by Allison Lane
* * * *
Andrew and Chloe arrived at Seabrook just behind the male Truitts. Martha was flying down the stairs when they reached the door. Her father caught her in his arms.
Mr. Truitt was the hearty sort – almost uncomfortably so. But he clearly doted on Martha. She, in turn, seemed more relaxed with him than with her mother, perhaps because he wanted only her happiness, whereas Mrs. Truitt was already seeking ways to take advantage of Martha’s increased consequence.
George appeared colorless in the best of times. Despite being taller than his father by several inches, he shrank to insignificance beside him, his slender frame contrasting with the elder’s solidity.
“I was beginning to think you would never come,” Martha said with a laugh. “I swear you think none of your employees can work unless you are looking over their shoulders.”
“Not at all, Rosebud.” He patted her back. “But some problems require the owner’s eye.”
“Everything is fine now?”
He nodded.
Andrew hoped to slip upstairs unnoticed – he badly needed sleep, which was possible now that he’d mailed his resignation – but Martha spotted them.
“Captain, I don’t believe you’ve met my father.” She ran through the introductions. “And this is Miss Seabrook’s companion, Miss Fields,” she finished, gesturing to Chloe.
Chloe curtsied.
“Any connection to Sir Nigel Fields?” he asked, noting her black gown.
“His daughter.”
“My condolences. His passing must have been quite a blow.” He grasped her hand between his. “We belonged to the same club. Though I did not know him well, he seemed a good man.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Andrew knew that Chloe was uncomfortable, and not just from Truitt’s attention. She wanted to question Sally, and Laura would be feeling neglected by now. So he interrupted as Truitt inhaled. “Please tender my apologies to my sister, Miss Fields. I would not have pulled you from your duties if we hadn’t needed your help.”
“She will understand, but I should return. If you will excuse me?”
“Of course,” said Andrew.
The others agreed.
Andrew relaxed as she escaped upstairs. Martha followed, leading her father to his room. George stayed behind, so Andrew drew him toward the library.
“I trust no new problems arose at the office,” Andrew said when they’d settled into chairs.
“No. And the emergency turned out to be a misunderstanding rather than a problem.” He shrugged. “It could have been straightened out in an hour if Father had listened to me instead of traipsing off to visit the customer.” He was clearly unhappy.
“A common complaint of children, I believe.” Andrew sipped wine. Away from Truitt, George’s face acquired more color. Andrew suspected the two had argued most of the way from town. Truitt probably clung to his own power, refusing to turn over part of his empire to his heir. It happened in the aristocracy as well, resulting in instances of men acceding to titles with no understanding of the properties that went with them.
George drained his glass in an apparent attempt to control his temper. But it exploded anyway. “Damn the man,” he muttered. “He is so set in his ways that he won’t listen to anyone. You wouldn’t believe the confusion I found in his office. I don’t know how anyone can run a business surrounded by such chaos. And he demands the final say in any decision – which worked when the company was a struggling concern with half a dozen employees, but it interferes with business now that it is so large.”
“I presume he does not agree.”
“He won’t listen. He even ignored my evidence that a few minor changes could improve efficiency, lower costs, and increase profits by at least ten percent.”
“Impressive. Are you sure?” Half of Martha’s dowry was shares in Truitt and Company, so mismanagement could cause trouble. William was counting on the income those shares should bring.
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve studied how our competitors operate. But he won’t listen. He doesn’t understand that times have changed since he founded the business. Nor does he consider what might happen when he dies. Too much information remains locked in his head.”
Andrew let him talk, pressing for details and sifting his words. In the end, he had to agree with George’s assessment. Not that there was a thing either of them could do about it. But it was good to know that Martha’s brother was intelligent.
* * *
Chapter 11
Friday
Chloe headed for the breakfast room, more lighthearted than she’d been in years. Perhaps the feeling grew from a solid night’s sleep. Or maybe last night’s unexpected freedom was responsible.
The evening had started innocuously enough. Andrew’s morning scold had seemingly worked. When Laura joined the company before dinner, she’d set her megrims aside. After a gracious greeting for Martha, she’d joined Miss Sullivan, listening to the girl’s chatter as if they were bosom bows.
At first Chloe had feared that Laura was trying to damage Miss Sullivan’s friendship with Martha, but she’d soon decided that Laura was trying to make friends in her own heavy-handed fashion. Miss Sullivan was a poor choice, though. Laura’s previous attacks left her suspicious, and the two had nothing in common. So Miss Sullivan had remained aloof.
Laura had not been pleased. By the time Miss Sullivan escaped, she was ready to explode. Chloe had been frantically seeking the words that might calm her, when Andrew had stepped in to compliment her appearance and praise her effort to set Miss Sullivan at ease.
Chloe sighed at the memory. Andrew had meant well, but he was as heavy-handed as Laura. He had no idea how to handle a self-centered child, for his own experience ran to raw recruits who could choose only between following orders and being flogged.
But Laura had said nothing. That in itself was ominous, for it hinted that she was seeking a more dramatic reprisal than a sharp retort in the drawing room.
Thus it was no surprise that her dinner behavior had made Wednesday night seem tame. Again Andrew had stepped in, this time backed by Grayson, Rockhurst, and William, who had made it clear that the family would not tolerate her megrims.
Laura had retired to her room and stayed there.
The rest of the evening had been delightful. Lady Grayson had produced a forfeit ball in the drawing room. It was well used, its one hundred dimples so badly faded that it was hard to read the numbers. Instead of drawing up a new list of forfeits, they’d used one the Seabrook sisters had made in childhood. Its entries included such nonadult penalties as hop across the room on your left foot and slide down the banister without getting caught by Fitch. Fortunately, no one had rolled that last number. Everyone had been laughing by the time the gentlemen joined them.
While the other guests played crambo, Chloe had helped Lady Rockhurst write clues for Sunday’s treasure hunt, then joined the singing in the music room. With Laura gone, all the guests had enjoyed themselves.
The evening had ended with the almost-forgotten luxury of Sally brushing her hair, stroke after sensuous stroke as she sat dreamily at the dressing table.
“The servants don’t like Miss Laura by half,” Sally reported. “I warned you not to accept that post.”
“I needed it,” said Chloe. “And my savings will buy my own cottage.”
“You could have bought a cottage two years ago by selling those pearls your mama gave you.”
“No. It may come to that one day, but until I exhaust all other income, I won’t consider it. Besides, Miss Seabrook wasn’t that difficult until recently.”
“Don’t you pretend with me.” Sally set down the brush so she could braid the hair for the night. “Mr. West told us what she said to you. Never have I seen one of the quality so uncaring of propriety. Even Master Peter doesn’t use language like that.”
Chloe blushed to recall Laura’s outburst in the carriage. It was bad enough that Andrew had overheard it, but knowing th
at the Seabrook staff knew…
“Bedlam is where she belongs, and where she’ll be one day,” grumbled Sally.
Chloe stopped her tongue before she could claim the incident had been an aberration. There was no reason to defend Laura. “Miss Seabrook will not be my concern much longer,” she’d said instead.
“And a good thing, too. Why, the tales in the servants’ hall about that girl—”
“I’m sure they are unpleasant,” agreed Chloe quickly. “Miss Seabrook rarely shows consideration for others.”
“The staff would love to send her back to the army in place of the captain. Preferably tonight.”
“Is he leaving?” Ice suddenly formed in her stomach.
“Now that he’s recovered. His regiment recalled him two weeks ago – or so Mr. Jinks says. If not for this party, he would be gone by now. He’s headed for India, or some such place.”
But he wasn’t recovered, thought Chloe in panic. His leg was unreliable. If she hadn’t caught him, he would have tumbled down the steep steps at Rose Cottage only yesterday. What if it collapsed during a battle?
No wonder Andrew had stiffened when she’d changed her mind about living near Exeter. He’d promised to help her, and now that promise was interfering with his duty.
She suppressed a stab of pain, for she’d known he wouldn’t stay. Nor could she continue expecting him to help. Duty always came first, so she must execute her plans herself.
“…fixing up the old wing,” Sally was saying as she tied off the braid. “Everyone is excited at the prospect.”
“What was that?”
“Lord Seabrook is rebuilding the old wing. When the captain drew up the plans, he included a larger servants’ hall, more convenient offices, and a modern kitchen with one of those fancy stoves. Cook is near to bursting with excitement.”
“I didn’t know the captain had studied building design.”
“He didn’t – Lord Seabrook has to find a builder to adapt the plans, but his ideas are very good. Or so Mr. Fitch says, and he should know. He’s seen them.”
Chloe nodded. There was so much she didn’t know about Andrew. That alone should keep her dreamer under control.
Sally continued chattering brightly as she turned down the bed and sponged a smudge off Chloe’s one mourning gown. The Seabrook staff was grumbling about the airs adopted by Lord Grayson’s couriers, who considered themselves even higher than Lord Seabrook’s valet; they chuckled over Lady Rockhurst’s daughter Sarah, who often slipped into the kitchen for snacks; and they approved of Martha Truitt. It felt like old times, when Sally had kept Chloe informed of everything that happened at Fields House.
Falling into old habits was dangerous, she reminded herself now, for that life was gone. While she’d enjoyed the evening of genteel graciousness, she was better off alone.
Like now. The guests remained abed, except for a few gentlemen who had gone shooting with Lord Rankin. William didn’t shoot, so had asked his neighbor to lead that particular expedition.
After cleaning the public rooms, the servants had retired to break their fast. So she had the house to herself. The empty rooms felt huge, their ornate ceilings soaring high overhead. She could run or dance across the carpet without discovery or any fear of tripping over furniture. Such spaciousness offered a heady freedo—
She cursed, her good humor vanishing in an instant. Did her pleasure arise from a few hours without Laura or from having this lovely house to herself? If the latter, a small cottage would be oppressive. But how could she tell? Moorside often seemed cramped, but Laura could make a castle feel crowded.
Maybe she should seek out the breakfast room. It was an intimate space, about the same size as Moorside’s sitting room. If she could relax there, she could assume that her euphoria arose from Laura’s absence.
As she crossed the hall, someone rapped on the front door. Ned hurried to open it, revealing Mr. Rose. Chloe’s heart stopped.
“I will speak with him, Ned,” she said, leading the farmer to the end of the portico so they would not be overheard – just as Andrew had done with her.
“What is wrong?” she asked. Only bad news would bring him the ten miles to Seabrook. He didn’t like Laura.
“I must speak with Miss Seabrook.”
“She is not yet up.” And wouldn’t be until noon. Laura refused to take breakfast with the other guests, believing that the meal’s informality would draw taunts or cuts. Or maybe she enjoyed demanding the personal service of a tray in her room at an hour when the servants were supposed to be doing other things.
Mr. Rose fisted his hands. Chloe could see the thoughts parading across his face. Protocol demanded that he give bad news to Laura, yet he knew that Chloe was the one who dealt with problems and that Laura could be cuttingly rude to anyone she considered her inferior. He was involved in the harvest, so he wanted to deliver this message quickly and return home.
“Someone ransacked Moorside Cottage last night,” he said at last.
“Good heavens! Is Mrs. Monroe all right?”
“She didn’t hear him and only discovered the damage when she arose this morning. He smashed a window pane in the sitting room, then broke the lock on the shutters to get in. Several drawers were emptied onto the floor, but Mrs. Monroe does not know what might be missing.”
Chloe swallowed a curse. Mrs. Monroe would have heard nothing. The woman was heavy sleeper. They should not have left her alone in so isolated a place – if she’d been alone. Mr. Rose’s appearance at this early hour meant he’d left Moorside at dawn. Had he spent the night there?
A flock of sheep spread across the lawn, cropping the grass. Chloe watched them while her mind turned over the information. “How much damage did he cause?”
“The desk in the sitting room was marred where he pried open locked drawers. And the floorboards in every wardrobe were pulled up. That is all I saw. I knew Miss Seabrook would wish to be informed immediately.” His face tightened with trepidation.
“I will tell her. You’ve been through enough today. Is there anything else?”
“Nothing, Miss Fields.” He seemed relieved.
“Thank you for informing us. You will wish a bite to eat before heading home.” William would insist on it, as would Fitch. “Tell Mrs. Monroe to have the window and shutters repaired. Miss Seabrook will decide what to do about the other damage when she returns.” Thanking him for delivering the news so quickly, she turned him over to Fitch, then sent word to William. He would insist on speaking to Mr. Rose himself and repaying his time and expenses.
Her own task was more difficult. Laura would throw a tantrum at being awakened so early, but withholding this news would produce worse.
Was this connected to the Fields House trouble?
She stifled a shudder, for a connection implied that she was the intended victim. Perhaps he sought information on her father’s hiding places. Or someone really desperate might want the mementos she had removed from Fields House. If that were true, his next target would be Seabrook – not that it would help him. She had been estranged from her father and knew nothing of his recent activities, as everyone from the area must know. The jewelry casket contained only worthless brooches and her mother’s mementos of Kevin – letters home, a poem he’d written, a rock he’d given her at age seven. The folio held only animal prints—
Or so she’d assumed. Once she finished with Laura, she and Andrew should examine that folio. If they could identify the prize, perhaps they could identify the villain.
* * * *
Taking a deep breath, Chloe shook Laura’s shoulder.
“Who— What!” Laura abruptly sat up, eyes swiveling frantically to take in her surroundings. She slapped Chloe’s hand aside. “How dare you come in here before I summon you?”
Chloe stepped out of reach. “Someone broke into Moorside last night and ransacked the house.”
“Ransacked? Someone touched my things?”
“I’m afraid so.” She repeated Mr. R
ose’s information and her own orders. “If you have more specific instructions, he will still be in the kitchen – which is why I woke you.”
“But what could a burglar want?” Laura seemed puzzled – as well she should. There was little of value in the cottage. Laura’s jewelry chest traveled with her.
Chloe shrugged.
“Curse the man! I’ll never forgive William for this.” Laura’s eyes blazed. “If he hadn’t exiled me to Moorside, this wouldn’t have happened. He should at least have given me a footman for protection. Everyone knows ugly people are fair game for assault.”
“Don’t exaggerate. I doubt the culprit has ever seen you. Now that the war is over, former soldiers roam the land looking for work. Some resort to crime.” All true, though it hardly applied to this case. But she wasn’t about to admit that her family might be the cause of this attack.
“Don’t try to hide your own culpability,” said Laura, ignoring her. “Yes, yours. If you hadn’t insisted on coming here, no one would have broken in. Even desperate men think twice about entering an occupied house.”
“The house was occupied,” protested Chloe. “Mrs. Monroe was there. If we’d been home, he might have assaulted us. There was a case just like that near Taunton last month.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Laura burst into her worst tirade yet. She needed to blame someone, and Chloe was convenient.
“Don’t ever forget your place again,” Laura finally shouted, fisting both hands. “How dare you contradict me? Nobody cares a whit for your opinion – something I should have remembered earlier. William wishes I had stayed at Moorside. The Truitts think me a freak. Everyone treats me like a pariah. It is you who wanted to be here so you could play at being a lady. You are trying to take my place in the family.”
“No.”
“Liar! You deliberately make me miserable. Are you jealous that I am prettier than you even after Mary ruined me?”