“I will never be able to wash out the stain, will I?”
“The stain?” Jonathan said, thinking that his friend was talking about the Oriental rug in the morning room.
“The stain that will cling to this house for generations. Scorton Hall, a place for murder.”
“No, you must not think like that. And what’s more, Clarence, you are going to have to try to regain a little of your old self before Miss Mulholland gets here.” He said, thinking that the news would be bad enough without the poor young woman arriving in Oxfordshire for the first time to find her husband emotionally overwrought. “Is there no sign?” He said, thinking that Meredith ought really to have arrived by now.
Had Clarence not said that she should appear by mid-morning? It was already mid-afternoon. Still, it was a long journey and underestimating the time it would take was to be understood.
“No, not yet. In a way, I wish she was not coming today after all. Tomorrow would be better, or the day after.”
“Would you like me to stay? Perhaps I could help you to explain it all out to her?” Jonathan said, not truly relishing the idea but knowing that he would support his dear friend in any way possible.
“No, it is for me to deal with. Meredith is a sensitive soul, and this will affect her very deeply. It would, perhaps, be too much to expect her to form a new acquaintance on a day such as today.”
“Very well. If that is the case, I shall not keep you very much longer.”
“Finish your brandy, my dear fellow. There is no need to dash away.”
“Of course.” He said, wondering how he could turn the Duke’s attention to a different subject altogether. “I must say, Felicia Markham is quite a woman, is she not?”
“Is she?” Clarence said, seeming hardly to register Jonathan’s words.
“Yes, I found her rather clever and brave. She was most determined not to quit my side this morning when the two of us stumbled upon… well, when we first went into the morning room.” He said, not wanting to take Clarence back through the awful morning once again.
He really had been impressed with Lady Felicia, even before the awful discovery. When he had foolishly enquired after Charles Wilby, he could have kicked himself for not being better prepared. Still, how was he to know that the courtship no longer stood? He did not know much of what went on in Buckinghamshire, after all.
However, despite his blunder, Felicia had taken the whole thing rather well. He had seen the flash of hurt in her eyes, of course; he had already been drawn to look into them for they were so green and easily took a man’s attention. She had recovered quickly, impressively, and had gone on to make him feel a little better about his mistake.
Not only that, but she had done it with a modicum of humor, something that he could not help but admire her for. As the evening had progressed, he had come to admire her more and more. Her kindness to Daisy was something quite unusual for their class.
Any other young woman who had looked down into her lap to find a large piece of fish there would have likely behaved very badly indeed and been applauded by those around her for doing so. But Lady Felicia struck him as a young woman who did not always take the lesser path. It had brought her into mild conflict with some rather strident personalities around the table, and yet she had maintained her stance.
Yes, she was quiet and dignified, but she was strong. There was something of old Lady Barton about her too; a sort of spirited willfulness. It was more pronounced in the old lady, of course, for such things generally were. Still, he had seen it and he had liked it. As selfish as it seemed in light of such tragedy, Jonathan could not help but mourn the loss of her company. He had harbored a hope of working his way into her favor over the next few days and had suffered something of a sleepless night as he imagined the two of them dancing together at the ball. He wondered now if he would ever get to dance with the chestnut-haired, green-eyed beauty.
“I’m not entirely sure that she is the woman for you, Jonathan.” Clarence said and laughed for the first time that day.
It was a brittle laugh, but it was a hint of a return to his former self and Jonathan was gratified to hear it.
“Why ever not?”
“As clever and as brave as she might be, do you not think her a little grisly?” Clarence had straightened up a little, his head no longer lolling against the wing of the armchair and a hint of interest in his eyes.
“Grisly? Why? Because she leaned over poor Daisy and checked for signs of life? I think that is rather human.” He said, a little defensive on her behalf.
“I had not known that she had done that, Jonathan, and now I find her grislier still.” Clarence chuckled and it was clear that he was trying to get a hold of himself in the only way he knew how. “I had simply thought her grisly for remaining on the scene.”
“Well, I thought her brave. Not only that, she quickly searched for evidence as she tried to piece together what had happened. I have to say that I admire that sort of spirit in a lady.”
“Perhaps that sort of spirit is impressive in short doses, my friend, but I think it might be something that is rather hard to survive alongside for a lifetime. I’m fairly certain that a spirited wife is also a most exhausting one.”
“That is a very cynical attitude, but I am glad to see you returning to yourself somewhat.”
“And do you not think her a little nosy?” Clarence looked at him with mischief in his eyes. “All those questions and what not.”
“I asked you questions also.”
“Yes, but it is different in a man. You are not simply satisfying curiosity but trying to get to the bottom of things.”
“And that is exactly what Lady Felicia was trying to do.”
“I am amused by your defense of her, I must admit.” Clarence grinned although his face was still an awful color and his eyes still sunken. “You’ve fallen rather hard, I think.”
“Well, she is very beautiful.” He said, remembering how he had wanted to reach out more than once to touch that gleaming chestnut hair. It was so thick and inviting that he had almost forgotten himself at one point. “And amusing too. Obviously, that was before the tragedy, but still, I like her.” Jonathan smiled broadly and was glad when his friend did the same.
Part of him wished that he could stay little longer and continue to coax Clarence’s old spirit from within, but he knew that he would have to leave him alone soon to deal with Meredith Mulholland. They were best friends, it was true, but it was time to let Clarence be his own man and deal with his own responsibilities.
“Well, it is your choice,” Clarence said and drained his brandy glass. “But much better you find a nice quiet wife, Jonathan, a sensitive soul like my dear Meredith.”
“You must tell Meredith how much I have been looking forward to meeting her.”
“Of course.” He nodded solemnly. “Perhaps it will not be very long before you have an opportunity to be introduced to her at last.” He shifted a little in his seat and Jonathan knew that it was time for him to leave.
Jonathan looked out of the carriage window all the way back to Beaumont Hall. The summer’s day had become grey and miserable; very fitting in light of such a dreadful event. The grass on the meadows seemed to have changed color as the sun hid determinedly behind a heavy cloud. It was a dull green, a bottle green, not the wonderfully bright and sumptuous looking color that had seemed to bless every day of the summer so far.
His mood was understandably low, and he felt hollow as if his insides had been scooped out. He knew that there was some residual shock in his system from finding a young woman so terribly beaten, but that was not all of it. He would never forget the look on his friend’s face, the color of his skin, as soon as he had told him that a murder had taken place.
They were as close as brothers and Jonathan felt Clarence’s shock and pain as if it were his own.
It hurt him now to remember them as boys at Eton, two bright lads who had fallen into each other’s company so easily. They h
ad laughed and joked and played for so many years that it was a habit which had followed them into manhood. As sensible and responsible as they each had to be in their own role, Clarence as the Duke and Jonathan as the Earl, when they were together, the years rolled back, and they were as humorous and carefree now as they had been then.
With sadness, he wondered if this day had changed all of that. After all his fears that marriage would be the thing which finally put a little distance between them, perhaps it would be this dreadful taking of a human life that would be the thing to finally put an end to their school days.
It wasn’t that he did not want to grow up; Jonathan had already done that. He had become a man within moments of losing his father and gaining his title. He had taken on his responsibilities willingly and seriously, making Beaumont Hall and the estate his greatest priority.
But it had been a comfort to know that there was one person in the world with whom he could regress and know also that such foolishness was not permanent. He knew what it was to have a brother and, as he rode through that grey afternoon, he hoped that he would always know it.
Chapter Nine
A little over two weeks later saw Felicia Markham feeling very much better. Not a day went past when she did not think of Daisy Marlow, but the awful shock and the feeling of unreality had finally left her. Now that it had, her heart returned to old matters, all the things which had made her low enough to need a visit to her aunt in the first place.
She had received a letter from her mother which, amongst many other things, told her that much was the same in Charles’ life. He was still involved in his courtship of Louisa Bellfield and, whilst her mother assured her that she had not wanted to upset her with the news, she declared she did not want to give her false hope either.
As much as Felicia loved her mother and knew her to be very caring, she could not help but wish that she had left the news untold. Surely the only real news would be to hear that Charles had come to his senses, that Hector Bellfield’s money no longer mattered to him because he had realized how much he loved her. That would be news. To simply tell her that nothing had changed was not news, it was just a reminder of all she had lost.
“Are you still feeling miserable over your mother’s letter?” Lady Barton said, joining her in the bright and beautiful garden at the back of the Barton Hall Dower House.
Felicia had been sitting there all morning in hopes that the brightly colored gerberas, begonias, and geraniums would do something to lift her spirits.
“To be honest, yes. I would have been better not to hear anything about Charles, I think.”
“Perhaps you would do better not to think about Charles at all.”
“That is not a simple thing, Aunt Agatha. It is very difficult not to think about a person when your mind seems so determined to be full of them. If I could find some way to forget about him entirely, I would do it.”
“That is a good start, my dear.” Lady Barton said she settled herself down on one of the ornate wrought iron chairs. “I’ve asked for some tea to be sent out, perhaps that will help a little.”
“It will help a lot, really. You have been so kind to me and I know that I have not been the finest company.”
“You are not on display here, Felicia. You are not a guest, you are family. You are my niece, you may be yourself and not worry about external appearances. I do not expect you to paint over a broken heart as if it had never happened. The truth is, I do not think that a particularly healthy practice at all.”
“Do you not? I think it would be so much easier.”
“If you paint over it and ignore it, it will never go away. It will always be there lurking deep, waiting for its opportunity to strike. As hard as it is, these things cannot always be walked around, they must usually be walked through.”
“You surprise me, Aunt Agatha, for I had thought you determined to distract me in any way possible.” Felicia laughed, thinking of how her aunt had been so keen for her to be in the company of the Earl of Beaumont.
“There is nothing wrong with a little distraction if you are still paying attention to the healing of your own heart. Honestly, I think they work side-by-side. A distraction, especially in the form of a very fine young man, is a most healing tonic.” She smiled wickedly and Felicia laughed.
“Ah, Aunt Agatha, you are back.”
“I never went anywhere, it is just that you do not always listen to everything I say. You pick up bits and pieces and you imagine the rest.”
“Do I indeed?” Felicia heard the footsteps of the approaching maid and looked up and smiled. “Oh, how lovely. Tea in the garden on a beautiful day.”
“I knew it would perk you up a little bit. See, I do know what I’m about, my dear.”
“I never doubted you for a moment.”
“Well, in that spirit, perhaps I can interest you in Lady Greaves’ afternoon buffet on Thursday. I have already responded to her invitation and indicated that I would have you with me, but if you do not want to go, my dear, you do not have to.”
“Do I know Lady Greaves?”
“No, I do not think you have met.” Lady Barton squinted thoughtfully off into the distance, her lined face becoming more so as she did. “No, you have not met. But it is a very sedate affair and I think that you will enjoy it.”
“I would not want to upset the mood. I think I am perhaps just a little low for company.”
“Or perhaps you are a little low for want of company.”
“You never give up, do you?”
“No.” Lady Barton said and reached out for her teacup. “So, what do you say?” She was smiling in her best cajoling fashion and Felicia knew, as always, that there was little point in resisting.
“Who else will be there, Aunt Agatha? Anybody I know?”
“I do not think so.” Lady Barton said slowly. “It is something of a standing event every month and generally the same people turn out to it. But it is a good mixture of ages and personalities, I’m sure there will be somebody there to suit you.”
“Very well, I give in.” Felicia said and held her hands out in front of her, palms forward, as if in surrender.
“That’s the spirit.” Lady Barton said and they both laughed.
Jonathan had heard nothing at all from Clarence since the awful day of the murder two weeks before. He had grown concerned for his wellbeing and would have called upon him unannounced had Meredith Mulholland not been there.
So, when his butler brought him a letter with his morning coffee, he was pleased to see the handwriting he knew as well as he knew his own.
“My dear Jonathan,
Please forgive my not having made contact these last weeks, I have no proper excuse for it. I suppose it has taken a little time for things to settle down here at Scorton Hall, but I am pleased to report that a little of the old character has begun return to the place once more.
My dear Meredith has been very strong about the whole thing, surprising me greatly I must admit. Perhaps ladies with spirit are more of a draw than I had realized.
Still, that is not to say that the whole business has not upset her, although it has not cast such a long shadow over life as I had assumed it would.
To give you a little news, the coroner has made his ruling in the awful business of the death of Daisy Marlow. He has declared that her death was due to murder by a person or persons unknown. In all honesty, I think that is as much of an ending as we are ever going to receive. There have been no other answers and there is still no idea as to the identity of the burglar. There have been no burglaries of a similar nature in the area at all, and so I suppose it must be believed that the man, shaken by an unexpected turn in events, has decided to either lay low or give up on his nefarious activities altogether.
Whilst it is of little comfort, I suppose we ought to attempt to draw some reassurance from it. Perhaps it is the last of such things from whomever it was who came into my house on that night. Perhaps we shall never know.
Howev
er, let us talk of brighter things now, for life is still to be lived. Meredith is settling in well, although she is not settling in here at Scorton Hall. I have installed her at the Hollybush Inn just two miles away and see her every day.
Despite the presence of her constant companion, Mary Morehead, and a hall filled to bursting with servants, I could tell from my housekeeper’s expression that she would not be at all pleased by the idea of Meredith taking up residence at Scorton Hall before our nuptials.
I can hardly believe what a bind it has become for me to travel the short miles, given the amount of time I spent traveling to Stirling over these last months. I must admit, I am greatly looking forward to marriage now and the simplicity of it all.
My housekeeper and Mary Morehead strike me as rather kindred spirits in that they are both stern ladies of strict upbringing. I cannot get a moment alone with my dear Meredith at the Hollybush Inn, Miss Morehead is forever with us.
She is the dourest creature with a very determined Scottish accent. Still, I’m pleased to say that I understand every word of it for she speaks so slowly as if to be sure to make herself abundantly clear at all times. However, it appears that my dear Meredith cannot do without her, and so I seem set to have the peculiar creature in my life forevermore.
Perhaps I can find somebody to marry her away to? Perhaps there is a lonely man out there of good means who would be willing to sacrifice autonomy over his own life for the want of a little company. It is certainly worth the effort if I am ever to get her out of the way.
I ought not really to speak of Miss Morehead in such terms, for I know well how she has seen my bride-to-be through some of the worst times of her life. I should not underestimate the power and importance of true friendship, should I? Especially not since I enjoy such friendship myself.
The Secrets of Scorton Hall: An Historical Regency Romance Mystery Page 7