The Baron's Wife

by Maggi Andersen

  “Do you remember what the errand was?”

  He sighed. “Something personal, I believe.”

  “Rudge often goes to the village, doesn’t he? I remember he was absent the day I arrived here.”

  “I’m not his jailor, Laura. He has time off. If he wishes to spend it purchasing something or meeting a friend, it’s fine with me, as long as the standard of his work meets with my approval. And it always does.”

  “I think you should ask him where he was.”

  “After all this time? He gave his explanation at the inquest. And he was seen in the village, returning to the house later to perform his duties.”

  “So, he could have…”

  “So could I, for that matter,” he said sharply. “Have you ever thought of that?”

  “Not for a second. Don’t be ridiculous, Nathaniel.”

  He stared down at her, his eyes hard. “You’ve heard the rumors.” A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. “You could hardly have avoided them. There are some who still suspect me even now.”

  “But I am not one of them!”

  “I can’t blame them,” he said in a grim tone.

  Fear scudded through her. “What do you mean?”

  He glanced away. “It was common knowledge Amanda and I weren’t happy. We quarreled often. We fought on that day. She said the baby wasn’t mine. I was eaten up with jealousy when she rushed out of the house. I should have gone after her.”

  He shook his head. “The Bible says a man’s pride shall bring him low. I expected Amanda to come straight back, apologize for telling such a dreadful lie, but in my heart I knew it was true. But she was pregnant and still deserving of my protection. I am not my father, and I refused to act like him. Amanda would have been disgraced as my mother was. Mallory would not have cared a damn for her. I went after her, but I couldn’t find her. I never saw her again.” He raised his troubled gaze to Laura. “I expected her to be with Cilla; they were good friends. She’d been there but disappeared some hours later…” His voice faltered. “Did she go to Mallory? Quarrel with him? Did he kill her, or had she gotten involved in the smuggling and they did away with her?” He rubbed his eyes, and when he dropped his hands, his gaze swung away from hers. “I’ll never know the answer to that now.”

  Laura grasped the lapel of his jacket and forced him to look at her. “I know you would never have been deliberately cruel, Nathaniel.”

  “I wish I’d been more patient with her.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Her taunts brought out the worst in me. She was wild, restless, preferred city life and was never happy here. It was expedient to blame Mallory, I suppose. But if I’d been the kind of husband she wanted…”

  “We will find out the truth.” She squeezed his arm, aware it was unlikely after all this time. They had reached the lane and the first of the stone cottages. She stopped at the gate. “This was Mallory’s cottage, wasn’t it? Can we go inside?”

  Nathaniel stared at her. “It’s empty. I’m about to have it fixed up for Cadan and his family.”

  “It isn’t empty of furniture. I’ve seen inside. Come and look.” They walked up the weed-strewn path. A pile of dead leaves gathered at the front door. The wooden lintel was swollen with damp, and the door creaked as Nathaniel forced it open.

  “This needs some carpentry. There’s a lot to do to make it habitable.”

  The narrow hall smelled rank with mold, and cobwebs swung from the ceiling in the draft. Covered in brown cloth, the sofa was still in the tiny parlor. The acrid odor of ashes in the fireplace mingled with the smell of candle smoke. A candlestick sat on the mantel, a matchbox beside it.

  Nathaniel squatted before the fire. He stirred the ashes with a stick. “This fire’s been recently lit.”

  Laura rested her hand on his shoulder. “Yes, I can smell it.” She wrinkled her nose. “And something else.” She turned away with a moue of distaste. “Let’s see upstairs.”

  The low-ceilinged bedchamber was musty, the support beams thick with dust. Logs and kindling were stacked in the fireplace. Two wine glasses perched on a small table by the bed. The bed was made up with sheets, a blanket and two pillows.

  “This is from the abbey,” Laura said. “The linens don’t appear to be damp. They haven’t been on the bed very long. Someone has slept here recently, certainly since Mallory left.”

  Nathaniel glanced distastefully at the bed. “That pungent odor is the smell of sex. Lovers have used this room.”

  “This cottage has been used for assignations,” Laura said.

  “So it would seem.”

  “It would have to be the staff.”

  He took her arm. “Let’s go. The place unnerves me.”

  Laura smiled. “You don’t approve of your servants enjoying a romantic tryst?”

  “What they do on their own time is entirely their business.” He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her along with him. “But not here. We must uphold certain standards. Especially now.”

  They left the cottage, and Nathaniel called the dogs to heel. “I need to know who it is.”

  “There’s sure to be a way we can find out. If someone was to—”

  “You will have nothing to do with this.”

  Laura sighed. “What do you plan to do?”

  “What I don’t intend to do is leave you alone at night. I’ll have someone trustworthy watch this place.”

  “Who?”

  “Ben Teg.”

  “Ben is the perfect choice. He’s been at Wolfram all his life, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes. He’s a good lad.”

  ***

  At dinner that evening, Laura couldn’t prevent her gaze from straying to Rudge as she ate her dessert. His impassive manner belied his sharp scrutiny of the servants. He was too self-contained, too much the loner. It was unhealthy. Would he give vent to his repressed feelings in some way? Was it possible he exploded into violence when Amanda spurned him? Anything seemed possible. A strong aversion to the man closed Laura’s throat, and she pushed her plate away. Nathaniel seemed convinced Rudge was not capable of such a crime, but she wished the butler gone from their lives. Nathaniel must let him go.

  Laura’s corset clutched her ribs despite Agnes having laced it loosely. In another few months, she would have to have some new gowns made. Rudge hurried to pull back her chair with his spotless, white-gloved hands. His distinctive pomade smelled heavier tonight, making her stomach clench.

  The next morning, Laura came down to find Nathaniel closeted in his study with Ben Teg. Moments later, he followed her into the breakfast room. He smiled at her as Rudge began to serve him.

  “What did you learn from Teg? Did something happen last night?” Laura hissed when Rudge left the room.

  Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder. “Not here. After breakfast.”

  She waited impatiently for Nathaniel to finish his ham and eggs. He toyed for an age with his coffee, reading the newspaper.

  Laura banged down her cup. She folded her napkin. Moments passed, and she almost burst with curiosity. “I believe your cup is empty, my lord.”

  He gazed at her with heavy-lidded amusement. “You’ll spoil your digestion if you eat so fast.”

  “Never mind my digestion. Come to the study.”

  He folded his paper and rose leisurely. “Very well.”

  Nathaniel shut the study door, and Laura stood waiting, her arms folded.

  He leaned back against the desk. “Ben took up his post behind the oak tree in the lane. At midnight or thereabouts, two people entered the cottage.”

  “Who? Who were they?”

  Nathaniel raised his eyebrows. “Old Rudge, for one.”

  She gasped. “Rudge? Surely not. And who else?”

  “Sophie, the barmaid from The Sail and Anchor.”

  Laura widened her eyes. “No!”

  “Yes.”

  Laura put her hand to her mouth. “I don’t believe it.”

  “They remained until close
to dawn.”

  “Well, I must say I’m shocked.” And surprised to find her opinion of the butler as a moody loner mourning Amanda had been wrong.

  Nathaniel sighed. “It would be amusing, I grant you, if things at Wolfram were not so dire.”

  “You will question Rudge?”

  He raked both hands through his hair. “I’m afraid I must.”

  “I wish I could be there.”

  “Well, you can’t.”

  Laura gathered up her skirts. “Then I shall go and see Cilla.”

  “Not until I’m free to take you.”

  “Oh, Nathaniel. We women need to talk freely. Without a man’s presence.”

  He raised his brows. “What on earth about?”

  “Women’s concerns. It was all right yesterday, was it not?”

  “I need to talk to Rudge. As soon as I can, I’ll replace him.”

  Relief flooded through her. “Well, that’s the best news I’ve heard in a while!”

  “Teg will escort you. Take the dogs again. Remain with Cilla until I come for you.”

  “Your wish is my command, sire.” She sashayed past him.

  Nathaniel spanked her bottom.

  Secretly delighted that her husband was unbending a little more each day, Laura spun around with a look of fake shock. “Nathaniel!”

  “Then you shouldn’t wiggle your hips like that, my dear.” He pulled her onto his lap, taking her mouth in a passionate kiss.

  Laura’s breath caught. Her response to his nearness remained as swift and heated as ever. “After last night, husband, I believe you to be greedy.”

  Nathaniel laughed and released her. “Off with you then before Rudge finds us making love on this desk.”

  “As if he can talk.” It troubled her though. If it wasn’t Rudge who attacked her, then who was it?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Teg left Laura at the cottage gate. Cilla watched him walk away. “Nathaniel is taking no chances with you, I see. We’ll finish today. I’m very pleased with your portrait; I believe it’s one of my best.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Laura couldn’t wait to see it, but she would wait until Cilla was ready to show her. Her mood seemed to have improved since yesterday, and Laura didn’t want to stir the waters. She settled into her chair. “How long will you be away?”

  Busy with her paints, Cilla frowned. “I don’t intend to return to Wolfram.”

  “Never?”

  Cilla blended blue and green with a dab of yellow paint on her palette. “My time here is over. After the exhibition, I’m returning to France.”

  Laura didn’t feel as sorry as she’d thought she would at the news. Cilla’s mercurial moods made friendship difficult. “Paris seems the perfect place for you to work.”

  “And live the kind of life I choose without being frowned upon and treated like a leper.” She shrugged. “I’m confident I can put my sad past there behind me. Write a new chapter.”

  How difficult it must be for Cilla. “You may meet someone who you could love, who will love you.”

  Cilla halted, brush in the air; she gazed out the window at the scudding clouds. “I don’t believe in love.”

  “You had a lover in Paris once, did you not? Might you rekindle that relationship?”

  Cilla began to paint wild brush strokes onto the canvas. “She died.” Her voice sounded oddly implacable.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you?” Cilla gazed at her with raised brows. “You would find my problems difficult to understand.”

  “I do hope you’ll find happiness, Cilla.” Laura flushed, fearing they were about to enter dangerous territory again. She shifted on her chair, wanting this over so she could return to the abbey.

  Cilla became quiet as she worked steadily.

  Half an hour passed and Laura found it increasingly difficult to keep still. Cilla wiped her brush. “It’s finished.”

  “It is?” Laura could hardly contain her eagerness and jumped up. “May I see it?”

  Cilla stepped back. “Yes. It just needs varnish.”

  Laura studied it. She understood in a flash how Cilla’s moods played out on the canvas. The calm, settled look in the eyes of her subject contrasted greatly with the wildness of the background. She’d placed Laura beneath the loggia in her green gown. Behind her, the cliff seemed fearfully close. She might be about to step off into space. Gulls wheeled across an unsettled sky with thunderclouds gathering over the horizon. There were slashes of violent, thick paint on the background, which might have been done by a different artist from the one who painted Laura so exquisitely: the pearl combs in her burnished hair, her soft, creamy skin tones, the delicate lacework on her collar and cuffs and the coral necklace.

  Laura could not hang this work above the fireplace. Not where they would see it every day. It was an extraordinary painting, but it was also disturbing.

  “It’s a very fine work,” Laura said soberly. “You are a talented artist, Cilla.”

  Cilla unscrewed the lid on a bottle of varnish and painted a section. “I’ll have to wait until the paint dries before I apply the rest of the varnish. You think it a good likeness?”

  “It’s clever; I do see something of myself here.”

  “I’m rather proud of how well the eyes turned out.”

  Laura bent closer. “Are my eyes really so green?”

  “I would hardly embellish them. You must know they are.”

  It was like an accusation. Laura straightened. The painting repelled her and made her feel ungrateful. “You’ve flattered me, Cilla, thank you.”

  “I merely paint what I see.”

  Laura watched Cilla clean her brushes. She studied the painting again. Rendered in oils, Laura sat, hands folded, while chaos appeared to rage around her. It was in the threatening sky, the wild trees and the turbulent sea. She was like the calm center of a storm. Laura took a deep breath. She supposed that was how Cilla saw Laura’s life.

  Cilla screwed the lid back on the bottle. She glanced out the window. “It looks like rain.”

  “I’d best get the dogs back to the stables. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

  “I’ll lend you one.” Cilla went to a cupboard and opened the door. She reached in and pulled out a mannish black umbrella.

  Laura saw a flash of blue. She peered closer, then grabbed onto the sofa back as her legs wobbled. A pastel-blue parasol stood in a corner of the cupboard. A dainty thing, so unlike anything Cilla would have bought for herself. It had a pearl handle exactly like the one in Amanda’s painting. Laura exhaled a ragged, sharp breath as she recalled the smell in Amanda’s room, the memory of which had been gnawing at her. It was the smell of varnish.

  Cilla swung around, eyes wide. “You are far too sharp, Laura. You shouldn’t meddle.”

  Laura stepped back. “That can’t be Amanda’s.”

  Reaching into the cupboard, Cilla took the parasol out. She twirled it in her hand. “Pretty thing.” She opened and closed it. “Oh, I shouldn’t have done that.” She laughed. “It means bad luck, doesn’t it?”

  Not wanting to believe what she feared, Laura swallowed a knot of dread. “You found it?”

  “I’ve always had it.”

  “Then why say it was lost in the sea?”

  Cilla dropped the umbrella and went to the table that held her paints. “Now, why do you think?”

  Laura’s voice sounded raspy to her ears. “You killed her?” She couldn’t take it in. “You killed Amanda? I thought you loved her.”

  Cilla turned, her hazel eyes stony. “You’ve never loved anyone to the point of madness?”

  “I love Nathaniel. I would die for him.”

  “But if he made love to another woman, would you want to kill him?”

  “No.” Laura tried to breathe, the air stagnant like heat in her lungs. Her head spun, and she grew fearful she might faint. “I could never kill a living soul.”

  “Passionless!” Cilla’s gaze darted around the room
.

  Laura wanted to bolt from the cottage; she seemed rooted to the spot as she leaned back against the sofa, clutching the rough fabric in her curled fingers. “But why, Cilla?”

  “You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to love and hate in equal measure.” Cilla shrugged. “When I told Amanda I loved her, she laughed at me. The way we once laughed at Mallory and Rudge and her other conquests. While I enjoyed participating in her games, I did not like being the subject of them.”

  “What games?”

  “She tested every man she met and had no respect for any of them. When Nathaniel was away in London, she slept with both Rudge and Mallory. She used to compare them. She was out of control. The only man she respected was Nathaniel. She never spoke badly of him. Perhaps she knew I wouldn’t have been party to it.”

  “She must have loved Nathaniel.”

  “She never loved anyone,” Cilla spat. “But Nathaniel is one of the few I trust. I did him a favor killing Amanda. But he cares for you, and I regret hurting him.” Cilla shook her head at Laura as if she was a child who couldn’t learn her lesson. “I told you, Amanda was incapable of love. But she knew on which side her bread was buttered. Nathaniel wanted a child, so she was prepared to oblige him. And she didn’t care whose it was.”

  Laura edged toward the door where the dogs waited.

  “No, you don’t!” Cilla leapt forward and grabbed Laura’s hair, twisting her fingers in it, scattering combs.

  “Let go of me!” Laura winced and tried to pull away. With horror, she saw the small knife Cilla held. She must have snatched it from her paint box. Laura felt the sharp edge at her throat and stilled in fear.

  “I’m sorry, Laura. I really like you, but I can’t let you live to tell your little tale. You are going to disappear in the same way your predecessor did, my dear. A tidy end, I feel.”

  Laura’s throat blocked. She swallowed desperately. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. “Let me go. They’ll know it was you. Leave Cornwall. I’ll say nothing. You can get away.”

  Cilla hissed in her ear. “Out the back door. I could slit your throat, but it would make a terrible mess, which I won’t be able to explain away.”