by Louise Allen
‘You did not,’ she said abruptly. ‘We both seem to have been somewhat, um, carried away in our sleep. You are, after all, a betrothed man. And an honourable one. Therefore it was not intentional. I do not regard it in the slightest.’
The colour in her cheeks gave her the lie about that, but Theo pretended to not notice. Things were embarrassing enough. And confusing. An honourable man? He had not behaved like one and being half-asleep was no excuse. He might have sown his wild oats in the past but he was not a rake and he he’d never had any trouble controlling himself around tempting, but virtuous, young ladies – so why did that embrace feel so overwhelmingly right and why had his instincts not woken him?
‘Will Thwaite saw you, so I had to tell him why you were here. He also understands that you were taken advantage of this morning – ’
‘Poppycock!’ The pink in Laura’s cheeks was anger now, he realised. ‘I was not taken advantage of. I was enjoying myself very much, thank you. Admittedly I thought it was a dream, but as I completely believe that you did too, no-one has taken advantage of anyone. I am quite capable of slapping your face when, and if, it is called for, my lord. I am sure you had no intention of betraying your betrothed. What is her name, by the way?’
Lady Penelope Haddon. My betrothed. Why am I having so much trouble remembering her name, let alone her face?
‘Lady Penelope Haddon,’ Theo said. If he said it often enough she might seem real. He held up both hands, palm out, in the fencer’s sign of surrender. ‘If I am back to being my lord, then I am truly in disgrace.’
She shook her head at him, but the colour had ebbed. ‘We must forget it. Is Mr Thwaite on the mend, do you think, Theo?’
‘He looks – and sounds – very much better, although we cannot be certain until the doctor sees him again. But he is agitated by the whole situation and I think talking about it will help keep him calm and in bed. But should you not be in bed yourself? Mrs Bishop said you were bruised and knocked about; that the attacker had you by the throat.’
‘It is only bruises and moving about will stop them stiffening up.’ She tipped up her chin and he could see faint discolouration on her neck. ‘And my throat is hardly sore at all, he did not manage to get a firm grip.’
‘May I?’ Theo put out his right hand to cover the marks and lifted her hair away with the other. ‘A hand definitely larger than yours, not quite as big as mine, I think. It is hard to tell, the traces are very faint.’
‘I will let him get a better grip next time so we have clearer evidence,’ Laura said, her head averted while he studied the side of her neck. ‘You have long fingers,’ she added.
He lifted them away from her skin and let her hair fall, his breath coming short. ‘Yes, I suppose I have. Come, let us confer with our conscious Curate.’
Will Thwaite was clean shaven, had finished a substantial breakfast and was looking, to Theo’s eye, considerably improved.
‘I have been thinking as hard as I can, but I have no idea who attacked me. It is my custom to take a walk before retiring and I thought of looking at the tithe records in case there was any mention of the Flyte family in those. The old volumes are kept in the Fellingham vestry for all three parishes. It was a fine night, quite clear and although the moon is waning, the starlight was good enough to see by, so I was hardly using my lantern.’
‘Anyone who knows you would be aware of your evening walks, I imagine,’ Laura commented.
‘Oh yes, the parishioners think me quite eccentric.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose my regular habits made it easy for anyone wishing me harm to know they only had to wait and then follow me. I saw no-one, heard nothing.’
‘Did you smell anything?’ Theo asked. ‘Tobacco, or horses or sweat?’
‘Nothing I’m afraid.’ He shook his head, winced and lay back. ‘Or… Christmas? That makes no sense. I can’t recall even hearing something or being afraid.’
‘Smell…’ Laura said. ‘I knew there was something odd about the man who attacked me. I couldn’t see his face and he was shrouded in that black cloak that flapped like great wings but I smelt something odd. Or rather I didn’t…’
‘What?’ Theo asked but she shook her head, frustrated. ‘Let me try something. Come and stand in the doorway as you did when he attacked you. Now close your eyes and let it all come back to you.’
She pulled a dubious face, but did as he suggested while he and Will watched silently. After several minutes she said, ‘The smell of hot wax from the candle in my dark lantern. Cooking smells – the kitchen door was open. Pot pourri from the bowl on the hall table. When he came close I could smell saddle leather and horse – he must have ridden. Then the cloak flapped open as he came at me and I smelled… nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Yes.’ Laura opened her eyes and came back into the room. ‘Normally people smell of something – sweat or perfume or baking or wine. But I was so close to him that my nose must have been almost against his skin and there was nothing.’ She shivered. ‘As though there was no-one inside that cloak.’
‘Incorporeal beings do not leave fingerprints on throats,’ Theo said bracingly. ‘A pity he was not wearing some expensive and exclusive cologne.’
‘But there was… As I wrenched back from him, he must have opened his mouth. What Will said, something spicy on his breath?’
‘A perambulating, murderous Christmas pudding? As it is, it could be anyone for hire.’ Theo switched his attention back to Will. ‘Nobody had any reason to attack you because of smuggling, unless there is something you haven’t told us,’ he said, thinking it through. ‘I only mentioned you in relation to the Flyte tomb. And why not both of us? I made it clear we were both investigating.’
‘Do you know who was the Rector before Mr Gilpin, Mr Thwaite?’ Laura asked when Will merely looked puzzled. ‘I can’t recall. I wasn’t living here then, just visiting, and I was far too young to know the name of the Rector. He must have known about the false tomb, whoever he was. I was hoping you would tell me last night, Theo, but you were so very late returning.’
‘My horse went lame, there was a stone wedged in one shoe,’ he said. ‘I came back slowly so as not to hurt the bruised foot.’
‘So what about the Rector?’ Laura asked.
‘Giles Swinburn,’ Theo and Will said in chorus.
Chapter Nine
‘Who? Giles? But he’s alive, kicking and most definitely not a clergyman,’ Laura said, startled.
‘His great uncle, the late Sir Hugh Swinburn’s younger brother,’ Will explained. ‘It was a great mystery apparently – he vanished one night in ’95 and was never seen again. The countryside around was searched and enquiries made but in the end it was assumed that either he had been set upon and his body concealed or he had somehow fallen into the sea and been drowned. The living was given to Mr Gilpin after several months had passed.’
‘And it was during Swinburn’s tenure that the tomb must have been erected,’ Theo said. ‘Mrs Gilpin recalls enquiring about it soon after they arrived. She said it was in such good condition that she was surprised, given the date on it, but the parishioners all seemed ignorant about it and she found nothing out.’
‘I can just imagine,’ Laura said bitterly. ‘They played the country yokel and pretended to know nothing when, in fact, they knew all about it. They do it now with the Riding Officers or anyone in authority. No wonder poor Mr Morefleet’s having such difficulties.’
‘Did the Rector’s disappearance have anything to do with the tomb?’ Theo mused. ‘It seems a coincidence that he connives over the erection of a spurious funerary monument in the churchyard – and he must have known it was a fake – and then mysteriously vanishes.’
‘And I still cannot imagine what the point of it is. It is an impressive monument, but only a large box, when all is said and done – far too small to hide more than a few casks in. I suppose packages of tobacco and lace take less room, but even so, it seems like a lot of work when there would be much
more space in the crypt,’ Laura said, discouraged.
‘There is no crypt at Hempbourne Marish because – ’ Will stopped abruptly as Pitkin flung open the door.
‘Someone is coming. A rider I do not recognise.’
‘The doctor, I expect,’ Theo said. ‘Laura, you had best remove yourself.’
She got up and peeped cautiously around the curtain. ‘No, that isn’t Doctor Sinclair. Oh! Oh, thank goodness!’
She reached the front steps as the rider swung out of the saddle at the front steps and a light travelling chariot turned into the driveway between the distant gateposts.
‘Perry! Where have you been, you infuriating man?’ she cried and threw herself into his embrace.
‘Laura? Watch out, wench, you’ll have my hat off.’ He gave her a resounding kiss on the cheek as he hugged her tight. ‘What are you doing here? Don’t tell me your aunt and uncle have finally relented and decided I’m safe to associate with?’
‘No, I’ve run away. It was ghastly, they want to force me to marry Charles. I’m your new housekeeper, Mrs Albright, but no-one outside the household knows who I really am. And someone tried to murder Mr Thwaite the curate and Theo – ’
‘Theo?’ Perry released her, jammed his hat back level on his head, tossed his reins to the groom who jumped down from the back of the travelling coach and slung one arm around her shoulders. ‘Here?’
‘Yes. There he is – Oh.’ Theo, who had come out onto the steps behind her, had vanished again. ‘That’s odd. Anyway, he wanted to get away from London but had a dreadful hangover and got the dates of your house party wrong, even though his valet tried to tell him. He arrived thinking he was a few days early and found me here. Then he was invited to the Manor for dinner and saw some of my embroidery and they said I was in Bath but then when he got back here I was sewing and he guessed who I was – ’
‘Slow down!’ Perry released her as they came to the front door. ‘Murdered curates, wicked uncles, hungover friends and false housekeepers – my head is spinning.’
‘He isn’t murdered, only almost.’ Theo emerged from the shadows of the hall. ‘Good to see you, Perry.’ He held out a hand and Perry pulled him into the shoulder-bumping almost-embrace that always seemed to Laura to be the nearest thing to an outpouring of affection amongst male friends. ‘Damn it, but you’re an elusive fellow – even your staff didn’t know where you’d gone.’
‘Ireland,’ Perry said, releasing him with a slap on the back as the footmen hurried past to unload the carriage.
‘Ireland?’ Theo and Laura chorused.
‘I bought a horse. Best hunter I’ve ever owned. Friend of mine – you recall Tristan Marsh, Theo? – put me onto this stud near Dublin. Took the boat over, spent a few days – damn it, but they grow good horses. Ah, there you are, Mrs Bishop. Yes, I’m home and I could eat an ox right this minute, send something up, would you?’ He turned back to Theo, took him by the arm and steered him into the study, ignoring the cook rolling her eyes at Laura.
‘Anyway, bought one, been regretting not making it six ever since I got on the boat to come back. We’ll have to go over together, Theo. Buy a string, bring ’em back. We’d turn a tidy profit.’
‘That’s a thought.’ Theo was nodding agreement. ‘My best hunter, Juno, is getting a bit long in the tooth and my second string isn’t as sound as I’d like. We could – ’
‘You could stop talking horseflesh, the pair of you, and start worrying about murderous attacks, vanishing rectors and mysterious tombs,’ Laura snapped, marching into the study behind them.
‘Don’t nag, Laura my darling. I haven’t seen this rogue since he inherited his title and now that he’s swimming in money he can afford to buy – What did you say about rectors? Don’t tell me that stuffed shirt Finch has vanished on top of all the rest of it? I’m sorry to hear about Thwaite, good chap that.’
‘The rector before last,’ Laura said crisply. ‘Sir Walter’s uncle. He vanished years ago, you must have heard about it. And Will Thwaite was attacked, but not killed, thank goodness, and he’s in the downstairs bedchamber where we can keep an eye on him because we don’t know who wants to murder him. Someone broke in last night and tried again and it might be anyone at the dinner party behind it all.’
‘What dinner party?’
A footman came in with a tray of food and, with Perry’s mouth occupied, Laura managed to get him to attend to a coherent explanation of her escape from her uncle’s schemes and of Theo’s adventures.
‘Nothing for it, we will have to open the tomb,’ Perry announced, waving a cutlet bone by way of emphasis. ‘If there’s something in it that’s worth murdering for, we need to know.’
‘Don’t we need all kinds of permissions from the bishop to go digging up graves?’ Laura objected.
‘We’re not digging anything. We’ll just take it to pieces – all above ground, as it were. Anyway, those livings are in my gift and I’m a magistrate.’
‘I’m not sure either entitle you to go grave robbing,’ Theo said, snagging the last cutlet from the dish. ‘Why did you appoint Finch in any case if you don’t like him? I didn’t take to him at all.’
‘Sheer idleness,’ Perry confessed, moving the claret bottle out of Theo’s reach. ‘Gilpin died, Swinburn puffed off his brother-in-law as the ideal man, I said yes to get some peace. We need a plan of campaign.’
‘We should involve Will Thwaite,’ Theo said, getting to his feet. ‘Good man that – I intend offering him a living once this is all over. Finch is exploiting him.’
They trooped into the sickroom, Perry clutching the wine bottle and pouring a glass for Mr Thwaite despite Laura’s warnings about provoking fevers.
‘Now,’ he said, pulling up a chair and swinging his booted feet on to the end of the bed. ‘Let us plan our campaign.’
Another bottle of claret appeared and they were all slightly well-to-go, as Perry put it, by the time Laura gave a faint shriek and pointed at the clock. ‘Look at the hour. Will should be resting before dinner and the rest of us must get changed.’
‘We should confirm our plan, we can’t leave it for another night. We’ll have dinner in here, shall we? Will, what do you say? Can you stand it?’
They were all comfortably on first name terms by that time, not, Theo thought bitterly, that Laura and Perry needed any encouragement. Theirs was obviously an old attachment, thwarted by her uncle’s machinations. Now she was free of his control there was nothing to stop her making her own choices. And her choice was Perry. The attraction between Laura and himself that he’d allowed himself to enjoy was, clearly, simply the result of proximity and her need for some comfort and support. And he felt decidedly out of sorts about it.
Arrogant devil, he chided himself. What’s the matter with you? You think that because you’re a viscount and Perry’s only a baron that you’re entitled to be more attractive to a woman than Perry because of it?
And then the recollection of why he had no right to be even thinking of another woman like that hit him again, a blow in the gut. He had to face the fact that he wanted Laura, and not as a friend. But that was impossible, because he was engaged to be married and she was no lightskirt, willing to have a brief amorous interlude.
She was intelligent and courageous and quick-thinking. She was lovely to look at and felt even better when she was in his arms. The way he felt was damnably confusing because she was a respectable lady and the last thing he would have wanted, even if he was free, was to ruin her, which was where things had been heading before Perry came on the scene.
Laura was sophisticated enough – or perhaps simply honest enough – to admit that she had enjoyed that incident on the chaise, even if she had assumed they were asleep at the time, but she was no wanton. She would expect marriage from any man who wanted her.
‘And there’s three things against that,’ Theo said out loud as he closed his bedchamber door behind him.
‘My lord?’
Theo bit back a rel
uctant smile at the sight of Pitkin. With his newly-found courage he was standing a good two inches taller, his jaw was set firmly and his frequents ers and ums had almost ceased. On the other hand, the tumble of cherubic curls and his slender frame made his efforts to look dignified faintly amusing.
‘Just talking to myself, Pitkin.’ And I wish I had someone more intelligent to converse with… ‘I’m ready to bathe and change for dinner now.’
He returned to his musings over Laura as he wallowed in the tub. Three objections – One: He was betrothed even though he was having grave doubts about his suitability as husband material. Two: Even if he had not been betrothed, when he did marry he needed a wife who knew how to be a viscountess – as Lady Penelope did – because he was damned if he had much idea yet how to be a viscount and one of them ought to know what they were doing. Which left Three and there was no arguing with Three: Laura wanted Perry, not him. He thought he had seen a look of pity in Will’s eyes as he’d taken a seat as far away from Laura as possible and that was the last straw.
‘End of argument,’ he muttered as Pitkin came in with a pitcher of hot water and poured it over his head. This time the valet had more sense than to assume he was being addressed. And the truly damning thing was that it was argument three that weighed most heavily, not, as it should have been, the first. ‘Bring cold water, Pitkin.’ It was desire, impure and simple and the way to deal with that was straightforward self-control. And cold water.
The doctor had decreed that Will Thwaite was well enough to get up for dinner and Pitkin had outfitted him in an assortment of Perry and Theo’s garments that hung on his lean frame, giving him the air of a well-dressed scarecrow. His initial diffidence at finding himself in this company was gradually being replaced with the natural ease and good manners of his upbringing and Theo was more than ever convinced that if he could be extracted from the Rector’s servitude he would blossom as a vicar.