“Yes,” Amelia said, pulling the shawl she wore more closely around her. “I agree, I congratulate you on your perspicacity, and I am going back indoors before I freeze through!”
Will apologized profusely and doffed his uniform coat in what David thought was a true Sir Walter Raleigh manner—though he refrained from saying so. As he settled the coat around Amelia’s shoulders, Will asked hesitantly, “My lady, it seemed to me that you did not wish to discuss the particulars of our suspicion in Miss Winston’s presence. Is she trustworthy?”
“Oh, heavens, yes!” she replied. “But I do appreciate your discretion. I said nothing to her out of consideration, not distrust. Jane is afraid of Ronald, and Virginia’s accident has terrified her. Her home life was…” she stopped, biting her lip.
David knew the reason for his sister’s reticence. “Jane’s father is a bully, Will, as his father was before him, and I would not be surprised to learn that his wife’s death was more the result of an ‘accident’ like Virginia’s than any illness.”
Amelia nodded. “It was. There’s a taint of violence in the men in Mama’s family. The women either became bitter, like Grandmother Winston, or died young, like Jane’s mother. Mark was like Father—he might roar, but he would cut off his own hand before he would ever strike a woman.”
“Mama said something to that effect once,” David said as they reached the steps to the French windows. “I had caught another dressing-down and was complaining about how cruel Father was, and she said he was the gentlest man she’d ever known. And he always has been, to her and you girls.”
She nodded. “Yes. And she adores him for that. I only wish he’d been able to see that you had more of her sensibility and less of his own force.”
“Oh, I’ve learned to be fierce,” he said. “Out of necessity. But I’m still a bookish ninny who would not trade Shakespeare for the finest pack of foxhounds ever whelped. If we go out to the Jordans’ later, would you and Jane like to come along as Mama’s representatives, and get out of the house for a while?”
“That would be lovely,” she said, handing Will back his coat. She bent to pull off her slippers and made a face. “As I thought, soaked through. Let us go rescue Jane and report to our mother for marching orders!”
* * * * *
As the morning wore on the weather improved, and by the time the four of them set off for the village, the sun had put in an appearance. Once again, they took both gig and saddle horses, though this time Will and Davy were both on horseback while the ladies drove. Although he knew he was never likely to ride to hounds—at least, not if he could avoid it—Will found that he was no longer convinced that he was going to fall off at any moment. He happened to glance up and see Davy observing him, and their eyes met in one of those moments where no words were needed. He said them anyway: “You are an excellent teacher, Mr. Archer!”
“It only needed time, Will. Anyone who can balance on a yardarm can balance on a horse.”
The Jordan cottage was empty but the smithy was next door, and Mr. Jordan was busily making repairs to some iron tool whose purpose Will neither knew nor wanted to learn. Jordan insisted that the gift was unnecessary but accepted it with profuse thanks, and offered his sympathy for their loss along with congratulations for the new arrival. Davy and Lady Amelia said all that was necessary and they left the smithy in a pleasanter mood than they had known for several days.
That lasted only a few minutes. They had handed the ladies back into the gig and were about to remount when the proprietor of the Bull and Sheaf approached them. He looked troubled, and after offering his own sympathies he said, “Lieutenant Archer, I know it’s unlikely, but might any of you ladies and gentlemen have heard anything about what’s become of my daughter Kittie?”
“What do you mean, Mr. Carter? What’s become of her? Is she missing?”
“Aye, sir, she is, and I’m about worried sick! I was away yesterday evening, delivering a keg of beer to a farm out toward Tavistock—Oxman’s, it was, and after I’d tapped the keg, George offered me a bed for the night. That’s nothing new, I figured Kittie could close up and put my old mother to bed all right—which she did—but when I got back early this next morning expecting to find her up and about, all I found was me Mam shouting for her breakfast.”
Jane made a small distressed sound and Amelia wordlessly took her hand.
“She didn’t know where your daughter had gone?” Davy asked
“Sir, she hadn’t heard a blessed thing. No surprise, that, she don’t hear anything unless you stand a foot from her and shout—but neither has anyone else, nor has anyone seen Kittie since the place closed last night! It’s true she’s always saying she’ll run away to London, but her clothes are still in her room and there’s nothing missing from the house or the bar, and the cash-box is where it’s always been, and nothing missing there either. I’m that worried—”
“And I can’t blame you,” Davy said. “I wish we could help you, but we’ve not seen her either, not since the night we were here.”
“Might she have gone to visit a friend?” Amelia asked.
“Leavin’ her old gran alone? No, my lady. Kittie’s a flighty girl, and I guess that’s my fault, havin’ her help me in the business, and with my wife gone, but she wouldn’t leave the old lady to get her own breakfast. Nor is there anyone in walking distance that she might have gone to see.”
“I’m sorry,” Davy said. “I’ve been away from home for some years now, but if I can be of help...What of my brother’s hounds? Might they be pressed into service?”
“Aye, that’s what I’ve been thinking,” Carter said. “Old Ralph Rolle, he’s got a dog he swears by, found his grandson what had wandered off. Ralph said he’d come by and see if his Gyp can find any trail. She can’t have gone very far, I’ll swear to that. There’s nothing but the mail coach comes through here, and that’s not due until this afternoon—and I was here when it went through yesterday, and I know Kittie was right there in my house when it passed.”
Davy nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll tell my father what’s happened and see what he thinks best. I hope she shows up safe and sound, and this turns out to be some misunderstanding.”
“Thank’ee, sir. I do hope you’re right.”
Will felt sick. He had a feeling that Carter was never going to see his daughter again, and even if the girl had been the duplicitous vixen Davy had described, she was more foolish than evil. She might have deserved a comeuppance, but it was more likely that what she got was the promise of a trip to London and a quick, violent death.
Davy had performed his duties magnificently, showing nothing more than anyone might reasonably expect—surprise, concern, and a note of distress. But on the way back, he rode close enough to Will to mutter, “You’re right, Will. It’s like a dog killing sheep...he’s got the taste for blood and there’s no telling where it’s going to end if we don’t put a stop to it.”
Chapter Thirteen
But they did nothing about it that day. The Earl and Countess were involved in arrangements for Virginia’s funeral and presumably the inquest, though his father did not mention that and David preferred not to ask. Ronald sulked in his room for awhile and then went out, saying he was going to take a walk. He was, Amelia had learned, under orders not to leave the grounds, but there was no reason to expect he would obey.
After tea, Anne surveyed the faces assembled around the table. “I know you are both of you adults,” she said to her younger sister and brother, “but if you were still children I should advise you two to go upstairs to your rooms and take a nap—and I would say the same to Captain Marshall too, if he has been up since four in the morning and running errands for us half the afternoon.”
David Archer found the thought of his comfortable bed a very lovely thing. Anne might be overly inclined to play First Lieutenant to the Countess, but in this case he could only say, “Thank you. It has been a very long day. Will, I intend to heed my sister’s advice, and if you are wise I think you’ll do the same.”
“So long I am called back on-duty if needed, I think I shall. Thank you, my lady.”
“Your presence has been a comfort to all of us, sir,” Anne said. “My mother told me as much a little while ago, and reminded me to look after you.”
Will shrugged. “If I’ve been of any help in return for your kindness and hospitality, I’m glad of it. Until later, my lady.”
Amelia rose too, and the three of them excused themselves. They were too weary even for conversation as they mounted the staircase, but once the door of his room was closed and he was alone with Will, David felt the weight of it all descend upon him. He sat heavily in one of the chairs near the window. What was he going to do? What
could
he do? There was plenty of circumstantial evidence, but nothing that could be presented as absolute proof.
“It was kind of your sister to give us an excuse to get away,” Will said, drawing near. “I don’t believe I have the fortitude for light conversation with Lady Eugenie.”
“You needn’t worry. She’s still coughing and confined to bed, and once she’s set free she’ll go straight to the nursery—she’s mad to see the new baby. You are no longer the most interesting person in her life, and you certainly deserve a little peace and quiet.”
“As do you.” Will sat in the other chair and yawned. “But you look more ready for a fight than for sleep.”
“If only that were true. I’m not ready, Will, not at all. We must act, and soon, but he has left no witnesses who might implicate him. And who remains, now, to stand in the way of his ambition? My father, myself—”
“And I,” Will said. “If it comes to that, in any way I can. But we might as well begin in an orderly manner. Your brother the honorary Viscount has as yet no alibi of any kind that has been confirmed. His own word...Well, your father might believe it, but I think the law would require a little more than that. If he’s left no witnesses against him, he has yet to mention any who might substantiate his story.”
It was good to know that Will was solidly on his side, at last. “I wonder where Ronald would say he was last night. And even more, I wonder what it would take to persuade my father to insist that Ronald prove his whereabouts, either last night or when Mark died.”
“Perhaps he did—last night’s, at any rate.”
“I doubt it. You heard how Ronald deflected his questions. And even if he did insist, if Ronald were to lie, how would he know? Would my father even attempt to find out if his answer were true? To test an alibi requires an admission of doubt, and he has never been willing to do that—not to his children. I almost believe he would rather not know.”
Leaning close, voice low, Will said, “Davy, your father may be dedicated to his family, but he does not seem willing to be deceived. At some point he must begin to wonder about these strange absences and accidents. I have been thinking—what if I were to take myself off your hands and find lodgings elsewhere, so that I might travel around to inns and make inquiries?”
David caught his hand. “Please don’t, Will. With you here, I have one very able man I can depend upon. And you may call me foolish, but I do not care for the notion of you riding around alone in unfamiliar territory—especially not on a hired horse!”
Will looked relieved. “Very well. I doubt I’d have much success, and I would not be pleased to leave you alone, either. Now, sir, may I act as valet and help you off with your attire?”
Fatigued as he was, David had to smile. “I think not, Captain. But let us step into the dressing-room for a moment and hang our coats upon the rack in that useful chamber.”
“And perform any other actions that may seem necessary?”
He was longing to be held, if only for a moment, and Will looked as if he had that very thing in mind. “Indeed, you may, sir.”
* * * * *
Two days passed, wholly consumed by sad necessities. The Coroner convened a jury, which ruled that Lady Virginia Archer had died of misadventure. When her body was released for burial, she was laid to rest alongside her husband in the family plot. The Countess joined her husband for the funeral ceremony, but she and her youngest daughter were afterward escorted back to the house by her youngest son and his fellow officer, both of them somber and correct in dress uniform with black armbands, while the rest of the family remained for the burial.
In the ordinary way of things, the event would have been the talk of the village, but the tragedy at the Manor was eclipsed by one nearer their own lives. Old Ralph’s dog Gyp found Kittie Carter out on the edge of the moor, dead, at the bottom of a pit that had probably been a well at some time in the dim past. She had been there at least a day and her neck was broken; that was all Dr. Fiske was prepared to say until the Coroner convened yet another inquest.
Friends who lived in the area came to Grenbrook after the funeral to offer their condolences, but it seemed to David that few of them thought it necessary or considerate to stay very long. The weather might have helped to keep the ordeal short; it was cold and wet, and given the fact that most of them had been there only a month before to bury Mark, there was really very little more anyone could say.
After a slow evening and a somber supper of cold meats, after all the guests had gone, no one seemed inclined to conversation. David had been happy to see their well-meaning neighbors leave as quickly as courtesy would allow. There had been a few people present he would have liked to spend more time with, but he had precious little energy to spare for idle conversation. He knew that matters must reach a crisis soon. It might be weeks or months before the Peace of Amiens was broken, but it might be only a matter of days—and though he did not intend to return to the Service, he had very little faith in his own ability to solve this tangle without Will here beside him.