“Just being neighborly,” she suggested softly.
“In part. He’d been showing some interest in Katy, who’d just turned sixteen . . . I should have known something was wrong the moment we rode into the yard.” His voice grated. “There wasn’t a sound. But I didn’t suspect trouble until I opened the door. Katy was lying in the hall, her fingers still dug into the floor from trying to crawl outside. She’d been stabbed a dozen times. I followed the blood trail upstairs. They were all there. Raymond, Thad, Marcus, Milly. All stabbed in their beds. All dead. Blood was everywhere. Ma was on the floor of the room she shared with Pa. She had the end of Pa’s dueling pistol stuck in her mouth, with the top of her head blown off. Pa was still alive.”
She jumped. “Alive? Had he done it?”
“No.” Fury speeded his pacing. “He’d been stabbed six times, and was too weak from blood loss to move. But he was sober enough to tell the tale. Ma had been getting odder and odder, exploding in fury over little things, yet not seeming to care about serious problems. Pa was doing nothing by then – except drinking himself insensible every day. The hired hand left at Christmas after Ma threatened to kill him. Raymond took over running the farm, but his heart wasn’t in it, and last year’s crops were so poor, they did not even have enough food to survive the winter. If anyone had thought to mention it to me—” He paused to regain his composure as grief again cracked his voice. “Whatever the reason for their silence, the situation was beyond desperate. They’d eaten all the seed grain and even the potato and onion sets. With no way to replace them, there would be no new crops. The final straw must have been my last letter to Raymond. Since I found it in Ma’s room, I doubt he even saw it.”
“Is that where you mentioned setting him up in Baltimore?”
He nodded. “She’d always had a bee in her bonnet about her aristocratic breeding – which amounted to being a squire’s daughter and sister-in-law to a baron. She yearned to be a society hostess in New York or Philadelphia, but we had neither the money nor the connections to meet the leading families. Pa’s move to Virginia was the death knell for her dreams. That’s when she started getting irrational. I think she ran mad when she found that letter. She couldn’t stand the thought that her children might return to civilization, leaving her to rot with Pa. So she grabbed a butcher knife and started slashing.”
She glared at him. The scene he had described didn’t jibe with his explanation. “Why would she kill herself then?”
“She didn’t. Pa wasn’t as drunk as usual that night. He not only woke up, but managed to turn on her. He killed her, then staged a suicide to avoid any questions. But by then, he was too weak to get to the neighbor’s. He collapsed on the bed and all but passed out. I got there two days later. Pa was too far gone to save. He died the next morning.”
“Tragic, but why cover it up?” she asked.
He shrugged. “How can you tell someone you haven’t seen in twenty years that his wife’s sister killed six people and his cousin killed her? What purpose does that serve?” He sighed. “And now he’s suffered an apoplexy. Even if he recovers, I dare not tell him for fear of bringing on another attack.”
She didn’t agree, but she could see his point. Any hint of madness could taint an entire family. People in this era didn’t understand mental illness, and few would risk contaminating their own lines. A twentieth-century psychiatrist could have a field day figuring out what had driven Mrs. Raeburn to murder, but as Frederick had said, it was over. What purpose did revealing the truth serve? “Had there been any other unbalanced people in her family?” she asked.
“Not that I know of, but I wouldn’t know. Ma turned her back on them the moment she married into the aristocracy. So did Aunt Faith. But I suppose I should check.”
She heard his sudden realization that he might carry a stain in his blood, but also noted his determination to do what was necessary. Nodding, she turned the conversation to America and some of his interests. He was determined to start a shipping company in England. She saw no reason to dissuade him. He would learn of the war soon enough. If she was successful in preventing Drew’s wedding, he would have an estate on which to live in the interim. And she suspected that his interest in Anne would grow. Anne had looked radiant enough lately to guess that she fully returned his attraction. Hopefully, the madness that had seized his mother would not prove to be hereditary. It may have been born solely from stress.
The butterfly’s wings were hardening. It wouldn’t be long before it was ready to take flight. She was about to excuse herself when Anne arrived in the clearing. Her blush was proof enough that Frederick was here by appointment. But Cherlynn let it go. Frederick would not take advantage of Anne, especially now. As soon as they were engrossed in watching the butterfly, she quietly returned to the house.
Too bad Fay’s behavior did not qualify as mad. Or perhaps not. She quite liked Frederick and didn’t want his life complicated by the fear of madness. Nor would she wish any of the hereditary mental problems onto her worst enemy. If only Fay understood that living with someone who despised her was hell. Power and fortune couldn’t compensate for it. Cherlynn should know.
She had hoped that divorce would finally put her life with Willard behind her, but it hadn’t. What a naïve idiot she had been.
They had met at Georgetown in a summer school political science class. That summer had been the only period of her life when she’d felt good about herself. For the first time since childhood, her weight had been under control. Her success at derailing the marsh bill had triggered an interest in politics. And she’d just finished her first novel and submitted it to publishers.
Snorting at her own stupidity, she retreated to her room and stared at the gardens.
Willard had been a classmate. A Harvard law student, he was serving a summer internship with a senator, though neither luck nor ability had secured the appointment. As the only son of a big-name lawyer and long-time lobbyist, Willard had merely expressed an interest. The senator created a job for him on the spot. Willard was accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted. When he met Cherlynn, he had wanted her.
Foolish, foolish girl!
She had done little dating over the years so had no defense against his practiced wiles. He was handsome, charming, sophisticated, and wealthy. Despite her initial skepticism, he had swept her off her feet and boosted her self-esteem, then introduced her to the world of money, power, and privilege. It was no wonder she had fallen in love. She’d tried to hide her feelings, distrusting their different backgrounds, but it was impossible. By the time he took her home to meet his parents, she was a firm believer in fairy-tale endings.
Idiot!
Her soul-searching during the divorce had revealed every mistake. At least half of her attraction was the excitement of actually moving into the high society that she had read about for so many years, but she hadn’t realized that until later. His attentions had flattered her, catering to needs she had not previously recognized. Even his overbearing mother and hard-nosed father had failed to dim her euphoria. They were cool but polite. If only she had overheard the tirades they had directed at Willard. The son of old-money, New England aristocracy did not marry the daughter of a Virginia shopkeeper. Cherlynn lacked beauty, breeding, fortune, and any claim to social status. They derided him for poor judgment, claiming that he’d fallen for the wiles of a scheming gold digger.
It had been the wrong approach. In a fit of youthful defiance, Willard married Cherlynn within the week and took her back to Harvard for his final year of study.
It hadn’t taken him long to regret his decision. His parents canceled his allowance. Cherlynn couldn’t find a job, so she filled her hours with reading and writing. Willard belittled the romances she loved and derided her desire to write what he considered trash. His own income barely covered a tiny apartment, food, and school expenses, worsening his temper. And her depression over a sheaf of rejection letters made it hard to care about mundane chores like cooking and cleaning, which further infuriated him.
Law school was stressful enough without adding financial pressure and a dysfunctional marriage. Daily arguments soon revealed his parents’ continuing tirades. They stayed in touch, reminding him regularly that he need only rectify his error to get his allowance reinstated. The arguments also revealed his arrogance, stripping away his facade of caring tolerance to reveal a shallow, selfish snob, whose initial attraction arose from pique that she hadn’t fallen worshipfully at his feet. Knowing that she had misjudged him from the start killed her last vestige of self-confidence, convincing her that she was doomed to failure.
The final betrayal occurred when she got pregnant. He was furious, convinced that she had deliberately conceived. Vowing that he never wanted children, he ordered her to get rid of it. She refused. Even after her doctor explained that the antibiotics she had taken for a strep infection had reduced the effectiveness of her birth control pills – a known interaction that no one had thought to mention earlier – he didn’t believe her protestations of innocence.
Cherlynn thrust further images aside. It did no good to remember those days. She had more important things to consider – like saving Drew from a similar fate. He wouldn’t have the luxury of divorcing Fay. Once the vicar pronounced them man and wife, he would be stuck for life – which in his case was a barren three years.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Fay seethed. Drew needed a reminder of his duties, but she hadn’t been able to deliver it. While heading for Broadbanks, she’d spotted him half a mile away, riding with Emily Fairfield. The scheming chit was too prostrated to accompany Anne on calls, yet possessed the energy for a cross-country gallop.
“Harlot!” The chit was becoming a serious threat. And not only because Drew fancied himself in love with her. Emily herself was a problem. An unexpected core of steel lay beneath her surface innocence. And considerable independence. Why had Drew responded so positively to her when he derided those same traits in Fay?
Fay would never forget that humiliating confrontation five years earlier. She had followed him to one of the follies, demanding tales of the recently concluded London Season and making the perfectly natural statement that she could hardly wait until he took her with him.
“Why should I?” he had demanded.
“Surely you’ll take your wife to town!” she’d sputtered in surprise.
“Of course, but that has nothing to do with you.”
She’d nearly swooned at the cruel words. “You know very well that we’re betrothed,” she had shouted at him. “Our fathers arranged the match years ago.”
He had laughed. “Surely you’re not naïve enough to believe the foolish prattle of two old men. They’ve tossed the idea around, of course, but it was always left up to us to decide our own futures. And mine doesn’t include you.”
“But you can’t jilt me! I’ve counted on this match all my life.”
“Forget it, Fay,” he’d said coldly. “I’m not responsible for your delusions. I’ve never given you any cause to expect an offer from me. My wife must be sweet-tempered, quiet, and conformable. I’ll not be saddled with a pest. You could never qualify.”
Her father had verified that no settlements were yet signed, but assured her that Broadbanks considered the match settled. He had passed off Drew’s comments as the usual spoutings of a man just down from his first Season, but she wasn’t convinced. For months she had worked to become his ideal wife, but when she pointed out her progress, he had coldly dismissed her and moved to Thurston Park.
She hadn’t spoken to him again until he returned to announce that he would wed the insipid Lady Emily. At least she’d thought the girl insipid when they’d spoken briefly at the ball. But she wasn’t. And that was dangerous. So independent a chit might even accept a position as live-in mistress.
Fay cursed, not bothering to lower her voice. Beyond choosing a wife with backbone, Drew must have confessed his crimes to her. Jaime had reported seeing the pair on the cliffs one day, with Drew apparently pantomiming his fight with Randolph – which eliminated her best method for forcing Lady Emily out of Broadbanks. Threatening to expose his misdeeds should have made Drew send her away. Whatever possessed the girl to remain with an admitted killer?
More curses filled the air as Fay rode back to Raeburn House. Lady Emily could easily convince her brother to leave. She need only claim that society would misconstrue her continued stay at Broadbanks. Lady Clifford was already anxious to be gone, spurred by Fay’s suggestion that Emily’s reputation had been besmirched by Drew’s hovering in the sickroom and would only recover with a prompt marriage. Fay considered repeating the insinuations to Lord Clifford, but reluctantly set the idea aside. Gentlemen had rather odd ideas about honor. If Clifford thought Drew’s attentions had injured his sister, he might feel compelled to challenge him.
She sighed.
Lady Emily wasn’t her only problem. Frederick was another thorn in her side. The moment he had learned of her father’s attack, he had taken charge of the estate. No one questioned his right, but he was making the most of the situation, ordering her to remain at home and threatening to replace Miss Testmark with a stricter companion if she disobeyed. Somehow, she must get rid of him. He ignored her age and impending marriage. He disregarded the fact that ownership of the estate would transfer to Thurston in another month. His demeanor had been even more unsettling since his two-day absence last week. He now stared at her, pursing his lips like a disapproving spinster. And he treated her like a wayward child.
A solution sprang to mind, bringing a smile to her face. She could remove both of her problems with one stroke. Frederick must marry Lady Emily. It would be to his advantage. The girl had a considerable dowry, and Frederick must be destitute if he was willing to demean himself by turning to trade. Even inheriting the barony would not overcome that taint. He would have to return to America, where Emily’s dowry could buy an estate.