‘So he was shot after he left here…’ Rosalyn stared at her brother, her face white. ‘And they think it could have been that very day…’
‘But who would want to do such a thing?’ Mrs Buckley asked, looking puzzled. ‘I know he was not a very likeable man, but murder…that is horrid! I can hardly believe it.’
‘Do they have any idea of who might have done it?’ Rosalyn said. Freddie looked down, refusing to meet her questing gaze. ‘Were there any clues—any witnesses?’
‘None as far as I could tell,’ replied her brother. He was clearly disturbed and did not know how to answer her. ‘Robbery would be the usual motive for such a crime—but he still had his purse and his watch. Which makes it difficult to know why he should have been attacked—and so close to our estate.’
‘What are you thinking?’ Rosalyn’s hand crept to her throat as she realised why he was looking at her so strangely. He could not think…but she could see by his face that he did! ‘No, Freddie, you are wrong. Damian left for France that same night. He would not have had time to do it. Besides, he would never had killed Mr Harrington in such an underhand way. If he had wanted him dead, he would have challenged him to a duel.’
Rosalyn remembered her nightmare, and she felt cold all over. She had sensed that something terrible might happen. No, no, she must not let herself be frightened. Damian was not a murderer. Nothing could part them.
Freddie could not look her in the eyes. ‘I did not say it was him… Indeed, I told the officers that I had no idea who might want to kill Harrington—that it must have been a stranger. A gypsy or some other itinerant passing through the county.’
‘But you thought it! I can see it in your face,’ Rosalyn cried, jumping to her feet as the anger rose in her. ‘How can you, Freddie? How can you! There was no reason…’ her voice died away as she recalled the scene in the gardens, the moment when Bernard Harrington had attacked her. If Damian had seen that, there was no telling how he might have acted! ‘No, no, he wouldn’t…I was not harmed. I know Damian would not, could not have done this terrible thing.’
‘What did Harrington do to you?’ Freddie’s eyes narrowed as he saw her expression. ‘Did he attack you—or Beatrice?’
‘He tried to blackmail me into marrying him,’ Rosalyn said slowly, her throat tight with emotion. ‘He had seen me with Damian, and he called me a…whore. I slapped him and he twisted my arm behind my back. For a moment I thought he might attempt to…but I managed to break away from him, and I accused him of his crimes. I told him you would not tolerate his presence in this house another night, and he said he did not wish to stay—that he had come only to ask his sister for money and, since she would not give it, was leaving of his own accord. Now I think of it, he did not go towards the house, but past me towards the orchard—and could have found his way to the lane from there.’
‘Did you speak to him again after that?’
‘No, Freddie, I did not. I assumed he had left…why?’
‘His things are still in his room,’ her brother replied. ‘Mrs Simmons told Maria apparently, but she assumed he would be returning for the wedding so said nothing of it to anyone. As far as I can ascertain, he told no one but you of his intention to leave.’
‘You think he was killed soon after the attack on me?’ Rosalyn felt cold all over. Her skin prickled with goose bumps as she saw the expression in her brother’s eyes. ‘You do believe Damian killed him, don’t you?’
‘What I believe does not matter,’ Freddie said, refusing to meet her eyes. ‘The man was undoubtedly a menace. Had I known what he had done, I should never have invited him here. I cannot pretend to be sorry he is dead—my only fear is that it will bring scandal on the family. For heaven’s sake! I am supposed to be getting married tomorrow. This could ruin everything…if it gets out. If it is known that my own sister is meeting the man who killed Harrington’s brother, that she intends to go away with him—what do you imagine people will say? They will think it odd Harrington was murdered here—and assume Wrexham left the country because he was guilty. Our name will be dragged through the mire with his. Especially if you—’
‘You need not fear that,’ Rosalyn replied, her face revealing more of her feelings than she realised, making Freddie flinch at his sister’s scorn. ‘Damian will be coming for me very soon, and I shall go with him. You can always disown me.’
‘You will still go with him—knowing that he may be a murderer?’ He stared at her in disgust. ‘Surely this changes things? You must see you cannot marry him now?’
Rosalyn felt the sting of tears. How could Freddie say such things to her? She lifted her head, looking into her brother’s eyes.
‘No, I do not see it,’ she said. ‘I would go to him even if I believed him capable of murder—but I do not. I know Damian would never kill a man in the way you describe, Freddie.’ She stood up, her expression stiff with pride. ‘I am going to my room. Please excuse me.’
‘Ros…’ The cry was wrung from her brother as she left the room. ‘I’m sorry…but it all points to him, you must see that?’
She stood in the doorway and looked back at him, her scorn making him turn pale. ‘Does it, Freddie? I think there are others who might feel anger against him…others not far from where I stand. Where did you go that day, tell me that if you can?’
She knew the accusation was unfair even as she made it, but could not help herself. How could Freddie point the finger at Damian, knowing as he must that she was in love with him? Any consideration for her must have forced him to keep silent, even if he suspected Damian of wrongdoing.
Freddie was stunned to silence. He stood staring after her as she closed the door. Was she saying that he…? Be damned to that! He would not stand for her insults in his own house! But his aunt was speaking to him, claiming his attention.
‘You had no right to make such accusations, Freddie. You owe Rosalyn a great deal, and you have not always treated her as you ought. This house was her home and you have forced her from it without a thought for her feelings. I think you should go after her, apologise. Ask her to forgive you. If you do not, I fear it will create a breach between you—one that may never be healed.’
Freddie turned to stare at his aunt, the fury beginning to mount inside him. ‘Apologise after what she just said to me?’ he cried, his face white with temper. ‘I think you much mistake the matter, Aunt. I shall leave her to think better of things and then she may apologise to me if she wishes.’
With that he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Mrs Buckley frowned. She would have done better to keep her silence, but she had been provoked into making what she felt was a well-justified comment. Freddie had jumped to conclusions—conclusions that besides being very unlikely had been hurtful to his sister.
Did he not understand that Rosalyn had fallen in love for the first time in her life? And so deeply that she was not likely to recover from it if forced to give up the man she loved. He could not expect her to do so simply for the sake of what people might say? Freddie should have thought things through more carefully before making such a statement…unless Rosalyn had hit upon the truth and he was hiding his own guilt.
Was Freddie capable of such wickedness? For that was what it was if he had blamed Mr Wrexham for his own deed.
Rosalyn had told her in confidence of the reason why Beatrice stood in fear of the objectionable Mr Harrington. It was just possible that, knowing the man had once attacked his fiancée, Freddie had come back from his ride that afternoon and seen the quarrel between Harrington and his sister…and his fury had been such that he had followed the man and, possibly, in a rage, killed him.
Upstairs in her bedchamber, Rosalyn paced the floor in a turmoil.
‘Damian…oh, my love,’ she whispered, her face pale and distressed. ‘I know you are innocent of this crime…I know it.’
But someone had killed Harrington. Someone had seen the quarrel between her and Bernard Harrington that aftern
oon. Someone had heard every word that was spoken—and that person had killed Harrington because of something that had been said or done.
Could it have been Damian? Had he decided to follow her through the orchard…he had seemed to linger as if unwilling to leave her, had still been standing there when she looked back. He had once said he would kill Harrington if he harmed Rosalyn…but she had not been harmed, apart from a few minor bruises.
For a moment Rosalyn was racked with agony. Was the man she loved so much capable of murder?
No, she would not believe it. Damian would have called the man out, as he had Roderick all those years ago—so someone else had followed Bernard as he left the estate that afternoon. Someone else had taken a gun and killed him, leaving his body lying on the ground to be discovered by anyone who chanced to find it.
Who would do that? The lane was seldom used because it led only to the estate and the body had lain undiscovered for some days, covered in part perhaps by the hedges that grew thickly there.
Why had no attempt been made to hide the body? Had a grave been dug it might never have been found.
Rosalyn tussled with the problem, then dismissed it—it was not important. She felt sickened that her brother had not hesitated to blame Damian. How could he say such things to her? How could he expect her to give up her only chance of happiness?
Unless he had done so in order to cover his own guilt? She had seen something in his face which had made her wonder if he was frightened. No, surely she was mistaken? Freddie would not… She shook her head, feeling sickened by the thought. Even if he had been driven into an act of violence, he would not seek to cover it by blaming someone else—or would he?
Rosalyn paced the floor of her bedchamber. She was distressed by the idea, but could not quite rid herself of it. Freddie had always been selfish and inclined to think first of his own comfort, but surely he would not do anything so wicked?
It was as difficult for her to believe ill of her brother as it was of Damian. She could not think that either of them would murder in cold blood. Her brother might have carried out his threat to take a horsewhip to Harrington, and Damian might in anger have challenged him to a duel…but murder? No, she did not, would not believe it of either of them.
Oh, Damian, she thought, I wish you were here. Here to defend yourself—and to hold me. I need you so much!
All at once Rosalyn stopped her pacing. What was she thinking of? This was so selfish of her. Her own distress at what had happened could be nothing compared to what Mrs Jenkins must be feeling. Had anyone thought to tell her? Freddie was hardly likely to do it, might even wish to conceal the facts in case she demanded the postponement of the wedding, as was her right—but it could not be kept from her. She must be told immediately, and in the kindest way possible.
Rosalyn splashed her face with cold water and dried it on a towel. She tidied her hair, squaring her shoulders as she prepared to go down the landing and speak to Mrs Jenkins, but even as she turned to leave, there was a knock at her door.
‘Come in,’ she said, expecting Freddie and preparing to meet her brother’s recriminations. He had no doubt come to argue with her again. She was surprised as the door opened and Mrs Jenkins entered. ‘Oh…I was just about to come to see you, ma’am.’
‘Forgive me for disturbing you,’ the older woman said. ‘Mrs Buckley gave me the news of…’ Her voice almost failed her, but she lifted her head, meeting Rosalyn’s sympathetic gaze with determination. ‘I have been told of my brother’s unfortunate accident.’
‘Accident…’ Rosalyn was surprised by her calm manner. She had expected something very different. Anger, indignation, distress—but not this iron control. ‘Oh, I am so sorry. I meant to speak to you myself. My aunt has told you how he died?’
‘He was shot by a poacher or some such person, I dare say,’ Mrs Jenkins said, a tiny nerve flicking in her throat. ‘Or perhaps one of his many enemies followed him from town. My brother did have enemies, Miss Eastleigh. I believe several threats have been made against his life at various times. I regret to say it, but he had recently begun to mix with very low company. Although it may have been a poacher. Bernard would have remonstrated with anyone he saw shooting your brother’s game; he was very strict with poachers on his own land at one time…before he took to gambling so much.’
‘I…’ Rosalyn stared at her, uncertain of what to say. She had not thought of such a solution, but she saw at once how much better it would be for everyone if it were true. ‘I—I believe you must be right, ma’am. It was most unfortunate. Especially at this time. I do understand that you are very upset—and if you intend to postpone the wedding I shall support you.’
‘No, no, not at all,’ Mrs Jenkins said. ‘I do not wish to cause distress for Beatrice or your brother. It is not yet generally known that Bernard has…met with an accident. Therefore, I believe the wedding should go ahead as though nothing has happened. Later, I shall insert a brief notice of my brother’s death in The Times. I think that should suffice.’
‘That is generous of you—and very brave.’
‘I have caused enough grief in this house, and so had Bernard,’ Mrs Jenkins replied in a dignified tone. ‘The least I can do is allow the wedding to go ahead.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘If my brother importuned you with his attentions, I must apologise. I suggested that he might solve his financial problems with your fortune—that was wrong of me. Please forgive me. I was not thinking properly at the time.’
‘It…does not matter.’ Rosalyn frowned. There was something very odd here. Why had Mrs Jenkins changed so much of late? ‘I am glad you have come to me, ma’am—and I am sorry that such a terrible thing should have happened to your brother.’
‘Please do not…’ Mrs Jenkins held up her hand. ‘I have been aware for some time that Bernard…’ She paused, took out her kerchief and blew her nose. ‘I loved my brother Roderick very much. When he died, I was devastated. It made me bitter. I have tried to love Bernard, but could not—not as I had loved Roderick. I am sorry it has come to this, of course, but you must not imagine I am suffering too much grief, Miss Eastleigh. Let me assure you I am not.’
‘I see…’ Rosalyn felt chilled for some reason she could not decipher. ‘Then we shall say no more of this, ma’am. Have you told my brother the wedding is to go ahead?’
‘I thought perhaps you would do that for me,’ Mrs Jenkins said. ‘If you will excuse me, I shall stay in my room this evening—though I shall of course attend the ceremony tomorrow.’
‘Are you unwell? Has the sickness returned?’ Rosalyn asked, a little puzzled by her manner.
‘No, no, I am quite well. I believe it was as your doctor thought, Miss Eastleigh. My powders had gone stale…that is why they made me sick. Now that I have replaced them I think I shall be quite well again. Yes, I am perfectly certain the nausea will not return…now.’
Rosalyn sat down for a few minutes after Mrs Jenkins had left. Such a terrible thought had come to her that it made her feel unwell…but she was letting her imagination run wild. It was not possible. No, no, she was entirely wrong. Mrs Jenkins was right…the shooting had probably been an accident and not murder at all.
She stood up, lifting her head. She must speak to Freddie. He would be worrying about the wedding, and she did not want him to disturb Mrs Jenkins. No, that would never do…not until she had had time to rest and recover her composure.
Chapter Ten
It seemed ages until that evening. Rosalyn could not wait for Damian’s return. She was on tenterhooks and longed for the chance to talk to him, to tell him what had happened.
‘Damian, I need you so…’ The words were only in her mind. ‘I need you so…’
Perhaps he would meet her in the garden that evening? Her desire to be with him made her restless and impatient, very unlike her usual self. Even her quarrel with her brother paled into insignificance beside her need to see Damian, to be held in his arms. She did love him so very much!
&nbs
p; Rosalyn saw Beatrice looking at her oddly throughout dinner that evening. She too was on edge and clearly suspected something was being kept from her. At Freddie’s insistence, she had not been told about the death of her aunt’s brother—nor the quarrel between her fiancé and his sister.
The interview in the library between brother and sister had been very formal. Freddie had thanked her for the news that the wedding was to go ahead, but he had not apologised for his behaviour and Rosalyn had made no move to heal the breach between them. Indeed, she was very angry with him. Had it not been for her very real affection for Beatrice, she would have left the house immediately afterwards, but, meeting the girl in the hall as she came from the unpleasant interview, had been forced to smile in answer to her greeting.
Fortunately for Rosalyn’s peace of mind, Freddie took himself off after dinner. Although not intending to indulge in a pre-wedding fling, he was staying overnight with a friend so as not to see his bride before they met at the church the next morning. Because he was not there, Rosalyn was able to sit with her aunt, Beatrice and Maria in the parlour and make comfortable conversation, though Mrs Jenkins had remained in her room, refusing even the light repast Mrs Simmons had carried up to her.
They were all ready for an early night after the hectic celebrations of the previous few weeks, and of course Beatrice wanted to be fresh for the wedding itself. She embraced Rosalyn before they parted, thanking her for everything she had done to make things easier for her.
‘I hope you know how fond I have become of you, dearest Rosalyn?’ she said. ‘I am so glad we are to be sisters—and I hope we shall often meet.’
Clearly, Freddie had made no mention of Rosalyn’s plans to marry. Perhaps he hoped his sister would change her mind?
Rosalyn merely smiled and kissed her. Let Freddie tell her the truth after they were married, if he chose.
Anne Herries Page 19
