by Renée Dahlia
Claire tried to sit up. It took her far too long, at least in her own mind, to drag her tired body up so that she could sit propped up against the rich wooden head-board. A sharp carving dug into her spine, and she wriggled sideways until she found a spot that didn’t stick her with elaborate hard wooden decorations. This bed wasn’t exactly designed with comfort in mind. She scowled as the door opened slowly. Two maids, dressed in identical gowns with their arms full of folded white sheets, walked in. A swirl of bleach entered the room with them. The two maids lay the folded sheets on a seat, and moved to the edge of the bed.
‘Come on, Miss, we are here to change the sheets,’ one of them said. They reached for her arms, and helped her out of bed to stand on very wobbly legs between the two maids. The nightgown stuck to her legs, all the old sweat had dried out leaving the nightgown stiff and uncomfortable.
‘Let us help you to this chair, and we’ll get you sorted soon. Would you like a sponge too?’ Claire flicked a glance around the room, then nodded briefly in agreement. She craved a proper bath, but a sponge could suffice for now. The two maids wrapped their arms around her, and assisted her as she walked with slow steps to the chair.
‘Good. Now rest, Miss.’ They sprang into action, stripping down the bed, and replacing the sheets with new ones. One of them opened a cupboard and pulled out a few blankets which were soon added to the bed. The other took more of that pink and white fabric from the cupboard, and spread a cover over the bed, so the four poster bed with awning stood brightly in the room. It would have been regal, if in a different colour scheme. Claire blinked at all the action, and let her eyes droop closed.
‘Wake up, Miss.’ The pile of old sheets were gone, and one of the maids stood before her with a pail of steaming water. The other maid held a new nightgown. She must have nodded off again. She let the maids help her stand. They stripped off her old nightgown, washed her quickly, towelled her down and slipped the new nightgown over her head. It smelled faintly of bleach and roses. A huge improvement on her old one.
‘Thank you,’ she said with her eyes closed. The idea that maids had to do basic tasks for her gave her a pain in the base of her skull, and she growled under her breath.
‘Come on. Back to bed with you.’ They helped her back to the bed, where she sat wearily on the edge. Exhaustion made her legs heavy, and her head sagged on her neck. She was barely aware of the maids working to swing her into bed, before she sunk into the fresh sheets and slept again.
Claire’s stomach grumbled. She stared longingly at the bell-pull, debating if she had the strength to walk over and give it a tug. It was dark again, and there was a possibility that the household cook had finished for the day. What was the risk of all that effort and not getting fed? Her stomach rumbled again, and she pressed her hands against it. She smiled, pleased that her body was finally hungry. Moonlight seeped through the crack in that lurid curtain, the effect dampened by the soft light which glinted off a piece of metal on the bedside table. She turned to stare at it, and let out a little sigh of pleasure. She wouldn’t have to get up. Someone thoughtful had left a meal for her, or at least she hoped that was what was under the metal dome plate cover. She sat up, a much easier process than the last time she’d tried, and leaned over to pick up the plate cover. Underneath was a bowl of soup, cold probably, and a piece of buttered bread. Her hand shook a little as she reached for the small plate with bread on it. She held the plate in one hand, and ate carefully, slowly, over the plate to prevent crumbs landing on the bed. Claire chewed every bite cautiously, not wanting to rush the food and choke now that she was finally feeling better. She put the plate back on the table and leaned against the pillows to sleep once more.
‘Claire.’ Her brother barged into her room and pulled open the curtains. Bright summer sunshine flooded the room. How much more time had passed since she ate?
‘Wilberforce,’ she said.
He hesitated.
‘Yes?’ She smiled at his cautious tone, caused by her use of his full name.
‘Must you come in here without knocking? I am a grown lady now, please show some decorum,’ she said. Wil laughed, and his striking face relaxed. He had their mother’s blue eyes, and blonde hair, which he styled deliberately ruffled. She took after her father, but she didn’t mind. It was hard enough keeping all the fortune hunters at bay, without having to believe them as they glorified her physical assets. At least being a plain brunette, she knew they were lying when they called her beautiful. They only wanted her beautifully big fortune.
‘Oh, I’m so pleased you are well again. Welcome back to the world, sister dear.’
‘Well, don’t just stand there. Come and sit down. Be useful and tell me where I am,’ she said. She shook off the unwelcome thoughts about her appearance. It must be the illness that led to those thoughts. She wrinkled her nose—that wasn’t strictly true. She loved fashion, and often wished that she had more fashionable colouring. To be a dark brunette and therefore striking, or properly blonde and fashionable, not the middling brown hair and bland brown eyes she’d been given.
‘Don’t you know? Father didn’t leave a note for you after he sent you to the country to convalesce?’ said Wil with a cynical laugh, as he sat in one of those bright pink chairs. He stretched his legs out before him, and crossed his ankles.
‘Wil. I wouldn’t ask if I already had the information.’
He smirked at her snarky tone, and winked.
‘This is Belfington House in Lincolnshire,’ he said. She stared as his smiled widened slowly. ‘That doesn’t help, does it?’
‘No. I don’t know anyone in Lincolnshire.’
‘Would it help if I told you that this is the country estate of Lord Dalhinge?’
‘No. Should I know who he is?’ she asked. She resisted the urge to rub her forehead, and concentrated on pinning Wil to the seat with a fierce gaze. He appeared to be amused by her ignorance.
‘Damn it, Wil. You are just pushing my buttons. You know how much I hate not knowing things,’ she said. He just laughed, and she did rub her head, pressing her fingers against her temples.
‘I believe you may have met Lord Dalhinge’s younger brother,’ said Wil. She dropped her hand and glared at her brother, as he wallowed in the one-sided enjoyment of teasing her. She raised her eyebrows. He didn’t answer, but instead, he just leaned back on the chair with his arms folded and his face smug. She clenched her jaw and waited. The stubborn pause stretched between them.
‘Fine.’ She glared as Wil’s face broke out into a big smile. ‘Who is Lord Dalhinge’s brother?’ she asked.
‘Maybe you should come to tea and find out for yourself?’ said Wil.
‘Wilberforce,’ she exclaimed.
‘Oh, you are no fun!’ he said with a laugh. She growled in the back of her throat. ‘Fine. Lord Dalhinge’s brother is—’ He uncrossed his arms, and leaned forward in his chair. Claire would have bounded out of bed and shoved him on the shoulder, if she wasn’t still so weak from this blasted illness. Wil waved his hand through the air in an elegant motion. ‘His brother is … Mr Howick.’
‘The lawyer?’ she asked. What? Had she become involved in some elaborate scheme to … She sagged against the head-board and stared at Wil, unable to process any sort of answer. ‘Are you sure?’
‘No, I’m just joking.’ She peered at Wil between narrowed eyes. ‘Yes. It’s Mr Howick. When you got sick, he was at the house with Father. They decided to get you out of town, something about the Ripper and needing to keep you safe, and Mr Howick offered his brother’s estate. Well, you know how Mother feels about the peerage, and Father is always keen to have something up his sleeve to keep her happy when she’s on a rampage. Which is pretty much all the time. Anyway, I got railroaded into being your chaperone, and so we have both been here for near on a week.’ Wil sighed, and tossed his fringe back off his forehead with a flick of his head.
‘I’m sure it’s been such a trial to you, playing chaperone to me while living
it up on a fine estate,’ she said. There was so much to process in her brother’s little speech that she would have to put it aside for later when she had time for reflection. Mr Howick had a Lord for a brother. Oh dear, that comment back in his office about poor second sons. No wonder he’d told her to be careful. She blew out a long slow breath.
‘You have no idea, dear sister, of the difficulties I’ve faced this past week,’ said Wil. She would have to apologise, again, for her inability to control her mouth. She closed her eyes, and waved her hand.
‘I’m sorry, Wil. I need to rest now,’ she said. She slid down into the bed, and pulled the covers up over her burning cheeks. She waited until she heard the door shut before rolling over and beating the pillow with her fists. What a fool he must think her, and yet, he’d been kind enough to offer her a quiet place to recuperate.
Chapter 6
Ravi took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He sat in the library at a writing desk, with paperwork spread before him. It had been a long week in London, with pointless details and chasing down minute pieces of information in his efforts to solve this crime for Carlingford Enterprises, the entire time being tailed and bothered by Officer Wedsley. All he’d discovered was more evidence that someone in the Carlingford household had done this crime. The smugness of Wedsley threatened to drown him. Ravi didn’t believe Dr Carlingford had anything to do with the crime, she’d been very convincing in her role, and he didn’t think that her father, Mr Carlingford, had the motivation. From all accounts, including a rather illuminating discussion with the bank Sanderson and Sons, Carlingford Enterprises was even bigger than he’d known. The swindle had taken a reasonable sum from the bookmakers, but only from the perspective of Officer Wedsley and his Scotland Yard detective’s wage. The money involved would be only notepaper to the likes of Carlingford, irrelevant on the scale of his business.
But if it wasn’t either of them, there weren’t many other options. There was her brother, Wil, who he couldn’t entirely ignore as a suspect, although he’d spent all week here with Claire and seemed to be a dedicated sibling. He scribbled a note to find out more about his individual financial situation. He’d dismissed Mrs Carlingford as an option as the perpetrator because her marriage tied her to Mr Carlingford’s success. There was no advantage to her undermining him, and every disadvantage to her if he was convicted. The staff at the house were motivated by their good-sized pay packets to keep Mr Carlingford at the helm of his successful business, so he didn’t think he would find a decent suspect among them. That only left Mr Carlingford’s own theory—that is was a business rival who wanted to use this as a distraction to get some unknown advantage. Ravi now had two solid options to continue his investigations with.
He pulled out a fresh sheet to write a letter to Officer Wedsley about his progress with the bank. If he kept it civil with the dogged investigator, he might gain further information, with the bonus of keeping him away from his new employer, Carlingford Enterprises. Tucked underneath the stack of papers at the side of the desk was the long-winded response from Mr Woodleyville in response to his resignation letter. He’d burnt a bridge there, and his stomach clenched as he wondered if the risk was worth it. Too late now, the decision was done. He had to take this chance and create his own future, and he had a contract with Mr Carlingford as security. Now he just had to fulfil the terms.
‘Ahh, this is where you have been hiding.’ His brother, Lord Dalhinge, spoke in cultured, bored tones. Even with his jacket unbuttoned, and his loose cravat leaving a dark triangle of skin at his throat, Dalhinge didn’t look at all dishevelled. His entire being screamed elegant Lord comfortable with all the power he held in his domain.
‘No-one hides from you, Dalhinge.’
A flash of exasperation swept over his brother’s face.
‘You don’t need to use my title when it is just family, Ravi,’ he said.
Ravi grinned, pleased that his dig irritated his brother.
‘Yes, but when I get a response from you, it’s worth it. Sanjay.’ Ravi grinned internally as another frown flashed across his face before Sanjay affected boredom once more. The little brother in him never went away, and Ravi couldn’t help needling his brother at every opportunity.
‘You know I’d rather you didn’t use my title. It belongs to our father.’
‘No, Sanjay. It belongs to you, whether you want it or not. Not using it doesn’t bring him back, and besides, I know you like to play at being a father figure to me,’ said Ravi. It had been twenty years since their father died while working in his beloved machine workshop. The visual memory of discovering him, pinned under an iron beam, flashed in his mind. He shut his eyes and ground his teeth as the taste of welded metal scorched the roof of his mouth. Only a memory, but it felt so real.
‘His death was difficult for all of us,’ said Sanjay.
Ravi sighed. ‘I don’t need to be reminded how difficult it was for you to inherit everything at only age fifteen. I have to live with finding him and being able to do nothing to save him.’
‘You were ten, and he was already dead. You couldn’t have done anything.’
‘I know that.’ Ravi stood up as he yelled at his brother, all his frustrations with the Carlingford case exploding at Sanjay’s comment. ‘Don’t you think I don’t know that! It’s irrational to think that I could have done something, but that doesn’t make it go away.’ Grief pulsed in his veins and he fought for control. Control was a matter of survival in his life. Don’t react when they denigrate you. They are just ignorant and are not worth the consequences of a fight—because you will always be judged to be in the wrong, no matter what the truth. His father’s words had been drilled into him until containment was natural. He took a deep breath, and stared down at the carpet, a handwoven carpet created by his mother’s relatives. Unlike them, he was lucky to be here, surrounded by wealth and privilege. Time to bury that grief once again. If he could focus and solve this problem for Dr Carlingford, he would be able to do more for his mother’s homeland.
‘I’m sorry, Ravi.’ His brother’s voice was full of contrition, so he opened his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. Sanjay paced around the room, his back held upright and tense.
‘No matter. There is nothing to be gained in wondering what our lives might be like if he was still here,’ he said. Sanjay turned on his toes and stepped towards Ravi, gathering him into a brief hug. Ravi thumped his brother on the back. Sanjay released him and coughed.
‘Ahh, little brother. You aren’t so little anymore.’ Sanjay smiled, a broad, relaxed smile that washed away years of tension from his face.
‘That’s why you don’t wrestle me anymore,’ Ravi teased, and that smile on Sanjay’s face grew. Sanjay punched him lightly in the shoulder. Ravi raised one eyebrow.
‘I might be leaner than you, thanks to all those Swedish exercises you do to build up your strength. But you only do that to compensate for being shorter. Still my little brother.’
‘By half an inch.’
‘Is that why you wear your hair so long? To give you the extra half-inch in height?’ Sanjay’s smile became a laugh, and Ravi rolled his eyes.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He ran his hand through his hair, and gave his head a little flick. ‘I wear it long to annoy you.’
‘Spare me from little brothers,’ said Sanjay.
‘Be thankful that you have only one brother to remind you not to be so uptight. Now, why were you looking for me?’ Ravi sat back at his desk, and replaced his glasses on his nose. He leaned back in the chair, as Sanjay’s cheeks flushed slightly. Oh, fun, his brother was about to embark on his favourite subject.
‘Have you decided on a wife yet?’ said Sanjay. Ravi kept his gaze firmly on his brother’s eyes, and tried not to flinch at the direct question. A muscle twitched involuntarily in his jaw.
‘How many times have we discussed this? I will decide when I’m ready.’
‘You are thirty now. How ready do you need to be?’
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‘And you are thirty-five,’ said Ravi, deliberately baiting his brother.
‘It’s not the same and you know it. You agreed to this scheme,’ Sanjay snapped at him. Ravi’s mouth opened a fraction at the sudden force in his brother’s words. It wasn’t fair to push him so hard given Sanjay’s reasons. He spread his hands before him, palms up.
‘Yes. I agreed to take a wife, preferably a non-traditional wife, one who would understand this situation. But on my schedule, not yours. You will get an heir for your title, I promise, provided you stop hounding me about it. This will only work if I get to pick someone who will suit me. Please don’t interfere.’ Sanjay tilted his head and Ravi could see the wheels in his brain churning.
‘There is someone,’ Sanjay said. The hope in his voice made Ravi cringe. He wished this didn’t matter so much to his brother, and he did, truly, want to help him. For all their brotherly posturing, Ravi loved Sanjay, and wanted to ease this unfair burden that life had placed on him.
‘No. There is no-one. I’m sorry.’
‘What about the young lady who is ill upstairs?’
‘Dr Carlingford?’ asked Ravi. He let out a huff of breath. Of course, Sanjay meant Dr Carlingford.
‘Yes, her. She’s educated, which presumably means she is progressive in her thinking. She’ll do.’ A rustle of fabric and a hint of fresh violets caught Ravi’s attention. He turned to see the flash of a dress through the open door of the library. He shook his head. Timing was not on his side. Had she been standing there for long? And how much had she overheard? He glared at his brother, and stood up.
‘Excuse me.’ He paced out of the room, arms swinging forcefully. Dr Carlingford disappeared around the end of the hallway, and he almost broke into a run. He couldn’t lose his new job over a simple misunderstanding. He arrived at the corner in the hallway. She continued to walk away from him.
‘Dr Carlingford,’ he called. She whipped around, and wobbled on her feet slightly. Her arms flew out for balance. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide, and that wide mouth of hers was pinched tight.
