by Gayle Callen
“Don’t call me sir. I’m but Tom, the head groom. I been here goin’ on thirty years, and ye’ll never make me think that slip of a lass is a criminal.”
Julia fumbled for her notebook and pencil in her pocket, hoping she could force away the sting of tears. She wrote down his name, position, and comments.
Sam nodded. “I need to hear things like that, too, Tom. We can talk more later.”
Tom only harrumphed and ate the last of his pork roast. “I’ll be goin’ back to the stables,” he said as he pushed to his feet.
He almost moved the bench out from beneath all the men. Everyone but Julia was used to it, for they righted themselves easily, while she barely caught herself from falling to the floor.
Sam nodded and stepped back over the bench to stand. “I thank you all for answerin’ our questions. We’ll start the interviews tomorrow.” He turned to Frances. “Now, Mrs. Cooper, about that tour ye promised us.”
Mr. Jenkins stood. “One of the footmen will gladly escort you, Constable.”
“It’s Mrs. Cooper that knows everythin’ goin’ on in the house, sir. Are ye ready, ma’am?”
Frances wore a faint blush, and Julia saw that several of the maids whispered together and smothered giggles. She wondered what that was all about.
It took several hours for Frances to show them through the manor. Sam found himself watching his sister with admiration. She’d earned her position through skill and knowledge, but she obviously loved this house. He hated to make her feel that her livelihood was threatened. But what would happen to the estate once Lewis was arrested? Sam was certain the man hadn’t named Julia as his heir.
He couldn’t believe his own stupidity where Julia was concerned. He’d kissed her, given her reason to think there could be something between them. Standing so close to her, he’d been unable to stop himself from taking her in his arms. Had he no self-discipline left at all?
She’d tasted of sweetness and warmth—and the forbidden. He’d succumbed once, like a fool, but no more.
And just when he thought he’d banished her from his mind, Frances led them into the gallery, where ancestral portraits frowned down on them. At the end, caught in a stream of sunlight, was Julia’s portrait, life-sized, the image of a girl on the threshold of womanhood, looking out across the room with a wistfulness that he well remembered.
The three of them paused beneath it in awkward silence. Julia looked up at the image of herself with a bitterness that pained him, as if she were no longer that girl—or maybe wished she never had been. They went back downstairs without speaking of it.
They stepped out between glass doors onto the terrace and walked across until only a stone balustrade separated them from the expanse of the garden spread out below. He inhaled deeply, and the sweet odor of hundreds of varieties of flowers struck a deep, satisfying chord within his soul.
Sam casually glanced around to see if they were alone. In a low voice, he said, “Is Henry here?”
“He should be,” Frances whispered. “Of course, he’ll be the one to give you the tour of the grounds. There he is.”
Off in the distance, Henry rounded the bend of a path, pushing a wheelbarrow. Frances lifted her hand in a gesture that was part summoning, part waving. Henry waved back, left the wheelbarrow off the path, and started toward them.
For the first time, Sam felt nervous. He was going to try to fool his brother, but if he couldn’t, he didn’t want Henry recognizing him in front of witnesses. He almost thought it would be better to tell Henry the truth outright.
But then the competitive part of him resurfaced, as he remembered that he and Henry had challenged each other to everything from footraces to weeding. He wanted to see if he could pull off the masquerade.
Like Sam’s own, Henry’s hair was more brown than red beneath his cap, long to the collar yet neat. His workman’s clothes, though pressed, were dirty from the day’s labor. He was much larger, broader than Sam remembered. Time hadn’t touched his brother in harsh ways, and Sam was glad of it.
Henry came up the curved stone staircase, tipped his hat to Frances, then, squinting in the sunlight, stared frankly at Sam and Julia.
“Henry Sherryngton, head gardener, this is Constable Seabrook and Constable Fitzjames.”
Sam reached to shake his hand, but Henry hesitated and said, “My hands are stained from a day’s work, sir.”
“Honest work, sir,” Sam answered back.
They shook hands, and Sam saw with relief that no light of recognition appeared in his brother’s eyes. Sam hid a smile as Julia fumbled with her notebook to avoid shaking hands.
Frances looked from one to the other in a wide-eyed fashion and quickly said, “Henry, the constables will be spending several days with us.”
“Is this about Miss Reed?” Henry said.
“It is, Mr. Sherryngton.” Sam deliberately slowed down the speed at which he spoke. “We need to interview the staff and tenants, get more of an idea why Miss Reed would turn to a life of crime.”
Henry looked skeptical, but all he did was nod. “If you’ll follow me, sirs.”
Sam glanced at Julia, who was looking at him with wide eyes. “Have ye been takin’ notes, Fitzjames?”
“Of the tour, sir?” she asked in a husky voice.
“Especially of the tour. I want a list of all out-buildin’s so we can examine them later.”
“Yes, sir.” She buried her face in her notebook.
After Frances returned to the manor, Henry led them off across the grounds, showing them stables and barns, dairy and brewery. Sam enjoyed just listening to his brother talk. Henry even slowed down his pace when he noticed Sam’s limp.
Two young children ran up a path, calling, “Papa! Papa!”
Even though he’d known his little brother was a father, Sam watched with astonishment and quiet envy as Henry knelt to hug his children, telling them he’d be home for supper soon. Sam berated himself for the emotions he couldn’t control. He’d freely chosen his life, and couldn’t—wouldn’t change it now.
He realized Julia was studying him too closely, only her watchful eyes showing above her notebook. Sam calmly returned her stare, and she finally looked away.
When they reached the newer gardener’s shed, Sam assumed that Henry would simply point it out as they walked by. Instead, his brother led them inside. When Sam and Julia followed into the dim interior, the door suddenly slammed shut behind them.
Sam whirled and found Henry standing with his back to the door, his arms crossed over his chest.
“What the hell is this about?” Henry demanded.
Sam raised an eyebrow and drawled, “I thought I made everythin’ clear, Mr. Sherryngton.”
“Don’t ‘Mr. Sherryngton’ me—Mr. Sherryngton.”
Sam heard Julia take a quick breath, but all he did was study his brother’s face. “Hello, Henry,” he said softly. “Would you mind keeping your voice down?”
Henry scowled and stepped forward in an obvious attempt to intimidate Sam. “I’ll say it again: what the hell are you doing, trying to be somebody else? Being a Sherryngton’s not decent enough for you? We haven’t seen you in fourteen years, your letters stopped coming almost a year ago, Ma cries her eyes out every night—”
Sam raised a hand, determined not to let his hurt show. “Enough. If you’ll be quiet, I’ll tell you everything.”
Henry frowned back and forth between the two of them, showing no recognition of Julia. Sam would leave it that way, if he could.
“How did you recognize me?” he asked.
“Your voice,” Henry said angrily. “And your eyes, too. Now it’s time for you to answer my questions.”
“I’m not sure why you didn’t receive my last letter, but I just returned to England a few months ago.”
“And only now can you manage to get yourself home?”
“Henry, I’ve been on assignment for the army. I couldn’t desert my mission. We were following a traitor from India—�
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“Julia Reed?” Henry interrupted.
Sam sighed. “Yes, but I’ve recently discovered she’s not guilty. Now I’m trying to prove it.”
“And this can’t be out in the open so you can see your own family?”
Sam briefly explained his own murder charge, and his brother looked horrified.
“By God, leave the country!” Henry whispered hoarsely. “You’ll never be able to prove yourself innocent. I’d rather never see you again, as long as I knew you were alive.”
“I can’t desert Julia.”
Henry threw up his hands. “You’ve got to let go of this pathetic fascination with her!”
Sam momentarily closed his eyes. He could feel Julia staring at him, her notebook forgotten.
“Be quiet, Henry,” he said in a grim voice.
“Not until I make you see reason.”
“She is a friend in need. I’d do this for anyone else.”
“But you didn’t arrest anyone else,” Julia mumbled, then seemed to realize her mistake.
Now Henry’s attention was diverted, and he stared hard at Julia, before he finally gave a low whistle.
“Miss Reed, I presume,” he said.
“Henry,” she answered with a nod.
Henry sighed. “You weren’t going to tell me about…this?” He pointed helplessly at Julia. “Does anyone else know?”
“Just Frances.”
“Frances! You chose her instead of me?”
Sam had to laugh at the echoes of childhood rivalry in his brother’s voice. “We had to. We had no men’s garments for Julia to wear. But you can’t discuss this with Frances. You can’t even talk to us, unless I initiate the conversation. I can’t risk discovery. It’ll mean death for both of us.”
Henry stared at them, swallowing hard. “Someday you’ll have to tell me how you got yourself involved in this.” He glanced at Julia. “Although I have a good idea.”
“No, you don’t,” Sam said firmly.
“So I can’t tell Ma.”
“No!”
“She’d keep it quiet. It would be such a relief for her.”
Sam winced. “I hate causing her pain, but I can’t risk how she’d look at me if she knew. Tell no one, Henry, not even your wife.”
His brother nodded solemnly.
“You have beautiful children,” Julia whispered.
They both stared at her.
“Thank you,” Henry said.
Sam could only wonder. Julia was twenty-eight years old, well past the normal age for marriage, with no dowry, and now a terrible reputation. He wondered if she had hoped for children, and if there was still a chance that if Sam cleared her name, she might find happiness.
Without him.
The thought gave him no peace.
Chapter 12
After supper in the servants’ hall, Julia and Sam found themselves treated to a rendition of songs by two of the maids. It was very obvious to Julia that the household staff got along well, obviously better than when she’d grown up here.
When the impromptu concert was over, Sam ordered her up to their sitting room to work on her notes for the day. She noticed that Sam stayed behind to talk to Frances in front of the rest of the staff. He was obviously trusting in the fact that no one would think it unusual that an investigating constable would want to speak to the woman in charge of the manor.
Julia trudged up to the second floor, then pretended to get lost so she could ask a passing footman the way. She silently congratulated herself on her cleverness. Someone new to the household would think the corridors a labyrinth.
But once she was inside the sitting room, she put her back against the closed door and allowed herself to slump. She had never imagined how hard it could be to pretend to be someone else. And to think that Sam had spent years doing this.
She wondered if, in his place, she would somehow have lost herself, but Sam didn’t seem to have. She admired his strength of character, his certainty in the way he’d chosen to live his life.
His confidence was reassuring at the same time as it was deflating. She would never be any good at this. What if they never cleared her name? She would spend the rest of her life running, hiding under assumed identities. And she would have cost Sam his own freedom. How long would it be before he resented her?
There was a tentative scratch at the door. Julia checked her cosmetics in the mirror, then went to answer it. Sam’s sister Lucy stood there, a sheaf of papers held in her hand.
“Might I come in, Constable?” she asked without any of the shyness she’d had before.
Julia had no choice but to step back and motion her inside. She left the door open.
Lucy looked around the room inquisitively, then turned to face Julia with a smile. “I brought the staff list Mrs. Cooper prepared, Constable.”
“Thank you,” Julia said.
Lucy handed her the papers, drawing it out a bit so she could look into Julia’s face.
Julia felt her smile freeze. Was Sam’s sister…flirting with her?
“Mrs. Cooper said to tell you that she’ll have a list of tenants from the steward by tomorrow.” Lucy smiled, her face full of innocent curiosity. “Sir, do you mind me asking where you’re from?”
Julia laid the papers on the writing desk, glad to put distance between them. “I grew up in Leeds, Miss Lucy.”
“Oh, you don’t need to be formal with me, sir. I’m just Lucy. I grew up here on the estate. My papa was the head gardener, and now my brother is.”
“If we have questions about the estate, we’ll know who to ask.”
“Good.” Lucy scuffed her toe on the carpet, then looked back up. “Would you mind telling me your Christian name?”
Julia cleared her throat. “Uh…Walter.”
“What a fine, strong name…Walter.” Lucy smiled.
Julia smiled back, remembering to keep her mouth closed. She needed to be rescued!
And as if on cue, Sam limped through the door. “Why, good evenin’, Lucy.”
Julia saw the way his eyes had lightened upon seeing his sister, although his expression switched quickly to politeness.
The girl blushed. “Evening, Constable Seabrook. I’ve brought you the list you needed.” With a curtsy and a smile, she said good night, then turned to the door. She came to a halt and looked back again. “Would either of you gentlemen require a bath after your long journey?”
It seemed like such a foreign luxury, yet the thought made Julia glow on the inside.
Before she could speak, Sam said, “We’re not used to bein’ waited on, Lucy. Ye could tell us where to fetch the hot water, and we’d do it ourselves.”
Julia waited breathlessly for the maid’s response.
“Nonsense, sir!” Lucy said, waving her hand in dismissal. “There’s only one hip-bath in this wing, so which of you would like to be first?”
Julia didn’t even let Sam speak. “Constable Seabrook has work to prepare for tomorrow. Ye can put the hip-bath in my room, Lucy.”
The maid nodded and left.
Sam closed the door behind her, then looked at Julia. “Lining up the women already, are you?”
She groaned, and motioned him to come to the window with her. In a low voice, she said, “This is—terrible! I feel like I’m leading her on!”
“It can’t be helped. And I’m sure a bath is worth it.” He shook his head. “You acted as if I would deny you one.”
“Well, I couldn’t be certain,” she said primly.
“I imagine you’ll soak forever.”
“Only until I’m well pruned.” Tentatively, she added, “Sam, what should I do about Lucy?”
“About her…interest in you?” he asked with a grin.
She nodded.
“I hope we won’t be here more than a few days, so her feelings won’t be hurt. But until then, her infatuation may prove helpful.”
“Helpful?” she repeated, aghast. “I won’t play with your sister’s emotions.”
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“I’m not asking you to. But she might feel free to tell us things that go on in the manor. Don’t encourage her—don’t say anything. We’ll see what happens.” He went to the desk and picked up the papers. “It seems we have about twenty servants to interview. It might take two days.”
“You don’t want to start searching for clues?” she asked, coming closer to him, letting herself admire the way he stood, the ease of command that seemed to come so naturally to him.
“Witnesses give very good clues. Someone might have seen something suspicious when your brother was here.”
She wandered the room, lighting more candles, putting her notebook on the new desk that had been brought in during the day. She couldn’t help thinking of the clues she’d learned today about Sam. What had Henry meant by Sam’s “fascination” with her?
Sam certainly didn’t seem fascinated now. He threw his coat and hat across a chaise lounge and settled down in a deep, cushioned chair with his papers.
She might as well not even be in the room. What about that kiss? Did she even dare to ask him?
In the end, she was a coward. She let him keep his silence, and when Lucy ducked her head into the sitting room to say that her bath was ready, Julia gladly closed herself into her own private room. Lucy had placed the hip-bath on towels in front of the hearth. She’d lit coals in the grate for warmth, and left candles burning about the room.
Julia silently locked the door to the hall, then stripped off her garments and sat down gratefully in the tub. The water only came to her waist, but it was hot and welcome. She managed to wash her hair, amazed at how easy it was with its short length.
When she was clean and shivering, she couldn’t help thinking of her own tub in another wing of the house, deep enough to sink to her shoulders. Such luxury was something she hadn’t experienced much in the last ten years.
Reluctantly, she dried herself off and dressed in a clean shirt and trousers. Her hair hung in waves about her face, but she wasn’t going to oil it before bedtime. The same with the cosmetics. She would just have to avoid seeing Lucy. So she padded barefoot into the sitting room and found Sam at the desk, writing. She curled up in a chair and watched him. Whenever he glanced at her, she pretended she was reading from a book she’d found on a bed table.
