Miss Farrow's Feathers (8 page)

Still, these drafts hinted clearly. T
he earl insisted on drawing up papers to provide for the anticipated arrival of an illegitimate child. Fortunately, these drafts were vague and made no clear reference to her in specific, but of course the actual legal documents would have needed to be clearer. Thankfully nothing she saw here would sufficiently implicate her. The final documents certainly would, though.

"And these are the only references you have regarding the documents?" she asked.

"Well, there is this," he said, pushing another paper toward her. "It isn't specific, but I believe it might reference the old earl's intent."

She took up the paper and held it into the light. It appeared to be a letter, written in a hand she did not know and directed simply to "G". She assumed that meant Glenwick and referred to the old earl.
The letter felt hasty in tone, as if written in great urgency, but the date at the top was smudged, blotted beyond legibility. She read through it carefully.

Your last correspondence was received and your concerns for N are well noted. I am looking into the matter post haste. In the meantime, take what measures you deem best.
Even good men can fall prey to the promise of treasure. I will visit you at the earliest possible moment and look forward to discussing everything. I fear I have some unpleasant evidences to support your suspicions, but of course those are best left out of this letter. Until I am with you,
—X

"Who is this X?" she asked.

"I haven't a clue," Mr. Perkins replied. "Did the old earl ever mention anyone with that name?"

"It's hardly a name, but no, I can think of no one who went by that. Perhaps it is merely a mark, the sender was illiterate and had someone else write the letter
for him?"

"Perhaps," Mr. Perkins shrugged. "But the feel of it is rather intimate
, don't you think? I doubt the old earl had many illiterate friends."

"True. And the mention of 'N' would seem to indicate a familiarity with Nigel Webberly."

"Exactly."

"But what is this treasure it mentions?"

"Er... I believe that is a gentleman's way of referencing something sensitive, miss."

Her face burned and she quickly changed the subject. "Oh. I see.
But when was it written? The date is smudged out."

"Yes, that is unfortunate. I found it amongst these other papers from that time period, though, which is what first alerted me to it."

"The handwriting is different from the other drafts, though. Very bold, decisive—not tidy and reserved like the others."

"I think it rather a mess, myself.":
"Well, clearly it was not written by a secretary or clerk the way those drafts seem to be. This author wrote hastily and with passion. His concern for the earl seems to be personal rather than merely for business."

"
Then who do you think could have written it? A good friend of the earl's from that time?"

"
I don't know. Heavens, I certainly hope this doesn't indicate that the earl shared his suspicions with others back then!"

"
Obviously he did. Perhaps if this 'X' were a confidant of the earl he might know where the document is."

"But how can we find him
? Perhaps the solicitor from that time would have a record of who was given a copy of the documents then."

"The old earl's solicitor at that time has since died from old age, and his office was ruined by fire some years ago. Still,
we know the earl would have kept copies here of everything legal."

"Yes, I can see that he certainly kept everything," she replied, glancing around at the mess.

"You see my dilemma, Miss Farrow."

"I do not envy your task, sir, but
I am relieved on one point for my own account,” she had to admit. “No one has mentioned me by name in any of these drafts.”

“No, it appears
the old earl was careful.”

“But how, then, did you determine he was referring to me?”

Mr. Perkins appeared uncomfortable, his face wrinkling into a worried frown. “Forgive me, Miss Farrow, but it was from all the things the new earl has said about you."

"Nigel... that is, the new earl has spoken of me?"

"Indeed. You have been in correspondence with him these recent months, have you not?"

"My father and I sent word of our condolences when his wife passed away.
We have corresponded a bit since."

"Well, your concern has meant much to him, let me assure you.
After his grandfather's death I have corresponded with him on matters of business. He was most eager to ask after his friends in the village—you, in particular, Miss Farrow. It was the way he mentioned you and spoke of his great regard for you that made me begin to think perhaps you were the woman referenced in these letters. When I spoke to him about it—":
"Good heavens! You spoke to him about it?"

"I was discreet, of course. I merely questioned whether you and he had been friends once, and he replied that you had. I knew the time frame fit these drafts perfectly, so I puzzled it out and now you have confirmed."

"I've confirmed only that the old earl was mistaken, sir."

"Of course. Perhaps these missing documents contain some other young lady's name, some other gently bred miss from Richington who had been courted by Nigel Webberly seven years ago."

Even Meg had to admit that the chances of that were basically nil. During his last summer in residence at the Downs, Nigel had shown no special attentions to anyone besides her. If the earl at the time drew up documents in anticipation of a child, he would have suspected no one but her. Her name would appear on those papers and no one would believe there were no grounds whatsoever for his concern.

“No, you are right, Mr. Perkins. There can be no other conclusion than the one you have drawn. I fear we simply must find those documents.”

"And that is where I am at a loss. Can you think of any place they might be?"

"I should think they'd be here, in this chaos somewhere."

"I've been through everything, Miss Farrow, to no avail. Are you certain the earl never confided in you, suggested where something of great value might be?"

"No, truly he didn't. Why would you expect that he might?"

"You were his friend. I thought perhaps on his death bed he would want to spare you the scandal of those papers being found. He might have indicated where he wanted you to look for them."

"No, I'm sorry. On his death bed he was mostly worried for the care of Bartholomew. I don't believe these documents crossed his mind, although..."

"Although?"

"The last few days of his life his mind was quite jumbled, I'm afraid. He'd been so healthy all along and then... well, he seemed to fade away suddenly."

"Death comes to every man in its own way."

"Papa and I visited frequently, there at the end, and I'm sorry to say the earl did speak wildly."

"And what did he say? Can you recall?"

"He mourned his sons who he lost, and he... well, he spoke of his grandson."

"Nigel Webberly
, his heir."

"No, the elder one. Web, he called him. He was quite confused. It seemed as if he'd forgotten the poor man was dead."

"But he
is
dead."

"Yes, I remember when word came to the earl two years ago. He seemed almost inconsolable for some time. The poor man... so much tragedy. No wonder he was not quite himself at the end."

"Yes, no wonder. But did he say anything else? Anything about where he would hide something?"

"No, nothing like that. He grieved for his family and he worried for Bartholomew."

"You are certain?"

"Believe me, Mr. Perkins, no one is more eager to find these documents than I am. If I had any inkling of some secret place the earl hid them, I would tell you."

Mr. Perkins studied her, then nodded his head. "I believe you, Miss Farrow."

"
But what of any other staff? What of the servants? Surely they must know who the earl corresponds with. After all, they would post the letters for him.”

“
The old steward who worked for the earl at the time is an invalid who can barely remember his name, and the servants claim to know nothing. Indeed, they seem to be the most ill-informed servants of any estate in England.”

Odd, she’d thought the earl’s servants seemed to be quite devoted to their master and to tending his needs.
Of course it was to their credit, though, that they did not poke their noses into his personal life or his legal matters. She simply had to admit there was nothing more she could do.

“Thank you
for having me here, Mr. Perkins. Short of spending hours digging though all this muddle, I'm afraid I am worthless to our cause."

"No, I appreciate your help, Miss Farrow. I'm sure if you had any idea where else to look you would tell me."

"Of course. And I appreciate your efforts to solve my dilemma. Do you mind if I look over these drafts one more time?”

"By all means, Miss Farrow. If you'll excuse me for just a moment, I need to tend something. I'll return shortly."

She excused him and turned back to the papers. None of them were in the earl's hand, as far as she could tell, but all of them were dated seven years ago, the very month that Nigel left Richington to marry his heiress. It was obvious what the earl had thought of Meg and she was distraught at the realization.

Had she really been such a cake?
Had she really dangled after Nigel in so obvious a manner? If it had been easy for the old earl to think such things of her, who else in town had felt the same? How mortifying to realize it now, all these years later. She must have been quite the topic of gossip.

And what would happen now with Nigel's return? People, of course, would be watching. Would they expect her to throw herself at him, as they apparently a
ssumed she had then? Well, that would not happen.

She was an adult now. She was beyond girlish whims.
She would be immune to whatever charms Nigel still had. She could not even remember what they were now.

Had his eyes been blue like the sky? She'd seen much bluer eyes than his, certainly. And his smile, did it dazzle every time she came into the room? No, she'd seen far more dazzling smiles since then. Had his shoulders been sturdy and broad,
boasting power and confidence with every breath that he took? She could not even remember Nigel's shoulders at all. Certainly they'd been nothing like..

Oh, good heavens. She'd been comparing her memories of Nigel to Mr. Shirley! Well, that would never do.
True, she was no longer infatuated with Nigel Webberly, but at least he was a gentleman. Mr. Shirley was nothing more than a parrot trainer! And not a very good one at that.

He merely had beautiful blue eyes, a dazzling smile, and shoulders that made her go weak in the knees.
Oh, but those were strong characteristics, indeed. She needed to get herself firmly under control where that man was concerned or risk being the topic of village gossip again.

She turned her focus on
to searching the office—for anything of interest to distract her—and vowed to ignore Mr. Shirley even harder than ever when she got home. Apparently not all of her was as mature and beyond the touch of girlish infatuation as she'd hoped, after all. But certainly she did not have to give in to it!

"I'll not fall into such fancy again," she said to
a vacantly staring deer head displayed on the wall. "I learned my lesson seven years ago and I'll not be repeating it."

She was likely imagining things, but
it seemed that the deer rolled his eyes.

Max could see her plainly from his hiding place. He was getting a cramp in his leg, however, from crouching so long. Indeed, he’d been considerably smaller and more flexible when he and his cousin had made use of this crumbling old chimney to spy on their
grandfather while he worked in his study. He’d never been doing anything of interest, but they’d been so proud of themselves for their stealth and cleverness. In reality, Grandfather had probably known all along what they were up to. Max had to smile now at those memories.

His smile faded quickly, though.
Things were entirely different now. Those carefree, peaceful times he had known here in childhood were gone. Everything was changed.

He could not see the whole study from where he spied, but he could see enough. The room was in utter disarray
—Grandfather would never have left it this way. Had Mr. Perkins destroyed it? Someone had, certainly. Papers were jumbled everywhere, drawers were pulled out... even the vulgar old ship's figurehead of a buxom maiden that had hung on the wall over Grandfather's desk was now gone.

Clearly someone had not been merely rearranging. A concerted search had been conducted a
nd Max doubted it was merely for those incriminating papers for Miss Farrow. Not that he himself wouldn't have liked to get his hands on them.

So, that's what her business with the steward was about. She was not shagging him, she was using him to save herself from public scandal should those documents come to light.
She
had
been shagging Nigel.

At least, that's what it seemed
those documents would reveal. Clearly Grandfather believed it, too. Given the warm reception Max had seen on her face at the reception of Nigel's correspondence, all the evidence seemed to concur. Grandfather likely had good reason to think Nigel's bastard child might be on the way. He'd done the honorable thing, drawing up papers to see to the welfare of the child, even as cowardly Nigel had run off to marry for money.

Poor Miss Farrow. Max should probably
not feel so charitable toward her, knowing the truth of her character now, but it was exactly that truth that touched his compassionate side. She'd been young and impressionable. Nigel had used her abominably then abandoned her. The fact that Miss Farrow managed to hold her head high and go on with her life after that was a testament to her strength of will. Max could not fault that.

She'd not been lying and conspiring with Mr. Perkins to find Grandfather's treasure, she was trying to salvage what she could of her reputation. It was no more sordid than that. Clearly if she had been privy to any secrets from his grandfather, she would have revealed them now. Her desperation was obvious.

Also obvious was her declaration to avoid falling prey to Nigel again. Yes, Max had heard that statement loud and clear. He doubted the deer head on the wall had paid it much mind, but Max certainly had. He respected Miss Farrow all the more for it.

He
considered leaving now, heading back to the posting house to await Miss Farrow's return and to pretend he had been there this whole time, when voices below him ended all thoughts of removal. Voiced he recognized.

The chimney where he huddled served several rooms. He had positioned himself in an upstairs chamber, leering into the ancient—and filthy—opening just enough to see through the tiny slit of
chink between bricks that allowed an astute spy to see into the study below. However, the chimney also served the small anteroom just off of the study. It was there that the voices were emanating.

He could not see into the anteroom from here, nor could someone in the study
hear the voices from there. The thick walls of the manor would deaden the sound down below, but the hollow flue running between rooms provided a perfect conduit for the voices to travel up here. He listened carefully.

“
She claims to know nothing,” the first voice spoke in a tense, quiet whisper. It was the Perkins fellow.

“
Did you ask the right questions?” the other voice inquired.

Max strained to hear it. A man. Did he know the voice?

“I asked everything that I could. If she truly doesn’t know about it, I don’t want to tell her,” Perkins snapped back. “I'm inclined to believe her. She doesn’t know anything.”

“She came out here readily enough, didn’t she? She must know something.”

“No. She’s worried her little dalliance with you will come to light, that’s why she’s here.”

The second speaker laughed.
Hellfire
. Max knew that laugh. Nigel Webberly, the new Earl of Glenwick.

“If she’s worried about that, she must have a much better recollection of things than I do. That chit was
cold as December, laced up tight as a drum and locked together at the knees. I assure you, Perkins, she’s got nothing to worry about for her precious reputation. There's no way she could believe that rubbish about my grandfather thinking I'd got her with child. It would have taken the angel Gabriel to make that happen, I'm afraid."

"She seems to believe it."

"Well, she doesn't," Nigel insisted. "No, if she’s here now it’s because she knows about the treasure.”

“Everyone knows about the treasure.”

“No, everyone has
heard
about the treasure but my damn grandfather told us all it was a myth, just a legend. No one believes that it’s real.”

“Whoever sent that letter to
the old earl knows it’s real,” Perkins pointed out.

“And you went and showed it to her! If she didn’t know about it before, she does now, damn your eyes.”

“I smudged out the date. She thinks that letter was referring to your grandfather’s suspicions about her possible condition. I told her the mention of
treasure
was nothing more than a euphemism. She has no idea what it really meant.”

“Or so she let you believe. Maybe she knows who that X is and now she’ll go warn him we’re onto things.
What did you find out about the parrot? How does he figure into this?

"I'm not sure," Perkins replied. "But they've hired a trainer for it.
”

"A what? Who?"

"I don't know. He seems harmless, though."

"Damn them all. Do you suppose they've learned anything from the bird?"

"They've learned to keep their fingers away from its beak, I suppose. The creature's a menace. I'd say if they'd have gotten anything useful out of it, they'd have done away with it already."

"I need to know what they know."

“And that’s why you’re going to put the girl into your pocket again,” Perkins said. “Isn’t that what you said? Make her your friend until you know what she knows?”

Nigel laughed again, a low, dusky rasp that didn’t sound pleasant at all. “Indeed, I said that.
Been sending her letters, you know. She’s going to think I’ve dreamed of nothing but her virtuous countenance for all these past years. She'll be swooning for me when I gallantly present myself to her tomorrow. Who knows, maybe by now that chain around her knees has loosened up a bit.”

“She’s a decent woman,” Perkins said sharply. “You intend to seduce her?”

“I intend to get what’s mine. And don’t think you ought to go growing a conscience now, Perkins. Your hands are as dirty as mine in this matter. The title, the treasure and very ripe Miss Farrow belong to me and I
will
have them. If you don’t want to end up swinging on a rope, I suggest you make yourself useful.”

Perkins muttered something Max couldn’t make out. Perhaps the man simply swore under his breath, or perhaps the rage pounding
through Max’s body was drowning everything out. By God, all the horrors that had hounded him, that he’d tried to tell himself were impossible, were laid out undeniably before him.

The Glenwick treasure
was
real, Nigel
had
murdered their grandfather, and Mr. Perkins had his hands on that last letter from X. It was just a matter of time before Nigel realized the handwriting was Max's, and no doubt that date had been smudged only after he and Perkins had seen it. The worst of it all, Miss Farrow was innocent and being pulled into something that truly might ruin her. Permanently.

Of course she’d found nothing of interest in the mess that was Lord Glenwick’s study. She did look around a bit, but things
had not only been disorganized, she had the impression someone had truly ransacked it. Of course Mr. Perkins had been looking for things, but he was certainly not the type to toss things haphazardly into corners and dump out drawers. Surely the old earl would never have left it that way. So who had?

Her whole experience at Glenwick Downs had been odd, to say the least. Perhaps it was just her conscience that pricked, but she had the distinct feeling the whole time she was there someone had been watching her. And the way Mr. Perkins had talked, she expected to find much more information available to her when she arrived. Instead, it was only those few undamning
draft copies and that one letter signed only by “X”. None of that could really cause her much worry. Her name was on none of it.

Of course she appreciated Mr. Perkin’s overblown concern for her, but it
had been unnecessary. When he returned from his errand she thanked him, but made her excuse
and hurried
out to Papa’s gig. It wasn’t until she was halfway down the lane that she recalled none of those papers had actually been destroyed while she was there. Hadn’t that been a main purpose of her visit? Hopefully Mr. Perkins would tend to that for her before the new earl arrived tomorrow.

It was a relief to know that her name was not actually in those papers, but it would be embarrassing to think Nigel might see them. Not traumatic, though, she was happy to realize as she searched her own heart. There was nothing there that might indicate she had done anything to
cause the old earl to fall into his erroneous assumption. And if Nigel did decide to hold her accountable, there was nothing she could do about that.

It was remarkably freeing to realize she truly did not care one way or the other what Nigel Webberly thought about her.
She honestly felt no remaining attraction for him whatsoever. How amazing to realize that!

It would be good to have Nigel returned
just because they were old friends, but for no other reason than that. Perhaps, as Mr. Perkins suggested, Nigel would ask for his grandfather’s parrot back and Meg's house could become peaceful again. And with Bartholomew gone, Mr. Shirley would be gone, too. She would be perfectly happy to watch him leave.

He'd walk away,
taking those blue eyes, dazzling smile and broad, manly shoulders with him. He'd walk right out of their house and out of their lives and she could practically picture it already: his long legs and self-assured gait... the way he might turn his head back to catch one final look at her... the burning regret she might see in those deep azure eyes... the adorable creases at the corners of his lips when she began running after him...

Oh, good heavens! Any more of this and she was going to require medical intervention. What was wrong with her? She would
not
run after the parrot trainer. Ever.

Determined to think no more of Mr. Shirley than was absolutely necessary—and
more and more it was becoming painfully necessary—she slapped the reins on the old horse. The sun was just a tiny red glow on the horizon, shadows stretched long over the road. She had just enough time to stop at Miss Bent’s house to say a quick hello then go back to the posting house to retrieve the broad shoulders. Er, Mr. Shirley.

Max had managed to keep track of her carriage from the moment it left Glenwick Downs. The sun was very nearly gone so he had ample shadows to hide in, creeping out the same secret way he’d crept into the manor, then staying low, unseen behind the lush
plantings and rolling landscape until he could follow the road, hidden in the brush of the creek bed.

Poor Miss Farrow
had no clue that his damn cousin was already returned, or that the vile man had some rather unsavory plans for her. Indeed, Max was firmly convinced that Miss Farrow was, in fact, innocent of all his suspicions. Well, most of them.

She may have not given Nigel any particular liberties with her body, but she'd obviously given him her heart
. Judging by Miss Farrow’s determination to lie her way over to Glenwick Downs and hunt through those old papers, she must know that her behavior seven years ago would be enough to give everyone reason to think Grandfather’s concerns must have had some foundation. She'd be labeled guilty whether she'd done anything wrong or not.

Damn, but this new
understanding made Max’s already piqued interest in Miss Farrow all that much stronger. And something else—he felt an annoying need to protect her. As if he wanted that additional burden just now! Nigel would be showing his face around town as early as tomorrow and he’d be most unhappy to find Max here, alive and still breathing. If Max had any sense, he’d take himself back to London and let the authorities deal with this mess. Surely he had enough detail to raise official suspicion by now, plus he was content that Miss Farrow and her father were not involved in any of it.