A Gentleman Always Remembers

by Candace Camp

  “One might think that Lady Priscilla would have some say in the matter.”

  Fitz snorted. “Frankly, I’ve never seen that Lady Priscilla cares much whom she marries.” He sighed. “Very well. I will keep an eye on Neville. I doubt he will stay long anyway. He rarely does; he’s easily bored, and the country offers little to distract him.”

  They rode on for a moment in silence. The heat of their argument had largely dissipated, and for the first time Eve reflected on what she had said to Fitz. She realized that she had overstepped her bounds, taking the brother of her employer to task in this manner. She had been doing well, she thought, at maintaining a professional distance from Fitz, but somehow as soon as she started talking to him, her personal feelings had come tumbling out. It seemed as though her good intentions always crumbled into dust whenever she was with Fitz.

  “I am sorry,” she began stiffly. “I should not have said what I did. It was not my place. I did not know you or Mr. Carr then, and it is none of my business. I fear I let my concern for Lily overwhelm my manners.”

  He turned to look at her. Eve kept her eyes fixed on her horse’s head.

  “Eve, look at me.”

  Reluctantly she turned toward him. His face was serious, his blue eyes for once not alight with laughter or warmth. “I do not want or need your apology. You said only what you thought. There is no reason for you to watch your words with me. I am not a man who desires fear or obligation—either in your speech or in what you do. I would never . . . force you or take advantage of you.”

  “I realize that. It—it is not your desires I fear.” Eve kicked her horse into a trot and rode forward to join the others, leaving Fitz looking after her, surprised.

  When they returned home from their ride, they found the house in an uproar. The butler, Bostwick, fairly bristling with outrage, was snapping orders at the footmen, while Mrs. Merriwether, the housekeeper, and several of the maids were clustered about one of the upstairs maids, who sat, pale-faced, on a bench in the entryway. As Eve and the others came in the front door, everyone in the entryway jumped and whirled toward the door. When they saw who it was, the maid on the bench burst into wails, and the butler strode forward.

  “Mr. Talbot, sir.”

  “Good heavens, Bostwick, what is going on?” Fitz glanced around at the cluster of servants.

  “The house, sir, has been invaded.” Bostwick’s plummy voice rolled out the words.

  Fitz stared. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Jenny came upon an intruder in the hallway outside the bedchambers.” He gestured toward the girl on the bench.

  “It was horrible!” The maid paused in her tears to look up at Fitz. “I was never so scared in my life!”

  “Someone was in the house?” Fitz’s face darkened, his brows rushing together. “What the devil is the meaning of this? Who was it?”

  The girl shook her head. “I don’t know, sir, and that’s the truth.” She cast a baleful glance at the butler with this remark, which Eve took to mean that Bostwick had not readily believed Jenny.

  “She says she’d never seen the man before,” Bostwick admitted. He added with a touch of asperity, “Nor could Paul identify him. Apparently when Jenny came upon him and started screaming, the fellow fled down the stairs and out the side door. Paul saw him run through the hall downstairs.”

  “No one recognized him?” Fitz, too, looked skeptical.

  Eve understood his disbelief. It was surprising that no one knew the intruder. The village was small, and most of the people in the area were known to everyone else, at least by sight.

  “Did he take anything?” Fitz looked from the butler to the maid and back. “Hurt anyone?”

  “Neither Jenny nor Paul remembers him carrying anything, and we could not find anything stolen, at least upon a cursory glance,” Bostwick answered. “Apart from a fright, I cannot tell that anyone was hurt, either.”

  “Then what the devil was he doing here?” Neville asked.

  “Presumably he was frightened away before he got whatever he wanted.” Fitz directed his piercing gaze at the butler. “What did he look like?”

  Bostwick’s mouth curved down, which passed for a grimace with the stone-faced butler. “I have not been able to elicit a clear picture.”

  “He had brown hair,” Paul offered.

  “No, he didn’t!” Jenny raised her head and glared at the man. “I tell you it was sandy-colored! And he was balding at the front but it was longish on the sides. And—and he was a small man.”

  “More like medium. As tall as me, I’d say,” came Paul’s response.

  “He was little.” Jenny set her jaw stubbornly.

  Fitz quirked an eyebrow. “Can you agree on the clothes?”

  “Dark.”

  Jenny nodded. “Brown coat and trousers.”

  “What sorts of clothes?” At the puzzled looks, Fitz went on. “I mean, was he dressed like a gentleman? Or in rougher attire?”

  “Oh.” Jenny’s brow cleared, and she let out a little giggle. “He wasn’t no gentleman, sir. He was dressed like a gardener or a gamekeeper or such. Ordinary.”

  “So . . . work clothes. Small or medium, sandy hair or brown . . .” Fitz summed up their reports. “Jenny, where did you see this chap exactly?”

  “In the hall upstairs, sir. I was carrying the sheets to put on Miss Camellia’s bed, and then I saw him. He was walking right toward me.”

  “So he was outside Miss Camellia’s room?”

  “Well, right before that, where the break ’tween the rooms are.”

  “Ah, in front of the windows, then.” At Jenny’s nod, he asked, “How far were you from the culprit?”

  When she stared at him blankly, Camellia added helpfully, “He means the stranger, Jenny.”

  “Oh. Sorry, sir. ’Bout as far as from me to Mr. Bostwick.”

  “Then fifteen feet.”

  “I guess. And then when I screamed, he ran right past me and down the stairs.”

  “The back stairs?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where did you see him, Paul?”

  It took only a few questions to establish that the footman had heard the screams and had run toward the back of the house, only to see the intruder running down the back hallway, a narrower passage used primarily by the servants, and out the side door that led to the stable yard. It was soon clear that he had seen the man at a distance and from the back and in dimmer light. Fitz, nodding, dismissed everyone, including Paul and the butler, leaving only Jenny and one of the other maids, who held Jenny’s hand, which seemed to calm her.

  “Now, then, Jenny, let’s talk about the man.” Fitz squatted down so that he was at eye level with the girl and smiled at her. “Bostwick and Mrs. Merriwether are not here. I won’t get angry if you tell me you were not telling us everything before. I simply want to know the truth. Are you quite sure that you had never seen this man before?”

  The maid could resist Fitz’s smile no more than most women. She blushed a little as she smiled shyly back at him. “Oh, no, Mr. Talbot, sir, I wasn’t shamming. I swear. I’d never seen him.”

  “Then he is not local?”

  This had apparently not occurred to the girl, for she tilted her head to the side, looking a little surprised, before she said, “No, I guess he must not be.”

  “Did he say anything to you at all?”

  She wrinkled her brow. “He said something under his breath, like, but I couldn’t tell what it was. I think, though, from the way he looked, that maybe it was a curse. ’Cause I’d come upon him, see, and spoiled it.”

  “Very likely. What can you remember about his face?”

  Again she frowned in thought. “He was small, and like I said, he was losing his hair—in front, you know, so he had a really tall forehead.”

  “You said his hair was sandy. On the light side or the dark side?”

  “Lighter, I think. He—there were strands that were lighter—maybe he was going gray. I think maybe
that’s what it was. And he looked older, too, you know—lines on his face and all.”

  “As old as Mr. Bostwick?”

  “Maybe. Maybe more. He was different-looking from Mr. Bostwick, darker, like he’d been in the sun more. But not as dark as Stedley.” She named the head gardener, a man nearing seventy years, whose face was as brown and wrinkled as a dried apple.

  “Did you see his eyes?”

  “They were light. Sort of ordinary.”

  “Blue?”

  “Not like yours, sir.” She blushed and ducked her head. “Maybe gray.”

  “What were his features like? Big? Small? Was his face narrow? His jaw large?”

  “Smallish. His eyes were small, too, and his eyebrows were light like his hair. His mouth was a tight little line. He looked—like a rat, you know?”

  “It sounds a lot like the man they found trying to sneak into the wedding supper the other night,” Eve said.

  Fitz looked at her sharply. “You know about that?”

  Eve nodded. “I was out on the terrace.” Color stole into her cheeks, and she turned her eyes away from Fitz, remembering why she had been on the terrace at that time.

  “We didn’t know about it!” Camellia protested. “Why didn’t anyone say anything?”

  “Oliver kept rather quiet about it, not wanting to disturb Mary’s and Sir Royce’s celebration,” Fitz explained smoothly.

  His cousins cast him doubtful looks. “That doesn’t explain why he said nothing after they had gone,” Lily pointed out.

  “Oh, you know Cousin Oliver,” Camellia retorted. “He was being ‘protective’ again. He thinks we’re too delicate to know the truth.”

  Fitz chuckled. “I think you disabused him of that notion some time ago. It was more, I think, that he hoped to avoid your going about with a pistol in your pocket.”

  “Well, what sense does that make?” Camellia pointed out practically. “If there’s someone lurking about, we ought to be prepared.”

  “That is precisely what I intend to do,” Fitz assured her. “Oliver and I assumed the incident at the wedding feast was a one-time thing . . . that it was someone passing through, who decided to partake of the refreshments and wound up in his cups. But if the chap is still about . . .” He turned to Eve. “You say the man at the wedding looked like Jenny’s intruder?”

  Eve shrugged. “I didn’t get a very good look at him because it was dark and there wasn’t much light, but he was small and dressed in those sorts of clothes. And his hair was light and long, his features small. I don’t know that it is the same man.”

  Fitz nodded. “Seems an unlikely coincidence.” He turned toward Neville. “Why don’t you and I check about the house, see if we can find any evidence of this fellow’s breaking in?” He swung back to the women. “Jenny, you and Tilda get back to the servants’ hall. I’m sure Cook will give you a nice cup of tea to settle your nerves.”

  When the maids were gone, Fitz looked at Eve and his cousins. “I think, ladies, that given this new information, we shall have to be more careful around here. No riding unless Neville or I are along. In fact, it would be best if you did not stray far from the house.”

  “Not again!” Lily groaned.

  “Really, Fitz,” Camellia agreed. “I’ll carry my gun. Why isn’t that enough?”

  “I am sorry. I know that you are an excellent shot. But Oliver left me in charge of your safety, and I have no intention of letting anything happen to you. Any of you,” he added, casting a significant look at Eve. “I trust, Mrs. Hawthorne, that you will have the good sense not to let your charges go out alone or to do so yourself.”

  “We cannot even walk in the garden?” Eve asked, dismayed. “Surely the gardens are safe.”

  “Not alone. If you’ll remember, this fellow came all the way into the house today. He could easily come upon you somewhere in the garden. I don’t intend to let anything happen to you. To any of you,” he added.

  “It’s like being in prison,” Camellia grumbled.

  “A pleasant prison, I hope,” Fitz replied, then sighed. “Very well. As long as you go about in pairs, I suppose it’s all right. I will put some men patrolling in the gardens, as well as set up a guard at night. But if anything else untoward happens, I shall have to insist on your going no farther than the terrace.”

  Lily sighed, and Camellia rolled her eyes, but they did not push the matter. Fitz, apparently satisfied that they had acquiesced to his edict, went on, “Now, if you ladies will check your rooms to see if anything is missing from them, I would appreciate it. Neville? Shall we take a turn around the house?” He cast a questioning glance at his friend, who nodded, and the two men bowed and departed.

  Eve followed her charges up the stairs. She was somewhat surprised by Fitz’s reaction to the news of the intruder. It was worrisome, of course, but she wouldn’t have expected him to be quite this protective. She was not as accustomed to doing things on her own as Lily and Camellia were, but Fitz’s edicts had even set her back up a little. It wasn’t as if any of them had been threatened—indeed, the intruder had not done anything, really, either time. It seemed rather excessive for Fitz to threaten to confine them to the house.

  They parted and went into their own bedrooms. Eve crossed to her dresser, where a small jewelry box sat. She had only one item of value, after all. She opened the box. In the center lay the small enameled pocket watch Bruce had given her. She picked it up, smoothing her fingers over the cool surface.

  It was of little value, of course, compared with the hundreds of expensive items that lay around Willowmere. She doubted that the intruder would have bothered to take her bits of jewelry, even the watch. Nor was there likely to be another thief sneaking into the house. Still, it made no sense to leave her one valuable item lying in the box on top of the dresser, where anyone might see it. Perhaps she should start wearing it every day. But it was a trifle cumbersome and tended to pull at the delicate muslins and cambric of her day dresses, unlike the sturdier fabric of her carriage dress. Besides, she did not really need it in this house, where there was a clock in nearly every room.

  Opening her top drawer, she pulled out a nightgown and wrapped the watch in it so that the end result was a tight ball of white cotton nightgown. She put it back in the drawer beneath the other clothes. As she did so her fingers brushed against a piece of paper. It was the note she had received before the wedding, which she had stuffed down below her nightclothes.

  Drawing it out, Eve opened the piece of paper and looked at it again. Uneasiness stirred in her. Perhaps she should show the note to Fitz after all. But even as she thought that, she hesitated. If Fitz saw this, he might make good on his threat to restrict the women to the house. Lily and Camellia would never forgive her. Nor did she relish the idea of being so constricted.

  And surely there was no connection between the note and the intruder today. How could there be? The note must have been sent by someone who knew her, and Eve was certain that she had never seen the man who had tried to interrupt Mary’s wedding party. There was a possibility that the two intruders were different people, but given Jenny’s description of the man, that seemed unlikely. No, she told herself, the note had to be unrelated to the intruder. There was no need to show it to Fitz. And it was better all around to keep Fitz out of her personal life.

  Chapter 9

  Fitz sat in the chair behind his brother’s desk, idly twirling an ornate letter opener. He was troubled, not a state in which he spent much time, nor one that he enjoyed. The first matter that disturbed his thoughts was the intruder who had entered the house the day before. In all his life, no one had ever broken into Willowmere. Fitzhugh Talbot was not a man who feared much, so the idea of a slight man breaking into his home did not arouse any sense of danger. However, it both astonished and offended him. Willowmere was the fortress of his youth, strong and inviolate. No one should be able to invade it or tarnish its sanctity.

  A fierce protectiveness arose in him for Eve and his c
ousins, who must have been frightened by the thought of an intruder. Well, he amended mentally, being an honest man, it had probably frightened Eve. He was not sure exactly what it would take to frighten the Bascombes, but he was sure that it would be far more than a maid’s tale of a thief in the house. However, he found that the thought of Eve being scared was enough to make him clench his fist, imagining it closing about the fellow’s throat. She could have been in the house when the man entered; she could have come face to face with him.

  It galled him that this happened while Eve and his cousins were under his protection. What was even more infuriating was the fact that he had absolutely no idea who the intruder had been, what he had been doing there, or where he had gone afterward.

  He and Neville had tromped around the outside of the house after hearing Jenny’s account, but they had found nothing to indicate that the man had entered in any other manner than the way he had left. There were a few shoe prints in the dirt outside the side entry, but as several servants had run out that way after the man, there was no hope of distinguishing which prints belonged to the intruder. Certainly there was no indication of which way he had gone. He could have ducked into the garden or sprinted down past the stable yard to the river or in the opposite direction to the trees and the road beyond.

  None of the servants had heard or seen the intruder until Jenny and then Paul started shouting, and none had gotten a good look at him except the maid. The gardeners had seen nothing, and neither had any of the grooms in the stable yard, which had so annoyed Fitz that he had roundly cursed them for being witless fools, a rarity for a man of Fitz’s usually equable temperament. But it did not, of course, change the fact that in the end he was left with nothing. He sent one of his men into the village to seek out information about any strangers in town and ordered everyone to be on guard in the future.