by Susan Lodge
Of course, he couldn’t let Withington marry her. The doctor was well-respected so it would be difficult to discredit his name, which was his usual way of dealing with people who got in his way. Nevertheless, he had to get rid of Withington somehow.
His father would last a few more weeks, and then he would have Avebury Hall at his disposal. Diana, of course, would have to go. She was far too expensive to keep around.
The proceeds of the sale of Avebury Hall and the money from Hetty’s inheritance would give him a nice start abroad with his new wife. After a few months married to Hetty, he would find a convenient way of disposing of her; she was far too inquisitive and principled to remain as his wife.
He took the special licence from his pocket and grinned.
Chapter Twenty-One
Robert sat in his study at the town house, examining Hetty’s locket. He clicked it open and took a magnifying glass from his desk drawer to inspect the detail inside. The small portrait had Hetty’s blue eyes and her chin. The hair was not copper, though, and the nose was quite different. The woman had a serene look about her, and the miniature had been painted by a talented artist.
Hetty sat opposite him, watching his examination. She looked very fetching in an ivory and green striped gown. The square-cut neckline was trimmed with a strip of lace that ruffled against her skin every time she moved.
They had not been alone together since the night at the inn. Aunt Amelia had been waiting at his town house on their return, anxious for assurance of Hetty’s safety. Robert had felt honour-bound to suggest she remain as his guest and Hetty’s chaperone. She now sat discreetly in the corner of the room with her embroidery.
Hetty had been overjoyed when he returned the locket to her the day they had travelled back from the inn. He would never have allowed Wainwright to keep it, of course – that certainly had not been part of the agreement.
Handy had done well to enlist the man, and the whole affair had been dealt with as a business arrangement where both parties had found a satisfactory outcome. Robert hoped the experience had been enough to dissuade Hetty from seeking out any further gambling haunts.
Tomorrow he intended to take her with him to Longwood. It was time he inspected the progress of the renovations, and it would also be a safer location to keep her away from the Aveburys.
He put the locket down and leaned back in his chair. “Hetty, has this picture of your mother always been in the locket?”
She looked surprised. “Yes, as far as I can remember. My mother gave it to me about ten years ago. She was nineteen when it was painted.”
“How old was she when she married Henry Avebury?”
“One and twenty, I believe.”
“So, it is likely the portrait would have been commissioned by your mother’s family or your real father.”
“I suppose it could have been him. My mother’s parents died years ago, and they had no other children. The family home went to Frederick, my cousin. I hardly knew him, though. Mother was not close to any of her family, and now I know why. She had the disgrace of producing a child out of wedlock.” Hetty looked at the locket on the desk with renewed interest. “I still cannot understand why she didn’t tell me about my real father.”
“I’m sure she tried to do what she thought best, Hetty. She had your welfare to think about. The locket has a distinct filigree pattern on the back. Perhaps it will give us a clue to its origin. Do you think your father had a portrait done of himself as well?”
Her eyes brightened. “If he had, then perhaps he would have given it to my mother along with this one, but then she would have had to keep it hidden, of course.”
Robert stood up and pocketed the locket. “Leave it with me, Hetty. I will see if I can find out who the maker of the locket is. Philip Denby has a steward who is an expert on such matters. He may recognise the design or the artist. I will also arrange for the repairs to the catch so you can wear it properly again.”
“Thank you, Robert. It would mean so much to me just to know his name.” Her voice was full of excitement, and he was touched by the emotion in her eyes.
He would make it his business to find out who her real father was, and hoped whoever it turned out to be would be worthy of having Hetty as a daughter.
***
Guvere looked grey and worn as he was ushered into Robert’s office, and the doctor knew his appearance had something to do with Thomas Brown. When he had left Haslar two days ago, his patient’s breathing had been stable, but he still hadn’t regained consciousness. The waiting game was relentless, and Guvere appeared to have dropped his guard.
“He’s gone! I don’t know how he managed it, but he’s disappeared.”
Robert was puzzled as he poured his guest a brandy.
“Could he have been taken? It seems unlikely with the number of guards you had posted all around the building.”
Guvere shook his head. “He departed under his own free will. He left this.”
Robert took the piece of paper and read the short message.
I have not finished my mission – there is one more task I have to complete. If anything should happen to me, I have arranged for the information I have collected over the last months to be made available to you.
Robert frowned. “So he does have some information for you. Have you discovered any connection he might have had with Avebury?”
“No, but I am unravelling the man’s story for the years he was missing, and cracks are appearing. I think your suspicions may be well-founded, but I need more time.”
“Do you think he is mixed up with Brown’s disappearance? If Avebury had wind of Brown’s existence, he might try to get rid of him.”
“Avebury would not recognise the name Thomas Brown, but he might recognise his face or know him by his real identity…which I cannot reveal, even to you, Doctor.” He drained his glass then rose. “I have to get to London tonight to explain this latest development. I can only pray that Brown is true to his word, or else I fear I will be out of a job very soon. I will be in touch concerning the progress of my enquiries.”
Robert grew uneasy as he watched Guvere leave. Thomas Brown’s connection with Anthony Avebury disturbed him, but Anthony Avebury’s interest in Hetty disturbed him much more.
***
The last rays of sun crept down the walls of Longwood House as the small party approached. The carriage swept past a huge round pond which Robert remembered covered with lily pads. The pink and white blooms created a bold display where he and his brother, Stephen, had nurtured the tadpoles beneath. Now it was dark and weed-bound, and he mentally noted to have it cleared as soon as possible.
The grounds looked like a forgotten land where the buds of life were just beginning to reappear, and the house was showing signs of its former elegance under the careful instructions of his overseer.
He stepped down from the coach and turned to hand down Hetty, her aunt, and Annie. He had guessed Amelia Avebury would welcome the chance to come to Longwood as Hetty’s chaperone. He had been pleased to give her an excuse to get away from Avebury Hall for a while and he knew how fond Hetty was of her aunt, even though they were not related.
Casting a critical eye over his home, he let out a small sigh of contentment as he escorted them up the front steps. The oldest part of the building dated back to the seventeenth century, but an additional wing had been added later. The only clue to the addition was the difference in the aged pallor of the cream stone.
His chest tightened as images from his past life danced all around him.
***
As Hetty stepped through the huge oak door, she couldn’t help wishing Longwood had a drawbridge which she could pull up once they were inside to keep the likes of Rose and the Aveburys at bay. Marriage to Robert was something that she still dreamed about, but there were still too many unanswered questions to really believe it could be so.
Rose and her clandestine visit to Robert’s town house still haunted her, especially as he had offe
red no explanation. Robert’s motives for proposing marriage also worried her. Had she been responsible for denying him a second chance of happiness with Rose? If that was so, he might eventually come to resent any honour-bound proposal to her.
She also needed to find her real roots before she made any decisions about her future. Was she worthy of being the wife of the Earl of Chedbury? With a sigh, she pushed the uncomfortable thoughts from her head.
Annie and Aunt Amelia were busy inspecting the main rooms. Hetty smiled as her maid assumed the air of authority which a prospective candidate for housekeeper would adopt.
“It’s a fine house, Miss Hetty. It has a nice, kind feel about the walls.”
Hetty had to agree as they walked into a drawing room with three huge arched windows. This room had a cream and blue striped wallpaper with matching sapphire drapes and was obviously still in the process of being furnished. They continued their inspection of the rest of the rooms.
Even though the renovations were still in progress, Hetty had fallen in love with the elegant charm of the house. She wanted to thoroughly explore Longwood and learn all about the history of the Withingtons. It was difficult to get Robert to talk about his childhood years, but she sensed he had been brought up happily enough. The change in fortune of his family had blighted his life, and she knew he had not forgiven his father for his suicide or his gambling. But she wished he could find a way to do so.
Robert had obviously adored his mother. Hetty remembered the one brief sentence when he had spoken of her back on the ship. She had the most glorious golden hair. The softly spoken words had told her everything of their relationship.
She jumped as his voice jolted her out of her thoughts. “Ladies, shall we take a turn around the grounds?”
“Precisely what I need,” Hetty replied with a delighted grin. “My knees are locked from being in the same position in that carriage.”
Aunt Amelia frowned. “Do not go too far, Hetty. You need to rest. Doctor Withington, I trust you to look after my niece. She is prone to exploring new territory with very little restraint. I expect you to keep the walk to an appropriate and short route.” She eyed him sternly. “And take Annie with you.”
“Of course, madam,” he replied. “I will ensure that there is no tree climbing or unseemly behaviour.”
He then gave Amelia that rare, devastating smile. Hetty was slightly concerned with the charm he could sprinkle on unsuspecting females when his customary frown was replaced with that smile. Her aunt’s cheeks had turned a little pink and there was a distinct twinkle in her tired eyes as she turned toward the door and left for her bedchamber.
***
Robert and Hetty walked past the stables, around the edge of an untended field, then proceeded uphill to a small clump of trees. Here they sat on a wooden bench, watching as the evening sun made a silhouette of the house and the surrounding outbuildings. In the distance, a small hamlet lay to the left and patchwork fields skirted a wood on the right.
Annie sat on a tree stump a few yards away, obligingly keeping her distance and enabling them to talk in private.
“Longwood is going to be a splendid house, Robert – is a splendid house,” Hetty said.
He nodded.
She glanced at him as they sat, and had no idea of his thoughts. She desperately wanted to share them. Why did he have this annoying habit of falling silent just when she wanted to talk? It was as if he was on the point of revealing something important, then he would decide not to.
“You and your brother were happy growing up here, were you not? I know there was the problem of the gambling, but it does⏤”
“Problem?” Robert gave a harsh laugh. “You mean the sudden loss of everything of value? Yes, that was some problem.”
Hetty was quite annoyed at his sarcasm until he looked down and smiled with such tenderness it made her insides melt.
“Thank you for caring. It’s just…” He breathed out slowly. “It still hurts, the way it all ended. Especially now with you coming here.”
“Me!” Hetty frowned at him.
“Yes, my little gambler. I keep thinking if only I had helped Father instead of condemning him.”
“Like you helped me,” Hetty replied. “But, Robert, you were much younger then. You couldn’t be expected to influence your father as you did me. You looked up to him, respected him. It wasn’t the same at all.”
“Well, I certainly respect you, Hetty, especially your very generous heart. You are right, of course. We were happy. Stephen and I had a wonderful childhood, although we were very different in temperament.”
Hetty grinned. “I wager you were a very studious boy.”
“Most of the time,” he agreed. “My brother was the impulsive one, and I was the thinker. He used to get into trouble more often than me because he never thought things through, never had his plan perfected. He was a bit like you, Hetty, but not as pretty, of course.”
“He was very unlike you then,” she replied, “as you would consider your proposed actions and then diagnose the outcome.”
He smiled at the light, mocking note in her voice. “Exactly so, which makes me sound as if I have always been about one hundred and three. But there were a few exceptions to this rule.”
“Really!” She leaned back slightly, grinning up at him. “Such as?”
“There was the time of my experiment to develop a new, improved explosive. It turned out to be more improved than even I had anticipated, and I managed to blow up the East Wing.”
Hetty gasped. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No. A few people blackened and singed but no serious injuries, although two rooms were completely wrecked. I think that was the only time my father beat me, other than the time my brother and I slipped out one night to meet two…” He stopped, as if suddenly aware that particular example was not suitable for this discussion.
Hetty laughed. “My! And here was I thinking you were a cautious, steady sort of man.”
“My mother was very cross with my reckless actions. She always thought she could depend on me, being the more sensible of her sons. Whereas, I think Father, despite the thrashing, was rather impressed by my new formula. I heard him explain to Sir Phillip Denby the amazing possibilities for its use.”
“Your father did love you, and he was proud of you, Robert. You were lucky. I wish I had been given the opportunity to know my father.”
Robert was silent for a moment, and she sensed her words had stung him. But when he finally spoke his tone was full of warmth.
“If your real father had known you, I am sure he would have loved you dearly and been extremely proud of you – whatever your faults,” he added with a grin.
He rose and put out a hand to help her to her feet. The caress of his fingers through her glove set a quiver of warmth streaking through her body. She returned the pressure, but as he continued to keep her hand in his, she raised her eyes and dealt him a look of mock horror.
“Annie has that spoilt milk look on her face,” she warned, nodding toward her maid.
Smiling, he raised her hand and kissed her glove. Then with a sigh, he placed her hand on his arm.
“Come, we should get back before the sun sets. I do not want to incur your aunt’s wrath.”
He led her down the hill and followed the path that skirted the lake until it snaked back toward the house.
***
Thomas Brown winced as he climbed through the open window in the shadows of Avebury Hall. His body was unusually frail from the inactivity of the last months, and he cursed at his clumsiness in a pursuit at which he was usually expert.
He paused as his feet touched the floor, then he crept through the house in search of his prey. Turning into the west wing, he noticed a light under the door at the far end of the hall.
On reaching the door, he paused and listened carefully. There were no voices, just the sound of someone shuffling papers. He tightened his hand around the pistol.
Silently nudging the door op
en, he levelled his weapon at the lone figure sitting at the desk before stepping in and locking the door behind him.
***
Henry Avebury, alerted by the soft click of the lock, looked up then levered himself to his feet.
“What the devil…” He broke off then stumbled back into his seat as he saw the gun and the intense look of hatred on the intruder’s face. “What do you want? Who are you?”
“I wanted your son, but as he doesn’t seem to be here, perhaps you can tell me in which pit of depravity he is presently skulking.”
Henry had already deduced the man had some grievance with his son. He was one of many – but his victims didn’t often pursue him to his family home. Anthony usually dealt with disputes swiftly and quietly.
“I have no idea where he is at the moment. He has been gone for a few days.”
Brown sat down opposite Henry and rested his feet on the desk.
“I am intrigued by what sort of person spawns an animal like your son. You have a lot to answer for, Avebury.”
Henry had spent a lifetime defending Anthony, but just at that moment, with his last days closing in on him, he found he had neither the inclination nor the strength to do so any more.
“What has my son done to upset you?” His tone was almost weary.
“Where is he?”
“I really have no idea.”
Brown again levelled the gun at him.
“Think hard, Avebury, and while you do I will fill in the last few years of your son’s life for you.”
Thomas Brown finished his story as Henry swallowed the last of his whisky. He trembled with shame and revulsion. At that moment he wanted the bullet in Thomas Brown’s gun – he would have welcomed it.
He knew the Avebury name could be dragged no lower after hearing of his son’s treachery. He was glad he hadn’t any other sons to bear the humiliation. As for Hetty, she would be thankful of her distance from the family, not being of Avebury blood. He still feared for her safety, and he hoped Withington had acted on his advice in the letter he had sent.