“I’ve never seen it before. I never set foot in my uncle’s gun room and I don’t know how to shoot a pistol.”
“She’s hardly going to admit it,” Hawkins interjected. Even Withercombe had to see the justice of that comment.
“What were you doing in the gardens at that hour?” asked the magistrate.
“I was going for a walk,” Jacobin replied.
“Not busy with your duties?”
“I had prepared many dishes for dinner the night before. I wasn’t required that morning.”
“Unusual weather for a walk,” said Hawkins. “It was coming on to snow quite hard.”
“Hm,” said Withercombe. “Mr. Hawkins makes a good point. Taking a walk for pleasure in such cold seems odd.”
Jacobin shrugged. “I like snow. It’s pretty.”
Withercombe didn’t seem to know what to say to that, but Hawkins was made of sterner stuff. “The servants say your bed wasn’t slept in. Where did you spend the night?”
She was saved from having to answer this awkward question by a commotion outside the door, which swung open to reveal Storrington looking ten feet tall in a multicaped driving coat and a tall beaver hat.
“Withercombe,” he roared. “What the devil do you mean by arresting my fiancée?”
“I had no idea you were betrothed to the young—er—lady,” Withercombe said. “I thought she was your cook.”
It was lucky Withercombe was easily intimidated, Anthony thought. Not a bad old boy, but hardly a pillar of strength when it came to law enforcement. Jacobin appeared stunned. He threw her a meaningful look, silently begging her not to give the game away.
“Our betrothal is new,” he said. “No doubt Miss de Chastelux didn’t wish to say anything before our families were informed and the news made public.”
She caught on quickly. “Anthony. How happy I am to see you. These gentlemen believe I had something to do with the death of my uncle. Absurd, isn’t it?” Sadness suffused her countenance. “It is tragic that he has been killed, is it not? Who could have done such a dreadful thing? They made me spend the night in jail and have tied me up.”
He went to her and embraced her. “How terrible for you.” The indignation in his voice didn’t have to be feigned. “Withercombe, untie her at once. I must take her home.”
“Wait a minute,” said Hawkins. “I have evidence of her participation in Lord Candover’s attempted murder by poison, not to mention that I caught her red-handed, leaning over his dead body.”
Anthony had heard what had happened when he reached home, and he’d had time to plan his tactics. He eyed Hawkins with disdain.
“You’d think a cunning murderer would have the sense to run away, not waste time examining the body after the deed was done. Instead you leaped to the dubious conclusion that a young woman of good birth, my betrothed wife, had killed her own uncle instead of the glaringly obvious solution that she was trying to help him.”
Withercombe coughed. “You did say she was calling for help when you found her, Hawkins.”
“She heard me coming and did that to conceal the truth.” A hint of uncertainty had entered the runner’s voice.
“Withercombe.” Anthony addressed the perplexed magistrate. “How long have you known me?”
“Well over thirty years, my lord. And your father before you for almost as many. I had the honor of attending your christening.”
“And have you ever known me to be slipshod in my responsibilities?”
“Oh no, my lord.”
“Then you know that if you release Miss de Chastelux into my care you can trust me to keep her close and make her available for questioning as the investigation into the murder proceeds. Devoted as I am to my betrothed, I would hardly wish to find myself married to a murderess.” He gave a wintry laugh and kept an arm firmly about Jacobin’s waist. “Now please, untie her.”
The day was won, at least temporarily. Notwithstanding the protests of the runner, another fifteen minutes saw Anthony handing Jacobin into his carriage. As soon as the door closed behind them she flung her arms around his neck, and he held her with fierce gladness.
“You were brilliant!” she cried. “I almost felt sorry for that runner. There’s no one like you when it comes to playing the self-important nobleman.” For once she seemed to approve of him in that role. He hugged her tightly.
“It’s not over yet,” he said into her curls. “We’ll have to be married immediately. It’s the best way to protect you.”
She pulled away from him. “But that was a ruse! We’re not really engaged.”
“Yes we are. We’ll be married today.”
“I’m not marrying a man who left me alone and didn’t even leave me a note.”
“How can you worry about something so trivial at a time like this?”
She snorted with indignation. “It’s not trivial. I woke up and you were gone and then I found my uncle’s body and spent the night in jail and you weren’t there. Not a single word for twenty-four hours.”
He snatched her up and pulled her onto his lap, where she continued to wriggle and make furious noises that made him want to laugh, despite the seriousness of their predicament.
“Listen, little spitfire. I did leave a note. There was no paper in the desk at the Queen’s House so I left a note with Simpson at the house that I was going to London to find out what I could about Bellamy. I’m sorry about what happened, but I couldn’t get home last night through the snow.”
“Oh.” She subsided into his arms and snuggled up to him. “Did you find anything in London?”
“Nothing good.” He related his conversation with Lord Hugo.
“I’m afraid it looks like we’ve hit a dead end with Bellamy.” He held her closely, feeling her disappointment in her slumping body. “But don’t worry, darling. We’ll keep looking. And they’ll find it damn hard to hang a countess.”
She took his face between her hands and looked at him intently. “Anthony, you are gallant to offer, but you can’t marry me just to save me from hanging. They’ll think you were in it too, and we’ll both be in the same fix.”
“I’d rather be in a fix with you than without you.”
He meant it too, but she didn’t seem to hear his words.
“At least they won’t know now that you walked out of your card game. Candover won’t be able to ruin you.”
There was a moment’s charged silence.
“I didn’t do it,” he said.
“Of course not.”
“But the thought did occur to you.”
She held up her hand, her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. “Just for a tiny moment the idea might have crossed my mind. But truly I knew you wouldn’t have. But I don’t understand why you didn’t find the body on your way back to the house.”
“I went back a different way. There’s a route through the woods which no one can see from the house. I didn’t want any of the servants to know where I spent the night.”
He kissed her and rejoiced in her eager response. It felt so good to have her in his arms again. He’d do anything to keep her safe.
“Let’s talk about our wedding,” he said.
“We’re not getting married.”
The argument had hardly begun when the carriage came to a halt. They’d reached the house. The door swung open to reveal another traveling carriage parked near the entrance, an elegantly dressed woman descending from it.
“The devil,” Anthony said. “Kitty! That’s all we need.”
Chapter 26
Although Lady Kitty had been perfectly agreeable during their two encounters, Jacobin was slightly in awe of Anthony’s very proper sister. But on closer inspection Kitty didn’t look her usual impeccable self. Her hat was plunked onto hair that had clearly been done in a hurry, with several locks sticking out from under the brim, and her traveling redingote was misbuttoned.
“Anthony,” she cried, clearly on the verge of tears. “Thank goodness, you’re here.
”
“What the devil are you doing here, Kitty? Does Walter know?” he said, stepping out of his own carriage.
“Be nice,” Jacobin hissed. “Can’t you see she’s upset?”
Kitty stood with clenched fists, ignoring Simpson, who was holding the front door open for her. “I had to leave. I couldn’t stand having that woman in my house a moment longer.”
Hushing her with a gesture, Anthony pulled Kitty inside. Jacobin followed, receiving an ugly look from Simpson, who was, she suspected, about to order her around to the servants’ entrance. Perhaps it would be for the best. She made to tiptoe off and leave the siblings alone, when Anthony grabbed her by the wrist and hustled her along behind Kitty into a sitting room.
Kitty looked at her inquiringly. “Miss Castle. What are you doing here?”
“She’s not Miss Castle. Her name is Jacobin de Chastelux but not for much longer. She and I will be married today and she’ll be Countess of Storrington.”
A strangled sound, hastily repressed, from the butler drew his attention.
“Simpson,” Anthony ordered, “have Lady Kitty’s usual rooms prepared, and one of the best chambers for Miss de Chastelux. And then have hot water sent up for a bath.”
Simpson left, reluctance expressed in his every movement, and Anthony looked back at Kitty, who had astonishment written all over her face.
“You’re going to marry your cook? Why on earth?”
Jacobin thought about denying it, but she was curious to hear his answer.
“Jacobin is the daughter of Auguste de Chastelux, a French nobleman, and her mother was Candover’s sister. I won’t have you treat her with anything less than complete respect.”
“Well, of course not!” Kitty was thoroughly diverted from her own troubles. “How splendid. You must tell me all about it.” She turned and kissed Jacobin, who, for once, couldn’t think of a thing to say. “I always wanted a sister and we shall have such fun planning the wedding. A big London affair in the spring and you shall come and stay with me first and be introduced to everyone. Oh! This does make me feel better.”
“My first object in life, Kitty,” Anthony said sarcastically, “is to attend to your amusements. But in this case I must set them aside. As I said before, the wedding takes place today.”
“Absolutely not! Whatever will people say? Well, I know what they’ll say and it’s quite unacceptable. Given your fiancée’s recent—shall we say unusual—employment, we’ll have a lot of work to do to make things right for her. I know you wouldn’t want unpleasant gossip about your bride.”
“You’re quite right, Kitty.” Her words had mollified him. “But unfortunately we don’t have any choice.”
Kitty’s eyes swung unerringly to Jacobin’s stomach. “When’s it due?”
Given what she believed, Lady Kitty was taking it very well, but Jacobin couldn’t let her misapprehension stand.
“I’m not enceinte, my lady,” she said. Then turned to Anthony. “We’d better tell Lady Kitty what my position is. And, by the way, we’re not getting married.”
“Yes we are. And it’s none of Kitty’s damn business.”
Jacobin folded her arms and looked at the ceiling. “I won’t even consider the matter unless you tell your sister exactly what has happened.”
Kitty embraced her again. “Bravo! You know just how to manage my brother. I can see you two will deal superbly together.” She turned to her brother, keeping an arm around Jacobin’s shoulders. “Out with it, Anthony. I want to know everything.”
Jacobin let Anthony do the talking as he related most of her story, leaving out only the immediate reason for her flight from Candover’s house and his own quarrel with Candover.
“This murder charge,” Kitty said with a frown at the conclusion of the tale, “you can take care of it, can’t you?”
Jacobin was grateful that Kitty didn’t think she was guilty. Or perhaps she did, she mentally amended, but didn’t care. That made Jacobin feel uncomfortable. At the same time it showed extraordinary loyalty on Kitty’s part toward her brother. Anthony’s resentment of his sister was clearly not reciprocated.
“I hope so, but it won’t be easy,” Anthony admitted. “That’s why we must marry at once. As Countess of Storrington it’ll be far harder for that runner to convince the courts of her guilt. She’ll be given every benefit of doubt. And it’ll give us more time to find the real killer.”
“I see,” said Kitty, “that a quick marriage will have to do. But not today. Jacobin must have the complete support of the family. James must be here, and Aunt Margaret too. Write to them today, and I know they’ll come at once.”
Anthony agreed with some reluctance that Kitty was right. They were discussing which of their cousins might also be persuaded to travel to Storrington, at short notice in winter weather, when Simpson returned to announce that Jacobin’s bath was ready.
Feeling tired and grimy after her night in captivity, Jacobin left without argument. She’d deal with Anthony later, when she felt more herself.
“I’m grateful to you for accepting Jacobin without question. This isn’t how I ever imagined planning a wedding.” Not that Anthony had ever mentally planned his own marriage—that was the kind of thing females did—but if he had, it wouldn’t have been in such a hole-in-the-corner fashion. And he needed to acknowledge Kitty’s backing, though in a resentful part of his mind he felt he’d rather have fought her disapproval.
“Of course I accept her. You’re my big brother and whatever you want—in important matters—I will always support. There can be no question about it.”
He thought about Kitty’s own affairs, the trouble in her marriage that had brought about her precipitous arrival at Storrington. He supposed he owed her reciprocal assistance. He was about to broach the matter when she came and stood beside him and tucked her arm around his.
“I know we’ve never had the same friendship you and James share—I’ve often envied it—but you must never doubt my affection for you. But I have to ask one thing. What in the name of heaven were you doing tangling with Candover? He’s always struck me as a most disagreeable man. And from your account he treated his own niece very badly. There’s something behind this you haven’t told me.”
Anthony sighed and looked away. “It’s because I don’t like to talk about Mama.”
“Mama?” asked Kitty, all astonishment. “What does Candover have to do with Mama?”
He couldn’t think of a way to put it delicately. “He was her lover.”
“No! Impossible. I don’t believe it for a minute.” She looked at him suspiciously. “Does James know about this nonsensical notion?”
“Yes. We thought it was better not to tell you.”
“Brothers! Men!” she huffed with an exasperated toss of the head. “What gave you both such an idea?”
“Papa told me when he was dying. She was running away with him when she died.”
“That can’t be true. You must have misunderstood him.”
“No, I didn’t. He said she’d fallen in love when they went to Paris, just after you were born, and received a letter from him that day. She was going to join him and was drowned.”
“But Mama killed herself. She wouldn’t have done that if she was meeting a lover.”
“Killed herself?” he asked, flabbergasted.
“Didn’t you know?”
“No I didn’t. For the simple reason that it isn’t true.”
“Come and sit down with me,” Kitty said gently, and he allowed himself to be led over to a sofa. She took one of his hands in both hers and held it on her knee. “I think I always knew. She was so very unhappy. All my memories are of someone who carried a dark weight on her soul.”
“She wasn’t always like that. When I was young she was happy. Then you came along and she was never the same.” There, he’d said it. The terrible thing he’d always thought about his sister.
“I used to fear that was true,” Kitty admitted, “but one day,
when I was about thirteen, I think, I told Nurse Bell about it, and she said it was nothing to do with me. That Mama was ill in her mind and that was why she committed suicide. She made me see that a baby girl couldn’t have done that to her mother.”
“Oh yes, Nurse Bell. You were always her favorite. She never had any time for me.” Anthony didn’t care that he was speaking like a petulant child. He wanted to shout, to weep, to roar with grief. “You had Nurse Bell. I had nobody once Mama sent Nurse Taylor away.”
“Nurse Taylor?”
“My nurse.” Anthony remembered something he hadn’t thought of in years.” It wasn’t long after they returned from France and I was crying because Mama wouldn’t let me visit her in bed in the morning like she used to. Nurse was comforting me, hugging me, when Mama came in. She started screaming at Nurse, saying she was trying to steal me from her. She told her to leave. And I never saw her again.” He was squeezing Kitty’s hands, clinging to them as though they were a lifeline, which they were, the only thing keeping him from disgracing himself with tears.
“I’m sorry, Kit,” he said, not noticing that he used her childhood diminutive. “I’m behaving as though I was five, not five and thirty.”
“Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I’ve two boys myself, remember, and I know they feel just as strongly as girls but they’re taught not to show it. That was a dreadful thing that happened. You lost your mother and then your nurse, just when you needed her most. No wonder you were angry at me.”
He could see that he shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t her fault. But he couldn’t yet admit to her that it had been his beautiful, impossible, beloved mother who had wronged him. It probably didn’t matter. Kitty knew.
“If what you say is true, why didn’t Papa tell me?” He still couldn’t accept that virtually his every action for two years had been based on a false premise.
“It was hushed up because of the scandal. And of course he didn’t want us children to know. But Nurse Bell said she’d heard Mama left a note. There was no question that she threw herself into the millstream.”
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