Home Is the Sailor

by Lee Rowan

  As they sat there eating quietly, Will thought how much the situation felt like the first break following battle, after the decks had been cleared and the bodies counted.

  Finally Amelia stirred. “I wonder if there must be an inquest on Virginia’s accident. I hope not.”

  “It’s required in cases of sudden or violent death,” Davy said. “This was certainly sudden. But I think the chance of it being ruled accidental is very good. The medication would have disturbed her balance and her judgment, and she showed no sign of being suicidal. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “I only hope the jury does not hold poor Margaret responsible,” Jane said.

  Davy shook his head. “She had been doing some mending—I saw it on the floor beside her chair. To use the lamp’s light, she’d have turned away from the bedroom door, and it’s obvious she was knocked unconscious. She hadn’t any reason to injure herself, and I doubt she had the guile.”

  It seemed to Will that Davy was avoiding any mention of their suspicions. He knew Amelia shared them, but perhaps she had some reason for not involving Jane. “I’d guess Margaret was asleep at the time,” he said, and both ladies nodded agreement.

  “Very likely,” Davy said. “What else would—” He stopped, listening, and Will heard the sound of raised voices coming down the hall. Ronald had apparently returned, his father had met him on the way in, and from the sound of it, neither of them was aware that this room was occupied.

  The Earl was not modulating his voice. “Heir or not, you are under my roof and I demand an explanation of where you have been!”

  “I was out with friends. Why? Is there anything going on in the house that required my presence?”

  “Your brother’s wife fell down the stairs while you were out!”

  “She would hardly need my assistance to do that.” Ronald sounded bored. “She is well, I trust?”

  “She is dead, damn you! And I have had all I am going to stand of your gadding about the county while the household is in mourning! Are your friends unwilling to respect our bereavement, that they invite you to stay out until all hours when you should be here at home?”

  “I have not asked them, and am very grateful that they refrain from ever mentioning the proprieties.”

  “I want their names. I’ll have none of them in this house again, not while I live.”

  “Surely you don’t imagine—” As they passed the closed doors and continued on down the hall, their voices became muffled, and then stopped abruptly.

  “They’ve gone into Father’s office,” Amelia said. “I do hope he had something to eat before Ronald came in.”

  “I saw one of the maids bringing a tray when he went off with Dr. Fiske,” Davy replied. “But that is a good question, if he can get an answer to it. Where has Ronald been keeping himself? Unless things have changed a great deal since I was last home, most of our neighbors would observe the proprieties to the letter. If he’s been out cocking or playing cards, I think he would have to go pretty far afield.”

  “I have no idea where he might have gone,” Jane answered, eyes on the teacup she had barely touched. “I know of a few gentlemen who avoid his company, but none who seek it.”

  “Might there be….” Amelia glanced at Will, then said carefully, “…a woman? I hesitate to say a lady… and should probably not say even that.”

  Davy met Will’s eyes. “It’s possible,” he said. “In fact, I might almost say very likely.”

  “Yes,” Will agreed, “but how are we to find out? If your father is angry that one of his sons has been riding around the countryside instead of staying at home where he belongs… I could go, I expect, but I don’t know anyone.”

  “No, Will, I think we may do it together, and with Father’s blessing. Mrs. Jordan is already here to care for the baby, and it was good of her to come at such an hour. I’m sure we could get away to take a gift to her family.”

  “Not only could you, Mama has spoken to me about that very thing,” Amelia said. “She wants to send Mr. Jordan a basket of food and perhaps a bottle of wine, since his wife will be staying here.”

  “Doesn’t he have family right there in the village—a sister, was it not?”

  “Of course—and she’ll be glad of the provisions, if she’s caring for Mr. Jordan and their little boy.”

  Davy shrugged with a slight smile. “You see, Will? We shall observe the proprieties and see if we cannot observe something else as well. I must go and see my mother in any case; I’m sure she will give me my orders.”

  “Finish your breakfast first” was Amelia’s practical advice.

  “And before we go anywhere,” Will said, “I want to nip outside and check the ground beneath a certain window. Can we do that without being observed?”

  “Oh, certainly,” David said. “At least, some of the servants may see us, but not my brother. There are french windows in the next room. We don’t generally use them at this time of the year, but they open on the same side of the house as Ronald’s room. So long as they remain in Father’s office across the hall, he cannot see us.”

  “I’ll stay here,” Jane offered. “If I hear them coming out, I can wave my handkerchief in that window—”

  David nodded. “A bit melodramatic, but it will serve. Come, Will!”

  “I’m coming too,” Amelia said, following along. “If we should need to tell Father about this, the more witnesses, the better.”

  They made a hasty exit through the french windows and hurried along the side of the house to see what they could find while Jane remained with her tea in the breakfast room, handkerchief at the ready.

  “At least these are very old slippers,” Amelia said, gamely treading the wet, spongy grass. “And thank goodness the rain has stopped!”

  The rain had soaked the flower beds all around the base of the building, but the earth directly below the window in question had been churned up beyond what any groundskeeper would do at this time of year.

  “Look,” Will said. “That proves it.” He pointed to the mark of a boot-heel, the edges slightly melted from the rain but clear enough to be certain that it wasn’t anything other than the spot where someone had dropped down from the ropy strands of ivy.

  David frowned upward, noticing an uneven outward bulge in the vegetation. “And I’d say the vines are pulled away from the wall—there, just below the window, and again a few feet lower, over to the left. You wouldn’t notice it unless you were looking, but see the difference between those places and the growth under the other windows?”

  “Yes,” Amelia said, pulling the shawl she wore closer around her. “I agree, I congratulate you on your perspicacity, and I am going back indoors before I freeze through!”

  Will apologized profusely and doffed his uniform coat in what David thought was a true Sir Walter Raleigh manner—though he refrained from saying so. As he settled the coat around Amelia’s shoulders, Will asked hesitantly, “My lady, it seemed to me that you did not wish to discuss the particulars of our suspicion in Miss Winston’s presence. Is she trustworthy?”

  “Oh, heavens, yes!” she replied. “But I do appreciate your discretion. I said nothing to her out of consideration, not distrust. Jane is afraid of Ronald, and Virginia’s accident has terrified her. Her home life was….” She stopped, biting her lip.

  David knew the reason for her reticence. “Jane’s father is a bully, Will, as his father was before him, and I would not be surprised to learn that his wife’s death was more the result of an ‘accident’ like Virginia’s than any illness.”

  Amelia nodded. “It was. There’s a taint of violence in the men in Mama’s family. The women either became bitter, like Grandmother Winston, or died young, like Jane’s mother. Mark was like Father—he might roar, but he would cut off his own hand before he would ever strike a woman.”

  “Mama said something to that effect once,” David said as they reached the steps to the french windows. “I had caught another dressing-down and was complaining a
bout how cruel Father was, and she said he was the gentlest man she’d ever known. And he always has been, to her and you girls.”

  She nodded. “Yes. And she adores him for that. I only wish he’d been able to see that you had more of her sensibility and less of his own force.”

  “Oh, I’ve learned to be fierce,” he said. “Out of necessity. But I’m still a bookish ninny who would not trade Shakespeare for the finest pack of foxhounds ever whelped. If we go out to the Jordans’ later, would you and Jane like to come along as Mama’s representatives and get out of the house for a while?”

  “That would be lovely,” she said, handing Will back his coat. She bent to pull off her slippers and made a face. “As I thought, soaked through. Let us go rescue Jane and report to our mother for marching orders!”

  AS THE morning wore on, the weather improved, and the sun had appeared by the time the four of them set off for the village. Once again, they took both gig and saddle horses, though this time Will and Davy were both on horseback while the ladies drove. Although he knew he was never likely to ride to hounds—at least, not if he could avoid it—Will was no longer convinced that he was going to fall off at any moment. He happened to glance up and see Davy observing him, and their eyes met in one of those moments where no words were needed. He said them anyway: “You are an excellent teacher, Mr. Archer!”

  “It only needed time, Will. Anyone who can balance on a yardarm can balance on a horse.”

  The Jordan cottage was empty, but the smithy was next door, and Mr. Jordan was busily making repairs to some iron tool whose purpose Will neither knew nor wanted to learn. Jordan insisted that the gift was unnecessary but accepted it with profuse thanks, and offered his sympathy for their loss along with congratulations for the new arrival. Davy and Lady Amelia said all that was necessary, and they left the smithy in a pleasanter mood than they had known for several days.

  That lasted only a few minutes. They had handed the ladies back into the gig and were about to remount when the proprietor of the Bull and Sheaf approached them. He looked troubled, and after offering his own sympathies, he said, “Lieutenant Archer, I know it’s unlikely, but might any of you ladies and gentlemen have heard anything about what’s become of my daughter, Kittie?”

  “What do you mean, Mr. Carter? What’s become of her? Is she missing?”

  “Aye, sir, she is, and I’m about worried sick! I was away yesterday evening, delivering a keg of beer to a farm out toward Tavistock—Oxman’s, it was—and after I’d tapped the keg, George offered me a bed for the night. That’s nothing new, I figured Kittie could close up and put my old mother to bed all right—which she did—but when I got back early this next morning, expecting to find her up and about, all I found was me Mam shouting for her breakfast.”

  Jane made a small distressed sound and Amelia wordlessly took her hand.

  “She didn’t know where your daughter had gone?” Davy asked

  “Sir, she hadn’t heard a blessed thing. No surprise, that, she don’t hear anything unless you stand a foot from her and shout—but neither has anyone else, nor has anyone seen Kittie since the place closed last night! It’s true she’s always saying she’ll run away to London, but her clothes are still in her room and there’s nothing missing from the house or the bar, and the cash-box is where it’s always been, and nothing missing there either. I’m that worried—”

  “And I can’t blame you,” Davy said. “I wish we could help you, but we’ve not seen her either, not since the night we were here.”

  “Might she have gone to visit a friend?” Amelia asked.

  “Leavin’ her old gran alone? No, my lady. Kittie’s a flighty girl, and I guess that’s my fault, havin’ her help me in the business, and with my wife gone, but she wouldn’t leave the old lady to get her own breakfast. Nor is there anyone in walking distance that she might have gone to see.”

  “I’m sorry,” Davy said. “I’ve been away from home for some years now, but if I can be of help…. What of my brother’s hounds? Might they be pressed into service?”

  “Aye, that’s what I’ve been thinking,” Carter said. “Old Ralph Rolle, he’s got a dog he swears by, found his grandson what had wandered off. Ralph said he’d come by and see if his Gyp can find any trail. She can’t have gone very far, I’ll swear to that. There’s nothing but the mail coach comes through here, and that’s not due until this afternoon—and I was here when it went through yesterday, and I know Kittie was right there in my house when it passed.”

  Davy nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll tell my father and see what he may think. I hope she shows up safe and sound, and this turns out to be some misunderstanding.”

  “Thank’ee, sir. I do hope you’re right.”

  Will felt sick. He had a feeling that Carter was never going to see his daughter again, and even if the girl had been the duplicitous vixen Davy had described, she was more foolish than evil. She might have deserved a comeuppance, but it was more likely that what she got was the promise of a trip to London and a quick, violent death.

  Davy had performed his duties magnificently, showing nothing more than anyone might reasonably expect—surprise, concern, and a note of distress. But on the way back, he rode close enough to Will to mutter, “You’re right, Will. It’s like a dog killing sheep… he’s got the taste for blood and there’s no telling where it’s going to end if we don’t put a stop to it.”

  Chapter 13

  BUT THEY did nothing about it that day. The Earl and Countess were involved in arrangements for Virginia’s funeral and presumably the inquest, though his father did not mention that and David preferred not to ask. Ronald sulked in his room for a while and then went out, saying he was going to take a walk. He was, Amelia had learned, under orders not to leave the grounds, but there was no reason to expect he would obey.

  After tea, Anne surveyed the faces assembled around the table. “I know you are both of you adults,” she said to her younger sister and brother, “but if you were still children, I should advise you two to go upstairs to your rooms and take a nap—and I would say the same to Captain Marshall too, if he has been up since four in the morning and running errands for us half the afternoon.”

  David Archer found the thought of his comfortable bed a very lovely thing. Anne might be overly inclined to play First Lieutenant to the Countess, but in this case, he could only say, “Thank you. It has been a very long day. Will, I intend to heed my sister’s advice, and if you are wise, I think you’ll do the same.”

  “So long I am called back on duty if needed, I think I shall. Thank you, my lady.”

  “Your presence has been a comfort to all of us, sir,” Anne said. “My mother told me as much when she reminded me to look after you.”

  Will shrugged. “If I’ve been of any help in return for your kindness and hospitality, I’m glad of it. Until later, my lady.”

  Amelia rose too, and the three of them excused themselves. They were too weary even for conversation as they mounted the staircase, but once the door of his room was closed and he was alone with Will, David felt the weight of it all descend upon him. He sat heavily in one of the chairs near the window. What was he going to do? What could he do? There was plenty of circumstantial evidence, but nothing that could be taken as absolute proof.

  “It was kind of your sister to give us an excuse to get away,” Will said, drawing near. “I don’t believe I have the fortitude for light conversation with Lady Eugenie.”

  “You needn’t worry. She’s still coughing and confined to bed, and once she’s set free, she’ll go straight to the nursery—she’s mad to see the new baby. You are no longer the most interesting person in her life, and you certainly deserve a little peace and quiet.”

  “As do you.” Will sat in the other chair and yawned. “But you look more ready for a fight than for sleep.”

  “If only that were true. I’m not ready, Will, not at all. We must act, and soon, but he has left no witnesses who might implicate h
im. And who remains, now, to stand in the way of his ambition? My father, myself—”

  “And I,” Will said. “If it comes to that, in any way I can. But we might as well begin in an orderly manner. Your brother, the honorary Viscount, has as yet no alibi of any kind that has been confirmed. His own word…. Well, your father might believe it, but I think the law would require a little more than that. If he’s left no witnesses against him, he has yet to mention any who might substantiate his story.”

  “I wonder where he’d say he was last night. And even more, I wonder what it would take to persuade my father to insist that Ronald prove his whereabouts, either last night or when Mark died.”

  “Perhaps he did—last night’s, at any rate.”

  “I doubt it. You heard how Ronald deflected his questions. And even if he did insist, if Ronald were to lie, how would he know? Would my father even attempt to find out if his answer were true? To test an alibi requires an admission of doubt, and he has never been willing to do that—not to his children. I almost believe he would rather not know.”

  “Davy, your father may be dedicated to his family, but he does not strike me as a man willing to be deceived. At some point he must begin to wonder about these strange absences and accidents. I have been thinking—what if I were to take myself off your hands and find lodgings elsewhere, so that I might travel around to inns and make inquiries?”

  David caught his hand. “Please don’t, Will. With you here, I have one very able man I can depend upon. And you may call me foolish, but I do not care for the notion of you riding around alone in unfamiliar territory—especially not on a hired horse!”