The Rightful Lord (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

  “T’would be a good thing, I reckon,” observed Mrs B. “Bit more land, more work for our menfolk, more crops…”

  “More everything,” nodded Gwyneth. “More raspberries for Evan’s jam.” She grinned at him as he rolled his eyes.

  “I’ll need more hands when it comes to the making of it, then,” he sighed.

  As Mrs B turned to Evan, always happy to talk about cooking and recipes, Gwyneth held out her arms to Jane.

  “Can I hold him for a little? I’ll try not to wake him.”

  “Of course,” smiled Jane. “And you won’t wake him. He’s just nursed. After his meal he sleeps very well indeed. Like his papa on a Sunday.”

  Both women laughed and Gwyneth settled back, enjoying the unusual warmth of a sleeping baby in her lap.

  “How are you getting along with Mrs Fields?”

  Jane nodded. “Very well. ’Tis snug of course, but much more room than here, with so many of us in and out all the time.” She rolled her shoulders. “Trick is talking of building on a room as well. I think he’ll be speaking to Mr Royce about that come the New Year.”

  “I’m sure it will be agreeable,” reassured Gwyneth. “And you’ll appreciate a little more space as this one grows.” She looked down at the round face, soft and pink, eyes closed and tucked up warmly in a wool blanket. “So sweetly he sleeps, doesn’t he?”

  “Not always.” Jane’s tone was wry. “If he’s hungry, he will let me know in no uncertain terms.”

  “You are so lucky. He’s strong and healthy, Jane. He’ll be a wonderful son and grow into a wonderful man with parents like you and Trick.”

  The two women were silent for a moment, watching the baby wrinkle his little mouth in a dream.

  “Will you have a child, my Lady?” Jane asked tentatively.

  The question caught Gwyneth off guard. “I have no idea,” she answered honestly. “I haven’t heard of a Lady of Wolfbridge ever having a child.”

  “Neither have we,” replied Jane. “But I just wondered.”

  “Something best left to higher powers, I imagine.”

  “Of course.”

  The little one stirred as Evan glanced over at her. “We should leave soon my Lady. Darkness falls very quickly these days.”

  With a sigh, Gwyneth handed back the child to Jane, taking a moment to drop a tiny kiss on his forehead. “There you go, lovey. Back to mama.”

  Jane accepted him with practised ease, tucking him into her side. “Oh, before I forget, a letter was delivered here to Ma, and it’s for Mr Jeremy. The lad who brought it wanted to get home before that snowstorm and knew he wouldn’t if he had to go on to the Manor, so we said we’d bring it to you.” She looked worried. “I am sorry, I should have given it to him before now.”

  “That’s all right. I’m sure Jeremy will understand. What with the snowstorm, the death of the Queen and everything else, it’s been a rather hectic time, hasn’t it?”

  She stood as Evan came to her side. “We’ll take it with us and give it to Jeremy.”

  Goodbyes were said, and she and Evan were on their way home, filled with pleasure at the visit and also filled with Mrs B’s unsurpassed gooseberry pie.

  “She will not part with that recipe,” groaned Evan, “no matter how hard I try to persuade her.”

  “Someday she’ll break beneath your patient questioning, Evan.” Gwyneth sighed as she hit a soggy patch. “Let’s get home quickly. My feet are cold now.”

  So they hurried as the sun set and dusk brought longer shadows to the fields covered in snow. The lights of Wolfbridge glowed bright and soon they were both inside in front of the fire.

  “Jeremy, this is for you.” Gwyneth produced the letter and handed it to him, telling him how it came to be at Mrs B’s.

  He frowned. “That’s most odd. I wasn’t expecting anything from anyone, and who would address something to Mr Jeremy of Wolfbridge?” He opened it and held it in front of him, reading the contents.

  His face turned white.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “God, Jeremy, what is it?” Evan rushed to his friend’s side. “Are you all right? Is it bad news?”

  Gwyneth was stunned for a moment, then joined Evan. “Here, sit down. You look frightful, as if you’re going to faint.”

  Gabriel came in and hurried over. “Water. He needs a glass of water.”

  “What the…” Royce peered around the door, then strode in. “Let the lad breathe.” He took Jeremy’s arm and led him to a chair. “Sit,” he snapped, giving Jeremy little choice as he shoved him down with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Brandy.”

  His command was quickly obeyed, and Gabriel rushed back to Jeremy’s side with a splash of the rich liquid. “Here, Jeremy. Drink this…”

  Evan picked up the letter which had fallen from Jeremy’s hands. He glanced at it, then sucked in a breath, handing it to Royce.

  “Devil take it…” The hissed curse made them all pause. “You’d all better sit down. Where’s Harry?”

  “Here.” He joined them. “I heard a fuss.”

  “More than a fuss.” Royce handed him the note. “Read this. Aloud.”

  Harry frowned. “All right.” His eyes narrowed as he looked over the paper. “Dear Jeremy, I hope you liked your present. She was a sinner and deserved her punishment. Remember - those who sin must die. And those who lead others into sin must also be punished, for they are damned to eternal agony in hell.”

  “What the…” Evan stared at him.

  “I have no idea.” Harry looked confused.

  “Before you arrived Harry, a young woman was badly beaten and, I suppose you could say, delivered to Jeremy. We couldn’t save her,” Gwyneth explained quietly. “She was someone he’d known in the past.”

  “And there were no clues as to who perpetrated such a crime?” Harry’s face was grim.

  “None.” Gabriel sighed. “After her passing, we sort of let it go. She had a sister, but we could not locate her to notify her. It was very sad indeed, and very hard on Jeremy.”

  “We wondered if the man she had divorced might have been responsible. A banker or something. Orloff, was it?” Gwyneth shrugged. “But honestly? At that point, we wanted nothing more than to have our Jeremy back. It seemed the only thing to do was to try to put the tragedy behind us. Dredging up past sorrows doesn’t necessarily help heal the present ones.”

  “And I tried to let it all go as well.” Jeremy stood, his colour returning. “I should have known that something as violent as that would not fade away.”

  Harry looked at Royce, then back at Jeremy. “Not being familiar with all the circumstances, I hesitate to venture an opinion, but…I would be willing to wager that whoever this is means to continue the attacks, and it looks like our Jeremy here could be involved somehow?”

  “Agreed,” bit out Royce. “We should have looked further into the matter, I suppose…”

  “But you all wanted to spare me,” Jeremy said, lifting his head and staring at them all with sad eyes. “I appreciated it. It helped, being with you all, and yes, I was willing to push it all away. I didn’t want to think of how terrible it must have been for her.”

  He gulped, a harsh sound that made Gwyneth’s heart ache for him. She rested her hand on his arm. “Now that we have been so horribly reminded, what would you recommend as our best course of action?” She turned her gaze from Royce to Harry and back. “You two have more experience in dealing with a variety of people during your careers. War is violent. And here we have a violent act against a woman, and somehow Jeremy is part of it.”

  Royce ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t like the sound of that note.”

  “Why?” Gwyneth asked.

  “It sounds as though whoever killed that girl, did so for some obscure reason—maybe a religious one.” Harry’s voice was hard. “That isn’t casual violence. That is madness.”

  “I agree,” Royce nodded. “I don’t like it at all.” He looked at Jeremy. “I think we must si
t down together, Jeremy. And you need to tell us everything you recall about your time with Susanna Brockford. Everything. There may be some small thing that will give us a clue as to the identity of this killer. Clearly whoever it is knew Susanna, so there’s a chance you might know them…”

  Jeremy closed his eyes for a moment. “I hate that thought. That someone I know could be capable of such a terrible deed.”

  “Nobody likes that idea.” Gabriel spoke gently. “We’ll find out who it is, Jeremy, never fear. We’re a family, and families look after each other.”

  Gwyneth’s eyes stung with tears at Gabriel’s words. He was right. They were a family of sorts, each ready to shoulder another’s burdens, lend a hand when needed and just be present during a crisis, especially like this.

  After a few moments, Harry sighed. “Right then. Where do we start?”

  Jeremy rose to stand by the fire, warming his hands. “I will tell you everything I know.”

  And he related the details he’d shared with Gwyneth earlier in the year. He spared nothing, she knew, listening as he told of Susanna’s past, her dealings with the man he’d killed, and her coldhearted decision to marry someone else.

  He told of his heartbreak, and then his meeting with Giles, which happily brought him to Wolfbridge.

  And he repeated what some already knew…that she had come briefly back into his life not so long ago.

  “So she divorced,” murmured Royce. “The ex-husband should be someone we look into.”

  “Orloff. Basil Orloff. Banker, I think someone said?”

  Harry nodded. “You’re right, Jeremy. I’ve heard that name. I believe he has some pretty substantial holdings. So he’s not lacking in funds…”

  Gwyneth nodded. “Yes, that might be a good place to start. And her sister.” She looked at Jeremy. “Did you ever hear her name?”

  He shook his head. “Not that I recall, and we did find out she had moved away after Susanna left.”

  “We should set some particular enquiries in motion.” Royce leaned back and crossed his legs. “Since Susanna is gone, we still have a solid reason for asking questions, even though some time has passed since her death. Nobody needs to know that, of course.”

  “A good plan, I think.” Evan walked to the fire and leaned on the mantel, looking at his friend. “Is this of help, Jeremy? Are you agreeable?”

  Jeremy turned to look at him, and at everyone else in the room. He nodded. “Yes, yes it has to be done. I agree with Harry when he says that whoever is behind this is mad. And I’d rather not have anyone else hurt, or—God forbid—killed because of me.” He squared his shoulders. “Let me know what I can do. Let’s stop this madness before it goes any further.”

  *~~*~~*

  The next day, plans were set in motion.

  Royce spoke to several of the tenants who had friends or family intimate with the congregation of St. Polycarp’s. Susanna had been in attendance last summer and revealed she was staying with her sister.

  It might not be very helpful, but as Evan pointed out, they had to start somewhere. He was going to take the gig to Little Maddington for some supplies, and declared that if the roads were passable and the weather held, he’d go on to Ditchley. He knew plenty of villagers, and would try asking them for any information they might have on Susanna’s sister, in case she’d ever shopped at either place. Gabriel had decided to go with him, since he had a way with people and would be able to charm pretty much anyone they came across.

  In the meantime, Royce announced he’d write to Giles about the Orloff connection, in the hope that there might be something useful from that end of their investigations.

  Jeremy and Harry elected to go over to the new school, which would allow them to work on some of the building tasks as well as quietly ask around about Susanna and her sister. If she’d been in the area before her death, one of the tenants might know about it, or at least have heard something.

  All good, sensible ideas, and Gwyneth agreed with them.

  But since there wasn’t room in the gig for her, and she didn’t particularly fancy a visit to the new school, she was left to her own devices, with only Royce for company. He was in his study, working on his letters and other business matters.

  She wandered into the parlour and put another log on the fire, stoking up the embers with a poker and warming her hands at the ensuing blaze.

  It was so quiet, she realised.

  Not that the others made much noise, but it was rare that Wolfbridge was this empty. Normally, she would have been out with her gentlemen, or have at least one by her side.

  However, these were strange times, she mused, taking her favourite chair and tucking a warm blanket around her knees. The logs had caught, and the fire blazed, but she was still chilled. More from the thought of what Jeremy’s letter might portend than from any draughts in the room.

  Her gaze drifted to the table and reminded her of the Fivetrees matter. It had been pushed aside by yesterday’s events.

  But first she had to review the script for their Christmas play, so now was as good a time as any to get started on it.

  She was about to pick up the papers, when a sound outside distracted her and she stood, frowning, going to the window.

  It was a carriage, mud-splattered and unmarked. And it was pulling up the driveway to Wolfbridge.

  She sighed, wishing Jeremy were here to open the door, and then walked into the hall, calling out Royce’s name as she did so and hoping he heard her.

  The knocker rattled loudly.

  Taking a breath, she pulled the heavy door open and found herself confronted by two men, one quite tall and heavy-set, obviously a servant, the other shorter, rounder and dressed in expensive winter garb.

  “Good day,” she offered, waiting.

  “Good day.” The portly man bowed. “May I take it I am addressing the Lady of Wolfbridge?”

  Gwyneth kept her face as calm as possible. “Yes. I am the Lady of Wolfbridge. We are not expecting company…may I inquire as to your name and business here?”

  “Of course. Forgive me.” He reached into an inner pocket of his coat. “My card, my Lady.”

  She took the small piece of cardboard and looked at the elegant script announcing that the bearer was none other than Sir Alfred Gylbart. Reading the name sent a chill rippling over her that had nothing to do with the winter air.

  “Ah,” she managed. “And what is the purpose of your visit here, Sir?”

  He beamed at her. “Just a neighbourly call, dear lady. I thought it proper to notify you that the current owners of Fivetrees have granted me permission to visit. I’m working on making an offer for the property, don’t you know.”

  He was all smiles and affability, but Gwyneth knew better. “I see,” she said, managing to hide her revulsion.

  Suddenly there was warmth beside her. “A visitor, my Lady?”

  She passed Royce the card and kept her gaze on the man in front of her. “My estate manager, Mr Hadley.”

  Gylbart moved back slightly with a nod of his head to Royce. “A pleasure. As I was telling Lady Wolfbridge, I will be visiting Fivetrees today, with the full permission of the current owners. I cannot stay, of course, but I have friends a few miles past Ditchley, so I will be spending time at their estate afterwards.”

  “And you are here, at Wolfbridge, because…” Royce’s voice was as smooth as cream, but she sensed the underlying tension.

  “Merely a wish to reassure her Ladyship, in case we are observed. I would not have anyone concerned that Fivetrees is in any danger.”

  “So thoughtful of you, Sir Alfred,” managed Gwyneth. “Should there be any comments or conversation about strangers on that property, I shall be able to settle them thanks to your visit.”

  “Indeed,” Royce dipped his head slightly. “Most kind of you to think of it. But we must not keep you. I’m sure your horses will be feeling the chill, since it looks as if you’ve driven quite a way this morning.”

  A tad n
onplussed, Gylbart blinked. “Ah, yes. Well, from just outside London, actually. We made very good time, since the roads are clear and almost empty of traffic at the moment.” He turned to Gwyneth. “A pleasure to meet you, my Lady. I hope we shall find ourselves neighbours before too long.” He glanced at Royce. “Mr Hadley.”

  The slightest nod accompanied the salutation, and then Gylbart stepped away, his servant following.

  Neither Gwyneth nor Royce spoke until both men had entered the carriage and driven off.

  “That was not a nice person.” Gwyneth shivered. “Was it me or was there someone else with him?” She stared at it as it headed away from Wolfbridge and toward Fivetrees. “I could swear I saw movement.”

  “I thought that as well. But I couldn’t see anything other than a bonnet. So a woman. A maid, perhaps? Unlikely though. I don’t know. Come inside,” murmured Royce, shutting the door firmly and locking it. “It’s too cold to stand around out here. I could use a few minutes in front of the fire.”

  He led her back into the parlour and they both gravitated to the hearth and the bright blaze.

  “I should have been the one to open the door,” began Royce.

  Gwyneth stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Don’t be silly. You were working. I saw the carriage drive up, but there were no markings on it. I had no idea who was at the door, since if I had, you can believe I’d have fetched you immediately.”

  “I’m sorry.” He slid an arm around her waist and hugged her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I just have to tell you that.”

  She leaned against him, taking comfort from his warmth. “You were there within moments. I had no worries on that score.”

  “Am I over-protective, Gwyneth?”

  She looked up to see him watching her face. “A little perhaps, but all of you are to a certain extent. I’ve not felt smothered by it at all. To be honest, it’s helped me to know you’re there when I need you.”

  “Good,” he said softly. “Good.”

  His eyes drifted to her lips, and she found herself responding to the head and need she saw there. Lifting her hand to his cheek, she smiled. “You make me feel safe, Royce. Cherished and protected. I know my own strengths and what I can withstand, but still…the knowing is important to me. As are you.”