by Allison Lane
“That’s a dangerous area,” he agreed. “Old Harry Smith died there ten years ago, as I recall.”
“Right. And the Wilsons’ oldest boy a year before that.”
They shook their heads.
“Speaking of old Harry, his granddaughter Jenny married Ned Payne just before Christmas. They are already expecting.”
He sighed. “I remember her as a hoydenish ten-year-old – but that was before I bought colors. Have you anything planned besides this dinner?”
“No. Why?”
“I know little about Northfield’s operation, for I never expected to run it. I will need to spend most of my time with Branson – he is still steward, isn’t he?”
“No. I dismissed him for theft eight years ago.”
“You did?” His shock boded ill for working together.
“Sit down, Justin.” He had surged to his feet. “I did not discuss estate business with you because it was not your concern, and in the shock surrounding Frederick’s death, it slipped my mind in that last letter. Frederick had no interest in estate matters, leaving its supervision in my hands. I will only hit the high spots now. Once you recover from your journey, we can go over the books in detail.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Not really. The estate has always hovered on the verge of destitution, but it is not carrying any debt. You might recall that Frederick left for London within days of our marriage.”
He nodded.
“It did not take me long to realize that Branson was embezzling funds. Since Frederick wanted nothing to do with estate problems, I took the evidence to Mr. Collingsworth.”
“The banker who oversaw father’s local accounts – I doubt he ever knew of those Uncle Horace turned over to Frederick.”
“He cannot have, but he did have authority over the estate until Frederick came of age. He had Branson arrested and transported. Little of the money was ever recovered, but the estate immediately showed higher profits. In order to prevent a recurrence, I started keeping the books myself, with Collingsworth’s approval.”
“So why is the estate on the verge of destitution?”
“Frederick came of age. Until then, I had run the estate myself, using Collingsworth’s authority to make needed changes. But once Frederick gained control, he refused to approve spending for repairs or improvements, taking all profits for his own use. I’ve authorized the most urgent expenditures since he died, but the years have taken a toll on productivity. There isn’t much to work with.”
He still looked uncertain about trusting her judgment, but at least he did not seem angry about it. “Who is the new steward?”
“Fernbeck. He is a good man.”
“Have him meet us in the library tomorrow morning.”
Amelia and Caroline raced into the room, interrupting further talk. Mary cringed, but Justin showed no surprise at Caroline’s garbled greeting. A few soft words brought her under control.
She relaxed. Justin’s affection for his sisters was obvious, especially when contrasted to the polite manners he had accorded her. Which resolved one fear. Frederick had barely tolerated the girls.
Leaving them to catch up on the news, she went upstairs to see that Justin’s rooms were ready. Tomorrow’s meeting should go well. Everything was in order.
So why was the tension spreading across her shoulders? She had nothing to fear.
CHAPTER FOUR
James frowned as he turned toward Ridgeway. Today had been his first visit to Ridgefield since his return. Aside from his call on Isaac, he had passed the week checking the estate records and taking the first steps toward erasing ten years of neglect and mismanagement, starting with the stables.
His father had established a breeding and training program so good that Ridgeway horses had been prized far beyond Shropshire. James had shared his passion for the stables, which accounted for most of their rapport. It was one area in which the heir had been an admitted disappointment. John had been a good rider, but he had relieved his frustrations on anything handy, so animals invariably learned to fear him.
Thus John’s desecration of the stables must have been deliberate. The damage far surpassed simple neglect. Had John struck back at his father and brother by destroying an interest he had not shared, or had it been an attempt to imprint his own stamp on Ridgeway by eliminating anything he did not like?
It didn’t matter. The damage was done, and though he had no plans to live here, he had to repair enough stabling to handle his cattle during visits. Mistreating animals was unacceptable.
Estate business had not consumed all his time, of course. He had passed several pleasant hours with his friends. And despite the vast amount of work needed to restore Ridgeway, he had not neglected John’s murder. His secretary would hire the most tenacious Bow Street runner to investigate John’s activities. If the murder had roots in London or along the south coast, the runner would find them. In the meantime, James would look here. Isaac might prefer an outside killer, but James suspected the culprit would be found near the crime.
But the search would not be easy. The servants were no help. John had trained them to be deaf, blind, and dumb. Until they trusted him, they would reveal nothing. He had thought town gossip might help, for murder must still be a popular topic. But his visit had raised far more questions than it had answered.
The first man he had encountered had nearly expired of shock, as had the second. By the time he met the third, word had spread, but people still recoiled when meeting him face to face. They answered his questions with monosyllables, feigning ignorance on even innocuous topics. And though it was often mixed with uncertainty and curiosity, fear lurked in every eye.
So Mary’s reaction had been normal, removing his only evidence against her. The realization lightened his heart far more than it should have – to say nothing of heating his privates. He shook his head in disgust. Lusting after a widow of questionable virtue usually led to a pleasant interlude, but not this time. Mary had once been a friend. Honor forbade him to bed her.
He snorted.
Who was he trying to gull? Bedding her was the most delectable idea he’d had in years. She had invaded his dreams every night since he had encountered her in the woods. But a liaison was out of the question. He would remain celibate for life rather than share a woman with John.
Shifting in the saddle, he forced his mind back to business. He had to find John’s killer. And Mary might still be guilty. Her situation made her an ideal target for blackmail, so he must confront her.
And clear her of suspicion, whispered his mind.
Of course, he replied in irritation. And once he cleared her, he would solicit her cooperation. She had known John better than anyone, so she could reduce his list of suspects. Even if she had come to hate John, her sense of justice would force her to help.
He certainly needed her assistance. At the moment, his suspects were legion. The Ridgeway servants had feared John. His father’s servants had hated him. Today’s trip to town proved that everyone feared, hated, or distrusted him. As did the tenants.
So his list included hundreds of people from every social class. Hatred might not lead to murder, but fear was a powerful emotion. Even a weak man could strike back out of fear.
What had John done here? Isaac had hinted at various crimes in other places – and James knew of several problems in London – but the local situation was far worse than he had imagined. Arrogance would annoy people. Flagrant debauchery might disgust them. But every person he had met since his arrival acted like a victim of deliberate brutality. Could John have actually hurt so many?
Damn the guilt! He should not have let his twin drive him away. Surely he could have tempered John’s conduct had he been here. At least he could have protected people from spite.
But admitting that John acted out of spite reminded him of why he had left. In the week between their father’s death and the reading of the will, John’s natural arrogance had hardened into a selfishness tha
t had reveled in his new powers. Never one to follow orders, the new John had bristled at even the hint of a suggestion. His senseless commands invited protest that he gleefully punished – but often indirectly.
John enjoyed inflicting pain, especially long-lasting emotional pain. And he was a master at it – hurting James by mistreating the tenants; avenging a woman’s rejection by ruining her husband’s business; punishing a tenant who protested a rent increase by arranging the disappearance of his son. Rumors had suggested press gangs, but James feared the lad had been sold into slavery.
Those were just three cases he knew about, all occurring in that single week. How many others remained secret? How many new incidents had happened in the years since?
Yet John’s spite did little to banish his own guilt. There must have been some way to keep his twin under control. Leaving had given John free rein to raise havoc among the Ridgeway dependents.
Sighing, he cantered across the park. Grass and shrubs ran rampant. Oaks were missing, weeds choked the drive, and the stone bridge remained damaged three years after a flood. Most of the problems related to money.
His fault, he acknowledged through a new wave of guilt. The truth was written in the ledgers he had studied in recent days. The damage hadn’t all been spite. John had plunged into rebuilding the fortune James had inherited, cutting staff expenses, squeezing every possible penny from the tenants, and throwing that income into any investment that promised substantial returns. Most had lost. And the estate James loved now lay in shambles.
He could hear John laughing.
If only their father had lived long enough to revise his will as he had vowed to do during their final confrontation.
His last visit had started innocently enough. He had returned from a house party at Holkham Hall, bursting with Coke’s latest ideas for agricultural reform. John had been in London, but James had not considered that significant. After two weeks of discussions, and with support from the vicar and several neighbors, his father had agreed to make some changes – acquiring a second breeding stallion to expand the stables; combining two tenant farms to give Walsh enough land to make a decent living; giving the dispossessed Lane a stake he could use to emigrate to America; implementing a better crop rotation plan to improve productivity. The earl had also agreed to install James as an overseer to the steward until the man mastered the latest agricultural methods.
He sighed.
Not until John’s return did he learn that his brother tolerated no interference in his affairs. As heir, he demanded a voice in every decision concerning Ridgeway. His fury had prompted the earl to abandon all the planned changes.
But retaining the status quo had not satisfied John. He had sought retribution, aiming his vindictiveness at anyone who might have benefited. Guilt had dogged James for years, for he had left before John’s fury was spent, so he could only imagine the lengths to which his brother had gone. How many innocents had suffered because he had tried to help them?
It was that guilt that had delayed his trip to Ridgeway. He hadn’t been ready to face the damage – or the victims. Without his interference, they would not have suffered, for John’s actions had been devised to hurt James more than the hapless tenants and tradesmen who were his actual targets. John had long known that James felt other people’s pain more deeply than his own, especially when that pain arose from injustice.
He cursed himself daily for his blindness. Why had he never understood that John had been determined to sever his twin’s connection to Ridgeway and would go to any lengths to achieve that goal? He should have stayed in London that year or built a new life for himself somewhere else.
But enlightenment had come much later. When their father had canceled the reforms, James had held his tongue, not even pointing out that the changes would benefit John in the long run. The earl had been glad to avoid a worse confrontation, dropping any mention of the subject. So when he had demanded a meeting two days later, James had thought nothing of it.
He had expected an apology for capitulating to John’s tantrum. Or perhaps an offer to put the breeding operation under his control, since John had no interest in it. But the earl had been anything but amiable, lashing out before James even got through the doorway.
How dare you ravish the Price girl? After everything I’ve done for you, how can you repay me with this!
The shock had snapped his own temper. Accepting responsibility for John’s pranks was one thing, but he refused to admit to such calumny. And so he’d offered his alibi and accused John.
Liar, his father had shouted. I’ve given you chances to reform before, but this time you’ve gone too far. Denying your guilt is bad enough, but trying to pass the blame onto your innocent brother is unforgivable. I’ve often regretted your misfortune at being second, but I should have listened to those who recognized the malicious resentment you have harbored all these years. It is time to rectify the mistakes of the past by removing any opportunity for further trouble. You will leave Ridgeway forever. No more allowance; no more sweeping your crimes under the rug. I am writing you out of my will. You are no longer my son.
But the earl had died before his solicitor arrived. And the will had left James a fortune with the explanation, for my younger son, who missed a birthright through a quirk of fate.
John had been furious. Never once had he suspected that James would inherit more than the usual second son’s portion. And he had fired the solicitor on the spot when he learned that the money had been transferred to James’s account on the day the old earl died. Bradshaw had known John well enough to expect trouble. John would never have turned over a shilling.
James frowned. No orders. John had been gone for six months before his death. The servants had done nothing during that time, for John had left no orders. Thus his departure must have been sudden. Why? Had he received bad news from town? Or had he been fleeing vengeance? Perhaps he had chosen the wrong victim for one of his crimes. It gave James something to investigate.
So which of the locals might have kept his anger hot for six months? He could not believe that a sudden argument had led to such a brutal crime. Killing, maybe, but not torture.
Don’t lose sight of any possibilities. You don’t know what started that feud – or when. It was important to identify the killer’s grievance, but it might have started two or three visits ago, or even more. John’s trips to Ridgeway had been sporadic. He had appeared without warning, inflicted instant chaos, then left within days.
James had no real suspects. And he needed help from someone who lived in the area. This visit to town proved that he had little chance of succeeding on his own. Fearing he was another John, people would tell him even less than they had told Isaac.
Which brought him back to Mary. It was odd how his thoughts always circled back to her. She knew everyone, so could direct him to people who might be willing to talk. She would know what rumors were current, who had started them, and might even know who was guilty.
But even with help, finding the killer would take time. There seemed to be a conspiracy of silence on the subject. He was going to be here far longer than the fortnight he had expected.
* * * *
James set his plans in motion at the Northrup party that evening. But it wasn’t easy.
“You look lovely,” he told Mary, slipping up behind her the moment she abandoned the receiving line. And she was lovely. Her blonde hair was caught up in an arrangement of waves and curls that made his fingers itch to touch it. It would cascade to her hips once he removed the pins. The image of all that hair spread in a halo over his pillow nearly blinded him.
He cursed.
Her only adornment was a locket on a thin gold chain that he recognized as having been her mother’s. Its simplicity drew further attention to her charms.
She looked at him doubtfully. “Thank you, my lord, but I cannot hold a candle to Amelia. I doubt you recall her, since you’ve been away so long.”
And somehow he found himself tal
king to Amelia Northrup, with Mary nowhere in sight. The elder Northrup girl was small, delicate, and so serene that she would have disappeared into the walls if she had been plainer. After exchanging a few innocuous comments, she asked about London, so he handed her off to Harry, claiming that he knew little of the city.
It took a quarter hour to corner Mary again, because every guest wanted a word with him. They were better at hiding their fears than the servants and merchants had been, but the same questions blazed in their eyes.
“I need to talk with you for a moment,” he murmured into Mary’s ear. “Is there someplace we could go that is private?”
“Gracious! Surely you were taught better manners!” she scoffed, making no attempt to sound genial. “No hostess can leave the drawing room this close to dinner. Why don’t you relax and enjoy the evening?”
Before he could dredge up an apology, he found himself conversing with Caroline Northrup, a vivacious beauty who should have attracted his eyes earlier. But he had murder on his mind, and a ten-year-old affair was eating holes in his gut. He was so angry at the practiced way she had again slipped out of his clutches that it took him a moment to realize that Caroline’s vivacity bordered on hysteria.
She was trying to control it, clenching her hands whenever she spoke, but fear lurked in her eyes; her gaze darted about the room, studiously avoiding him; her words bumped into one another, becoming so garbled he could barely follow her conversation; and her coloring brightened and faded, sputtering like a badly trimmed wick.
Either she was terrified of him, or the excitement of the evening was too much for her. So he introduced her to Edwin. If anyone could calm her down, Edwin could.
He grimaced. In the two minutes since their last exchange, Mary had worked her way to the far side of the room. He followed.
“Thank goodness Lord Northrup finally returned,” said a horse-faced woman as he passed. “He will keep Lady Northrup in line. And about time.” Creases of disapproval were permanently etched into her face, but the words hinted that Mary was not a pillar of the community.
