Lady Anne 03 - Curse of the Gypsy

by Donna Lea Simpson

  They were silent for a time, the moonlight encouraging more kisses. Darkefell felt his anger at her stubborn resistance to his proposals melt away. She would marry him. How could she not? He had always gotten what he wanted in life, and he wanted her.

  He put his arm around her shoulders and they strolled on, her full skirts rustling against his legs, her hip against his. He told again the part of his story about Hiram Grover, how the man, on the verge of bankruptcy, though no one knew it, tried to both collect insurance on the slaves his crew threw overboard and sue Darkefell for his “property”—the seven freed slaves—back.

  “I was furious,” Darkefell recalled. “How dare he, when those were men and women his hired men had tossed overboard like so much refuse? Even his desperation to hold on to his estate does not excuse it. He had made foolish investments, then mortgaged his estate to fund that expedition. Bad choice after bad choice.”

  She turned her head to look up at him and pulled away. “But Tony, what does that old history have to do with Julius being alive? And my seeing him here, in my woods? What was he doing here?”

  “Julius’s reappearance is tied in with the deaths of Tilly Landers,” he said, mentally wincing over having to bring up the name of his one-time lover, “and that of Miss Fanny Allengate.”

  “Why don’t we sit for a while. There is a bench just beyond that hedge.” She pointed to a high yew hedge.

  “Ah, a private retreat,” he murmured, kissing her ear. “Good.”

  They circled the hedge and found the bench in a shadowed alcove. Neither spoke at once, as they sat. First there were heated kisses to share, and caresses. Darkefell found it increasingly awkward to hide his physical condition, and she once brushed her hand accidentally over his groin; she drew away swiftly, but not before he leaped at the sensation, a sharp bite of need thrumming through him. He swung one leg over the bench and pulled her close, settling her in an intimate posture, her hip butted against his groin. Her kisses after that, her fingers threaded through his hair and brushing the nape of his neck, drove him to the brink of disgracing himself.

  “Why did you behave so cavalierly, Anne, in Cornwall?” he muttered.

  “Cavalier?” She drew away from him and gazed into his eyes, her hands on his shoulders. “I just asked for time to think!”

  “But you warned me to stay away, as if I was a dog you were putting to heel. I won’t be treated like that, not even by the woman I love!”

  “Let’s not argue, Tony,” she said, moving away from him. “You have yet to tell me about Julius.”

  He sighed, but gave in. Kissing her more that moment was not a particularly wise employment of his time. “I was talking about Grover suing for the return of his “property,” and claiming insurance on the dead slaves. I thwarted that, of course. Told authorities what had really happened.” Hiram Grover had claimed the slaves were disposed of because the ship was in danger of running out of water for the crew, an outright lie, but one that, if believed, would have been accepted as good enough reason to murder however many Africans. “That all set the seal of enmity between us and led to him trying to destroy my family by starting that damned werewolf rumor, and then by murdering poor Cecilia Wainwright.”

  “If she had not thought to blackmail Hiram Grover, she would still be alive,” Anne said gently. “There was nothing you could have done to prevent it.”

  “If I had known the future …” He shook his head. “The awful events began with Tilly Lander’s dead body being found at the bottom of Staungill Force.”

  Anne gasped. “Do you think Hiram Grover killed her?”

  Darkefell frowned and shrugged. “I don’t know. Why would he? I can’t imagine it.” He swept a lock of hair out of his eyes. “But I do think he wrote the letter that led to her body being found, and suspicion being pointed toward us, at Darkefell. It had to have been Hiram Grover who wrote that anonymous note, meaning to embarrass me at least; it claimed the writer had seen me there, and implied I had pushed her to her death because she was carrying my child.”

  “But you didn’t and she wasn’t,” she said.

  “No, of course not. She was with child, but it wasn’t mine.”

  “But why do you think Hiram wrote the note? What makes you believe that?”

  He shook his head. “I suppose it could have been anyone who wrote that note. It was common knowledge that Tilly and I had … that we had been together, brief as our affair was.” He looked up, examining the night sky, watching the stars, anything that would allow him to avoid the steady gaze of the woman he now loved. It was exceedingly awkward to be speaking of a former lover to the woman he wished to marry. “But whoever it was had to either be her murderer or know she would be found there dead. Not necessarily the same thing, I suppose.”

  “You don’t know who the father of her unborn child was?” Anne asked.

  “No. She was, as they say, generous with her affections,” he said carefully. Anne had castigated him once for speaking of the young woman carelessly. “I only know it wasn’t me.”

  “I’m becoming confused, Tony. I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with Julius.”

  “Patience, Anne. That damned anonymous note, that I am now assuming Grover sent to the magistrate, prompted Julius to claim that he was the one seen with her, and that he saw her fall accidentally from the top of Staungill Force. Idiot. I suppose he feared that the note might be true, even though I said it wasn’t.”

  “You’re identical twins; I’ve heard that is a powerful bond.”

  “It is. Anyway, it was the wrong thing to do, for it just attracted suspicion to him. When it appeared that he was about to be arrested for Tilly’s murder, he decided that instead of relying on Magistrate Pomfroy’s intelligence and rationality—neither of which traits the man has in any measure—he would go to Upper Canada. I knew he longed for adventure, so I gave him money.” He shook his head. “The next we heard he was dead and buried, the victim of an accident at a logging camp.”

  “But that was not true.”

  “No, but we all believed it. Mother grieved deeply for her favorite son.”

  “Favorite? Surely not. John is her youngest, you the heir.”

  “No, Julius is her favorite. Ask Nan Patterson.”

  He spoke of his childhood nanny, who lived in a cottage on Darkefell property, pensioned and well cared for. Anne had met her on her visit to Yorkshire.

  “I began to hear murmurings of a strange man and dog seen on our property. It didn’t take long to find out that the man being hidden by Eddy Carter at his hut in the hills was not his ne’er-do-well son Neddy, but my own twin, Julius, back from the dead. He missed home, he said, and thought it might all have blown over. I wouldn’t let him see Mother, afraid someone would find out and turn him in to Pomfroy.”

  “You mean Lady Darkefell didn’t know he was home then?”

  “No, she never did, all those months,” he said grimly. “Though she does now, thanks to your letter.”

  “Oh, Tony, I’m sorry,” Anne cried, knowing how difficult the dowager marchioness could be when crossed.

  “No, this is entirely my fault. I should have been honest with her. She is traveling down to stay at our hunting box near Canterbury, Hawk Park. She wants so badly to see Julius, so I do hope I can effect that tender reunion between mother and prodigal son.” He shook his head. “Damn. That sounded bitter. I don’t mean to be.”

  “But the trouble has not abated, it seems?” Anne asked. “So he cannot come out into the open yet?”

  “No. When he first came back, I thought we could come clean and free him of suspicion, but before we could clear up the whole mess about Tilly Landers, Fanny Allengate was killed.”

  “But what did he have to do with that?”

  “Nothing, but you read her diaries,” he said, reminding Anne of the journals they had both read in an attempt to figure out what was going on at Darkefell’s estate. “Julius met Miss Allengate a few times up on Staungil
l Force and kissed her. In the moonlight she thought it was me, and apparently began a silly fantasy of being in love with me. I did not meet her, though, and never encouraged her fantasy about me.”

  “I don’t think I like your brother much, Tony,” Anne said, “if he would conduct himself in such a way with a vulnerable girl like Miss Allengate.”

  “He didn’t think there was any harm in it; he’s thoughtless on occasion but never deliberately cruel. When Julius and I were young bucks in London we used to play games, switch off with each other. We have known the Allengates all our lives. He knew that Miss Allengate was aware of the social boundaries between her and me. She would never have expected marriage from the marquess. I’m afraid she was a rather silly girl, or she would have immediately known the difference between myself and Julius.”

  “I was fooled,” Anne pointed out, her tone sharp.

  “From a distance,” he said gently, “and only seeing him for a few seconds. If you kissed Julius, I think … I hope … you would know it wasn’t me.” He touched her hair and caressed her neck.

  “I would certainly know,” she said, turning her face and kissing his wrist.

  He wound his arms around her and they lost several more minutes, kissing and glorying in the closeness both had been deprived of for weeks.

  “Poor Fanny,” Anne said softly, when they finally broke apart again.

  “We know what happened next. That little trollop Lily Jenkins, jealous of her husband’s continuing fondness for Fanny, stole her diary and wrote those damning passages, where Fanny supposedly says I seduced her and that we had been together in a carnal sense.”

  “How malicious she is!” Anne cried. “I am still deeply unsatisfied that she has received no form of punishment for her cruelty to Miss Allengate’s memory.”

  “Ah, but she is being punished. The good people of Hornethwaite, learning of her excesses, have pulled away from her. Miss Beatrice Lange, her heretofore best friend, has completely severed ties. After Fanny’s death, I knew if it came out that Julius was alive and living in Yorkshire, Pomfroy would have him arrested. They would make the case that Julius was the one who seduced Fanny, and, afraid of being exposed, killed her to silence her.”

  “I can see how that story would sound plausible. Still, Tony, you are the marquess. Doesn’t Pomfroy have to do what you tell him to do?”

  “I could make him, certainly, but it would be an awful risk if I could never prove Julius innocent. People would still say he did it, and I would be seen as doing something despicable in leaving my brother free while Grover is hanged for killing Cecilia.”

  Anne said gently, “Your honor would be suspect.”

  Darkefell hesitated, but then said, “Julius was there that night, Anne, up on Staungill Force, the night Grover almost killed you. It was Julius who attacked Grover first, he and his wolf dog, Atim. They saved you.”

  “Wolf dog!” she cried. “This ‘Atim,’ then, was the animal I heard howling several times near the castle and Ivy Lodge!”

  “And that brings us to your sighting of Julius in your woods. I don’t know this for sure, because I have not spoken to him since, but I believe that Julius followed Hiram Grover away from Darkefell estate that night,” Tony said, telling Anne about his visit to Theophilus Grover’s home. “I think he then lost track of the man, and was asking the gypsies for information.”

  Anne sat bolt upright. “The fat man! That is who the gypsy mother saw and spoke with!” she exclaimed, telling Darkefell all about her recent conversations with the gypsies. “The fat man could be Mr. Grover. Where are Grover, Julius, and his dog now, then?”

  “I don’t know,” he said grimly. “But I intend to find out and take Hiram back to Yorkshire to swing for Cecilia’s murder, if he doesn’t die at my own hands first.”

  “You don’t mean that!” Anne exclaimed.

  He stayed silent, unwilling to shock her with how true that statement was.

  “I wish I could help, Tony, truly I do, but I have my own worries,” she said, telling him about the illness of Robbie, the gypsy mother, and Mrs. Jackson. She did not tell him about the gunshot, though, certain he would forbid her to go anywhere alone, or make any decision on her own behalf. She was careful in her perambulations, but he was commanding and they would certainly argue.

  “I’m not sure I understand who Mrs. Jackson is. And I remember you saying you had an older brother, but you never told me anything about him.”

  She hesitated, looking up into his face, lit by silver moonlight. “Jamey is … he has troubles. He’ll never be earl. My father had to have him declared ineligible.”

  Darkefell then asked, “Why does he live at this farm you spoke of, though?”

  Tears started in Anne’s eyes. “It’s my fault he was banished.” She explained the history of Jamey’s incapacity.

  “Oh, my poor dear Anne,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Your father did the right thing to protect you. Through no fault of his own, your brother was a danger to you. But perhaps his best life is not with his family, after all, but rather on the farm.”

  “Thank you, Tony,” she said, her tears drying. “Thank you for understanding. Perhaps you shall meet him?”

  “I would like it above all things.” He looked up at the sky, now adorned with a swathe of glittering stars across the black void. “It is very late, my dear. As much as I enjoy kissing you and talking with you, it is time for you to go to bed. And I must make sure my scholarly secretary does not keep your father awake longer than is good for him.”

  “You,” Anne said, tweaking his chin, “are too much like me, taking care of those around us.”

  “No, not I. If I had been like that before, perhaps my mother would not be as she is, and my brother would not be a fugitive from justice.” He stood and took her hand, pulling her up and into his arms. He kissed her with lingering passion, then turned her around and took her arm, taking the meandering path that would unwind them from the heart of the maze. “To bed, my lady, before I am unfit company for anyone.”

  “Tony, I do love you,” she said softly, stopping him and giving herself up to the fire Darkefell lit in her body. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear as she clung to him.

  Eight

  It was early morning, and Anne sat at the desk in her bedchamber writing an involved letter to Lydia, explaining her previous letter as best she could.

  Mary, who had been fiddling about, refilling Anne’s pomade pot and perfume bottle at the dressing table and removing books from a table near the fireside chair, finally spoke. “Milady, may I say something?”

  “Of course,” Anne said, looking up. “What is it?”

  Mary MacDougall, with a painfully worried look on her face, approached the desk and said, wringing her hands, “Mrs. Noonan is in the chapel, and she’s weepin’ fit to try the heart of an angel. What could be wrong with the poor soul? I asked her, but couldna understand a word she said.”

  Anne vaguely replied, “I suppose she’s upset by my plans for the boys.”

  “Your plans? What d’ye mean?”

  Anne sighed, set her quill down, and turned to gaze up at Mary. “The oldest boys—in fact, all of them but baby John—are to be schooled by Vicar Wadley starting today. Mrs. Noonan is aghast at the very idea for some unfathomable reason, but I say the village will not survive if what I surmise is true, that those young devils are responsible for all the problems of late, the tormented stock, shed fires, and such.”

  Mary asked, “Why would she be so afraid of that? For it was fear, milady, not anger nor pique, that had her weeping.”

  Anne frowned and rubbed the leather surface of her desk, a simple table with graceful legs and several leather-fronted drawers. “I can’t imagine. She said she was going to sit in on their lessons with the vicar, and I told her that was nonsense, that she indulged them too much.”

  “Oh, milady, perhaps that’s it. Willya no reconsider? Those bairns are all she has left, since her poor husband di
ed.”

  “Reconsider what, giving them a tutor? Don’t be ridiculous; those boys are overindulged. This is not to be permanent, after all. I expect to hear back from Mrs. Noonan’s brother telling me when they can be transported to their new abode.”

  “But until then? She’s fair troubled, milady.”

  Anne considered; she had no children but Mary did, so perhaps she should defer to her maid’s better judgment in this one case. It went against the grain, but she reluctantly acceded. “All right, I will not back down on those imps being tutored by the vicar, but I will allow her to sit in on the lessons with Vicar Wadley. Do you think that will help?”

  Mary nodded. “Aye, milady, I think that will be for the best.” She crossed the room and continued her tidying of the dressing table. While she sat on the dressing table chair and cleaned a brush, she looked over at Anne, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “You were quite late last night, milady. What on airth did you and the marquess have to talk about that kept you outside, alone with him, so long?” It was amazing how she had rebounded since Robbie now seemed to be on the road to recovery.

  Anne shook her head. “Why would I tell you this morning what I wouldn’t last night? I’ll only say that he and I have not yet come to an agreement on everything but …” She trailed off, not in the mood for lighthearted banter. She truly was perplexed. “What shall I do?” she asked, serious this time, turning to gaze steadily at her closest confidante, her maid. “I love Tony; I’m sure of that now. But if we marry I’ll lose my soul. I love him far too much!” she said, wrapping her arms around herself.

  Mary didn’t make fun of her fears. Instead she said, “That’s as it should be. Man and woman were meant to be together. Only a fool would say nay to true love. If he’s the one, the only one you can love, then what is to keep you from each other?”

  “There are many things to keep us apart. I can’t leave Father alone here at Harecross to fend for himself. Look what happened when I left for just a month or two! Trouble with the gypsies, Mrs. Noonan and her ill-mannered brood invade, the villagers up in arms; if I left forever Harecross Hall would fall around his ears. If Mother would just come back and stop being such a …” She broke off, for she resisted every urge to castigate her mother.