Letter from a Dead Man

by Dawn Harris

  ‘An Englishman, he said.’

  ‘Did he give you a name?’

  When I shook my head, Giles gave a grim smile. ‘I thought not. Could he describe this man?’ ‘No. He heard him talking to the French smugglers, but couldn’t see him in the dark.’

  Giles’s lips twisted in a manner that suggested it was exactly the answer he’d expected. ‘Is that all?’ When I nodded, he picked up the penknife and held it in the palm of his hand, pain in his eyes. ‘Perhaps he did sink the yacht and steal the penknife, but the rest is probably a fairy tale. These rogues will say anything for that kind of money.’

  This was what my uncle had said, and I was well aware of it myself. But I didn’t think that was the real reason the Gosport man had told me those things. Giles seemed less concerned than I’d expected by what I’d said, and a new suspicion rose in my mind.

  ‘Giles, do you know what is going on in your family?’

  Looking up, he answered quietly. ‘Yes, I believe so.’

  I was very thankful to hear it, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, ‘Does Mr Reevers have any part in it?’

  He stared at me in utter astonishment. ‘Radleigh?’ Suddenly he began to laugh. Going on so long he had to mop his eyes with his handkerchief.

  ‘I’m so glad to have amused you,’ I muttered acidly. But he didn’t react, and I urged, ‘At least have the decency to tell me why it’s so funny.’

  He gazed at me for a moment. ‘I thought you two got on rather well. I didn’t expect you to accuse him of----’

  ‘He’s very short of money,’ I pointed out abruptly, my temper still a little frayed.

  Giles shook his head at me. ‘He is also one of my greatest friends. I thought you knew that.’

  I grunted. ‘Well, who do you suspect then?’

  Rising from his chair, he came round the other side of his desk, perched himself on the edge of it and took my hands lightly in his. ‘Drusilla, I beg of you not to involve yourself in this any more. You’ve taken too many risks already.’ When I began to protest, he squeezed my hands. ‘You always were far cleverer than anyone else of my acquaintance, but whatever possessed you to go into a low inn carrying five hundred pounds? Half the men there would have killed you for such a sum. Didn’t you think of the dangers?’

  I lifted my shoulders a little. ‘I hoped there was a chance of finding out the truth.’

  ‘Brave, but foolhardy,’ he said affectionately. ‘From now on you must leave it all to me.’

  I said nothing and he, knowing me of old, insisted with an urgency I was unused to from him, ‘Promise me you’ll stay out of it, Drusilla. I do not want to spend the rest of my days with your death on my conscience.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Before I could answer Giles, his mother burst into the study, ready for her outing, a smart black hat perched on her curls. ‘Drusilla,’ she exclaimed with delight. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’

  I stood up and greeted her with affection. ‘I hear you’re going to Yarmouth this morning.’

  ‘I’m spending the day with Maria Ross,’ she told me, her eyes alight with anticipation. ‘She’s been in London for the past month, and I can’t wait to hear all the latest gossip.’

  With my godmother eager to be on her way, I soon took my leave, wishing I’d had more time to discuss the murders with Giles. Still, he’d made it clear he didn’t want me involved; his sense of chivalry would not allow it. I did not, however, have any intention of keeping out of it.

  Back at Westfleet, I strolled into the drawing room where I found my aunt, uncle and cousin engrossed in wedding arrangements. The ceremony was to be held in Westfleet’s ancient Norman church, with the wedding breakfast at the Manor. My uncle had insisted I should bear none of the expense and I had, therefore, left my aunt to organise the day as she wished.

  Everything seemed to be in hand, but when my aunt maintained she didn’t know how she was to get everything done in time, I asked, ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  She threw me a grateful look. ‘That’s kind of you Drusilla, but it’s mostly sewing -- some things for Lucie’s wedding trip. I thought I had plenty of time, but somehow-----’

  I agreed I certainly could not assist with that. She had already refused my offer to purchase some new gowns for Lucie; naturally I respected her wish to be independent; and in any case once Lucie was married Giles would provide for her.

  Leaving them to get on with things, I went into the workroom, where I spent a good deal of time studying the evidence on my charts, and thinking about the man who had planned the murders. An Englishman, the man in Gosport had said; which he had to be, I reasoned, no matter how much I wished otherwise. Someone highly intelligent, yet devious, and while there must be evil in him, no murderer could be sinister all the time. He must have other sides to his nature; perhaps someone who could make me laugh, who shook his head over the French, and complained of the government, as we all did on occasion. He might, I thought with a shudder, be a man I liked.

  Strolling through the gardens in some welcome October sunshine that afternoon, I had just stopped to enjoy the fragrance of a late flowering rose, when I saw Mr Reevers striding down the path in my direction. My heart lifted with a joy that overwhelmed me in its intensity, for I had not seen him in three weeks.

  On reaching me, he bowed. ‘Your butler said I would find you here.’

  ‘Did he indeed?’ I remarked a little wryly, trying not to show how happy I was to see him. ‘It is a source of wonder to me that my movements can be so accurately forecast by my servants, when I don’t know which direction I will take from one minute to the next.’

  He chuckled. ‘Yes, it is annoying, isn’t it. But let us not concern ourselves with minor irritations on such a day as this. I rather hoped you might invite me to stroll in the gardens with you, as I have no desire to play gooseberry to Giles and Lucie, or---’

  ‘Giles is here?’

  He nodded. ‘We rode over together. Jeffel said your aunt and uncle were discussing wedding arrangements. So you see---’ And he jiggled his bushy eyebrows at me.

  ‘Oh, I see perfectly,’ I replied, choking back a laugh. ‘I am the best of a poor set of choices. Frankly, I’m surprised you bothered to accompany Giles here at all.’

  ‘Yes, I quite surprised myself. But the truth is I had nothing better to do,’ he drawled lazily, his eyes dancing. ‘Mrs Saxborough is in Yarmouth, and Vincent and Piers have gone to Brading.’

  Strolling round the walled garden, I remarked casually that I gathered he and Piers had become quite friendly. He turned and stared. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Mrs Saxborough. She informed me you and Piers were often out together.’

  He drew his bushy eyebrows together and said in a cold voice, ‘Mrs Saxborough is mistaken, Lady Drusilla. We may be out at the same time. I assure you we are never together. I do not care for people of a dour disposition.’

  Leaving the walled garden and heading for the orchard, he began to talk of the weather, and amused at the abrupt change of subject, I remarked, ‘If you do not wish to talk about Piers, surely you could think of a topic more original than the weather.’

  His bottom lip quivered. ‘Ah, but I assumed you would take the hint, like any other well-bred female.’

  ‘Did you?’ I murmured dryly. ‘I had no idea you could be so foolish.’ He immediately assumed such a chastened expression that I choked.

  ‘I humbly beg your pardon, ma’am. As you clearly wish it, we shall speak of Piers. Though I can find little to say, except that he rides like a slug, cannot draw, has no conversation, is devoid of charm, lacks a sense of humour, and his eyes are too close together. But, of course, if you admire the fellow—’

  Torn between exasperation and laughter I spluttered, ‘W-will you p-please be quiet!’

  ‘Certainly.’ Smiling down at me, he murmured in a low, caressing voice, ‘I should be happy to sit quietly in your company all day, if you wished it.’r />
  I gasped, and though I did not look at him, his very nearness made me breath faster. Quickly turning away, I drew his attention to the beauty of a bank of Michaelmas daisies, inwardly cursing the tremble in my voice.

  At which he whispered softly, ‘Who is changing the subject now?’

  I shook my head at him. ‘You are too audacious, sir. It will not do.’

  He bowed, and after a moment inquired, ‘Tell me, why are you still unwed?’

  I turned and stared at him, my eyes widening. ‘Frankly sir, I do not think that is any of your concern.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but I should like to know all the same,’ he reiterated, undaunted.

  Taken aback, I didn’t answer at once. Glancing at him, I saw he was watching me, a half smile hovering on his lips. ‘Are you always so direct?’

  ‘Only with people I like.’

  He looked at me expectantly, and with a shrug, I answered his question. ‘It’s quite simple really, Mr Reevers. No-one has ever made me an offer.’

  ‘So if a respectable man made you an offer, you would accept?’ And he raised an eyebrow as if in polite interest.

  It was impossible to guess what was in his mind, but he needed money badly, having sold his family home to pay his father’s debts, and I was a very wealthy woman. I liked him far more than any man I had ever met, but he clearly knew how to make himself agreeable to any gentlewoman, and afraid my growing feelings for him were overcoming my judgement, I fought to regain control of the situation. Primly I informed him, ‘There are two reasons why I have not married. I have never met anyone I wished to marry--’

  He nodded in acceptance. ‘And the second reason?’

  ‘I am used to being my own mistress, and no man, however amiable, would allow me the independence I am accustomed to. And that is something I am not prepared to give up.’

  Having reached the end of the orchard we climbed the short, steep hill to the Downs, where I told him how much I enjoyed this quiet spot.

  ‘I can see why,’ he said. ‘No-one will disturb you here, and you have the perfect view of everything going on.’ And he asked if the wood beyond the shrubbery to our left, was part of my land.

  ‘No, that belongs to Vale House, but now old Mr Jenkins has died, the estate is to be sold.’

  I thought it wisest not to linger here, and he followed me back down the hill, stopping to admire the old oak tree that had stood close to the end of the path, probably for centuries. ‘You have a beautiful home,’ he observed without a trace of envy in his voice.

  ‘I think so, of course.’

  A leaf fell from the tree onto his shoulder and he brushed it off. ‘Tell me, are you ever lonely?’

  Again his boldness made me gasp. ‘That is not a question one asks in genteel conversation.’

  ‘No, it isn’t, is it. But are you?’

  I shook my head at him, half laughing. ‘If you must know, I never used to be when my father was alive. Now, I have my family at Westfleet, yet there are times when-----’

  Realising my tongue was running away with me, I stopped, for I was admitting things I rarely spoke of to anyone, except perhaps Julia and Giles. When I didn’t continue, he murmured softly, ‘I too have discovered it is possible to be lonely in any number of unlikely situations.’

  I looked up, and he held my gaze in a manner that gave me a severe jolt, for his eyes bore an expression I could not mistake. My heart began to thud alarmingly, for he did not seem to want to look away, and I could not. We were virtually at the furthest point of Westfleet’s extensive gardens and no-one, not even a gardener’s boy, was in sight. We were still under the oak tree, and so close that one short step would take me into his arms.

  I had never had the slightest desire to be in any man’s arms before, and to find that, at this precise moment, it was something I wanted very much, came as a considerable shock. For a minute neither of us spoke, then he reached for my hand, murmuring my name in a soft caressing voice. But determined not to throw caution to the winds, and take what would be an almost irrevocable step towards marriage, somehow I pulled myself away, swung round on my heel, and without a word, left him standing there. For, there were too many unanswered questions, too many things I was unsure of.

  Most of the extremely honourable gentlemen I had met over the years had been more interested in my fortune than myself, and there wasn’t one I hadn’t very soon found boring. I certainly did not find Mr Reevers boring; far from it. He, being an astute and observant man, was no doubt aware I was becoming increasingly attracted to him. If I was ever to think of marriage, it wasn’t his financial difficulties that would make him ineligible to me, but the fear that he saw me only as a means of resolving those problems.

  He had never made any reference to my fortune, nor did he attempt to flatter me as other men did. His manner, whatever the provocation, was invariably calm and pleasant. He was, by far, the most interesting man I had ever met, and one who listened to my views without the superiority some men adopted.

  His looks were not exceptional, his thick, wavy black hair had being allowed to curl carelessly round his ears. But, to me, a man’s personality was of far greater importance than a handsome face. Those dark eyes of his were his best feature; full of intelligence and laughter, they seemed all too often to know what I was thinking.

  What it was that attracted me I didn’t know, except that there seemed to be an affinity between us, and what amused him made me laugh too.

  I half expected him to follow me, but when I reached the other end of the orchard and looked back, he was leaning against the tree watching me, a curious smile on his lips.

  Returning via the stables, I found Giles on the point of leaving, having promised to collect his mother from Yarmouth in good time for dinner. ‘Have you seen Radleigh?’ Before I could answer, however, he saw that gentleman walking towards us. Farewells were made in the usual fashion, and I went back indoors not knowing what to think.

  That evening, sitting in the library reading, I found it impossible to concentrate on my book. I kept thinking of what Giles had said earlier; that he knew something I didn’t, and I should leave everything to him now. But what was it that I knew nothing about?

  In the end I made my mind to ask him. It was ridiculous to go on like this. If he wanted me to stay out of things, he would have to tell me why. But when I arrived at Ledstone the following morning Parker informed me Giles had gone to visit one of his tenants. Removing my riding gloves, I inquired if my godmother was in, and on being ushered into her drawing room, I found Vincent and Piers with her. Marguerite greeted me with joy, and as the gentleman rose from their chairs and bowed, I asked if they’d had an agreeable visit with their friends near Brading.

  Vincent answered, ‘It was delightful, thank you, ma’am. Piers was eager to explore that area before leaving the Island.’

  ‘When do you mean to leave?’ I asked.

  ‘The day after the wedding, provided the sea promises a smooth crossing.’ And he chuckled, ‘I don’t want Piers turning green again.’

  ‘You shouldn’t tease Piers in that way,’ Marguerite chided. ‘He can’t help being sea-sick.’

  Piers punctiliously thanked her for her concern, and said, ‘Papa, it is time we left for Newport.’

  They were both dressed for riding, and Vincent glanced at the clock on the mantle shelf. ‘What will Lady Drusilla think of us, dashing off the moment she arrives.’

  ‘Please don’t delay on my account,’ I smiled.

  ‘Ten minutes won’t matter one way or the other. We have some shopping to do, that’s all.’

  Marguerite asked him, ‘What’s this I hear about your valet? Parker said he’s in quite a state. Is it true his father is very ill?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s dying. Wistow showed me the letter he’d received. He was so upset, I sent him off to London straightaway. Although I have to say it couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time, with the wedding so near.’

  Piers said, ‘I
told you Papa, my man will look after you.’

  ‘Yes, and I am grateful Piers, believe me. But even you will admit your man is not a patch on Wistow.’

  I asked Vincent, ‘Is he likely to re-join you soon?’

  ‘When we reach London I expect. We’re spending a few days there before going home, and the doctor was of the opinion Wistow’s father would not linger more than a week.’

  ‘How will you make your way back to Italy?’ I inquired, conscious of the difficulties of travelling during a war.

  ‘By sea, I think.’

  Marguerite looked at Piers, thinking of his problems with seasickness, and said impulsively, ‘Oh, isn’t there some other way? Your poor son-----’

  Piers said, ‘I’m not returning to Italy yet, ma’am. I mean to go to Paris first.’

  ‘Paris?’ Marguerite burst out. ‘But is that wise? The French are our enemies and-----’

  ‘I lived in France for many years ma’am, and I have only friends there, not enemies.’

  Vincent shuddered. ‘Personally, I intend to steer well clear of the place. Too much blood being spilt for my liking.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ I said, and asked Piers, ‘Is it true every patriot in France wears a red hat?’

  ‘It’s called a ‘bonnet rouge,’ ma’am.’

  Marguerite announced, ‘Well, I’m glad I’m not in Paris. Red really isn’t my colour.’ Vincent and I laughed. Piers did not seem to find it amusing. She said to Vincent. ‘When you get back to Italy, you mustn’t forget us. Promise me you’ll visit us again soon.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said easily. ‘Next summer.’

  ‘Then I must be content,’ she sighed. The gentlemen took their leave then, promising to be back in good time for dinner.

  After they had gone, our conversation inevitably turned to the wedding, and it was about half an hour later that Parker entered to say the housekeeper wished to see Mrs Saxborough urgently. ‘What is it, Parker? Can’t it wait?’

  ‘She’s very agitated, ma’am. A housemaid was dusting Mr Vincent’s bedchamber when she accidentally smashed the glass on the miniature painting he keeps beside his bed.’ Marguerite gave a cry of alarm, and he explained, ‘She knocked it onto the floor, ma’am. Very upset the girl is. What with Mr Vincent always being so kind to her.’