The Ghosts of Greenwood

by Maggie MacKeever

  Before the man could lay hands on Amanda and physically remove her from his path, Livvy intervened. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Dorset. Would you tell us, please, do you know if Janthina is alive?”

  His indifferent gaze rested now on Livvy. “My sister has more lives than a cat. There will be some reason she hasn’t yet come forward to claim her due.”

  The butler, who should properly have withdrawn but most improperly had not, even more improperly interrupted. “Master Cade, do you know where Miss Janthina is?”

  Cade glanced at him. “Would it surprise you, Jenks, if I said I did?”

  Amanda cried, “That’s fine for you, but how are we to know?”

  “Know Janthina? First you will recognize her champions. Giuseppe is already here. Look next for the wench that my brother branded with his horse whip. And now, if you will excuse us—” Cade Halliday grasped his wife’s arm and drew her from the room.

  “Mercy!” said Amanda. “At first I feared he was a ghost, and now I wish he had been. If ever I had considered Connor rude—”

  Livvy had no interest, then, in Amanda’s sentiments; Livvy was piecing together various conversations she had recently overheard.

  Her conclusions were appalling. “I must go. You will want to be alone.” Brushing aside Amanda’s protests that she most certainly did not want to be alone, Livvy took her leave.

  During her journey back to the Castle, she sought to compose herself. If Amanda had been shocked by her first glimpse of the missing Halliday brother, Barbary had seemed little less stunned. Livvy, too, even though she didn’t believe in such stuff, had briefly thought Connor Halliday risen from the dead.

  When she reached the Castle, Livvy dismounted and hurried across the courtyard. She found the other members of the house party gathered where she’d left them. Ned had progressed from French corpses to the Prince Regent, who had filled army orders with pages of instructions about epaulettes, gold lace and feathers, and sent the 23rd Dragoons to Spain so overdressed that they were confused with their French enemies. Sir John was now seated across from Dickon, attempting to enjoy a game of chess in spite of Hubert’s meddlesome advice. Jael and Austen were engaged in a spirited game of checkers. Livvy stared at the long pale scar that marred one side of Jael’s face.

  Dulcie was busy with her knitting, which promised to be a scarlet muffler of considerable length. “What ho, Lavender? Dickon is about to tell you that a female in your condition shouldn’t overtax herself.”

  Dickon glanced up from the chessboard, frowned when he saw that Livvy was dressed for the out-of-doors. “I thought you were resting,” he said.

  “Is that a euphemism?” inquired Hubert. “I thought she’d withdrawn to cast up her accounts.”

  “Cade Halliday has just arrived at the Hall,” Livvy informed them. “He is very much alive. Hubert, I wish a word.” Without waiting to see the effect of her announcement she grasped Humbug’s sleeve and dragged him with her down the hallway and into a small room containing a large number of maps and charts. Livvy closed the door.

  Hubert eyed her speculatively. “Sweet Livvy, I am flattered by this singular mark of favor, but I feel it incumbent upon me to point out that Dickon will not be pleased. Certainly it is none of my concern, but if you wish my advice—”

  “I don’t!” Livvy pulled off her bonnet and tossed it aside. “You will only tell me that I am taking all kinds of fancies because I am expecting. Surely I must be the one to know whether or not I’ve suffered ill-use.”

  Hubert looked fascinated. “Have you suffered? Then I see clearly that it’s not you but Dickon who’s all about in the head. Else why would he praise you fulsomely to every willing ear — and even, I admit, to some who are not willing — and then misuse you in private? Unless poor Dickon’s senses are as disordered as his cousin’s, I can make no sense of it.”

  “It’s not my relationship with Dickon that should concern you,” Livvy snapped, ignoring these artful disclosures, “but Connor Halliday’s.”

  “Ah!” Hubert flicked open a pretty snuffbox. “Now I comprehend why you and Dickon are at daggers drawn. Alas, I fear my cousin has sadly corrupted your once-admirable morals. But do you deem it prudent to publish it to the world? In any event, isn’t the wench — that is, the rascal — dead?”

  “Silence, you wretch! We are not discussing my relationship, but Jael’s.”

  “Dickon and Jael? I had not considered that.” Livvy hissed at him, and Hubert raised his hands. “Pax! I’ll tease you no more. What is it that you wish to tell me? That you and Connor Halliday were not on intimate terms?”

  “Cretin!” Livvy stamped her foot in vexation. “Not me, but Jael.”

  Hubert eyed her quizzically. “We have already established that. In point of fact, it has for several years been Jael. Were it not so unlike you, I would think you have overindulged in the grape.”

  Though Livvy was not cast away, there was a strong possibility that she might expire from pure exasperation. “Pray stop trying to distract me. I know!”

  “That is a step forward,” responded Hubert. “If you share your knowledge with me, we may yet carry on a sensible conversation. Well?”

  “Jael had good reason to hate Connor Halliday.”

  “An interesting conclusion,” murmured Hubert, to his snuffbox. “Had we more time — I expect Dickon to burst in upon us in fine husbandly outrage at any moment — I would be curious to learn how you arrived at it. You think that Jael disliked Connor Halliday, and therefore must have been acquainted with him. I must tell you that Jael doesn’t require a prior acquaintance to take someone in violent dislike. Forgive me for being obtuse, but I seem to have missed the point.”

  “Or are attempting to avoid it! I tell you, I—”

  “Yes, I know, you know.” There was nothing of the fop about Hubert now. “And I strongly suggest, sweet Livvy, that you keep that knowledge to yourself.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Twilight found Jael in Sir Wesley’s hothouse, calmly munching grapes. She was clad in the pink of fashion, in the Honourable Hubert’s attire. Since that veritable Tulip was slighter of figure than his petite amie, the effect was breath-taking. Not for a moment would the voluptuous Jael have been mistaken for a man.

  She had not intended to be; she had sought only a convenient costume in which to shinny down a tree. No easy thing, to escape her well-meaning watchdogs. Even more difficult, now that Livvy had put Hubert on the alert. To rid herself of his ironic presence, Jael had enacted a fine display of high dudgeon, and then locked herself in her room. With luck Hubert would not recall the presence of that so-convenient tree limb.

  She glanced around the hothouse, at the pendent pines and ivy, the pomegranate and Christmas rose. All appeared in good order, now that the gardener’s lad had figured out Sir Wesley’s ingenuous system of steam heat. Then she inspected her companion, who was considerably less neat.

  With strong white teeth, Giuseppe tore off another hunk of bread from the loaf she’d brought. “What will your Baroness say when she learns her larder has been robbed?”’

  “If the missing food is noticed, I’ll tell her I was hungry.” Jael paced the floor. “I don’t have unlimited time, baro. Nor do you.”

  Giuseppe wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “You were right on all counts, as proven by Sir Wesley’s will. Would that Connor had lived to see this day.”

  “Be done with your gloating!” Jael kicked at the woven basket in which she’d brought his food. “Have you stopped to think what all this must mean?”

  “I’ve thought of little else. Cade wouldn’t have wanted the Halliday fortune to be split three ways. That one ever had the knack of sniffing out secrets.”

  “And ,” Jael muttered, “the knack for keeping his own.”

  Giuseppe tore off another hunk of bread. “He deliberately seduced Janthina. Sir Wesley was lured to Lady Margaret’s Garden so that he might discover them there.”

  “Incest,
” said Jael. “Sir Wesley’s daughter and his favorite son.”

  Giuseppe delved into the basket and extracted a wedge of cheese. “Sir Wesley banished both of them. But in time he began to worry that Janthina had been made a scapegoat.”

  Jael snorted. “He worried too late.”

  “For Janthina, at least.” Giuseppe drew a knife and neatly sliced the cheese. “Maybe he wished to make amends.”

  Jael studied him, hands on her hips. “Who told you about the will?”

  “I am not without friends.”

  “Take care your ‘friends’ don’t have their own axes to grind. Did they also tell you that Cade has returned?”

  Giuseppe paused, a slice of cheese halfway to his mouth.

  Jael related Livvy’s news, watched his face grow grim. “No honor among thieves, eh, chavo? Bow Street will be even more interested to learn Cade was nowhere near Brighton at the time he’s supposed to have drowned. And that he never wed.”

  Giuseppe’s dark eyes fixed on her. “You would aid the muskros?”

  “God’s teeth, man, where are your wits? Bow Street has taken Abel Bagshot into custody. It’s but a matter of time before he tells what he knows.” Irritably, Jael plucked a plum.

  “The greedy Bagshot isn’t likely to stick his own head in the hangman’s noose.” Giuseppe finished off the cheese. “Who else knows that Cade returned to do his mischief, and blackmailed Connor to keep it from Sir Wesley? Save the Bagshot and myself and that old witch at the Hall?”

  At this description of Rosamond, Jael almost smiled. “Dulcie, I imagine. You could put an end to this. I wish you would.”

  “Ah,” he replied softly. “You grow tired of playing the concave suit?”

  “I grow tired of being your cat’s-paw! That damned horse was found in Abel’s stable, by the way.”

  Giuseppe looked startled, then triumphant. “Cade’s horse. Think how that must look.”

  “Cade is but newly returned to Greenwood, but his horse preceded him by a week.” Jael bit into her plum. “You think, Giuseppe: who’ll believe the horse is his? Cade will hardly sit back and allow you to lay information against him.”

  Giuseppe eyed her closely. “Connor was shot with Cade’s own pistol. Cade’s horse was in Greenwood before Connor’s death and therefore so was Cade himself. It would seem Cade played at being his own ghost and moved Connor’s man-traps — who else, since I did not? Now Cade ‘reappears’ hard on the heels of the family solicitor. What a shock it must have been to learn that he’d lost a fortune and at the same time gained a wife. Who is this Barbary?”

  Jael shrugged. “Someone who didn’t wish to whistle a fortune down the wind. Obviously she knew Cade, and believed him dead. Equally obvious is that she didn’t know how things had been left. Rosamond must surely realize her story is false, but hasn’t exposed her. Why not, I wonder? This is a pretty coil. Sir Wesley must have had good reason to cut Rosamond out of his will.”

  “The woman did her best to make his life a misery. What other reason would he need? You can’t mean to see the Halliday fortune go begging now.”

  Jael tossed aside her plum pit. “The Halliday fortune is naught to me. Are you missing a silk scarf?”

  “No.” Giuseppe touched his throat. “But I’ve heard one was found in Lady Margaret’s Garden. What now, miri pen?”

  “Crump suspects you remained in the neighborhood. Now you hide yourself.”

  “I’m no man to cower behind a woman’s skirts,” sneered Giuseppe. “What says your damned man-milliner to all this?”

  “A great deal; he’s not mealy-mouthed.” Jael caught Giuseppe’s arm in her strong fingers. “Understand this. Should you in any way try and interfere with my fine fribble, I will settle your accounts myself.”

  Though her grip must have been painful, Giuseppe didn’t wince. “You would betray your own?”

  “Hubert is my own.” Jael released him and bent to repack the basket. “Swear to me that you will say nothing until I give the word.”

  “I will wait until the time is ripe for my purposes.”

  Jael grasped the basket’s handle, and rose. “You have waited this long; you may—”

  Giuseppe raised his hand, silencing her. Jael shuttered the lantern and joined him at the hothouse door.

  Two people stood near the garden gate, a woman and a man. Jael recognized Ned. Impossible to hear their words, they were too far away. But first the woman wept, and then Ned shook her, and then she slapped his face.

  Ned said nothing. The woman ran toward the Hall. He turned, walked into Lady Margaret’s Garden, and closed the gate.

  Giuseppe’s breath was warm on Jael’s cheek. “What was all that about?”

  “I couldn’t say.” Jael knew what she knew, and not necessarily by means of crystal balls and Tarot cards and tea-leaves. “Now, let me go.”

  Giuseppe released her. Jael slipped away into the night. He gazed thoughtfully along the pathway that led into Lady Margaret’s Garden, then settled back to wait.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Whereas Lady Bligh’s houseguests might not rub along excellently together, the residents of Halliday Hall were at outright daggers drawn. Or so it seemed to Crump, although in this moment they had clearly closed ranks against the intruder in their midst.

  Rosamond was enthroned in a stiff mahogany chair. Barbary was seated near her husband on the duchesse. Cade had stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle, his hands laced on his lean belly. Barbary sat so erect she might have had a board strapped to her spine.

  Only Amanda remained standing. “You are becoming quite one of the family, Mr. Crump,” she said.

  Crump had no desire to belong to a family whose members were sticking their spoons in the wall with such alacrity. “Ah, now, you’ll be having your little joke, Lady Halliday. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of me for upwards of two days, due to the fact I’ve been away from Greenwood. Having been dispatched on errands of a confidential nature, as you might say.”

  Rosamond leaned forward in her chair. “And those errands were?”

  Crump glanced at Amanda, who was standing by the tea table. Discreet inquiries undertaken in Bath had revealed that young woman was exactly what she’d claimed. Amanda’s relatives were both impecunious and spiteful; they made no secret of their resentment toward the daughter who’d married wealth and then behaved toward them with less than open-handed generosity. Nor should it have surprised them that she did so, he thought; the whole purpose of her existence had apparently been to feather their nest. Some would have said they were well-served when she married a gentleman old, wealthy, and shrewd enough to enable her to distance herself from the lot of them.

  Crump flicked open his Occurrence Book. “We’ve encountered no small difficulty in verifying certain details. Such as your marriage, Mrs. Halliday. A fire destroyed the records, and the gentleman who performed the ceremony expired several years ago. I believe you claim to be an orphan, ma’am.”

  Rosamond looked disappointed, Amanda curious, and Barbary annoyed. “You sound as if you doubt me, Mr. Crump.”

  Tempted as he was to take up this gauntlet, Crump let it lie. To claim no family was a logical step for someone who didn’t want her background checked.

  Cade said, impatiently, “What difference does it make if there are no records? You have my word for the marriage, along with my wife’s.”

  “You recall your marriage, sir? Encouraging, since you’ve forgotten so much else.” Crump flipped through the pages of his little book. “Everything from the boating accident in Brighton when you cracked your head until several days past when you were set upon by footpads, who obliged you with another wallop on the head. Do I have it right?”

  Cade looked even more bored. “You do.”

  “Then I take leave to tell you that your story has as many holes in it as a certain boat. Before you get on your high ropes, I’ll also tell you the third man in that boat was drowned. His body was recovered,
days later than the others. That detail never appeared in the newspapers, being of little interest to anyone but the authorities.” Crump pulled a pencil from his pocket. “It’s a foolish fellow who tries to mislead Bow Street, because he’s bound to be caught out. Now, what have you been up to, guv’nor?”

  “Cade didn’t lie to you,” Barbary interjected. “He merely endorsed my story, which I will admit I made up out of thin air. I did not set out to complicate your investigation, Mr. Crump, though I don’t expect you to believe that.”

  “Stubble it, Barbary,” said her husband. “If you must know, Crump, I sent my wife here. I’d heard of my brother’s death and wanted to discover the lay of the land. I was involved with urgent business elsewhere at the time and didn’t care to interrupt it at a crucial moment, unless absolutely necessary, to return to Greenwood.”

  Crump found this tale little more watertight than the first. “That business was?”

  “Personal,” said Cade.

  “Personal business connected with a missing heiress, mayhap?”

  “Janthina? You may relieve yourself of that notion. I don’t have her tucked away.” Cade’s swarthy features were almost amused.

  Crump was of the opinion that if the Halliday heiress was tucked away anywhere, it was six feet underground. Had Cade been the one who put her there, he was bound to claim she was alive. “You must be aware, guv, that your refusal to explain yourself looks strange. We have certain bits of evidence that can be interpreted in several ways. One of those ways, combined with your lack of cooperation, could lead to your being taken for a criminal offense.”

  “But Cade has just returned to Greenwood!” Amanda protested. “How could he be involved?”

  “And there’s what you might call the crux of the matter,” Crump said approvingly. “Did he just return? Or has he been skulking about all this time, up to some particularly nasty tricks?”

  Barbary uttered a soft cry of distress. Crump continued, “I don’t say that’s what did happen, mind. It’s merely what we call a hypothesis. Mr. Halliday’s refusal to explain his actions gives ample ground for suspicion of himself.”