by Jo Goodman
“I understand,” Ferrin said. “I have four sisters of my own.” He sipped from his glass, considering how he might best begin. He had purposely not dwelled on the explanation he would make, knowing that a practiced account might be interpreted as a well-rehearsed lie. As he thought about it now, it seemed to him that Sherry had given him the best possible opening. “In fact, the circumstances surrounding my introduction to Mrs. Caldwell have everything to do with one of my sisters. Her name is Wynetta, and she is…”
Beginning with the masquerade, Ferrin made his presentation of the facts as objectively as he could. Of necessity, there were details he omitted, but they were the ones that would have compromised Cybelline and prompted Sherry to seek redress. As he believed Sherry eventually could be made to embrace reason, Ferrin was far less concerned about a challenge being issued than he was about compromising Cybelline in her brother’s eyes.
Sherry listened without interruption, though Ferrin was fairly certain this was done of a purpose. His host seemed bent on hearing the whole of it once; the interrogation would begin presently. There were any number of points that Sherry would be well within his rights to question, Ferrin thought, especially the particulars regarding his reputation. To Ferrin’s own ears his explanation sounded suspect. Since Sherry’s expression gave nothing away, Ferrin could only imagine what significance was being placed on these revelations. Ferrin concluded his explanation with a brief account of the last correspondence he’d had from Wellsley, then sat back and awaited Sherry’s questions.
Sherry set his tumbler on the mantelpiece. He’d taken very little drink and did not fail to notice that Ferrin’s glass was similarly full. “It seems neither of us depend on drink for truth or comfort,” he said. “Though I will admit that your description of Wellsley’s impoverished thinking while deep in his cups helped stay my hand.”
Ferrin nodded. “It has had considerable influence on me also.”
“I imagine so,” Sherry said, dryly, “since you were sufficiently moved by his suspect logic to fall in with his scheme.”
“I own that after several hours of drinking in his company, his scheming seemed to have a certain brilliance, but I had already determined to search for Boudicca before I met up with Wellsley at the club. That I was encouraged to fall in with his plans had as much to do with being his friend of long standing as it did with serving my own purpose.”
Sherry’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes, well, let us speak of your purpose. I believe the less said regarding your intentions toward Boudicca, the better. Do you agree?”
“I do, yes.”
“Good.” Sherry picked up his drink and pushed away from the fireplace. He sat in a leather wing chair across from Ferrin. “What is it that you think you know about my sister? Please, be frank.”
This question was not at all what Ferrin expected, but he fully appreciated the challenge inherent in it. He would be judged not only for the breadth of his assessment but also for its honesty. “She is not Boudicca,” Ferrin said, “but not so unlike the woman I imagine Boudicca might have been. I have said as much to her.” Ferrin paused, smiling faintly at the memory. “She didn’t agree, though I don’t believe modesty prevented it. She is not so confident as she once was.”
“That presumes rather a lot, don’t you think? You’ve known Cybelline but a few short months.”
Ferrin nodded. “By any measure we understand you will always have known your sister longer than I, but it does not follow that I can never come to know her as well. Not better, perhaps, but differently. I have glimpsed her self-possession, and I have seen it falter. It is still her instinct to bring her chin up, but it wobbles just so. She will stare down a problem, then look away because her eyes well with tears. She no longer trusts her judgment and often as not chooses the wrong battle. Where she might have welcomed confrontation, she now avoids it—even runs from it if she’s allowed.” Ferrin held Sherry’s dark stare a long moment before he added, “I don’t allow her.”
Sherry drew a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “It wasn’t her idea to come to Granville, was it?”
“No. It was mine.” He sipped his drink. “I did not have to convince her. She saw the sense of it quickly enough.”
“But she wouldn’t have suggested it.”
“No, I don’t believe she would have.”
Sherry nodded and lifted his glass. His large swallow eliminated one full finger of whisky. “Cybelline used to enjoying managing me. Did you know that?”
“No, but I suspect that it was because you allowed her to.”
“Perhaps. I am not always certain. She was wed at nineteen and believed her status as a married woman gave her even more license than before. It did not pain me overmuch, so I didn’t often complain. What pains me now is that I ever expressed any displeasure. She has no well-intentioned advice for me these days. In point of fact, I would welcome even her most ill-considered opinions.”
“I take it your own marriage does not account for the change in her.”
“No, not entirely.”
“Then the substantial change occurred after Caldwell’s suicide.”
“Yes,” Sherry said. “She has spoken to you about it?”
Ferrin made a careful reply. “Not of the particulars of that day.”
Sherry put down his glass and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. He threaded his fingers in front of him and lightly tapped his thumbs together. “She found him. She had only just left the house when it happened. I have to believe that was deliberate on his part and meant to be considerate of her. I think he intended for the servants to take care of the blood and brains before she returned. He did not anticipate her forgetting a package that she meant to take back to the dressmaker’s. She had left it in his study when she went in earlier to tell him she was leaving.”
“Then he didn’t wait long to set the pistol to his head.”
“No. Cybelline had not gone even half the block. She didn’t hear the shot, but the servants did. They were crowded around the door to the study when she walked back in. There was an attempt to dissuade her from entering the room, but you were right when you said her first instinct is to put her chin up.”
Sherry set his jaw a moment before he continued. “I spoke to the butler later and learned that my sister did not faint, did not cry out, did not shed a tear. She went to where her husband had fallen beside his desk and knelt, then she took his bloody head in her hands and cradled him in her lap. She was in precisely that position when I arrived within the hour. Her countenance was devoid of all expression, her complexion was as pale as salt, and in spite of the heat of the day, she trembled from a chill that ran bone deep. Had I not been in London at the time, I believe she would have remained just so until I came.”
Sherry’s voice took on a husky tenor. “Or been lost to me if I had not.” He collected himself and went on. “I do not think I have all of her back yet, though today has given me some hope that it might still happen.”
“You will never have all of her back, Sheridan.”
“No?”
Ferrin shook his head. “I am learning I am too selfish to permit it.”
Sherry did not raise an eyebrow, but his look was considering nonetheless. “Good for you,” he said at last. “Very good for you.”
“I told Mrs. Caldwell that you would be reasonable.”
Sherry shrugged. “Cybelline asked me not to shoot you. It is fortunate for you that I still enjoy indulging my sister.”
“Indeed,” Ferrin said. “It is possible I will give you and Mrs. Caldwell cause to regret it. There are matters I am honor bound to bring to your attention.”
“Cybelline knows this?”
“No.”
“Then you’re not about to discuss an offer of marriage, are you?”
“No.”
“I see.” Sherry’s thumbs stopped their rhythmic tapping. “Or rather I don’t, but I feel certain you are about to explain.”
Nodding,
Ferrin leaned forward. His eyes were grave. “Just after the first anniversary of Caldwell’s suicide, your sister received a letter that Caldwell had written to someone else long before his death.”
“A letter describing his intentions to kill himself, you mean?”
“No. Not at all. It was a romantic correspondence.”
Sherry became very still. “To whom?”
“A mistress. That is the construction that Cybelline has placed on it, and there is every good reason to do so.”
“Bloody hell.”
“Yes, well, that is not even the worst of it. Another letter followed, this one composed by a different hand. It was brief and very much to the point. The author accused Mrs. Caldwell of murdering her husband.”
Sherry did not visibly react. “The mistress?”
“One would think so.”
“You’ve seen these letters?”
“Yes. But there are many more than the two I’ve mentioned. She has close to a score of them now. Almost twenty of Nicholas’s letters and an equal number that name her a murderess.”
“Why didn’t she come to me before this?”
Ferrin’s reply was candid. “She’s not coming to you now. I am. She will not thank me, no matter that some part of her understands the necessity of telling you. It is my opinion the letters from the mistress are more threatening of late. They are not so straightforward that I can divine the exact nature of the threat, but there is one there. The most recent letters have mentioned Anna.”
Sherry’s nostril’s flared as he sucked in a breath. “Are the letters here?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s likely that she packed them, but you will understand that I am not privy to that. The maid she brought will be of no help. Your sister did not trust Webb with them, so she certainly would not allow this girl to secure them for her.”
“Where is Webb? I didn’t see her hovering about.”
“Left behind.”
“That is unusual.”
“Done of a purpose, I suspect. Mrs. Caldwell will tell you it is because she expects Webb to receive an offer of marriage directly and does not want her own affairs to stand in the way. That is not untrue, but it is not the entire truth.”
“And what is the explanation that you think satisfies?”
“There are two that I have been considering. The first is that your sister does not want Webb close enough to be questioned by you.”
“That explanation supposes that you and I will be having this very conversation,” Sherry said. “What is the other?”
“The other is that Mrs. Caldwell suspects that Sarah Webb was her husband’s mistress.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Webb?” Sherry asked, clearly incredulous. “That is the single most difficult thing you’ve asked me to believe, Ferrin. I can see you are perfectly serious, but you are also wrong.”
“I didn’t say that I believe it,” Ferrin said, “only that I suspect Mrs. Caldwell does.”
“Then you have sadly misinterpreted the bent of Cybelline’s mind. Webb has been with her since…well, it seems as though it’s been forever. I cannot comprehend what would bring Cybelline to the conclusion that her maid was her husband’s mistress.”
Ferrin ticked off the reasons. “Caldwell’s correspondence indicates there is some impediment that keeps him and his mistress from marrying. The impediment might very well be a social inequality. He writes of desiring to be a father. Webb could not very well give birth beneath your sister’s nose. And finally, the letters followed Mrs. Caldwell to Penwyckham. I will not be at all surprised if one arrives here shortly. Again, Webb is privy to all of your sister’s plans.”
“You told me that Cybelline’s recovery from her illness was largely due to Webb’s interference.”
“That’s right. And Webb is also the one who told me that Mrs. Caldwell was disturbed by some letters she’d received. I would have no knowledge of them if Webb had not confided in me, but I believe that your sister viewed sharing that confidence as a betrayal. She is wondering still in what other manner Webb might have betrayed her trust.”
Sherry said nothing for several moments as he attempted to absorb this new intelligence. “You said Cybelline did not argue when you suggested coming here.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you think that’s because she wanted to remove herself from Webb?”
“It would be more to that point that she wanted to remove Anna.”
“So we are returned to that. The threat against my niece.”
Ferrin nodded. “Again, do not imagine that I share your sister’s conclusions regarding Webb. I have not discussed this with her, so I cannot be certain it is truly her thinking on the matter, but the letters are quite real, as is her fear. She is searching for an explanation that fits the facts as she understands them, and her judgment is compromised by her lack of information.” Quietly intent, he added, “As is mine.”
“Is that why you’ve come? You think I know something?”
“Do you?”
Sherry’s dark glance was sharp. “Your judgment is also compromised,” he said after a moment. “Else you would not pose your question as an accusation.”
Ferrin did not blink, nor did he back down. “I have to believe you made a study of Caldwell’s prospects and background when you began to suspect that he and your sister would become betrothed. I did it for Imogene when she was affianced to Mr. Branson, and if I discover that Wellsley is not Netta’s intended, I will do it again. Imogene would be righteously angry if she knew, so I have never told her. She would reason I did not trust her estimation of her fiancé’s character, not that I didn’t trust her fiancé.”
“That is splitting hairs, is it not?”
“Not to Imogene, and I suspect, not to your sister. She is very firm that a woman’s thinking must be respected. I doubt that is a recent opinion.”
Sherry sighed. “No, you are in the right of there.”
“And am I right about the rest? You did have Caldwell investigated, did you not?”
“I did. Twice. Once when he was courting Cybelline, and again following his suicide. You will not be happy to learn that I discovered no evidence of a mistress. That surely would have revealed itself.”
“Mrs. Caldwell says—”
Sherry raised his hand, stopping Ferrin. “Has she given you leave to call her by her Christian name?”
“Yes.” Ferrin could not recall that he’d ever asked permission, but the wiser course here was not to make too fine a point of it.
“Then you may do so with me.”
Ferrin inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the privilege, and went on. “Cybelline told me that her husband spoke little of his own parents. A grandfather raised him, I believe.”
“That’s right, though I would not presume he took much interest in Nicholas. Nicholas went to Harrow very early and remained there. I have the impression that he did not often return home.”
“At holiday? Summer?”
“No, not even then. I believe it was Nicholas’s choice. He told me once that the reason he studied law was that one of the headmasters encouraged him early on to do so. He spoke quite fondly of this teacher’s interest in him. Given a choice between going home to a grandfather for whom he had little affection and remaining at school with a headmaster who inspired him, the decision was an easy one.”
“He was a good student?”
“Excellent at his studies. A prefect when he was older. The usual rows and dustups with fellow classmates. My study into his background did not dwell on his school days, you understand. What I’m telling you now, I learned in the course of conversations with him after he and Cybelline were married. In comparing stories, I’d have to allow that I caused considerably more trouble at Eton than he ever thought of at Harrow.”
“That’s because the Harrow lads have no imagination.”
“True.”
“Where did he study law?”
“Oxfo
rd.”
“Then his grandfather was comfortably set.”
“A bit more than comfortable. Shipping and lucrative investments in the China trade.”
“Cybelline said that his grandfather died around the time they were married. Did Caldwell inherit?”
Ferrin shook his head. “Nicholas was named in his grandfather’s will, but he did not receive the lion’s share. That went to Cambridge.”
“Cambridge? His grandfather made a gift?”
“A substantial one. Nicholas and his grandfather shared one interest in common: artifacts. The collection went to the Royal Society. The money to continue the study and develop it went to Cambridge.”
“Sir Richard Settle.”
“You know him?”
Ferrin explained his acquaintance with Settle and Cybelline’s recent business with the former don. “Did he benefit in any way from the contribution?”
“Not that I am aware. I am not certain of the order of events, but it is my recollection that Settle left Cambridge before Caldwell’s grandfather died. Mayhap he was instrumental in soliciting the donation, though I couldn’t say. What is your interest?”
“I’m not sure,” Ferrin admitted. “I find your sister’s antipathy toward him interesting, I suppose, perhaps because the origins are not clear to me.” He waved it aside. “I can agree with her that Settle is not the most amiable of gentlemen.”
“My thoughts also. I met him a few times because of Caldwell’s association with him. Cybelline once invited me to dine at her home when Settle was a guest. She at least was able to excuse herself following the meal. I was subjected to a rather lengthy recounting of a discovery Settle and Nicholas made together. A shield, I think, though that is of no import. What is, is that I persuaded my sister never to ask me to dine again with Settle in attendance.”
Ferrin leaned against the back of the sofa and pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes briefly, thinking. “Why do you think Caldwell killed himself?” he asked at last.
“I don’t know.”
“No creditors? Gaming debts?”
