by Janet Woods
Robert grinned happily at that. ‘The master was allus good with his hands, and pitched in when any maintenance was needed on the house.’
‘Quite.’ Magnus allowed the mistake to go by, though by now they should be thinking of himself as their master. ‘My uncle also wished us all a happy Christmas for the one before last. Rather belated, I’m afraid.’
‘The sentiment’s the same. Thank you, sir. The staff will be relieved to hear that he’s all right.’
‘He’s given me instructions to crack open a bottle of brandy and drink his health, so if you would all present yourself to the library this evening after dinner, we shall do that and I’ll read you his letter.’
‘That’s right nice of him, sir. And of you, of course.’ Robert tipped his cap and moved off, hugging his arms against his body to ward off the cold.
The horse nearly jerked the reins from his hands.
‘Have some patience, and kindly remember you’re between the shafts today.’
When they were safely past the stone eagles and on the open road, Magnus had to fight to keep the beast under his control. After a while the gelding settled into a comfortable trot and he breathed a sigh of relief. With thirty miles to cover he didn’t want the animal winded when they’d hardly started out.
Later in the morning, he stopped outside Ignatious Grimble’s mansion and handed his rig over to the groom. His horse could rest before the return journey. From here they would walk up the hill and along the west cliff to his uncle’s house, which overlooked the sea.
Ignatious Grimble was beginning to resemble a turtle, Magnus thought as they shook hands and started walking through the town centre. He wondered how old Ignatious was, since he’d also been his grandfather’s solicitor. Magnus vaguely remembered him from his childhood, but couldn’t remember him looking any younger than he did now. He was sprightly enough though, and had fathered eleven children from two wives, now deceased.
‘You look more like your father and uncle every time I see you,’ Ignatious said. ‘The Kern blood runs strongly in you. They were all imposing-looking men.’
‘As long as it’s only their looks I’ve inherited.’
A cackle of laughter came from the old man. ‘You would have enjoyed the adventurous life they led, I’m sure. When he was a young man, about your age, your great-great-great-grandfather cuckolded the local magistrate and had to live abroad for a while. He ended up in Corsica. There he purchased a ship and became a pirate, building up his networks. He made himself a fortune.’
‘And he married Esmerelda Rey, the daughter of one of his partners in crime, brought her back to England and set up house in Fierce Eagles.’
‘Isolated, and perfect for smuggling goods into England.’
‘Yes, Mr Grimble. It’s certainly that, and I’ve been brought up on tales of the exploits of my ancestry.’ Not caring if he sounded prim, he added, ‘I feel no urge to emulate them.’
‘I’m sure you don’t, Magnus. Nearly everyone got ahead by dishonest means in those days. Money meant power, and plunder and smuggling became a Kern family enterprise.’
‘Which stops with me. If I ever have sons they’ll be brought up to earn a decent and honest living. I don’t want to risk early death from a bullet or a hangman’s rope, and leave them orphaned.’
‘Your father made provision for you, and your uncle did a good job of bringing you up.’
Magnus gave a faint smile. ‘John told me it was too late for him, but as the last of the Kerns it was my moral duty to redeem the family name.’
‘I’m sure that’s something you will do admirably.’
As they began to head up the cliff road Magnus slowed his step to accommodate the older man’s. He chuckled. ‘Are you? Others are not quite so certain of my honesty. More often than not I manage to attract shady characters to my law business.’
‘Somebody has to represent them.’
‘But I rarely make any money.’
Ignatious sighed. ‘You have an ample fortune in investments behind you, Magnus. You don’t need to earn more money. Look at it this way. By and large, the wealth you already have was not honestly earned. You’re giving a little of it back to the poor, in kind. I imagine that’s what your uncle meant by moral duty and redemption of the family name.
‘Magnus Kern, philanthropist?’ This time he laughed. ‘Considering my background, my Uncle John sets a high standard for me.’
‘He does, but he was of the opinion that most men would surrender pride for a price, while you would do the opposite.’
Magnus laughed at that and his glance went to the sea. The air was fresh and bracing, the water a pewter stretch of ripples into a horizon that was almost white. The tide was on the ebb leaving a pattern of damp, ridged sand behind. Seagulls followed the foamy hem of the water, pecking up stranded baby crabs and transparent shrimps as they were uncovered. Along the water mark a man walked with his dog.
Magnus recalled that his uncle’s old dog had died not long after his master had left. He’d gone to sleep on the rug in front of the fire and hadn’t bothered to wake, knowing his adventuring days were over. Magnus hadn’t replaced him.’
‘I heard from my uncle today. The letter was written six months ago. He was in a place called Coolgardie that’s situated in the west.’
‘An odd name for a town.’
‘I was wondering if you’d had any more recent news of him since.’
‘John’s not a man to be found unless he wants to be.’ Grimble flicked him a look. ‘But aye, he does report in to a mutual agent from time to time. There was a telegraph message from him about three months ago. He was well, and was still looking for gold.’
‘Is that all he said?’
‘He said he was managing quite well, and that the lack of personal comforts and the hardship and the poverty of others had changed his priorities, and . . .’
‘And?’
‘That was just about it. The house looks well from the outside doesn’t it?’
‘Mr Grimble. You’re trying to sidetrack me.’
The man stopped at the white-painted gate. Smuggler’s View the house was called. ‘Apt . . . very apt,’ Grimble murmured, and turned back to him. ‘May I remind you that I’m your uncle’s solicitor as well as his friend. I handle John’s affairs personally, while my sons manage the rest of the business. I keep confidential the business between us and carry out his wishes to the letter. Rest assured, if anything untoward happens, I will make sure you are informed and consulted with immediately.’
Magnus had to be content with that. ‘Thank you, Ignatious. I understand perfectly, and his business couldn’t be in better hands, though I would have wished to be trusted with it.’
‘Sometimes having an executor within a family can be detrimental to both parties. Now, if you’re agreeable, we will drop the matter and attend to the business at hand.’
‘Yes, of course.’
Three storeys high, Smuggler’s View overlooked the bay to the Isle of Purbeck, a view that could never be built out. The house was roomy enough to cater for a large family, but not ostentatiously so.
Ignatious told him, ‘They’re good tenants, and are willing to renegotiate the rent if we’ll renew the lease for the life of their relative. She’s an elderly lady who resides here for the benefits of the sea air. She is not expected to live much longer.’
‘Allowing the tenant to dictate the terms of the lease is not a good business practice, neither is taking a gamble on longevity. What if the lady lives longer than expected, and John returns?’
‘I daresay you’ll offer him a home at Fierce Eagles.’
‘Offering is not the problem, but my uncle has stated he’ll never live there again. I do have to think of his welfare, and not out of duty but because I love the man as if he was my own father. I suggest we renew the lease on six monthly terms, payable in advance, and at a rent that’s reasonable for this area. When that time is up, we’ll give them the first option on another s
ix months. If the lady is not expected to live, then they should welcome the chance not to be encumbered with a long lease.’
Ignatious Grimble gave a faint smile as he pushed open the gate. ‘You’re as astute as John believed you were. You were always a studious, steady and thoughtful child – and a steadying influence on my son, Gerald, for which I’m grateful.’
‘Gerald and I are the best of friends, always will be.’
The inspection didn’t take long. The invalid lady managed to walk with a stick, but she ran out of breath easily and placed her hand against her chest to ease it. Having been paraded and her condition witnessed, she was ushered away by a nurse. Her son was happy with the lease arrangement, and they departed.
An hour later Magnus was in Poole, knocking at the door of a smaller house situated in the lower part of Constitution Hill. A maid he’d never seen before showed him into the drawing room. ‘I’ll enquire if Mrs Parkhurst will see you.’
Magnus raised an eyebrow at that. He paid Isabelle’s rent and expected her to be able to see him on short notice.
She came in five minutes later, looking slightly flustered, her dark hair hastily styled, and wearing a fussy, over-decorated pink gown that he didn’t particularly like. She was uncorseted, for her flesh strained against the material at the waist. ‘Magnus, I wasn’t expecting you. You usually visit on Friday evening.’
‘Yes, I do seem to be a creature of habit, don’t I? I was over this way and decided to drop in. A pleasant surprise, I hope.’
‘Of course. It’s always a pleasure to see you, Magnus.’
She was flustered, and he was suspicious. ‘You look dishevelled, Isabelle. Were you in bed?’
A blush seeped under her skin. ‘I had a bad headache earlier today . . . I’d been resting. then I took a bath to relax me.’
‘Ah, so that’s why the maid said you might not be able to see me. And is this bad headache gone now?’
She shrugged. ‘It was nothing, really, and the maid’s new.’ Isabelle moved to the sherry decanter on the table. ‘Would you like some refreshment?’
‘I came to see you, Isabelle. Do you not have a kiss for me?’
She came and stood in front of him, the alarm now faded from her brown eyes. She was a beautiful woman, and he’d known her before she was widowed. Her luscious mouth showed a row of white even teeth when she smiled and surrendered her mouth to his. There was a faint smell of cigar smoke in her hair as her body pressed against him, humid, and musky with perspiration. Ringlets curled damply against her pale neck. She’d lied about the bath.
There came the sound of the door to the street stealthily closing.
He resisted the urge to cross to the window and see who was leaving. ‘Were you entertaining a man when I arrived?’
She turned her head away. ‘I told you, I was taking a bath.’
Taking her chin between finger and thumb he turned her face back to his. ‘You smell of tobacco smoke. Are you telling me the truth? Shall I call the maid and see what she has to say?’
She shrugged. ‘I told her to leave us alone together. As for the cigar smoke, my former brother-in-law visited earlier. We shared a glass of wine in the conservatory because the sun had warmed it. He smoked. It was probably that which gave me the headache.’
He didn’t know whether to believe her or not. ‘Strange that he felt he had to sneak out without being introduced.’
‘Oh, he left much earlier. It would have been the maid leaving on an errand. Don’t be so suspicious, Magnus.’ She stroked her hand against his groin and her voice took on a husky, but slightly sullen note. ‘Are you staying the night?’
The thought of sleeping with her when she might have come from another man’s embrace was abhorrent to him. In fact, despite looking forward to his encounter with Isabelle, his need had suddenly fled. But no doubt it would be back.
‘I think not, Isabelle. I’ll be here as usual on Friday, and I’d be obliged if you’d change the bed sheets and take a bath.’
Anger fired in her eyes. ‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy about our arrangement. It’s not as if we’re married, and you weren’t so fussy when I was wed to Henry.’
‘I wasn’t supporting you financially then.’
‘Just cuckolding a business client. Do you think that paying my rent gives you exclusive use of my body and control over my life? I can quite afford to pay my own rent.’
‘I’m well aware of your financial state. You’d be a prize for some man.’ Perhaps he was taking her too much for granted.
‘But not for you, obviously. If you want me exclusively you can put a ring on my finger and move me into Fierce Eagles.’
He felt genuine surprised at that. ‘Marriage?’
‘Does it surprise you that I might want a secure relationship, and normal things like a child of my own?’
‘Yes, it does. You were an unfaithful wife to Henry, and you’d be the same to me. You’re a trollop. How many other men are paying your rent?’
She laughed. ‘Do you really want me to tell you?’
‘Yes.’
‘None. Just you, Magnus Kern. You’re jealous.’
He wasn’t, and that bothered him. His feelings for Isabelle didn’t go past the physical. He was comfortable in such an arrangement as they had, and so was she, he’d thought. He was also selfish. Like any other beautiful possession he admired certain aspects of her. But did he want to marry her?’
‘I’ve always been honest with you Isabelle. I’m not looking to wed just yet, but if I were . . .’ He shrugged, left himself uncommitted, because he still wouldn’t want marriage with her. ‘Would you rather we brought this relationship to an end?’
She moved against him again and began to loosen his cravat. ‘Don’t be silly, Magnus. You’ve spoiled me for any other man and I’ve been totally faithful to you. I think of nobody else.’ When she pressed a kiss against the hollow of his throat his desire came back. Shrugging out of his coat, he pulled open her gown, slid it from her creamy shoulders and watched it pool around her ankles.
She was full-bodied, her breasts ripe, her hips wide and her thighs firm and heavy. He reached out with a fingertip, caressed each rosy nipple, so they sprang hard against her silky skin. The smell of soap rose from the dark apex of her thighs and he felt ashamed of himself.
‘I’m sorry I was mean.’
She kissed him, released his trousers bringing him surging against her. ‘Be mean to me again. Punish me. Let’s go upstairs so we can play games.’
What if her room smelled of smoke? What if the bed was rumpled? He decided he didn’t want to know one way or the other. ‘I haven’t got time, there’s no moon tonight and I want to be home before dark.’
‘Then let’s do it here.’ She pushed him gently on to the chair and straddled his lap.
Sliding his hands under each dimpled buttock he said against her ear. ‘Yes, let’s.’
Later, he handed her the jeweller’s box he’d brought with him. ‘Happy birthday, Isabelle.’
She exclaimed over the diamond brooch. ‘You remembered?’
‘Of course I remembered. Don’t I always?’
‘Just like a proper husband,’ she mocked.
The hair on his neck prickled a warning. Isabelle was tightening the noose a little. From now on he must be careful not to say anything that would give her hope.
He’d stayed later than he’d meant to. His horse gave him an annoyed look and stamped its foreleg a couple of times. Soon they were heading home, at a faster pace than usual. As the light began to wane the air grew bitterly cold and the horse began to blow. One of the servants had possessed the sense to open the gates and hang a couple of lanterns on the gateposts. He gave the horse a little slack, and as the last vestige of light fled he passed under the scrutiny of the eagles.
The groom must have heard him coming and the door to the stables opened, spilling light from the lanterns across the yard. Robert stepped forward to take the lathered horse away. ‘Sorry, Rob. I
was held up and had to push him.’
‘He’s up to it. It’ll take the ginger out of him a bit. He’ll be all right after a good rub down and a feed.’
Magnus grinned. He was in need of a good feed too. He’d already had the rub down. As he strode towards the house he mused that he’d had both an interesting and productive day.
The house looked warm and welcoming. He’d always liked Fierce Eagles, and had been astounded when his uncle had gifted the place to him.
As he entered the hall he looked up at the portrait of the former mistress of the house. Dressed in dark red satin, her dainty, bejewelled hand held a fan. Her daughter was about eleven, and clothed in pink taffeta and lace. Margaret leaned into her mother’s lap, grave-faced except for a hint of mischief in those innocent green eyes that looked straight at him.
Poor John, to lose both of the women he loved. Margaret had been lovely, delicate, and lively and she would have grown up to be like her mother. Magnus had loved his sweet little cousin. Perhaps he would have married her had she lived. John would have liked that.
He avoided the drawing room, instead heading for the cosy confines of his study, where he knew a fire would have been kept burning for his return. Pouring himself a brandy he took the chair by the fire and savoured each sip as he waited to be called to his dinner.
The staff would be waiting with some eagerness to hear the news from his uncle, and he smiled as he reached out and touched the missive.
Three
Sarette had settled into the shelter that John Kern called home.
He’d built another lean-to on the side for her, just like his own, so she could have some privacy. A wooden frame supported flour sacks sewn together for walls, and a slope of corrugated tin. He made a bed frame from branches to keep her off the ground, and stood the legs in tins of water with kerosene in them to keep the ants at bay.