by Anne Herries
‘I am sure my grooms will be glad to help,’ Sir Andrew said. ‘But come into the parlour. I shall offer you some refreshment while the arrangements are being made.’ He led the way into a small sunny parlour to the left of the hall. ‘Please be seated, Mrs Elworthy. I shall ask one of the maids to bring refreshment and then speak to your groom myself.’
‘Thank you.’ Sarah took a seat by the window and looked out. After a moment or two she saw Sir Andrew speaking to Joshua, who turned his horse and led her mare towards the right, obviously going to the stables.
Sir Andrew came back to the house, but did not immediately return to her. She got up and began to look about the room. It was a pretty parlour furnished in soft shades of blues, greens and cream. In one cabinet she saw a collection of beautiful figurines that she thought might be Sèvres porcelain, and in another display table there were several miniature paintings, including one of a rather pretty girl. Sarah lifted the lid and took out the oval porcelain plaque, looking at the girl more closely. She could have been no more than ten when it was painted and it was so charming that Sarah smiled.
She was unaware of the man at her shoulder until he spoke. ‘I see you like pretty things, Sarah.’
‘This is exquisite,’ Sarah said. ‘Forgive me for touching it, but it was so appealing that I could not resist.’
‘I often take it out to admire and hold it,’ he said, an odd expression on his face. ‘It is one of the few things that gives me comfort in my lonely life, Sarah. You see, it is a picture of my angel when she was at her perfect best.’
‘This is Andrea as a child?’ Sarah laid the miniature back with gentle reverence. ‘You must treasure it, sir.’
‘Yes, I do,’ he agreed. ‘I have other pictures of her that I had drawn as she grew older, but she changed…as everything does. Have you noticed, Sarah, that all things have their moment of perfection? A rose when it is just opening from a bud, not quite full but deeply scented and fresh…a kitten before it becomes too old to play…a lamb in spring…’ His eyes had become distant as if he were looking into the past ‘But the lamb becomes mutton and we eat it, the rose fades and is so much compost to be thrown on a heap…and a thing that is broken or tarnished can never be as lovely again.’
He brought his gaze back to Sarah and she was disturbed by the expression in his eyes. She moved away from him, intending to escape through the door, but then it opened and a maid carried in a tray, which she set down on a table by the window. In that instant, Sir Andrew seemed to recover himself. He smiled at her, that strange look gone from his face.
‘Will you pour, Sarah? It is so pleasant for me to have a guest—such a young and lovely guest too. Did you know that you are not as I had expected you to be, Sarah? There is something serene about you…restful. At first I thought you were older, but it isn’t that, is it? You have experienced life. You are not afraid of things that my poor child feared…’ He sighed. ‘My poor Andrea. She was perfect and I loved her…’ He shook his head and sighed as she indicated his cup. ‘A little milk, but no sugar, thank you.’
She poured the tea and took it to him as he sat on an elegant little sofa. He took it and placed it on the wine table beside him, but did not drink. Sarah poured herself tea with milk and sugar but made no attempt to drink it either. She felt tense, ill at ease, waiting for something, though she knew not what. However, Sir Andrew seemed to have drifted away in his own thoughts, almost as though he had forgotten that she was there.
She waited for a moment or two and then stood up. ‘I really think I should be going, sir. My groom will have a horse ready for me now, I dare say.’
‘Oh, no, I sent him home,’ Sir Andrew said, smiling at her in that strange way again. ‘Your mare will be cared for, Sarah. You need not fear for her—but you shall not leave this house until I am ready to let you go.’
Sarah’s hand crept to her throat. What was he talking about?
‘I do not understand you, sir. I must go home. My husband will be waiting for me.’
‘So that you can tell him what you have discovered?’ Sir Andrew’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did that stupid girl tell you it all? I know she suspected me…Andrea must have told her that I had threatened I would kill her if she shamed me again. She was going to leave her husband…she would have shamed us both by going to him! I warned her that I would not stand for it, but she refused to listen. She told me that she had made up her mind and that nothing I said or did would stop her…so I had to do it.’ His eyes took on a haunted look, as if he were reliving that moment by the river.
‘You grabbed hold of her,’ Sarah said, for his confession had not surprised her. ‘She struggled and then she slipped, falling into the river.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘Why did you not try to save her? You must have known that she had a fear of water.’
‘Yes, that is how it was,’ he said and a shudder ran through him. ‘I never intended that she should die…just that she should behave, be my little girl again…’
‘But why did you start those wicked lies?’ Sarah asked. ‘If you knew the truth, why did you try to make others believe that John had driven Andrea to take her own life?’
‘It was his fault!’ Sir Andrew said, his eyes glittering with hatred. ‘If he had cared for her as he ought, made her happy, she would not have thought of leaving him for that worthless rogue…’
‘But it was you that made her unhappy,’ Sarah said—it had suddenly become very clear in her mind. ‘You sent her to John to ask for his help, because he was your friend and you knew that he would do the decent thing as he saw it. Andrea didn’t want to do it, but you made her. You were angry with her and you continued to punish her after she was married. You made her hate her home, and you were angry with her, because she had seen her lover again. And then, when she would not listen to you, you killed her. You stood by and watched her drown. And now you are haunted by your guilt…you cannot forgive yourself for what you did…’
‘You think yourself so clever…’ Sir Andrew’s eyes narrowed with a mixture of anger and hatred. His guilt and pain had driven him to the edge of despair over the past months, and now it had all boiled up into a black rage. ‘Why should he have you when I have nothing?’
Suddenly, his hands were at her throat, pressing so tightly that she could not breathe. She was choking as everything went black around her. And then just as she thought that she was dying, there was a shot and his hands fell away from her throat. She stumbled backward as he let her go, collapsing on the floor as he crashed down, pinning her body to the rich Persian carpet, his blood seeping from the wound to his head.
She lay unmoving, barely conscious for a few moments, then the door to the parlour was thrust opened as two men rushed in. One of them knelt beside her, his hands running over her face as the other hauled Sir Andrew’s crushing weight from her.
‘Oh, my God,’ John cried. ‘Are we too late? Sarah? Sarah, my love, speak to me.’
‘It’s his blood, not hers,’ Daniel said. ‘Someone must have shot him—through the window by the look of it, for there is glass on the floor.’
‘John…’ Sarah opened her eyes, looking up at him. Her voice was a hoarse whisper as she tried to tell him what had happened. ‘He killed Andrea. When he realised that I knew, he tried to strangle me…and then…’ She gave a cry of fear as she saw Sir Andrew’s body lying near her. ‘Someone shot him and he fell on me…’
‘It is all right, my darling,’ John told her. ‘He is dead. He won’t harm you ever again. I promise you are safe now.’ He helped her up, leading her to a chair and easing her into it. Sarah was aware of other people in the room now, but her throat was sore and all she could think of was the look in Sir Andrew’s eyes as he tried to kill her.
Someone handed Sarah a glass of brandy and water. She took a few sips but it stung her throat and made her choke. ‘Just water, please…’ she rasped.
The glass was replaced, she drank a little and the room steadied. She became aware of John and Daniel, o
f the elderly man who had opened the door to her, a maid and another man.
‘I shot him,’ the man was saying. ‘I escaped from those fools you set to guard me, Elworthy, and I came straight here. He killed Andrea, because she would have shamed him by leaving you for me, and I wanted my revenge. I don’t care if they hang me. I haven’t much to live for. But he was trying to kill your wife. If I hadn’t shot him when I did, you would have been too late. I saved her life.’
‘It would have been better if we could have given him over to the law,’ John said, a grim line to his mouth, ‘but I thank you for what you did, Sergeant Rathbone. Sarah is alive thanks to you.’ He placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘I am so sorry, my darling. I should have warned you never to come here—why did you? Was it because of the letters that I found in your drawer?’
‘Letters?’ Sarah was puzzled. ‘Oh, those letters. Ruth gave them to me this morning, because he made her. No, I did not mean to come here, John. My mare lost a shoe. I did not know that he lived here or I might not have come. I did not expect him to attack me, but I knew he did not like me.’ Her voice was no more than a croak and she put a hand to her throat. ‘Forgive me, I cannot talk more for the moment.’
‘Take her home, John,’ Daniel said. ‘You can leave this to me, my friend. I shall sort it out and I’ll come to your house when I’ve finished here.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ John said, helping Sarah to rise, his arm about her waist. ‘I have a carriage waiting outside, my love. Do not try to talk. You must rest and let your throat ease. We shall talk when you are feeling better.’
Sarah leaned her head against his shoulder. Seeing that she was nearly exhausted by her ordeal, John swept her up into his arms and carried her out to the carriage. He placed her on the seat and then climbed in beside her, pulling her to him so that she rested against him as the carriage moved off.
‘Sleep now, my dearest one,’ he told her. ‘When you are better we shall talk of all the things I ought to have said and did not…’
‘I never believed the letters,’ Sarah said. ‘I love you, John…’
‘Rest, my love,’ John said. ‘We have all the time in the world to talk.’
‘How is Sarah now?’ Daniel asked when he arrived three hours later. ‘I have spoken to the magistrate, John, and I don’t think we shall have too much trouble. Rathbone told him that he had shot Sir Andrew because he was trying to strangle Sarah. I explained the whole to him, and he told me that he had known something wasn’t quite right with Walton for a while. They meet now and then in York apparently, and he believes that Sir Andrew has been going downhill since his daughter’s death. Rathbone has been told to hold himself available in case he is wanted for further questioning, but that seems to be an end to it.’
‘Sarah is sleeping,’ John said. ‘Mrs Raven made her a soothing tisane for her throat and she drifted off almost immediately. I was sitting with her, but I saw you arrive and came down at once. It is a relief to me to know that it is all over. I was afraid that he would try to harm Sarah, as I told you earlier. Now at last I can relax my vigil. I owe Rathbone a debt I can never repay—and should he need it, I shall hire the very best lawyers to defend him.’
‘I doubt it will be needed,’ Daniel said and smiled at him. ‘We have all the evidence Tobbold gathered, Rathbone’s story—and I think Sarah will probably provide all the missing links when she is able to talk again. When the truth comes out everyone will say that they always knew you were innocent, and your friends will mean it.’
‘Thank you,’ John said. ‘You have been a good friend in this, Daniel.’
‘You, Charles and I stand together in these things,’ Daniel said. ‘I think we can genuinely say that all three of us have had to walk through hell and fire these past few years, but with good fortune it is over now and we may put it all behind us.’
‘I truly hope so,’ John said. ‘I hope that this will not have been too much for Sarah. She has been though such a lot one way and another.’
‘Sarah is a very brave lady,’ Daniel said. ‘And now I must go home to another brave lady, John. Elizabeth awaits me—and you are needed upstairs. You should be there when Sarah wakes, my friend. She will need to have you with her and to know that she is loved. As for the rest, only time will tell.’
Sarah woke to see the sun filtering in through half-drawn curtains. She stretched and yawned, wondering why she was in John’s bed, and then she saw him enter from his dressing room, clad only in a shirt and riding breeches and she smiled.
‘Are you going riding, John?’
‘Perhaps later,’ he said. ‘There are a few things I need to do, but only if you are feeling well enough for me to leave you.’
‘I am quite well,’ Sarah said. She sounded slightly husky and she could feel a little soreness in her throat, but it was bearable. ‘You will not stay away too long? I need to talk to you.’
‘We shall talk first if you wish,’ John said. ‘I shall not be long in any case. I have been busy since we came home, but most of that was because I had to protect you, Sarah. I had always suspected Sir Andrew of writing those letters, and of paying someone to leave Andrea’s things in my rooms—but I did not think it was he who shot at me in Scotland, and I was right.’
‘Sit here and tell me,’ Sarah said patting the bed. ‘I have sensed things, pieced them together in my mind, but I do not know it all.’
‘Andrea had a lover—the man who shot Sir Andrew and saved your life,’ John said and Sarah nodded in understanding. ‘It took us a while to catch him, but finally we did and I questioned him. He knew nothing of the letters, but he did fire a shot at you and then at me in Scotland.’
‘Because he suspected that you had killed Andrea,’ Sarah said. ‘Yes, I understand why he would hate us—but why was he at Sir Andrew’s house?’
‘Because after we talked, we both knew that it must have been Sir Andrew,’ John said. ‘Rathbone was determined to kill him and he gave Tobbold’s men the slip somehow…and I am very glad he did, my darling. Daniel and I came here first. I wanted to warn you about Sir Andrew, and then I found those letters…’
‘Ruth gave them to me this morning.’ Sarah explained Ruth’s story and her reasons for doing what Andrea’s father demanded. ‘I believe she had some idea that Andrea’s father might have had something to do with her death, though she did not say it in so many words. I have promised that we will discover if any letters have come for her from Richard Palmer. You will do it, John?’
‘By rights she should be dismissed for what she has done,’ John said, looking angry, ‘but, yes, I shall do it because you ask if of me, my darling. I would do anything you asked, Sarah. When I thought he had killed you I was desperate. I should have had nothing to live for if you were dead, my love.’
‘Yes, I know, John.’ Any lingering doubt that he had married her because she had compromised herself dissolved like the morning mist. She reached out to touch his cheek. The scars left by his illness were still there, but not quite as livid as they had been at the start. They might fade a little in time, but, like the mental scars she still carried from the past, they did not matter. ‘I love you so much, John, and we are so lucky. We must be kind to others less fortunate.’
‘You are always so generous,’ John told her. ‘But Palmer is alive and he may have written to her. Ruth has a right to any letters he sent her and I shall investigate.’
‘Thank you,’ Sarah said and frowned. ‘I looked at some of the correspondence Ruth brought me, John, and then put it away. I was shocked, but also a little puzzled by something. I intended to give them to you when you returned. What made you look for them?’
‘The drawer was slightly open and I could smell Andrea’s perfume,’ he said. ‘I thought someone was playing a trick on you—and in a way I was right. Andrea wrote only one of those letters. The rest were forged and meant to distress you.’
‘Ah, yes, I thought the hand was slightly different, though it could have been illness th
at made it less legible. I suppose they were written by her father,’ Sarah said. ‘I think his grief and his guilt drove him near mad in the end, John. I was looking at a miniature of her at his house, and I think it was talking of her that finally caused him to crack.’
John nodded, ‘May God forgive him for what he did to her—and what he almost did to you.’ John’s voice broke. ‘If it had not been for Rathbone…’
‘Hush, my love,’ Sarah comforted him. ‘I am safe and you are with me. As long as I have your love I can face anything.’
‘You truly mean that?’ John asked. ‘All the whispers and the lies—that devil’s attack on you—you can forgive and love me still?’
‘You were not to blame for any of those things,’ Sarah said and laughed softly. ‘I blame you for only one thing, John.’
‘And that is?’ His eyes were anxious as he looked at her, but she was smiling, teasing him.
‘For leaving me to sleep alone since we came home,’ she said and caught his hand. ‘Promise me that you will not continue to neglect me.’
‘I promise willingly,’ John said. ‘I tried to keep my distance, thinking that if Sir Andrew’s spy told him that I neglected you he might stay his hand as far as you were concerned. But then you came to me and put your arms about me, and I knew that it was useless to try and deceive him. But it also meant that I was forced to redouble my efforts to discover who had been shooting at us. I suspected that there were two different men involved in this business and I had to find out who was the more dangerous of the pair.’
‘Then you are forgiven,’ Sarah said, ‘but I shall expect a visit this night, my husband.’
‘And you shall receive it,’ John promised, bending to kiss her on the mouth. ‘But now I really do have to go…’
Sarah turned in her husband’s arms. They had made love again and again the previous night, released at last from the doubts and fears that had hung over them all these weeks.