The Girl at Rosewood Hall (A Lady Jane Mystery)

by Annis Bell

  But how many young female teachers were there in the orphanage at Bodmin? “I shall write a letter to Mr. Tobin, and then we will know for certain.”

  Rufus left off tearing at her wrap and suddenly stormed across the courtyard and down to the street. They heard his excited barking, and it wasn’t long before two riders trotted between the two enormous mulberry trees that still flanked the courtyard entrance. Jane caught her breath and wiped a hand across her teary face.

  “Wescott.”

  Captain Wescott, riding a powerful brown and black stallion, pulled up directly in front of her, slid from his mount’s back, and handed the reins up to Blount. The adjutant immediately rode off in the direction of the stables, the stallion in tow. Wescott wore no hat, and the wind had tousled his dark hair. Beneath his tweed jacket was a white shirt, and he carried a pistol in his belt. He looks more like a highwayman than a gentleman, thought Jane and swallowed.

  She was so relieved to see him that she could not stop her eyes from once again filling with tears. “Captain . . . ,” she managed to croak, and she reached out to him with her free hand.

  Wescott’s smile froze. He took her hand and pulled her to him tightly. He held her against him for a moment, and Jane felt the rough material against her cheek. There was something consoling about the odor of horse, dust, and man, something that reminded her of her uncle. She could hear his heart beating strongly in his breast, and as he held her away from him to look into her face, his own was filled with concern. “You’re crying! What’s happened? Has your cousin made some new demand?”

  Jane sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “What you must think of me. Every time we see each other, I’m crying.”

  Wescott almost smiled. “We always seem to see each other in unusual circumstances. You are one of the most courageous women I know, and if you are crying, then there must be a good reason for it. That’s what worries me, Jane.”

  He said Jane. Not “Lady Jane” or “my lady.” What was he expecting of her? Should she call him by his first name? That felt far too bold to her. She turned to her maid, who was looking at them wide-eyed. “Hettie, go in the house and tell Mrs. Roche that the captain is here.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Captain.” She curtsied politely and hurried off.

  “Captain . . . ,” Jane began, but Wescott took her hand and held it firmly.

  “Wouldn’t it be fitting to call me by my Christian name? What would the people here think of our marriage otherwise?” He smiled encouragingly.

  “David,” she said quietly, and felt him squeeze her hand and let go. She handed him the newspaper. “I discovered this just now.”

  As succinctly as she could, she outlined the events of recent days. Wescott’s expression grew increasingly grim. She finished by saying, “I think you can see that Matthew’s outrageous demands are the least of my worries at this moment.”

  “My dear Jane, I can hardly believe what you’ve told me. It’s monstrous! And it is unconscionable that you have put yourself at such risk, alone!”

  “But I could not have known about it!” she defended herself indignantly. “Everything has come to a head in the last few days, and who can say that these events are even connected?”

  He raised one skeptical eyebrow. “Oh, Jane. We both know what this is all about. The girl at Rosewood Hall!”

  A raindrop landed on Jane’s forehead. She had not noticed the dark clouds rolling in from the sea. She looked up at the sky. They would not get much more than a shower. Since her arrival, she had learned something of the local weather, which was heavily dependent on the tides. “Come, let’s go inside. What do you think of Mulberry Park? There’s still a lot of work to be done, of course. The whole estate needs some care and attention.”

  David Wescott placed his hands on his slim hips and gazed up at the old walls of the house. “It fits the harsh landscape. I only hope it looks a little friendlier on the inside. You know, Jane,” he said as they climbed the stairs side by side, “I’ve never had much use for such grand old boxes. Maybe it’s because I grew up in one. Too many rooms for too few people and too many staff, and all of it has to be managed constantly. One has no real privacy. When you visit my townhouse in London, you’ll see what I mean. It’s small but livable. And it doesn’t cost a fortune to heat, not even in winter.”

  “Hmm. You may be right. I’ve never had to pay any attention to expenses before.” She sighed. “Let’s hope that the whole thing with Matthew can be settled.”

  Stuart held the door open for them, and Wescott greeted him with a nod. He has an observant way of dealing with people, Jane thought. Not trusting exactly, but respectful.

  “Please set up the captain’s bedroom, and a room on the top floor for Mr. Blount,” Jane told Stuart.

  The servant nodded and disappeared.

  “What about some tea? Or would you prefer to get changed? It will be a while till lunch is ready. I didn’t see any luggage,” said Jane, talking to conceal her nervousness.

  “We’ve brought only the most necessary things in saddlebags. We won’t be staying long.”

  After lunch, Jane and Wescott sat together in the library, where he went through the letters she had recently received. He was particularly interested in the lines that Miss Shepard had penned.

  “This seems to me an important clue and perhaps the reason for the death of the poor woman mentioned in that article, if it really is her,” Wescott said, stretching his long legs toward the fire.

  Rufus had sprawled between them; he seemed willing to accept Wescott as a new member of the household. Wescott was still wearing his riding breeches and boots but had put on a fresh shirt. He rubbed the scar on his cheek occasionally, which reminded Jane of Doctor Woodfall’s remarks about the Crimean War. One day, Jane hoped, Wescott himself would tell her what he had been through, and she would understand him better for doing so. Behind his somber and serious facade, Jane believed there was a vulnerable man hidden, but she had no choice but to wait for what time would bring.

  “I don’t know who else from the Bodmin orphanage it might be, but of course I could be mistaken. Perhaps there are other staff members there that I didn’t see. I’m going to write a letter to Mr. Tobin, the director. Then we will have some certainty.” She had said “we,” although she did not even know if Wescott wanted to bother himself with the matter any longer. She looked at him inquiringly.

  He laid the letter on the table and reached for the sheet of paper containing the threat. “That’s a good idea, Jane. Do that. And about this . . .” He flicked his fingers against the paper. “. . . this is a riddle to me. If we assume this person doesn’t like you asking questions, and is willing and able to kill a woman over it, then such a poetic threat surprises me. After all, you might have misunderstood the lines and dismissed them as a silly joke.”

  “Don’t forget the man who was watching me outside the orphanage. He knew that I’d spotted him. Rogers, the coachman, went after him, but could not catch him.” Jane propped her chin on her hands and toyed with a strand of hair that had worked its way loose.

  “Miss Shepard was killed only after she’d found out the names of the two teachers. It looks as if she went too far by asking about them.” Lost in thought, Jane chewed at the strand of hair. “If only I hadn’t asked about the name . . .”

  Wescott laid the strange poem on top of the letters and slapped his hand loudly against the tabletop. Rufus jumped to his feet, and Jane looked at Wescott in alarm. “I think the same way. Driving around asking complete strangers about orphan girls who’ve disappeared seems to be a dangerous pastime. Too dangerous for you, Jane!”

  “But I’m not going to stop now. It would mean that whoever murdered Miss Shepard has won. No, it’s out of the question!” Jane retorted.

  A hint of a smile played around the corners of Wescott’s mouth. “I would not have expected anything else of
you. But I promised your uncle that I would take care of you and protect you, if necessary. And now it’s necessary.”

  Jane snorted. “I can look after myself, thank you very much!”

  “I can see that. What about your butler?”

  “An accident.”

  “And your dog?”

  “Also an accident. The miller didn’t know who I was. I have forbidden his criminal brother from ever setting foot on my land,” she answered quickly.

  “And do you have trained, trustworthy staff, familiar with firearms, who can act against a poacher willing to use violence?” Wescott asked. He spoke softly and thoughtfully. There was no criticism in his voice, only questions about the situation.

  “I, well, I haven’t found the time yet.” Jane sank back into her chair and capitulated. “No, I don’t. But . . .”

  “Yes?” His dark eyes, sparkling with good humor, watched her.

  “I would have taken on new staff if Matthew hadn’t attacked me with his unspeakable demands. What am I supposed to do? I don’t even know how much I have left or if I’ll be able to keep this house at all.”

  “It’s certainly a difficult spot you’re in. We’re in.” He paused and seemed to be waiting for a comment from her, but Jane merely shrugged helplessly. “Does this house mean much to you?”

  “What? Yes, of course! It belonged to my parents. I know I didn’t grow up here, but it’s now my home, or at least the one after Rosewood Hall. My uncle invested a large sum of money in Mulberry Park, all to be able to leave it to me one day. I . . . yes . . . it means a lot to me! My uncle was my family, Rosewood Hall my home. I would like to build a new home here.” The words came out more vehemently than she’d intended.

  Wescott was silent for a moment before finally saying, “In that case, we should do everything we can to ensure that your cousin’s demands come to nothing.”

  “But how?”

  “The easiest way would be if those promissory notes he has were to disappear.” Wescott grinned.

  Jane frowned. “If I know Matthew, he’s stashed them in some secret hideaway or carries them with him day and night. Besides, I’d be the first one he’d suspect if anyone stole them, wouldn’t I?”

  “I was just being facetious. Of course you shouldn’t become a thief. Though you certainly have what it takes.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Wescott laughed. “To be a successful thief takes intelligence, skill, courage, and ruthlessness. You have demonstrated all of those qualities, but that’s just by and by. You should visit your cousin and talk to him. Then we’ll see where we go from there.”

  “Alone?”

  “Afraid?”

  “Of course not!”

  “When I leave, Blount will stay here with you. He will ensure your safety. I would trust him with my life.”

  “Are you trying to saddle me with a bodyguard?”

  “An escort. There’s a big difference. And only for the time being, until we know what game is being played here.” He pulled back his legs and looked at Rufus. “Now I’m going to go and have a word with your gamekeeper.”

  19.

  Mary

  “Yes, Mary?” Miss Fannigan was still sitting at her desk, organizing the workbooks from the test the pupils had just taken.

  There were more than forty children in the class, and their level of education varied so much that it made practically no sense at all to test them. But rules were rules, so the children, from four to twelve years old, scribbled more or less sensible rows of letters in their books.

  The other children had already run out into the courtyard, but Mary had something she had to get off her chest. Miss Fannigan was no longer very young, but not yet old, either. She was petite, with brown hair and brown eyes that had seemed heavy with sadness since the departure of Mr. Gaunt. The teacher seemed to have lost her smile completely; she was a shadow of who she had been.

  Mary scuffed her feet over the floor, which was still relatively clean since their marathon scrubbing. It had not been in vain, then, although the committee had failed to appear. Mary suspected that the master deliberately announced such phantom visits just so everyone would do their utmost to give the home a thorough cleaning. The weather had grown warmer, and Mary wore her short-sleeved dress. The welts on her forearms were healing slowly, and were still easy to see.

  “Miss, you’re not going to leave us, are you?”

  The teacher let her thin hands rest atop a pile of books and looked at Mary sadly. “Why do you ask that, Mary?”

  “I thought that now that Mr. Gaunt is gone, you might also go away. That wouldn’t be nice. We all like you very much, miss.”

  A warm smile made Miss Fannigan’s face light up for a few moments. “And I like all of you, Mary. Very much. You’ve all become very dear to me in the year I’ve been here.” The smile faded, and Mary knew what was coming next. “But it is time for me to move on. Other children need me too, Mary. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Mary shook her head vehemently. “No! We need you, miss. Where did Mr. Gaunt go?”

  “He decided to try his luck in America. Imagine that! He didn’t breathe so much as a word about it to me!” With a sigh, Miss Fannigan pushed the books into one pile. “I would have gone with him. It didn’t matter where, I would have gone.”

  “Then why did he leave you behind?”

  “Oh, Mary, who knows what men are thinking! When you’re older, you’ll understand these things better.”

  “I think I already understand some things, miss. My brother also up and left, just like that, and left me behind by myself.”

  “That’s something different, Mary. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you by doing so. He loves you, I’ve always believed that. For the boys, it can be more difficult to fit in here. This is certainly not the nicest place to live for a child without parents. But it is not the worst, either.” The teacher’s hair was parted down the middle and held at her neck by a pretty comb, and as she talked, she adjusted the comb with practiced ease.

  Miss Fannigan surely did not know about the men that Sister Susan let into the dormitory at night. She lived in the village and was not able to hear what went on in the orphanage after hours. She probably didn’t know about the transports, either, and Mary decided not to ask her about those.

  “How do you know that Mr. Gaunt wanted to go to America? Did he write? Did he write to us, too? Has he heard anything about Polly?” she asked quickly, for she could see that Miss Fannigan was about to stand up and go home.

  “You’re very curious, Mary. But why shouldn’t I tell you? He wrote a letter to the master; that’s how I found out. He said hello to all of you, too.”

  That was a lie. Mary could tell by the way the teacher lowered her eyes when she said it. “Then why didn’t he take his good jacket and his good pair of shoes with him? I would take my good things along with me on such a long journey.” With her large, innocent eyes, she gazed unwaveringly at Miss Fannigan.

  “Pardon me? What makes you say that?” Suspicion was followed quickly by fear, and Miss Fannigan looked first to the window and then to the half-open door.

  “I saw Mr. Cooper putting Mr. Gaunt’s things into a sack.”

  A smothered cry escaped Miss Fannigan, who jumped up and came around the desk to Mary. She took the small girl by the shoulders and kneeled in front of her to look her straight in the eye. “Have you told that to anyone else, Mary?”

  Without hesitation, Mary answered, “No.”

  “Really not?”

  “No, not a soul. I didn’t think it was important, but now that you told me that Mr. Gaunt went to America, I remembered it.” She had learned a lot of things from Fiona, and one of them was that it was better to tell a lie than betray a friend. You never really knew who was an enemy and who an ally. Even though she was fairly sure that Miss Fannigan
was not an enemy, Mary decided it was better to play it safe: you never knew.

  “That’s good. Are you sure it was Mr. Gaunt’s jacket and shoes?”

  “Oh, of course! It was that brown jacket with the nice leather patches on the sleeves.”

  Miss Fannigan’s eyes shone. She was close to tears. “Yes, that’s right. He loved wearing that jacket. Mary, you’re a very bright, observant girl. Promise me you won’t talk about this with anyone. I will ask the master what it means, and then we’ll see.”

  Both the girl and the teacher jumped in alarm when steps sounded out in the hallway. The door suddenly flew open, and Sister Susan stepped into the room. She had the detested cane jammed under her belt. “What’s going on here, Miss Fannigan? Is this little pest causing trouble again?” She turned to Mary. “Didn’t you learn from the last thrashing?”

  Mary immediately hid her arms behind her back and took two steps backward.

  “You’re too tenderhearted, Miss Fannigan. These little vandals crawl out of the sewers and don’t know the first thing about manners or morals. The only way is to beat it into them. They’ll lie as soon as open their mouths,” said Sister Susan, without so much as a second glance at Mary.

  Miss Fannigan, who had stood up the moment Sister Susan entered, patted down her skirt and moved behind her desk. “That may be your view, Sister. I have my own opinions as far as these children are concerned.”

  The camel contorted her mouth into a sneer. “Of course. No doubt that was the reason for Mr. Gaunt leaving us, wasn’t it? And now you are, too.”

  “There are different approaches to raising children and, in my opinion, Master Ledford is not particularly up-to-date. I have already made inquiries at a school with a more progressive approach, and which will appreciate my work. Mary, you may go. And don’t forget what I told you.”

  “Yes, miss. Thank you!” Mary curtsied and ran off.

  It was still some time before the evening meal, and she found Fiona in the corner of the walled courtyard that bordered the yard of the poorhouse next door. There was an oak tree there, and thick bushes and ivy covered the old walls. Fiona had discovered a hole there in the wall that was just big enough for a thin girl like her who could twist like an eel. The heavy foliage of the oak protected them from the prying eyes in the windows of the surrounding buildings.