Page 1 of Secrecy (The Chaplain’s Legacy #4)

CORLAND CASTLE: JUNE

I t was worse than she could possibly have imagined… far, far worse. Tess had known something awful had happened, because of the screams. Mama never so much as raised her voice, yet she had screamed loudly enough to wake even the servants in their attic beds. Over and over again she had screamed, and when Tess had rushed to see what was happening, Walter had bundled her brusquely out of the room and sent her away. She and Olivia had dressed in silence, then huddled together in their bedroom, waiting to hear what had happened.

But this! It was incredible. Impossible to take in.

Grabbing her cloak, she tore down the back stairs, scattering maids with brushes and pails, then through the great hall and into the entrance hall where Wellum, used to her ways, raced to open the door for her. In her wake, her maid and footman scrambled to follow her, Harold loping along and Betty, puffing, half running.

On the path to Birchall, the trees loomed overhead, casting chilling shade as she tore along. She must get to Tom! He would comfort her, even if he could not make the nightmare disappear.

In the village, women out shopping curtsied to her, and men bustling past intently on some scheme of their own stopped and doffed their hats with a respectful bow.

“Good mornin’ to ’e, Miss Nicholson,” the brave ones called out, smiling at her. “Fine day for a walk.”

They did not know yet. How would they react when they knew? Their faces would be filled with pity. Perhaps they would cry. She should cry herself, but she was still too shocked. It was too dreadful for tears.

Tom Shapman’s workshop was wedged awkwardly into a narrow gap between two larger buildings, a bakery and a private house. Tom’s door was closed, but Tess was not deterred by that. Lifting the latch, she opened it and walked straight in. At once, her nostrils were assailed by the scent of the different woods Tom used when he made furniture. Fully half of the workshop was taken up with racks of wood in a rainbow of colours waiting to be used, from large flat slabs to make the sides of wardrobes, to narrow strips to be turned for chair legs or ornamented as trimmings. On the workbench, a half-made travel box lay unattended, for Tom was not there.

Although the frontage was wide, the shop narrowed at the back to provide a small kitchen, and a storeroom for the latches and locks and bolts that Tom used when he fitted windows and doors. A narrow stair led up to a tiny bedroom. Perhaps she was so early that he was still abed?

“Tom?” Tess called. The only answer was silence.

“Fire’s gone out,” Betty said in disapproving tones, poking round the kitchen in a housewifely manner. Then, to Harold, “You can make yersel’ useful and get this fire lit. I’ll need hot water to clean they dishes.”

Tess prowled restlessly about. Where was he? Why did he not come?

Not very many minutes later, the door opened and Tom Shapman came in, a bag over one shoulder. Tess drank in the sight of him, for there was no denying he was a fine figure of a man, tall, muscular and very, very handsome when he smiled. He was not smiling now.

“Miss Tess? What are you doing here, so early in the day?” His accent was not so harsh as some of the local working men, and his voice was pleasantly mellow. Or at least, it usually was. There was a hard edge to it this morning.

“Where have you been? You let the fire go out.”

“Nowhere… just out.”

“Before breakfast? Whatever for?”

“My time’s my own, I believe,” he said huffily. “I can come and go as I please, can’t I? But what brings you here?”

“Something terrible has happened, Tom. My father is… dead.”

“Oh, no!” At once, his face was wreathed in sympathy. Dropping his bag, he came and took her hands, his work-roughened fingers grating against her softer skin. “He was no age — what, fifty or so?”

“Fifty-five.”

“But he always seemed to be in excellent health. What was it, an apoplexy? His heart?”

She shook her head, still reluctant to put words to so terrible a thing.

“An accident? A sudden fever?”

She shook her head again, and, perhaps recognising her distress, he fell silent.

“He was… oh, Tom, he was murdered!”

“Murdered!”

“Someone broke into the castle in the middle of the night and… and killed him while he lay sleeping in his bed. With an axe! And my mother discovered him!”

“Lord save us! Poor Lady Alice! But… how could she know?”

“You forget that her other senses are much sharpened. She may be blind, but she hears extraordinarily well, and her sense of smell… the blood… she knew something was amiss, and then she stumbled upon the axe, which had been dropped on the floor.”

“Dear God! Poor lady! But why , Miss Tess? Why would anyone kill your father? The chaplain, after all… a man of God. How could a chaplain have any enemies?”

Tess did not have quite such a rosy view of her father, but still, it was hard to imagine that he had upset anyone sufficiently to cause himself to be murdered.

“I suppose there’s one good thing to come out of this,” Tom said with a quick grin. “At least when the will is read, you’ll find out once and for all what your dowry will be.”

Tess’s spirits lifted fractionally. That was true! However dark the clouds may be, there was always a silver lining.

***

T he will was read in the Earl of Rennington’s study, in the presence of only the earl and countess, Tess and the two lawyers from York. Tess’s mother, still too grieved at the tragic death of her husband, had not yet left her room. Tess and her aunt were in deep mourning, but although Tess disliked herself in black, there was no escaping that. Anything up to six months in full black, and perhaps another six months or so in half mourning, with greys and lilacs and touches of white on darker gowns. Tess fretted a little at the necessity, but she had never been openly rebellious — that was not her way. So she sat meekly in her black gown, and waited patiently for the lawyers to shuffle their papers and clear their throats and begin the reading.

It was not so complicated as she had supposed. There were a few minor bequests first, for the servants — Papa’s valet, several of the grooms, something for the butler and under butler. His pocket watch, which had come from an uncle, was to go back to his brother in Hampshire, to stay in the Nicholson family. Then there was Mama’s jointure, fifteen thousand pounds in total, the income to be hers for her lifetime, and the whole to come to Tess after Mama’s death, or on remarriage.

Remarriage! That was a strange idea indeed. Surely Mama would never take another husband?

But then the lawyer cleared his throat again and looked directly at Tess again. “ The remainder of my fortune to my daughter, Teresa Nicholson, on the sole condition that she marries a gentleman, and if she should not, or remains unmarried at the age of thirty, to be given to Pembroke College, Oxford, to found a Fellowship on whatever terms may be deemed appropriate. I appoint my wife, the Lady Alice Nicholson, as guardian to our daughter if she is not yet of age, and I appoint as trustees of her fortune until she marries the Right Honourable the Earl of Rennington and his heir, if of age, and if not, the most senior of the family lawyers. These same trustees to be also executors of this will.”

The voices droned on with the final formalities, but Tess could barely wait for the last few words to trickle into silence before she burst out, “But what is my fortune? How much is it?”

The lawyer who had read the will removed his spectacles. “As to that, we cannot yet say, Miss Nicholson. It will comprise all your father’s personal effects not otherwise disposed of, any money or valuables here or in the bank, any investments… we will have to investigate. There is also a house at Pickering which the late earl bequeathed him. That is now yours. We know of no other property.”

The two lawyers exchanged glances, and the other one said gently, “I do not believe you should harbour unrealistic expectations, Miss Nicholson. Your father’s stipend was very generous, but not such as would enable him to establish himself as a wealthy man. It may be that when he chose to use the word ‘fortune’ in his will, your father meant only relative to his circumstances when he first arrived at Corland thirty years ago. When a man has nothing at all, then even savings of a few thousand will seem like a fortune.”

“A few thousand!” she said, with something close to disgust. That would not do!

She went at once to Tom Shapman’s workshop and unburdened herself of all her grievances into his sympathetic ears.

“A gentleman!” Tom said, the plane in his hand pausing its rhythmic movements. “Ah, that’s my fault, Miss Tess. I did more harm than good by going to your father last year and asking for your hand. I thought it was wrong at the time, and now see what’s happened — he’s insisting you marry a gentleman, or you’ll not get a penny piece.”

“That is just like him!” she cried, perching on an unfinished travel box. “Even in death, he is controlling us… controlling me. I must dance to his tune, whether I will or not. He is determined that I shall never marry you, and I am just as determined that I shall.”

“That’s all very well, but he’s right, isn’t he?” Tom said, putting the plane down altogether and pulling over a chair. “You’re the earl’s niece. You shouldn’t be looking at a man who earns his bread with his hands.”

“I cannot think of a man more worth looking at,” Tess said with a burst of laughter. “You are the best looking man in the North Riding, Tom.”

He reddened slightly. “Now, now, none of your nonsense, Miss Tess. Even if that were true, it’s nothing to the point. You should marry a gentleman, or a nobleman, like that lord that your lady mother wanted for you. Lord Tarvin. He’d be a fine husband for a lady like you.”

“Pfft! Edward Harfield? The stuffiest man imaginable. I hate him!”

“You’re just cross with him because he never danced with you that time he came for the ball.”

“Never danced with me and never said more than ‘How do you do?’ as we were introduced. He ignored me, Tom. Three days he was here, and he ignored me the whole time, as if I were too lowly a creature to be worthy of his condescension.”

“You were barely fifteen,” Tom said, smiling at her.

“And Olivia was thirteen , but he danced with her! And talked to her, several times. Not that he said anything worth hearing, Olivia said. Lord, but he is boring!”

“Hush now, Miss Tess. Don’t be saying ‘Lord this’ and ‘Lord that’ like some of the rougher folk do. You’ve been brought up better than that.”

A voice from the kitchen burst into mirthful laughter. “Aye, you tell her!” Betty said. “She takes no notice of anyone else.”

“She takes no notice of me, neither,” Tom said ruefully. “Does what she wants, and always has, and gets all of us jumping to her commands. It’s your own family you should be talking to, Miss Tess, not the likes of me.”

“Oh, pfft!” Tess said, but without heat. It was hard to be cross with Tom, so fine and handsome and manly as he was. Not like the namby-pamby gentlemen she met — her own cousins, and the oh-so-eligible Edward, Lord Tarvin. “Mama shuts herself away in her room, and nobody else cares about me. I have to look after myself and make my own friends. You are still my friend, are you not, Tom?”

“Of course, Miss Tess.”

“You will never abandon me, will you?” She jumped down from her perch and knelt beside his chair, slipping a slender arm around his more muscular one. “You know how much I love you, and you are my only true friend — the only one I can depend upon absolutely. You will always help me when I am in need, will you not?”

“Now, now, Miss Tess, how can you doubt it, after all I did for you last year? You wanted me to go to him and ask for your hand, and didn’t I do exactly that? And got thoroughly yelled at for my pains as a presumptuous upstart, which I have to say is nothing but the truth, but you wanted it, so I did it. You know how grateful I am to you for helping me establish my little business. I’d do anything to repay you for that.”

“That’s not very gallant, Tom. You should do it because you love me. You do love me, do you not?”

He shifted uneasily on the chair. “Between a lady and a woodworker, there’s no call to talk about love, Miss Tess. Let’s say I’m very fond of you and leave it at that.”

“Fond of me?” she said softly, dropping a chaste kiss onto his delicious mouth. “ Fond of me, Tom?” Another kiss. “How fond, precisely?”

A third kiss, a lot less chaste, did the trick, and for a while there was silence in the workshop, apart from the disapproving banging of pans in the kitchen as Betty tidied up.

“There, you see?” Tess murmured, when Tom finally pulled away with a rueful smile.

“You always could twist me around your little finger,” Tom said. “But you’ll have to look elsewhere for a husband, Miss Tess. Your father’s will means you have to marry a gentleman, not a woodworker.”

“Well, we shall see about that,” she said. “At least now I shall soon know precisely what my dowry is, just as soon as the lawyers have tracked it down.”

“But it may not be very much, they said,” Tom said. “A few thousand. Were you expecting more?”

“A fortune — that is the word used in the will, so yes, I am expecting a lot more, and it is not at Corland. At least, if it is, it is very well hidden.”

“It will be in the bank, won’t it?”

“Perhaps. There is a house at Pickering, too. It must be somewhere, Tom, and it is not just a few thousand, either. It is a lot more than that, I know it.”

“Wishful thinking, Miss Tess?”

“No, not at all. It is a vast fortune, and I know it exists because I have seen it.”

***

E dward, Lord Tarvin, was in the best of good humours. Three years after the death of his uncle and his assumption of the honours of the barony, he at last had his life ordered precisely to his liking. The first year the family had been in deep mourning, and there had been so much to be done at Harfield Priory, his principal seat, that he had been able to make no more than a few swift dashes to town for recreational purposes. The following year, both his aunt and his mother had spent the entire season in town, and almost driven him mad with their attempts to pair him off with an eligible female. Last year, he had persuaded his aunt to retire from the fray, leaving only his mother to irritate him. But this year… ah, this year he had contrived to exile both the ladies to the Priory, and he had the Grosvenor Street house to himself. With all the principal rooms swathed in holland covers, there was no entertaining to be done, no feminine presence, nothing to interfere with his pleasant bachelor existence.

Today was Sunday, too, his favourite day of the week. His first agreeable duty was to write his weekly report to his mother. He had removed her from town by the simple expedient of telling her that her presence at his side inhibited all but the most dreary of marital prospects. No woman wanted to marry a man whose mother was forever at his shoulder, whispering in his ear, he had assured her. The price for her withdrawal to County Durham was a weekly letter from him, informing her of every dance partner, every meeting in Hyde Park, every chance encounter at Hookham’s or the theatre with a suitable girl. The hour he spent on this creative endeavour was entirely worthwhile, he was sure.

‘To Mrs Edward Harfield, Harfield Priory, County Durham. My dear Mother, I hope this finds you well and enjoying pleasant weather. Be assured that I am in the best of health, and although there has been much rain in the past weeks, we are now enjoying a spell of fine, settled weather, conducive to many outdoor activities. This week alone, I have received invitations to a Venetian breakfast, an expedition to Richmond and to Vauxhall Gardens. On Tuesday last, I attended a rout where I met again Lady E W, who graciously conversed with me for some ten minutes or so. Also there was Miss Y, but I hear rumours that she is on the brink of an engagement, so I shall remove her from my list of young ladies of interest. Also on Tuesday, at a card party in Grosvenor Square, I saw Lady J M, but not to speak to. On Wednesday…’

He sighed. So many tedious and entirely predictable girls, smirking and fluttering their fans. As if he would marry any of them! Some were pretty and some danced well and some were accomplished musicians and one or two could even converse rationally, but there was not one of them who said or did anything to surprise him. He could not bear to spend the rest of his life entirely unsurprised. So he went through the motions of looking for a wife, without the least intention of finding one. But at least the weekly letters kept his mother safely tucked away at the Priory.

Three pages were required to encompass all the encounters with possible future Lady Tarvins, and some of them had even happened. He sanded, folded and sealed this missive, franked it and left it in the basket to be taken to the Post Office. Two less carefully crafted letters quickly joined it, after which it was time to walk down to St George’s church for divine service, and another opportunity to rub shoulders with the higher ranks who inhabited the elegant streets of Mayfair.

And then, oh joy, his time of freedom. By the time he had returned to Grosvenor Street and changed into riding clothes, his horse had been brought round for him, his small overnight bag already strapped on.

“I shall be back on Tuesday morning, as usual,” Edward said to his valet.

“Very good, my lord.”

“If anyone asks for me—”

“You have gone out of town for a couple of days.”

“Precisely so. If need be, you may mention that you believe I am visiting my former professor, and you have no idea where he lives.”

“Of course.” The valet bowed. “Enjoy your visit, my lord.”

“Oh, I will. I certainly will.” Edward chuckled as he mounted agilely into the saddle. “Until Tuesday morning, Deakin.”

And then, at last, he was able to ride away to freedom.