A Woman’s Innocence

by Gayle Callen

  With a simple “Good night,” Sam retired to his own bath, which Lucy had had moved to his room. A disappointed Julia went to bed, where sleeping alone suddenly seemed foreign, unwelcome. In just a few days, she’d become accustomed to awakening in his arms.

  Running away with him to the Continent suddenly didn’t seem so terrible.

  They woke up early so Sam could enhance Julia’s manly appearance for the day. Though he saw the shadows under her eyes that didn’t need much cosmetic help, he didn’t ask her how she had slept. He had to discourage the intimacy she seemed to so easily inspire.

  After breakfast, he was given permission to use the library to interview servants. He studied the room thoughtfully, as Julia stood close by, watching him.

  She was never far away, never far from his thoughts, especially last night in his lonely bed. But now she looked confused as she watched him place two comfortable chairs facing each other. He explained about making a subject feel comfortable enough to relax and speak freely.

  “And who will we be interviewing first?” she asked, seating herself behind the desk, picking up her pencil, and opening her notebook.

  “Mrs. Cooper. Might as well start at the top.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Frances fiddled when she was finally seated in her chair, as if Sam were going to attack her. She had dark circles beneath her eyes, and he knew the enormity of this task was taking a toll on more than he and Julia.

  “General Reed and his sister returned to England last year, Mrs. Cooper, and Hopewell Manor was the first place they came to. Can ye tell me what went on the week they were here?”

  As he’d suspected, Frances had little to say that was of any help, as she tried to recall what parties the Reeds might have attended.

  “Now let me turn to Mrs. Hume’s death. She was the children’s governess?”

  Frances nodded. “When she was too old to work, we asked her to remain with us.”

  “Was General Reed here when she died?”

  She looked puzzled. “Yes, he was. He’d come up alone from London for a day or two to take care of business.”

  Sam felt a surge of triumph. Lewis had been in the manor when the old woman died, had gone back to London, then later sent Julia to the estate to take the old woman’s possessions to her son in Leeds. He must never have told Julia where he went when he left London. All to fit in with the scheme he’d set in motion, making her look guilty of treason.

  And if Lewis had been here the night of the woman’s death, then Sam had to find a way to tie them together. Frances explained that Mrs. Hume hadn’t been ill before she died, and was simply found dead in her bed.

  “Mrs. Cooper, I understand from my many interviews with his sister that the general was…low in his finances.”

  Frances stiffened, but said nothing immediately. If it wasn’t true, she would have denied it in a heartbeat.

  “As you can see from the condition of the estate, sir,” she said with a telltale quaver in her voice, “he managed to keep things together regardless of occasional…circumstances.”

  “Such circumstances bein’ when your wages were late?”

  Her lips pressed together and she sighed. “Yes, sir. But it was never for very long.”

  “And how long was that?”

  “Usually just a few weeks. Twice he was about three months late. But, Constable,” she hurriedly added, “he was halfway around the world. Things happen.”

  She glanced at Julia, who had her head lowered as she continued to scribble her notes.

  “Did ye know, Mrs. Cooper,” Sam said softly, “that the general spent his sister’s dowry? She had nothin’ to bring a husband in marriage.”

  Frances’s eyes grew anguished. This time Julia raised her head and slowly nodded.

  “When Miss Reed discovered what he’d done,” Sam continued, “he told her he didn’t want to lose this estate.”

  “But he’s been back in the country for a year now, Constable. He’s been able to make everything right.”

  “Were debts suddenly paid off, or was it a slow process?”

  “It took almost the full year, Constable, before the general was caught up.”

  Damn. He’d wanted to hear that Lewis had magically come up with a vast sum of money.

  Frances slumped back in her chair, and Sam knew he was destroying his sister’s security bit by bit.

  But he’d do worse to prove Julia’s innocence. Inside him rose a growing impatience he wasn’t used to feeling, a tightening in his gut that made him edgy, angry. If Lewis Reed walked into the room, Sam didn’t know if he could keep from hitting him.

  There was a brisk knock on the door, and his brother Henry ducked his head in.

  “Begging your pardon, Constable, but might I have a word with you?”

  Frances got to her feet. “I’ll see you at luncheon, gentlemen.”

  After she had gone, Henry carefully looked out into the corridor, then closed the door and approached the desk.

  Sam frowned at such suspicious behavior. “Is somethin’ wrong, Mr. Sherryngton?” he asked.

  Henry folded his arms over his chest and suddenly looked reluctant. “Sir, you’ll think me foolish, but I thought I saw someone sneaking over the wall into the gardens at dawn this morning.”

  Sam narrowed his eyes. “You think?”

  Henry shrugged. “The sun had yet to rise and shadows were everywhere, but…yes, sir, I think someone came in over the wall. Normally I’d assume it was an errant footman from the household, or one of the grooms.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sherryngton,” Sam said. “I’m sure it is nothin’ to worry about. But I’ll stay aware.”

  “You’ll stay aware,” Henry repeated.

  There was a teasing smirk in his voice that Sam fondly remembered.

  “It still seems strange, Sa—Constable,” Henry said, “to think that we have you to watch over us.”

  Sam arched a brow at him, then, at a muffled sound, turned to find Julia coughing intently into her hand.

  “Mr. Sherryngton,” Sam said, “do ye doubt my trainin’?”

  “No, sir, it’s just difficult to imagine. But I’d better get back outside.”

  “I’m sure the geraniums need ye to watch over them,” Sam called.

  He heard Julia gasp, but Henry only grinned, and Sam grinned back. For a moment, it was as if they were young again, teasing each other one moment, then the next moment ready to defend each other against the world.

  After Henry had left, Julia just stared at Sam wide-eyed.

  “What?” he said.

  She raised both hands. “Nothin’, sir.” Then a wistful expression came over her face. “That was just…nice.”

  He rolled his eyes, then turned thoughtfully toward the door. “I think I’ll go have a walk and stretch my legs, Fitzjames, while ye organize your notes and ponder other questions we could ask.”

  “I assume ye’ll be in the garden, sir?”

  “You assume correctly.”

  As Sam walk purposefully toward the door, Julia called, “Might ye need me to watch your back, sir?”

  He cast a wry look over his shoulder and left the room, although he could hear her faint laughter. He walked through long corridors, which grew narrower and darker as he entered the rear of the manor. He stepped outside to find the sky overcast and threatening rain. He headed down a path he knew would circle the gardens, covering as much ground as possible. He passed Henry’s two assistants on their hands and knees weeding, and they tipped their hats as he limped past. His ears remained alert and his eyes scanned for unnatural movement. Soon the foliage grew a little wilder, blocking out more of the sky. He turned a corner, and a shovel hit him across the head.

  After Sam left, Julia stifled her laughter. They should not be joking about so serious a subject as a villain’s pursuit, but she’d explode if she couldn’t relieve the tension somehow. She shivered as she remembered the kiss he’d given her yesterday. She wasn’t going to thin
k about the other way to relieve tension.

  She bent over her notes and began to rewrite them in a neater hand. As she considered what Frances had said, and what information they might retrieve from the other servants, she didn’t notice time passing until the mantel clock struck. Sam had been gone almost an hour.

  Slowly, she closed her notebook and pocketed it. Why had he not returned yet? A frisson of nerves darted up her spine, and she told herself she was being foolish to worry. What could happen in a lovely garden during the middle of the day?

  She walked through the silent house, then out onto the terrace. A brief gust of wind reminded her that autumn was not far away. Even the birds seemed silent because of the impending storm. She experienced a strange feeling of being watched, but she turned in a circle and could see no one in the windows, no one approaching from one of the paths.

  Just as she left the stairs and stepped onto the grass, she heard a shout.

  “Go back!”

  She froze as Henry and Sam emerged from a thicket. Sam had his arm around Henry’s shoulder, and seemed to be having trouble walking. But he was looking right at her.

  “Get up on the terrace!” he called.

  Rain began to fall in a soft wave, its coolness startling her. She took the stairs backward, her gaze glued to Sam. He winced as Henry guided him up the stairs.

  “Guard your face from the rain,” Sam said in a low voice as they caught up to her.

  She was shocked when he gripped her arm and dragged her along with them, as if he didn’t trust her to follow. She kept her head low, and blotted with her fingers at the occasional stream of rain down her face. All she would need was to have a servant see her “whiskers” smeared.

  When they got inside, Henry took them directly to Frances’s deserted sitting room. He lowered Sam to a chair, and Julia watched his pale face with concern.

  “Constable?” she said softly.

  “I’m all right. Just a bump on the head. Tell everyone I tripped.”

  Henry nodded, but Julia continued to study him. “You didn’t trip,” she said.

  “No. I was hit with a shovel. Luckily, Mr. Sherryngton came along.”

  “So Mr. Sherryngton wasn’t imagining things in the shadows,” she continued.

  “It seems I wasn’t.” Henry frowned as he poured water in a basin and wet a cloth. Handing it to Sam, he said, “Didn’t mean for you to be the target, Constable.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Sherryngton,” Sam said, wiping his face, then pressing the cloth to the side of his head. “I think my assistant and I are the only targets he wants. And look, I’m not even bleeding.” He held up the cloth for their inspection. In a low voice, he told his brother about their assailant who had escaped three days before. “He must have received his orders and come back to carry them out.”

  “He didn’t kill you,” Julia pointed out.

  “No, but I believe there’s no point killing only me. Maybe I was the bait.”

  “I see,” she murmured, looking out the window, thinking of the dangers that now lurked outside her home. “His plan worked, for I was just coming to find you.”

  “You won’t be doing that again,” Sam said darkly. “You’re not to go outside without me.”

  “Is even the manor safe?” Henry asked.

  Sam frowned and was silent for a moment. “You’ll have to alert your assistants and the grooms. Tell them we’re worried we might have a thief about. I’ll have the footmen take turns prowling the house at night. That should dissuade our visitor, at least temporarily.”

  “I just don’t want anyone else hurt because of me,” Julia whispered.

  Chapter 13

  Throughout the morning, Julia watched Sam at work as he interviewed the next five employees. He had insisted he was fine, that he was capable of sitting and asking questions.

  Sam was certainly full of patience. She couldn’t understand how he was able to project such a calmness to each of the people they interviewed. Always, the “subject” (as Sam liked to call them) came in nervous and worried, and by the second question, Sam had them distracted with his rambling thoughts about the estate. It was a skill long practiced.

  A skill she wanted to try.

  And then it was time to interview Lucy. Before Sam’s sister arrived, Julia came around the desk.

  He looked up from the papers in his lap with wariness, then held up a hand. “The headache is almost gone. I’m fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. But that wasn’t what I wanted to discuss.” She took a deep breath and spoke firmly. “Constable, I feel I’ve learned some of your skills by watchin’ ye. I would like to interview the next subject.”

  His stare was understandably hesitant. “Fitzjames, I don’t think—”

  She leaned over him, and his words stopped with obvious surprise. This was the first time she’d used her femininity—hidden though it was—to try to persuade Sam. “Give me a chance,” she whispered. “This is my life. I’m not used to feeling so helpless.”

  So close up, his brown eyes seemed lit with tiny pricks of golden light, exotic, enticing. He scrutinized her and she allowed it, trying to forget her pretense as a man, and to use every bit of her womanly appeal with just the desperation in her eyes.

  “Very well, Fitzjames,” he murmured.

  She noticed his gaze had dropped to her mouth. She slowly licked her lips. Sam arched a brow, his expression so calm it disappointed her.

  “Such blatant enticement is not necessary,” he said, as if they were discussing the weather.

  “Then why is there a sudden bead of sweat on your temple? It’s not warm today.”

  He frowned and opened his mouth, but there was a soft knock on the door.

  She straightened, then pointed behind the desk. “Time to take notes, Constable Seabrook.”

  He sighed, but stood up to follow her lead. When Julia called for her to enter, Lucy came strolling in, looking more subdued than she had the last time Julia had been alone with her.

  Lucy cleared her throat. “Before we start, I’d like to know how my brother became part of this.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon?” Julia said, unprepared and unsure of what to say.

  “My brother Sam. Frances just told me this morning that the police think Sam is a murderer.”

  “He did help Miss Reed escape,” Sam pointed out in a neutral voice.

  “That is just foolish! Anyone who knew him would know he’s not capable of murdering anyone. I may have only been six when he left, but I remember him.”

  “What could you possibly remember, Lucy?” Sam asked.

  Julia knew him too well not to hear the emotion he disguised.

  “He was…kind, and very patient, which is hard when you have so many brothers and sisters. He always had time for me.”

  Sam cleared his throat and looked down at the papers on his desk. “Our job is to find them both and bring them to trial so the truth can be uncovered. Any way ye can help us would be greatly appreciated.”

  “You mean help you put my brother in jail?”

  He sighed. “Or maybe help us discover what really happened. We’re only lookin’ for facts, not mindlessly placin’ blame where it might not belong.”

  Lucy looked away and quickly swiped at her eyes. “How can I believe you? Frances said that when the last police officer was here, he made it sound like there was no question of Miss Reed’s guilt, like she was some…immoral person.”

  Julia’s stomach tightened, and she told herself it was only what she’d expected.

  “But she’s not like that!” Lucy insisted.

  Sam said, “She left here ten years ago. And you remember that about the daughter of the house?”

  “She would…talk to me, after her brother and my brother had left. I know I was still a child, and she was almost a woman, but she missed my brother terribly, and talking seemed to help.”

  There was an awkward pause, during which Julia steamed with mortification.

  �
��They were good friends,” the girl continued. “And then Miss Reed’s parents died, and she was all alone here but for the staff. Frances said no one was surprised when Miss Reed up and left to follow her brother.”

  “Lucy, would ye mind if I ask ye some questions?” Needing to change the subject, Julia used the same relaxed, friendly tone Sam did. She started out worrying about the deepness of her voice, and how far apart to keep her legs, and where to put her hands, but soon the role consumed her and conversation about Hopewell Manor flowed.

  At first, Lucy didn’t have anything new to add. When the topic reached the governess, Lucy was much more knowledgeable than the others had been.

  “Mrs. Hume was such a dear,” the maid said. “I often took tea in her room in the afternoons, when she wasn’t feeling able to be up and about.”

  “Was she ill often?” Julia asked, remembering Mrs. Hume from her youth, when the woman had seemed full of boundless energy and enormous patience, especially when dealing with Lewis.

  “For an old lady, she was seldom ill at all,” Lucy said. “But her bones were old, she would say, and sometimes didn’t want to carry her about.”

  “So you weren’t expecting her to die so suddenly.”

  Her face clouded with sadness. “Not a bit. Just that afternoon I’d walked with her through the garden. I was even going to wish her a good night before I went to bed, but she already had a visitor, and I didn’t want to disturb them.”

  Julia kept her smile pleasant, although her insides seemed ready to crawl out. “Who was the visitor, Lucy?”

  “Why, the master himself, come to see how his old governess was doing.”

  Julia’s smile suddenly seemed frozen, as if her lips would never come apart. Something heavy settled around her heart, squeezing. She hadn’t wanted to believe the truth about her brother.

  But right now she had a job to do. She ignored every confused thought and concentrated on the maid. “Lucy, at what time in the evening did General Reed visit Mrs. Hume?”

  “Almost midnight, which I found strange, if you’re asking my opinion. I knew that Mrs. Hume usually went to bed late. He must have known that, too.”