by Annis Bell
“Should I arrange a room for you after dinner, Doctor, or will you have to be going this evening?” Jane asked.
“As sorry as it makes me to say it, I really will have to get on. Lord Hargrave’s sister is expecting me. I check on her regularly when I do my rounds.”
“Anyone seeing Mrs. Sutton and her brother would never believe they are related. They are so different!” Jane helped herself to a few morsels of pheasant and vegetables. “But Lady Rutland seems to keep Mrs. Sutton’s spirits up. She seems very energetic.”
“You know the Rutlands?” Wescott asked.
“They were there when I went to visit Violet Sutton and her brother. Didn’t I mention that?”
“It must have slipped my mind. Sidney and Florence Rutland are rather illustrious characters in the London nightlife crowd, my dear. Lord Hargrave, too,” said Wescott, looking at Jane with raised eyebrows.
“Well, not being in London often, I couldn’t know that. Out here in the country, one welcomes any diversion that comes along. Don’t you agree, Doctor?”
Woodfall swallowed and smiled wryly. “Mrs. Sutton is a nice person, a widow. She sacrifices a lot for children in need. Very noble.”
Since her recent visit to Bodmin, Jane had been thinking that Mrs. Sutton’s work with needy children did not involve much sacrifice at all. But the charitable work itself was certainly worthy of praise. “I’m going away with her next week,” she said. “To the orphanage in St. Austell.”
As she said this, she looked belligerently at Wescott, but his expression remained inscrutable. Only the muscles in his jaw stood out noticeably as he chewed. Jane feared he would raise the subject again later, and she raised her chin defiantly.
21.
“Mrs. Roche, you have truly outdone yourself. I have not eaten better, not even at Lord Hargrave’s house,” said Jane to the housekeeper, who was still standing in the kitchen in her apron and bonnet.
“Thank you very much, ma’am. It’s very nice of you to say so. I was to blame for choosing the last cook.” Mrs. Roche, usually so forbidding, looked at Jane with some embarrassment. “My husband would like to speak with you, ma’am. Tomorrow morning, if that’s all right?”
It was already late, and Jane was tired from the long day behind her. Her strained relationship with Wescott was gnawing at her, as well. “I’ll expect him after breakfast in the library. Was there anything else?”
“I’ve lodged the opening for a cook with an agency in London, ma’am. My sister works at the agency and can check the suitability of any prospects there. If that’s not to your liking and you’d rather . . .”
For some time, it had been the fashion to find servants through agencies, which were springing up everywhere in response to the demand. The process guaranteed a certain level of quality, and one saved the cost of advertising in the newspapers. Even better was to find staff from a friend’s recommendation, but Jane did not want to bother Lady Alison with her situation. Not yet.
“No, that sounds sensible. Thank you, Mrs. Roche. Good night!” Jane left the kitchen and found Rufus waiting for her by the door. The dog accompanied her up the stairs.
“Well, old friend?” She stroked a hand over Rufus’s short fur and checked his wounds. “That’s looking much better. Don’t let anyone beat you like that again! We’ll catch that rogue out yet.”
She scratched the Great Dane’s back and did not look up as they climbed the last flight of steps.
“You talk to your dog?” Wescott was leaning casually against the balustrade. Apparently, he’d been observing her the whole time.
“He doesn’t try to set any rules for me, and he doesn’t criticize me in front of my guests. I like that in a dog.” Rufus was standing between her and Wescott with his ears pricked up.
A single lamp on the wall cast a feeble light across the gallery, where Jane had hung an engraving of Rosewood Hall and various landscape paintings. Wescott had doffed his frock coat, and his dark hair fell to the open collar of his shirt. He clearly had little regard for the current convention that dictated a gentleman should wear his hair short.
“I did not criticize you, Jane. My responsibility is to protect you, and because I know Hargrave and Rutland better than you, I recommend—again—that you keep your distance from them.”
“Protect me?” She let out a short, dry laugh. “From what? I think you’re more interested in preserving my good reputation. But part of our agreement was that we enjoy a spotless social standing, so there’s no need to worry, David. I’ll keep my end of the bargain.” She emphasized his name; the familiarity of addressing him that way did not come easily to her.
“I do not doubt it. At the same time, you should not be too proud to accept advice when it comes from someone with more experience than you.” He pushed himself up from the balustrade and looked down at her with a sardonic smile.
“How dare you? You are not my uncle! You’re just—,” she began, suddenly furious, then held her tongue.
“Your husband,” he said, finishing her sentence gently.
She would have liked nothing more than to stamp her feet, but that would have been childish and would only have made her look ridiculous. She swallowed, wiped away a traitorous, desperate tear, and, with the little dignity she had left, said, “Good night.”
“Jane, please.”
But she went into her room without turning back.
Jane slept restlessly. From the adjoining room, she heard Wescott pacing back and forth before finally going to bed late. When Hettie woke her the next morning, Jane could tell from her maid’s expression that something was not right.
“Good morning, ma’am. Your bath is ready.” Hettie turned down the bedclothes, drew back the curtains, and pushed open the shutters.
Jane was wearing just a thin nightdress, and the fresh, cool air made her feel cold. She quickly pulled on her dressing gown. “What’s the matter, Hettie? You look so cross.”
“He’s already left. A crying shame, too. I hardly even got a look at him. And he’s left that strange valet of his behind,” said the maid as she tied the curtains back.
Jane was wide awake in an instant. “Wescott’s gone?”
“That’s what I said. The sun was hardly up, and he had someone fetch his horse and off he rode. Poor man, hardly even got here and had to go again. It’s much nicer having visitors in the house. These old walls are so gray and dreary and, I must say, horribly dull. Nobody visits and—” She chattered on and on while she straightened up the room.
“Enough!” Jane interrupted her harshly. “Did you talk to him? Did he leave me a message?”
“No. But he sat in the library for a little while. I think he wrote something.”
Jane took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. “Put out the gray riding dress with the black fasteners.”
The riding dress was comfortable, and the skirt disguised a pair of breeches. She hurried down the stairs and went directly to the library, where on her desk she found a folded sheet of notepaper sealed with wax. Jane, it read in clear, flowing handwriting. She broke the seal and unfolded the paper with trembling fingers.
Dear Jane,
Nothing could be further from my intentions than to aggrieve you. But I have made a promise, and that includes taking care of your well-being. If you will not take my advice, find out for yourself, but be warned! Men like Hargrave and Rutland wear no more than the mask of gentlemen.
Blount will accompany you on your excursions. That is not a request, but a necessary precautionary measure that will not restrict your freedom in any way. He will be there to ensure your safety, no more.
With regard to your cousin, I believe it is of the utmost importance that you visit him in Rosewood Hall and have him show you the promissory notes. We will discuss everything else on my return from London.
David
Jane read
the letter through a second time, then screwed it up furiously into a ball and threw it onto the desk. Deep inside, though, she realized that Wescott was right. It had been him, after all, who helped her with the dying girl at Rosewood Hall. She smoothed out the letter and put it away in one of the small drawers, then went down to breakfast in the empty dining room. She had been looking forward to Wescott’s company that day. He might well play her protector with a leaning toward arrogance, but his unpredictable style and his underlying humor held some attraction for her. Smiling to herself, she took a slice of toast. And he was among the best-looking men she had ever met.
After breakfast, she found Stuart in the hallway. “Have my horse saddled. Where is Blount?”
The young man looked at her in surprise. “Who?”
“My husband’s valet. Is there someone else here by that name?” she replied impatiently.
“No, ma’am. I beg your pardon. I thought that he left with the master this morning.” He turned slightly to one side, and the door to the kitchen area behind him opened.
Mr. Roche and Blount stepped into the hallway and bowed their heads politely. “Good morning, my lady,” said the caretaker.
Blount waited. Despite his unassuming appearance, there was something forceful about the man, thought Jane, as she assessed her husband’s former adjutant. “I will be going riding soon, Mr. Blount.”
“Very good, my lady.” The wiry man nodded again and disappeared through the back entrance.
In the library, Jane offered Mr. Roche a chair, but the caretaker preferred to stand. He turned his hat nervously in his hands. “My lady, I wanted to ask you about my authority here. Now that Mr. Coleman is indisposed, I mean. The lease is due, and the taxes have to be paid. I know you put more stock in Mr. Coleman, but I would gladly prove to you that Lord Henry’s trust in us was thoroughly justified.”
Jane sat at her desk and toyed with a paperweight shaped like an elephant. “To be honest, Mr. Roche, I would appreciate it most if you continue to manage the business side of the estate and present the books to Mr. Coleman for countersigning. In time, I am sure that we will find an allocation of duties that is acceptable to everyone. But I must say, I have been wondering what became of the large contingent of game at Mulberry Park. It seems to me that too few sales have been recorded, and not much of the game would have been consumed in my uncle’s absence. Have there been many hunts here?”
Mr. Roche blinked in confusion and shuffled his feet restlessly. “Whenever Lord Hargrave’s low on game for his hunting parties, Blythe helps him out. We’ve always had enough.”
“Oh, yes?” Jane’s forehead creased. “So Lord Hargrave buys my animals?”
The caretaker stared at his feet. “My lady, that’s not quite how it is, I mean, not exactly.”
“Then explain it to me!” Jane demanded sharply.
“Blythe is quick to anger. He’s not a bad man, really he’s not, but he’s quick to let fly. He loves his wife and is very jealous. Three years back, there was a man who worked for Lord Hargrave, and he was always after Jacob’s wife. No one could stand him. He worked in the stables and went around with the lord’s valet, the same one Lord Hargrave has today.” Mr. Roche cleared his throat. “Pat was the man’s name. Not the valet, that’s Jack. I’m not one to speak ill of others, my lady, but Pat was a scoundrel, a very nasty sort, and he found his fun in riling others up till they spat blood and bile. Jacob’s wife is pretty. She’s loyal, too, and would never go behind Jacob’s back, but this Pat was after her for all he was worth. Something was bound to happen. Come May Day, everyone was out on the village square drinking beer and dancing, and one word led to another, and suddenly Jacob and Pat were at each other’s throats. They were serious, ma’am. Deadly serious. I remember thinking that one or the other of ’em wouldn’t be leaving the square alive. Normally, Pat would have finished our Jacob with one hand tied behind his back. He was a tough bugger and he had experience, but he’d had quite a bit to drink, and Jacob went at him like a man possessed.”
Jane listened excitedly. “What happened?”
“Both were bleeding, but Jacob was on top and beating on Pat like a wild man. Then along came Lord Hargrave and split the two of them with his stick. He claimed that Jacob had beat up his man and had to sit in prison for it. Well, what were we to say? Jacob was known for his fits of anger. But then Lord Hargrave called for Jacob and made a proposal. Pat did not lay a charge against Jacob, and moved on shortly after. My guess is that Lord Hargrave paid him off. In return, Jacob was supposed to do him a favor from time to time.” Mr. Roche took a deep breath and looked at Jane. “No one else knew about it. I only found out myself because I keep the books with the stock of game. Jacob confided in me. He was desperate. He didn’t want to go to jail. He’s the kind who’d die if someone locked him away. Always out in the woods, with the animals. That’s no excuse, my lady, but that’s how it was.”
“You should have talked to my uncle, Mr. Roche. He would have settled the matter.”
“We all liked your uncle, my lady, but he so seldom came out here, and a thing like that would have upset him. He wasn’t too healthy, even then.” Mr. Roche shook his head. “It wasn’t right, but it was better that way. And no one was hurt by it.”
Jane regarded the man, who repeatedly looked down at his feet. She sensed that what he’d told her was only part of the truth. “Why did your wife hire Becky Thomas?”
Surprised, Mr. Roche flinched at the question, and his eyes opened wide for a moment. But he quickly got himself under control and replied, “She was the only cook we could find on short notice.”
“Do you know what I think? Fred or someone else in the Thomas clan got wind of Jacob’s secret deal with Lord Hargrave and blackmailed you with it.”
“What? No, no, it wasn’t like that! My lady, please don’t think that,” Mr. Roche defended himself.
With a sigh, Jane set the paperweight back on the desk heavily. The unexpected noise startled the caretaker and confirmed her assumption that Roche was afraid. Not of her, no. He had never once showed any fear, not even before her uncle, as Floyd had once told her. The only name he feared was Thomas. The family pulled their strings here in the region, blackmailing people with their dirty little secrets.
“Let’s leave it at that for today, Mr. Roche. Things can’t go on like this, though.”
“No.” Embarrassed, the powerful man turned his hat in his hands.
“Lord Hargrave has profited from the gamekeeper’s foolishness long enough. There will be no repercussions for Jacob.”
“He will be grateful to hear that, my lady.”
“I hope so. Leave me now.”
When Mr. Roche was gone, Jane sank her face into her hands and tried to put the man’s outrageous news into the scheme of things. There is something wrong with the story, she thought. Something doesn’t fit, or fits altogether too well. Who is Pat? She looked up and, through the window, saw Blount waiting for her with the horses.
Perhaps he was exactly the right man to help her in this matter. She was not too proud to realize she needed help. Too much pride equates to foolishness, she thought as she stood. She took her riding crop from the table and swung it against her boots. “And I’m not foolish, my dear David.”
22.
Wild gorse lined the path and grew among the rocks all along the stark coastal landscape. Ahead of them, a shepherd drove a flock of lambs with the help of his quick sheepdog. Jane called Rufus back to her—the Great Dane was trying to make friends with the growling sheepdog—and steered her horse toward the cliffs. A light wind carried the scent of the sea. Just off the beach, fishing boats bobbed on the choppy water, and a three-master was visible some distance farther out. Plymouth Harbor was not far away, and ships left from there almost daily, bound for France, America, or the colonies in the West Indies.
But Jane had not ridden this way only for the bea
utiful view. She secretly hoped to encounter Lord Hargrave. She could not simply show up unannounced at Bromfield Manor before three in the afternoon. Even out in the country, where the rules were observed more loosely, that would have been seen as unacceptable behavior and would have brought her into disrepute. She turned back to Blount, who rode in silence behind her. His riding outfit was plain but well cut, and the materials were of high quality. He sat on his horse as if he had spent a lifetime in the saddle.
“Mr. Blount,” she called, and the man brought his powerful brown horse up, level with her own.
“My lady?” His pale eyes turned to her attentively, but remained vigilant of their surroundings.
“What do you know about the local situation?”
“The captain has apprised me of the most important factors, my lady.”
Of course he has, thought Jane. He had ordered the man to watch over her. She considered for a moment, then decided that it would be best to explain the current state of affairs to Blount. At the least, she had nothing to lose. “Mr. Roche told me something about our gamekeeper.”
“Blythe? Yes, the captain did indicate that something was not in order there.”
“What? Did Blythe tell him about Hargrave blackmailing him?”
“Blackmail? No, my lady.”
Jane nodded, satisfied. She would have been hurt to discover that Wescott knew about that and had kept it from her. She filled Blount in, and he whistled softly when she’d finished.
“What do you think of that? I don’t know how I am to conduct myself now with respect to Lord Hargrave, but I refuse to accept such goings-on any longer. The man is stealing from me!”
Blount pushed his flat cap to the back of his head and turned his gaze to a point in the distance. “It is unacceptable. But Lord Hargrave is a powerful man.”
She waited, but he said no more than that. “Would you advise me to confront him with the facts?”
