A Beastly Scandal

by Shereen Vedam

  “There are amusements, and then there are amusements.”

  Phillip wore such a mysterious look it annoyed Rufus. What did his cousin hint at? His mother and sister had been indisposed for days. Breakfast alone with his aunt had left Rufus sadly flat. And his only encounter with Belle had ended in a fight.

  Could Phillip refer to Belle’s company? When could they have had time to converse?

  He straightened in his chair to ask, but Winfield looked at him and said, “I take your mother to still be in mourning, Terrance. If not, my mama would love to pay her respects and meet your houseguest. I told her how charming Lady Belle is.” He switched his gaze back to Phillip. “Do you not agree she is charming, Jones?”

  “Charming,” Phillip said with heartfelt agreement, his smile reappearing.

  His cousin’s manner suggested he knew Belle better than Rufus did, and his knowing smile churned a hot, unpleasant burning in Rufus’s chest. If Phillip were not his cousin and as close to him as a brother, he would have been tempted to wipe that smile off his face with a well-aimed fist. But how could Phillip possibly know Belle better than me? He had only just met her, while, in London, she had practically disrobed on my front doorstep.

  “It is noon,” he said for a change of subject. It did not do to think of Belle disrobed. He was far too distracted by her already. “Are you two gentlemen up to testing the inn’s fare?”

  “Tip-top idea,” his cousin said. “Seems an age since I breakfasted.”

  “Hardly an age, since you had not yet made an appearance at breakfast when I left. Country hours are earlier than in Town.”

  Phillip laughed. “Did you sit with Mama? Her wish for an early rise is my reason to keep Town hours in the country.”

  Their conversation continued as they set to a leisurely luncheon of oxtail soup and then Cornish hens done to a nicety and stuffed with savory onions, rice, and juniper berries.

  Between courses, Winfield left for a short while to give his servant further instructions. Phillip, too, stood. As he delicately put it, he had personal needs to see to. Both men returned shortly to finish the excellent fare.

  For the last course, the innkeeper brought steaming lemon patties fresh from the oven. A gift, he said, for his lordship and his guests from Mr. MacBride, the local baker.

  Rufus sent his compliments to MacBride for the mouth-watering pastries.

  While Phillip and Winfield played whist, Rufus excused himself to deal with some tedious tenant business. As he hoped, neither gentleman showed any interest in the subject.

  Once outside, he made straight for the stables. Aside from speaking to the new blacksmith, he also wanted to find Brindle. The man had been helpful, and if he continued to be so, then as reward, he would gain more than a few shillings. Rufus would give him a new job at Clearview’s stables, and that might reunite him with his children.

  A postboy ran over to inquire after his lordship’s wishes. Rufus sent him off to find the blacksmith.

  Inside the stables, he strolled along the wide, straw-laid center aisle, surprised by the many empty stalls.

  Terrance Village was a crossroads stop, so the inn should have boasted more than a paltry dozen horses. Near the back, lamps were unlit and the area dark.

  Out of curiosity, Rufus peered into each empty enclosed stall to see if it had been recently used. Many had a barren look, as if they had lain empty for a long while. At the last stall, he paused, disturbed by a sense of unease.

  “My lord.” A tall man hurried from a side corridor. He wore a leather apron and carried steel tongs. “I am Mr. Langley, the blacksmith. How may I serve you?”

  “Good day.” Rufus tossed the postboy a six-pence. The boy caught the coin and ran off with a wide grin. Rufus rested his riding crop on the railing and leaned against the wooden structure. “How do you like your new position, Mr. Langley?”

  “Very well, sir. Shall we go outside where it is lighter?”

  As they walked, he said, “Did you know the old blacksmith?”

  “I never met Mr. Darby. When I came to the village to apply for this post, the position was vacant.”

  Once they stepped outside, Rufus squinted into the bright sunlight. “Since your arrival, have you noticed anything unusual?”

  “Such as what, my lord?”

  “Anyone behave out of the ordinary? Blast, I have left my riding crop.”

  “I can fetch it,” Mr. Langley said.

  “Unnecessary.” Rufus sprinted back to the last stall. Crop in hand, he was about to turn away when he again sensed something out of place. That scent. The stalls were clean and appeared unused except for this one, where a long wooden handle stood upright. This stall had a foul but familiar odor. He leaned over the railing for a better look, and in the shadows, saw a man’s leg.

  Chapter Seven

  “Bring light!” Rufus shouted.

  An ostler grabbed a lantern and ran to him. Rufus scaled the railing and knelt to examine the body of Brindle. A pitchfork had been stabbed into his chest. Poor bugger.

  “Send a runner to fetch the magistrate.”

  He ordered a gathering crowd to stay back, and, leaving the blacksmith in charge, he joined Phillip and Winfield outside.

  The innkeeper scampered into the stables to view the body and then back out with his estimation of events.

  Brindle must have had too much to drink. He often chose to sleep it off in the stables if too tired to walk back to Widow Harken’s place. In his drunken state, he could have tripped while scaling the railing, fallen, and accidentally impaled himself.

  Rufus listened to the scenario, but found it hard to believe. Though he had bought Brindle several drinks, and the man had drunk them fast, he had not seemed drunk. He had been quick and accurate at grabbing the coin off the table, and he had left without a stagger.

  Then again, in the darkness, he might not have seen that pitchfork. He could have tripped, but why had a pitchfork been left in an empty stall? And why had no one heard him cry out?

  The stable was a busy place, with ostlers and postboys and even the blacksmith attending to chores. Assistance came quickly enough when he called for light.

  “Well, that is quite a lot of excitement for today,” Phillip said. “Cannot complain it is dull in the country any longer.”

  Winfield’s farmhand joined them. The man wore dark breeches, a brown wool coat, and boots that looked like Hessians. Rich for a farm lad, but they were likely Winfield’s castoffs. What caught and held Rufus’s attention was that the boots were covered in dirt and sawdust.

  “Were you near the stables?” Rufus asked him. “Did you see or hear anything unusual?”

  “I was in the kitchen, my lord, speaking to the cook about working for Windhaven. Mr. Winfield had heard good things about her culinary abilities and asked me to speak with her.”

  “Brindle’s next of kin will need to be notified,” Winfield said. “I shall see to it.”

  “Not necessary,” Rufus said. “The man has two children. I shall ensure they are contacted and taken care of.”

  “You realize he is no longer your concern, do you not?” Winfield asked. “Your father turned him out a year ago. No one blames you.”

  The casual comment struck Rufus hard, especially if the drinks he had bought Mr. Brindle really had contributed to his death.

  “Blames him?” Phillip said. “What an odd thought to cross your mind, Winfield. Rufus could hardly know the man.”

  “My apologies, Terrance.” Winfield bowed, and then his gaze returned to study Rufus with an intense curiosity. “Were you not with Brindle when we arrived? That would make you the last person he spoke with. Was anyone else with you when you stumbled across the corpse? Odd place for an earl to frequent—the back end of a barn. Did you have business there?”

 
Did Winfield suggest he had murdered Brindle? Outrage strangled the words of protest in his throat. Tight-lipped, he stepped back. He refused to dignify either offensive accusation with a response. Who was Winfield to question him? He was nothing but a . . .

  “Sir,” Phillip said, in a bored tone, “where my cousin frequents, and with whom, is of no concern to us.” He yawned and tapped his lace handkerchief across his mouth. “This day’s amusements have worn thin. Shall we return to the manor, Rufus? A game of billiards might liven up the afternoon. I recently learned a new shot I want to demonstrate.”

  Rufus nodded, glad to be rid of the upstart Winfield, and followed his cousin toward their horses, which were tied to a post by the inn’s front doors. They mounted and left, ignoring the blatant curiosity written across Winfield’s face.

  On the ride back to Clearview, Phillip remained silent, apparently lost in thought. It gave Rufus time to consider all he had learned and lost that morning. The one man who could give him information about his father’s movements was dead. It had been difficult to get Brindle to trust him. Yet, having done so might have sentenced him to death.

  He took his aggravation out by urging his mount into a gallop across the packed snow. Goodwin took to the command with alacrity. They flew across the track, racing like the North wind. He arrived at the outskirts of the Parker farm in a fraction of the time it had taken him to ride to the village from here. His fury spent, Rufus finally slowed Goodwin and belatedly thought to check on his cousin. To his surprise, his fastidious cousin had kept pace and slowed within moments of him.

  ”Good ride, Cousin,” Phillip said as they trotted the horses to cool them down.

  Rufus nodded but did not respond. His thoughts were still struggling with odd pieces of information that refused to fit together. Why had Brindle been so afraid to speak to him? Could Belle have spoken the truth when she said the villagers viewed him as Lord Terror?

  What had Brindle almost called Rufus’s father? The Black something. Could he have been about to say Black Terror?

  His back stiffened in rejection of the unfair insult to his father, but then his mind replayed childhood scenes from his servants’ and tenants’ perspective.

  While his father had been strict with Rufus and his sister, who were aware his actions were based on familial feelings, the tenants and the villagers could not rely on any such support or loyalty. They were expendable, as Brindle had been when his father gave the man’s farm to another because Brindle hit hard times. Just as Rufus planned to do with the Parkers.

  “Wonder what that is about?” Phillip nodded at the nearby farm.

  The Parker children had spotted him and once again ran inside.

  “They hide from Lord Terror,” he said, a cold certainty settling in the pit of his stomach.

  “Ah.” Phillip laughed. “A children’s game. Are we the terrors, then? Shall we race down, shouting? Give them a good show?”

  Rufus shook his head, his heart heavy. “They do not need more than what my father and I have given them.”

  AFTER BREAKFAST, Belle went for a long walk with Earnest. Her conscience pricked at her because she had obviously hurt his lordship by blurting that the villagers called him “Lord Terror.” The walk proved refreshing, but her guilt clung to her like a barnacle.

  Once back at the manor, she sent the dog to the kitchen for his mid-day meal and asked the butler about the household’s whereabouts. Felton informed her that Lord Terrance and his cousin were riding. Lady Terrance and her daughter were in their rooms while Mrs. Jones was in the library.

  Belle decided to seek out Susie. She wanted to check on the shy young woman after her first late-night adventure.

  “Belle!” With a warm hug, Susie ushered her inside. “My maid has gone to fetch my breakfast. Would you join me? I can easily ask her to double the portion.

  Belle gladly accepted.

  Susie’s sitting room had a feminine air that suited her. Shades of pink and cream and laces and frills abounded. Plants trailed or climbed, and books of various shapes and sizes lay scattered on every available surface. Despite the general clutter, every shelf and table was dusted, and the windows sparkled.

  Susie cleared a settee of books and papers. “Have a seat.”

  As she did, a maid brought in the tea tray, and Susie asked her to fetch another cup and more sandwiches. Once the maid returned with the requested items, Susie poured tea for the both of them.

  “It is nice to see you smiling,” Belle said.

  “I am so because of you,” her friend replied. “Before you came, I had little joy. I want this delight to go on forever.”

  “And why should it not?”

  “Happiness is an elusive thing,” Susie said in a quiet voice, her brightness dimming. “When you think you have a handle on it, it slips away. Much like your ghosts, I suspect.”

  “It need not be that way.” Belle picked up her cup of tea and took a sip before adding, “Joy comes from our hearts, not someone else’s actions.”

  Susie sipped as she thought that through. “Then if I am elated that you have come to visit us, it has nothing to do with you visiting with us?”

  “Precisely,” Belle said. “The visitor could as easily have been a servant, a neighbor, a stranger. Now, may I ask a question?”

  Susie giggled. “It would give me joy to answer it.”

  “Do you know what troubled your father most recently?”

  Her humor died, and she looked at her fingers, gripping each other. “If you had known my father, you would not ask such a thing.”

  Belle raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  “Everything upset Father,” Susie explained. “He expected those around him to act as he wished. Woe betided all who strayed from that narrow path.”

  “He was difficult,” Belle said with sympathy. “But did anything in particular trouble him prior to his passing?”

  Susie remained silent with her gaze lowered for such a long time that Belle wondered if her questions had pushed her new friend too far.

  “He came to see us in the spring,” Susie said in a quiet voice. “Unusual for him. Once Parliament began, we did not normally see him again until the fall.”

  “Do you know the purpose of his last visit?”

  Susie shook her head. “I hid in my rooms. Out of sight, out of mind. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  She glanced away, and her voice shook as she replied, “I did not know that would be my last chance to see him again.”

  Belle touched her hand in comfort. “Thank you for confiding in me. I am sorry to have pressed you.”

  Susie nodded and sniffed. “I am fine, Belle. Do not concern yourself. My relationship with my father was never good. I only wish I could tell him that I did love him despite that.”

  Belle nodded in consolation.

  “Will you tell him for me?” Susie asked abruptly.

  That surprised her. To this point, Susie had never admitted to truly believing in the existence of an afterlife.

  At her half-hopeful, half-terrified look, Belle shook her head. “I do not need to. He has heard it from your heart.”

  Susie sucked in her breath sharply and then laughed. “Yes, you are correct. For no matter how often I misbehaved or he punished me, I could never hate him. Every night when he was here, I hugged him good-night. Even when he had been particularly cruel, like the time he took away my plants. Each time before I released him, he always hugged me back.”

  “I am not in the least surprised,” Belle said, and decided it was time for a change of subject. “Now, tell me about these wonderful plants. I recognize some but not all.”

  The ensuing discussion showcased the young lady’s knowledge and confidence. Belle was amazed by her expertise and heretofore hidden passion for all things green
. Once one worked past her layer of shyness, Susie showed a depth of interest and vivacity that might astonish even her brother.

  A long while later, a knock interrupted a fascinating discussion on the symbolism of flowers.

  Susie went to answer the door. “Mama!”

  “Good morning, Susie,” Lady Terrance said. “Felton tells me Belle is here. I must have a word with her. May I come in?”

  “Of course, come in, come in.”

  “Good morning, Lady Terrance.” Belle stood and curtsied.

  “What a glorious morning this is,” the countess said. “Have you two breakfasted?”

  The mantle clock, draped by ivy, began to strike. After two bells, it stopped.

  “Mama, you slept in. I shall order more sandwiches to assuage your appetite until dinner. And hot tea for all of us.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Lady Terrance took Susie’s empty seat.

  Susie returned from speaking to her maid to clear a chair for herself. “I meant to speak with Belle about last night, but once we started talking about plans, I forgot all about the billiards game. Are we to have another tonight?”

  “Too many late nights might tip your brother to our mischief,” Belle said. “He already questioned my late rising.”

  “Besides,” Lady Terrance said, “we shall be too busy.”

  “Busy?” Belle said. “Doing what?”

  “Why, ghost hunting, of course.”

  “Oh, Mama,” Susie said. “I get the shivers every time you mention ghosts.”

  “I promised Lord Terrance I would not speak of such things in your presence,” Belle gently reminded the countess. “I would not wish us to anger him.”

  “Pish posh,” her hostess said. “Everything I do angers Rufus these days. I pay him no mind. Until he calls me Mama again, instead of Madam, I shall not listen to one of his reproaches. In any event, I had my fingers crossed. Did you not? Although we find your company enjoyable, my dearest Belle, cleansing the house is the main reason you came, is it not?”

  Put so bluntly, Belle had a hard time formulating an argument against her ladyship’s stated goal. Especially since she had planned to do as the woman requested tonight—but alone. A curtain fluttering on the third floor window had given Belle an idea of where the ghost might be lurking.