‘What a capital idea, and you dear sister must help me compose a letter that will lift dear Papa’s spirits and hasten his return to health. Come we will take our leave of our husbands for an hour, then we will all reconvene for dinner.’
Alex watched as she took her sister by the hand and led her quickly from the room as if determined not to be stopped from having Dorothea to herself, curse it, there was something in her manner that warned him of trouble, and now he would have to entertain Brook to boot.
‘Well Brook, what say we head to the stables while the ladies exchange their tittle-tattle. I’ve a new bay mare arriving today, nice little thoroughbred, should suit milady well enough. Bid against a chap at today’s auction, he was set to have her, but quit when the price got too rich for him, though I’m thinking I probably paid too much for her. ’
The stable block formed the eastern end of the castle, and re-fitting it had been a priority for Alex when he’d bought the house back. It would house a dozen horses with ease but at present only held his four-strong carriage team and Al-Ashab. Three men led by Tom Pryce, the best head groom money could buy ran the stable with quiet efficiency, sharing their masters passion for good horseflesh. By the time the two men reached the yard the mare had been delivered. The swarthy gypsy who’d played the part of groom at the auction stood on one side as one of the castle team held the skittish mare for Tom to inspect. Running firm hands over her with confidence, he checked the new arrival out before turning to the gypsy, accepting the animal and dismissing the man with one nod.
‘Well Tom, will she do you think?’
‘She’s a nice little mare milord, though a bit lively for a lady.’
‘Well we’ll see how she goes, give her time to settle in. Put her in the far stall on her own for now, but just walk her round the yard first will you? So we can take a better look.’
Alex watched the mare as she was led around the yard. There was no doubt about it, this was Lord Roxton’s mare. A distinctive bay with three white socks and a star on her forehead, the gang were getting more determined. A groom had been badly injured when this one had been taken, knocked unconscious by an unknown hand. Alex was willing to bet the hand belonged to that gypsy. The man had the look of a bad-un and no mistake.
‘Well Brook, what do you think?’
‘Yes indeed, nice little mare, does Catherine know you’ve bought her?’
‘No, thought I’d spring a surprise. The ladies like surprises don’t you know. Now let us find out if they’re done with letter writing.’
Laughing they made their way back indoors, Alex leading the way to the little drawing room he knew Catherine favoured, opening the door unheralded to hear Dorothea’s impassioned words.
‘We have come to take you home Kate, you must come home.’
Catherine had headed for a little parlor she had adopted for herself. It was one of the first rooms she had renovated. She had immediately seen past the dark decor and furniture and appreciated the potential of the small south-facing room. Now, decorated in pale peaches and greens with only the lightest of drapes, drawn back so as not to obscure the view of the park and a few pretty pieces of modern furniture, the room was transformed into a haven where she could be at peace. It was here she read and of course where she composed her letters, those many lost letters, and it was here that her innocent honeymoon was to begin to crumble into poisoned dust.
‘Oh Catherine what a pretty room...’
‘No Dorothea that won’t do at all, I will not be put off by the triviality of such small talk. Come, out with it, whatever secret communications you and Charles have been passing to and fro. I will not be denied now that we are alone, so you may as well out with it.’
‘Oh dearest Kate, I might have known I could not deceive you, it is true, we have, with glances and frowns been engaged in a conversation of our own, but it is not that conversation that you need to be appraised of. That is merely a difference of opinion between my husband and I with regard to my determination to make something of much more importance known to you at the earliest convenience.’
‘Something of importance, and yet you would not tell me immediately, Dorothea you frighten me, is it some worse news about Papa?’
Dorothea closed the gap between them, clasping her sister close to reassure her, and guiding her to the window seat.
‘No hush Kate I have told you all there is to tell of of our father’s condition, there is no need to fear for him. What I have to relate must have contributed to his depressed state of mind but it presents no threat to him. It concerns you and your safety.’
‘Me, oh I’m in no danger, I promise you Alex is very careful of me. I thought I had convinced you of my happiness.’
‘Oh Kate, dearest we have been made party to such news that I am now sure that any contentment you currently enjoy is not likely to endure, it is built on lies and worse. No, let me tell you what we have found out and how we, Charles and I, came to be delving into your husband’s past. Then we will plan how to get you away to safety.’
Catherine felt panic rising inside her, but she sat white faced and quiet letting her sister tell the story.
‘You are quite correct Kate to link this in some way to Father, for it was during his ramblings in the grip of the fever that I began to feel disquieted. A man so ill will often say all manner of strange things, things that he may repeat over and over as the same nightmares haunt his heated mind. To begin with I felt only sorrow and compassion that he be plagued so, but before long I began to wonder. There was something different about some things he would repeat, something that made me sit up and take note. You must understand that during those days he was much of the time in extreme agitation and not lucid at all, often thrashing from side to side with great violence, muttering words that I will not repeat to you or anyone else. It was during the quiet times though that he would speak of the letters, and with such sorrow in his voice and tears would wet his pillow through.’
‘Letters, do you mean my letters, was his sorrow that I had not written?’
‘No Kate, that is what I thought to begin with, but soon I came to realize that he was speaking with distress of letters he had received but with even more grief of letters he had written but not sent. He spoke of three things over and over, the letters, Alex Tremayne, whom he called his tormentor and yours, and of someone called Emily. His dearest Emily he called her and it was then that he cried most, sobbing her name even in his sleep. The more I listened the surer I became, firstly that there was some truth in these words, secondly that Emily was lost to him, though I struggled to understand how that could be, and lastly that our father believes that your husband means you some harm.’
Catherine rose from her seat in agitation, standing in the window, though she was blind to the pleasant landscape she looked out on. Imagining in her mind her poor father racked with grief and fear. Dorothea continued and Kate reclaimed her seat to listen.
‘It was more than I could bear alone and I was compelled to share my fears with my dearest Charles, he has always been my rock. We decided to search for these letters and any other papers that might shed some light on the matter, and I defend our intrusion into our father’s affairs by telling you dearest that we were quite convinced of his belief that there was some danger to you.’
Catherine turned to look at her sister, ‘but I am not in danger, indeed I could not be in ruder health or be better protected and cared for.’
‘Well let me appraise you the rest of the tale and then you may find your confidence in your husbands protection and care quite shaken. We did not find the evidence easily and if not for chance, might not have done so at all. As we searched carefully through the correspondence in fathers writing desk I was all the time convinced that he would not keep such emotive, personal papers with his bills and invoices, but I had no idea where else to begin to look. In desperation we searched his chamber to no avail, at least not at first. Then I saw the poem on a scrap of paper in that pretty carve
d wooden box, you know the one we admired so much as children, covered in roses and with that dragon wound around it, do you remember Kate?’
Catherine nodded and Dorothea continued.
‘Well it seemed such an incongruous thing to keep in a box that was surely meant to hold a treasure that I looked at it again and with fresh eyes found a meaning in the words. The verse read.’
Turning back the hands of time
To when first I heard you say,
That I must be your golden knight
And all your dragons slay,
I'd build a castle on yon hill
So all the world could see,
The sweetest love that I have won,
To live and die with me.
‘Do you see the inferences Kate, the clues hidden there that led me to his secret place? Oh he was clever our dear Papa, so careful to keep the secret safe, but I see from your expression that the words of love have made you suspicious as they did me of the detail of this secret. Of the identity of the “golden knight” and his “sweetest love”. Though of course they did not lead me to the secret place, it was the dragon and the castle on the hill that did that.’
‘The book...’
‘Yes Kate the book, ‘An Illustrated Anthology of Welsh Castles’, by C.D. Pendry-Reese, with its cover embellished with a golden dragon that entranced us so as children. No wonder then that he kept it locked in a glass case and kept it from prying eyes, for lately he had cut from the pages a place to keep safe his secret, oh Kate...’
‘Dorothea don’t distress yourself please, but you must tell me what you found inside the book.’
‘I can do better than that, here I will show you.’
She fumbled inside her reticule for a moment and withdrew a small velvet pouch, then handing them to her sister she sat back in silence. Catherine’s hand shook so much she could hardly undo the ribbon that secured the blood red velvet, but finally it gave way and the contents spilled onto her lap. A handkerchief, folded into a neat little triangle with the letter E embroidered in pink silk, a rosebud, no thorns, just the bud, brittle and darkened by age, a locket, bright gold, E again, engraved this time, and inside a curl, black as night. Then most telling of all, a tiny frame, its silver tarnished, though the image was bright when she found the strength to pick it up.
The girl had been happy when the portrait was painted, it was exquisite, she was exquisite. Bright button, laughing eyes in a perfect oval face framed by midnight curls. her porcelain cheeks faintly flushed and her laughing mouth as pink as the rosebud must once have been. Catherine looked at Dorothea, to see tears in her eyes, but she still had to ask, though already knowing the answer at least in part.
‘What does E stand for?’
‘Emily.’
‘How do you know? There’s nothing here to tell us that unless of course the letters....’
‘Emily Grace Tremayne, she was your husband’s sister and our father’s lover and she is dead. I know because Charles made some discreet enquires and I wish with all my heart that this was all the detail he was to discover.’
‘There is more, I don’t wish to hear any more, at least not yet. I need time to think, to accept this astounding revelation. Oh my, does Mama know, please tell me not, it would be too much for her to bear!’
‘Calm yourself, Mama’s state of mind is safe, which is more than can be said of you. You must listen Kate, put it all out of your mind and listen to what else I have to say.’
Catherine seemed not hear, muttering to herself as she fingered the portrait. Dorothea lost patience, dropping to the floor at her sister’s feet she snatched the trinkets up, stuffing them back into the pouch and stowing that back into her reticule. Then clasping Catherine’s hands in her own and kissed them.
‘Kate this pouch with these few trinkets do not tell all of the story. It tells us that Papa loved her, and that though lost to him she is not forgotten, but there is so much more. Charles and I became suspicious as I told you, alerted by some words he spoke while out of his mind. Tremayne he said over and over, along with Emily, words of love and always these would be followed closely by tears and sometimes lamentations. He cried out always the same words, “Tremayne, Tremayne”, he would cry, “vengeance, he must have it and he has come now for me.” Then he would cry until he slept and even sleeping sometimes would beg and cry again. It was clear that the family of your husband was implicated in this mystery and we determined to find out some of the detail.
It was not hard to make some progress, Charles found that the family have been settled in northern Italy for many years, this house, belonging to the family was abandoned when a tragedy occurred. It was opened up again less than six months ago by your husband when he moved back here. That was the extent of the information we could glean to begin with, and before you say it, I will admit it holds nothing to alarm. Neither did it tell us anything about Emily and so Charles wrote to a friend who, having done the Grand Tour has settled in Italy, quite fortuitously for our purpose, in the north. He was able to tell us in some detail a tragic and alarming story.
‘The family of Tremayne is well respected in their adopted country, playing a leading part in society, though as I said, they abandoned their homeland and this house, following a tragic scandal some years ago.’
‘Yes I think that must be the story the servants here tell, but never mind that for now, do go on.’
‘Your Alex is the head of the family, the parents having succumbed to a fever and he had but one sibling, his younger sister Emily. It is said that she was a bright star, beautiful, though headstrong and fond of her own way. It was commonly acknowledged that she could be disobedient and willful, but also that this was in all probability a response to the too strict dictates of her overly protective brother.’
‘I have no trouble in believing that of Alex, he is in the habit of ensuring the safety of those he cares for.’
‘That is a trait we would all wish to see in a gentleman, but hear me out Kate, for I am not finished yet.’
‘You recall that your husband returned to Wales recently, and spending a not inconsiderable fortune making this house, bought two years earlier habitable, at least in part. It is rumored that this was prompted by a desire not to be made to answer for his role in the tragic death of his sister.’
‘No, you must be mistaken, I won’t listen any more, this speculation is not founded in truth, it cannot be, and I won’t believe it.’
‘I see you begin to draw the strands of the story together Kate, and I see that what you begin to understand frightens you. You must hear the full facts, for only then will you appreciate our fear for you.’
‘Emily Tremayne was but eighteen when she drown in a swollen tributary of the mighty river Po that flows through that part of the country. It was common knowledge that the relationship between the girl and her brother had been more stormy than usual prior to this, but to begin with, her death seemed to be no more than a tragic accident. It was not until it became clear that Tremayne stood to inherit a large fortune, which had constituted his sisters dowry that questions began to be asked.’
‘I don’t see that this would be in any way odd, it is perfectly normal for a young lady of good family to have a large dowry and in the event of losing her that fortune would of course stay in the family coffers. You make no sense Dorothea.’
‘Now I will get to the rest of it, there circulated a rumor that Emily had been conducting a love affair, an affair hidden from her brother, with an Englishman visiting the area. It is known that some months before she died Emily and her brother had quarreled, quarreled so badly that he took her forcibly and locked in her in one of the lodges on the estate, refusing to let any attend her other than her companion, a distant cousin and a woman from the local village. This last has been confirmed by the companion, who fearful for her health begged the local doctor to intervene.’
Catherine was looking more agitated as the story unfolded, but Dorothea went on with a relentless determ
ination.
‘Before the doctor or any other could intervene the poor unfortunate girl was found drown, and as you would expect, along with shock and grief, such a death was also accompanied by speculation. I have to tell you Kate that some were convinced that Emily was with child and that gave raise to a much darker story.’
‘No! I will not listen, this is all speculation, not fact and you still have not shown me anything that will make me believe I myself have anything to fear.’
Dorothea spoke quietly with such sadness as she went on.
‘Kate you may chose to ignore it all. The story of a forbidden love, a child conceived. You may chose to believe that he imprisoned her for her own good, and that she escaped and fell to her death accidentally. To think he may have killed his own sister is indeed shocking. You may see nothing untoward in his retaining her fortune, and believe his move to Wales was not a flight from justice but resulted from a desire to start a new life away from tragedy. What I will not let you ignore are the links to our father, who was in Italy at that time. The pouch holds clear indication of his love for the girl in the portrait. Add to that his ramblings, his sorrow at the loss of a girl called Emily and his fear of her brother. You must own that there is far too much here to be mere coincidence, and once you have admitted that there is no going back, for Papa was and remains in real fear for himself and for you.’
Catherine’s voice was hardly more than a whisper.
‘You have no proof, not of any of it. What proof do you give that he means to harm Papa, or me?’
‘My tormentor Papa said of him over and again. Then, vengeance he will have vengeance, oh my poor child, my innocent girl, taken from me. Then he would beg, please , no, don’t harm her for my sin, not my Kate. Sister you must see the truth of it even before you remember the business of the letters.’
Vengeful Lord, Defiant Lady. Page 10