Moon Cutters

by Janet Woods

  Damn it, he didn’t need this much complication in his life.

  Sixteen

  Miranda waited for Fletcher in the copse. When he reached her, he took her face between his hands, his middle finger settling in the little pockets behind her ears. He caressed the sides of her mouth with his thumbs, as gentle as a butterfly, and then his mouth settled on hers in a long and loving kiss.

  She needed this tenderness from him, like she needed air to breathe.

  ‘What do you make of the monk?’ she asked when he released her, absorbing his smile that told her that he loved her, without needing words.

  ‘I’ve not had time to think it through, but what I saw rattled me. Despite his injuries, it’s obvious the man is kin to the Fenmore family. He and my uncle are about the same age, so must be brothers or cousins. My uncle has never mentioned other relatives beside my mother. Yet before he died, Silas Asher told me I was related to him … and I wondered if he was my father. I just don’t know what to think now.’

  ‘The monk didn’t give a name.’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll ask him if I see him again.’

  She uttered the almost unspeakable. ‘What if he tells you his name is Adrian Taunt?’

  ‘That rather depends on where he fits in the family.’

  She hugged him tight, and he rested his chin on her head. ‘What will we do, Fletcher? I can feel all this tension around us. I’m scared, but I don’t know why, and I don’t know whom I can trust.’

  He shrugged. ‘Perhaps we’ll sail away on the Lady Miranda and never return.’

  ‘And perhaps we won’t.’

  Caesar cast with his nose in the air and barked when he saw Roma and Nero coming from the stable, followed by Sir James on his horse.

  ‘I must go, else he’ll soon be close enough to spot us.’

  ‘Does that matter?’

  ‘I’m scared he might do something to hurt you, after that last time, when he nearly lost control of himself.’

  ‘Do nothing to raise my uncle’s suspicion, my love. I’ll meet you and Lucy at midnight under the horse chestnut tree and take you back to Monksfoot, where you’ll be safe.’

  When she nodded, he kissed her, a long and lingering kiss that was altogether delicious. ‘You should have been Mrs Taunt by now, but another opportunity will present itself,’ he said, and was gone.

  Miranda started off, hurrying across a meadow knee-high in grass, and threaded through with a happy blending of brightly hued flowers. It was too nice a day to die in – though the reverend hadn’t looked too bothered by it – and it was too honest a day to try to deceive someone. But lying and evasion seemed part of life here, and deceive she did.

  Spotting her, Sir James cantered towards her and circled her with his horse. ‘My dear, you must slow down.’ He gazed at the copse, his eyes narrowing as if he could see into the interior. ‘You’re out of breath; is someone chasing you?’

  The tears that filled her eyes were genuine. ‘I’ve just come from the church. The reverend is dead. We found him in the choir stall.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Mrs Swift and Fletcher … and me.’

  ‘Fletcher?’

  ‘He had an appointment with the reverend, I believe.’

  ‘And what were you doing at the church?’

  ‘I was passing, when I saw a horse and stopped to pass the time of day.’

  ‘You stopped to pass the time of day with the horse?’

  She wished he would stop parroting everything. She said, her tone barely civil, ‘Of course not; I was with Fletcher. He’s gone to fetch a doctor and to inform the undertaker. I said I’d come and tell you, because I didn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘And Mrs Swift?’

  ‘She’s still at the church with her husband’s body. She didn’t seem to want to be comforted.’

  ‘Ah yes, of course … she’s one of those tedious females with strong opinions that they’re not afraid to inflict on everyone else. The reverend should have thrashed her a couple of times to bring her to heel. But, then, he was a weak excuse for a man.’

  ‘He was a nice man, and I liked him, and may I point out that Mrs Swift isn’t a dog.’

  ‘She’s the female equivalent, and in more ways than one,’ he grumbled. ‘Was the reverend dead when you found him?’

  ‘I imagine so. Fletcher listened for a heartbeat and said there wasn’t one.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear. I shall go to the church and sit with Mrs Swift and play my part while she waits for the doctor to come. She must make arrangements to vacate the vicarage, since we’ll have to find a new cleric to fill the position.’

  Miranda remembered what had happened to her mother after being placed in the same position. Well, almost the same; at least Mrs Swift wasn’t with child. ‘But surely not straight away, Sir James.’

  ‘Indeed not, but as soon as is humanly possible. She has a sister in Hampshire she can stay with, I believe. I’ll provide the use of my carriage to convey her there after the funeral. I’ll also inform the bishop of Reverend Swift’s demise and he can suggest someone suitable to replace him. He can also do the honours at the funeral.’

  Tipping his hat with his cane, he rode off towards the church, the dogs tracking the scents in the meadow from left to right and back again. How cold-blooded Sir James was, despite his charm, she thought. Caesar gazed back at her, then decided the romp with his parents was more inviting.

  When she got back to the house, she expected to see Lucy, but there was no sign of her.

  Mrs Pridie hadn’t seen her, either. ‘She might have gone visiting. She was on friendly terms with that young woman and her brother last night. They stayed the night and left as soon as it was light. They live in Southampton, I believe.’

  ‘Southampton is miles away, and she hasn’t taken any of her clothes. She would have told me, or at least left me a note.’

  ‘Perhaps she has; have you looked for one?’

  Miranda remembered the scattered exercise books. ‘No, I haven’t had time, but I will.’

  Mrs Pridie placed a hand on her arm. ‘You look distressed, Miss Jarvis. Has something happened to upset you?’

  Miranda remembered the deceased. ‘Reverend Swift has died. I’ve just come from the church. I ran into Sir James on the way.’

  Breath hissed from the woman, and she said, almost to herself. ‘So it’s begun.’

  ‘What’s begun?’

  ‘Nothing you should concern yourself with. I’m just an old woman talking to herself. The reverend seemed to enjoy the party last night. He paid your sister a lot of attention. I was going to tell you to be careful in that regard.’

  ‘But the reverend is … was old enough to be our grandfather.’

  ‘They say that there’s no fool like an old fool. But there … It was only a rumour and best to let it lie now he’s gone, may he rest in peace.’

  ‘You mean—’

  ‘I don’t mean anything, Miss Jarvis, since it does no good to speak ill of the dead – none at all. Forget I spoke. Besides, the least you know, the better off you’ll be. Would you like me to bring you up some tea, and something to eat? Some toasted muffins perhaps, since you went out without breakfast.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Pridie.’

  Frustrated with always being fed hints and snippets, Miranda went up to her room. She tidied her hair, braiding it, then stared into the mirror. The maid hadn’t been up to make the bed yet – not surprising, since they’d probably spent all night cleaning the house after the party. She made it herself, and then picked up the two dirty glasses from the table. Punch! She recalled that Sir James had sent them up a glass after they’d gone to bed. She’d been so tired she could hardly stand. She tipped the glass so the dregs ran up to the lip, and tasted it, her tongue sifting through its strong fruity flavours to isolate those she knew. It contained laudanum, as well as valerian. Her mother had told them that such remedies became a habit. No wonder she’d woken with a headache.

 
There were a number of gifts for her, left there mostly from people she’d already met. She unwrapped them.

  Mr Bailey and his sister had presented her with some silk gloves. The Pattersons’ gift was a pretty silver trinket box. And there was a sweet little Bible with a lustrous mother-of-pearl cover. It didn’t take much to guess who’d given her that. She opened the package from Fletcher to discover a tasselled silk and ivory fan. Loving it, she spread it open and found a ship in full sail painted on the silk. Lady Miranda was embroidered on the hull. She must remember to write and thank everyone.

  After Mrs Pridie had gone, she took out Lucy’s novel to see if there was any message from her. There was nothing except the story she was writing.

  The journal itself was faded and ripped. The writing was legible, but the words badly spelled. It was nothing like Lucy’s neat writing and the writing had a childish feel.

  The journal of R.J.

  Lucy had called her Ruby Johnson in the novel.

  My cousin S was furious when he learned that the baron had taken my innocence in London. They had words. S told me that I’m little more than a lightskirt. I like the baron. Despite everything, he is kind and gentle with me – he said he loves me and will make me his wife, since no other woman will have him. When I told him I wasn’t good enough for him, he said it was nonsense and I will learn to be a countess and our baby will inherit if it turns out to be a boy.

  She continued reading a little further on.

  We have arrived in Dorset. The journey was wearying. Today, A told his half-brother about the coming child. I could hear them shouting at each other. J has a son who is almost a year old, and he told the baron that I’d given my favours to anyone who wanted them, and the child I was carrying could have been fathered by anyone, even S, or himself. Truly, the man is evil. It was a pack of lies to blacken my name. I was scared he might harm me, so my mistress locked the door to the maid’s room. She said J was envious of the baron because he was born of their father’s first wife and took precedence.

  Goodness, she should have read this journal herself before allowing Lucy to read it. It was too late now. She felt compelled to read on.

  My heart is broken. J came to see me. He tells me that the baron threw himself over the cliff on to the rocks below in a fit of melancholy, and had died. If it weren’t for the infant, I would follow him into his watery grave. From my window I could see the crew of the Wild Rose searching for his body, and I wished I were there with him, dying in his arms.

  Miranda’s hair prickled. If this was a journal, the events recorded in it were probably true.

  The infant I am carrying has caused them unease. I heard the new baron arguing with my mistress. She said that if I had been wed to A and the child was a boy, he would inherit the title. J shouted out that he had a son who was legitimate and who would succeed him. She cried out as though he’d hit her. Afterwards she told me the child would not be harmed, and she was thinking of a solution to the problem.

  No wonder Lucy had been so excited by the story. Miranda shoved the journal under her cushion and sat on it when she heard a knock on the door. Pulling a piece of loose paper toward her she hurriedly wrote on it.

  Dear Mr Bailey and Mrs Tibbets.

  It was Mrs Pridie with her tray of refreshment.

  ‘I’m writing thank-you letters,’ Miranda said brightly – and unnecessarily, for the woman’s gaze was on the paper as she lowered the tray to the table.

  ‘That’s thoughtful of you. Sir James likes good manners. There are some embossed cards especially made for the purpose. They have the Fenmore crest on them.’

  ‘You seem to forget that I’m not a part of the family.’

  ‘Aye, that I did.’ Mrs Pridie’s eyelids flickered as she began to pour out the tea. ‘There’s some notepaper that’s kept for guests to use. It’s in the bureau in the morning room. You can write your letters there and leave them on the hall table. Sir James will take them in when he next goes to the assizes, and will give them to a messenger to deliver.’

  Miranda looked at the woman as she picked up the dirty glasses. ‘There was laudanum in our drinks last night, as well as valerian. Why?’

  ‘Sir James thought you were too excited to sleep. He gave me a measured amount to mix in with your drink.’

  ‘You told us we could trust you, Mrs Pridie. Now I discover that I can’t.’

  ‘You can trust me, which doesn’t mean to say I can help you if you get yourself into trouble. Heed what I have to say and you won’t; otherwise you might go from one spider’s web into another.’

  ‘So if I told you a confidence, you would keep it to yourself, then.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I’m in love with Fletcher Taunt and he loves me.’

  Pridie gave her a broad smile. ‘As if I couldn’t see it in your eyes every time the pair of you looked at each other.’

  ‘We were to be wed this morning. Only the reverend died before we got there. He’d been drinking, for he had an empty brandy bottle with him. And he had his head on a kneeling pad and looked as though he was sound asleep and freed of all his cares. I wondered—’

  A name exploded into her mind … Adrian Taunt. Was that the A in the journal? The characters’ initials began to slot into place. The journal pressed against her buttocks, the pages swollen with Fenmore secrets that had found a way to escape. Her sister had provided them with the means to.

  Pridie put a finger over her lips when a noise came from the door. It swung open on its hinges. Beyond the opening, the corridor was dim and quiet, until a large cracking noise made them both jump.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Pridie said loudly, though her voice wavered a little. When there was no answer, she reassured them both, ‘It’s just the house settling, I reckon.’

  ‘Perhaps there’s some truth in the rumour of this part of the house being haunted.’

  Pridie shut the door firmly. ‘I’ve lived in this house long enough not to believe in such nonsense. It’s just a draught – the wind is getting up outside. I think we’re in for a storm before too long. Now, I can’t hang about here talking. I must go and get on with some work.’

  Miranda waited until she reached the door, then said, as casually as she could, ‘Mrs Pridie, did Sir James have a brother or a cousin who had the title before him?’

  ‘Dear God!’ Her back straightened and she turned, alarm in her eyes. ‘Don’t you ever mention that to Sir James!’

  ‘Why not? Was that who Adrian Taunt was?’

  ‘For your own good, don’t meddle in something that doesn’t concern you.’ Mrs Pridie departed, her feathers clearly ruffled.

  Curling up on the bed with the journal, Miranda began to read it again, to get events clear in her mind. Everything slotted into place. She must warn Lucy to hide the journal when she returned.

  She gazed into space for a moment and frowned. Where exactly was her sister?

  Seventeen

  After Fletcher dispatched the doctor and the undertaker to the church, he visited Oswald Avery in his office and handed him a package. ‘I was asked to deliver this to you, Oswald.’

  Oswald turned it over. ‘Who’s it from?’

  ‘It was handed to me by a monk, on behalf of Reverend Swift, who has unfortunately died.’

  Oswald’s smile still lingered when he shifted his gaze from the package to Fletcher, but his eyes were cautious. ‘A monk, you say … Are you serious? There have always been apparitions sighted at Monksfoot, but I didn’t think you’d be susceptible to such vagaries of the imagination.’

  ‘This monk was as real as you and me. He wasn’t an apparition, and neither was he an ordinary monk.’

  ‘Is there anything ordinary about being a monk?’ Oswald turned the package over and closely examined the seal. His eyes narrowed and he murmured, ‘That’s odd.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘It appears that the Fenmore seal has been used, though it has some cracks and scratches across it.’

 
‘The seal is bigger than that.’

  ‘This would have been in a ring. There was talk …’ He shook his head. ‘I overheard my parents talking … Parents are often unthinking in front of children and don’t understand how much can be absorbed.’

  Suspecting he was getting nearer to the truth of his existence, Fletcher drew in a careful breath. ‘What talk? For God’s sake, Oswald, stop taking me around in circles.’

  Oswald shrugged. ‘I’d heard that Sir James had a half-brother, one born of his father’s first wife. He was not very robust, though he grew up to inherit the title.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Oswald shrugged. He died before you and I were born, I believe. I expect he was buried without fuss in the family cemetery and promptly forgotten. Now, let me open this missive. I must admit I’m intrigued. I can’t think what the Reverend Swift would want with me, since we’ve never had any dealings.’

  ‘You have a reputation of being honest … for most of the time, anyway.’

  To that Oswald grinned. ‘I’m only as honest as any other honest man in the district. Perhaps it’s the reverend’s last will and testament, though he didn’t look as though he had much to leave. Let me open it and find out.’ He inserted his thumb under the wax seal, breaking it.

  ‘I think he might be my father, Adrian Taunt.’

  Oswald’s eyes flew open, and then he laughed. ‘Who – the reverend? That’s preposterous. A couple of months ago you thought Silas might be your father.’

  ‘Only because he hinted that we were related and had left me his fortune.’

  ‘Did Silas say how you were related?’

  ‘He closed up like a clam when I pushed him about it. But I’m talking about the monk now.’ Fletcher twisted in his chair. ‘His face was badly scarred on one side where he’d been pushed into a fire, and he was thrown over a cliff. Both legs were fractured and one healed shorter than the other, so he also has a slightly crooked spine. He walks with a limp.’