The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales)

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘Not if that gentleman is wanted for murder!’ Grace looked shocked by her outburst and said immediately, ‘I beg your pardon, but I do not need a gentleman to escort me, Papa. I thought I might take Betty.’

  The parson laid down his knife and fork. ‘And how, pray, do you expect the poor child to get back? Why, she has less sense than a peahen.’

  Wolf watched as Grace opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. He felt a certain sympathy for her.

  ‘I understand your concerns, Miss Duncombe, but your father is right, I had already decided to go to London within the next few days. In fact, we were discussing the matter before dinner. However, I shall not inflict my company upon you if it is so abhorrent.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, but Papa is correct,’ came the stiff reply. ‘It would be sensible to travel together.’

  ‘Then perhaps a private chaise might be in order.’ Wolf saw her brows go up and added coldly, ‘The burden for this extravagance would not fall upon your father, my funds are more than sufficient.’

  Her response was equally chilly.

  ‘You must excuse me if your dress and your manner of arrival caused me to doubt that.’

  ‘When I landed in England I wanted to attract the least possible attention. Thus I travelled as a gentleman of middling fortune, and with only one portmanteau. Going to London is another matter.’ She looked sceptical and, goaded, he went on, ‘Be assured, madam, I could hire a dozen private chaises to convey me there if I so wished!’

  Wolf clamped his jaws together. He thought he had learned to govern his hot temper, but this woman brought out the worst in him. He wondered if he should apologise to his host, but the parson was unperturbed and helping himself to another portion of lamb from the dish at his elbow.

  ‘Where will you stay, my son? I am sure my sister would put you up.’

  ‘But, Papa, Hans Place is very out of the way. Even Aunt Eliza admits it is not convenient for the fashionable shopping areas such as Bond Street.’

  ‘Do I look as if I wish to shop in a fashionable area?’ Wolf retorted. Those dark eyes flashed with anger, but she made no response. He said stiffly, ‘Thank you, sir, but I shall arrange my own accommodation when I reach town.’

  ‘As you wish, my boy, but I shall send an express to Eliza, so she may expect you. She would never forgive me if she learned you had been so close and had not visited her.’ He sat back. ‘Now, if we have all finished shall we retire to the drawing room? I will ask Truscott to serve our brandy there and we can discuss the details of your journey.’

  * * *

  Grace put down her napkin. So she was to be allowed no respite. If only she had not been so precipitate! She had dashed off her reply to her aunt and asked Truscott to send one of the village lads to Hindlesham with it, to catch the night mail. It would look very odd if she were to cry off now.

  ‘Miss Duncombe?’

  She heard Wolf Arrandale’s voice behind her and realised he was waiting to escort her from the room. There was nothing for her to do but rise and put her fingers on his sleeve.

  ‘This has put you in an awkward situation,’ he said as they entered the drawing room. ‘If I had not agreed the whole with your father before dinner I might have told him I needed to remain here a little longer.’

  ‘And if I had not been so quick to write to my aunt.’ She gave a little smile as she released his arm and walked to a chair beside the fire. ‘I fear Fate has conspired against us, sir, and I for one am not disposed to fight it any longer.’

  ‘Will you cry friends with me, then?’

  She said cautiously, ‘Not friends, but not enemies, either.’

  ‘That will do for me.’

  He held out his hand and instinctively she put up her own. She stared at the red mark across his knuckles and said remorsefully, ‘That looks very sore.’

  ‘I do not notice it, I assure you.’

  ‘You did not deserve that. I am sorry.’

  ‘Not then, perhaps, but later...’

  Grace felt the heat burning up through her again.

  ‘What happened in the stables was not entirely your fault,’ she admitted. ‘I fear we bring out the worst in each other, Mr Arrandale.’

  She thought he was about to agree, but her father walked in and the moment was lost.

  * * *

  Truscott brought in the decanters and they talked of innocuous matters until each had a full glass, brandy for the gentlemen and madeira for Grace. Papa looked askance when she requested it, but she felt in need of something stronger than ratafia to get her through the evening. As soon as Truscott closed the door upon them her father turned to her.

  ‘Now, my dear,’ he said, his eyes twinkling. ‘We must decide how best to get you two to London. I would not want Sir Loftus to think you were running away like star-crossed lovers.’

  Lovers! A shiver of excitement scurried through Grace at the thought. She swallowed and tried to concentrate.

  ‘Indeed not, Papa,’ she agreed. ‘And, sadly, I do not think we can take Loftus into our confidence.’

  ‘Good heavens, no. A very worthy man, but he is, after all, a magistrate.’

  She said awkwardly, ‘He has been pressing me to order my wedding clothes, so he will not object to my going to town for that purpose.’

  ‘Have you set a date then, Miss Duncombe?’ asked Wolfgang politely.

  ‘No, but Loftus is keen to do so.’ She wrapped her hands around the wineglass and stared down at it. ‘I shall tell him we will be married as soon as I return from London.’

  ‘An excellent suggestion,’ agreed Papa. ‘If you will forgive me saying so, my dear, you have kept the poor man waiting quite long enough.’

  Grace continued to stare into her glass. She had expected to feel nervous at the thought of getting married, but not this sick, unhappy dread.

  Do not think of it, then. Concentrate instead upon getting safely to London.

  Wolfgang’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘If you will tell me where I can hire a travelling chaise, I will arrange everything.’

  ‘If I might suggest...’ She looked up. ‘I think we should take the mail coach. Loftus is bound to enquire and he will not expect me to travel by private chaise.’

  ‘Will he not want to escort you himself?’

  ‘I was about to ask that myself.’ Papa turned his gaze upon her. ‘Is that not a possibility, Grace?’

  ‘Yes. But we could travel on Friday. Loftus will be engaged at Hindlesham market on that day. And...’ She paused. ‘Perhaps Truscott could drive us to Newmarket. I know the mail picks up from Hindlesham after that, but we need not alight, so there is less chance that anyone would see us, or think that we were travelling together.’

  ‘You are a born conspirator, Miss Duncombe.’

  The admiration in Wolf’s voice only flayed Grace’s conscience even more. Her father declared it an excellent plan and the two men discussed the final arrangements. However, when everything was settled and their guest had retired, Grace remained seated, gazing into the fire and twisting her hands together.

  ‘Something is troubling you, my child.’ Her father drew a chair up beside her and reached out to take her hands. ‘You do not like this business, do you?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No, Papa, I do not like it. My conscience is not easy. And after what happened to Henry...’

  ‘That is why I was loath to share Mr Wolfgang’s secret, my love. I am convinced of his innocence, but I knew for you it would bring back painful memories of Henry’s tragic death.’

  She shuddered and he gave her hands a comforting squeeze.

  ‘I know it is difficult for you, my love, but when Wolfgang Arrandale came to me for help I could not refuse him.’

  ‘And you truly belie
ve he is innocent?’

  ‘I do, Grace. Even more, I fear someone has deliberately put the blame on him. The tragic events of Mrs Wolfgang’s death might have been used to cover the theft of the necklace, but it could be something much more sinister.’

  A cold chill ran down Grace’s spine.

  ‘He showed me the spot where he found her. Papa, it was directly beneath the balcony. What if...what if he lost his temper with his wife and pushed her over the balcony? It is possible, is it not, Papa?’

  ‘Yes, it is possible,’ he replied. ‘But he has returned here to prove his innocence. Surely that is in his favour?’ He gripped her hands. ‘He asked for my help, Grace, and I cannot deny him.’

  No more can I.

  Grace felt a band tighten around her heart. Papa was such a good man he would not think ill of anyone. She was far less sure of her own reasons for wanting to help Wolf Arrandale.

  ‘No, of course not, Papa.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Tomorrow I shall see Loftus and tell him I am going to London.’

  * * *

  Grace was not looking forward to her visit to Hindlesham and she delayed it as late as possible the following morning by taking baskets of food to the needy. The last of the baskets was for Mrs Owlet, the widow who had broken her leg. The visit was not strictly necessary and Grace admitted it was an attempt to learn more about the Arrandales, but if she was hoping for reassurance then she was sadly disappointed. When Grace broached the subject the widow was scathing in her condemnation of the family.

  ‘The old man was a villain,’ she said, almost spitting with hatred. ‘Dying like that and leaving us all to fend for ourselves.’

  ‘He could hardly be blamed for that,’ said Grace, recoiling a little from such vehemence.

  ‘His sons are as bad. Rakes, both of ’em. The whole family is damned.’

  It was not what Grace wanted to hear.

  ‘Oh, surely not,’ she murmured, preparing to take her leave.

  The old woman clutched her arm, fingers digging in like claws. ‘And the oldest boy, the wife-murderer, well, he’s turned out worst of all. He walks with the devil.’

  Grace made her excuses at that point and hurried back to the vicarage, but however much she told herself Mrs Owlet was embittered because the Hall had closed and she had lost her position, the words haunted her.

  * * *

  The visit to Hindlesham could be delayed no longer. Grace changed into her riding habit and went to the stableyard, where she found Wolfgang leading out Bonnie.

  He walks with the devil.

  ‘You have been busy, so I saddled the mare for you,’ he said. ‘I thought you would go in the gig, but your father told me you would prefer to ride.’

  ‘He sees no harm in my riding alone here, where I am so well known. Besides, Truscott needed the gig to go to Newmarket and book our places on the mail.’

  She allowed him to keep the mare steady while she used the mounting block and he held Bonnie while Grace arranged her skirts.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She gathered up the reins, but he did not release the mare.

  ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you, Miss Duncombe. I appreciate what you are doing for me.’

  ‘For my father,’ she corrected him. She glanced around to make sure they were alone. ‘He believes you are innocent.’

  ‘And you do not?’

  His look sent the butterflies fluttering inside again. She knew where this man was concerned her heart was ruling her head. The only defence she could summon up was anger.

  ‘I would rather not think of you at all, Mr Arrandale!’

  He nodded and stepped away from the mare’s head. ‘Do not tarry, Miss Duncombe. It looks like rain.’

  Grace trotted out of the yard, resisting the temptation to look back. One more day and she would not have to see Wolfgang Arrandale again. A few weeks in London with Aunt Eliza, then she would return and marry Loftus. Safe, dependable Loftus. The marriage settlements had been agreed: they would secure her future and that would be a great comfort to Papa.

  It would be a comfort to her, too. It had to be. Her betrothal was a promise to marry and she had been raised to believe a promise was sacred.

  * * *

  Once they reached open ground, Grace set Bonnie galloping, but for once the exhilaration of flying over the moor did not banish everything else from her mind. If Wolfgang was innocent, as her father believed, then she prayed he would be able to prove it. But what then? Would he return to his old rakehell life, or would he marry and settle down at Arrandale? That would be an advantage for the parish and it was what her father wanted, so she should want it, too. After all, it could make no difference to her. She would be married to Loftus and living at Hindlesham.

  As if conjured by her thoughts the manor house appeared ahead of her and she was momentarily daunted by the necessity of explaining her sudden departure to her fiancé. Grace sat a little straighter in the saddle. It must be done, there was no going back now.

  * * *

  Upon her return to the vicarage Grace ran upstairs to change before going in search of her father. She found him in his study with Wolfgang. They rose when she entered, her father exclaiming in some alarm, ‘My dear, never tell me you rode back from Hindlesham in this rain?’

  ‘I was obliged to do so, Papa, unless I wanted to remain at the manor all day.’ She smiled. ‘Do not fret, sir, Betty has taken my riding habit to dry it in the kitchen and apart from my hair still being a little wet, I am perfectly well, I assure you.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you should sit by the fire,’ said Wolfgang, vacating his chair for her.

  ‘Yes, you must,’ agreed her father. ‘I cannot have you catching a chill. How did you get on at the manor?’

  Grace sank down gratefully and held her hands out to the flames.

  ‘Fortune favoured me,’ she said. ‘Loftus has gone to Cambridge and will not be back until late, so I spoke to his mother. I did not rush away, Papa, I was not so impolite. Miss Oswald, her companion, has returned from visiting her sister in Kent and we spent a pleasant hour conversing together.’

  ‘Oswald?’ Wolf looked up. ‘Dr Oswald’s daughter?’

  ‘Yes. She kept house for her father, but when he died several years ago she was left with very little to live on. Papa knew Mrs Braddenfield was seeking a companion and he suggested Claire for the post,’ Grace explained. ‘Miss Oswald virtually runs the manor and is sincerely attached to her employer. They deal extremely well together. Much better than I shall ever do!’

  She ended with a rueful laugh, but her father did not notice.

  ‘There was some speculation that she and Sir Loftus would make a match of it when his wife died,’ he said. ‘But instead he turned his attention to Grace.’

  ‘Does she resent you?’ Wolf asked her.

  ‘I hope not. She is a sensible woman and we get on very well.’

  ‘I am glad,’ he said. ‘She could make life uncomfortable for you when you are married. I would not like to think of you being unhappy.’

  Grace looked up quickly. The idea that he should care about her future was unsettling. She pushed herself out of the chair.

  ‘If you will excuse me, I had best go and pack.’

  ‘Would you not like to sit by the fire a little longer?’ asked her father. ‘Your hair is still damp.’

  Grace shook her head. Much as she liked the warmth of the blazing fire she needed to be away from Wolfgang Arrandale. She needed to decide how best to deal with him and the confusing feelings he aroused in her.

  * * *

  Wolf noted that Grace was subdued at dinner, and as soon as the meal was over she announced that she was going out.

  ‘Must you?’ Mr Duncombe glanced towards the window. ‘Your hair is barely dry from this mor
ning’s soaking.’

  ‘It is not raining very hard now, Papa, and there is a visit I must pay. Perhaps Mr Arrandale would escort me.’

  The parson’s brows went up, but he was not nearly as surprised as Wolf. It was the last thing he expected, but he rose at once.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Give me a moment to fetch my greatcoat from the garret.’ He hurried away, returning moments later to find Grace waiting for him at the door, her heavy cloak about her shoulders. He said, as they stepped outside, ‘I have taken the liberty of borrowing your father’s umbrella. It is sufficiently wide for two.’

  He offered her his arm, noting the tiny pause before she rested her fingers on his sleeve. The rain was little more than a fine drizzle as they set off and since there was no wind the umbrella kept them both dry.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  She lifted the spring flowers she was holding in her free hand. ‘To the church.’

  The High Street was deserted. Doors were closed against the chill of a damp spring evening and the smell of woodsmoke pervaded the air. Wolf felt a definite lightening of his spirits. She had invited him to come with her. How normal it seemed to be walking along with Grace at his side, how right.

  ‘You are standing too tall, sir. Do not give yourself away!’

  The urgent whisper reminded him that he was a fugitive with a price on his head. Every hint of pleasure fled as bitterness and regret welled up. He wanted to rail against the world for the injustice of it but really, who was there to blame but himself? He had been a wild youth and the world was only too ready to believe he had capped his misdemeanours by murdering his wife.

  Turning that around would take a miracle and Wolf did not believe in miracles.

  * * *

  It did not take them long to reach the churchyard. Grace dropped his arm and went before him, taking a narrow path between the graves. It was barely raining now and Wolf closed the umbrella. She had stopped beside one of the headstones when he came up to her.

  ‘Your mother,’ he said, reading the inscription.

  ‘Yes. I never knew her, she died when I was a babe, but I come here to pay my respects, especially if I am going away.’