Anne Barbour (23 page)

Claudia strove to maintain an air of dubious approval, but the gaze she turned on him fairly glowed. “That sounds wonderful, my—Glenraven.”

Looking at her, Jem was as dazzled as though he had looked full into the sun. Lord, he berated himself a moment later. What a susceptible looby he was turning into, to be turned inside out by a single glance. He returned to his eggs and toast and, for the rest of the meal, maintained a flow of determinedly colorless conversation with both ladies.

At length, the three rose from the table, and Miss Melksham left to go about her duties. Claudia and Jem made their way to the study, but had just settled in for an examination of the estate books, when Aunt Augusta entered unexpectedly.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said in apology, “but Mr. Scudder has just arrived.”

“Scudder!” exclaimed Jem. “But he was not supposed to come for several days.”

“That’s what he said,” replied Miss Melksham, “and he begs your pardon, but he said something has come up. He seemed quite disturbed,” she added apprehensively.

Chapter  Sixteen

When Claudia and Jem arrived in the emerald saloon, they found Mr. Scudder treading an agitated path before the fireplace. He swung around as they entered the room, and hurried toward them.

“My lord!” he exclaimed. “And Mrs. Carstairs—I am glad you are here, too. I do apologize for coming without warning, but—”

“Not at all,” said Jem in a soothing voice. “Pray be seated, sir.” Settling the older man into a chair, he poured some wine from the decanter resting on a small sofa table and handed it to him. He gestured Claudia to a nearby settee and sat down next to her.

The wine seemed to have a beneficial effect on Mr. Scudder, for when he spoke again, his voice, though still anxious, was calm.

“I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news, my lord,” he began. “It has come to my attention that Mrs. Carstairs’ brother-in-law—Thomas Reddinger?”—he raised his brows questioningly at Claudia, and she nodded grimly—”has retained an attorney for the express purpose of preventing the transfer of Ravencroft from her possession to yours.”

“What?” Claudia stared for a moment. “But, he cannot do that—can he? I have already signed the papers.”

“That’s just it,” said Mr. Scudder, taking a large handkerchief from his coat pocket to wipe his brow. “He is apparently trying to have you declared mentally incompetent, or at least acting under undue influence. If he is successful—the documents you signed will be null and void.”

“But that’s absurd,” Jem exclaimed incredulously. “There’s nothing wrong with Cl—Mrs. Carstairs’s mind.”

“N-no,” responded Mr. Scudder, his mouth turned down in a dubious curve. Claudia and Jem exchanged glances, and observing this, Mr. Scudder continued. “Mr. Reddinger has hired the firm of Morland, Welker and Pennyfine to—”

“But Cornelius Welker was Emanuel’s man of affairs!” interjected Claudia.

“Precisely.”
Mr. Scudder pulled at his lip. “I should not be saying this, but Welker is a disgrace to the profession. He has already sent around to my office for copies of the documents you offered as proof of Carstairs’s misdeeds. He has no right to see them, of course, and I told him as much, but if he is successful in proving undue influence—or mental instability, Reddinger will no doubt be made your ward, and will then be granted access to them.”

“But—” began Claudia hotly, and Mr. Scudder sighed deeply.

“Welker has already begun with his despicable campaign. He mentions your ‘scandalous preference’ for dressing in men’s clothes for example.”

Jem grinned. “At the most, her preference in dress could be called an eccentricity—or an abysmally poor fashion sense.” Claudia shot him an indignant glance, but said nothing.

Mr. Scudder pulled a long face. “If she were very wealthy and protected by the existence of several male relatives, perhaps. As it is, there is no getting away from the fact that Mrs. Carstairs has got herself talked about among the area tabbies, who are more than happy to add another spoonful of spite to make the pot boil. There is, for example, the story that you cavort about the house wearing a teakettle on your head.”

This time it was Jem who stared. Claudia, too, seemed at a loss for a moment, then her face cleared. “Oh, how perfectly ridiculous,” she said with a laugh. She turned to Jem. “One day I was in the stables, and just as I started to return to the house, it began pouring a perfect torrent of rain. Someone had set an enormous empty kettle on a table near the doorway, and upending it over my head, I made a dash for the kitchen door. Cook and the others in the kitchen were quite convulsed at my appearance, and said I must surprise Aunt Gussie with my ‘new hat.’ I pranced into the emerald saloon, still wearing it, and there was not only my aunt, but Lady Goodall, Mrs. Squeers, and Mrs. Rumbolton, who had come to call. You should have seen the expression on their faces! Particularly,” she added with another gurgle of laughter, “since I had also thrown an old horse blanket over my shoulders, as well.”

Jem chuckled, but Mr. Scudder did not join in their amusement. “I’m afraid some of your neighbors did not see the incident in that light. Tell me, Mrs. Carstairs,” he continued, “when was the last time you saw Squire Foster?”

“Squire Foster? Two or three weeks ago, I think. I met with him to discuss grazing my sheep on his land.” Claudia directed a questioning stare at Mr. Scudder.

“Apparently,” said that gentleman dryly, “Foster is not fore most among your well-wishers. He has for some time been very busy behind your back, speaking of your unwomanly absorption in animal husbandry and describing you as almost demented in your greedy obsession with ‘making a showplace’ of Ravencroft.”

Claudia went pale. “He is saying that?” she asked in a whisper. She rose from the settee to stand before Mr. Scudder. “I knew he did not approve of my running the estate myself, but I had no idea he was so—so virulent in his opposition.”

“Mmm.” Mr. Scudder pursed his lips. “I think Foster has a vested interest in discrediting you, for he wishes to retain the land he purchased from you. He only agreed to sell it back to you—at an exorbitant price—because he assumed you would never be able to buy it. There is no doubt that Welker has been in contact with Foster, and Foster is more than willing to propagate this fancy of your being unbalanced. He has already said that when he refused to allow your sheep to graze on his land, you became so incensed he thought you were going to attack him.”

“This is monstrous!” exclaimed Jem, who had also risen to stand beside Claudia.

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Scudder distastefully. “But that is not the worst—at least as far as you are personally concerned. If Reddinger and Welker are successful, and Mrs. Carstairs’s transfer of Ravencroft to you is invalidated, you will have a thin time convincing the court of your legal right to the place, based on the documents you showed me.”

“My God,” said Jem, slowly. He sank back again on the settee, pulling Claudia down with him.

“I cannot believe this,” added Claudia dazedly, trying to sort out the implications of this turn of events. Her thoughts flew to the creased sheets of paper hidden in her dressing table. She had retained them as a sort of insurance—well, a form of extortion, really, if she were honest. It was only Jem’s realization that he might lose a battle in court that had enabled her to negotiate employment for her and Aunt Gussie. But now ... If she were rendered powerless by Thomas and his machinations, Jem would be drawn into the battle after all. And she would be ruined, forced to live in Thomas Reddinger’s thrall for the rest of her life. She felt sick at the thought, and cold with dread.     

Mr. Scudder reached to pat her hand. “Perhaps I have stated the case too strongly. Welker is a long way from accomplishing his goal. While there are no doubt some of your acquaintances hereabouts who will be only too glad to see you brought down—such is always the case with beautiful young women— you have many staunch friends in the area who will do their utmost to support you. The vicar, for example, is most definitely your friend, and I’m sure there are others. I need only to seek them out.”

“Of course.” Jem smiled. “I’m sure we are taking much too dim a view of things.”

Mr. Scudder rose. “I shall mount a counterstrategy to Welker’s nefarious activities, but in the meantime . ..” He stared earnestly at Claudia. “Do be careful, Mrs. Carstairs. Reddinger will be watching you—with witnesses to corroborate anything you might do or say that could possibly be interpreted as—unstable behavior.”

“I think not,” interjected Jem, tight-lipped. “While I am forced to house Reddinger’s wife and his progeny, I see no reason why Thomas Reddinger should stay one more night under my roof. He can move to the Three Swans in Little Marshdean if he does not choose to go home.”

Mr. Scudder held up an admonishing hand. “Your sentiments are most understandable, my lord, but such a course of action might be unwise. No, no, hear me out,” he added hastily, as Jem opened his mouth to expostulate. “It would create a great deal of talk if Mrs. Reddinger and the children remained at Ravencroft, while her husband was forced to reside elsewhere. And, the Three Swans would merely serve as a stage for Mr. Reddinger to air his supposed grievances.”

“Mr. Scudder is right,” said Claudia to Jem. “I’m afraid you must put up with Thomas. Honestly, I could strangle the man. And Rose, too, for that matter. If she weren’t such an utter ninnyhammer, I’d ask her to try to talk some sense into her husband. I’ll tell you what we can do, though,” she added after a moment’s thought. “The east wing has been closed for years, but there is no reason why we could not transfer the entire family there for the duration of their stay. They could even take their meals there.”

“Excellent idea,” said Mr. Scudder, before Jem had a chance to answer. “I must be on my way now, but—”

“Oh!” interrupted Claudia. “What about that other phrase you used—undue influence? What is meant by that?”

The attorney exchanged a glance with Jem, who drew his brows together. Mr. Scudder cleared his throat. “As to that... Well, Lord Glenraven is young and certainly personable. You, Mrs. Carstairs are young and inexperienced in the ways of the world, and you are a widow, and, ah, as such must be considered susceptible to, er, blandishments.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” cried Claudia in exasperation. “Are you saying that just because I live without the protection and counsel of some omnipotent male relative that I would be such a widgeon as to succumb to the wiles of a—a handsome butler claiming to be what he is not?”

Mr. Scudder was by now perspiring profusely and once more drew his handkerchief across a streaming forehead.

“No, no,” he said vehemently. “Lord Glenraven’s credentials cannot be considered suspect. It is his claim to the estate that will come under minute scrutiny. As I have already told you, the documentary evidence his lordship has provided is rather slender, and there are those who will wonder at your unwarranted capitulation to his demands.”

“And as I have already told you,” she replied tightly, “I had suspected for some time that Emanuel never had any real right to the place.”

“I understand, my dear lady, but—”

Jem intervened at this point, holding up his hand for silence. He spoke quietly, but with a calm authority.

“I think we are agreed that the suggestion of undue influence is as ludicrous as one of mental instability. I am sure, Mr. Scudder, that you will spare no effort to counter these charges, and I have complete confidence in your ability to do so.”

Mr. Scudder expelled a sigh of palpable relief. “To be sure, my lord. Mr. Reddinger and his attorney must ultimately fail in their wicked scheme.”

With further expressions of reassurance, the attorney shortly made his departure, leaving Jem and Claudia to stare at each other in dismay.

Jem was the first to speak. “My God, Claudia,” he said harshly, drawing her down on the settee beside him. “Not only have I caused you to lose the home you love, but now on my account, you have become the target of an unbelievably vicious plot.”

She felt lost in his gaze, as though she had stepped into a warm, enveloping mist that filled her senses. He was seated so close to her that she could feel the caress of his breath on her cheek. Clenching her fingers in her lap, she drew a deep breath.

“You are not responsible for Thomas’s greed,” she replied, struggling to maintain her composure. She rose abruptly. “I have a great deal to do today, my lord—I must see to my removal from the manor house, so perhaps we could go over the estate accounts now?”

Jem looked at her strangely. “Very well, Mrs. Carstairs. I am at your disposal.” Unfolding his length from the settee with fluid grace, he followed her as she left the room.

To Claudia’s relief, Jem kept the conversation brief and businesslike as she spread account books, property lists, and figures on livestock and crop production over the desk for his perusal. She had left the door to the study wide open, and several times during the course of the afternoon called in passing servants to issue a number of trivial orders.

As the last sheet of figures was explained, and Claudia finally straightened her aching back, she spied a housemaid hurrying by with a dust cloth in her hand.

“Fimber!” she called. The maid scurried into the room and bobbed a swift curtsy. “When you return belowstairs, will you ask Cook to serve raspberry sauce with the custard she is planning for this evening?”

As the maid bobbed again and left the room, Claudia looked up to find Jem eyeing her quizzically. “Apparently, you are right, Mrs. Carstairs.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“By my count, we have not been alone for more than five minutes at a stretch throughout this very long afternoon.”

Claudia stiffened, but after a moment, gave an unwilling laugh. “Yes, I suppose I have been rather transparent. I must admit that I took Mr. Scudder’s words to heart—about the undue influence thing. I wish to avoid the slightest hint of impropriety in our dealings.” She looked at him straightly, but could not control the rush of heat that surged into her cheeks.