“Elijah Kendrick, at your service, Barlow.” Mr. Barlow shook his hand heartily. “Didn’t get a chance to catch you before the competition.”
“Well met, Mr. Kendrick. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
“I’m sure you have. I’m as famous for breeding racehorses as you are for planning disastrous expeditions.”
“Daddy,” Stella chided.
“If you call single-handedly rescuing the rubber tree industry from ruin by smuggling seventy thousand seeds past Brazilian customs officials and having over a dozen exotic flowers named after you disastrous, I’m your man.” Daddy sputtered an ineffectual reply. Mr. Barlow bared his teeth in a Cheshire cat–like grin before turning his attention to Miss Cosslett. “I’ve already met your daughter. So who is this fine woman?” Miss Cosslett’s eyes rounded like saucers.
“That is what I was about to ask,” Lord Atherly said, entering the tent with his wife and daughter gliding across the well-trodden grass beside him. Lyndy, scowling, arrived several paces behind them, his eyes immediately fixating on Lord Fairbrother. Raindrops glistened on the shoulders of his coat. Stella caught his eye and smiled. His face brightened a bit.
“Jealous, are you, Atherly?” Daddy said, smirking at Lord Atherly’s admiring expression while Lady Atherly stared down her nose at the reporter. “This is Jane Cosslett.”
“Are you a New Forest pony enthusiast, Miss Cosslett?” Mr. Barlow asked, noticing how the reporter openly gaped at him, ignoring everyone else.
“No, Barlow. She’s a reporter, down from London. Come to cover the wedding, not the pony competition,” Daddy said. “Supposedly there are folks all over the globe who will pay good money to know how many pearls are stitched into my daughter’s wedding gown. So, I’ve taken this charming creature under my wing. Who am I to stifle the press? Especially if it means the Astors in New York get wind of it.” Daddy laughed, his protruding belly jiggling. “You couldn’t ask for better publicity.”
“One could strive for no publicity at all,” Lady Atherly said, breaking her silence. “If you’ll excuse me.” Without waiting, she sauntered over to the other side of the tent. Stella took the opportunity to step closer to Lyndy, her closest ally in the tent. She hadn’t talked to him all day.
“You must be disappointed,” she whispered. “I know I am. Moorington was definitely the better pony.”
Lyndy chuckled softly. “Will I ever grow accustomed to your forwardness?”
“If you are to be believed, Lord Lyndhurst, it is one of my charms,” Stella teased.
“Yes, and no.”
“What do you mean by that?” She made a face at him.
“I mean . . .” Lyndy reached up and lightly brushed the back of two fingers across her cheek. He’d never done that before. Or anything like it, in public. His touch was surprisingly soft and gentle. Stella decided she liked it. “Yes, it is one of your charms, but no, I’m not disappointed.” He let his hand drop. “I knew, going in, that Fairbrother’s pony would probably win.”
Then why had he stared at Lord Fairbrother like George Parley had, like a man who’d been cheated? Before she could ask, a gentleman in his fifties wearing spectacles and mopping drops of rain from his high, shiny forehead strolled into the tent.
“Lord Atherly, I was just talking with a man outside, and I wondered if . . .” The newcomer, stuffing his handkerchief in his jacket pocket, was now intent on getting his pipe to light in the damp.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Amos Gridley.” Daddy pulled away from Miss Cosslett and slapped the newcomer on the back. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. It’s about time we had more Americans around here. How long has it been?”
Stella had only heard of Professor Gridley. He was the famous paleontologist from the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum. He and her father had met through racing, but Stella knew the professor’s passion wasn’t for living horses but ancient, fossilized ones. Hence his connection with Lord Atherly. Professor Gridley was, however indirectly, partly responsible for Stella and Lyndy’s recent engagement. Lord Atherly had funded the professor’s most recent fossil-hunting expeditions to Wyoming, the expenditure nearly bankrupting the family. Not everyone welcomed the professor’s presence, but Stella couldn’t wait to meet him.
“Two years this past May, at the Preakness.”
“Yes, that was it,” Daddy said. “St. Florian’s filly won it. I made lots of money off that stud.”
“And I lost a five-spot by betting against her.” The two men shared a laugh.
“You two must have a lot to hash out after that big dig, eh, Atherly?” Daddy said, adding another slice of cake to his plate. “How did it pan out?”
“It was an extraordinary expedition, Mr. Kendrick, absolutely extraordinary.”
“I’m so glad to hear it was such a success, Lord Atherly,” Stella said. For some odd reason, Stella was the only woman Lord Atherly allowed into his private sanctuary to examine his fossils or use his hand lenses whenever she wished. With all her many social obligations, she’d barely stepped foot in his study, but she’d eagerly followed the expedition’s progress, questioning Lord Atherly about it as much as she could.
“I couldn’t be more delighted.” Lord Atherly puffed out his chest a bit, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Perhaps, Miss Kendrick, you’d like to join us tomorrow and hear more about it? Gridley is going to show me some of what he found.”
The words, “I’d love to,” faded on Stella’s lips as Jane Cosslett pushed herself forward, stepping on the hem of Stella’s dress.
“You’re Dr. Amos Gridley?” Professor Gridley nodded. “Really?” She sounded disappointed.
“This must be your daughter, then, eh, Kendrick?” Professor Gridley said, smiling at the reporter. “You seem familiar. Have we met before?”
Miss Cosslett shook her head as Stella pulled on her skirt, forcing the reporter to lift her foot.
“No, no,” Daddy scoffed. “Of course not. No, this exquisite creature is Miss Jane Cosslett.”
Professor Gridley nodded, then shifted his broad smile to include Stella. “Then, this must be the bride to be.”
“Indeed, it is, Professor,” Lyndy said, capturing Stella’s gaze and holding it. For a moment, everyone else faded into the background. What was Lyndy thinking? His face, stoic and unreadable as always, gave nothing away. But was that pride she heard seep into his voice? Was that glint in his eyes a sign of approval? Then suddenly, his focus jerked away, and his expression hardened. Stella followed his gaze toward Lady Philippa, chatting with Lyndy’s mother.
What had his mother said this time? Stella would have to ask Lyndy later. After two months of being on her best behavior, Stella knew she hadn’t won Lady Atherly’s approval. Would she ever? Did she care?
“How nice to finally meet you, Miss Stella,” Professor Gridley said pleasantly. “I can’t believe we haven’t met before. Your father’s a scoundrel for not telling me more about you.”
“Well done, Fairbrother,” Lord Atherly said as the competition’s winner and his wife joined the group. “I believe that makes several wins in a row.”
“It does.”
“I do apologize for all that silly business with Mr. Parley beforehand.”
“Not to worry yourself, old chap. The best pony won in the end.” Lord Atherly nodded congenially, glad to have that out of the way. But Stella’s father wouldn’t let it rest. Lyndy started rocking on his heels.
“Did it?” Daddy said. “If I were judging, Parley’s pony would’ve won hands down.”
“But no one asked you to judge, now did they?” Lord Fairbrother said, running his finger across his name etched in the silver trophy still cradled in the crook of his arm.
“Lord Fairbrother, I don’t believe you’ve met the leader of Lord Atherly’s latest fossil expedition,” Stella said, hoping to diffuse the rising tension. “Professor Amos Gridley is the world-famous fossil hunter from the States. Professor, this is Lord Fairbrother,
his wife, Lady Philippa Fairbrother, and their guest, Mr. Cecil Barlow.”
“The Cecil Barlow?” Professor Gridley said, breaking with etiquette and ignoring the Fairbrothers. “The plant-hunting explorer?”
“In the flesh,” Barlow said, sweeping his Stetson hat off his head in a florid bow. Lady Philippa, who would’ve cringed if Stella had done such a thing, chuckled. Lord Fairbrother frowned. Lyndy fidgeted with the cuffs on his sleeve. Professor Gridley was unfazed.
“What luck,” the professor said. “I was telling Lord Atherly this morning that my colleagues have largely ignored South America. I know you specialize in exotic botanicals, Mr. Barlow, but if you have time, I would love to get your opinion on—”
“I’ve seen you before, you know, Professor,” Lord Fairbrother said, interrupting.
“You have?”
“At the opening of the dinosaur exhibit at the Natural History Museum in London. Since His Majesty was a sponsor, all the best set attended.”
“The one for the Diplodocus carnegii?” Lord Fairbrother nodded.
“I saw you there too, Miss Cosslett. Covering the event for your newspaper, were you?” The reporter blanched—what a strange reaction. Stella would have to ask later what that was all about.
“But that’s unbelievable. I can’t remember what I had for breakfast, let alone a face that I’d seen in a crowd.” Professor Gridley laughed. “There were so many there that day, thousands perhaps. How could you possibly remember seeing us there?”
“I never forget a face.”
“Or a single indiscretion,” Lady Philippa muttered under her breath.
Had anyone else but Stella heard her? Lord Fairbrother, congenially chatting with the professor and Lord Atherly about the merits of the exhibit, at least didn’t appear to. But Lyndy must have; he was frowning, as was Cecil Barlow. Miss Cosslett was biting her lip.
“Fairbrother!”
The pleasant conversation ceased as Harvey Milkham stormed into the tent, water dripping off the rim of his old, floppy hat. He hadn’t changed out of the clothes he’d worn last night, but unlike last night, the heavy scent of burnt wood and smoke permeated everything about him. Those not seated, many with teacups or dessert plates in hand, backed away as the snakecatcher aimed straight toward their group, dragging a burlap sack along behind him. With tea over, everyone was preparing to leave. Stella moved to meet him. The additional stench of bourbon reached Stella before he did.
“Harvey? What is it? What’s wrong?” she said.
“I say, hold on there, old fellow.” Cecil Barlow grabbed hold of Harvey’s arm. “What’s this all about?” Harvey struggled in the plant hunter’s firm grip but was no match. Stella approached her friend, reaching out to comfort him, but Cecil Barlow, shaking his head, blocked her hand and then stepped in her way. “You better step back, Miss Kendrick. This fellow’s more animal than man.”
“How dare you!” Stella said. “He’s my friend. Leave him alone.” But Mr. Barlow wouldn’t budge.
“What’s it this time, Harvey?” Lord Fairbrother scoffed. “Not like the fine I imposed in court? You know you don’t have any right to the common of pasture. You can’t just turn your pony out. I was only upholding the law.”
“You burned down me house, Fairbrother!” Harvey jerked about, still trying to shake off the plant hunter’s hold.
“What?” Stella whirled around to face Lord Fairbrother; his arms still cradled his new silver chalice.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lady Philippa said, leaning back as if to distance herself without giving ground. “Why would my husband want to do such a thing?”
“For the land, milady. The land. Ask him.” Harvey shook a long, gnarled finger at Lord Fairbrother, who rolled his eyes. “He’s been trying to get us off the land for years, and now he’s gone and burned down me house.”
“Fairbrother?” Lyndy said. “Is this true?”
“He’s drunk. What would I want with that land? It’s not even near Outwick House.”
It was the second time today someone had accused Lord Fairbrother of behavior unbecoming of a gentleman. First George Parley insinuated the judges curried Lord Fairbrother’s favor by letting him win. At the time, Stella thought Mr. Parley’s complaint a case of sour grapes. But her father had been right; Lord Fairbrother’s pony had flaws. It shouldn’t have won. And now Harvey blamed Lord Fairbrother for burning down his hut. Harvey wouldn’t lie about a thing like that, and Lord Fairbrother didn’t outright deny it. Who could be so despicable?
“You’re a liar, Fairbrother,” Harvey shouted. “You can’t fool us. I’m not like those barmy commoners you bamboozle out of their hard-earned money.” Harvey wrenched his free arm around. “You’ve got to make this right, or else.”
“Lyndy, the bag,” Stella warned, as Harvey lifted the burlap sack and hurled it like Stella had seen a baseball pitcher do with a ball once when she was little.
The sack flew like an elongated clump of mucky horse hay, scattering the occupants of the tea tent like flies. Cries and gasps mixed with the sounds of wooden folding chairs tipping, teacups, saucers, and plates clattering as the bag smacked Lord Fairbrother full in the face.
“Aaahh!” Lady Philippa screamed through her fingers, splayed across her mouth and eyes.
Lord Fairbrother swatted frantically at the bag, leaping back as it tumbled down the front of his waistcoat and onto the ground. A bright red splotch marked where the bag had connected with his cheek. As Lyndy and Professor Gridley scrambled to grab the sack, Harvey shook off Cecil Barlow’s hold.
“Catch him!” Lord Fairbrother yelled.
No one moved to stop Harvey as he stumbled his way out of the tent. All eyes were riveted on the bag, now wriggling on the tamped down grass. Lord and Lady Atherly had pulled their daughter several feet back, expressions of curiosity and repulsion clear on their faces. Stella ignored Lady Alice’s pleas to move away. Lady Philippa, too, seemed rooted to the ground.
Lyndy snatched up the bag and peered inside. With an unbecoming sneer on his face, he upturned the bag and dumped the contents at Lady Philippa’s feet.
“Aaahh!” Screaming again, Lady Philippa jumped back, caught the edge of a chair with her hip and tumbled back, bumping against her husband’s chest. Wrestling herself out of his steadying arms, Lady Philippa saw that not snakes but live trout lay flopping about at her feet. She glared at Lyndy, her lips pinched, her cheeks burning red. Lord Fairbrother rested a hand on her shoulder, attempting to comfort her. She shrugged it off. Was she more embarrassed than angry? Stella couldn’t tell.
“Lyndy!” Lady Atherly scolded. “Apologize at once.”
“I say, that was uncalled for, Lyndhurst,” Lord Fairbrother added. Stella agreed.
“Was it?” was all Lyndy said, his jaw clenched.
Stella hadn’t seen Lyndy act like that before. He was often smug, haughty, and pretentious, but malicious? Never. So why had he done it? Before she could ask, he turned up his coat collar, threw back the red and white canvas, and braving the rain, now coming down in torrents, marched out of the tent.
CHAPTER 6
Hodgson stood still and listened. Ah, blissful silence.
This was the Outwick House butler’s favorite task of the day. Especially after one as turbulent as this turned out to be.
Despite having won the Cecil Challenge Cup again, Lord Fairbrother had returned from the competition in a foul mood. And despite their guest’s presence at dinner, His Lordship and Her Ladyship had argued throughout the meal. Poor Mr. Barlow had tried to lighten the mood with a jest or a diverting tale of his adventures. The one about the giant rodents, capybaras he’d called them, swimming alongside his canoe, was most amusing. But His Lordship rebuked Mr. Barlow for his attempts, calling his tales fantastical, raising the ire of Her Ladyship even more. Like any good servant, Hodgson hadn’t heard a word of it.
Not so the talk in the servants’ hall later. What Hodgson gleaned from Mrs. White, the housekeeper, who brou
ght him a cup of tea and stayed for a chat, was that the snakecatcher’s hut had burned down last night and the snakecatcher was blaming Lord Fairbrother for it. Was it only yesterday that the old man had visited Outwick House because the gardeners found snakes in the rockery? To think Hodgson had thought kindly of the fellow. But how could he now? According to the housekeeper’s sister, who had helped serve tea in the tent, the snakecatcher threw a sack full of snakes at Lord Fairbrother, or was it trout? Mrs. White’s sister wasn’t sure. And then there was Mr. Parley. As a landowner in this part of the Forest, he was a frequent visitor to Outwick House, discussing business with His Lordship. One of the grooms told the housekeeper that Mr. Parley publicly accused His Lordship of cheating. His Lordship had denied everything, as of course, he would. But Her Ladyship’s maid confided that Lady Philippa was still furious, finding the public humiliation intolerable. And rightly so. Hodgson felt the blood rise in his face just thinking about the gall of some people, airing their frustrations at their betters in full view of everyone. What were they thinking?
Hodgson put that all behind him now. With Lord Fairbrother out taking his nightly constitutional and Lady Philippa and their guest retiring to bed, Hodgson could make his nightly rounds. Strolling from one room to another, he made certain all the lights were extinguished, all the clocks were wound, all the fires were banked, all the doors were locked. Having a key, Lord Fairbrother would let himself in. Hodgson turned off the hall light and paused again, relishing the dark stillness, disrupted only by the high-pitched ding of the nearest clock as it struck half past eleven.
Slam!
What in heaven’s name was that?
Hodgson flicked the light back on and strode purposefully across the black and white checked marble tile of the hall toward the origin of the sound. He entered the conservatory, where moonlight, streaming through the glass-paned walls, cast frond-shaped shadows of the palms fluttering in the chilly night breeze, and saw the outside door was swung wide open. The orange and lemon trees permeated the air with their citrus scent.
Murder at Blackwater Bend Page 5
