The Ghosts of Ardenthwaite (The Northminster Mysteries Book 5)

by Harriet Smart

  “Except feel compassion?” said Lord Rothborough. But then he reached out and squeezed Felix’s shoulder for a moment. “Thank you though, for that. Now, we should join the others, should we not?”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Giles rode over to Holbroke again the following morning and was surprised by Emma Maitland seeking him out, as soon as he arrived, as if by previous arrangement. He had been going in to speak to Lord Rothborough, and she came dashing up after him as he passed through the great library.

  “I have news for you,” she said, laying her hand on his arm for a brief moment to stop him.

  “Oh?” he said, startled, if also pleased, by the eagerness of her approach.

  “I hope you don’t mind – I have spoken to Miss Waites this morning, and got as much out of her as I could in the course of general conversation,” she said. He nodded, and she went on: “Without arousing her suspicions unduly, that is. Although I think she is a little suspicious, all things considered, but on the other hand she seems equally inclined to accept a merciful providence for giving her a good dinner and a bed for the night as well as money in her pocket. I hope you do not mind. The moment presented itself, we were alone – and I thought –”

  “No, of course I don’t mind,” Giles said. “Given you have begun the task, you may as well finish it. What has she told you?”

  “I made some notes – I was not sure when you would be here again.” She reached into her pocket and produced some folded papers which she handed to him. “I hope they make sense.”

  He could not help smiling as he began to study them. She had a clear hand and she had organised the material exactly as he would have liked it. In fact they were so thorough, and he became so absorbed for a minute or two in reading them, that he quite forgot she was standing there.

  “I think I have made a note of everything that seemed pertinent,” she said, breaking into his train of thought. “And then again, of things that might not be pertinent at all, but I do think you said on one occasion that it is often a trifle that can lead to the largest truth.”

  “Did I say that?” he said. “I think you have paraphrased me – no, improved on me. These are excellent. Quite –”

  He broke off, aware that she was looking at him with an expression of ardent pleasure, which in turn quickened his own heart in a fashion that felt dangerous. Despite everything, she still provoked heady delight in him.

  Carefully, he walked away down the library, looking down at the notes again, attempting to be indifferent.

  “So she comes from Marlingford. Her father was the landlord of The Blue Bell Inn.”

  “Yes. Where is Marlingford?”

  “A little to the south east of Northminster,” said Giles. “Fast becoming a suburb.”

  “She was most keen to tell me she was respectable, that the family was ‘highly respectable’ – she said that several times. Of course, she may have been trying to vouch for herself. But even given the difference in our situations, it seemed to labour the point. It strikes me that truly respectable people never draw attention to their respectability. There is no need to. I felt she was trying to distract my attention from something disreputable, but that is only my instinct.”

  “A good observation. I have seen that for myself. We must let her get even more comfortable. And in the meantime, I think some enquiries need to be made in Marlingford. She is not intending to leave tonight, I hope?”

  “No, she is engaged for a week at least. Lady Maria and Mrs Hope have got all manner of things for her to do. I think Mrs Hope is getting a new Sunday dress and there are some ancient embroideries that need to be remounted, or some such. Oh, the life of a great house like this!” she said. “It is like a walled city, is it not? And therefore a good place to hide someone.”

  “Hopefully,” said Giles. “There have been too many deaths already. We need to protect her.” He could not help sighing, the image of Kate in all her dying wretchedness springing into his mind with painful clarity. “It is –”

  “Tell me,” she said, laying her hand on his arm again. “You are troubled, I think. It will help you to talk about it.”

  He had not meant to betray so much to her, and forced himself to smile.

  “No, not really.”

  “Not really?” she said, her eyes ardent and searching, her hand still on his arm.

  He removed her hand from his arm, but somehow their fingers knotted together and for a moment they stood, heads bent slightly together.

  “I cannot lay that sort of burden on you,” he managed to say. “Surely you understand –”

  “I’m strong,” she said, coming a fraction closer.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” he said, “but you’re not mine. That’s the difficulty. I can’t presume when –”

  “It would be no presumption.”

  “When you are going to marry another man?”

  “I shall not marry him.” She spoke quietly but fiercely, with a shake of her head. “I did not sleep a wink last night. I got up at six and started writing the letter –”

  “And I hope you screwed it up and threw it in the fire!” he said, moving away from her. “You cannot break from him, Emma. You have given him a solemn promise.”

  There was a moment’s silence; then she said, quietly, and with conscious control, “I cannot marry if my feelings are not engaged. I thought they were, and it seems they are not.”

  “You cannot throw away such an opportunity,” he said. “Not on a whim, because you think that –”

  “How dare you!” she exclaimed. “To call it a whim, when you know that it is nothing of the sort!”

  “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t think you can put a loaded gun to my head. Don’t threaten me with breaking with Edward.”

  He had meant to be harsh. Her ardour was too dangerous for both of them, and needed to be checked with force. Yet when he saw her expression, a mixture of anger and grief, he wished it could have been otherwise.

  “It was not a threat,” she said, and he could hear her suppressing the passion in her voice. “I am merely describing my situation. What you make of it is your own business.”

  She walked away down the long library, and then stopped and turned back to him.

  “I have lived alone for all these years, after all,” she said. “Perhaps being a widow has a great deal more for it than is generally supposed. After all, living men are awkward creatures at the best of times!”

  Then she threw up her hands for a moment, turned her back on him again and continued her way out of the room, like a celebrated actress quitting the stage.

  -o-

  He had intended to ride to Marlingford and begin his enquiries there, but a little beyond the park at Holbroke the weather took an angry turn. A heavy fall of rain became a storm of peculiar vehemence, under a leaden sky, crazed and cracked with unexpected lightening, making it impossible to proceed. He turned into the woods about Ardenthwaite, seeking the fastest way back he knew, and rode on, soon wretched with damp and the lingering discontent of his conversation with Emma.

  If she did break with Edward Fforde, there was only one reason for it, and that was because she was still in love with him. In some other life, that might have been a matter for rejoicing that she had seen the light and was still free, but it meant no joy for him. One thing was clear enough: though he might wish to marry her, he could not. He was not fit.

  Through the deluge he perceived the figure of a girl in a green riding habit, standing under a tree. As he approached, he realised who it was. It was Miss Blanchfort, looking as if she had been thrown into a stream.

  “Miss Blanchfort?” he called out. “Are you in difficulty?”

  She did not answer. She was supporting one wrist in the other, and from her expression she looked as if she was in pain. “Did you fall?” he said, dismounting. “Where is your horse? Where is your groom? Have you sent him for help?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “You were out alone?�
� Giles said. “Did you have permission from Lord Rothborough?”

  “I don’t need his permission,” she said.

  “I doubt that,” Giles said.

  “I can manage alone quite well.”

  “Is that what you told them when you went out? That you didn’t need a groom? That his Lordship had allowed it?”

  “What does that matter to you?” she said.

  “I just think it highly unlikely that Lord Rothborough would allow it.”

  She glanced away, biting her lip and then said, “It would not have happened if it had been my horse. That mare was very bad-tempered – and then the storm came on, she threw me and went bolting off. I tried to catch her, of course, but – you didn’t see her about, I suppose?”

  Giles shook his head.

  “And you’ve hurt yourself,” he pointed out.

  “I don’t know. It’s sore. But nothing’s broken.”

  “Show me,” Giles said. She put out her hand, still supported by the other, and gave an involuntary gasp of pain as she did so. Her wrist looked suspiciously bent and was already quite swollen. “Mr Carswell will need to have a look at that. Fortunately we are not far from Ardenthwaite. Less than a mile, if I am not mistaken.”

  “I was simply waiting for the rain to clear,” she said. “I will make my own way back to Holbroke, thank you.”

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t think so. That would be a wretched inconvenience for everyone, and you have probably caused enough already. They will be sick with worry at Holbroke, especially if the horse is found without its rider. You are far better coming with me to where a surgeon can look at you, without having to be sent for in a storm. Shall we...?” He indicated the path with a sweep of his hand, and began to lead his horse in that direction. She showed no signs of moving. “If you please, ma’am?”

  She consented at last, and so they walked back to Ardenthwaite in very disagreeable circumstances. Giles decided he would deliver her to Carswell and then ride at once back to Holbroke to tell them what had become of her. As the rain was still sheeting down, this was not a pleasant prospect.

  -o-

  “Are you sure you won’t take some laudanum?” Felix had said, before he started.

  “No,” Miss Blanchfort said, and turned away to bury her face in her shoulder, “just do it, would you, and do it quickly!”

  “Naturally,” he said, and began as gently he could to realign the bone in her wrist. Fortunately it was a neat break and would mean only a few minutes of agony for her. She stiffened, screwed up her face and bit into the sleeve of her habit.

  “That’s part one done,” he said, reaching for a splint. She gave a gasp of relief, and met his eyes with a wild stare of exhaustion and pain. “You can have something in a minute. I advise it, really I do. There isn’t any necessity to be brave, Miss Blanchfort.”

  She sank back in the chair, grey-faced now.

  “Don’t you think I deserve to suffer?” she said.

  “No,” he said.

  “I think Major Vernon does,” she said.

  “He is going to get extremely wet, so he was entitled to be a little out of humour with you. But they will be so pleased to see him at Holbroke and glad to hear that you are safe and not lying in a ditch with a broken neck –”

  “They will be angry too. Lord Rothborough will be.”

  “He will be relieved. And if he is angry, well, it is never for long.”

  “I suppose you would know that,” she said. “Being what you are.”

  “Your mother drilled that into you, I suppose,” he could not help saying, remembering how to the point Lady Blanchfort had been.

  “Is it unpleasant?” she said. “That state of yours.”

  “That’s too complicated a question to answer when I am trying to splint up a broken wrist,” he said. He wanted to add that it was impertinent as well. “Now, can you lift it a little while I fix the splints underneath?”

  She obliged with a wince, and he set about immobilizing it as quickly as he could.

  “How long will it be like this?” she said, as he finished the bandaging.

  “Oh, quite a while. A month or two. No piano practice for you.”

  “Good.”

  “Nor riding,” he added.

  “I shall go mad,” she said. “I swear I shall. If I cannot get out, then –”

  “Then perhaps you should have thought of that when you picked out the wildest horse from my Lord’s stables and went careering off without anyone to see that you were safe,” Felix said.

  She closed her eyes.

  “I shall go mad! I cannot bear it. I wish I had broken my neck! I wish I was dead! Then you could bury me with Papa and... and... ”

  “And what would be the point of that?” Felix said, needled by her histrionic tone. “Do you think the dead can see people crying over their tombs? Count the mourners at their funerals? Admire the flowers?”

  “No! That isn’t what I meant! You are so cruel!”

  “I was only trying to make it clear that there would be no point in your being dead.”

  “I want to be dead,” she said, “because I can’t bear to feel. Truly I cannot. Everything is agony. You tell me to take laudanum for the pain. Well, that’s just bodily pain. I can bear that. It’s this terrible pain in my head, in my heart, in my very being –” She broke off and sighed. “But how can you understand that? What do you know?”

  “A little. Only a little,” he added, seeing her about to interrupt him. “But I know that you are dealing with a great grief, and that takes time to heal, just like this bone will need time to set straight again. Wishing yourself dead won’t help you. You would be better finding something that will make you feel purposeful and happy.”

  “And are you happy?” she said after a moment.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But I try to be purposeful. And I think we need to get this arm of yours into a sling, and then you need to rest.”

  Somewhat to his surprise, she acquiesced. The pain had exhausted her, after all, and she allowed him to help her into bed. He had told Holt to have a bed made up for her in the bedroom where his parents had slept that summer. It was perhaps the pleasantest in the house, especially with a large fire going in the hearth. The afternoon sun had somehow got the upper hand over the storm and had filled the room with a comforting glow of golden light.

  The bed was a high one, and she had to scramble up into it. Once installed, wrapped up now in his own dressing-gown, she sat propped up on a pile of pillows, with her loose, damp hair falling down over her shoulders. She looked to him like an exquisite but old-fashioned wooden doll with bright painted cheeks.

  “Sit with me a while,” she said, as plaintive as a child.

  “Are you sure?” he said in surprise.

  “I don’t want to be alone,” she said

  So he pulled a chair nearer to the bedside.

  “You are sure you don’t want any laudanum?” he said.

  “No, I can bear this,” she said closing her eyes.

  They sat in silence, and he listened to her breathing as it grew more steady. The fire spat and crackled and the wind moved through the young leaves on the trees in the forest beyond, taking away the last remnants of the storm. She seemed to sleep, and Felix sat there watching her, longer than he ought, finding it hard to tear himself away.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Major Vernon returned from Holbroke in the early evening, with such a quantity of domestic reinforcements that it seemed he was relieving a siege of many months rather than seeing to the comfort of a girl with a slight injury, who might remain there but one night.

  However, Miss Blanchfort was no ordinary girl. An heiress and the ward of Lord Rothborough could not be left to scramble in a borrowed dressing-gown in a house of unmarried men. So Major Vernon was accompanied by Mrs Maitland as chaperone, Miss Blanchfort’s maid, Mrs Maitland’s maid and Jacob, one of the lesser footman. There was also a quantity of luggage
and extensive provisions from the great larders at Holbroke.

  “But not my Lord?” Felix remarked, when he was alone with Major Vernon in the library, the women having all been taken to the patient. “I was sure that he would have come back with you.”

  “I told him exactly what you said about her condition – that she was in no danger, and then Mrs Maitland proposed herself as chaperone – very ably I have to say – then, he was content to stay by his own fire.”

  “Wonders will never cease,” Felix could not help saying. “Do you know what he said to me the other night? When I told him that half the county seemed to expect me to marry her, he said he had no expectations of any kind about it! That he is done with all that! I can’t quite credit it.”

  Major Vernon smiled at that and then yawned. “Please excuse me – I think I will have to make my excuses for dinner as well, if you don’t mind,” he said, rubbing his face. “I am more tired than I ought to be.”

  “How has your head been?”

  “It has been clear, thankfully, but I think I need to rest or it will be with me again.”

  “A good plan. I’m sure Mrs Maitland and I will find plenty to talk about.”

  “I am sure you will,” Major Vernon said, and then went to his room.

  -o-

  “Miss Blanchfort intends to dine downstairs,” said Mrs Maitland coming into the dining room, “and will be with us shortly. If her physician allows it? I did suggest it might be conditional on your say-so, Mr Carswell.”

  “I don’t suppose she took much notice of that.”

  “No, not really. But I can still go up and turn her back if necessary.”

  “Attempt to, you mean?” said Felix.

  “She is not so wilful,” said Mrs Maitland, with a smile. “Do you object? Ought she to rest?”

  “I think she had better come down, especially if she is hungry.” said Felix. “I think she has probably had too many people giving her too many orders and she always chafes against it.”

  “You may be right. There is a line which it is not useful to cross when bringing up children, as you will find one day, no doubt.”