by Sahara Kelly
“I know. I’m trying. But sometimes, when I wake up, I forget the old man’s gone.” He sighed. “Then I remember and my day is brighter.”
Tabby’s eyes met his. “He was an utter bastard, wasn’t he?”
“All that and more,” concurred Hecate. “His shadow is long and still darkening our lives.” Then she rose. “But it’s getting better all the time. Now,” she looked at Tabby, “I wasn’t jesting when I said I knew about herbal preparations. So I’ve a salve in my bag I’d like to use on your arm. Also, it needs re-bandaging so that the splint stays in place.” She moved to Tabby’s side and sat down, taking the injured limb in her hands.
Simon never ceased to be amazed by his sister’s strange ways. And he admitted he was growing to admire her—and them—more and more.
“I suppose I should go and work on that sermon, then?” He grinned at the two women, and then at the cat, winding her way around his ankles.
“That would be an excellent notion,” beamed Hecate. “I shall stay for the morning, and make sure that Tabby has what she needs for a few days.” Her smile faded. “Longer than that and it will be a scandal, Simon. If it’s not already. I think…” she lowered her eyes to Tabby’s arm, “I think you should both prepare yourselves.”
“For what?” he frowned.
Tabby raised her head. “For the inevitable. Either I have to leave…or we shall have to make some sort of announcement.”
“What?”
“For myself, I don’t particularly care,” said Tabby in an expressionless tone. “I am a widow, and have grown used to living in a world where scandals are regularly dined upon. I had hoped to leave it behind, but such is life.” She gave a tiny shrug. “But I would hate this to reflect poorly on you, Simon. And it will, without a doubt. All those ladies, eager to snap up the eligible Vicar, will suddenly avoid you like the plague, and whisper about your mistresses, and so on.” She sighed. “Your reputation will be tainted, and your congregation wither away. I’ve seen the like before.”
“Jesus.” Simon sat down. Hard.
“And at this time,” continued Tabby relentlessly, “you cannot afford to lose even one parishioner.”
“It’s that bad?” He looked up.
“Yes, it’s that bad.” She nodded. “The numbers are nowhere near where they should be. This report, the state of your parish…it could be the end of St. Simon’s. And I’ll be damned if I play a part in hurrying that event along.”
“So if you left…” mused Simon, “that would be the end of it?”
“Probably,” reasoned Hecate. “There would be murmurs, one or two comments about the event now and again. But with Tabby gone…well, you’re back to what you were. Single, and in need of a wife.”
“And if Tabby stays?”
Two faces turned to him, one in curiosity, the other in displeasure.
“I can’t,” snapped Tabby. “That’s definite.”
“Yes you can.” Simon had the oddest feeling that he was not quite present; that the air around him was crackling and popping with sparkling explosions. He wasn’t sure what was about to come out of his mouth. And it surprised the hell out of him when he said “All we have to do is announce our engagement.”
He was, however, delighted to observe that he had just knocked the wind out of two usually self-composed and voluble women.
Neither had a word to say.
Chapter Nine
It took a week of sensible conversations, arguments, the occasional hurled insult—and even one or two jests—to make Tabby realize that Simon was immovable on this decision. They were, indeed, to become engaged.
The most annoying part of it all was that during these conversations, Simon was calm, cool and logical, reiterating his rationale…an engagement made sense. They had been childhood friends, he patiently reminded her, and the Worsley estate had been part of the area for several generations.
What could be more natural than an alliance between the two? And what could be more natural than a bereaved widow returning to her home and finding comfort with an old acquaintance?
Her arm was healing well, having reached the point where she would like to use it, but knew she must be patient. Wanting to smack Simon around the ears with both hands didn’t help the process. He was obdurate, completely unwilling to consider any other option, and companionably charming.
In blunt words…he was driving her to the point of bloody insanity.
Since Letitia was making a brief visit to her siblings in London, Rosaline and Hecate were on their own, with only Edmund—a mere man—for company. It was an appropriate time for a ladies’ lunch, to which Tabby was invited.
She declared her impending insanity to Rosaline who chuckled, resting her hands sedately over her expanding belly. “Tabby, let’s face it, Simon knows his own mind. When he’s set on a course, that is the course he’ll follow.”
“Sort of like a turtle,” added Hecate. “Steady, slow, not attracting too much attention, but nothing gets in its way once it’s moving.”
Tabby blew out an exasperated breath. “Lovely. So I’m engaged to a turtle who won’t even discuss the option of terminating the engagement.”
“Why should he?” Rosaline tilted her head in inquiry.
“Why should he?” Tabby managed not to shriek. “Because of course this is all a sham, Rosaline. You know that. We can’t possibly follow through and actually wed.”
“Why not?”
“Uhh…” Tabby’s throat choked up and she gargled the sound.
Hecate giggled. “Silly thing. Can’t you entertain the possibility that Simon wants to marry you?”
The world spun for a second or two, and Tabby gripped the arms of her chair. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“She’s not,” replied Rosaline. “Even though I didn’t grow up with Simon, it didn’t take me long to understand that he doesn’t do things without thinking them through. He’s never made a snap decision that I can think of, he’s usually even-tempered, and someone who really has made an extraordinarily perfect Vicar. That was until you arrived.”
“Quite correct, Rosaline,” endorsed Hecate. “I did grow up with him, Tabby. And around you he’s quite unlike himself. He yells. He forgets words. And he watches you when you’re not looking.”
“But…”
“No buts, my dear,” soothed Rosaline. “I think Simon intends to marry you. And that says it all.”
Tabby was silent for a few moments, trying to calm the rapid heartbeat that thundered beneath the lace of her bodice. “Well, perhaps he intends to, because he’s honorable, but that’s not the same as wanting to, is it? I cannot see myself condemning him to a lifetime leg-shackled to someone he wed out of a sense of duty.”
“There are worse things,” said Rosaline, dryly. “Trust me.”
“You need to have an honest discussion, Tabby.” Hecate waved her forefinger at the other woman. “Tell him your worries, your opinions and then ask him about his.” She sat back, looking sage. “Talk to the man. Ask him why he’s so determined on this course of action.”
“And if it’s simply because of that sense of duty and honor?”
Rosaline smiled at Tabby. “Then you must decide what your heart wants, as well, my dear.”
Tabby could not have been less eager to pursue that particular line of conversation with Rosaline and Hecate. She had veered away from having it with herself in her most private moments.
So she pulled what she referred to as her “public facade” back around her, and was about to respond, when the Baron himself hurried in.
Rosaline immediately stood. “What is it, Edmund?”
He looked quite harried. “I’ve just had a message from a local lad. There’s a body in a field near Aster’s Cot.”
“A body? As in a dead body?” Hecate looked thunderstruck.
“Yes.” Edmund took his wife’s arm. “I think we should both go if you’re up to it, my love. Jeannie Small is there on her own right now, with her childre
n, and isn’t sure what to do. Ed is at the sheep market over in Woodley Merton until Saturday. We can take the gig.”
“I’ll come too,” said Tabby. “Please don’t protest. Aster’s Cot is quite close to Worsley and I knew Jeannie when we were younger. At least I can stay with her for a little, if necessary, while you two take care of matters…”
Edmund’s expression was doubtful. “Your injury?”
“Healing nicely. Disregard it. I won’t be chopping wood, just helping where I can.”
“Very well.”
“And to keep her in line, I’ll accompany you.” Hecate folded her arms and stared at her brother, as if challenging him to disagree.
He rolled his eyes. “We’ll take the carriage.”
*~~*~~*
A scene of somber chaos greeted Simon as he rode in to Aster’s Cot. He noted the Ridlington carriage and heaved a sigh of relief that Edmund was there. His older brother acted in the unofficial capacity of Lord Lieutenant and was becoming the man to see if there were any unusual occurrences.
Such as an unknown dead body in somebody’s turnip field.
“Simon,” hailed Edmund. “You heard too?”
“I was summoned. One of the farm hands stopped by the Vicarage. Not sure if I can help…” he glanced at the blanket-covered shape in the back of a hay wagon, “…other than to offer a prayer.”
“Yes, unfortunately that is the case. No other injuries or incidents.”
Simon walked up to Edmund. “What’s she doing here?”
Edmund apparently got the reference. “Tabby is here in the company of Rosaline and Hecate, who are at the moment inside with Jeannie, keeping the children out of the way.”
“Oh.” He watched Tabby approach the wagon. “Should she be near the body?”
“Good God, Simon. The woman was a spy in Europe. I doubt anything on such a simple scale as this would come as a shock to her.”
“Point taken.”
She lifted the blanket, stared at the body it had covered, and then silently replaced it.
To his surprise, she walked over to the two of them. “I know him, Edmund.”
“What?” Simon rocked back on his heels. “What do you mean you know him? Is it one of the locals you grew up with? Something like that?”
She all but ignored him, speaking directly to Edmund. “His name is Monsieur Albert De Pontcarré. I met him several times in Europe…I think he was in the entourage of one of the attending aristocrats,” she frowned in thought, “…somewhere south of Paris, I think. An assembleé—a ball perhaps—I wish I could remember.”
Rosaline joined them. “Hecate is marvelous with children. She’s telling stories. They’re spellbound.” She linked her arm with Edmund’s. “What are we to do with the poor man, Edmund?” She looked at the wagon. “And who would shoot someone in the middle of a field?”
“Questions that have just become a great deal more complicated,” answered Edmund. “Tabby knows the deceased. Or, I should say, knew him.”
“A passing acquaintance, Rosaline. In France a few years ago. I can’t recall the exact occasion, but I know M. Pontcarré was in the train of…of…wait…” She snapped her fingers. “I have it. He was a member of the household of the von Rillenbachs.”
Edmund gasped as Rosaline sagged against him and clutched his arm. “Are you positive?” He barked the question sharply at Tabby, making her draw her brows together.
“Yes.”
“Damn it all to hell, Edmund.” Rosaline straightened. “What the devil was a von Rillenbach crony doing in Ridlington?”
“And why was he shot?” added Simon.
“I don’t understand,” announced Tabby. “Would someone please enlighten me?”
“Not here.” Edmund shook his head. “We must attend to the body first. Simon,” he glanced at his brother. “You take the women back to Ridlington in the carriage, and leave me your horse if you would. I will see to this matter, and then return to you all. This requires some careful handling, I believe.”
“Agreed,” said Rosaline, still looking quite pale.
“And you, my love, should make sure to nap when you get home.”
“Of course, dear.” She shot a look at Tabby. “I know I’ll instantly fall asleep the minute I walk into Ridlington.”
Tabby caught the sarcasm and gave her a quick smile. “I’ll collect Hecate if I can pry her from the children.”
“Don’t leave, Tabby,” Edmund touched her on the shoulder. “We’ll need your counsel on this.”
“Indeed. It would seem that I might be of assistance.” She turned away. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving.”
Simon, who had watched the conversation with silent interest, caught his brother’s arm. “This is not good, is it? Having a diplomatic aristocrat from France killed in one of our fields.”
Edmund sighed. “No, Simon. It’s not good. Not good at all. But we’ll sort it out between us.”
“Is Tabby in danger?” He had to ask the question uppermost in his mind.
“I’m not sure. We could very well all be at risk. But hold your questions. Let me finish here first.”
Simon settled the women in the carriage and jumped up onto the box. He needed air, needed to breath, and needed the short trip back to Ridlington to marshal his thoughts into some kind of order.
They were almost at the Chase when he remembered something he’d been told quite some time ago, when Rosaline had first become engaged to Edmund.
Rosaline’s brother had been the man who shot Prince August von Rillenbach.
Chapter Ten
There were four people around the table in Ridlington Chase’s small parlor, and they were all unusually quiet. By mutual consent, they had urged Hecate to arrange for some provisions to be sent to Jeannie at Aster’s Cot—for the children especially. This particular conference was going to involve matters that they all felt should best be kept amongst the four of them for the moment.
Simon glanced at each face—Edmund, thoughtful in that stern way he had. Rosaline looked tired, but determined; she had a spine of steel, that woman, and Simon loved her like a sister.
Tabby…well, Tabby was, as usual, inscrutable. But he’d learned that far from being unconcerned and uninvolved, that calm expression often hid a razor sharp intellect working rapidly within her mind. She was the first to broach the topic on all their minds.
“So will one of you please clarify the situation regarding this death? And why the surprise when I mentioned De Pontcarré’s association with the von Rillenbachs?”
Rosaline looked at Edmund, who laid a hand over hers. “Go ahead, sweetheart. It’s your story to tell.”
His wife nodded, then turned her head to Tabby. “I would ask that you not reveal this information, Tabby, although I know that’s not really necessary.”
“Of course.”
Rosaline took a breath. “My brother was Paul DeVoreaux.”
“Good God. The DeVoreaux involved in the von Rillenbach duel?”
“One and the same. I see you are familiar with the incident.”
Tabby nodded. “One couldn’t be in London anywhere without hearing about it. A duel, the fatal shooting of a European prince? Yes, I heard about it. At length actually, since the circle I frequented at the time was most concerned with the political ramifications of the deed.”
“And we were stained by the personal scandal,” lamented Rosaline. “It was, indirectly, responsible for my unfortunate first marriage. But that is now in the past, and I’d rather it stay there.” She turned her hand beneath her husband’s, and interlaced their fingers.
“In light of this, I have to wonder if the presence of De Pontcarré in the area indicates an interest in you, Rosaline.” Tabby’s eyes were focused, clear and sharp.
Simon watched as she assessed, considered, evaluated and then spoke. This was the woman he didn’t know; the woman who had spied successfully for her country.
“Is there a chance that he might have been working
for someone with an interest in you?” Simon had to ask.
“Me?” Her eyes widened at his question.
“Yes, you. After all, you spent a couple of years in Europe on behalf of the government. And acted as an information source during that period. Could there be any residual animosity toward you? From any of the families known to De Pontcarré?”
She took her time, considering the question thoroughly, as near as Simon could tell. Finally, she shrugged. “I cannot rule out the possibility, of course. But I never met any of the von Rillenbachs. It was in Vienna, I think. I was introduced to De Pontcarré as a dance partner, but he was called away before our quadrille. That’s why I remember him, perhaps. I don’t know…it was quite some time ago.” She looked around. “I cannot see any reason why he would be searching for me. The areas of…exploration in which I was involved…well, they had nothing to do with De Pontcarré, the von Rillenbachs or the DeVoreaux.”
“That is somewhat reassuring,” answered Simon. “But it places the burden now on Rosaline’s shoulders.” He looked at his sister-in-law.
She grinned back, completely unmoved at his statement. “I have Edmund. He’s fought naval battles, and won. I can’t ask for a better protector than that.”
“Well you have us too,” said Tabby. “I hope you know that.”
It was Edmund’s turn to smile. “We do, Tabby. Thank you. My thoughts at the moment suggest that I alert the household to take extra steps against any unwelcome visitors. Locking up securely at night, of course. And asking our tenants to keep their eyes open for strangers in the area. I will want to know if chickens go missing or items are stolen from their homes. Anything that might indicate strangers still in the area and trying to live out of the public eye.”
Simon nodded. “Yes to all of that. For the record, Tabby will be staying with me in the Vicarage from now on. Not alone in the Cottage.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Rosaline’s voice was concerned.
“I can’t say I care whether it’s wise or not. It’s what will happen. Besides,” he paused, feeling a little self-conscious. “We are betrothed, you know.”