Another long screed had come today from Fanny, full of the festivities planned in London to fete the French king and reinspiring Julia with a longing to join again in the social whirl there. ‘Surely you don’t mean to bury yourself here all year long,’ she fretted.
‘There is still a great deal to be settled here before I can think of leaving it. I am perfectly content, but you may move to London if you prefer it. I’ll put the house there at your disposal for as long as you wish.’
‘It is too late to put that morgue to rights.’ Julia looked furious at the reminder that it was no longer hers. ‘By the time I had got it anywhere near right there would be nothing but a mob of Cits left in town. Why can’t we hire a house-in Brighton instead? Fanny has one on the Steyne for the season, close by the Pavilion. Wouldn’t that be near enough for you to ride over to deal with any tiresome business that cropped up? The estates have managed to survive six years without your aid. Why are you so concerned about them now?’
‘I prefer to remain here. Prinney’s set are not my choice.’
‘My Brighton house is at your disposal,’ James assured Julia. ‘It is in the best part of town.
I can soon fix myself up with something else.’
‘Dear James! You are too generous.’ Julia favoured him with a taut smile, unwilling to give up all hope of influencing Edmund yet. ‘But how can we dream of leaving poor Edmund here alone? It is noble of him to offer, but we must not be selfish.’
None of her hearers looked particularly happy with this decision, but only James attempted a protest. It was speedily dismissed.
With most of her mind on her sister’s antics, Anne failed to notice how white and strained the butler looked until Julia’s angry shriek called her attention to him. His hand had trembled as he poured the wine, spilling a little on Julia’s bodice.
‘Clumsy oaf! Look what you are doing!’ she screamed, rubbing furiously at the crimson stain spreading across the delicate silver-threaded fabric.
‘I beg your pardon, my lady!’ The words came thickly. His face green, he swayed and clutched at the table to steady himself.
‘It is too late to be sorry now. You should be sorry before you did it!’ shrieked Julia with fine lack of logic. ‘Look at my dress. Ruined!’
‘Put down the wine, Stone,’ Edmund’s calm voice interrupted her tirade. ‘You are obviously too unwell to continue. John may serve in your place this evening. Get yourself off to bed, man.’
‘Unwell! The wretched creature is intoxicated!’ Julia snapped, still intent on her stained gown. ‘Just look at this! Wine stains are hopeless to remove. Nothing will hide the mark.
Dismiss the wretch at once! Two gowns ruined in a week. It is beyond enduring!’
Stone mumbled a further apology before he staggered away, but she refused to listen.
Regarding the man carefully, Anne was convinced that he was genuinely ill this time, not suffering the results of secret tippling as in the past. Julia’s slipshod control of the household had encouraged laxity in her staff. Anne had found difficulty when she first arrived in bringing them to some kind of order; Stone’s drinking had been one of the thorniest problems to overcome.
She doubted whether he would ever completely lose his habit of dipping into the port, but he was generally more careful now, restricting his drinking to his off-duty hours. Moreover, his imbibing had always produced a red face and over-deliberate movement, not this quivering sweaty pallor. She hoped he was not suffering from any serious ailment.
Stone staggered away and John hurried to take his place. The difficult meal dragged on.
Julia’s animated mood had vanished, leaving her in a gloomy sulk. Frantic to coax her from it, James went to ridiculous lengths to placate her. For once he spent little time over his port before hastening to join them in the drawing-room. Edmund followed, drank his tea swiftly, and left before Anne had summoned enough resolution to broach the subject of Melthorpe Hall.
‘Gone off to smoke another of his filthy cigars, I suppose,’ Julia hunched a fretful shoulder.
‘At least that is one vice Thomas did not have!’
James, brushing the snuff he had spilt over his sleeve on to the tea tray, was equally loud in disapproval. Anne buried her head in a book, trying to concentrate on that and ignore James’s pathetic attempts to coax Julia into a good humour, but it was no use. Though her eyes scanned the page her brain would not take in the words. Eventually she gave up and went early to bed, only to lie restlessly fretting over the events of the past weeks.
If only the Hall were ready for them to move into! She doubted whether Julia would agree to go to Brighton leaving Edmund behind, but once her home was ready she could not refuse to move into it. Things must be easier then. Anne resolved to tackle Edmund on the subject first thing in the morning.
At last she dropped off into fitful sleep. It seemed only a short while later before she was woken by a scratching at the door. Mrs. Norwich hurried into the room in response to her sleepy invitation, her plump face taut with concern.
‘It’s Stone, Miss Anne,’ she burst out. ‘Terrible ill he is. I’ve never seen no one so sick.
We’ve been up half the night with him, but he don’t seem to get no better, only weaker.’
‘Sick?’ Anne struggled up. ‘What does the doctor say is wrong with him?’
‘He wouldn’t let us send for one, Miss. His lordship offered last night, but Stone wouldn’t hear of it. Said he was better after the stuff his lordship gave him, but he was took bad again in the night and he looks like death now. I’m sorry to disturb you so early, miss, only his lordship was called out to deal with some poachers. I daren’t rouse her ladyship but something has to be done or Stone will die!’ She ended on a smothered sob.
‘You did quite right. Have John ride for the doctor at once. I’ll come and see what can be done in the meantime.’ Quickly Anne dragged on her clothes and followed the housekeeper to Stone’s room. One glance told her that Norwich had not exaggerated; Stone was desperately ill. Slumped in the rumpled bed, his portly form seemed oddly shrunken. He moaned feebly as great shudders racked him. Anne put a hand to his forehead. It was clammy with sweat, yet deathly cold.
‘Fetch a warming-pan immediately, and more blankets,’ she directed, ashamed that her own problems had made her forget the butler’s needs last night. ‘We must keep him warm. Pray God the doctor comes soon. I’ve never dealt with anything like this before.’
It seemed an eternity before he bustled in. Thankfully, Anne handed over her patient and waited outside while he made his examination.
‘He has been poisoned!’ the doctor said bluntly when eventually he emerged from the sickroom. ‘He’s lucky to be alive. He can thank Lord Ashorne’s prompt action for that. But for the emetics he gave the man last night, your butler would be dead. I’ve bled him to be on the safe side, but there’s not much else I can do. With care he’ll pull through now.’
‘Are you saying that someone has tried to kill Stone?’
‘Good gracious, no! I wouldn’t think it was anything so melodramatic. Shellfish, bad meat —anything could have caused it. It’s common enough, unfortunately, but I advise you to find out what was the cause or you are liable to have a run of it. The next victim might not be so lucky.’
Norwich, when questioned, was adamant that Stone had eaten nothing that the rest of the servants had not shared.
‘In which case we’d have been took bad too, miss. That Ned eats like a horse. If anyone ought to be ill it’s him, but he’s as hale and hearty as ever and tucking into bacon and eggs in the kitchen this minute.’
‘Undoubtedly anyone who shared the contaminated food would be ill by now,’ the doctor confirmed. ‘There must be something you have overlooked. Send for me if there is any change for the worse but I anticipate he’ll slowly improve now.’
Anne saw him out to his horse. She was just returning to her own room to wash properly and tidy her hair when from above Norwich called sha
rply, ‘Miss Anne!’
Anxiously Anne ran up to the sickroom. ‘What is it? Is he worse?’
‘No, miss, but I was asking what he’d been eating yesterday like the doctor told me and…’
‘The wine!’ Stone struggled feebly up. ‘It was the wine!’
‘Which wine?’
A faint colour stained the pallid cheek. ‘His lordship’s port wine in the library. I took half a glass before dinner. I remember thinking it tasted a bit queer, but I’ve a cold and put it down to that.’
‘It’s a judgment on him; that’s what it is!’ Norwich declared sententiously. ‘God’s punishment for thieving!’
‘Never mind that now,’ Anne hushed her impatiently, a cold dread at her heart. ‘Is the rest of the wine still there, Stone?’
‘Yes, miss. The decanter was nearly full—I thought a little drop wouldn’t be missed—Do you think His Lordship put something in it to teach me a lesson?’
‘No, I am sure he would not do anything so cruel. I fear it must have been yet another attempt to kill Lord Ashorne. I must hurry and remove the decanter before he gets home.’
‘He’s back already, miss,’ Norwich told her. ‘I saw him come in the back way while you was seeing the doctor out the front. He’s in the library now!’
Heart thudding, Anne ran headlong down the stairs and burst into the library. Edmund looked up in astonishment.
‘Whatever is the matter, Anne? Wasn’t that the doctor I saw as I came in? Is Stone worse?’
Anne was too out of breath to do more than point at the decanter and gasp, ‘The port!’
‘You want a glass?’
‘ No! Have you drunk any?’
‘At this hour of the morning? What do you take me for!’ Edmund looked pained at the suggestion. Then, seeing the strain in her face, he demanded urgently, ‘What is all this about, Anne? I can see something has upset you.’
‘Nor last night?—no, you could not or you would be ill by now.’
‘Calmly now!’ He took her hand in a comforting grasp and forced her to sit down before he would let her continue. ‘Now, are you saying there is something wrong with the stuff?’
‘So Stone insists. He is sure it was the wine that made him so ill. The doctor said he could have died!’
Edmund listened gravely to her disjointed account of the butler’s story.
‘It certainly sounds possible!’ He took the stopper out of the decanter and sniffed at the contents. ‘It doesn’t smell any different but we can have tests made. Fortunately I rarely touch the port—a much overrated beverage in my opinion. I had noticed the level went down, but suspected Sir James of sinking it, not Stone. Poor fellow! This should teach him to keep his hands off if nothing else does!’
‘But don’t you understand, Edmund? It was meant to kill you!’ Anne said despairingly.
‘What nonsense you do talk, Anne dear,’ observed a cool voice from the doorway. Julia swept in, calm and fresh in an attractive sprigged muslin, a lacy parasol in her hand. ‘You are becoming quite hysterical over these imaginary attacks on Edmund. I could hear your voice from above-stairs. Such a commotion this morning with all the noisy comings and goings, I had to give up any hope of further rest! Why are you trying to upset Edmund with your ridiculous accusations? No one wishes him any harm!’
‘Someone put poison in that decanter there. Providentially Edmund did not drink any, but Stone did and nearly died as a result.’
‘Which is just what the dishonest wretch deserves!’
‘That is a matter of opinion. But the important point is—who put the poison in the port?’
Memory flooded back of the odd chink of the decanter-stopper fitting into place as she stood outside the library door yesterday, and of the startled panic that flashed momentarily in the steward’s eyes as he emerged to find her confronting him.
‘ Weston!’ she breathed. ‘I heard him in here. I thought he must have been helping himself to a drink, but in that case he’d be ill too.’
‘And he certainly is not,’ Edmund put in. ‘I was speaking to him this morning.’
‘So he was putting something into the decanter, not taking it out!’
‘Poppycock!’ Julia snorted. ‘Just because you dislike the poor man you accuse him of everything that goes wrong. Why should he have touched that wretched decanter?’ She made a disdainful gesture with the parasol, which caught the decanter, tipping it on to the floor where it shattered into fragments. ‘A good riddance!’ Julia exclaimed with angry satisfaction. ‘I’ve never liked that ugly thing!’
Anne stared horrified as the wine spread over the floor like a huge bloodstain. Was it an accident, or had Julia deliberately destroyed the evidence? Was that why she had come?
Despairingly, she tried not to believe that, but the niggling doubt lingered.
‘What about all the other incidents, then?’ she asked unsteadily. ‘He was involved in them all. No one else saw the intruder he claimed had injured him and set fire to the records. Who did that profit but Weston? He would have had plenty of time to get back to the office after shooting Edmund and fake the attack. And he was in the barn when Jonas was knocked unconscious and left to burn. That blow could easily have been intended for Edmund.’
‘But why should Phillip want to harm Edmund?’
‘Because he knows that I suspect him of cheating you for years,’ Edmund answered her sternly. ‘Destroying the records made it more difficult to prove, but I am slowly gathering evidence from other sources. He has been milking the estates for years—no doubt to cover the debts he has incurred all around the district with his gambling and petticoat adventures.
He must have realised I would soon have enough evidence to prove his villainy and made these desperate attempts to silence me. The reckoning has come a little quicker this way, but it had to come eventually. I’ll send Jonas to his lodgings to pick him up, and we’ll have him in front of a magistrate before he can do any more harm.’
‘But he’s not…’ began Julia, then broke off. Great hollow eyes stared out of her shocked white face at them, then, shaking of Anne’s sympathetic hand, Julia hurried away.
Anne felt little like work this morning but Kit’s lessons had been far too often neglected lately, so she forced herself to seek him out. She toiled with him throughout the period, desperate to forget that awful moment when Julia stared so complacently as the poisoned wine flooded out over the library floor. She did not want time to think, to wonder whether her sister was really a party to murder.
At eleven she had to let him go for his riding lesson. Kit rushed off in relief and Anne spent the remainder of the morning in the stillroom, sorting the accumulated pickles and preserves of ten years and more. With disgust at the sad lack of organisation in the household to exercise her mind, she was able to keep disturbing speculation at bay.
She had some of the jars taken down for lunch. James tucked into the pickled walnuts with relish while Anne voiced her complaints over the state of the stillroom, and Julia listened to them absent-mindedly.
‘I’m sure it is very remiss of Norwich, but I cannot be bothered with such petty details.
Speak to her yourself.’
‘Quite right,’ James exclaimed warmly. ‘Can’t you settle it, Anne, without worrying poor Julia? She has enough problems already. These walnuts are really fine! You must give me the receipt for my housekeeper before I leave.’
Julia absently smiled her acknowledgment of his sympathy but it was evident that her thoughts were elsewhere. ‘Is that you, Edmund?’ she called tensely as a door banged.
It was. When he came in, face grim with fury, she faltered, ‘Have you got him? Weston, I mean.’
‘No, we have not! Jonas missed him at the lodgings. We tried the office, only to find that cleared out. He must have had warning we were after him. He’s sneaked off, heaven knows where; left only minutes before Jonas got there, but he has covered his tracks as craftily as those actors.’
Relief flooded th
rough Julia’s face, only to drain away as he added grimly, ‘And to ensure a safe getaway he has taken Kit with him.’
‘No!’ she shrieked, ‘He could not be so cruel!’
‘But why should he do that?’ asked Anne.
‘To make certain that we don’t follow him. Somehow he must have learned of our suspicions and made his plans accordingly. He’s left clear warning that any pursuit will mean danger to the boy.’
‘You’ll let him go free now, won’t you?’ pleaded Julia, her hands twisting frantically. ‘For Kit’s sake. It’s all a mistake! Phillip is not a murderer, but panic might make him injure Kit if he is driven to it. Let him go free!’
‘And have him kill the child when he has served his purpose?’ protested James unwisely.
Edmund glared at him as Julia fell into hysterics. ‘We cannot be certain what is the best course, but it is out of my control now. The warrant is issued for his arrest—we cannot easily recall it.’
‘But Kit…’ moaned Julia.
‘Is in equal danger whatever we do. How can Weston set him free without betraying himself?’
‘How could Phillip be so cruel!’ Julia sobbed frantically. ‘I never dreamed he would do such a thing. Oh, what have I done?’
‘What are you trying to say, Julia?’ demanded Edmund with dangerous calm. ‘Was it you who warned Weston?’
Blue eyes, misty with tears, gazed pitifully up at him. ‘I had to!’
‘Why, for God’s sake?’ Only sobs answered him. He questioned more sternly, ‘Why, Julia?
Why should you warn him?’
‘Leave her alone!’ James exclaimed fiercely as Julia’s tears redoubled. ‘Hasn’t she enough to bear already without all these questions? Her child is missing—in danger! I’ll not let you bully her!’
‘Don’t waste your sympathy,’ Edmund told him bitterly. ‘She thinks only of herself. This is of a piece with all her behaviour. It was the same at the play—I could not credit her selfishness when I tried to prevent Anne and Kit going into danger and Julia grabbed me back, concerned only with her own skin. They could have died then for all she cared.’
Change of Heart Page 17
