Aurora (9 page)

“Very close to that time. Within a week or two of Papa’s death, I think. Just before, actually. It was being spoken of as just having happened when we came home to the funeral. In all the confusion, little was made of Horace Rutley’s disappearance.”

“But Clare implied that
I
had stolen the emeralds? She never even hinted that Rutley had taken them?”

“It was you or the gypsies. This is the first time I have ever heard Rutley’s name in connection with them at all.”

Kenelm sat thinking, and suddenly spoke. “If she means to claim they were here after
I
left, then that lets the gypsies off the hook. They were here when I left, and
not
anywhere near the place six months later when Horace departed. She’s hemming herself in now, whether she realizes it or not. She’s got herself stuck with Horace as the thief.”

“Oh, no! The gypsies were here then too,” Marnie informed him.

“But they come in the spring—every spring, as regular as clockwork. How should they have been here in the autumn?”

“There was a big gypsy fair just outside of Tenterden that fall. Bernard and I passed in on our way home from London, and the band that regularly stops here had been in the woods a little while before, so they were present then too, just to confuse matters.”

“Damnation! She thinks of everything. She can still fall back on the gypsies then, if both Horace and myself turn up clean. What she means to do is accuse me of theft if I get myself proclaimed as Lord Raiker. A fine scandal for the family.”

“Where is the threat?” Rorie asked. “If you
are
Kenelm, the necklace is yours now. You will hardly prosecute yourself, I suppose.”

“It is entailed. The heir, namely little Charles or his guardian, Mama, could institute enquiries. It would be a valid threat, and she must know I am Kenelm, or she would not use it.”

“Theft would be a valid threat against Horace Rutley too, would it not?” Aurora asked innocently.

Kenelm looked at her reproachfully. “Why don’t you believe me, ma’am?” he asked. “You of all people, who know nothing about me—why should you take into your head to accuse me of such gross wrongdoing?”

“I am not
accusing
you of anything, sir. I am only pointing out a fact that seems to be overlooked.”

“Bernard never thought for a moment
you
took them, Ken,” Marnie rushed in to calm him. “He thought she had stolen them herself, and I am of the same opinion.”

“I had unilaterally come to the same conclusion,” he said, turning to Marnie, but with a last dissatisfied glance to Aurora. “And there were veiled hints from Clare of worse exposures to come if I kept up my ‘little charade,’ as she so kindly called it. As to exposure, she had better look to her own reputation!”

“She said very definitely she could
prove
you are not Kenelm,” Marnie told him, hoping to hear his views on this urgent matter.

“I’d give a monkey to know what she’s up to,” he said, unhelpfully.

“Would it be a matter of a birthmark or scar—something like that?” Aurora asked.

“I doubt she’s ready to admit she is that familiar with my anatomy,” he answered, and laughed ironically. As he observed that he had inadvertently riled the two of them with this suggestive remark, he rushed on to disclaim any identifying birthmarks or scars. “Help me, Marnie,” he finished up. “She’s as crooked as a corkscrew. Try to find out what she’s up to, will you?”

“I’ll do what I can, but we are not on cordial terms at all, as I have told her quite openly I am on your side.”

“I wonder if that wasn’t a mistake. She’d be more confiding if she thought you supported her,” he said. Rorie sat back and observed. He was down to outright scheming now. First it was help me, recognize me; now it was spy for me, find out what she’s up to.

“What do you want me to do?” she heard her sister ask, and saw that Marnie smiled on him most cordially, even flirtatiously.

“Perhaps it would be best if you tell us exactly why it was you left home, Lord Raiker. Clare intimates it was for conduct too heinous to relate to ladies,” Rorie said.

“Ah, you have called me Lord Raiker for the first time, ma’am” he said, turning to her with interest and approval. “May I count on your support to prove it?”

“My support would do you little good. But you haven’t answered my question. Why did you leave home?”

“I was invited—no,
tranchons le mot
—commanded to do so. And Clare is right, the crime of which I was accused was much too atrocious to sully feminine ears. I am innocent of the crime, however, and hope it may not come up at all. I shan’t mention it unless Clare does.” Marnie blushed up prettily and was satisfied with this tribute to her innocence in lieu of an explanation.

Mr. Berrigan arrived in the middle of their visit. He was a local gentleman, one who had had some acquaintance with Kenelm, though he had been closer to Bernard in both age and friendship. He was, of course, well aware of the man’s claim, having been at Clare’s party, and relished the chance to judge him at first hand.

Rorie sensed some hostility in Berrigan, and was keen to discover its cause, but had soon deduced it was no more than jealousy of a rival for Marnie’s affections. She noticed something else of interest too. As soon as Kenelm discovered the hostility, he was onto its cause, and his compliments to Marnie ceased. He then turned to dropping as many references as he possibly could to validate his own claim to being Lord Raiker.

“Do you still ride that big bay stallion, John?” he asked in the tone of an old friend.

“No, I had to get rid of him. Getting on, you know.”

“I remember Bernard wanted to buy him from you, some years ago.”

“Yes,
by Jove, offered me two hundred pounds for him, but I couldn’t part with Diablo. Have a mare now. A sweet goer, but she don’t have Diablo’s fire.”

Contemporary matters were of no use to Kenelm. “Did you ever find out who it was that came into your stables that night and set fire to your hayloft? That happened just before I left.”

“Never did, no. One of the grooms blowing a cloud, I expect. They never will own up to anything.”

After a few more questions of this sort, Berrigan seemed to accept Kenelm for who he said he was, and became civil, enquiring in a polite way about India. This formality done with, Lord Raiker turned his charms on Rorie Falkner, for he was finding her the toughest nut of them all to crack, and it seemed to anger him. He had obviously foreseen no difficulty with the unmarried young ladies. While Berrigan courted the widow, Kenelm arose and took a seat beside Rorie , close enough to allow of some private conversation.

“Do you know, Miss Falkner, I have the unreasonable feeling that you dislike—mistrust me. Now I wonder if it could have anything to do with our meeting in the woods that day. I have racked my brains to try to discover why else you should have taken me in disgust, and can find nothing. I behaved very badly. I admit it openly, but so did you, you know.” He smiled a dangerously attractive smile at these words—light, teasing.

“
I
had no choice, if you refer to my having hidden behind the tree. I had no thought of spying on you. It is only that once there, I was afraid to run away, in case you should have chased me.”

“You mustn’t believe everything you hear about my chasing girls,” he answered playfully.

“I haven’t heard anything, actually,” she told him, and added silently that she had certainly
seen
plenty, however.

“You probably will.”

“I’m afraid your philandering will be overshadowed by worse stories.”

“Philandering! Upon my word, you are hard on me.”

“I was careful to choose a word that didn’t exaggerate the offense, sir.”

“Oh dear, and the philandering, bad as it is, is but a pale shadow of my worse doings, like running off with the family emeralds. But I didn’t do it. I wish I could convince you.”

“You have managed to convince my sister; that is of more importance.”

“Once I am established as Lord Raiker, we will be connections, neighbours I hope, and I would not like us to be on poor terms. Do you know, I have just been struck by the most
appalling
thought! Poor Marnie will have Clare down on her head once I take over Raiker Hall. There is only the one Dower House. Good God, it is enough to make Marnie turn against me, and pronounce me Horace Rutley. I’ll make some other arrangement. I won’t condemn her to living with that woman, or you either, Miss Falkner. But then I suppose such a pretty young lady as yourself will not long be living with her sister. You will have more interesting plans. Are you engaged, or only in the process of driving all the local beaux to distraction while you make up your mind?”

The flattering words did not penetrate, left her unmoved, except to anger that he should think her so gullible. “I am not engaged,” she answered curtly.

“Indeed! I find that hard to believe,” he answered quizzingly, casting a long look into her eyes, then letting his glance descend to her lips and neck. When he got back up to her eyes, she was glaring at him with open hostility.

For a moment he was obviously taken aback at her totally wrong response to his maneuver. He must have found this trick to be very effective in the past. He straightened his shoulders and tried a new tack.

“Tell me, is your sister interested in John Berrigan? Romantically interested, I mean. I begin to understand you like plain speaking.”

She regarded him haughtily. “I have thought so. I may be mistaken. It is a little early yet for that.” She meant to tell him nothing.

“Yes, Bernie only dead a year, it
is
early, but Marnie always struck me as the sort of a woman who is happier with a man—married, I mean. Some women are like that. You know what I mean?”

“Yes,” she answered, and found that she did know exactly what he meant, though it had been a vague, generalized sort of a statement. Marnie was not a good widow at all. She wanted a husband to mother and fuss over, and a man to take care of her.

“I think she must have made Bernard a wonderful wife. They seemed happy together.”

“They were.”

“You’re not much like her, I think. Not the mothering kind. I am not like Bernie either. A clinging vine would drive me crazy. Odd, isn’t it, how brothers and sisters can be so different?”

“I suppose it is. Tell me, Lord Raiker . . .” she began, thinking it time to learn something useful, but not quite knowing how to phrase it.

“Yes?”

“What did Clare mean, she could
prove
you are not Kenelm?”

He rubbed his chin and thought. “I haven’t the faintest idea. She got to Rutley’s before me. She may have learned something there that she feels she can put to use. I don’t know what it could be.”

“If she means to bring Horace into it—to say
you
are Horace, get the Rutleys to substantiate it—then what about the real Kenelm? She would still have him to worry about, wouldn’t she?”

“
I
am the real Kenelm, ma’am, though you cannot bring yourself to accept it. If she means to insist I’m Horace Rutley, then she would have to know the real Rutley is either dead or far enough away that he has not heard of her scheme. There would be no advantage to claiming I am Rutley, and he me. It would put Charles out of the running either way.”

“Unless she struck a deal with Horace, some financial arrangement to his advantage.”

“She wouldn’t be so foolish. She’d have no pressure to make him keep to his bargain. Once he was declared the baron, he could cast her aside—she’d be at his mercy. He’s worse than I am,” he added with a little smile. “You don’t believe it? It’s true. A deep-dyed villain, brother Horace, according to legend at least. I scarcely knew him to nod to, myself. We were not allowed to associate with him for fear of contamination. No, it can’t be that. She knows she’s safe from Horace—must know it, or she’s taking a devil of a risk. A pity. It would solve my problem nicely if I could find him.”

“It is generally said he went to America.”

“That will take time, to track him down. I hadn’t looked for so much trouble. In my innocence, I thought I would have only to come walking in, and everyone would recognize me. Funny they don’t. I recognize everyone else.”

“You were only sixteen when you left. You’ve changed, whereas the others—Lord Dougall and John Berrigan—they were grown up at the time, haven’t changed so much. That accounts for it I suppose.”

“Yes, and the doubt Clare has managed to add hasn’t helped either. I wonder if I’ll recognize my schoolmates, Jimmy Vickers and Larry Styles.
They’ll
recognize me, surely.”

“I expect they will,” she said, and found to her dismay that she believed it. No more than Marnie had she withstood five minutes of his presence. He had won her over too, and he hadn’t even bothered flirting with her, or complimenting her.

“They must. We’ll have a thousand shared memories—four years of Eton together.”

“They’ll know you. I’d know
my
schoolmates after twenty years, I am convinced.”

“You believe me then?” he asked, with no smiles and no charm, just a direct question.

“I am inclined to. Yes.”

“Good. I’m very glad.” He looked as if he meant it, too. “I should leave now. I am to lunch with Sally McBain in town.”

‘‘Lady Alice had no trouble recognizing you.”

“She couldn’t have recognized me. Just wanted a new beau to play with, I expect.” He laughed. “But beggars can’t be choosers.”

He turned to direct some comment to Marnie, and Rorie said a few words to John. The two gentlemen soon arose to leave together. As soon as they were gone, Marnie said. “Kennie is going to get a place for us when Clare moves here. Some other house, so we won’t have to live with her. I’m very relieved he mentioned it. Truth to tell, I was not looking forward to living with her.”

“You might have managed to steal back your engagement ring,” her sister suggested.

“More likely she would have got my gold band from me too! John is convinced our newcomer is Kenelm.”

Rorie was convinced too, without quite knowing how it had happened. He hadn’t proved a thing, and she had been charmed into it, which was not right. She must keep a corner of her mind open to doubt.