Dorothea was impassioned now, desperate to make Kate see her danger.
‘We have come to take you home Kate, you must come home.’
‘And I have already made it quite clear that it will be some time before I am able to accompany my wife on such a visit. I hope sister that you see how inappropriate it would be for a bride of only a few months to make such a journey without her husband.’
Both sisters stood in alarm at Lord Tremayne’s voice. How long had the gentlemen been behind them? How much had been heard of the conversation. Dorothea was the first to recover.
‘I see no impropriety in a daughter giving priority to the recovery of a beloved father sir!’
Alex addressed Charles Brook over his shoulder, voice deceptively calm, his eyes holding the bright blue ones of his sister-in-law with a glint of pure steel.
‘Brook, may I suggest we escort the ladies in to dine before this conversation travels further down an assuredly rocky road?’
It was a clear command that Charles should curb his wife in her defiance and though Dorothea was stiff with indignation, she laid her hand on the arm her husband proffered and allowed herself to be led from the room.
All the while Catherine stood, silent watching. Alex held out his arm.
‘My lady?’
She hesitated a moment, eyes holding his, deep violet, unreadable. Then she gave him her hand and they followed the others.
‘I saw no letter to your father lady.’
‘No, we found we had so much news to relate that we quite forgot to write. I will see to it in the morning.’
Chapter 8
Dinner was a subdued affair, the conversation kept deliberately light and non-contentious, while all four remained acutely aware of so much that was left unsaid. Catherine picked at her food, all appetite lost as Dorothea’s words swirled around in her head. It was simply unthinkable. Dorothea must be mistaken, at least in her awful conclusions. She could not countenance, not even for a moment that Alex could mean her any harm. For some time now she had felt sure of his returning her love, she saw it in his eyes, felt it in his touch, in the way he held her, safe in his arms. True he could be hard, unyielding in some things, the matter of her riding was an example, but she had come to understand that this was a manifestation of his love, his way of keeping her safe. No, she herself had nothing to fear from him, but what of Papa, had there really been a secret love affair in Italy? The evidence for that was so very convincing, and once that was admitted then it was logical to assume the lovers to be in some degree of danger from the family of a girl so ruined. She could also easily believe that her husband was a man who would be compelled to react with no small degree of passion faced with such a situation, but murder and vengeance? It was unthinkable!
‘You had best address any questions regarding the renovations within the house to your sister, for she has been in sole charge of that part of the work. She has found quite a delight in it, have you not my dear?’
Catherine blushed to find all three of her dinner companions looking at her in expectation of a response. She had quite lost the thread of the conversation and it took even her nimble brain a few seconds to recapture it.
‘I... yes... but there is still a great deal to do, we have not even begun to think further than this western part of the house.’
‘I would dearly like to see what you have achieved here Kate. Charles don’t you think the colours Kate has used in this room could be used to enhance the small parlour at home?’
‘Yes my dear, next time we look to changing the decor you might ask your sister to apply her talents to it.’
Catherine watched her husband, hardly able to concentrate on the conversation, but though he watched her with interest, his eyes were guarded, and when he spoke it was impossible to gauge his mood.
‘Perhaps you would like to see for yourself how much your sister has achieved in so short a time? A tour of the rooms and passages most recently renovated might provide an interesting diversion after dinner.’
‘Oh yes Kate that would be delightful, let us leave the gentlemen to their Port and explore this castle of yours.’
Dorothea fairly sprang to her feet in enthusiasm, leaving Catherine with no alternative but to lead the way. She would much rather have been allowed to retire so that she could think.
‘Shall we begin by looking at the renovations on the ground floor of this west wing? It is here that most of the work has been concentrated, I have to admit that the upper rooms, though not to my liking in decor and furniture were at least habitable. You would not credit just how badly in need of repair some of these lower passages and parlours were.’
Dorothea refrained from answering until they were out of earshot of the gentlemen.
‘Kate, you ninny, do you really think my purpose was to look at furniture and repairs? No indeed, we have a more urgent work than that. I am convinced that if we find the letters we will unearth, at least in part, the truth, and I will not rest till we do.’
‘Letters, how will my withheld letters tell anything not already known? You and I surely know the content of those we ourselves wrote and I cannot think that Papa will have writ anything secret in his missives to me.’
‘Oh do think Kate! I am convinced, even if you are not, that Papa and your husband have also written to each other. Those other letters, if they exist, can only be about this secret affair. Papa has either destroyed or hidden with great skill any he received, for Charles and I failed to discover them despite our searching, but your husband may have kept his and if we find them we will have some of the story. Now come, where shall we best begin to search?’
‘Dorothea, please! My mind fairly spins with all your revelations so that I cannot think.’
Dorothea stopped and held Catherine’s hands in her own, speaking earnestly.
‘Dearest girl, it is no wonder that you hesitate, how could you not in the face of the terrible things I have asked you to recognise, but you do see that the finding of the letters is surely the way to provide the clarity your mind seeks. Now where shall we begin, does Sir Alex have a study or some such room of business?’
‘Yes Alex has an office from which he conducts the business of the estate, but don’t you think Dorothea that papers of such privacy, if they existed, would merit a hiding place of a similarly private nature?’
‘Oh yes, you are quite right, somewhere private, where he alone would venture and where he would be sure of complete secrecy. So where shall we begin?’
‘There is no such place Dorothea, I am sure of it. We inhabit this wing of the house, and no room is forbidden to me. The old library, where you might expect a man to seek solitude is still to be renovated and Alex, who is fond of reading, finds peace to indulge this passion in his bedchamber as do I.’
‘Then that is where we must begin. It would be the perfect hiding place. Come Kate lead the way.’
Catherine realized there was no stopping her sister. While she herself was recognized as the headstrong one, there was a quiet determination in Dorothea that made her very willful when the mood was upon her, and all one could do then was to let her have her way.
‘Very well but we must go quickly before the men finish with their port, when we will be expected to have completed our exploration and have returned to the drawing room. I fail to see what we can discover in so short a time.’
Hitching up her skirts she led the way up the wide staircase at a fast pace, forcing Dorothea to follow suit and by the time they arrived outside the heavy oak door of the master bedchamber both sisters were slightly breathless. Without hesitating Dorothea opened the door, pushed Catherine inside, followed quickly and closed the door. For a moment they stood stock still and all Catherine could hear was their slightly laboured breathing. The room was in shadow, it would soon be dark outside and as yet the light had not been lit.
‘We must find a light.’
Dorothea broke the silence and moved further into the room, finding a candle with all
that was needed on a side table proceeded to light it and holding it aloft took stock of her surroundings, muttering to herself as she did so.
‘Now here he sits to read, this much is clear and these books on the table are of current interest. Those done with for the moment stand here on this low shelf, a remnant library, nothing more.’
Her nimble fingers ran over each book spine, checking each in turn, then she began to pull them out, laying them on the carpet to inspect the shelf behind. Her disappointment palpable when she nothing was revealed.
‘Come Kate, where else can we look? We will have run out of time soon.’
Looking around Catherine felt her nerves stretch a little further and knew that the only way to end this nonsense was to help with the search. Only once she was satisfied that there were no hidden letters in the room would her sister consent to return downstairs.
‘What about these drawers? These may well contain personal papers.’
Dorothea dropped to her knees on the floor pulling out each of the three small drawers above the now empty shelf and inspecting the papers they held in neat bundles.
‘No, nothing but business notes for the farm and house, your letters are not hidden here. Oh Kate think, we need to find a secret place. He would surely use a secure place known only to himself to conceal such contentious papers.’
As she spoke Dorothea explored the carved wood of the cabinet with restless probing fingers.
‘Many pieces of furniture like this will accommodate a hidden compartment or secret drawer somewhere, do you recall the one we found in the nursery linen chest Kate? All that is needed is an understanding of how the lock works and a world of secrets might be divulged, and Kate do come see, I am convinced this part here must open.’
Catherine was intrigued now, all nervousness forgotten as Dorothea struggled to remember the puzzle of that childhood secret drawer to no avail. Moving closer she knelt beside her sister to help.
‘Let me’, she whispered, ‘it comes back to me a little. The spring mechanism was attached to the bottom of the drawer, and we would open the drawer below to access the spring, and pressing so...’
Both girls gasped in surprise and delight as the panel sprang open to reveal a very narrow and well concealed hiding place in the cabinet. Within which lay an indeterminate number of letters. Catherine’s breath died in her throat and hardly able to bear the suspense she watched as her sister proceeded to remove them from their hiding place and lay them out on the rug. Dorothea spoke first, her voice hitching in her throat with the tension.
‘These are my letters to you, see the seal is unbroken but this is my hand, do you not recognise it Kate? Now we have your letters, most written to me, but here are some to Papa and here to Mama. Again these seals also are unbroken. This cannot be all, it will be of little interest now to read these, for we have conversed, sharing the emotions and thoughts we failed to share then. I am convinced there must be others and if they are not to be found here, then they must hold such secrets as to warrant an even more secure hiding lace. Oh it is so frustrating!’
As she spoke Dorothea ran frantic fingers around every contour of the drawer, until she was satisfied there were no more letters. Then she sat back, looking directly at her sister eyes full of disappointment, but Kate was staring at the ornate carving at the top of the cabinet with a frown of concentration. Almost as if in a trance she moved forward, letting the bundle of letters she held fall with a muffled sound onto the rug. Reaching up she began to run her fingers around the carved flowers and leaves as if testing each in turn.
‘Dorothea, don’t you remember the spices in the kitchen at home? Each concealed in its own tiny drawer, hidden from those who would pilfer the scented treasures cook held so dear. She would let me into her secrets sometimes and I would watch as she seemed to coax them from their hiding places. I never really understood what she did, her fingers were so nimble, but with a few quick movements over the carved figures on her dresser she would call forth peppery nutmegs, twisted cinnamon sticks and spiky cloves. It was almost as if all the scents of Christmas had invaded the kitchen by magic. If only I knew how she did it...’
Catherine was not quite sure what exactly she had done, was it the tweak she gave the flower head, or the firm twisting motion applied to a spiky pine cone, or a combination of both that resulted in a tiny drawer about four inches wide sliding forth from the centre of the carved section, heralded by nothing more than an almost imperceptible click. It was as if time itself stood still for a brief second, daring the sisters to breathe. Then Dorothea extended a slim hand, removed a bundle of papers from the drawer and after giving them a brief inspection handed them to Catherine without uttering another syllable. Afterwards Catherine would struggle in vain to recall the detail of that moment, and all that would come to her was the remembrance of Dorothea’s eyes darkened with compassion and the feel of the paper in her hand, dry as dust. In actual fact, though she was unaware of doing so, she accepted the papers in silence, turned and seated herself in the chair where the light from the candle would best illuminate. Then she proceeded to inspect and then to read in detail the letters she’d been given.
There were four in all, each addressed to her husband in her father’s distinctive hand and dated within a month of her marriage. She began reading them in chronological order, but soon the emotion springing from each line of each page seemed to infect her brain with the same rambling malady that gripped the letters themselves and unconsciously she skipped from page to page, searching for a meaning her brain was able to accept. As the minutes ticked by wrapped in a cloying silence punctuated only by the ticking of the clock on the mantel she slowly came to understand that there was no easy, acceptable explanation. There was only this awful truth.
“Again I write Tremayne to entreat you to show mercy. Not to me, I am under no illusion on that score, and I know that there is not enough time on this earth to allow you to mellow and to forgive what you believe to be my sins and so I will not waste hope there.
No it is for my dearest girl that I plead. Your last missive, full of hate, gives me no great hope that my words will be received by you with any degree of compassion but I am compelled as only a parent can be to continue in my quest for your understanding and leniency...
So much cannot now be undone, my dearest girl is wed and society dictates that this must endure, that she must make her life with you, her husband, in a new land far from those who love her and miss her. My life will forever be blighted by her loss, and the knowledge you have taken her without a thought to the value a gentleman should put upon a wife, in this you surely have your revenge. You write that you will send her back to her mother in shame once you have done with me, I beseech you if you have an ounce of compassion in you, to send her now, let her come home and we will concoct a fitting story to cover the act. And so I beg you not to use her cruelly to torture me further, rather come and heap those cruelties on me alone, and I will accept anything you may wish to inflict upon me...
I feel compelled to put in front of you the memory of the sacred vows you took on your wedding day. You tell me you will use her cruelly, make a whore of her before shaming her by sending her back to her parents, and yet you vowed to love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her, to cherish her so long as ye both shall live. Do you recall those vows Alex? Yet you would break them and for no other reason than to inflict your revenge upon me. And that you should do this in such a vile way, by despoiling her innocence in that sacred marriage bed. That you should look to use her to satisfy such base instincts and write of her suffering to me, must surely be a sin of such enormity...
Forgive me my weakness and my tears, I fear my hand trembles and I cannot write more this day, I will send this by post and pray you will relent, spare my angel, please Alex....
She read and re-read random extracts from each sheet of paper until her brain muddled and mixed them into one long litany and here and there her father’s signature, Charles Calthorpe but writ as
she had never seen it, weak, spidery and distorted by the tears he shed as he wrote.
Dorothea watched as Catherine read in silence, the blood draining from her already pale face until she resembled a mere spirit of herself. Unable to contain her emotions she cried out.
‘Kate for pity’s sake, what is there in the letters to so rob you of your colour? Oh heavens, it is as we feared, he killed her and now you are in fear for your life.’
Catherine could hardly think but even through the fear that clouded her brain she could not believe the horror that Dorothea related.
‘No, that is not it... that is not the danger... I cannot believe, and yet I must for it is writ here...’
‘And just what is written there?’
Dorothea uttered a soft cry of alarm, and turning to see both gentlemen in the doorway dashed into the arms of her incredulous husband.
‘Charles, it is as we feared, poor Papa is right and we must see to keeping dearest Kate safe, we must take her home Charles, away from here, away from him.’
But Charles was not listening, his eyes were fixed on the tableau before him, he lifted one hand to quiet his distraught wife, and together they watched as the scene unfolded.
Alex moved further into the room, his eyes fixed on Catherine. She returned his gaze, though somehow he doubted that she saw him. Her face was a ghostly foil for the troubled darkness of her eyes and he discerned the sheen of tears on her cheek. In her hand she held one of the damned letters and the rest were scattered about her the ink tainting the paper just as surely as the words poisoned her thoughts. Why oh why had he kept them?
‘Kate?’
His questioning use of her name seemed not to register at first, and then, slowly, she focused her eyes on him and he blanched at the pain he saw reflected there.
Vengeful Lord, Defiant Lady. Page 11