by Allison Lane
Pressing on, he passed Miss Hardaway, who had been the most vicious village gossip since before his birth.
“Mourning. Hmph!” she snorted at her companion. “She did not care a whit for Northrup – not that any of us did. No one would have thought twice if she had refused to mourn him, but she pounced on the chance to escape scrutiny for a year.” Another snort split the air. “But she was mistaken if she thought it would put her conduct beyond censure. We all know she visited Captain Stone twice a week for more than a month.”
“But he was recovering from injuries,” protested her friend.
“Not by then. He returned to the Peninsula when he left here.”
James bit back a retort. It sounded like John was far from Mary’s only paramour – not that her morals were his concern. But he had to wonder why Isaac was courting her if everyone knew about her liaisons. It didn’t jibe with the man who had once been his friend.
Enough! They had business to discuss once he cleared her of complicity in John’s death – he could not picture his response if she was guilty.
But she would be innocent. The fact that everyone in the room knew about her fall from grace eliminated any motive. If John had no leverage, she had no grievance. So he could solicit her help to find the killer.
Get this over with so you can relax.
But he could not reach her. Every time he paused to respond to a greeting, she slipped farther away. Her unwillingness to face him exasperated him beyond bearing. But not until dinner did he realize her true purpose. He was seated between Amelia and Caroline, with Harry and Edwin on their other sides.
Matchmaker! Damn!
His own purpose had blinded him to hers. How could he have missed the signs? He would have to step as carefully as he had done in London. Marriage had to wait until he had finished with the past. But even if he were ready to wed, he would never choose the Northrup girls. They might be fine young ladies, but they seemed little more than children. So he set himself to be scrupulously polite but aloof. It was an act he had perfected.
He couldn’t really blame Mary, he decided over the second course. He had haunted the Marriage Mart for two months, using his spurious search for a wife as an excuse to avoid Ridgeway. She had probably seen his name in the society columns. And he would have to marry soon. A title carried many responsibilities, one of which was to produce an heir.
But he would not look in London when the time came. He wanted a wife who could also be a friend, one that saw beyond his wealth and title. The girls making their bows had been giggly and empty-headed, unable to converse intelligently on any topic beyond fashion and gossip. Many of them hung on his arm despite overt wariness over his kinship to John. And they were so young, so ignorant, so incredibly naïve…
Perhaps his travels had aged him unduly, but every one of the chits made him feel as old as Methuselah. Never mind that he was only three-and-thirty. It was a problem that would only worsen with time, so he had to wind up this business soon.
The ladies retired, leaving the gentlemen to their port. Conversation grew predictably bawdy as guests relieved themselves one by one in the chamber pot, but James remained silent, assessing each man as he recalled what he knew of him.
Isaac, former friend and local magistrate. Had he investigated any of John’s questionable activities? John would have retaliated, which might have forced Isaac into an escalating battle. Or John may have persecuted Isaac solely because he had been James’s friend.
Sir Richard Redfield, whose son was the neighborhood scamp. He had seen parents go to incredible lengths to protect their children. Had John threatened the boy in reprisal for a prank?
Sir Maxwell Granger, a staid, unimaginative baronet, whose estate was older even than Ridgeway. Sir Maxwell was excessively proud of its history, and frequently compared it to others – always in his own favor. Had he made disparaging remarks about Ridgeway that John had taken as personal insults? Ridgeway’s deterioration made it likely. But would that lead to murder?
Lord Holcolme and his cousin Edward. James knew little of either, but Edward was about his own age, so he would have known John in London, and perhaps also at Oxford.
Colonel Davis, still hale, though he must be seventy. His son had been stationed in India when James first arrived, though they had only spoken twice. Now the man was serving on the Peninsula. But he could imagine no conflict between the colonel and John – unless the rumors were true that John was involved in smuggling. Many smugglers aided French spies, infuriating every military man in the country.
The new vicar, who was oddly outspoken for a man of the cloth.
The doctor, two solicitors, and half a dozen young people he could not place – friends of Northrup, he supposed. They would have been children on his last visit.
His eyes finally rested on his host. Northrup had also been in India, though they had not met there. Did that hold any significance? Northrup was the one man who was truly innocent of murder, yet he was the most hostile man in the room. His eyes hardened whenever he glanced at James. Only the presence of others kept his teeth unbared. Was Northrup another who was reacting to his looks? But that made little sense. Northrup had been abroad for years. Even virulent hatred should have dissipated. Did his remain, or was it new?
Perhaps he had only recently learned of some serious offense. He might look askance on John’s affair with Mary. Or was there a worse crime that had struck directly at Northrup’s family?
* * * *
“I really must talk with you privately,” James murmured to Mary once the gentlemen reached the drawing room. She was settling the older guests at card tables. Most of the younger ones had repaired to the music room for informal dancing.
Irritation flashed across her face. “If you are offering for one of my sisters, talk to Northrup.”
“I am not interested in either of your sisters, and Northrup cannot help me. He’s been gone nearly as long as I have. Surely you can spare me five minutes. No one will miss you. They are engrossed in cards.”
“Persistent, aren’t you?” She sighed, but led the way to a small sitting room.
He shut the door firmly behind them. “Do you have to treat me like a pariah?” He regretted the question the moment the words burst out.
“Am I neglecting my guests so you can complain because I’m not falling at your feet in adoration?”
“No. I am trying to find my brother’s killer,” he said bluntly. “But it isn’t easy. He accumulated enemies the way Shelford collects driving records.” Shelford was a noted Corinthian who spent much of his life racing.
“Why come to me? Squire Church is conducting the investigation.”
“I know. I already spoke with him, but he is satisfied to let the matter go.”
“Without evidence, what would you suggest he do?”
He shrugged. “Maybe he is right, and the killer came from elsewhere. I have men checking that possibility. But I don’t believe he ever seriously considered the local connection. Thus he hasn’t asked the right questions. Every person in the district must have a theory about who killed John. Since you knew him better than anyone, I want to hear yours.”
She frowned. “Where did you get that idea? He was Frederick’s friend, not mine.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted, anxious to get this phase of the conversation finished. “I don’t care what either of you did. John was despicable, but that does not give anyone the right to kill him. Even you.”
“Me?” she spat. “Did the Indian sun addle your wits? What earthly reason would I have to take a life?”
“I want justice, Mary.” He walked close enough to loom over her. “And I don’t care what secrets I have to expose to get it. I’ve known about your affair for years. I doubt you entered it by choice, but even if it continued until John’s death, I wouldn’t blame you. Your husband was rarely at home.” He had not intended to say that much, but the words poured out, leaving gaping wounds behind. Damn John! And damn Mary. He care
d, all right. No matter how much he deplored the idea, he cared.
“What affair?” she demanded, her face so white he feared she might swoon. She hadn’t reacted that strongly to his accusation of murder. Did she think no one knew?
“Don’t play the innocent with me, Mary. John told me about it ten years ago.”
“My name is Lady Northrup,” she snarled, retreating from his intimidating stance until she had put a table between them. She fingered a pair of scissors as if she considered stabbing him. “You are as despicable as your brother, and far more stupid. I can’t believe you can be that credulous.”
“Credulous?” His voice dripped ice.
“Are you blind, my lord?” She slammed the scissors back onto the table and glared at him. “Can you actually believe a word he said? You, of all people, should know how he twisted facts. He was no gentleman. Winning and exercising his power were more important to him than truth or honor. How many falsehoods did he spread about you?”
“But—”
“But nothing. I never believed that you killed your father, though John told everyone that you had fled rather than admit to striking him down. In fact, most of the rumors surrounding your departure originated with him.”
Dear God! “I left because John threatened to evict the Thompsons and abuse Cotter and the other tenants if I stayed.”
“That sounds like him. John was contemptible. He routinely cheated tradesmen. He reveled in making the tenants struggle to meet their rents – which he raised whenever higher corn prices made their lot bearable. He brutalized more than one of his servants. Whoever killed him deserves a reward for outstanding service to the community.”
“Are you claiming that you never had an affair with him?” he demanded, struggling to understand her words. Had that white face been fury rather than fear?
“I’m telling you that your brother would say anything to carry an argument.” She twisted her face into a sneer. “But you are like everyone else. Believing him justifies having designs on me yourself. Well, forget it. I deplore affairs and could never consider one with a man who can only remind me of the neighborhood scourge.”
“No one gets that angry over injustices to others.” He ignored her other charges as well as his own fury whenever he encountered injustice. “What did he do to incite such hatred? Did he ravish you?”
“Of course not! I would have killed him myself if he’d tried. I’ve seen the results too often.”
“Why would a rape victim come to you? Everyone believed you to be his mistress,” he scoffed, again failing to censor his tongue.
“Not everyone – especially before my marriage; the vicarage welcomed those in trouble.” She sighed, turning away. “Calm down and think, my lord. John had no need to steal my virtue. He could inflict far more pain by stealing my reputation.”
Which he had done. James clenched his fists, recalling the snide remarks that had filled the drawing room before dinner. Country memories were long, meaning that malicious rumors would remain forever. What had she suffered? And why?
Stupid! The why was easy – to hurt him. By befriending Mary, he had drawn John’s wrath onto her head. So he must somehow rescue her reputation.
He should have questioned John’s veracity long ago. Instinct had tried to warn him at the time, but he hadn’t listened – and wasn’t listening now, he realized grimly. She had been describing John’s tactics, most of which he’d missed.
“And he drew my husband into repeated trouble,” she continued, pacing the room. “John was a profligate wastrel – not that it mattered to a man of his means. But Frederick could not afford such a life. The ones who suffered the most were his sisters.”
“Is that why you are throwing them at my head?” he demanded. “Am I supposed to pick one and launch the other to make up for John’s sins?”
“Not at all. I would never approve a match based on guilt. Both parties would be miserable. Nor would I consider a match at all now that I see how unreasonable you have become. Perhaps I discounted the rumors too quickly. I had remembered you as a man who treated people fairly. Unfortunately, maturity has robbed you of your virtues while repairing none of your naïve blindness.”
“That is hardly a fair assessment, my lady. And not typical of someone who used to weigh all the evidence before jumping to conclusions.”
The address was an attempt to regain lost ground. He had badly mishandled this meeting. His biggest error had been believing John. Thus he had hurled unconscionable charges at her face. He would not have treated the lowliest tenant like that, so why had he done it to Mary? Her title might derive through marriage, but even the vicar’s daughter he had once befriended deserved more respect than he had shown.
She was innocent, both of murder and of liaisons with John. His heart leaped for joy, swelling until he feared it might burst.
Slow down, he admonished himself, fighting to steady his breathing. This wasn’t the moment to pursue his desire. His accusations had put her back up – as her vow proved. His second mistake had been his failure to anticipate her reaction. Thus he had inadvertently alienated her. She would likely refuse to see him again.
He must remember this lesson in the future, he noted in an aside. He could not accuse anyone without shackling his hands. They were already tied too well by his kinship with John.
So he had two problems. He still needed her help. And now that he had removed John from the picture, he wanted her in his bed. But she would require wooing – especially after this fiasco.
Yet even wooing wouldn’t work if she refused to see him. So he must convince her to join his investigation. It would provide frequent contact. By the time they discovered John’s killer, they would have reestablished their friendship – and more. It was a clandestine approach, but the only one available.
“We have drifted far from the subject,” he said, injecting as much respect as possible into his voice. “Please accept my apologies for allowing my emotions to control my tongue. John’s insinuations had been eating at me, for I had not expected that from you. But that is no excuse for my unmannerly display.”
She stared stonily at him.
“Please, Mary. Even if you cannot forgive my lapse, I do need help. And you are the best one to provide it. I have to find John’s killer. Who had the worst grievances against him?”
She shrugged. “Take your pick. The only one who did not hate him was Frederick.”
“But hatred does not usually lead to murder. That would take a mixture of fury and fear. Did he do anything worse than usual in the last year or two?”
“Who knows?” She wandered over to the window and gazed into the darkness for several minutes. He had nearly decided she would say no more when she turned back to face him. “Mourning prevented me from hearing gossip. In fact, I did not even know John had come to Ridgeway at Christmas until after his body was found. And I know of nothing that might keep someone’s anger hot for months. But even if I did, I would not tell you. John was evil.”
“Perhaps. But he was also my brother. I cannot condone murder.”
“Nor I as a rule, but every rule has an exception. Instead of wasting your time looking for his killer, why don’t you repair some of the damage he caused?”
He raised his brows in a silent question, hoping to learn more. He had already taken steps to address the problems revealed in the estate records, but he doubted they represented all of John’s crimes.
“Your tenants pay twice the rent they should, and John authorized no repairs. Not even to Lane’s barn, which has all but collapsed. The mill has stood empty since Tate died, forcing people to travel many miles to grind their grain. And you should talk to Barnes at the Lusty Maiden. John held a house party at Ridgeway last year. The guests gathered at the inn one night for a boisterous party that burned down one wing. John refused to pay for the damages, so Barnes could not rebuild. The next day, the same group trampled most of Wilson’s crops, breaking fences and killing livestock for sport. I forgave W
ilson’s rents last year to keep him out of debtors prison, but he is still suffering. I lacked the resources to do more.”
“You did?” But his surprise waned when he remembered that her husband had died shortly afterward. He didn’t know he had said the words aloud until she answered.
“Frederick’s death made no difference. I have run Northfield for years. Even before John corrupted him, Frederick preferred that I do so.” She glanced at the mantel clock. “I must return to my guests. Forget John’s killer. No one will thank you for persecuting a man who did us all a favor. Redress his crimes, then turn your attention to the future.”
She was gone before he could respond.
James paced the sitting room for several minutes. He could sympathize with her thinking, but he could not drop the subject until he understood what had happened, and why. Guilt would not allow it.
Yes, John’s behavior had been despicable. But it was worse than it might have been without his twin’s provocation. Left to his own devices, John would have lived out his life in London, wallowing in dissipation and debauchery – very like Devereaux was doing. The estate would have drifted into disrepair, but the tenants and staff would have survived.
But John had not been given that option. James had inherited the money that should have supported that London life. Disappointment and fury had erupted in a tantrum aimed at anything James loved.
Yet John’s anger had run deeper than pique over the fortune, James admitted, sinking into a chair. The will had merely been the last straw on a mountain of grievances, not all of them minor. There was the time twelve-year-old John had spooked Cotter’s team, spilling a load of grain into the river and ruining it. James had chided him for carelessly harming a tenant, not only proving that he alone genuinely cared for their dependents – and betraying the vulnerability John had later exploited – but inadvertently revealing the deed to their father, who had arrived in time to overhear the details. John’s punishment had been severe.
There had been the incident in the stable when they were sixteen. John’s rough handling had sent a stallion into a frenzy. It might have sustained fatal injuries, but James had calmed the horse, earning his father’s gratitude and demonstrating the contrast between the brothers. Again John had been punished.
