Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3)

by Rosemary Morris

  Harriet clasped vulnerable son’s hand. “Don’t cry, Arthur. Mamma will not allow anyone to shoot Prince.” She glared at Pennington, choking back the words: You are insane. If she uttered them, he might suspect she planned to leave with Arthur. If Pennington did, Harriet was sure he would try to prevent her. She would prefer to depart quietly without leaving any clue to her destination. Yet, where could she go?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  With Arthur’s pony on a leading rein, Dominic rode slowly and thoughtfully back to The Rectory. In his opinion Lady Castleton’s assessment of Pennington was correct. Although the earl did not gibber like an unfortunate inmate of Bedlam, he was not sane. Instead of his decision to shoot the docile Exmoor pony, Pennington should have questioned the grooms and stable boys to find out who loosened the girth.

  Dominic assumed one of the earl’s relatives was responsible for an attempt on Arthur’s life? He frowned. Although the murderer had failed, he or she might devise another plan, so Arthur and his mother must leave Clarencieux Abbey as soon as possible.

  He rode on, his lips pressed into a thin line, while he considered several alternatives until he reached the stables behind the rectory. Dominic dismounted. He handed the reins of his horse and the pony to the groom, and gave the man brief instructions.

  A gleam of curiosity in his eyes, Jim touched his forelock. “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll keep a close eye on the Exmoor, and lock the gate at night. I sleep over the stable, so I’d hear if anyone breaks in.”

  Dominic nodded at the man. “Good, the pony must not be harmed.”

  “Trust me, sir, my lad and I will make sure he’s not.”

  “Good. Water my mare but don’t remove her saddle.”

  Dominic could not be certain the earl would try to have Prince shot. One never knew to which lengths a madman might go.

  After a quick word with his sister, he would return to Clarencieux to speak to Harriet.

  Dominic hurried into the rectory. “Where is Lady Gwenifer?” he asked the maidservant, who opened the front door.

  “In her bedchamber, sir.”

  Usually, Gwenifer got up in time to breakfast with him; this morning, presumably tired after the ball she must have slept later than usual.

  He went up the stairs two at a time, hurried along the short corridor and knocked loudly on his sister’s bedroom door.

  “Come in,” she called.

  Propped up in her four poster bed by plump pillows in lace-edged linen covers, Gwenifer put her cup of coffee down. “What is it? Robert!?” she faltered, her eyes wide with alarm.

  “No, I don’t think there is a change in his condition.”

  Gwenifer patted the edge of her bed. “Sit here instead of frowning down at me. Have you had your breakfast? Should I send for more bread and butter? A cup of hot chocolate, or would you prefer coffee?”

  “No thank you, I ate before I went to Clarencieux.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “So early in the day!”

  “Yes.” The news he intended to give Lady Castleton earlier in the morning seemed less urgent.

  “Did something happen there to put you in a lather?”

  “I am not, as you so vulgarly put it, in a lather.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Maybe not, but you are out of countenance.”

  Without including unnecessary details, Dominic told her what had occurred. “Lady Castleton and her son cannot remain at the abbey. If you agree, I shall bring them here. You will enjoy their company until other arrangements can be made for them,” he concluded.

  “It will not do.” Gwenifer vehemently shook her head. “I agree Harriet and her son cannot remain at Clarencieux after her father-in-law’s monstrous behaviour. Nonetheless, you should consider it would cause gossip connecting your name to hers if she put up here?”

  “Why should a visit from your friend cause tittle tattle?”

  His sister shook a finger at him. “By now, through servants’ gossip, rumours are already spreading beyond the abbey. If her ladyship stays with us, people will ask themselves why.”

  “Gwenifer-”

  “Please listen to me. Although Harriet has joined the ton, even a hint of scandal would ruin her.”

  “A lesser evil than another attempt on Lord Castleton’s life.” His mouth twisted in the travesty of a smile.

  “What would be best?” Gwenifer pressed her hand to her heart. “I know, Mamma, asked me to call on her with Harriet and her son. If we do so immediately, I shall tell Mamma what has happened and insist they stay at Faucon Castle.”

  Dominic frowned at his sister. There was a time for everything.” To be blunt, “I doubt Mamma will agree to anything which will further my acquaintance with Lady Castleton.”

  Regardless of his parents’ and sister’s wishes he could only think of one honourable way to protect Harriet.

  * * *

  Harriet looked at Bessie across the top of her son’s head.

  The nurse knelt in front of Arthur. “Look at me, my little love, and please stop crying. You’re not the first and won’t be the last child to fall off his pony.”

  “G…grandpapa wanted…me to…to sh…shoot Prince,” Arthur sobbed.

  “Well, you didn’t. Now, stop your noise while I take off your muddy clothes.”

  In response to Bessie’s reprimand, Arthur sniffed and obeyed her.

  Faint with the horror of knowing someone tried to kill her child, Harriet sank onto a chair. Equally horrified by the earl’s attempt to force Arthur to kill the pony, she trembled. She completely understood why, before he died, Edgar chose not to mend the rift between himself and his father. He must have known, or at least suspected, the earl was either cruel to the core or only fit for Bedlam. She cursed the day Mrs Tarrant, with the best of intentions, introduced her to the evil old man.

  The door opened a little. A man cleared his throat. “Colonel Leigh, my lady, the butler told me I would find you in the nursery. May I come in?”

  What did he want? Harriet tried to check her emotions while she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “Yes, you may.”

  The colonel entered the room and shut the door. With the keen eyes of a man accustomed to taking charge, he glanced from Bessie and Arthur to Lady Castleton. “If you will pardon me for saying so, my lady, your face is pale. You need a glass of brandy.”

  “You are thoughtful, but no, thank you.”

  Bessie stood and glanced from Harriet to Colonel Leigh before she addressed Arthur. “Now, now, Lord Castleton, don’t you fret. There’s mud in your hair, so you shall have a nice, hot bath, followed by breakfast. By now, you must be very hungry. She clasped Arthur’s hand. “Begging your pardon, my lady, don’t worry. I shall take good care of his lordship.”

  Yes, Bessie would, and she did not want to converse with the colonel in her child’s presence. Harriet forced herself to her feet. “Colonel Leigh, all is well so we should leave Arthur’s nurse to take care of him.”

  “Nonsense, it is far from well.” Leigh followed her into the hall. “There is something I wish to say.” He cleared his throat. “You can trust me. Your husband and I were good friends.”

  “Yes, I know.” In silence, Harriet led him to her parlour. “We may be private here.” She indicated a pair of chairs upholstered with dove-grey chintz patterned with blowsy roses.

  Leigh waited for her to sit down before he seated himself. A shadow seemed to cross his face. What was it? Regret?

  “Lady Castleton, you and your boy need protection. It is out of the question for both of you to remain here. “

  What should she reply? It would be humiliating to admit she was dependent on Pennington’s charity.

  “Lady Castleton, please believe that I wish you well.”

  “Thank you.” Surprised, Harriet studied his weather-beaten face and the military air clinging to him like his tight-fitting pantaloons.

  “May I say I have always admired you?” he asked, seeming somewhat ill at ease.

>   She nodded. “Thank you for your kind words,” she responded, somewhat embarrassed.

  “Ah, you are too overcome by today’s shocking events to say much.” Something was either stuck in his throat or he was reluctant to continue. After he cleared his throat, he continued. “Lady Castleton, I shall come to the point. Do you know I am a baronet’s younger son? Despite that, my income is sufficient to support a wife in comfort. I realise I am fifteen years older than you, but, nevertheless, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

  What should she say to the well-meaning officer? Dismayed, although appreciative of his well-meant proposal, Harriet hesitated, her hands gripped together on her lap.

  The colonel leaned forward. “Forgive my forthrightness. I am a plain spoken soldier unaccustomed to-”

  “There is nothing to forgive, sir. I am honoured by your proposal-”

  “Please don’t refuse me without careful consideration of your unfortunate circumstance,” he interrupted. “I shall understand if you intended to say your heart is buried in your late husband’s grave. Yet, even if it is, a marriage of convenience might have compensations, the least of which would offer you and your son security. What else can I say, other than I would be a kind husband and step-father?”

  An image of Mister Markham flitted through her mind. “Colonel Leigh, I appreciate your kind proposal.” She smiled to enforce her gratitude. “Yet, in spite of all the advantages of accepting it, I must decline. It is painful, and perhaps unladylike to be honest, but I shall. When my husband and I first met, I imagined sweet music, which Shakespeare wrote is the food of love, played. Therefore, I hope you will understand I refused your generous offer because our hearts are not engaged.”

  Did she detect a hint of relief in the colonel’s hazel eyes?

  Colonel Leigh stood and bowed. “In future, I hope you will not regret your decision. Good day to you, my lady.” Without another word he left the room.

  Harriet leaned back in her chair. Was she a fool to have refused an honourable gentleman’s offer of marriage? No time to think of his proposal now. She must return to Arthur.

  Before she could stand, Plymouth held the door wide open. “Lady Isabel, my lady.”

  Her sister-in-law, gowned in a pale grey cambric morning gown, advanced across the floor, a tiny flask of smelling salts held to her nose. “I am shocked, Lady Castleton,” she announced in a low tone, giving the impression it fatigued her, and sank onto the chair next to Harriet’s. “Shocked by my conclusion that someone loosened the girth of your son’s pony with the intention of-” Once more, she applied the smelling salts. “I don’t deny the knowledge of your existence and Lord Castleton’s has flabbergasted the family. Nevertheless, you must not think any of us are wicked enough to make an attempt on his lordship’s life. I am convinced a careless groom is to blame for the loose girth.”

  Harriet shrugged. “Maybe.”

  The unconcealed antagonism in Lady Isabel’s eyes contrasted with her languid manner and the gentle tone of voice in which she spoke.

  “My lady, please excuse me, I must return to the nursery.”

  Isobel’s hands fluttered, giving the impression of e a helpless being scarcely able to breathe. “A moment more of your time, she requested, insistence creeping into her voice. “I admit my father has foibles, but, please believe I am shocked by his attempt to add to your sweet child’s distress by trying to force him to kill his pony.”

  “Foibles!” Harriet stared at her sister-in-law, sufficiently furious to fear that, if she spoke, she would release a stream of invective more suited to an ill-bred soldier.

  “Perhaps I should have said faults.” Isobel veiled her eyes with her eyelashes. Eyes that had expressed more than she might have wished. “Don’t be angry, Lady Castleton. I am a mother, so I can imagine your distress. I have come to offer you a respite from Clarencieux Abbey. Jack and I have delayed our departure to give you time to have your bandboxes packed and accompany us. If you wish, you may stay with us for as long as you wish.”

  For another attempt to be made on Arthur’s life? The years during which Harriet followed the drum had sharpened her wits. She remembered a provost marshal’s claim that sometimes the most unlikely person was guilty of the worst crime.

  Fear for her son’s life almost overwhelmed her. What should she do to keep him safe? Where, she asked herself yet again, could we go?

  Pride stiffened her spine. “Lady Isobel, thank you for your kind invitation, which I must decline.” She stood with the intention of returning to the nursery.

  Isobel turned the tiny silver-chased bottle around and around in her hand “Ah, you mistrust us. You are wrong to do so. Although Jack was in the stable yard a little earlier than either my father or Lord Castleton, he would never have been wicked enough to loosen the girth.”

  Perhaps not, but that did not mean her sister-in-law had not bribed a groom or a stable boy to do so. Before she could reply, Plymouth opened the door to admit Viscount Buckley and his wife.

  After Buckley’s description of his circumstances, she had doubted he was guilty of attempted murder, nevertheless he might have lied. Maybe he was a gamester, who lost so much on the turn of a card that his estates were mortgaged. And what of Lady Katherine? She might be the culprit.

  “Lady Castleton,” Buckley began, “It is out of the question for you to remain here with a father-in-law who is more than queer in the attic; so

  my wife and I invite you to visit us until you decide on your future. It is out of the question for you to remain here with a father-in-law who is more than queer in the attic.”

  “Yes, indeed, you and your son cannot remain here, so you are welcome to visit us,” Lady Katherine confirmed, without the least trace of warmth in her voice.

  Harriet shook her head. She would not, could not stay with anyone who might slip poison into Arthur’s food or drink, send him tumbling down a flight of stairs in the hope he would break his neck, or try to murder him by other means. “Thank you for your invitation, which I cannot accept...”

  Frantic to secure her son’s safety, her thoughts darted hither and thither. The sooner she left the abbey the better Clarencieux the better it would be, but she did not trust any of her in-laws.

  Yet again Plymouth opened the door. “My lady, Mister Markham is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

  At last, someone I can depend on without reservation! Harriet walked towards the door. She reached it, then turned around. “Lord Buckley, Lady Katherine, Lady Isobel, thank you for your kind offers, which I appreciate.”

  Buckley took his tortoiseshell snuff box out of his pocket. “You will not accept either of them because you have no faith in us?”

  She hesitated before she answered. “In my circumstances, my lord, would you know upon whom to rely ?

  * * *

  Before Harriet went downstairs, she returned to the nursery, where, at the sight of Jack with Arthur on his knees, she lingered by the door while her son chatted to his cousin.

  “I thought Grandpapa was nice. He gave me Prince.” Arthur’s lips quivered. “When I asked him for some toy soldiers he bought them for me as well as little cannons and horses. He goes riding with me, and has given me lots of things. I thought he loved me, but if he did he would not have…not have-”

  Harriet looked at Bessie, who stood in a space between a cupboard and the wall watching the cousins.

  Arthur put his thumb in his mouth, something he had not done since they came to Clarencieux.

  “I don’t know if you are old enough to understand people like our grandfather love themselves more than they love anyone else.” Jack looked around the nursery, appearing not to know how to explain and excuse the unforgiveable. When he noticed her, he inclined his head. “With Nurse’s permission, Arthur and I discussed what happened before breakfast.”

  Surely Jack could not have made an attempt on Arthur’s life. Certainly, he did not condone her father-in-law’s decision to slaughter the pony.<
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  Unbidden, the memory of magnificent cavalry horses wounded in battle, and unable to stand despite their struggles, came to Harriet’s mind. The poor creatures, loved by their riders, most of whom died in the battle, had neighed and whinnied, pleading for help. Curse the earl!

  “Lady Castleton,” a male voice said from behind her.

  Harriet turned around and saw the Stantons. She repressed a chuckle born of hysteria at the thought of them also coming to offer her help?

  While Sarah Stanton clutched her two-year-old son in her arms, Gerald Stanton shook his head. “Shocking, who could have been so wicked?”

  “I would prefer you not to discuss this in my son’s presence.”

  Gerald clasped his hands over his paunch. “Quite so, quite so. We came to see how Lord Castleton is.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Does Arthur know someone tried to kill him?” Harriet swallowed and prayed he did not.

  Sarah Stanton stooped, put the two year-old on the floor, and gazed fondly down at him. “We thought Lord Castleton would like to play with our son.”

  Harriet raised her eyebrows. “I think Frederick is too young to play with a four year-old.”

  Gerald glanced at Bessie. “Lady Castleton, we would like a private word with you.”

  Bessie came forward and sat on the floor near Frederick. “My lord, perhaps you and Master Frederick would enjoy rolling your ball back and forwards to each other.”

  Harriet gestured to the Stantons. “Come.”

  Gerald followed her, looked back saw his wife hesitate. He beckoned to his wife. “My love?”

  “Frederick?” Sarah asked.

  “Will come to no harm, while we speak to Lady Castleton.”

  “Take good care of him, Nurse.” Sarah sighed, and followed her husband into Arthur’s bedroom.

  When the door shut, Gerald spoke. “Lady Castleton, a force too strong to resist has impelled me to speak to you.”

  Harriet thought of Mister Markham, the only person she wanted to talk to. “Mister Stanton, I only have time for a brief word with you.”