Page 27 of Loyalty (The Chaplain’s Legacy #5)

M ichael was full of energy all of a sudden. For the first time in weeks, he had a potential murderer to investigate. On the blackboard in the old schoolroom, he wrote ‘Kent Atherton’ in flourishing script, then meticulously added ‘Esq’ after it.

“It is all circumstance, Michael,” Pettigrew Willerton-Forbes said, with a rueful shake of his head.

“Yes, but so many circumstances. He was here at the castle before the murder, with plenty of opportunity to hide the axe in the urn. He was here on the night of the murder itself. He slept alone, so there was no one to notice if he crept from his room. He was one of the first on the scene, and he told us he saw a man running away down the main stairs, which no one else noticed. That in itself is not particularly suspicious. But now we find out he is running a smuggling ring, he found signs of an intruder at the tower, most likely Miss Peach, and he could easily have returned the next day, discovered her, strangled her and carried her body away to Tonkins Farm, to throw us completely off the scent. He would have disposed of the green bag, of course, and substituted that dilapidated old woollen bag, which Miss Peach would never have used, in the hay barn, which she never entered in her life, I would swear. If we can find this mule that Miss Peach was riding in the field next to the tower, we shall know she was killed there, and then it will be all but certain. Sandy is taking the mule’s owner there today.”

“But why , Michael?” Pettigrew said firmly. “Why would Kent Atherton murder Nicholson?”

“Because of the smuggling,” Michael said triumphantly. “You know how Nicholson got his sticky fingers into every shady venture, so why not this one, too? He threatened Atherton with exposure, and not gentlemanly Sir Hubert Strong, who will happily turn a blind eye, but His Majesty’s Customs and Excise, who certainly will not. Perhaps Atherton was paying him off, but Nicholson got greedy, and Atherton decided to get rid of him once and for all. Miss Peach knew what was going on, so she had to be got rid of, too. It all makes sense, Pettigrew.”

“You do realise that any half-decent barrister could tear a story like that apart in five minutes? Son of an earl, blameless life, only used the tower for star gazing — he loves that telescope. And, as I keep pointing out to you, it is all coincidence. Yes, he could have murdered Nicholson, but so could anyone. Walter Atherton was the first to arrive at Nicholson’s murder, so why not him? And Eustace Atherton could have found Miss Peach at the tower and strangled her.”

“Walter had no quarrel with the chaplain, so why would he? And Eustace still has an alibi,” Michael said. “If you want him to be Nicholson’s murderer, he had to have crept out of his house, ridden to Corland and then back again afterwards, and got himself back into the house with no one any the wiser. It defies credibility, Pettigrew. I am more and more convinced that the murderer came from within the castle, and that means Kent.”

“Without evidence that there was blackmail or something of the sort, it will never stand up in court.”

“If my half-decent barrister were to speak for the prosecution, he could convince a jury in five minutes.”

Pettigrew chuckled. “If you mean me, probably I could, but you will have to convince me first, my friend. Did you check Miss Wilkes’ story?”

Michael frowned. “I did. The baronetage confirms that there is a Sir Reginald Wilkes at Warriston Hall, that he married a Miss Maria Winfell, having issue two sons and three daughters. Rosamunde is the middle daughter, aged twenty-two.”

“So that all tallies.”

“Yes, and yet it is very convenient, do you not think?”

“Do you want me to go to Northumberland? Or I can write to the Duchess of Dunmorton. She will know the family, I imagine. A description of the girl, and confirmation of the existence of the aunt in Scarborough, would do it.”

“Scarborough…” Michael muttered. “Yes, write, if you would, Pettigrew. It seems legitimate, but I am still cross with Mr Eustace Atherton for lying to me, so by all means, let us check every last little detail of his story. And when Sandy is finished mule-hunting, I might send him to Scarborough to find the aunt.”

“What do you want me to do, Michael?” James Neate said.

“Decode Miss Peach’s notebook, if you can. You will need to go to Pickering to examine the books in her room. One of them will give you the code, I am sure. I doubt it will be anything complicated.”

“I can leave today if—”

The door burst open to reveal an excited Sandy Saxby. “Yer a genius, Michael! Mrs Markley picked out her mule in an instant.”

“In the field next to the tower?” Michael said.

“Aye, looking as if he belonged there, too. No sign of a saddle, but we can search properly later.”

“And for the green bag,” Michael said, adding grimly, “There you are, Pettigrew! Miss Peach was murdered at the tower, that is now certain, and Kent Atherton was the only person who knew that. Now we have him! Finally, I can make an arrest.”

Pettigrew sighed and shook his head.

***

K ent found the return journey from York far more pleasurable. He had Katy beside him, both her arms wrapped around one of his, as if he might fly away and she was keeping him safely tethered to her side. Her bonnet precluded any kissing, and often prevented him from seeing her face, but they were together and their future was settled. All his doubts and uncertainties had evaporated in that moment when he had entered the parlour at York and she had flown into his arms. That was precisely where she belonged and would always remain.

James Cathcart nobly took the forward seat and politely pretended to sleep, and the two valets and Daisy Marler were in a separate post chaise, so the betrothed couple had a semblance of privacy. Kent did not feel the need for it. Last night, he and Katy had talked all evening without cessation. Today, they were silent. They had their whole lives to talk and to kiss and to plan their future of perfect happiness. For now, all that mattered was that they were no longer separated.

Once again, the Cathcarts received Katherine with some surprise but expressed their pleasure to have her home again, and even more pleasure to hear that there was to be a wedding. Kent spent a little time talking to Mr Cathcart, as he was expected to, but he knew it would be up to Katy’s trustees to reveal how much money she would have. Then he left them to their celebrations, for he had to tell his father his news before word reached him from some other source.

He found him in his bedroom, with luggage everywhere, his valet looking distracted.

“Going away, Father?” Kent said in some surprise. “Not before Cousin Bertram’s wedding, I trust. We are all required to attend this grand ball to celebrate. You are the host, so you cannot avoid it.”

“No, no, but Olivia is making plans to get me away from here. The trouble is, it is so long since I went anywhere that I hardly know what to pack. How do you manage when you go away?”

“That is what you have a valet for, Father. You tell him what you will need — shooting gear, full dress for evenings, whatever you think — and he packs the appropriate clothes.”

“But your mother always used to take care of the details for me. She always knew what I would need.”

“Then ask Olivia, since this is her trip. She will know. Father, I have news for you. Will you come downstairs and talk to me?”

Grumbling slightly, the earl led the way down to his study, and poured two glasses of brandy.

“Now then, my boy, tell me what is on your mind.”

“Father, I have asked Katherine Parish to marry me and she has accepted. We plan to live in Branton. I have taken employment there.”

It was probably not the wisest way to inform his father of his new circumstances, but Kent wanted to present it as a fait accompli and not have to endure a long argument about it.

“What sort of employment?” his father said, eyes narrowing.

“I am to be a manager at a cotton mill. An assistant at first, while I learn, but eventually I shall run the mill myself.” His father sighed, but Kent straightened his spine. “I know it is not what you hoped for me, father, but I must make my own way in the world. You have taken good care of me — of all of us — but as a younger son, it is my duty to earn my living as best I can. I cannot respect myself if I live on your charity indefinitely, and after you it would be Uncle George and Cousin Bertram, upon whom I have no right to depend. It would make me the worst kind of scrounging leech. I am unsuited to the church, the law, the army or politics, but mills and engines are something I find fascinating. They are the future, Father, and I mean to play my part in it. In time, I hope I will be a mill owner and not just a manager, and Katy will help me do that. She knows everything there is to know about cotton mills, which is why she is the perfect wife for me. I hope you will give us your blessing.”

His father rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Well, well, you are determined to have your own way, I can see. Olivia will marry and go away too, even Eustace will marry, and I shall be left all alone in this great barn of a place. It used to be full of noise and liveliness, you know, when your mother was here. Always something taking place, and guests coming and going, and now it is nothing but echoes.”

Kent crept away as soon as he decently could, feeling sad for his father but determined not to change his plans. When he went down for dinner, he was pleased to see Eustace there.

“You will be here for this party for Bertram and Bea Franklyn tomorrow, so that will be two nights in succession we have had the benefit of your company, brother.”

“I am staying here at the moment with my betrothed, Miss Wilkes.”

“Oh! I had no idea that was in the wind, but then you always hold your cards close to your chest. My felicitations, brother. You may congratulate me, as well. I am to marry Miss Parish.”

Briefly, Kent explained his plans. He knew Eustace would not be pleased that he was to give up his part in the smuggling, but he was unprepared for the coldness with which Eustace turned on him.

“I might have expected as much, little brother. You always were the weak link in this particular adventure. I wish you joy of your mill.”

And he spun on his heel and whisked away, leaving Kent bemused and curiously disappointed. If his own family could not be happy for him, who would be?

***

“I have both good news and bad news to report,” Neate said as they sat in the old schoolroom.

“Bad news first,” Michael said. “Let us get the worst over with.”

“Miss Peach’s room above the chandlery at Pickering was broken into last week. The room was thoroughly searched, but the only things that appear to have been taken are the books.”

Michael groaned. “So we cannot decode the notebook.”

“Now let me tell you the good news,” Neate said smugly. “The only book remaining was the prayer book, which was still inside her pocket that you brought from Tonkins Farm, and that was not searched, seemingly. She had marked the page, and I have decoded the entire notebook.”

Michael grinned. “James, you are a genius! But does it say anything interesting?”

“Well… nothing definitive. Nothing that says ‘The murderer is…’ . That would be far too convenient. There was nothing new from her observations in Pickering. She saw Mr Eustace’s carriage collecting the ladybird from the brothel, but we knew about that. That was what led her to the tower. She seems to have been suspicious of Mr Eustace because of that. She was very pleased with herself for the mule idea, although she was concerned that the droppings would give her away, but then she found there was a field full of old ponies and donkeys next to the tower. She obviously knew about the smuggling and recorded everyone coming and going from Welwood as well as the tower. Very detailed notes, but I am not sure it helps us, except that the Pickering ladybird was a regular visitor at Welwood. Quite a rake, Mr Eustace. I wonder if his betrothed knows what he gets up to.”

“Does she mention the laudanum?” Michael said.

“Oh, the laudanum! She was experimenting with it, but it was her own sleeping she was concerned about. The laudanum made her sleep late, and she was nearly caught out by Mr Kent and Miss Parish. She had to run outside and up to the viewpoint on the top of the tower, with no time to lock the door behind her or hide her bag. She stopped using laudanum after that.”

“And the brazier? Why did she not light it when it must have been perishing at night?”

“She dared not, in case the glow could be seen. She used to light the kitchen fire once a day for hot water, and then she would heat a brick in the embers to warm her feet at night. But Michael, listen to this. ‘I am almost certain of the murderer’s identity now. I only need to find the saddle, and then I shall have the proof. I will look properly in the obvious place tomorrow.’ And that is the last entry.”

“But she does not name him?”

“No.”

“But we know who it is — Kent Atherton.”

Pettigrew was sitting watching this exchange, his hands folded over his stomach. “Are you certain of that, Michael?”

“Yes! You have heard my arguments, so you know how much evidence there is against him, and he was in charge of the smuggling operation. He had the most to lose if Nicholson threatened to report him to the Excise men.”

“And he presumably stole the books from Miss Peach’s room to prevent us from decoding the notebook?”

“Of course! Who else?”

“Almost anyone else except Kent Atherton. You told everyone at dinner here about the notebook and how you needed to decode it. I am not sure why you did that—”

“To see if anyone looked alarmed at the prospect, that is why. I should have thought you would have worked that out, Pettigrew. But sadly, no one did.”

“Well, someone noted it, and stole the books to prevent us from decoding the notebook, but whoever it was, it could not have been Kent Atherton. Not only was he not here at that dinner, he was two days’ travel away in Branton when the books were stolen.”

Michael deflated instantly. “Then it is hopeless! We still have nothing.”

***

K atherine could scarcely believe the state of grace in which she now existed. All her worries were swept away, and she no longer had to tell herself sternly not to harbour any hopes of Kent, that he was just being kind to a poor orphan. He loved her, truly loved her, and all her most extravagant dreams were coming true.

The Cathcart family shared her happiness, albeit slightly bemused that the inarticulate, unprepossessing mill-owner’s daughter should have caught such a prize. Even Aveline was polite to her, perhaps seeing the advantage of the family connection to the Athertons. If she could not marry into that family herself, then having a cousin to boast of was almost as good.

Uncle Cathcart smiled benignly at Katherine, and murmured “All’s well that ends well”, as if he himself had effected her rescue, and had not sent her away with a stranger and retreated with a sigh of relief to his study. As for Aunt Cathcart, she was delirious with joy at the prospect of a wedding to the noble Atherton family, and was already planning the entertainments to celebrate the event. She carried a notebook everywhere with her, to write any little hints gleaned from the preparations for the forthcoming wedding of Mr Bertram Atherton and Miss Bea Franklyn. There was to be a grand ball at Corland Castle two days before the wedding, and she fully expected one at least as grand for the marriage of her dear niece to Mr Kent Atherton.

The night before this auspicious event, Katherine was just dropping off to sleep when she became aware of noises in the house, strange noises that she could not quite identify. Intruders in the house! Thoroughly awake now, she threw on a robe and crept to her door. Opening it a crack, she peered out. The landing was in darkness, apart from a crack of light from beneath the door of Alex and Neil’s bedroom.

The noises were much louder now, strange moans and gasps, as if someone were in pain, and it emanated from the boys’ room. Odd high-pitched squeaks were mixed in with the moans now. She was just about to rush across to see if one of the twins was ill, or under attack in some way, when Uncle Cathcart, resplendent in an embroidered nightcap, came marching up the stairs with a candelabrum. Behind him, still fully dressed, was James.

Uncle Cathcart threw open the boys’ bedroom door. Instantly, silence fell.

“Father?” came a wavering voice.

“Get out!” Uncle Cathcart said, in tones sterner than Katherine had ever heard him use before.

To her astonishment, Daisy, her hair tumbled all down her back and wearing only a nightgown, scuttled out. Even more astonishingly, James burst into laughter. Then he noticed Katherine, frozen with shock at her bedroom door.

“Better go back to bed, cousin,” he said. “You should not see this.”

Uncle Cathcart turned and started at the sight of Katherine. “No, indeed! Into your room at once, lock your door and stay there. Nothing to alarm you, niece.”

Obediently, Katherine did as she was bidden, but for some time afterwards there was a murmur of voices, and footsteps coming and going on the stairs. Eventually, all was quiet again. Then, a timid knock on her door, and Aunt Cathcart’s voice.

“Are you awake, dear? May I come in for a moment?”

Katherine let her in, rather amused by the embarrassment written on her aunt’s face. “It is quite all right, ma’am. You do not need to explain to me. Daisy will have to leave, I know that.”

Her aunt gave a half smile. “You know what was going on, then? I am so shocked! And ashamed to think that my own sons—!”

“My father said it was natural for young men to… experiment. That was how he put it. One of our neighbours had a son who… experimented with the housemaid.”

Aunt Cathcart patted her hand. “You were always a sensible child. I should have known you would not fall into hysterics.”

“What is the point of that?” Katherine said. “I am excessively disappointed in Daisy, though. She appeared to be such a respectable girl. I found her weeping at the altar over a lie she once told, and now I find she does something far worse. I would never have introduced her into a Christian household if I had known she was so shockingly lax in her ways.”

“She has an odd sense of morality. I have given her a severe talking to, as you may imagine, but she considers this… tonight’s behaviour as something perfectly natural and acceptable. Well, it might be where she comes from, but not in my house. She will leave first thing in the morning.”

Breakfast the next morning was the most peculiar Katherine had ever experienced. Alex and Neil were an odd mixture of chastened and triumphant, James was amused, their father was forbiddingly stern and their mother brightly pretending nothing was amiss. Aveline, Susan and Lucinda, having heard the disruption but not understanding the cause, asked sly questions which were ruthlessly suppressed by Aunt Cathcart.

Katherine said nothing. She could find nothing amusing in the situation, and it was an inconvenience to lose Daisy and have to engage another maid. Perhaps she could write to Mrs Vance, and ask her to find someone from Branton? Since the Cathcart sisters were engaged in torturing the pianoforte under Miss Harkness’s watchful eye, Katherine retreated to the quiet of her room.

Having written her letter to Mrs Vance, she thought of her jewellery box. She was to be married soon, so she would need to let her trustees know of it, so that her trust fund could be made over to Kent. Lifting out the inner compartments, she retrieved the bundle of documents and briskly untied the string. Then she spread the papers out on the little table by the window, most of them in her father’s distinctive hand that gave her a pang of grief.

But one was in a different hand, the name at the bottom ‘Arbuthnot Humber, Humber Bank, Branton’. At the top, it read, ‘Summary of trust fund at commencement’. The date was two years earlier, when Papa had first taken out the loan for the new mill, and had created the trust fund to protect her dowry. And there, in a neat list, were all the monies in the fund. Five thousand pounds as marriage settlement for Miss Elizabeth Hawley. The accumulated interest therefrom. A bequest from Miss Agatha Hawley, plus accumulated interest. A further bequest from Mr Thomas Hawley, being a half share in Whitmoor Mill, and a quarter share in a coal mine in Nottinghamshire, these to be made over to Katherine on her coming of age. And at the bottom, the total value, underlined twice, of seventeen thousand four hundred and sixty pounds.

And Papa had said it was only a modest amount! Great heavens! There was also the ten thousand pounds from Mr Vance, she remembered. Twenty-seven thousand pounds! She and Kent were rich, or at least rich enough to live comfortably while he established himself. She knew to the penny how much it cost to run that house in Branton, and although they would need furniture, they need not furnish the entire house straight away, just the principal rooms. Then they could open up additional rooms as they could afford it.

Whitmoor Mill… that was a small place, still water-powered, but ripe for expansion and a beam engine. Yes, that could be made a great deal more profitable. And coal was always a sound investment. With steam-driven mills opening up all over the north, there would be increasing demand for coal. And perhaps some of the profits could be invested in further coal mines.

Oh, this would be so much fun! This was what she understood, what she had been raised to do. She could abandon the ladylike embroidery and watercolours and get back to the real world of industry. She could not wait to discuss it with Kent that evening.

Humming with excitement, she began to make a list of what needed to be done.