by Mary Brendan
Lily was still sound asleep, in the care of a maid charged to let Mrs Fenton know the moment the child stirred. Apparently Sarah’s routine was to take her hot chocolate in bed and emerge from her chamber just before noon. Jack had wryly added that she would be surprised and delighted to see they had turned up in good time for their picnic.
The quiet from within the library stretched, making Dawn anxious as to what was going on. They needed Mansfield to go away and give Jack time to present their evidence against him to the authorities. Jack had wisely pointed out that they mustn’t reveal their hand to the vicar too soon. If he suspected he was about to be arrested and exposed as a murderer, he would flee or concoct a defence. Though Dawn wished never again in her life to clap eyes on the Reverend Peter Mansfield, she didn’t want him to just disappear. Peace would only be secured when he was apprehended and there was no chance of him returning to wreak revenge on them.
The sound of conversation broke into Dawn’s frantic reflections and she ceased her fidgeting to press closer to the door. She had condemned the vicar for eavesdropping, yet she didn’t feel guilty employing the same underhand tactic.
‘I really must insist on taking my child home, my lord. Please inform Mrs Fenton of my intention... I’m sure she will wish to accompany me.’ Peter had been mulling matters over in his mind while pretending to compose a note. His intuition that trouble was afoot had strengthened. He had successfully masterminded a smuggling ring for more than a decade and could smell when something wasn’t right. Before he quit this place he was determined to discover what it was. He crumpled the parchment and dropped it into his pocket. It was time to use his ace. ‘Mrs Fenton is to become a proper mother to my daughter in name and deed. It is a convenient arrangement that will not intrude on our lives. But we shall marry and I am surprised that you, her particular friend, seem unaware of it. Or perhaps you do know, but are confident it will make no difference to your...closeness to her. Indeed, I would not put an end to it, never fear.’ Peter tossed that in, hoping to please the fellow.
‘You’re lying—Mrs Fenton would never agree to be your wife under any circumstances,’ Jack snarled. ‘Now, I’ve had enough of asking you nicely to quit my house.’ He took a threatening step in Mansfield’s direction, sending the man scuttling behind the library table.
Jack resented that worming doubt that was at the back of his mind, niggling away. But the more he tried to shut it out, the deeper it burrowed. Dawn saw herself as Lily’s mother, the vicar was right in that. Why hadn’t she told him of Mansfield’s proposal? Had she been considering accepting it before reading Eleanor’s letter and discovering the man was steeped in devilry and corruption? Had she felt cornered into marrying for duty, as he had?
But Jack knew he couldn’t go ahead with his wedding. No matter what solemn death bed vows had been made, there was no honour in having a barren shell of a marriage and a wife he would only ever fondly consider to be his ward. Somehow promises would have to be picked apart and rearranged in a proper order. And he had a feeling that his fiancée might be as relieved as he was to be released from the shackles her father had wound about them both when liberating them from their Arab captors.
‘Bring Mrs Fenton here and ask her if you do not believe me,’ Peter blustered, continuing to retreat from the athletic man stalking him. ‘Just yesterday we discussed her becoming Mrs Mansfield and a proper mother to the child.’
‘How dare you imply that I agreed to be your wife!’ Outraged at Peter’s claims, Dawn could no longer stay outside, holding her tongue. ‘Only a fraction of what you have just said is true and you know it.’ She sent an appealing glance at Jack, hoping her vivid green gaze would speak for her. She would have told him about it, given more time. Since Mansfield’s proposal her concentration and energy had been taken up with safeguarding Lily. The proposal had been nothing to her. It still seemed of little significance. But she could tell that the troublemaker intended to exploit the smidgeon of truth in his report to drive a wedge between them. And a spark of some raw emotion was blackening Jack’s eyes.
Mansfield intercepted the intense look passing between the couple and gleefully rubbed salt into the wound. ‘It should be I withdrawing from our arrangement, madam, considering the circumstances in which I find you. A ménage à trois with the Viscount and his future wife might suit you, but I have decided it doesn’t suit my daughter. I will not allow the child’s mind to be infected with such blatant immorality.’
Jack gave a sardonic grunt of laughter. ‘And this from the vicar who frequents bawdy houses.’
Peter pursed his lips and loosened his collar from his ruddy throat. ‘You are little better than a harlot and the child requires better. My daughter will be sent to Scotland. My aunt was a governess and knows how to handle children.’
‘She’s not your daughter and God only knows I’m glad of that! Better born out of wedlock than be the devil’s spawn!’ The moment she let fly with that Dawn realised she had been stupidly reckless, allowing herself to be goaded by threats and insults. She had disclosed far too much...and from Peter’s stiff, white features she realised her knowledge of the truth had indeed shocked him. Then a crafty gleam entered his eyes.
‘What madness is this?’ He licked his lips, his eyes darting from one to the other of them as he started to sidle towards the door.
‘You heard what was said, Mansfield. And you know it to be true, don’t you?’ Jack approached him, grabbing his shoulder and tightening his grip when the vicar would have wrenched free.
‘You’ve no proof of anything of the sort,’ Mansfield hissed. ‘And whoever has been spreading such wicked lies will be punished.’ He glowered up at Jack from his inferior height. ‘Unhand me, sir and let me pass this instant.’ Peter knew he needed to instantly escape to lick his wounds while deciding what to do next. The game might not yet be up—only Eleanor and her lover could damn him with the truth and they couldn’t bear witness and betray him now. But any further hope of extracting cash from Sterling—ostensibly as donations to the church, but to be diverted to Peter’s illegal enterprise—had come to nought. His Lordship was no ally and there was no profit to be had in continuing to bow and scrape to him. ‘Unhand me, I say,’ Peter shrilled as his struggles to free himself failed. ‘I will fetch the magistrate and have you arrested for what you have done!’
Jack snorted a grim laugh. ‘Strange...you have taken words from my mouth, Mansfield.’ He didn’t elaborate and sent Dawn a look.
Dawn understood the caution. She still felt horribly foolish and guilty at having let the cat out of the bag.
Jack shoved the vicar away from him. ‘Remove yourself from my house, or I will have you ejected.’
‘Indeed, I shall, sir.’ Peter had stumbled against the library table, but brushed himself down in a display of righteous outrage. ‘You have not heard the last of this. I will discover who has spread such lies about me and indeed they shall regret it. As will you when I return with the authorities to take my daughter home.’
Jack followed him out into the hallway, dogging his footsteps towards the great oaken doors. He gestured his butler away as the man sprang to open up. Jack did so himself, though he restrained himself from hurrying the vicar down the steps with the toe of his boot.
Dawn had been pacing, agitatedly waiting for his return, and the moment the door opened she sped to him, plunging her arms about his waist. ‘I’m so sorry, Jack,’ she keened. ‘I know I shouldn’t have said what I did. But I was so angry...’
‘Hush. Never mind. It would have come out sooner or later. I almost lost my temper with him and knocked him down. That would have aroused his suspicions as well,’ he ruefully admitted. ‘Nothing is yet lost. He looked guilty as hell, but he believes we have no proof and as long as we let him think that...’ He tailed off and dried her damp cheeks with sweeps of his thumbs. ‘Now there’s no time to lose. I must take that proof we have to the magistrat
e and get Mansfield behind bars before he bolts for cover.’
Dawn withdrew Eleanor’s letter from her pocket and gladly handed it over. ‘I honestly did not accept his proposal,’ she said, looking up with tear-bright green eyes. ‘And not for one minute did I have any intention of doing so.’
‘I know. But why didn’t you tell me about it?’
‘I... So much was going on...and telling you he asked me to marry him didn’t seem important.’ Dawn knew that it sounded like a poor excuse and she could tell from his tight expression that Jack thought so, too.
‘It would’ve been important to me,’ Jack said quietly, pocketing Eleanor’s letter. ‘Before I set off for town I’ll make sure all the men on the estate are instructed to block Mansfield’s entry should he come back in my absence. You will be quite safe. But stay in the house, out of sight.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘I know you are older than I am, but I think we might get on well, Mrs Fenton. So may I talk to you as though you were my friend?’
‘Yes, of course, if you would like to.’ With a last lingering look at the empty horizon, Dawn came away from the rain-spattered window and sat down on the velvet sofa beside Sarah.
They were ensconced with Lily in a spacious parlour that overlooked the sweeping drive at the front of the house. Sarah had proudly shown her into the pink-hued room known as the rose salon. It was one of the few reception rooms that had been redecorated. A goodly part of the vast mansion was still in a bad state, but Sarah had said she was confident all the rooms would look as splendid as this one and that she would always consider the rose salon a favourite place.
Sarah had arrived downstairs accompanied by her chaperon—a rather stern-looking woman. Sarah had been delighted to see she had guests and had sent the chaperon away, giving the woman the rest of the day to herself. Then Sarah had taken pains to ensure that her guests were comfortable and had all they wanted in the way of refreshment. She had directed the hovering servants to bring more tea and food earlier, impressing Dawn with her quiet authority. Sarah might never be a true wife to Jack, but she had qualities to make a husband proud of her. She looked the part of a budding society lady, too, dressed in an elegant morning gown of sprigged muslin with her Titian locks stylishly curled. By comparison Dawn felt rather dowdy in her plain cotton dress with her thick brunette hair swept into a simple chignon.
Last night she and Lily had retired soon after arriving at the Grange. Jack had sent a maid to attend to their needs. Nightclothes had been laid out for them and warm lavender-scented washing water provided. Lily had become overexcited, preventing Dawn from carrying on poring over matters with Jack. She had known that further conversation must wait until morning. Softly she had crooned lullabies to her granddaughter until eventually Lily had settled down to sleep. And so had Dawn, although her own rest had been fitful during the few hours remaining until daybreak.
The moment she’d heard the sound of paper scratching against her bedroom floorboards she’d risen, thankful to abandon further hope of sleep. Dressing without assistance didn’t bother her. She was used to having few servants around her: her late husband had been a man of modest means and when still beneath her spendthrift father’s roof his circumstances had rarely allowed her the luxury of her own maid.
Dawn had speedily pulled on her crumpled clothes, then sped downstairs. She had wished Jack didn’t look quite so dapper when she saw him stationed in the hallway, waiting for her. Wounded vanity had soon been forgotten the moment she’d been manoeuvred into an alcove, out of sight of the footmen, to be given a lingering good-morning kiss.
At some time she would have to return to collect their belongings from the vicarage...then hopefully onward to London with Lily safe at her side. But before any of that could take place she needed confirmation that the Reverend Peter Mansfield was under lock and key.
Quite fortuitously the day had come on to rain so no explanations had been needed as to why they couldn’t picnic in the gardens as planned. Dawn was glad she’d not had to frighten her young hostess with the news that a dangerous fellow might be lurking in the grounds. Dawn had been keeping a vigil for the vicar as well as for Jack’s return while gazing into a dreary vista. She was optimistic that Mansfield wouldn’t return and, if he did, he’d never get past the patrolling manservants. Of course, Peter had cohorts to call on if he was determined to come with a mob to seek revenge. But that wouldn’t be yet; he wouldn’t reveal his true colours until the final scene was played out.
As it wasn’t possible to have an al fresco lunch, a spread of cakes and sweet and savoury pastries had been laid out on a sideboard so they could enjoy an indoor feast. Also within easy reach were board games and playing cards should they fancy indulging in those pastimes.
Sarah had produced some tin soldiers when Lily told her that her friend Bernard had a set and she’d liked playing with them. The toys had belonged to her late father, Sarah had explained, and were a precious memento of him. She had ranged the redcoats on the floor and had kindly joined in a game with Lily before leaving the child to play alone. Now Lily, too, had grown bored. Sated with cake and lemonade, the child had curled up on a sofa with a thumb in her mouth and her eyelids fluttering low.
‘I’m quite worried about telling anybody my secret...’ Sarah had spoken following a lengthy, contemplative quiet. ‘It will come as a great surprise, but it isn’t fair to put it off any longer. So I suppose I must speak out.’
‘I can be trusted with secrets.’ Dawn gave the younger woman her full attention, feeling rather rude to have been absorbed in inner wrangling when Sarah obviously wanted to get something off her chest. She gave her companion’s fingers a little squeeze. But her eyes were once more with the view beyond the casement, her ears straining for a sound of hooves on gravel, heralding Jack’s return. Hours had passed since he’d gone on horseback to speak to the magistrate. What was keeping him? Had Mansfield and his gang ambushed him...attacked him?
Dawn calmed herself down. Her imagination was running riot; she must simply be patient. Jack and the magistrate might be closeted for many hours, deciding what to do about Mansfield’s various crimes.
‘I can be trusted with secrets, too.’ Sarah gave an impish smile. ‘If you tell me something, then I will feel it only fair to confide in you in return. So what I would know from you, Mrs Fenton, is: why did you come here with Jack on foot through the woods and stay overnight?’
‘Did Lily say that she slept upstairs?’ Dawn had hoped no explanation on their early arrival would be needed as Sarah had risen late.
‘She told me Jack carried her here and you all played a game hiding in the dark.’ Sarah frowned. ‘But I doubt it was a game, was it?’
‘No...it wasn’t a game,’ Dawn replied honestly. ‘I had noticed somebody loitering suspiciously outside the vicarage. I wasn’t sure if he was up to no good and felt rather uneasy.’ She paused to think carefully how to word the rest. If she stirred Sarah’s interest too deeply in the matter, she’d face a barrage of questions. ‘The vicar had gone out for the evening, but luckily Jack turned up. We agreed it would be sensible to go to Croxley Grange rather than stay at the vicarage...just to put our minds at rest.’ Thankfully Dawn hadn’t needed to reveal too much and neither had she lied.
‘The fellow you saw might have been a smuggler.’ Sarah sounded matter of fact.
‘Who told you about those people?’ Dawn was sure Jack wouldn’t have brought the subject up.
‘A good friend of mine told me all about the free trading that goes on in these parts.’ Sarah chuckled. ‘There... I have started revealing a little bit of my secret.’ She cocked her head. ‘You like Jack, don’t you, Mrs Fenton, and so does Lily. She told me so.’
‘Yes... I like him very much. He is a good man, I think.’
‘Oh, he is!’ Sarah readily agreed. ‘My father said he was the finest fellow he ever knew. Papa only trusted J
ack to care for me when he was no longer able to.’
Dawn wasn’t sure whether to stop Sarah revealing more, or to beg the girl to tell her everything. Jack might not like her prying into his life behind his back, but there was so much she yearned to know about those missing years spent battling with mercenaries—both friend and foe. And she wanted to know about Jack’s relationship with Sarah. They had spent years in each other’s orbit and Dawn envied the girl the time she’d had with Jack...time that should have been hers.
Sarah suddenly launched into, ‘The secret I have to tell you is that, though I adore Jack, I intend to break off my engagement.’ She frowned. ‘It makes me sound flighty. But I’m not. I never really wanted to marry him; I was being a dutiful daughter when I went along with it. You see, my papa rescued me from pirates and was mortally injured in the doing of it. It was my fault he died.’ She sniffed back tears. ‘I’d been disobedient, going to the seashore when he’d told me to stay indoors in case the brigands raided the coast. They did that day and it was the worse for us both.’
‘Hush...’ Dawn put a comforting arm about the girl’s slumped shoulders. ‘Jack told me all about it. Please don’t say any more and upset yourself.’ Though she spoke gently, she felt stunned by what she’d heard. Was Jack not to be married after all?
‘Please let me talk about it,’ Sarah piped up. ‘I need to; Jack always avoids the subject, thinking bad memories will make me ill. But the pain won’t go away if I bottle it up.’
Dawn could only agree with that brave logic.
‘Papa fretted over who would care for me in the future when he knew he was dying,’ Sarah resumed her tale. ‘He got quite a bee in his bonnet and Jack and I just wanted to calm him down so he could pass away peacefully. My father put us both under a dreadful obligation, but especially Jack, asking the poor man to sign the marriage contract in his own blood. A blood pact! So medieval.’ Sarah tutted and rolled her eyes. ‘I haven’t told Jack yet that I can’t marry him. But when he comes home, I shall.’ Sarah sat back, folding her arms over her middle. ‘I’ve fallen in love, you see. Jack knows about William Grove. He thinks we are just friends, but I want to marry him.’