Star-Crossed Summer

by Sarah Stanley

  In the carriage, Rowan raised an eyebrow. ‘Well? Was it the right fellow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you now know more about Beth?’

  Guy shook his head. ‘No, because the greasy porker denied any knowledge of her. One thing of interest, however, he is an agent for leasing and selling properties. Now why, I wonder, might the delectable Miss Tremoille be associating with such a person? She has money and wishes to begin a new life. What better than to take a lease in some remote part of the land?’

  ‘Money? Beth? There’s yet more you haven’t told me, isn’t there?’

  Guy sighed. ‘Yes.’ He related the story of the theft of the thousand guineas and how he’d first found Beth.

  Rowan was uncomfortable. ‘Guy, after everything else you’ve told me today, you now expect me to believe that Beth – Beth? – stole that money and might even be guilty of murder? You’re mad!’

  ‘View her in a bowl of roses if you wish, my friend, but I know better. I’m not so sure about her having had a hand in Joshua’s demise, but she definitely took the money, and had it hidden in a basket beneath a damned pheasant when I conveyed her to Gloucester. I had her, damn it.’ Guy’s fist clenched on the carriage sill.

  Rowan watched the emotions cross the other’s face, and exhaled heavily. ‘So, what now? You’ll offer Topweather a bribe?’

  ‘No. We’ll pay his premises a visit tonight. If Beth took out a lease with him, the documents will be in his office.’

  Rowan’s jaw dropped yet again. ‘Pray pass me the sal volatile! You’re going to break into his offices and you expect me to help you?’

  ‘It will keep you out of mischief.’ Guy’s humour returned a little.

  But that night, when the moon was clear and the stars bright over London, Guy and Rowan found nothing at 15 Easterden Street. There was a notice pinned to the outer door, informing anyone interested that Mr Henry Topweather was out of town on business. Once inside, a thorough search proved fruitless. Except, perhaps, for a gap in the files between the names Albrighton and Alford. It was too much of a coincidence, and Guy knew a name was missing; Alder. Topweather had gone to Beth. To warn her? Blackmail her? And where? Where on God’s own earth was Beth Tremoille?

  Beth and Landry returned separately from another assignation at the secret hollow on the cliff. The army searched Stone Valley a few times, but never when the lovers were there, and three days after the Porworthy riot the soldiers returned to barracks. Beth and Landry went to the hollow as often as they could, to make love and lie naked together, safe in the knowledge that no one would see them. They could be sure because Landry now brought a trusted servant to guard the horses and make sure no one climbed to the cliff top.

  The villagers of Haldane knew something was going on, and Beth was aware that the Dower House tenant was under constant scrutiny. They were unlikely to approve of a young woman who accompanied him up to the cliff top where they were alone and out of sight for hours. She felt as alive as she could be without Guy, but deep down knew she was living in a fool’s paradise. This became abundantly clear when she arrived back at the Dower House to find Mrs Cobbett kneading dough on the table, thumping it busily from side to side and singing as she worked. As Beth entered, the housekeeper indicated a letter behind a candlestick on the mantelshelf. ‘That was pushed under the door, Miss Beth. I found it about half an hour back. I didn’t see who brought it, and there’s nothing on it to say who sent it. The wrong name is on it, but I reckon it’s probably you. A Mrs Alder?’ The housekeeper’s attention returned prudently to the dough.

  Beth was seized with apprehension. Who would write to her? Trying to appear unconcerned, she took the letter to the privacy of the parlour to break the sealing wax and read. It’s time for partners to meet again, but not on this occasion in connection with Belvedere’s. Be at home at eight o’clock tonight. There was no signature, but the hand could only be Henry Topweather’s. What could he want? The apprehension settled coldly into the pit of her stomach.

  Time passed on leaden feet for the rest of that day. Beth’s anxiety was so intense that she felt ill, but at last it drew close to eight o’clock. The sun was hidden behind thick clouds, so the evening had closed in earlier than usual. A new breeze ruffled the surface of the bay, and the choppy waves along the shore were tipped with white as Beth, unable to bear the house any longer, strolled along the path toward the rocks where Landry had found her only two weeks before. It was a little cool, but such was her unease that she didn’t feel it. She kept glancing toward the top of the drive, and eventually a horseman rode into view, a rather fat horseman on a broad black cob. She recognized the agent, and reluctantly returned to the house.

  Billy emerged from the stables to attend to the cob, and Topweather dismounted, slowly easing his bulk down from the saddle, obviously aching and uncomfortable. Beth felt no sympathy. He may have been instrumental in her acquisition of more money through Belvedere’s, but he revolted her, and she was certain that his visit now did not bode well. Seeing her, the agent made his way along the path that led around the Dower House garden. He wore a tall hat, brown coat, black waistcoat and ridiculously tight breeches that emphasized his bulging belly. She went into the shadows of the garden, which was on a side of the house well away from Molly and Mrs Cobbett in the kitchens. This meeting had to be a private as possible, for fear of what he might have to say. She faced him by a pink climbing rose that twined around one of the veranda posts.

  ‘Why do you wish to see me, sir?’

  He smirked. ‘Well now, that’s hardly a friendly opening, Mrs Alder. Or is it Miss Alder? Perchance even Miss Tremoille?’

  A shaft of ice pierced her. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘So you’re not even going to offer me the hospitality of a cup of tea?’ His eyes were small and hard. ‘And don’t insult my intelligence by playing the innocent, madam. I haven’t come all this way to be fobbed off. I mean to get what I want.’

  ‘Which is?’

  His hot gaze moved over her, pausing on the curves of her breasts. ‘You’re a very beautiful woman, quite the most lovely thing I’ve ever set eyes on. Fanciful dreams about you keep my right hand very busy at night, but I want a lot more than dreams, my dear. I want to get into your bed with you.’

  She tried to conceal her revulsion behind a mask of indifference, but the sickness in her stomach was turning to dread. ‘And why do you imagine I would consent?’

  ‘Because I know you’re not who and what you say you are, and you came dishonestly into your original money. Sir Guy Valmer badly wants to know where you are, and said you might call yourself Alder or Tremoille. Now then, what do you say to that?’

  Her mouth was dry, the palms of her hands were cold and damp, and her whole body trembled. In the sudden silence she could hear a horse by the stables, and knew Billy was walking the black cob to be sure its legs didn’t stiffen after a long ride over the moor from Dulverford, where she would later learn the agent had lodged at the Cross Keys inn. ‘I – I have nothing to say to you, Mr Topweather,’ she answered at last, aware that in spite of her efforts the tremble extended to her voice.

  ‘It’s my guess that you’re the same Miss Tremoille that solicitors in Caradine Street have been seeking for months now. Why are all these persons looking for you? It seems to me that you might wish to buy my silence. A night enjoying you would certainly ensure my discretion for a while.’

  ‘But you’d come back again and again. I’m not a fool, so please go to hell.’

  ‘First let us consider the alternatives. For instance, if I go away from here unsatisfied, I guarantee that Valmer will immediately learn of your whereabouts. I’m sure he’d pay well for such information.’

  ‘Do that and I will broadcast your duplicity in the St Clair case.’

  ‘You’d have to prove it, my dear, and my associate in that instance has rather more power and influence than you realize. And he likes to keep things in th
e family.’ Mr Justice Baynsdon, she thought, as he continued, ‘I’ll say it just once more, either you’re nice to me, sweetheart, or I spill the lot to Valmer, who doesn’t seem the sort of cove to offend, eh? Cool, calculating and cruel, is how I’d describe him.’ He moved closer to her, close enough to put his hand to her throat and stroke her skin with his damp thumb. She froze, almost gagging on the smell of cheap cologne and sour sweat. Interpreting her inaction as acquiescence, he began to paw her. ‘Come on now, it’s just a few steps to the house.’ He groped at her right breast, applying his other hand to his genitals, rubbing busily as his excitement began to mount. Suddenly his mouth was over hers. His lips were wet and sloppy, and his breath so repellent that her stomach heaved. He was so abhorrent that at last she resisted, beating her fists against his head, clawing at his eyes and kicking his shins. The dread and nausea almost choked her, but no matter how she fought and tried to scream, his strength and weight proved too much. He clamped a hand over her mouth, and tore at her flimsy gown with the other. He grunted as he tried to thrust his groin against her, but his thick girth hampered him. He fumbled with the falls of his breeches to expose his swollen member, and began to force her down on to the lawn beside the veranda. Her gown caught on rose thorns, and petals and leaves fell on to her face as she continued to resist him. His fingers pried roughly between her legs, trying to push inside her, and he continued to rub his erection against her. His breaths were shorter and swifter, and she knew he was close to ejaculation.

  Revulsion almost robbed her of consciousness, but then, quite suddenly, she heard a thud, and suddenly his strength gave out and he slumped heavily on to her, his breath rattling in his throat. What was wrong with him? A heart attack? The rattling ceased, and he became utterly still. With a frightened cry she managed to push him off and scramble away.

  Someone helped her to her feet. ‘Are you all right, Miss Beth? Miss Beth?’ It was Billy, who’d been alerted by her muffled screams.

  ‘Oh, Billy,’ she whispered, gripping his arms to steady herself.

  ‘You’re safe now, Miss Beth, he’s out cold. I whacked him with a log.’ Billy put his coat around her to hide her torn bodice, which now exposed far more than was seemly. Then he knelt by Topweather, slapping him to bring him around. Beth looked at the log, and then at the blood oozing from the wound at the back of Topweather’s head. There was something uncannily lifeless about him and, as the thought crept over her, Billy looked up, frightened. ‘Oh, my Gawd, I’ve killed him! He’s dead, Miss Beth, he’s dead!’ She began to shiver violently, and glanced around fearfully, wondering if there had been any witnesses. But they were in a very private part of the garden. The only place from which they might have been seen was the top of Rendisbury Hill, but the road was deserted. ‘Miss Beth?’ Billy was panic-stricken. ‘What’ll I do, Miss Beth? I don’t want to swing!’

  ‘I won’t let that happen!’ she cried, but her shocked mind was numb.

  At that moment the French doors from the parlour opened and Mrs Cobbett emerged, brandishing a saucepan. Molly peered from behind her. ‘What’s going on out here?’ the housekeeper demanded, and then her face changed as she saw Beth. ‘Miss Beth? Oh, my dear life, is that a body?’ She stared at Topweather’s body.

  The little coachman was distraught. ‘I did it, Mrs C. He was attacking Miss Beth, and so I clouted him with that log. Now he’s dead! Oh, my Gawd, he’s dead!’

  Molly gasped and hid her mouth with her hands, but Mrs Cobbett had her wits about her. ‘Who is he?’

  Beth answered, ‘The London agent from whom I leased this house. He believed he knew something about me that would force me to – well, I think you can guess.’ She parted Billy’s coat to show her torn bodice.

  Mrs Cobbett was appalled. ‘The dirty, misbegotten dog,’ she muttered, and then looked around urgently. ‘There’s no one about now. Do you think you were seen?’

  Beth shook her head tearfully. ‘I’m sure not, Mrs Cobbett, although any number of people might have witnessed him coming here.’

  The housekeeper pushed the saucepan into Molly’s hands and stepped down from the veranda to put her arms around Beth. ‘It’s all right now, my dear, we’ll sort this out.’ She glanced up at the darkening skies. ‘It’s lucky it’s such a lowering evening. Not many will be out. Molly, you get on over to my sister’s and tell her I need the pony and trap urgently. She won’t ask questions, and you can drive it back here.’

  ‘I can’t drive!’ Molly cried, bursting into tears.

  ‘Billy, you go with her. But first, did the murdered man come by horse? He did? Then we’ll use it to help with the climb up to the Porworthy road. I’ll get the second harness out when you’ve gone, and I’ll go with you, Billy. We can leave the body by the wayside, with the horse. A couple of highwaymen were busy along there early in the year, and folk will think they’ve started up again. Well, get on with it then, the sooner we get this done, the better for all of us. Bring the trap right here to the garden gate. We’ll lift the body into the back and cover it with something.’ As Billy and Molly hurried off, Mrs Cobbett looked fondly after them. ‘That soft hosebird Billy thinks he’s done a murder, when all he did was save you, Miss Beth.’

  It seemed an age before Billy and Molly led the pony and trap around to the garden gate, together with Topweather’s black cob, which they harnessed in front of the pony. Then, with some difficulty he and the three women managed to get the agent’s body into the trap and cover it with an old blanket. When they’d finished, Billy rode Topweather’s cob and Mrs Cobbett drove the trap for the laborious climb up Rendisbury Hill. As the silhouettes disappeared at the summit, Beth and Molly went back into the house. Molly touched Beth’s arm timidly. ‘Billy won’t be in trouble for this, will he? I mean, Mrs Cobbett’s plan will work, won’t it?’

  ‘Of course it will,’ Beth replied reassuringly, but with more resolution than she felt, for only time would tell. They adjourned to the kitchen, and it seemed a lifetime before they at last heard the trap returning. Billy attended to the pony and trap, and Mrs Cobbett came inside. ‘It’s done,’ she said, ‘and without a soul around. We left him half in the heather, half on the road, by the Rendisbury church signpost.’ She took a purse from her pocket. ‘And we relieved him of this too, to make it more convincing. Open up the range, there’s a good girl, Molly. Much as it grieves me, I’m going to burn it.’ She faced the two seated at the table. ‘Now then, I’ve been over and over it all with Billy, and he knows exactly what to say if we should be asked anything. I’ll say it again, so we all know what we should.’

  Beth smiled gratefully at her. ‘You’ve been a tower of strength tonight, Mrs Cobbett.’

  ‘I told you I was a fearsome old biddy when my dander’s up and bristling. A clear head in times of crisis, that’s me. Besides, I’ll do whatever’s needed to preserve our little household. Whatever’s needed. From now on we’ll all act as normal as can be when we go out, and when we’re in church come Sunday, we’ll sing like larks. No one is going to know from our faces that we’ve anything to hide.’

  Beth nodded, but already the enormity of what had happened filled her with fresh guilt and terror. Had this night’s events added involvement in a second murder to her tally of crimes? She closed her eyes, for all the stars in Heaven and beyond had crossed this summer, which was to have seen the happy transformation of her life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fog closed in from the Bristol Channel over the following days, a clammy grey cloak that created an air of eeriness. Topweather’s death shocked the area. His identity was established through the cob, which belonged to the Cross Keys in Dulverford. Posters were put up offering a reward for information leading to the arrest of the culprit or culprits, and several local men were suspected until they proved they were elsewhere during the relevant hours. The hue and cry died down within days, but rumour and speculation ran a longer course. No one came to the Dower House to ask questions, and no one appeared to have seen Topweat
her riding through Lannermouth. The awful crime was blamed upon highwaymen.

  When Sunday came, Beth’s red chariot left the Dower House in good time for morning service. It was warm and sunny, with a light breeze that rustled the trees and set the wayside grass dancing. Mrs Cobbett and Molly, both in their best clothes, were inside with Beth, who wore a pale-green silk pelisse and gown. The rector’s congregation came from miles around to worship, but although there were traps and gigs by the lych gate, most arrived on saddle horses, cobs and ponies. Beth saw Landry’s mount, Rollo, tethered to the great oak that overhung the churchyard wall. People were standing around in groups, and few appeared to have gone into church already. Vehicles like the chariot were still a novel enough sight for talking to cease as Billy manoeuvred it to a halt. Attention wasn’t only on the vehicle, but on Beth as well, and Mrs Cobbett looked at her kindly. ‘What they know is nowhere near as much as they guess. Believe me, if there was chatter, I’d know about it.’

  Billy came to open the door, and as Beth alighted she saw Harriet, wearing dark-brown muslin, a cream spencer, and a straw gypsy hat with cream plumes. She also wore what Beth considered to be a rather forced smile. ‘Good morning, Beth.’

  ‘Good morning.’ Beth paused, noting that in spite of the bright greeting, beneath her hat’s wide, shady brim, her friend’s eyes were red from crying. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked in concern.

  Harriet gave a smile that was supposed to be carefree. ‘Not unless you consider a proposal of marriage to be something wrong.’

  ‘A proposal? From whom?’

  ‘My cousin John Herriot, but I haven’t accepted yet. John arrived the day before yesterday, at my father’s secret invitation, and has been bombarding me with attention and love tokens since the moment he stepped over the threshold. Castle Harriet is under siege.’

  ‘Do you dislike it?’

  Again the slightly false smile. ‘Of course not, for it flatters my vanity.’