The Secrets of Scorton Hall: An Historical Regency Romance Mystery

by Kate Carteret

  “Yes, of course.” He said, rising to his feet and bowing as Lady Barton got up from the table.

  “Good night, my dear.” She said and smiled at him warmly, almost motherly.

  “Good night, Lady Barton.”

  “I will show you out, Lord Beaumont.” Felicia said and smiled at her aunt before she disappeared into their chamber at the back.

  “It has been a tiring few days.” He said as Felicia walked him to the door of their rooms. “I hope the journey has not been too much for Lady Barton.”

  “You must not worry, Lord Beaumont, that dear old lady is as strong as an ox. She is strong in every possible way, Sir.” Felicia smiled her beautiful smile, her chestnut hair breaking free from its fastenings here and there and falling in soft strands about her face.

  “She is not the only one.” He said and made a point of holding her gaze. “Forgive me, there is something I must say to you.” He said and he saw the look of consternation on her face.

  “Lord Beaumont?”

  “Before we embarked upon this journey, Lady Felicia, I had an evening with Lord Radley.” He waited for her look of recognition; it had been in Lord Radley’s home where they had first been introduced. “And I know it is not my concern, but he mentioned to me that Lord Wilby is once again a free agent, as it were.”

  “Yes, I had the news from my mother some time ago in a letter.”

  “Felicia, he is not worthy of you.” He could not think of any other way of putting it.

  “I know he is not, Lord Beaumont.” She said and smiled sadly. “I will not be running back to him, I can assure you of that.”

  “Can I be so selfish as to tell you that I am pleased to hear it?” He smiled at her and reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Thank you, it is very kind of you to lend me your support in a difficult time.”

  Jonathan could not work out her meaning at all and wondered if she was simply falling victim to ladylike manners of long-standing. She looked so beautiful in the muted candlelight, her creamy skin, her thick, soft hair. He reached out his hand again and curled it gently around the back of her neck before leaning in to kiss her.

  Her lips were so soft, and he could feel himself immediately beginning to lose control of his senses, especially when she did not pull away from him.

  “Felicia? A glass of water if you would, my dear.” Lady Barton called from her chamber, her strident tone hanging in the air.

  The two of them pulled apart, Felicia looking a little disturbed by the sudden interruption as she turned to look over her shoulder as if certain that Lady Barton would be standing there with her hands on her hips and a chastising look on her face.

  “Good night, Lord Beaumont.” She said and smiled briefly before retreating back into the room and closing the door.

  “Good night, Felicia.” He said in a whisper to the plain wood of the closed door.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I am sure you will manage without me, my dear.” Lady Barton said, still in her nightgown sitting up in her bed. “For one thing, is it a little early for me to take breakfast, as you very well know.” She pulled the covers up around her chin. “And for another, I think I should like a quiet day to myself. You will have the driver with you, and I am sure that Lord Beaumont will be the perfect gentleman.” She looked a little mischievous at that point and Felicia wondered if her aunt had perceived a little more of the confusing events of the previous evening than she had imagined.

  “I do not like to leave you, Aunt Agatha.” Felicia said truthfully.

  “I am not on my last legs, my dear, I’m just a little tired. The staff here are rather wonderful and I daresay, if you let them know that I’m not at my best, they will fuss about me on and off all day. You know how I like that sort of thing.” She smiled indulgently. “You really must go out to the old Mulholland house, it would be a great waste if you did not.”

  “Very well, we will leave immediately after breakfast.”

  “Well eat quietly, for I am going to go back to sleep for a while.” Lady Barton shuffled back down into the bed and in no time at all her eyes were closed.

  Shortly after, there was a tap at the door as Lord Beaumont came in to join her for breakfast. He seemed a little awkward, as did she, and they spent a good deal of their time discussing the fact that Lady Barton would not be joining them that day.

  However, by the time they were in the carriage, their old easy footing had been restored. It seemed to her that talking about the mysterious events which had drawn them together in the first place always dissolved the awkwardness of the growing attraction between them.

  “I have directions to Mulholland House, as it is still known apparently.” He said, tapping the roof of the carriage to let the driver know they were ready to set off. “It is on the very edge of Stirling, a twenty-minute carriage ride I believe.”

  “Do we know anything of the people who currently live there?”

  “I had a couple of ales with the landlord last night after you and Lady Barton retired.” He said discreetly. “He tells me that a wealthy industrialist from the North of England bought the place and he and his wife live there alone with no children.”

  “I hope they are friendly enough to answer a few questions.” She said. “Perhaps we ought to prepare a few before we get there?”

  As they spent the remaining minutes of their journey in careful preparation, Felicia found her thoughts wandering to the night before and the feel of his lips on hers. She had not expected the kiss at all and was certain that she had stood as still as a statue without making any response whatsoever. She had been too taken aback to be either afraid or excited by it, and only now did she allow herself to explore both of those emotions more fully.

  He really was a handsome man and so appealing to her in so many ways. She closed her eyes as he continued to speak and could almost feel his warm, dry lips on hers. Yes, there was certainly excitement. But then she remembered the pain of rejection, the humiliation that she was only now coming to terms with, and she knew precisely the source of her fear. She knew also that the fear was not yet ready to leave.

  Mulholland House, when they arrived, was a large and very fine stone-built mansion set in extensive grounds.

  “The Mulhollands must have been very wealthy indeed.” She said in a whisper as they approached the front door side-by-side. “I had no idea.”

  “It is a very fine estate which one might ordinarily assume would come with a title.” He agreed.

  They were greeted at the door by an elderly butler who showed them in and bid them take seats in the entrance hall whilst he searched for his master. In no time at all, they were shown into a large and well-appointed drawing-room with very fine old furniture and the richest upholstery in deep red velvet.

  “Lord Beaumont?” The man of the house said with confident inquisitiveness. “I am Mr. Henry Thistlethwaite and I do believe that we have never met before.”

  “We have not met before, Sir, and I hope you can forgive our sudden intrusion.” Lord Beaumont said politely. “This is my friend, Lady Felicia Markham.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, My Lady. I’m pleased to meet you both.” He said and spread an arm out in front of them to indicate they should sit.

  He was a pleasant man with a trace of a Lancashire accent.

  “This is a very fine house, Mr. Thistlethwaite. Have you no plans to change its title?”

  “No, I am not a vain man, Lord Beaumont.” Mr. Thistlethwaite said with a laugh. “My wife and I simply adore this area and were so pleased when Mulholland House came up for sale.” He cleared his throat. “You must forgive me; my wife is away from home this morning otherwise she would have been very pleased to meet you.”

  “Not at all, Sir.” Lord Beaumont said and Felicia thought she could see that he liked the man.

  “I must be honest, Mr. Thistlethwaite, and tell you that we have a few questions to ask. In truth, it is all going to seem a
little strange, but I must beg you to keep the details of anything we discuss here today between us alone.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Felicia thought Lord Beaumont had a very firm understanding of human nature and had rightly assessed that the no-nonsense northerner before him would appreciate straight talking and honesty more than anything.

  “The lady who used to live here, Meredith Mulholland, is married to a friend of mine.”

  “Yes, the Duke of somewhere or other.” He shook his head apologetically laughed. “Forgive me, I am not a man who knows much about titles.”

  “The Duke of Scorton.” Lord Beaumont laughed good-naturedly.

  “Of course.” Mr. Thistlethwaite nodded. “I do hope that she is settling down well into her new role as Duchess. It is every young woman’s dream, I daresay.”

  “She certainly seems to be settling in fine, Mr. Thistlethwaite. I’m afraid to report, however, that I have one or two doubts about her companion.”

  “Her companion?”

  “The Duchess has a paid companion, a Miss Mary Morehead.”

  “I’m afraid that is news to me, Lord Beaumont. The truth is that I never met Meredith Mulholland at all. She was not at home when the agent showed us around the house and grounds, and she left for Oxfordshire at least a week before the deeds were transferred to me. I thought her rather mysterious, but my wife has since discovered that she was quite a shy and reclusive woman.”

  “So, you do not know if she had a paid companion at all, Mr. Thistlethwaite?” Felicia added.

  “I had never heard of it, but I daresay there would be no reason for anybody to give me such details.”

  “Yes, of course.” Lord Beaumont went on. “Tell me, did the staff come with the house, Sir?”

  “I’m afraid not. I brought my own staff with me from Lancashire, Lord Beaumont. In truth, I did not really push anybody out of the place, for there were so few staff here to begin with. I believe Miss Mulholland had a housekeeper and just two maids. Much of the house was closed down, you see, when we came here. For all her wealth, it appears that Miss Mulholland was more comfortable surviving in just a few rooms of this great house.”

  “Do you know where the maids went? Or the housekeeper?”

  “One of the maids married, I believe, and the other one had designs on making her way to London. The housekeeper is still in the area, though. She is a retired lady now, somewhat aged, and lives in a little cottage, not two miles from here. I could give you directions if you would like?”

  “Oh yes, I should be very grateful.” Lord Beaumont said and the two men began to discuss the best way to find the little cottage.

  Felicia looked about the room, wondering why it was that a woman so shy and reclusive as to live in just a few rooms of her house would be so at ease at Scorton Hall.

  The drawing room really was sumptuous and the fireplace as broad as any she had ever seen. The fire grate was so large and had been so well filled that Felicia thought it could easily heat several rooms together. Her eyes strayed to a beautifully carved wooden shield fixed to the chimney breast. She held her breath as she wondered how she had not immediately spotted the thing on coming into the room.

  There was a design in the middle of the shield, a portcullis gate constructed of beautiful flowers. She looked down at her velvet wristlet and had an urge to open it and retrieve the silver locket she had been carrying for so long. She did not, however, knowing that there was no purpose in it. She could see quite clearly that the design on the shield was the very same as the design on the locket.

  “Mr. Thistlethwaite, what an impressive and beautiful piece of work that shield is.” She said, hoping to elicit a few details from him.

  “As I said before, My Lady, I am not an overly vain man. That shield bears the coat of arms of the Mulholland family dating back some centuries, I believe. I would replace it with my own if I had such a coat of arms, but I do not. I am a wealthy man, but from humble beginnings, and I do not have such history in my own lineage. I suppose I am romantic in a way and find it a little sad that a house which has been in a family for so many generations has been sold on, even if it is to the benefit of myself.” He sighed and ran a hand over his broad chin. “I think I will do what I can to keep a little bit of the Mulholland family here out of respect, if that makes any sense at all.”

  “It makes perfect sense, Mr. Thistlethwaite, and it is a truly kind and wonderful idea.” Felicia said and felt a little emotional.

  She had no idea why his kindness to perfect strangers had affected her so, but it had.

  Something was truly not right about all of this and she had a suspicion that their meeting with the housekeeper would do much to fill in the gaps. However, she suddenly found herself a little afraid to know the truth, whatever that might be.

  Felicia and Lord Beaumont talked very little on the short carriage ride to the housekeeper’s cottage. Lord Beaumont had been greatly involved in helping the driver find his way and had looked out of the open window of the carriage all the way.

  “I would never have noticed that shield at all, Felicia.” He said when they finally arrived, addressing her informally and quite naturally. “You have a very keen eye for such observations.”

  “It is exactly the same design, is it not?” She said and finally reached into her velvet wristlet and removed the locket.

  “Without a doubt.”

  “I hope that the housekeeper will be as helpful as Mr. Thistlethwaite was.”

  “I do hope so, this feels as if it is the last stone to look under.” He sighed and Felicia could sense a little tension in his countenance.

  Perhaps it was concern for his friend, or the awkwardness of taking so much information, potentially damning information, back to the Duke and have it ruin his life.

  The housekeeper was a fragile, birdlike creature called Mrs. MacDonald. It was clear that she did not receive many visitors for she was thrilled to invite two perfect strangers into her home and serve them tea.

  “I believe you are lately retired, Mrs. MacDonald.” Felicia said gently.

  “Yes, I worked up at Mulholland house for many years. I was widowed in my twenties, you see, so the larger part of my life was spent in service there.”

  “And was it a good place to work, Mrs. MacDonald?”

  “The very best. I could not have landed on my feet better had I been a cat, My Lady. Old Mr. Mulholland was a fine man, quiet in his ways, but a fair master and that’s the truth.”

  “You must have been very sad when he passed away.” Felicia said genuinely as the three of them sat around a scrubbed wooden table in a room which served as both kitchen and dining room.

  The cottage was small and cozy and far from impoverished. It was clear that the Mulhollands had settled a very nice retirement upon the faithful housekeeper and Felicia found herself admiring them for that. And yet she could not quite imagine such philanthropy from the straight-backed, blonde haired, beautiful Duchess.

  “I was sad enough, My Lady, but my heart just about broke for little Meredith.” She said, her fading grey eyes filling with tears at the very thought of it. “She was a quiet girl before that, and it seemed to be the last straw. It nearly broke her, I would say. That was when she began to shut things down, to make her world smaller and smaller. She couldn’t bear to have that great big house all to herself with her father gone.”

  “And then she met the Duke of Scorton?” Felicia said, wondering how such a reclusive woman had managed such a thing.

  “Yes, and what a fine day that was.” Mrs. MacDonald brightened considerably. “I could not have been more pleased for my little Meredith, not even if she had been my own daughter.” She shook her head and smiled. “She always liked her plays, her wee stories, as she called them. It was the only time she ever ventured out of the house. I used to go with her, of course, for she had very few friends and no family to speak of.”

  “Were you with her on the evening she first met the Duke, Mrs. M
acDonald?” Felicia said, her mouth going a little dry.

  “Oh yes, and what a fine young man he is. He was most attentive to her, homing in on her almost as soon as he came into the theatre. He sat with us through the entire play and he even became most insistent that we sit down and take some dinner with him afterward. I could hardly believe it; my dear Meredith was not used to such attention.”

  “Because she was so shy?”

  “Yes, shy, and I suppose a little plain.” She said regretfully. “But that fine young Duke saw right through that to the beautiful soul beneath and I will always be grateful to him for it. As much as I miss my girl, she has a life at last and a good one.”

  “Mrs. MacDonald, did Miss Mulholland have a companion of any kind?” Lord Beaumont said, setting his teacup back down on the table.

  “Apart from me, no. I suppose my job as housekeeper became a little bit of everything in the end, especially when the house had been shut down and there was not so much to clean and keep tidy. I suppose you could say I was her companion. Lord, I do miss that girl.”

  “Do you know a young woman from these parts by the name of Mary Morehead?”

  “Can’t say that I do, My Lady.” Mrs. MacDonald shrugged and shook her head from side to side. “There are certainly no families by the name of Morehead in these parts. This little corner of Stirling is a quiet one and everybody knows everybody else. Even the Thistlethwaites have become a part of the furniture, and they are English.” She chuckled.

  “Perhaps we will have a chance to see you one day in Oxfordshire, Mrs. MacDonald. I’m certain that Meredith could not go too long without seeing you, you sound as if you were so close.” Felicia said and felt a little guilty; she could not imagine for a moment that the new Duchess of Scorton would extend an invitation to this kindly old housekeeper.

  “I would like to say yes, My Lady, but I have not heard from my Meredith for such a long time. I have written many letters to Scorton Hall and addressed them all to the Duchess, all right and proper.” She smiled sadly. “But the poor thing must just be too busy with her new life to write back to me. Either that or I have not addressed the letters properly.”