by K. C. Wells
As Jonathon selected the bottles he needed, he thought about George’s story. There was something about him that invited trust, and yet…. What’s puzzling me? He strove to recollect George’s exact words. There’s just me now. It seemed an odd response. Then Jonathon realized that he still didn’t know if George had anything to do with Mrs. Teedle. That was the purpose of this visit, right?
Jonathon had been sidetracked by cocktails and pleasant conversation.
George returned, carrying three juice cartons. “That’s all of them.” He placed them on the drop-down flap of the drinks cabinet, then sat down. “So, are you settling into life in the village?”
Jonathon emptied the contents of the cocktail shaker into a pint glass, then added more ice. “Slowly but surely. Seems like every day I’m meeting someone new. And I thought this was a small village.”
George laughed. “You’re telling me. Five years I’ve been here, and I still don’t know everyone.”
“Did you know the old lady who died?” It was the perfect moment to ask.
George studied Jonathon’s hand movements as he measured juice into the shaker. “No. Well, I’d heard of her, of course. Some people get talked about, and there were certainly lots of tales going around about her.”
“I only met her for the first time at the bonfire party.” Jonathon moved on to measuring the rum. “It’s funny you mentioned me talking to the mayor. It was just after that when she introduced herself.” He snuck a glance at George, but George wasn’t meeting his gaze. “And you talked about walks in the forest too. The path goes right by her cottage, did you know? Not that you could miss that table full of jams.”
George gave a half smile. “You’re right. Her cottage always struck me as a spooky old place. Not that I ever saw the inside, you understand. But the jams? That’s another matter. I always bought a jar if I’d run out. She made really good jam.”
“I bought two jars myself.” Jonathon regarded him closely. “Were there many jars left when you went past on Sunday morning?”
George stilled, his bright blue eyes wide. “How did you know I went past there?”
“You mentioned taking three walks a day, and the forest being one of your favorite routes.” Jonathon frowned. “But you’re right. What made me assume you’d been there that particular morning?” He rubbed his chin, then nodded triumphantly. “My gardener mentioned seeing a German shepherd who’s a regular. I figured he had to mean you.”
George’s breathing grew a little labored. “Oh, I see. Now that you mention it… yes, I did go by there. In fact, I bought a jar of jam from the table.”
“Oh? Which flavor? I was sad to have missed the cherry variety. I love cherries.”
George frowned. “I don’t think it was cherry.” He got up and went into the kitchen. “Tell you what. If it is cherry, you can have it.”
“Aw, you don’t have to do that,” Jonathon protested. What made his heart beat a little faster was George’s change in mood. Someone else who gets nervous talking about that morning. He realized it could all be entirely innocent, the reactions of people who didn’t want to be considered suspects. That would make anyone nervous.
George returned to the small living room, clutching a jar. “Sorry. It’s ginger.” He held up the jar with its white label, on which had been scribbled Ginger Jam, Nov 2017.
Jonathon arched his eyebrows. “Oh wow. That’s different. You’ll have to let me know what you think of it.” He went back to his task, placing the cap on firmly before vigorously agitating the shaker. “I hope you like this.”
“I’m sure I shall. But I think this will have to be the last one. I’m starting to feel tired.” George went back into the kitchen with the jar. By the time he was in his chair again, Jonathon had strained the brightly colored concoction into a clean glass, then added a cherry on a stick.
He handed George the glass. “Then this will make a great nightcap.” He picked up his own. “Cheers.”
George echoed the toast before sipping the cocktail. He let out a groan. “Oh my. This tastes amazing.”
Jonathon chuckled. “Folks, we have a winner.” He took a drink from his own, the sweetness of the cocktail making him wince. “Wow.”
From next to George’s chair, Max licked his chops.
Jonathon laughed. “And you can forget it, and all. I am not pouring some of this into a bowl for you.” When Max let out a soft whine, Jonathon gave him a stern look. “Dogs do not drink cocktails, no matter how hard they beg.”
Max dropped his head back down, looking for all the world like he was pouting.
“Thanks for coming round here this evening.” George raised his glass. “To an excellent cocktail master. Long may you shake and pour.”
Jonathon raised his own. The earlier relaxed atmosphere appeared to have been restored, but Jonathon wasn’t about to forget those moments when George had appeared genuinely nervous. When he’d not volunteered the information that he’d been past Naomi’s house. When he couldn’t look Jonathon in the eye.
Of course, it could be me. I might make all these people nervous.
Then Jonathon dismissed that idea. Compared with his father, Jonathon was as intimidating as a soft cushion.
Chapter Fifteen
Saturday, November 11
“HE’S HERE.” Jonathon glanced across at Mike, who wore black jeans, black boots, and an open white-collared shirt visible above the neckline of his navy sweater. “Nice look, by the way. Casual.”
“Too casual?” Mike touched his collar. “I had thought about—”
“Relax. It’s only my father, not royalty.”
Mike snickered. “Funny. The way he acted when he first met me, I’d have sworn they were the same thing.”
Jonathon glared at him. “Do not make me laugh. And don’t go out of your way to rile him. He doesn’t need any help in that department. He could win medals for England.” He took another look through the window at the driveway beyond, where his father was locking the Bentley, and sighed. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
As he opened the door that led to the main entrance hall, Mike caught hold of his hand and squeezed it. “Say the word and I won’t let go,” he whispered.
Jonathon laughed softly. “Nice idea, but do you recall what I said less than a minute ago? That would class as riling him. Big-time.”
Mike raised Jonathon’s hand to his lips and kissed it, just as the heavy front door opened. He relinquished his hold, and Jonathon strode over to where his father stood, removing his dark brown trilby before pulling off his driving gloves and depositing them in the upturned hat. He looked up and gave a brief smile that faded when Mike stepped into view.
“Good morning, Father.” Jonathon did as was expected, extending his hand. His father shook it, then gave a single nod in Mike’s direction.
“Mr. Tattersall. I didn’t expect to see you. I felt sure you would be running your pub today.”
Jonathon marveled at how much disdain his father could squeeze into a word of one syllable. He flashed Mike a glance, but Mike smiled politely.
“I felt it would be rude to miss your visit, Mr. de Mountford, so I made alternative arrangements. Besides, we didn’t get much of a chance to talk during your last visit, and I wanted to rectify that.”
“Indeed,” Father murmured. He focused his attention on Jonathon. “Some coffee would be most welcome. I didn’t stop on the journey here.”
Janet appeared in the doorway. “Good morning, sir. Let me take your coat and hat.”
His father blinked. “I see some changes have been made around here. And for the better.” He unbuttoned his long black coat.
“This is Janet, my housekeeper.” Jonathon could have placed bets on his father’s reaction to him having taken on staff. “Janet, could you bring us some coffee to the drawing room?”
“Certainly, sir.” She took Father’s coat and hat, then waited for them to leave the hall.
“How long have you had a house
keeper?” Father inquired as they passed through the long hallway that led to the drawing room.
“About a month. There’s Ivy too. She’s the cook. And Ben works in the gardens.” Jonathon glanced over his shoulder at him. “And that is as much staff as I can cope with. Although Mike feels I need an estate manager too.”
Father’s eyes widened slightly. “Then we are in agreement. Such an appointment would mean you could dedicate more time to other… pursuits.”
Jonathon had a sneaking suspicion his father was not referring to photography. He was also pretty certain his father had never expected to agree with anything Mike had to say.
They reached the sitting room, and Jonathon stood aside to let his father enter, with Mike following.
Father glanced around the cozy, comfortable room, his expression impassive. “Is this where you entertain your guests?”
“I don’t have all that many visitors,” Jonathon explained before he realized his father’s question had implied disapproval and his reply was almost an apology. Jonathon breathed deeply and sat on the couch next to Mike, facing his father. Having spent most of his life feeling as though he was a disappointment, he was determined not to allow that state of affairs to continue. “This room is perfect for my—our—needs.”
“I see.”
Exactly what his father saw remained a mystery, since Janet entered at that moment, carrying the coffee tray, which she placed on the table, then withdrew. Jonathon wasted no time pouring the coffee and handing cups around.
Father sipped the aromatic brew. “I only realized yesterday that one of my acquaintances is your neighbor.”
Jonathon frowned. “Really? Who?” He didn’t think he knew anyone in Merrychurch who would move in his father’s circles.
“A chap I met at a dinner in London a few months ago. A politician. One never knows when it will prove useful to have such an acquaintance, of course. By all accounts, this chap will go far. The meteoric way he’s risen through the ranks in the party attests to that.”
Jonathon didn’t have to ask which party. Furthermore, his father could only be referring to Joshua Brent.
“Would that be our MP?” Jonathon asked after swallowing a mouthful of coffee. “I’m afraid we haven’t met yet, although that was something I was hoping to rectify—very shortly, as a matter of fact.” Not that his father needed to know why. Jonathon caught the catch in Mike’s breathing, the way his shoulders shook, and did his best to avoid meeting his gaze.
“That’s the fella. Brent. And in my opinion, that’s a very good idea. It pays to have friends in high places, and an MP who could one day be prime minister would be an extremely valuable friend.” Father cleared his throat. “I don’t believe in wasting time, beating about the bush, and as I came here for a specific purpose, I think it best to… get it out into the open, so to speak.”
Jonathon seemed to have developed a severe case of snakes in his belly, because something was unfolding and writhing in there, leaving him uneasy. He remained silent.
His father took another drink from his cup. “I’d like to begin by sharing a piece of family history of which I am certain you are unaware. In the early 1800s, the manor house’s incumbent at that time was William de Mountford. There were fears that the line would die with him, as he was the sole male and his wife, Ann, seemed unable to bear a child. This situation continued for several years. Then suddenly Ann produced a son, John, and followed him with yet more children, much to the family’s relief.”
Jonathon met Mike’s gaze. Mike’s knitted brows, occasional blink, and grimace spoke of his confusion. Jonathon gave a shrug, equally lost.
“Doubtless, you cannot see how this could possibly relate to you.”
Jonathon bit his lip. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”
That earned him a slight scowl. “Then I will continue. Years later, several diaries were discovered, which cast new light on this situation. It seems William’s father had an illegitimate son, also named John, who had ‘stepped in’ to provide what his half brother could not. There was no chance that this John would ever inherit. And in fact, there is evidence that Ann and John had been involved in a relationship long before her marriage, and that this relationship continued for a great many years after.” Father pursed his lips. “Imagine the scandal if that had all come out at the time.”
“William knew about the affair?” It sounded like the plot of a racy historical romance.
“Strange as this might seem, he appears to have been perfectly content with the situation. The family line remained unbroken, and his half brother took over what must have been an onerous task.” Father wrinkled his nose. “You, more than any other de Mountford, are in the position of truly understanding just how onerous.” He fell silent, his gaze focused intently on Jonathon.
Jonathon stared back at him, nonplussed.
Beside him, Mike let out a snort. “Don’t tell me you haven’t guessed. Seems like you’re not the only gay in the de Mountford closet. Well, apart from Dominic.”
Father coughed. “Yes. Quite.”
Jonathon sagged against the cushions. “Okay, so he was gay, and his brother from another mother did the deed for him so there’d be lots more little de Mountfords. I still don’t see what this has to do with—”
“You have got to be kidding.” Mike sat upright, gaping at Jonathon’s father. “You can’t possibly think Jonathon would agree to that—and if you do, it only goes to prove how little you know of your son.”
Jonathon frowned. “Did I go out at some point and miss several pages of dialogue? Because I’m lost.”
Father gave Mike a wry smile. “I seem to have misjudged you, Mike—if I may call you Mike. You possess a remarkably quick mind. Please, tell me what you think you understand the present situation to be.”
Mike took a long, steadying breath before twisting in his seat to face Jonathon. “What we have here isn’t exactly like what happened back then, but… I think your father has finally realized that this is not a phase, you are gay, and I’m not going away.” Jonathon opened his mouth to speak, but Mike held up his hand. “Let me finish. Because this is where it gets fantastical. Right now, the family is in the same situation. End of the line, and all that. I think he’s proposing that you marry—a woman, mind you—and then close your eyes and think of England. More than once, if you can manage it. While in the background would be me. I’d be there to keep you happy. So to the eyes of the world, there’d be Jonathon de Mountford, plus wifey and whatever children you can produce, and I’d be your secret.”
Jonathon could only stare in stunned silence as he went over Mike’s words. Finally he gaped at his father. “Well? How far off the mark is he?”
Father sighed. “Yes. I have definitely misjudged you, Mike.” He met Jonathon’s wide-eyed stare. “What can I say? To use the vernacular of your generation, he nailed it.”
Jonathon drained his cup and leaned forward. “Then here’s another scenario for you. I marry Mike, we find a surrogate, and bingo—more de Mountfords. Family line goes on.”
His father frowned. “You don’t understand. You can’t just marry anyone. It’s like a… a king marrying a commoner. You need to find a… partner, to use the more modern term, who is at least your equal socially. Someone with good breeding who’ll produce strong, healthy, intelligent children. You would not be blessed with the intelligence and talents you have, were it not for good breeding.”
“I don’t think I’m going to ask a prospective surrogate to undergo a MENSA test, and then look her up in Who’s Who to see if she has an entry.” This was worse than Jonathon had expected.
“You already have someone in mind, don’t you? Someone for him to marry?” Mike’s eyes gleamed. “Well, don’t stop now. You’ve got this far.”
Father arched his eyebrows, then addressed Jonathon. “It’s not as if I’m proposing you should marry a complete stranger. You’ve known Ruth Ainsworth since you were a child. She’s about your age, a li
ttle younger perhaps, but the biological clock is ticking.”
Jonathon stilled. “Ruth? Are you telling me Ruth is okay with this idea?”
“Never mind that,” Mike interjected. “It’s 2017, and he’s trying to arrange your marriage like we’re still in the Dark Ages.” He lurched to his feet, his hands clenched at his sides. “Does Jonathon even get a say in this? Or is it a fait accompli?”
For a moment Father stared at Mike in silence. Then his shoulders sagged. “Of course he gets—” He turned his attention to Jonathon. “You get a say in this. You’re an adult. It’s your life. I’m simply trying to preserve what has existed for so many years. And you’re right. I had entirely dismissed surrogacy as an alternative, which is stupid of me, considering how often one sees it in the news.”
Jonathon gave him a rueful smile. “Just checking you weren’t about to establish some draconian measures to make sure you got your way.”
Mike’s eyes were almost bulging. “You… you can smile? After everything he’s said?”
Jonathon could understand Mike’s anger and frustration. He’d also been on the point of exploding—until his father pricked the bubble that was his rage without even knowing he’d done it. “He’s merely made a proposal. I can consider it, can’t I? If my father can admit surrogacy is an alternative, then I can look at his proposal with a clear head.” What he really needed at that moment was to breathe some fresh air—and to prevent Mike from going ballistic.
He got up from the couch and pulled on the faded green velvet rope beside the fireplace. A couple of minutes later, Janet appeared.
“Janet, would you please show my father to his room? I’m sure he’d like to freshen up before lunch.”
“Certainly, sir. Ivy says she’ll serve at twelve thirty, as arranged.”
His father rose to his feet. “That’s an excellent idea. And you two need some time to… digest my suggestions.” He followed Janet from the room.
Mike watched him go, his gaze narrowed. “Yeah,” he said as the door closed quietly behind them. “Because let’s face it, those suggestions are gonna take some chewing to make sure they don’t stick in my throat.”
