The Secrets of Wiscombe Chase

by Christine Merrill

  She opened the door to surprise them and her smile faded.

  ‘And how old are you now, boy?’ The Earl of Greywall was lounging against a library table, his hand resting on Stewart’s shoulder.

  For a moment, she was too shocked to say anything at all. She took great pains to keep her son away from the guests and made sure that he had no part in the schemes of his grandfather and uncle. He was so good at staying out of sight that many of the visitors had come and gone totally unaware that a little boy had shared the house with them.

  She’d made it especially clear that he was not to bother the earl, informing the boy that he was a very important man with no time for children. It gave the peer far too much credit, but Stewart had been convinced. But now he had been trapped, just as she was. The headache which had been gone for nearly two days returned with a vengeance.

  Greywall looked up at her and smiled, his question forgotten. ‘Your son, I presume?’

  ‘And Captain Wiscombe’s,’ she replied, pulling Stewart away from the earl and to her side.

  ‘We were just talking.’ The earl’s smile became a leer. ‘Since you refuse to speak at dinner, I must find others to converse with.’

  ‘Children are better seen than heard,’ she said, hoping that Stewart understood the warning. Then she took a few carefully controlled breaths and forced herself to do something she’d not done in ages. She smiled at the Earl of Greywall. ‘And I must make an effort to be better company.’ Her stomach churned at the thought. But for the moment, nothing was more important than getting Stewart out of the room and away from this man.

  ‘Perhaps, if I ask the captain, he will allow the boy to join us for a hunt.’

  ‘I do not like hunting,’ the boy said and Lily felt the muscles under her fingers go rigid.

  ‘Nonsense,’ responded the earl. ‘You are old enough, I am sure. Tell me, boy, when were you born?’

  ‘I will decide when he is old enough to hunt,’ Lily snapped, before Stewart could answer, pulling him closer. ‘Or his father, the captain, shall.’

  ‘Mama, you are holding me too tight,’ he whispered, squirming to get away from her.

  ‘Yes, Lillian,’ the earl said. ‘Let the boy go. You cannot protect him for ever.’ He was smiling at Stewart again, leaning close enough to him that Lily could smell the brandy mingling with his foul breath. She had to go. If she did not leave immediately, she would be sick. But she could not leave without her son.

  The earl leaned even closer and reached out a hand. ‘And he is a fine, handsome lad. Just like his father.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Gerry was standing in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. He stared at the three of them, face expressionless, though she was sure his eyes missed no detail.

  Without bothering to explain, she seized Stewart by the arm and pulled him from the room, hurrying him through the trophy room and down the hall without looking back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘The party is somewhat diminished tonight,’ Gerry said, nodding at the empty places up and down the supper table.

  Lily gazed back at him, forcing her expression into a placid smile. She had not spoken to her husband since he had discovered her in the library with the earl. In the silence of her bedroom, she’d gone through the conversation again and again, trying to decide what her husband might have seen or heard. What had he read into the few shared words? They had been ordinary enough.

  But Gerry was perceptive, almost too sharp for his own good. The empty chairs at the table tonight were proof of that. They had both been too busy to notice the departure of the Wilsons yesterday. After seeing the dyed stoats that might have been their future, they had waited only long enough for the skies to clear before setting off for London.

  Today, the baronet and his Cyprian had set off as well. She was sure that it was Gerry’s doing, but she was almost afraid to ask how he had managed it. Perhaps he would evict Greywall as well, without requiring an explanation for the afternoon’s exchange. Then the Burkes would go and they would have the house to themselves.

  ‘We are no less jovial for the smaller numbers,’ her father said with a smile, reminding her that ridding themselves of the guests would not be enough to set her free.

  ‘It will give us the opportunity to better know our host,’ said Mrs Burke, obviously pleased that a lack of competition had finally gained her a seat near the head of the table.

  ‘Yes, it will. I find I am most eager to speak with him,’ Greywall said and Lily reached for her wine to hide her apprehension.

  ‘You flatter me, madam,’ Gerry replied to Mrs Burke. The earl’s lips barely moved as he spoke and the sound of his voice did not carry to the others at the table. It was meant just for her, as a reminder that their talk in the library had been innocent in comparison with the one he could have with Gerry.

  She must make sure that it did not happen. Her husband was in an excellent mood this evening. She would do her best to keep him so and to keep him away from the peer.

  Or perhaps Mrs Burke would do the job for her. She was too close to him, batting her lashes and behaving as Miss Fellowes had done before her sudden departure. It would have annoyed her had Gerry not shot her a look that hinted the hero of Salamanca wished to be rescued from his own dinner table.

  She would ignore Mrs Burke, and the earl, as well. She smiled at him, as if his words were polite dinner conversation and not threat. Then she went back to her meal. Only a few more days, she assured herself. He would be gone and he would not be coming back.

  ‘Flatter you. Captain?’ The conversation at the other end of the table continued and Mrs Burke was as loud as the earl was quiet. ‘It is nothing but truth. I’ve often said to Mr Burke that it would be fascinating to speak to a great hero like Captain Wiscombe.’ She planted a meaty hand on Gerry’s arm and gave an affectionate squeeze. Her own husband, who sat on Gerry’s opposite side, seemed surprised to be included in the discussion and offered an ambivalent nod.

  Gerry shook his head. ‘I am no storyteller, madam. But I look forward to a quiet evening in the company of you and your husband. I would not mind a few hands of cards after dinner, if any of you are so disposed.’ He was using the same cheerfully innocuous tone he’d employed since he’d returned. As usual, there was an iron resolve behind it that put Lily on her guard.

  ‘My God, yes,’ the earl said, draining his glass again and looking up the table. ‘It is about time that someone with money in their pockets joins us. I am tired of losing. Let it be Wiscombe’s turn.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ronald said. ‘By all means, join us.’ He was almost salivating at the prospect of a game.

  Which meant that her brother would attempt to cheat him as he had everyone else who played. The warnings she had given him had done no good. She glared at her father, willing him to understand the danger that such a game might create.

  ‘Are you sure you might not prefer billiards?’ her father suggested. But he was putting none of his usual effort into guiding the conversation to suit his ends. Perhaps, in the end, he cared no more for Ronald than he did for her.

  ‘No,’ Gerry said firmly. ‘Tonight it must be cards. I am feeling lucky. We will all play cards.’ He stared down the table to her and raised his glass in a private salute.

  After the stress of the afternoon, she longed to retire to her room and avoid the impending doom. But the glance Gerry had given her was as clear as a verbal command. She was to attend him and the guests. She answered with a barely perceptible nod.

  * * *

  When dinner was finished, they retired to the sitting room and pushed two tables together so all seven of them could play. Lily held her breath as Gerry took his seat opposite her brother at the card table for a round of Trade and Barter. With the speed of play and a chance to force cards when other players drew from one’s hand, th
ere were numerous opportunities to cheat. And though the earl and the Burkes had full glasses, Gerry had refused another drink after dinner. Her husband would be far too clear-headed to fall for her brother’s usual tricks.

  The game began simply enough, with Gerry shuffling and dealing out three cards to each of the players. After a round of spirited play, Mrs Burke took the pot with three tens. The next two hands were equally free of mischief. But such games always began innocently. It did not do to have the guests losing on the very first go. It was only when the deal turned to her brother that things would begin to go wrong.

  One did not last long in the North family if one was not able, on some rudimentary level, to count cards as a game was played. By the time Ronald had finished dealing, Lily could see that there were now five aces in play.

  If her husband noticed the fact, there was no indication of it. Unless she was to count the slight lift of his eyebrow as the hand was played out to Ronald’s obvious success. When the deal returned to her husband, she watched as he deftly palmed the second ace of hearts and dropped it to the floor at her brother’s feet. Play continued as it had, with the addition of a slight frown on her brother’s face as he realised that the card he needed was no longer in the deck.

  When the hands were revealed, Mr Burke was the one to take the pot. And the next as well, when he was the dealer. It appeared to Lily that her husband went out of his way to lose, when he could control the play at all. He was displaying an ineptitude that would have had any in her family gloating at their inevitable success.

  But there had been the matter of that ace. And now the deal had returned to her brother. When he had finished, his hand had four cards, not three, and he was careless in disguising the fact. When cards were exchanged, he retrieved the ace he’d dealt to Father, forced an unwanted deuce on the earl and slipped the spare card he’d drawn back up his sleeve. Then he knocked on the table to stop play and displayed his three aces, reaching for the pot.

  ‘Damnable good luck you have, North,’ Mr Burke said, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.

  ‘He makes his own luck,’ Gerry said, ‘because he cheats at cards.’ The pronouncement was delivered in the same tone he might have used had he been remarking on the weather.

  There was an audible gasp from the people at the table. All except for Lily, since she could not even manage to pretend surprise.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Though his voice was calm, Ronald’s face was white with rage.

  Gerry held a hand to his ear. ‘Was that an apology? If so, it was not very convincing.’

  ‘It is no such thing. I have nothing to apologise for.’ Her brother pushed back his chair as if a few inches of distance would be enough to escape the allegation.

  Gerry reached beneath the table and grabbed the fifth ace, dropping it in the centre for all to see.

  At this, Mr Burke tossed his cards on the table in disgust. Even the impervious Greywall let out a curse.

  ‘You cannot prove that was mine,’ Ronald said, trying to salvage the situation.

  ‘Perhaps not.’ Gerry grabbed her brother by the wrist and forced his hand, palm up, on the table, revealing the king of clubs that was hidden in his shirt cuff. ‘But this did not appear by magic.’ Then he flipped up the remaining cards in the deck and fanned them to show the tidy stack of face cards arranged at the bottom. ‘And I think it unlikely that this is a coincidence.’

  ‘I am sure this is just an innocent mistake,’ her father said, offering a smile so benevolent that the look in Mr Burke’s eyes changed from suspicion to confusion.

  ‘Unfortunately, no.’ Gerry was unmoved. ‘There is nothing innocent about what is happening here.’

  ‘Of course there isn’t,’ Ronald announced. ‘It is clear that Captain Wiscombe wishes to defame me and has created evidence where none existed. The person to make such accusations often does it to conceal their own guilt.’

  Lily balled her fists under the table to prevent herself from speaking. It was bad enough that Ronald had been caught. He’d made it worse by arguing. Now that he’d accused Gerry of dishonour, the end was inevitable.

  There was a dangerous pause before her husband spoke. ‘Ronald North, you have been defrauding the visitors to my house. Since you are my wife’s brother, I will ignore the aspersions on my character. But I demand you apologise to my guests and make immediate recompense for any money you have taken from Mr Burke.’ He paused, as if the next words pained him. ‘And Lord Greywall also.’

  Lily held her breath and prayed that Ronald might display, if not honour, than at least common sense. His position was hopeless. He must give in.

  ‘There is nothing to apologise for. If it is not you, then someone else has played a prank on me.’ He glared at the people around the table, waiting for someone to come to his defence.

  It was hopeless. He lacked their father’s charm. When he was cornered he could not turn the opinion of the room back to his favour.

  Gerry sighed. ‘No one is tricking you. You are the trickster. If you do not care to admit it, then I must teach you some manners. We will begin with the correct way to issue a challenge. It is done thusly—face-to-face and eye to eye, not with a letter slipped under a door. Ronald North, you have insulted me and cheated the guests in my home. Apologise now or meet me on the field of honour to take your punishment.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  The room was in uproar. Mrs Burke was shrieking and her husband pushed away from the table so fast he upset it, sending the cards spilling to the floor. The elder North was entreating for reason and calm. The earl simply laughed. The sound was long and bitter, and punctuated by demands for more drink.

  Ronald North was swearing under his breath. By the look in his eyes, he would be only too happy to shoot Gerry right now, if only for the chance to make up for his ruined evening.

  Gerry smiled back at him. It was another proof that the man did not think through his actions, or he’d have realised what a mistake he’d made. Everyone in the room should have had the sense to see this moment coming. Instead, they were demonstrating their stupidity with this display of shock and horror. He felt almost sorry for them.

  Almost. But not quite.

  The one voice he did not hear was his wife’s. When he turned to look for her, she was already gone. While he had not expected her to share his feelings of triumph, he had hoped that she would at least remain long enough to act surprised by the turn of events, as her father was. Ronald had to be punished. If she did not want her reputation to be tainted with his bad behaviour, she needed to be seen at her husband’s side.

  Now Mrs Burke was asking about her. Gerry muttered something about a megrim and overwrought nerves, then offered to summon the woman’s maid so that she might be escorted to her room, as well. It gave him reason to quit the sitting room and leave the chaos behind him to locate Lily.

  Her sudden absence filled him with an unease that he’d not experienced since the war. Things had been going better than he could have imagined. The previous afternoon, her devastation on witnessing a single kiss had assured him that no matter what had gone before, he now held her heart in the palm of his hand. Then she had demonstrated her devotion in the sweetest possible way. His body tightened at the memory.

  But that was yesterday. What with the nonsense over Sir Chauncey, he’d had no time to tell her of his plans for her brother. Despite the fact that the man was a bounder, he was still blood to her. She’d deserved some kind of warning about how the evening might end.

  And he had yet to enquire about the curious scene he’d interrupted in the library. The Greywall he knew cared for nothing but hunting and wine. This sudden interest in his wife’s son could not be good. Perhaps he had guessed the boy’s illegitimacy and meant to blackmail Lily into extending his invitation.

  It had been a spontaneous act of chivalr
y to step in and claim the boy as his own. Now he would have to explain to Lily that there had been no change in his plans for the boy’s future. It was much easier to lie to Greywall than to lie to himself. The boy was not his and there was no way to forget that.

  When he reached his bedroom, she was waiting for him, wearing the same prim gown she’d worn on the first night. Her face had no trace of powder and her red-brown hair was down, tied back from her face with a ribbon. His heart caught in his chest. How could he ever be worthy of such a beauty?

  Perhaps she was thinking the same thing. The smile she wore was the same cold and distant look she used on her unwelcome guests. Perhaps the previous night’s affection had been an act and she was more of a North than he wanted to believe. Or perhaps he had created this distance himself.

  He returned her cold smile with a warm one and sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. If the current displeasure related to what had just occurred in the sitting room, it would be better to get it out in the open immediately. ‘Well, it looks like I shall have to shoot your brother.’

  From behind him, there was silence.

  He cursed himself for his ham-handedness. Trying to make a joke out of a life-and-death matter might have worked on the battlefield, where all men behaved as if they were one step from the grave, but it was foolhardy of him to try such cruel tactics on his wife.

  He was one breath from apologising when she replied, ‘Someone was going to do it eventually.’

  Her response seemed just as flip as his greeting and showed no sympathy for the difficult position he was in. ‘He was cheating at cards,’ Gerry repeated the obvious. ‘I caught him in the act.’

  ‘Of course you did,’ Lily answered. ‘He is not nearly as good at it as he thinks.’

  ‘I could not just let it stand,’ he said, pulling off his neckcloth and walking to the wardrobe to remove the rest of his clothes. He could feel her eyes boring holes in his back, but did not turn. What would the world think if it learned that the hero of Salamanca was afraid to look his own wife in the face?