The Return of Lord Conistone (12 page)

She lifted her head to him almost in despair. ‘No.
No
. Lucas, when will this interfering stop? When will you leave us alone?’

He folded the map away, his face sombre. ‘I will make arrangements to depart first thing in the morning,’ he said.

She lifted her chin. ‘Very well. As it happens, I’m visiting my sister, Pippa, tonight—’

He broke in sharply. ‘You’re not going there alone? ‘

‘David, her husband, is calling for me! So you may well have gone, my lord, before I return tomorrow!”

‘Then it’s—farewell,’ he said softly.

She nodded and stumbled towards the door. Once outside, she stood there in the passageway, shaking.

What else was going on that she had not been told about?

He had to go. He had to leave Wycherley as soon as possible. Because with just one word, just one touch, he could hurt her with the kind of pain she hadn’t even realised existed.

But then she would never see him again. A black abyss of total despair opened up before her. She stood there a moment, looking—as Turley, who passed by the end of the corridor, told Cook later—as if the life had gone out of her.

‘Damn,’ Turley, with awe, heard her breathe. ‘Damn, damn,
damn
. I will
not
accept his charity, I will not accept
anything
from him, I will not have him in this house any longer!’

A
fter Verena had gone, Lucas slept for an hour on his bed. He’d refused Dr Pilkington’s laudanum, because it disturbed his dreams; but the dreams came anyway, and they were about Verena. He dreamed that he held her slender yet enticing body in his arms. Dreamed that he was kissing her, making love to her, clasping her silken hips to his and she was responding with passion, and breathless desire.

Then in his dream she broke away from him, saying to him with loathing in her voice,
‘My father. Why are you telling these terrible lies about my father?’
And she was running, running away from him, and suddenly she had disappeared, and there instead was the figure of Jack Sheldon, climbing along the ice-capped ridge of that mountain in Spain, while Lucas called out, ‘No! It doesn’t have to be this way, Jack! Stop, for the love of God! All I want is your diary…’

And the last thing Lucas remembered of Wild Jack Sheldon was the look of sheer horror in his eyes as he clutched that oilskin package close and went tumbling, tumbling into the raging torrent of a river hundreds of feet below.

Look after Verena.

Lucas sat up, the perspiration beading on his forehead. Then he saw that the late afternoon sun was pouring through the window, and Bentinck was sitting there, morosely offering him a tumbler of brandy. ‘You bin havin’ them bad dreams again, milord?’

‘Yes.
Yes’.
He wanted her. Jack’s daughter. And it was—quite simply—impossible. ‘What time is it, Bentinck?’

‘Four in the afternoon. You must rest, milord. Everything you asked about is bein’ attended to’.

‘Even so, there is danger—
everywhere’.

Bentinck allowed himself a crack of a smile. ‘Wot, amongst all these women? Now I’ll agree with you there, milord’.

Lucas responded with a faint grin, and lay wearily back against the pillows. His arm was hurting like the devil again. ‘You’re damned right. But you must tell me what you’ve discovered’.

‘Now, I don’t want you crocking yourself again, milord, gettin’ up before you’re ready and landin’ yourself with a hellfire fever again!’

‘I swear I most certainly
will
get up if you don’t tell me your news,’ replied Lucas evenly.

‘Well, I told you about the magistrates’ court’.

‘You did’.

‘And the Earl your grandfather’s just got back from Bath’.

Lucas clenched his fists. ‘Has he now?’

‘And then, in between, I’ve bin lookin’ round ‘ere, room by room, just like you said. Especially up amongst those boxes of papers and stuff they’d cleared from the north wing when the roof leaked in spring. There was no sign that anyone else had bin searchin’, like you feared. All covered with dust, them boxes; I’d have known if someone had been
in. So we’re still ahead of the game. And I found—
these’.
He handed Lucas some scruffy, folded sheets of paper.

Lucas scanned them swiftly. ‘Good,’ he breathed. ‘In fact—excellent. But no diary?’

‘No diary’.

Lucas was swinging his legs to the floor, easing his arm out of its sling. ‘Then I’ll manage—somehow—without it. Bentinck, tomorrow I’ll have to leave here’.

Bentinck sighed. ‘You’re not off on your travels again, milord? With that crocked arm?’

‘Yes, but I’m leaving you behind’.

‘Oh, my God…’

‘Yes. As well as continuing to look for that diary, you must watch constantly for any strangers around the place. And you must try to be aware at all times of where Verena—Miss Sheldon—is’.

‘Bloomin’ difficult,’ muttered Bentinck. ‘She don’t like me one bit. And I just ain’t built for creepin’ around, fiddling locks and peeping through keyholes. Give me a proper battle any time, milord’.

‘Me, too,’ agreed Lucas with feeling. ‘But one of the rules of warfare, Bentinck, is that we need to know—precisely—who our enemies are. Agreed?’

‘Agreed, milord,’ said Bentinck heavily. ‘And I’ve done just as you asked—saddled up a horse for you and left it round the side of the house, where, if you go out now, no one will see you. Though how you can ride with that arm—’

Lucas interrupted. ‘You say the coast’s clear?’

‘The servants have been given what’s left of the afternoon off, as well as the evening. There’s a wedding in the village’.

‘Good’. He was already easing his arms into his coat. ‘I’ll follow you out, past the servants’ quarters. I might be a little while. Verena is visiting her sister—the sensible one—and staying overnight, so you can have a few hours
away from here. Ask some questions for me. Visit the Royal George in Framlington, if you wish’.

Bentinck squinted. ‘The alehouse? You sure? Don’t want that Miss Verena tearin’ a strip off me hide for neglectin’ you!’

Lucas laughed. ‘Afraid of her, Bentinck?’

‘She’s got a strong will in her, that one! She’d fight like the devil himself for what she believes in, I’d say!’ He eyed the locket Lucas had picked up suspiciously. ‘What in tarnation have you got there, milord?’

‘You could call it another of Wild Jack’s false promises,’ Lord Lucas Conistone said grimly. ‘Now, go and check that my escape route’s clear’.

‘You are coming back tonight, milord, aren’t you?’

‘Indeed. One last night here, then I’m on my way’.

Bentinck moved off. Lucas looked quickly again at the papers Bentinck had brought him, which were all covered with Wild Jack’s sketch maps of a hitherto-uncharted region. He read aloud the words written at the foot of one of them:
‘Route of the River Tagus; its source and progress through the Portuguese mountains, 1808…’

He put them in the deep inside pocket of his coat.

Perhaps, after all, these were as good as he was going to get. Perhaps he should be
satisfied
with these.

He glanced at a document Mr Mayhew had brought him: an old plan marking the boundary between the Stancliffe and Wycherley estates.

He pushed that also in his pocket. Then, after locking the door of his room, he quickly followed Bentinck through the silent house and out into the late afternoon sunshine, to mount the horse Bentinck had ready.

* * *

Lucas had forgotten what a huge, dusty old mausoleum of a place Stancliffe Manor was. But he remembered how
he had felt when, aged sixteen, he was told that both his parents were dead of a fever and that some day all this would be his.

The heavy curtains in the north-facing bedchamber were drawn shut against the daylight. The Earl sat in an armchair by the fireplace, in dressing robe and cap. Despite the blazing logs, the room was cold and the candles few.

‘You have been interfering, Lucas,’ said the Earl in a quavering voice. ‘You have meddled behind my back while I was away’. He pointed a gnarled, accusing finger at his only grandson. ‘Remember, my boy, Stancliffe is not yours yet!’

And the Earl, who was seventy-five years old and almost a recluse except for his trips to Bath for his failing health, broke into a fit of coughing.

Lucas, whose arm throbbed like hell from the ride there, forced himself into patience. He said, ‘Twenty years ago, Grandfather, you diverted a stream that used to run through the Wycherley estate in order to power the corn mill you built on Stancliffe land. Did you divert that stream legally? Did you ever ask Sir Jack Sheldon’s permission?’

‘Legally?’
the Earl snorted. ‘No one knew, no one cared. That stream flowed through uncultivated land, and Wild Jack didn’t even damn well notice, he was away so often!’

Lucas pulled a document from his pocket. He said steadily, ‘I have a plan here, showing its former route. You had no right to divert it. And now it’s time for you to make compensation’.

‘Pah!’ The Earl’s gnarled hand shook on the stick he gripped. ‘Why all this concern for a bunch of country nobodies? Next you’ll be bringing in this French revolutionary nonsense, telling me we have to give every damn thing away!’

‘If you won’t compensate the Sheldons, then I will,’ said Lucas flatly, shoving the folded plan back in his pocket.

The Earl stared. ‘You’ll do it with your own money, then!’

‘I will,’ answered Lucas calmly. ‘With my mother’s money. Why do you wish the Sheldons such harm, sir? Why did you use your influence to persuade the bank to foreclose on Wycherley’s mortgage?’

The Earl was wringing his hands. ‘My revenge was just! It was because he
cheated
me!’

‘Who? Jack Sheldon?’

‘Who else? The damned rogue, he told me he’d found treasure in the Portuguese mountains! Gold from the Americas, brought back by explorers long ago and hidden—my God, are you after the secret, too?’

Lucas drew his hand tiredly across his forehead.
That rubbish again
. ‘I’m not after gold, because there was none,’ he said quietly.

The candles were burning low. Several had already gone out. The Earl banged his fist on the arm of his chair. ‘I offered him money, yes, I did, to pay for his knowledge. He took it, but then he went back to Portugal two years ago to gather up all that treasure for himself!’

Lucas sighed. ‘I repeat. There was no—’

But what was the use? Lucas looked around the dreary room and started again. ‘You should live in more comfort, Grandfather. Open the house up. Let in light and air’.

‘No! The damp air will kill me!’ the old man wheezed. ‘Besides, I have to watch, all the time!’

Lucas repeated softly, ‘Watch?’

‘Yes, indeed! In case Jack comes back, trying to steal!’

‘Grandfather, Jack Sheldon is
dead
. Did you ever see a diary? Jack’s journal of his travels?’

The Earl darted a fierce glance at him. ‘I told you, I have nothing that belongs to that scoundrel. But he took my money!’

Lucas ran his hand tiredly through his dark hair. ‘You told the banks to withdraw credit from the Wycherley estate—you all but ruined them—just for some petty revenge against a dead man?’

‘Not only that, Lucas! I was thinking of
you
, my boy! You see, I’d heard the little hussy was after
you!’

Lucas was suddenly rigid. ‘You heard what?’

‘Rickmanby told me!’ The Earl was starting to whimper now. ‘Two years ago, when you came home from the army, she was always pestering you, always tempting you, Jack’s oldest! She was after your fortune!’

‘Never,’ said Lucas curtly. ‘Never’.

But the Earl hadn’t finished. ‘You were a fool not to see it; you deserve a far better wife than that little harlot, and I told her so…’

Lucas was on his feet. ‘You did
what?
You used that actual word?
Harlot
?’

‘I called her that in my letter, yes!’ The Earl looked sullen, almost defiant.

Lucas sat down again, his face bleak. ‘I don’t deserve
her
, that’s for sure. My God, you’ve done her a great, great wrong, sir’. He passed his hand briefly across his eyes.

He knew his grandfather had treated her family vilely, but not
this
. Now he understood everything. Her refusal to accept his help, to even read his letters.
Harlot
. Oh, Verena. If his dreams had seemed desperate before, they were surely impossible now.

‘Her father was a cheat!’ The Earl rapped his stick on the floor for emphasis. ‘I tell you, he promised me a share in the gold, then tried to tell me there was none!’ A look
of cunning suddenly crept over the Earl’s face. ‘You and Jack were close for a while, weren’t you? I remember him teaching you those faradiddle languages, Spanish and Portuguese. But now you say that Jack is dead. So everyone assumes the secret of the gold is lost. Died with him, that’s what they all think, that’s what I told him when he came the other day…’

‘Who came the other day?’ Lucas spoke with renewed harshness.

The Earl started coughing. ‘Oh, my memory—sometimes my memory tricks me, and I think I see Jack Sheldon again…’