Scandal at the Dower House

by Marina Oliver

  She could not, however have been telling the truth about a cousin dying. Thomas was adamant no such cousin existed. He had once thought the cousin may have given birth to an illegitimate child, and quite possibly a strict Portuguese family might have disowned her, but he trusted Thomas to have discovered that. The old housekeeper he had talked to would, he was sure, have said something when he was asking such specific questions. If there was no cousin, why had she adopted a child? A glimmering of a possible solution to the mystery began to form in his thoughts.

  Suddenly making up his mind, he called for Chettle, gave orders for his bags to be packed immediately, and sallied forth to settle all his bills. He would go first to Brooke Court, send for Jeremy if his brother were not there, and discover what he could of Catarina’s present whereabouts. Then, if she was at the Dower House, he would go to Marshington and make her tell him the truth.

  Chapter Thirteen

  IT WAS OCTOBER before Jeremy returned to Marshington Grange. Mrs Eade had learned from Mr Trubshaw that he was staying somewhere in the north, but had omitted to tell any of his relatives exactly where. It was only when he appeared one day at Brooke Court that he could be told about the theft.

  ‘What the devil they expected me to do about it, even if I had been here, I can’t imagine,’ he said to Catarina, when he called on her the day after he arrived.

  ‘There have been several more incidents, despite the watch people are keeping,’ Catarina told him. ‘Most of them are small, and from gardens only, not from inside houses.’

  ‘What kind of thefts? Things they can sell, like my silver?’

  ‘No; food, such as thefts of eggs and the occasional chicken, or winter vegetables dug up from gardens. Mr Trubshaw keeps suggesting another manhunt through the woods; he is convinced it is Dan living there.’

  ‘I thought they’d driven the fellow away last time.’

  ‘Apparently not. But he cannot find enough people to make it worth while. Only the better off men who have been robbed show any enthusiasm for it, The villagers tell him it was unsuccessful last time, Dan managed to elude the searchers, so why should they bother, especially as he would be unable to offer them payment.’

  ‘If I catch him, or anyone else robbing me, I’ll make sure he is transported. It doesn’t do to show weakness, or others begin to take advantage.’

  ‘Many of the villagers are already short of food,’ Catarina said, ‘I and a few more do what we can; we give them money, but even when there is money there is little to buy.’

  ‘There’s plenty of work in the towns,’ Jeremy said. ‘I’m told many countryfolk are leaving the land, so there must be. If they are not able to support themselves here they should move. Of course, if they had listened to me and been willing to amalgamate their old-fashioned strips, they might be faring better now.’

  ‘Even the ones who did that are suffering,’ Catarina said sharply. ‘No one can do well with the sort of weather we’ve had this summer, when the crops won’t ripen and there are shortages of everything. My own gardeners complain that the vegetables are poor quality, small, and in some cases they rot before we can save them. It isn’t the fault of the farmers.’

  Jeremy grinned at her and for a fleeting second she could have imagined it was Nicholas sitting opposite. It had been bad enough anticipating the embarrassment of meeting him again, but to have his younger brother living here, constantly reminding her of him, would be torture.

  ‘You always appear willing to support the weak and unfortunate,’ he said, ‘and that’s probably why all the villagers love you. Oh, don’t blush, you should hear the compliments they heap on you. Whenever I am in the village it’s Lady Brooke helped someone, or gave them some food or money, and I swear, if the Church of England had saints you would be in the running for canonization!’

  Catarina laughed. ‘What nonsense! Who else is to help them? Walter was always generous, especially when times were bad, or someone had suffered some misfortune. I can give them money, but there is little point when there is almost no food to buy.’

  Soon afterwards Jeremy left her, saying he intended to ride round the estate and visit his tenants to talk with them to see what could be done to help matters.

  ‘I’m not heartless, Catarina. I will help wherever I can. I have to carry on Walter’s traditions, don’t I?’

  She had a suspicion he was mocking her, but surely he would listen to the villagers and his tenants, and if he did not try to help he would be utterly unfeeling. She did not believe he was.

  It was several hours later, almost dusk. She was up in the nursery playing with Maria, who was approaching her first birthday and trying to walk, when she heard a commotion outside. She looked up and went to peer out of the window which overlooked the small front garden. She could hear several men shouting, but could see little. Then there was the sound of a shot, and two men on horseback galloped past the Dower House.

  ‘My lady, what is it?’ Clarice asked nervously. Her English had improved, but she now spoke with the local accent.

  ‘I don’t know, but we had better not venture out.’

  She stayed watching. The shouting had ceased and she sensed the men making the noise had departed. Then she saw a man running up the path to the front door to hammer on it.

  Catarina went swiftly from the room and leaned over the banisters.

  ‘Staines,’ she called to the butler who was approaching the door. ‘Don’t open unless you know who it is and what they want!’

  ‘No, my lady, of course not. We heard the shot from the kitchen.’

  He pushed home the bolt on the door before shouting through the thick oak to ask who was making such a noise. Catarina could not hear the reply, but suddenly Staines was pulling back the bolt and dragging open the door. Before she could ask what was happening he ran outside.

  Puzzled, apprehensive, she ventured down the stairs and reached the front door just as two men came through the gate and up the path. One of them was Staines. They were carrying another man between them. Staines, looking across to her, spoke.

  ‘It’s Mr Jeremy, my lady. He’s been attacked and has a nasty wound to his head.’

  Liza and Blodwen were standing at the back of the entrance hall, looking apprehensive.

  ‘Go and make sure everything in the green bedroom is ready, Liza. Blodwen, get a warming pan and some hot bricks wrapped in flannel. Send one of the men to fetch the doctor. Can you carry him upstairs?’ Catarina asked. ‘The room at the back, on the left, is ready.’

  The second man helping to carry Jeremy was Mr Lewis.

  ‘My fellow’s already gone for Dr Holt,’ he said. ‘Can you get some hot water and plenty of rags, and something for bandages?’ he added, as he and Staines carefully began to negotiate the stairs. ‘He’s bleeding badly.’

  Catarina went to organize this and, by the time she went to the bedroom, the men had stripped off Jeremy’s boots, breeches and coat and laid him in the big bed.

  She could see he had been viciously beaten about the head. A large swelling had risen on one side and he was bleeding from a severe cut on the other. One arm hung at an odd angle and seemed to be broken.

  Mr Lewis took control, smiling at her briefly and taking some of the sheeting she had torn to strips to serve as bandages.

  ‘I’ve had a fair bit of experience tending my men when they’ve had accidents,’ he said, as he dipped the sheeting in the water and began gently wiping away the blood. ‘He’s been knocked unconscious, poor lad.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  He seemed willing to talk as he worked gently on Jeremy’s head.

  ‘We didn’t see. They scattered when I fired my gun in the air. But I’ve a fair idea who they are.’

  ‘How many were there? We heard several voices.’

  ‘Half a dozen, at least, maybe more. I’ll hazard they lay in wait for him just inside the gates, where the trees give some cover. I told him to take care and always have a groom with him when he went out, but
these young ’uns always think they know better. It was a fortunate thing for him I was riding back from the village, or it might have been even worse.’

  Staines, who had gone downstairs, now came softly into the room followed by the doctor.

  ‘My lady,’ the doctor nodded a greeting. ‘So, Mr Lewis, you’ll be doing my job, will you?’

  ‘Not now you’re here, Dr Holt. I’d far rather you set this arm, then if it’s crooked I won’t be blamed.’

  How could he jest when Jeremy lay comatose in front of them, Catarina wondered.

  The doctor trod over to the bed.

  ‘Nasty. Your man explained what had happened. I’d better have a good look at him. My lady, perhaps you would excuse us?’

  Realizing she was tactfully being got rid of, Catarina went out of the room and back to the nursery, where she found Blodwen and Clarice talking softly together.

  ‘Is Mr Brooke dead?’ Blodwen asked.

  ‘No, but he’s seriously injured. Clarice, put Maria to bed and try not to let her sense there is something wrong. Blodwen, I’m going to write a note to tell Mr Brooke’s people he is here. Can you ask one of the men to be ready to ride up to the Grange with it?’

  Before this could be done, however, a groom from the Grange arrived, saying Jeremy’s horse had arrived back in his stable, cut about the legs and in a frightened lather.

  Catarina waited in the drawing room for the doctor to finish whatever ministrations he had to do for Jeremy. With no urgent tasks to occupy her, she began to tremble. The shock had been so sudden. She found it hard to believe any of the villagers would have attacked Jeremy. Would he recover?

  When Staines appeared and handed her a glass of brandy she smiled her thanks.

  ‘I know you don’t normally drink it, but it will do you good,’ he said.

  ‘Have one yourself,’ she said, ‘and I think all the others need something as well, to help them sleep. I’m sure I’ll have nightmares.’

  ‘I’ll sit up with Mr Brooke,’ Staines said, ‘in case he comes to during the night.’

  ‘What would I do without you!’

  A moment later, as Catarina was sipping the brandy, almost choking at the unfamiliar burning sensation in her throat, Dr Holt came into the room. He accepted a glass of brandy and sat opposite Catarina.

  ‘He’s in a bad way. I don’t like that head wound,’ he said, without any prevarication. ‘He can’t be moved. Can your servants manage to care for him? Staines is a reliable chap, and your maids seem sensible lasses. At least they didn’t go off into hysterics.’

  ‘Of course we will care for him.’

  ‘Send for his valet; he can help look after his needs. And I think you ought to let his brother know. We’ll do our best, but I’m making no predictions. I’ve seen men with less serious wounds develop a fever and be gone within the week.’

  Nicholas was in the estate office early the next morning talking with his agent when his butler came in carrying a letter.

  ‘My lord, I apologize for interrupting, but this has just been delivered; it’s from Marshington Grange. The man who brought it said it was urgent. He’s waiting for a reply.’

  With a brief smile at his agent Nicholas broke the seal. He was finding it tedious back in England, doing all the humdrum tasks involved in running a large estate, though his agent and other senior servants were so well trained they were fully capable of managing without him, but he could not yet leave to go to Marshington.

  The address was the Dower House and for a moment his heart leapt. Had Catarina repented of her refusal? But she would never have written to him to say so. And the man must have ridden through the night. He was suddenly apprehensive and scanned the brief few lines rapidly. Then he dropped the paper on to his desk and felt numb.

  ‘My lord, what is it? Bad news?’ the agent asked.

  The butler went to the decanter and brought across a glass of brandy.

  ‘Drink this, my lord, you’ve gone as pale as a ghost.’

  Nicholas swallowed and tried to pull himself together.

  ‘My brother has been badly hurt. Tell the man I will follow him as soon as I can pack some clothes. I’m sorry, but I will have to leave you to do the best you can, as I don’t know how long I’ll be away. Can you ask Lady Mortimer to come here, but please don’t alarm Miss Olivia? Get Chettle to pack what I’ll need for a week or two; he can come with me. I’ll drive the curricle. Send to the stables.’

  The butler was almost out of the room before this string of commands finished, already talking to a footman to pass on some of them.

  ‘I’ll go, my lord, but please give Mr Jeremy my good wishes,’ the agent said, gathering up his papers and backing out of the room.

  Nicholas nodded. When he was alone he sank his head in his hands for a moment. Catarina’s note had said Jeremy had suffered a serious head wound the previous evening and was still unconscious when she wrote.

  We are keeping him at the Dower House as the doctor advises he must not be moved.

  It must be serious, especially if he was still unconscious several hours after the accident. Catarina had not said what had caused it, and Nicholas wondered if he had suffered a bad fall from a horse. He was an excellent rider, but there were always accidents.

  His reflections were cut short as Lady Mortimer entered the room, looking anxious.

  ‘Nicholas, what on earth is it? The servants are all in a pother and you look dreadful.’

  He explained. ‘I must go to him; it sounds serious, but please don’t worry Olivia. I’ll send the groom back to you with a report when I discover just how badly hurt he is.’

  ‘Of course you must go, and don’t worry about Olivia. She is relishing being back at home. I can keep her mind occupied with plans for Christmas.’

  There might not be any Christmas celebrations, Nicholas thought, as he set off, then he forced himself to pay attention to his driving. The roads were muddy and the horses found it heavy going, but it would be a disaster if he too had an accident. Maybe he would have been better advised to ride. But he would probably need Chettle and his tiger, and he needed a few changes of linen.

  His thoughts raced ahead. He would make his headquarters at Marshington Grange, Catarina would be having enough extra to do if Jeremy had to remain at the Dower House. Could she hire a nurse? Was there a suitable woman in the village? He could perhaps relieve her of some tasks and Chettle would be useful; he’d had some experience of nursing with his former master before the old man had died.

  Cursing the difficult conditions of the roads, he made what speed he could. It was dusk before he pulled up his tired horses outside the Dower House.

  It had been a terrible day. Jeremy remained unconscious. The doctor had been twice, and on the second occasion he suggested that the village midwife ought to be here to look after him.

  Catarina had known the woman ever since she’d married Walter, and shuddered at the thought of having such a one in her house. She was fat, with greasy hair and dirty hands. She was for ever laughing raucously, or airing her opinions in her loud, unpleasant voice. Catarina had been thankful she would never have to depend on her assistance, since she would not ever have a child.

  Catarina was about to say they would be able to manage when Jeremy’s valet, who was in the room, said fiercely he was quite capable of doing all that was necessary for his master. Mr Brooke abominated being fussed by females.

  He cast an apologetic glance at Catarina when he realized what he had said, but she smiled at him and gently shook her head.

  ‘We can manage, I’m sure,’ she told the doctor.

  As the day wore on she began to wonder if they really could manage. Though Jeremy lay comatose, his plight influenced everyone in the house. Staines, having sat up all night, spent the morning sleeping and, somehow, without his calming influence, the household seemed unable to function properly. Cook complained that the bread refused to rise, the kitchen maid burnt all the toast and let one of the saucepans boi
l dry so that the kitchen filled with reeking black smoke. They forgot to replenish the fire in the nursery and Maria was unusually fractious. Clarice became tearful and said she wanted to go home to Portugal as soon as the baby was weaned.

  So when Nicholas appeared Catarina welcomed him warmly.

  ‘Thank heavens you are here! Maybe now everyone will be able to behave normally!’

  ‘Catarina. How is Jeremy? Is he badly hurt? I have to thank you for taking him in.’

  ‘You’ll wish to see him immediately, my lord,’ Catarina replied, suddenly recalling their last meeting and its unfortunate ending. ‘He is still unconscious, but he is moving a little, restless, and we think that is a good sign.’

  She led Nicholas up to Jeremy’s room and left him there to talk to the valet. Half an hour later he came downstairs and found her in the drawing room. Staines had a glass of Madeira ready and Nicholas downed it in one swallow. Staines took the glass and refilled it, then quietly left the room.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He was attacked by several men, just inside the gates. We heard them shouting, but could not tell what they were saying. We don’t know who they were. Mr Lewis and one of his men arrived with a shotgun and frightened them away. That is all I know.’

  ‘He seems to have been beaten savagely, around the head especially. Those wounds are always the most dangerous. I need to talk to the doctor.’

  ‘He is coming back this evening. My lord, will you have dinner here? I can have a small bedroom prepared for you if you prefer to stay here rather than sleep at the Grange.’

  ‘Thank you. I have eaten nothing all day and suddenly feel ravenous. As for the bedroom …’ He hesitated and gave her a quizzical look. ‘I would prefer to be near him, but it could harm your reputation.’

  Catarina cared nothing for that.

  ‘What reputation do I have to lose?’