by Diane Gaston
Her sisters had come! Tess and Genna were here with their husbands.
She quickened her step.
Her sister Genna saw her first and ran up the stairs to give her a hug. Tess soon caught up.
‘Oh, Lorene!’ Genna cried.
Tess put her arms around both of them. ‘How do you fare, Lorene? Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Yes,’ Lorene replied, her tears flowing again at the sight of them. ‘But you shouldn’t have come, Tess. Shouldn’t you be resting?’
‘I’m not ill,’ Tess countered. ‘I am merely going to have a baby.’
Tess’s Christmas present to all of them was this happy announcement, but now it seemed long ago that Tess told them this news, even though it had only been the previous day.
The sisters descended the rest of the staircase, arm in arm.
‘Lorene,’ Genna’s husband, the Marquess of Rossdale, strode over to her and kissed her on the cheek. ‘We are at your beck and call. Whatever you need, you must tell us.’
Just for them to be here was more than enough.
Tess’s husband, Marc Glenville, also approached her. ‘Our condolences, Lorene.’
Condolences was not the right word, though.
‘Where is Dell?’ Rossdale asked. He and Dell had been close friends since they were boys.
Lorene shook her head. ‘I do not know.’ She turned to Dixon. ‘Where is the Earl, Dixon?’
‘In the east wing.’ The butler’s words were clipped.
The lesser guest rooms.
‘Send for him, man,’ Rossdale ordered. ‘Tell him we are here.’
‘Where shall you await the Earl?’ Dixon asked haughtily.
Lorene answered him. ‘In the morning room.’ She turned to her sisters. ‘Did you eat?’
‘Eat?’ cried Genna. ‘As if we could eat after hearing what happened.’
Lorene turned back to Dixon. ‘Alert Cook, then, Dixon. We have guests for breakfast.’
Dixon bowed.
‘Tell us what happened,’ Tess said as they walked to the morning room.
‘I did not see,’ Lorene answered. ‘Tinmore fell down the stone steps there where you came in.’
‘On those steps?’ Genna broke in. ‘What was he doing outside?’
‘He was angry.’ Lorene’s head was pounding with the memory. ‘Dell tried to speak to him, but there was no reasoning with him.’
‘I’ll bet he was angry that you came to see us yesterday,’ Genna said. ‘I can just see him in high dudgeon over that. His wife defied him. Imagine that.’
‘He was angry over that,’ Lorene snapped. ‘My defiance possibly killed him, if you must know.’
Genna touched her arm. ‘Forgive me, Lorene. My tongue ran away with me again.’
They entered the morning room, brightly lit with the morning sun. The many windows of the room revealed clear blue skies dotted with puffy white clouds. The bright sun glistened on the snow-covered ground.
Lorene spoke to the footman attending the room. ‘We have more guests for breakfast, Travers. Would you please bring us tea and coffee?’
The footman bowed and left the room. Rossdale and Glenville pulled up additional chairs and helped the ladies to sit.
When they were settled, Rossdale asked, ‘Dell’s coachman told us the magistrate would be sent for. For what reason?’
‘Dixon—the butler who was in the hall—believes Dell pushed Tinmore, but Dell didn’t.’ Dell was too honourable to do such a thing, Lorene was certain.
Rossdale frowned and exchanged a look with Glenville. ‘It is good we came.’
What could they do, though, if the magistrate believed Dixon and not Dell?
‘What’s more, we are not leaving you alone here,’ Genna added.
During Lorene’s marriage, Genna had been with her the longest and knew best what it was like to live at Tinmore Hall, where they were always treated as intruders.
Lorene’s gaze travelled from one to the other and her eyes stung with tears. She’d not realised how alone she felt here. ‘I—I know I must do something, but I do not know what to do.’
Tess leaned over and touched her hand. ‘We will help you figure it out.’
Rossdale spoke. ‘Tinmore’s solicitors must be informed and the will read. And, of course, someone must notify Tinmore’s heir. Do you know who that is?’
Lorene shook her head. ‘Some grand-nephew, I believe. Mr Filkins probably knows.’
‘Mr Filkins?’ Glenville asked.
‘Lord Tinmore’s secretary,’ Genna answered. ‘He sometimes comes for breakfast.’
The footman returned with coffee and tea and enough cups to serve them all. Lorene hoped they knew to guard their tongues around the servants.
‘Where is Dell?’ Rossdale asked. ‘How long should it take to inform him we are here?’
‘You would be surprised,’ Genna responded sarcastically.
Lorene turned to the footman again. ‘Travers, please ask Dixon if he sent for Lord Penford. If not, make certain someone finds Lord Penford and shows him to the morning room.’
The footman bowed and started to leave.
Lorene stopped him. ‘Tell me first if Mr Filkins will breakfast here today.’
‘He has already done so,’ the footman responded and exited the room.
* * *
Dell finally found his way to the hall. He’d been wandering up and down corridors and stairs for a good quarter of an hour before reaching the hall and glimpsing his first servant.
Unfortunate that it was the butler, Dixon, who glared at him with undisguised displeasure.
He’d faced more fearsome men on the battlefield. One grieving butler would not daunt him. He actually felt sorry for the elderly man.
‘Good morning, Dixon,’ he said in a mild voice. ‘Will you direct me to the breakfast room?’
Dixon worked his mouth, as if trying to decide whether or not to answer.
At that same moment a footman reached the hall. ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed as if surprised to find Dell there. The footman spoke to Dixon, though, not to Dell. ‘Lady Tinmore requests Lord Penford’s presence in the morning room.’
Dell didn’t give Dixon a chance to respond. ‘Show me where it is,’ He nodded politely to the butler, though, before following the footman.
When he entered the room, it was his turn to be surprised. Her sisters and their husbands had come from Summerfield House as he’d known they would. He’d merely not expected them so early.
‘Dell!’ Ross rose from his chair and crossed the room to shake his hand. ‘How are you faring?’
Dell shrugged. ‘Well enough.’ He directed his gaze to Lorene. ‘The room was comfortable. I thank you.’
She looked pale, but lovely in a plain black dress. The lack of colour did not favour her. ‘I fear the housekeeper chose one in the far recesses of the house. I apologise for that.’
He managed a half-smile. ‘It only took me a quarter of an hour to find my way to the hall. No harm done.’
‘I had your valet pack a clean shirt and neckcloth. And your razor.’ Ross gestured to his face.
Dell rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘Forgive my appearance, ladies. I will retire and make myself more presentable.’ He turned to Ross. ‘Where are my things?’
‘We left them with the butler,’ Glenville said. ‘Did you not see him in the hall?’
‘I did, but he was not inclined to be helpful.’
‘I am so sorry!’ Lorene exclaimed. ‘Dixon is behaving very badly.’
‘He blames me.’ Dell turned back to the door. ‘I’ll be back directly.’
Lorene rose from her chair and hurried across the room to him. ‘Please stay, Dell. Your appearance is of no conseque
nce. Have something to eat.’
Two other servants were placing dishes of food on the side board.
He shook his head. ‘I’d best clean myself up. We do not know when the magistrate will arrive and I would prefer to look presentable.’
He returned to the hall and confronted Dixon. ‘Where is the change of clothing the Marquess brought me?’ His tone was no longer mild.
Dixon disappeared behind a door for a moment and emerged with a valise, handing it to Dell without a word.
Dell found his way back to the room where he’d slept. Thank goodness the maids who made up the room had provided soap and towels. He shed his coat, waistcoat and shirt, and lathered his face. Shaving was a task his valet usually performed, but he’d had plenty of practice on the Peninsula during the war where he’d preferred to dress and groom himself.
After shaving, he changed his shirt and tied his own neckcloth. When he donned his waistcoat and coat, he felt he at least looked the part of a gentleman. Nothing with which a magistrate could find offence.
* * *
Dell had been correct about the magistrate’s arrival. He had barely finished breakfast when it was announced that the magistrate had arrived and wished to see both Lorene and him.
‘Do you wish us to come with you?’ Ross asked, ever the steadfast friend.
‘I think it best I see the magistrate alone.’
Ross’s brows rose. ‘And not show him what support you possess?’
‘I have done nothing deserving reproach.’ Except perhaps thinking he could dissuade Tinmore of his erroneous beliefs. ‘I refuse to give the appearance of needing the support of the future Duke of Kessington.’
Ross turned to Lorene. ‘And you, ma’am. Do you wish one or all of us to come with you?’
‘I want to be with you,’ Genna piped up.
Lorene darted a glance towards Dell. ‘I will see him alone, as well. We will join you afterwards.’
Genna looked about to protest, but her husband put a calming hand on her arm. ‘I will see the man before he leaves, Dell.’
Dell knew better than to resist when Ross used such a tone. ‘As you wish.’
With luck it would all be settled before then.
After Dell and Lorene left the morning room, he said, ‘I would offer my arm, but I fear the politeness would be misconstrued if seen by one of the servants.’
She nodded.
It was his first opportunity to see her alone. ‘How do you fare, Lorene?’
‘I am well.’ She averted her gaze. ‘I do not know if I am well. I suppose I am numb. I really feel very little of anything.’
That was better than suffering, he knew.
‘I am dreading this interview, though,’ she murmured.
Of course she was. Telling of it would bring it all back.
‘Speak with complete candour,’ he said. ‘That is the only way.’
Dixon attended the door. He gave them a smug look that set Dell’s teeth on edge, but acted the proper butler, opening the door and stepping ahead to announce them.
The room Dixon had chosen was not the opulent drawing room with murals of gods and goddesses where he and Ross had once been received in this house. This was another lesser drawing room tucked away in one of the corridors on the first floor. Once they entered the room, Dell knew exactly why the butler had chosen this place. Every available space on the wainscoting walls was filled with family portraits, reminding those entering that generations of Tinmores would be watching.
Lorene’s step faltered.
Two men were present in the room. One, a pleasant-looking, somewhat corpulent man in his fifties, sat behind a desk, paper, pen and ink in front of him. The other man, taller, thinner with dark assessing eyes, stood at his side.
‘Lady Tinmore and Lord Penford,’ Dixon announced in a voice tinged with disdain.
The gentleman behind the desk stood and walked around to greet them. ‘Come in. Come in.’ He spoke as if inviting them for tea.
Lorene walked up to him. ‘Squire Hedges. Do you remember me? I was Miss Lorene Summerfield, now Lady Tinmore. You were frequently a guest in my father’s house.’
‘Ah, yes, indeed I remember you,’ he replied with an engaging smile. ‘But you were in a pinafore last I saw you. Your father and I were indeed fast friends...for many years until he...but never mind that. I was sorry to lose him.’ The Squire seemed to collect himself and his expression sobered. ‘May I express my condolences? For the loss of your husband, I mean. Not your father.’
‘I do understand, sir.’ She made a nervous glance to the other man.
Dell had heard of Squire Hedges, a local landowner. Was he the magistrate? He would have known Tinmore, perhaps for decades. Who, then, was the other man?
Lorene turned to Dell. ‘Lord Penford, may I present Squire Hedges. The magistrate here.’ She again addressed herself to the Squire. ‘Lord Penford inherited Summerfield House.’
Dell bowed. ‘Squire.’
The man bowed in return. ‘I intended to call upon you, sir. Forgive the omission. Busy, you know. Time gets away from a person.’
‘Yes, it does.’ Dell pointedly looked at the other man.
‘Oh.’ The Squire stepped over to the stranger. ‘Allow me to present Mr Walsh. He is the coroner.’
‘The coroner?’ Lorene’s brows rose, but she collected herself. ‘Oh, yes. Lord Penford said there would be a coroner.’
‘Must call in the coroner, my lady,’ Squire Hedges explained. ‘Not a natural death and all that.’
The coroner bowed. ‘My lady. Lord Penford.’
‘Sir,’ Lorene responded.
The Squire smiled at her, sobered again, cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. ‘Well! I suppose we should proceed, should we not?’ He walked back to the chair behind the desk.
‘Lady Tinmore.’ Mr Walsh spoke up in a deep voice with little modulation. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to leave the room while we speak to Lord Penford?’
Squire Hedges smiled again. ‘We will call you forthwith.’
A worry line formed between her eyes before she curtsied and left the room.
The Squire gestured with his finger. ‘Please sit, sir.’
Dell took a step closer to the desk. ‘I would prefer to stand. I have no objection to you sitting, though.’ His years in the army taught him it was better to stand when facing a man who might have power over him.
The Squire lifted his shoulders and sat, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. Mr Walsh remained standing.
Dell waited for one of them to speak.
The Squire cleared his throat again. ‘Uh...suppose you tell us what happened?’
Dell glanced from one man to the other. ‘First tell me what you have heard already.’
Had Dixon already spoken to them? he meant.
Squire Hedges picked up the pen and rolled it in his fingers.
‘We interviewed Dixon, the butler,’ Mr Walsh answered, which told Dell very little.
Dell straightened and gave each man a steely glance. ‘You spoke to the butler before me?’ To speak to a servant before a member of the aristocracy was a breach of proper conduct.
Squire Hedges tapped the feather pen on the desk. ‘Well, he greeted us in the hall, you see. Expedient to talk to him first.’
By Dixon’s design, Dell was certain. Dell stared at the Squire, until he squirmed in his seat.
Still holding his gaze steady, Dell spoke. ‘What did the butler tell you?’
Hedges looked even more uncomfortable.
‘He believes you pushed Lord Tinmore to his death,’ Walsh said.
Dell turned to Walsh and spoke in a firm, no-nonsense tone. ‘You have placed me at a disadvantage by speaking to Dixon first,
but I assure you I did not push Lord Tinmore to his death.’
Walsh shrugged. ‘Then tell what did happen.’
Dell answered, ‘Lord Tinmore attempted to strike me with his cane. I seized it to fend off the attack. He abruptly let go, put his hands to his head and staggered backwards. He lost his footing on the steps. I attempted to catch him, but he fell down the steps to the paving stones below.’
‘You did not push him?’ Walsh asked.
‘No. I merely seized his cane.’
Walsh’s brows rose. ‘And why did he try to strike you with a cane?’
Of course the man would ask this question. ‘He quarrelled with me. I was attempting to leave when he came after me, following me out of the house. That is when he tried to strike me.’
‘What was the quarrel about?’
Dell anticipated this question, much as he detested having to answer it. This coroner, though, would notice any hesitation in responding.
Dell met the man’s gaze. ‘Lord Tinmore believed Lady Tinmore and I to be engaging in an affair. It was not true. I attempted to convince him of that fact. When he would not listen to reason, I tried to leave. That is why he was outside with me without a topcoat, trying to strike me with his cane.’
‘Without a topcoat.’ Squire Hedges dipped the pen in some ink and made a note. He looked up again. ‘It was not true? The affair, I mean?’
Dell bristled. He’d already said it was not true. ‘Not true. I merely escorted Lady Tinmore home from Summerfield House. She and the Earl were invited for Christmas Day. He declined at the last minute, but Lady Tinmore came to spend the day with her sisters, who, with their husbands, were my guests. They are at Tinmore Hall now,’ he added. ‘Lord and Lady Rossdale. Mr and Mrs Glenville.’
‘I will speak to them,’ Walsh declared.
Would he believe them, though, when they told him there was no affair?
Walsh looked askance. ‘Why did Tinmore decline the invitation?’
‘I do not know why.’ How could Dell speak for Tinmore?
‘Why did he believe you and Lady Tinmore were...’ he paused and his voice dipped even deeper ‘...having an affair?’
