It was a tactical error. His wife sat in the wing chair beside the fire, and although she held a book in her hand, it was obvious that her mind was not on the printed page. He wondered how long she had been lying in wait for him.
“At last!” she exclaimed, rising eagerly at his entrance. “I have been—good heavens, John! What happened to you?”
He put up a hand to stroke his tender jaw, where he had no doubt a bruise was beginning to form. “A little gift from Major Pennington.”
“Jamie struck you?” she demanded, her bosom swelling in righteous anger.
“Yes, but I’m not sure I didn’t deserve it,” Pickett confessed, gratified nonetheless at her indignation on his behalf, let alone the interesting effect of this emotion on her anatomy.
“I wish you will tell me what it is all about! I have been waiting this age!”
He tossed his hat and gloves onto the bed and took her in his arms. “I missed you, too,” he said, deliberately misinterpreting her.
“Of course I missed you,” she insisted, although she gave him the most perfunctory of kisses, “but you must know I have been positively agog with curiosity!”
Something in his expression must have given him away, for her smile faltered, and when she spoke again, it was in a very different tone. “What is the matter, John? Have you found Tom’s killer? Is it someone I know?”
He shook his head. “No, it isn’t that. Sit—sit down, Julia.”
He took her hand and drew her down to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. She raised her eyebrows in ironic expectation, even as she recognized there was no amorous light in his eyes.
“John?” she said again. “What is wrong?”
“Not—not wrong, exactly, but—” He took a deep breath. “You must prepare yourself for a shock, my lady. It’s about your sister, Claudia. She isn’t dead after all.”
Her expression hardened. “If this is some sort of a joke, I must tell you I fail to see the humor in it!”
“You must know I would not joke about such a thing. I assure you, Claudia is alive and well, and has spent the last thirteen years following the drum under the protection of Jamie Pennington.”
She snatched her hand from his and leaped to her feet. “How dare you say such a thing? How dare you sit there and accuse someone you never even knew of—of lying to her family and—and committing adultery—and living in sin—and—and—” Her voice rose in volume and pitch with each of the purported charges.
“You said yourself that she was no saint,” Pickett reminded her.
“I said she was not the saint that Mama made her out to be. I never said she was a woman of—of loose morals!”
Pickett might have reminded his wife that, on the night they had first met, she had been on the brink of engaging in an illicit liaison of her own, but apparently there was a difference in having a discreet affaire and openly living with one man while legally wed to another. It seemed there was a great deal about her world that he did not understand, but a finely honed instinct for self-preservation cautioned him against pointing out this discrepancy. With a sigh of resignation, he stood and folded her in what was meant to be a comforting embrace—or as comforting as one could be, while holding a lady who stood as stiff and straight as a ramrod. “I’m sorry to have to break it to you like this. Believe me, I wouldn’t say such a thing without sufficient proof.”
“ ‘Proof’?” She raised her head and looked up at him, her blue eyes flashing with anger. “What ‘proof’ can you possibly offer? It’s a wicked lie!”
“I have a letter from Mr. Colquhoun, who made inquiries at the War Office on my behalf, and I’ve just come from the vicarage, where I had the tale from Major Pennington himself.” There was also the fact that he had seen—and kissed—Claudia in the nursery upstairs, but this, he decided, could wait until another time.
“Jamie said that?” she said wonderingly, detaching herself from his embrace. “Then I suppose there must be no denying it.”
Pickett frowned. “In fact, you consider his word more reliable than mine.”
“On any other subject, no,” she said hastily. “But you never knew Claudia, whereas Jamie adored her, and would never—at least, I thought he would never—oh, how could they do such a wicked thing?”
“Perhaps not so wicked after all, once you know the whole story.”
He had been uncertain as to just how much of her sister’s history Julia should be told, but he knew now that nothing less than the whole truth would suffice. And so he recounted it all, from Lord Buckleigh’s cruelty to Jamie Pennington’s gallant rescue and the years since.
“Oh, poor Claudia!” she breathed at the end of this recital, and there was no hint of condemnation in her voice.
“Jamie asked that your parents not be told, at least not yet,” he cautioned her.
“Good heavens, no! Mama would never understand! But now that I know she is alive, and here in Norwood Green—John, I must see her!”
“And so you shall, tomorrow morning.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, glad to be restored to her good graces. “I knew you were going to say that.”
* * *
They left the following morning in some haste, eager to make their escape before Lady Runyon could inquire as to their plans for the day. They need not have wondered, however; Julia’s mama was not so fond of her son-in-law as to question his absences. They did not ride, but set out on foot (a fact that probably pleased Lucifer as much as it did Pickett), and reached the gamekeeper’s cottage half an hour later. Just as before, a curl of smoke rose from the stone chimney.
“So you were right in thinking someone was staying here!” Julia exclaimed, having readily forgiven her husband in the light of the coming reunion.
“Yes, except for the one day I came to investigate, when she was safely tucked away with Miss Milliken.”
“Poor Millie! No wonder she was so distressed by our visit. I wonder Jamie should ask such a thing of her!”
“I daresay he had no one else he could trust, and he knew very well that I would be coming to get a closer look at that cottage, for he had already interrupted me at it once. The major and I have been playing a very nice game of cat and mouse—and I, for one, am glad it’s over, for he makes a formidable opponent.”
She gave his arm a squeeze. “I suspect he would say the same about you.”
They had reached the cottage door by this time, and Pickett gave the knock he and the major had agreed upon. The door swung open, and Jamie Pennington stood in the aperture, grinning at them with his boyish smile.
“Thank God! Claudia has been beside herself for the last hour and more! Won’t you come in?”
He stepped back and threw the door wide. Pickett handed Julia over the threshold, and watched the scene unfold as his wife beheld the sister she had believed dead for thirteen years. In the center of the room stood a blonde woman in her early thirties, the same woman he had seen in the Runyon nursery. In the sunlight streaming through the windows, the resemblance between the two ladies was even more pronounced, the major difference (saving that of their ages) being the light dusting of freckles across the elder’s cheekbones, a relic of her years on the sun-drenched Peninsula.
“Claudia?” Julia’s voice broke on the single word.
“My dear little Julia! How you’ve grown!”
As if by unspoken agreement, they both moved forward at once, to meet, embracing, in the middle of the room.
“Oh, how I’ve missed you—”
“—Thought of you every day—”
“—Could have sent word—”
“—Dared not tell anyone—”
They were both talking and crying at once, and Pickett, feeling very much de trop, glanced rather helplessly at Jamie. Major Pennington rolled his eyes expressively, then jerked his head in the direction of the door. Pickett correctly interpreted this gesture to mean that their presence was no longer needed nor even desired, and followed his host outside.
&
nbsp; Alone with her sister, Claudia cupped Julia’s face in her hands and subjected her to a long, searching look. “Just look at you, all grown up and married!”
“Married for the second time, in fact,” Julia confessed with a shaky laugh.
“Yes, we knew, of course, about your marriage to Lord Fieldhurst—and about what followed, although the London newspapers were weeks old before they reached us. You were constantly in my thoughts, although I dared not inquire too closely for news lest anyone wonder about my interest and become suspicious.” She made a wry grimace. “We didn’t do so well with our brilliant marriages, did we?”
“No, but although Fieldhurst could be rather beastly, he never reached the depths of cruelty that Lord Buckleigh did. John told me everything, and—oh, my poor Claudia, I only wish I had known! Perhaps I might have helped you.”
“You were only fourteen years old,” Claudia pointed out. “What could you possibly have done?”
“I could have told Mama—”
Claudia gave a bitter laugh. “Having a devoted husband of her own, Mama has no idea what a prison an unhappy marriage can be. She would have told me I was not doing enough to please Buckleigh, that if only I would try harder, everything would come out right.”
Julia, having heard a very similar version of this speech herself, could not dispute it. She allowed her sister to lead her to the worn horsehair sofa, where they sat down side by side with hands clasped. Julia looked about her at her sister’s living quarters with disfavor.
“And you have been staying here while Jamie stays at the vicarage with his parents?” she asked in tones of deepest revulsion, quite forgetting her own blissful days in a shabby little flat in Drury Lane.
“It is no worse than some of the houses where we were billeted in Spain,” Claudia said, then continued brightly. “But tell me about this new husband of yours! I gather the marriage is of very recent date?”
Julia nodded. “Only two weeks. And you might as well know that I have quite sunk myself in the eyes of Society, for John is a Bow Street Runner. In fact, it was he who kept me from going to the gallows for Fieldhurst’s murder.”
Claudia’s blue eyes, so like her sister’s, grew wide. “A Bow Street Runner? I can imagine what Mama had to say about that!”
“Yes, I daresay you can,” Julia said, making a face. “I console myself with the knowledge that her opinion of John will greatly increase when she reflects that he and I, at least, are legally wed! But you, my dear! I always knew you and Jamie belonged together, even when I was a girl. But how can you bear it, living in a way that goes against everything you have been brought up to believe is right?”
Claudia gave a bitter little laugh that held no trace of humor. “I have very little choice. Believe me, if there were any way for us to be married, we would have seized upon it thirteen years ago. In fact, it has been so long that I sometimes forget—” She blinked back tears. “I forget we are not truly wed. Jamie is everything a husband should be, and everything Lord Buckleigh was not.”
“I didn’t mean to make you cry, dearest, and you know I want only the best for you. But—if you should have children—”
“There is always that risk, of course. And while we have tried to be very careful to avoid such a thing, we have not always been successful.”
Julia’s eyes grew round. “Claudia! You do have children?”
“One child—a daughter.” The child’s ambiguous legal status did nothing to dim the glow of maternal pride in her face. “And perhaps I am biased, but I think she is an exceptionally beautiful little girl.”
“But—where is she?”
Claudia’s glow was extinguished, and her expression grew pensive. “We could not keep her with us, of course. The rigors of following the drum are not for children. Jamie arranged for a farm family not far from here to take her in, and of course we send money every month for her support.”
“I think we saw her!” exclaimed Julia. “After church last Sunday—Mama even noted the resemblance!”
“Mama?” Far from being gratified, Claudia sounded disturbed by this revelation.
“Oh, not that she suspected for a moment that the little girl might be yours—how could she think such a thing, when she believes you to be dead?—but she said the child reminded her of you at the same age. I confess it surprised me, for I thought she looked like Jamie. In fact—” Recalling exactly what she had thought, Julia broke off, blushing.
“In fact, you thought Jamie must have made a very lively time of it on his last leave,” Claudia finished for her, smiling. “I warned him how it would be, for she looks just like him!”
“But Claudia, what will you do?” Julia asked in a more serious vein. “The war will not last forever, and sooner or later, you must come back home.”
Claudia shook her head sadly. “Not to Norwood Green. Not ever again. Indeed, I never expected to have even this brief visit. I wish we might take up residence at Greenwillows, and keep our daughter with us, but it cannot be, not so long as Lord Buckleigh lives. Jamie intends to sell the property and buy something far away, perhaps in the north, where no one will know us. We must of necessity live very quiet lives, but at least we could be together, all three of us, as a family.”
Julia leaped up from the sofa and began to pace the floor in agitation. “It all seems so unfair! You are forced to go into hiding, while Lord Buckleigh is still received everywhere.” She paused in her perambulations to bend a pointed gaze upon her sister. “I suppose you have heard that he has married again?”
“Yes, Jamie told me, but I am not bitter. Jamie and I are very happy together, and if I think of Buckleigh’s new wife at all, it is only to pity the poor girl with all my heart.” She sighed. “I know too well that she has purchased her high position at a terrible price. If she doesn’t know it yet, she will learn soon enough.”
The cottage door opened and Jamie entered, followed by Pickett.
“I hate to break up the party,” he said, “but I must return to the vicarage before Mama and Papa begin to wonder at my long absence.”
“So soon?” Claudia turned to Pickett. “You will bring her back again one day, won’t you?”
Pickett promised to do so, and after a protracted and tearful farewell, Claudia released Julia into his care. They left the cottage and walked for some distance in silence, before Julia asked abruptly, “Tell me, John, does Claudia’s reappearance have any connection with Tom Pratt’s death?”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “You, my lady, are a great deal too astute for my peace of mind! I suspect her reappearance was no more than an unfortunate coincidence. But as for her existence, and Tom’s knowledge of it—yes, I think it very likely.”
“Then—surely not Jamie—?”
“I don’t think so,” he assured her. “Oh, I wondered the same thing myself, at first, but as the major himself pointed out, who had the most at stake? If the groom hoped to blackmail someone, who would make the most promising target: a cavalry officer who would be out of Tom’s reach most of the time, or a nobleman who had just contracted a bigamous marriage in the hopes of begetting an heir?”
“Then Lord Buckleigh killed Tom?”
“I would stake my reputation on it—although whether I will ever be able to prove it may be quite another matter.”
“Perhaps you’d better drop the investigation entirely,” she said urgently. “It seems you cannot win, and if his lordship should guess that you suspect him—”
“He won’t have to guess; he’s going to know.” Pickett stopped and swung ’round to face her, capturing her other hand in his. “Don’t you see, my lady, too much is riding on this. If his lordship is guilty—and if I can prove it—then he will be executed, and your sister and Jamie will finally be free to marry.”
“It is just as I always suspected: you, my dear, are a hopeless romantic.” She stood on tiptoe to emphasize this accusation with a kiss, then added with a sigh, “Still, this is not turning out to be the we
dding trip I had hoped for.”
“This is what I do, Julia,” he pointed out. “Even if Tom Pratt had been a total stranger, I would have felt an obligation to do whatever I could to assist. But as matters stand now, knowing of his connection to your family’s history—”
He broke off with a shrug, and she did not press him further. His sense of duty—perhaps a legacy from the magistrate who had rescued him from a life of crime, perhaps an atonement for those early years—was one of the things that made him the man he was.
“It would be good if Claudia and Jamie were able to marry at last,” she acknowledged. “John, it has been wonderful, seeing Claudia again, but emotionally taxing all the same. I don’t think I can face Mama just yet. Must we go back at once?”
Pickett was nothing loth, and so after partaking of a nuncheon in the Pig and Whistle’s private parlor, they spent a very agreeable afternoon wandering about the village, Julia pointing out to Pickett various landmarks from her childhood. It was while they were admiring the church, parts of which dated from the fourteenth century, that they were interrupted by the vicar, Mr. Pennington, who insisted that they accompany him back to the vicarage. Here Julia watched with dread which gradually changed to admiration as her husband allowed himself to be presented to Jamie and the two men exchanged pleasantries quite as if they had not just spent the entire morning in one another’s company.
“I was on tenterhooks the entire time, for fear one or the other of you would let slip something and betray us all,” she scolded him after they had said their goodbyes to the Penningtons and set out for her father’s house. “But it is my belief that you were enjoying yourself thoroughly. So was Jamie, for that matter. I am persuaded the two of you are cut from the same cloth.”
Pickett laughed, but did not deny the charge. It was not until they were halfway across the long stretch of meadow that separated Runyon Hall from the village that she grew pensive, and finally broached the subject that had been preying upon her mind since her conversation with Claudia.
For Deader or Worse Page 16
