Jessica (9 page)

“I so promise.”

“You know there is smuggling carried on in this neighborhood on a large scale?”

“Yes. Are you a smuggler, Sir Nicholas?”

“Now I am hurt beyond belief. Do I look like a smuggler?”

“You look perfectly capable of such an occupation, if I am to be honest with you, sir.”

“I trust that was a compliment. No, Miss Durleigh, I am not a smuggler. I am a smuggler-catcher, or at least a would-be smuggler-catcher, for at the moment I am being singularly unsuccessful.”

“You are a revenue man?”

“Not exactly. I am a government agent. You see, it is believed that the revenue men hereabouts are corrupt. I work alone with Parr.”

She stared at him.

He smiled. “That is why I so desperately need your promise of silence. The merest breath of what I am up to would mean an end to me. And I do not say that last thing lightly.”

“But if you know the smugglers’ route, and you certainly know that they will use it on moonless nights, why is it you say you are unsuccessful? The ring could be broken at any time should you so desire it.”

“I have not yet been able to catch the leader. I want Francis Varangian, Jessica.”

“Francis? You jest, surely!”

He shook his head. “It is Varangian. I would swear it. For a long while the contraband was stored at the Widow Claybone’s farm, but then one night it was moved to a new location, and Parr and I had a merry time tracking it down. Then we found the new hiding place in the old ruins in Ladywood. Right in the middle of Varangian land. And you will admit that the good Sir Francis spends a good deal of time chasing about the countryside at night.”

“After poachers.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“But it is ridiculous to imagine that Francis....”

“Miss Durleigh, until recently Francis was, shall we say, hard up? He had reached the point of selling some perfectly good land on his western boundary. He made no great noise about it, but I found out through my land agent. Then it transpired that a good-sized herd of his fine cattle was on the market, too. Varangian would never have done either of those two things unless he was desperately short of money. Then, just when Philip died, I remember, he seemed affluent once more, and it was at about that time that the ring began to operate. As I see it, Varangian was virtually penniless and decided to swell his fast-emptying coffers by smuggling from the safe bay below Ladywood. It is a perfect spot for such activities.”

Jessica’s fingers ran nervously over the cold diamonds in her necklace. Could he be right? She closed her eyes and for a moment she saw Francis’ contorted face as he had accused her and Philip of blackmail. She looked at Nicholas’ profile suddenly. “But if you are right, why then did he set his hounds on the smugglers the night you released me from the trap?”

“I think he caught wind that the wood was being watched. It was a clever plot to throw anyone off his trail.”

“Or it could be he was indeed after poachers and fell on the smugglers by accident.”

“That could be so, but I am disinclined to believe it.”

“And tonight?”

“Tonight the hounds caught our scent and gave the alarm. But for that I would have got the proof I needed of Varangian’s involvement.”

She leaned forward to put her full glass upon a small table. “I wish now that I had not asked you to tell me,” she murmured.

“I certainly owed you an explanation.”

“Nonetheless...”

“Jessica, you must not have a conscience on Varangian’s behalf, for if he is indeed guilty, then capture is no more than he deserves.”

She lowered her eyes to the stains on her gown. No more than he deserved? But if he was driven to it by blackmail? Faintly, she realized that for the first time she was beginning to doubt Philip. She glanced up at the portrait and felt sad.

Nicholas stood, smiling at her. “I hope you forgive me for upending your evening so much, I realize Woodville House is probably the last place in Henbury you would wish to spend a night.”

“It was not to be helped, Sir Nicholas.”

The butler appeared in the doorway. “Miss Rosamund asked me to inform you that the blue room is now ready, Sir Nicholas.”

“Thank you, Tanner. You may retire now. Is Parr all right?”

“Yes, sir. He is sleeping now. Cluffo was able to cleanse the wound and bandage it securely.”

“And Cluffo was satisfied with the explanation?”

“He gave no sign to the contrary, Sir Nicholas.”

“Good night then, Tanner.”

“Good night, Sir Nicholas.”

The door closed.

“Well, Jessica, I think I should not keep you from your sleep a moment longer.”

“I feel so unsettled that I doubt I shall manage to sleep at all.” She rose, tightening the strings of her reticule, for she had been toying with them throughout. “What of Rosamund, though? I mean, if you are right about Francis....”

“Rosamund will have to weather the scandal again, as she weathered one once before.”

“But if she loves him?”

“Even so, for I have seen no sign that he has even noticed her existence, so perhaps we talk of an hypothesis.”

“You know that she loves him, and so, I gather, do others in Henbury. What then does your mother think of it?”

Nicholas smiled. “My mother does not know, for by all the powers I have taken great care that the truth is concealed from her. Philip’s memory is something my mother treasures and upholds more fiercely than anything, and if she thought that his widow loved another man there would be the most terrible altercation.”

“I can well imagine.”

“No doubt.” He took her hand, turning the palm to his lips.

“Don’t.” Disturbed, she took her hand away.

“Why? Because I am his brother?”

She looked uncomfortably at him. His action had perplexed her. When she looked at him she was reminded of Philip, yet he was unlike his dead brother in almost every way.

He smiled, turning away. “Good night, Miss Durleigh.”

“Good night.”

The sunlight was bright, falling in a shaft of sunbeams across Jessica’s face. Her eyes opened sleepily and she stared across the room at the unfamiliar blue silk wallpaper and the bowl of delphiniums standing in the corner on the lilac and white carpet. A shadow moved across the sunlight and she sat up abruptly. Someone was sitting on the window seat.

“Rosamund?”

Rosamund smiled uncertainly, her long pale hands clasped neatly in her lap, her golden hair piled expertly into tumbling Grecian locks that peeped precisely from beneath her lacy mobcap. “Jessica.”

“What do you want?” Jessica pulled the brocade coverlet around her bare shoulders.

“To end our differences.”

“Why? Oh, I don’t mean to sound so distrustful, but you must admit this change of heart has come somewhat abruptly.”

“I know.” Rosamund reddened uncomfortably and her hands moved nervously over the sprigged muslin of her gown. “I was being churlish.”

“With good cause. I have given you little reason to like me, I know that.”

“It was something Nicholas said last night
—
about Philip not being worth the breach in our friendship. He was right, you know. Or perhaps you do not know, for no doubt my husband showed only his charming and attentive side to you. He loved you dearly in his way.”

“As I did him.”

“Then continue to remember him kindly, for it can do no harm now.”

“So mellow suddenly?”

“You know I felt nothing but dislike for him. I know well enough you considered that before going with him. I love Francis. Did you know?”

Jessica nodded. “And how does he feel?”

“Oh, would that I knew. You know how he is. Even if he was consumed with desire for me he would say nothing. First of all, I was married to Philip and Francis was betrothed to you. Then Philip died and I am a widow in fresh weeds.” She smiled, glancing down at the dark green embroidery on the pale cream muslin. “Or at least, I should be. But I cannot pretend to mourn a man I hated.”

“And I would mourn him but have no right. We are a pair, aren’t we?”

“I must explain my behavior toward you, Jess. You see, I had forgiven you for the blow to my pride. I felt no animosity toward you, for you kept Philip in London and I was not forced to be polite to him or to.... Well, I saw little of him, shall we say. When he died I thought that, at last, Francis might notice me, for I was determined I would come before his attention until he was forced to notice me. But you came back, Jess. That was like a blow across the face to me. I knew Francis had asked you to marry him because he loved you, not because the match was arranged or because it was a prudent marriage. You were virtually penniless, a farmer’s daughter, and he was the greatest landowner in north Somerset. For him, at least, it was a love match. Can you understand how I felt when I knew you would be in Henbury once more? Alone and, no doubt, as beautiful as ever. I could not cope with my jealousy, and I freely admit it.”

“I don’t want Francis. I never have. I was grievously at fault in ever accepting his proposal in the first place. You had to marry Philip, for it was your father’s wish. There was no such onus on me, and yet I chose to accept Francis’ suit.”

“The prospect of such a marriage must have been a great temptation, and he is so gentle and kind.” Rosamund lowered her eyes shyly.

For a moment Jessica saw Francis as he had been in the study at Varangian. What if Nicholas’ suspicions were correct? She did not look at Rosamund. “Your way to him is clear, Rosamund, for I offer no threat. I do assure you that he does not love me. He may have once, but certainly not now. Does that reassure you a little?”

Rosamund’s eyes filled with sudden tears and Jessica stared at the expression of guilt on her face. Guilt? With a quick breath Rosamund seemed about to say something more when a new sound was heard outside the bedroom door.

A stick tap-tapped on the polished wooden floor and Rosamund went pale. “Lady Amelia!” she whispered, getting nervously to her feet.

The door opened and the old lady came in. She was dressed from head to toe in the deepest mourning, her black mobcap adorned with long weepers. Beads of jet flashed on her thin chest, and her heavy crepe skirts rustled as she crossed the room to stand by the bed. She glanced coldly at Rosamund. “You may go now, miss.”

“Yes, Lady Amelia.”

The sharp bright eyes moved over the sprigged muslin. “You will wear black, madam. I insist upon it.”

Rosamund said nothing, but her chin came up defiantly as she went to the door, closing it quietly behind her.

“Why are you here, Miss Durleigh?”

“Force of circumstances, Lady Amelia, and most certainly not choice.”

“There is no need to be flippant, missy. I have given orders for the gig to be made ready. You may leave the moment you are dressed.”

“Very well.”

The old lady walked to the window to look out over the ornamental gardens with their high, decorative hedges and pools. “My son should not have brought you here. I am angered that he saw fit to do so. What is it about you, Miss Durleigh? Nicholas associates with you for one evening and comes home with the coachman wounded by his pistol. Do you begin to set your sights at my elder son now?”

Jessica smiled dryly. “If this is the direction of your conversation, Lady Amelia, then you have chosen it and not I. I set my sights at Francis Varangian, not at Philip. Your sons are perfectly capable of seeking out for themselves that which they want. I know that to be so of Philip, and I should imagine that Sir Nicholas is the same. You play them false by suggesting they are susceptible to the wiles of a mere woman.”

“A whore, Miss Durleigh, a whore.”

“You may insult me if you choose, for I am most certainly a prisoner in this bed until you leave.”

Lady Amelia turned quickly to look at her. “I despise you, missy, as I have never despised another human being in my life. Until he became so besotted with you, Philip was everything any mother could desire in a son. But you changed him. He became secretive and scheming, treating all and sundry with contempt, viciousness even, and spending far more money than he could ever have come by legally. To keep you, no doubt. You have a lot to answer for, Miss Durleigh. Now get you from this house and never return again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.” Jessica stared at the Jacobean lowers embroidered on the coverlet, her face a lull red, and she felt cold and sick at the old woman’s hatred.

The stick tapped around the edge of the carpet, and at the door Lady Amelia paused. “Where did he get his money?” she asked slowly, watching Jessica carefully.

“I do not know. I trusted him in every way and felt no need to inquire of such things.”

The thin lips tightened angrily at the barb, but Jessica sensed the old woman had somehow relaxed, that her answer to the question had in some way settled an anxiety.

When the door closed at last, Jessica slipped from the bed and picked up the diamond necklace from its hiding place beneath the pillow. The stones winked and glittered in the sunbeams from the window as she looked at it. The money had come from Francis Varangian, she knew that now. But why? Why? Everything seemed set to fit into place, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that insist upon being completed. And the finished picture she knew she would not like.

She slipped the necklace into her reticule and picked up the bloodstained, yellow silk gown.

The traveling rug in the gig covered the bloodstains, but even so Jessica was aware of the strange sight she made in her evening clothes as the gig drove smartly through the market square. She stared resolutely at the pony’s ears and refused to glance to either side. Cluffo Dowdeswell slowed the pony’s pace as they reached the lane on the other side of the ford. Now the gig moved at a walking pace and she was conscious of the man’s interest in her.

“You was with Sir Nicholas last night, was you?”

“What are you insinuating, Cluffo?”

“Nowt, nowt at all. I was just thinking of Harry Parr’s accident, that’s all.”