Death at Knytte (5 page)

‘Come, Mr Mortleigh,’ she said gaily, walking on. ‘Don’t dawdle. I shall introduce you to Jonah Jackman. He can explain his work on the folly. If he makes it exactly to his lordship’s taste, Jackman will be given the commission to build the ballroom. Since I vetoed his plans to use that horrid old library, we are to add a new wing on the far side of the house.’ Ahead of them the air was hazy with dust, and the sound of a hammer on stone was suddenly loud. A huge man of about the same age as Mortleigh, but at least a foot taller, was picking steadily at a block of masonry.

‘This is a great honour, Lady Pickhurst.’ Jackman put down his tools and turned to greet them.

‘I am here at my husband’s request, Jackman,’ she said coolly. ‘This gentleman, Mr Mortleigh, wishes to see the work you have in hand. I thought he should see the view from the old tower.’

‘Of course.’ Jackman nodded, inviting them to precede him. The tower overtopped the mansion by a few feet, but only because it had been built on elevated ground. ‘Some believe this was an ancient burial mound, or it may be the monks themselves built the little hill so the tower would be more impressive,’ Jonah said. ‘It held a bell to summon the monks to their devotions.’

It was dark and several degrees colder inside the tower; the stone walls sprouted plants and lichen in places, and there was the steady drip of water from somewhere. ‘It will be drier once the roof is complete, but we have to make the stairs safe first,’ Jackman explained.

‘But it is possible to reach the top?’ Mortleigh asked. ‘I am eager to look at the view. I imagine, Lady Pickhurst, you too would wish to see your magnificent house from such an ideal platform.’

‘I’m not so ready to take risks as you suppose, Mr Mortleigh,’ Lucille answered coolly, as she followed the mason up the curving stone steps. ‘My husband has given orders that nobody should go beyond the second floor until the steps are made safe.’

‘But you, Jackman, you must have been up there in the course of your work?’

‘Yes, sir, but the stones are very worn, and unstable in places,’ Jonah replied, his disapproval plain. ‘I wouldn’t attempt it, sir.’

Mortleigh laughed as they reached the second floor. ‘I doubt if I weigh half what you do, man, and I rarely take advice from anyone, even good advice.’ He looked at the dark archway which led further up. ‘Fetch me a light. I’ll be safe enough as long as I can see where to put my feet.’

When Lucille made no protest Jackman went running back down the stairs. Mortleigh immediately stepped across to her
and took her in his arms. He kissed her on the mouth, plunging his tongue urgently between her lips, and pulled her body against his. ‘You wear too many damn clothes,’ he grumbled, as she broke free. There was time for nothing more, as Jackman could be heard returning. Her cheeks flaming, Lucille went to one of the windows and lent into the embrasure to hide her face from the young mason. She felt as if she’d been struck by lightning; the hunger Mortleigh’s touch aroused in her was so unexpected, so extreme, she barely knew how to contain it. The tingles of anticipation were a torment, more pain than pleasure.

Mortleigh had vanished further up the tower. She turned back and found Jackman standing so close she couldn’t step away. ‘My lady,’ he whispered, ‘when can I see you?’

‘I am here now, am I not, Mr Jackman,’ she replied, though the intensity of her emotions made her voice shake.

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ Jonah said desperately, putting a tentative hand on her arm, ‘you shouldn’t make fun of me.’

She couldn’t help herself. Her body was aflame, and he was there, towering above her, his touch warm upon her arm. Taking the step that seemed to cancel out the great gulf between them, just as she had a dozen times before, she stepped into his embrace, but this time was different. Every fibre of her being was yearning for what Mortleigh had shown her in the garden house.

Jonah Jackman closed his eyes as his mistress melted into his arms, her lips seeking hungrily for his, with a passion she’d never shown him in all their clandestine meetings. Their bodies couldn’t touch, and yet this was a greater intimacy than they’d ever shared. He groaned aloud, barely keeping control of himself.

‘When?’ he whispered, as the woman suddenly thrust him away. ‘You can’t leave me without a little hope.’

‘I’ll send a message when I can,’ she replied, smoothing down her dress and turning hurriedly to the stairs. ‘It’s difficult when we have visitors in the house. If you truly care for me, make my excuses to Mr Mortleigh and keep him occupied for a while. I need time to compose myself.’

Jonah nodded. He would obey, as he always obeyed. Lucille ran back into the sunshine and across the garden. The beginnings of an idea were forming in her head. Since her night with Mortleigh she had no need of Jackman’s fumbling attempts as a lover, but she might have another use for him.

‘
W
ho are you? What’s your name?’

Beddowes was puzzled; he’d expected to find himself confronting the men he’d met the previous night. This individual’s manner suggested a better education and perhaps more intelligence than Bragg, but he was no gentleman.

Busy with his own thoughts, Beddowes didn’t answer. One of the yokels grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him roughly to his feet, while Bragg came forward swiftly and planted a hard blow below their captor’s ribs. ‘Speak up,’ he growled, ‘the parson asked you a question.’

His eyes watering with pain, Beddowes eyed his inquisitor. The man was indeed dressed as a clergyman, though apparently a very poor one; a spare figure, no more than five feet tall, he had a high forehead, and a mouth that slid downwards at one side.

‘M’name’s Cobb,’ Beddowes rasped. ‘Don’t ’it me no more. What you want wi’ me? I ain’t done nothin’.’

‘If that’s true you have nothing to fear. Stand back from him, Bragg. Well, Cobb, I gather you were at the gibbet cross last night.’

Beddowes nodded, thinking fast. This ill-assorted crew seemed unlikely accomplices of the two thieves; the man who had been so guarded with his words last night would never share his secrets, or his profits, with so many.

‘Told yer,’ Bragg said. ‘Come with the feller in black, he did, him what works for Sir Martin, the magistrate. They was talking proper friendly, an’ I ’eard mention o’ the militia. That’s when Sir Martin rid off. I ain’t made no mistake, parson, it were a trap.’

‘We’ve already heard your account, Bragg,’ the parson said, silencing him with an impatient wave of the hand. ‘Let this man have his say. Tell us, Cobb, how did you come to be with Sir Martin Haylmer? You know he’s the Lord Lieutenant?’

‘I knew ’e was summat, the sort could get me hanged if I dun’t do as I were told,’ Beddowes mumbled, thinking fast. ‘Never met none on ’em till yesterday. That man Docket, it was ’im what took me there, I didn’t know the other gents. See, all I ever done was take a message. A piece o’ paper, tha’s all, what was give me by a cove at the Crooked Man. A shillin’ he promised me, if I took it to a man at the old gibbet. Wait all night if you ’ave to,’ he said, ‘but deliver that note an’ you’ll get paid. Well I ain’t,’ he added, raising his voice, as if suddenly recovering his wits a little. ‘I ain’t got paid. Them nobs, Sir Martin whatever it is, an’ that Mr Docket, they took it off me.’

‘Took it? What, the paper?’

‘Aye. Stopped me they did, jus’ after I left the Crooked Man, an’ threatened to lock me up. I telled ’em what I’m tellin’ you, there ain’t no ’arm in carryin’ a message. Then that Mr Docket, he give me tuppence.’ He reached and fumbled for the coins and drew them out to show his inquisitors. ‘An’ ’e said there’d be more if I did as I were told.’ He scowled. ‘Didn’t get it though, did I. Don’t reckon I got no more to say. Wha’s in it fer me, eh?’

There was an angry growl from the men around him, and they moved in close, threatening. Beddowes ducked as a fist swung at his head, and he fell to his knees, cowering at the clergyman’s feet.

‘Don’t let ’em hurt me,’ he whined, touching the parson’s black skirt with a clawed hand. ‘I tells ye, I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. Dun’t mean no ’arm to nobody.’

The parson waved his attackers back. ‘Listen Cobb, I’m not a man of violence, but if you don’t answer my questions I’m afraid I shall be forced to leave you to a swifter form of justice. Nobody is allowed to lay information in these parts. If you’ve betrayed the brotherhood there is only one penalty.’

‘I ain’t betrayed nobody’,’ Beddowes said quickly. ‘I don’t know nothin’ about no brotherhood, so ’ow can I do it no ’arm? Twasn’t my fault they took the paper, couldn’ stop ’em, could I?’

‘Tell me the rest of the story. You went to the gibbet crossroads with Mr Docket. What happened there?’

‘He cleared off, an’ the rest of ’em ducked down out o’ sight. Waited, di’n’t I, like they said. Stood like a bleedin’ statue till me legs was numb. An’ them riders come. Two of ’em. I didn’t ’ave the message no more, but the one you say was Sir Martin ’ad give me another piece of paper, said they was to ’ave that, if they asked.’

‘You were talking a long time,’ Bragg said. ‘Friendly with ’em, like. An’ I heard ’em laugh.’

‘What was that about?’ the parson asked sharply.

‘One of ’em was askin’ a lot o’ questions what I couldn’t answer, and then ’e starts squeezin’ me throat, fit to do me in. I asked ’im to let me go, real polite, an’ I called ’im y’r lordship. Tha’s when he laughed. Said e’ weren’t no lord yet.’

‘This makes no sense.’ The parson turned from Beddowes to frown at Bragg. ‘You said you’d heard of a trap being set, but there was nobody out last night. Besides that, we’ve nobody at the Crooked Man, Slaney buys his goods elsewhere.’

‘How was I to know that?’ Bragg said. ‘When I ’eard Sir Martin’s gamekeeper was lookin’ for help, I reckoned he was
workin’ with the excise men again, like last time, so I got taken on. An’ I busted up the trap right enough,’ he went on defensively, ‘busted it up so them two riders got clear.’

‘That’s another thing.’ The parson was becoming impatient. ‘Riders, and you said they were gentlemen. It doesn’t fit with anyone we know. And where was the cargo?’

‘Maybe we got competition. There was talk of a boat off East Clow Head three nights ago,’ another voice put in.

The parson shook his head. ‘Three nights! If somebody ran a few barrels in three nights ago, they’d be long gone.’ Once again he turned to Beddowes. ‘Do you know what was in the note, Cobb?’

‘Nobody telled me,’ he said, sullenly.

‘You can’t read?’

A shake of the head answered this. ‘Very well. You gave the two men the note, the one Sir Martin had supplied. What happened then?’

‘Tha’s when some cove coughed, an’ afore I knew what was goin’ on, it was like the end o’ the world was come, wi’ flashes an’ bangs an’ fire. Laid down flat I did, till Mr Docket come an’ telled me to get out, or they’d drag me off an’ lock me up. Two shillin’, tha’s what I was promised, an’ all I got was tuppence an’ the fright o’ me life.’

With a sigh, the parson took a coin from his pocket and handed it to one of the yokels. ‘Bring him a jar of ale and something to eat. Look Cobb, keep quiet about what happened here, and once you’ve had a bite you can go. Strangers aren’t welcome in these parts. Go back where you came from.’

‘You lettin’ him go?’ Bragg scowled at Beddowes. ‘What you reckon was goin’ on, then?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s no business of ours. And since it’s likely Sir Martin Haylmer will be looking for the man who spoilt his plans, Bragg, not to mention maybe the militia as
well, I’d say the advice I’ve given Cobb holds good for you too. Clear out for a while, and keep your head down.’

‘You look pleased with yourself.’ Mortleigh was leaning in at the side of the arbour, a lazy smile on his lips. Lucille glanced at him then looked away. She had been alone for almost half an hour after leaving Jackman at the tower and the excitement she had felt as the plan took shape in her mind had subsided now.

‘I trust you enjoyed your tour of the ruins,’ she said, her tone cool and admirably detached.

He ignored this, staring at her as if studying some interesting specimen. ‘The wildcat at peace, with her sharp claws hidden, but woe betide those who are taken in by her air of docility.’

‘I cannot imagine what you mean.’ She shifted aside an inch or two, so there was room for him to join her, but he made no move.

‘You present a picture of total perfection,’ he said, ‘to make an artist reach for his colour box, or a writer of romance to pick up his pen. There, they imagine, sits a lady thinking of her true love. The question is, which man fills her thoughts? Not the elderly nobleman, surely. Perhaps the rustic Lothario, the artisan; a man built like Hercules and proud of his calloused hands; such a shame he has the heart and mind of a peasant. And don’t deny the connection, I’m neither blind nor stupid.’

‘You misname poor Jonah,’ Lucille answered calmly. ‘He’s not a peasant, nor is he a promiscuous seducer. He’s devoted to me. He’d give his life for me if I asked it.’

‘A fool for love, a mere plaything for a bored and loveless lady. Poor Jonah indeed.’

‘As if you care,’ Lucille said. ‘And you’re a fine one to speak
of play. Are you forgetting how you delighted in acting the pirate?’

He pretended to be hurt by her words as he came to sit at her side. ‘Am I so heartless? As to the stonemason, I found him an estimable young man, so very knowledgeable about his trade, so very willing to speak about the joy his work gives him.’ Mortleigh feigned a yawn, lifting two elegant fingers to shield it from her. ‘He became so animated he might even have been talking of a mistress, rather than blocks of granite. I’m surprised he doesn’t bring a chisel to your bed.’

He placed a hand upon her sleeve and ran his fingers down her arm until they reached her bare wrist, where the contact of flesh on flesh awakened her senses; even his lightest touch could rekindle the fire of the night. His eyes widened, as if he felt it too. ‘You’re no lady,’ he whispered, leaning close to speak into her ear, so his breath was hot on her face. ‘I swear you’re a witch. I have never felt my appetites so far beyond my control, not for the want of any woman.’

‘And yet you must have encountered so many,’ she replied tautly, moving away from him. ‘I don’t doubt some pretty dairymaid, or foreign aristocrat’s wife must have pleased you more. After all, despite my title, I am a mere provincial nobody, stuck here, far from polite society.’

‘Shame,’ he mocked, ‘did your marriage lose its lustre so soon? And yet you’re wed to one of the most powerful and wealthy men in this part of the country, quite a catch for a young woman with little fortune of her own.’

‘You know nothing of me or my fortune,’ she retorted, stung that he could hit so near the mark. ‘Both my father and mother were of noble blood, with connections to half the royal houses of Europe.’

‘And yet they were reduced to living on the charity of
others, and gambling on the chance of a fine match for their only child.’ He reached to touch her again, this time to caress the curve of her neck above her bodice. ‘You think I’ve forgotten all those London soirees? I have ears, my pretty one, and even in the best of houses, gossip is easy to come by.’

‘And what of you,’ she snapped back. ‘You think I haven’t met men like you before? You have the manners and accomplishments of a gentleman, and use them to steal crumbs from the tables of your betters.’

‘Oh, a little more than crumbs, I think you’ll find,’ he said, his hand straying now over her breast, ‘or did I dream what happened last night? If that’s the case perhaps you need reminding what a perfect hussy you made of yourself. Perhaps we should repeat the experiment.’

‘Don’t be a fool.’ In one more moment Lucille was afraid she would melt into his arms, her body becoming a piece with his, so they could never be separated again. ‘You think I won my place here so dearly, to risk throwing it away on you?’

‘Hazard adds spice to life,’ he replied, not relinquishing his hold on her.

She flung him off. ‘Somebody is coming. Must I scream rape and bring the servants down on you?’

‘It’s only Tomms, my man,’ Mortleigh said, though he moved away from her. The upright black-clad figure approached slowly and bowed.

‘Forgive this intrusion, your ladyship. Mr Mortleigh, I have to report that Mr Laidlaw is becoming agitated. He begs you will come to him.’

‘Can I help?’ Lucille asked, reluctantly recollecting her duties as a hostess. ‘If Mr Laidlaw is ill I am sure my husband would wish a physician to be summoned.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Mortleigh dismissed the idea with an airy wave of a hand. ‘My friend is very much given to
dramatics; he exaggerates. Tomms, tell him I shall be with him very shortly.’

‘I shall come with you,’ Lucille said. ‘There may be something I can do. Cook has an excellent receipt for a posset which would help him to rest if he has a fever. Let me send an order to the kitchen.’

‘Thank you, your ladyship, but I beg you will allow me to go alone. Knowing Laidlaw, he will not be suitable company for the gentle sex at the moment.’ Mortleigh rose quickly and bowed low over her hand. ‘Please, excuse me.’

Lucille watched them go. Tomms was at Mortleigh’s elbow, whispering urgently in his ear. She had been striking blindly when she accused Mortleigh of being little better than a beggar, but something in his eyes made her wonder if the barb had struck home. The discovery made no difference to her feelings for him, but it might lend power to her plans; she could make good use of that knowledge in the future. As soon as the two men were out of sight she gathered up her skirts and almost ran to the entrance at the side of the house, where she hurried up the backstairs, cursing a startled maid who got in her way.

Despite the passion they had shared, despite her conviction that no other man would ever satisfy her as Mortleigh did, there was some part of Lucille that resented him. She was accustomed to having men under her control, and she sensed that, while Mortleigh declared himself bewitched, he would always put his own needs before hers. Such freedom couldn’t be allowed.

On fleet and silent feet, Lucille raced along the corridor, slipping into an empty bedroom. It was next to a small antechamber, furnished to act as a parlour for the rooms occupied by Mortleigh and the sick man. As she closed the door she heard Mortleigh’s voice; he and his servant must have
reached the top of the stairs. She clambered onto the bed, pulling aside the silk hanging to reveal the wooden panelling behind its head. Lucille had discovered the peephole within a week of her arrival at Knytte; she had always had an inquisitive nature. Expecting to be spied upon by her aged husband, or maybe the servants who were so sullenly obedient to her orders, it had seemed prudent to familiarize herself with all the secrets of the big old house. Still, she had never imagined herself finding such a use for her knowledge.

The encounter with Jonah had left Phoebe uneasy. He hadn’t listened to her. It was strange. The only time she’d been convinced that he was telling her the truth, was when he swore that he hadn’t left his bed the previous night. If that were true, what of her other suspicions? She had been certain that the ghostly sounds outside the nursery had been made by Lady Pickhurst.