Death at Knytte (13 page)

‘If you think it wise,’ Lucille replied. ‘Sir Martin is no nearer catching this villain. With all the fuss yesterday it seemed he was making progress, but it was a storm in a teacup.’

‘Hardly that, my dear.’ Lord Pickhurst turned to Mortleigh. ‘Evidently a vagrant, a stranger who came here from London, was believed to have evidence that might lead to the arrest of this thief. After the robbery at Dunsby Court, Sir Martin had a handbill printed and circulated in a bid to find him. Imagine our shock when Miss Drake, who is governess to my sister’s children, returned here yesterday morning with the very man. She and young Rodney had been on an excursion to Gretlyn, and they found this tramp upon the road, gravely wounded.’

Lucille studied Mortleigh’s face. Anyone who didn’t know him would notice nothing, but she saw a new tension in his
jaw. ‘The foolish girl brought him here,’ she said, ‘instead of taking him directly to Clowmoor Manor, but fortunately Sir Martin sent for him at once, and he was barely in the house five minutes. I feared we should have everyone below stairs infested with fleas and bedbugs and who knows what, had he stayed a minute longer, for you never saw such a miserable filthy sight.’

‘So, Sir Martin has his man,’ Mortleigh commented idly. ‘But did I hear you right? You say the whole thing has led nowhere?’

Lucille met his look. There was a pulse drumming in his temple. She had been right, she was sure of it. The knowledge of the power he had unwittingly placed in her hands was like a draught of strong wine.

She smiled. ‘The wretch died soon after he arrived at Clowmoor, before he could say a word.’

‘I chose a bad time to be away,’ Mortleigh said, his tone suddenly light-hearted, ‘I seem to have missed a great deal. Never let it be said that life in the country is dull. The more I see and hear of it, the more I wish I could stay. Perhaps you have some small cottage in the grounds, my lord, where I could take a buxom milkmaid for a wife and rusticate to my heart’s content.’

‘The dower house is empty, but you might find it a trifle small,’ Lord Pickhurst replied jovially. ‘As to the milkmaid, if you come to the ball we are giving at Christmas I have no doubt Lucille will find you a dozen more eligible partners.’

‘Are you serious about moving to the country, Mr Mortleigh?’ Lucille asked, keeping her tone light, and looking down at the tea cups so neither man would see the thoughts her eyes might betray.

‘I am considering it, if the right house becomes available. My business interests have prospered lately, so perhaps the
opportunity will come sooner than I expected. If you hear of any suitable property to let, I beg you will let me know. This area would suit me well.’

‘There are some fine properties quite near,’ Lord Pickhurst said. ‘I’m sure you will hear of something.’ He rubbed a hand over his chin. ‘I spoke of the Dower House without any serious thought,’ he said, ‘but if you don’t mind a small establishment, with no more than half a dozen staff, it might suit you, for a short time at least. Of course you wouldn’t be able to entertain on a large scale.’

‘I doubt if that would trouble Mr Mortleigh, my dear,’ Lucille said impishly, ‘since you will constantly invite him to Knytte. Your plan is all very well, but the Dower House has been empty for several years.’

‘I don’t think there’s much wrong with it,’ Lord Pickhurst said. ‘I tell you what, Mortleigh, if you have no other pressing plans, we’ll take a look in the morning.’

‘That’s very kind of you.’ Mortleigh looked at Lucille. ‘If the Dower House proves suitable, I do hope you wouldn’t object to having me as a close neighbour, Lady Pickhurst. I fear my presence hasn’t always been as welcome to you as it is to his lordship.’

‘I’ve no objection to anything or anyone that pleases my husband,’ Lucille replied, with a laugh. ‘But I warn you, if you stay in our neighbourhood then I shall do my best to provide you with a wife. Single gentlemen are so much more difficult to seat at the dinner table.’

T
he day was almost at an end, but Phoebe hadn’t been aware of its passing. She’d rarely felt so unhappy. Even when she was at Clowmoor Manor, suffering the unwelcome attentions of young Roderick Haylmer and fearing the loss of both her reputation and her position through no fault of her own, she’d managed to remain cheerful.

On becoming a governess she’d schooled herself not to think of the happier life she left behind at the vicarage, the only home she’d ever known. Her mother was no more than a vague memory, along with the two small boys, Phoebe’s brothers, each of whom lived less than two years. The harrowing months spent nursing her father before he died had left her rather withdrawn, but his belief, through all the suffering, that a better existence awaited him beyond the grave had remained with him. She’d always considered it would be a betrayal to allow herself to be despondent at his loss.

This total depression of the spirits, so unlike her normal character, refused to lift. Phoebe mourned the death of the tramp, without knowing why. A man she hadn’t known shouldn’t be so hard to dismiss from her mind, but she’d dreamt about him again, seeing him young and healthy, smiling at her. It made no sense, yet the feeling that the dream was significant refused to leave her.

Seeking another cause for her strange mood, Phoebe’s thoughts fell upon Jonah. He was all the family she had since her father’s death. Perhaps if she could mend her friendship with Jonah she’d get the unfortunate tramp out of her mind.

The daylight was fading and her cousin was tidying away his tools when she found him. He was alone, the other men having left already. The ruins were quiet and full of shadows and she shivered a little, recalling her night time excursion.

‘Jonah?’ She approached him warily.

He refused to acknowledge her presence, keeping his back turned.

‘Jonah, please. I’m sorry I upset you.’ There were tears pricking at her eyes. ‘You’re the only true friend I have. We both know how it feels to be alone in the world. Please, help me to mend this rift between us. I promise not to lecture you, if only you’ll treat me as a sister again. I’m sorry. I was wrong to try to interfere.’

‘It’s a bit late to admit that, isn’t it?’ He turned to her then; there was no sign of brotherly love on his face. ‘Why’ve you come? If you really cared about me you wouldn’t have come sneaking around the garden on Saturday night. Don’t deny it. I saw you running back through the ruins. But spying on us wasn’t enough, was it? You wanted Lucille’s reputation ruined. Your nasty little plan might have worked, if I hadn’t found another way into the house.’

‘That wasn’t my doing,’ Phoebe cried. ‘I turned out the lamp and moved it, that’s all. I wanted to warn you; there could be others watching who’d betray you. And I didn’t spy. I left and returned to the house as soon as I heard your voice.’

He still looked doubtful, but his expression had softened a little. Seeing it, Phoebe went on. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have followed Lady Pickhurst. I don’t blame you for being angry with me. But it could have been anyone looking out of the
window. You couldn’t help falling in love, Jonah, but can’t you see how dangerous it is, for both of you?’

‘Do you expect me to believe you didn’t make all that noise to rouse the whole house?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You wanted us found.’

‘No!’ There were tears running freely down her face. ‘It was an accident. The wind blew the door out of my hand and slammed it. Once all the fuss had calmed down Mr Henson locked and bolted the door, and ordered everyone back to bed. I would have gone back later, but I didn’t have the key, even if I could have managed to draw the bolt.’

‘Luckily Lucille had a key.’

She nodded. ‘I’m glad, honestly I am.’ She took a step towards him. ‘Please Jonah, do you really think I’m lying to you?’

He stared at her for a moment, then slowly shook his head. ‘Life’s so hard for Lucille. She’s got no friends here, only me. The servants complain behind her back. They make up stories, and say she’s hard, but they don’t know what she’s really like. I know she’s kind and gentle, but nobody else sees the best of her.’ He gave Phoebe a challenging look and she nodded, if a little reluctantly.

Jonah ran a hand over his dusty hair. ‘Her parents forced her into this marriage. Lord Pickhurst paid a lot of money for her, but he doesn’t love her. He bought her to show off to his wealthy friends, just like any other piece of furniture in the big house. She’s desperately unhappy, Phoebe.’

Jonah stared at the stone he’d been shaping, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. ‘I tried to stop seeing her. It’s so risky for her to meet the way we do, but what could I do? She begged me to come, and I was afraid she’d harm herself if I didn’t.’

He looked earnestly into Phoebe’s eyes, and this time he reminded her of the boy who’d been an older brother to her.
‘I’d managed to stay away from her for nearly a month, but Lucille was so unhappy, I couldn’t let her go to the summerhouse and find it empty. She says it’s the one place at Knytte where she’s known happiness.’

Phoebe set one of her hands upon his. ‘But meeting in secret can only bring more misery for both of you in the end. You know that.’ There was so much more she could have said. She could have told him of the vivid slap marks that stayed all day on a maid’s cheeks after she dropped her ladyship’s glove, of Lady Pickhurst’s attempt to be rid of the children, although her husband was fond of them, of the scratch of fingernails on the door and the low laugh that tormented young Rodney Pengoar’s sleep. It was pointless; love was blind, and Jonah wouldn’t believe her.

‘Phoebe, I should leave Knytte,’ Jonah said. ‘I know it’s the only thing to do, though it’ll be hard. There’s work in Hagstock. Or I could go further away, where I’d never even hear her name. I swear I’ll not go to her again. Listen Phoebe, it breaks my heart to leave her without a friend. If she had one person she could talk to, I’d go with an easier mind. You’re a governess, and a lady, not really a servant at all, even if you do have a bumpkin like me for a cousin.’

She shook her head. ‘I know what you’re trying to say, Jonah, and I’m sorry but it’s no use. Lady Pickhurst has made my position very clear. We could never be friends.’ She glanced back towards the house. It was almost dark now, and she should be with the children.

‘I have to go. Dear Jonah, I’m glad you’re talking to me again. I’ll hate to see you leave, but I think it’s the only way.’ Phoebe stood on tiptoe so she could reach to pull his head down and give him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. ‘Lady Pickhurst won’t be the only one to lose a friend, but you must do what’s best.’

Torn between relief and sadness, she ran round to the back entrance of the house. She passed the bevy of servants preparing for dinner with her cheeks flaming and the stain of tears still on her face, but she held her head high, not caring what they thought.

‘Tell me, are Mrs Stoppens’s rubies truly as beautiful as they say?’

Mortleigh jerked round, his hand still upon the cuff he was unfastening. ‘What?’ He stared at Lucille, then at the open door behind her. ‘My man will be here—’

She shook her head and pushed the door shut. ‘I sent him on an errand, we have ten minutes. You didn’t answer my question.’

‘What would I know of Mrs Stoppens’s jewellery?’ He had command of himself again. ‘You’re likely to have seen more of it than I.’

‘Oh yes, on top of her horrid dyed hair.’ She tossed her own, aware of its beauty and knowing he was watching her in the mirror. ‘I never held those emeralds in my hand. Not like you.’

‘Are you mad?’ he turned his attention back to his cuffs. ‘How would I come to handle the jewellery of an old and ugly woman? I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’

Her lips lifted in her cat-like smile. ‘Are you telling me I’m wrong about the reason for your visit to Dunsby Court on Saturday? Perhaps my first suspicion was right, and you were courting sweet little Agatha. She’s prettier than her mother, and they say she’s worth a fortune, but I would have thought you might prefer a wife with half a brain.’

Mortleigh faced her. ‘I was in London on Saturday.’

‘So you say. And yet I saw you mount your horse in the little copse at the back of Dunsby Court and ride away. Rather strange, isn’t it? If I’d chosen to tell my story to Sir Martin
Haylmer instead of waiting to talk to you, perhaps he would have thought I was hallucinating. Or perhaps not.’ She began to walk around the room. ‘On the whole, I think I would prefer to know you for a common thief, rather than the kind of fool who’d marry Agatha Stoppen for her money, particularly as that would involve rejecting me. And Knytte, of course,’ she added, as if it were an afterthought.

‘I’d never thought of you as an inventor of fiction, Lady Pickhurst,’ he said. ‘This has been an interesting venture into fantasy, but I don’t think your ladyship should be found dallying in a man’s room at this hour. Perhaps you’d better go now.’

‘You wouldn’t believe how angry the idea of your rejection made me,’ she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘I imagined you planning your strategies even as you visited my bed. I’ll share no man’s affections.’ She came to a halt, standing close behind him, and lifted a hand to run a fingernail gently down the back of his neck. ‘No, I much prefer to think of you as a daring renegade, risking his life by robbing the rich to help the poor, which in this case means yourself, of course.’

‘You saw some man riding a horse that resembled mine, and concluded that I’m a thief?’ his back was still turned to her; he sounded amused.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him to face her with extraordinary strength. ‘I’m not a fool,’ she said. ‘I know you. I saw
you
. Poor Mortleigh, I’ve found you out. But you needn’t worry, I’ve no intention of giving you away. In fact, you’re exactly the man I need.’

‘You say so. And yet you’ve been meeting your rustic knight in the summer house again. You see, my dear Lucille, you’re not the only one who knows how to discover secrets.’ His hands captured her arms, holding them tight, his fingers digging into her flesh. ‘It must be very convenient, having spy
holes to watch and listen through. I have a somewhat less obvious system.’ His lips were upon hers, hard, demanding, his tongue probing deep. Her back bent under his weight and he let go of one arm to grope beneath her skirts. ‘You witch. Let it be you and me, then. A match made in heaven, or maybe in hell.’

With some difficulty she thrust him away. ‘An hour,’ she said huskily. ‘Come to me in an hour.’

He cocked an enquiring eyebrow at her. ‘In the garden, my sweet? Among the spiders, like your bucolic sweetheart?’

She scowled at him, then laughed, low and inviting. ‘Not this time. Don’t worry, his lordship will be sleeping sound, I’ll see to that. He’ll be waiting for me even now, all agog, for I’ve promised him a rare treat. He’ll only have my body a little longer,’ she added, seeing his look. ‘My heart’s already yours.’

‘And what of your hulking Romeo?’ His face was suddenly ugly and he tugged viciously at her hair. ‘You want me to yourself, you’re jealous of an empty-headed chit of a girl, but you expect me to share you with that ignorant peasant.’

‘Come in an hour. I’ll prove how little Jonah means to me.’ She pulled him to her, and sank her teeth into his neck, biting hard. ‘Don’t be late.’

They lay curled together on her bed, sated at last. Beyond a locked door Lord Pickhurst was deep in a drugged sleep. Mortleigh stroked the soft flesh beneath his hand, and felt her instant response. He smiled, and desisted. ‘I never knew a woman with such an appetite,’ he whispered. ‘Tell me, you can’t have discovered my secret simply by seeing me at Dunsby Court? What else do you know?’

‘Your exploits are notorious. I read the newspapers and checked on the dates. The night we first – shall I say, met?’ She gave a languorous laugh. ‘There are so many impolite
ways of putting it. You left me, remember. At first I couldn’t see how you came and went so freely from Knytte without detection, but of course there was your man, so quick and quiet on his feet.’

Mortleigh nodded. ‘A good man, Tomms. Discreet and reliable.’

‘Nobody thought it strange when he was sent to fetch your horses from the inn the next day. The newspaper report told me about the trap that was set at the Gallows crossroads. Two villains supposedly escaped unharmed, but that wasn’t quite true, was it? Shots were fired, and one of them found a mark. How is poor Laidlaw?’

He curved a hand around her neck, his fingers soft and yet somehow threatening. ‘What do you care? He only got in your way.’

Even as his fingers tightened she wouldn’t be cowed; she knew her man, she was sure of him now. ‘I don’t care, I’m merely interested. You refused to fetch him a physician while he was at Knytte. What happened when you took him back to London?’

‘He died.’ Mortleigh said simply. ‘So much the best solution, don’t you think? As I told Lord Pickhurst, he’s better in every way.’

She laughed. ‘Well, he was a terrible bore.’

There was a brief silence before she spoke again. ‘And when you came to Knytte, was it with the intention of robbing me? My husband likes to see me decked in his wealth. I have a string of pearls that would make your mouth water.’

‘I had it in mind,’ he said, relaxing his hold on her neck and beginning to caress her bare shoulder instead, ‘but once I met you again there was nothing else at Knytte I wanted. Not that I wouldn’t be tempted by the thought of owning some trinket that once lay against this white neck. Or better, perhaps a
ring from this pretty hand.’ He took her little finger into his mouth, sucking at it gently before nipping it with his teeth.

Lucille felt as if her flesh was melting. She moaned softly. ‘Not yet. We have to talk. I’ll not spend any longer than I must, married to that old goat.’

‘You want him dead,’ Mortleigh said baldly. ‘Do you realize how difficult that will be? There must never be any cause for suspicion if you truly intend us to be together. I’m not averse to getting rid of a man if necessary, but I’ll not swing from the gallows, even for you, my sweet.’