by Anne Herries
‘Look out!’ The warning made the rogue’s arm jerk. He turned, stared at Rupert, then set off at a run, disappearing into the trees. ‘Damn it!’
Rupert saw that the shot had caused one of the ladies to fall from her horse. He was tempted to pursue the rogue who had fired at them, but knew the ladies came first. Swearing to himself, he rode up to them, his feelings mixed as he saw it was Francesca on the ground. Relieved that Sarah was all right, he was off his horse and kneeling over Francesca in an instant.
‘Are you all right? Did that rogue wing you?’
‘No …’ Francesca accepted his hand and stood up. ‘The shot went wide of us, but my horse reared and I slid off. I feel such an idiot. I should have managed to hang on.’
‘Not your fault,’ Rupert said. ‘Have you broken anything? Do you feel any pain?’
‘No, just a little bruised. I think my pride is hurt more than anything else. I thought I was a good horsewoman.’
‘So you are,’ Sarah assured her. ‘That poacher’s shot spooked your horse, that’s all. Anyone could have fallen off the way you did.’
‘Sarah is right,’ Rupert agreed. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself or your horse. Damned poacher! I would have gone after him, but I was concerned you might be hurt.’
‘No, I’m all right. I thought Grandfather’s keepers had scared off all the poachers.’
‘Apparently not this one,’ Rupert replied grimly. ‘I’ll have them double the watch. I know this isn’t technically a part of the estate, but it’s still private property. It belongs to Lord Henry James and he will have to be told. He will not want poachers on his estate.’
‘Lord James is hardly ever here,’ Francesca said. ‘I think he spends most of his time in London. However, I heard that his nephew, Sir Roger Grey, had come down to oversee the property for him for a little while.’
‘Sir Roger Grey?’ Sarah asked, looking at her oddly.
‘Yes, do you know him?’ Rupert asked, gaze narrowing as he saw the expression in her eyes.
‘Oh … yes, I may have met him once,’ Sarah admitted, a flush in her cheeks. ‘If Lord James is often away, I dare say he does not bother about protecting his game as he ought.’
‘Well, perhaps he should. I must ride over and speak to his nephew about it. We cannot allow this kind of thing to continue. One of you might have been badly hurt,’ Rupert replied and frowned. ‘Are you able to ride, Francesca?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said.
‘Up you get, then,’ Rupert said and dismounted. He gave her his hand and threw her up in the saddle, looking at her with approval. ‘That’s my good brave girl.’
‘I’ve fallen before. Please do not worry about me,’ Francesca said and looked at Sarah. ‘Are you all right? I thought the shot was nearer you than me.’
‘It passed quite close. I felt the wind on my cheek,’ Sarah said and Rupert looked at her again.
‘Has it shaken you?’
‘No, not particularly, though it was not a pleasant experience. I am glad you arrived when you did, Lord Myers.’
‘Indeed.’ He looked at her hard and saw something in her eyes. She didn’t think that shot had been an accident—and Rupert was damned sure it hadn’t, though he was prepared to let Francesca believe it. ‘The rogue saw me and ran. His arm jerked and that may have made his aim go astray.’
‘Was he aiming for a bird or a rabbit?’ Francesca asked. ‘There’s plenty of game in these meadows, but I should’ve thought poachers preferred to set traps.’
‘Some of them,’ Rupert said. ‘Shall we continue our ride? It is not likely to happen again. I think whoever it was will not do it again.’
‘I’m sure he won’t now that you are here,’ Sarah said. ‘It would be a shame to let him spoil our day and so we shan’t.’
‘Certainly not,’ Francesca said. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this and no poacher is going to put me off.’
John rode up to them and stared at his sister. ‘Are you all right, Fran? Who do you think was firing at Miss Goodrum?’
‘It was a poacher,’ Sarah said. ‘Just a foolish mistake.’
‘No. I saw him,’ John insisted. ‘I looked that way. He took his pistol out and fired at you, Sarah. I know he did. Why would anyone want to kill you?’
‘I am sure they wouldn’t,’ Sarah said and forced a smile, but Rupert saw that she looked shaken.
‘It looked that way, John,’ he said, ‘but I dare say it was just an accident. Please do not frighten the ladies. Come on, I want you to show me your pony’s paces.’
John frowned, then inclined his head and obeyed his mentor. As the two of them set off, Francesca looked at Sarah.
‘Is there anyone who would want to kill you?’
Sarah hesitated, then, ‘I’m not sure. I would not have thought so—but if John saw him aim at me …’
‘If there is anything, you should tell Uncle Rupert,’ Francesca said. ‘He likes you, Sarah. I am sure he would help you if you are in trouble.’
‘Yes, perhaps. Forget it for now,’ Sarah said. ‘Let us catch up with the others. It will soon be time to return for nuncheon …’
Chapter Seven
Sarah was thoughtful as she parted from the others and went to her room to change before nuncheon. The shot had been very close to hitting her. The mare had shied, but she’d been able to control it and no one had noticed her difficulty because Francesca’s horse had reared up and unseated her. It had been a most unpleasant incident and Sarah could not help thinking that the shot might have been meant for her. Yet who would want her dead?
Her uncle would inherit her estate as things stood, because she hadn’t made a will. There was no one else she’d wanted to leave her fortune to and Uncle William had been kind after her father’s death, even if he would have liked to tell her what to do. She did not believe for one moment that he would murder her for her money. So who else could it be—and why?
She had, of course, made some enemies since her father died. She’d refused several offers of marriage and a couple of offers to buy her property. That might cause some people to dislike her—but murder? As for Sir Roger … he hadn’t taken kindly to being turned down, but she could not see how her death would benefit him.
Besides, how would any of her enemies know she was staying here—or where she would be that particular morning? The answer must be that they would not so it followed that the shot had been a mistake even if it had seemed to John that the poacher had fired with intent.
Sarah would be foolish to allow the incident to play on her mind. It was an unfortunate accident and unlikely to happen again.
She changed quickly out of her riding habit. No one had been hurt so they could go on as if nothing had happened.
Why would anyone want to kill Sarah? Rupert puzzled over it after having had a word with the groom.
‘Did you see the poacher, Jed?’
‘Yes, my lord. He seemed to act on impulse, if you ask me. Just fired quickly and then ran for it. I would’ve gone after him, but I thought I should stay with Master John.’
‘Quite right. And I was concerned for Francesca. I fear the rogue got away too easily. It will not happen again. In future I want another groom to follow at a distance when the ladies go riding—and he is to be armed.’
‘Do you think it was intentional, sir?’
‘More like someone seeing his chance and acting impulsively. The question is, why would anyone want to harm either Francesca or Miss Goodrum?’
‘We’ve never had anything like that here before, sir. Miss Francesca is an innocent—never been out in company much. Begging your pardon, sir, but none of us know much about Miss Goodrum. Not that I mean any offence, my lord.’
‘None taken. One thing I am certain of, whoever this rogue is he should not be allowed a second chance. I do not believe Miss Goodrum to have done anything that should make anyone want to kill her. She has excellent references.’
‘Yes, sir. It was just a thought
.’
It was indeed a thought, Rupert mused. He’d defended her to the groom, naturally, but it was perfectly true that they knew little enough about Miss Goodrum. She had been given an excellent reference, but—was she truly who she claimed to be? Could she have done something that had made someone want revenge—enough to pay an assassin to kill her? It would have to be something serious.
Rupert had drawn back from searching Sarah’s room for the key to her writing box, but there was clearly a mystery and, after this morning’s incident when Francesca had come so close to being injured, he needed to know the truth. He would ask to speak to her that afternoon and get to the bottom of this affair.
Sarah walked over to her desk. She had been mulling over the offer made her that morning, torn this way and that by indecision. Selling would be the easy way out, but she was not sure she wished to sell to someone who refused to identify himself. Perhaps if he were more honest she might consider it—and she would tell her agent that …
The drawer of her desk was not quite shut. Sarah stared at it and frowned. She was certain she’d shut it properly before she went out that morning. Had one of the maids been looking through her things? She pulled the drawer open and saw that her box was still there, but it had been taken out and replaced the wrong way round. She was quite certain it had been facing the other way when she’d left it.
Sarah checked it and found it was still locked. Whoever had been searching her things had balked at breaking the lock and would not have found the key in her room for she kept it with her at all times. The box contained money and her valuable pearls, as well as her papers, and she never let the key out of her sight, even at home.
Frowning, Sarah replaced the box as the gong sounded in the hall. It was time for nuncheon. She wondered whether she should speak to Mrs Brancaster, but, looking round her room she thought nothing else had been touched. Whoever had started the search must have drawn the line at going through her clothes. Besides, there was nothing of value for anyone to steal—other than her box and that had not been breached. Perhaps she had been mistaken. She might have placed the box differently that morning because she’d been anxious about her reply to Sam’s letter.
Pushing the matter to the back of her mind, she went downstairs to the small dining parlour, where the others had already gathered.
‘Forgive me if I’ve kept you waiting.’
‘I’ve only just arrived,’ Francesca said. ‘I’m hungry. The ride out must have done me good.’
‘Yes, you have colour in your cheeks. It was pleasant to ride together. We must do so again when the weather is fine.’
‘You should give your attention to the picnic now,’ Rupert said. ‘Once the invitations go out we are bound to have people calling to leave a card and someone ought to be here to receive them. It will be good for Francesca to greet our guests and give them refreshments. You will help her, Miss Goodrum?’
Sarah heard the question in his voice and was puzzled. ‘Of course, sir. I shall be there to give Francesca any assistance she needs and to lend propriety to the occasion should a gentleman call.’
‘Yes, that was what I meant, of course. I wondered if you might have business of your own elsewhere?’
How could he know that? Sarah hesitated, her spine prickling. Was it Lord Myers who had entered her room while she was out? She had known he did not quite trust her for a while now.
‘If I do, I shall let you know in plenty of time, my lord. At the moment I think I am able to manage my affairs by letter.’
‘Indeed?’ His eyes seemed to probe into her mind, searching for answers that she had no wish to give. ‘I wonder if I might speak to you before tea, Miss Goodrum. I do not wish to interfere with your plans for the afternoon, but I should like a few moments of your time in private.’
‘Certainly, my lord.’ Sarah gave him a frosty look and then moved to the sideboard to select her meal from the array of cold meats, cheeses, small boiled potatoes and green leaves picked fresh from the kitchen gardens.
She sat at the table and ate her meal, concentrating on her plate and trying to ignore the pounding of her heart. What could he possibly have to say to her this time?
Sarah had asked for basket chairs to be placed outside on the lawn and they took a pile of poetry books and a blanket in case the wind turned cooler. For the next hour or two they discussed the merits of the modern poets, comparing Coleridge, William Blake and Lord Byron, against the work of Shakespeare and Colonel Lovelace.
Finding themselves in almost complete agreement over the various romantic poets and their work, they laughed a great deal, their heads together as they pored over the slender volumes, some of which were worn with age and obviously loved.
Sarah was able to forget the impending interview with Lord Myers until she glanced at the time and realised they must go in and tidy their gowns for tea.
‘I must speak with Lord Myers,’ she said, gathering up the books. ‘We shall continue this discussion another day. We must not neglect your music and of course you will begin dancing lessons as soon as the dancing master arrives.’
‘I’m not sure how we shall fit it all in,’ Francesca said, her pretty face alight with enthusiasm. ‘The days seemed so long before you came, but now there are hardly enough hours to go round.’
Sarah laughed, but she agreed with her pupil. Her days had never been long enough for there was so much business for her to attend in the period following her father’s death, but she had begun to grow tired of working on her ledgers all the time and of tiresome arguments with managers and foremen. If she listened to her head, she would sell her father’s empire, but her heart would not comply. It would seem like a betrayal of his standards and the people he had employed, many of whom might lose their jobs if Mr Matthew Arkwright had his way. No, she could not destroy the trust her father’s employees had placed in her—but perhaps she could find a suitable husband.
‘Why does Uncle Rupert want to talk to you in private?’ Francesca asked as they walked up to the house. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong, have you?’
‘I do not think so,’ Sarah replied. ‘I dare say it is to do with the picnic or some such thing.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Francesca said. ‘My gown is very creased, I am going up to change.’
Sarah nodded and turned towards the library, where she expected to find Lord Myers. He was standing by one of the shelves, looking through the books. As if he sensed her entry, he turned with a frown on his face.
‘I doubt if these books have ever been catalogued. There is no order to them at all.’
‘No …’ Sarah moved towards him. ‘If I had time, I should like to organise them, but I am not sure …’ She faltered as his gaze narrowed, seeming to disapprove. ‘Have I done something to deserve your censure, my lord?’
‘Have you? I thought I asked you not to “my lord” me all the time.’ There was an irritated note in his voice as he snapped shut the book he was holding and replaced it on the shelves. ‘What are you up to, Sarah—and why did you come here?’
‘I don’t understand you, sir,’ she replied, but of course she did.
‘John’s groom saw that rogue fire this morning. He thinks you were the target, though the rogue fired in haste, as if tempted by a chance opportunity to frighten or wound you. Who wants to harm you? Have you done something to make someone hate you?’
Sarah hesitated, then, ‘Yes, perhaps. I haven’t stolen anything or cheated anyone, nor have I committed a crime—but I may have some enemies, though I cannot see what any of them could gain by killing me.’
‘Perhaps it was just meant to be a warning of what could happen if the assassin really intended you dead.’
Sarah shuddered. ‘I have considered that because I do not know why anyone should want me dead. I suppose someone might wish to scare me into doing something he wants …’
‘Did you break it off with your protector? Is he trying to force you to return to him?’
‘I sho
uld be insulted, my lord, if I did not understand your concern over this matter. I assure you I have not been any man’s mistress. I have turned down offers of marriage …’
‘Do you not think you should tell me the truth, Sarah? If there is someone out there who means you harm, I need to know. Francesca could also be at risk through association. If she were not so fond of you, I think I should ask you to leave.’
Sarah swallowed hard. She had always known there was a chance she might be unmasked and to continue the lie now would be impossible. She had already revealed most of her story to Francesca and might as well confess the rest. Clasping her hands in front of her, she met his hard gaze.
‘My name is Sarah Hardcastle. I changed places with Hester Goodrum, because she wanted to marry and I wanted a place to stay where I was unknown for a while.’
‘You were never a governess, were you?’
‘No. My father wasn’t just the manager of a mine. He owned both mines and mills. When he died, leaving everything to me, I refused to hand over the management to my uncle and I have been overseeing my own affairs ever since. I have agents and managers, but I find much of my time is taken up with business matters. Because my father left me a fortune I have had to fight off men of all classes who think they are more entitled to run my affairs than I am. Some offer marriage in the hope of gaining my fortune that way—others try to bully me into selling my father’s mills.’
‘You are an heiress?’ Rupert stared at her in amazement. ‘Good grief. I’ve thought of almost everything else, but not that.’
‘You thought me an adventuress or worse.’ Sarah laughed softly, ridiculously relieved to have told him the truth. ‘Is that why you searched my room this morning?’
She saw the awkwardness in his manner and knew she’d scored a hit. ‘I began to search your room because of that letter … I saw you hide it when you noticed me.’ Rupert frowned at her. ‘Searching your room was not an honourable thing to do and I abandoned the idea. For that I ask you to forgive me—but do you think you have behaved in an honourable manner, Miss Hardcastle? You have lied to us and deceived us.’
