by Louise Allen
He walked slowly across the terrace to Guin. ‘What did she say to you?’ she asked as soon as he reached her side.
‘Do you hate me?’
‘What did you say?’
‘No. Then she asked me if I could forgive her and I said yes. It was not a complicated exchange and I presume I can owe it to you?’
She could not tell whether he was glad or whether he resented her interference. ‘She needs a friend. Whether she would be repentant and want forgiveness if her marriage had been happy, who can tell? Perhaps she would be a different woman if that had happened. I hope we can trust her, because she seems to be suspicious and uneasy about Elizabeth Quenten and if that is not part of a subtle plot, then she may be a great help to us.’
‘You are right. And thank you for trying, whether or not she is sincere. It does neither of us any good to have that cloud from the past.’ He looked down at her, his eyes dark with thoughts that did not seem pleasant. ‘She was unhappy with Will, you say?’
‘He was the sort of man who betrays his own brother. How do you think he would be as a husband?’
‘Hell.’ Jared linked his arm through hers and strolled to the end of the terrace and the view. ‘All that to secure a love match and they end up trapped together by the marriage they thought they wanted.’
‘I did not know you are a romantic about marriage.’
‘Did you not?’ He spoke absently, his gaze seemingly fixed on the horizon.
And yet he proposes that I marry him and does not speak of love. Why not? Because he does not love me, I suppose. If I tell him how I feel about him, what will he do? Tell me the truth or lie?
‘What do we do now?’ Guinevere asked briskly, as though they had been speaking of nothing other than practicalities. When this business was over he would woo her seriously if she would allow him to. He had never felt like this about a lover before but then he had never had a countess in his bed and he could not tell whether it was the thought of Society’s pressures that made him so certain that they should marry, or something else.
Romance. Love? What do I know about that? What I observe, which is Cal and Sophie. Cal has changed, his whole focus has shifted. So has mine, but then so has my life. Guinevere –
‘Are you in a trance?’
That was sharp enough to cure unconsciousness. ‘No. Thinking.’
‘What is the plan for this evening?’ Guinevere was unhappy about something, he knew her well enough by now to tell that. There was plenty of reasons for her to be so, but Jared had an uncomfortable feeling that it was his fault, whatever it was. He had thought he had enough experience of women to understand them, but he was learning he was wrong. Or rather, when it came to the woman he was beginning to care deeply about, he was.
‘This evening.’ He wrenched his mind back to the problem in hand: keeping this woman alive, which was rather more urgent than wondering what was going on in her head or what he felt about her.
‘We need to bring up the subject of Thomas Bainton, drive a wedge of suspicion in between him and his real employer,’ he said. ‘I do not believe he is far away and this house is easy enough to get into – I doubt anyone has improved the locks since the seventeenth century but with a bit of work we can secure most of them and leave a vulnerable point we can watch. We need him and Mrs Quenten together, talking in front of witnesses, and the more agitated she is – if that woman ever does get agitated – the better.
‘Theo is doing an excellent job of appearing to have rather more enthusiasm than tact or wit. We’ll get him to start the ball rolling.’ But he was going to keep Theo out of this as much as possible. As a suspect the less he was involved the better and, if Jared was wrong about him, then the more he knew the more dangerous he was. He only hoped that faint nagging suspicion would go away, it would cause Guinevere huge distress if Theo proved treacherous. It was one hell of a balancing act.
‘May I carve you some beef, Mrs Quenten? It looks excellent.’ Theo laid slices of sirloin on his neighbour’s plate and looked round the table. ‘Anyone else? Oh yes, thank you, Ravenlaw, I will take some of the capon. You’ve a fine cook, Huntingford.’ He accepted the bowl of peas, helped Mrs Quenten to some and passed them along. ‘Difficult business, finding good staff. I’ve inherited a mixed lot from my father, I must say. The most useless set of footmen in creation.’
Jared watched Elizabeth Quenten under the pretext of paying close attention to Theo. ‘I was fortunate when I wanted a gentleman’s gentleman, but he was a recommendation from Calderbrook’s man.’
‘The famous Flynn, the valet every gentleman in Town wants to poach! Not that I need a valet, just some reliable footmen.’
‘Reliable is the word,’ Guinevere put in rather tartly as she nodded her thanks to Jared for a slice of the capon he had carved. ‘We had been very pleased with that footman who came to us from you, Mrs Quenten – Thomas Bainton, if you recall him – but the wretched man has disappeared.’
‘A better offer perhaps,’ Mrs Quenten said, her tone colourless.
‘But why not offer his notice and receive his pay owing? I think there is something shady about it. I must check the silver again when we get back to Allerton,’ Guinevere added darkly.
‘I think there’s more to it than that.’ Jared said. ‘I find it too coincidental that he vanishes the day the carriage wheel and brake were interfered with.’
‘What? You don’t think he’s the person behind the attacks, do you?’ Theo put down his wine glass with a thump, apparently ignoring Jared’s gestures to be quiet. ‘My God – I beg your pardon ladies – you’ve had the killer under your roof all this time!’
‘What killer?’ Sir Andrew, set down his knife and fork and stared around the table. ‘What is this?’
Guinevere explained. Bella, Jared noticed, became even paler, Mr Quenten showed every sign of interest, shock and animation and his wife looked as though they were discussing the price of mackerel.
‘The man will talk once you get your hands on him,’ Sir Andrew said. ‘Unless he’s a maniac there will be someone behind him, that’s for sure. Catch him, put him in the hands of a man with the knack for interrogation and between fear of a beating and the inducement of transportation rather than the noose, he’ll spill the lot. I’ve a friend amongst the magistrates in Westminster and he knows a Runner or two who have skill in extracting information.’
‘We are alarming the ladies,’ Jared said. ‘They can have no idea how brutal and effective such questionings can be. But that aside, once we find him the evidence will follow. We have dates, we have places and a mountain of circumstantial evidence to bury him under. Since the incident with the carriage I have been putting the pieces together. All we have to do is lay our hands on Bainton.’ He glanced around the table. ‘I have already put measures in place to hunt him.’
‘Confoundedly distressing for you, Mrs Quenten,’ his father observed. ‘Old family servant of yours and so on. Any indications that he was unreliable?’
‘None,’ she said coldly. ‘I have always found him most loyal.’
I’ll wager you have, Jared thought. ‘But let us speak of more pleasant subjects. I understand you have a racehorse that is favoured for the next York meeting, Sir Andrew.’
The conversation turned to racing and to horses in general. Quenten looked quite at his ease, Jared thought, more and more convinced that the man had no idea what his wife was about.
With dessert finished Bella rose from her seat at the foot of the table and the other ladies followed her out. There was an immediate air of relaxation, as though the five men had all freed several waistcoat buttons. Even Quenten seemed to relax in the absence of his wife. The butler placed the decanters and nuts on the table and, obedient to a wave of the Earl’s hand, ushered out the footmen.
Jared sat back, poured himself a glass of port as the decanter passed and did his best not to worry that Guinevere was alone with Lettie Quenten and Bella with her uncertain loyalties. Dover was helping to brin
g in the tea tray and he would lurk discreetly, but even so he was glad when his father got to his feet after only two glasses.
‘Shall we rejoin the ladies?’
Time for the next little nudge. Jared nodded to his father and the Earl and Sir Andrew strolled across the drawing room until they were behind, but at a little distance, from the sofa where Mrs Quenten sat silent beside Bella.
Sir Andrew gave an exclamation and turned towards the Earl. ‘I’ll forget my own name one of these days. Huntingford, I’ve a confession – I‘ve done something to the lock on that little sitting room door – the one out onto the terrace. Don’t know what, must have leaned on the handle too hard. Meant to mention it to you earlier and it’s a bit late for a locksmith now.’ He was speaking quietly, but his voice had a certain penetrating clarity.
‘Oh, that door is always a problem, I meant to have the entire lock changed. It’s stiff enough to hold closed for the moment, I’ve no doubt.’ The Earl beckoned for a footman. ‘Durrant, make sure you turn the key on the corridor side of the small sitting room door tonight, that’ll be safe enough. There’s nothing of any value in there,’ he added to Sir Andrew.
His father’s mutterings were never exactly discreet, Jared thought appreciatively. He had not heard what was said, only read it on the Earl’s lips but he was sure Mrs Quenten would have been able to hear. He just hoped they were not being too obvious setting up their trap, but he suspected she was too obsessed to be wary. He kept on talking to Theo whom he had manoeuvred round so that he had his back to the room.
Bella poured tea, Sir Andrew seated himself beside Mrs Quenten and made valiant attempts at conversation. Theo wandered over and kept up a stream of superficial chatter about sporting matters with the Earl while Jared leaned over the back of his father’s chair, dropped in the occasional comment and watched the room. Guinevere was left to talk to Mr Quenten who darted nervous glances at his wife whenever Guinevere laughed or leaned closer to him.
Under the cat’s paw, Jared thought. Poor devil. Either he has no idea what his Lettie’s about, and he seems dull enough for that to be possible, or he has been dragooned into at least complacence, if not actual involvement.
Mrs Quenten stood up. ‘I shall retire, if you will excuse me. Bella dear, how may I go out onto the terrace? I cannot sleep unless I have taken a short stroll in the fresh air.’
‘This way.’ Bella stood up and led the way. ‘I will go up myself when I have shown you. Good night, everyone.’
Dover opened the door then slipped through behind them carrying a tray of dirty cups. He was followed shortly afterward by Theo, yawning and apologetic.
Dover was back ten minutes later with a jug of hot water to refresh the tea urn and Jared strolled casually across the room to speak to him under cover of handing over his own cup.
‘She sent her ladyship away, said she would only be a minute and she was. I pretended to just come along as she came back in and went to lock the door but I had a look outside once she was clear. There’s a small cairn of white pebbles by that sitting room door.’
Jared released a breath he had not been aware he was holding. ‘Hooked.’
‘I’d say so, sir. My lord, I mean.’
‘Sir will do.’ It was taking getting used to. So far Jared had failed to respond to at least three members of staff using his title until they repeated themselves. ‘I’ll be up within half an hour. Tell Sir Andrew.’
Dover took himself off, holding the door for Sir Andrew to leave. Mr Quenten announced that he would be to his rest and within minutes Jared was alone with his father and Guinevere. ‘My bed chamber, sir. Guinevere, I suggest you go to your room, keep Faith with you and lock the door.’
‘You may suggest what you like, but I am joining your council of war, Jared.’ She smiled at his father who beamed back at her. The old devil approved of Lady Northam, it seemed.
Chapter Twenty Five
His assorted troops distributed themselves around Jared’s bedchamber leaving an armchair for Guinevere. ‘There is a jib door concealed in the panelling on each side of the small sitting room,’ he said without preliminaries. ‘In daylight they are obvious once you look, but at night they are not. Dover has arranged screens in front of each. Dover and I will be behind the door to the library, my father and Sir Andrew behind the other into the garden room. We will keep them locked until we hear someone in there and then open them slightly. Dover has oiled the locks.’
‘You are expecting Bainton to come to meet Mrs Quenten there?’ Sir Andrew asked.
‘I am, sir. I cannot believe that they will not say enough for an arrest. I will show myself the moment I feel we have reached that point but if you feel, as a magistrate, that you have heard sufficient, then you will emerge. Dover will go to block the outside door, my father, the inside one. I will take Bainton if you will deal with Mrs Quenten.’
‘You are Theo’s magistrate, the one who convinced the London Justice not to arrest him,’ Guinevere said. ‘I thought I recognised your name.’
Sir Andrew bowed slightly.
‘Why is Theo not here?’
‘We do not wish to compromise his position,’ the magistrate said. ‘Given the rumours and accusations, the less he has to do with this, the better.’
‘We had best go down now.’ Jared buckled on his sword belt, feeling comfortable for the first time since he had taken it off for dinner. He slid a long knife up the sleeve of his coat. ‘Lady Northam, do not forget to lock your door.’
‘Yes, Lord Ravenlaw.’ She spoke so meekly he looked at her, suspicious, but she said only, ‘Do take care, all of you.’
The house was falling silent around them as they filed downstairs and took up their positions in the dark. Voices floated up faintly from below stairs, then those ceased. Then there was Durrant’s heavy tread as he walked the corridors, stopping to turn the key in the sitting room door and pass on to his hooded chair in the front hall where he would pass the night, dozing.
Jared made himself relax, letting his shoulders drop, steadying his breathing. Beside him he heard Dover ease one shoulder against the wall, his ear close to the crack of the jib door. There would be nothing for a while.
The soft creak of a floorboard behind him sent him spinning round, the knife from his sleeve already in his hand before he saw the faint outline against the uncurtained window and smelled the drift of jasmine fragrance. ‘Guinevere?’
She came closer, her feet silent on the boards, and he realised she was without shoes and dressed in something simple and black.
‘Go away,’ he breathed. ‘Dangerous.’
‘Where you go, I go,’ she murmured.
He had her in his arms kissing her before he realised what he was doing. She clung, moulding herself against him even as he heard the faint rustle as Dover turned away and he got himself under control. ‘Guinevere – ’
She came up on tiptoe, her lips warm against his ear. ‘Always.’
His heart was thudding so loud that it took Dover’s elbow in his ribs to steady him. Then he heard it, the sound of the key in the sitting room door. Jared unlocked the jib door silently but left it closed. Light flooded across their feet then faded. Someone had brought a candle around the screen to check it. Inside the room he could just make out the sound of movement, then the rasp of the faulty lock on the outside door. He eased open the jib door by six inches at the same time and then stood listening. Beside him Guinevere and Dover were silent, still.
She loves me. I’m sure of it. He made himself concentrate, smelling the fresh moorland air coming into the room, hearing the cry of a barn owl, the creaks of the old house settling for the night, the soft-footed pacing of the woman in the room beyond.
‘Miss Lettie?’
Beside him Dover twitched, then steadied himself.
‘Come in.’ Mrs Quenten was speaking quietly but not whispering, she must feel safe. ‘How could you make such a mull of it, you fool? They should have been killed.’
‘Ay
e, they should and I don’t know why not, I wasn’t there, was I?’ Bainton sounded aggrieved. ‘That Hunt is a sharp bugger, he must have spotted something. What do we do now?’
‘Kill all three of them.’ She might have been giving orders to cull some chickens for dinner, Jared thought. Behind him he felt, rather than heard, Guinevere’s gasp. ‘Hunt’s in love with the bitch, or in lust with her, doesn’t matter which. He’ll be jealous if he thinks Master Theo’s getting between her legs. We need to kill her, then get Northam to her chamber, kill him with one of Hunt’s swords.’
‘What about Hunt?’ Thomas sounded incredulous.
As you should be, Jared thought grimly.
‘I’ll bang on his door in a panic, I’ll have heard something that alarmed me. He’ll be off like a dog after a bitch in heat. You hit him as he comes through the door, stab him in the chest.’
‘But, Miss Lettie – ’ He broke off at the sound of the door to the hall opening.
‘Ah, thought I’d find you in here. Good evening again, Mrs Quenten. And Thomas.’
‘Theo.’ Guinevere’s voice was a thread of sound holding pain and betrayal and anger all in two syllables.
‘’What are you doing here?’ Mrs Quenten demanded. There was a tremor under the harsh question.
‘Came to thank you.’ The door closed and Theo’s voice became clearer as he walked into the room. ‘My father was on the way out anyway, but dear Uncle Augustus was revolting healthy, I could see the old devil going on another twenty years, breeding sons, and he was cutting off my funds. You did me a favour, Cousin Elizabeth.’
‘How did you find out?’ She had moved closer to him.
Jared tried to read the amused drawl. Was Theo acting or was this real? Were his suspicions about him right after all? The tension coming off Guinevere was almost palpable. He made himself ignore it.
‘I’m not as stupid as people think. I worked it out. Still in a muddle over what you’ve got against Guinnie though, nice creature, would be good in bed, I’m thinking. Grateful after months of an old man. But never mind her. I know you killed Uncle Augustus and I know you’ve been trying to get me hanged for it. I’ll keep quiet if you stop trying to frame me.’