Oh, because I am the most likely person to have murdered my wife, of course.”
Willerton-Forbes smiled. “Not at all, or at least, not solely for that reason. You must be first to demonstrate that there is no favouritism, and to ensure that no one refuses to cooperate. If the Earl of Brackenwood agrees to be interviewed, then the housemaids cannot object. Or the dowager.”
Allan nodded, taking the point. “You seem to have a well-considered plan of campaign. It will be very disruptive, however.”
“My lord, we will proceed according your instructions. Only you can decide how thorough an investigation you want. If it turns out that your wife truly was murdered, are you prepared for the consequences of that?”
“Of course, but you see, I do not for one moment imagine that there was anything untoward in her death. Who would murder her? I am the only person who stood to benefit from her death, and I know that I did not harm her, so I have no fear that you will uncover any unpleasantness.”
“Then may we undertake to investigate, in whatever manner we see fit?”
“You may investigate,” Allan said. “We will discuss your approach as we drive north. We will leave London on Monday next, gentlemen.”
~~~~~
The travelling party was a rather larger one than had made its way south. Allan shared his coach with Willerton-Forbes, Edgerton and George, while Neate travelled in a post-chaise with the two valets and most of the luggage. This made for an impressive arrival at inns, and since Willerton-Forbes strutted about in his London finery with the dashing Captain Edgerton at his side, one of the two would be sure to be mistaken for the earl, while Allan was happy to trail inconspicuously in their wake.
“All this deference is most soothing to the spirit,” Willerton-Forbes said, as a waiter reversed out of their private parlour bent almost double. “I like it very much. It makes one begin to think of murder oneself. If only I had not five older brothers, and if only I liked them less well! Fraternal affection is a great hindrance to advancement.”
“It is the very devil being a younger son,” Allan said, smiling.
“It is worse being a nobody of a cousin,” George said, for once not catching the light mood of the others. “One is neither one thing nor the other. I cannot pursue a career until I am safely supplanted by a son or two, yet I cannot comfortably live the life of a gentleman.”
“Oh, are you the heir?” Edgerton said. “I did not realise. Well, you must do as I did, and marry a woman of fortune, Skelton. The Honourable Miss Lucinda Willerton-Forbes and her dowry of fifteen thousand pounds are even now in my tender care.”
Willerton-Forbes laughed. “Do not pretend that you only married Luce for her money, Michael, for I know the truth of the matter.”
“Of course I did not, but it is not done to admit to a fondness for one’s wife. How gauche that would be!”
With such light-hearted companions, the journey could not fail to be pleasant. During the day, they discussed the strategy for the investigation, and in the evenings they played whist for half-crown points, while Edgerton entertained them with an inexhaustible supply of diverting stories. Neate, who was acting as valet for Willerton-Forbes, ate in the tap room with the other valets, a role he would also play at Charlsby.
“One never knows when the servants might talk indiscreetly,” Willerton-Forbes said. “A pair of ears below stairs is very useful, and no one would ever take James for a lawyer. He makes a most convincing valet. His father was one for many years, so he knows the ropes.”
The days passed in this agreeable manner, and when there was no other entertainment offered, Allan could watch the green fields and woods of England pass by, all in their summer splendour, and be glad he had left the smoky skies and bustle of London behind, and was going home, and would soon see Annabelle again.
Charlsby slumbered under the summer sun. The servants rushed out to greet their arrival, the guests were taken to their rooms to unpack and rest, and Allan was left standing in the hall, his dogs bouncing enthusiastically about him.
“Is her ladyship in the morning room, Plessey?”
“No, my lord. Her ladyship has gone to Chester for the day.”
“And… do we have any other guests in the house?”
“Only Mrs Pargeter, my lord, who has gone out in the barouche with Mr Cross.”
“With Mr Cross? At least that means there cannot be any urgent business matters requiring immediate attention. I shall go out for a walk, Plessey. The woods are so fine at this time of year, and London has no pleasures so appealing as my own estate on a summer’s day.”
“Very well, my lord. I expect it will be an hour or more before the gentlemen are downstairs again.”
An hour. Long enough to fill his lungs with clean air and soothe his mind with the quiet rustle of greenery above him, the crunch of last year’s leaves under his boots and the gentle murmur of the birds. He strode out of the house again, the dogs at his heels, and across the lawn and deer park. Only when he reached the fringes of the woods did he pause, and look back across the grounds to the house. His house and his home. He had never lived anywhere else, and could not imagine doing so. Apart from school and his brief stint in the army, he had never been away from Charlsby for more than a fortnight at a time. It made him feel at ease in a way that nowhere else did, and certainly not London, where he fitted in as well as a sparrow amongst peacocks.
There was a massive and very old oak tree just here, with a seat around its trunk, and here he sat as the dogs chased butterflies attracted by the wildflowers in the meadow. He could just see the schoolroom windows, and wondered whether she were in there at that moment, talking French to the girls, or guiding their fingers on the keys of the pianoforte, or watching them walk slowly round the room with wooden rings balanced on their heads to perfect their deportment. His mind brought her sweet face vividly into view, with its softly rounded cheeks, her lips as luscious as strawberries and her hair curling about the nape of her white neck. Annabelle. Delightful Annabelle. How he had missed her! Tonight he would see her again, and perhaps, since all the other guests had gone, he could have the pleasure of inviting her to sit by his side. But no, for Marisa would expect that privilege.
A heavy sigh escaped him. He was getting into deep water with Annabelle. No… Miss Winterton… he must keep reminding himself that she was Miss Winterton. He had made a fool of himself, had proposed marriage in recompense and she had turned him down. She was still in love with that Keeling fellow, however unworthy of her regard he might be. She was not likely to soothe her broken heart with a dull fellow like Allan, that much was certain, however much he might long for her.
Besides, she was a governess and he was an earl and, as Robin Dalton had pointed out, he could do much better than a governess, and better even than Miss Winterton of Woodside. He ought to forget about her, for he should be thinking of the daughter of an earl, at least, and one with twenty or thirty thousand pounds to her name. That was the proper thing to do, if he were minded to remarry. Perhaps he should appear at the assemblies in Chester again, or go back to London in the autumn and try his luck. Or Bath, perhaps. That was a good place to find a suitable wife, and less dreadful than London. Or there was always his friend Carrbridge, whose matchmaking wife might be able to fix him up.
Or he could do nothing, and leave George to inherit. Yes, perhaps that was best, because if he could not have Annabelle, he had no wish to lock himself into another cold, loveless marriage.
He must forget about her—
There she was! Down in the meadow, her bonnet shading her face as she picked wild flowers. His heart lurched painfully. She was coming towards him, quite unaware of his presence yet. Bending down to pet the dogs, she was smiling so enchantingly that all his resolutions went out of his head instantly.
It was no good — how could he contemplate giving her up, when he was head over heels in love with her?
14: Of Mistletoe
He stood, and the movement drew her gaze. She smiled and waved to him, and his heart lurched even more. Oh dear Lord, she was so open and artless and friendly, with not one whit of consciousness in her face as she hurried up the slope towards him. What was his own face displaying? Everything, he supposed, but perhaps she noticed nothing for her smile never faltered.
“I should have guessed it was you,” she said. “The dogs are never so happy when the groom takes them out.”
“Miss Winterton.” He bowed, and belatedly she remembered to curtsy to him. “I need not ask if you are well, for I can see that the summer air suits you. But you are alone — where are my daughters today?”
“The dowager countess has taken them to Chester to obtain materials for gowns for them. Their half mourning gowns are too heavy for this warmer weather.”
“And you did not wish to go with them? You have excellent taste in sartorial matters, and could have advised Mother. She rarely ventures into the higher levels of society these days, so her notions of fashion are rather dated.”
Annabelle smiled but shook her head. “Oh, that would never do! The governess putting forward her opinions against those of a countess? No, indeed, I should not attempt it.” She sat down on the bench, and patted the seat for him to sit too, in the most companionable way. “But tell me of your travels. Was London quite horrid? It is the most miserable place in the world in hot weather, in my opinion.”
They talked of London, and the three men he had brought back with him to undertake the investigation, and then he told her of George and his infatuation with the Lady Grace Bucknell, and she was so sympathetic and understanding that he was overwhelmed by love for her.
“Miss Winterton,” he said, too enthralled to be careful in his speech to her, “I wonder if you know your danger in sitting here with me.”
She tipped her head on one side, smiling. “I am not afraid of you.”
“We are sat beneath the boughs of one of the oldest oak trees on the estate.”
“It is a fine tree indeed,” she said. “No one could say otherwise.”
“Then we are agreed. But this oak tree has one very special peculiarity, very rare in these parts.” He pointed upwards. “It is one of very few whereon grows the mistletoe.” He pointed upwards. “And I am still desirous of that kiss I was so unfortunate as to be deprived of on an earlier occasion.”
She shifted herself a foot or so further from him, but she was laughing, not at all discomfited. “Is it not enough, my lord, that I must endure the dalliance of the persistent Mr Cross without becoming the target of your flirtation also?”
“Why do you suppose I must be flirting with you?” he said, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
“Because the alternatives are worse,” she said at once, the smile wiped from her face. “If I imagined you had any serious intent in mind, then I must conclude you to be either insane or insulting. Since I cannot believe you to be either, then you must only be teasing me. It is unkind in you, my lord, to make me the object of your amusement. You will forgive me if I take my leave of you, for my flowers will wilt if not placed in water soon.”
~~~~~
Annabelle walked quickly down the slope, trying to maintain her decorum whilst putting as much distance as possible between the earl and herself. Infuriating man! When he looked at her in that way, she could almost believe— But no, it was impossible. He could not seriously consider marrying her. If she were not his daughters’ governess, perhaps it would be tenable, although highly imprudent. But as things stood, it was inconceivable. He must marry within his rank, Lady Something-or-other, with a dowry of twenty or thirty thousand, and the benefit of connections. An alliance with one of the other great families of England, that was his duty, not the penniless Miss Winterton of Woodside.
Yet if marriage was out of the question, there remained only two options: a light flirtation, nothing more than an amusement, or else… She could hardly bring herself to consider it. His mistress. Surely he could not have so low an opinion of her as that? Or was he one of those men who assumed that any employee was his for the taking? She had not thought it of him, and even now it was impossible to believe. Every instinct rebelled at the thought. She had thought him such a pleasant man, and she could not be so mistaken in her judgement, surely.
There was no resolving it, so she determined to put him out of her mind altogether.
~~~~~
‘My dearest sister, I have no wish to keep returning to the subject of Jeremy, for I well know that nothing can bring him back to us, and perhaps it seems maudlin to allow such a sad subject to prey on one’s mind so, but I was speaking to Mrs C yesterday after church. It was Mama’s birth date and so we were putting flowers on the grave, and Mrs C was at Roger’s grave nearby. ‘How sad it is that you have no grave but the sea for dear Jeremy,’ she said. ‘Nor any funeral, although children’s funerals must be so distressing, with such a tiny coffin. Not that Jeremy’s coffin would have been so small, for he was almost as tall as an adult.’ So I agreed with her and said, ‘Yes, he was very well-grown for his age, was he not?’ and she said, and I have said nothing at all to her of Captain Hunt’s words to you, so this was quite unprompted, she said, ‘I never saw such a well-grown boy of twelve in my life, and had he lived he would have been a giant.’ Upon reflection, I am convinced that Captain Hunt must be mistaken, and it was not Jeremy he saw that day at all. Do you not agree? Your loving sister Rosamund.’
~~~~~
‘Dearest Annabelle, I have had the most alarming thought concerning Jeremy and the information of his last hours so kindly offered to you by Captain Hunt. Is it possible — is it just conceivable — that the person Captain Hunt encountered was some other party entirely, masquerading as Jeremy? For he was quite certain that the person he saw was indeed called Jeremy Winterton, and yet the description is so greatly at variance with all that we know of the real Jeremy. Is there not a possibility that someone took Jeremy’s place, and that he is even now alive in the world? I am so excited at the idea that I can barely write my letters intelligibly. Your affectionate sister, Fanny.’
~~~~~
Annabelle considered wearing one of her newest gowns that evening, a little more fashionable than those she usually chose. But perhaps it would look too particular, as if she were putting on her finery in honour of the earl’s return, and that would never do. Besides, she was still somewhat out of charity with him. She wished he would not talk so, about kisses! It was unkind, and very distracting, for she could not help wondering what his kisses would be like. So she donned a gown she had worn many times before, and pinned up her hair in a simple knot. At the last minute, she decided that was too severe and added a little lace ribbon studded with seed pearls.
That evening was a lively one. Captain Edgerton was a rattle, but an amusing one. When he was introduced to Annabelle, he assessed her with the practised air and appreciative eyes of a rake, but he neither said nor did anything to make her feel uncomfortable. Mr Willerton-Forbes said little, but she had the feeling that he was appraising the company with an acute eye. But George, poor George was so subdued and unlike his usual ebullient self. Her heart went out to him. She understood only too well the misery of a hopeless love.
There was no dancing now that all the young ladies had left, so Annabelle retreated to her corner with her stitchery, while Captain Edgerton drew almost all the rest of the company into a noisy game of Commerce, where he chaffed the gentlemen and flirted outrageously with the ladies. The two aunts twittered in mock horro
r, Mrs Pargeter blushed like a girl, and even Lady Brackenwood unbent enough to laugh at his jokes. Lord Brackenwood and George had disappeared after dinner, perhaps to take their brandy in the quieter atmosphere of the library.
The evening was warm, despite the terrace windows standing open, and after a while Annabelle crept outside to find cooler air. The moon was almost full, its silver traces catching every ripple of the lake. The lawn sloped down to the water, where a marble seat was invitingly placed, and there her feet led her. To her right lay the deer park, and to her left the lower lake was shrouded in shrubbery, hiding the Chinese bridge and the Grecian Temple on the far side. But before her was the tranquillity of the upper lake, its perfect symmetry broken only by two or three willows stretching whispering fingers towards the water.
She took a deep breath, allowing the cool night air to fill her lungs. There was hardly a sound, except for the occasional plop of something in the water, the sighing of the willows and now and then a burst of laughter from the saloon.
“Another refugee from the jollity?”
She jumped up, startled. Lord Brackenwood had emerged from the hidden shelter of the nearest willow and was walking towards her.
“I beg your pardon, I did not see you. Do I disturb your solitude? Let me go back inside…”
“Do not let me detain you if you prefer to avoid me, but I should be very glad of your company,” he said.
He was so straightforward! She had always liked that about him. And the obvious conclusion to draw from it was that he had not been flirting with her at all. She was aware of a tingle of optimism. But there was no time to consider the implications, for he was beside her in moments.
“Will you stay with me for a while?” he said. “George has taken his misery and a brandy bottle to bed, and Captain Edgerton is too lively for my mood tonight. Your conversation would lift my spirits immeasurably.” When she hesitated, he added, “You are quite safe from me, Miss Winterton. There is no mistletoe hereabouts.”
The Governess (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 1) Page 14