An Anne Perry Christmas: Two Holiday Novels

by Anne Perry

  “But why was he out crossing the stream in the middle of the night?” Benjamin could not let it go.

  Leighton frowned. “Nobody knows that. I don't suppose we ever will. Look to what matters now. Help Antonia to come to terms with it. Be a support to her, and do what you can for young Joshua. They need your strength now, not a lot of questions to which we'll find no answers. And even if we found them all, they would make no difference to what happened. Make the best of what is left.”

  Benjamin looked bewildered. “And Ashton Gower?” he demanded angrily. “Who is going to silence him? I swear by God, if he goes on blackening Judah's name, I will! And if he had anything to do with Judah's death, anything at all, I'll prove it and I'll see him hang!”

  Leighton's face was grim. He straightened up, frowning. “You can be forgiven a certain amount for the shock of your loss, Benjamin, but if you suggest, outside this room, that Gower had anything to do with your brother's death, you will be even more guilty of slander than he is. There is nothing whatever to indicate that he met Judah or had any intention of harming him, then or at any time. Please don't bring any more grief on your family than it already has. It would be utterly irresponsible.”

  Benjamin stood without moving for a long moment, then turned and strode out, leaving the door swinging behind him.

  “I'm sorry,” Henry apologized for him. “Judah's death has hit him very hard, and Ashton Gower's charges are vicious and profoundly wrong. Judah was one of the most honest men I ever knew. To blacken his name now is an evil thing to do. I agree with Benjamin completely, and regardless of what he does, I will do all I can to protect Judah's widow and son from such calumny.”

  “Everyone in the village will,” Leighton said gravely. “Gower is a deeply unpopular man. We all remember what he did over the forged deeds. He's arrogant and abrupt. But if Benjamin accuses him over Judah's death, he will make it a great deal more difficult than it has to be, because some are then going to see injury on both sides, and it will become a feud, and split the village. That kind of thing can take years to heal, sometimes generations, because people get so entrenched, other grievances are added, and they can't turn back.”

  “I'll speak to him,” Henry promised. Then he excused himself and went outside into the snow to catch up with Benjamin.

  Benjamin was standing holding both the horses. He looked at Henry defiantly, his blue eyes burning. “I know,” he said before Henry could speak. “I just hate being told by that satisfied, self-righteous…” He stopped. “It's thirsty work walking in this. Let's go to the Fleece and take a pint of Cumberland ale. It's a long time since I've tasted a jar of Snecklifter. It's too early for lunch, or I'd have had a good crust of bread and a piece of Whillimoor Wang. There's a plain, lean cheese for you to let you know you're home. I'd like to hear a tale or two of good men and dogs, or even a fanciful yarn of demons and fairies, such as they like around here. They used to write that in as cause of death sometimes, you know? Taken by fairies!”

  Henry smiled. “That must have covered a multitude of things!”

  Benjamin laughed harshly. “Try explaining that to the constable.”

  An hour later, warmed and refreshed, entertained by taller and taller stories in broad Cumberland dialect, they emerged into the street again to find the weather brighter, and the sun breaking through wide rifts in the clouds, dazzling on the snow and reflecting on the lake in long blue and silver shards.

  They had ridden barely a hundred yards, past small shops, the smithy, the cooper's yard, and were just level with the clog shop where the clog maker was hollowing out the wooden soles with his long, hinged stock knife when they almost ran into a broad-shouldered man with densely black hair.

  The man was on foot and Benjamin looked down at him with an expression of cold fury. The man's eyes were narrowed, hard with loathing as he stared back. Henry did not need to be told that this was Ashton Gower.

  “So you've returned from following the footsteps of God!” Gower said sarcastically. “Much good it'll do you. I'll give you a decency of mourning, for the widow's sake, though those that profit from sin are as guilty of it as them that do it. But I suppose a woman's got to stay by her man, she's little choice. It'll make no difference in the end.”

  “None at all,” Benjamin agreed harshly. “Speak another word against my brother, and I'll sue you for slander and see you back in prison, which is where you belong. They should never have let you out.”

  “Slander's a civil suit, Mr. Dreghorn,” Gower replied, glaring up at him. “And you'd have to win before you could do anything to anyone. I've no money to pay you damages. You and your kin have already taken everything that was mine. You can't rob me twice, even if you could prove I was lying, which you can't, because every word I say is the truth.”

  Henry tensed, afraid Benjamin might lunge at him, even mounted as he was.

  But Benjamin did not attempt to strike Gower. He sat quite still in the icy air. “The pity is that I cannot slander you, Gower,” he replied. “Nothing I could say about you is untrue. You are proven a liar, a forger, and a would-be thief. You only failed at it because you were so clumsy, so damned bad at forgery that they could see at a glance that the deeds were rotten. You didn't even do it well!”

  Gower's face flushed dull red, his eyes like black holes in his head. Now it was he who looked for a moment as if he would find it impossible to control his physical desire to lash out, even grasp at Benjamin and pull him off his horse. He moved, his arm out, then stopped.

  “Is that what happened to Judah?” Benjamin asked, his voice grating between his teeth. “He called you a failed thief, and you lost your temper?”

  Slowly Gower relaxed and a slow smile spread across his face. “I'm not sorry he's dead, Dreghorn. I'm glad. He was a corrupt man, an abuser of power and office, and there's not much worse than a judge who uses his position to steal from the men who come before him believing they'll receive justice. If the judge himself is rotten at the heart, what hope is there for the people? That is a high sin, Dreghorn. It stinks to heaven.”

  He stepped back, lifting his head. “But I did not kill him. He wronged me bitterly. He sent me to prison for a crime I did not commit, and he stole my inheritance from me, as well as eleven years of my life. I spoke against him, and I shall do so as long as I have breath, but I never raised my hand, or told any other man to. As far as I know, it was a just God who finally punished him. And if I wait my time, and plead my cause before the people, perhaps He'll give me back what's mine as well.”

  “Over my dead body!” Benjamin said bitterly. “I'll not accuse you of murder until I can prove it, but then I will. And I'll see you on the end of a rope.”

  “Not if there's any justice under heaven, you won't,” Gower retorted. “I didn't kill him.” And with a harsh, sneering smile still on his face he strode past them through the snow back toward the center of the village, the wind off the lakeshore tugging at the tails of his coat.

  Benjamin watched him until he was out of sight, then he and Henry rode back toward the estate.

  “I love this land,” he said after a little while. “I'd forgotten how good it feels. I couldn't bear it to be poisoned by that man. I know Judah. The idea that he would be dishonest in anything is absurd. What can we do about it, Henry? How do we stop him saying these things?”

  Henry had been dreading that question. “I don't know. I've been trying to think of a way, but after meeting Gower, every sort of reason seems doomed to failure. He has convinced himself that the deeds were genuine.”

  “That's ridiculous!” Benjamin said abruptly. “They were not only forgeries, they weren't even good ones. The expert swore to it, but anyone could have seen it when one looked. Gower's just so corroded with hatred he's lost his wits. Maybe prison has turned his mind.” He looked at Henry. “You don't think he's a danger to Antonia, do you?”

  Henry did not know how to answer honestly. He longed to be reassuring, but there had been a wild hatred in
Ashton Gower which defied reason. He had no doubt that the man was guilty of forging in a stupid attempt to get the estate. It had apparently been such a poor attempt that any serious look at it must have told him it was not genuine. Even if Henry had not known Judah, there was the testimony of the expert. Perhaps Benjamin was right, and Gower had lost his mental balance in prison. Heaven knows, he would not be the first man to do that.

  “Henry!” Benjamin said sharply.

  “I don't know.” Henry was forced to be honest. “I think we should warn Antonia. The servants must be told. The house must be locked securely at night. You have dogs, they would warn of anyone who should not be around. It may all be unnecessary, but as long as Gower remains in the area, and in the frame of mind he is, I think it would be better.”

  Benjamin stopped, reining in his horse hard, and turning in the saddle. “Do you think he murdered Judah?”

  It was a jarringly ugly thought, but it had been on the edge of his own mind, too. “I really don't know,” Henry admitted. “I think he is an evil man, and possibly a little mad. But better we should take preventions we don't need, than that we should fail, and regret it afterwards when it is too late.”

  “How can we warn Antonia without frightening her?”

  “I don't believe we can.”

  “But that's… God damn Gower!” Benjamin swore savagely. “God damn him to hell!”

  PART TWO

  T STOPPED SNOWING IN THE EVENING, AND A HARD wind blew down the lake, whining in the eaves and rattling the windows. But in the morning when Henry pulled the curtains, even before Mrs. Hardcastle came with tea, there were bare patches on the north and west faces of the hills, and lower down the snow had drifted deep against walls and fences.

  The postmaster arrived after breakfast with a telegraph message from Ephraim, sent the day before from Lancaster, to say that he would be arriving on the midday train. The lawyer also rode up from the village, before going on to Penrith, to speak about the estate to Antonia and Benjamin. Therefore, it was again Henry who stood on the platform when the train came in, belching steam into the air, and nearly an hour late because of snow drifting over Shap Fell.

  He saw Ephraim immediately. He was as tall as Benjamin, but leaner. And he walked with a loose, easy gait in spite of the cold. He carried only one case; it was quite large, but in his hand it seemed to have no weight at all. Like Benjamin he was burned by the sun and wind, and frowned very slightly as he saw no one he was expecting on the platform waiting for him. He glanced up at the sky, perhaps fearing the snow had been worse here, and he would not be able to go farther until it cleared.

  “Ephraim!” Henry called out. “Ephraim!”

  Ephraim turned, startled at first, then his face lit when he recognized Henry, and he dropped the case and came forward to clasp Henry's hand.

  “Rathbone! How are you? What are you doing here? You've come to stay with us over Christmas? That's wonderful. It's going to be like old times. You look cold, and sort of pinched. Where is everyone? Where's Judah? Have you been waiting long?”

  “Not on the platform,” Henry answered with a smile. “I've been at the inn with a pint of Cocker-hoop.” That was the light ale that was so popular locally. He felt a lift of gratitude that Ephraim could welcome him so generously at what had been intended as a family reunion. He was, after all, not a Dreghorn, merely Antonia's godfather, an honorary position, not one of kinship. He dreaded having to tell him the real reason he was here; his stomach knotted up and his throat was tight. Was it better to crush his pleasure immediately with honesty, or allow a little time, let him take joy in homecoming first?

  Ephraim was smiling broadly. He was quieter than his brother, a man of deep thoughts he shared seldom, and great physical courage. Whatever fears or doubts he had about anything, he mastered them without outer show. But after being in Africa for four years, the sight of his beloved lakes again woke a joy in him that found expression easily.

  “Sounds perfect,” he said with enthusiasm. “We'll go for some long walks in the snow, climb a bit even, and then sit by a roaring fire and talk about dreams and tell each other tall stories. I've got a few. Henry, there are things in Africa you wouldn't believe!” He picked up his case and matched Henry stride for stride out to the waiting trap which Wiggins had brought around ready when he heard the train draw in.

  “How's Judah?” Ephraim asked as soon as they were in the trap and moving. “Have you heard from Ben yet? And Naomi? Is she coming, too?” There was an eagerness in his voice when he mentioned her name, and he turned away as if to guard the emotion in his eyes from being seen.

  Thoughts teemed through Henry's mind, an awareness that there was a new dimension he had not even thought of, and pain he would not be able to read in Ephraim as well as he had in Benjamin, depths he could neither understand nor help. And yet there was no alternative. Now was the moment.

  “Benjamin is already here,” he answered the easiest question first. “He arrived two days ago…”

  Ephraim turned toward him, blue eyes puzzled. “Is he all right?”

  “No,” Henry said frankly. “We are none of us all right. Judah died in an accident eight days ago.” He looked at Ephraim's face as the shock struck him, followed by disbelief, then pain. “I am sorry I am the one to tell you, but the lawyer called this morning regarding certain estate matters, and Benjamin stayed with Antonia to see him.”

  “Hunting?” Ephraim said hoarsely. Judah seldom hunted, but it was the only way to keep foxes down in the Lakeland, and they devastated sheep if left. Ewes and lambs had their throats torn out, whole flocks of chickens could be slaughtered.

  “No,” Henry replied, and told him briefly all they knew so far.

  Ephraim huddled into his coat as if suddenly the wind cut through it and it was no protection to his body. “Where on earth was he going?” he asked huskily. “At night?”

  “We don't know. He said it was just to get a little air before going to bed. They had all been at the village listening to a visiting musician. A violinist. He had actually played a small piece Joshua had written.”

  “Joshua?” Ephraim repeated the name. “Judah said he was brilliant. He was so proud of him.” He controlled himself with difficulty. There was nothing in his face, but his voice broke. “I brought something for Joshua from Africa. Seems irrelevant now.”

  “It won't be, later,” Henry assured him. “Benjamin brought him a beautiful gift also, a piece of scripture, original, in a carved wooden box.”

  “I brought him a chief's necklace of office, an African version of a crown,” Ephraim said. “It's made of gold and ivory. At a glance it seems barbaric, but when you look more closely it's very beautifully carved. Nothing like European at all. I suppose you are right, and in time he will like it. Today it'll seem utterly pointless.”

  “That is not all I need to tell you before we get to the house,” Henry went on. They were making quite good speed. The wind had cleared most of the snow off the road. There were one or two places where it had drifted, and they got out and took the spades from the space where the luggage was and helped Wiggins dig a path. Henry saw Ephraim attack the heavy piles with an energy born of anger, his back bent, his weight thrown behind each shovelful. Then they put the spades back and climbed up again to go forward. It was necessary only three times.

  “What else?” Ephraim asked without interest when they were on their way again and the broad, white-flecked surface of the lake lay ahead.

  “Ashton Gower is out of prison and saying that he was wrongly convicted. The deeds were genuine, and Judah knew it,” Henry answered, pulling the rug a little tighter around both of them. His feet were wet, as were the bottoms of his trousers.

  “That's nonsense.” Ephraim dismissed it as of no worth, even to discuss.

  “I know it is nonsense,” Henry agreed. “But he is repeating it very insistently, and Benjamin feels it is important that he is stopped. There are many people in the village who were not there at the
time of the trial, and don't know the truth. He is being offensive, and causing Antonia some distress. We cannot ignore him.” He did not add that Benjamin suspected the possibility of his having been involved in Judah's death. Ephraim was not as easy for him to read, and he was uncertain of his anger, or the depth of his pain.

  Ephraim did not reply for some time, at least another hundred yards farther along the road. Now the white roofs of the village houses were clear in the hard light and the trees were dense black against the gray water.

  “Henry, are you saying that there are people who believe him?” he asked at length. “How could anyone who knew Judah at all consider such a thing even for a moment? There was never a more honest man than he, and Ashton Gower is a vicious cur, without honor, kindness, or any other redeeming virtue. Who is there anywhere that can say he has done them a good turn without expecting payment for it?”

  “I know it, Ephraim,” Henry replied. “I think perhaps prison turned his mind. But it doesn't change the fact that he is furious, and bent on clearing his name, whatever the cost.”

  “You speak as if you believe he is a danger,” Ephraim said gravely. “Is he?”

  Henry was compelled to admit it. “I don't know. Benjamin thinks it is possible he had a hand in Judah's death. I cannot discount it, either. We met him in the village yesterday, and he has a hatred in him that chilled me. We have told the household servants to be careful locking everything, and to leave the dogs loose at night. It is deeply unpleasant, Ephraim. We can't leave the Lakes, and Antonia and Joshua alone, with this unexplained.” He looked at Ephraim's face, pale under the African sunburn. “I'm sorry. I wish I could have told you better things.”