by Sandra Heath
His brows resumed their customary level, and he smiled at Emily. “You are beautiful enough in your riding habit, my dear,” he said.
She lowered her eyes. “You are too kind, sir. Er, shall we walk in the topiary garden?”
“Walk? Why, yes, that would be most agreeable,” he replied, for it suited him to get her alone. “But first, I must beg a favor of Mrs. Preston.”
“Of me?” Cora said in surprise, for as a rule he would rather be strung up by his thumbs than ask anything of her.
“Yes. You see, I have an unexpected guest at the castle at the moment, and I rather think you know him. Sir Quentin Brockhampton?”
Cora paused, her eyes suddenly wary. “Yes, I am acquainted with Sir Quentin.”
“I understand that there may be some, er, awkwardness between you?”
“Awkwardness? Now how on earth would you imagine that? You must know that we delight in receiving the fellow’s legal but nevertheless threatening letters!” Cora’s tone verged on the frigid.
“Mama!” Emily wished the ground would open up and swallow her.
But Cora merely tossed her head and looked at Rafe again. “What of Sir Quentin, sir?”
“Well, he, er...” Rafe cleared his throat. “He feels most culpable about a certain matter of business. He has not confided in me as to the nature of the business, of course, but—”
“Sir, the fellow should feel culpable about all the business he has dealt with concerning this house.” Cora was even more cool than before.
“That’s as may be, Mrs. Preston, but the matter I refer to in particular concerns his lack of knowledge about something you clearly thought was in his possession.”
Cora looked at him. “Sir, I trust I am not expected to reassure Sir Quentin that I hold him blameless in this?”
Emily was appalled. “Please, Mama!”
But Rafe held up a hand. “No, no, my dear, Mrs. Preston is entitled to her point of view. However, I trust I can stand up for my friend and say that I am certain he is indeed blameless. His distress over the whole thing is all the proof necessary.”
Cora fell into a silence that was almost more eloquent than her spoken words.
Rafe cleared his throat again. “Mrs. Preston, all of this brings me to the matter of Tuesday’s assembly. It was my intention, my, er, most earnest hope, that I could pour oil on any troubled water that might linger over this unfortunate matter, whatever it is.”
“Sir Rafe, there is not sufficient oil in all the world—” Cora began, but Emily interrupted.
“Mama, I am sure you do not wish to make any difficulty. May I remind you that Sir Rafe and I are to announce our betrothal at the assembly? Therefore it will not be in the least desirable for you to demonstrate your true feelings with regard to Sir Quentin. I therefore beg you to be at least civil toward him.”
Cora gave her an arch look. “I am always civil when the occasion calls for it, my dear.”
“This occasion most certainly calls for it,” Emily replied, only too aware of the ambiguity of her mother’s observation.
“Of course, my dear. Sir Rafe, you may be sure that my conduct will be above reproach.”
Rafe inclined his head to her, then offered his arm to Emily. “The topiary garden, my dear?” he murmured.
Emily slipped her hand over his sleeve, and they walked out into the courtyard.
Cora gazed after them. “If either of you thinks I am going to bestow smiles upon that ... that toad Brockhampton, you have another think coming!” she breathed, then turned on her heel and marched away through the house toward the low stone doorway that gave on to the knot garden at the rear.
She now knew from Felix’s letter that there had indeed been a sum of money deposited with Sir Quentin all those years ago. She therefore also knew beyond all shadow of doubt that the lawyer had lied to her when she went to see him after Geoffrey’s death. That Sir Quentin was now a guest at Temford Castle also served to confirm her growing belief that he and Sir Rafe Warrender were acting together against Fairfield Hall. They were hand in glove, and she wished she knew exactly why.
Surely it was too concerted a plot to be simply on account of Sir Rafe’s desire for Emily? Did the marriage offer have a hidden price? If so, what could it be? Emily had nothing; she was even holding the Hall for Peter. So why would Sir Rafe Warrender and his cronies be at such pains to crush her with debt and force her into this match?
Cora sighed. There was nothing for it but to join forces with Jack, whose purpose in coming to the Hall had also been revealed in Felix’s letter. What point was there in working separately, when together they might be able to solve the Hall’s difficulties and defeat Sir Rafe Warrender?
There was another important circumstance to deal with as well. She had not intended to reveal to Jack her awareness of the attraction that had so swiftly sprung up between Emily and him; but if true love was to be guided onto the right path, Emily’s precipitate action today in ordering him away made such a revelation necessary. Cora would much have preferred to let nature take its course. However, it was one thing to stand idly by, giving the odd assisting nudge if the lovers’ reluctance threatened to get in the way, but it was quite another to be so idle as to let Emily toss aside her golden opportunity for true happiness.
There were some things that were too important to ignore, too important to turn one’s back on because of inherited debts. Cora could see that Jack Lincoln was Emily’s once-in-a-lifetime man. Felix could not have written more highly of him, or made his secret hopes more plain, and Cora took Felix’s opinion as nothing less than gospel. Especially when she could sense there was much she had not been told in the letter.
Felix knew all about Emily’s debts and Jack’s lack of capital, yet he still expressed a strong desire that they would make a match of it. He would not say that unless he had reason to be sure all would be well that ended well. So, if that was what Felix wanted, it was what Cora wanted too, and to perdition with Sir Rafe Warrender, slippery lawyers, devious bankers, money owed, et cetera. On no account must Jack be permitted to leave. Oh no, she swore to herself, he had to be prevailed upon to stay on at Fairfield Hall, because if Cora Preston and Felix Reynolds had anything to do with it, he was going to marry Emily!
Tears pricked Cora’s eyes as she emerged from the back of the house into the knot garden, which happened to be the place where she and Felix had last spoken. He had returned to England—oh, so briefly—and they had snatched half an hour together after dark.
“I won’t fail you, my love,” she whispered. “I’ll see they come together as you and I should have done all that time ago. The same mistake won’t be permitted to happen twice.”
Chapter 21
Peter had waited until Rafe’s horse disappeared into the courtyard before he ran off across the park toward the woods. Soon, breathless and hot, he reached the pool in the clearing. After getting out his fishing line and hook, he took off his coat and left it over the fallen tree, then clambered up to his branch. Within moments he was once again sprawled along it, with the line lowered hopefully into the water.
To his amazement the line pulled, the water rippled, and for a split second he glimpsed a fish on the end. A fine fat tench! In his excitement he almost fell off the branch, but then the fish leapt, the hook was dislodged, and his catch darted cleanly down into the depths of the pool. Peter was speechless.
Furious, he flung the line away across the pool and began to climb down again, but then he paused as he heard hooves approaching. Who could it be? Not Sir Rafe again, because he had only just called at the Hall. Curious to know the answer, the boy pulled himself back on to the branch and lay flat as he waited to see who came.
It was Jack who rode toward the clearing. He had his bearings a little now, having found his way to the disused gatehouse, and thus realized which direction to take for the Hall. Nevertheless he was immensely relieved to recognize the fallen tree and the pool, for until they came into view, he still feared he
might somehow have gone around in a circle among so many trees.
As he passed slowly through the clearing, Jack’s glance flickered toward the coat. Peter was here somewhere. He glanced surreptitiously around, and soon spied the boy lying so secretly on the branch. Smiling to himself, Jack rode straight through the clearing and on toward the drive as if he hadn’t realized anyone was there. He heard the slight rustle of leaves as Peter dropped down to the ground, grabbed his coat, then began to stalk him.
Jack’s smile increased. From Manco he had learned a thing or two about laying an ambush, so young Peter did not stand a chance. Quickening the horse just a little, Jack waited until a convenient holly bush offered a hiding place, and as soon as he was out of sight behind it, slipped down from the saddle and slapped the horse’s rump to keep it going. Then, crouching low and quiet, he listened as Peter hurried stealthily toward him. The horse trotted on, rustling through the ferns, the rhythm of its hoofbeats unchanged.
Peter couldn’t see his prey, but he could hear, so as he came around the holly bush he sensed nothing of the trap. Suddenly, he had been leapt upon and flattened. He gave a frightened yell and struggled for all he was worth, but his captor was too strong. Two iron hands grasped his shoulders, pinning him to the ground, and he heard Jack laughing.
“So, sir, you thought to creep after me unseen, did you?”
“I wasn’t doing any harm!” Peter protested, spluttering into the moss and mud.
“I know, lad, I know.” Jack released him and got up. “I just thought I would teach you a lesson. It doesn’t do to stalk people, Peter. One day you’ll choose the wrong man to do it to.” He glanced after the horse, which had come to a halt now and was grazing upon a patch of grass.
Peter struggled to his feet, brushing the leaves and dirt from his clothes. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” he grumbled.
“But you are doing wrong. Look, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve overheard your grandmother complaining about your antics, so I know you get up to this sort of thing as a matter of course.”
Peter colored. “It’s something to do.”
Jack folded his arms and looked at the boy. “I’m sure you could find better and more satisfying things if you tried.”
Peter put on his coat, then brushed his breeches. “You already know what I really want to do. I want to see the world, like Grandmama’s cousin Felix.”
“Ah.”
“Well, you’ve seen the world, so you know what I mean. It... it’s like an itch I cannot scratch. I think about it all the time now. I just want to see everything there is to see. Egypt, Greece, Africa, maybe even Australia, but most of all I want to go to South America.”
Jack gazed at him. This was what Felix must have been like as a boy, the same keen urge to explore the world, the same ardor, and need to know. One only had to hear Peter speak like this to know that Felix Reynolds was his grandfather.
Peter looked earnestly at him. “Will you tell me more about South America and the Incas, Mr. Lincoln? I... I mean, the things you couldn’t say in front of Mama and Grandmama.”
“And what things might that be?” Jack inquired, puzzled.
“You know, the ancient religious rites, the horrible sacrifices, the—”
“How bloodthirsty you are, to be sure,” Jack murmured.
“I just want to know, sir.”
“And I would tell you, truly I would, but I fear I will not be able to.”
Peter’s face fell. “Mama hasn’t forbidden it, has she?”
“No, of course not. My reason is simply that I will not be here to tell you. When I return to the Hall, I intend to pack my things and leave.”
Peter was dismayed. “Oh, no, please don’t say that, sir. Why are you going?” He thought of something. “Have you and Mama had words? Is that it? She returned without you, and—”
“It’s not that either,” Jack interrupted hastily. “No, it’s just that I have remembered something important that I have to attend to. It had slipped my mind completely, and now that I’ve remembered I have no choice but to get on with it. Business matters, you know,” he added vaguely.
Peter hung his head. “I wish you were staying.”
“So do I, Peter.”
“But you can come back afterward, can’t you?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Jack wished the boy would leave the subject alone.
But Peter was anxious to persuade him. “Please say that you will, Mr. Lincoln. I’m sure Mama would agree, and I know Grandmama would. She likes you very much because you can tell her all about her cousin Felix.”
“If my business doesn’t take too long, of course I’ll return.”
Jack promised, feeling very much the rat because he knew he would never return.
“I think Grandmama hopes you will take Mama away from Sir Rafe,” Peter said suddenly.
“I beg your pardon?” Jack was surprised by the boy’s words.
Peter flushed a little. “Before breakfast Grandmama intercepted a message from Sir Rafe to Mama. It was to say he’d call at the Hall this morning. Grandmama didn’t give it to Mama, and instead made certain that she rode out with you.”
So that was Cora’s purpose! Jack’s eyes cleared. He had an ally in Emily’s mother, which made it all the more a pity that Emily herself was now so alienated.
Peter touched some of the berries on the holly bush. “Sir Rafe is at the Hall now. He arrived just after Mama. Grandmama was most displeased.”
“Yes, I can imagine she was. I’m not all that pleased myself.” Jack met the boy’s eyes. “Believe me, Peter, if I thought I could win your Mama, I would,” he said candidly.
Peter’s face brightened. “Really?”
“I fear so.”
“Stay,” Peter begged. “Forget your business and stay here.”
“I must go, Peter. Come on, we’ll return to the Hall together. We’ll ride double, hm?”
“I suppose so.” Peter’s voice reflected his disappointment as they made their way to the waiting horse.
The drive was only a few yards away beyond the bushes as they reached the animal, and they both turned as they heard light running footsteps going in the direction of the Hall. It was the boy Jack had seen the day before, peering from the gatehouse window.
Peter craned his neck until the boy was out of sight. “That was Archie Bradwell; his father keeps the gatehouse. I wonder why he’s going to the Hall?”
“Heaven alone knows,” Jack answered, then mounted and leaned down to pull Peter up behind him.
They soon caught up with Archie, who turned on hearing the horse, then halted as if expecting to be spoken to. This smacked to Peter of typical Archie Bradwell presumptuousness, and he decided to take his hated rival down a peg or two.
He asked Jack to rein in, then leaned down in a very superior way. “What business do you have going to the Hall?” he demanded, as if they had happened upon a trespasser.
Archie looked up a little challengingly. “I’m ‘ere with a message for Mr. Lincoln,” he replied in a “So there!” tone of voice.
“Oh.” Peter was annoyed. Specks of color flushed his cheeks, and he felt like flinging himself onto Archie and having it out fist to fist.
Jack was startled by Archie’s announcement. “For me?” But only Cristoval and Manco knew he was here!
“Yes, sir,” said Archie. “From Mr. Solo.”
“Solo?” Jack repeated blankly, then smiled. “You mean Soto? Cristoval de Soto?”
“Yes, that’s ‘im. ‘E says that ‘im and Mr. Mango, or some such name, are staying at the Royal Oak, and they’d like you to go there as soon as you can. Mr. Solo says ‘e ‘as very important information for you.”
Peter gave a sharp intake of breath. “Mr. Mango? Would that be Manco the Indian, Mr. Lincoln?” he asked, his eyes beginning to light up.
Jack nodded. “I believe so, Peter.” Cristoval and Manco were in Temford? They were supposed to be in London!" He dipped in his pocket for a c
oin and flicked it to Archie. "Tell Don Cristoval that I will come as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir.” Archie looked at the coin in delight, then gave Peter a haughty look before running back along the drive the way he’d come.
Peter scowled after him. “You shouldn’t have given him any money, Mr. Lincoln.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a lout.”
Jack smiled. “A lout?”
“Yes. I hate him!” Peter continued to glower after the departing boy.
Jack had to laugh. “Well, the regard was clearly mutual. It’s a shame, because if you and he got on better, he’d be company for you.”
Peter was aghast. “Company? I would rather be friends with a lump of coal!”
Jack raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more as he moved the horse on.
Peter was silent for a while, then spoke again. “You ... you won’t forget me, will you? I mean, you won’t let Mr. Manco leave again before I have had a chance to meet him?”
“Of course you can meet him, Peter, but only provided your Mama gives permission.” Which right now, Jack knew, was rather doubtful.
Chapter 22
As Jack and Peter drew nearer to the Hall, they glimpsed Emily and Rafe strolling in the topiary garden, so they took a rather circuitous route to the stables in order to avoid being seen. They crossed the moat on the other side of the house using a wooden plank that served as a footbridge for the servants, and entered from the knot garden. Then they went through into the courtyard, where Rafe’s unamiable black thoroughbred was being walked up and down by one of the grooms, from the archway toward the topiary garden, where Emily and Rafe were now seated in the summerhouse.
Jack gazed coldly at the close kinsman who had wronged him so very greatly. Of all the men in England, why did cruel fate have to give Emily Fairfield to Rafe Warrender? he puzzled.
“Come on, let’s spy on them,” Peter breathed, and before Jack knew it, the boy had run across the stone bridge and down to the garden wall, where the entrance was almost hidden among climbing roses and honeysuckle.
