Corey McFadden (27 page)

Indeed, the culprit had been easily determined after the cart had come crashing down on Giles, and drunken John Duffy had been let go for his negligent anchoring of the heavy cart, angry and belligerent as always.

Giles clapped MacAran on the shoulder and turned away. He had arrived after the body had been hauled up from the pit. Jimmy Bigod had been cleaned up as well as could be and taken home to his wife for burial. It had been grim, and now Giles had to go and see the woman, to assure her that she and the babes would have enough to live on. He’d never had a death of an employee before, but as of right now he was creating a death payment. Mrs. Bigod would at least have a living if she could not have her husband.

* * * *

“It’s arranged, my dear. I have a man in Dufton. There’s nothing to fret about. It will be taken care of tomorrow night.” Hawton had his feet up on his desk. He had nearly sprung to attention when Lady Eleanor had come barging into his office but had checked the impulse.

He’d been doing some thinking and some snooping. He’d pried open the drawer in Sir Giles’s office where the man kept his personal papers. Hawton had found a will, dated just before Sir Giles’s marriage to Joanna, leaving everything to her, including guardianship of the children. There was a small trust fund set up for Lady Eleanor, to be administered by the solicitors in Carlisle. The children, of course, had a good bit of money from their father’s estate, and this was to be administered by Joanna. In the event that Joanna and Giles both died, childless, the children stood to inherit Giles’s entire estate, except for Eleanor’s small portion. Only in the event that no relations by blood or marriage survived Giles or Joanna did Eleanor inherit the entire estate, and that would be administered by the solicitors, or by a husband if she married.

But Joanna, as bride and widow, would not be enjoying her newfound wealth. The poor thing would be so distraught at his death that she would be taking her own life in a few days. Her clothes would be found on the beach, but not her body.

Hawton felt fairly certain there would be no other claimants on the estate. Miss Carpenter, as she was then, had informed him on her arrival that she had no one, so it seemed unlikely that anyone would step forward and make a claim based on a blood kinship with Joanna.

So now the real question was that of the guardianship of the children. As far as Hawton knew, Giles had no heirs other than his brother’s children. They were minors. One would be a legal incompetent all his life. With Joanna dead, the guardianship could very well then go to Eleanor. Along with control of the estate until Emma came of age. And so many things could happen. There were fevers, bolting horses, stomach complaints. So many things that could stand between a little girl and her twenty-first birthday.

And now Hawton had control over Eleanor. She had grown more and more dependent on him, more shrill with her demands, but less haughty in her demeanor. It was no longer ‘my lady and her steward’. No, now she needed him, relied on him to do all the thinking and planning and the execution. Now she would not be able to cut him loose. Not after tomorrow.

“But that’s what you said when you hired that bumbling fool in Carlisle. And the shipment is tomorrow night!” Eleanor wailed at him.

“Be quiet! Do you want the entire household to hear you?” Hawton snapped before he could control the impulse. Seeing the light of hauteur kindling in her eye, he softened his tone. “You must remember, my dear, that this is the servants’ wing. They pass back and forth in front of my door all day long. We are not nearly so private here as you are used to in your part of the house.”

“Very well,” she said peevishly, but he was relieved to note that she had lowered her voice. “But we cannot have anything go wrong tomorrow night, Hawton. Everything will collapse around our heads if we are discovered. Oh, why couldn’t it have been managed before the wedding? I hate having to leave everything until the last minute, and now we have the problem of his wife to deal with.” She actually wrung her hands.

“You know perfectly well we could not move any sooner than we did after what happened in Carlisle. The man has the devil’s own luck. It took a great deal of time to set this up, and it was all the more difficult with Sir Giles here all the time. As it is, we are moving more quickly than I’d like. You must trust me to see to it, Lady Eleanor,” he said, taking her hands in his and chafing them. He had not yet been able to bring himself to drop the ‘Lady’, and he was not sure when he could presume to do so. Perhaps after they had committed this murder. “Lord Beeson assures me that the boat will not arrive until very late, after midnight. Everyone will have been long asleep by then. The servants retire very early, as do Lady Chapman and the children. There will simply not be anyone awake who can hear us, and in any case, there is a new moon, which casts no light at all.”

“I wish it were over with. I wish we had the money in our hands,” she said, sinking into one of two hard-looking chairs in his office. “Did Lord Beeson tell you how soon he would get the money to us?” she asked eagerly.

“As originally agreed, my dear,” he said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. “Half of the money when the girls arrive here and the other half after they have been deposited in London. It’ll take about four days after that for the money to reach us.”

“So within the week we’ll have it all?”

“My lady, I believe you are being short-sighted in this,” he said. The financial possibilities had been rocketing about in his brain all morning and he needed to share it with her, to test his theories. “Have you given any thought to where Sir Giles’s estate will go?”

“Of course I have,” she snapped. “If his upstart of a wife disappears, then it will go to those horrible brats. Every penny, as far as I can tell. The only benefit I will get out of his demise is that we will be able to stay here and run our end of the operation.”

“And who will be the guardian of the brats, Lady Eleanor?” he asked smoothly. The woman was a blithering fool. She could see no farther than her own painted nose.

He watched while there was a gradual dawning of light in her eyes. “I—I really hadn’t given that any thought, Hawton,” she said slowly.

“Then I take it he has said nothing of the matter to you?” Hawton could feel himself growing excited. Eleanor would be the logical legal choice for guardianship. She was of age, after all, long since, and there would be no other interested parties to complain that she was unfit.

“No, of course not,” she said, as though he were the dimwitted one. “Giles would never share that sort of information with me.”

“Well, I found his will today and looked it over.

There appears to be no provision made for guardianship in the event of Joanna’s death. I don’t see any reason why you could not act as the legal guardian.”

“Do they let women do that sort of thing?” she asked, her tone dubious.

“Not as a rule, but they do when there are no suitable male relatives. Imagine the fun we could have as guardians of the entire estate. And if we continue to be an important part of Beeson’s operation, we could be very rich indeed, my dear.” There. He had deliberately used the word ‘we’
.
Now he waited to see if she had caught it and if she would balk.

Instead, to his surprise and great glee, she launched herself into his arms.

“Oh, Hawton, you are so clever! Whatever would I do without you?” she said, laughing and placing wet kisses on his cheek. “We can have all of it. Every cent! If no one is overseeing our estate bookkeeping, we can do anything we like! I can even take a house in London and go when I please!” She nuzzled his neck and placed her leg suggestively high around his hip.

He chuckled softly and seized her lips with his own. If she got guardianship of the brats, then perhaps he would stick around. He might marry her. There would be a great deal of money in it for him. Indeed, it would set him up for life. He could go to London with her and hobnob with the swells. They wouldn’t be able to cut him then, not if he were married to an earl’s daughter and had plenty of scratch to throw around. And when he needed something younger on the end of his pole, he was sure there’d be any number of willing ladies....

Chapter Fourteen

Giles found it impossible to sleep. Twisting and turning in the sheets, he had them all bunched up uncomfortably around his legs. They were scratchy as well, something he did not recall noticing before. He had had this room set aside for himself at the inn at Dufton for at least five years. He had spent more nights here since then than he had at home, by far. Why did it now seem so strange, so much more like a room at an inn than it had before? A few nights in a wide, comfortable bed with the love of his life curled into his arms had made this little room seem dreary indeed.

But it was not really the room that kept him awake. Over and over he had puzzled it out, his precise, analytical mind trying to make logic where he could find none. What had made the heavy cart tear down into the pit? Why had it happened at just that moment when Bigod was below? The man had been working after the shift on the cart tracks, great iron rails that allowed the cart to roll smoothly up and down regardless of the weight it bore. One of the tracks had a loose bolt and Bigod was repairing it, a brief task that would have been finished moments later. And who knew he was down there? The work site had been closed down for the night and no one was supposed to be about at that time. The site had no wall around it, of course, but then, there was nothing to steal except raw lead, not valuable in small quantities in a black market. What perversity of fate had loosed the cart at that exact moment, still full with the last load it had carried up that evening, to crush the man beneath its deadly weight?

Or was it fate at all?

MacAran was dissatisfied. So were a number of the senior men. Giles could see it in their faces and hear it in the occasional muttering. They had no quarrel with Giles’s management. To the contrary, they seemed to admire and respect him. He had been known to stand an entire shift to a pint after a particularly good day, and it was widely understood that if a man had a legitimate complaint he would find a willing ear in Sir Giles Chapman, an unusual thing in an owner. Even his foremen were chosen not only for their knowledge, but for their sense of fairness. There was little favoritism on site. What little there was, was earned through diligence, competence, and seniority. Although there was the occasional dust-up, too much to drink here or a smart mouth there, on the whole it was as successful a work site as could be found in these parts, and a man who could get hired on by the Dufton Mining Works was considered lucky indeed.

Until yesterday.

Giles’s interview with Mrs. Bigod had been painful, as he had known it would be. She had three babes, ages two, twelve months, and one at the breast, newborn. He had looked into her careworn face and seen such yawning grief as had made him look away. The pain was raw and so deep he felt as if it might swallow him up. She had cried when he offered her the pension settlement. He would pay her a yearly stipend and she could stay in the cottage for her lifetime. It was a generous offer, outrageous really by prevailing standards, but Giles had heard too much about the poorhouses filled to overflowing with young widows, orphaned children and men too old, sick, or injured to hold a job. Jimmy Bigod had been a decent man, a good husband, and a good worker. Giles could do no less for his widow. He had offered her a job at Queen’s Hall as an alternative, when she was well enough to travel, and had promised to find work for the children as they grew. Her sad eyes had widened and she had spilled forth with such tears of gratitude that he had felt like a fool for offering her such a pittance from his bountiful portion in life, when she had so little.

The funeral would take place tomorrow morning and then he would return to Queen’s Hall. At the thought he smiled to himself in the dark. Joanna in his bed, Joanna at his table, Joanna in the schoolroom—anywhere, she was balm to his long-troubled heart. No longer did he awaken in the dark, sweating with the nightmare that Violet had returned to torment him anew.

And Joanna had fit herself so seamlessly into the household. When he had announced the news of their engagement to the staff, he and Joanna had been met by great smiles of goodwill and best wishes. It was apparent that no one was harboring the dark thoughts about the governess getting above herself that Eleanor had so meanly predicted. Indeed, it seemed as if the staff would have no trouble transferring allegiance from one mistress of the household to another. Eleanor had been, if anything, a lazy chatelaine, leaving all the management to Mrs. Davies and Hawton, bestirring herself to issue orders only when she was entertaining, or when something did not suit her.

Of Eleanor herself, he had seen little since the day of the wedding. She had kept to her own rooms as far as he knew, and if the stock of brandy was being depleted at an alarming rate, he neither knew nor cared. Oddly enough, she had not disappeared on one of her usual visits. She had never before spent so much as a week at home alone with none of her raucous friends to keep her entertained. Giles could not understand why, and assumed she was nursing her grievance against him, staying close by so that she could keep an eye on his plans for her. Well, the lease agreement for the St. Bees house was signed and sitting on his desk at home. The agent assured him that a few days more of paint and cleaning should make it utterly charming. The wagons would arrive in three days to load up her ladyship’s belongings, cupids and odalisques and all, and then she would be nothing to Giles but an obligation on monthly drafts.

The thought of packing Eleanor off brought another smile to his lips. She had been a blight on his life for so long. She had had a hand in ruining everything for him, corrupting his first wife. Not, he supposed, that Violet had needed to be led into her corruption. No, the taint had been bred in the bone with Violet, the angelic beauty of her face hiding the darkness in her heart.