Storm

by Jayne Fresina

  Abruptly True Deverell threw down his newspaper and growled, "That's enough, Damon. I think we all know the facts without you reporting them like the Town Crier."

  Damon put his lips together sulkily and shrugged, but said nothing else.

  "Your room is adequate, Mrs. Kelly, for you and the boy?" True inquired.

  "Oh, yes, thank you." It was a small, comfortable room with a splendid view of the sea. She was relieved not to look out on the bay with its sinister hunchback figure on the cliffs. Looking out to the water and the sky made her feel free, as if she was flying. Flynn, of course, loved the castle and had quickly made himself at home. He was currently enjoying himself enormously with Rush and Bryn, who had taken him— with his telescope— up to see the beacon at the top of the castle.

  Olivia had insisted that they come to Roscarrock after Sally's body was found. "You surely won't feel easy staying here, Kate," she'd said. "You and Flynn must come with us until this matter is dealt with. You cannot stay here, a woman alone."

  Storm had agreed. So there they were.

  "If you require anything at all," said the master of the house, "you must ask."

  Again she thanked him. How odd it was that this family, of which she had heard so many dreadful rumors, welcomed her without the slightest qualm, making room for her at once as if she was one of them.

  Ransom, she learned, had not told any of the others about 'Kitty Blue'. Soon after her arrival at Roscarrock that day, he took her aside.

  "I had endured a bad day, Mrs. Kelly — a bad few weeks, in fact," he admitted, looking rather grey, "and drunk too much brandy to try and blur my mind into a pleasant state of carelessness. An elusive state, as it turned out. I looked to relieve my own problems by making someone else suffer. It was none of my business, and I should not have said anything to Storm."

  Startled by this candid confession and apology, she could only reply, "Actually it is just as well that you told him. It helped clear the air between us. It was time we had an argument."

  Ransom squinted at her and then laughed sharply. "Yes, he is rather frustrating when he holds it all inside, isn't he? One can't hate him nearly as much as one would like to, when he won't lose that damned temper." He paused. "So I did you a service. Now I can feel better about that... at least."

  That was the last they mentioned it.

  Her first impression of Ransom Deverell had not been a good one, but there was something about him that would not allow her to completely write him off as a wicked troublemaker. Not even when he sighed loudly in the drawing room and said, "I hope this Suzy Watts business doesn't delay the wedding. I do have to be back in London by the end of the week. We can't all hang about here waiting for the local J.P. to decide who killed her."

  Storm got up now without a word and left the room. Kate followed him.

  She found him in the wild, rugged garden, staring out over the sea.

  "I should have put her on that mail coach myself," he said.

  "You cannot save everybody. You just can't. You did all that you could for Sally, probably more than anyone else ever did." She took his arm. "What happened to the money you gave her that day? She didn't have any in that little netted purse around her wrist. Constable Gallworthy said it was empty except for a handkerchief and some cheap perfume in a small vial."

  He shrugged. "Whoever left her there must have taken the money."

  There was a pause. "But how did Joe Dowty know she'd come to see you that day?"

  "What?"

  "At the fete in the cove, when he asked you about her, he said he knew she'd come to see you. And he told the constable that you were the last person to see her. How did he know that?"

  "I suppose she must have told him."

  "When?" Kate tugged on his arm until he turned to face her. "Why would she tell Dowty that she was going to you? And even if she did tell him where she was going, how would he know that you were the last person she saw?"

  "Perhaps he saw her or someone told him where she was going that day. You heard what Damon said, a lot of people knew she was coming to see me." His eyes were very light, capturing the sunlight as it sparkled up from the water. "Joe Dowty had no reason to hurt her. He wanted his money back, didn't he?"

  "He might have lost his patience and his temper." Another thought came to her then. "He might even have sent her to you to get the money. What if they quarreled afterward and she refused to give it to him? He'd hurt her then, wouldn't he?" She could see it all happening exactly that way— the tragic Sally struggling to hold onto the bank notes in her purse, and the stubby, cruel knuckles of Joe Dowty bruising her face.

  Storm was looking at her intently, wind ruffling the hair across his brow. "How do you know I didn't do it?" he said quietly.

  "Of course you didn't."

  "How do you know? I could have, couldn't I?"

  Frustrated, she exclaimed. "You seldom even raise your voice, Storm Deverell."

  "But I do have that temper. It takes a while to bust out, but it's still there alright and everybody knows it."

  "I know you couldn't have hurt her."

  "Kate, it's best if you stay out of this," he said somberly. "You've had enough to worry about." Taking both her hands in his he held them tightly. "I'll deal with this."

  But he was always rescuing her. Perhaps now was her turn to help him.

  She went to Olivia with her ideas about Dowty. It was obvious to her that he should be the main suspect in Sally's murder, but of course he had taken himself off after the Spring fete and hadn't been seen since.

  "Surely everyone knows the type of crook he is," she said. "And Storm is a good man. He wouldn't hurt anybody."

  "Of course he wouldn't. Nothing will come of it," Olivia replied. "It's just talk. Idle gossip, that's all."

  But life on the island of Roscarrock was subdued. A heavy cloud hung over the castle that afternoon, the air thick and humid. She heard from Raven all about Storm's reputation for brawling in his youth. He was not always the calm, steady fellow he had become in recent years.

  "He didn't like it when other children called him a bastard," Raven explained. "He took issue with it and beat them to a pulp on a regular basis. Our father lectured him about it, told him it didn't matter what people think and that, if he let it get under his skin, then he gave those fools more importance than they deserved. Eventually Storm managed to control his fists. I don't know how he did it, but he learned to smile and shrug and look away. Must have taken the most Herculean effort. He threw himself into working the land and then took the farm over completely. Works like a beast to keep himself busy and out of trouble. But, of course, people around here don't forget, and they don't let anyone else forget."

  Bert Soames, still in Chief Constable Gallworthy's custody, loudly maintained that the attack against him was unprovoked, which only added to the local suspicion being directed against Storm. Joseph Dowty was nowhere to be found. All they had was a dead, battered body discovered on Storm's land. And lively speculation. Rumor, as always, was plentiful and lurid. Some of the locals couldn't wait to share their own stories— truth or fiction— of the legendary Deverell temper and how it used to reveal itself in the young Storm, before he turned a "supposed" new leaf.

  * * * *

  Storm was on his way out when Ransom caught up with him in the hall.

  "I just wanted to say...we all know you're too good to have done this. So bloody noble and honorable, in fact, you shouldn't be a Deverell." He laughed uneasily. "I felt it ought to be said. Damon can be an ass."

  He stared at his brother. "Thank you," he replied stiffly.

  "We haven't always seen eye to eye. But when all is said and done, we are brothers, aren't we?"

  "Yes." He could see Ransom was troubled, but it was unlikely the man would reveal the true cause to him. Perhaps he was merely suffering the effects of too much rich food and drink. Over-indulgence was something Ransom had in common with their father. Usually he sprang back from the edge with agi
lity whenever he came close to it, but today he seemed less limber. Since he remained standing in the way, fidgeting as if he had something more to say, Storm waited a moment. When nothing else was forthcoming he finally said, "Well, I'm on my way back to the farm."

  "Yes, work to do. Of course." Reaching over, Ransom briefly and awkwardly patted Storm's arm and then returned to the library.

  Interesting. But he had too much on his mind to worry about Ransom, whose problems were surely never much more dire than a favorite tailor suffering from an infected finger.

  * * * *

  "There is a Mr. Duquesne to see Mrs. Kelly," Sims somberly announced.

  Kate was with Olivia and Raven in the drawing room the following morning. The other two women looked at her in surprise for nobody had been told where she was. But for Kate this was no great surprise. Mellersh had his ways of finding anything out when he wanted to. The only strange thing about it was that he had suddenly wanted to find them after so many years of turning his back.

  She got up and put her book aside. "Thank you, Mr. Sims. I suppose I'd better see him." Turning to her hostess, she asked if there was a room in which she might talk with the visitor in private.

  Olivia advised her to take the guest into True Deverell's study. No one else was likely to interrupt them there and the master of the house was out riding, not expected home for an hour or more.

  So Kate went into the hall and faced her former lover again. This time, at least, she was fully dressed, dry, and had both shoes on her feet. In addition, she was prepared to see him and the sudden sight would not set her pulse galloping.

  They went into the study and Sims closed the door, leaving them alone. It was quiet, not even a fire crackling in the hearth, but she could hear a fly bumbling against the window behind her, trying to get out.

  She took a breath. "Well, you found me again. What do you want?"

  "My son, naturally."

  In the daylight she saw that he did indeed look much older than she remembered. It occurred to her that she didn't actually know his age, had never known it, but in those days of their affair he had seemed young, lively. Now he looked very much like his father and she could only think that perhaps she was lucky after all. Lucky to have escaped. Despite all the hardships and the struggles, she would not go back and change anything.

  Under no circumstances would they get their hands on her son.

  "I'm sorry, Mellersh, you've wasted your time coming here. I will not give him to you."

  "My dear Katherine, you have no choice in this matter. I will take him from you."

  The door of the study opened sharply, making her jump. The master of the house strode in, still wearing his riding breeches, wet sand on his boots. "Ah, we have another guest. I was unaware." But he did not turn around again and leave. He came in, bringing a gust of fresh air with him, and walked right up to Mellersh. "What can we do for you, sir? Mrs. Kelly looks upset, and we have been charged by my son to look after her while she stays at Roscarrock."

  "True Deverell, I assume."

  "You assume correctly."

  "In that case, I am Mellersh Witherford Duquesne. And your son has already tried to pay me off, but your money won't work with me. This is a matter between Katherine and I."

  Kate groaned inwardly. Might have known Storm would try to intervene, hoping to save her yet again.

  "Duquesene. Now that is a name I know." True folded his arms and propped his seat on the edge of the desk. "Used to have a manor house not far off. That would have been your...grandfather?"

  "You are correct." Mellersh raised his chin to look down his nose at the other man. "And since you are familiar with the name, you will know that it is far better that you hand the boy over to me at once. This girl fails to understand the consequences of her actions in trying to keep the child from me."

  True laughed easily. "You know what women are. Never think things through."

  "Quite." Mellersh's eyes gleamed as he sensed victory in his grasp.

  "Fall into trouble with the wrong sort of man and end up abandoned."

  Now those eyes dimmed a little and his mouth tensed.

  True remained perched on the edge of his desk, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. Even apparently relaxed, he was suddenly very much in charge of the room.

  Kate felt the air get heavier. The fly buzzed at the window behind her with even greater urgency, as if it too sensed a change in the atmosphere, a charge of danger, of menace.

  "A woman left with a child born out of wedlock," he continued. "It is a story as old as time itself, is it not?"

  Mellersh snapped, "You have several bastards of your own, Deverell."

  "I do have three children born to women I did not marry, that is so. However, I provided for those women and for my sons. I acknowledged my children as soon as I knew of their creation. I raised those boys with everything I could provide for them."

  "Hmph. If you take in one bastard, I suppose you must take them all."

  "So where have you been all these years?"

  "I do not intend to explain myself to you. I would like—"

  "Your father had a bastard child too. Did you know that, Mellersh Witherford Duquesne? No. I doubt he ever told you that story."

  "My father? He certainly did not."

  True smiled slowly, but his eyes remained cold, sharply fixed. Kate backed up a step around the desk, holding her breath.

  "Yes, your father forced himself on a very young dairy maid and she bore a child. A boy. Your father refused to acknowledge the child and your grandfather arranged to be rid of it, to save his son from the shame. The girl conveniently disappeared and the child...well, he was left on the sands in the midst of a storm and there he would have died, if not for the unexpected intervention of a gypsy woman who found him there and put him in her sack, with all the other flotsam and jetsam she found along the tide line that night."

  "What nonsense is this?"

  "And that boy, that little bastard your father wanted dead, survived. He grew up to be a man. He made his fortune and caused considerable scandal. No one knew, you see, where he had come from. His past was a mystery and he kept it that way, because for many years he didn't even know himself."

  The fly rattled urgently against the window pane behind her. She felt as if True Deverell had forgotten she was there. He hadn't looked at her or referred to her since he entered the room. He was focused on the man before him and the rage ticked through his body like the parts of a clock being wound ever faster. Kate could hear it.

  "Eventually this boy, grown to a man, tracked his father down. Not because he wanted to see the man and be reconciled. But just so he would know. Information is power. As powerful as money— sometimes more so."

  Mellersh looked pale, uncertain. "This is all a lie. You have no evidence."

  "Don't I?" He pushed himself up off the desk and let his arms fall to his sides. "Try me and see. Are you a gambler, sir? I am. And I would wager high that your father would not like to come face to face with his bastard son. It would bring much more to light than your family could withstand. But you must do as you will." True strode around his desk to stand behind it, flicking idly through a ledger that sat there upon it. "If you take that child from Mrs. Kelly, then I shall feel obliged to introduce myself to your father— and society— by my real identity. After all, if you take in one bastard, you must take them all."

  Suddenly he flung his arm back and slapped the wall hard, crushing that dizzy fly under his palm.

  Mellersh dropped his hat and made a small, strange sound, almost a whimper. After a breathless pause, he stooped, swept up his hat and virtually ran out of the study.

  "I think you can take a breath now, Mrs. Kelly," Deverell muttered distractedly, dropping into his leather chair, crumpling a sheet of paper and using it to wipe the squashed fly carcass from his hand. "Do ask Sims to make sure Mr. Duquesne leaves the island before the tide comes in. We don't want his sort trapped here with us, do we? Low
ers the tone of the place."

  On shaky legs, she walked around his desk. "Mr. Deverell...was that story...true?"

  "That's my name, isn't it?" He didn't look up from his ledger.

  She licked her lips, trying to get life back into them. "Then that would make you...my son's... uncle."

  Finally he looked up. "I suppose it does." Then he grinned, reminding her of Storm. "He's already a Deverell."

  As he went back to his work she walked slowly to the door.

  "Oh, Mrs. Kelly— Don't tell anyone about that. It'll all be in the memoirs and I'd like them to be surprised when they read it after I'm dead." He chuckled. "I love a good surprise."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kate was restless. She needed to be doing something to help this man who had only ever tried to help her and whose family had welcomed her too. Having never been the patient sort, she found waiting for the coroner's inquest to be an intolerable prospect. Country life, naturally, moved much slower, but while everybody else had apparently resigned themselves to waiting for fate to take its course and absolve Storm of any wrong doing, Kate felt the need to be active on his behalf. Fortunately she had an ally in Olivia who had complained about the careless way Constable Gallworthy barged about through the reeds when they found Sally's body, his large feet trampling any possible evidence.

  "The man quite possibly means well, but enthusiasm does not make up for experience," she'd commented sharply.

  When Kate went in search of Olivia after Mellersh left the island, she found the lady violently scrubbing the kitchen floor. A curious task for the future wife of True Deverell and an even stranger time to embark upon such an exercise, Kate thought, but it may be that Olivia found it beneficial for her nerves. Kate, on the other hand, had never taken to housework as a cure for anything. If it could be helped.