Miss Winbolt and the Fortune Hunter (17 page)

William looked at her. Emily's eyes were dark in the candlelight. Her dress, fashionably low cut for the evening, revealed a slender neck, and enticingly rounded curves below. The light enhanced the delicate line of her cheek bones and the line of her jaw. Her face had determination and strength, but he found himself thinking that they had both been wrong. Emily Winbolt was far from plain. She could look beautiful. For a moment he was filled with a sudden desire to beg her there and then to give them both another chance, not to throw away something precious. But then he hardened his heart. If their relationship was to have any real future, Emily must come to him of her own free will to give him back the trust she had taken away without any real cause. He
had begged enough. But it was difficult to refuse this request.

‘If that is your wish,' he said slowly. ‘For the moment. But we shall have to sort out their future sooner or later.'

Lord Winbolt had been ob serving them closely. Now he said, ‘There's time for that, Ashenden. I completely agree with you—you must deal with this business at Charlwood before you do anything else. I won't have my granddaughter living in a house haunted by thieves and murderers.'

‘Grandfather! Haven't you been listening? Sir William has already explained. He and I are not going to be married!'

‘Really?' asked Lord Winbolt. ‘That's that, then… But don't forget to invite me to the wedding.'

William held up his hands. He laughed as he got up from the table and said, ‘I can see that nothing we can say has an effect, sir. You have your own ideas on the matter. But if I am to be ready to go back to Berkshire, I haven't time to argue with you. I must take my leave.' And, after thanking his host for a most enjoyable evening and arranging when to call for Emily the next day, he bade both Winbolts good night and left.

 

After he had gone Lord Winbolt sat in silence, then said, ‘You always were your own worst enemy, Emily.'

‘Why on earth do you say that? It's a little harsh, surely?'

‘You're such a fool. You are letting that fribble, that good-for-nothing, destroy your whole life.'

‘
William?
A fribble? You can't mean it!'

‘Of course I don't mean William Ashenden, damn it! I meant the Colesworth fellow.'

‘But I haven't thought about him in years—' Emily stopped short. She had. She had for got ten the man, but had remembered the hurt. She had judged and condemned William because of him.

‘Exactly!' said Lord Winbolt. ‘You've dismissed a man, a real man, because of what a character less weak-ling did to you years ago. You say you can't trust him! You're a fool. And now, if you want him back, you'll have to work hard to convince him you're worth bothering with.'

‘What if I don't want him back? He thinks I'm plain, too strong-minded.'

‘Judging by the look in his eyes, that's not what he was thinking just now, girl!' He leaned forward. ‘Emily, you've been a granddaughter any man would be proud of. But you have two major faults. One is that you're stubborn.'

‘Why do people keep telling me that?'

‘Perhaps because at the moment you are being quite remarkably so.'

‘And the other?'

Her grandfather paused and put a gnarled hand on top of hers. ‘William Ashenden is an honourable man. I know it, Philip and Rosa know it—and you know it too. It must be obvious, even to you, that he never wanted your fortune. Yet you still say you don't trust him. Why? Is it only this famous stub born ness of yours? Or is it something else? Emily, my dear, for some reason which I have never been able to fathom, you've convinced yourself that hap pi ness will never come your way. And now when it looks as if you might be wrong, you are doing your best to make sure it
doesn't. He's an honourable man and a generous one, but he's proud. He won't wait for ever for you to come round. No man of character would. So what are you going to do about it?'

A
fter such a conversation with her much-respected grandfather it was inevitable that Emily would ponder over her relationship with William during the night, and by the small hours of the morning she had acknowledged something she had known, but never openly admitted, even to herself. The others had been right and she had been wrong. William was no fortune hunter. Moreover, it was even possible that she had somehow misunderstood the rest of his words to Lady Deardon on that fateful day, too. She fell asleep at last, determined to make some amends to him during their journey home.

 

As a result, when William called the next morning, he found her waiting for him with the request that he keep her company inside the carriage. When he looked surprised, she stammered, ‘My…my maid w-wishes to travel outside on the box. She suffers from queasiness when travel ling inside. And…and I…I was very interested in what we were talking about last night, and
would like to carry on with the discussion,' she added, trying to sound as if it was a perfectly reasonable suggestion.

William took it calmly, without re minding her that she had originally said she wanted as little as possible to do with him, and went out again to have a word with Barnaby Drewitt, who was in the street with the horses. By the time he came back, Maynard was waiting to escort him to Lord Winbolt's bed chamber. Emily was already there, talking to her grandfather, who resembled nothing so much as the Grand Turk, propped as he was against a mountain of pillows, and dressed in a magnificent brocade dressing gown and nightcap. The effect was only marginally diminished by his spectacles and the books and papers covering the bed.

‘I've enjoyed meeting you, Ashenden,' said Lord Winbolt. ‘If you're in town again, call on me—I'd like to hear more about the Americas. I've been reading about them here—a very interesting part of the world.'

‘Thank you, sir. I'll certainly do that.'

‘Let me know if you need help with any further investigation. I'm quite confident that you will soon sort out this Valleron business, and then you can settle down at Charlwood and be a good neighbour for my grandson and his wife. I won't go further than that. You and Emily will have to sort out the rest of the story. I'm past the age of meddling.' Emily uttered a most un ladylike snort, which she managed to turn into a cough. He gave her a glare over the top of his spectacles and went on, ‘But I'd like to see this girl of mine suitably established—without any of this nonsense of living alone!' This was accompanied by another glare.

Emily bent over and kissed him. ‘I think you will meddle until the day you die, sir—it's in the nature
of the beast! But I love you. Philip and Rosa will be de lighted to hear that you haven't lost any of your touch. I'll give them your love, shall I?'

‘Yes, yes. That's enough now. You'd better be off if you're to reach Shearings before night fall. Goodbye, Ashenden. Look after my granddaughter—if she'll let you.'

 

They set off soon after, and after turning into Piccadilly and passing Green Park on their left, they made for Hyde Park Corner and the Bath Road. William seemed disinclined to talk and, after giving him one or two quick glances, Emily sat gazing out at the lively scene as they drove through Kensington, and along the road to Hammersmith. Stage coaches, post-chaises, market carts, horsemen and other travellers jostled for space and the dust rose in clouds as they pressed on along the busy thorough fare.

After a while Emily decided she had waited long enough for William to open the conversation. She would have to break the ice. So she took a breath and said, ‘It's so noisy. So many people…'

‘London is spreading fast,' he agreed. If she hoped this would encourage him, she was doomed to disappointment. Silence fell again. After a while Emily tried once more.

‘It's not far to Brentford now,' she said brightly. ‘And after that there's the Grand Junction Canal.' Even to Emily herself the remarks sounded like the empty chatter of an idiot.

William was polite, if not enthusiastic. ‘A splendid piece of engineering. It was there the last time I passed this way. And ten years ago, too,' he added drily. Emily bit her lip and fell silent.

They passed through Brentford and crossed the Canal without comment. I'll try one more time, she told herself and then I'll give up. ‘The road to Syon House is just off to the left,' she announced. ‘I once visited the house with my grandfather.'

‘Did you indeed?' he said. After a pause he yawned and asked, ‘Was his Grace at home?'

Emily's patience snapped. ‘Yes. And, no, I don't remember very much about it, though it's kind of you to be so interested,' she said crossly. ‘I have been to Osterley, too, though I don't suppose you wish to know that either.'

He looked at her with a hint of challenge in his eyes. ‘Emily, why are you so annoyed?'

‘Because I am trying to start some sort of conversation with you, but it's a very uphill affair!'

‘I thought you didn't want to talk to me except when we were in company.'

‘Things have changed. I am trying, William, to be more…more friendly.'

‘Why?' The in difference might have gone, but his tone was still not particularly warm. The expression on his face as he looked at her was difficult to read.

‘I…I…' she began hesitantly, but then in a rush, ‘I…I think I may have been over hasty.'

‘In what respect?'

‘In my judgement of you.'

‘Overhasty? It was rather more than that, surely?' She had his full attention now. His eyes were on her, but the expression in them was still not encouraging.

‘Wrong, then!' she exclaimed and went on doggedly, ‘I was wrong to think that you…that you wanted to marry me for my fortune. Will that satisfy you?'

‘Well, I can't say that it's a very handsome admis
sion, considering that it has been proved to you quite conclusively, and more than once, that I had no need of your fortune in the first place. Still, I suppose it's a beginning.'

Surely the old William would have accepted her apology more graciously than this? She began to realise that it was not going to be as easy as she had thought to make amends. She said, ‘You are really making this very difficult, William.'

‘Why should I make it easy?'

‘Because I'm truly sorry, and…and would like us at least to be friends.'

He smiled then, but his smile had a touch of cynicism about it, which was not reassuring. ‘Has Lord Winbolt been talking to you, Emily? Is that the reason for this sudden change of heart? Perhaps you have now realised what a very desirable match I am? By desirable I mean rich, of course. Is that the reason for this tête-à-tête on the journey home, why you wish us to be “friends” again?'

‘William!' Emily was really shocked. She looked at him briefly, then turned away, un willing to let him see how much he had hurt her. There was silence again in the carriage.

After a moment William said in quite a different voice, ‘I'm sorry. That was unnecessary.'

‘It was a dreadful thing to say!'

‘I know. I ought not to have said it.'

Emily turned, tears spark ling on her lashes. ‘You ought not even to have thought it! Neither of me, nor of my grandfather!' She brushed away a tear that had spilled over on to her cheek with an impatient gesture.

He took hold of her hand. ‘I am really very sorry,' he said, ‘I had no intention of making you cry.' He
care fully put the hand back in her lap. ‘I should have remembered how it feels to have one's motives so badly misinterpreted.'

She forgot her tears and stared at him, saying eventually, ‘Were you by any chance trying to make a point, William?'

‘Not deliberately, no. I'm sorry.' She looked at him suspiciously. The blue eyes were sincere, but not particularly warm.

Emily had a sudden picture of William in the garden at Shearings after she had told him she was not going to marry him, his air of dogged courage, how he had walked back to the house without any of his usual lithe grace. The loss of his house and the destruction of his plans—two blows coming one after the other—had almost defeated him. He had picked up the pieces and gone on with all his previous energy and determination, but he had not yet for got ten the occasion.

She nodded sadly. ‘Even if you weren't trying to make a point, I suppose you had every right to. I've been a fool.' She paused. ‘If I were to ask you now what you said…to the Deardons…that…that day, after I had gone, would you tell me?'

‘Does it matter? Now?'

‘It matters a lot to me.'

‘But
why
does it? Are you
still
looking for proof that I was honest with you? That whatever I may or may not have said in the past, when I said I admired you I really meant it? No, Emily. It's done with.'

‘What do you mean? That you have no wish to be friends?'

‘Friends! You and I could never be just friends, Emily Winbolt. There are too many other feelings in the way. Too much enchantment, too much disillusion, too much
hope and too much disappointment.' He paused. After a moment he turned and looked at her again. ‘But if you mean that you'd like to rebuild something, less than what we had, but still something, then, yes, I would be willing to try. It won't be easy, but I am willing to try, if only for the sake of the children.'

Emily swallowed. Rosa had said, despite William Ashenden's easy manner, he could be hard when the occasion arose. Now for the first time she was seeing it.

 

Looking at Emily's profile as she gazed out of the carriage window, William felt a pang of remorse. Had he been too hard on her? Then he remembered how her obstinate refusal to be convinced had enraged him, how her lack of trust in him had hurt him, how readily she had abandoned their plans, knowing how much the children loved her, needed her… He glanced at her again. She looked so unhappy. Knowing her as he did, proud, strong-minded, slightly arrogant, but so vulnerable, he could guess what an effort it must have taken her to admit she had been wrong. And he
had
promised Rosa…

‘Emily, I have a suggestion,' he said at last.

She turned her head and he saw that she had been crying again. The urge to take her in his arms and comfort her was so strong that it took all his self-discipline to hold back. But, sorry as he felt, he wasn't prepared to go down that particular road again. Instead, he held out his handkerchief and said, ‘You needn't fear to use it. It's clean.' After she had mopped her face, he went on, ‘They have told me that it will be several months at least before there's any question of the Dower House being fit for habitation. With that in mind, I've even
considered abandoning the whole notion of using it, and instead making a push to finish Charlwood itself. But before anyone can move in anywhere I have to rid the house of the curse of Kidman and his gang. The best way to do that would be somehow or other to locate the Valleron collection, and announce publicly that we have returned it to its owners.'

Emily was clearly still uncertain of what he was pro posing. She said, ‘The children would think that wonderful. A real treasure hunt! They would regard it as an exciting game.'

‘I'm not so sure about that—it could be a very dangerous one. I think it would be better not to tell them. But my point is that a busy time lies ahead, and I would appreciate your help. You know so much of the background, and I still value your ideas. For the time being, at least, let's deal with the work, and leave the rest in the past. Could you do that?'

The brilliance of her smile surprised him. She was so obviously pleased at the idea of them working together again. When she nodded he went on, ‘Good! Then we shall talk about the Kidman-Fenton connection. Or is any mention of the name Fenton unwelcome?'

‘No, William, it is not. When I repent, I repent with a full heart. Carry on! Did you discover anything new this morning?'

‘After I had bought Charlwood, someone made an offer for it. A better one, but I refused it. According to the agent, the man who made the offer was Kidman. A small point, but significant. He told me something else that you won't like very much. He told me that a badly de com posed body was discovered in Charlwood's grounds some years ago. At the time it was assumed it belonged to a vagrant, so the body was removed and
buried without much fuss or enquiry. But from what the agent said, I think it must have been found not long after the attack on the Valleron coach. It's possible it was a member of that same gang.'

Emily was shocked. ‘You mean Fenton killed his last accomplice, too?'

‘If it was Fenton who was the leader.'

‘I'm sure of it. William, he was completely ruthless! He got rid of everyone else concerned in that robbery. Just look at it. There were four of them. One was killed during the attack. That left Fenton and two others. He killed one of the two in the copse, possibly with the connivance of the other, and he and the other man went to Charlwood to hide the jewels. Once there, he killed the second of the two and left the body in the grounds to be found weeks later. After that, Fenton was the only one who knew exactly what had happened to the Valleron collection. All the rest were dead.'

‘And that is why, now that Fenton himself is dead, no one can find it! We know that Kidman is looking for it. I already have someone keeping track of him. The question is, how far are Maria Fenton and her brother-in-law involved?'

‘That's something we shall have to find out.'

They discussed other plans for a while, and then stopped for a meal. As they entered the Crown at Slough, Emily caught sight of Barnaby Drewitt hovering nearby. With him was another, equally un pre possessing, figure. When William gave them a nod the two men disappeared into the back rooms of the inn. He saw her looking, and said briefly, ‘You know Barnaby already. The other one is a friend of his, an extra pair of eyes, ears, and, if need be, fists. You needn't concern yourself with him.'