Page 11 of Secrecy (The Chaplain’s Legacy #4)

T ess was exultant. Finally, someone took her seriously and would do something sensible. Lord Tarvin accepted that there was a great heap of gold bars in her house, and he was determined to find a way to get them out, and without her trustees being any the wiser. He would not say much about how he intended to do it, for he said he would need to see the house first, but he would surely find a way.

The whole journey to Pickering had been filled with his questions about the house. He wanted to know the exact layout of all the rooms, and even made her draw a map. Then he wanted to know all about the people who lived there, both the widow and her nieces, and also the servants. He was particularly interested in their habits — when they went out, when they went to bed, what visitors they had and much more besides. And finally, he wanted to know about the office over the coach house and the safe.

“It just had one lock? Not two? Trying to find two keys might be difficult.”

“No, only one key. Papa’s safe at Corland only had one key, and he used to keep it on a hook under his desk. Another minute and I might have had the Pickering safe open.”

“We will have it open soon enough,” he said soothingly.

And then, finally, the fortune her father had wilfully tried to withhold would belong to her, as it should by right. And then… and then… she could marry Tom at last.

Here her heart quailed momentarily. Edward’s sarcastic words rang in her head. ‘He will still be the village woodworker, except living on his wife’s money. That will gratify him, I am sure.’ He would not like that! A man like Tom, so proud of his little business and making his way by his own skills would not be at all content to be funded by his wife. Perhaps he would not even like to live in her cottage, being used to far more modest accommodation. But he could hardly expect her to live in a hovel, with a maid of all work! The practical aspects had never even crossed her mind, except that she knew she could never live in that tiny room above the workshop.

It was a conundrum, and she was only surprised she had never thought of it before. Still, there would be time enough to work out the details later. The first priority was to find her fortune. Then Tom could be released from prison and they could begin to plan their future together, whatever it was to be.

***

C aptain Michael Edgerton was cross. He was cross a great deal of the time just now, ever since Tom Shapman had walked into Corland Castle and confessed to the murder of Mr Arthur Nicholson, the earl’s chaplain. Nine weeks Michael had spent at Corland, nine long weeks of painstakingly interviewing everyone from the earl himself down to the scullery maid, and then the neighbouring families, and not even come close to identifying the murderer. The miscreant rested in York Gaol now only because his conscience had troubled him and he had confessed.

Although even now doubts remained in Michael’s mind. The means of it, the way the fellow had entered the castle, retrieved the axe, gone up the stairs to Nicholson’s room, and then escaped afterwards — all of that was plausible. He had even explained how it was that no one had noticed the axe in the display on the stairs, since he had hidden it in one of the Chinese urns so that it was handy for his enterprise. But as to why he had killed the chaplain, his explanation was deficient. He had wanted to marry the chaplain’s daughter, and been refused, not surprisingly. A woodworker was not a suitable husband for the niece of an earl. So, a year later, he had killed the chaplain, and now he would hang. That made no sense to Michael, when all he needed to do was to wait a few months until the lady was of age and they could marry anyway. Even if he hoped that Tess would inherit a great fortune, was it worth risking the hangman’s noose for?

Now he had another problem. His investigation had finished two weeks ago, ever since Shapman’s confession, but Michael had still to recover the last of his team. Miss Peach was an elderly spinster, once Mrs Edgerton’s governess, but brought out of retirement to play the part of companion while they resided at Corland Castle. The intention was to give her a pleasant holiday, sitting in the drawing room with all the latest journals to amuse her, while she was supplied with endless cups of tea and currant buns. Instead, she had hurled herself into the investigation with glee, initially elbowing her way into the rector’s wife’s circle to hear all the gossip, and latterly in Pickering, pursuing Mr Nicholson’s ventures there.

And now she had disappeared. Michael had been looking for her for two weeks, without any success. It was enough to make him leave off his investigator’s hat once and for all, and go back to army life. At least there everything was regular and orderly, and he had only to do what he was told and not think too deeply about any of it, or chase round after elderly ladies who vanished off the face of the earth.

So he returned to the inn at Pickering, accompanied by Sandy, his Scottish colleague, in a thoroughly despondent frame of mind. His wife, Luce, was alone in the parlour.

“Anything?” she said eagerly.

He shook his head, removing his sword and laying it on the battered deal table that filled the centre of the small parlour. “No one has seen her, not for weeks.”

“Ah, well, there is a letter for you from Pettigrew, so perhaps he will bring good tidings from Corland.”

While Sandy poured wine for them all, Michael broke the seal on his letter and read the contents aloud.

‘To Captain Michael Edgerton, Black Swan, Pickering. My good friend, we have had an interesting visitation. Miss Tess Nicholson arrived from Harfield Priory late yesterday, just as we were gathering for dinner, in a great state of agitation, having heard that Tom Shapman had confessed to the murder of her father. She protested loudly that he is innocent, but the earl would have none of it. She did not know that Shapman was held at York Gaol, and left this morning to go there. Curiously, she was accompanied by Lord Tarvin. If you recall, he came storming up from town to protect his simple-minded cousin, Mr Frith, although it seems he was unsuccessful, since Miss Nicholson is now officially betrothed to Mr Frith. He is chosen to be the gentleman who will unlock the terms of the late Mr Nicholson’s will, and release her fortune. However, the Lady Alice will not give her permission, so they must wait until the spring before they can marry. I should very much like to know why Lord Tarvin so concerns himself in Miss Nicholson’s affairs that he undertakes to drive her here and there in his carriage. He has gone with her to York, but I do not think it likely that they will be able to have Shapman released. Do you suppose she has any reason for believing in Shapman’s innocence, or it is merely her affectionate female heart that makes her say so? You have never been entirely convinced of Shapman’s guilt, so perhaps this is the key to unlocking that particular mystery. Is there any news regarding Miss Peach? I am becoming quite alarmed by her continued disappearance. I remain your good friend, Pettigrew Willerton-Forbes’

There was silence for a long time, as the three occupants of the room pondered this interesting news. Michael sipped his wine, Sandy absent-mindedly chewed a slice of cherry cake that had been abandoned on a plate, and Luce placidly mended one of Michael’s shirts.

“She is a very odd sort of girl,” Luce said eventually. “Last year she wanted to marry the woodworker. Now she is betrothed to a man she barely knows, of whom strange things are said, and yet when she hears that the woodworker is in prison, she comes haring south in… what did Pettigrew say? ‘A great state of agitation’. She is fond of the woodworker, yet she is to marry this other man.”

“Is that not the fate of many women of her class?” Michael said. “Herded into London and married off to the first eligible man to offer for them, or worse, a match made by her parents when she was in the cradle. Few aristocratic women marry for love.”

“Oh indeed, and many of them live to regret it,” Luce said at once. “An earl’s niece and a woodworker? It would never do, and they would both be miserable.”

“And you are a baron’s daughter and an earl’s cousin, and yet you married a common soldier,” Michael said softly. “You hide your misery very well, my dear.”

Luce laid down her sewing and smiled at him. “Michael, you cannot compare our situation with theirs. You are a gentleman’s son, after all, a great many rungs on the social ladder above a woodworker. I had only a modest dowry, so you brought more money to the marriage than I did. A common soldier indeed!”

“I notice ye dinnae deny being miserable,” Sandy said, and ducked as Luce threw her thimble at him.

“Foolish Scotsman!” she murmured.

“Aye, but are we off tae York or not?” Sandy said.

“Of course we are!” Michael said. “I suppose it is too late to go now?”

“It is,” Luce said crisply. “Dinner in an hour, followed by a leisurely evening and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow you may go tearing off to York, if you wish.”

But this plan was soon forgotten, for the dinner hour saw the return of another of Michael’s colleagues, James Neate, an unobtrusive man whose great skill was to sit unnoticed in tap rooms and hear all the gossip.

“Any news of Peachy?” were his first words, but when Michael shook his head, James went on at once, “I bring interesting news. Guess who is staying at the White Swan? No, you will never guess. Miss Nicholson and a lord… Lord Tarvin. Do we know a Lord Tarvin? I thought she was betrothed to a commoner?”

“Miss Nicholson? Lord Tarvin?” Michael said, stunned. “But Pettigrew has just written to say they are gone to York. Wait… what date is on the letter? Well, I suppose if they only stayed one night in York… How long have they been at the White Swan, James?”

“Two or three days. They have been very furtive, using false names. He is Lord Frimley, and she is his sister, Miss Frimley, but the carriage has the coat of arms on it, and the servants are… a bit careless in their talk, especially when plied with ale. I am very good at plying servants with ale.”

“Two or three days!” Michael cried. “Who knows what they may have been up to in that time. And what are they even doing here?”

“I overheard the servants talking about a house,” James said. “I would wager that is Miss Nicholson’s house.”

“But what can they do about it?” Michael mused. “They cannot enter it… but perhaps they can. Lord Tarvin is Mr Frith’s trustee, I believe, so now that Miss Nicholson is engaged to marry him, he might be able to persuade the attorneys that he has a right to go in. But then, why the false names? They are up to something, that much is certain. We must keep an eye on them.”

“False names… masquerading as his sister… and ye think they’re up to something?” Sandy said. “Well done, Michael! Ye should take up a career as an investigator.”

It was as well Michael had no heavy object in his hand, for he would surely have thrown it at Sandy’s head, but the rest of them laughed long at his discomfiture, and he was not brought back to good humour until cajoled with a dish of sweetbreads and several glasses of very good claret at dinner.

***

E dward fizzed with excitement. He had spent three whole days looking at Apstead House from every possible angle, and loitering nearby to observe the comings and goings. He quickly discovered that few people went into the house and even fewer left it, just as Tess had said. But the gentlemen arriving in the evenings by way of the garden were interesting, so he sent Deakin to patronise every inn in town and make certain discreet enquiries. That brought surprising intelligence. Apstead House, it appeared, was in business as a rather exclusive and very expensive brothel.

That would make it easier for a gentleman to be at the back of the house, near the coach house, in the evening. There were bushes in abundance to hide behind, and an ancient apple tree meandering its way up the side of the coach house, easily climbable, and half hiding a window large enough for a man to scramble through into the office. Tess had told him that she had been spotted moving about, so he had only to keep below the level of any windows on the house side of the office. It should be easy.

Tess was very cross to be excluded, naturally, but he insisted that she and Betty should keep well out of sight. They had been confined to the inn since they arrived, or at least, he had told them to stay there. With Tess, there was no knowing what she might get up to when his back was turned. That was what made her so fascinating.

“It would never do for you to be recognised, especially as we are not using our own names,” he said. “It would look deeply suspicious.”

“We are not doing anything illegal,” she said. “That house is mine, after all. I am entitled to enter it.”

“Well… perhaps. I am not sure that a magistrate would be convinced by that argument.”

“I have more right to get into it than you have.”

“Tess, I am going to climb a tree, and then force a way in through a closed window. That is no venture for a female, especially as we have no idea what might be waiting inside. For all we know, Mrs Mayberry may have hired armed guards to protect that room. You must stay here, do you understand?”

She smiled and nodded and assured him that she had no thought of climbing trees, but he mistrusted her all the same.

“Do you want me to watch her while you’re gone, my lord?” Deakin said when she was out of the room.

Edward sighed. “Really she needs tying to the bedpost, and the servants with her, for they are totally loyal to her and cannot be trusted to protect her. No, let her do as she pleases, but if she should leave the inn, please do your level best to keep her out of trouble.”

He left early enough that there would still be light enough to see by, for lighting a candle would be fatal to his hope of secrecy. He had planned to wear his normal evening dress, to attract less suspicion, but Tess had pointed out scornfully that his usual pale silk breeches and stockings would be easy to see, so he had settled on black pantaloons. And then he was out of the inn, making his way towards the small house where he, a peer of the realm, was going to break in and steal whatever was in the safe.

The thought amused him, and he had the comfortable notion that even if he were caught, he had the justification of acting for Tess, whose house it was, and neither she nor her trustees would pursue him for his crime. The only point in the plan that gave rise to a degree of apprehension was the prospect of meeting a man with a pistol in his hand, but it was six weeks since Tess had been there, so he was optimistic that the affair had been forgotten.

Edward took his time walking through the streets. Pickering was not a large town, so he had to meander a bit, but eventually he found himself at the back of the house, and hastily dodged out of sight in the shrubbery behind the privy. Here he paused to catch his breath, calm his thumping heart and prepare for the next stage of his adventure.

Climbing the tree was easy, and he was mostly hidden from the ground by the still expansive foliage, although the ripening apples kept bumping him as he climbed, or else fell with soft thuds to the ground below. The highest part of the tree was above the roof of the privy, but thickly growing ivy provided shelter from anyone watching from the house.

Then he was at the window, and here he paused, wondering if this was the point where he acknowledged defeat, for the glass was filthy and he could not see where the latch was. He had brought a flat metal bar with him, purchased by Harold from a tiny shop near the church, so he started to worry away at the window in a couple of places where he thought the latch might be. To his surprise, the window abruptly swung open, knocking him from his precarious perch, so that he slithered a few painful feet down the tree before grabbing a branch firmly enough to stop his descent.

For a few minutes, he could think of nothing but the pain in a particularly troubling place, but as soon as that subsided enough for his brain to function again, he climbed up to the windowsill and gingerly clambered over it.

He was in! For an instant, exhilaration rose unstoppably and he laughed out loud. But he could not linger, for the sun would soon be gone and he would have to make the descent down the tree before it was too dark to see.

The room was long and thin, with windows on all sides. That meant plenty of light to see by, but he must be very careful not to show himself at any of the windows. Dropping to the floor, he crawled across the room to the writing desk and felt underneath for the key. There it was! Exactly as Tess had predicted, it was in the same place as at Corland. Then across to the wardrobe, manoeuvre the door open without standing up, and there was the safe. Excitedly, he fumbled with the key, dropped it with a metallic clang, tried again, the door swung open.

So much gold! He sat back on his heels, astonished. Everything Tess had said was true, was his first thought. He had never quite believed in the existence of her great fortune, assuming it to be a few pieces of gold — worth a few hundred pounds at most. But this! He could not even begin to guess at its value.

He picked up the topmost bar… and then froze.

Behind him came the distinct sound of a gun being cocked.

“I should not move, if I were you, my lord,” came a voice.