The Purloined Papers (8 page)

“How?  By ignoring your own job?  It wasn’t your fault, Andrew.”

“I know that here.”  He tapped his head. “It doesn’t help. He was one of the best men I knew.”

“On that we can agree.”  She sighed.

He couldn’t talk about it anymore. His chest had tightened until he could hardly breathe. To give himself time to settle, he changed the subject. “Do you know anything about Sir Nigel’s recent investments?”

“No. He never wrote, and discouraged me from corresponding with anyone. Why?”

“I’m trying to reconcile some oddities in his behavior last night – strictly for my own satisfaction. The fall was straightforward – he tripped over that table in the upper hall and tumbled down the stairs. But no one knows why he rose after midnight, dressed himself, then went to the library. He was rushing back to bed when he fell.”

“Was Peter there?”

“No. He was at the Golden Bull and didn’t return until several hours later. William had already been summoned by then – he’s the nearest magistrate – and we’d examined the house. Peter was too drunk to really take in what had happened. I spoke with him this morning, but he had no idea why Sir Nigel was up.”

“You talked to the servants?”

“What few remain. They are also baffled. Sir Nigel didn’t even summon Simms to help him dress. Peter claims that he’d just made a new investment. But he didn’t know what. All he said was that Sir Nigel was euphoric at dinner.”

“That sounds right. Every investment starts with euphoria. Most end in fury and despair."

He hadn’t fully believed Peter. But this confirmed the habit.

“What other questions do you have?” she continued, seeming to read his mind.

He bit his tongue. Asking her to discover when Peter had left the house was impossible, for it implied suspicion of Peter. No matter what quarrel she had with him, Peter was family. Nor could he mention the blood in the library. Chloe was a lady.

“Night candles,” he said. “There were too many night candles, and none of them were in the expected places.”

“Gramling always sets out six each evening,” she said. “Five for the family plus an extra. I doubt that has changed. He kept six out when Kevin was at school. And he kept six out after Kevin died and Mother shut herself away in her rooms.”

“There were six last night – three in the hall and one each in Sir Nigel’s room, Peter’s room, and the library. What I’m curious about is where the library candle originated – it had been dropped on the carpet – and why Sir Nigel left his in his room. Peter’s is easy. He slipped out late, against orders.”

“I’ll talk to Sally.”

“Do that. The staff is too small to clean each room daily, so perhaps the library candle had been there a day or two. And she will also know how long the piles of books have been on the floor.”

Chloe nodded.

Silence descended – a welcome silence, for he was still battling seven-year-old memories of Kevin’s dying plea.

After the way Andrew had ignored his vow, Kevin must be turning in his grave. Andrew had known even as he gave his oath that he would not follow through. Cowardice reared up whenever he’d considered facing her, for he’d been unable to forget his dishonor. And deep inside, he’d known that his regard still burned hot.

Yet cowardice had resulted in new insults, for she’d been mired in guilt instead of hatred – guilt he could have alleviated years ago with a word. Even after he’d hurt her unpardonably, she’d taken the blame.

Damnation,
he cursed silently. Why had she grown so beautiful?  It would have been hard enough to remain aloof from that fifteen-year-old dreamer. Now it was next to impossible.

Monday

Chloe shut her bedroom door, glad for a few minutes alone. Not that she could rest for long. She must return to the drawing room for the final formalities.

The interment had been brief – a few words from Peter, even fewer from the vicar. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Sir Nigel would return to the ground from whence he’d sprung.

Testament to Peter’s haste and Sir Nigel’s penchant for irritating everyone he met, few mourners had attended – Andrew; the family solicitor, Mr. Barry; four gentlemen from Sir Nigel’s club, who had come solely from duty; and the staff and tenants. Sad, in a way. A baronet should have commanded more respect.

She shook her head as she folded her nightgown into her bandbox. Everything about this visit was sad.

The estate had deteriorated badly in the last year. Even small things were now gone – the porcelain shepherdess that had once been her grandmother’s, the Italian urn her grandfather had acquired on his Grand Tour, a parquet tea table that had graced the drawing room for twenty years. The house seemed stark without paintings and sculpture. Rooms echoed, many devoid of furniture. The stable held only two horses instead of the twenty it usually sheltered. The staff was down to two maids and no footmen.

Kevin had laughingly bequeathed her a folio of animal prints before leaving that last time. She wondered if it remained. Now that she knew the truth, she recognized his laughter as a defense against tears. That verbal will had cloaked fear. She had no legal claim to the folio, but would like a tangible memento of his life – especially now that her guilt was gone. She had not sent him on that mad journey, so her grief was now pure.

But this wasn’t the time to think about Kevin. She should concentrate on her father. That grief was a surprise. She’d expected to feel only relief, but the moment Andrew had driven through the gates, she’d been awash in memory. And not just of those summer picnics. In the early years, Sir Nigel had doted on his children, teaching them to ride, joining them in treasure hunts and blind man’s buff, and telling them fantastic tales about ogres and witches and sleeping princesses. He’d been a kind and loving man before everything went bad.

Guilt washed over her, for it was too late to repair the gulf that had opened between them. They had parted in anger and could never again find peace. Her family was gone now, for Peter had no intention of accepting their connection. He was too young to remember the good times and too selfish to want a sister hanging on his sleeve. Last night’s welcome had been cold, and he’d barely spoken two words to her since. So she was alone.

And that was good, she decided, closing the bandbox. Once she returned to Moorside, she need never face his temper again.

Setting the box by the door, she headed for the drawing room. It was the only room in the house that retained a reasonable selection of furniture, though that wasn’t saying much. The chairs dated to her grandmother’s time. Even the best were now frayed.

Mr. Barry and Peter were already there. Gramling followed her inside, closing the door behind him. He would represent the staff at this formal reading of the will.

Chloe chose a chair in the corner, wishing that she were on her way back to Moorside – or at least that Andrew were beside her. But he had declined to intrude, waiting instead in the library.

He’s right, swore her conscience. This is not his affair. The only reason he fetched you was guilt over Kevin.

Kevin was one of the ghosts she’d seen in his eyes, which explained why he’d held himself aloof for the remainder of the drive. His lingering guilt made it impossible to revive their friendship. Relying on his support, even for an hour, was a bad idea. She could not risk deepening her infatuation. He was a soldier who would soon return to duty. It might be another eleven years before she next saw him.

Infatuation had been understandable at fifteen. She’d been naïve enough to believe in fairy tales. He might think his words had been cruel, but only his harshness had brought her to her senses.

She’d tried to get on with her life. Despite refusing to lie about her circumstances, she had worked hard to make a match in Bath. It wasn’t her fault that the eligible gentlemen compared so unfavorably with Andrew. Nor was it her fault that even today, her most precious possession was the letter Andrew had written after Kevin died.

But that didn’t matter. Never again would she throw herself at a gentleman or let her heart stray in the wrong direction.

Peter poured a large glass of brandy for himself, then a smaller one for Mr. Barry.

Chloe watched in resignation. She had expected to be gone by now. When she’d first left for Moorside, her father had made it clear that she could expect nothing further from him. Going into service repudiated her class, forcing him to banish her from the family.

While Peter gulped brandy and Mr. Barry shuffled papers, Chloe recalled last night’s reunion with Sally – the one bright spot of this visit.

Sally had started as a nursery maid when Kevin was born. Now she was second only to the housekeeper. But Chloe considered Sally more than a servant. Lady Fields’s frequent inattention meant that it had been Sally who listened to Chloe’s hopes and dreams, Sally who bandaged hurts and soothed fears, Sally who kept confidences secret – even the day Chloe had goaded Kevin into a foolhardy climb up a cliff that had broken his arm. By the time it healed, Kevin had adopted sedate activities with William, leaving Andrew and Chloe to seek adventure on their own.

Sally was making up the bed when Chloe reached her room. “My sympathies, Miss Chloe,” she said – meaning it as Peter had not. “But ’tis a shame it takes tragedy to bring you home.”

“I’ve a job to do, as you should understand,” replied Chloe. “But thank you. I’m glad to see you.” 

“As am I.”  Sally plumped the pillow, then checked the washstand.

Chloe hesitated, but she’d promised to investigate Andrew’s questions. Nothing happened at Fields House without Sally’s knowledge. “Captain Seabrook explained how Father died, but I don’t understand why he was up in the middle of the night. It wasn’t like him. He’s never had trouble sleeping.”

Sally pursed her lips. “That was true when you lived here, but he changed after Lady Fields died – gradual at first; worse the last few weeks. Master Peter’s been muttering about insanity this month and more, though I never believed it. But there’s no denying Sir Nigel was growing odd.”

“How odd?”

“Secretive. He talked to hisself all the time – under his breath, like. And he’d jump without warning, looking over his shoulder like somebody might be watching him. He’d smile one minute, then lash out the next, all for no reason. Myself, I think her death broke something inside. He hasn’t been the same since.”

“But it should have changed nothing,” Chloe protested. “Mother paid him no more heed than she did any of us. She hadn’t left her room in years.”

“But he expected her to recover,” said Sally simply.

“Oh.”  Perhaps that was true. People deluded themselves every day. She had once expected Andrew to abandon duty and marry her. And a neighbor, Jasper Rankin, had thought that his social position placed him above the law – until he was exiled to the Caribbean after one of his petty revenges killed two men.

There had been a bond between her mother and father that transcended duty, though she doubted it was strong enough to call it love. But it was true that Sir Nigel had changed after his wife retired into her own world.

Chloe nodded. “So it was no surprise that Father was up so late.”

Sally frowned. “I wouldn’t go that far, though he was very unsettled lately. He and Master Peter argued last week.”

“Hardly unusual.”

“Perhaps not, but their confrontations were growing vicious. And after Sir Nigel turned off the last footman, no one would know if he’d taken to wandering. I only heard him on Saturday because he shouted for help.”

“Gramling mentioned a grunt of surprise.”

“Men!”  Sally shook her head. “Mr. Gramling’s old as Noah and deaf as a post. I’m amazed he heard anything. But my room’s above the main stairs. Sir Nigel was screeching loud enough to wake the dead before he fell – two long yells, then a shout for help. He repeated the cry for help twice before I heard the bump.”

“Why didn’t you tell Lord Seabrook?”

Sally bit her lip. “Mr. Gramling said the noise woke him. I didn’t realize he’d missed most of it until later. Is it important?”

“Perhaps. Captain Seabrook is not satisfied. He wants to know why the accident happened. You know how he is with puzzles.”

“Lord, yes.”  Sally smiled. “Like a cat with a mouse over anything mysterious – poking and prying and batting facts around until they all line up.”

“That hasn’t changed. Talk to him after the interment. If Father discovered a problem, Peter might have to take action.”

Sally’s mutter sounded like, “He won’t.”

Chloe ignored her, unwilling to criticize her brother to the staff, though his irresponsibility hurt. His vices had worsened since he’d come of age, and she doubted the title would settle him. But there was nothing she could do about it. “Will you stay on here?” she asked instead.

“No. I’ll be at next month’s hiring fair.”

“If you need a reference, let me know. Since I ran the house after Mother’s collapse, my name would carry more weight than Peter’s.”

“Thank you, Miss Chloe.” 

Sally had left. At the burial she’d remained with the servants, respectfully apart.

Now Chloe realized that returning to Fields House offered more than a quiet coze with Sally. Absence gave her a new perspective on her job. Laura demanded more each day, adding degrading duties until Chloe was little more than a slave. Deliberately, of course. Perhaps Laura considered her a substitute for Kevin. She would have convinced herself that he had wronged her.

Maybe it was time to resign. She had enough saved to support herself for two or three years if she rented, which would give her plenty of time to find students. And she still had her emergency stake – the pearls her mother had given her when she came out in Bath. Despite her father’s profligacy, she had managed to keep them, though she’d never dared wear them. If he had recalled their existence, he would have sold them.

Peter would be worse. She bit her lip as she recalled that he would become her guardian. As such, he could confiscate anything she owned, for women had no property rights. They
were
property and thus must belong to someone. It didn’t matter that she was seven-and-twenty, for she remained single.