Not that he could blame her, he thought with an indulgent smile, brushing a stray lock of hair back from her ivory brow. She had lost her mother, and been cosseted almost to distraction by her father. She had had the high spirits of any eight-year-old, despite her tragic loss. Who could blame her for having wished to escape the gloomy house, which had lost all its light and joy?
There had been escape, running away from home. Then there had been rumors of tantrums, recalcitrance, and downright rebellion, though he had always found her extremely shy the few times she had ever taken refuge on his property. He had found her in the stables, the woods, the disused tree house he and Henry had built together as young lads.
But he had heard the gossip from the servants often enough. The more they had punished her, the more she had fought back, until they had labeled her a demon child. He had only ever seen her when he was home for the school holidays from Eton and then Oxford, but she had always struck him as intelligent, if strong-willed in the face of what she deemed injustice. But mad? Not that he had ever seen.
"She is lovely, isn't she?" Malcolm whispered near his elbow.
He stiffened at the words, and felt a strange heat radiating outwards from the pit of his belly. He motioned him to step outside so as not to wake her. He wondered at the choking sensation in this throat, and sudden resentment of Malcolm's presence in the sick room. If he didn't know better, he would say it was jealousy.
"Is she as you remember her?
"More lovely than ever," came his unguarded reply.
Malcolm looked surprised.
Clifford had not been able to keep his sincere admiration out of his tone. The truth was she was awe-inspiring. Perhaps it was the thought of having won her at cards, was said to be affianced to her, that made his thoughts tend towards romance. Or maybe it was his chivalrous streak, which had always caused him to defend any woman, regardless of her station in life or her circumstances.
But never had he felt his heart hammer in his chest, experienced such a welter of tender and passionate emotions before. He was almost desperate for one word from her, a glimpse of her violet eyes opening and looking at him with recognition. Even with favor.
In this his tumultuous desired were thwarted, for as the hours ticked passed and there was no sign of the doctor, there was also no sign of Vanessa improving. Her breathing was steady but more shallow, and several attempts to wake her failed.
"It's been much too long," he grumbled at one point as Malcolm took his turn bathing her temples, while Clifford paced in front of the hearth in his shirtsleeves. He riffled the fingers of both hands through his hair in frustration. "I don't like this at all."
"Do you want me to go fetch John Gold back again?"
Clifford looked truly torn for a moment. In the end he shook his head. "No, I can't do it. I can't be sure what will help Vanessa at this stage, but I know for a fact that Esther needs John there. I just can't do it to the poor woman in the middle of her labor."
The sound of a carriage pulling up sent Malcolm hurrying to the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Who is it?" Clifford asked, running over to the window.
"Sorry, it's only Henry," Malcolm replied.
"Damnation."
Henry came bounding into the sick room in his usual coltish manner, then paused and looked sheepish. "Sorry. Too loud. And if you don't want me here--"
"No, it's not that. We thought you might be John back again."
"No such luck. But I do have two rather useful young ladies with me." He went out to help Malcolm with their outerwear and returned with the Jerome sisters a few moments afterwards.
Josephine and her sister Emma, two strikingly lovely blondes, were both dressed sensibly in dark day gowns of brown and green respectively.
Clifford shook hands with them both. "Many happy returns of the day, Jo, and thank you for coming."
"Yes, Miss Jerome, happy birthday. Did Henry remember to give you all your gifts from each of us?"
She shrugged off his pleasantries. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Branson. They were all wonderful. But never mind that now. This is not too happy a day for Vanessa, I can see. My goodness, she looks so pale. I'm sorry we couldn't get away sooner. I would have left straight away, but with so many guests present, I couldn't slip out unnoticed. And I didn't want my sudden departure to an emergency to cause needless gossip and speculation. How is she now?"
"Thank you for your discretion. I knew I could rely on you. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, and seemed in pain," Clifford informed her as he stepped aside to allow her to take over the task of bathing Vanessa's temples.
"Now she's in such a deep slumber we can't seem to wake her. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with her heart, so I'm hopeful that if she come to, she will recover in time. But she certainly has given me quite a scare."
"Sit and rest yourself then," Emma offered. "We'll all take turns now."
Clifford did as the younger of the two girls suggested, and slumped into a chair. He couldn't recall the last time he had felt so drained. It must have been during the war...
He blinked, trying to stay awake, and forced himself to complete his report to the two kind sisters. "Dr. Gold is at Esther Hancock's lying in. Malcolm and I were thinking of sending for him, but I hate to tear him away."
"I can imagine how dreadful this has been for you all," Emma said sympathetically, moving over to pat him on the shoulder before stepping to the small table which housed the decanters. She poured him a tot of port, and pressed it into his nerveless fingers.
"I don't blame you for being shocked. Henry told us everything. The poor girl, how she must have suffered." She moved over to the side of the sickbed and pushed Vanessa's bright auburn hair away from her pale face.
"Thank you all for coming. I shall be most grateful for your help." Clifford cleared his throat and said quietly, "Has Henry has told you our suspicions?"
The two women nodded.
"What I've discovered would seem to lend some credence to them, though it's going to be difficult to prove Gerald intended to harm her," Henry said.
"I went over to the Jeromes' to pay my respects to Josephine for her birthday, and to fetch them here to help. But I did stop off at Hawkesworth House. Eventually, after a great deal of banging and shouting, I roused the servants. They told me that Miss Vanessa was sleeping in her room. That Gerald had told them to lock the entire house up securely, since neither he nor his sister would be wanting them any further that night."
"Really?" Malcolm asked with interest.
Henry nodded. He was about to continue when his friend stopped him with an arresting gesture. "If you don't mind, let me sit at the desk and get some paper, and a pen and ink out. You never know when this testimony might come in handy."
Henry looked at his wide eyed for a moment, then joined him at the desk, perched uneasily on the edge of a chair. Malcolm scratched with the pen for a short time, then instructed, "Pray continue."
Henry cleared his throat and picked up his narrative. "Gerald was supposed to be at the Cavendishes', but neither he nor any of the brothers were there when I went to inquire. The Cavendish servants are out looking for them in each local tavern now. Vanessa's servants had no idea she was ill. None of them appear to be unwell, though they ate the pork. Not the oysters, however."
"I see. Can you give me the names of the people you spoke with?"
"The butler and one of the footmen at first, then a couple of other helpers afterwards. I would recognize them all again if you wish to be more specific."
"We'll need to be if we discover any criminal aspects to this matter, but for now the general outline will suffice."
"In any case, the two other footmen are discreetly paying calls to the houses in the district Gerald frequents. They are telling the servants that he has some important business to attend to at home, and that he should return at once. They know to tell him to come here. I didn't wish to get anyone else involved, but there is of co
urse the Stephens family as her next of kin if need be."
Clifford shook his head. "Not now. Peter is ambitious enough to try to use this to his advantage in some way. I don't trust him with her welfare any more than I would Gerald at this point. Toby is a toper, and Paul is away, and too young to offer much protection. Her aunt is not a very wise woman, for all she would be acceptable as a chaperone. You did well to stay away from there."
"Unless of course Gerald has gone there?" Emma suggested.
Clifford considered that for a brief moment. "Possible, but not likely. They aren't all that close, for all they are cousins, and I'm pretty sure Gerald isn't going to be welcome there after the debacle last night with the card game."
Then Clifford turned to Malcolm. "What do you think of what Henry has told us thus far? Does it not seem suspicious to you?"
Malcolm admitted grudgingly, "Whilst there is nothing so unusual in securing a house overnight, we all know that there's little to steal at Hawkesworth House."
"Aye, I would not be suspicious myself, except for the fact that Gerald gave particular instructions to that effect," Henry revealed. "Normally he does not worry so much about locking up, since as the servants pointed out themselves, there's virtually nothing in the house of any value. Gerald has sold everything he could in the past few years. Vanessa apparently doesn't have any trinkets worth mentioning."
"Though rumors of her wealth might tempt someone," Josephine suggested.
"True," Clifford conceded. "But let's go along with my theory, shall we?"
"Very well," Malcolm agreed, though his handsome face looked pained. "If you insist on taking the worst possible view of the situation, I shall just continue to take notes."
"Thank you." Clifford gathered together his thoughts for a time in silence. At length he said, "It is true she could simply have had a bad oyster. But given she was locked in, and the servants dismissed early and also locked in their quarters for the night, I would speculate that Gerald knew she was ill, or would become ill. It would appear that he staked everything upon her not being found until morning. I would even go so far as to say that he has gone into company to give himself an alibi for the night. And to avoid having to be confronted with her illness and possible demise."
"How monstrous!" Josephine exclaimed.
"Monstrous indeed," Clifford said grimly. "But we will never be able to prove attempted murder without concrete evidence, right, Malcolm?"
He nodded.
"Even if we did get it, I doubt that Vanessa will go so far as to accuse her half-brother. Family loyalty runs deep with her. As indeed it would do with any of us if we found another member of our family being accused of something so heinous with little or no proof."
"A bottle of poison is proof," Malcolm said firmly.
"He could argue it wasn't his. That it had been planted."
"True," Henry sighed.
"Besides, unless John changes his mind about the bad oyster theory and admits the possibility of poison, it's pointless to even try to point the finger at Gerald. As I've said, he's rash, part of the horse and hounds set hereabouts. But just because we choose to live in a more decent and civilized manner does not make him a murderer. "
"So what can we do?" Emma asked, worry clouding her bright blue eyes. "Gerald is going to turn up sooner or later asking after her. As will her cousins."
"Did Peter pay a call to her today?"
"I don't know. The servants didn't mention anyone else at supper, but that's not to say that he didn't. I never thought to ask anything else like that. I'm sorry," Henry said.
"Never mind," Malcolm said. He stretched over to give him a reassuring pat on the arm. "It will be easy enough to ask the servants in the morning."
"Good, you do that," Clifford said with a approving nod. "I don't like to see enemies behind every tree, but with her fortune at stake, every man in a ten-mile radius is going to be buzzing around her like flies around a honey pot."
"Except that she's in mourning."
"Aye, but when has that ever stopped a persistent suitor intent upon his prize?"
"It will stop Vanessa, though," Malcolm said. "Not to mention the fact that you have prior claim due to the card game last night."
"A claim I would not normally dream of asserting in the normal way of things," he said with a sigh.
"No, of course not," several of them protested at once.
"But given the circumstances and my fears for her, I'm afraid I'm going to have to play the role of besotted swain. She needs to be protected. If we have severe doubts that she will be looked after appropriately by her own relatives, I'm the only other logical choice for the role of protector."
"It would seem so," Malcolm admitted grudgingly.
Clifford glanced at him, wondering why he looked so uneasy. Perhaps he felt guilty over his part in the proceedings after all.
"Fate has brought her to me, both as a result of the card game, and her illness now," he said, looking straight at his old friend. It was a look which almost dared Malcolm to challenge him.
He didn't.
Clifford pressed on after it was clear he would not gainsay him. "It is a role I do not plan to take lightly. I would appreciate all of you helping to keep an eye on her, if and when she recovers from this malady. We must take steps to ensure that she's never left alone with Gerald again.
"If he ever dares come to here or to my house, the servants must wait upon them continually. I would feel even better if one of us was always in attendance upon her, without being too obvious about it, of course."
"We will do anything we can to help nurse and chaperone her," Josephine promised.
"Yes, indeed," Emma agreed.
"If he is desperate enough to want to slip her something, there will be little we can do to stop him," Henry pointed out.
Clifford shrugged. "Once we are wed, her property will be mine, or our heirs', so far as he knows. He will have nothing to gain by killing her then."
"As if that will ever stop a madman!" Henry exclaimed impatiently, shoving out of his chair to pace back and forth in front of his brother's chair.
"I'm telling you, Gerald is nothing but trouble for both of you. He hates you with a passion bordering on mania. You know all the bad things that have happened around our estate have been due to him."
Malcolm looked at the brothers uneasily. "I'm sorry, Henry. You've said this before, but my father has never found sufficient proof to charge anyone. Gerald and the Cavendishes have all been able to vouch for each other time and time again. The Stephenses have been able to do the same. If you're fearful of Gerald, you might just as well be concerned about Peter and Toby."
"What about her other cousin?" Herny suggested. "Let's not forget him."
Malcolm shook his head. "I doubt Paul has been involved in anything nefarious. Since he's away at university, he's a most unlikely suspect now. But that's not to say he might not have committed any crimes in the past."
"Can you find out if he was really at Oxford today?"
His friend gave him a long look. "All right, if it will help your brother, then I shall ask my father to send someone up there."
Clifford relaxed further in his chair. "Thank you. I know we might all be going on a wild goose chase here, but anything has to be better than all this sitting around feeling helpless."
"That's all right, we understand. If you really want to institute an investigation though, we might as well lay it all out on the table, so to speak. The two things can of course be completely unrelated. Vanessa may or may not have been poisoned. But the wave of crimes in the district, expecially against you, is undisputable."
Emma moved to sit at the desk beside Malcolm. "Would you like me to write for a time? I have the feeling that this could take a while."
He looked pleased at the offer, his grey eyes lighting up like beacons, and accepted gratefully. He moved over to take the seat Henry had vacated, while Henry brought over a chair to sit closer to his fiancee.
"So, where do we begin?" Josephine asked.
"Barring access to all my father's official notes, how about we start with a list of suspects and our impressions. Just say what you think. Instincts can often prove correct as well, so say what you really think, no matter how far-fetched it might sound."
"Timothy Bridges is a hot head, but vandalism doesn't seem his style," Emma offered shyly. "Mainly drink and er, attention to women."
"There are those attacks on the local women," Clifford reminded them. "Either they genuinely didn't see who it was, or they're too scared to admit it. With their reputations at stake, and humble positions, they must be petrified, poor things."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1 Page 10