An Earl To Remember (The Yorkshire Downs Series - Love, Hearts and Challenges) (A Regency Romance Story)

by Jasmine Ashford

  Come on, Evelyn! she chided. Isn't it just a bit convenient that the ghost appeared now? Whoever read my notes knows I went in there. They are trying to scare me out. The thought made Evelyn even more determined to discover the truth.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  FINDING MORE INFORMATION

  FINDING MORE INFORMATION

  “Barrett!”

  “Yes, my lady?” Barrett asked, looking up from where read a book, a glass of brandy balanced casually in his left hand. He looked tired from the ride, but otherwise content. It was the first time they had been alone together for about a week.

  “I wanted to ask if you will be going to town soon?” Evelyn asked. She had not mentioned the ghost incident, and, strangely, neither had he. The servants had clearly decided to keep it to themselves. If she herself was shaken by it, she hid it very well. She had discovered a disconcerting talent for being secretive – disconcerting because she hadn't known she possessed it, but useful. Especially now.

  “The day after tomorrow, as it happens, my lady. I planned a trip to town for business. Why do you ask?” Barrett sipped the drink, dark eyes on hers.

  “I had thought it would be nice to come with you. I should go out more. Now that I feel better, I think I am in need of a change of scene!” She laughed lightly.

  “I am so glad you are better,” Barrett said kindly. “I had worried it was the matter of my company making you ill, and that was an awful thought!”

  Evelyn laughed. “You could never make me ill, dear Barrett,” she said fondly.

  He blinked. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “But I think that if I do not get into the city for a few hours, I might be in danger of relapsing,” she chuckled.

  “I had needed to go in on matters of business,” Barrett said cautiously. “Lord Sanford and I have a matter to discuss with my solicitor, and Mr. Prestwich wanted to meet at the Oakham Club. I would be unable to go out about the town with you much,” he explained apologetically.

  “That would be acceptable,” Evelyn began, “as then we could go into London and spend a few hours apart. I can explore and you can conclude whatever business you need to do. If you were to leave me in Chelsea, perhaps? It has been years since I saw the theater. I remember the place from when I was a child.” The part about the theater was certainly true, though Evelyn had only one reason for going there, and that was because the place was close to Lord Tallinn's townhouse, or so Mrs. Brook had told her.

  “If you say so,” Barrett agreed, brows raised. “Though would it not be unpleasant there alone? You could take Meg to chaperone you, if you would like? Or Sutton or Blake?”

  “No, I will be safe,” Evelyn said gently. “I shall keep to the main street and not go any further than the theater.”

  “Very well,” Barrett agreed. “And you could always send for Mr. Preston to fetch you at a certain time. I will be held down until after midday. But I understand Mr. Preston knows the area well.”

  I know, Evelyn almost said. She stopped herself in time. If she said she knew about his marriage to the cook at Tallinn House, he would ask how she knew. In addition, Evelyn did not want anyone, not even Barrett, knowing about her investigation. If anyone found out she had been asking questions, she was asking to meet the same fate as Lady Brokeridge. She shivered, realizing it.

  “You are cold?” Barrett asked, seeing the shiver. “I should send for Doctor. I should have done it much sooner.”

  “No, don't worry on my account,” Evelyn said gently. “I will be well. No need to call out Doctor Epsom for me.”

  “Doctor Epsom?” Barrett frowned. “Where did you hear that name? He left years ago. He was the doctor here when I was a boy. Doctor Masefield works for us now.” He was staring at her, a worried crease on his brow. Evelyn felt cold all over.

  “I heard a maid-servant mention it, I think,” she said cautiously. “The other night, when I was so poorly. She must have confused the names herself, and confused me, too!” She chuckled.

  Barrett laughed easily, clearly taking the explanation at face value. “Quite so, my dear,” he agreed. “I can't imagine who it was...Old Meg is probably the only maid who still recalls old Epsom,” he added thoughtfully. “He left our service years ago.”

  “When?” Evelyn asked, trying to make the question sound disinterested. In truth, her palms were slick with sweat.

  “After Mother died,” Barrett said, stone-faced. “I think, though I wouldn't say this too loudly or in his company, that Father held him responsible for her death. Not that he ever said it, mind, but I do know that the man took his bags and left that day and that was the last we saw of him.”

  Evelyn froze. Had the doctor seen some sign on the body? Had he suspected something? Had Lord Brokeridge had him dealt with to keep him silent?

  She swallowed hard. If the doctor had disappeared, then...

  “What is it, my dear?” Barrett asked, concerned. “You suddenly look concerned.”

  “I am well,” Evelyn said, giving a light laugh. “I am just a little shaky still. Whatever malady this is seems to be slow to recede. I think I might retire early, if I may?”

  Barrett raised a brow, but nodded. “Of course, my dear. It is only nine of the clock,” he added worriedly. “But if you are so tired, of course I must let you go.”

  Evelyn thanked him and stood, setting aside the cards with which she had been playing Patience. “Goodnight, my lord. I shall see you tomorrow, and then the following day we depart for London?”

  “Of course, my dear lady,” he agreed. “Though you are certain you are well enough to attend?”

  “Oh, yes,” Evelyn agreed firmly. “I shall be well enough day after tomorrow.”

  You cannot believe how well I can be, she thought wryly as she curtseyed and walked out. I don't want to stay here a moment longer.

  If the doctor could disappear, what could happen to her? He did not even live under the same roof as Lord Brokeridge, and he was still able to have him dispatched. For Evelyn was sure the doctor had met with a premature end. The fact that he had examined the body made it seem too likely someone had silenced him to hide their crime.

  However, what did he use? If she could find the weapon, perhaps she could prove that it was murder. But where to even start?

  I will start here, Evelyn decided as she reached her rooms and called for Sutton to come and help her retire for the night. I will search the manor first, looking for anything related to the way she died.

  Because tomorrow, she might find Rebecca. And gather the last clues.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY

  A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY

  The next morning, Evelyn slipped out of bed early. She had planned to wake before it was light, so she had been sure to drink three glasses of water, hoping her need to relieve herself would wake her. It worked.

  The appearance of the ghost the previous night had made her more determined than ever to explore the forbidden rooms. Why was someone trying to scare her away? What did they think she might find? She had resolved before she retired for the night to explore it early that morning, before the servants even awoke.

  Slipping lightly out of bed to visit the privy, Evelyn pulled her silk robe about her and pushed her feet into her worked satin slippers. Still cold, she tiptoed down the hall. The privy was one room down from hers and she soon returned, sneaking along the corridor. She could hear the servants starting to move around, and knew she did not have much time before Sutton came to stoke the fire, and found her gone.

  Hurry, Evelyn! she thought to herself. She stepped over the cordon and into the short, green-clad hallway and went unswervingly to the center door, the one that led to Lady Brokeridge's bedchamber. In the entrance, she froze. What if there really was a ghost? What if, by entering this place, she had drawn it out somehow? What if the servants were right?

  Come on, you can do this. You know there is no ghost, or why didn't she appear last time?

  Stepp
ing in, she pulled the door shut behind her. She waited a moment, breath drawn, as if expecting the apparition to emerge, pointing a transparent, accusing finger. When nothing happened for almost a minute, she breathed out sharply, relieved.

  The room seemed undisturbed, exactly as it was on her first visit. Breathing in the musty air with its faint scent of orange-water, she went to the window, looking for the only clue that seemed to point to how she had died.

  Yes, the tie-back from the right-hand curtain was indeed missing. She examined the left-most one. It was long enough to strangle someone, she was fairly sure. Whether it was long enough for a person to hang themselves was rather more doubtful.

  And from what would she hang herself? Evelyn thought. There was nothing she could see that would support a body: the ceiling was too high and the canopy too slim for anyone to use without breaking it.

  She shook her head, remembering a detail. The woman was found in her bed, Evelyn! That ruled out any possibility of her having hanged herself. There was the outside possibility that Lord Brokeridge might have taken the body down, not wanting anyone to know she had taken her life.

  Evelyn sat down on the floor, feeling confused. In her mind, she built the two cases – one for suicide and one for murder.

  On the side of suicide were two facts: First, Lady Brokeridge was known to be depressed in the weeks before her death. Secondly, she was, to all intents and purpose, alone at the time of her death.

  On the side of murder were a few more facts. First, if Lady Brokeridge had killed herself, would Lord Brokeridge, a man not known for his religiousness or for his care for his wife, have bothered to hide it? Second, Lord Brokeridge and the lady were known to have a difficult relationship, with him known for his unpredictable temper. Third, why was the doctor dismissed if it was not to keep him silent about something he saw on the body? Fourth, there was a motive, clearly, for Lord Brokeridge to kill her – his desire for her wealth.

  Both seemed plausible, though she had to admit there was more to support murder than suicide.

  I wish I knew where the tie-back was. If she had hanged herself with it, and Lord Brokeridge had taken her down, he might have hidden it somewhere in the room. If he’d murdered her with it, would he have taken it away and hidden it elsewhere?

  She wandered around the room, wondering where he might have hidden it. She looked at the fireplace. In either scenario, he could have burned it. Yes, burning silk would smell a little odd, but in the chaos surrounding her death, would anyone have noticed? Evelyn felt hit with sudden inspiration. She remembered watching Bronson burn rubbish on a bonfire. With it once had been a silk handkerchief. She recalled the ashes afterward – the handkerchief had shriveled into a fragile ball, as if it shrank into itself. Other fabrics did not burn like that – cotton, for example, did not burn nearly so well. I wonder if the fireplace was cleaned? If it wasn't, and he burned the silk cord, it would still be there.

  Getting down on her hands and knees, Evelyn looked in the grate. The fireplace had not been cleaned, as she had thought. The ashes there were the charred remains of logs and twigs and bits of cinder from coal. Nothing that looked as she imagined the burned tie-back. She reached out to touch something that looked as if it might be burned paper. The ash went up her nose and she coughed.

  Choking, she sat back on the hearth rug. She looked up, and found herself looking up at the mantelpiece from below – identical to the one in her room. She felt her heart stop as she spied something hidden there.

  In almost the identical place to the one where she chose to hide her notes was a book. Trembling, she got to her feet and lifted it down. It was a plain, leather-bound book, about the length of her hand. She opened the front page. Written there, in a neat, flowing hand, was a name.

  Euphemia Brokeridge.

  She paged to the next page and started reading.

  July the fourteenth. Today I went riding on the estate. I am sure Richard and I could make something beautiful out of the garden. I must ask him if we could perhaps grow roses. I do love roses.

  She felt her eyes cloud with tears, reading the passing comments of Lady Euphemia. It was a diary.

  Looking left and right, she slid the diary under her night-robe. After shutting the door behind her, she slipped out into the hallway, ran to her room and locked the door. She finally had a key into the life and death of Lady Brokeridge. Written in her own words.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A TROUBLED MIND

  A TROUBLED MIND

  Dinner that evening seemed endless. The houseguests were still there and Evelyn felt the genteel conversation grate on her nerves. All she wanted was to return to her room and read the diary. She had hidden it in the bottom of the clothes-chest, praying no one had seen her or would think to look for it. She needed to finish reading it.

  Instead, all she could do was to sit and listen to the conversation of Mr. Prestwich and Lord Everidge and the others, and delicately eat roast capon and a fricassee of beans. The only good thing about the evening was that Mrs. Brooke seemed to have kept her word and made the servants like her again – even Sutton had been perfectly amiable when she came to help her dress that evening.

  “...and the dancing up at Almacks was as sprightly as usual...” Mr. Prestwich was saying to her.

  She blinked. “That is good, my lord.” she turned to Barrett, who was sitting beside her. “My dear?” she whispered.

  “Yes, my lady?” He looked instantly concerned.

  “I am feeling awfully strange. Would you mind if I retired earlier tonight?”

  “Of course, my dear,” he whispered back. “It would be perfectly acceptable for you to leave. But, you are not ill?”

  “Oh, no,” Evelyn smiled wanly. It was not difficult to pretend a headache – she had felt one lurking at the back of her head for a few days. “I am just tired.”

  “Very well.” He squeezed her hand and she stood.

  “Excuse me,” she said politely to Mr. Prestwich. “I am feeling somewhat faint. I shall retire now.”

  “Of course, Lady Evelyn,” he said, and bowed over her outstretched hand. “I trust you will feel well soon.”

  She walked toward the door, back tense and straight. In the corridor, she practically ran upstairs, heading for her room. After slamming the door and locking it, she took the pearl-headed pins from her hair and removed the satin shoes that were starting to pinch her toes. Thus more comfortable, she drew the curtains and went to the chest. She felt around and was relieved to find the book still there. She drew it out, carried it to the wing-back chair and opened it, angling the candle so she could read the fine, curling script.

  I am pleased our Barrett is faring so well, she read. He is strong and healthy and will be tall, like his father. Only the other day he walked along the lawn a few paces! I am sure other babies do not walk as soon as he has.

  Evelyn smiled. It was strange to read the woman's pride in her son – little Barrett – and the way she discussed his progress, just like any mother. It made her feel closer to the woman.

  The next few pages focused more on Barrett, and she skimmed through them, amused by reading of his antics. It was not the information she was looking for, however. A few paragraphs down, she found something interesting.

  I feel so strong. Other women complain that they always felt poorly, even years after giving birth, but I have recovered so fast. I can even beat Richard in a ride. Not that he admits it.

  That surprised her. The mental image she had of Lady Brokeridge was of a frail, ill woman, too weary even to leave her bed, too scared to wish to venture out of her chambers. The woman in the writing was bold and full of life. How was it that she had changed so much?

  She stretched and added oil to the lantern, then continued reading.

  I sometimes fear the temper Richard shows. He is so quick to anger! He almost thrashed Rawling for disturbing him. When I asked him about a rose arbor, he ignored me. Perhaps he has had bad news. I should be patient.
<
br />   Evelyn bit her lip, feeling a stab of pain in her heart. The lady was clearly afraid of Richard, her husband. His temper was something she had already heard about from Mrs. Brook. Could he have killed her by accident, in a fit of rage? The lady's forgiving attitude only served to make the thought of that more painful for Evelyn.

  As she read further, Evelyn felt her suspicions grow. She had reached an entry from almost a year later – the entries were often short, and the lady often skipped a day or two at a time, making the reading fast. She held her breath.

  The rose arbor is complete, but I sometimes wish I had not asked for it. I found a servant there, harvesting lavender. When I challenged him, he was most uncivil. I will speak to Richard about it. A paragraph later, she mentioned, Richard was vexed when I told him. He said Adam would be disciplined and that should be enough for me.

  Evelyn recalled what Mrs. Brook said, about the servant. Mr. Adam, who was good with herbs. The man harvesting lavender from the lady's private flowerbeds was obviously him – the fact that he had been uncivil seemed to bear that out. However, why did Richard take a servant's part against his wife? That was yet another indicator of how unkind he could be toward her.

  Evelyn stretched and yawned. She glanced at the clock. It was half past eleven. She must have been reading for two hours. She glanced at the book. She was halfway through. During the years she had read through, Barrett had aged from a two year old, just walking, to a six-year old child, reading and writing.

  I should try to read the whole thing now, Evelyn told herself stubbornly. What if it is stolen? She laughed at herself – the mystery of her missing notebook was still a mystery.

  Head bent to the pages, she continued reading.

  Around the time of Barrett's seventh year, things started to change. The writing became more scrawled, the entries shorter. The sentences were disjointed and vague.