by Jean Rowden
As Phoebe approached the door of his lordship’s study a terrible thought struck her. Perhaps Jonah’s foolish infatuation with Lady Pickhurst had been discovered; her poor cousin would lose both his job and his reputation. And if that was the cause of her summons then what of her own position? She would be tainted by her relationship to him.
Phoebe entered the study, and her heart plummeted; it seemed her worst fears were about to be realized. Jonah stood by Lord Pickhurst’s desk, looking even larger than usual, and completely out of place in his dusty working clothes. He spared her no more than a glance before turning his head away; the breech that had been opened between them seemed wider than ever. Jonah was the last of her family, and she bit her lip to stem the flow of tears.
‘Miss Drake, Sir Martin Haylmer, in his position as chief magistrate, sent a message this morning in which he asked me to speak to you. Since Jackman was already here to see me on business, and bearing in mind his connection to you, I trust you won’t object to his remaining. Jackman, the plans are on the table by the window, you might occupy yourself with them for the moment.’
‘Sir Martin?’ The relief was so great that Phoebe felt suddenly faint, hardly hearing the rest of what her employer had said.
Lord Pickhurst looked at her with concern. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No your lordship, I’m afraid I may have run downstairs a little too fast, but I’m quite well.’
‘Good.’ Lord Pickhurst gave her an uncertain smile. ‘I have some news for you.’
Phoebe glanced at Jonah, but he had his back to them and showed no sign that he knew she was there. ‘News?’
‘About the man you brought off the moors yesterday,’ Lord Pickhurst said. ‘I gather you acted very sensibly. Sir Martin has asked me to express his gratitude for your help. Sadly the fellow was found too late. He died during the night.’
‘Oh no!’ Her hand flew to her mouth. It was the last thing she’d expected. ‘I hadn’t thought he was so ill,’ she said, and suddenly the dream returned to her. It was disturbing to think that this stranger had entered her sleeping mind, alive and well, perhaps at the very moment of his death. She became aware that Lord Pickhurst was still watching her, and felt she must say something. ‘I felt guilty about doing so little for him. Mr Docket promised that he would lack for nothing, but he hurried him away very quickly. Perhaps if he’d been allowed to stay here at Knytte the poor man might have survived.’
Lord Pickhurst shook his head. ‘I fear not. I assure you he was well tended. It wasn’t lack of attention that killed him. He’d suffered serious injuries which had been neglected for too long. However, he was conscious for a short time, and he asked that you should be thanked for your kindness.’
‘I did very little. Tell me, do you know anything of his history?’
‘It appears he was a dishonest rogue by the name of Cobb, and he wasn’t nearly as poor as he appeared. He came from London to buy some of the jewellery stolen in the recent robberies.’
Phoebe stared at him. The dream had played her false; those eyes, that smile, hadn’t looked like those of a sinful man.
‘Yes, it’s a bad business,’ his lordship went on. ‘I understand he was in some part repentant, but Sir Martin tells me he gave the police no useful information.’ He looked up at her again. ‘You may be aware that the reward for finding this man was claimed by a road-mender, but Sir Martin feels that you played a significant part, and more to the point, he wishes you to be commended for your compassion. He has instructed me to give you this.’ He handed over a small purse. ‘Five guineas. I trust you feel no reluctance in accepting it.’
Her first instinct was to refuse, but Phoebe thought swiftly, and lifted her chin; thanks to Jonah her job was in jeopardy and she couldn’t afford to have scruples. ‘No. Thank you, your lordship. I am sorry the poor man died. I shall write to Sir Martin to express my gratitude.’
Phoebe returned to the nursery with the purse in her hand, and a tumble of thoughts running through her head. She felt somehow unclean, as if she shared some responsibility for the death of the tramp, although commonsense told her not to be a fool. Managed carefully, five guineas would keep her for quite a while if she lost her post.
‘Mr Mortleigh, you’ve found time to return to us.’ Lucille’s heart was beating fast. She was eager to challenge her lover and confirm her worst suspicions of him. Glancing at the clock, she could hardly believe it was only mid-afternoon. She daren’t allow her gaze to linger on his face in case he read her thoughts.
Lord Pickhurst greeted their guest with more open enthusiasm, rising to usher him to a chair. ‘You’ll take a drink, Mortleigh? I was about to order tea, since my wife usually takes it about this time, but perhaps you would like something stronger after your journey from London?’
‘Tea will be perfect, thank you.’ Mortleigh smiled. He took the opportunity to mime a kiss to Lucille when her husband turned his back to reach for the bell-pull, but she ignored him.
They made small talk about the trains, and the inconvenience of having no station closer than Hagstock, until the servants withdrew and the three of them were alone again, seated around the small table.
‘And how was London?’ Lucille asked distantly, as she handed their visitor a cup.
‘Too hot and very dusty,’ their guest replied. ‘I found myself longing for the time of my departure, so I could return to the delights of the country. And Knytte in particular,’ he added, with a little bow towards his host.
‘I trust you conveyed my good wishes to Mr Laidlaw,’ Lord Pickhurst said. ‘Did you leave him well?’
‘He is much improved in every way, thank you. Indeed I have no more fears for him.’ Mortleigh looked down into his teacup. ‘I regret that his indisposition has soured our relationship, however. It is unlikely we shall ever see him back in this part of the country.’
‘What a pity,’ his lordship said. ‘We had so little time to discuss my plans, and Laidlaw had a genuine interest in the alterations I’m making. He shared my enthusiasm for the remodelling of the ruins, it would be a shame if he never saw them completed.’
‘I hope the work is making good progress,’ Mortleigh said. ‘I spent a full hour in your garden once, and I swear it was one of the most pleasurable times of my life. I trust I shall be able to spend a great deal longer exploring its delights. Unlike my friend, I find the country has many benefits.’
‘Some people find it lonely,’ Lord Pickhurst replied, glancing at his wife, who was bending, flush-cheeked, over the tea-pot. ‘Evidently you are not one of them?’
Mortleigh shook his head. ‘Hardly. I always find excellent company in the country.’
‘I imagine that you are constantly in demand, particularly among young women,’ Lucille said, having regained her composure; his reference to the delights of the garden had all too clearly referred to his clandestine visit that first night. ‘There was a party at Dunsby Court on Saturday, and I’m sure you were sorely missed.’
‘Yes, I had to refuse the invitation,’ he replied, meeting her look squarely. ‘Unlike the fairer sex, who have only to entertain themselves, men have business to attend to. With so many of your neighbours gathered together I don’t doubt you had an enjoyable time.’
‘I’m afraid not. Gardens are all very well, but I prefer to dance and dine within doors. We didn’t stay more than two hours, which meant we missed all the excitement. I suppose you won’t have heard the news. Mrs Stoppen was robbed. Her famed ruby tiara was stolen, that very afternoon, while the entire household were out in the grounds.’
‘What, the jewel thief has struck again?’ Mortleigh looked astounded.
Lord Pickhurst nodded gravely. ‘The rogue gets more brazen. We are almost the last house of note to be left untouched, and I fear he may make the attempt to break in here. I have taken the advice of the Lord Lieutenant, and deposited Lady Pickhurst’s jewels in the bank. Since even he has been a victim I can’t help but be uneasy.’
‘I can hardly believe any stranger could enter Knytte undetected,’ Mortleigh said.
‘I prefer not to take the risk. Within the week I shall have a new safe installed.’ He smiled at his wife. ‘Perhaps you may keep at least some of your trinkets here again once it is done.’
‘If you think it wise,’ Lucille replied. ‘Sir Martin is no nearer catching this villain. With all the fuss yesterday it seemed he was making progress, but it was a storm in a teacup.’
‘Hardly that, my dear.’ Lord Pickhurst turned to Mortleigh. ‘Evidently a vagrant, a stranger who came here from London, was believed to have evidence that might lead to the arrest of this thief. After the robbery at Dunsby Court, Sir Martin had a handbill printed and circulated in a bid to find him. Imagine our shock when Miss Drake, who is governess to my sister’s children, returned here yesterday morning with the very man. She and young Rodney had been on an excursion to Gretlyn, and they found this tramp upon the road, gravely wounded.’
Lucille studied Mortleigh’s face. Anyone who didn’t know him would notice nothing, but she saw a new tension in his jaw. ‘The foolish girl brought him here,’ she said, ‘instead of taking him directly to Clowmoor Manor, but fortunately Sir Martin sent for him at once, and he was barely in the house five minutes. I feared we should have everyone below stairs infested with fleas and bedbugs and who knows what, had he stayed a minute longer, for you never saw such a miserable filthy sight.’
‘So, Sir Martin has his man,’ Mortleigh commented idly. ‘But did I hear you right? You say the whole thing has led nowhere?’
Lucille met his look. There was a pulse drumming in his temple. She had been right, she was sure of it. The knowledge of the power he had unwittingly placed in her hands was like a draught of strong wine.
She smiled. ‘The wretch died soon after he arrived at Clowmoor, before he could say a word.’
‘I chose a bad time to be away,’ Mortleigh said, his tone suddenly light-hearted, ‘I seem to have missed a great deal. Never let it be said that life in the country is dull. The more I see and hear of it, the more I wish I could stay. Perhaps you have some small cottage in the grounds, my lord, where I could take a buxom milkmaid for a wife and rusticate to my heart’s content.’
‘The dower house is empty, but you might find it a trifle small,’ Lord Pickhurst replied jovially. ‘As to the milkmaid, if you come to the ball we are giving at Christmas I have no doubt Lucille will find you a dozen more eligible partners.’
‘Are you serious about moving to the country, Mr Mortleigh?’ Lucille asked, keeping her tone light, and looking down at the tea cups so neither man would see the thoughts her eyes might betray.
‘I am considering it, if the right house becomes available. My business interests have prospered lately, so perhaps the opportunity will come sooner than I expected. If you hear of any suitable property to let, I beg you will let me know. This area would suit me well.’
‘There are some fine properties quite near,’ Lord Pickhurst said. ‘I’m sure you will hear of something.’ He rubbed a hand over his chin. ‘I spoke of the Dower House without any serious thought,’ he said, ‘but if you don’t mind a small establishment, with no more than half a dozen staff, it might suit you, for a short time at least. Of course you wouldn’t be able to entertain on a large scale.’
‘I doubt if that would trouble Mr Mortleigh, my dear,’ Lucille said impishly, ‘since you will constantly invite him to Knytte. Your plan is all very well, but the Dower House has been empty for several years.’
‘I don’t think there’s much wrong with it,’ Lord Pickhurst said. ‘I tell you what, Mortleigh, if you have no other pressing plans, we’ll take a look in the morning.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’ Mortleigh looked at Lucille. ‘If the Dower House proves suitable, I do hope you wouldn’t object to having me as a close neighbour, Lady Pickhurst. I fear my presence hasn’t always been as welcome to you as it is to his lordship.’
‘I’ve no objection to anything or anyone that pleases my husband,’ Lucille replied, with a laugh. ‘But I warn you, if you stay in our neighbourhood then I shall do my best to provide you with a wife. Single gentlemen are so much more difficult to seat at the dinner table.’
Chapter Thirteen
The day was almost at an end, but Phoebe hadn’t been aware of its passing. She’d rarely felt so unhappy. Even when she was at Clowmoor Manor, suffering the unwelcome attentions of young Roderick Haylmer and fearing the loss of both her reputation and her position through no fault of her own, she’d managed to remain cheerful.
On becoming a governess she’d schooled herself not to think of the happier life she left behind at the vicarage, the only home she’d ever known. Her mother was no more than a vague memory, along with the two small boys, Phoebe’s brothers, each of whom lived less than two years. The harrowing months spent nursing her father before he died had left her rather withdrawn, but his belief, through all the suffering, that a better existence awaited him beyond the grave had remained with him. She’d always considered it would be a betrayal to allow herself to be despondent at his loss.
This total depression of the spirits, so unlike her normal character, refused to lift. Phoebe mourned the death of the tramp, without knowing why. A man she hadn’t known shouldn’t be so hard to dismiss from her mind, but she’d dreamt about him again, seeing him young and healthy, smiling at her. It made no sense, yet the feeling that the dream was significant refused to leave her.
Seeking another cause for her strange mood, Phoebe’s thoughts fell upon Jonah. He was all the family she had since her father’s death. Perhaps if she could mend her friendship with Jonah she’d get the unfortunate tramp out of her mind.
The daylight was fading and her cousin was tidying away his tools when she found him. He was alone, the other men having left already. The ruins were quiet and full of shadows and she shivered a little, recalling her night time excursion.
‘Jonah?’ She approached him warily.
He refused to acknowledge her presence, keeping his back turned.
‘Jonah, please. I’m sorry I upset you.’ There were tears pricking at her eyes. ‘You’re the only true friend I have. We both know how it feels to be alone in the world. Please, help me to mend this rift between us. I promise not to lecture you, if only you’ll treat me as a sister again. I’m sorry. I was wrong to try to interfere.’
‘It’s a bit late to admit that, isn’t it?’ He turned to her then; there was no sign of brotherly love on his face. ‘Why’ve you come? If you really cared about me you wouldn’t have come sneaking around the garden on Saturday night. Don’t deny it. I saw you running back through the ruins. But spying on us wasn’t enough, was it? You wanted Lucille’s reputation ruined. Your nasty little plan might have worked, if I hadn’t found another way into the house.’
‘That wasn’t my doing,’ Phoebe cried. ‘I turned out the lamp and moved it, that’s all. I wanted to warn you; there could be others watching who’d betray you. And I didn’t spy. I left and returned to the house as soon as I heard your voice.’
He still looked doubtful, but his expression had softened a little. Seeing it, Phoebe went on. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have followed Lady Pickhurst. I don’t blame you for being angry with me. But it could have been anyone looking out of the window. You couldn’t help falling in love, Jonah, but can’t you see how dangerous it is, for both of you?’
‘Do you expect me to believe you didn’t make all that noise to rouse the whole house?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You wanted us found.’
‘No!’ There were tears running freely down her face. ‘It was an accident. The wind blew the door out of my hand and slammed it. Once all the fuss had calmed down Mr Henson locked and bolted the door, and ordered everyone back to bed. I would have gone back later, but I didn’t have the key, even if I could have managed to draw the bolt.’
‘Luckily Lucille had a key.’
She nodded. ‘I’m glad, honestly
I am.’ She took a step towards him. ‘Please Jonah, do you really think I’m lying to you?’
He stared at her for a moment, then slowly shook his head. ‘Life’s so hard for Lucille. She’s got no friends here, only me. The servants complain behind her back. They make up stories, and say she’s hard, but they don’t know what she’s really like. I know she’s kind and gentle, but nobody else sees the best of her.’ He gave Phoebe a challenging look and she nodded, if a little reluctantly.
Jonah ran a hand over his dusty hair. ‘Her parents forced her into this marriage. Lord Pickhurst paid a lot of money for her, but he doesn’t love her. He bought her to show off to his wealthy friends, just like any other piece of furniture in the big house. She’s desperately unhappy, Phoebe.’
Jonah stared at the stone he’d been shaping, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. ‘I tried to stop seeing her. It’s so risky for her to meet the way we do, but what could I do? She begged me to come, and I was afraid she’d harm herself if I didn’t.’
He looked earnestly into Phoebe’s eyes, and this time he reminded her of the boy who’d been an older brother to her. ‘I’d managed to stay away from her for nearly a month, but Lucille was so unhappy, I couldn’t let her go to the summerhouse and find it empty. She says it’s the one place at Knytte where she’s known happiness.’
Phoebe set one of her hands upon his. ‘But meeting in secret can only bring more misery for both of you in the end. You know that.’ There was so much more she could have said. She could have told him of the vivid slap marks that stayed all day on a maid’s cheeks after she dropped her ladyship’s glove, of Lady Pickhurst’s attempt to be rid of the children, although her husband was fond of them, of the scratch of fingernails on the door and the low laugh that tormented young Rodney Pengoar’s sleep. It was pointless; love was blind, and Jonah wouldn’t believe her.
‘Phoebe, I should leave Knytte,’ Jonah said. ‘I know it’s the only thing to do, though it’ll be hard. There’s work in Hagstock. Or I could go further away, where I’d never even hear her name. I swear I’ll not go to her again. Listen Phoebe, it breaks my heart to leave her without a friend. If she had one person she could talk to, I’d go with an easier mind. You’re a governess, and a lady, not really a servant at all, even if you do have a bumpkin like me for a cousin.’