by Allison Lane
And probably had, he admitted, ignoring the pain in his stomach. Thus John would have known about the second fortune he’d earned in India, would have heard about the Haven’s prosperity and the growing respect James received from his neighbors. Despite exploiting the tenants, and despite the regular infusions of unexplained cash, John had died deeply in debt. How that must have rankled.
Jealousy. Even admitting John’s need for power had not opened his eyes to the entire truth. Why had he never understood? Despite his instinctive decision to never compete against John – even choosing to attend different schools – he had earned numerous accolades over the years. Only now did he realize that John’s most vicious acts had always followed one of his own triumphs.
He could never again chastise anyone for naïve blindness. He had suffered from that affliction for three-and-thirty years.
His stomach turned over, forcing him to swallow hard. John had craved respect, but he had never understood what respect was, instead settling for fear. To validate his worth, he had exercised his power on everyone he met, demanding obedience, punishing any transgression, and accepting the resulting terror as proof of his stature.
His eyes itched.
“I will talk to Cotter,” he said aloud. “Jem was always the brightest tenant. Perhaps I can set his fears to rest.”
And maybe learn something useful. Would Cotter know where John had been going that last day?
* * * *
Cotter was repairing the latch on the barn door when James rode into the yard and dismounted. The look of terror in the man’s eyes smote his heart. No matter how often he saw it, he still cringed. Perhaps he should wear a sack over his head or grow a beard – anything to differentiate him from John.
“My lord,” said Cotter, doffing his cap.
“Jem.” Tears tickled his eyes as he took in the barn and other buildings. All seemed on the verge of tumbling down. The thatch on the cottage was rotting. Fences were in disrepair. Dear God, how could anyone force his dependents to live in such squalor?
He turned back to Jem. “Somehow I will rectify my brother’s abuses.”
Cotter nodded, but said nothing.
“Give me a chance, Jem,” he pleaded. Not that the tenants would have much choice, he conceded silently. They had nowhere else to go. He closed his eyes. When he reopened them, Cotter hadn’t moved a muscle. “We’ll discuss your farm later, but first I need to ask about Walden. I cannot keep him on, for he is associated too closely with John’s spite. Did he willingly carry out John’s orders, or did he do so under duress?”
“Why?”
“I must decide whether to write him a recommendation. Talk to me, Jem. You are the smartest man on the estate and the only one I can trust to tell me the truth.”
Something flared in Jem’s eyes. He held his pose of studied deference a few seconds longer before fury engulfed him. Grabbing James’s shoulders, he slammed him into the barn door.
Stars exploded through his head.
“Trust?” Jem bellowed. “How can you claim to trust me after threatening to throw me off my land unless I stopped ignoring John’s orders?”
James made no effort to fight back, though this was too much like his last call at Northfield. Then the import of Jem’s words punched him in the stomach.
“Oh, God!” Every drop of blood drained from his head as the full extent of John’s evil penetrated. “When was this?”
“Eight years ago.” But his voice was suddenly uncertain.
“Jem, I haven’t set foot in Shropshire since my father’s funeral. Eight years ago, I was in Naples – Italy.”
“Then that means—”
“He was impersonating me, may he roast in hell for all eternity. Devil take it, I never believed he could go this far.”
Jem was shaking as he brushed splinters from James’s coat. “I shoulda known. I shoulda known. But you always looked so different. I never had no trouble tellin’ you apart before.”
“Yet the faces were identical.” John had not always glowered. He had been capable of smiles and charm. That was how he had seduced so many women.
“You really stayed away?” Jem’s voice cracked, driving new pain into James’s heart.
“I thought it would help. John threatened reprisals against all of you if I returned. I should have realized that he had other reasons for wanting me gone.”
“He always was a shifty one.”
He nodded. “I did not return to England until five years ago. I’ve lived in Lincolnshire since then.”
“Forgive me for striking you, my lord.”
“Of course,” he said, though they both knew the offense was grounds for transportation. “You had more than ample cause. How often did he impersonate me?”
“Often enough the first couple of years. You’d show up at the Court for a day or two – looking for something to pawn, like as not, striking any as tried to keep you out, then reminding them to stay quiet because John would do worse if he learned they’d let you in. Everyone knew that meant a beating besides being turned off – and sometimes transportation. After that, he stopped identifying himself by name. We never knew who was here. He’d do things one visit that he denied the next. Many’s the man who won’t believe it wasn’t you, but it’s glad I am to know you haven’t changed so very much.”
“Thank you, Jem.” A weight lifted from his shoulders, lightening his heart. This explained the staff’s continued suspicion. He would have to sit down with Forbes and Mrs. Washburn. If he could convince them of the truth, perhaps they could persuade the rest. If not, he would have no choice but to let the servants go and start over.
He frowned. It might be better if he paved the way by encouraging his valet and groom to talk about their travels. Proving he was out of the country would raise enough doubts that most would accept the rest.
“You asked about Walden.” Jem paused in thought. “I can’t say how he really feels. He carried out every order, right enough. Real scrupulous about it, but he never pressed beyond the exact order. If John told him to raise rents if the price of rye went up, he would do nothing if barley rose.”
“Did he ever lend a hand like Forbes and Mrs. Washburn?”
“So you know about that?”
He nodded.
“There’s some as woulda died without them.”
Another nod.
“No, Walden never helped a soul – but more from weakness than evil. The earl woulda turned him off and seen he never got another position. Walden has no family he could turn to if that happened.”
“I will write him a reference, then. But I cannot keep him here. I need men of conviction in my employ – and compassion. I can’t know everything, so I want people to tell me their problems.”
“You’ll have to be patient. Most will hold off for a good long time out of fear.”
Too true. James bit back a sigh before turning to new business. “How much of the neglect here can be repaired, and how much will require tearing down and building new?”
Jem laughed. “I am in better shape than it would appear. The insides are fine.” He led James into the barn, which showed care. “I learned real quick to make the place look as bad as possible. That kept my rents lower than they might have been. John wasn’t here much, and he never did more than ride past. Walden investigated only when John told him to.”
“You always were a wily one. So your problems can be readily repaired?”
“Most. Thompson’s same as me, but Lane is in bad shape – worse than anyone, I expect. He often complained, so he drew a lot of attention before he learned to keep his mouth shut.”
Which would have taken time. James doubted the other tenants had taught him the lesson. Lane was too loose-lipped to have chanced him mentioning their ploys to Walden.
He let out a deep sigh, hoping his next question would not resurrect Jem’s distrust. “I have to find out who killed John. Any idea where he was going that last day?”
“You’d best let
it go,” advised Jem. “If ever a man deserved death, it was your brother. If I knew who did it, I’d pin a medal on the lad.”
“That may well be, but killing is wrong. You know that, Jem. And once a man kills, he is likely to do so again. The second time is easier. I have to know who, and I have to know why. Only then can we let it rest. Who had he harmed the most in the last year?”
“I won’t name anyone,” insisted Jem. “There is not a man in the parish that didn’t have a grievance with him. Who’s to say which one acted? Who’s to say what broke the fellow’s control? Mayhap it wasn’t the worst offense.”
“Mayhap. But someone attacked me last week, staging an accident that might have proved fatal. Perhaps it was related. Perhaps not. But don’t expect me to ignore it.”
Jem’s face grew troubled. “I hadn’t heard.”
“It is not something I want passed on. But knowing that John impersonated me suggests that it was the same person who killed him. So who has a grievance?”
“Everyone.”
“What’s yours?”
“Besides the farm?”
James nodded.
“He raped my wife.”
“Oh, God.”
“It happened not long after you left. She was a servant up at the house – Molly.”
“I remember her, I think. Brown curly hair, always laughing?”
“That’s Molly. She was barely fifteen and hadn’t had the position long. John first noticed her about the time the old earl died. He already had a bad reputation with the servants, so she tried to avoid him. But he cornered her in the linen room. I found her trying to drown herself in the lake.”
“How badly was she hurt?”
“Bad enough. She refused to go back to the house – I would have fought her if she’d tried – but her parents would not allow her home. So I married her.”
“Was there a child?” He had to ask, though the idea choked him.
“No.” Jem let out a long breath. “I thanked God for sparing me that. I doubt I could have raised his child.”
“Nor I. You are a good man, Jem. And a lucky one. I’m surprised he didn’t penalize you for helping her.”
“He may not have known. He left for town before we wed. I doubt he remembered her by the time he returned.”
“Try to recall anything that happened either during his last visit or the one before. Even the small things. As you proved just now, a minor event can push a man over the edge if he has enough previous provocation.” He nodded toward the barn door. “It’s no longer simply a matter of justice. I will not live in fear of my life.”
Jem looked uncertain, but he nodded.
James’s heart was heavy as he rode back to the estate. Every new fact about John made his evil more apparent. How could he have turned out so different from his twin?
That’s what scared him the most. He and John were identical, so the seeds of John’s evil must also exist in him. Would they someday sprout?
A word with Mrs. Washburn confirmed that John had stalked the maids, especially the young, pretty ones. She had hired only older women, but that had not prevented all abuse. John had assaulted one of the women two years earlier, in partnership with Lord Northrup.
James shook his head, diverted from his own problems. John and Frederick had shared conquests. What must Mary have suffered married to such a man? Had Frederick forced her to entertain his friend?
Nausea rolled through his stomach. But a moment’s reflection dismissed the possibility. Mary had not produced an heir. No matter how debauched Frederick had been, he would never have risked her bearing another man’s son.
But this added evidence that Frederick’s death had been deliberate. Isaac had dismissed the idea that John’s murder was the result of an affair gone sour. But it might still be connected with a girl. And Frederick might have been involved.
He had to interview Turnby. The old groom must know something.
CHAPTER TEN
“Lord Ridgeway is asking questions about the murder,” reported Miss Hardaway as she poured a second cup of tea.
“Hardly a surprise,” replied Mary. “John was evil, but he was Ridgeway’s brother. He wants to know what happened.”
“He should leave well enough alone. If ever a man deserved death, it was the ninth earl.”
“Agreed.” Mary nibbled a biscuit, wondering if her hostess knew anything that would help James in his quest. But asking would tie her name to his and shut off any confidences. So she would change the subject. Disinterest usually drew more information from the gossip. And even if it didn’t, every conversation in months had eventually returned to the murder. “I hear the Thompson girl is working at the Court now.”
“Dangerous. How does she know this earl is not like the last one?” said Miss Hardaway with a snort. “She should have waited until we knew more about his lordship.”
“James was always different from John.”
“He tried to give that impression to establish his own identity, but blood always tells in the end – as Becky Thompson will learn all too soon, if she hasn’t already. She is no better than she should be.” Her glare implied that Mary knew exactly how that felt.
“A little flirting after Sunday services does not make her unchaste.” Yet she was worried about the girl – and not because of James. She could not imagine him misusing servants as John had done. But what would a rake like Crenshaw do with a comely maid?
“Hmph! I don’t trust any of those gentlemen. No sensible girl would seek employment in a bachelor household. And what has Ridgeway been doing these last years? Nothing good, I’ll warrant.”
“Traveling. Northrup says he spent some time in India.”
“Traveling!” A crumb landed on the floor that her pug promptly licked up. “Why would anyone want to visit such heathenish places?”
Mary sipped her tea, offering no answer.
“Evil,” Miss Hardaway intoned. “He shares his twin’s evil. The vicar heard that he had dealings with Napoleon.”
“I cannot believe it.”
“How else can you explain his presence in France long after the peace collapsed? He had Napoleon’s protection.” She nodded in triumph. “Ridgeway may still be working for that monster.”
“But what could Napoleon want here?” asked Mary, trying to defuse her intensity. The tale sounded shocking, but she knew from long experience that the vicar reveled in malicious gossip and had no regard for accuracy.
“To murder us in our beds, most like.” She shuddered. “But that’s not all. Ridgeway knows some very suspicious people in London, according to Mr. Dunning.”
“Perhaps, but I’d need more than Dunning’s word before I believed it. Why he claimed only last week that his great-grandfather’s ghost killed four of his cows.”
“Well…” Miss Hardaway bit into a lemon biscuit, then slipped the rest to her pug. Every year the dog became noticeably fatter. “That was silly, of course. But even if he is wrong, the Thompson girl will be sorry for taking a position at the Court. No matter how well they behave in public, gentlemen are bound to drink more than is seemly and assault the servants. Sir Richard met that Mr. Crenshaw in town – and you cannot dispute his credit.”
“No. Even Sir Edwin agrees that Mr. Crenshaw’s reputation is less than decorous.” The admission revived her fears for Amelia.
“You see? I hope Robby can protect Becky Thompson. He’s been sweet on her for some time.”
“Robby?”
“Robby Hayes. My footman’s brother. He is generally quite sensible – except for working at Ridgeway, of course. He only met John on that last day, but if the earl had not died, he might have turned the boy off. Or worse.” She shuddered delicately.
“Really?” She tried to sound disbelieving. It was the first time anyone had mentioned that day to her. Most of the talk speculated on why John had been murdered.
“Robby was carrying a table along the hallway when the earl burst from the library and struck him
down. Then he waved a piece of paper in his face and demanded to know who had delivered it. Robby didn’t know, but the earl accused him of lying, then struck him again before he strode off, muttering.”
“Muttering?” asked Mary, trying to keep her voice neutral. “How odd.”
“Very. Robby’s head hurt, and blood was dripping from a cut the earl’s signet ring had made on his cheek, but he dared not move until the earl was gone. He thought about fleeing – the earl’s eyes had been that furious – but Ridgeway never returned.”
“I wonder why the paper angered him so.”
“Robby thinks it was a demand that John meet someone, but he has no idea who or why. Whatever it was, the earl was not pleased.”
“But if it was a demand to meet someone, why would he comply? He held the highest rank in the area. He could have ordered the other man to call at the Court.”
“The meeting must have concerned something illegal,” said Miss Hardaway, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve heard tales that he was involved with smugglers away south. I tried to tell Squire Church about it, but he dismissed the whole notion, insisting that the killer was a highwayman who was interrupted before he could rob the corpse. No letter turned up at the house.”
But how much time had elapsed before Isaac had looked? Again, jumping to conclusions had interfered with his job. Idiot! If someone had interrupted a robbery, it would not have taken a full day to find the body. And if passers-by had not noticed John, then the culprit would have finished removing the valuables as soon as they left.
James would want to hear about this, but asking further questions might pique the gossip’s curiosity. And he would learn more by questioning Robby directly. “I take it Robby recovered?”
“Oh, yes. It was hardly more than a scratch. His fear was the worst of it.”
“What does he think of the new earl?”
“He doesn’t know what to think. None of them do. Ridgeway talks nice, but his poking about makes everyone nervous.”
