An Unexpected Title (Suspicious Circumstance Book 1)

by Jackie Williams

  Ash’s mind went back to the beautiful but frail woman he had once met, and the younger looking miniature he held in his pocket. Doubt suddenly filled him. Lady Madeleine had suddenly become an orphan. Yes, she might be twenty, but it was never easy to lose a parent one was close to.

  “Perhaps this should wait until another day. I don’t want to come over as a bully in this time of grief.”

  Finch pressed his lips together for a moment, but after a few seconds consideration, shook his head emphatically.

  “She is a strong young woman. And there is no point in prolonging the agony. Questions will have to be asked and answered. Best to get it all over with as soon as possible if you ask me. If she is awake, I’ll send her down.”

  Ash privately agreed with the man and nodded his thanks.

  “And you will send your bill for today to the estate?”

  Finch sighed.

  “Yes, I suppose so, though the thought of making a personal friend as well as a client pay at such a time, sours on one’s tongue.”

  The awkwardness of the situation wasn’t lost on Ash. No one liked to pay for bad news, especially from a trusted family friend. But Ash wasn’t the doctor’s friend and as the new earl all future payments would come from him.

  “I am sure she will appreciate your consideration and sensitivity at such a time, but work is work, and now that I am here, she won’t see the bill.”

  Finch nodded his thanks as he pulled on his gloves.

  “I hate to see Madeleine in this state. She is usually so full of spirit and vitality. To see her broken, as I did this morning, was nothing short of painful. One can only hope that she is a little recovered by now.”

  Ash wondered at the familiar use of Lady Madeleine’s name, but didn’t mention it. Finch had obviously been the family doctor for some time. Perhaps Lady Madeleine had asked to be called by her given name.

  He bit back the sudden surge of jealousy that uncurled in his stomach. What Finch usually called Lady Madeleine was hardly a concern at the moment. Ash recalled the devastation he had felt when his own father died so suddenly. Grief was a terrible thing. The dreadful shock and loneliness of it. But at least he had known he could support himself. His shipping line was already profitable by then, had been for some years. And though his apartment was compact, at least he had a roof over his head. Madeleine had no such assurances, and with the added trauma of not knowing what would happen to her, she must feel very frightened and alone. He watched the doctor head up the stairs before sighing deeply. This wasn’t going to be an easy interview.

  Chapter Four

  A Question of Propriety

  Madeleine lifted her face from the pillow and took a glance at the maid sleeping in the bedside chair. Poor woman. She looked exhausted. Gertrude hadn’t been with the household long and already she had faced a mistress who preferred wearing breeches to broderie anglaise, an overbearing butler who acted as though he owned the place, an hysterical valet ranting about ghosts, and now a murder. Madeleine could still hear the woman’s shrieks ringing in her ears. No surprise there. Madeleine had wanted to shriek herself, but something had held her back. Perhaps it was seeing Gertrude’s loss of control that stayed her own cry of horror. She couldn’t say, but bringing the young woman to her own bedroom, though unconventional, had seemed like the only thing to do.

  Madeleine rolled over and studied the cobwebs adorning the corners of her bed canopy from between swollen eyelids. She should really be giving the maids a dressing down for their slackness but just couldn’t be bothered to make a fuss over a few spider’s webs. She only used her room to sleep in and she couldn’t see the eight legged intruders in the dark.

  Her gaze drifted to her armchair and she stared at the breeches adorning her riding boots. Exactly as she had stepped out of them yesterday. Her shirt lay over one arm of the chair, her jacket over the other, both dusty and creased.

  It had begun as such a wonderful day. Fresh air and an exhilarating ride to the ruins while she waited for Milady’s foal to be born. The old abbey still held her interest despite having been all over it more than twenty times. The ride back had been just as invigorating but after calling into the stables to see how Milady was coming along and being disappointed by the lack of news, she had arrived home only just in time for tea. Something she wished she hadn’t bothered returning and changing her clothes for, knowing now what had followed the repast.

  Was she the same person? Had it really only been yesterday that she had been out without a care in the world? Could everything have changed so radically in the few hours since? It surely must be a dream. A nightmare that she would wake from any second and laugh at while she carried on with her life.

  But the images of her father’s lifeless body were imprinted on her brain and she knew that it was no dream. She had pinched herself enough times and the subsequent bruises along her arms should be evidence enough to prove that by now. If she looked. Which she didn’t. She could feel them well enough to know that they were there. And horribly real.

  The maid gave a snore, her head settling more comfortably against the cushions, Finch’s sedative clearly working well. Madeleine glanced at the remaining glass sitting on the bedside table. She hadn’t taken the draft herself. Her tears of despair had wearied her enough and distraught though she might be, she knew that she needed to keep a clear head.

  She pushed back the bed covers and sat up, smoothing her skirts and pushing her hair back from her face. She had to prepare herself for what was to come. She glanced at her wardrobe, her heart sinking at the thought of putting on the black she knew she had to wear. It had been almost three years since her mother’s demise. Would her mourning clothes still fit?

  Only one way to find out. She made her way to the cupboard and opened the door. The dresses were pushed to the end of the rail. Black silk. Beautiful in a way. She pulled one from the rail and lay it on her bed while she struggled with the buttons of the dull green gown that she now wore. The gown she had chosen to wear while greeting Benjamin Asher Derwent, her soon to be fiancée. The dress was an old and comfortable one, mostly worn when she decided she wanted to lounge about the house doing nothing. The colour didn’t suit her. Made her look sallow. She had hoped it would put him off. She hadn’t wanted to marry the man, any man, and she had prayed for a miracle. Well, she had certainly got her wish. At the cost of her father’s life. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

  She stepped out of the ghastly green garment and hung it back in her wardrobe before returning to the black. At least the buttons were no trouble, being fastened at the front. A little tighter over the bust area and looser in the waist, but otherwise acceptable. She glanced at herself in the mirror. Red rimmed eyes stared back at her. Did she care how she looked? Her heart thudded dully. No, her father was dead. She was alone in the world. She couldn’t have cared less what she looked like. However aloof and distant he had been since her mother’s death, he was still her father and now her heart was broken.

  She turned away from the mirror and took slow walk about her room. It had been decorated to her own design only the year previously. A relaxing shade of pale blue with primrose coloured highlights. A sunny room, like her own disposition. Normally. She didn’t feel sunny at that moment though. Quite the opposite in fact. A strange sensation had formed in her chest. Like a lump of unleavened bread stuck halfway between her throat and her stomach. A doughy boulder she couldn’t shift.

  Crossing the room to the window as a movement on the drive caught her attention, she gazed out over the estate. A lone rider had turned in at the gate, his leisurely pace telling her that he knew nothing of the tragedy that had struck that morning.

  Keeping her face hidden behind her drapes, she stared at the man coming down the drive. Benjamin Asher Derwent. It had to be. They were expecting no one else. Well, perhaps the local vicar, but Reverend Green always walked, or occasionally travelled with his old pony pulling an open cart. Maintained that he could keep a closer e
ye on his flock.

  She moved the curtain back a fraction more. The stranger sat his horse well, his back straight, his shoulders relaxed. The sunlight shone off his tawny hair and set his face in shadow. Was he young or old? Tall or short? She should have thought to ask her father. The man rode closer. He appeared to be broad and reasonably trim, though at this distance first impressions could be deceptive. Not that she cared what he looked like at that precise moment. The ache in her heart was so great and he was of such little importance to her that she couldn’t have cared if he had three ears and an elephant’s trunk for a tail.

  She pressed her palm to her chest and rubbed the immovable lump. Her father was dead. Impossible! It couldn’t be true. She had only spoken to him the previous evening. They had quarrelled. A sob left her lips as tears cascaded down her cheeks. How could she have argued with him? Their last conversation had been a wretched dispute, but how dare he dictate whom she should marry.

  Indignation flared again, quickly followed by the hollowness of deep sorrow. The last memory of her father would be his stricken expression as she ran from his study. How could she have been so stupid, so impetuous? Why, for once in her life, couldn’t she accept something without argument, without questioning? She should have simply listened to him and agreed.

  And then packed a bag and run away from home before anyone could stop her!

  She had already begun to make plans as she left her father’s study, before she had returned to her room. Even now her bag sat half full at the back of the wardrobe. Anger hastening her resolve to flee, she had grabbed stockings, a chemise, two pairs of drawers, and a nightdress. Her cotton dress was folded over her other pair of breeches, a spare shirt, and a scarf. She had packed in a flurry of activity, fuming at her father’s total disregard for her wants and needs and determined to leave in the middle of the night.

  But the day spent turning over stones in the abbey grounds and climbing the walls had taken more out of her than she had suspected. Her eyes had become heavy as she lay in her bed and she had thought that a short nap might actually be a good idea. Half an hour’s repose before heading out into the night. She rolled her eyes at her own weakness as she remembered launching herself upright after hearing the church bell ring seven chimes, shocked that she had slept right through the night.

  Too late to run away, she had quickly made another plan, one that would make her so undesirable that Benjamin Asher Derwent would run from Claiborne’s door. She had only just finished putting the last angry touches to her outfit and hair when she heard the screams that fairly rattled the house.

  And then the real horror of the day began.

  She regretted the anger now, knew that she should perhaps have listened and made more enquiries as to why her father thought this Benjamin Asher Derwent fellow would make a good match. Apart from the obvious reason of him being the current heir. But no, she couldn’t do that. Her impulsive tongue and independent spirit had robbed her of any final kind words.

  And it wasn’t as if she could deny the dispute, or hope that it had been a figment of her imagination, for here was the proof of her father’s arrangement trotting casually up the drive as if nothing had happened. The earl presumptive. Or actually now the Sixth Earl of Claiborne. Madeleine dashed her tears away and lifted her chin. What right had this man to walk in and take over? Demand her hand in marriage. None! She didn’t know him, didn’t care about him, had never heard of him until the evening before.

  And now she was meant to marry him. Hang upon his every word. Turn her life upside down and dip her head in acquiescence whenever he spoke. Lord, she was even meant to give him access to her body! Whenever he so demanded! If she hadn’t felt so sad and miserable she would have stamped her foot at the indignity of it.

  More tears fell as she felt her anger building again. Why had her father done this to her? She didn’t need a man in her life. She could set up as a governess. Even open a small evening school as she had planned. She could read well, write with exceptional fluidity. She could draw and paint. She spoke both French and German and she took the latest papers on science and mathematics. She might be a Lady but between her mother and Mrs. Twiggs’ finishing school, she had learned to be more than an a simple ornament to society. She had brains and she wanted to use them, not be stifled by a man who thought his own importance superior to anyone else.

  She blinked into the sunshine. The rider was almost at the steps. She could see more of his face. A youngish countenance. Perhaps in his thirties. She tilted her head slightly. How strange. When she had imagined her father’s choice, she had envisioned someone far older and greyer. Someone more like Doctor Finch. Lacklustre, set in his ways, controlling. And ancient! She shuddered at the thought and looked down at the visitor again.

  Not conventionally handsome, but with a square jaw and chiselled cheekbones. She couldn’t see his eyes, but he sat looking far too relaxed on his beautiful mount. How could the man look so easy and content while her life had been ripped from beneath her? His horse tossed its head but didn’t pull on its bit, a sign of good spirit. A happy animal. Probably more of a pet than simply a mount.

  More tears fell from her lashes at the thought of her mother’s dead horse. Milady gone as well. Two tragedies in the same night. Aiden’s note said that the foal still lived, but who knew if it would survive. She would need to go and see it soon. To help the stable lad if she could. Not that she had much hope. A foal with no mother’s milk would be difficult to rear. Impossible perhaps.

  But there was no time to dwell on the poor little thing’s plight. The visitor was nearly at the door. Surprise had replaced his contented look. He stared open mouthed at the commotion going on around the front steps. Flack actually sat on a chair apparently conducting the greeting as if seated on a thrown, but was that a frown now on Benjamin Derwent’s brow? The arrogance of the man! Did he really expect the staff to line up and welcome him as if he owned the place when her father had just been murdered?

  And then she remembered. He did own the place. As of the moment her father had died. Not that he knew it yet, unless word had reached his ears on his way to Claiborne, and she didn’t think that would have happened so soon. Dash it all! His uncomfortable expression was probably borne of ignorance of recent events and the mayhem at the door. He was probably unaware of his new station in life. With her knuckles pressed to her mouth, she managed to stifle a cry.

  She glanced back at the maid. The woman slept on, her breathing regular. Satisfied that the woman remained comfortable, Madeleine looked away again. She still could not believe it. The shouts of early that morning filled her head. Phillips screams were enough to bring the place down. Poor man. He didn’t need his nerves shredding even further than they already were. Not that she blamed him. Seeing her father lying slumped in his seat, his fingers clasped around a knife, blood soaking his shirt was not a sight she would easily forget.

  But how could it have happened? It wasn’t Thomas Leyman, as rumour would have everyone believe. She knew that the gentle man wouldn’t raise a finger to a soul. Thomas was kindness and generosity itself. She was teaching him to read and write and he was taking his lessons well.

  Yes, she knew he had a tendre for her, had seen the look in his eyes when they worked together, but the man had been nothing if not mannerly and polite, and Madeleine had never encouraged his suit. What would have been the point? She wasn’t the one for him and he certainly wasn’t the right man for her. She felt nothing more than excitement at being able to teach him to read and write. Times were changing and the lack of a formal education was holding him back. Many local people past the age of twenty-five lacked the skills that younger children now had. Schools had opened in more recent years, but they were not available to those who hadn’t the chance to go when they were young.

  And she was willing to help put that right. It was the idea behind her scheme to earn her own living. To open a school for the older generation who never had the opportunity before. An evening schoo
l that could be attended outside the hours of work.

  Movement below pulled her attention back to outside. Benjamin Asher Derwent, Sixth Earl of Claiborne had dismounted at the base of the steps. Mrs. Grenfell ran to him in a flurry of aprons, and curtseyed. Madeleine swallowed back bile and fisted her hands at her sides. How could the woman instantly change allegiance from her father to this interloper! Did the woman not like her father? Perhaps not. His temper had been erratic of late, his tongue quick to criticise. Probably due to the headaches and tremors, Madeleine now realized. She bit back a cry of rage. This was not fair! It was not her father’s fault that he had been ill. Hadn’t he been a good and kind man for many years? Did that count for nothing?

  Her brows nipped together as she glared down at the man she was meant to marry without so much as a by your leave. Shipping, her father had said. She wasn’t sure exactly what that entailed. She had only once seen the sea and there had been no ships upon it. Trade of some sort, she supposed. Silks from Far East, tea from India. Or perhaps he shipped prisoners to Australia! Another shudder went through her. Perhaps his good looks hid a cruel heart, a gentle exterior to disguise a will of steel.

  Whatever his character, he didn’t look like a sailor. Too large and well turned out for a start. She couldn’t imagine him running up and down the rigging of any ship, ruining his fine suit of clothes. But if his gentle looks did hide a merciless core, how did anyone know that this man hadn’t ridden up in the night, sneaked in through the open study window, and put a knife through her father’s chest. Benjamin Asher Derwent was the one with most to gain after all.

  Her mind went quiet at the thought. Could he have done it? Yes, certainly. He was not simply tall, he was huge. His horse must be a goliath as the man hadn’t looked out of proportion while seated on the animal’s back. From the way he dwarfed the housekeeper he looked as though he could snap a man’s neck with no more effort than would take her to swat a fly. But just because he was physically able to do the deed didn’t mean that he would.