“Well, you know my thoughts on the Thaughley River. But what if we also had an outlet to the main road in town?”
William’s response was curt. “Don’t see how you can have it both ways. Besides, we’ve talked about this, Riley. Latham Hill is the only land I am willing to invest.”
“Whoa, no reason to be so testy. Just making conversation.” An easy laugh slipped from Riley.
Everything amused Riley when he had a drink or two. Everything was a joke. But William was hardly in the mood for such folly. His body ached from the ride, and his head pounded with the recent news. Normally a drink and company would soothe anything, but he was past those days. He just wanted answers.
Riley sauntered to the gaming table, and William sat like a stranger in his own home. Activity swirled about him, infusing the house with life and gaiety. Had he not in recent weeks been lamenting the lack of companionship? Mourning the days of parties and gatherings, weekend house parties and extravagant festivities? With these men in his house, the noise pummeled his ears. Their gritty laughter made the pounding in his head worse. Perhaps he’d grown used to the quiet and lonely evenings, but he knew there was more to his discomfort than that.
His thoughts were no longer on finding pleasure in the moment, in finding splinters of raucous distraction to divert his mind from the matters weighing on his soul. Call it maturity or perhaps even responsibility. He was no longer that same person.
He was a father.
While the merrymaking raged on, William racked his memory, trying to remember the details of the child. He tried to recall the happy, bright-eyed child he saw on his first visit to Rosemere, but instead his memory held tight to the recollection of what she had felt like limp in his arms. His heart thudded against his rib cage even though he sat perfectly still.
He wanted to see her. Wanted to know she was safe. Wanted to protect her. But his library was full of living, breathing memories of the past he needed to face and confront before he could be the type of father he wanted—no, needed—to be.
“Join us, Sterling.”
William waved Riley off.
“Not like you to turn down a game of chance, now is it?”
“Been a long day.” That really was not a lie.
“More like you have someone else on your mind.”
William bit on the leading question. “Oh yeah? And who is that?”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time over at Rosemere, or am I mistaken? That sister of Creighton’s is pretty. Is that the reason you are not interested in selling the land? Eh?” Riley took a long swig of brandy, then turned back to William and pointed a wobbly finger in his direction. “Ah, and I say that is a capital idea. Just what you need.”
William studied his neighbor. Even though drink softened Riley’s edge, experience had taught William that it also unearthed another side of Riley. Drink had the tendency to loosen Riley’s tongue. Opinions flowed freely. Accusations and condemnation emerged with equal ease.
“You are mistaken. My only interest is in my horses.”
Riley snorted a sarcastic chuckle and rolled his head to the side to face William, his dark eyes red. “Yes, yes, I know all about your horses. But you cannot keep secrets from an old friend.”
Old friend, indeed. William shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe I will have a drink.” He ignored the sly smile on Riley’s face and helped himself to a glass.
“That’s what I like to hear. So tell me. Miss Creighton, is it?”
William did not like the sound of her name on Riley’s lips. She was pure. Good. And increasingly, Riley seemed to become a representation of things that were evil.
“I have nothing but the highest respect for Miss Creighton. She is quite capable in her profession. But that is the extent of my admiration.”
“Oh, come on.” A raw laugh sputtered from the man he’d considered a friend for so long.
William poured a drink, consumed nothing. His stomach soured at the thought of it passing his lips.
Miss Creighton. Emma. Rosemere. Eastmore Hall. They were inexplicably connected. He felt it within his core. And just hearing the smirk in Riley’s voice made his muscles twitch. But he had to stay calm. This was his business partner, and regardless of what he thought of their actions on this particular night, he needed Riley. Well, at least he needed the mill and the financial security it would provide for him and his daughter.
“Come on. Why so serious? The building will commence soon. ’Tis time to celebrate!”
William rubbed his hand across his face. He wondered if the men were planning on spending the night. His preoccupation with his own thoughts made him agitated. The hour had grown late. The men, drunker.
After an hour or so, Lewis ambled in and no one besides William seemed to notice. He sat next to William.
William said, “I do not think they are leaving.”
Lewis extended a booted foot and laced his fingers behind his head. “I think you are right.” He nodded toward the man in the far corner. “Do you recognize that man?”
William squinted. He was sure he’d recognize a man with such a hooked nose if he’d ever seen him. “No.”
“Are you sure? Look closely.”
William shook his head. “Can’t say that I do.”
Lewis released his laced fingers and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Cyrus Temdon.”
He said the words with such an inflection that William thought surely he should remember who the man was. But try as he might, he still could not place him. He shrugged.
“You really do not pay attention, do you? He was the groom at Rosemere for about the last five years. Up and quit after Mr. Creighton died, remember? Left ’em in the lurch, with just old George and young Charlie. Now he’s the groom at Ambledale.”
Uneasiness crept in. Too much was happening. Too quickly. William stood.
“What are you doing?” demanded Lewis.
“Nothing. Just going to get better acquainted with my friend.” William narrowed his eyes on Temdon. “After all, he’s connected with my business, is he not?”
William ignored Lewis’s attempt to detain him and strode over to the card table and stood back, looking at the men.
Temdon was slouched in a chair, sloppy with drink’s effect, although William suspected that the man’s normal demeanor could not be much sharper. A scraggly beard covered his thin chin, and his unkempt clothing suggested his appearance was never much of a concern. His rheumy eyes were mere slits in his flushed face. William plopped in the chair next to the man and watched him. And listened. The man never took his eyes off the cards.
Most of what he heard was a foolish man’s musings. He sat and listened for a good twenty minutes. Waiting. Listening.
And then he heard, “We’ll just burn it down again.”
William snapped to attention.
The man and one of his companions laughed.
William leaned toward Temdon. “Burn what again?”
The intensity and volume of his question silenced the room.
A nervous chuckle slipped from Temdon’s chapped lips as his eyes darted with apprehension to Riley.
Riley’s face reddened, and his eyes cast a dagger toward Temdon.
William stood up, knocking his chair backward. “I asked you a question, Temdon. What do you mean, ‘burn it down again’?”
The silence in the room was suffocating. Someone cleared his throat. William pushed past Temdon and walked over to Riley. Betrayal hung heavy in the air. He wanted to know the truth as much as he wanted to deny it. “To my knowledge, nothing has burned around these parts since the stable at Rosemere. So I repeat. Burn what down again?”
Riley’s uncomfortable laugh and averted gaze gave William the answer he sought. His heart was beating at an alarming rate. His muscles twitched with anger. He broke his stare at Riley only when Lewis stepped behind him.
Riley, a pleading look in his eyes, extended his hands. “Come on, Sterling,” he sputtered.
William could not wait for his halfhearted excuse. With both hands, William grabbed Riley by the coat and pulled him to a standing position. Riley cursed under his breath and grabbed hold of William’s arms to steady himself.
“You’d better start explaining yourself, Riley.”
“What did you expect me to do? You said the land was non-negotiable.”
William tightened his grip on the coat. “And that gave you the authority, the right, to burn my property?”
Riley struggled to maintain balance. “It was only the stable.”
“And what were you hoping to accomplish with that?”
“You said they would never leave. I was trying to get them to leave.” Riley twisted, attempting to free himself. “Latham Hill is not big enough for our needs.”
“There are women and children at Rosemere! You could have killed them!”
“There is no need to be so dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” William pushed Riley away. “You burned my property! And you tried to frighten my tenants into leaving. One of the girls was injured. Seriously injured.” William’s hands balled into fists, but he stepped back to prevent himself from throwing a punch at anyone. As far as he was concerned, all of these men were involved. “I want you out of my house and off my property. And not just Eastmore Hall property. I want you off Latham Hill.”
Riley lowered his voice, as if trying to shield what he was saying from the men in the room. “You don’t mean that. You’re just angry. This is just a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” William’s voice thundered from every stone in Eastmore Hall’s walls. “No, you lied to me! I believe the misunderstanding came when I trusted you with this business arrangement. Consider the arrangement terminated.”
Riley stared at him as if stunned into silence.
“Did you hear me?” William shouted. “Leave at once!”
27
The door flung open with such intensity that it banged against the paneled wall. Patience was so startled she nearly jumped from her chair. She gasped at the sight of Charlie standing in the doorway, his complexion pale and his eyes wide.
Alarmed, Patience hurried over to the boy. “Charlie, dearest, what is it?”
The boy sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his eyes fixed on Mrs. Lydia Creighton who was seated next to the fire.
“Charlie, this is Mrs. Lydia Creighton, Mr. Creighton’s new wife.” She explained who Lydia was, thinking that Charlie’s uncustomary silence had to do with the presence of the stranger, but when the boy made no effort to greet Lydia, her concern grew.
“Lydia, would you be so kind as to give us a moment?”
The boy shrank against the wall as Lydia nodded, gathered her sewing, and left the library. Once she was gone, Charlie pushed the door closed and stepped close to Patience. “I heard something.”
The earnestness of the boy’s expression and the intensity of his whisper sent an icy finger tracing along her spine. Patience drew a sharp breath, alarmed at Charlie’s strange behavior. She kept her voice low, half fearing the answer. “What did you hear?”
“I heard Mr. Sterling and Mr. Lewis arguing.” Charlie gulped, his eyes nervously scanning the room before turning his attention back to her.
“And what were they arguing about?”
“The fire at the stable was not an accident.”
A tremor shook Patience. “Of course it was an accident.”
The boy shook his head, unblinking. “No, ma’am. I heard them talking about it myself.”
“Whom did you hear, Charlie?”
His chin trembled. “Mr. Sterling.”
At the name, a knife sliced through Patience. She felt the wind leave her lungs, along with all her silly schoolgirl inclinations. She shook her head. “Surely you are mistaken. Mr. Sterling owns this property. He would never purposely damage it.”
“But I heard him, Miss Creighton. Him and Mr. Lewis, with some other men. They want to build a building.”
The mill.
Patience pressed her lips together, wishing she could unhear the words she’d just heard. “What exactly did you hear? And start from the beginning, please.”
“It was cold last night, so Mr. Lewis said I could sleep inside Eastmore Hall. They was up way late, Miss Creighton.”
“Who was up late?”
“There was a bunch of men. Mr. Lewis said they was Mr. Sterling’s friends with the mill, and I was to keep quiet and out of their way.”
She swallowed a dry lump in her throat, realizing that he might be speaking the truth. She sat down in a chair and motioned for the boy to sit as well. But he only shifted from foot to foot, as if bursting to tell her what else he knew.
“Well then, go on,” Patience prompted, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Said that he wanted us to leave the school so that they could build the mill here. Wants the school to go away so they can have the land next to the river.”
She thought of the Rosemere land, which was the smoothest, most level land compared to the rocky and hilly terrain that surrounded it. Of course it was an attractive location. Close to the river. Close to the village and the main road. Was that the reason why Mr. Sterling had been so interested suddenly? She could not explain the tears gathering in her eyes or the pinch of emotion in her throat. At first she could not believe that Mr. Sterling could be in such a business as to burn the stable. He had been so prompt in beginning the rebuilding. But then the warnings of Mrs. Hammond were vivid in her mind. A most unscrupulous man. Was Mrs. Hammond right? Had she been foolish to fall prey to the charms of Mr. William Sterling?
“You’re sure you heard it correctly?” she asked.
Charlie stammered, “I didn’t see him say it, but I heard it through the walls. Then there was a lot of shouting, and I couldn’t make out anything anyone was saying. Then they all left.”
“And have you seen Mr. Sterling today?”
“No, ma’am. Was I right to tell you?”
“Yes, Charlie. You were right.”
He sighed, as if relieved. “I can’t stay there. Not no more. Can I come home?”
Patience looked down at her hands. How they trembled. She did not trust her legs. Nor did she want to sit down. She felt odd. Ill. She closed her eyes, waiting for the trembling in her lips to subside. She took a deep breath and blew it out.
There it was. Her answer.
Had Mrs. Hammond been right? Mr. Sterling could not be trusted. Whether or not Charlie heard the story correctly, how could he have been mistaken about the fire? Whatever he heard, the truth was that foul play was at hand. And Mr. Sterling was either aware of it or party to it.
She could hardly deny that her heart had harbored romantic inclinations toward Mr. Sterling. How quickly she recalled his clear blue eyes. The gentle timbre of his voice. How she warmed when he was near, and how he occupied her mind in the quiet moments of her day.
She had been presented the facts. Warned by people.
But why did her stubborn heart resist the warnings?
A knock sounded on her door.
She drew a shaky breath. It could be any of her students. Her brother.
The door opened, and her heart sank even more. Ewan.
Patience wiped a shaky hand across her brow. “Ew—Mr. O’Connell.”
His brow creased. “What is the matter?”
She forced a smile. Her chin quivered. “Nothing is wrong.”
“Your cheeks are flushed.” He rushed forward and grabbed her arms. The nearness of him, the expression of concern on his familiar face, all contributed to a sense of suffocation.
With a sudden burst of energy, she wrenched her arms free and rubbed them protectively. “I said I am fine.”
He dropped his hands, then adjusted his cravat. Without being invited, Ewan sat down in a chair near her, leaned back, and folded his arms across his chest.
She diverted her eyes and tried to ignore how in the afternoon lig
ht he looked so like the boy she had grown up with. The familiar way his too-long hair fell over his broad forehead. For a brief moment she found herself wishing things could be as they once were, when she could confide her troubles in him, and he would always know how to set things right.
She had misinterpreted Mr. Sterling’s intentions.
Perhaps she had misread Ewan O’Connell’s as well.
Patience walked over to stoke the fire, eager to be busy. “What can I do for you?”
He did not respond, and she paused at her task and turned to look at him.
“I wish you would sit with me.”
She arched an eyebrow and blew out a breath. She felt sick—not the sick of an anticipating heart, but a sick dread. She nodded, wordlessly returning the poker to its holder, and sat down on the chair next to him. The overwhelming sense that something important was about to happen nearly stole the wind from her lungs. She waited for him to speak.
“You’ve changed.”
She sucked in a defensive breath, but instead of firing back a clever retort, she pressed her lips together and looked out the window to the fading dusk and waited for him to explain himself.
“Will you at least look at me?”
She turned toward him and forced her eyes to meet his. Pale, brown eyes that, when she had been younger, she thought to be full of mischievous romance.
“I suppose we have both been changed,” he said. “Time does that. I can only imagine that things have been quite harrowing since your father died. I can see you are troubled, and I’ll not pretend that I have the right to know what it is. I thought I would never see you again. But when I saw your brother, and when he told me the circumstances surrounding the school, I knew the time to redeem myself had come.”
Redemption? His words were delivering a cryptic message. A gust of air slammed the window, sending in slivers of cold air, and she was grateful for the coolness. She pictured herself running for the door, but he leaned in closer.
“Miss Creighton. Patience.”
The Headmistress of Rosemere (Whispers on the Moors) Page 21