Forever and Ever (30 page)

She laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I thought so, too,” he said, nodding, looking slightly relieved because the worst was out. “But he won’t budge. He swears it was Connor, and nobody can talk him out of it.”

“But it couldn’t have been.”

“I’m afraid that’s not all. Robert Croddy was with me when Andrewson, arrived—we were having a business meeting over breakfast.”

“Oh, God . . .”

He nodded grimly. “I didn’t know what Andrewson wanted—I told him he could speak in front of Robert. That was a mistake.”

She went cold. “What has he done?”

“He wanted me to issue an arrest warrant immediately. I talked him out of that, told him there wasn’t enough evidence yet. But I couldn’t stop him from going straight off to Clive Knowlton’s with the news.”

“What?”

“Maris told me Connor’s not here, wasn’t here all night. Where is he?” She stared at him, her mind in chaos. “Tell me. Can’t you see, we have to warn him. Croddy’s out to ruin him, Sophie. Where is he?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

She reached for his arm, held on to the sleeve with desperate fingers. “Connor would never steal money, never, it’s absurd! But—last night he—we—”

“What?”

“He left me. It wasn’t his fault, we didn’t argue, he just—left.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know.” Eustace began to swear, and she cut him off. “He might have gone to Tavistock. He has an office there, or rather Braithwaite does. It’s on Tamar Street. He’s stayed there—”

“I know it. I’ll go there now. If he’s not there, I’ll go to Knowlton’s and try to head Robert off.” He pried her fingers away and gave her hand a squeeze. “Try not to worry.” His eyes flickered over her doubtfully. “You know, you look terrible.”

He was opening the door when she stopped him to ask, genuinely puzzled, “Why are you helping him? Isn’t Connor’s trouble a blessing for you? And your candidate?”

His fine brows drew together in disapproval. “That’s irrelevant,” he told her sternly. “It’s the reverse of a blessing for my
family.
”

Her throat closed up. She said, “Thank you, Uncle,” but he couldn’t have heard; he’d already turned away, and her voice didn’t carry far.

After he left, she paced the room. Throwing open the curtains, she was surprised to see yesterday’s dreariness had vanished in a flood of bright sunshine, birds singing, bees droning, squirrels rooting in the ivy. What day was it? Thursday? She had no idea what day of the month it was, none whatsoever. Pacing again, she tried to imagine Connor’s reaction when he found out from her uncle that Robert Croddy was calling him a thief. Would he think she believed it? Oh, surely he wouldn’t, surely he would know her better than that. The idea of him stealing money was laughable—but what if Knowlton believed it? Robert could be persuasive, and Connor’s past could be made to sound disreputable. What if he were disgraced?

She hugged herself, shot through with anxiety. Her skin felt as if pins were pricking it everywhere. “Maris!” No answer. She hurried out of the room and hollered down the stairs, “Maris!”

“Ma’am?” came a faint voice from the basement, over the sound of footsteps clumping up the stairs.

“I want a bath, right away, as quick as you can. Did Connor take the horse or the gig?”

Maris blinked at her. “What?”

“Did my husband take the pony gig last night when he left?”

“I don’t—no, I’m sure ’e didn’t, because Thomas was grumblin’ and natterin’ about Val this morning, how ’e’d rolled in something and needed brushed and whatnot, plus—”

“Tell Thomas to have the gig ready in forty minutes,” she cut in. “Pick out something for me to wear while I bathe, and then I want you to help me with my hair.”

The maid’s eyes went so wide, Sophie could see the whites from twenty feet away. “Yes, ma’am,” she exclaimed, pleased and excited. “Where you going?”

“Tavistock. To pay a call on Clive Knowlton.”

***

She had to ask directions to his house. The narrow, two-story brick residence in the oldest section of the town wasn’t what she was expecting, but after a second’s reflection, she decided it suited him: a modest home for a modest man. The servant who opened the door was creaky, white-haired, and venerable; she didn’t like having to bully him.

“But I must see him, it’s urgent. He knows me. If you would just take my name up, I’m sure he’ll receive me.”

“I’m terribly sorry, madam, but Mr. Knowlton is in a meeting, and specifically asked that he not be disturbed.”

“Is he with Robert Croddy? Is he? Please tell me.”

Her urgency cut through his imperturbable veneer. “Mr. Croddy is among the gentlemen with whom Mr. Knowlton is meeting.”

Gentlemen.
Was her uncle here, too, then? And Connor? “I’m sorry, I must come in,” she told the astonished butler, pressing forward until he had no decorous choice but to give way. “Where are they?”

“Madam, really, I insist—”

She could hear men’s voices from the top of a dark flight of stairs straight ahead. Grabbing her skirts in one hand and the railing in the other, she started up, with the poor old butler hurrying behind.

All four men assembled in Clive Knowlton’s small, simply furnished drawing room gaped in surprise when they saw her. “Sophie!” exclaimed her uncle, rising from a brocaded settee.

Connor came away from the window, alarm replacing the harsh stiffness that had been in his face. “Sophie, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

They touched hands for a second, only a light, reassuring clasp, but it warmed her to her bones. “I’m fine,” she told him in a low, fervent murmur, then turned from him toward her host. He’d gotten up from his chair beside the cold brick hearth; she went to him, deliberately turning her back on Robert Croddy, who had also risen at her entrance, and offered Knowlton her hand. “I’m so terribly sorry,” she said in an earnest rush. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I simply had to come. I’m afraid I was rude to your manservant when he wouldn’t admit me, and I apologize—”

“Not at all, my dear lady,” he said kindly, but his sad brown eyes missed nothing. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. Won’t you sit down? Wallace, bring Mrs. Pendarvis some tea, will you?”

“Oh, no, please don’t trouble.” She couldn’t sit down; she was too wrought up. “There’s no sense in pretending I’ve come on a social call. My uncle told me about the burglary last night at Guelder mine. May I assume that Mr. Croddy has come here to implicate my husband?”

They all began to answer at once, and she understood from the jumble of raised voices that Connor, Uncle Eustace, and Robert Croddy very much wanted her to leave. Not on their lives, she thought grimly, taking a seat on the edge of a straight-backed chair out of deference to her elderly host—if she didn’t sit, he wouldn’t.

“Mr. Croddy,” Knowlton said, his famous voice, low and carrying, cutting through all the others, “has apprised me of a serious accusation against your husband, as well as certain other concerns he has. Concerns of an ethical nature, we might say, which may or may not have a bearing on Mr. Pendarvis’s suitability for public office.”

She could barely contain herself. “If Robert says my husband is a thief, that’s absurd,” she declared, “absolutely ridiculous. It’s idiotic. Guelder belongs to him—why would he steal from his own mine? Anyway, if Connor were starving to death, he wouldn’t take a shilling that didn’t belong to him. There’s no one more honest—” Croddy snorted, interrupting her. She hated the sight of him, but she made herself look at him to demand, “What else have you said? Well? What other slanders against Connor have you felt
morally obliged
to pass on to Mr. Knowlton?”

He folded his stocky arms. “Sophie, go home,” he said pityingly.

She turned back to Knowlton. “Has he told you my husband secured employment at Guelder under false pretenses? It’s true. He took his brother’s name and worked as a tutman in the mine for two months. He did it to expose harsh working conditions that had existed at Guelder since my father leased it sixteen years ago.”

“Sophie, don’t,” Connor said softly, and across the room her uncle ran a hand through his sleek silver hair and muttered inaudibly.

She ignored both of them. “Connor opened my eyes. Because of him, something is finally being done to make my miners’ lot a little easier, a little more humane. It doesn’t take much to change a job from unbearable to bearable—just common sense, some ingenuity, a
willingness
to change. Connor showed me that, and it’s my fondest wish that the reforms I’ve initiated at Guelder will spread to other mines all over Devon—starting with Salem,” she said pointedly, looking at her uncle. He crossed his legs and sat back, looking resigned.

“Bravo,” said Robert, pretending to laugh indulgently. “That may be all well and good, but it’s hardly the point.”

She couldn’t sit still; she jumped to her feet, motioning to Knowlton to keep his seat. “Did he tell you that Connor took a personal advantage of me? That’s a lie.” She could feel the heat of embarrassment seeping into her face, but she kept talking. “He never did anything I didn’t want, or agree to, or ask of him first. I’m a grown woman, not a child, Mr. Knowlton. I was not used by my husband, and he did not marry me for my money, or to satisfy the property requirement so that he could stand for election in the House of Commons. The idea is repulsive and absurd, and it says more about Mr. Croddy that he would level such a charge than it does about my husband.”

“I very much resent that,” Robert said, voice shaking, face reddening. “This—this—
paragon
Mrs. Pendarvis is speaking of is the same violent brute who knocked me down in the street, with no provocation whatsoever!”

Knowlton looked shocked. “Is this true?”

Connor started to answer, but Sophie spoke up first. “It’s true that he hit him. It’s not true that he wasn’t provoked. I had just told my husband . . . something about Robert.” She hesitated, wondering how in the world to explain this.

Croddy took the dilemma out of her hands. “She must’ve told him I turned her down when she begged me to marry her,” he announced, barely able to hide his triumph.

She didn’t doubt that he’d been dying to reveal this sordid detail all along, and she’d just handed him the perfect opportunity. An instinct made her cross the room to Connor in three long strides and clasp his forearm in both hands. “Don’t,” she whispered. He was too angry to hear. She gave his arm a shake, claiming his full attention. “Connor,
don’t.
”

Behind her, her uncle roared, “What did you say?”

“It’s true,” Robert gloated. “This pillar of honesty got a child on Miss Sophie Deene before he was unmasked as an impostor and forced to leave town. That’s the sort of man you would be endorsing, sir, if Mr. Pendarvis is allowed to sit on the bench in the Commons!”

“Damn you, sir,” cried Eustace. “I’ll challenge you for that!”

“You’ll have to take your turn,” Connor snarled. He was yanking at Sophie’s clutching fingers, but she held on tight, blocking him from Robert with her body.

Clive Knowlton surged to his feet. “Mr. Croddy, I think it would be wise of you to leave now,” he advised quietly, but once again the authority in his voice silenced everyone else. “These gentlemen appear to mean you a great deal of harm, and I must tell you in all candor that I would not lift a finger to stop them.”

Robert paled, realizing he’d made a mistake. He made Knowlton a low, abject bow. “I beg your pardon, sir. Please understand, this is extremely distasteful to me; I would not have dreamed of compromising Mrs. Pendarvis unless—”

“Unless you saw a political advantage in it,” Vanstone accused.

Croddy darted a worried glance at his old ally. The magnitude of his error was dawning on him before their eyes. He turned back to Knowlton, hands imploring, the picture of earnest entreaty. “Don’t make any judgment in haste, that’s all I ask. Keep in mind what you know of Connor Pendarvis—things no one here has disputed. Remember that he lied to Sophie and to the whole village of Wyckerley. He seduced her—”

“That’s a lie,” Sophie cried.

“—Betrayed and abandoned her, only married her because he saw gain in it for himself. I can personally attest to the fact that he’s prone to violence; an eyewitness swears he’s a thief. And that’s not even taking into account his politics.”

“Good day, Mr. Croddy.”

“Sir, he’s a Wesleyan socialist—radical—anarchist—” Robert shut up abruptly, as the futility of saying another word seemed to bear in on him all at once.

A few excruciating seconds passed. Just as he turned to go, Knowlton said, “I’m quite sure that nothing that’s been said here today will be repeated. To anyone, by anyone. Am I correct in that assumption, Mr. Croddy? Because if I’m incorrect, the source of the repetition will be easy enough to identify. And while I’m only a former Commons man, and not a very important one at that, I still have a small degree of influence in certain circles. Particularly the local business world. I would not hesitate to use it against someone whose loose tongue did any harm to this lady. Are you following me, sir?”

Croddy’s face was red as a beet. “Perfectly,” he said through his teeth. He made a sharp, jerky bow, like a mechanical soldier, and stalked out of the room.

Sophie sagged a little, relieved beyond measure that he was gone, and that Connor hadn’t hit him before he left. What she wanted to do more than anything was throw her arms around her husband and hold on for a long, long time. Instead she started to draw away, steeling herself to be dignified and proper for a little longer, until they could finally be alone. But he surprised her by cupping his hand on one side of her face and pressing his cheek to the other, and the light, intense embrace moved her so much, her eyes welled with tears. She heard her uncle’s uncomfortable throat-clearing, but before they broke away she whispered, “I do love you,” in Connor’s ear. His eyes were hidden by his downcast lashes, but the soft smile on his lips told her everything was going to be all right now.

Mr. Knowlton had resumed his seat. He was lighting a cigar. Sophie tried to read his mood from his face, but he was a consummate diplomat: nothing showed that he didn’t want to show. Was he angry? Disgusted? He’d all but thrown Robert out of his house, but that didn’t necessarily mean he found the present company very much more agreeable. “You’ve been silent for quite a while,” he said ponderously, glancing at Connor from under his white eyebrows. “May I ask what you’re thinking?”