Page 28 of Loyalty (The Chaplain’s Legacy #5)

K ent was caught up in the last-minute preparations for the ball being held to celebrate the marriage of his cousin Bertram to Bea Franklyn. Bertram had sensibly retired to his library until forced to become the centre of attention, but Bea and her stepmother, Lady Esther Franklyn, spent the day at Corland Castle, Lady Esther to issue a stream of wildly ambitious instructions to the servants, and Bea mostly to get in the way, or so it seemed to Kent.

“This is so much fun!” she cried, having just decreed to the long-suffering footmen that the flower arrangements in the great hall be moved for the third time.

“But a great deal of work for you,” Kent said. “You will be glad when all the excitement is over and you and Bertram are safely married so that you can have a rest. Are you planning a wedding tour?”

“Oh, no, we have the Dower House to finish first. Perhaps in the spring. Do you think the purple and orange flowers look better by themselves or all mixed up?”

“I think they look perfect as they are. No one will notice them, anyway. They will all be looking at you.”

Bea was not a person who blushed, but even she looked slightly conscious at this flattery. “Oh no, they will look at Bertram just as much, for he is always so elegant in his evening attire, do you not think? He has that quiet style that is never showy but always refined. Not like me! I wish I could be refined, but I never shall. I only hope I shall not shame him this evening by tripping over my own feet.”

“You will be everything that is admirable,” Kent said, “but do get some rest before this evening.”

“Oh, but I want everything to be perfect!” she cried. “I so want Bertram to have a wonderful time, for it is almost his last day of freedom. He will be tied to me for the rest of his life, poor man, so he might as well enjoy himself while he still can. Oh! The salmon patties! I promised I would try them out to make sure they are good enough to serve. I shall see you tonight, Kent.”

So saying, she dashed away to the kitchen, and Kent was left to surreptitiously shuffle the flowers into a more felicitous arrangement.

Late in the afternoon, he snatched an hour away from the castle to call on Katy, for heaven forbid that a whole day should pass without a meeting. He found Cathcart House almost empty. Katy was alone in the music room, her finger running lightly over the keys as she played a gentle air.

Her face lit up when she saw Kent. “I did not think I would see you before tonight,” she cried, running into his arms and hugging him tight. “Oh, I am so glad to see you! I am always glad to see you, but today has been especially trying. There is such pandemonium upstairs, for Susan is to attend the ball too, although only until supper.”

“Is she having trouble deciding on a gown for the occasion?”

“No, for she only has one ball gown, but as to hair and decorations and bracelets and gloves and… well, you can imagine. Shall we sit in the window seat, and you can tell me all that you have been doing?”

“I have been plying my father with brandy and extolling your virtues and convincing him that life in Branton with you as my wife will be the making of me. I also remarked that Mr Vance, a kind and generous man, had liked you well enough to leave you ten thousand pounds in his will. As a result, Father has mellowed sufficiently to agree to make over the sum of ten thousand pounds to me instead of an allowance. So we shall not be entirely destitute.”

“And not dependent on your father, either,” she said. “That is important. I have news of that type, too. I looked at the papers relating to my trust fund, and two years ago, when it was set up, it was worth seventeen thousand pounds.”

“What! Then we are rich!”

“Not quite, but we will be, for my trust fund includes a half share in a water-driven mill, and if we install a beam engine—”

Kent gave a great shout of delight. “What an amazing girl you are, Katy Parish. Our own mill!”

“If we can buy out the other owner, or convince him regarding the improvements, yes. I have a share in a coal mine, too, and you know how profitable that can be, if it is the right sort of coal.”

“I did not know,” he admitted, “although coal was much spoken of at Branton. I have so much to learn about this business, and I cannot wait to get started. When can we be married, my love? Soon, I hope.”

“In another month, it will be a year since Papa died. That would be an appropriate time, do you not think? We can talk to Mr Dewar on Sunday about the banns, if you wish.”

“I do wish,” he whispered, gently stroking her cheek. “I wish it very much, my sweet Katy. Our marriage cannot come too soon for me so that we can begin our new life in Branton.”

He bent his head to kiss her and the music room fell silent.

***

M ichael gazed at his reflection in the mirror with a frown. “I cannot get this neckcloth straight tonight. Something about it is askew, and nothing I do seems to improve matters.”

“Would you like me to try?” Luce said.

“How humiliating, to have to depend on one’s wife to dress one with the proper symmetry,” he muttered. “Now, if James Neate were here…”

“He is better employed where he is,” she said sharply, her deft fingers pulling the linen at his neck into some sort of order. “He is not really a valet, however convincingly he portrays one.”

“I know, I know. We must hear some news of poor Miss Peach’s murderer soon. She cannot have been at that tower for weeks without someone seeing her, or noticing something amiss. And yet… no one did. It is no more than half a mile from Welwood village, yet no one saw her. Where did she buy food? Was she stealing it?”

“Michael, you have gone over all this a hundred times already. You will not find any different answers now. Let James do his job. He is very good at sitting unnoticed in corners of taprooms and listening in to conversations. Whatever she was up to, if it can be found out, he is the man to do it.”

“But it makes no sense,” he said, tugging at the neckcloth again.

“Michael, hush,” she said, pushing his fingers away from the neckcloth and setting it straight once more. “Stop fretting over all this. It is not like you to take this so to heart.”

“Miss Peach was my responsibility. We brought her here to give her a pleasant holiday, and now she is dead and it is all my fault. If I had caught the murderer, she would be alive today. She would be here tonight, watching everyone in their silks and jewels, and gathering stories to take back to her sister in Harrogate.”

“Michael!” she said sharply, grabbing hold of his lapels to force his attention. “It is not your fault. No one could have done more to uncover this murderer than you have, and Peachy chose to go off by herself and not tell anyone what she was up to. You cannot protect someone who does not want to be protected. She had a wonderful time chasing round after the murderer or the smugglers or whatever it was she was doing, and she would certainly not have wanted to stay safely at home and miss all the fun. Now, tonight we are going to help Mr Bertram Atherton and Miss Beatrice Franklyn celebrate their forthcoming marriage, and you are going to dance with me at least once, and take me in to supper, and you are going to enjoy yourself, do you hear me?”

He grinned suddenly. “Yes, wife. It shall be just as you say. After all, with a splendid dinner followed by a ball, how could I not enjoy myself? If you are not already engaged, madam, might I secure your hand for the supper dance?”

“I am not already engaged, sir, and I should be delighted to keep the supper dance for you.”

“Then, Mrs Edgerton, shall we go down and await the arrival of the principal guests?”

He bowed and held out his arm to her, and with a little curtsy, she rested her hand on his arm. Lord, he was a lucky man! He wished sometimes… often, in fact… that he could come out with the glib words he heard on other men’s lips. You look lovely tonight… you are an amazing woman… I am the luckiest man alive… you are the sun that lights up my life and I adore you. But somehow the words would never come. He could only hope that she saw the adoration in his eyes that he could never express in words.

Slowly, they made their way down the stairs, following a little stream of others, passing the display of armoury on the half-landing, flanked by the two Chinese urns. Michael glowered at them as he passed by.

“The axe in the urn,” he muttered under his breath. Those urns had caused him so much trouble, and as for the armoury—!

“Stop it, Michael,” Luce hissed, but she smiled affectionately at him, and the little knot of anger inside him melted slightly.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

The dinner guests were assembling in the great hall. The earl was smiling, moving from group to group, with Lady Olivia, practically bouncing with excitement, at his side. Mr Alfred Strong had Lady Alice on his arm, guiding her through the throng and explaining who was there. Sir Hubert and Lady Strong were keeping a watchful eye on Julia, Emily and Penelope Atherton, whose parents were to arrive later. The Cathcarts were standing a little aside, Kent Atherton and Miss Parish close together and talking excitedly. There was no sign of Tess Nicholson, but Michael hardly expected her. There was never any knowing what that girl would get up to next.

Mr Eustace Atherton was the first to approach them, the elegantly dressed Miss Wilkes on his arm.

“Mrs Edgerton. Captain.” He made a graceful bow. “Delighted to see you both here, and that your investigations can spare you to us for one evening at least. Or is this just another part of your work? Are you watching us all for signs of guilt?”

He laughed heartily at his own joke.

“It would make my life easier if a murderer always looked shifty, but sadly, it is rarely the case,” Michael said thoughtfully. “But I never entirely leave behind the investigation, either. Tonight I am here because of one of those little details that may or may not be connected.”

“Michael,” Luce murmured warningly.

“And so that my wife may dress in her finery, of course,” he said smoothly. “One likes to see the ladies in their best gowns. Miss Wilkes looks charming tonight.”

He bowed courteously to the lady, who acknowledged the compliment with an inclination of her head.

“Oh… thank you,” Atherton said, smiling at her. “But then, my dear Rosamunde always looks charming. But what is this possibly unconnected detail, Captain?”

“I have not forgotten that Miss Franklyn was being watched by someone from the woods not far from here. You will remember it, too, sir, for you came upon her on one such occasion and were able to escort her safely home.”

“Indeed, I do, and very glad I was to be of service. It was most fortunate that I happened to be passing. But I supposed the fellow was merely a stranger skulking in the woods for reasons of his own. Have there been other sightings since then?”

“Not that I have heard, but I shall be glad to have it confirmed by the lady herself this evening. Miss Franklyn has always been accompanied on her rides since that time, for Mr Bertram Atherton takes good care of his future wife, but I shall be happy to see her safely married the day after tomorrow.”

“Amen to that,” he said. “By the way, I have received word of a couple of interesting guns, a blunderbuss and a rifle, that may soon be in my hands. If I am successful, you must come out to Welwood to try them out.” Then, with a bow, he moved away with Miss Wilkes.

“He is trying to butter you up,” Luce said in her severest tones. “And he managed to wheedle information from you, too.”

Michael threw a quizzical glance at Luce. “Well, I had to answer him when he persevered. It would not have been polite to refuse.”

“I know, and he has always taken a great interest in your investigations.”

“For which I am very thankful, for without his diligence we might never have found poor Peachy’s body.”

“You have forgiven him for deceiving you over Miss Wilkes, then?”

“His motives were honourable, to protect a lady.”

“If indeed she is a lady.”

He looked at her askance. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, she plays the part convincingly, but there is something… off about her. Nervousness, perhaps. A certain reticence, which is unusual in one of her rank. And frankly, Michael, no lady would spend the night with a man in that way.”

“That is true. And there is the black wig, as well. One might want to conceal one’s true appearance in a public setting, but at your lover’s house? That seems strange. Oh! A wig! I wonder if Miss Peach had a wig? Perhaps that is why no one remembers seeing her.”

Luce sighed. “There, I have set you off again. I really should know better by now. Look, we are moving forward. The bridal party must be arriving.”

They followed the crowd through the passage to the entrance hall, where most of the guests lingered in a chattering, excited group, but several of the younger members of the party went outside onto the bridge to welcome the arrivals.

Michael, his insatiable curiosity unable to resist, went outside onto the bridge across the moat, too. A large cluster of grooms and gardeners and housemaids loitered a respectful distance away, at the top of the steps leading down into the moat. Two carriages lumbered slowly up the drive and drew to a halt at the far side of the bridge.

The two butlers stepped forward to open the doors and let down the steps. From the first carriage, the parents emerged, Mr and Mrs George Atherton, and Mr and Lady Esther Franklyn. From the second came Mr Bertram Atherton, who handed down his betrothed, Miss Bea Franklyn. They smiled, Miss Franklyn waved cheerily to the servants, they moved towards the bridge—

The bang echoed shockingly off the walls. Everyone froze, looking around, bewildered, for the cause of the explosion.

Bertram Atherton uttered a strange sound and then toppled backwards to the ground.

Someone screamed, shouts were heard and running feet, but Michael was already in motion. Bushes… the bushes just to one side of the bridge… that was where the gunshot had come from. Frantically he scrabbled from one bush to the next, pushing, pulling… surely the assassin could not have escaped? There was a low wall behind the bushes, but if he had jumped over that, he would have fallen clear to the basement level. He leaned over, saw nothing.

Where the devil could he have gone?

“Anything?” It was Lucas Atherton, his face ashen.

Michael shook his head. “Is he—?”

“Dead? No. Your wife has taken charge. Seems to know what she is about. For the love of God, Edgerton, what is happening here? Why would anyone shoot Bertram?”

But Michael could not answer him. The murder investigation had just become vastly more complicated.

THE END

The final book in the series is Ambition , wherein Olivia aims to become a duchess, her father settles on a wife and Captain Michael Edgerton finally works out who killed the chaplain, and why.