Page 2 of Secrecy (The Chaplain’s Legacy #4)

“ E leven thousand,” Tess repeated, in disgusted tones.

The lawyers beamed happily at her. “It is a substantial sum, Miss Nicholson,” one of them said. “A splendid dowry for any young lady. And in time you will also inherit your mother’s portion of fifteen thousand pounds.”

“A time far in the future, we must hope,” the other said.

“Yes, indeed. All the Lady Alice’s well-wishers must hope that it will be a great many years before such a large sum finds its way to you.”

“Indeed, it is a very great sum,” the other chortled. “You must beware of fortune hunters, Miss Nicholson.”

The two men exchanged smug glances.

“What about the house?” Tess said.

“Ah, now, the house at Pickering is leased at a modest rental — ten pounds a year. The tenant is a respectable widow, a Mrs Mayberry.”

“But what is the house worth?”

“Worth? If it were to be sold? A few hundred pounds, perhaps, but you would not wish to sell it, I am sure, Miss Nicholson.”

“I might wish to live in it.”

The earl had said nothing so far, but at this he frowned and leaned forward on his elbows. “Tess, my dear, you could hardly set up your own establishment, not a girl of twenty. If Alice were to go with you… but you know how impossible that is. She must stay here where all is familiar and she knows her way around, and that means that you must stay here as well.”

Tess sighed. She had known she was asking for the impossible. Her mother had been blind since a childhood illness, and could not leave Corland Castle.

“But surely I can go and look at the house?” she said. “Since it is mine—?”

“And disrupt the tenant?” the earl said. “Tess, do not let this inheritance turn your head. The Pickering house is not yours, not until you marry, and then your husband will determine what is best to do with it.”

Tess had nothing to say to that.

“When you are out of mourning,” the earl said, “you may come to town with us, if you wish, and Lady Rennington will introduce you into society, and find you a suitable husband. You will have suitors buzzing all around you, my dear, so pretty as you are, and with a very handsome portion to offer. You will be able to choose just the man to suit you, you may be sure.”

Tess could be sure of no such thing. A suitable husband! It was the last thing she wanted.

***

T om Shapman was busy turning chair legs when she arrived, his coat off and sleeves rolled up above the elbow, revealing admirably strong arms.

“More chairs?”

“Aye, fourteen for the dining room at Langley Villa for Lord Birtwell and his bride.”

“If they ever get to the altar,” Tess said with a lift of one shoulder. “They have been betrothed forever, it seems.”

“He’s the heir, so it’s not a simple matter of banns and a wedding,” Tom said. “There’ll be a lot to take into account. So long as they pay for their chairs, it’s nothing to me when they marry, or if they marry at all. But what did the lawyers say? Are you a wealthy woman?”

She told him all that had been said, and he made sympathetic noises. “Well, there it is, then. No vast fortune after all.”

“But there is!” she cried. “I tell you, I have seen it!”

“How can you see a fortune? It’s all in the banks, isn’t it? Or… investments of some sort.”

“This was in Papa’s safe,” she said. “Gold bars, a great pile of them, and I know from the prices in the newspapers that they are worth far, far more than a measly eleven thousand. But then one time I looked they were gone, and now I have not the least idea where they are.”

Tom looked up from his work, frowning. “Your father showed you what was in his safe?”

“Of course not! But I discovered where he kept the keys and I used to look. He kept Mama’s jewels in there, and a bag of money — linen money, all rolled up, and coins — various documents, I know not what, and a pile of gold bars. But then the gold vanished.”

“Perhaps he was holding it for someone else?” Tom suggested.

“No! It was all his, and now it is mine, if I can only find out where it is.”

“And what would you do with it — buy a castle to live in?” Tom said vaguely.

She chuckled. “No! I should marry you, silly, and then you would not need to make chair legs over and over again. You could do nothing and be a gentleman.”

He shifted uneasily. “I’d not like that, Miss Tess! I need to be working at something.”

“Well, you could make the most beautiful furniture in the world, using the finest woods… or train up apprentices, so that they can earn a living themselves. That would be worthwhile, would it not? I should like to do some good with my money, but first I have to find out where Papa has hidden it.”

“Why would he hide it?”

Tess made an impatient noise. “Why did Papa do anything? He was very secretive, but he had all manner of schemes going on. Even I cannot tell you all that he was doing, and I made it my business to find out, you may be sure.”

Tom shifted uncomfortably, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t meddle, Miss Tess.”

“Aye, that’s right enough,” called out Betty from the kitchen. “Allus snoopin’, she is.”

“I like to know what is going on,” Tess said with a careless lift of one shoulder. “Besides, Papa knew I was watching him. He caught me looking through the drawers of his desk one day, but he only laughed about it and told me I was a clever little puss, so he saw nothing wrong with it.”

“I don’t want to say nothing against your father,” Tom said, “especially now he’s dead, for he was a man of God, after all, but he shouldn’t have encouraged you in that.”

“Why does everyone become so mealy-mouthed about the dead?” Tess cried impatiently. “A wicked man does not become a saint as soon as he dies.”

“Miss Tess!” Betty protested. “Don’t you go suggestin’ that your father was anythin’ but a good man at heart. Human, like everyone, and likely to make the odd mistake, but a good man.”

“He was an evil and selfish man, who never cared for anyone but himself… and Mama, I suppose. He certainly never cared for me or he would never have left my inheritance so horridly tied up. That money is mine , but can I get my hands on it? No, only my trustees and then my husband. And where is the rest of it, that is what I really want to know? Where are all those gold bars?”

“Perhaps these people investigating the murder will find them,” Tom said, tossing a finished chair leg onto the pile and starting another. “They seem to be very thorough.”

Tess sighed. “That is a possibility. They are turning the castle upside down and shaking it thoroughly. If the gold bars are here, they will find them… surely.”

“And even if they don’t, they’ll find out who killed your father,” Tom said.

“Do you think so?”

Tom looked up in surprise. “Of course! A wild killing like that — someone breaking into the basement, finding an axe on the stairs and then going to your father’s room — whoever it was must have left some traces behind, and must be quite mad.”

“A wild killing? Nothing of the sort,” Tess said. “This was no madman.”

“What makes you say that?”

“This was planned. How could a passing madman break into a house and find his way unerringly to one specific bedroom?”

“But that’s just the point, Miss Tess. He broke in, and that wasn’t hard, given that the scullery window had a broken latch, then he wandered about here and there — he could have stumbled into any number of rooms. He could even have looked into your room. But when he came to your father’s room… perhaps something disturbed him, or your father woke and saw him and he panicked, he slashed at him with the axe he’d picked up, then, realising the terrible thing he’d done, he ran away. Surely that’s how it happened?”

“But where did the axe come from? It belonged to Eustace, part of his collection, and he had arranged it as part of the display on the main stairs, but nobody saw it. It was there for more than a week, but even the maid who dusted the display never saw it there.”

“Maids never see nothin’,” Betty called out.

“Maybe it was there and no one noticed,” Tess said. “Or maybe it was not there at all.”

“What are you suggesting, Miss Tess?” Tom said.

“Just this — that the murderer was not a passing madman, but a very clever man who planned his wickedness carefully. I doubt he came in by a window, not when there are four doors into the basement. The garden door with the broken bolt, perhaps, and then straight up the service stairs to the great hall. Then he collected the axe from where he had hidden it, and—”

“Wait! He had hidden the axe somewhere? Why? And where?”

“Why? So that it would be waiting for him when he came to fulfil his wickedness. As to where, I imagine he took it from Eustace’s display and then slipped it into one of the urns.”

“Urns?”

“Giant Chinese vases. There are two of them on the stairs, one on either side of the display. A good place to hide a weapon, do you not think? Then up the stairs to Papa’s room, do the deed while he sleeps, drop the axe and back out the way he came in.”

“It could’ve happened that way, I suppose,” Tom said thoughtfully. “But I still think a madman is—”

“No!” she cried. “It was planned, I tell you. I know it, Tom. And that is better than an unpredictable madman… who might come back at any moment.”

“That broken latch has been fixed,” Tom said, “and the bolt on the garden door, and all the locks changed. No one can break in now.”

“Not at Corland, but a madman might go anywhere. No, the murderer was a man with a specific grudge against Papa. He wanted my father dead and he is dead, and it is better by far to leave it at that.”

***

E dward lay contentedly in bed, watching Nellie dress. She never liked to wander about in her nightgown, so as soon as she rose, she began methodically to don her clothes. He enjoyed watching her deft fingers tying and buttoning and straightening. Especially the stockings — there was something mesmerising about a woman’s stockings. Nellie’s concentration was intense as she carefully slid them up her legs and tied the bows, and he loved that brief glimpse of leg as the shift was pulled up. He had seen Nellie without a stitch on, but that quick view of leg as she dressed was still appealing.

“I suppose you’ll be off straight after breakfast, as usual,” she said, looking up from her work momentarily.

“It is Tuesday morning,” he said, although not without regret. “Sunday night and Monday night, that is all I can spare.”

“You don’t really get your money’s worth from me, do you?” she said with a throaty chuckle. “This house, the servants, the food and drink, pin money, the occasional present — which I appreciate very much, you may be sure — it must cost a fortune, yet I only see you two nights out of seven.”

For about three seconds he was tempted, for he was only human and a man, after all. But one could not spend every minute in bed, and the prospect of more hours of Nellie’s inane chatter was unappealing. One did not engage a mistress for her wit or ability to discourse on the state of the world, but a little conversation above the banal would be welcome.

“I am occupied for the other five nights. As a baron, I have a position in society to maintain.”

“You could come here afterwards. Or maybe an afternoon now and then. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself the rest of the time, and it’s not as if you have a wife to object to you keeping a mistress.”

“Thank heavens!” he said with a quick laugh. “You could spend my money. Go shopping and let me have the bills next time I visit. Go out with your friends. You do have friends, I take it?”

“Oh yes. I have friends,” she said, with a wry laugh. “Lots of friends since you set me up here. Some of them are even respectable.”

“There you are, then,” he said. “Keep yourself busy for five days a week, but be here for me from Sunday to Tuesday. Is it not the ideal arrangement? And the best of it is that my mother knows nothing about it.”

He laughed again. Oh yes, life was just perfect!

***

T he earl’s summons was definitely ominous. The whole family was to attend, not just Tess, and Uncle Charles was not one for dramatic meetings, so there was clearly something intriguing afoot.

Tess found the darkest corner of the library to hide in, sheltered by one of Eustace’s precious suits of armour. With her black gown, she was confident of passing unnoticed as the rest of the family arrived. Walter was the first, but that must have been by the earl’s wish, too, for he was waiting for him by the study door.

“Am I late?” Walter said.

“No, no, not at all,” Uncle Charles said, his voice unsteady. “You are early, but that is all to the good. The more time we have before the others get here, the better.”

“Whatever has happened?” Walter said. “It must be something dreadful, I am sure. I have never seen you so agitated.”

Then he was inside the study, the door closing behind him, and Tess heard no more, but those few words were alarming enough.

Gradually, the rest of the family arrived in the library. Tess’s mother was amongst the first, on Aunt Caroline’s arm, the two sitting silently side by side as they waited. Then cousins Kent and Olivia, Kent joking as always, his ill-timed wit rousing Olivia’s ire.

Olivia had chosen to be tearful today in anticipation of bad news. Once Tess and Olivia had been the best of friends, and they still shared a bedroom and sometimes clothes, too, but gradually they had grown apart. Olivia was destined for London, the season and a splendid marriage into her own rank, whereas Tess has no such expectations. Not that she wanted a splendid marriage, or any marriage at all, but as the two girls had realised their very different destinies, they had drifted apart.

The Westwick Heights family appeared then, making the room seem crowded and noisy, as greetings were exchanged. Uncle George had the same patrician air as Uncle Charles and Tess’s mother, but then they could not help being the children of an earl. Aunt Jane made straight for Mama, seeing her as the greatest object of compassion in the room. Tess did not dislike Aunt Jane, for there was nothing objectionable about her at all, but she had never attracted her aunt’s attention. She was far too healthy to be an object to a lady whose only interest in life was ailments — her own and everyone else’s.

At noon, the appointed time for the meeting, the study door opened and they were allowed inside. As they drifted across the library and squeezed into the little round room, one of the corner towers of the castle, Tess’s cousin Bertram asked how she was. He was the only person to address her.

Then, because Eustace was late, as usual, they all had to wait for him to arrive, giving everyone plenty of time to detect the shocked expression on Walter’s face and the grey, tear-stained cheeks of Aunt Caroline. Bad news, then, without a doubt.

Tess could not have imagined just how bad it was. Her father — her wretched, wicked father — who had been chaplain at Corland Castle for thirty years, who had married Uncle Charles and Aunt Caroline, had, it appeared, never been ordained at all. He was not a clergyman, and not qualified to conduct marriages. The earl’s marriage was invalid and all his children rendered illegitimate.

No wonder Walter was shocked. As the heir to the earldom and all the entailed estates, he had held the courtesy title of Viscount Birtwell. Now, thanks to Tess’s father, all that had been taken from him. He had nothing. No inheritance, no title, not even the modest comfort of being a legitimate son. Uncle George, the earl’s younger brother, was now the heir presumptive, and Bertram after him, and the two of them looked as shocked as anyone else.

There were many questions asked, of course, but nothing could make things right and set everything back the way it was. The women wept, the men were grim-faced and Walter left almost at once to inform his betrothed, Bea Franklyn, that she would never be the Countess of Rennington, merely Mrs Walter Atherton.

Tess crept away to her favourite hiding place, a small balcony high above the main staircase, and pondered her situation. She was one of the few unaffected by the change in the family’s fortunes. Her own father’s marriage had been conducted by the parish parson, so she herself was still legitimate, still bound by the terms of that stupid will. Her uncles, aunts and cousins were in disarray, but her life had not changed at all, except that her father’s perfidy was now revealed for all to see. She had always known him for a rogue, but she had never suspected that his wickedness stretched so far.

She saw the others emerge below her, dispersing to their own favourite places to ponder their broken lives. They were silent, by long habit saying nothing in front of the servants, but that was mere foolishness. This could not be hidden from anyone, not the servants, not acquaintances, not the malicious section of society in London that would gloat over such a downfall. It would be in the newspapers, very likely, and the entire world would know the worst of her father.

What a wicked man he had been! No wonder someone had murdered him. Tess had always known that he was lining his own pockets at the earl’s expense, always suspected that there was more she did not know, but this was beyond anything. To pretend to be a clergyman for all these years… to put himself forward as a pious, God-fearing man, and yet to be living such an enormous lie — it was incredible!

The castle fell into its afternoon slumber. A carriage arrived at the front door, but was turned away. No one was receiving callers today. After a while, the Westwick Heights family appeared, their carriage was summoned and they departed. Then silence again. Below her, only the occasional footman striding past importantly on some unknown errand disturbed the afternoon’s tranquillity.

All at once, Tess could not bear to be still. There was nothing more to be learnt at the castle, so she would unburden herself to Tom, her faithful friend. Betty and Harold, her mother’s watchdogs, were nowhere to be seen, for once, so Tess slipped down the service stairs and out through the garden door, collecting an ancient bonnet from a peg as she passed by. Then she was free, striding down the path to Birchall.

Tom was out, only the village woman who cleaned for him busy at the workshop, and she was soon finished. Tess made herself a pot of tea and waited for Tom to return. But he did not come, only Betty and Harold, indignant at being left behind.

“You shouldn’t go off on your own, Miss Tess,” Betty scolded. “Anything could happen if we’re not by to protect you.”

“What could happen to me in Birchall village, where everyone knows me?” Tess said.

“If you come callin’ on Tom Shapman all by yourself, you know what folk’ll say ’bout that,” Betty said. “We’re here to look after you.”

“And tell my mother everything I do,” Tess said with a spurt of anger. “Do not imagine me ignorant of your true purpose.”

“She does ask, it’s true,” Betty said, lifting her chin. “After all, she can’t see herself, so she has to have other eyes watchin’ over you. But we don’t tell her all you get up to. No point in worryin’ the poor lady, now is there? You’d be amazed if you knew how often you pray in church or deliver potted meat to the poor.” She chuckled. “Leastways, that’s what we tell her ladyship. But we’re loyal to you , Miss Tess, first and last. We’ll keep you safe, but we won’t betray your secrets.”

Tess did not for one moment believe them, but it was beneath her dignity to argue with servants, even such familiar ones as Betty and Harold. Betty had been a junior nursemaid when Tess was still in the nursery, a well-built girl willing to wade into fights between the older boys and haul the combatants apart, or carry a younger child bodily, but for ten years now she had belonged to Tess alone, acting as lady’s maid as well as chaperon. Harold had been added when Tess was twelve, and already showing a propensity for wandering far and wide. Her mother had never attempted to stop the wandering, merely providing an escort to rescue her if she got into too much trouble.

Eventually, Tess gave up waiting for Tom, and set off back to the castle, Betty puffing in her wake and Harold loping along behind. Almost the first person she met as she crossed the great hall and set foot on the stairs was Captain Edgerton coming down them, light-footedly skipping from step to step. He was an unlikely person to be investigating her father’s murder, having been a soldier in India, and still displaying a military air, a sword always hanging at his waist. He was amusing, however, and polite, too. Now he stopped on the half-landing beside Eustace’s display of armoury and made her a flourishing bow.

“Miss Nicholson. I trust I see you well?”

“As well as ever, Captain. Have you discovered who killed my father yet?”

“Not as yet, ma’am, but progress is being made, I feel.”

“Is it?” she said disbelievingly. “And have you found any trace of my fortune?”

Instantly, he was wary. “There was nothing in your father’s safe beyond the items already disclosed to you, Miss Nicholson — around a thousand pounds in cash, a few documents of no great moment and your mother’s jewels.”

“And nothing elsewhere? Under the floorboards? Up the chimney? A secret drawer?”

He grinned, showing a fine set of gleaming teeth. “Nothing like that, and believe me, we have looked. We have looked everywhere.”

“What about this house at Pickering?”

“Let on a long-term lease, and the tenant says that Mr Nicholson never went there. All her dealings have been through the attorney. Miss Nicholson…” He looked sorrowful suddenly. “I would love there to be a great fortune awaiting you, but your father was a sensible man. Whatever wealth he possessed would be held in the bank, not stuffed up a chimney.”

“I am sure you are right, sir,” she said demurely.

But she was entirely certain he was wrong. The house at Pickering… that had possibilities. She would talk to Tom about it.