Mistress of Merrivale

by Shelley Munro

  Hollers drifted on the air, voices increasingly urgent. Once the path ended, Leo examined the riverbank as best he could. Gravel and stones crunched beneath his shoes. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Leaving the small open area, he pushed through the undergrowth, grimacing when mud squelched into his evening shoes and seeped through his stockings. He should’ve taken time to change, but the idea of finding Jocelyn’s mother in similar circumstances to Ursula had urged him to haste.

  “Elizabeth! Elizabeth!” He paused and heard nothing but the scolding of a night bird. It burst off the branch of a nearby tree, the frantic flap of its wings giving him a start.

  He checked the ground for footprints to no avail. It looked as if the sheep had escaped the care of their shepherd during the afternoon since animal prints studded the ground. His progress was slow, the limbs of a willow impeding his advance.

  “Elizabeth!”

  Leo scrutinized his surroundings, holding his lamp aloft to gain maximum illumination. He ducked his head to avoid an overhanging branch and tripped on something in his path. Cursing, he flailed his arms but he went sprawling headfirst anyway. The lamp flew from his grasp, struck a tree trunk and flickered out.

  “God’s blood.” Leo pushed to his feet. His evening clothes would never be the same.

  A soft noise caught his attention. Foreign, it took him a few seconds to place the sound.

  “Elizabeth?”

  A pained cry. A whimper.

  Cautiously, Leo moved through the dark, using his hands to feel for protruding branches while waiting for his eyes to grow used to the inky black beneath the tree.

  The third time the cry sounded, he recognized it as human. “Elizabeth?” His fingers came into contact with a muddy hand and relief filled him. He didn’t need to tell Jocelyn the search had failed. “Elizabeth, I’m here. You’re safe now.”

  When she didn’t reply, alarm rose within him. He felt her wrist for a pulse and found a weak one. Thank God, she was still alive.

  Leo crawled from beneath the tree and let out a holler. “I’ve found her. Over here by the river!”

  “She’s found,” someone shouted from over to his left. The cry was picked up, the message passed on to Woodley.

  Leo returned to Elizabeth, worried when she didn’t stir. He rapidly checked her limbs for sign of injury and didn’t find anything amiss until he ran his hands over her head. Wetness met his touch. Blood? Damn, he needed a light. Blankets. Her skin felt like ice against his palms.

  He glanced up, relieved to see lights heading in his direction. “Over here,” he shouted. Aware of the cold wind, he removed his jacket and covered her. “We’re here,” he said, giving the search party a direction.

  “Is she all right?” Woodley asked.

  “She’s not responsive—nothing apart from the odd whimper. I think she’s hit her head.”

  Woodley squatted beside him, the glow from Woodley’s lamp showing blood on Elizabeth’s face and hair.

  “We need to get her back to the house. I’ll carry her,” Leo said. “You light the way.”

  Several other searchers arrived, the extra illumination from their lanterns making Leo’s progress easier. They arrived at the house after a brisk fifteen-minute walk.

  “Mother? Is she all right?” Jocelyn reached out to touch her mother’s arm, anxiety shading her breathless queries.

  His wife’s pale face made his heart twist. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, but instead he kept walking. “She’s hit her head, probably on a branch because I found her underneath a tree with low-lying branches. Where do you want her? In her room?”

  “Should I summon the doctor?”

  Leo frowned. “I doubt he’d get here for a couple of days. There was a mine accident in the south. He’s been called to treat the injured.”

  “Never mind. We’ll manage. Her room is fine,” Jocelyn said with a hint of steel. “Tilly and I will take care of her.”

  In the chamber, Leo set Elizabeth on her bed and, once he was sure the women didn’t require his assistance, he left to join the men who’d helped with the search. “A bottle of rum is in order, I think, Woodley.”

  “Yes, Mr. Sherbourne.”

  Leo ushered the men into the servants’ dining room because he knew they’d feel more comfortable there. He busied himself with stoking the fire while Woodley passed around tots of rum.

  “Thank you for your help,” Leo said, lifting his glass.

  “We’re glad to be of service,” one of the men said.

  “’Tis a pity we didn’t find the young maid wot went missing,” another of the men said.

  “Aye,” someone agreed. “’Tis a bad business.”

  “Someone said she ran away with a lover.”

  “No, not Ella. She be a good girl,” the first man said.

  “I don’t believe that of ’er,” one of the men agreed. “I’ve known Ella and Susan since they were nippers. Good girls, both of ’em.”

  Leo frowned, remaining silent. This wasn’t a topic he wished to become embroiled in tonight.

  Woodley arrived with a platter of cheese, pickles and bread and passed this around. Conversation shifted to farming and the mining accident down south.

  Leo remained near the fire, intermittently joining the conversation. His thoughts went to Jocelyn and her distress when he’d strode in with her mother. He stalked over to the table to set down his glass.

  “I’m going to check on Elizabeth,” he said to Woodley. “Thank you,” he said to the men who’d left their beds to aid in the search.

  He hurried down the passage and took the servants’ staircase to the second floor at a run. He knocked, pausing until he heard Jocelyn bid him to enter. “How is she?”

  “Apart from the wound on her head and a few scratches, she appears unharmed,” Jocelyn said. “I’d feel happier if she regained consciousness.”

  “Can I do anything?” Leo asked gruffly.

  “No,” Jocelyn said, her gaze remaining on her mother. “I’m going to sit with her for the rest of the night.”

  “No, Jocelyn,” Tilly objected. “You go to bed.”

  “Tilly, you can watch her tomorrow morning. She’ll likely wake soon, and you’ll have your hands full. You know what a difficult invalid she is. She’ll run us both ragged.”

  Leo wanted to object. He hadn’t handled things well during the conversation in the carriage. He’d known Jocelyn would hear gossip, but it still hurt to imagine the questions she must have after the conversation she’d overheard. In hindsight, the carriage had been a bloody stupid place to force the conversation. “I’ll see you in the morning. Summon me if you need help in any way.”

  Jocelyn nodded, but her manner remained distant. He didn’t know her well enough to tell if it was merely worry about her mother or if she felt disdain for him after their exchange.

  “Good night.” With a stiff bow, he withdrew. Damn, her words had struck like a rejection, even if she hadn’t meant them that way. He stomped down the passage, part of him aware he was behaving like Cassie, sulking because Jocelyn’s attention was on her mother. As it should be, he reminded himself.

  He and Jocelyn had time. He’d have to woo her and make her understand he viewed their marriage as a good thing. Hell, he was already half in love with his new wife. How could he not admire her sunny disposition and loving manner to her mother and Cassie? The servants liked her too. Even Mrs. Green had thawed quickly under Jocelyn’s deft management.

  Leo entered his room and prepared for bed. He yawned and dropped onto the corner of the bed, exhaustion arriving now that the excitement had ended. Cold made him fumble in removing his filthy shoes. Maybe one of the footmen could do something with them. He struggled with the buttons of his vest and shirt, fingers clumsy. When he stood, he noticed splotches of mud clinging to the bedcovers. Guilt struck, and he grimaced at the mess he’d made.

  After a quick wash with cold water, he doused the candles and crawled between the sheets. Despite his f
atigue, his mind chased in circles, refusing him the rest he sought. He missed Jocelyn, the warmth of her curvy body and the tiny sighs she made in her sleep, the spill of fiery hair across his pillows.

  But she didn’t trust him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Then there was Hannah. He’d known she’d expected him to offer for her once the period of mourning ended. He hadn’t heard much gossip though—perhaps because the locals didn’t like to air rumors to his face. He wished the treatment had extended to Jocelyn.

  Eavesdropping.

  His lips tightened in distaste, although he could hardly blame her for remaining concealed. Some of Hannah and Peregrine’s friends bore wicked tongues.

  A loud scream rippled into his musings. He jerked upright, startled for an instant. The terrified scream repeated, and his tension eased. This sound was a familiar one and good news. Elizabeth was awake and in full voice.

  Chapter Nine

  “I saw someone out in the garden,” Elizabeth said.

  “Who did you see?” Jocelyn raised a weary hand to her face and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. When her mother remained silent, irritation seared Jocelyn. The hour of sleep she’d managed earlier hadn’t countered her fatigue, and her head pounded. “Why didn’t you summon Tilly or one of the maids? Why did you go outside in the middle of the night? Everyone was worried about you.”

  “There is no need for you to take that tone with me, Jocelyn Anne.”

  Jocelyn barely caught back a snort. Her mother’s mind hadn’t suffered from the knock to her noggin. Her mouth twisted at the irony because if anything, the jolt appeared to have improved her memory. She seemed her old self, avoiding answering Jocelyn’s questions while treating her daughter like an unruly child.

  “Mother, why did you go outside?”

  “The ghost summoned me. How could I not go? It was an order.”

  “An order?” Jocelyn spluttered. Of all the ridiculous things. A ghost. She shook her head and mutely stared at her mother.

  “Well, if you want the truth, I thought it was your father.”

  “Father.” Jocelyn was starting to feel like the parrot one of their neighbors had owned when she was a child, repeating everything said. She counted to three under her breath. Her father had been an idiot, gambling away his estate and his daughter. She shoved away the memories and continued. “You couldn’t have waited until the morning to commune with him?”

  “The ghost was most urgent with his summons. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to speak with him.”

  “But Leo said the moors are dangerous, especially at night. Remember what Leo told us? You could have fallen into a bog and disappeared. As it was you hit your head. You could have died if Leo hadn’t found you.”

  “Your husband scared off the ghost.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jocelyn snapped. “Ghosts are fictitious beings.”

  Elizabeth’s face took on a mulish expression. “The maids say the ghosts of lost travelers wander the moors during the night. Apart from your father, I didn’t see any.”

  Jocelyn could feel a lecture coming on and spoke rapidly to forestall it. “If Leo hadn’t found you in time you’d be joining the ghostly wanderers. Promise me you won’t leave the house at night again. It’s dangerous, not only for you, but for all the servants and the kindly locals who left their beds to search for you.”

  Her mother’s forehead scrunched into lines. “But what if your father summons me again?”

  “He’s certainly not here at Merrivale. Father is dead.” Saint Bridget, give her strength. “If anyone summons you again in the middle of the night, come and get me or Leo. We’ll invite them in for a drink, and you can have a chat in cozy warmth.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “I didn’t like to wake you.”

  Yet her mother didn’t seem to worry about disturbing them with her shrieks at random times during the night and day. Jocelyn sent a silent prayer skyward since Saint Bridget wasn’t granting her appropriate strength. “Promise me, Mother. Please. I don’t want to see you hurt or worse.”

  “You’re a good girl,” her mother said, reaching out to pat her hand. “I’ll let you know the instant the ghost appears to me again. Maybe you could talk to your father to learn where he stashed his money. I’m sure that’s what he wishes to discuss.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Jocelyn exchanged a glance with Tilly who had returned from a short break.

  Anything Jocelyn said to her father would not be polite. His selfishness during his life had caused lasting repercussions. Yes, all the money he’d possessed was long gone, spent on wine, gambling and loose women. It was a pity had hadn’t been more like his father—her grandfather.

  Jocelyn stood abruptly. “Would you like me to retrieve your needlework basket? I believe I saw it in the Blue parlor.”

  “I have a headache,” her mother said. “I believe I’d like to rest.”

  “As you wish. I’ll check in on you later.” Jocelyn smiled at Tilly and left the room. Downstairs, she consulted with Mrs. Green. They’d decided to refresh several of the rooms and remove the accumulated clutter. While Jocelyn could have left the task to the household staff, she liked to keep busy and involved with the running of the house.

  “We can start on the room at the far end of the passage,” Jocelyn suggested.

  “That’s the Chinese room,” Mrs. Green said. “Mr. Sherbourne used the room when the first Mrs. Sherbourne was alive. For privacy, he said.” Mrs. Green paused, a faint trace of red appearing in her cheeks. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to gossip.”

  Aware of a chance to learn more about Ursula Sherbourne, Jocelyn waved her hand to dismiss Mrs. Green’s concerns. “You’re not gossiping, Mrs. Green. There is a difference between knowledge and the passing of hearsay.”

  Mrs. Green thawed enough to give her a stiff smile.

  Jocelyn sought the right questions to retrieve information without upsetting the woman—any details to help her discern the truth of the relationship between Leo and Ursula. “For what purpose did he use the room?”

  “I believe Mr. Sherbourne read and did his correspondence there. He uses the study near the salon now. The maids dust once a week, but no one has used the Chinese room for months.”

  Jocelyn pressed her right hand to her temple, gingerly rubbing in an effort to dispel the dull ache. That was strange. Why would Leo bypass his perfectly good study to use another room at the far end of the manor? Yet another puzzle to add to her list.

  “If you have a headache, we could do this another day,” Mrs. Green said.

  Her shrewd observance confirmed Jocelyn’s summation of the woman. Mrs. Green didn’t miss much in her domain. Jocelyn checked the pins holding her cap in place and fiddled with them until she was satisfied it would remain on her head. “Today is fine, Mrs. Green. I require a task to occupy my mind.”

  Mrs. Green gave a brisk nod. “I’ll summon two footmen to shift the furniture, and a maid to help with the dusting and cleaning.”

  “Thank you.” Jocelyn made her way to the Chinese room. She drew back the heavy curtains to flood the room with light. While no dust covered the surfaces, it was obvious the room hadn’t been used for some time. For one, no one would manage to move with the amount of clutter filling the space. Stacks of books sat on top of the two side tables near the window. There were more books sitting on the upright chair near an open fireplace and several piles on the floor.

  Jocelyn started to collect the books into one area, ready to return to the library. She dislodged an embroidered cushion when she leaned over to pick up a leather-bound book from the back of a chair. A scrap of parchment caught her attention. Tucked down the back, it must have escaped notice. Curious, she tugged it free and discovered it was part of a letter. Most of the salutation was missing.

  ula,

  I will wait for you in the copse by the river at midnight. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms. Until then, my darling.

  J.W.

&nbs
p; Ursula perhaps? This note was proof of an affair, but how had it come to be tucked down the back of the chair? Leo had used this room. Her breath caught, thoughts whirring through her head faster than the turn of a mill wheel. Had Leo intercepted this note? She knew his first wife had been unfaithful, knew of Leo’s displeasure regarding the fact. But many husbands and wives had discreet affairs once an heir plus a spare had been produced. She studied the contents of the note again. If Leo had felt cuckolded would this propel him to take action?

  Would it drive him to murder?

  A crinkling sound made her realize she was crushing the note. She smoothed the paper out and stared at the words.

  Had Leo murdered Ursula and attempted to pass it off as an accident?

  Approaching footsteps galvanized her to action, and she tucked the note inside her bodice.

  Mrs. Green appeared in the doorway with two footmen in tow. “Too much furniture,” she said in her decisive tone.

  “I agree. Some of the chairs and at least one of the tables could go,” Jocelyn said. “I rather like the Chinese furniture. Perhaps we could leave that and stay with a Chinese theme to match the paintings on the wall?” She gestured at the stylized bird and bamboo paintings.

  “Perfect,” Mrs. Green said.

  “Do we have a basket or a box we could use to pack up these books? They should all be returned to the library.”

  “Yes, I have just the thing. I’ll retrieve it after I’ve given the footmen directions.”

  Jocelyn continued to gather the books to a central point while Mrs. Green gave orders to the two footmen. While the housekeeper remained a little frosty, they worked well together, their tastes much in line. It made for a harmonious working relationship and hopefully reduced Mrs. Green’s anxiety about having her position usurped.

  During her task, she kept her eye out for more notes, but didn’t find anything else to help her come to an understanding about Ursula. The rest of the morning passed and, by the time they’d completed the task, Jocelyn was ready for a rest. One—no—two things plagued her the entire time. Who was J.W. and had Leo taken action to make sure his wife never strayed again?