The Stanforth Secrets

by Jo Beverley

  “Tonight, after our guests have all gone,” he said, “I’ll explain everything. Or at least, everything I know.”

  Chloe swallowed ridiculous disappointment. “About time,” she snapped. “You have made me wait too long as it is.”

  “You’re probably right,” he said, and his glance gave the statement quite a different meaning. Chloe could feel her heart begin a rapid patter, a large part of it nerves. She couldn’t let him seduce her, no matter how desirable her body anticipated that to be. She must make this lifetime decision with care and a cool head.

  He was not, however, making that resolve easy for her to maintain. He took her hand as they walked to the stables. That contact, so much more intimate than the customary arm in arm, sparkled on Chloe’s consciousness like sunlight on the sea. She struggled to pay attention to his words.

  “I’ll give you the bare bones now, Chloe, because I want you to help me talk to people as we go around. Last autumn some valuable government papers were lost. A sailor brought them to Heysham, and Stephen was on his way up to collect them for the government when he was killed.”

  “Stephen!” This was sufficiently startling to focus her wits. Had her husband been a more responsible man than she thought?

  “When we go to the village,” Justin continued, “I want to see if anyone knows anything about that sailor.”

  After a short silence, Chloe stared at him. “Is that all you’re going to tell me? Why were these papers brought to Heysham? Does this have anything to do with the disturbed stores and Frank’s death? Do we have a spy loose here, attacking people?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, boosting her into the saddle. “That’s one of the things I’m trying to find out, but the highest priority is to locate those papers if they still exist.”

  His words were businesslike, his actions courteous, but he took her hand and again peeled her glove back to press warm lips against the skin of her inner wrist. There was nothing cool about his eyes either. They smoldered with passion. Had he also entertained wanton thoughts during that walk?

  He turned sharply and swung onto his own horse. By the time he’d guided the beast over to her, he was in control again. Perhaps it was the shortage of time that made him set a sharp pace, but Chloe didn’t think so. She could not resist a satisfied smile, knowing she could stir him to insanity just as he seemed able to deprive her of her wits.

  They stopped frequently to greet workers in the fields, a woman at a cottage gate, Dr. Williams in his gig; in open country they cantered. There was not time for intimate conversation, a circumstance for which Chloe was intensely grateful.

  After an hour they stopped for a mug of mulled ale at the inn in Heysham village. The innkeeper was gratified to be formally introduced to the new viscount.

  “There have been a lot of changes this last year,” said Justin. He had the way, Chloe saw, of being at ease with his people without losing the dignity of his position.

  “That there have, Your Lordship. And some funny goings-on.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, all those soldiers out searching for smugglers for a start. A right lot they were, into everything, and not above a bit of stealing.” Searching for missing papers, Chloe suddenly realized. Why had no one come to her about all this?

  “Anything else?” Justin asked casually.

  “We’ve had a surprising lot of people staying hereabouts this year. Almost like ten years ago when they dug up that stone in the churchyard and there were always historians and the like coming to examine it. Now, there’s only the Dutchman that’s boarding with Mrs. Holyoak. But there was a poet who said he needed to study the sea, and a man who collected shells. A Mr. Caulfield said he was seeking the sea air to recover from a lung disease and a Professor Rigley claimed to be looking for old dead creatures in the cliffs, if you’ll believe that. Good for business, of course, but mighty strange.”

  “It’s a very pleasant spot, Mr. Satterley. You mustn’t be surprised if it becomes popular. Any other strange occurrences?”

  “Well, going back a while, there were that sailor what ended up dead. Samuel Wright. He were here for nigh on a week, just stuffing his face and swilling, with a deep purse, if you see what I mean. Yet his boots were holey and his jacket none too thick. What do you think of that?”

  “I think you’re a very observant man, Mr. Satterley.”

  The innkeeper nodded, pleased. “I am that, My Lord. Innkeeping’s a people-watching kind of business. There was someone asking about Sam after his body turned up down Poulton way, and I could tell them quite a bit.”

  “I’m sure you could,” said Justin, seeming only politely interested.

  “Well, he made no secret of having a package from Ireland for Lord Stanforth, one that was to be given only into his hands. That was a rum setup too, when you think on it, but we all reckoned it was horse stuff. Ireland’s the place for horses, and Mr. Stephen was always on the lookout for a good hunter. Took the duty very seriously, did Sam. I’ll give him that. But he were growing impatient after a week. Heysham isn’t the liveliest spot, after all, so he started to say he would go up to the Hall to find someone to speak to about it. I reckon he must have done that the night he left here, the night before the sad news came about Mr. Stephen.”

  “Did he say what happened at the Hall?”

  “Never saw him again,” said Mr. Satterley succinctly. “It were next day his body washed up. It were high tide that evening. He must have slipped in somehow, though if he were off to Lancaster to find a ship, as I supposed, it were strange of him to go thataway.”

  A weather-beaten sailor in a heavy jacket was sitting by the fire, puffing at a long clay pipe. Now he spoke. “I saw Sam Wright after you, I reckon.”

  “After that, Tom?” queried the innkeeper.

  “That evening. He walked down near the boats. He would now and then. I were mending a net in the last of the light, watching the sunset like, and we talked of this and that. He let on as how he missed the sea. Said he’d been up to the Hall and got rid of his package at last. Didn’t say who he gave it to, though, if Lord Stanforth weren’t there.”

  “He surely weren’t,” said the innkeeper with a sideways glance at Chloe. He wouldn’t say it but they all knew. By that evening Stephen was dead. “Did he have his stuff with him, Tom?”

  “Nah.” The man hawked and spat into the fire.

  “Then he must have come back here after for it,” said the innkeeper. “Funny thing that he never said good-bye. He’d paid his shot earlier, so there was no need. He must have just slipped in when we were busy, took his kit, and gone.”

  “Probably just because you were busy,” said Justin reassuringly. “Was there an inquiry into the death?”

  “Well, it came under Sir Hambly Kellaway in Poulton, as that was where the body came in. He just identified him and put it down as drowning. What else was there to do? Sam lies in the graveyard down there. There was still enough coins in his pocket to pay for that.”

  Justin and Chloe took their leave.

  As they walked the horses down the cobbled street, Chloe was thoughtful. She remembered the drowning of the sailor, though she had heard nothing of this business of a message. Her mind had been on Stephen and his death. Now, knowing about the missing papers Samuel Wright carried, she had to look at the matter in a new light.

  How did it fit in with other strange events? If Belinda had killed Frank, could there be any connection to this matter? Surely not. Belinda could have no interest in government papers. Chloe needed to know exactly what these papers were, but that would have to wait until later.

  “The sailor would never have given the package to Belinda,” she murmured, then stopped. “What am I thinking of? Belinda wasn’t married to George then. She was just Farmer Massinger’s daughter. He must have given it to George.”

  Justin nodded. “So why did George deny any knowledge? It makes no sense. I’ll never believe he was a foreign agent.” He shook his head. “He was a
greedy man. Perhaps he simply ate it.”

  “Ate a message?” said Chloe, astonished.

  “Well,” said Justin with a rueful smile, “that’s why there’s been such an interest in apples and potatoes. It’s believed the message was sent in disguise—looking like an apple, everyone thought. Now you have us wondering if it should be a potato.”

  Before Chloe could ask one of the dozens of questions newly sprung into her mind, they encountered a new group of people—two widowed sisters, Mrs. Holyoak and Mrs. Grange, accompanied by Mrs. Williams, the doctor’s wife, and her pretty daughter, Phelie. Phelie did her best, within the bounds of good manners, to attract the attention of the handsome viscount. Chloe was pleased to see her fail.

  After escaping these enthusiastic ladies, there was no time for conversation, though Chloe’s mind worked furiously when it could.

  George had known something, or else why did he burst into silly laughter whenever anyone mentioned apples? No wonder someone had been searching the storage rooms from time to time. The first occurrences had been before Belinda married George. They had intensified during George’s tenure, then ceased until the summer.

  After a brief flurry, there had been no more such occurrences until recently. No one person had been at the Hall throughout, except herself, the Dowager, and Miss Forbes. For the first time Chloe wondered if she was suspect. It was painful and infuriating, but if Justin had any doubts about her honor, it could explain his reluctance to tell her facts she had a right to know.

  They trotted past the Massingers’ prosperous farm. Chloe saw the Delamere laundalette there, the horses loose in a paddock. Belinda was still safely at home. However, Belinda’s affairs, even if they had led to a man’s death, were not the issue at the moment.

  They needed more local information. People talked more easily with her along than they would have to Justin alone. Despite that, only the sailor at the inn had given them new knowledge. Who would be the best person to approach now?

  Not far from the Massingers’ gates, an old lady sat by a cottage door, knitting. Chloe smiled in satisfaction. She dismounted and went over. Justin followed.

  “Hello, Granny Twitchell.”

  “Hello, my dear,” said the old lady easily, broad smile producing two apple cheeks, despite the sunkenness of lost teeth.

  “Catching the sun? I’ve brought the new Lord Stanforth to see you, Granny.”

  The old lady nodded amiably. “Pleasure, I’m sure,” she said.

  “Granny’s an important person hereabout,” said Chloe to Justin. “She was the midwife for the longest time. Delivered Stephen and Belinda, I’ve no doubt.”

  “Of course, of course,” said the old lady. “And Frank Halliwell.”

  There was a wicked glint in the old woman’s eye. Chloe knew her instinct had been right. Granny would have things to tell, but it was against her code to go gossiping. If someone were to ask, now . . .

  “They were very close at one time, I hear,” said Chloe.

  The old woman nodded, and chuckled. “A lot closer than they ought to have been, I would say.”

  Chloe wasn’t surprised. “I would have thought Mrs. Massinger would have kept Belinda close at home, seeing she had such ideas for her.”

  “Oh, she tried, did Nellie. But Belinda’s always had a mind of her own. She’s a good heart, I’ll grant, but too much independence.”

  Chloe was rather surprised by this assessment, and yet, in her own way, Belinda was an individualist, if not quite in Chloe’s own flamboyant style.

  “Slipping up to the Hall grounds of an evening,” mused Granny, as if speaking to herself, “wasn’t beyond Belinda.”

  “She must have loved Frank,” said Chloe sincerely. “Belinda wouldn’t act that way lightly. I suppose her parents would never have agreed to the match, though.”

  “No. Though that wouldn’t have counted with Belinda when she came of age. He were a good man, Frank. God rest his soul. But ambitious. Ambition causes a deal of misery,” the old woman added.

  “I wonder why and how she married George,” asked Chloe.

  The old woman cackled. “I told you. Ambition. Now the how of it has interested me. She must have had something which appealed to Mr. George, I reckon.”

  “Youth and the good health to bear children, I suppose,” said Chloe. “I cannot really understand why she would do it, though. Even for a title, George was a lot to swallow. Perhaps she felt, with her parents so set against Frank, she had little other choice.”

  “Nellie and Bob had nothing to do with her decisions, I’ll warrant,” said the old lady. “Belinda had stood against them all along. Swore blind she’d marry Frank in the end. She’d slip up to the Hall near every day, and he’d escort her back here, you see. I saw them arm in arm many a time, and the last time were not many days before her engagement to Mr. George was announced.”

  Chloe frowned as she tried to make sense of this. Though the picture Granny was painting of Belinda was a little different from the one Chloe was accustomed to, she could believe the girl to be spirited and independent in her own environment. Why then, within eighteen months of achieving her majority, would she throw it all away and marry George?

  “Do you know when that was, Granny?” asked Justin, breaking into the conversation for the first time. “The last time you saw them together.”

  “Yes I do,” said the old lady, eying him shrewdly. “It were the night before Lady Stephen here became widowed. That’s a day as stands in the memory. After that, Belinda and Frank were never close the same way again.”

  “That must have been when she encountered George, and he fell madly in love with her,” said Justin dryly.

  The night the sailor delivered his package, thought Chloe, trying to make the pieces fit.

  “Happen,” said the old lady, meeting his eyes. “But the only person I saw Belinda meet that night was that sailor as was hanging about.”

  Chloe caught her breath and looked at Justin, who met her eyes alertly. “How do you know that, Granny?”

  “They walked past here, the three of them together,” said Granny cheerfully, and Chloe guessed she’d been wanting to tell this tale for a year now. “Belinda and Frank were on the way from the Hall to her home. The sailor was likely going back to the inn from the shore, where he went to talk to the fishermen. I’d seen him stroll this way before. Once or twice we’d pass the time of day. Belinda and Frank were arm in arm but proper like, not wrapped around each other as they often were.”

  Granny finished a row and neatly switched the needles around. “The sailor walked alongside them, puffing on his pipe. I could hear a bit of what they said—sound often carries at night. It was warm for that time of year, and I had the casement open. I heard nowt interesting, though. Frank just said he’d walk down to the village with the sailor and have a beer.” Granny Twitchell looked up, eyes wise in her wrinkled face. “Now Frank’s dead, and the sailor’s dead. Mr. George and young Stephen gone too. That were an unlucky night. An unlucky night.”

  Chloe sensed the tale was now told, though she wasn’t sure yet what to make of it. “Indeed it was, Granny. It’s been good to talk with you again,” she said. “I must come this way more often. And you be sure to send word to the Hall if you’re ever in need of anything.” She realized she might not be there herself and added, “Lord Stanforth will always assist you.”

  “He knows his duty,” said the old lady with a nod, adding, “It’s about time someone sorted things out around here.”

  As they walked back to the horses, Justin said, “I think I was just given my orders.”

  “And very good ones too,” said Chloe. “It seems to me this has been a mismanaged business all along.”

  As they trotted back toward the Hall, Chloe considered. The linking of Frank, Belinda, and the sailor put a whole new focus on things. There were also an ominous number of deaths open to question. Not just Frank, after all.

  She said, “Mr. Satterley didn’t mention Frank b
eing in the inn that night, and the sailor never returned.”

  “Suspicious, isn’t it?” remarked Justin. “I really think we’re going to have to have a talk with Belinda.”

  “We?”

  “We,” he said firmly. “I’m scared to be alone with her.”

  Chloe gave him a frowning look, but agreed to be part of what was bound to be a difficult interview.

  When they had left their horses at the stable and were walking back to the house, Justin suddenly said, “I think we should have another look at the place where Frank fell.”

  Though puzzled, Chloe willingly turned in that direction. “Why?” she queried. “There can surely be nothing to see after all that rain.”

  He did not reply, but when they got there he looked around and smiled. “Just as everyone said. This spot can’t be observed from the house.”

  “True,” said Chloe. “Is that of significance?”

  He looked down at her with a smile that melted her bones. “It depends how discreet you want to be,” he said. Even his voice seemed to stroke her skin and set it quivering.

  “Why?” she whispered, though she knew, and was frantically trying to decide what to do about it.

  For answer, he took her in his arms and pulled her down to sit on the smooth grass. One arm around her, the other hand came up to cradle her face. His thumb brushed gently against her lower lip. She let out her breath in a trembling sigh, while the rational part of her mind commanded her to tear herself out of his arms.

  Reason lost. She stayed quiescent as his lips came to hers, first to brush lightly as his thumb had done, then to play more firmly over hers. Before she could discipline her body as to what it should do, her lips opened like a flower to the sun, and her hand crept up to twine in his hair.

  It felt, thought Chloe, nothing like a first kiss. It felt as if they had been lovers all their lives. She already knew the taste of him, the shape of him beneath her hand, and it was nothing to do with Stephen.

  But, as with longtime lovers, it was going too fast. With desperate resolution, she pushed him from her. They gazed at each other, stunned and breathless.