by Tinnean
The seasons passed with content, and I began to hope that what we had together might last, hoped that it might be more than just a means to satisfy that damned debt.
I realized then that it had gone far beyond that, for me at any rate.
Chapter 14
Spring had come round again, the air warm and balmy and fragrant with the scent of all the newly blossoming flowers. The crops had been planted, and my people all seemed to be in fair health.
From time to time young Burt Johnson would cross my path, grinning cheerfully up at me. He was such a happy lad, much as I had been at his age, and I couldn’t help but grin back at him.
Best of all, Fayerweather Stud was starting to be noticed.
Geo was away—he had some business in the Americas—but this time he’d asked me to come to London to see him off.
“I’ve something for you.” He handed me a catalogue from Tattersall’s. “Earl Malemayns must needs auction off his cattle. I know you’re looking for a stallion for your stud.”
“Yes.” If we could find one carrying the blood of the Godolphin Arabian. If ever one came on the market. If we could afford him.
So many ifs.
“There may be something in here that interests you.”
The catalogue was folded in two, and when I opened it, an opera-length strand of black pearls was revealed.
“Geo?”
“I believe this belonged to your mother.”
I’d thought it was gone forever. “How did you find it?”
“Knowing the sort of man your uncle was, I simply inquired of all the men with whom he’d gambled.”
“Th… thank you!” My voice quavered, and I cleared my throat and stiffened my upper lip. “Words can never express my gratitude, but—”
“No words are necessary, Ash.” He squeezed my arm. “I must be off.”
“Godspeed, Geo. Don’t be gone too long.” I stood on the dock, a hand raised in farewell, and murmured under my breath, “But I’ll be waiting however long it takes.”
At Fayerweather once more, I summoned Mr. Ruston, and we sat in my study, pouring over the catalogue.
He leaned forward in his chair and tapped the page with the bowl of his pipe, indicating the listing for a brown colt. “This one, Sir Ash?”
“Yes. However, I imagine everyone at Tatt’s will be bidding on him as well.”
More than ever I regretted the loss of the Flame.
The pearls were lovely, but even if I could bring myself to sell them, they wouldn’t bring in a fraction of what was necessary to claim the colt, as became obvious well before the end of the bidding.
We returned from London without any addition to our stud.
“Forgive me for asking, Sir Ash,” Mr. Ruston said that afternoon as we once again examined a catalogue from Tattersall’s, “but might Mr. Stephenson advance you the sum?”
I felt myself flush and hoped it wasn’t noticeable, or that if it was, Mr. Ruston would simply put it down to distaste at being obligated to another. Little did he—did anyone—know just how obligated I was to Geo.
“He’s still away.” Although this time I heard from him regularly, missives that described the six-week ocean voyage in droll detail, the bustling dock at a city called Hoboken, the search for decent mounts and a guide to take him west past the mountains. There was no mention of why he needed to make this journey, and in my return letters I didn’t inquire.
“Never mind, sir. If it’s meant to be, ’twill be.”
“We can but hope.” I decided it would be best to change the subject. “The Colonel has asked if you might be willing to take a look at one of the horses in his stable.”
He chuckled. “Never tell me it’s that dark chestnut gelding.”
Colonel Whittemore had gone with another chestnut in hopes of winning the fair Miss Petre, but apparently the animal hadn’t realized he’d been gelded and persisted in trying to mount any mare that came into his vicinity.
“No, it’s a brown mare.”
“Hmmm. I don’t seem to recall…. Well, no matter. I’ll be pleased to—”
There was a tap on the door, and Colling entered. “Begging your pardon, sir, but Mr. Stephenson has arrived….” I knew he meant Geo’s father, since here in the Hall, Geo had become Mr. George to distinguish between the two. “And Lady Laytham wishes your presence in the drawing room.”
“Very well. Mr. Ruston, if you’ll attend the matter of the Colonel’s mare?”
“Yes, sir.” He regarded Colling coolly for a moment, then left the room.
“I’ll bring tea shortly, sir.”
“Yes, thank you, Colling.” I made my way to the drawing room. “Aunt Cecily, you wished to see me? Good day, Mr. Stephenson. You’re looking….” I could hardly say “well.” There was a grey cast to his face, and his mouth was tight.
“I’m… I’m afraid I have some news for you. I felt you should be present when I imparted it to your aunt.”
My heart began a slow, painful beat. “Geo?”
“Eh? Oh, no, no. The boy is hale to the best of my knowledge.”
I breathed out a silent sigh of relief.
“You’re making me nervous, George.” Aunt Cecily tried to smile, but she looked… frightened? What was going on?
“We’ll just wait for Miss Arabella, shall we? This concerns her as well.”
Colling rolled in the tea tray and set it before Aunt Cecily. “Will there be anything else, m’lady?”
“Thank you, no, Colling. I’ll ring if we should need anything else.”
He bowed and went toward the door, holding it open as Arabella came bustling in, her arms filled with flowers—roses, peonies, lilies of the valley.
“Oh, Colling! Bring a vase, if you please?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Mr. Stephenson.” She gave a brief curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir.”
He nodded, but it was clear he was distracted.
“If you would be so kind as to pour the tea, m’dear?”
Aunt Cecily turned a trifle paler, but didn’t protest. Whatever Mr. Stephenson needed to divulge to us, it was obvious he didn’t want to be interrupted by the arrival of any of the servants.
And it was equally obvious he wasn’t in any great hurry.
Aunt Cecily filled the delicate cups. Arabella left the flowers on the pier table and took a cup, the only one of us to do so. She also helped herself to a cucumber sandwich.
“I…. It’s… it’s been some time since we last saw you, George,” Aunt Cecily murmured. “I must say when you didn’t come to call on us while we were in Town, I worried that someone younger and more attractive might have caught your eye.”
“Highly unlikely, m’dear. You know Stephenson men love but once in their lives.”
My heart turned over at those words. Might Geo—but no, I was being foolish. He liked me well enough, and I must be satisfied with that.
“Oh, George! My very dear!” Aunt Cecily’s eyes welled with pleased tears, but Mr. Stephenson scarce seemed to notice, and she looked down at her hands.
Arabella grumbled, “One could wish all men were as steadfast!”
Colling entered just then, with an off-white Chinese porcelain vase and a pair of scissors, and they fell silent. He placed them beside the flowers on the pier table and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
“I collect you are speaking of Mr. William Hood, Miss Arabella.”
She put aside her tea and went to the pier table to begin arranging the flowers, her mouth pinched. “If he hadn’t chosen to leave, we would have celebrated our first wedding anniversary today.”
I sighed. Of course that was preying on her mind. It had been much the same last year, to the point Aunt Cecily had taken her to Bath in hopes the waters might cure her melancholy.
She had become more cheerful when a number of young men came to their lodging in Laura Place to pay morning calls, and a couple had even written me for permission to call up
on me, but Aunt Cecily had written as well, begging me not to force Arabella into a loveless marriage, which was what they would prove to be.
Those gentlemen soon would have realized there was another in their marriage bed, and in spite of my irritation with Arabella, I could not condemn her to such.
“Yes, well….” Mr. Stephenson cleared his throat. “First of all, I must assure you the Hood brothers were three of the most honorable, steadfast young men it was ever my privilege to know.”
“‘Were’? ‘Was’? George?” Aunt Cecily’s voice was contained, but the way she twisted her fingers belied that. “Have you news of my boys?”
“I do, and it’s some very difficult news.”
“No!” Arabella turned pale, and she ran to Aunt Cecily, brushing against the vase in her haste. For a moment it wobbled, but then it steadied. The flowers, however, scattered onto the floor.
Arabella ignored them completely. She fell to her knees beside Aunt Cecily and clutched her hand so tightly Aunt Cecily flinched from the pain.
I crossed to the pier table, stooped to gather up the gaily-colored blooms, which seemed inappropriate now, given Mr. Stephenson’s bleak demeanor, and stuffed them into the vase.
“I’m afraid yes. You see, I knew how badly you missed the Hoods’ presence, and how unfair Sir Eustace’s accusation against them was, and so I managed to track them from Fayerweather to the shipping office of the Prime Star Line to the ship on which they booked passage. I also learned the Peregrine Falcon’s disembarkation point was Hoboken. I asked an old colleague to send out inquiries regarding their whereabouts.” He seated himself on the settee beside Aunt Cecily and freed her hand from the death grip Arabella had on it. “Renny—”
“Henry Renishaw, George? Oh, he knows my boys?”
“That’s right, you knew Renny from the year of your come out. I’d forgot. We were such hey-go-mad scamps, weren’t we, Cecily?” His voice quavered for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “Using my authority, Renny hired a private investigator, who eventually traced them to the Texas Territory.”
“Texas? But what could draw them there?”
“To find their fortunes, perhaps.”
“I would have given them whatever they wanted!”
Mr. Stephenson patted her hand absently. He knew as well as I that with the best will in the world, she had nothing to give them.
“Unrest was brewing between the Texians and the Mexican government; rich lands could be had for the taking. They fell in with a band of American adventurers—”
“Why? They are English, for God’s sake!” The depth of Aunt Cecily’s distress was obvious.
“There were others… Scots, Irish, Germans. There was word there would be a battle.”
And of course Robert would be determined to be in the thick of it, taking along his brothers, not that John or William would object.
“There was a siege, and for thirteen days they withstood constant bombardment by the Mexicans, but then….”
Tears slowly began trickling down Aunt Cecily’s cheeks.
Mr. Stephenson drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently dried her cheeks. “You must understand, they were heroes.” Once again he cleared his throat. “There is no simple way to say this. I’m so sorry, Cecily. Robin is dead. John is dead.”
“They are gone!” Aunt Cecily’s voice was broken. “My dear, gallant boys all are gone!” She raised a hand to her mouth, biting her knuckle to stifle her sobs.
So Robert did indeed get his final, desperate battle.
And of a certainty John had been at his side. He would have had it no other way. I felt a burning at the back of my eyes, and I removed my spectacles to press my thumb and forefinger into my eyes. How foolish was I, to mourn a man who’d never cared a jot for me? “And William?” Arabella demanded shrilly.
Mr. Stephenson shook his head. “All I can tell you is that William was sent with a message to the American commander.” He frowned. “I can’t recall the man’s name.”
“Oh, what matter that?” Arabella covered her eyes and wept bitterly. “William! Oh, William!”
“What happened, George?” Aunt Cecily had herself under control once more. Living with Sir Eustace all those years would have much to do with that, I imagined.
“When William’s exhortations were dismissed as a distraught young man’s concern for his brothers, he cursed them, traded a jewel he had for a fresh horse, and vanished in the direction of San Antonio. He never reached the old Spanish mission.”
“What… what did you say he traded for the horse?” Oddly, Aunt Cecily’s voice had risen an octave.
“This jewel.” From his pocket, he removed a ruby the size of a lady’s fist.
My breath caught in my throat. “The Flame!”
“How did you…?” Aunt Cecily looked as if she beheld some phantasmagorical creature.
“Bother that wretched stone!” Arabella cried. “What of William?”
“He is missing and presumed dead, I fear, although he wasn’t listed amongst the dead at the Alamo. That’s what the natives call the benighted place.” Mr. Stephenson shook his head, looking far older than I could ever remember. “I still cannot believe the Hoods would do something so dastardly—”
“No!” Aunt Cecily’s refusal to accept what was before her eyes wasn’t surprising. The Hoods, and Robert especially, had always been her favorites.
“I’m afraid this does not lie,” he said.
“That stone….” Her face had gone stark white. “That stone is paste!”
“What!”
I seized the jewel and held it toward the light. “But the flame is there!”
“The man who crafted it was a master.” She shrugged.
“When did you learn of this, Aunt Cecily? How did you learn of this?” I demanded. Which Laytham had sold our talisman? I tried to think, but they’d all had such foul luck….
“It was my doing. Twelve years ago, I… I found someone who was willing to not only pay £10,000 for it, but who was able to have a duplicate created.”
“So in the end, Robert stole a worthless piece of red glass. Unless….” As little as I thought of him, he’d never struck me as disloyal, and I knew he loved Aunt Cecily a great deal. “Could he have known the Flame was counterfeit?”
“No. Your uncle, no one knew the difference.”
“A very fine craftsman indeed. But why did you do it, Aunt?” A thought occurred to me. “The farms! Neither Mr. Kirkby nor I could fathom how they could be in such good condition. You did it for our people!” I stared at her in awe, for while I would have done as much, I would have perforce waited until Sir Eustace had gone to his just reward.
She flushed and looked away.
“They’re all dead because of you!” Arabella had been sobbing silently, but now her accusation rang through the room, her eyes glittering wildly.
“What!”
“You took the Flame of Diabul; I know you did!” Her voice rose in mounting hysteria. “And probably slipped it into William’s pocket while he was unaware! You always hated the brothers!”
“No, I….” I had loved John as much as he would allow.
“It’s true! It’s true! Anyone with an eye could see that!”
“Oh, my dear child—”
“Miss Arabella, you’re overwrought!”
“Why wasn’t it you?” She ignored Aunt Cecily and Mr. Stephenson, and rushed toward me, her sudden move startling us all. “Why are you alive while William is dead?”
Her nails slashed across my face, scoring my cheek.
I could feel the blood well up sluggishly and begin to drip down my cheek to my chin.
Her fingers curled like talons, she raised her hand to claw at me again.
“You will not, Arabella!” I seized her wrists in a grip I knew had to be painful, but couldn’t find it in me to care, and she gave a gasp.
“No, Uncle Eustace!”
“I. Am. Not. My—”
“Unhand her, sirrah!” Mr. Stephenson took a step toward me.
I turned my head to glare at him; his hands were clenched in fists, the desire to strike me etched in every line of his body, and I braced myself. Instead, he came to an abrupt halt.
