by Jo Beverley
She had hated the life of feckless unpredictability Stephen had given her, though it had once seemed what she wanted. Was the life of stormy passion Justin offered any more likely to bring contentment?
More than ever she needed to escape, to search her heart in peace and make decisions she could hold with all her life; but she could not leave just yet. She owed it to the people she still thought of as her own to unmask the evil that had invaded Delamere and restore peace.
In the meantime she should heed the warning. Justin was rapidly approaching his limit, and the sooner she left Delamere the better. She did not believe he would try to stop her if she decided she could not marry him, but her capacity to hurt him troubled her deeply. Until such time as she made up her mind, she should treat him with great circumspection for fear of unleashing a force she could not control.
In him.
In herself.
Right now, she could not bear her own company and did not dare to seek out Justin’s, and so she went to watch Randal and Macy play. Randal glanced curiously and shrewdly at her, but said nothing. Macy exchanged only courtesies before returning his attention to the game.
It was an interlude of tranquility, with the click of the balls punctuating the crackling of the fire in the grate. The men spoke briefly and occasionally. The house around was quiet, as most of the staff were in their beds.
It was only four days since Justin had returned to Delamere, four days since her primary emotion had been boredom. It was impossible that he could gain such a hold on her mind and her body in four brief days. With honesty, she had to admit his hold had begun years before.
She watched Randal as he played. Both men had removed their jackets for ease of movement, and as he stretched to line his cue up on the ball, an artist could have made studies of him—long, lean, and beautiful, a thoroughbred, a god. Yet, she felt not the slightest desire to touch him. Her heart and pulse continued their steady, accustomed pace. He excited her no more than plump Humphrey Macy.
Justin, however, disordered her constantly. If he had come home from the war scarred or crippled, it would have been no different.
She sat staring at the flames and fell into a brown study of life, men, and marriage. By the time she was jerked back to reality by Macy declaring he was for his bed, she had not summoned one sensible thought.
After Macy had gone, Randal replaced the cues in the rack.
“Care to tell me what’s got into you?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“I could try guessing, and I wouldn’t need three.”
“Randal . . . ,” she warned.
“Pax!” he said, throwing up a hand. “I won’t say a thing. But,” he added with a grin, “you must put poor Justin out of his misery soon.”
“And why, pray, should I have any kindness at all for a man who has been keeping secrets about events in my own home?”
“His home,” Randal pointed out calmly.
“About which he doesn’t care one jot!”
“Of course he cares. If he’s been keeping mum there must be a reason.”
Chloe calmed slightly. “Do you give me your word, Randal, that he hasn’t already told you what’s going on?”
“Ashby honor,” said Randal firmly.
Chloe walked to the table and idly rolled a black ball down the baize. “I need to be sure, Randal,” she said.
He took a red out of a pocket and accurately spun it down to cannon off hers. “How sure can we ever be in love, my dear?”
“It’s such a terrible risk. He’s been here for only a few days. I don’t know him.”
He just looked at her. “Don’t you?”
Chloe turned away. Everyone seemed sure of her heart except herself. “It’s all very well for you,” she said bitterly. “You know nothing of commitment. Your idea of love is a physical thing, paid for with money, and got rid of the same way when it grows stale.”
She caught a flash of dangerous anger in his eyes. Then he calmed, though his lips were still tight. Chloe found herself trembling slightly. She had never been afraid of Randal in her life. Was something at Delamere poisoning everyone’s life?
“One thing’s clear,” he said at last. “My interference in your affairs, though well intentioned, does no good. I’ll try to resist the temptation. But don’t judge me like that, Chloe. I know the difference between lust and love.”
“What is it then?” she asked simply and he laughed dryly.
She thought he wouldn’t answer but then he said, “If you love someone, you will seek their happiness even if it means you will never touch their body again. If you lust after someone, you will seek their body, even if it destroys them.”
He swept up the two balls and dropped them in a pocket, then put on his jacket.
Chloe realized Justin had sought her happiness by leaving, once she was married to Stephen. Unsure of his ability to control himself, he had put the greatest possible distance between them. Stephen, however, though she could not accuse him of lustful evil, had never really concerned himself with her happiness at all.
“Come along then,” Randal said, cool and composed as ever. “Bedtime, I think. It will all work out, sweet coz.”
Chloe hoped he was a better prophet than a match-maker. She walked up with him to the bedrooms, but after he had entered his room, Chloe crept quietly along to her grandmother’s. At last she was to discover all the Stanforth secrets.
Justin was already in her grandmother’s room when Chloe arrived. He glanced briefly at her, then away again. She took a seat as far from him as possible, knowing the Duchess had noted the move. There was a strange, pungent odor in the room. Turpentine?
“I am going to tell you,” said Justin, “all I know of events here at Delamere over the last year. Unfortunately, I don’t yet have all the answers. I think I need help to find them, which is why I am going to disobey express orders.”
He then recounted the story told to him in London. He told Chloe about the list of Napoleonic agents, its dispatch in the form of waxed fruits, the disastrous pursuit of d’Estrelles and the package’s arrival in Heysham. So many puzzling incidents clicked into place. The disturbed store-rooms, the soldiers, possibly even the increased number of strangers in the area could all be explained by this.
When Justin revealed the Duchess’s role, Chloe gasped. “Grandmama! How could you have kept all this to yourself?”
“Didn’t like it,” said the old lady, “but I had my orders. If I’d realized there was such danger involved, though, I’d have said to hell with them.”
“And Stephen was trying to serve his country too,” said Chloe, feeling tears gather in her eyes. “He wasn’t just on one of his crazy starts.”
Justin was glad he’d edited that part of the story slightly, but he hoped some newfound hero worship wasn’t going to drive a wedge between him and Chloe.
“And that was why,” Chloe went on, “when I heard strange noises in the storeroom and the dining room, I found you there before me, Grandmama. You were searching.”
“Yes,” said the old lady bitterly. “For a damned apple! Incompetent nincompoops. I did wonder about potatoes, though, and had a poke around through what was left of last year’s stock. Decided I was getting addled.”
“And last night?” asked Chloe. “Was that you too?”
“Last night?” asked the Duchess in surprise.
“No,” said Justin, with a rueful smile. “I was the guilty party. After you made your comment about pommes and pommes de terre, I decided to check the stores, though without much hope. I’ll know next time not to be so messy in a well-run household!”
“Indeed,” said Chloe, severely. “You show a great carelessness as to detail. I’ll go odds it was you who tampered with my pictures.”
Justin’s face showed his guilt, and his chagrin at being detected. “Now how did you notice that foolishness? I made the cuts very neatly.”
Chloe smirked. “And replaced the pictures in the wrong
order,” she said.
Justin groaned, but with a smile. There was almost ease between them again.
“I’m just a crude soldier,” he said. “I’m not cut out for this kind of work.”
Chloe dragged her mind back to business and frowned as she thought over the situation. “We still don’t know whether the message was sent as a potato or an apple. Whichever it was, surely there’s little chance it still exists.”
“The only people who want it destroyed,” replied Justin, “are the French. To the best of our people’s knowledge they are still frantically searching. Let’s consider the options. If George got it, he could have destroyed it for some insane reason no one would ever understand. As that would get us nowhere, we’ll ignore the possibility. If he behaved half rationally, he would hand it over to the nearest authority. Did he?”
Chloe answered. “If he received it the night Stephen died, no. He didn’t travel at all at that time and no one visited him until Humphrey Macy came. Would George have given it to him?”
“That was weeks later, surely,” said the Duchess. “What did he do in the meantime?”
“Marry Belinda,” said Chloe taking the question literally.
Everyone looked thoughtful and puzzled.
“There’s something there,” said Chloe at last. “But what? It’s possible Belinda and Frank managed to inveigle the package from the sailor, or even steal it from George, but then why didn’t they sell it, if profit was their motive, and marry?”
“They may not have known how to dispose of it,” said Justin. “After all, it would be a chancy business, trying to trade with the French. Did either of them make a journey?”
“No. I’m certain they didn’t,” said Chloe. She sighed with exasperation. “This whole thing is like an out-of-focus eyeglass. It needs to be twisted. But how?”
Justin ran a hand over his face. “It is certainly a puzzle. The matter is urgent. Every day, doubtless, brave men die because of traitors still at large. On the other hand, the package has been mislaid for over a year. It is unlikely to be destroyed tomorrow.”
Chloe wondered. “You know,” she said, “I have this unreasoning feeling that matters are coming to a crisis. I don’t know whether Frank’s death was a symptom of this or its cause, but things have changed.”
Justin nodded. “I can’t speak for change exactly, but I am aware of something in the air. An interview with Belinda is even more important—first thing in the morning. If she had any contact with the package we must find out.”
“But Belinda could not possibly be a spy,” pointed out Chloe. “She has a brother in the army and worries about him constantly.”
“I feel that way too, but she may know something, however innocently. Frank was quite likely the villain.”
“And his death?” asked Chloe.
“I admit I don’t see any reason for it. Perhaps it was an accident. If he had the package, however, his death makes it less likely we will find it.”
“I think it must have been an accident,” said Chloe, wish stronger than logic. “Belinda is not a murderess.”
She trailed off, remembering Belinda’s words. “I am not sorry for anything I’ve done.” Said so fiercely. Thrown in the face of fate.
“I hope not,” said Justin calmly, “for if she is, it’s quite possible that she killed George as well.”
“Good God!” exclaimed the Duchess. “She’s a regular Lucrezia Borgia, and she brought me some medications today!”
Chloe defended Belinda. “She’s very skilled, Grandmama. I’ve never known anyone to suffer from her remedies. George was ripe for a seizure,” she said to Justin. “You should have seen him. His face was red, he was always wheezing for breath.”
The Duchess reconsidered. “That embrocation did my hip a world of good,” she said at last. “Have a look and see what you think. My woman put it back in the dressing room. Smelly stuff.”
Chloe fetched the earthenware pot, and unscrewed the wide lid. Now she knew where the smell came from! Turpentine, camphor, goodness knows what else. It was the same mixture Belinda had given to the Dowager. She tilted the jar. The stuff was runny, like oil.
“The Dowager has been using this mixture for days, Grandmama. Besides, I’m sure something rubbed on you couldn’t do harm.”
Justin took the pot and shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. But all Chloe’s reasonings are good, Your Grace. I wouldn’t worry. I think we’ll have to think of a reason for a thorough search of the house, though. If those papers are here, we must find them. I don’t know what Macy is up to, but I prefer to keep an eye on him, or to keep Randal’s eye on him, in fact.”
“Do you not think he’s a government man?” Chloe asked.
“I’m a government man,” pointed out Justin. “They told me about the Duchess, but no one mentioned Macy. It’s possible they’re being extra cautious and I’ve written to inquire. He’s probably just what he claims to be, but until I’m sure, I want him watched. Chloe, can you try to keep track of Belinda tomorrow?”
“Of course.” She then mentioned Belinda’s suspicious behavior, and her attempt to follow the young woman that morning.
“If there’s a clue to Frank’s death outside, I am not that concerned,” said Justin. “It may seem heartless, but the lives of hundreds of men hang on these papers, not just one, already lost. But try to keep track of her. If she did kill Frank, it might have been to get the papers. She may panic and destroy them.”
With that, he left, and Chloe checked to make certain her grandmother had everything she needed.
“What have you and Justin been doing to yourselves now?” asked the old lady.
“Nothing,” said Chloe firmly.
“Must be frustration eating at you both then,” was the retort, making Chloe blush.
“I am not going to make any decision about Justin until all these alarums are over, and I have peace and quiet away from here to consider matters.”
“It’ll do no harm,” said the Duchess, “as long as you keep your mind straight. Good night, my dear,” she said, kissing Chloe’s cheek. “Have sweet, or at least interesting, dreams.”
Chloe left before her grandmother could say something even more outrageous.
11
CHLOE HALF HOPED her grandmother’s words would come true. The unconscious mind, however, ever a trickster, served her instead with dreams of Stephen at his most delightful, engaging in a mad search for apples and potatoes through her old schoolroom at home. She awoke confused and unsettled and chose to breakfast in her room.
She couldn’t hide forever, though. Justin sent a message asking her to go to the study. She knew it was time to confront Belinda.
Deliberately Chloe dressed in her least becoming half-mourning gown, a mushroom color which achieved the nearly impossible and made her look sallow. She also dallied a little, hoping Belinda would be there ahead of her.
When Chloe saw Matthew going into the dining room to clear the breakfast table, she thought of Cedric’s revelations, and followed the footman.
“Matthew.”
“Yes, Your Ladyship.”
He was a well-enough-looking young man, she thought. His features were rather sharp, and he lacked the height for a footman in a great house, but she could see why Sally Kestwick might be enamored.
“I understand you are seeing a young lady from Sir Cedric’s estate,” said Chloe.
The man colored uncomfortably. “Yes, Your Ladyship.”
“I have no objection,” she reassured him, “though I cannot speak for Lord Stanforth. I understand she was here on Tuesday morning at about the time of Frank’s death.”
He looked slightly anxious, but surely he would appear more so if he had committed murder that day. “Yes, Your Ladyship. But only to bring me a shirt,” he assured her. “I didn’t take time from my duties. It was the time we normally all have a cup of tea.”
“So I understand. But it was about the time that Frank died, was it not?”
&nb
sp; “Yes, Your Ladyship. I saw Lady Stanforth—Lady George—coming into the kitchen garden as we left. So it must have been just before.”
Perhaps, thought Chloe. “Left?” she queried. “Where did you go?”
He reddened even more. “I just walked with Sally aways down the drive. It was instead of the tea, Milady.”
Chloe felt rather guilty at upsetting him. Many employers felt the duty to regulate their servant’s personal lives, but Chloe tried to avoid it. They were all part of large local families, after all . . . except Matthew, she remembered. He had fit in so well, she was inclined to forget. He had come from Preston way. Humphrey Macy had found him for George with excellent references from previous employers there, but she wondered if she should make inquiries all the same.
She assured him she would not interfere in his courtship as long as his duties were performed, and then made her way to the study, thoughtfully. In the matter of Frank’s death, Chloe had been so obsessed by Belinda that she had forgotten the rumors of ill-feeling between Matthew and Frank. Matthew had been out of the house at the time of the groom’s death. She’d go odds the staff had concealed that fact from Cedric and Justin. They always stuck together when necessary. His sweetheart would doubtless cover for him, but there was no guarantee they had been together all the time.
What possible reason, though, could Matthew have for killing Frank, and was he even capable of it? He was inches shorter and a stone lighter. He was hardly an active type either, more effete than anything.
Matthew, however, had been introduced to Delamere by Humphrey Macy. Perhaps he too was a government man, but that made no sense. If he had killed Frank to obtain the missing papers, they would now be safe in official hands.
What if Matthew and Macy were working for Napoleon, she wondered. Humphrey Macy? Impossible. Some French émigrés had switched allegiance to Napoleon, hoping to gain back lands and titles lost in the Revolution, but someone like Macy would have nothing to gain and everything to lose. He could not possibly support Napoleon’s rampaging conquest of Europe.
