A Stranger at Fellsworth

by Sarah E. Ladd

  His steps echoed in the courtyard, and the group turned as he approached. Randall broke away and approached Owen. “Welcome back.”

  Owen nodded and looked past the driver to the cluster of men. “Thanks.”

  “The boys were just wondering where you’d gotten to. We noticed your dog was still in the kennel, and we were afraid you’d left him behind.”

  “No. I will be here until Mr. Treadwell departs.” He was reluctant to share too much information. “I had business to tend to.”

  Randall lowered his voice and angled his body toward Owen, as if taking him into his confidence. “You left before the discovery was made, then.”

  Owen cocked his head. “What discovery?”

  The driver’s broad face sobered. “There’s been a murder.”

  “Murder?” Owen had not seen Treadwell, and concern for his friend raced through him. “Who?”

  “That fellow who came home with the master last night. McAlister. He was found dead just in the next alley. The servants here were likely the last people to see him alive.”

  Nausea rolled over Owen—not only because a human had died, but because the man had been one of Treadwell’s associates. “How did he die?”

  Randall scratched his chin and lowered his voice even more. “Shot in the stomach.”

  Owen’s chest tightened.

  The gunshot.

  They’d all heard it. And they’d all believed it had been harmless.

  The two had to be connected.

  “Who shot him, does anyone know?”

  Randall flipped his collar up and lowered his voice. “That’s the greater mystery, isn’t it? We may never know who is responsible for such evil. ’Tis a shame he was a guest in this house. This family has come under enough scandal as it is. They may never recover from this.”

  Owen was surprised at the readiness with which the carriage driver shared such personal information. In some houses the family matters were private, and the staff would never dare to speak of such details with an outsider. But if the staff of Wilhurst House was anything like Mr. Treadwell’s staff at Bancroft Park, the news would be all over the countryside as fast as one could travel.

  Owen needed to find Treadwell to determine what he knew. He prepared to bid the man good night, but Mr. Randall’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

  “As if his death wasn’t mysterious enough, we’ve another interesting matter on our hands. Mr. Thorley’s sister left the house during the night with nothing more than a note bidding her brother and the mistress a farewell. Her maid is gone too.”

  Owen remained stoic at the words, but he could not walk away without more information. “Are the two connected?”

  Randall shrugged. “I doubt it. Miss Thorley is a peaceful thing, always has been. But that maid of hers can be a bit of a handful. Her brother’s the tall footman over there on the right—the blond-headed lad. If anyone would be riled up, he would, but he doesn’t seem too concerned. Says his sister is a scrappy thing who can take care of herself. Things are not adding up, if you ask me.”

  Owen stifled a groan. He had no idea that Wilhurst House employed Miss Crosley’s brother. He had been so focused on getting Miss Thorley to safety that he had not considered the impact Miss Crosley’s absence would have. Perhaps he had been too zealous in his decision.

  He would have to abide by what he had done, come what may. Owen only hoped he would not regret his actions.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Annabelle stood outside her uncle’s study—just as she had all those years ago. But instead of clutching her paintbrushes and straining to hear an adult conversation, she gathered every ounce of courage she could muster.

  Both she and Crosley had slept through dinner the previous day and did not wake until the rooster crowed to signal this day’s break. They then spent the day in solitude while both her aunt and uncle tended to their duties at the school. The long hours had passed in fretful silence, and now that her uncle was home, Annabelle had been summoned to the study.

  The forthcoming discussion with Uncle Edmund regarding her future could not be avoided. She had been so preoccupied with leaving London that she had not considered what would transpire once she succeeded.

  Annabelle paced to the right, then the left in the narrow corridor. Desperation descended upon her, and she lifted her gaze to the low, beamed ceiling as if an answer would appear on the plaster surface.

  She had invaded her uncle’s home and now she could only guess his reaction. He could send her away, offer her a home, help her find employment, or assist her in selling her jewels and find her suitable lodgings.

  She could bargain with him. She could beg. She could plead.

  But she could not go back to London.

  Annabelle wished she had someone to turn to for guidance, but she had only herself on whom to rely. Her father would have told her money would buy her way with anything. Her mother had been a woman of strong faith—a faith that Annabelle had never really understood—but she knew what her mother would have told her to do: pray for guidance.

  Annabelle bit her lip before pivoting to face the door standing ajar. She smoothed a lock of light-brown hair back into place and drew a cleansing breath. Be it money, prayer, or both, she needed a miracle.

  Not wanting to keep her uncle waiting, she knocked on the rough door.

  “Enter.”

  She stepped into the chamber, her dainty slippers soft on the worn carpet. Outside, thick clouds blocked much of the daylight, and the room seemed much darker than the previous afternoon. The staccato pops of rain on the study’s paned window blurred the view outside to a sea of green and gray. Uncle Edmund was seated behind his desk, and Aunt Lydia, dressed in a gown of slate muslin, was seated in the chair by the fireplace.

  “Annabelle.” Uncle Edmund stood when she stepped through the door. “Come in, child.”

  Her aunt turned in her chair to face Annabelle. “I am sorry we were not here to greet you when you awoke. I trust you slept well?”

  “I did. Thank you.” Annabelle knitted her fingers together in front of her. “I apologize for sleeping through dinner last night. It was a thoughtless thing to do. I am afraid the journey took a toll on me.”

  “Of course it did. That road from London is an abomination.” Her aunt shook her head. “It is a wonder that any carriage makes it here in one piece with all the wheels intact. You are entitled to rest after all you have been through.”

  Yes, she had been through quite an ordeal, but the phrase sounded so lamentable, as if she were a victim of some great tragedy. Annabelle did not wish to appear weak. After all, she had made a decision to leave; she was not forced. And the last thing she wanted was to be pitied.

  She jutted her chin out and straightened her shoulders. “Everyone faces trials, Aunt. ’Tis a sad reality, but I have just chosen to change mine, and I am optimistic about the future.”

  “But to be struck in such a manner is unforgivable!” Her aunt shuddered.

  Annabelle arched her eyebrow. It was unforgivable. But it was the catalyst that pushed her forward.

  Uncle Edmund cleared his throat. “It was a brave choice, Annabelle. Perhaps a dangerous one, but I daresay you made the best decision with the information you had at hand, and no one can fault you for that. Just as your mother was, you are always welcome under my roof, and I am glad you came to me when you needed help.”

  “Please sit down.” Aunt Lydia motioned to the chair next to her. “We must discuss this situation and decide what is to be done about it.”

  Annabelle’s heart raced. Ideally her aunt and uncle would open their doors to her indefinitely, allow her to stay in the tiny bedchamber as long as she needed to sort things out. But her muscles contracted as she prepared for the worst. “Of course.”

  “Tell me a little bit about your situation.” Uncle Edmund folded his arms across his chest. “I have not seen you in so long. I know your mother died, but what of your father? Is he still living?”r />
  “My father died two years ago of apoplexy. Thomas inherited everything—Papa’s business, Wilhurst House, all his possessions. I have been living with my brother and sister-in-law since then, at my father’s request.”

  “I am sorry to hear he died.” Her aunt frowned. “You must miss him very much.”

  Annabelle nodded. “Life changed dramatically with his death.”

  “I fear my questions are of a personal nature, but I do hope you’ll forgive me. I must understand your reasons for leaving your brother’s house.” Uncle Edmund lowered his voice. “Were you physically harmed in the home?”

  Given the state of her cheek, it would be easy to assume that her environment had been an abusive one. But that was not the case—not initially, anyway. “Yesterday was the first time my brother has ever struck me.”

  “Is that what prompted your departure?” Sincerity laced her aunt’s words.

  Annabelle shook her head. “I had decided to leave prior to this instance.”

  Her aunt continued. “But why, my dear? That is such a drastic measure.”

  “My brother desires me to marry a man whom I regard as unsuitable.” Annabelle shifted in her chair. “Please believe me, I’m not one of those silly girls who won’t marry a man for his appearance or lack of wealth. My opposition isn’t based on superficiality. His character possesses a sinister nature. He made me uneasy, and to be quite frank, he frightened me. Thomas made it clear that my options were limited. Either marry the gentleman in question or be without a home. I chose the latter.”

  “But you are such a lovely lady. How could your options possibly be limited? Are the men in London daft?” Her aunt toyed with the hem of her lacy shawl. “I would imagine that the young men would be forming a line at your doorstep.”

  “You are very kind, Aunt, to say such a thing.” Annabelle hesitated, weighing how much to divulge. “I was engaged at one point, but the gentleman changed his mind.”

  Aunt Lydia’s hand flew to her chest. “Why?”

  Annabelle sighed. There was no reason to hide the nature of her disgrace. It was not a secret, really. “Shortly before my father died, he was accused of participating in an embezzlement scandal. Even though guilt was never proven, my fiancé broke the betrothal, citing my family’s sullied reputation.”

  Uncle Edmund stood and turned to look out the window. “Does Thomas know that you have come to Fellsworth?”

  “I left a note informing him I was departing, but I did not tell him my destination. I did see him as I was leaving, however.”

  “And he did not ask where you were going or try to stop you?”

  “He did, but he was inebriated at the time, and that is when this happened.” She touched the bruise on her cheek.

  Uncle Edmund ran his hand over his pointed chin. “I must admit that I feel uncomfortable about you being here without Thomas’s knowledge, but based on your account, I certainly understand. I also understand from Mr. Locke that other questionable efforts were in play. Therefore, I invite you to stay here at Fellsworth, with my blessing.”

  Relief raced through her, tingling in her hands and pushing her heart to beat faster. “Oh, thank you, Uncle. I promise you, I will do my very best to move things forward and start a new life.”

  Uncle Edmund exchanged glances with his wife, and he straightened his waistcoat. “You are most welcome, Annabelle, but unfortunately the invitation is not without a condition.”

  Realizing her lapse in etiquette, she clasped her hands in her lap. “Oh. I see.”

  “You are welcome to stay here not as a guest, but as a junior teacher at the school.”

  Annabelle’s mouth fell open, and she quickly snapped it shut. She swallowed the instinctive protest welling up within her. She could not be a teacher. She had never even been around children. She managed to squeak out, “A teacher?”

  “Yes. At our school a junior teacher is basically a teacher in training. Think of it as an apprenticeship. You will not be a lead instructor, but we are always in need of adults to work with the children. If I knew my sister, you most likely had the very best governess, so I do not doubt your ability.”

  “Yes, I had a wonderful governess, but I—”

  “Good. Then it is settled.” He brushed his hands together. She thought his actions signaled he was done with the discussion, but he continued. “There is one more thing that must be said.”

  Annabelle suspended her breath, afraid that at any moment he might change his mind.

  “I have been the superintendent of Fellsworth School for more years than you have been alive. I have dedicated my life, as has your aunt, to its care and its running. The students here have been like our children. Those employed here are our family.”

  Annabelle held his gaze.

  “I cannot, in good faith, allow for any arrangement that would jeopardize their safety or comfort, and I understand from Mr. Locke that your brother has a bit of a violent temper.”

  A violent temper. What else had Mr. Locke said about her family to her uncle?

  Uncle Edmund continued. “Who knows that you have come here?”

  “Only Miss Crosley. And Mr. Locke, of course.”

  “Then I think anonymity is best. I would advise you to keep the details of your private life to yourself. This town is small and word travels fast. The last thing we want is trouble. You shall stay here in this house until your bruising heals to prevent any gossip, but then we shall get you acclimated to Fellsworth life. And as for Miss Crosley, what can you tell us of her?”

  Annabelle sighed. It was no use to keep Crosley’s identity a secret. “Crosley was my lady’s maid. I can no longer afford to compensate her for her service, but I was eager to leave and I didn’t want to travel alone. I paid her to accompany me, but now that we are here, I’m not sure what her future plans entail.”

  “And do you recommend her? Has she a sterling character?”

  The letter of recommendation she promised to write flashed in her mind. “Yes. I’d recommend her for anything. She has been nothing but a faithful servant to me.”

  “Then I am prepared to offer her a position in the kitchen. Mrs. Langsby oversees all such additions, so she will work out the details with Miss Crosley personally.”

  Annabelle had survived the first leg of her journey to freedom, and now it looked like both she and Crosley would have a fighting chance. “Thank you, Uncle. I know she will be very grateful for the opportunity.”

  “You must understand. I believe in hard work. I know your life has been, well, different from the lives here. We cannot support you in the lifestyle to which you have been accustomed, but I have found, in almost every instance, that hard work and responsibility only strengthen a person. Welcome to Fellsworth School, Annabelle.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Home. He was home again.

  Owen filled his lungs with the earthy perfume of trees and forest, thicket and vale. The ever-present carpet of leaves crushing beneath his boots sang a lullaby as he led his horse through the dense growth, and the distant popping of a woodpecker was a sweet strain to his ears.

  “Give me the scents of bark and leaves over those of London any day,” Owen said more to himself than to James Whitten.

  Whitten guffawed. “You go away for a couple of weeks and return a poet. I’ve never seen the like.”

  Owen chuckled and adjusted his rifle against his arm as he glanced over at Bancroft Park’s older under-keeper. “You know me better than that. Did you get the horses settled?”

  “I did. The stablemaster said he was only expecting one, but I know you told him two. He will figure it out, though. I am a bit concerned about the bay. She’s not taking her grain.”

  “I’ll stop in and talk with the stablemaster later today.”

  Owen had just arrived home earlier that day from London. Only three days had passed since he delivered Miss Thorley and Miss Crosley to the superintendent’s cottage and bid farewell to Hannah, but it felt much longer. London
was dirty and loud, and the distressing news of the murder had not left his mind. He never did connect with Treadwell once back in London. The spontaneous man left word that he was traveling to Bath and would return to Bancroft Park within the fortnight. While in London Owen purchased another horse, attended a hound auction, and ordered several new rifles in anticipation of the next hunting season.

  He was glad to be back amongst what was familiar, and his responsibilities had piled up while he’d been away. He would get to them all in due time, but one duty in particular weighed on him.

  Poaching had always been an issue on the estate, and over the past year he had seen an increase in activity—footsteps in the morning grass, the occasional discarded arrow or length of copper wire, and traps that did not belong to him. Activity had increased tenfold when a local mine shut down, and Owen and his under-keepers patrolled the area in the midnight hours. On more than one occasion he had chased shady characters from the land he had vowed to protect.

  “Who handled the night patrols while I was gone?”

  “I did them myself, every night. Had some of the footmen stand guard as well.”

  “And?”

  “Thursday last I chased two fellows from the east meadow. Fired a warning shot and they went running. The day before that, I came across trampled grass and a few lengths of rope. I followed the trail but it disappeared at Foster’s Pond.”

  Owen clenched his jaw. “Show me the site later, will you?”

  “’Course.” Whitten kicked a stick out of the way on the forest path, then adjusted the weapon on his shoulder. “Heard you came back from London the other day with an interesting delivery.”

  Owen winced at the reference. No need to ask Whitten to explain his statement. Nothing occurred in Fellsworth without it quickly becoming public knowledge. He had hoped word would not spread, especially since he had not had a chance to discuss his actions with Mr. Treadwell, but like it or not, his spontaneous decision to help Miss Thorley had repercussions.