Summerton (Lady Eleanor Mysteries Book 1)

by Becca St. John

  “You have something important to tell me?” Summerton asked, without so much as a hello.

  The man jerked around, as though struck. The duke moved around his desk and gestured for the visitor and Sir Michael to sit in front of it. The little fellow didn’t move, his gaze darting between Sir Michael and Summerton.

  Sir Michael continued to stand as well, his scowl confirming Summerton’s own concern that the man was not quite right.

  “Well?” he snapped.

  “I have a message for you.” The man produced a letter, handed it over. “It’s from Robert Howlett, your grace. He wanted to come himself, but it is impossible for him to break away at the moment. So he sent me.”

  “And this has you fearful?” Summerton took the letter. “Please sit,” he told the messenger, as he settled into the chair behind his desk, opening the envelope, damp, he presumed, with the man’s sweat.

  Peeved as he was, to be distracted with this business, his good manners rallied. “You’ve ridden hard to get here. Michael, would you ring for Hitches? Let’s get this man some refreshments.”

  He ignored the murmur of voices, the coming and going of his butler, who must have been directly outside the door with a tray ready. Instead, he focused on the words on the page.

  You may know by now that Caroline was not eager to be wed.

  Summerton snorted. Not eager? Adamantly against it, more like. No wonder this fellow was nervous, having to acknowledge a tainted deal.

  He continued to read.

  Breaking her trust was necessary. There is much she does not know and much she would not readily believe. Her faith is in her father’s manager, young Jeremy. Before he died, my brother began to suspect deceit, but it was a delicate situation. The lad had been given a great deal of authority before he proved treacherous.

  Occupied by society, Caroline knew none of this, and I very much doubted she would believe any of it. In fact, due to my clumsy attempts to manipulate her, she will place me as the villain in the piece.

  If Jeremy reaches her, he will use her badly. He means to gain control of the Howlett Mills, to make them his own. She is his only means of doing so.You must not allow this to happen.

  Worse, you must not let her know of the danger. She is spirited enough to try to solve the problem, which will only make her more vulnerable.

  You were chosen, from a number of possible suitors, precisely because you were judged to have the superior power to keep her safe. I leave this to you now.

  Take Caroline on your wedding journey. As you know, her dowry is held in trust until you do so. I urge you to follow through immediately. Once you are out of the country, he won’t be able to reach her. Until then, be watchful and keep her close.

  I must stress, Do Not Allow Jeremy Near Her. She believes he means best and will refute any words against him. He is an evil creature, ruthless and dangerous.

  Robert Howlett

  After three readings, Summerton looked up at the messenger, who had barely touched the triangle sandwiches on the small table beside him. Even with the beer mug tilted to his mouth, his eyes scanned the room as if monsters might break free of the drapes at any moment. Placing the mug down, he twisted around to look behind himself.

  “Stop!” Summerton ordered. “You’ll snap your neck. I can see well enough behind you. There is nothing there but furniture, books, and a globe. Would you like us to lock the door?”

  “No.” The man pulled himself together, straightening his coat front, patting his cravat. “Of course I am safe. We are safe. I checked the French doors myself.” Panic tinged his chuckle. “No need to fret.” He took a calming breath, but it hitched halfway in.

  Sir Michael ignored him, watching Summerton instead.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I’m not certain,” Summerton admitted, handing the letter over.

  Who to trust? Caroline’s faith in Jeremy or Robert Howlett’s poorly demonstrated concern for his niece? What man pretends to euthanize pets or sack employees as a means of control? Whether cruelly creative or eccentrically brilliant, the plan had worked…but at a price. Caroline held no love for her uncle.

  Greed created this scenario. Everything revolved around her father’s businesses. Who owned them, and who wanted to own them.

  “What do you know of this?” he asked the messenger, realizing he didn’t even know his name. “And who are you?”

  “Mr. Little, sir.” The man set down the petit four he’d been about to taste, “And one thing I know for certain, it’s dangerous here. We have a man on the grounds who’s confirmed as much.”

  “What?” Sir Michael, who was now sitting beside the man, turned to look at him. “You have your own man on the grounds? And you didn’t think to tell me, the magistrate? Or his grace?”

  “We never thought Jeremy would find her here, but we wanted to be sure. We made certain to keep it quiet that she was due to visit St. Martins before leaving the country.”

  “Well, I never,” Sir Michael groused.

  “It’s all right, Sir Michael,” Summerton soothed. “He’s telling the truth. Caroline thought we meant to leave from London. She had no idea we were coming here.”

  “Well, that’s a damn sticky way of planning a wedding,” Sir Michael argued, but he sat back.

  Mr. Little tried to explain. “At that point, we didn’t know Jeremy’s involvement, not for certain. So we didn’t dare risk anyone finding out. Thought it best to keep her uninformed.”

  Summerton drummed his fingers on the desk. “I thought Jeremy managed the mills.”

  “He did, sir, but he is no longer employed by the mills.”

  “He was at my wedding.” Summerton stood, the man’s agitation catching. “Surely, he must have only just been released.”

  The man took a deep breath, either in preparation for a deep lie—or perhaps an embarrassing truth? Summerton waited, fingertips on the desktop, as he looked down at the fellow.

  “Mr. Little, we have other affairs to attend to. If you would get to the point.”

  “It was my error, you see.” Little admitted. “We knew there was a problem with money. It started shortly after Mr. Howlett, Mr. Robert Howlett’s brother, passed away. We couldn’t find the source.”

  “I see.”

  “Jeremy, who in his capacity to oversee the mills can also access all the accounts, found minor ways of draining funds into an account for himself. That was the problem. There were thousands of small leaks rather than one large one.” Little adjusted his cravat. “I discovered the source right about the time you were getting married. It was Jeremy. The alarm wouldn’t have reached London until after you arrived here.”

  “You are certain it is him?” Summerton pressed.

  “We were, your grace, but we feel even more certain given everything that has happened.”

  “What the blazes do you mean by that?” Michael asked. “Do you think him the murderer?”

  “Jeremy never liked things out of his control. Your marriage, Caroline being kept away from the mills and from his influence…it has flung everything beyond his reach. Apparently it’s turned him quite wild.”

  “Quite wild? Does he even know he’s been found out?” Summerton asked.

  “We don’t know. We haven’t been able to find him.”

  “He’s been here in hiding, in contact with Caroline.”

  “You know that?”

  “Yes.” Summerton wasn’t about to tell him that they’d had Jeremy in their grip, only to lose him. Or that Caroline had been alone with him.

  “Well, you see…” Little drew out the words.

  Summerton fought for restraint as he waited for the man to speak.

  “You see, Jeremy did not take a small portion when he left for the wedding, but a crippling amount.”

  “And you know, beyond a doubt, he was the one who took it?” Michael asked.

  “Oh, yes, sir,” Little answered. “He did it with the help of young Suzy, who thought she was going
with him.”

  “And she told you this?” Summerton snapped.

  “Not exactly.” Little stuck a finger between his collar and throat, his face gone crimson.

  Summerton came around the desk, towering over the man, who leaned so far back he nearly toppled the chair. Summerton reached out to keep it from doing just that. Little squeaked with fear.

  Sir Michael stood. “Come now, Summerton, you’re frightening the poor man.”

  Summerton backed up. “Fine.” He leaned against the desk, half a step from his target. “You’d best stop playing riddles, Mr. Little. Did she or did she not tell you?”

  “Her diary did.”

  “Diary?” A squirm of unease crawled through Summerton.

  “She is dead, I’m afraid, but it seems she kept a diary. Who would have known that a sweet little mill girl would know how to write, let alone have the resources to keep a diary. But she was raised in…”

  “She’s dead?” Summerton cut him off. “And you think Jeremy is responsible? Yet you failed to let us know until now?”

  The small man sat upright. “You, your grace, were supposed to be out of the country by this time! It was part of the marriage agreement.”

  Summerton sagged against the desk. Yes, it was part of the marriage agreement, and they’d planned to leave immediately, except his bride had tried to run away and two murders had rocked the household.

  “I don’t mean to be insolent, but leaving would solve all your problems.”

  Except for wooing his bride with the one thing she appeared to appreciate—St. Martins.

  He relented. “You’ve come a long way. Hitches will see you are settled for the night. Refresh yourself. We’ll speak of this over dinner.”

  “But I can’t stay…” Little tried to argue.

  “You will stay,” Summerton commanded, adding, “Keep in mind, we dine early in the country. Hitches will tell you when to expect the gong.” He left the room, determined to reach Caroline in the deep, dark belly of the house.

  Sir Michael stood. “Do as he says,” he ordered, heading after Summerton. “He won’t take kindly to your ignoring him.”

  ***

  The beer cellar was tidy. Besides the stools, a table, cots, and a single lantern were supplied for the lads. Caroline ignored the bucket placed in the shadows along the back wall and kept her place near the barred door.

  Eleanor was not so shy. She removed her gloves and sat on one of the stools, neatly placing her gloves on her lap. The lads hovered against the long row of kegs, shifting on their feet. They wore soft shoes. One bounced up and down on his toes.

  The other boy complained about the bouncing. Instead of bouncing, that one bit his lips tight. Both looked wary, if not outright terrified.

  No, these were certainly not killers. Caroline relaxed, but she didn’t say anything. Eleanor saw something in these two that she’d yet to reveal. Caroline would let her get on with it.

  “Well,” the older woman said. “Why don’t you tell us who you are, why you are here, and why, for goodness sake, you are dressed as boys?”

  Everyone gasped, except Eleanor.

  Of course! Caroline should have seen it herself. Almost laughed when one of them tried to deny it.

  “We are boys,” one of the girls said, even as the other gushed, “How did you know?”

  “Obvious,” Caroline said to support Eleanor. “The pitch of your voices and lack of whiskers imply very young boys. Though small, you are too tall, your features too mature to be lads.”

  “I knew you would see it, my dear,” Eleanor told her, turning back to the girls. “But why did you do such a thing? What would compel you?”

  Caroline snorted, “That is easy to understand. It’s a man’s world. Very hard for a woman to make her way on her own.” Caroline had tried the same hoax only two nights ago. “But how did it come about?”

  The smaller girl pulled free. “It was my cousin’s idea, you see. That we write news. The governor said he’d buy our articles if we got them, but he wouldn’t stick his neck out for us.”

  “You’re reporters?” Eleanor smiled. “I see.”

  “In a manner of speaking.” The older one stepped forward. “I’m Bevieann, and this is my cousin, Liz. Bevieann Ross and Liz Evans. I write articles, Liz illustrates.”

  “But you don’t have any of the accoutrements needed.” Eleanor gestured to the empty desk.

  Liz lamented. “That crowd of louts grabbed us and left our things behind. No doubt they’ve gone through and stolen everything. All my pictures! Really, as if we’ve done something wrong

  “You were found with a dead body,” Eleanor reminded her. “A girl was murdered.”

  “We didn’t do it,” Bevieann snapped.

  “No,” Eleanor agreed, “I never thought you had, but you weren’t safe out there and I had hopes you might have information.”

  “We just wanted a story, that’s all. I just wanted to draw her. I didn’t hurt her,” Liz said.

  “But you saw the body,” Caroline said.

  The two exchanged a long look.

  “We need to know what you saw,” Eleanor explained.

  “Oh, I see,” Bevieann said. “There wasn’t much to see, other than a dead girl, strangled, but I did take notes and Liz took sketches.”

  “And how good is your eye? Either of you?”

  “Liz’s very talented. She doesn’t miss much, but she knows when to leave things out,” Bevieann said.

  “And Bevieann’s stories are printed so often because she gets bits everyone else misses. She’s the best,” her cousin said.

  “Good!” Eleanor rose. “Let’s go look at where the body was left. We’ll see if we can find your notes and drawings.”

  “Do you think they might still be there?” Liz asked.

  “We can only hope,” Caroline answered.

  “And if they aren’t, perhaps you can remember how the area looked when you found the girl,” Eleanor suggested. “Then we will bring you back to the hall and you can write and draw from memory.”

  The young ladies exchanged glances. Bevieann nodded, but Liz looked doubtful. “Go on, then. Tell them.”

  “What?” Caroline asked.

  “It’s just, the girl had a secret sweetheart. We saw them together. Walking in the woods, before she was murdered. He was posh.”

  “Posh?” Eleanor asked.

  “Nice clothes, you know. But his words didn’t match his clothes. You know, posh like.”

  “Interesting,” Eleanor admitted.

  That sounded too much like Jeremy, and Jeremy had a lady friend. He’d told her so. Only he’d been leaving to go to her, hadn’t he? This girl would have been murdered by then.

  She shook her head. It wasn’t making sense.

  “Just because she was sweet on someone, doesn’t mean he killed her,” she argued.

  “Possibly not.” Eleanor nodded. “But he might know who did.”

  CHAPTER 16 ~ The Crypt

  Chilling fingers of fog clung to Caroline’s shoulders. She wrapped her shawl tighter, protection against the cold, against an insidious fear. It didn’t ease, even with all the able-bodied men around her, or bright torches fighting the gloom.

  She jumped at every sound, noise distorted by the weight of the mist. An animal scurrying in the underbrush ticked up her heartbeat. The eerie hoot of an owl rippled down her back. All so far, yet so near.

  She wished Summerton wouldn’t take such a prominent place at the front of their little entourage, not after what happened last night. Or Lady Eleanor, who hurried along beside him, eager and intense.

  Once they’d informed Summerton and Sir Michael about the girls in the crypt, and had been told about Mr. Little’s visit, Eleanor insisted they go to the crypt, fog or not. She’d been chomping at the bit ever since she’d spoken with Bevieann and Liz.

  There was no discernible path. They walked through wet spring grass, wild and tenacious undergrowth. Dew saturated her boots, and t
he hem of her skirts. The musty scent of earth and churned debris, from two seasons before, made it feel more like autumn than spring.

  How easy it would be for an assassin to hide behind the fog, in the tumble of young trees taking over the landscape.

  The duke had begged her to stay behind at the Hall. Caroline had refused. She’d rather be there with him than fretting and worrying.

  Sir Michael joined them for this adventure to the crypt, and, of course, Liz and Bevieann as well.

  “Who’s out there?” The call surrounded them, muted by the dense air.

  “The Duke,” one of the guards bellowed.

  Like a specter, a young man stepped out of the fog. His lantern barely cast a glow against the mist, but in its weak light, his eyes were wide, fearful. Behind him, an iron arch crowned an ornate gate. Purely decorative, as anyone could cross the stonewall on either side of it.

  Eleanor stepped up to the gate. “Thank you, Summerton, for the guard,” she told him, as she walked under the arch. “It wouldn’t do for this to be disturbed.”

  Summerton stood aside, letting the others precede him in. “No one cared to, Aunt. Why you do is beyond me, but here we are.”

  “Yes.” She looked about, distracted. “Yes,” she murmured to herself.

  Caroline wondered what drew her attention other than the overgrown grass, weeds, and young wildflowers crowding the headstones. She saw nothing of note.

  “No!” Eleanor snapped, having noticed everyone crowding in on both sides of the cemetery path, still discernible despite obvious neglect. “Wait just a moment, please. Stay where you are.” Again, she investigated the ground.

  “What is it?” Sir Michael asked.

  Rather than offering a response, she tapped a bent knuckle against her lips, all her focus on the ground beside the path.

  “If you tell us what to do, Lady Eleanor, we could help,” Caroline said. “But the only things I see right now are trampled grass and broken lilies of the valley.”