Fool's Paradise: A Lady Priscilla Flanders Mystery

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “That makes good sense.”

  “And you think you can get closer to the community than anyone else has been able to?”

  His smile was feral. “After all this time, you need to ask that question, Pris?”

  “Not really, but I am curious what your plan is.”

  “That detail is one I have not hammered out quite yet, but I will have resources available up north.”

  As she listened, she realized the person who had given him the task could be the Prime Minister or even a member of the royal family. The inherent respect in his voice, along with the information he shared, could have been gathered only on the orders of someone with that much authority.

  She stood and went to look out the window at where the sunlight was glittering on the sea. “Now I see that it was the mention of Sir Thomas’s name that convinced you to help Lord Beamish.”

  He shook his head. “There is no help for that skinflint, but, yes, it was the baronet’s name that compelled me to use Beamish as an excuse to go north to do what I promised I would. As far as Miss Beamish, I am sure she has done as she planned—escaped his pinch-penny ways—and is now happily wed.” His brows lowered. “Beamish seems to think St. John might have some insight into where she is.”

  “So why didn’t he ask the baronet himself, if they once were friendly enough that Sir Thomas spoiled Miss Beamish?”

  “A very good question, Pris. I wish I could give you as good an answer.”

  “I am missing something important.”

  “Me, too.”

  She smiled at him, always amused when he acted with a touch of humility. It was a sure sign that he was devising, examining, and tossing aside theories as he searched for the one that solved the puzzle.

  Becoming serious again, she said, “My guess is that Miss Beamish continued on to Scotland where she married and took her new husband to live with her mother’s family.”

  “A logical conclusion.”

  “And a happy ever after one.” She sighed. “But we cannot assume that Lord Beamish’s daughter is not at Sir Thomas’s settlement.”

  “True.” He gave her a rakish grin. “After all, how can you have the community without a future population?”

  Her eyes widened. “Neville! What you are suggesting . . . !” She could not bring herself to speak the words burning on her tongue.

  “He was interested in breeding sheep.”

  “Do not be crude. No one would confuse sheep and human beings.”

  “You have not met St. John. He is also deeply interested in gambling, especially when he is cup-shot. I have heard him say more than once that any man who is unwilling to risk everything is a fool.”

  “Keeping a baron’s daughter and her servants hidden is an incredible risk.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” He clasped his hands behind his back as he faced her. “However, since I agreed to ask questions about Beamish’s daughter, I need to consider every possibility.”

  “Including the fact that she might be at the new settlement.”

  “And that what St. John is doing may very well endanger anyone who is too curious.”

  She stepped around the table and put her hand on his arm. She was not surprised to discover his muscles taut with tension. Her dear husband never did anything by halves. “Neville, you can protest all you want that you are going to do nothing more than ask questions about Miss Beamish, but I know you will not be satisfied until you are assured that she is safe.”

  He gave her a warm smile. “You would never turn a deaf ear to such a need. That I think him disagreeably high in the instep does not bear on the decision to help him. I could think only of how I would feel if it was Daphne or Leah who was missing.”

  “First of all, my daughters are not silly.”

  “I sometimes wonder when Leah calls me ‘Papa Neville.’”

  “She is teasing, and you love it.”

  “I do, but I will never admit it to her. Who knows what she would come up with next? Your daughters are too smart.”

  “Do not be certain. If Burke asked Daphne to elope, I daresay she would agree.” She chuckled. “Or, knowing my daughter, it is more likely that the whole of it would be her idea.”

  “She does have her mother’s wit as well as her beauty.”

  “Save your nothing-sayings, Neville.”

  He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Why? Then you would not flush prettily when I compliment you.”

  She longed to spend the rest of the day in his arms, but that could not be. “I assume the place to start looking for Miss Beamish is where the carriage was found with nothing but the note inside.”

  “Not far from Windermere.” He gave her a smile. “I was wondering if you wanted to announce our happy tidings tonight? It might make it easier when you have your aunt under your roof for who knows how long.”

  “Neville, are you being intentionally obtuse? What are you talking about?”

  His eyes widened, and she realized frustration had tainted her voice. “I thought I was offering a suggestion to make your life simpler while I am gone. If I leave in the morning, at top speed, I can get to Windermere in three to four days.”

  “I will not be able to travel at top speed. Not now.”

  “Pris, you cannot be thinking of accompanying me.”

  Folding her arms, she gave him the same frown she had when Isaac mentioned he was adopting the puppy. “You cannot be thinking of going alone.”

  “No, I planned to ask Duncan to go with me.”

  “You two are welcome to take your leave in the morning, but I am going with you.”

  “No.”

  She was as shocked as if he had told her the English Channel was filled with treacle. Neville was never autocratic with her.

  Her astonishment must have been visible because he stroked her arms gently. “Pris, how effective do you think I shall be in chasing down the rumors of St. John’s army if I have to worry about you every minute? Didn’t you tell Daphne compromise was a good thing?”

  “Actually Burke did. It is a lesson you should learn, too.”

  He shook his head as he took her hand and drew her closer to him. “I know there are times to compromise and times to stand one’s ground. If you think I am going to allow you to travel in your delicate condition—”

  “Allow me?” She tugged away from him.

  “Bad choice of words, but you must agree my plan to go alone is for your own good and for our child’s.”

  “I am as healthy as a horse, and it is well-proven that we work best as a team.”

  He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “You are not going to give an inch on this, are you?”

  “No.”

  “I could have you imprisoned in the cellar until I get back.”

  She laughed, knowing his jesting was a sure sign he had already relented. “Now that would unquestionably be in the best interests of my health and the baby’s.” She brushed her lips against his in unspoken gratitude. “To own the truth, Neville, it would be more difficult for me to remain here, never sure how you were, than if I were to go with you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. His voice rumbled through his chest beneath her ear. “That is the sole reason I have yielded. It could be dangerous for you, but at least, if you are with me, I can make sure you do not over-do.”

  “I will not. I know confronting an army would not be wise at any time. I am well aware of what I should and should not do.”

  “Yes, I know. It is your fourth child but only my first. Allow me to be a worried father.”

  “Fretting will gain you nothing and add to my stress. I—”

  The door burst open, and Aunt Cordelia stormed in with Duncan. Her gown was covered with paw
prints. “Priscilla, you must do something about that unruly cur without delay! It was his—” She scowled fiercely at Neville. “It was his ridiculous idea to bring home a muddy, flea-ridden dog.”

  Priscilla was not surprised when Neville did not retort. He had protected her from highwaymen and traitors and murderers, but Aunt Cordelia overmastered even his courage. How many times had he said only a fool—and Neville Hathaway prided himself on not being a fool—would confront her aunt without full armor and an enchanted sword worthy of slaying a fire-breathing dragon?

  She kept her smile to herself. Aunt Cordelia would not appreciate being compared to a flaming lizard. On the other hand, it was, Priscilla had to admit, probably the best analogy he had ever devised for Aunt Cordelia.

  Instead of arguing, she used the tactic that always worked best for her with her contentious aunt: make her feel important and needed. “I must ask a favor, Aunt Cordelia.”

  “Ask what you wish. I would do anything for you and the children.” She fired another frown at Neville.

  Priscilla ignored what sounded like a muffled snort from beside her. One of these days, her aunt and Neville would come to their senses and behave like adults, but it appeared it would not be today.

  “Will you take the children to your estate for a fortnight or two?” she asked. “You will have a lovely time helping Daphne plan her wedding.”

  “Yes,” her aunt said in a warmer tone, “I have some ideas I want to discuss with her. That girl needs to learn her husband is the head of the household.”

  Priscilla almost laughed when Duncan rolled his eyes. He truly loved her aunt, but like everyone else, he accepted the fact that Cordelia seldom practiced what she preached.

  “Thank you, Aunt Cordelia. You will provide her with the perfect example of what she should consider for her future.”

  Her aunt preened, and Duncan pressed his hand over his mouth to keep his laugh from escaping.

  “But where are you going, Priscilla?” her aunt asked.

  “Why isn’t it obvious, Aunt Cordelia? Duncan, Neville, and I are traveling to Lakeland to look for Lord Beamish’s missing daughter.” Without a qualm, she used the excuse that Neville had created.

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Undoubtedly, but,” she added, not hesitating on stretching the truth, “we made a promise, and we intend to keep it.”

  Chapter Four

  WHEN NEVILLE handed her out of the carriage on the gray afternoon, Priscilla wondered if every bone in her body ached. The journey north to his estate of Tarn’s Edge had taken longer than she had guessed, and she could not fault Duncan for riding ahead to see what he could discover before they arrived. Neville had been correct to insist they halt their journey early every day. He was worried how the jostling and long hours would affect their child. It had taken them almost a week to reach the center of Lakeland and a small lake south of the much bigger Windermere.

  They had stopped by a small grove of evergreen trees. A path wandered into it. Soon the lane would need to be cleared because brambles stretched into it.

  Mist curled around her feet and hung like a gray cloud over in nearby fields. The last of the day’s sunlight glistened on it, turning it into a blanket of silver and diamonds. Ancient ruins could be seen through the trees. If it had once been a small castle or a fortified house, there were no signs.

  The ground sloped gently down to a lakeside where water lapped beneath the overhanging branches of a tree. Sheep baa’ed in the distance, but were invisible in mist that was the same color as their wool.

  “I thought we would reach Tarn’s Edge today,” Priscilla said as she drew her shawl around her shoulders. Rain was driven by the breeze that made the fog contort on the lake. The weather had grown colder and damper as they drove north, leaving spring behind them. She gazed across the small lake toward the black trees on the other side. With the mist wafting like a living creature across the water, she half-expected to see a fairy peeping out from behind the tightly rolled ferns.

  “This is Tarn’s Edge.” He gestured toward the lake. “That is Tarn Laal, which is a north country name meaning small lake.” He pointed at the ruins. “And what you see through the trees is Tarn’s Edge. Or more accurately, what is left of it.”

  She peered at the piles of stone again. “Oh my! It is in worse condition than Shadows Fall was before you began repairs. At least the house in Cornwall had four walls and a roof, though they leaked and some were ready to cave in.”

  “That is the curtain wall for the inner courtyard. The house is beyond that. It has been closed for almost fifty years and is uninhabitable.” He put his arm around her. “It would be like the Prince Regent, with his bizarre sense of humor, to saddle me with one estate that will consume the income from the other.”

  Priscilla smiled. “You will not get much sympathy from anyone when you were granted three hundred acres, a house, two ponds, a lake, and the remnants of several mines along with your title.” She shivered as a stronger gust of wind came off the lake, driving the rain harder. “Is there somewhere to get warm?”

  “An excellent idea.” He laughed. “Why didn’t I think of that? The gatehouse still has a roof and walls.”

  “Gatehouse?”

  He pointed toward the thorn-edged lane. “It is that way along with a small stable, the only two buildings with secure roofs on the whole estate.” He gave quick instructions to the coachman on how to reach the stable as well as the kitchen, where supper should be ready.

  “How can supper be waiting?” Priscilla asked.

  “Before we left Stonehall-on-Sea, I sent word ahead to the groundskeeper and his wife that we would be arriving. Last night, I confirmed we would be arriving today by having a lad from the inn where we stayed deliver a message here. I hope the meal will start with a hearty soup.”

  “What are we waiting for?” She nestled closer to him when the thorns tore at her woolen cloak.

  Once they discovered what Sir Thomas was planning, it was time to turn their attention to Tarn’s Edge. The first thing she would arrange for was to make a wider path to the gatehouse, though she did enjoy any chance to be next to Neville. He smiled down at her, and the dank chill seemed to vanish.

  As they stepped into the shadows cast by the evergreen trees, she could see the hidden building. It was two stories high but could not be more than two or three rooms deep. A section curving back away from it to the left probably held the kitchen. Small arched windows were set in what might once have been arrow slits, and the roof was crenellated.

  “Tarn’s Edge was an abbey originally, wasn’t it?” she asked.

  “Right up until King Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, claimed the lands for himself, and sold the properties to his lackeys and political allies.” He looked up as she did. “Parapets? I wonder if they were added for decoration or for protection.”

  “I did not realize you were such an English history expert, Neville.”

  “Only if Shakespeare wrote a play about it.” He chuckled. “A lot of my education was in the theater.”

  Priscilla looked past him as a simple oak door opened and welcoming candlelight flowed out. A young woman stepped back as they entered. She bobbed in a quick curtsy. Her simple black gown was covered by an apron splattered with a variety of foods. Surprisingly bright red hair peeped from beneath her cap, and her freckled face was stretched wide in a broad smile.

  “Welcome, m’lord, m’lady,” she said, curtsying again.

  The entry hall was as simple as the exterior but more than five times the size of the one in the house in Stonewall-on-Sea. Through a grand arched door, Priscilla saw an ancient carved oak staircase wide enough for four people to walk abreast. A trio of stone steps led up in the other direction to a room where a fire roared on the hearth.

  “That be enough, Lizzie.” A g
rizzled man came into view as Priscilla moved closer to a small fireplace beside the door. “Off to the kitchen with ye. Yer ma will be lookin’ for ye.”

  “Yes, Papa.” The young woman nodded, gave another curtsy, and hurried out as the man came forward.

  “George Oldfield, m’lord.” He gave a generous smile to Pris, and she saw much of his daughter in his face, including the freckles. His hair might once have been as fiery a red, but now it was the color of the mist curling at the edge of the door, trying to sneak in. “M’lady, welcome to Tarn’s Edge.”

  “Thank you,” she said as she drew off her shawl.

  When Oldfield held out his hand for it, she gave it to him. He folded it over his arm with the precision and grace of a Mayfair butler. She was curious where he had worked before coming to the isolated estate in the Lakeland fells. She would have to ask Neville later.

  As Neville handed his greatcoat to Oldfield, he said, “You have been overseeing the estate, I understand.”

  “Aye, m’lord. I ’ave made sure the buildings, the ones that could be saved, ’ave been shored up and the fields leased out for hay or grazing. I can give ye a full report whenever ye wish, Lord ’Athaway.”

  “Let’s leave that until tomorrow. We have had a long journey.”

  “Certainly. The missus ’as made up rooms for ye, as Mr. McAndrews requested.”

  “Duncan is here?” Priscilla asked.

  “Aye, m’lady. Been ’ere for nigh on a week.”

  “Excellent.” Neville smiled at her.

  He hoped as she did that Duncan had already uncovered the truth behind the disappearance of Miss Beamish and her servants. It would be nice to have that quickly resolved, so they could focus on the true reason they had come north. Though she had to own, she would like to take a few days to explore Tarn’s Edge and see what could be salvaged. She would not say that to Neville because he would tease her about becoming domestic now that she was in a delicate condition.