Page 8 of Loyalty (The Chaplain’s Legacy #5)
O nce the shooting season started, Kent found himself inundated with invitations, or rather, his father received the invitations, and was minded to take Kent with him.
“Walter seems to spend all his time with Alfred Strong, learning about this Treasury position, and Eustace is never here,” the earl said. “All my dependence is on you, Kent.”
It would be a hard-hearted son indeed who would fail his own father, and besides, Kent enjoyed a day’s shooting as much as any man. So he went out with his guns, and he continued with Eustace’s little venture, and whenever he could, he rode with Miss Parish, the two talking endlessly about engines and mills and spinning jennies and all the little difficulties of operating a cotton mill, which he had never suspected. And more and more he wished he could go to Branton and see all these wonders for himself. Sometimes Miss Parish drew neat little diagrams for him, but it never made things clearer.
One such ride ended early when a rain shower caught them out. Emily, Lucas and their groom turned directly back to Westwick Heights, but Kent escorted Miss Parish to Cathcart House and lifted her down from her horse.
“I am sorry our ride was cut short,” he said, taking her hand to help her up the steps. “We will talk more of flying shuttles on our next outing, I hope.”
“You truly are interested in this, are you not?” she said.
“I truly am, Miss Parish.”
“Then you do not despise people like my father… mill-owners?”
“Heavens, no! Where would we be without men who make things? There is a virtue in the old ways, of hand-spinning and weaving, and some goods, like lace, are works of art in their own right, but using machines to speed the process and produce goods cheaper — that is a great benefit to society, is it not? It means that those with less money can still have warm clothes and blankets. No, I do not despise your father, Miss Parish. In fact, it is my ambition to be just such another as he was, if I can.”
They had reached the top step, and Davis already had the front door open to receive Miss Parish, yet Kent was unwilling to relinquish her. He still held her hand, gazing at her lovely face as those clear eyes looked straight back at him. There was no deception in her, he realised, no artifice at all. She was exactly as she seemed to be, a straightforward, unassuming girl.
He raised her gloved hand to his lips. “Thank you for your company, Miss Parish.”
And there for the first time that day was the blush and the lowered eyes. He collected his horse from the groom, mounted and, with a cheery wave to Miss Parish, rode off down the drive, quite delighted with her.
***
K atherine watched him go, the warm glow inside whenever she was with him making her smile. Such a lovely man, and if only— But there was no point pursuing that train of thought. She might be deeper in love with him with every meeting, but he had no such feelings for her, that she understood. Katherine had been courted with some intensity at Branton, and Mr Kent Atherton’s casual friendship was nothing like that. Whole weeks might pass by when he made no effort to seek her out, and when he did, his conversation was all on the subject of machinery and manufacturing, with nothing personal about it at all.
As she turned to enter the house, she found Aunt Cathcart standing in the hall, an unreadable expression on her face.
“Aunt?” Katherine said uncertainly, wondering if she had inadvertently transgressed again.
“Were you riding alone with Mr Atherton?”
“No, aunt. Emily and Mr Lucas were with us until it came on to rain, but then Emily was anxious to get home.”
“And Mr Kent very obligingly escorted you home. I see. Come, child, let us get you out of those wet clothes. Davis, send Marler up to Miss Katherine’s room.”
Katherine meekly followed her aunt upstairs, and allowed herself to be peeled out of her wet habit. When Daisy arrived, Aunt Cathcart thrust the habit and hat into her hands.
“Take that downstairs and see what you can do with it,” Aunt Cathcart said. “I shall find a clean gown for my niece.”
Daisy bobbed a curtsy and disappeared, while Aunt Cathcart rummaged through Katherine’s gowns, emerging with a pretty blue muslin that was normally kept for visiting. She bustled about, fastening the buttons, and all the while keeping up a patter of seemingly innocuous questions. Did Mr Kent ride with them very often? Did he usually accompany Katherine home? Did she talk to him? What did they talk about?
Katherine hesitated over that one. She knew her aunt disliked any reference to her father’s occupation, but she had to answer honestly.
“About Branton, mostly.”
“Branton? What aspect of Branton?”
“The mills and manufactories,” Katherine whispered.
“The mills! You talked to a gentleman about mills?”
“He asked me, aunt. He is interested in such things… machines of all kinds.”
“Ah.” She paused, a little frown on her face. “Come, sit down, child, and let me see if I can do something with this wet hair. You like Mr Kent, I think.”
Katherine blushed, of course. Oh, her unruly cheeks were such a trial to her!
“Well, that is not so surprising,” her aunt said. “He is very… gentlemanly. Naturally he is unfailingly courteous to you. He treats you exactly as he would treat Aveline… or any other lady.”
“He is very kind,” Katherine said in a low voice.
“Kind… yes, he is kind to you, out of respect for your uncle. But you must not allow your imagination to run away with the idea that his… his kindness means anything more than politeness.”
“Oh, no, aunt! I would not… I have never… I have no expectation of… He is just being friendly.”
“Precisely. After all, he is an earl’s son, and just because his status has shifted somewhat of late, does not mean that he would look so low for a wife. He has not yet been formally presented at court, for he only came down from Cambridge last year and the family stayed at home this spring on account of the Dowager Countess, but next year, when Lady Olivia makes her come-out, Mr Kent will spend the full season in town. There he will meet the daughters of the nobility and that is where his wife will come from, when he chooses to marry.”
“Yes, aunt. I understand.”
“Ah, you are a good, sensible girl, Katherine, and you know not to set your sights on the moon. Aveline likes to flirt with him, of course, and he is good-natured enough to humour her, but he will never marry her, or any of my girls. They grew up together like brothers and sisters, and that is a high barrier to overcome. If ever he had developed a true affection for Aveline we should have seen it by now. She was wild to go riding with you sometimes for the chance of seeing him, but I would not let her. It is quite a waste of her time. Whereas you are a new face here, so there is always a possibility. That is why I throw no rub in the way of your friendship with Mr Kent, for if he should happen to fall in love with you… However, you must not get your hopes up, for I see no sign of it, and I dare say the earl would disapprove, so it is not to be thought of. And with only a thousand pounds to your name… you understand me, I am sure.”
“Yes, aunt.”
“Besides, if all he talks about is mills and such like, that does not sound very romantic. Next year, when Susan is old enough to venture into society, we shall all go to the assemblies at York… and Scarborough, too. We cannot aspire to London, but we shall find some way to show you off and find you a husband suitable to your station, you may be sure. There now, you look a little less bedraggled. I shall order some tea in the parlour. That will do you good. Come down whenever you are ready.”
“Thank you, aunt.”
Her aunt bustled out again, leaving Katherine in welcome solitude. The room was still filled with her aunt’s strong perfume, so she opened a window to allow fresher air to penetrate. Then she returned to her dressing table, and unlocked the lowest drawer. From it, she drew forth her mother’s prettily lacquered jewellery box. Inside there were three layers.
The top section contained the modestly unassuming pieces that Katherine wore regularly — simple crosses and pendants, a few pairs of ear drops, a bracelet or two. Beneath that, her mother’s beautiful items that Katherine would wear for formal occasions when she married — a diamond set that dazzled in the sunlight, some garnets, a sapphire pendant, several hair ornaments. She tried them on sometimes, just for the pleasure of seeing and touching them, feeling the weight of each piece and the chill against her skin when she first put it on.
But below that was another, secret, layer. All it contained were the few coins she had managed to save over the years, no more than a hundred pounds or so, and the precious papers in Papa’s hand. One contained the names and directions of the trustees of her mother’s dowry, now hers, and there were letters of authority to the trustees and the bank, the records of her baptism and confirmation, and a copy of her parents’ marriage settlement. These papers were all bound up together with red string, and she had never read them, but Papa had explained them to her when he had handed them over. It was two years ago, just as he was about to borrow a great deal of money to build the new mill.
“Katherine, your mother’s money has always been set aside for you, but now that the bank is taking such a close interest in my financial affairs, I don’t want there to be any confusion about what’s yours and what’s mine. Your grandfather always trusted me with your mother’s money and made no conditions, but I never took so much as a penny piece from it, and now I’ve tied it all up in a trust fund so the bank can’t get hold of it, no matter what.”
“Is it a great deal of money, Papa? Am I rich?” she teased.
He laughed. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no. Just a modest amount and some investments, which have never brought in more than a few pounds a year, but it’s yours, and I won’t let anyone take it away from you. If ever you lose the papers and I am not here, you can go to Mr Monteath. He knows all about it. But don’t tell anyone, sweetheart. It’s our little secret, understand? I wouldn’t want any fortune-hunters to think you’re a worthwhile target. When you marry, make sure he wants you just for yourself.”
She had counted the coins and gently lifted out the bundle of letters many times while the new mill was being built, and the beam engine and spinning machines installed. It was a comfort whenever there was a delay, or something cost more than expected, and her father’s usually cheerful face wore a frown. Whatever the value of her trust fund and the jewellery itself, it would be something to help them to rebuild their life if the new mill should fail.
Now that hope was gone, but still she kept the secret and it reassured her that if ever life at Cathcart House became unbearable, she had the means to leave.
***
F or Kent, kept busy by his father’s need for company, by Eustace’s little games and by his discussion of engines with Miss Parish, the summer quietly slipped away, but it was not without its share of surprises. If the idea of Walter, lazy, easy-going Walter who never exerted himself in the least, knuckling down to learn to be a man of numbers at the Treasury in London was astonishing enough, he managed to astonish his relations even more by betrothing himself to Winnie Strong. No one had the least objection to Winnie, a sensible good-hearted girl who had known Walter all her life, especially considering that his previous choice, the bouncy Bea Franklyn, had been the very opposite of sensible. Still, it was unexpected, that much was certain.
Then there was an even bigger shock, for quiet, bookish Cousin Bertram was betrothed to the not at all quiet or bookish Bea Franklyn. And the most curious element of all was that both these pairings turned out to be love matches, and the four of them drifted about with beatific smiles all day long.
Neither of these events managed to amaze the inhabitants of Birchall and Corland quite as much, however, as the news that a man had confessed to the murder of the earl’s chaplain, Mr Arthur Nicholson.
“Do you know him, this Tom Shapman?” Kent asked Miss Parish, the next time they rode together. “He lives in Birchall. You might have bumped into a murderer any time you went into the village.”
“I would not recognise him, no,” she replied. “I know his little workshop, and sometimes when I passed by, the door was open and a man was in there, hard at work, but I never had any reason to go in or to speak to him. The sign on the door says that he is a woodworker and locksmith, so I suppose he was able to break into the castle. A locksmith could open any door, could he not?”
“A locked door, yes, but not one that was bolted on the inside,” Kent said. “The main doors to the entrance hall had two locks and two bolts, and two butlers who swear they were all fastened, but at the basement level there are four doors, and no one is sure whether they were locked or bolted at all. There was a window with a broken latch, as well. It would not have taken the skills of a locksmith to enter the castle that night. Any random wanderer could have done it.”
“But it was not a random wanderer, it was Tom Shapman, woodworker and locksmith, and the real question, surely, is why? Why would a woodworker want to kill a chaplain?”
“Ah, now as to that, one might hazard a guess. Shapman wanted to marry Nicholson’s daughter last year. Went to the castle in his best Sunday suit and asked Nicholson for permission, as bold as you please.”
“I imagine the answer was somewhat brief,” she said.
“And loud. Nicholson called him an insufferable puppy, as I recall, and other, less savoury, expressions. Ranted about it over the port until we were all sick of it.”
“It does seem a little presumptuous.”
“Well, Tess put him up to it, naturally. Cousin Tess is a wild spirit, Miss Parish, who goes her own way, regardless of the wishes of other people or even propriety, it has to be said. She will go her length one of these days, and even my father will not be able to save her.”
“How old is Miss Nicholson?”
“Tess must be… let me see… twenty, I suppose.”
“Then she will be of age in under a year and may marry wherever she pleases, even a woodworker and locksmith. Those few extra months of waiting are hardly worth killing for, I should have said.”
“Precisely,” Kent said, pleased by her quickness. “It makes no sense at all, and the funniest part is that Captain Edgerton is exceedingly cross about it.”
“Cross that someone confessed? Surely he should be pleased?”
“But he is not at all pleased because he did not uncover the murderer himself. And also, I suspect, because he is not entirely convinced by this confession.”
“But if the confession is false… it can only be because Mr Shapman is protecting the real murderer, and that could only be—”
“Tess,” he said. “Precisely so. And although Tess is capable of almost any outrageous behaviour, even she would draw the line at murder of her own father, I suspect. But still, a confession has been made and so it must stand, and even Captain Edgerton cannot continue his investigations now. Did you ever have the misfortune to be interrogated by him?”
She laughed. “Not interrogated, no. He asked me very politely where I was on the night of the murder, and I told him that I dined at Westwick Heights that night, arrived home somewhat after one and fell, exhausted, into bed, where I stayed until eight or so the next morning. All of which he already knew, of course, since I was the last to be asked.”
Kent chuckled. “Last but not least, Miss Parish.”
“Oh, but I am,” she said seriously. “I am very much the least in that household.” But then she went on in more lively tones, “So what is to become of the good Captain now? Has he another murder to investigate?”
“Only a disappearance. Did you ever meet Miss Peach, Mrs Edgerton’s companion?”
“Oh yes! She used to come to the rectory sewing afternoons sometimes. She always seemed like a rather bird-witted elderly lady, but I think she was a great deal sharper than she appeared, and was using the rectory gossip to gather information. Has she disappeared?”
“She has. Eustace was very scathing, as you may imagine. Not only has the captain failed to solve the murder, but now he has lost one of his own people — that sort of remark. Eustace can be rather cutting sometimes. But he gets around more than Father and I do, so he is going to look out for her.”
“I hope nothing bad has happened to her,” she said, frowning.
“So do we all,” he said. “So do we all, Miss Parish.”
***
O ne afternoon, Kent came in from a long day’s shooting, muddied from head to toe and longing only for a bath and a good dinner, to find a note awaiting him.
‘Atherton, Would you be so good as to call on me at Cathcart House when convenient. There is a matter I would discuss with you. Alan Cathcart.’
Kent was somewhat puzzled by this curious missive. Cathcart was a good sort of man, but not one with whom Kent generally had dealings, beyond the occasional social encounter. The family were included in the earl’s circle of acquaintances, but as Cathcart was neither the owner of a sizeable estate nor a sporting man, there were no common interests to pull him into the orbit of the other gentlemen of the parish. It could only be to do with one of the ladies, but although Kent examined his conscience punctiliously, he could not recall any slight or insult of which he might be accused.
He would not know until he spoke to Cathcart, so he sent a brief reply that evening, to the effect that he would call at noon, if that suited him. Since he expected to be berated for something, even if he was not sure of the precise nature of the offence, he dressed with more than usual care that morning, and, since it was raining and he had no wish to appear mud-bespattered, took the carriage.
Cathcart was in his study. In fact, now that Kent thought about it, he suspected the fellow seldom left his own fireside, for he was an indolent man. It was a comfortable enough nest, several tables liberally covered with books, newspapers and journals, a desk with a row of wooden boxes for bills, letters and other papers, and a well-used leather chair beside the fire, a glass of wine resting on a table within easy reach.
“Ah, Atherton… yes, do come in. Thank you for coming so promptly. Very much obliged to you. A glass of something? Madeira or Canary? I have claret, if you prefer, or port or… or brandy? Or—?”
“Madeira, thank you. What was it you wished to discuss with me?”
“Well. An awkward business, Atherton.” He stopped, throwing anxious glances at Kent. Then, taking a heavy breath as if he were about to dive into a deep lake, he said, “The thing is, Atherton, Mrs Cathcart is… a little troubled.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed. Troubled. For myself, I would not say anything about it… these things work themselves out for the best, one way or another, but… Mrs Cathcart feels that… and she is quite right, I am sure. One can never be too careful, can one?”
“I cannot say, sir, since I have not the privilege of understanding you as yet.”
“Oh. Of course. It is my niece, you see.”
“Miss Parish?” That got Kent’s attention all of a sudden. “I hope nothing I have said or done has distressed Miss Parish. I should be sincerely sorry for it, if so.”
“No, no! Far be it from me to imply any criticism. I would not dream… not the least thought of such a thing.”
“She has made no complaint against me?”
“Heavens, no! Katherine is such a timid little thing, she never complains about anything. The difficulty is that she has led a very different life… a much more restricted one, and she has never met… well, anyone like you before. It is not surprising that she is a trifle dazzled by you.”
“Dazzled by me? Is she?”
“Not to put too fine a point on it, she has developed a little tendre for you, so you see, if you were to pay her too much attention, you might be… drawn in, so to speak. Find yourself in deep waters, and if you should not wish to… erm, find yourself there… well, it might be awkward.”
Kent huffed a breath. “You speak in riddles, sir. Please tell me in plain terms what it is you are trying to say, for I cannot tell whether your concern is for me or for her.”
“Why, both, sir! Both. I should like to prevent my niece from disappointed dreams, and I should like to prevent you from stepping unwittingly into a marriage which you might regard as beneath you. Her father… well… difficult business, so the child has only a thousand pounds, at my discretion, and I can do no more for her. With your connections, you could do much better than that, so I would advise you to step with the greatest care around Katherine.”
“So you think, do you,” Kent said haughtily, “that if I occasionally ride with my cousins and Miss Parish, accompanied by two grooms, and if I should happen to have some conversation with her on these occasions, that she will insist on calling the banns? Is that it?”
“No, no! You misunderstand me, sir. Katherine herself would never… she is not a girl who would… but she might begin to have ideas, and to pin all her hopes of future happiness on you, and then you might feel obliged… you know how these things work. You could end up… and you might not wish… although of course, if you did wish, we should be delighted, naturally, although your father… Well, you understand me, I am sure.” He chuckled. “Just a friendly word of warning, that is all, to tread carefully, Atherton.”
Kent swallowed his ire, and smiled and bowed and thanked Cathcart with as much sincerity as he could muster. He hardly needed to be warned to take care in his dealings with Miss Parish. But was it true that she had a liking for him? How interesting! As he drove home, Kent wondered for the first time what it would be like to be married to a woman like that.