“Who let you in the house?” Gawain retorted.
“That new butler of yours. Chase?”
“We must encourage him to be more discerning,” Gawain muttered. “Very well, Lewis. I will be the patron for your German model. But please promise me that it will not blow up any of my family.”
“So noted. I will advertise for a chauffeur for you and instruct him properly.”
“You’ve come a long way from mechanical birds, the past couple of years.”
“I was in a different frame of mind when I made my little creatures. Now I am all about business.” Lewis clapped his bowler back on his head. “I’ll be on my way. Just stopped by to check on the progress here.”
“Right.” He knew Lewis had come to ensure his commission.
“I advised your lovely wife on one or two improvements that could be made in the kitchen. She’s put in an order for a new oven.”
“Excellent,” he sighed.
“Eddy will be pleased to work on that,” Lewis said, referring to his apprentice. “We’ll have it to you in a couple of weeks.”
Chase appeared in the doorway, smoothing down his thick hair. Young for a butler, he was a nephew of Pounds, the Redcake family butler, and had been strongly recommended. “Sir, a Theodore Bliven to see you.”
Gawain swore.
Lewis stroked his beard. “Chase looks strong enough to toss the rotter out on his ear.”
“No, I’ll hear him out. Always a good idea to keep an eye on blackguards,” Gawain said.
“You’re in an almost painfully good mood.”
“I admit it,” Gawain said, pounding Lewis’s arm and giving him a cheery grin. “Everything is right in the world at the moment.”
“Nothing like a new wife in your bed to improve your mood.”
His grin sharpened. “Try it yourself and let me know how it works for you.”
Lewis’s eyes seemed to take on shadow. “No time, no time. I prefer engines. Make more sense to me.”
“You have to get over Alys one of these days.”
Lewis’s lips turned down. “Never think of her.”
Gawain shook his head and walked with Lewis as far as the front parlor. “I’d better see what Bliven wants.”
“I’ll get started on your carriage,” Lewis replied, following Chase into the front hall.
It had been a little more than a month since Gawain had seen Bliven. How much had changed. He wondered who had given the man this new address.
When he pushed open the parlor door, he scarcely recognized the man from the back. He’d shorn his unruly curls into a skull-framing cut. When he turned, his merry eyes seemed larger than ever.
“Gawain!” he cried. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
“This is my house,” Gawain deadpanned as Bliven rushed to shake his hand.
“Yes, yes of course. You must help me. I’ve hardly slept for a month, you know.”
“Been ill? I did wonder about the hair.”
Bliven touched his head. “Did it myself in a fit of melancholy. Held the scissors to my throat. For a moment I thought I’d end the entire thing, you see.”
Gawain unbuttoned his coat and put his hands on his hips. He didn’t respond to the dramatics, knowing Bliven would get to his point.
“How about a drink, old man? Do the thing up civilized?”
“No drinks cart in here. We aren’t entertaining yet.”
“Oh. I did hear you just moved. And married.”
Gawain waited for Bliven to force a smile.
“Felicitations!” he enthused on cue. “And just having entered the blessed state yourself, I know you are the man to help me.”
Gawain bent his head.
“Your patch is off, eh? Seeing some improvement?” Bliven’s dark gaze sharpened.
“Yes, I do have you to thank for that. And my wife, for knowing how to compound the medicine you acquired.”
“Got your vision back?”
“I can see colors. That is all so far.”
“I’m sure it will continue to improve.”
Gawain raised his eyebrows. He didn’t want the conversation to remain personal. “Are you ready to return to India? Given your success, I’m happy to pay for you to return. And some living expenses, of course.” His family would object to the expense, yet be glad he had gotten Bliven out of England.
“No, no, you must help me with Matilda.” Bliven put his hand on the mantelpiece. He did an exaggerated double take when he saw the family photograph there.
“That is my wife, our son and her former sister-in-law.” He closed his good eye. He could still see the basic outlines of the individuals. Astounding.
“She’s Indian,” Bliven said in a near whisper.
“Half. Father was a subaltern.”
“Must take after her mother,” Bliven muttered. “Still, good in your line of work to have an Indian medical expert handy.”
“Indeed.” He injected as much frost as he could muster.
“And she was clearly your mistress before you married, since you have a child together. You of all people in the world should understand what I’m going through with Matilda.”
Coldness was suddenly easy. “My sister wasn’t your mistress. She thought she was your fiancée.”
“That’s what she said after,” Bliven smiled.
“Mrs. Redcake was a widow, a woman of the world. My sister was an innocent, gently reared. You never had honorable intentions toward her, given this other woman you had waiting for you in India.”
“But that’s all over,” Bliven said impatiently. “I’m ready to marry Matilda now. Give the boy my name. Just like you have just done with your, er, what’s his name?”
“Noel.”
“Noel, then.”
“What is your son’s name?” Gawain asked, wondering if Bliven even knew.
One side of Bliven’s mouth lifted. “Jacob, for Matilda’s uncle. It’s a family name of mine as well, and Michael is the second name, for my old friend, the marquess.”
Gawain nodded approval. “I would have sympathy for you if you hadn’t been so cruel to my sister. But there you have it. If it’s money you want, I will make my offer to you again. Passage, living expenses, and payment for the goods when they arrive at my warehouse.”
“I want her. It’s my right. She wanted me once. And a man should marry a decent girl if he takes her innocence. I know that now.” Bliven’s words stumbled. “I am s-s-sorry it took me all this time to recognize that.”
“Why do you want her?”
“I love her, of course. Bad poetry and everything.” He patted his waistcoat and pulled out a crumbled sheet of paper. “I wrote her a sonnet.”
“How nauseating.”
“Look.” Bliven knotted his fingers. “I’m going to get her back, her and my son.”
“How much?” Gawain asked.
“What do you mean?”
“How much money are you looking for?”
“It’s not about money.”
“Then what is it about?”
“I do not think I can father another child,” Bliven said, his face contorting. “I had scarlet fever in India, and mumps. High fevers both times. I’m surprised I’m still alive, to be perfectly honest. But it does not matter what my reason is, I want my son.”
“Not my sister,” he observed.
“Of course I want her,” Bliven roared. “I’m not likely to get anyone else. I have no income unless I return to India. My cousin’s wife, damn her, just gave birth to a son three days ago.”
The veil lifted. “You think you’ve lost your shot at the earldom, then?”
“Well, don’t you think so?”
“Babies die.” The mere thought hurt his stomach, to be truthful, yet was true. Thank God Noel was a healthy child with a doting mother.
“I should be so lucky,” Bliven spat, saliva bubbling at one side of his mouth.
The sentiment sickened Gawain. “You need to go back to India.�
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“So I can die there? With yet another disease?”
“I never had a problem.”
“No, you just got shot.” Bliven smiled suddenly, and his face transformed back into its usual merriment. “Give her to me, Gawain, and give me my son. I know you are training her to run your father’s businesses. She won’t like that. I can take over. I’ve proven myself to you.”
“Now you want to work?” Gawain couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Besides, Matilda has decided she likes business. She is more like Alys than she wanted to admit. The business mind must come with the red hair.”
“So Rose isn’t interested in business?”
“You aren’t going to turn your attentions to Rose,” Gawain snapped.
Bliven held up a hand. “No, no. Just making conversation.”
“Why don’t you return to India, prove you can manage to set up a business there, importing herbs of the quality you found for me. The teas as well. Give Matilda a couple of years. Who can say? She may very well be tired of working and be ready to settle into domesticity by then.”
“You’ll find her another husband.”
“Me?” Gawain laughed. “I’ve settled here now. I have no reason to even see Matilda, much less marry her off.”
“I see there is no reasoning with you. I’ll have to approach your father. He’ll see reason.” Bliven pressed his shoes together and bowed his head with Germanic drama. “Good day to you, Gawain.”
Gawain followed him out of the door, requesting his return. But Bliven pulled his hat from the stand by the door and walked out, ignoring him.
As the door shut, Gawain swore. He’d have to go down to Redcake Manor to help his family deal with this problem. So much for settling in here. He knew that Matilda, as usual, was consulting with her father in person, rather than staying in Bristol where she theoretically lived.
Chase stepped into the entryway, closing the open front door, then looked inquiringly at his master.
“Send Mrs. Redcake to me, would you? And have my bags packed for a short trip to Polegate.”
Chase nodded and went up the stairs. Gawain stepped back into the parlor and fiddled with a cigar. Why did the idea of leaving Ann dig such a sour hole in his gut? He’d only be gone a couple of days.
The next day, the entire family descended from the platform at Polegate. Ann had insisted on accompanying him and he hadn’t had the heart to disagree. She did not have his mother’s decisiveness on decorating schemes, but her years at the inn had given her a shrewd judge of servant characters and he thought she’d managed the hiring admirably. The nursery was shaping up comfortably and their own quarters were an oasis of peace and sensuality, for at least a few hours a night.
Jenna Wilson had travelled with them. He knew he needed to offer to return her to Hatbrook Farm but he hoped to persuade her to stay with them. If she preferred city life, Ann might get her newly announced wish to keep the competent nursemaid in her employ.
Anything for Ann, who had proven herself accommodating to his every wish so far. He gazed at her fondly as she stood rocking Noel, Fern at her side. Sir Bartley’s coach pulled forward. He recognized the driver and raised his hand for it to stop. One of the stablehands jumped down from the back and began to load the luggage with the help of a porter.
“Is there room for all of us?” Ann asked.
“Should be. Robbie,” Gawain called to the driver, “can you take all of us?”
“Yes, Mr. Redcake,” Robbie said. “Unless you want the servants to travel different.”
“No, no,” Gawain said quickly, not wanting to know who Robbie might think was a servant. They hadn’t had time to order new clothing for Fern yet and Ann wasn’t in one of her new dresses because of the train.
Ann nursed Noel during the drive to the Elizabethan-era house his father had purchased sight unseen a few years before. All but uninhabitable when Alys and Rose had tried to live there a couple of years ago, it was clean and repaired now. Even the grounds were looking manicured. Gawain tried to focus on the property updates, rather than watch his infant son caress his wife’s breast as he fed, though the sight was such an endearing one. Ann wouldn’t find the time to sit down at all if she wasn’t nursing. Setting up a new household had proven a busy enterprise.
“Will that man ’ave made it ’ere before us?” Jenna asked.
Gossip travelled quickly in his new house. “If he caught a late train,” Gawain said. “But I doubt he could have managed any kidnapping scheme by now.”
Ann’s arms tightened around Noel. “He wouldn’t take Jacob.”
“I don’t know what he’s capable of,” Gawain admitted. “Those illnesses he had might have affected his brain. His moods were alarmingly changeable.”
“I should have taken a look at him,” Ann said. “If we do see him, I will examine him.”
“Don’t go near him,” Gawain warned. “What if he tried to use you to get to Matilda?”
“He might need medical attention.”
“Let him get it elsewhere.” He was saved from further pronouncements by the sight of the three-hundred-year-old stone building coming into view.
“Have you been here before?” Ann asked Jenna.
The nursemaid shook her head. “I stay at the Farm. It’s not far away. Mostly the family comes there for parties and such. It’s cozier, I’m told.”
“This house is enormous,” Ann said.
Fern’s eyes were wide too.
“There’s supposed to be ghosts,” he said. “Not that I’ve seen any. There’s a ruined abbey nearby.”
Fern shivered.
“Not going to explore?” Gawain teased. “I’m sure Rose would take you for a walk through the ruins. Muddy, of course, at this time of year, but we can find boots that will fit you.”
Fern brightened at the suggestion of walking. The carriage stopped on the gravel drive.
“Who are the ghosts?” Ann asked, rearranging her clothing. Noel snuffled and fell asleep.
“Roman soldiers,” said Robbie, opening the coach door. “Look behind the house. There’s a mound with the remains of a shell keep on top.”
“Not the monks then?”
Robbie shrugged. “I haven’t walked the ruins at night, if you get my meaning.”
Fern bounced on the squabs and grinned at Gawain.
“You won’t be bored,” he promised her, relaxing against the upholstery. “Between the walks, the babies and my mother demanding to fit you with a new wardrobe, there will be plenty to do.”
“And Theodore Bliven,” Ann said somberly. “Let’s not forget about him.”
Chapter Thirteen
When Gawain had his family settled at the Manor and verified that Bliven had not been seen there yet, he took a horse and rode north to Polegate to nose around the taverns and see if the man had been noticed in the town. He took his patch off as he travelled, enjoying the blur of colors in the fields. The hint of spring in the air tantalized his nose.
He’d sent a telegram to his old comrade, Sergeant Bowler Martin, late the previous afternoon, hoping the man could have his cronies keep an eye out in the area for a stranger fitting Bliven’s description. The regiment had deep ties here and should know if anyone was out of place.
Gawain arrived on time to meet with Martin at an old pub on the outskirts of the railway town. He tied up his borrowed horse and bent his head to go through the low doorway of the ancient building. The air inside was thick with smoke and the scent of stew, probably cooked daily for centuries. He pulled his patch back down over his bad eye. The ability to see color wouldn’t do him much good in the dim room.
“Redcake!”
Gawain blinked, then saw a hand waving to him from a stool at the bar. He moved forward, then clapped Martin’s shoulder. “Thank you for meeting me.”
The old soldier wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Any time, old friend. I could use a fight to get the blood running. Was your Mr. Bliven at the house?”
“No.
I’ve just come from there. I asked my sister to make up a sketch for you. She’s a good artist.”
“Seen him before, yourself?”
“Yes, a few times. This man, he was a friend of the marquess, and his father is a friend of my father’s. I employed him.”
Martin picked up his tankard. “Bad business.”
“Yes, and my sister has her own share of the blame. Her wish to be married outshone her sense.”
“It’s hard for the girls,” Martin said. “Silly young things. I think we expect too much of them and punish too hard.”
“Do you think we should have forced Bliven to marry her?” Gawain pulled out a stool and sat.
Martin shrugged. “As long as she can live quietly I don’t see that not being married has done her any harm. That’s the beauty of money, eh?”
“True enough. I’ll get you the sketch tomorrow.”
“Plenty o’ boys from the old regiment to keep an eye out around here.”
Gawain pulled out a bag of shillings and pushed it down the bar to Martin. “For those who don’t want to answer questions for free.”
Martin nodded and tucked the bag away. “Last you were here, we were discussing a different matter.”
“Ann Haldene’s family.”
“Right.” Martin gave him a shrewd stare. “I heard you married. Her?”
Gawain nodded as the barman approached. He ordered a tankard of the local brew.
“I asked about her again, you know. After we met.” Martin’s bushy brows came together.
“Did you?”
“You said the husband had died. The first one, I mean.”
Gawain took off his hat and set it on the bar. “Yes, murdered in his stable. I didn’t know that part before.”
“A bad business.” Martin shook his head as Gawain’s tankard appeared, along with a refill for Martin.
“Did you hear anything about the murder? I’ve been able to clear his brother of the crime, but I’d like to solve it. His sister saw something, maybe everything. It made her dumb, from the shock. There was a theft involved, it seems.”
“Really?” Martin asked.
“You seem surprised. Apparently, some royal gems had made their way back from India with Ann’s mother.”
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