The Two Lords of Wealdhant Manor (12 page)

“Mr. Clarke?”

Algernon twitched, half falling out of his chair in surprise.

Recovering what he could of his dignity, he got to his feet. Mr. Cullen was there with a tray of tea and a letter, which he set down on the table within Algernon’s reach. “Sir. Your tea, and a letter just arrived for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cullen,” Algernon said, sinking back into his chair.

“Everything all right, sir?”

Algernon shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’ve been sleeping poorly and it sets me on edge.”

“Of course, sir.” Mr. Cullen poured him a cup of tea, adding milk and sugar for him.

Grateful for the tea, Algernon sipped at it as he reached for the letter. He recognised Mr. Sutton’s handwriting at once and quickly set down his cup, opening the letter to read.

Algernon
read the letter thrice over in shock and fury.

They were evicting him, and—worse—the railway construction was to proceed as planned. “All my research, useless, and now everyone shall be miserable,” Algernon muttered to himself. “Except, I suppose, Mr. Sutton.”

Angry, Algernon got to his feet and fetched his coat, embarking at once to the gardener’s cottage.

It was a miserably soggy day, which suited Algernon’s mood just fine as he stormed over to inform Jasper of the news. If nothing else,
Lord
Jasper had a right to know, and now there would—once again—only be Jasper to stand against the railway’s ambition.

The sun had set, and the sky was swathed with a heavy wool of clouds, a darkening grey above the bleak and rocky moors. Algernon pulled his greatcoat close across his chest as it began to rain. Making his way in the dark, he stumbled more than once on the rocky terrain toward the lights of the groundskeeper’s cottage.

Cold but fired along by his temper, Algernon banged his fist against the door.

It was opened by a petite young woman with ginger hair whose features were cut in a smaller, more delicate version of Jasper’s. “Oh! Are you
Mr. Clarke
?”

“I am,” Algernon confirmed, sweeping off his hat in greeting. He could not apply proper etiquette to his address since the young woman was of unknown station—Jasper was simultaneously an uninvited groundskeeper and also the highest authority in Wilston, which made his sisters somehow more than common and less than quality.

“I am Phoebe Waltham,” she said, curtsying. “Ginevra! Come quick! It’s
Mr. Clarke!
”

A second young woman appeared at once—taller, and with dark hair. “Mr. Clarke!”

“Yes,” Algernon said, beginning to fidget with his hat. “Good evening.”

“Oh, do come in, Mr. Clarke. Jasper didn’t say you were a gypsy,” Phoebe said, wide-eyed. Ginevra elbowed her.

“I’m not a gypsy!” Algernon objected. “My mother was a Bharatiya of India.”

That made both of them stare in awe.

“A Bhar—”

“Bharatiya,” Algernon repeated.

“Does that mean she was some sort of princess?” Phoebe asked.

“What? No, it—” Algernon sighed irritably. “Is Jasper home?”

“Oh, yes,” Ginevra said, shutting the door and taking Algernon’s hat from him with forward briskness. “We’ll fetch him. It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Clarke. I hope Jasper will be glad to see you, he’s been ever so sour-tempered since you’ve been fighting.”

“Yes,” Phoebe said. She rolled her eyes toward heaven and sighed. “I hope you’ll forgive our brother for his dramatic nature.”

The two girls continued staring at Algernon instead of fetching Jasper.

“What in the world is going on out here?” Jasper asked, emerging from a doorway and stopping short at the sight of Algernon. “Mr. Clarke.”

Algernon pulled the letter from his pocket and held it out. “I don’t know whether or not I ought to congratulate you on your good fortune: you are to be rid of me.”

Phoebe squeaked. Jasper glared at her and she clapped both her hands over her mouth.

Taking the letter, Jasper snapped it open and read it over. His posture and features were stiff and tight, and at last he folded the letter up and thrust it back. “What the devil does he mean he’ll be arriving as scheduled? He can’t intend to go ahead without any legal right to the land!”

“Is that all you care about!” Algernon exclaimed.

Jasper clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring.

Algernon faltered as he recognised the complete lack of shock on Jasper’s face. “You
knew
.”

“It’s hardly a surprise,” Jasper said, fists clenching at his sides. “You aren’t the legal heir to Wealdhant. You never were.”

Mouth falling open, Algernon stared at him. “You… you did this.”

Jasper stood his ground, shoulders drawn back. He looked proud and noble, a prince defending his realm. “What could I do? It’s the truth, Algernon. You’re no Allesbury. Your great-grandmother was born Tabitha Mills. Wealdhant isn’t yours.”

Algernon’s head spun. “Tabitha Mills!”

“She gave her place of birth as Leicestershire. You can hardly intend to claim descent from any Tabitha within a hundred miles who might have been Tabitha Allesbury.”

“Tabitha Allesbury might have put down
any
name. Particularly if she was fleeing from having murdered her father.”

“She didn’t murder her father!” Jasper said.

Phoebe piped up cheerfully. “That was probably Ruth.”

Jasper gave her a ferocious glare, and Algernon felt a sense of pleasure at seeing Jasper’s glare turned on someone other than himself for once.

“Oh, to the
devil
with you, Jasper! I suppose you’ll be glad to see me gone.” Algernon snatched his hat back and clapped it upon his head. “You damned cruel idiot.”

“It’s for the best,” Jasper said harshly. “You don’t belong here. Go back to your London life.”

Algernon stopped and gaped at him. “My London life! You… you cur! I am
destitute
, and I do imagine I’ll find myself locked in a debtor’s prison within a week. I should have been already if the railway hadn’t offered me an out, and Mr. Sutton all too willing to hint that I should be delivered there if I did not comply.”

T
hunderstruck by Algernon’s confession
, Jasper stared speechlessly at him for several seconds.

Algernon deflated in the vacuum of silence that followed, furrowing his brow and casting his glare at the wainscoting.

“Phoebe, Ginevra,” Jasper said, “if you might let us speak privately.”

Phoebe dropped a quick curtsey in Algernon’s direction, and the two girls scurried away to their shared room, leaving the gentlemen to speak in private. Jasper imagined that both of his sisters might still have their ears pressed to the door, but the illusion of privacy was preferable to the dark, wet evening outdoors.

“What did you mean, destitute?” Jasper asked him.

“Nothing.” Algernon lifted his chin, proud and angry. “An exaggeration.”

“And the debtor’s prison?”

“Hardly your concern.” Acting lofty and careless, Algernon directed his gaze to an upper corner of the room. “I rather imagine I might board a ship and head for India, and try my luck at sailing. Perhaps I’ll turn pirate.”

Jasper bit the side of his lip. It was so typical of Algernon and his sense of adventure, and Algernon was just spirited and determined enough that he might be able to make a success of himself as a sailor. “Then you’ll be fine.”

“Yes. And you’ll be rid of me. As you’ve wanted.”

“I didn’t want to be rid of you!” Jasper said. “But you are simply not the heir of Wealdhant. Surely you must have known that.”

“I know nothing of the sort! Tabitha Mills, indeed. Somehow I’ve heard that before!”

“Her name was Millicent!” Jasper snapped. “Which has no relation whatsoever to the name Mills and to suggest as much would be a patent lie.”

Algernon clenched his fists and glared at him. “It might have been a nickname.”

“What an absurd nickname.” Jasper returned the glare, furious about Algernon’s willingness to bend the truth. “Are you so eager to grasp at any falsehood in order that you might have a title to your name?”

“How dare you! Are you suggesting that I am such a cheat?”

“Aren’t you?” Jasper challenged him. “Were you Mr. Sutton’s accomplice, or his cat’s-paw?”

“I was neither!” Algernon took a step forward, eyes flashing with temper.

Jasper puffed his chest and stood his ground. “You truly believed that you were the heir to Wealdhant? Were you that deluded or that desperate?”

“You rag-mannered bully!”

Algernon glared at him for several seconds more until he suddenly whipped about and yanked the door open. The storm outside had picked up, and rain lashed in across the threshold.

“I’ll be off then,” Algernon said. “And well rid of you.”

Jasper lifted his chin. “Good riddance to you, as well!”

Algernon stormed one step across the threshold, paused, and looked back.

Jasper bit his tongue and regretted his words. His heart clenched in his chest.

Algernon slammed the door and was gone.

T
here wasn’t
much to pack.

None of it was his, aside from the one chest of clothing that he had brought with him. The rest of it had been bought for Wealdhant with funds from the Wealdhant estate, and would stay behind when he had gone.

He curled up in a chair in his room, still wet and cold from the rain. Mr. Cullen had tried to coax him into changing his clothing for drier apparel, but Algernon had simply sent him from the room with sharp words and curled up to sulk.

It would have been understandable, even expected, if the railway company had deposed him. From Jasper, it was an awful betrayal.

He wondered what would happen to the old manor once he was gone. The railway might come up with another heir, some new target for Jasper’s wrath, or the house would fall empty and ruined once again, forgotten by the side of the new railway line. Algernon didn’t think there was any circumstance under which Jasper would take control of the house.

Or, at least, he didn’t want to believe that of Jasper. The house had been a shared thing between them, even when they were fighting. Jasper had never entered the house before Algernon’s arrival, and might never again.

Algernon didn’t believe that Jasper was ambitious enough to declare himself Lord of the Manor, even though the people of Wilston would surely have accepted him as such.

“And yet, I suppose I don’t know him as well as I thought I did,” Algernon muttered, getting to his feet. It was the dead of night and cold, since Algernon had chased off any servants who might have come in to light the fire. He shivered, and hugged his arms across his chest.

He wanted Jasper back.

If the trouble of the railway could somehow be settled, if he could somehow stay, if he could take it all back and start again, if he could somehow have another chance…

Glancing over to the empty bed, with its corner turned down invitingly, Algernon imagined Jasper in it. He would be sleepy and warm, scolding at Algernon for being a melodramatic fool. Algernon thought that he might quarrel, or he might yield, but either way he would strip off his wet clothes and climb into Jasper’s warm arms.

Sighing, he squirmed out of his coat and waistcoat, stripping entirely out of his wet things. A dry shirt and small clothes were waiting in the wardrobe, which he donned with shaking hands.

He was still cold, and there was still no Jasper in his bed.

Taking up his dressing gown, Algernon made his way downstairs through the dark house to the study, and lit a candle there. He set the candle on the desk, and began to pack up his papers.

The books on railway and law he took, along with the notes and modified maps that he’d worked on with Jasper. Everything else—books, maps, and papers—belonged to Wealdhant, even if it meant that they were being left alone to rot.

Papers rasped in the far corner of the room. Algernon snatched up the candle and held it aloft.

There was nothing there. No sign of rats, and no open windows to cause a draft.

“Who’s there?” Algernon asked, thinking of the portraits upstairs in the gallery. George Allesbury, Earl of Wealdhant, and his three daughters: Ruth, Sarah, and Tabitha. All of whom had fled or died on some fateful night a hundred years before.

“Tabitha? Ruth?”

No response. Algernon waited, counting his breaths. After six, he heard a door slam somewhere distant within the house.

“Tabitha,” he repeated. “Tabitha, are you here? Can you hear me?”

The candle flame flickered, but Algernon wasn’t certain it was anything other than his shaking hand.

“I need—something. Anything. Something to prove what happened that night. Something which would hint that Tabitha moved to Nottinghamshire and married Thomas Cropper.”

There was no response and no sound.

Algernon sank into the chair behind his desk, setting the candle back down upon the surface. “Ought to arrange a seance,” he muttered to himself, and then recalled that he would be departing early upon the morning and would have little enough opportunity to do anything of the sort.

Discouraged, he rested his chin in his hand, trying to think of any elements of seances which he had read in the sort of melodramatic gothic novels which he so enjoyed. He didn’t remember any of them having enough of a proper structure to use as guidelines for a seance, and such things were never conducted alone.

Algernon sighed.

Wallowing in his misery, he moved his fingertip back and forth back and forth through the candle flame, fascinated by how it wavered around his skin without burning it as long as he moved quickly enough.

A breathy sound drew his attention and he pulled his hand back, listening as it continued.

Crying. Someone, somewhere, was crying.

He knew, logically, that it was likely one of the maidservants, but he couldn’t resist chasing ghosts.

Part of his mind knew that he was being absurdly sensational, and that a rational mind could allow little possibility for the superstition and spirituality of ghosts, but ghost-hunting was more of an adventure than he could resist.

The crying was louder in the main hallway, and he followed the sound around the back of the main stairwell and down a cramped hallway. His candle, held high, cast light in front of him, falling upon the huddled form of a young woman in white. She was sitting against a wall, knees hugged to her chest.

The candlelight glinted on her pale hair.

“Sarah?” Algernon asked.

She gasped and looked up.

The candle flame went out.

Algernon yelped, flattening himself against the wall. He could hear the sound of quick, sharp little gasps of breath other than his own, and the patter of feet, both of which retreated away from him down the hall.

Shaky with terror, Algernon slid likewise down to sit against the ground.

“Did any of you survive what happened that night?” he asked, hugging his own knees and closing his eyes tightly, trying to summon the courage to make his way back upstairs in the dark through his probably-haunted manor.

No longer his.

That thought brought a flash of fury and determination, and he got to his feet, making his way through the darkness and back to the study.

He felt watched, and ignored it.

Groping along the bookshelf until he found the box of long-stick Congreves, he lit his candle once again and held it high to drive away the shadows from the room.

“I’m leaving,” he said to the empty room. “In case you were wondering. In case you’ve been trying to get rid of me. I’ll leave first thing in the morning, and you’ll be alone again. I don’t think you’ll see Jasper, either. I hope… I suppose… I hope that’s what you want.”

Algernon felt dizzy with exhaustion, loneliness, and fear, and there was nothing but the flickering candle flame to keep it all away. Even if he went to Jasper and begged, it would be to no avail. Jasper had cast him out, and it seemed that Jasper, the house, and the railway would all be glad to be rid of him.

H
e could see
the preparations for departure from the groundskeeper’s cottage.

Servants were going in and out of the manor, and some of them had already departed off toward town. The coach-and-four which had caused so much trouble the first time he’d met Algernon in Wilston had been brought out to the front drive.

Jasper couldn’t tear himself away from watching the hustle of it, and he knew it would be foolish to approach, but if he stood any longer on his own doorstep gazing wistfully in the direction of Wealdhant, his sisters were going to notice and he’d end up reprimanded and set on some half-mad course which Phoebe or Ginevra deemed reasonable.

Going over to the manor while Algernon was departing would be rude and possibly insulting. At best, he’d be in the way, and at worst he’d be a party to Algernon’s anger or misery, possibly both.

Algernon wasn’t suited to misery. He was so much more charming and natural when he was laughing or debating with spirited temper on some subject.

Their days together had been so brief, and Jasper had spent most of it trying to find ways to gain advantages over Algernon and a more stable foothold in Wealdhant. He wondered what it might be like to be on truly equal footing with Algernon, as an ally and friend.

The gate needed more repair, but he didn’t want to be directly in the path of Algernon’s departure. Likewise, the gardens were all too visible from the house. It would be best to work in the orchard, although there was little enough that needed doing there in the middle of winter.

He drew himself up and set his steps toward the orchard, only to find himself walking instead straight toward Wealdhant and Algernon.

Mr. Cullen was standing on the steps overseeing the progress of loading a trunk onto the carriage. He frowned at Jasper’s approach. “Come to gloat, Mr. Waltham?”

“No,” Jasper said, mounting up the steps and pausing two steps beneath Mr. Cullen. He did not like the additional height advantage this gave to the already long-legged butler, but there was no graceful way to remedy the situation. “I thought I might give my regards and bid farewell.”

“Of course,” Mr. Cullen said, tone icy. “A farewell which I understand is your arranging.”

“He is not the lawful heir, Mr. Cullen,” Jasper snapped. “I understand your loyalty to your employer, which is admirable, but I hope you are not so loyal as to support an untrue claim upon this estate.”

“I don’t believe Mr. Clarke has any desire to receive your regards and farewell,” Mr. Cullen said.

Jasper bristled, determination renewed in the face of resistance. “I shall deliver them anyway.”

“It is perfectly within my power to deny you entrance.”

“What shall I, then? Stand outside and glower? It is not in your power to evict me from the grounds, and it is my understanding that you do not, in fact, have any authority in this house which is not
usurped
.”

Mr. Cullen tensed with anger. “I rather understand why Mr. Clarke finds you so maddening.”

“The feeling is perfectly mutual,” Jasper said. “Algernon will see me, and I am determined to see him. You may well stand aside.”

“What do you intend to do?” Mr. Cullen asked, not making any indication that he intended to stand aside for Jasper. “Compound the damage upon his heart?”

Jasper furrowed his brow, pricked by the suggestion that he’d broken Algernon’s heart. “I didn’t intend to harm him, surely you understand that. But I could not be party to a lie, and his claim upon Wealdhant is fraudulent.”

“If you have any sympathy in you, sir,” Mr. Cullen said, “you will depart.”

All the more determined at the continued refusal, Jasper scowled at him. “I will
not
.”

“What in the world?” Algernon asked, emerging from the front door. “I hear the sounds of someone other than myself arguing with Mr. Waltham, it must be a dream.” His lips twitched very slightly with mirth, which disappeared shortly enough when both Mr. Cullen and Jasper scowled at him.

Algernon coughed and subsided into stiff politeness. “Mr. Waltham. What is your business?”

Delivered as a simple question rather than a challenge or refusal, Jasper was reminded that the premise of his visit to Wealdhant today was uncomfortably flimsy. “I came to see you off.”

“Did you, Mr. Waltham?” Algernon asked, striding forward to stand on the step between Jasper and Mr. Cullen, somewhat to the butler’s side. “If I don’t leave swiftly enough, will you toss me out bodily? You’ve the shoulders for it, that’s in no doubt.”

Mr. Cullen quietly absented himself from the front steps.

“I take no pleasure in your departure, Mr. Clarke,” Jasper said.

“Oh, come, Mr. Waltham.” Algernon’s lip curled. “There’s no need for false politeness. You may state your mind plainly: you are glad to be rid of me.”

“I have never in my life been falsely polite,” Jasper said, clenching his fists with temper.

Algernon paused, anger subsiding somewhat. “No,” he said. “I suppose you haven’t. You are entirely too honest, after all. And that’s half the trouble.” Algernon folded his arms and glared at him. “Well, I hope it has helped you. A delay to the railway schedule, although soon enough you’ll have whatever next probable heir they’ve rounded up, or they’ll simply apply to Parliament to bestow the land upon them. Best of luck with that.”

Jasper took off his hat and clasped it between his hands. “Will you … be all right in London, Mr. Clarke?”

“That’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, Mr. Waltham,” Algernon said. “Our ways part here.”

“To be sure,” Jasper said, offering his hand to shake in amiable parting. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Clarke. I wish you only the best in your future endeavours.”

“I cannot say the same,” Algernon said, ignoring the offered hand. He held himself stiffly, but Jasper fancied he saw some depths of pain hidden beneath Algernon’s stern exterior. “May the devil take you, Jasper Waltham. I am done with you.”

Turning on his heel, Algernon strode back inside.

Heart aching, Jasper replaced his hat upon his head and took his leave.

T
he vast manor
felt stifling around him once he’d made his retreat. It offered him no shelter or sanctuary, and he yearned to be back outside in the cold or bundled in the carriage and on his way to Cairkby to catch a train away from this awful place.

He watched from the front parlour window until Jasper had gone off toward the groundskeeper’s cottage again, and then Algernon emerged to sit upon the steps and watch the final preparations for departure.

There was little enough left to do, and most of Algernon’s belongings were already packed and waiting in the carriage. What little remained was being loaded and secured on the carriage by Mr. Cullen.

Much to Algernon’s surprise as he watched his last few servants departing, Mrs. Underwood brought him a cup of tea. “You’ll catch your death of cold sitting out here, sir,” she scolded.

“That’s kind of you, Mrs. Underwood,” Algernon said, clasping his fingers around the cup. “But most likely futile. May I ask you something?”