Page 18

R enton the butler didn’t express his displeasure at seeing me at Hambledon Hall with words. He was polite as he took my coat and passed it to the footman, his tone pleasant as he welcomed me back, along with Lord and Lady Kershaw, and Lady Elizabeth. It was the way he followed me about the house that was the clue to his distrust.

As I moved from one reception room to the next, studying the portraits and landscapes in their ornate gilt frames, he pretended to have something to do in that same room. He ran a gloved finger along pristine tabletops and moved decanters before returning them to their original position. He adjusted hanging pictures that were perfectly straight and checked a doorknob, commenting to himself that it was loose.

All the while, I made notes in my notebook on the paintings I’d found. I appreciated art, so the ruse was easy and enjoyable. I’d resolved to wait all day if necessary, but a short while later, as I studied a Constable landscape in the drawing room, a footman whispered something in the butler’s ear. With an annoyed glance in my direction, Renton and the footman both left.

I peered around the door. No one was about. Tiptoeing across the entrance hall tiles, I made my way up the stairs to Lord Kershaw’s office. If he was inside, I would once again wait. As I knocked gently, I spied a suitable place to hide where I could watch the entire corridor, but it proved unnecessary. There was no answer.

The door was locked, but I had it open within a minute. Pocketing my lockpicking tool kit, I slipped inside. I wasted no time scanning the bookshelf. It was low and not particularly wide, but it was crammed with all manner of books. They covered a variety of topics, from farming to geography, philosophy to art. Lord Kershaw had a great many intellectual interests. Or perhaps they were just for show.

I hadn’t noticed what book Esmond Shepherd had been holding when I’d first met him in the office, but the leather cover had been green. I removed one leather-bound green book after another, opening them and fanning their pages, shaking them out so that loose pages would fall.

The fifth book spilled its secrets onto the carpet. There were two, each one a torn page from a parish register—Esmond’s baptism and the marriage of his parents, seven months earlier. Just as I’d thought, the baptism listed Susannah’s married name, Wentworth, not Shepherd. Esmond had hidden them here for safekeeping, perhaps intending to retrieve them later as proof, but not getting the chance before Lord Kershaw killed him. Lord Kershaw had desperately searched the gamekeeper’s cottage for them, when they’d been under his nose the entire time.

I folded the pages and placed them in my bag, then went to slot the book back on the bookshelf. I ran my hand over the leather cover. It was a different shade of green to the stain I’d seen on Lord Kershaw’s fingers. I still didn’t know where the stain had come from, but it no longer mattered. It wasn’t a clue after all.

I returned the book to the shelf and straightened. A document on the desk caught my eye, only because the stamped lettering across it was so bold in its finality: withdrawn.

The document was old, made from what I assumed to be parchment, not paper. Small weights held down the corners, keeping it flat. If I removed them, it would roll up into a scroll. The flourishing handwriting and old English spelling made it difficult to read, but I gathered the gist of it easily enough. It was a legal document that Lord Kershaw probably retrieved from his solicitor’s office when in London. The document granted the public the right to use the bridleway on the estate. It was dated 1538. The stamped word WITHDRAWN had the much later date accompanying it in smaller writing—1865 and the signature of the fourth Lord Kershaw. I wondered why he’d withdrawn the public’s right to use the bridleway. Not that it mattered now. What mattered was that the current Lord Kershaw had proof it should have been closed these last thirty-five years, yet he’d opened it as soon as the threat of blackmail disappeared with the death of Esmond Shepherd. He’d wanted to return access to the villagers even though he didn’t legally have to.

He was a kind man, the murder notwithstanding.

I checked the corridor was empty before slipping out of the office. I closed the door and walked quickly, my mind reeling. I couldn’t decide what to do next. Inform Sergeant Honeyman? Scotland Yard? Or let Lord Kershaw remain a free man? Talking it over with Harry would help.

A door suddenly opened, wrenching me out of my thoughts. Lady Elizabeth stared at me, blinking in surprise at seeing me outside her bedchamber.

“Sorry if I startled you,” I said. “I was just passing.”

She glanced along the corridor, in the direction of her nephew’s office. “Heading to the morning room, Miss Fox? There’s a lovely Landseer in there for you to study.”

“Are you referring to the pretty watercolor of a cottage? I saw it when I was staying here, although I believe it’s by William Henry Hunt, not Edwin Landseer.”

I smiled. She smiled back. It was clear she didn’t trust me. She must suspect I wasn’t there to study the artwork, but her failure to trick me meant she couldn’t prove it and confront me. She had no power to stop me roaming the house.

“I’m going that way.” She used her walking stick to point in the direction from which I’d just come, as she emerged fully from her room. She closed the door behind her.

But not before I’d seen something inside that made my heart thud and my mind spin.

Lady Elizabeth and I parted, each heading in different directions. Once she was out of view, I doubled back and entered her bedchamber.

I was surrounded by walls painted in soft teal green. It was the same shade I’d noticed staining Lord Kershaw’s finger in the hours after the murder. I’d thought it came from a plant, but now realized it must have been paint that he couldn’t remove quickly with soap and water. There was only one reason Lord Kershaw, rather than a footman, would be painting Lady Elizabeth’s room when he was hosting guests—he was covering something up.

The room was located at the front of the house, overlooking the driveway, lawn and woods beyond. Anyone who glanced out of the window would have seen the body of Esmond Shepherd lying dead on the gravel.

Anyone who opened this window would have been in the perfect position to shoot him.

A frail killer would need to rest the rifle against the sill to steady her hands, as well as be experienced at using such a weapon to hit a moving target. Lady Elizabeth had told me herself that she’d been spirited when she was younger, and it wasn’t a great leap to assume that meant she was active, and that shooting was a sport she excelled at. I suspected the entire family enjoyed shooting parties. Just because Lady Elizabeth was too old to participate during our visit, didn’t mean she never had.

The paint on the windowsill did indeed seem fresher than the walls. Lady Elizabeth must have enlisted her nephew’s help to cover up some scuff marks she made while positioning the rifle, and possibly when it fired. He’d arrived at the body very quickly and seemed genuinely shocked to see Esmond Shepherd dead. It was likely his aunt hadn’t involved him until later, at which point he painted over the scuff marks and disposed of the rifle. It was a solid theory, but proving it to the satisfaction of the police would be difficult. The only evidence I had was the paint stain I’d seen on Lord Kershaw’s finger.

I scanned the room as I turned to leave and my gaze settled on the fireplace, reminding me of something Janet Browning said. Esmond Shepherd had watched her from his position in a cavity behind a wall panel beside the fireplace. Could this room have a similar hiding place?

Despite being a relatively modern house, it had been built with a Gothic aesthetic, complete with towers and battlements. Many original Gothic manors had secret passages or hiding places. Just how many of them had the architect of the new Hambledon Hall put in? As someone who’d lived through its construction, Lady Elizabeth would know every inch of the building.

I pressed on the wall panel beside the fireplace until it sprang open like a door, just as Janet described. The cavity beyond was large enough to fit a man, but the rifle didn’t need as much space.

I removed it, and the box of bullets.

“I see you found it, Miss Fox.” Lady Elizabeth closed the door behind her then approached me, leaning heavily on her walking stick.

“You shot him.” I nodded at the window. “From there. You rested the rifle on the windowsill, scratching off some of the paint.” The rifle appeared clean, but a closer inspection under a magnifying glass might yield paint flecks of the same shade as the sill. “You hid the rifle behind the wall panel then came downstairs with everyone else. Later, you informed Lord Kershaw, and he repainted the sill.”

“I won’t insult you by denying it. You’re right about all of it.”

“You’re a very good shot.”

“Thank you. I preferred shooting at a target with a rifle than at birds with a shotgun. It requires more skill.” She crossed the room and sat on the chair at the breakfast table positioned near the window. The view was lovely. Deadly, too. “Everyone has forgotten that I used to ride and shoot as well as any man. I could swim, too, and I loved climbing trees before my mother found out and put an end to it. It wasn’t ladylike, she said. Neither was having a brain, in those days.”

I couldn’t help my wry smile. “Not much has changed since, unfortunately.”

Her smile matched mine. “At least women can attend university lectures now. Not that my parents would have allowed me to. I had to do what they wished and marry well. That’s what daughters of earls do.”

“Yet you didn’t marry.”

“They promised me they would never force me to marry a man against my wishes. I could choose my own husband, as long as they approved of him. But I never found a man I could respect who was also good enough for my parents. As time wore on, and my looks faded, it became clear I wouldn’t marry. Instead, I took care of my aging parents and involved myself in charity work. That’s what single women of good breeding do. They make themselves useful, until they are no longer of use to anyone.” She smacked the palm of her hand on the head of the walking stick as if blaming the device for her frailty. “Once you can no longer get out and about with ease, it’s as though you cease to have a purpose. That’s the thing about becoming old. Everyone forgets you used to be intelligent, sporty, and fun.”

“The villagers used the word dutiful to describe you,” I said. “They have a lot of respect for you.”

“Thank you for telling me, Miss Fox. It lifts my spirits to hear that all my hard work hasn’t gone unnoticed.” She sighed. “Duty is all I’ve had for so many years. Duty to my parents, to my position as daughter of the fourth earl of Kershaw, duty as a member of society. My brother came to realize his duty, too, although it took him longer than me. He was a little wayward when he was younger. He was a dreamer.” She huffed. “I suppose he thought he was in love with Susannah and that’s why he married her. You do know about that, don’t you, Miss Fox? They married.”

“I know. Their son, Esmond, was legitimate. You told me you learned who his father was five years ago, when your brother died, but that’s not true, is it?”

“I only found out when my nephew told me, on the same day Esmond informed him. Esmond’s mother, Mabel Shepherd— grandmother ,” she corrected herself, “died a month ago, but the slovenly fellow only recently got around to tidying up her things in the cottage they shared. That’s when he found her letter, addressed to him. He went in search of the evidence in the parish registers and presented it to my nephew. My nephew asked me what I recollected of that time, and if I knew. Of course I hadn’t known about the marriage or that my brother fathered Esmond. I only knew my brother had a brief but rather intense relationship with Susannah that ended when she died. He never mentioned they’d married, and Susannah hid her pregnancy well. Mabel Shepherd hid the entire saga well, too. I’m still in shock over the fact a woman I’d known my entire life gave no indication of the secret. Not even a hint. She didn’t leave me a letter, just Esmond.”

“If Mabel Shepherd knew Esmond was legitimate, why did she and her husband pretend he was their son? Why not force your brother to acknowledge him?”

“Apparently her letter to Esmond said that my father had paid them well to keep silent. They were good people, the Shepherds. Honest, hardworking people who knew Esmond would never be fully accepted by my family or society because of his mother’s low birth. They decided he would have a better life if he were brought up as their child.”

“They did their duty as employees of Lord Kershaw,” I said.

“Duty,” she muttered, a bitter edge to her tone.

“Your father, the fourth earl, knew the truth?”

“So it seems. Looking back, I think that’s why he let the rumor about himself being Susannah’s father swirl unchecked. That rumor threw everyone off the scent and distracted them from discovering the truth. Perhaps he even started the rumor. It began just after she died, when my parents were suddenly treating the Shepherds well. The cottage got renovated, they were allowed to shoot as many birds as they wanted for themselves, and my father never said a harsh word against them. Not one. I remember the first time my brother heard the rumor. He was livid. He and my father argued about it, and my father told him not to deny it. Now I know why.”

“Your brother loved Susannah.”

Lady Elizabeth huffed again. “Floozy that she was, yes he did. Despite his loss, he did his duty and married not long after she died. You may think it odd that he didn’t claim his own son, but you must understand that my brother was under our father’s control. His marriage to Susannah was the only rebellious thing he ever did, and her death seemed to stun him into dutiful complaisance. His second wife was the opposite of Susannah. Steady, not too bright, but from a good family. I suppose the haste of their marriage was our father’s influence again, ensuring my brother’s eye didn’t fall on someone unsuitable for a second time.”

“Your father sounds like an authoritarian figure.”

“He was strict and mean.”

“He wanted to close the bridleway to the public, even though they had a legitimate right to use it, according to a document dated 1538.”

She looked surprised that I knew. “He legally withdrew that right, but never enforced it. He was quite ill by then. The villagers never found out, so when my nephew did finally close the bridleway, naturally there was uproar in Morcombe.”

“Led by Mr. Faine, but only as a pretense,” I went on. “He, Esmond and Mr. Browning thought a little agitation would stop the police from looking at them as suspects in the thefts from Hambledon Hall, if the thefts were reported. Which they weren’t. Lord and Lady Kershaw decided not to tell Sergeant Honeyman. As long as only replaceable things were stolen, they were willing to overlook their brother-in-law’s crime.”

“I’m not sure either of them care about Gordon Browning that much. Esmond had informed my nephew of his legitimacy by then, so it was imperative to keep that a secret. Esmond wanted money at first, but it wasn’t enough. He quickly spent it on trinkets and clothes that he thought would make him a gentleman. The closure of the bridleway became his next demand, and there would have been more. Much more.”

The blackmail explained the gold pocket watch and good clothes we’d found in the cottage.

Lady Elizabeth leaned both hands on her walking stick and studied me. “I must say, Miss Fox, you have learned more than I expected you to. It’s heartening to see a woman succeeding in a man’s business. Well done.”

“Thank you. Although part of me is sorry to have learned the truth.”

“Will it help your conscience if I tell you why I did it?”

“I think I already know. At first I thought it was to keep the bloodline pure. Esmond was young enough to marry and have legitimate children, and you didn’t want the Kershaw title to be tainted by the lower orders. But you lack the snobbery for that to be your motive. Now I think it’s because Esmond was a horrid man and you simply wanted to keep him from destroying your lives.”

“I am glad you came to exclude your original theory. It makes me sound monstrous. You are quite right about not wanting Esmond to take over. His demand to close the bridleway was only the beginning, a way of keeping Faine and Gordon happy until he was ready for the next stage. Esmond threatened my nephew, telling him he would demand he relinquish the title when the time was right. I couldn’t allow such a despicable person to become earl, to live in this house, and ruin it all. My nephew and his wife don’t deserve the humiliation. This is their home. It’s their children’s home. If Esmond didn’t gamble it all away, he would have lost it through mismanagement eventually. Even if Esmond never had children, and my great-nephew inherited after him, there would be nothing left to inherit.”

“You would have lost your home, too,” I pointed out. “Unless Esmond was gracious enough to allow you to spend your remaining years here.”

She barked a laugh. “Gracious is not a word you could associate with that man.” She readjusted her grip on the head of the walking stick. “What happens now, Miss Fox? Will I be handed over to Sergeant Honeyman?”

“Would he do anything if you were?”

“If the evidence is incontrovertible, he would have to.”

I studied the rifle, still in my hand. “This is a modern weapon, entirely made in a factory. It’s impossible to compare a bullet fired from it to the one removed from the body. Microscopes simply aren’t strong enough to detect such minor striations, if they exist. The paint smudge on Lord Kershaw’s finger is circumstantial, at best, and won’t hold up in court. Added to which, I doubt a jury would convict a lady of good character who is respected by villagers and peers alike.”

“Or an elderly lady, which is sweet of you not to mention.”

“It would come down to me recounting your confession in court, and whether a jury would believe me. I’m not sure I want to go through that. It would upset my aunt and uncle, and Aunt Lilian has enough on her plate. Also, to be quite frank, Lady Elizabeth, I don’t think you’re a threat to society.”

She nodded. “Not to mention Esmond wasn’t worth the trouble. No one is mourning him.”

“Not even Mrs. Browning?”

“He spied on her daughter in the privacy of her bedroom. Not even Cicely could love him after that. Besides which, a court case would lead to the truth about Esmond’s birth and I don’t think Cicely could cope if she found out her lover was her half-brother. I suspect that might send her down the same path your aunt has taken.”

I returned the rifle and bullets to their hiding place and closed the panel. Once shut, it was impossible to tell it was a door. I then handed over the two torn pages of church records. “I believe you’ve been looking for these.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you.” She held them at arm’s length and squinted to read them. “My nephew searched the gamekeeper’s cottage after Esmond’s death but couldn’t locate them.”

So it was Lord Kershaw who’d been in the cottage before Harry and me, leaving behind evidence of his search. I suspected it was Esmond himself who’d moved the photo of Susanna after he read Mabel’s letter.

“There’s a price for my silence,” I said.

She arched her brows. “How much do you want?”

“It’s not for me. It’s for Miss Crippen. She’s going to have Esmond’s baby soon, and as an unwed mother, the road ahead will be difficult for her. I’d like you to pay for the child’s upbringing.” I’d promised Miss Crippen I wouldn’t divulge her secret to anyone, but I felt an exception needed to be made, for the baby’s sake.

Lady Elizabeth nodded without hesitation.

I gave her Miss Crippen’s address. “Goodbye for now. I’ll see you at Janet’s wedding.”

“Goodbye, Miss Fox. Close the door on your way out.” She turned to the window, her palm resting on the torn pages, and stared up at the sky, as clear and cloudless as her eyes. The white hair, deep wrinkles, and heavy reliance on the walking stick were testament to her age, but there was a defiant, inner strength and sharp intelligence that rejected pity and sympathy. She regretted nothing.

Would she have murdered Esmond if she’d been younger, with her future ahead of her and more to lose? It was impossible to say. All I knew was that she was a complex woman who was no less complex now than she had been decades ago with her whole life to look forward to. Age didn’t change that.

I sought out Lord and Lady Kershaw and informed them that I’d finished my study of their masterpieces. Lady Kershaw expressed her surprise. Lord Kershaw’s gaze flew to the staircase. I suspected the moment I was gone, he’d check on his aunt.

I left the house, only to stop on the drive on the spot where Esmond died. I glanced back at Hambledon Hall, a commanding and stoic structure that wouldn’t look out of place in Medieval times. Its appearance was all pretense, however, a lie created by Lady Elizabeth’s father to make it seem as though the family’s wealth and power stretched back many centuries, not just one or two. He’d continued the lies by excluding his firstborn grandson, Esmond, from the line of inheritance. The lie wouldn’t die completely, not until everyone who knew the truth was gone. I was quite sure the only three people who knew Esmond should have been the sixth earl instead of his younger half-brother would never tell. Lord Kershaw and Lady Elizabeth would take it to their graves. I doubted he would even tell his wife or children. And I wouldn’t tell anyone either, after I informed Harry, of course. That would make four people to know the truth, not three. None of us would speak of it again.

Something moving in one of the windows on the first floor caught my eye. I wasn’t precisely sure which window belonged to Lady Elizabeth’s bedchamber, but I suspected she was sitting there watching me. I lifted a hand in a wave, then turned away. My steps quickened without me realizing it at first. It wasn’t until I found myself at the edge of the village, out of breath, that I realized I’d maintained a fast pace because I was eager to see Harry again.