Elyse Mady (18 page)

“I will send an emissary to you, with directions. If we are to force these hidden men into the light, and to…” He hesitated for a moment and Hester had the impression he was choosing his words with great care. “…admit to your brother’s innocence on the night in question, we must be resolute.”

Hidden men? Something seemed wrong, although she struggled to put her finger on what it was that disturbed her. Of course, she was eager to identify those witnesses who could testify to Robert’s innocence. And eyewitness testimony would doubtless be key, but it almost sounded to her inexperienced ears as though the lawyer was less interested in finding witnesses as he was in condoning blackmail.

“I will not be party to anything that ruins an innocent man’s life,” she began, flinching when Wooley patted her hand. Something about his touch was off-putting. She wondered if Robert was wrong to have put his trust in someone about whom they knew so little. Thus far, despite his ability to turn a pretty phrase and quote Latin, she had seen nothing to convince her of his abilities before the bar. “I have learned only too well what suffering is wrought when a man is accused unjustly.”

“My dear Miss Aspinall.” He chortled, as though her protest amused him greatly. “You mistake me. You mistake me entirely. I seek these men merely as a means of establishing
ambigendi locus,
or room for doubt against the prosecutor’s case. The police will be eager to paint your brother as the worst sort of criminal. We must counter their arguments with witnesses of our own.”

Hester forced herself to relax. When the solicitor put it that way, she could see that her doubts had little substance. “Of course. You must forgive me. I am sensitive to the experiences of a family disrupted. I am sure your course is a wise one.”

They reached the corner where Hester and George had to turn off. A woman wearing a heavy yoke waddled by, her buckets swaying as she laboured under her watery load.

Hester remembered suddenly that Mr. Wooley had told her there was news, good and bad. The information about the witnesses was certainly the good. He had yet to communicate the bad.

“And of the bad?”

Wooley grimaced delicately. “Your brother is, despite my urgings, reluctant to help me identify any other men who might otherwise provide an alibi for his behaviours that night at
locus in quo—
Mr. Cook’s establishment.”

“Why?”

“Your brother, unlike so many who come to the attention of the courts, is an honourable man. His reluctance to identify anyone else is to be admired but as his solicitor, I have counselled strenuously against continued silence.”

“Robert refuses?”

“Adamantly. As his sister, I had hoped that you might also encourage him to name those people who, while reluctant to come forward unprompted, have knowledge of the events at Mr. Cook’s establishment.”

“My brother and I are not on the best of terms,” she admitted.

Wooley’s face assumed a sympathetic mien. “Better families than yours have been torn apart by the duress of a trial. I would not ask this of you, did I not think it critical to your brother’s ultimate freedom. May I count on you?”

“I will try,” she said reluctantly.

He did not seem put off by her hesitation. “Excellent!” He clapped his hands together. “I will continue my investigations and you will continue to try and effect change in your brother’s position. Send word to my rooms if you meet with success.”

George joined them and Wooley acknowledged the footman before turning and disappearing in the crowded street.

“Is that Mr. Aspinall’s lawyer?”

“Yes, it is. He is to conduct my brother’s defence. His presence is a great relief,” she said, ignoring the niggling doubt that had assailed her once or twice during her recent interview with the man.

George too seemed unconvinced. He was still looking into the street at the spot where Wooley had disappeared. “I’m sure you know best, miss, but I have to say he seems a slippery character.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Now, I think we should be taking these ingredients back to Mrs. Fromm. She’s not a woman who likes to be kept waiting, not least if you like to eat your food not burnt to a crisp.”

Hester smiled at his jest. The cook was indeed a formidable woman and George’s assessment of her very apt. But even as they made their way back to Bruton Street, she continued to mull over her conversation with Mr. Wooley. She could not lay her finger on what made her apprehensive but something was not right.

Chapter Fifteen

Hester was still pondering Mr. Wooley’s incongruous statements when Thomas came upon her in the drawing room that evening, turning the seams of some sheets she had discovered in the linen closet. She didn’t know why she was bothering, since he seemed completely unfazed by the sorry state of his household linens, but she did it all the same. It kept her busy and the soothing ritual of her sewing distracted her from the burden of her thoughts.

He smiled as he came to rest on beside her on the sofa, and Hester was struck anew by the beauty of his features.

“Something has distressed you,” he said, studying her face. “I could see that you were not yourself at supper. Is it—is it the gown? Did you find it presumptuous? I know you have claimed to have a wardrobe sufficient to your needs but when I saw it in the shop window, I knew the rich colour would be incomparable against your skin and so I—”

His hesitation was endearing and Hester smiled, looking down at the glorious gown she wore. She had never, not in the whole course of her life, owned anything so fine and she loved how it rustled and whispered with every step. “It is not the gift.”

After it had arrived this afternoon and been fitted by the young seamstress, Hester was ashamed to say that she’d simply hugged it to herself for nearly a quarter of an hour. What sort of a ninny did such a thing, over something as trivial as that?

But she had. Because it was the first gift she’d ever received from Thomas and that alone made it irreplaceable.

“Then what is it?”

She was reluctant to unburden herself, but he looked so disappointed at her reserve that she found herself relaying the odd encounter with the solicitor in the bookshop today.

Surprisingly, Thomas did not dismiss her fears or pooh-pooh her vague disquiet. Indeed, if anything, he looked troubled by her revelation.

“Does he seem dangerous? Did he threaten you or speak in such a way that you feared for your safety?”

She shook her head. “George was waiting for me. I was not alone.”

“And yet you still felt an unease?”

“I did.” She was grateful that Thomas did not express doubts about her tenuous suspicions. He, unlike Robert, seemed to take her reservations seriously. “It was not that he did or said anything untoward. Rather that he seemed to imbue everything he said with a double meaning. On the face of it, he said nothing but what a solicitor concerned for his client would say and yet I cannot shake the feeling that Mr. Wooley is not all that he professes to be.”

“What does Robert say? Does he share your doubts?”

“I haven’t spoken to him about the matter at all. He is only interested in his lawyer’s preparations for the trial. He has no time to hear about my fears.” She waved her hand, the needle glinting in the candlelight.

Thomas frowned. “Would you like me to make enquiries? A business like mine often requires legal advice. I am sure that if I were to ask, Sir John would be able to tell me more of his character.”

“Sir John?”

“Sir John Collet,” he explained. “A family friend who has worked on my father’s behalf for more than thirty years. I hold him in the highest regard. He has a great deal of experience at the bar. I will send him a note, asking to meet with him. If anyone may shed light on Mr. Wooley’s character, it will be Sir John.”

“Thank you. That would give me a great deal of peace of mind.”

“I am glad. I was afraid you would charge me with being officious.” He looked worried, as though he thought it a real possibility.

Hester hastened to reassure him. “Never.”

He smiled. “If my friends and family are to be believed, often. But I appreciate your sentiments.”

He curled his arm around her shoulders and with his free hand, lifted her sewing and set it aside. She let her head rest on his shoulder. It was peaceful, sitting here in the quiet room.

“Do you think Robert will ever forgive me my choice?”

If Thomas was surprised by the direction of her conversation, he did not reveal it. His hand stroked her hair, gentle and rhythmic. “Your brother’s anger will wane. In time, he will come to regret his harsh words and you will be reconciled. I am sure of it.”

Hester looked at the tapers sputtering beside them. The maid had forgotten to trim them and now the small flames danced erratically, casting their shadows across the plaster cornices above.

“His words are not ones that I can easily put from my mind,” she admitted. “I am his sister. I have stood by him despite the evidence against him and to hear him speak of me thus was a blow. Could you set them aside, were our positions exchanged?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “I know my brothers and I have had our share—my mother might argue more than our fair share—of disagreement. And I agree that it is not merely a matter of putting it from our minds forever. Those who are closest to our hearts, who know us well, have the power, by virtue of their intimacy, to wound us most deeply.”

His voice was redolent with painful memories that spoke to disagreements past, whose wounds lingered yet in the present. Hester felt a strange kinship with Thomas that she had not truly appreciated until now.

Their lives and their upbringing, even their futures, were completely dissimilar but in this—the feeling of estrangement from their siblings—it was clear they were in complete accord.

“Have you reconciled with your family?” she asked. It felt like a question of great import, as if a harbinger of her own fate. If Thomas had overcome the schisms that had driven him away from his brothers, then she might yet be able to recover some part of what she had shared with hers.

If he had not—

“After a fashion.”

It did not sound promising. Seeing her doubtful expression, Thomas shook his head. “We are on speaking terms. We exchange the occasional letter, meet with apparent ease and do not object if chance should see us in the dining room of our club at the same time.”

“But?”

“But we are not the intimates of our childhood,” he admitted. “We are for the most part strangers to one another.”

“I am sorry for you.”

“I too am sorry, but I am at a loss to know how best to remedy it.”

His words struck a chord. He sounded bereft and oddly vulnerable. She squeezed his larger hand with her own. His dark eyes were vacant, looking back at the past.

“You were intimate once.” She spoke softly and he answered in kind.

“As boys we were inseparable. There are but three years between my eldest brother and myself, little more than a year between Francis and I. Our sisters are a great deal younger and we thought them useless, frilly creatures.” He spoke this last with the superiority of an older brother. Hester recognized the tone immediately.

“We grew up in one of those old English piles. Soft yellow brick and the odd tower, improved upon whenever one of my ancestors had the whim or the ready cash.”

She could see it in her mind’s eye as he drew the picture with his words. It sounded a marvellous place. The sort of place one might raise a family and grow old.

How many times had she dreamed of just such a future for herself as a girl? She thought it had come to pass when she fell in love with Jamie. Having her hopes dashed so irrevocably had been on par with another death to mourn. She wished she had the confidence to dream of such things again but she did not. Dreams were for girls; reality was for women. “My father was a conscientious man and very attached to our family estates. He was much occupied with improvements and new agricultural developments. My brothers are cut from the same cloth.”

“You are not?”

Thomas shook his head emphatically in the negative. “I was born with an insatiable urge to explore. I was forever hectoring my brothers into mounting expeditions. We would marshal our forces, plot our route and lay by a goodly stock of supplies.”

“Such as?”

“Cook’s molasses drops were a particular favourite. They withstood the rigours of adventuring very well.” He grinned at the memory and Hester could see the boy he had once been in his manly face.

“And thus fortified, where did you advance to?”

“The stream. The woods around our home. Once, we walked eight miles and found ourselves in the neighbouring parish without the least idea of how to get home. Our parents were frantic. If I recall, we were soundly whipped on that occasion.”

“It did not dissuade you?” The punishment sounded harsh to Hester’s ears. Although she knew many who believed it a good thing to correct the young by physical means, her parents never had.

“No. When I was fourteen, I informed my parents of my intentions to go to sea. They were opposed. Strongly opposed. My father could barely countenance the idea. He wanted me to study the law or enter the church.”

“Honourable professions.”

“But not for me,” he stated. “As a third son I will inherit little more than a brief mention in Mr. Debrett’s publication and perhaps, if I am very unlucky, one or two portraits of stiff-necked ancestors. I had to make my fortune and my father acknowledged that. It was merely that he could not comprehend my urge to travel.”

“You quarrelled.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Repeatedly, as only a headstrong boy and his father can. My brothers sided with him. I felt betrayed and so I ran away.”

“No!”

He nodded his head. “Yes, I did. It was foolish and selfish of me. I was found, of course, and brought home but my father realized then it was not a whim. He arranged for me to sail with George Hannay. My partner, Edward, is his nephew and was travelling on the same ship.”

“You never considered the navy?”

“Glory has never interested me, nor pomp, nor circumstance. I wanted to see the world and all that mattered was that the boat was seaworthy.” He smoothed his hand absentmindedly over the smooth brocade upholstery.

“I am sorry for your estrangement.”

He tilted her face towards his own. He kissed her eyelids, still damp with her tears. “Don’t be. It is what it is and your tears will not change it. Not with my brothers. Not with yours.”

“There is so much strife in the world. I wonder at times how we can bear it.”

* * *

“You bear it because you have great courage,” Thomas said earnestly willing her to understand the utter sincerity of his compliment. It seemed she did not. He was touched by her tears on his behalf. He rarely thought of his family anymore, and when he did it was with a studied distance. How long had it been since he had remembered their adventures? Their closeness?

Hester shook her head, recalling him from his memories. “Brave? I am not brave. If you could have seen me as I was when Jamie passed away, you would not say such a thing.” She squirmed, her eyes fixed on her sewing box.

“Tell me about him.”

“You want to know about…Jamie? We were speaking of you.”

“And now we are talking about Mr. Dainton. About the man you were going to marry.”
The man you loved. The man you laid with before me. The man I would give anything to be.

“Why do you want to know?” she asked after a pause. “I behaved foolishly, to be sure, but it was a long time ago.”

“I do not wish to pry or cause you pain but I would like to know more about him. You never speak of him.”

“Do I ask you to reveal or catalogue the ladies with whom you have spent time?” She crossed her arms across her chest and shot him a dark glare. He knew it wasn’t jealousy that motivated her—she would have to care for him a great deal more to feel jealous of him—but he still felt a pride in her possessiveness. He mattered to her.

“I have never loved any of them. Been fond of them. Liked many of them and enjoyed their company, in bed and out,” he admitted, hardly daring to believe he was telling Hester this.

For all that she had embraced their intimate exchanges, she was still a gently bred girl. She had kissed with passion and delight but her every touch had revealed her inexperience. He knew she’d experienced pleasure in their joining, but her body had also told of her surprise at the acts they engaged in.

He was not her first lover but in many other things he was her first.

She had lain with this man, this boy who died a hero not a husband, but they had not made love. He would bet his fleet’s cargo on that fact. She was right. He should not ask her to reveal such details. They were personal and intimate but it was a compulsion. “I would like to know more about him because he was important to you. But if you would rather not, or feel I overstep my bounds, I will not press you further.”

She looked at him, as though trying to discern the motive behind his unorthodox request.

“We grew up together. In a town like Malmesbury, everyone knows everyone else.”

“Yes, they do.” He thought of the small market town where he’d grown up. Everyone had known his business and considered it their inalienable to offer up their opinion on his behaviour. He vastly preferred the anonymity of the city and his ports of call.

“But to be honest, we were not particularly close and I do not remember myself being smitten.”

“What changed?”

“The summer I was eighteen, there was a dance.”

Thomas smiled, thinking how he should dearly like to take Hester to a dance. Her dark hair would gleam under the influence of the wax tapers and her elegantly cut silk gown would glimmer and flash. “There’s always a dance.”

She smiled, her eyes misty with remembrance. “He’d been gone four years and was so changed from the boy I remembered.”

Thomas tried to keep his jealousy at bay. “Love changes our viewpoint. It gilds everything with a peculiar light and makes it perfect,” he said instead.

Hester laughed again. “It must, for Jamie always claimed me to be the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.”

“I must concur with the late Mr. Daiton’s opinion. You are beautiful.”

“Flummery,” she protested, clearly embarrassed. “I don’t believe a word of it. You can hardly expect to pawn such nonsense off when love cannot be given as an excuse for such excess.”

If only she knew,
Thomas thought,
how excessive my feelings might be
. “Far be it from me to discompose a lady, but in this matter you must not expect me to change my position.”