Moon Cutters (28 page)

Adrian Taunt moved about, preparing a bowl with water and taking a jar of salve from a drawstring bag hanging on a hook. Caesar hardly made a whimper as the man doctored him, though he yelped a couple of times when an occasional stitch was inserted.

The man thought to tell him, ‘Every man has the right to know where he came from. You’re related to Silas through your mother. She was Silas’s second cousin.’

Fletcher stared at him. ‘How could she be when Elizabeth is your half-sister – though you seem to have conveniently forgotten that fact on the occasion of my conception.’

The monk gazed at him with surprise in his eyes. ‘Are you talking about Elizabeth Fenmore?’

‘Who else?’

‘Who else indeed! We seem to be talking at cross-purposes. Allow me to ask you something, and I’d like a truthful answer. Are you under the impression that Elizabeth gave birth to you, and we produced you between us?’

Puzzled, Fletcher gazed at him. ‘She
was
my mother. Are you denying that you fathered a child on her?’

Adrian Taunt appeared horrified that someone thought he had. ‘Most definitely I am denying it. Your mother was Rose Jones.’

‘Rose Jones? I’ve never heard of her.’

‘Rosie was Elizabeth Fenmore’s maid. I fell in love with her, and when she told me she was with child, I offered her marriage.’

‘So what happened to prevent the marriage?’

‘Nothing. We wed in secret, in London. Both Elizabeth and James thought Rosie unsuitable, which she probably was, but she was eager to learn, and she was pretty and lively, and she made me laugh.’

That unravelled one puzzle for Fletcher. All this time he’d concentrated on finding out who’d fathered him, and he hadn’t given any thought to the maternal connection.

The monk’s smile faded. ‘James was furious when he found out, but he seemed to accept it. He’d always lusted after Rosie himself and he followed us down to Marguerite House from London, and one day he caught me unawares. He’d always been stronger than I was, and he was consumed by jealousy because I’d inherited the title. He tried to burn the identity from my face and then he killed me.’

‘Until you decided to resurrect yourself.’

‘It wasn’t by design. It just happened. I woke up one morning and I knew who I was, and what had happened to me.’

‘I can’t remember Rose Jones nor have I ever heard of her. Though I can recall Elizabeth.’

‘Elizabeth didn’t have any children of her own from her short marriage, and was widowed about that time. I expect she was forced to pass you off as her own child, to avoid a scandal. She was not a clever woman and would have done what James told her. He didn’t like being crossed.’

‘He still doesn’t, and people are scared of him. What happened to Rose Jones –
my mother
? Do you know?’

‘Something did. Silas wouldn’t discuss it, but he opened his doors to me. It gave me time to see what had happened to the Marguerite Estate and decide what to do. James had kept it productive as a front for his illegal activities. As for the rest … I hope you’re not involved.’

‘One can’t help being drawn in, though I’ve tried not to be. A man would have needed to walk around with his eyes closed not to see what’s going on here. I’ve been legitimately involved with the shipping company for the past two years. I told my staff when I came here that the old ways are over for Monksfoot. Many of them are hand in glove with my uncle in ways I don’t even know about. I came back here to try to reconcile with him, but now it’s too late.’

Adrian’s gaze went back to the dog. ‘Perhaps it would have been easier to get on with the life I was living … but I must find out what happened to Rosie. He wouldn’t have allowed her to live long after you’d been born.’

‘Be careful of what you say, and to whom. My uncle has many irons in many fires.’

‘Most of those will be extinguished once the reverend’s missive gets into the right hands.’

‘But you’ve returned home. Why?’

‘To claim my birthright and to establish a kinship with my son – if he’ll allow it.’

Fletcher cracked a wide smile and nodded. ‘Are you sure you want to bring past events out into the open … Father?’

Adrian nodded. ‘I must. James took everything from me, including everyone I loved. He’ll do the same to you. The man has no conscience. He put a stop to your marriage by poisoning the reverend on the night of your lady’s birthday.’

Fletcher felt a sudden stab of unease, and his brain unleashed the thought that, come midnight, Miranda would be safely under his own roof.

‘There’s a large consignment of goods coming over from France in a day or two in the dark of the moon. If the reverend’s missive has reached the right desk, I think things will begin to happen then.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘I’ve made it my business to know, by keeping my eyes and ears open. Trust me, Fletcher.’

After a moment or two of hesitation, Fletcher took his father’s hand in a firm grip. ‘I’ll ask my housekeeper to prepare a guest room – if I still have a housekeeper. And sort out some clothing, so you don’t frighten anyone.’

‘I’ll keep my robe until this business is settled. It’s a good disguise, but it does need a wash. I’m afraid your clothes might be a little too big.’

‘Silas’s clothing should fit you, since he was about your height.’

A wry twist settled on the man’s lips. ‘I used to be taller.’

From that comment alone, Fletcher knew he would like him.

Simon Bailey rose from behind his desk when Oswald was shown in. A map of the Dorset coastline was spread out in front of him. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure, Sir Oswald?’

Oswald placed the papers on the desk, the declaration uppermost. ‘I’ve been entrusted with a deathbed confession, to be delivered at my discretion.’

‘And you chose me – why?’

‘After due deliberation, I came to the conclusion that you have the authority to act on the contents.’

Simon Bailey grinned. ‘They must be important. Do you not have a clerk to act as delivery boy?’

‘I do; however, this matter is more sensitive than most.’

‘And your discretion veered to the side of legality on this occasion.’

‘As it usually does.’

Simon waved Oswald to a seat and settled back in his chair. His glance fell on the signature and the seal and his eyes sharpened. ‘That might be the Fenmore seal, but it’s not Sir James’s signature. How did you get this?’

‘I reserve the right to withhold that information, and it’s not something you need to know since it’s a family matter. Also, if you deduce anything from that signature, I’d be obliged if you kept your thoughts to yourself. The confession itself is from the Reverend Swift, who died recently.’

Simon Bailey nodded. Drawing the paper closer to him, he used the shaft of his pen to lift the folds open, gingerly, as if he expected it to explode in his face. He finished reading it, then looked across at Oswald. ‘Will you take some brandy with me, sir?’

When Oswald looked askance at the bottle sitting on the side table, Simon laughed and opened a cupboard. ‘I imagine this one will suit your palette better. It’s the best money can buy, though this particular bottle was a gift after I did a small favour for someone. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.’

‘Indeed, it will.’ He accepted a glass and warmed it between his hands before taking a generous sip. It slid smoothly down his gullet, releasing its fruity aroma.

‘Having learned since I’ve been here that one favour deserves another, is there any way I can reward you, Sir Oswald?’

Oswald smiled. ‘Since you ask, there might be. Fletcher Taunt …’

‘What of him?’

‘He’s a generally honest young man. He landed in the middle of this mess by returning from abroad to find he’d inherited Silas Asher’s estate. Unwittingly, he found himself in an awkward position with his loyalties divided. I wouldn’t like to see him hurt.’

‘I understand, Sir Oswald.’

Oswald downed his brandy and stood. ‘Good. Then I’ll get on about my business.’

‘How long before this missive becomes common knowledge?’

‘At the moment, only four of us know that the package exists. It depends on how many of your people you can trust, I imagine. No doubt you’ll have plenty to do, so I’ll leave you to think things through and marshal your resources. There will probably be a commendation for you if all goes well. Will you be attending the reverend’s funeral the day after tomorrow?’

‘I wouldn’t miss it. It’s enlightening to observe a gathering of gentleman rogues in such surroundings. I must say, though, that the reverend has surprised me by turning out to be a villain, even a repentant one.’

‘Crime always has a long reach. Villain or a victim – it’s hard to tell in his case. I’ll see you there, then. Good-day, Mr Bailey, and good luck.’

They were not waiting at the appointed spot, and his anticipation at the thought of seeing Miranda again plunged Fletcher into a pit of despair.

‘Miranda,’ he called softly into the velvety black night.

An owl hooted.

He waited for half an hour, and then moved up the carriageway towards the house. Lady Marguerite’s House was a handsome and elegant building. Although he’d been born there, he’d never felt as though he’d really belonged. Now he knew why. It had been – still was – a house of lies.

Monksfoot Abbey, with its sturdy walls, suited him better. There was nothing fancy about it. No panelling or elaborate painted ceilings. It had been built as a hard-wearing house for hard-working men. Sturdy oak beams supported three rambling storeys. The windows were arched, as were the doors. He could have stood up straight in the fireplaces in the downstairs rooms, where uneven flagged floors had pathways worn through the most travelled areas. For all its roomy strength, there was a warmth and shabby homeliness to Monksfoot Abbey.

When he came in view of his uncle’s abode, he was surprised to see light still burning in the study, since it was well past midnight. There were other lights – one in Miranda’s room … another in the hall.

What if his uncle had harmed her? Fletcher picked up speed, his long legs carrying him towards the house at a fast pace. When he reached the front door, he pounded on it with both fists.

Jack Pridie opened it and tried to block his way. ‘Your uncle is expecting visitors in a short while.’

At this time of night, they wouldn’t be making a social call and would probably be armed. ‘I won’t take up much of his time.’ He handed the man his hat, headed for the study and went in.

Sir James looked annoyed and said irritably to Jack, ‘If any of my guests arrive, take them into the drawing room for now.’

He turned to Fletcher when the door closed behind Jack. ‘This is very inconvenient, Fletcher. I expected you before this. Are you going to be tedious about something? If you are, get it over with.’

‘You know very well why I’m here, uncle.’

‘Ah yes … the delicious Miranda. You didn’t really think I’d allow you to snatch her from under my nose, did you?’

‘We love each other, and were to be wed this morning. As you probably know.’

‘I make it my business to know everything.’ He chuckled. ‘How fickle of Miranda, when just this morning she consented to be my wife.’

Shock seared through Fletcher’s innards. ‘I’d hear it from her own lips before I’d believe it.’

‘At this time she will be asleep, so come back in the morning.’

‘I’m not leaving until I see her.’

‘Very well.’ He rang the bell on his desk and Jack came in. ‘Ask Mrs Pridie to fetch Miss Jarvis down, please.’

A full five minutes ticked by on the mantle clock before Fletcher set eyes on Miranda. Her hair was a glossy fall about her shoulders, but her eyes lacked their usual sparkle. She looked as though she’d been crying for half the night.

Sir James came around his desk and pulled her against his side. ‘My nephew here is under the impression that you intend to wed him.’

She turned her eyes his way and he saw pain in them. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t marry you, Fletcher. I’m going to wed …
him
.’

‘You don’t mean that, Miranda. You can’t.’

His uncle’s fingers dug into her waist under her ribs, and she winced. ‘Yes … I do mean it. I …
love
him.’

The way she’d dragged it out made it sound more like ‘loathe’.

‘You love me; that’s what you said.’

‘No … no … please understand … I
cannot
love you.’ She burst into tears, then tore herself from his uncle’s grasp and ran from the room.

‘She’s overwrought. Go after her, Pridie; make sure she gets to her room safely. Give her a sleeping draught to settle her; I’ve prepared one in the scullery. Then come down and see my nephew out – through the servant’s entrance, though.’

‘I can see myself out.’

‘No doubt you can, Fletcher. I hope you are now satisfied. A word to the wise: if you attend the reverend’s funeral, I suggest you act more appropriately to your age. The girl doesn’t want you, so from now on leave her alone. You might as well know that I’m going to have the wall between our properties rebuilt, and I will hold you personally responsible if it is damaged again. What’s more, I intend to dissolve the company. My lawyer will contact yours in due course with regard to the sale of company assets. By the time all the debts are paid, there will be very little left. I believe Silas took out a loan on the Abbey not long before he died. I’ve already instructed the bank that I’m going to buy the mortgage.’

His uncle was whistling down the wind. Fletcher owned the Abbey free and clear. It had never been a company asset, since it had belonged to Silas. The deeds were in his possession and in his own name. The money he’d paid for it had been handed back in the form of a legacy. The
Lady Miranda
also belonged to him, since his own money had paid for it and his own money was paying for its repairs.

‘And I’m going to sell the
Midnight Star
and
Lady Miranda
.’ When his uncle smiled, Fletcher tried not to allow his dismay to show.

‘You forgot to tell me about that little deal.’

‘You won’t get
Lady Miranda
. She’s in my name and bought and paid for with my private funds. I started the shipping company from scratch, and can do so again if need be. I’m not going to allow you to destroy everything I’ve worked for over the past few years. You can have Silas’s estate for the price I paid for it if you’ll hand Miranda and her sister over to me.’