Summerton (Lady Eleanor Mysteries Book 1)

by Becca St. John

  He studied the bruised look beneath her eyes, the strain at the corners of them. She was exhausted, but not so weary as to let the regal tilt of her head slip or the firm line of her lips to soften. She didn’t push or fight him, but he knew she would not back down.

  “You said your abigail did not know of your plans,” he said.

  She sucked in a small breath, nothing more, and shook her head. “She did not know.”

  The evidence proved otherwise. He gestured to the corpse. “I believe this is your Alice.”

  “Alice? But that’s not possible.” Caroline pushed past him, past George, who looked like he wanted to cry rather than let her near the body. She crouched, her hand on the fallen figure.

  “Are you certain she is dead?” she asked.

  George grumbled something Summerton couldn’t understand. He didn’t ask him to elaborate anymore than he tried to respond to Caroline. She knew the truth of it, just needed a few moments to reconcile expectation and reality.

  “Why do you think this is Alice?” she asked, frowning, studying the dress. “This looks familiar, but Alice is much smaller. She’s thin as a rake.”

  Summerton hunched down beside her and lifted layer after layer of skirts, revealing finer and finer quality of clothes. Caroline fell back and sat on the ground, bewildered. Or doing a fine imitation of appearing that way. He wasn’t quite sure what to believe.

  “Those are my dresses.”

  “I rather gathered that.”

  “But why?” she asked, then gasped. “Oh dear, that does explain…”

  He watched, waited for her to finish. “Explain what?”

  She shook her head, moved to lift the handkerchief. He stilled her hand, felt the coldness she’d hidden. Whatever her plan had been last night, this was not part of it. She was fighting shock.

  “You don’t want to see,” he told her.

  “I want to be sure it’s her,” Caroline told him.

  “It’s not pretty.”

  “Brutal death rarely is, but I’ve seen my share, limbs torn off, workers crushed. Factories can be very dangerous places.”

  He held her hand a beat longer, to instill some warmth, then let go. She lifted the kerchief. Tears blossomed. Reverently, she lowered the cloth.

  “I didn’t much care for her; she was a meager-minded soul, but no one deserves to have their life taken this way.”

  “Hung herself,” George corrected.

  “No.” Caroline and Summerton responded as one.

  “Clear as the lines on my face,” he argued. “See here’s the rope, there’s the rest of it up there.” He pointed to a heavy branch above them, a length of rope coiled and tied around it. “She were too heavy, and it broke,” he pointed to the frayed ends. “See?”

  “I don’t think so,” Summerton argued, interested to see Caroline shaking her head right along with him. “She did not do this to herself.”

  “Why not?” George demanded, clearly baffled.

  “Rudimentary, to a lady.” Caroline explained. “She’d not bother to steal my clothes to kill herself. She had other plans.”

  “There is that,” Summerton added. “Plus, her hands are behind her back. No doubt tied. It’s not a natural way to land.”

  “Of course!” Caroline’s hand went to her mouth, “She couldn’t tie her own hands behind her back.” She plunked down on her backside. “Summerton, this is terrible. Who would have done this to her?”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps you’d best go back to Drool.”

  “Baver,” she answered by rote, her mind fixed on her abigail’s fate. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would she have left in the first place? Surely a few dresses wouldn’t have made her life any easier than a good reference and another position.”

  The men exchanged a look.

  “What?” she demanded, with that regal air of hers.

  He wasn’t about to tell her how a couple of pretty dresses could help a girl enter the oldest of professions.

  “At this point,” he attempted to distract her, “It’s all conjecture.” He gestured to George. “Tilt her on her side, will you, let’s see her hands.”

  George crouched down, hefting the stiff figure, tilting her on her side so she faced Caroline and Summerton. They kept her from falling all the way over.

  “She’s so cold.” Caroline shuddered. He wanted to soothe her, but George spoke at the same time.

  “You’re right, your grace, hands tied behind her. Poor lass.” The groundsman cut through the bindings. Caroline’s lips pressed tight. “Fingers loaded down with rings, they are.”

  “Interesting.” She was either stealing from Caroline or transporting for her.

  “My rings, do you suppose?” Caroline asked, the strain disappearing as curiosity had her leaning over the body to see.

  “She’s stiff as a board, don’t know if I can move them,” George announced, laying Alice down on her back.

  Caroline turned away, as if she couldn’t bear to keep looking.

  “The children should be here soon. Why don’t you go wait with Baver?” he suggested.

  “Yes,” she said, meek as could be. She was starting to believe it had happened.

  “I’ll accompany you,” he told her, “just let me give some instructions to George.”

  “Poor old hound’s been howling all night, trying to get someone’s attention,” the old man said.

  “Stay with her, George,” Summerton gestured toward the corpse, “until Tom can come out here with some men and a cart. The magistrate will have to be informed.” Summerton sighed.

  “You might as well tell Lady Eleanor. She’ll be in her element with somethin’ like this.”

  “I dare say you are right,” he agreed. Daughter of a magistrate, married to a magistrate, his aunt had been apprised of more than one murder and solved her share, though the men took the credit. “She does have rather a talent for this sort of thing.”

  He only wished she didn’t need to use it when he needed to be courting his bride.

  The past two days had been full of surprises and none of them good.

  CHAPTER 6 ~ Discontents

  The rings were hers, though not her best pieces. Those would have been kept in her uncle’s safe. Or had they been transferred to Summerton’s keeping? Caroline brushed the thought aside. It was of no consequence other than as another piece of the puzzle.

  Why would someone have killed Alice? And what had she been thinking, running away into the woods?

  As Caroline herself had tried to do.

  Summerton had not been shy of reminding her just how dangerous it was for a young lady to run—alone—into the woods. He couldn’t know that Jeremy had signaled her with a candle. That she had Jeremy to keep her safe.

  Except now, she had to wonder, if the signal had come from Jeremy…or someone waiting for Alice?

  Summerton had a point. Perhaps it was a good thing her escape had failed. She looked at him, strong and firm despite the troubles that beset him. He would be a wonderful husband for some woman, even if he was a duke.

  The magistrate had brought in the jewelry found on Alice, splaying it out on a table in the study. Lady Eleanor sifted through it.

  Caroline meant to look, too, but Summerton proved the stronger draw.

  He stood, so alone, hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the grounds.

  She didn’t have a high opinion of the aristocracy. She’d been the brunt of too many slights and pranks at St. Ann’s. Even more vicious for their subtlety, out in society. They dared to ridicule her father for his success.

  Aristocrats who did nothing, yet expected all manner of toadying. All of them disdaining any sort of work, expecting others to kowtow to them. She thought not.

  Yet here was Summerton, darkly stoic, facing a world of worry. He recognized her father’s brilliance. He saw through that stink of trade.

  But that did not separate him from the ton. He was a part of it. The pinnacle. Her bir
thright would bring censure on them both.

  A man could, would, ignore such things. She could not. The women of the ton would never allow it. She’d stepped beyond bounds by marrying above her station.

  Their marriage would never suit.

  She rather wished he wasn’t a duke.

  Eleanor tapped her arm, pulling her back to the jewelry.

  “That piece is mine,” Eleanor exclaimed, holding up a small ring. She studied it, clasped it in her fist, held it to her chest. A dear, precious object. “I know it’s not much—” her eyes misted, “—but Francis gave it to me one summer shortly after we met. Just a little trinket from a village fair. It is one of my favorites. However do you think the girl found it?”

  Summerton turned, frowning. “One of the rings is yours?”

  “Yes,” Lady Eleanor nodded. “And another.” She rummaged through the collection of rings and brooches the physician and magistrate had found on the body. “Is this yours, Lady Caroline?” Eleanor held out a linked group of silver bands. “It’s a puzzle ring. Have you ever had one?”

  Caroline shook her head. Eleanor twisted and turned the linked bands until they slipped together, forming a single ring.

  “Alice has never taken anything from me before.” Caroline hesitated, picking up a small pinkie ring. “Not that I knew about, anyway, but this looks like Louisa Peppy’s ring.”

  “Do you keep a close eye on pieces of little value?” Summerton joined them. “Could she have been gathering things like that for awhile?”

  Caroline turned away. “I don’t know. Louisa only visited once, after our engagement.” Caroline bit her lip. “If this went missing then, I never heard of it.”

  “But it’s not an expensive piece.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Caroline shook her head. “Perhaps Alice thought I would let her go, without reference, once I married. That’s all I can think. I’ve been distracted since the engagement, so she might have started stealing then. I wouldn’t have noticed except…”

  Eleanor harrumphed. “Summerton, you may think these are of little value, but such things are in the eye of the beholder.” She looked at the two rings in her hand, then wandered over to a wingback chair by the fire and sat down, awash in memories.

  Caroline could feel Summerton watching her. If she found Jeremy, she might be able to get answers. He may have seen Alice, or spoken with her.

  “Except ‘what,’ Caroline?”

  She shook her head and dropped the jewelry. “Alice was odd last night, that’s all. She told me it was tradition for a bride to soak in a scented bath for hours.” She threw up her hands, let them drop.

  “Who stays in a bath for so long?” she asked. “But she claimed it a tradition, to relax a bride.” Caroline had been determined to play the dutiful bride, rather than risk suspicion that she would run away. “I finally insisted on getting out.” Alice had not been pleased.

  “The water would be dreadfully cold.”

  “No,” Caroline explained, “she kept water on the fire, heated it at any sign of cooling. While I soaked, she moved about the room, left a number of times.”

  She took a seat in the chair opposite Eleanor, but leaned toward Summerton to explain. “When I first saw my cloak, the dresses, I thought she’d designed her plan last night, as I soaked, but the cloak…” She sat back. “The magistrate said there were pockets, quite a few, sewed into the cloak. That had to have been made in advance.”

  “She filled them with these baubles—” Summerton gestured to the table, “—and other things. We suspect she was partially robbed.”

  “What makes you think that, Summerton?” Eleanor asked.

  “She had the jewelry, but no money. Surely she would have taken her savings with her. And a couple of pockets were torn.”

  “Your search might have scared him off before he could find more,” Caroline offered.

  “If it was a him.”

  “Surely you don’t think it could have been a woman?” Eleanor exclaimed.

  Summerton pushed away from the desk so he could better examine the jewelry. “No, not really. But it begs to be answered whether it is the work of more than one.”

  “Oh.” Eleanor looked at the fire. “Oh, I see.”

  Caroline bowed her head. “Poor Alice. Poor misguided Alice.”

  “It could have been you, Caroline,” Summerton said, not for the first time. Not as a reprimand, but rather as if he couldn’t quite fathom the idea. “Was she transporting your clothes for you? Your jewelry?”

  Ah, the real question. She had been wondering when he would ask her. She sighed, because it didn’t matter what she said. Unless they found another reason for Alice’s actions, his suspicions made sense.

  “No.” Caroline shook her head. “No, I did not ask her to help me. It is as I told you, she was working for my uncle. She would have told him and something would have been done to stop me. He wants this marriage very, very badly.”

  “And what could he do, Caroline, if Alice had told him?”

  She looked at the fire. “He would make certain Alice kept me here.”

  Eleanor lifted her head. “I met your uncle once. A very charming man. Very congenial.”

  Caroline didn’t quite know how to respond. She’d always rather liked her uncle, too…until recently. He made people smile and there was always a twinkle in his eyes. Ladies adored him, though he had never married. Her father kept him close, despite his lack of interest in, or acumen for, business.

  But now that her father was gone, her uncle had taken over everything.

  And everything suffered, especially the mills.

  Too many hours demanded of the overworked, resulting in too many ghastly accidents. Money drained from the coffers. Soon they would be turning workers away, with heavier burdens on those who remained.

  Caroline knew she could make things right. She knew how to look into the books, how to organize employees, find solutions. She’d learned at her father’s knee.

  But her Uncle Robert had chosen to honor a misguided promise to her father rather than listen to her. Caroline would be a boring lady of leisure, married to an aristocrat.

  He’d go to any lengths to secure those plans. Desperate, even. Or so she thought.

  Caroline shook her head, more confused now than ever. Her animals were safe and well cared for, but her abigail was dead.

  “Summerton,” she said, deciding it was Summerton’s turn to be accused, “the state of those cottages is untenable.”

  “I have to agree,” Eleanor added. “The former dukes should be horsewhipped. Really!” she huffed. “I went down to see to Kip’s wife and though she keeps that sty of theirs neat as a pin, it’s in deplorable condition.”

  “Yes, I know. I saw for myself.”

  “Didn’t you have any idea?” Caroline asked.

  He’d returned to the window, his back to them. He shook his head. “Not until this spring. No idea,” he murmured, barely loud enough for them to hear.

  This was painful for him, she understood. He would not want to talk about this any more than she wanted to speak of her uncle, but at least they could have some hope of improving life for his tenants.

  “Worse, they don’t trust you.” Her needling worked—he turned, but his face remained in shadow. She explained. “You know how the people followed…the body, Alice, back to the hall? I was helping one of the little ones tie his shoes by the well. The women didn’t realize I was there.” She hesitated, knowing she’d have to tell him at some point, not quite ready to do it now.

  “Go on.”

  “One of the women said you planned to start on the cottages in three years. Three years! Why ever would you wait?”

  “We will get to that,” he offered, “but what were their reactions? Were they pleased?”

  Caroline rose and returned to the table to sift through the jewelry. “They didn’t quite believe it,” she told him, without conveying the contempt of their disbelief. Three years from Doomsday? one ha
d asked. Just like his father, another said. These cottages won’t last that long, the third quipped.

  They hadn’t been intimidated when Caroline announced her presence by standing up, nor did they attempt to apologize. And why should they? Their opinions had been hard earned.

  “I’m afraid I made a promise to them,” she told Summerton.

  He stepped toward her, stopped, turned away before turning back. Obviously, he didn’t like being cornered, though he refrained from shouting. Barely. His jaw flexed with the suppression.

  Her father would have ranted and raved. She knew how to stand up to verbal bellows. She didn’t know how to deal with Summerton’s quiet resistance.

  “Just what did you promise them?” he finally asked.

  Caroline faced him head on. “I told them you were an honorable man and their homes would be rebuilt. I explained you were preparing them for delay because it takes time to build new.”

  “You told them I am an honorable man?” He frowned. “This from the bride who ran away?”

  Caroline sniffed and turned back to the table. “And I said someone would be down this week to look into the matter.”

  “Bravo, Lady Caroline, bravo!” Eleanor smiled.

  “You think so, Aunt?” Summerton snapped. “And just how shall we pay this someone? And what will happen when we fail to follow through? Do you think they will be any happier about that?”

  She jerked back, offended. He had her money. Money she could use herself, to stave the punctured finances her uncle created. “You did receive a settlement upon our marriage.”

  His mouth quirked up on one side. “I received a partial settlement,” he informed her. “The funds will arrive in installments. The first will be used on the infrastructure of the farms. Without the farms, there will be no need of tenants or tenant cottages.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” She shook her head. “Father secured my marriage funds, to be dispensed on my wedding day. I would not have left until that was done.” Now she paced. “I knew you needed the funds. I thought once you had your money and Uncle Robert received his percentage, no one would much care what happened to me.”