by Joan Smith
“It’s rather worse than that, actually,” Rorie ventured uncertainly.
“Yes, she knew Rutley was dead all this time, and let his family go on wondering. There’s so much to consider my mind is awhirl. How did he die? In what manner did it fall out that she know of his death and others did not? Why did she arrange a secret grave for him? She is working herself into a devilish tight corner. What a lot of explaining she is going to have to do when we prove it is Horace Rutley in that grave, and not me.”
“If you prove it.”
“I’ll prove it. There is no question of that. I went to India directly from home. My time is quite well accounted for. She may think I wandered around at loose ends for some time, long enough to cause some doubts as to just who boarded a ship for India, but if she counts on that, she’ll come a cropper. I met one chap on the boat going out whom I knew fairly well in England, and bumped into him a dozen times over the past ten years. It can all be proved, but it will take time. In the worst case, I can send to India and have Welbridge come to England and testify. An outrageous imposition, but he might not consider a free trip home in that light. I really don’t know what Clare is about, to make such an unholy fuss, to make an implacable enemy of me. I could ruin her.”
“She must have some final trick up her sleeve. She is no fool, and wouldn’t go out on a limb without an escape.”
“She has, though, whether she knows it or not.” He stopped halfway through the graveyard and looked around at the tombstones, with a sober expression on his mobile features.
“I hate graveyards,” he said simply. “Chill my blood, all these reminders of mortality. I’d like to live forever. The Hindus believe in reincarnation, you know. Not a bad idea. How would you like to come back next time, Miss Falkner?”
“Do they really believe that?”
“Oh yes, but you’d better not tell Malaprop. She’s a treasure, isn’t she?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but went on, “I’d like to see Papa’s grave before I see Rutley’s. Bernie’s too. Imagine, my father and brother buried since I left! I can hardly believe it. They are buried beside Mama, I suppose.” He turned without hesitation to his mother’s corner, and stood looking silently at the family tombstones, his father’s a white marble slab with a cross on top, Bernie’s a little smaller but similar. For a few moments he stood with his head bent, thinking, praying, she didn’t know what.
His face changed from sober to sad, and finally flushed with anger. “By God, I hate that woman,” he surprised her by saying when he looked up, and there was a truly murderous expression in his obsidian eyes. From his words and tone it almost seemed he held Clare accountable for the two deaths, but this of course was absurd. The elder Lord Raiker had met a peaceful end, and Bernard had died of an ear infection. There was no possibility of foul play in either case.
“I suppose you think I’ve run mad. But I hate to think of Papa lying there, dead, and I never had a chance to make my peace with him. He was always a good father to me, and for him to think . . . She might at least have showed him my letter. I wrote from India, and the letter certainly got home. Why should it not? She took it, hid it from him. She has been planning to get Raiker Hall for herself from the day she married him.”
“No, you are upset, Lord Raiker. She had nothing to do with your father’s death, nor Bernard’s either. It was mere chance that events fell out as they did. She couldn’t have been planning this for so long. She is up to something by saying you are buried in the grave, but the rest of it cannot be her doing.”
He regarded her pensively, simmering down slowly. “What a sane little creature you are,” he said with a rueful smile. “You bring me down to earth, and I need such bringing down, too. I am liable to let my wrath run away with me. No, she would stick at murder, but not much short of it. So, where is the other grave, Rutley’s?”
“This way.” She led him to the fence which cut the meadow from the family burial ground. They stood together staring at a slight hump in the earth, with grass and weeds growing over it, and no marker of any sort.
“It is fitting that Horace have a corner of the family plot. Poor devil. He was a wrong one, but who can blame him under the circumstances? I wish I had known him better. I was too young to appreciate his plight before I left. It must have been hard for him, knowing he was one of us, and being treated as an outsider. What an awful thing to do to a boy.”
“His mother should be notified. The girl—Nel Rutley was her name—she ought to be told.”
“Presumably the Rutleys will tell her when we have positively established that this is indeed Horace. What ever happened to Nel? She was packed off to some relatives at the time of her disgrace—got married to someone.”
“Marnie might know, or Clare.”
He continued on, staring at the grave. “I’ll have a stone erected,” he said, and turned away. They began walking back toward the park.
“Do you know, Lord Raiker,” Rorie began, “I have just thought of something.”
“So have I. I have noticed that you now call me Lord Raiker without balking. Why don’t you call me Ken? We are connections, and friends, I hope? Of course I am really angling for permission to call you Aurora.”
“My friends call me Rorie .”
“They shouldn’t. It is too raucous a name for such a quiet little soul, and Aurora—Dawn—is a lovely name. I shall call you so, if I may?”
“I would be pleased. Now may I continue?”
“Sorry. I was a commoner in my last incarnation, and common traces linger yet.”
“Clare said at one point, a week or so ago, that you, meaning Horace Rutley, must have fallen in with Kenelm. That was held to account for your knowing about events here, the people and family doings and so on. But if she knows that is Horace buried back there—well, she was lying the whole time. She knew perfectly well Kenelm and Horace never got together.”
“She didn’t think she’d have to reveal the contents of the grave at the time. Thought I’d dart off like a frightened rabbit when she threatened to accuse me of stealing the emeralds. This was a last resort. Her hand was forced when the committee accepted my bona fides. And it means Rutley didn’t steal the emeralds, too, unless we find them in the corpse’s pockets. What a rare pickle she’s landed herself in with all this scheming. I’m tempted to go to her and try to smooth the thing over before she’s hauled into court for murder. She is family, much as one dreads to acknowledge it. And there is little Charles to consider, poor devil. I wish I could get my hands on him. Don’t stare, Aurora. I don’t mean to wreak revenge on the poor innocent, but to save him from that terrible woman. She’ll poison his mind against us—me—and he is my half brother. Will be my heir till I have a son of my own. Rather a pity Marnie hadn’t given Bernie one, and all this would never have happened.”
“It had already happened; it just wouldn’t have been revealed.”
“There you go, dragging me down to earth again, dead weight, confusing me with facts.” He smiled at this speech, and as she returned the smile, he took her arm. “I am certainly sorry events have fallen out as they have. I looked forward to coming home and stepping into Bernard’s shoes and taking up a normal life. Meeting some nice English girl—someone like you, but I never thought our promenade would be through a graveyard, and with a messy court case staring us in the face. Things will get worse before they get better, as the old wives say about pregnancy. But we’ll get down to some serious merrymaking after it’s all over. You plan to stay on with Marnie, I hope?”
“Yes, for the time being at least,” she answered, with an uncontrollable burst of pleasure at the question, and the interested look that accompanied it.
“You won’t want to stay here after she marries John, but that won’t be for a good while yet.”
“It is not at all settled she will marry Mr. Berrigan,” Rorie pointed out, but her mind had focused on quite a different aspect of the speech. Kenelm was not looking in Marnie’s direction
himself. She had early on taken the notion he was. Of course there was Lady Alice, who had staked him out for her own. That he didn’t mean to have Marnie meant nothing.
“I think it is pretty well settled in John’s mind, and she isn’t indifferent. I have no objection to Berrigan as a connection, if he has none to me. The family name must be smudged a little, with all this business. Do you think it is enough to turn the young ladies off from me, Aurora?”
“Not the more venturesome ones, and I don’t imagine you are interested in the other sort.”
“Those with their feet firmly on the ground, you mean? Oh, but that is exactly the sort I favour. I am ramshackle enough for two, and mean to ally myself with a perfectly respectable little lady. I have no objection even to a prude.”
“I believe Lady Alice is perfectly respectable,” she replied, looking at him questioningly.
“But no prude,” he rallied, with a look that set her to wondering just what was passing between the two of them.
Marnie and Berrigan were leaving when they arrived back at the house, and Kenelm left too, as he had arranged to meet his old school friends in the village. When it was learned that Aunt Hennie and Uncle Alfred were put up at an inn, a message was sent to them to come to the Dower House. Before they arrived, and before Marnie returned from her outing, Rorie received a note asking her to go to Raiker Hall. She was curious enough that she did not resent this in the least. She went with the greatest curiosity to discover what she could from Lady Raiker.
Clare made no pretense that the visit had any other end than gathering news. “What does he say? What does the man mean to do?” she asked eagerly.
“He says you are wrong, Clare, but he can do nothing till the body is exhumed. He also says that his aunt and uncle recognized him, as did his schoolmates and the footman.”
“What a farce it was, from beginning to end! The Gowers never could stand me. They’d have claimed it was Kenelm if it had been a monkey or a baboon standing before them. They didn’t recognize him, I swear, but only nodded and shook their heads up and down at every word he said. As to the footman, I turned him off for thievery, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the man arranged in some way that he was the servant called. Anything can be done with money.”
Rorie heard this without putting much faith in it. “Schoolmates would be hard to fool in any case, and Raiker had no say in choosing them.”
“That was easily enough arranged, my dear. The fellows were both friends of Hanley McBain; they must be—they were all at Eton together. Lady Alice is determined to see this fellow made Lord Raiker so that she may have a husband worthy of her. Lord knows she is having enough trouble landing a man. You don’t suppose she’s been doing nothing but making up to the impostor all week? She has been busy quizzing her brother to find out what she could of the school business and feeding it to Horace Rutley, so that he might pass himself off as Kenelm. They didn’t ask enough questions. The whole crew of them were determined to find in the man’s favour. I never saw a more prejudiced body in my life. And even with all his help and prompting it is not as though he could answer every question by any means. There was something about ginger cakes Aunt Hennie used to make for Kenelm, and Rutley said seed buns, but the woman just nodded and said, ‘So I did put seeds on them. What a memory the boy has. I had forgotten it myself.’ It was all like that, for the answers were written out in advance, you know. The magistrate insisted on it to avoid tampering with the truth, but it was a wasted effort. They each took Rutley by the hand and led him to the answers. I was not allowed a single question, and I knew him better than any of them. But I am not a disinterested party, you see. That is how they kept me out of it.”
All this was heard with a sinking heart. Having come at last to the conclusion that the man was Kenelm, she disliked being thrown into uncertainty again, but there was enough of possibility in Clare’s remarks, especially with regard to the school friends and Lady Alice, that it could not be discarded entirely. No reply was necessary. Clare was so incensed she was soon off on another tirade.
“It is said in the village that he means to give Marnie the Gypperfield mansion for her part in pretending to believe him.”
“She does believe him.”
“I come to think I should let on he is Kenelm myself, if he has that sort of money to throw around. I wonder what sum he wouldn’t give to shut me up.”
“You say it is Kenelm in the unmarked grave, Clare. How did he die?”
“Don’t ask, child. I made a vow of secrecy to my husband, and would not tell it to a soul if it were not for this man’s trying to take over little Charles’s inheritance. I mean to persuade the magistrate to make a vow of secrecy on those few who must hear it. It is the least I can do for . . . Ah, but I can’t speak of it. It is too painful.” she raised a hand to her brow and looked away, but there were no tears in her eyes.
She was able to bring herself to speak of other things after a moment, however, and in a surprisingly calm voice. “So he has said nothing about what he means to do? Has given no idea at all?”
“None. He can do nothing till the body is exhumed and identified.”
“How sly he is. Getting Marnie to tell him everything, and he says nothing but how pretty she is, and what he will give her for supporting him. He had better hold onto his cash. He will have to repay the estate for the emerald necklace he stole—” She stopped suddenly.
“Or Kenelm stole.”
“They are half brothers, Aurora. Blood runs thick. Kenelm did steal it, but I doubt he was alone in the matter. Where did this fellow, Rutley, get so much money? There is more to this than I ever suspected before.”
There was such a plentitude of possibilities that Rorie’s head was reeling, but as she rode home, only one of them was subjected to much scrutiny. Was Clare right, and did all those people questioning him help him along with the answers? The fact was, no one liked Clare in the least. No secret she had had a falling out with Aunt Hennie and Uncle Alfred. Quite possibly the old footman as well, and the testimony of the schoolmates she had managed to cast a doubt on. Really, one was no closer to the truth than ever. The man had held out a very enticing bribe to Marnie in the Gypperfield mansion. It might be the impulse of a generous nature, or it might be bribery. Who could say?
* * *
Chapter 8
Marnie had returned from viewing the mansion while her sister was at the Hall, and a rare mood she was in. Not a good mood, considering her most recent occupation and her companion. Either one should have been enough to put a smile on her lips, but she was clearly in the boughs about something.
“Did you not like the house?” Rorie asked.
“It was gorgeous,” Marnie said, still scowling.
“Too expensive?”
“No. I don’t know. It is very dear, but Kenelm didn’t specify a price, and I imagine he knows the price, as he suggested it, and had spoken to Hudson.”
“Berrigan,” Malone informed Aurora from behind the sofa, where she had taken up her position of vigilance.
“What has Mr. Berrigan to say about it?” Aurora asked.
“Mr. Berrigan, if you please, has seen fit to forbid me to accept a house from my brother-in-law,” Marnie informed her.
“Isn’t that nice of him,” Rorie responded in the proper spirit of irony.
“He’s right,” Malone decreed.
“Hush up, you foolish woman,” Marnie chided. In an emergency, she occasionally tried to take control of her household.
“Dead right,” Malone added mulishly. “Ain’t fitting. Why should he be giving you such a grand house for? Doesn’t look well.”
“He is the head of the family, and as rich as Croesus,” Marnie pointed out.
“I wonder—is it because we aren’t quite sure he is Kenelm?” Aurora asked.
“Certainly not. We are sure. It isn’t that.”
“What is it, then?”
“He says it is too much—indicates too close an allianc
e between us. If it were old Lord Raiker he would not object, he says. Don’t stare, Rorie . He means Kenelm is in love with me.”
“Oh.”
“And of course it is no such a thing. He likes me—flirts a little, of course—but he does that with all the young ladies. It is his way.”
“Berrigan is in no position to forbid anything, so far as I can see,” Rorie mentioned, surprised Marnie hadn’t raised this rather obvious point herself.
“He will not continue my friend if I accept the house. Oh, it is so mean of him I could . . .” She threw up her white hands to indicate the crime was too bad to be put into words.
“Widgeon,” Malone erupted. “He wants to marry you. How would it look, Kenelm giving you a fancy house, then he moves into it?”
“Why didn’t he say so, then?” Marnie asked angrily. There was more futile bickering of the same sort, but the mystery was cleared up. Lady Raiker’s pique was rooted in the fact that Berrigan hadn’t come out and made the offer in form. He was taking to himself the fiancé’s privileges without a declaration, and it was not to be borne. Not in silence, at any rate. Marnie flounced from the room.
“That one could manage to make a sow’s ear out of a silk purse,” Malone declared. “What did Clare want with you?”
“Just snooping. She is not happy with the outcome of the questioning, of course. She suspects deceit and collusion.”
“She’s the number would know about deceit, and as to collision, I wouldn’t put that a rung beneath her either. She’d try her luck banging up against anybody.”
The Gowers, Hennie and Alfred, arrived at the Dower House in the late afternoon, and were very excited about the return of Kenelm, even more excited about Clare's plans to install Charles.
“That woman is up to anything,” Hennie announced at once. She was tall, thin, pale faced and gray-haired, but gave no impression of grayness or dullness. She was alive with curiosity and spirits. Her husband, on the other hand, had jet-black hair and red cheeks, but was silent and colourless in personality.