The Secrets of Wiscombe Chase

by Christine Merrill

  It was one of her favourite spots in the woods, a clearing where the bluebells in spring grew so thick that it was like walking on a scented cloud. Would it be spoiled for her next year by the blood that would be shed today?

  ‘Wait here,’ he said, directing her to an oak at the side of the clearing that was well out of the way of danger. ‘I will call when it is safe for you to come forward.’ Then he went to join the other two men.

  Her brother and the earl were already there, pacing out the ground and checking the position of the sun. Even this early in the morning, Greywall was the worse for drink. But drunk or sober, he would be no help should Ronald try any underhanded tricks. Ronald cast a look in her direction that was as dark as her own mood. Traitor. He did not need to speak the words for her to see what he was thinking.

  Good. Let him know which side she had chosen. It was surprising that it had taken him so long to understand.

  After stumbling through a brief set of instructions, Greywall held out the pistol case so the men might choose their weapons. Ronald selected first, in a desperate grab that was not quite according to protocol.

  Gerald took the remaining pistol and examined it briefly, then fired at the grass at his feet. There was a loud click and a brief flash, but no report.

  This was what came of having no second. She had a mind to run to them and to demand that they put a stop to this immediately.

  But Gerald did not seem overly bothered. He held it up again, cocking the hammer and running the ramrod down the barrel. Then he smiled. ‘I see what the problem is. It has been incorrectly loaded. You had best check yours as well, North. We want no mistakes.’ Then he took powder, patch and ball, readying the weapon with a few efficient movements and another tap of the rod.

  He cocked the hammer again and looked expectantly at Ronald. ‘All better.’

  Her brother looked decidedly pale, for it was clear that his first plan had not worked.

  Greywall was too drunk to notice what was occurring. But he knew his part well enough to position the men back to back and order them to pace off the space. Then he informed them that, on the count of three, they must raise their guns and fire.

  ‘One.’ The sound was ponderous in the quiet morning air. Lily held her breath.

  ‘Two.’ It had been only a second, but the time was going so slowly, it felt as if her lungs were going to burst. But while Gerald stood rock-still, her brother’s hand twitched and began to swing upwards, into position.

  He meant to shoot early and catch his opponent unprepared. She had known him to be dangerous when cornered, but to see such a despicable act and to be helpless was maddening.

  ‘Thr...’

  Her own scream mingled with the final count, as she saw her brother’s pistol fully up, his finger tightening on the trigger.

  But Gerald was even faster, his weapon discharging in time with her brother’s.

  The reports of the two weapons were so close that they might have been a single shot. They were followed by a man’s curse and the sharp smell of gunpowder. She turned to her husband in terror, only to see him wiping casually at a bloody spot on his cheek.

  She rushed to him, weak with relief, and threw her arms about him, searching in her sleeve for her handkerchief, wet it with her tears, and dabbed at the wound.

  He grinned at her. ‘Only grazed. I’ve had worse than this shaving without a mirror. Here now. Calm yourself, woman. This is no way for a soldier’s wife to behave.’ Now that it was over, he looked more embarrassed than hurt.

  She reluctantly pulled away from him, and made an effort to compose herself. ‘Yes, Captain Wiscombe.’

  ‘And what about me?’ her brother said, voice sharp with indignation. When she turned to look, Ronald was holding his mangled right hand in his left, the pistol dropped and forgotten on the grass next to a spatter of blood. ‘Damn you, Wiscombe. Damn you to hell. Look what you have done.’

  ‘Ruined your livelihood, I should think,’ her husband drawled, uninterested. ‘If you are lucky enough to regain the use of that hand, it will be some time before you can deal cards with any effectiveness. I suspect the dexterity needed to hide aces and deal from the bottom is gone for good.’

  ‘You bastard!’ Ronald made a lunge in her husband’s direction, ready to grab him by the throat. The sudden movement sent another spatter of blood from his injured hand and what was apparently a fresh wave of pain as well. Ronald’s next curse ended in a whimper and he went back to cradling the mess that had once been his dominant hand. ‘Lily, help me.’

  Lily stepped forward briskly. ‘Do not be an infant, Ronald. Here.’ She reached up to snatch his neckcloth from around his throat, wrapping it several times around the injury tight enough so the bleeding slowed to seepage. ‘Now go back to the house and get Mrs Fitz to bandage it properly.’

  ‘Send for a surgeon,’ he moaned.

  Lily sniffed in disgust. ‘To what end? The ball went clean through and the housekeeper can set broken fingers and stitch as well as a doctor.’

  ‘I need laudanum,’ he moaned.

  ‘You need to reflect on your injury and thank the Lord that Captain Wiscombe did not shoot you in your black heart. You truly deserved it.’

  ‘Lily?’ Even though he was older, the pain had reduced her brother to little more than a spoiled child who expected his sister to nurse him and make all things right.

  ‘Go!’ she said, holding up a finger towards the carriage that had brought her brother and his second the short distance from the house. ‘Before I tell my husband to challenge you again for misloading his weapon. If you meant to kill him, than you should be happy that he did not end your life on principle.’

  Her brother gave her an injured look, limping towards the carriage, as if the slight wound he’d received had carried to his leg. Greywall put a conciliatory hand on his shoulder, then got a better look at the blood staining his coat sleeve and fainted dead away.

  Or perhaps he had passed out from intoxication. Either way, it did Lily good to see him face down in the wet grass. She turned away, back to her husband, offering him a composed smile as he held out his arm to escort her.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘Did I not tell you that it would work out for the best?’

  ‘I did not doubt you,’ she assured him. ‘All the same, it is a relief that it is over and that you were able to handle it so efficiently.’

  He gave a modest bow at her compliment. ‘I have dealt with worse, you know.’

  ‘But I have never been forced to stand by, helpless, and watch you do it,’ she said.

  ‘And I knew from the first that your brother was no real threat.’

  ‘Not a threat?’ She stared at him in surprise. ‘He is a liar and a cheat. I am his own sister and I have no idea what he might be capable of if backed into a corner.’

  ‘As I said before, I have seen worse.’ He gave her a pitying look. ‘I am sorry to say it, my dear, but your brother is a coward. While he may think himself a dangerous man willing to do anything to save his own skin, he has never killed anything more ferocious than a doe. He attempted to trick me, just as you said he would. But his attempts were obvious and easy to predict. And half-hearted, as well.’

  ‘I suppose you’d have done better,’ she said, surprised.

  ‘If I’d wanted my opponent dead?’ Gerry thought for only a moment. ‘I’d have dispensed with the nonsense and shot him point-blank before the duel started. Then I’d have sworn my second to secrecy and we’d have come back to the house with the corpse. Or I might have arranged a hunting accident. It would not have been as satisfying as seeing his face as I shot him, but it would have done the job.’

  ‘Cold-blooded murder?’

  Her husband shrugged. ‘It is fortunate for all of us that I am an honourable man. But I also know what it truly means to fight
for one’s life. I have equal skill at killing men with sword or pistol. On several unfortunate occasions I used my bare hands. The people who speak of cold-blooded action as the greatest sin do not know what awful things can happen in the heat of the moment.’

  For the first time since he’d been home, she saw the signs of tiredness and strain on his face. She had not expected him to be the young man who had left her. But he had aged a lifetime in seven years. ‘There will be no more of either, once we have the house to ourselves.’

  ‘My wife will paint me landscapes of Waterloo and I shall not slaughter so much as a rabbit ever again.’ He sighed. ‘It will be paradise, my dear.’

  ‘For me, as well.’ For a moment, she imagined the quiet evenings and the freedom of unlocked doors. Then an image of Stewart playing on the hearth rug in the sitting room flitted across her mind. There had to be some way to persuade her husband to relent on his plans to send the boy away. But that discussion could wait until bedtime, when he was in the most receptive mood possible.

  Gerry sighed, contented. ‘I am well pleased that today went as it did. I settled your brother with a minimum of bloodshed. Your father and I have come to an understanding without the need for firearms.’

  ‘And the guests have all run back to London,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘All but Greywall,’ he reminded her.

  ‘The earl?’ For a moment, she had actually managed to forget him. Then the memory of the previous day rushed back. With it came the beginnings of a headache.

  ‘He was bothering you yesterday,’ Gerry said, matter-of-fact. ‘And the boy,’ he added.

  ‘He suspects,’ she said. It was a massive understatement of the situation. But it was all the explanation she meant to give. ‘Thank you for acknowledging Stewart.’

  ‘I’d have said anything to put the fellow off you,’ Gerry said hurriedly, as if he wished to crush any hope she might have that he was softening. ‘And what goes on in this house is no business of his, no matter how often he tries to make it so.’

  Her chest tightened, imagining what he might have said. ‘Has he been making trouble?’

  Gerry nodded. ‘Since long before you arrived here. He was lurking about the property even before Father died, hoping that our diminished fortunes would be a reason to sell. When Father refused, he tried to hunt our land without permission and had to be escorted to the property line like a common poacher.’ Gerry shook his head. ‘The man is repellent. I will take great pleasure from sending him away again as soon as I am able.’

  Not now. At this prolonged talk of Greywall, she could feel the beginning of another attack. This time she fought against it, focusing on the memory of her husband’s hands on her face and body and his own steady breathing. When she was sure she was calm enough to speak, she said, ‘I do not think it is wise to antagonise him. He may be an old drunkard, but he is still a very powerful man.’

  ‘Do not worry. I will handle the matter as discreetly as possible.’ But as he said it, he smirked, as if the prospect of doing just the opposite were actually the plan.

  An altercation between the two of them would be a disaster. It was not just a matter of the secrets that would be revealed, it was Gerry’s likely response to them. They were so close to having the peaceful future that they wanted. She did not want to dredge up the past again and she certainly could not stand another duel.

  ‘Let me,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘Let you what?’ he asked, surprised.

  ‘I would like to be the one to send the earl away.’ He looked doubtful, so she said, ‘You have promised me often enough that I can have anything I want. After seven years of his company, I would like to tell him what I think of him and send him home.’

  ‘Won’t the conflict with a guest be upsetting to you?’ he said, frowning. ‘I will not be responsible for causing a megrim by letting you deal with something that should be my responsibility.’

  She forced a laugh, even as she felt the growing cluster of pain behind her eyes. ‘Do not worry yourself that the man who could not even watch the morning’s duel without fainting will cause an upset in me. He is old and harmless and I am quite capable of sending him packing.’ As long as her son stayed in the nursery, well out of the way.

  Gerry was still staring at her, as if he could not quite understand what he was hearing. But at last he said, ‘Very well. If that is what you want, I see no real harm in sharing the fun of turfing out the guests. But if he gives you any trouble...’

  ‘I will get you immediately,’ she said, forcing a smile and kissing him on the cheek.

  * * *

  They parted when they arrived at the house. Lily went to her bedroom, Gerry presumed. But he went immediately to the back of the house to find Mrs Fitz. He did not bother to ring, but went down the stairs to the kitchen dining room, where he found both her and Aston, taking their coffee before beginning their day.

  They looked up at him in surprise and answered in unison, ‘Captain?’ before preparing to stand.

  He held up a hand, indicating that they remain seated. ‘Just a question and then you may return to your breakfasts. Does the household keep lists of the guests that have been here?’

  Mrs Fitz nodded. ‘It is easier to keep track of the preferences of repeat visitors if some record is kept.’ She frowned. ‘There have not been many of those. But still.’

  ‘Very sensible of you.’ He gave her an approving smile. ‘And how far back might those lists go? All the way back to the time I left?’ He raised an encouraging eyebrow.

  ‘I should think so, sir.’ The woman frowned. ‘I would have to go through my old diaries. But they are in the still room.’ She rose again, ready to get them.

  He waved her back to her seat. ‘The matter is not urgent.’ It had waited seven years. Another day would not matter. ‘Later, when you are not too busy, could you compile me a list, complete with the names of any servants?’

  ‘Of course, Captain.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘And include the bedrooms they occupied.’

  She looked flustered. ‘Is some item missing? Because then you would be right to include the servants. I doubt that any of the guests...’ She stopped, perhaps remembering the character of the people that the Norths entertained.

  ‘No,’ he insisted. ‘Nothing missing.’ Not exactly. ‘I just wish to know the details of what has been going on in the house in my absence.’

  One detail in particular.

  Mrs Fitz nodded obediently. ‘Of course, sir. I will see to it today and you shall have the completed list by breakfast tomorrow.’

  ‘Very good.’ By then, the rest of the guests would be packing and he would have as much time as he needed to ferret out the one thing on which his wife had been curiously reticent. If she had lied, he would find out the reason for it. There would be no punishment for it, of course. She had suffered enough.

  There was but one who truly deserved to pay for the incident. And if that man still took breath, he would not be doing so for long.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After returning from the duel, Lily spent more than her usual amount of time on her toilette before seeking out the earl. Perhaps if she waited long enough, something might occur that would make this meeting unnecessary.

  Of course, she had been waiting and hoping for years already. So far, no miracle had come to dislodge the man from her house. If she waited any longer, Gerry would handle it himself, just as he had the rest of the guests. It was a potential disaster that could not be allowed.

  Her maid had chosen a white-muslin day gown with a faint red stripe. After considering for a moment, Lily chose a red spencer that closed with a row of gold frogs. She had bought it specifically because it reminded her of her husband’s uniform. She smiled at her reflection in the cheval glass. If one was to meet the enemy on
the battlefield, then it did not hurt to be smartly attired. Though it seemed excessive for daytime, she let the maid decorate her dressed hair with a single coq feather that reminded her of the plume on a helmet. Then she left her room and went to the main floor to seek out her nemesis.

  The house already had the too-quiet, empty feel that it got when the guests were gone. Without half a dozen noisy idiots in residence to distract her, the sound of her slippers echoing on the parquetry was unnerving. But the sort of person who was frightened of the sound of her own footsteps would never survive her talk with Greywall.

  She stopped dead in the hall, listening to the sound of her own breathing to be sure it was steady and slow. Then she changed her pace, skipping like a child for a few steps and enjoying the syncopated reverberations it created. She was Lillian Wiscombe, wife of the hero of Salamanca. This was her house. She could walk, skip or even run through the halls if she wished to. And she did not have to put up with unwanted guests.

  She found the earl in the trophy room, staring up at the mounted head of a stag as if he coveted it. When he looked down at her, his face held the same expression.

  ‘Lord Greywall,’ she said.

  ‘Lillian,’ he said with a wolfish smile.

  ‘I did not give you permission to use my name,’ she said, trying to ignore the nervous hitch in her pulse when she looked at him.

  ‘Surely, after all these years, there is no reason for us to be formal.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ she said. ‘I thought I’ve made it clear that I have no desire to talk to you at all, much less to be informal.’

  He smiled sadly. ‘That is a shame. Now that the house is nearly empty, I hoped there would be reason to know you better.’ It would be impossible to call the look he was giving her anything but a leer.

  ‘I already know you better than I care to,’ she said. ‘And the house will be even emptier soon. My husband wants you to leave.’