“Yet another indignity, Lord Atherly,” Mrs. Westwoode said.
“Then Miss Kendrick is right?” Inspector Brown said. “You were dressed for riding?”
“I couldn’t think of a way to hide the fire iron, so I took off my skirt and wrapped it in that. Besides, my skirt had blood on it already from kneeling beside the vicar.”
“I don’t understand, Caroline,” Mr. Westwoode said. “I’ve been in debt before.”
“You don’t need to remind me,” she said bitterly.
“Then why such desperate measures now?”
“Why now?” Mrs. Westwoode pointed at Hugh.
Fear shot through Lyndy. Could I have been wrong? Could Hugh have been involved in the murder, after all?
“Our daughter is engaged to Lord Hugh Drakeford, the second son of the Duke of Tonnbridge, now, that’s why, Augustus,” Mrs. Westwoode said, much to Lyndy’s relief. “But what do you care? You do as you please, spend what you please, gamble what you don’t have, while I bow and scrape to see our daughter married well. Tell me, Augustus? What else was I supposed to do, with you determined to see us in the poorhouse?”
“Mummy, no. Say you didn’t do this for me,” Miss Westwoode said.
“Elizabeth, darling, why else would a mother do anything but for her child? Do you think His Grace will let his son marry the daughter of a pauper?”
His face red, Hugh leaped to his feet. “Do you think, Mrs. Westwoode,” he said, spitting the words out like venom, “that my father will let me marry the daughter of a murderer?”
“What?” Mrs. Westwoode said, rising, reaching toward him. “No, as I said, it was an accident, Lord Hugh. I didn’t mean to kill the vicar. I didn’t even hit him that hard.”
“Or the daughter of a thief?” Hugh said, his lip curled.
Mrs. Westwoode advanced on him until he backed up into the birds’ display case. The birds inside swayed from the jolt. The magpie toppled from its perch.
“I explained all that,” Mrs. Westwoode pleaded. “We needed his money. For you. I did this for you, for both of you.” Hugh slid away from her as she reached to touch his arm.
“All you did, Mrs. Westwoode, was to embarrass me and involve me in scandal.”
“What? No, Lord Hugh, you’ve misunderstood. The debts have all been paid. Tell him, Augustus.”
Mr. Westwoode, his head in his hands, said nothing.
“Hugh?” Miss Westwoode said when Hugh strode across to the other side of the room.
“Where are you going? When will I see you again?”
“See me?” Hugh scoffed. “I trust we shall never see each other again. If you’ll excuse me, Lord Atherly, Lady Atherly, I must leave at once.”
Papa nodded. “If you must.”
Lyndy had never seen his mother so pale.
Hugh bowed formally at the waist.
“Is that it?” Lyndy said. Lyndy had lied for his friend, lost sleep over his predicament, trusted him. Yet wasn’t it Hugh’s fragilities and faults that had led to the vicar’s demise, however indirectly? He wanted to leap up and grab Hugh by the collar. “You have nothing more than that to say?” Somehow, Lyndy had expected more.
Lyndy caught Hugh’s eye, but the Duke of Tonnbridge’s second son shied away from his gaze and said nothing. What a hypocrite.
“No! You can’t do this to me!” Mrs. Westwoode cried, fighting against her restraint as the constable grabbed hold of her arms. “You and Elizabeth are to be married in a fortnight, by the bishop!”
Hugh retreated from the room. When he reached the stairs, Lyndy could hear him taking them two at a time.
“Lord Hugh! Lord Hugh!” Mrs. Westwoode pleaded as the police constable led her to the door. Her calls continued to echo as the inspector and his constable escorted her down the hall.
Miss Westwoode dropped to the floor beside her father’s chair and buried her head against his knee. Stella, regarding the unfortunate young woman, covered her mouth with her hands. Did she regret what she had done? Could she have done otherwise?
For one long moment, the library was silent. Lyndy heard only Stella’s labored breathing. She had performed her spectacle with bruised ribs, had exerted herself far too much. The damn woman was exasperating, maddening, and foolish. Then why did he feel so proud? Lyndy put his arm around her shoulder.
“Lord Hugh!” Another of Mrs. Westwoode’s desperate pleas reached them before Mr. Kendrick strode across the room and slammed the library door closed.
“Good riddance,” Mr. Kendrick exclaimed.
CHAPTER 32
Stella Kendrick came to a decision. She took a deep breath before stepping into the drawing room. The portrait of a young woman, wearing a red silk and velvet bustled evening gown and a haughty, knowing smile, stared back at her. How could Stella not have seen the resemblance before? Lady Atherly was whispering something to her husband and hadn’t noticed Stella’s return.
“Ah, you’re a lady once again,” Lyndy said, setting down his cup of tea and standing. His expression was unreadable; only the tension in his chin gave him away. His tone might be flippant, but Stella knew he was concerned.
When Lady Atherly had insisted everyone return to the drawing room and finish tea, Stella had gladly changed into her tea gown, one of pale pink embroidered chiffon and lace. Without the constraints of a corset, her ribs didn’t cause her as much pain.
But what about the pain she’d brought upon the Westwoodes? She’d have to learn to live with it. Stella doubted she would ever put her riding habit on again without thinking of them.
“I’m not sure you ever thought so,” Stella said. She intended to match his playful tone but failed. For he’d be right.
Lady Atherly, glancing over her shoulder at Stella, frowned.
Stella crossed the room to join Lyndy on the sofa. The Westwoodes were notably absent. As was Lady Alice, who perhaps was comforting her friend, who had retreated to her bedroom. Mr. Westwoode was most likely drowning his sorrows at the Knightwood Oak.
Reenacting Mrs. Westwoode’s charade had done what Stella had set out to do, reveal the vicar’s killer. But she hadn’t anticipated Lord Hugh’s abrupt and devastating departure. What would Miss Westwoode do now? With the scandal of having a murderous mother, she might never marry. Was that such a terrible fate? Stella glanced at Lyndy as Lady Atherly handed her a cup of tea, the steam rising above it. Only a few short days ago, barely a week, she hadn’t thought so. But now?
“I’m always going to be a bit different, aren’t I?” she said.
Lyndy leaned toward her. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.” His breath as he whispered into her ear tickled her skin. Warmth radiated down her neck and into her chest. She couldn’t help but smile at him.
“Ahem.” Lady Atherly glared until Stella and Lyndy gave her their full attention. “You shall learn to be a lady,” she said, as if her words alone could make it so. “If you are ever to become Lady Lyndhurst.”
“Not if,” Daddy said, “but when, and the sooner the better for everyone, if you ask me.”
No one asked you, Daddy.
“You did send for the vicar, didn’t you, Lord Atherly?”
“Yes, Mr. Kendrick,” Lady Atherly said before her husband could respond. “Reverend Paine shall be here shortly.”
“Good. The wedding’s already been delayed too long. We’d agreed on a quick and quiet affair. You need your money, and I need to get back to the States.”
“Pity you can’t leave right now,” Lady Atherly said, a feigned smile on her face.
Mr. Kendrick frowned.
“Inspector Brown to see you, milord,” Fulton announced.
“Is there something more we can do for you?” Lord Atherly said. “We were hoping to put this whole terrible business behind us.”
“If it’s all right with you and Lady Atherly,” the inspector said, clutching the brim of his hat, “I’d like to ask Miss Kendrick a few questions?”
“Whatever for?” Lyndy said,
reaching for Stella’s hand.
“It’s nothing to be concerned about, my lord. But I’ve been puzzling over a few things, and I thought Miss Kendrick might be able to help.”
“You think my girl can shed light on something that’s got you stumped?” Daddy said.
Stella squeezed Lyndy’s hand before folding both of her hands in her lap. She could feel her heart beating. Answering the inspector’s questions bought her a little bit more time to get the courage to say what she must. “Ask me anything, Inspector.”
“Right,” Inspector Brown said. “How did you know Mrs. Westwoode was the killer?”
Stella admitted she’d first suspected Mr. Westwoode. He tried to escape notice when she visited the pub. He lied to his wife about winning at the Derby, or so she thought. Someone paid off his debt to the moneylender two days after the vicar was killed. She’d been so convinced it was him. She said nothing about Lord Hugh.
“Right. We suspected him as well. What persuaded you otherwise?”
“The discussion about how freeing a change of clothes can be. Lord Lyndhurst and I had a similar conversation about riding habits earlier. That made me think. We had all assumed the vicar’s killer was a man because he was wearing pants.”
“A reasonable assumption,” Lady Atherly said.
“Yes, Lady Atherly, it is,” Stella said. “But when all the men in the stables, on the grounds, in the house, and in the village were eliminated as suspects, it had to be an incorrect one. Dressed in a riding habit, a woman is only one riding skirt removed from being dressed like a man.”
“That explains how you came to think a woman may have done it,” Inspector Brown said, “but not how you knew it was Mrs. Westwoode. Why not one of the maids?”
“Again, it comes back to our conversation with Mr. Westwoode. When he denied paying a debt that Lord Lyndhurst confirmed with the moneylender had been paid, it follows that someone else must have paid it for him.”
“Someone like his wife or daughter,” Inspector Brown said. Stella nodded.
“Then why not Miss Westwoode?”
“Because I’d seen Mrs. Westwoode give Mr. Harris an envelope at the Derby. I hadn’t realized its significance at the time. I’d mistaken Mr. Harris for a bookmaker, not a moneylender. In hindsight, I realized Mrs. Westwoode was paying off her husband’s debt.”
“And where else could she have gotten the money but from the vicar?” the inspector said.
Stella nodded.
“And, according to my maid, Mrs. Westwoode had been dressed for riding at the time of the vicar’s death.”
“Why did the woman fake being attacked?” Daddy said.
“Because Mrs. Westwoode was clever,” Inspector Brown said. “She tried to implicate the stable staff when she planted the fire iron and her jewels in the straw. I knew she was lying to me. I knew she had secrets. But because of her attack, I never suspected she was the killer. Her scheme almost worked.”
“Indeed. Who would suspect a victim?” Lady Atherly said.
“Miss Kendrick did,” Lyndy said, a hint of pride in his voice.
Lady Atherly frowned. Stella suspected Lady Atherly didn’t take it as the compliment Lyndy intended.
“Yes, I did, because it didn’t make sense. Why would the thief harm the vicar and not Mrs. Westwoode? Not out of some sort of chivalry, surely? And why Mrs. Westwoode, and only Mrs. Westwoode, who is traveling with a few of her jewels, when Lady Atherly and Lady Alice, as ladies of the house, have far more expensive pieces? Why not slip into the morning room and steal the wedding gifts? The timing was problematic as well. Why attack Mrs. Westwoode days after the vicar? The same day that the police clear Lord Lyndhurst’s valet of suspicion?”
“Well done, Miss Kendrick,” Inspector Brown said. “You have a keen eye for this.”
“Don’t flatter the girl,” Daddy said. “She’s already getting a big head.”
“She shall certainly not be needing those skills again,” Lady Atherly said.
“Let’s hope not,” the inspector said, winking at Stella. She smiled at her unexpected ally.
“Reverend Paine is here, my lady,” Fulton announced.
The smile faded from Stella’s lips. She’d been dreading this. It was now or never.
“Finally!” Daddy said.
“Please show him in, Fulton,” Lord Atherly said. “If that will be all, Inspector?”
“Yes, thank you. Good day to you all.” The inspector tipped his head, slapped his hat on, and strode from the room. The new vicar, his finger wiggling around in his ear, stepped hastily aside as not to cross paths with the inspector in the doorway.
“Ah, Reverend Paine,” Lyndy said. “Twice in one day. What a pleasure.”
“The pleasure is all mine, my lord,” Reverend Paine said, oblivious to Lyndy’s sarcasm. “I hear there is good news, my lord. Reverend Bullmore’s killer has been apprehended?”
“Yes. So the wedding can go ahead at once,” Daddy said.
Stella, steeling herself for this moment, squared her shoulders. “No, Daddy,” she said.
“What?” Daddy said, shaking his head. “I knew this would happen.” Daddy pointed his finger at Reverend Paine, as if Stella’s obstinance were all his fault. “You delayed the wedding too long.” As the new vicar sputtered his objection, Daddy threw his hands in the air. “Do you want to end up penniless and alone?”
Stella ignored her daddy, more concerned with the crack in Lyndy’s countenance. He had been taken by surprise by her objection as much as her father had. She turned to him, then placed her hand lightly on his arm.
“Do you still have that gorgeous ring?” she asked.
Lyndy nodded. Surprisingly, he didn’t have to have a servant fetch it. He pulled the box from the inside pocket of his waistcoat.
“Have you carried it every day since we . . .” Stella hesitated to mention the first time she’d seen the ring, right before they’d found the vicar.
Lyndy nodded. “All the good it did me,” he said bitterly. “Would you put it on my finger for me?”
Lyndy’s brows furrowed. “But I thought?”
“Perhaps you should leave the thinking to me,” she said teasingly. A suspicious smirk spread across Lyndy’s lips. One day, she’d see him smile a real smile. Or at least she hoped so. Stella turned to her father. “You misunderstand me, Daddy. I no longer object to the engagement, but if we’re going to do this . . .” She hesitated. There was no going back now. “If we’re going to do this, I want to do it properly. Not under a cloud or in the dark of night.” She looked first at Lyndy and then at her future mother-in-law. “I may not be a perfect Englishwoman, but I am nothing to be ashamed of.”
She glanced at her father. If only she could say the same for him. The scowl on his lips distorted his face. He looked like an overindulged troll.
“I’d like it to be announced in New York and Lexington and London, if that’s what’s typically done,” she said. “I’d like Lady Alice and me to go to London for my trousseau. I want to dine and dance and ride with my future husband and get to know him without the specter of a man’s death between us.”
“Properly chaperoned, of course,” Lady Atherly said.
“Yes, with Aunt Rachel always at our side.” Stella smiled at Lyndy’s muttered protest.
“Like burrs on a hound dog’s belly,” Aunt Rachel said, winking at him. “Then y’all can have a wedding befitting the son of an earl.”
“I would be happy to oblige,” Reverend Paine said. “If it pleases Your Ladyship.”
“I have no objections, Frances,” Lord Atherly said. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with the expedition in August.”
“It would allow Miss Kendrick the time to learn, and perfect, her duties,” Lady Atherly conceded. Stella inwardly sighed. She had her work cut out for her.
“What do you say, Mr. Kendrick?” Reverend Paine said. “Shall I put the wedding on my calendar for, say, October?”
“Would the bishop
preside over the ceremony?” Daddy asked.
Stella closed her eyes. How did she not anticipate this? Daddy always wanted the best. She’d been surprised he’d agreed to a quiet, unpublicized wedding performed by a village vicar in the first place. Daddy waited for an answer.
“If that is your wish,” Reverend Paine said, bowing his head. He was offended.
“Then it’s settled,” Mr. Kendrick said, rubbing his hands together.
“Is it?” Lady Atherly said. Stella had no idea what concerned the countess now. Lady Atherly looked at what her son was holding. “The ring?”
Stella laughed. How could she forget? She turned to Lyndy again and held out her left hand.
“Are you certain you want to do this?” he whispered, taking her hand in his.
“Do it quickly,” Stella said. “Before I change my mind.”
Lyndy, whether he took her in earnest or not, slipped the ring on her finger without hesitation. The diamonds glittered as Stella held her hand up to the light. It fit perfectly.
“We’ll see if the marriage is as good a fit,” he whispered, a smirk on his lips.
Stella pecked him lightly on those lips. The surprise in his eyes made her smile.
“Yes, we’ll see.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Although I write fiction, I always find inspiration in the history and culture of real people, places and events, such as the New Forest of England.
Now designated a national park, the New Forest is a magical place of ancient trees, open heath and wind-swept coastline. I couldn’t have found a better place to set A Murder at Morrington Hall. Just west of the port of Southampton, within the county of Hampshire, it covers about 220 square miles with approximately fifteen miles of coastline directly across from the Isle of Wight off the south-central coast of England. William the Conqueror called the area Nova Foresta in 1079, not because it was thickly forested but because it was an ideal hunting ground flush with thriving populations of deer. The ancient heathland landscape, which has never been cultivated or intensely farmed, has changed little since. It has been maintained across the millennia through the use of commoning, shared use and management of natural resources, particularly by the grazing of free-range ponies (much to the delight of my equestrian loving heroine), donkeys and cattle. Once found throughout Northern Europe, this form of pastoral economy is believed to now only exist in The New Forest. As the New Forest is complete with colorful place names and landmarks, I only found the need to fictionalize the Earl of Atherly’s estate of Morrington Hall and its associated village of Rosehurst.
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