Summerton (Lady Eleanor Mysteries Book 1)

by Becca St. John

  “Do you remember mention of the last battle waged at St. Martins?”

  “You said horses grazed in the field now, but artifacts, bits of arrow, shards of pottery, still work their way to the surface.”

  “Precisely,” he pointed, “out there.”

  Interested, she looked at a fenced area surrounding rich green grass. Lovely and peaceful and…she stopped, tilting her head, startled by an entirely different ‘old thing’ in the paddock. Fingers pressed to lips, she whispered against them. “Socks?”

  Her old pony lifted its head, as though it had heard the bare breath of its name. Caroline whistled, lifted her skirt and ran to the fence.

  “Look at you, old boy,” she crooned, hanging over the fence rail, tears in her eyes as the old pony made his poor arthritic way to her. “He was my first, you know.” She deigned to look over her shoulder, offering the duke a fleeting moment of consideration.

  “He’s been about a few years, then,” Summerton said, straight-faced, smiling and backing off when Caroline swatted at him.

  “Socks is still a good animal.”

  “No doubt,” he allowed, though he didn’t look like he believed it.

  If she left—without Socks, without Parrot, without any of her animals—he would probably have them sent to the knackers yard. If she went on this bridal journey, she might be able to negotiate his keeping them. Especially if she didn’t quibble over her dowry. She had no need of it.

  A flouncing bundle of strawberry-blond curls rushed up to her, jumping and wagging its rump.

  “Goldie?” Caroline laughed, kneeling down. “Goldie!”

  The cocker spaniel burrowed against her legs. “I thought you were gone.”

  She looked at Summerton. “Goldie was the third animal my uncle took.”

  The duke merely raised an eyebrow. Of course he would know which animal had been sent and when.

  She crouched down, for a good cuddle. “Oh, pew! You stink,” she murmured, and pushed the dog away, standing up, brushing residue from her hands and skirts. “She lives indoors, your grace. The outdoors offers too many ripe situations.”

  “Does she? I don’t think she minds being in the barns. The horses tolerate her and the grooms, it seems, rather like her.”

  As if to prove his point, Goldie darted off to be greeted with enthusiasm by a stable boy.

  “She only has one ear,” the duke remarked.

  “What difference does an ear make?” Caroline asked.

  He didn’t bother to respond, but gestured to a pretty little mare. “And what of this mount?”

  Caroline didn’t move at first, just looked.

  “She’s yours,” Summerton assured her.

  “She’s a beauty.” It was an understatement. The mare was glistening caramel. Caroline approached slowly.

  “She’s right good-natured,” the groomsman promised.

  “No doubt she is.” Caroline reached up, her hand on the mare’s forelock and stroked the long muzzle.

  Summerton came up beside her. “She is good-natured, but spirited as well. She won’t be dull, but you should be able to handle her.”

  “Thank you, she’s wonderful.” Caroline pulled a bit of sugar she’d hidden, offering it to the mare. “Is this like breakfast?”

  “Breakfast?”

  “Someone has already looked into how well I can ride, into what I can handle?” she asked.

  “We wanted to make you feel welcomed. Do you find it intrusive?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “No, not in the least,” she lied.

  “Do you want to get to know her better, or shall we go?” he asked.

  “Oh, let’s go!” More and more she realized how brilliant his suggestion had been. A good bracing ride on a beautiful day. She followed the groom to the mounting block. “What is her name?” She asked.

  “That’s for you to decide. She’s my wedding gift to you.” Summerton explained as he mounted a large black stallion.

  “Wedding gift?”

  A shrill screech rang from inside the stables. “Lift them skirts, girlie!”

  Wide-eyed, Caroline hurried up the steps of the mounting block, refusing to look at Summerton, and settled into her sidesaddle.

  “And he popped into a hole, hehehehe.”

  She slid a glance at the duke.

  Eyes sparkling, he bowed from atop his mount. “Your parrot,” he explained.

  “I see.” Which she did, indeed. She knew this bird and its litany of verses, a little too well.

  With serious hauteur, she informed the duke. “Should you have any young ladies in this vicinity, I would recommend a blanket, your grace.”

  “A blanket?”

  She nodded, facing forward. “If you cover his cage, he thinks it is night and will quiet down. We’ve employed that method any number of times.”

  “I’m quite certain you have,” he agreed, as the parrot trilled, “and he popped into a hole. Hehehehe.”

  Caroline spurred her mount forward.

  CHAPTER 5 ~ Death Comes to St. Martins

  They rode up to a small group of ramshackle buildings. Summerton shifted in his saddle, shamed even as he was determined. He’d had no choice but to bring Caroline along. He could only hope she’d ignore her surroundings. Ladies of his acquaintance would accept these ‘cottages’ as something so far beneath them, they needn’t pay attention.

  Except poverty was no distant beast for Caroline. Her father may have left it behind him, but a man’s history sticks to his shoes. His child would know of it.

  If they’d had a proper wedding night, he would have excused himself, leaving Caroline to adjust to being a wife, a duchess, in the comfort of the Hall. But they hadn’t had a wedding night and he didn’t dare leave her alone. She wanted courting. Unfortunately, that meant having her accompany him on a visit to his tenants.

  Caroline reined in the mare she’d named Boudicca, just outside the large communal yard. “Surely these are not your tenants’ homes.” And smiled, as if she’d asked a foolish question.

  His lips tightened, neck muscles bunched. She lost her smile.

  Fine, let her know what she would leave undone, if she ran. “You fault me for considering your dowry. Tell me, what would you do?”

  Boudicca tossed her head as Caroline’s fingers turned white, clenching the reins.

  A group of young girls stood around a well at the center of the yard. Small windows, tidy yards and side gardens disguised the decay, but only to a point. Caroline saw beyond that. “I’ve seen better chicken coops,” she whispered for him alone. “Your people deserve to live in better conditions.” Her harsh words sliced deep.

  “Yes,” he admitted, “they do.” Because they did. He knew that.

  That was the crux of the matter. He needed her money, needed to keep this marriage together, when his pride wanted nothing more than to send her packing. After all, she didn’t want him. But he would have to live with that because he needed her for his tenants, to improve outdated farming and animal husbandry.

  To provide a future for his children.

  Their children.

  He settled in his saddle once again.

  Men pulling braces up, tucking in shirts, women holding babies on their hips, as children clung to their skirts, stepped over thresholds, walked down their short paths to the area around the well.

  The men would have been up and out, working at dawn, back for their morning meal. Summerton had hoped to catch them exactly at this point. Well awake, satisfied from a meal.

  “Your grace.” The men doffed hats. The women offered curtsies. Summerton dismounted, helped Caroline to the ground.

  “I’ll hold the lead, your grace,” one man offered. Summerton nodded, turned to introduce his bride, but she was already on her knee, risking her cashmere skirts in the dust and dirt, coaxing a little girl to come closer.

  “And who are you?” The little one cringed back, thumb securely tucked in her mouth. When that failed to get a response, she
turned to a young boy. “What’s your name?”

  “Tommy.” He kicked the dirt, and a chunk broke loose and hit Caroline.

  “Here, now!” a mother chastised.

  “No harm done,” Caroline said, as she stood, swiped the dust from her skirt, looked about the swarm of people. Again, she cut off his attempt to introduce her by leaning down to the boy.

  “Tommy, I wonder if you could help me? You see, I’ve lost my dog. An old hound, far more skin than body, and long droopy ears.”

  “A dog?”

  “Yes.” Caroline nodded to the woman who had scolded Tommy. “Is this your son?”

  The woman curtsied. “Yes, your ladyship.”

  “Your grace,” Summerton corrected, earning a quick, censoring glance from Caroline. “This is my bride, the Duchess of Summerton.” He’d let her scowl, but she wasn’t doing anyone favors by pretending to be someone else. The people would feel abused by such games. “We were married yesterday and she insisted on meeting you today.”

  That wiped the scowl away. Caroline held her hand out to the woman. “And you are?”

  The woman curtsied again, staring at Caroline’s hand as if it weren’t real. “Betty, your grace. My Tommy can help you find the dog. He loves dogs.”

  “Caroline,” Summerton interrupted, handing her a bundle of peppermint sticks wrapped in a cloth. “For the children. To celebrate our marriage.” Winning the parents would not be so easy, but candy worked miracles with children.

  Even the shyest of them squealed and crowded in on Caroline. She laughed, the first time he’d seen her do so. The sound was as rich and warming as her voice.

  “Your grace.” A man stepped forward, breaking through the excitement. “I heard howls when I went to check my traps. Early this morning.”

  “Traps?” Caroline asked.

  “All legal, with the Duke’s permission, like. Trap game for the big house,” he explained.

  Caroline wouldn’t care about poaching, but she would care if her dog was caught in one of those traps.

  “Did you hear this anywhere near your traps, or was it in the distance?” the duke asked.

  “No, your grace, not close but off a fair good walk. Told Old George when he came through asking about the hound.”

  “Ah, well.” He gestured for Caroline to remount. “We will go see what we can find.”

  “I can take you,” the man offered.

  “Good.” He didn’t ask if others might have been trapping further in the woods. Of course they would poach. The valley was hungry. The Summertons had brought this down on themselves.

  One of the boys waved his candy stick and shouted, “I heard howling, too. I went with me da. It’s out in the woods this way.” And with that, he darted toward a path.

  “I heard it, too,” Tommy cried, following him. “Petey and I was together.”

  As Summerton formed a cradle with his hands, to help Caroline back into the saddle, she leaned close. “Sweets do not a belly fill.”

  “I’m well aware of that.” He lifted her up, too high for whispered words. “Apology for a late start.”

  She gave him a quick bow, tipping her neat little top hat, and turned her mount to follow the mass of children now leading them down the path. He didn’t bother to remount, although an older boy, Jack, offered to give him a boost. He decided to walk with the men. It appeared the whole neighborhood had nothing better to do than follow.

  “Old Tom, the steward, says we’re to build new cottages,” one hunched old man said.

  Summerton nodded. “Yes, that’s right. He’ll bring in some men from the village to help.”

  “With indoor pumps?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who are these cottages for?”

  Summerton stopped. “For you, of course.” He looked at the solemn faces around him. “For all of you. Your cottages are barely standing, the roofs are leaking, you’ve no water inside…” but he stopped. One woman buried her face in her apron, and the men held their caps in front of their chests.

  “After the farms are improved?” someone asked.

  Tapping his leg with his crop, Summerton tried to explain. “There are changes to come, yes. One step at a time.”

  Robert Howlett had only given him a third of Caroline’s dowry. More would be payable after they returned from the wedding tour and the rest when a child was conceived. There were conditions on every phase.

  If she were to leave—and he thought she just might—he’d lose all but the first payment. He’d not return what was allocated with the wedding, he’d not defaulted. But her leaving would rob him of the rest of her dowry with no means of finding more funds. He would not be free to go out and find another heiress. They were married, after all. Her leaving did not change that fact.

  An annulment, divorce, would mean years of legal battles. Expensive legal battles. But without the last third, or the annual annuity…there was only so much he could do.

  Changes to the tenants’ cottages would have to come after the second installment of funds arrived. Without the farm working properly, there would be no point to tenants’ cottages at all—it was simple as that.

  One of the farmers spit. “Aye, I’ll admit, you’ve been fairing things up. But your father had a way of making nice promises and then nothing. We’ll see,” he said, and turned back the way he had come. “Time will have the truth of it.” The others studied him for a second before stalking off, too.

  He recognized their needs, something his father and grandfather had failed to do. He stopped, reins in his hand, and turned to follow them, but a shout had him looking back.

  “Baver!” Caroline called.

  Then he heard it, a low, eerie howl.

  “Caroline,” he shouted, stunned she’d ridden so far ahead.

  The men may have left but Jack, the lad, had not abandoned him. He stepped up, offered his cupped hands. Summerton used them to leap onto his mount. “Caroline, wait,” he spurred his mount on. “That could be anything.”

  She slowed, but he suspected the low branches she had to maneuver through were the cause, rather than his request.

  “That’s coming from quite a ways off.” He gained on her.

  “No, not far, weak.” She urged her horse on, calling, “Baver, Baver!”

  The loud clamour of children grew dim, as he and Caroline moved swiftly along the narrowing path. They took turns and curves, following the hillside. Both had to duck under and leap over branches blocking a path rarely used and then only for walking.

  He wished she’d slow down, but he knew she wouldn’t. She was a woman of action.

  The dog’s wail was akin to someone shouting with a sore throat, as if he’d been baying for hours.

  Caroline rounded a steep bank, out of his sight and let loose a wild cry, worsened by the wrenching whinny of her mount. Each silenced in a heartbeat. He made the bend, dismounting in one, to find Caroline standing beside a nervous prancing Boudicca, George barring her path.

  Quiet, all but the heavy panting of Caroline’s mount, its hooves stomping at the dirt path.

  The dog’s howls were louder in the silence.

  “Where is he?” Caroline demanded. “Where is Baver?”

  “Youse can’t go further, m’lady. I’m sorry.” George waved his arms about, hat scrunched in one fist. “You must stop her, your grace. It’s not for a lady. Then youse best come with me.”

  “What is it?” Caroline commanded. “What has happened to my dog?”

  “Your dog is fine, lass. Worn out by calling for help, but fine nonetheless.” As if to confirm his words, Baver, ears flopping with his jolting movements, rumbled up to Carline.

  George sidestepped the reunion, twisted his hat. “It’s the lass what’s dead,” George bemoaned. “There’s naught you can do, but his grace had best come see.”

  “Someone’s dead?” Impossible. He’d heard wrong.

  “Dead?” Caroline pushed forward, but Summerton stepped in her way, raising
an eyebrow at George, warning him not to say another word.

  “Nobody’s dead. An old cow we’ve been missing, that’s all.” He hoped that was all. “Baver needs you. Poor old boy looks done in.” He studied the lay of the land. “With all the rains lately, the creek has some water.” He pointed to a thin trickle running along the path, “He needs a drink. I’ll see what this is about.”

  In this, because it meant caring for one of her animals, he thought she might just do as he asked. At least, he hoped she would.

  He followed George up the gentle rise of the embankment to a flat lay of land, overlooking the road.

  A young lady lay in the small clearing, beneath a huge oak. Her skirts, bunched up as though she’d fallen. Not hiked up, so no suggestion of interference. Not that he’d ever seen a dead woman, let alone one with an odd tangle of skirts.

  Multiple skirts. Thick layers of them.

  “George, is she wearing too many garments?”

  “Looks to be so, your grace,” George mumbled.

  He knelt down and lifted layer after layer. The outermost was a cloak. Stylish, well-made, but far too heavy for this time of year, even with the cool temperatures. Below that were garments of finer fabric. Sheer muslin, fine silk, exquisite embroidery.

  He’d seen that embroidery before, on Caroline.

  “Your Grace,” George said, and pointed toward the woman’s head.

  A noose rounded her bruised neck, the length of it frayed and broken, probably by the weight of her. Her eyes bulged in her purple face, and her tongue was out.

  A branch snapped behind him just as he laid his embroidered handkerchief over the girl’s face.

  “It is a dead body,” his bride whispered. “How awful! Do you know who it is?” she asked.

  He stood, took her by the shoulders, tried to turn her away. “Please, see to the dog.”

  She refused. “I got him to the creek. He’s fine. He’s done his work, getting us here.”

  “You don’t want to see this,” he warned.

  She stood firm, looked at him directly. “If I can help, I will. I’ve seen the dead before, unpleasant deaths as well.” The children’s voices reached them, laughing and teasing as they neared. “But the children shouldn’t see this. When they get here, we’ll have them take Baver back, but they are a ways yet. For now, who is she?”