Sweet Asylum

by Tracy L. Ward

  Once the trees opened into a clearing, Brandon took off with Ainsley, charging behind him to keep the pace. Margaret nearly forgot that Blair was behind her and she slowed her horse’s pace. She knew she could never keep up to them, certainly not with her stays digging into her ribs.

  “My brother flirts with death,” Blair said, bringing his horse alongside hers. “He believes himself invincible.”

  “Don’t all men of means?”

  “Certainly not. I cannot afford to, I’m afraid,” Blair said in earnest. “Father has been hammering a sense of duty into me since the time I could write my name.”

  Margaret nodded, his words reminding her of her own family’s expectations.

  They sauntered along for a time until Blair began to lead his horse slightly quicker than Margaret’s. Sensing a bit of fun, Margaret picked up her pace until Blair guided his horse in front of her, preventing her from passing. He looked back with a playful smile, which faded when she finally overtook him. Not willing to be usurped, Blair started into a gallop and soon he and Margaret were racing each other. Margaret’s hair came loose, trailing behind her in waves of chestnut brown.

  When she looked back she saw Blair trying to keep pace, kicking his horse and slapping the reins. But it was clear Margaret was riding the racehorse and it moved instinctively, as if knowing the other horse was not so far behind her.

  They finally caught up to Ainsley and Brandon, who were dismounting their horses near a fence along a line of trees. Brandon smiled as Margaret approached. “We thought we’d lost you,” he said. He stepped forward and grabbed the harness of Margaret’s horse, steadying it while she dismounted. “But I see you haven’t changed a bit.”

  Margaret could see Ainsley smirk as he tended his horse. “She’s stubborn like that,” he said.

  She wiped her brow and pulled the last few pins from her hair, deciding not to care about the untameable curls.

  “There’s a river near here where we can water them,” Brandon said.

  Margaret looked back and saw Blair leading his horse toward her. She smiled, remembering how the girls clamoured over him at parties, and wondered if the younger girls still gasped when he entered a room dominated by females. To her, he had always been Blair, as kin and no more. She’d heard a rumour once that he had promised himself to some lesser noble’s daughter, a girl that Margaret remembered meeting only once. At the time, Margaret hadn’t the chance to confirm what she had heard and that was some time ago. No nuptials had been announced and she wondered if it were safe to say the rumours were unfounded.

  He said nothing as he walked closer and then grabbed the harness of her horse. For a moment, Margaret wasn’t sure what he was doing, and even thought he may try to kiss her, but then realized he was allowing her to walk without having to lead her horse. She hesitated to give him a smile, afraid it would only encourage him.

  By the time Margaret made her way to the river, Ainsley and Brandon were leading their horses to the water by perching themselves on some boulders jutting from the calm water. She stood at the water’s edge while Blair led the pair of horses to the bank, where the water was shallow and the current less threatening. She felt a rush of cold air swoop down upon them and she raised her face toward the sun. That is when she realized they were standing beneath the cliff at the farthest edge of Summer Hill. She saw the oak tree where she and Ivy stood peering down at the eroded earth.

  A chill sent a quiver over her body as she looked over the steep, eroded hillside and the large boulders that waited at the bottom on the opposite bank. An image of a man splayed out over the rocks flashed into her mind. Matthew, Samuel’s friend. Margaret closed her eyes and willed the image away.

  When the queasiness left her, she opened her eyes to see Blair leading the two horses away from the water and tying the reins to a tree not too far from where they stood.

  Margaret decided to settle herself on a large rock at the water’s edge. From her vantage point she could just see the surface of the water as it coiled and danced around the other larger rocks at the river bank. She could feel Brandon eyeing her, hesitant to speak.

  “I hear Miss Ivy Owen has been spending a great deal of time at The Briar,” he said.

  Margaret saw Blair give his brother a slight shake of the head but Brandon ignored it.

  “I was sorry to hear her father passed away,” Brandon said, leading his horse away from the water. He tied her to a tree next to the others.

  “No great loss, I’m afraid,” Blair said unflinchingly. “He was a drunkard and brute. Not many will mourn his passing,” He licked his lips and lowered his gaze, perhaps second-guessing his harsh words. “How is Ivy?”

  “She is in shock, for the most part,” Margaret explained. “She’s staying with us for a day or two. Until things settle down.” Of course she would not say the real reason why the girl was staying at their home.

  “A lovely gesture,” Blair said.

  “They lost a great deal of horses,” Brandon said. “’Tis a shame. Many of them were practically born in the winners’ circle—”

  “I heard you were there the day the fire broke out,” Ainsley said suddenly. The men turned to Ainsley, surprised by the abrupt manner with which he spoke. Margaret was the only one who wasn’t surprised. She had seen Ainsley use the technique before. He wanted to catch them off guard, and force a response before they had a chance to collaborate their stories.

  The technique worked for Blair, who hesitated and shot his brother a look before answering. “That’s right.”

  “I was present when Garret spoke with the inspector. He mentioned your name, so I thought I would ask,” Ainsley explained, taking on a much lighter tone.

  Brandon returned Ainsley’s stare. “Did he tell you it’s not unusual for my brother and me to be there many times in a week? Garret has been boarding a number of our horses while our stables are being constructed. Thankfully, none of our horses were affected by the fire.”

  “Interesting how that happens. You board a number of horses there and yet they all escape injury.” Ainsley held a blade of grass in his hands, twirling and then knotting it with his fingers.

  Margaret found herself becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Interrogating anyone would have put her on edge, but these men were sons of a duke and held a higher place in society than the Marshalls. “Peter, is this necessary?”

  “It’s all right, Lady Margaret,” Brandon said, offering a smile. “Your brother is doing right by the Owens. I was there in the early morning,” he said, heaving a sigh of resignation. “I took some of my horses for a morning ride. If I can’t attend I send one of our stable boys or grooms. I was home before luncheon, as always. And from what I understand the fire broke out closer to four.”

  Margaret gave Ainsley an imploring look that went ignored.

  “Perhaps you noticed something,” Ainsley pressed.

  Blair laughed then. “I had not realized you now work for the constabulary. If investigators wish to come speak with us they are more than welcome.”

  “There will be no investigation,” Ainsley said. “Inspector Marley feels Mr. Owen succumbed from smoke inhalation, nothing more.”

  This news startled Margaret. When she spoke with Jonas on the subject he had been very convincing. She knew Ainsley, as well, believed Mr. Owen had met an untimely end. The Thornton brothers were quiet for a moment, eyeing each other on the opposite sides of the gathering.

  “You disagree?” Brandon asked, squinting against the sun breaking through the foliage.

  “I do,” Ainsley answered. “And I would appreciate it if you and your brother were honest with me.” Ainsley raised his head to look Blair in the eye.

  Brandon nodded soberly but Blair had grown agitated. “Are you accusing my brother and me of being less than honest?” Blair asked, his face twisting harshly at the insult. He stepped forward, forcing Ainsley to stand, readying for a fight.

  Brandon crossed between Ainsley and Margaret to push his br
other back. “Calm down,” Brandon said.

  Margaret stood so she could step back from any ruckus that erupted.

  “The interesting thing about secrets, Peter Marshall, is that they don’t stay hidden for long, not in the counties,” Blair said steadily while his brother stood between them. “Everything comes to light sooner or later.”

  Margaret saw her brother smile. She wasn’t sure if Blair hinted at Ainsley’s position in medicine or something else entirely.

  “Brother, this isn’t wise,” Brandon cautioned.

  “Hasn’t he any clue who he’s speaking with?” Blair asked, his anger growing. “How dare you assassinate our characters in such a way? Who else have you spoken to?”

  Margaret came to his side. “Blair, we only ask to put the pieces together. We weren’t accusing you or Brandon of anything.”

  Blair looked to her as if surprised to see her there. “You knew he intended to do this? That he intended to corner us, ask impertinent questions?”

  “You are hardly cornered,” Ainsley said, a little more harshly than Margaret would have expected.

  Blair moved as if to charge Ainsley but Brandon held him back. Throwing his brother’s hands from him, Blair turned and marched toward the horses, holding his hands in fists at his sides.

  “We do not mean to insult you,” Margaret said to Brandon, trying to regain peace. “Miss Ivy is becoming a dear friend, and I would never forgive myself if we did not fight for justice for her family.”

  Brandon’s face seemed to soften at this. He nodded quickly and ran up the hill after his brother. From their place beside the creek Margaret could see them speaking and arguing but she could not hear what they were saying. She turned to Ainsley and crossed her arms over her chest. “You haven’t any tact!”

  “You wouldn’t either if you had seen what I’ve seen,” Ainsley answered unapologetically. “For all we know there could a grudge between the two families. They could have killed Mr. Owen when an agreement went awry, something about a racehorse or even a poorly placed bet. Men have killed for less.”

  “Peter, hold your tongue!” Margaret could not fathom one of their closest childhood friends having any sort of mind-set to do a thing such as Ainsley was suggesting.

  “You saw the way they looked at each other each time before they spoke.” Ainsley drew closer, lowering his voice so only Margaret could hear. “What do we know of them? Truly? Men like this believe they are above the law. We’ve seen it before, Margaret. I will not blindly look the other way simply because they were friends or because they have a title.”

  Margaret knew what her brother said was true. Their involvement with the Owen family could not be discounted, but she doubted they’d get any further knowledge by addressing them so abruptly.

  A few moments later Brandon returned and when Margaret looked past him she saw Blair mounting his horse and quickly galloping for the trail, heading farther from the house and deeper into the woods. It was not the way she had wanted to say goodbye.

  “My brother regrets that he must depart,” Brandon said, slightly flustered but gaining composure.

  Margaret stepped forward. “Brandon, we never intended—”

  “It’s quite all right,” Brandon said, raising a hand to halt any further explanations. “He’s just overtired. You understand.”

  Margaret nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure that she did.

  Chapter 22

  So go, and fare thee well,

  “What did you expect would happen?” Margaret asked as she charged along the trail, Ainsley trailing behind her. “Must have learned such interrogation tactics from the Yard.”

  After Blair’s outburst, they helped Brandon return the horses to their pasture before offering a few awkward goodbyes. There was no longer a need to keep up appearances so they choose the trail through the woods to take them home. And it was better this way, Ainsley decided; he and Margaret had much to talk about. He couldn’t decide, however, whether Margaret was upset at his brazen line of questioning or at the abrupt end to an afternoon with someone who was clearly smitten with her.

  “Really, Peter, have you lost all sense of propriety?”

  “My questions weren’t unreasonable,” he answered in self-assured protest.

  “If you were an officer of the law they wouldn’t be,” Margaret answered. “We aren’t in the city anymore. It won’t be so easy to hide your involvement in cases if you insist on acting like the inquisition.”

  “I wouldn’t need to act like the inquisition if people were straightforward and truthful,” he said.

  Their pace was quick and the trail overgrown. Walking single file, they dodged low-hanging limbs and trailing undergrowth.

  “You saw how quickly Blair grew to anger. Innocent people don’t behave like that.”

  “I think you may have truly offended them,” Margaret answered.

  “So what if I have?” Ainsley said with a shrug. “I’m in no great hurry to align myself with murderers or arsonists. And you shouldn’t either.”

  Margaret stopped. “I won’t believe it,” she said. “When we were children—”

  “We were all different people as children, Margaret. You, me, them. Everyone changes. The sooner you realize that the better.”

  She stopped suddenly. “What’s happened to you? The brother I know would never be so bitter, so untrusting.”

  Ainsley turned and gave a pointed finger to her. “You brought me into this! A week ago ignorance was my closest ally.”

  “Is this your way of punishing me then? This is your defence against an uncertain world? Push everyone away until they can no longer stand it to be near you?”

  If Ainsley didn’t know any better he’d swear he saw his mother standing opposite him, imploring him to answer. Margaret resembled their deceased matriarch in nearly every way. There were times, while their mother lived, when he couldn’t rightly say who held his heart more and, now, with their mother gone, all his love and protection fell onto Margaret, who deserved far better than what he was able to provide.

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “I didn’t push you out the door when we saw the smoke. I didn’t make you stay even after the flames were out. Your own conscience wouldn’t let you look the other way. You are a good man, Peter. A brave man. A righteous man. I only wish you saw yourself as I do.” Margaret’s eyes glistened as she chided him. She wiped her cheeks and turned away, perhaps hoping he hadn’t noticed.

  It was clear she believed the words she spoke, misguided as they were. She saw him in a much fairer light than he ever could, not after what he had done. If anything, he sought absolution for his misdeeds, and hoped that in some way he could right the scales that he had set off balance that fateful night back in London.

  After a long pause he spoke, offering a heavyhearted breath before shattering her illusions. “You are wrong. I am none of those things.” He raked his hand through his tussled hair. “I am just a man. There’s nothing special about Peter Marshall and certainly nothing special about Peter Ainsley.”

  The Briar appeared through the trees, bringing with it a great sense of relief to Ainsley. They had walked for the better part of an hour in an uneasy silence and the house represented an opportunity for reprieve for both of them. Margaret skirted ahead, charging for the covered garden gate, leaving Ainsley to make his way up the hill alone.

  As he came to the gate, a figure in one of the upper windows caught his attention but he refused to look. He ducked back behind the gate as a sense of unease crept up over him. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It seemed silly to be so frightened, so ill at ease when it was most likely a trick of the light or his mind making something recognizable out of something lacking definition. That’s all it was, he tried to convince himself, a mundane, commonplace thing that his mind made into something else.

  When he finally brought himself to look he saw Hubert staring at him from the same window. When George appeared at his side they
both waved energetically and then darted away.

  That was real, he told himself. And that is what he should focus on. Only what was real.

  By the time Ainsley entered the house he found Margaret, Nathaniel, and Aunt Louisa sitting down to tea in the parlour as he passed in the hall. He regretted not being swift enough to pass by unnoticed.

  “Peter?”

  Aunt Louisa’s voice found him just as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He placed his hand on the bannister and lowered his head in defeat. For a second he pondered the repercussions of pretending not to hear her.

  “Peter.” She appeared at the door to the parlour and looked out over the foyer. “Do come join us.”

  She gave an amused smile as she called him with a single finger. Knowing he would do as she commanded, she did not wait for his reply and retreated back into the room.

  A tray of tea, cups and saucers, cookies, and other treats had been placed on the table at the centre of a small sofa and two chairs. Jonas stood near the window, a teacup and saucer in his hands.

  “We’ve received an invite,” Aunt Louisa said, popping a remaining bit of cookie in her mouth. She picked up a card and envelope that had been slipped beneath her teacup. “The Duke and Duchess Thornton are hosting a dinner the day after next and we have all been invited. Including Dr. Davies, it seems.”

  Ainsley gave a sideways glance to Margaret, who did not flinch at the news. She raised her teacup higher to take a sip.