The Governess (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  But perhaps she would be lucky, for Mrs Pargeter was gazing out over the lake, quite oblivious of Annabelle sitting, as quiet as a mouse, in the gloom of the temple. She wished she had tucked herself behind the pillar, where she would have been hidden from view, but perhaps she might not be noticed if she held her breath…

  Mrs Pargeter stopped, and the parasol tipped slightly as if she were leaning forward, gazing into the water. After a moment, she straightened and turned to move on. Unfortunately, she closed the parasol at that moment, and as she did so she caught sight of Annabelle sitting inside the temple.

  “Why, is it Miss Winterton? What are you doing all alone? Isn’t Allan with you?”

  “I expect him to arrive at any moment, Mrs Pargeter,” Annabelle said, with as good a grace as she could muster.

  “Then I will not linger, for who would wish to come between two such love birds?” She gave a little trill of laughter, which sounded oddly false to Annabelle’s ears. “But before I go, do come and look at this odd thing that is in the water just here. Why, it looks like gold, as if it might be jewellery.”

  “Jewellery? In the lake?”

  “So it seems to me. Do come and look, and give me your opinion, Miss Winterton.”

  Annabelle rose, and went to stand at the edge of the lake, in the spot indicated by Mrs Pargeter, the place she had stopped a moment earlier.

  “There! Do you see? Glinting in the water — is it gold, do you suppose?”

  “I see nothing glinting, only a few mossy pebbles.”

  “A little further out… no, you will have to lean further than that…”

  Annabelle leaned. “No, I—”

  Something hit her hard in the small of the back, and she fell with a cry into the lake. As her face plunged into the water, a great weight on her back pushed her down, down… something was forcing her head beneath the surface. She could not breathe. She tried to cry out, but her mouth filled with water. Gasping, struggling to take in air, she wriggled and heaved to dislodge the heavy weight on top of her…

  There was nothing but water, and stones against her face, and no air.

  No air…

  She could not breathe, could not move, and not all her efforts could dislodge the weight that held her down.

  No air… No air…

  Only water and peacefulness and surrender…

  Abruptly, the weight was gone, and something lifted her and tossed her aside. She drew in a great gasp of air, coughing up lake water, spluttering, taking great heaving breaths. She was on her hands and knees, head down, a pool of regurgitated water beneath her.

  Somewhere nearby, for unfathomable reasons, there was shouting, then a scream, then, horrifyingly, a gunshot. More shouts, and running feet.

  She spat out more water, breathing, breathing… Thank God for air to breathe.

  More running feet, and someone beside her, a hand on her back. Was it Allan? Her heart surged with joy — he had come!

  “Annabelle! Are you all right?”

  Not Allan. It was George Skelton, mystifyingly. How had he come there? Why was there so much shouting? She was too busy breathing to care.

  “Annabelle? Miss Winterton? Nod if you are all right!”

  George again. She managed a nod.

  “Thank God! You look terrible! Have no fear, Edgerton will catch her.” Her? What her? “Someone has gone for Wilcox. And blankets. You must be frozen.”

  She coughed, and more water spewed out.

  “There now, get it all out of you,” he said cheerfully.

  “Allan,” she croaked. It was meant to be a question, but somehow it came out wrong.

  “He has been sent for,” George said, his voice softening. “He will be here directly.”

  In the distance, another scream. What was happening? She could not move, crouched on hands and knees, her lungs gradually coughing up half the lake.

  Then another voice, so familiar, so dear, and gentle hands lifting her, wrapping something soft around her. “Annabelle? Oh, dear God, is she…? Oh my darling, do not die, please God, do not die! I could not bear it! Please, my love, stay with me, stay with me, never leave me. There now, my dear one, you are safe now.”

  “Safe…” she whispered, knowing it to be true.

  When she opened her eyes, there he was. He picked her up and carried her into the gloom of the temple, and she rested her head against the reassuring solidity of his shoulder. Settling himself on the marble seat, he laid her across his knees, his arm tucked around her back. His coat was round her shoulders, and tenderly he tucked it a little closer about her.

  “Allan,” she murmured, reaching out one hand and grasping his shirt.

  “I am here, my darling, and all is well. Nothing can hurt you now.”

  He rocked her gently, and with a great cough, she spewed water all down his waistcoat.

  “Better out than in,” George said cheerfully.

  Annabelle felt Allan shake a little, but when she opened her eyes again and gazed at him, she realised that he was laughing. “Darling girl,” he whispered, and kissed her gently on the forehead.

  “Allan…” she sighed, snuggling closer to him. She was perfectly safe now.

  ~~~~~

  For the rest of that day, and through the night, and all the next day and night too, Annabelle was never alone. Allan carried her back to her room, Mrs Hale and two of the maids undressed her and put her to bed, and one or other of them stayed with her constantly. Dr Wilcox gave her something to help her sleep, and sleep she did, off and on for thirty six hours.

  When she woke, one of the aunts was dozing beside her bed.

  “Lady Elizabeth?” She pulled herself up to a sitting position, yawning.

  Aunt Beth grunted, and startled to wakefulness. “There now, you look a great deal better, dear. Are you hungry? Let me ring for broth.”

  The broth arrived, and then there was a bath, and a clean gown, and after that, an hour in her sitting room, an aunt on either side of her, with Allan and George and Mr Willerton-Forbes explaining just what had happened.

  “I always wondered about Mrs Pargeter,” Mr Willerton-Forbes said. “Why did she come here after all this time, and then linger on? It was odd. But she was in Devon when her sister died, and there seemed no method by which she might have had a hand in the matter, nor any reason for it. So she was never on my list, not officially, but I wondered very much about her. But then, the other night at dinner, she hinted that she would like to take her sister’s place, which raised my suspicions. Was she perhaps in love with Lord Brackenwood, I wondered? Again, though, how could she have murdered her sister?”

  “She was not even here,” Annabelle said. “Surely you cannot think—?”

  “I did not, not at first,” the lawyer admitted. “But Captain Edgerton’s enquiries of friends in Devon had revealed that Mr Jacob Pargeter had suffered from dropsy, and had been prescribed exactly the kind of medicine which killed Lady Brackenwood. What is more, he had been given a new bottle the very day he died.”

  “You do not mean that she murdered her husband?” Allan said sharply.

  “Probably not, but perhaps the new mixture was unusually strong — a mistake by the apothecary, perhaps, or it may be that the gentleman took more than he should have done. Mrs Pargeter realised that she was now free, and also had the means to hand of disposing of the only obstacle keeping her from her heart’s desire. Undoubtedly she relabelled the bottle as a sleeping draught, and that was what confused us, for the hand was identical to Lady Brackenwood’s. She sent the bottle to her sister by mail, her sister died, and as soon as her year of mourning was over, Mrs Pargeter set off to secure her prize.”

  “She took a terrible risk,” Allan said. “Anyone might have known that she sent that particular bottle.”

  “Even if they had, what of it?” Mr Willerton-Forbes said. “Lady Brackenwood had been ill for some time. Her death was sudden, perhaps, but not such as to arouse suspicion. And the handwriting was, we thought,
Lady Brackenwood’s own. Mrs Pargeter realised our mistake, and probably destroyed all her own letters to her sister so we would not realise the truth. The real risk Mrs Pargeter took was in staying on after the letter was found, putting the idea of murder into your head. You were bound to investigate, but—”

  Annabelle gasped. “Not found!” she cried. “Mrs Pargeter wrote that letter! She must have done. If Lady Brackenwood had written it, she would have put some direction on it, to her sister, perhaps, or ‘To whom it may concern, to be read after my death’. That sort of thing. Otherwise, the housemaid might simply burn it, finding a half finished letter lying about after her death. No wonder we could not make out the purpose of it, at the time. It made no sense. But if Mrs Pargeter wrote it, then it makes perfect sense.”

  “I have to agree,” Mr Willerton-Forbes said. “To be truthful, I had forgotten the letter, imagining it irrelevant to the matter in hand. But it is clear now, and the reason for it.”

  “I hope you will explain it to me,” Allan said plaintively, “for I do not see why, if Marisa killed Eloise, she would draw attention to it in that way.”

  “I would wager she brought the letter to you very soon after you rejected her advances.”

  “The very next day, but—”

  “There you are then!” Mr Willerton-Forbes said. “Mrs Pargeter successfully released you from your marriage, and gently suggested to you that she might replace her sister in your affections. When you spurned her, and in a manner allowing for no possibility of a change of heart, she no doubt looked at George and saw how she might still win her way to a title.”

  “You mean, I suppose, that she intended me to hang for Eloise’s death, leaving George to inherit? Good God!”

  George snorted in derision. “She must be insane if she ever imagined I would marry her. I ignored her hints often enough. I took to keeping my bedroom door locked, just in case of nocturnal wanderings.”

  “I knew you were a match for her,” Allan said, with the first sign of a smile.

  Mr Willerton-Forbes smiled too. “And when that did not work, she decided to try to get you hanged for Miss Winterton’s death, instead. She would have concocted some story — that Miss Winterton had trapped you into a betrothal, but you realised you loved Mrs Pargeter all the time and tried to do away with your betrothed.”

  “As if I would ever hurt a hair of her head!” Allan said indignantly.

  “Of course you would not! But she was desperate by then, I think. She tried to poison you first, Miss Winterton, by meddling with the wine in your sitting room. Milly was lucky there, for seemingly she liked a drink after seeing you to bed, but she only took a very little, so she will make a full recovery. But then Mrs Pargeter gave up on stealth and tried an open assault, and perhaps she might have succeeded if Edgerton and I had not already realised the possibility, and set a watch on her. Either Edgerton or Neate followed her everywhere, and we alerted Mr Skelton, too, and a select few of the footmen and grooms that Neate suggested were trustworthy. In the event of any problem, a pistol was to be fired to summon help, and everyone would converge on the spot. Edgerton was therefore on hand to pull Miss Winterton from the water, and Mr Skelton to attend to her until you could be fetched, my lord.”

  “You might have told me,” Allan grumbled. “All this going on under my nose, and Miss Winterton’s life in danger, and you never thought to tell either of us?”

  Mr Willerton-Forbes smiled. “My lord, you and Miss Winterton are too honest and open to be involved in any deceit. Your countenances would have given the game away instantly. Miss Winterton was quite safe, and I was awaiting only a letter from Devon, final confirmation of events there, before informing you fully. Another day would have seen her locked away and no one at the least risk of harm from her ever again.”

  “Where is she now?” Annabelle said, hesitantly.

  Allan hesitated. “Dr Wilcox has taken her to an asylum. We thought it for the best.”

  24: Congenial Company

  That evening, Annabelle was well enough to take dinner with the family, the aunts solicitous on either side of her, and Allan watching her anxiously. The following morning, when she went to the schoolroom as usual, she found the three girls already hard at work, with the nurse stitching away on the window seat.

  “Look, we have followed your regular lesson plan,” Dody said eagerly. “I have written the chapters to be studied and the verses to be learnt on the board, you see? We can take care of ourselves until you are quite better.”

  “I see that I am not needed,” Annabelle said, laughing.

  “Oh no! We do need you,” Florry said seriously. “Dody will run out of ideas in a few days, but Papa said you are to rest for a while and we are not to be troublesome.”

  “We are not being troublesome, are we?” Freddy said anxiously.

  “Not in the least,” Annabelle said. “Very well, you may manage by yourselves for the rest of this week, and then on Monday I shall return to my usual tasks.”

  “There, you see?” Dody said. “I told you she would not mind. Now you may go and rest, Miss Winterton.”

  Annabelle felt she had rested enough. What she needed most was some brisk exercise and congenial company. She collected her bonnet and went to the library, and then, finding it empty, to the study next door. Mr Cross and Allan had their heads bent together over the desk, with such twin expressions of pain that Annabelle almost laughed. The dogs bounded across the room to meet her, and Allan jumped up and followed them just as eagerly.

  “Annabelle! Miss Winterton… going out? Not alone, surely? You will not go out alone?”

  “I will not, if Mr Cross can spare you to me for an hour.”

  Allan’s face lit up with such delight that it quite took her breath away. She could not be mistaken in the affection he felt for her, surely? It was genuine, it must be. He could not dissemble, she knew. He was too open for such falsity.

  He collected his hat and gloves, and with the dogs bouncing excitedly around their feet, they set off across the lawn.

  “Around the lake?” he asked.

  “I should like to go up to the woods,” she answered.

  “So far? You will not overtire yourself by walking such a distance? It is almost all uphill.”

  “It is a very gentle slope, and there is a seat to rest upon at the top.”

  He fell silent for a while, but she kept up a patter of meaningless conversation until they had gained the edge of the woods, and the seat around the oak tree. Here Annabelle sat, and gazed out across the deer park and the lakes and the lawns and gardens beyond, at the house. Charlsby. Her home, now. In a few weeks, she would be mistress here and might order the household as she chose, for Allan was such a gentle, unassuming man that he would not gainsay her wishes. Not that she planned to change much. She might use the Italian room to receive callers, perhaps, since the dowager had the morning room. And a little more entertaining might be pleasant, if Allan had no objection.

  Allan had lapsed once more into silence, tossing his gloves into his upturned hat and seating himself at arm’s length from her, but she was not to be deterred.

  “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” he said, but he would not look her in the eye. He must be aware that her choice of direction for this walk was no accident, and that they now sat directly below the mistletoe.

  “You have several times expressed a wish to kiss me, Allan, but naturally I could not permit it before. Yet now, when we are betrothed and it would be perfectly allowable, you make no approach. I do not know what to make of that.”

  His head lifted abruptly, but he had the hunted look of a deer about him. “It is not from any lack of desire, if that is what you fear. But…” He stopped with a sigh, and again silence overcame him.

  She moved a little nearer to him and took his hand. He looked at her warily but made no move to escape. “Allan… my dear Allan, do we not know each other well enough to be open? There should be no secrets between
us, do you not agree?” He nodded miserably. “Then will you not tell me what the matter is? Why you flirted with me before, but now—”

  “I was not flirting!” he said. “I have no idea how to flirt. All I was trying to do, in my bumbling, inarticulate way, was to see if you held me in any regard, however slight. It was the only way I knew how to approach you. But now…”

  “Now you do not need to flirt?” she hazarded.

  “Flirting… I wish I knew how.” Absently, he stroked the back of her hand. “I never know what to say, Annabelle. Words do not come easily to me, or those little gestures that tell a lady how much a man admires her. I watch George sometimes, or even Captain Edgerton, and envy them that easy way with ladies.”

  “There are no words needed for a kiss,” she said softly. “Here we are, sitting under the mistletoe and all you need do is lean forward—”

  “But I can never be him!” he burst out. “I can never kiss you the way he did, and pour ardour into your ears, and warm you to your toes, and make you love me so much you hardly know which way is up. I cannot forget the words you spoke of him. I wish I could, God knows, but I cannot. I dare not kiss you, Annabelle, because I will inevitably fall short and then perhaps you will leave me and how could I possibly bear it? Do not ask it of me, I beg you!”

  It was so irrational she could hardly take it in. And yet, she understood it, in a way. “Allan, Charles will always be a part of my past, just as Eloise is a part of yours. Think how much you have shared with her, both happiness and sorrow, in love and friendship and companionship. I shared one kiss with Charles, just one, and it changed my life for ever and blinded me to anyone but him. I have wondered a great deal lately if he did me a very bad turn by kissing me in that way, like a lover. I would have been far happier, I believe, if it had never happened. But it did happen, and we can none of us change the past, nor can we go back to what we were. I loved him once, but I love him no more, believe me. My future is with you. I have pledged myself to you, body and heart and soul. I am yours. Let us seal the pact once and for all. Please, please kiss me.”