by Janet Woods
‘She isn’t the only one,’ and his eyes feasted on her and brought a blush seeping to the surface.
Prudence gazed from one to the other, murmuring slyly, ‘There … see how diplomatic the earl has become.’
The evening was over too soon.
As Ryder was leaving he said casually to Sarah, ‘We must send an invitation to Hal. He’s staying in my rooms in London. By the way I hired a man who acted as a butler at the fair today. His name is William Swift. Formerly he was an assistant to an estate manager. He will present himself tomorrow afternoon. I’ll leave you to show him round the house and introduce him to the rest of the staff.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Sarah appeared pleased by the extra responsibility.
Ryder’s glance came Adele’s way and he smiled. ‘I’ve enjoyed your company today, Adele. Will you walk with me to the gate?’
It was only a few steps, and Henry greeted him with a little whicker.
It was a dark night, the new moon now obscured by cloud, and full of rustling noises. An owl hooted … another answered. ‘Be careful you don’t get lost in the dark,’ she said.
‘Horses have better sight than us in the dark and Henry knows the way. He’s good at avoiding obstacles and finding his stable, especially when there’s a meal at the end of the journey. I’ll see you home first.’
She laughed. They had often played this courting game, and she couldn’t resist it. ‘Then I will escort you to the gate again and we’ll be here all night, coming and going.’
‘I can think of a worse way to occupy our time.’ The heat from his body reached out to her and she absorbed its sweetness. ‘Goodnight, my Del.’
‘Goodnight, Ryder.’
She didn’t want to part from him.
Neither of them moved for a few seconds, and then they stepped towards each other at the same time.
‘Oof!’
‘Sorry.’ Laughter infused his voice. ‘I was going to kiss you goodnight.’
‘I know … remove yourself from my foot first.’
He obliged, and then he took her face between his hands and tilted her face up to his. His mouth landed on hers as soft and tender as a butterfly seeking nectar.
A disembodied flame of candlelight floated beyond him in the darkness.
‘Adele, dear, are you all right,’ Aunt Patience called out.
Prudence whispered, ‘Come away, I expect he’s kissing her goodnight.’
‘Good guess and bad timing,’ Ryder grumbled.
Patience again. ‘He’s taking a long time about it. His behaviour is unseemly.’
‘Rubbish! Look where being seemly got us … nowhere. The earl’s behaviour has always been exemplary, and he’d do nothing to hurt our Adele.’
‘Nevertheless,’ Patience said, and quite firmly, ‘it’s time for her to come inside.’ She raised her voice a little. ‘Goodnight, my lord.’
There couldn’t have been a larger hint and Ryder huffed out a laugh as they both took a step backwards. ‘You have good watchdogs in your aunts.’
‘Yes, and I love them dearly.’
‘You’ve given purpose to their lives, I think.’
‘I think you’re right.’ She touched his cheek. ‘Go, before they set the ducks on you.’
‘God forbid!’ Briefly, he lifted her hand to his mouth and gently bit the fleshy pad at the base of her thumb.
He aimed his next remark to the flame floating in the darkness. ‘Goodnight, Aunts,’ and mounting Henry, he disappeared into the dark night, leaving her kissed but craving more.
As Henry picked his way confidently along the road that led home it started to rain. It didn’t bother Ryder, it was soft and light, almost drifting, and he was thinking that Adele was softening a little towards him. She wasn’t so reluctant to accept his attention and she flirted, hiding behind humour like she used to. It was as if she felt safe to dwell on childhood matters.
She had told him about the loss of the infant, but reluctantly, only after he’d introduced the subject. She’d trusted him with that most painful of memories, yet still, he suspected there was more to it. Remembering something Adele had said then, his eyes sharpened. She’d blurted out that Edgar Pelham had not been manly, in the sense that he didn’t consort with women. It was an indelicate subject, not one he’d care to pursue with her – or any woman come to that – but there was a small flare of relief in knowing it.
Then there was the mystery of the trunks. He’d previously contacted every cartage company in the district and all had denied knowledge of them. Yet here they were, delivered to their proper destination. He’d have to cast his net wider.
Edgar Pelham – architect – Southampton had been stencilled on them. He recalled that the lock had been forced to open it. The person who’d done that would know what it contained.
Adele might have mistakenly packed the deeds to the cottage in it. He frowned. She’d displayed very little interest in the trunks or the contents. In fact, she’d avoided it. He understood that she’d be trying to obliterate the folly of her earlier flight from the district, but by burying it inside her she wasn’t succeeding. The gossip was rife. People avoided her … that must hurt.
There was something else too. He’d more or less accused Oliver Bryson of shooting at Adele in the copse, but today he’d learned that Mary Bryson was a good shot, and suspected she’d been a Pelham before her marriage. And the reverend had expected his wife at the church on the day Ryder confronted him. He’d asked Ryder if he’d seen her. His brain chose that moment to issue an image of an old bent man in a brown robe, his face hidden by a cowl. Shortly after Mary Bryson had conveniently appeared at the church.
And where did Luke Ashburn fit in?
As often happened, Ryder’s mind had started stitching things together. Tomorrow, he determined he would go to Southampton and find out who had sent the trunk.
That night Adele was woken by a thump. It came from the room beneath her, where the trunks had been left. Her heart beating rapidly she slipped out of bed and crept down the stair. The door to the morning room creaked when she opened it.
Her eyes were drawn to one of the trunks. It was changing shape, melting, and beginning to resemble a coffin. She watched in horror when the lid started to open.
‘Who are you?’ she whispered, as if she didn’t know whose remains the coffin contained.
‘Edgar!’
She found some courage. ‘He’s dead … you’re dead. You might give me a fright but you can’t hurt me any more because you don’t exist. I won’t let you.’
‘Come here, Adele.’
Fear made a mockery of her previous statement. It thundered through her veins as her feet dragged her reluctantly across the room. The coffin held a body and its eyes gleamed in the darkness. It held out its arms, slimy with seaweed. ‘Come.’
‘Go away!’ She pushed him with all the strength left in her. This wasn’t real; it was a bad dream.
He took her by the throat and squeezed. She began to fight for air.
‘Breathe!’ A puff of wind blew up her nose and she gasped against its force.
Still she couldn’t breathe. The constriction in her throat was too tightly knotted.
A sharp smell sliced into her brain and her head jerked backwards. Instantly, the vestiges of sleep fled, leaving her mind clear and acute.
Smelling salts! She sat up, gazing around her. ‘I thought I was in the morning room.’
The dog whined and scratched on the door.
‘Hush, Gypsy, you’ll wake the aunts.’
The voice belonged to Sarah. There came the sound of a door closing and the dog bounded onto the bed to take up position near her feet.
‘Has he gone?’ Adele asked.
‘Has who gone?’
The dream began to fade. ‘I don’t know … someone.’
‘You were dreaming.’ Sarah was seated on the edge of the bed, a candle held aloft.
Still slightly panicked, Adele gazed past her into the dar
k recesses of the room. There was no sign of Edgar or the trunks, and the tension left her.
Sarah smiled at her. ‘I’m sorry I had to use smelling salts. You were dreaming, gasping for breath and clutching at your throat. I couldn’t wake you. It must have been a bad dream because you cried out.’
‘Yes it was … I can’t remember it now. I’m sorry I woke you, Sarah. Go back to bed.’
‘You didn’t wake me; there was a shower of rain and it was noisy running through the gutters. It’s stopped now and I can see dawn on the horizon. I’ll stoke up the stove and make some tea. I might even open the trunks.’
Adele shuddered at the thought of being in the same room as the trunks, especially in the dim light of a candle; she couldn’t help it. ‘You won’t be able to see much. Wait until it’s light, and then I’ll help you.’
An hour later and the trunks were open, the contents spread about the morning room. Their own garments smelled sour, and Adele grimaced. She and Sarah had been allocated the top tray of the trunk. ‘I hate the thought of strangers rifling through my clothing, though doesn’t it say something when thieves are too fussy to steal it? There’s nothing worth keeping so I’m going to burn anything that belongs to me. I thought I might have put my journals in there, but now I think they were packed with the cottage deeds in the hessian bags.’
‘Me too.’ Sarah sat back on her heels, and then reached for a package containing papers. There were trade certificates inside, made out in Edgar Pelham’s name. ‘How odd. My father seemed to be skilled, but people criticized his work. Sometimes he seemed like two people living inside one skin.’
Not wanting to discuss Edgar with her, Adele rose. ‘I’m going to start on breakfast. Keep anything you want. We’ll burn what’s left, including the trunk.’
‘There might be something valuable you’d like as a keepsake.’
Adele remembered the forced lock. If Sarah thought she was going to find something valuable in the trunk, she would be disappointed.
‘Unless it’s the missing papers and my journals, I don’t want any reminder. I’ll leave it to your good sense.’
Even so there were frequent visits to and fro as Sarah dithered on what should be kept and what shouldn’t – a book with architects’ drawings of various buildings. It soon became apparent that the tools of Edgar’s trade were missing, as was the watch inscribed with his name. There were a couple of notebooks. Sarah threw them on the rubbish pile, and Adele retrieved them. They might contain some useful information.
Sarah sat back on her heels. ‘No deeds.’
‘I didn’t really expect you to find the house deeds in a trunk. The last time I saw them they were in one of the hessian bags.’
‘Yes they were. I looked after them, though. The only time they were out of my sight was when I was asleep.’
‘Didn’t you spend a night in the workhouse?’
Sarah nodded. ‘Reverend Bryson took me in for the night, though I got very little sleep because I was so worried about you. Over breakfast his wife was very inquisitive, and rude, and she treated me as though I was a criminal. She kept asking me questions about you. I told her she had no right to ask so many personal questions about things that didn’t concern her. She called me ungrateful, and then she slapped my face and took me to the workhouse in Poole. I was only there for an hour or so when Lord Madigan came for me.’
‘What did she want to know?’
‘Where had we come from, and why hadn’t you informed anyone you were arriving … and where was my father? She seemed annoyed when her husband came home and told her that the earl had found you on the heath.
‘“Good news,” he said, and he was smiling, as though he was happy about it. Mary Bryson soon changed that. She pulled on a sour-plum expression and said the earl had tricked people into believing he was dead, and that bringing you back together was the devil’s own work. She said you didn’t deserve to survive, and you shouldn’t have come back, flaunting yourself and causing everyone trouble. She shouted at me, and then the reverend made her drink some medicine and after a while she calmed down. I was glad to leave her home.’
‘No doubt. I haven’t done either of those things and certainly don’t need her interference in my life.’
‘Mrs Bryson thought the earl had died in India, and her husband would inherit the title. She’d convinced herself that she’d become a countess.’
‘I don’t see what that has to do with me.’
‘She was practically deranged by the thought that the earl might forgive you and offer you marriage. I felt pity for her, and sorry for him.’
Anger crawled inside Adele’s stomach and she was tempted to confront Mary Bryson. But it would only add fuel to the fire, and do more harm than good after all this time. Besides, anything she said to the woman would be spread over the district like poison the next day.
Once again she wondered if it would be better to move … but she’d have to sell the cottage, and she needed to find the deeds and prove ownership before she could dispose of it. Then she must consider her aunts. They wouldn’t be uprooted too easily.
But then, why should she be driven from the district she’d grown up in? She had the same right to live here as anyone else – more than most, in fact. Let them move out if they didn’t like her as a neighbour.
When the trunk was empty Adele said, ‘Did you notice that the objects missing from the trunk were the most valuable? The watch inscribed with your father’s name was gone, to start with.’
Sarah shrugged. ‘Perhaps he was wearing it when … he died.’
‘Perhaps, but he only wore it if he wanted to make an impression. He was fearful it might attract felons who recognized its worth. Where are his gold cufflinks … the box of matching silver buttons and shoe buckles? Also there was some money. I don’t know how much. Those items became your legacy when he died.’
‘But you were his wife.’
Adele gazed at the girl. ‘You have always been a true and loyal friend, Sarah, and for that reason I would offer you a confidence – however, before you answer I would just like to say it’s one you may not welcome, but please don’t judge me.’
Sarah kissed her cheek. ‘You needn’t say anything. I grew up absorbing the gossip and I know the marriage you made with my father wasn’t normal. Because of that I was scared you’d run away and leave me. I’m grateful you didn’t. I don’t need to know anything more than what I observed. You were good to me and for that alone I’ll love you for ever. As for any legacy, I want nothing that belonged to my father. He was a cruel and evil man, and although children are supposed to love and respect their parents I could only fear him.
‘Sarah, dearest, my life wouldn’t have been worth living without you.’ Tears in her eyes, Adele took the girl in a heartfelt hug.
A short time later they finished their task and between them, carried the trunks and their contents out into the rain-washed air, to where the scorched and ashy patch of the bonfire was situated.
Together they threw them into the grey dust of earlier bonfires, where they landed with a thump and created a large grey puff of dust – soon to be consumed by fire. She felt a small swell of pity for Edgar, who had died, unloved and buried without ceremony or epitaph in the deep.
‘Should I say a prayer?’
Adele cast off any shred of duty she felt towards him, though the guilt remained. ‘Only if you want to. He was your father, not mine. As far as I’m concerned we’re burning old trunks we have no more use for. I have no sentimental attachment to it. I’ll go and collect a hot coal from the kitchen.’
‘Was he my father? I sometimes wonder.’
‘Only you can answer that, my love. If you want to say a prayer you can do so in private, but spare a thought for your mother.’
Adele returned to the house. Her aunts were stirring upstairs as she slid a glowing coal into a small bucket. She clutched it carefully in the jaws of cast-iron fire tongs held at arm’s length.
She
had just touched the coal to the trunk when Sarah darted forward and plucked up a folded paper. It was singed and curling at the edge where the fire had licked at it. It must have slid from a rip in the lining when the trunk had jolted along the ground.
‘It’s a note … and it’s addressed to you, Adele.’
To Mrs Pelham … from James Pelham Esquire.
Her heart thumped! It was a trick. Edgar had told her he was alone in the world. Tempted to throw the paper back into the inferno she managed to stop herself. She’d never get to the bottom of this if she didn’t face up to it.
Mrs Pelham,
This luggage was delivered to my Southampton address – and in the state you find it. I am Edgar Pelham’s father. Enquiries led me to discover that my son had died, having fallen overboard from the Mary Jane, and drowned in the English Channel – a proper service being said for his soul by Captain Joseph Hargreaves.
You might be aware that I had cast my son out, and for good reason; we have been estranged for several years. Recently I was in touch by letter with a cousin in America who gave me news of him – and that led me to you.
I will be blunt. I was not desirous of news of my son, who has been a disappointment, being a thief, a liar and a man given to violence. That aside, I would not wish him dead, but I do have questions regarding the whereabouts of some valuable family items, which it is my intention to pursue.
I shall be in Poole for a few days, where I’ll lodge at the Antelope Inn. Should you or your representative not contact me during that time, please be informed I shall have no other alternative than place my concerns in the hands of a magistrate.
James Pelham
Adele’s heart fell into a dark hole, but despite her reaction she reminded herself that the Edgar Pelham who haunted her dreams was not this man called James Pelham, but his son. Edgar was a sickening spectre conjured up by the guilt festering in her own mind.
The fire caught and the trunks flared up with a hiss. She had drowned its owner but his malevolent presence hadn’t died. Perhaps she’d succeed in getting rid of it in the flames.
