Page 9 of Secrecy (The Chaplain’s Legacy #4)

T ess came abruptly to her senses, a vinaigrette wafted under her nose. She was lying on a chaise longue , Lord Tarvin’s arm still around her back, his concerned face just inches from her own.

“Enough, aunt. She is coming round,” he murmured, and the horrid vinaigrette was whisked away.

Mrs Harfield’s voice murmured in the background. “Someone has confessed to the murder of Mr Nicholson, but that should make her happy, surely?”

“Who is it, Mother? Who has confessed?” Lord Tarvin said.

“Someone called Tom Shapman,” she said. “Do we know a Tom Shapman? I have never heard of him.”

Tess pushed herself upright. “I must go to Corland — at once! There is no time to be lost! He could hang for this!”

“And quite right, too,” Mrs Harfield said robustly. “If this fellow killed your father—”

“Of course he did not! Oh, I must go at once, at once! There is not a moment to be lost. Lady Tarvin, may I use your carriage? I must go into Durham to pick up a post chaise.”

“No, we will go in my carriage,” Lord Tarvin said. “It will be quicker. Mother, ring the bell for Jeffries.”

“ We will go?” Tess said, staring at him.

“Of course, we. You do not imagine I would let you go alone, do you? Ah, Jeffries, my carriage in one hour, if you please. Four horses. Tell Deakin to pack at once, and also Miss Nicholson’s maid and manservant. We leave in one hour for Corland Castle.”

“Very good, my lord. Is this to be a long visit, or short? Evening dress?”

“Yes, everything. I have no idea how long this will take. Never fear, Tess, we shall rescue your friend.”

“But he could be hanged in days.”

“Only the Assizes deal with murder, and the judges will not be on the circuit again until next year.”

“Oh! Thank God!” Relief flooded through her, leaving her weak and barely able to stand. She would be in time to save him, her poor, deluded Tom.

***

E dward watched Tess as the miles rolled past, her eyes seeming huge in her white face. She had said very little, and that only pertaining to the journey — how long would it take? And where would they rest overnight? He had answered her just as briefly.

Now she gazed out of the window, but he knew she was not even seeing the fields with their stone walls, the villages they passed through or the hills on the horizon. Her mind was fixed on Tom Shapman. She did not cry, but occasionally her eyes would fill with tears as some unhappy thought intruded, and then she would blink rapidly and look down at her hands, smoothing her kid gloves, or the skirts of her travelling pelisse.

Such a determined little creature, seemingly so selfish and absorbed in her own affairs, yet her feelings ran deep. So complicated, so puzzling, so contrary, but so intriguing. And not boring! To a man jaded by the stultifying lifelessness of London society, Tess was a howling gale of vitality, energising Edward as nothing else had done in all his twenty-seven years. He felt alive for the first time, wanting nothing more in that moment but to do whatever would please her. He had begun by disliking her intensely, yet now that he saw her suffering, all his protective instincts were aroused. However strong she appeared to be, inside she was still fragile.

At the first post house, as their own horses were detached and hired teams with postilions were hitched to the carriage, he said gently, “There is food in the hamper, if you are hungry.”

“Thank you, but no.”

“Coffee? Tea? A glass of wine? Or just a rest. They have parlours here.”

“No rest,” she said. “I know he will not be hauled off to be hanged for months yet, but I do not want to delay.”

“I understand.”

Once they were under way again, he ventured to say, “Tess, are you quite sure he could not have done it? It would be very odd to hang for a crime one did not commit.”

“He imagines he is protecting me, I suppose. What an idiotic thing to do!”

“Protecting you? How? Does he imagine you killed your father?”

She looked at him fully, then, a little frown marring her smooth forehead. “He must know I did not, just as I know he did not. We have been friends for two years now — more than friends — and we know each other well enough for that. But I cannot imagine why else he would confess.”

“We will find out when we see him,” he said easily.

“Yes.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “You will come with me to talk to him, then?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you! You are very good. I know we have not always got along as well as we should, but I could not be more grateful for your help and support now.”

“Say nothing of it, I beg you. Do you suppose I could sit tamely at home and leave you to rescue your self-confessed murderer single-handed? This is an adventure, Tess, and I want my share of it.”

The smile was wider, then. “Thank you,” she said, a little shyly. “I cannot tell you how comforting it is to have a man to arrange everything… or what it costs me to admit that.”

He laughed out loud at that. “A man’s loud voice and imperious presence can be very useful, it is true. The coat of arms on the carriage door does not hurt, either. But since we are being honest, let me acknowledge that I find it surprisingly pleasant to have a lady to take care of. I must have danced with every unmarried female in town over the last three years since I came into my title, and not met a single one who is not boring and dull and downright insipid. But you are not in the least insipid, my dear. In fact, I am never sure from one moment to the next what you will get up to, and I am quite certain that I have barely scraped the surface of your many mysteries. And perhaps that is part of my wish to accompany you back to Corland — it gives me an opportunity to uncover some of your secrets.”

Tess only smiled enigmatically, and turned her head to look out of the window again. Beside her, her maid Betty raised her eyebrows at this conversation, and chuckled a little.

***

H ad they left earlier in the day, and the roads been tolerable, and no mishaps occurred, the journey to Corland could have been accomplished in a single day. As it was, they stopped at Northallerton for the night, where Tess ate nothing and arose so pale of face that Edward presumed she had not slept, either. They set off at an early hour the following morning, but they had reached the area recently gouged by summer storms and their progress slowed abominably. It was therefore almost the dinner hour before their carriage, its wheels and horses liberally plastered with mud, drew up outside Corland Castle.

Tess was out of the carriage and tearing across the bridge into the house as soon as the steps were let down. Edward followed more slowly, with a glance of distaste at the austere frontage of the castle. It was imposing, of course, but unlike many castles, it was not an original Norman edifice. It was newly built, designed to look as if it had been there for hundreds of years, but inside fitted out with every modern convenience. Not for Corland the oppressive gloom of echoing stone, and narrow spiral stairs. Instead, there were soft carpets, fashionable wallpaper and a wide, elegantly branched staircase.

In the entrance hall, he caught a glimpse of Tess, already whisking away into the interior. The butler greeted him with a slightly puzzled, “My lord?”

“Lord Tarvin,” Edward said helpfully. “Last here for Lady Isabel’s wedding.”

“Of course, my lord,” the butler said, bowing. “A room will be prepared for you at once.”

“Where did Miss Nicholson go?”

“She asked for his lordship, my lord, who is in the drawing room. Shall I show you the way?”

“If you would.”

The butler led him down a wide corridor to the great hall, two storeys tall and filled with light from a glass roof far above. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with a fearsome array of ancient weaponry. Edward was ushered past the stairs, with its suits of armour guarded by a pair of Chinese urns on the half landing, to the prettily appointed drawing room, where Tess was already kneeling at her uncle’s feet.

“Miss Nicholson and Lord Tarvin, my lord,” the butler intoned, his voice signalling clear disapproval of those persons who rushed into a room without even waiting to be announced.

A dozen or more pairs of eyes, currently fixed on Tess, now swivelled to Edward. Into the silence, Tess’s voice was clear and high.

“He did not do it, Uncle Charles, he did not! He is innocent.”

“But he confessed to it,” the earl said querulously. “I do not see what I am to do about it if a man stands up and says he killed a man. Am I supposed to say, ‘No, I do not believe you’? He confessed, the investigation into the murder is over, we have got rid of that Edgerton fellow and his prying, thank the Lord, and that is the end of the matter. ”

Tess sat back on her heels. “May I see him?”

“Edgerton?”

“No! Tom Shapman.”

“The murderer? Certainly not!”

“Is he here? Or… where is he?”

“Why would he be here? He is in York Gaol, awaiting the Assizes.”

“York Gaol!”

Edward crossed the room, and laid a hand on her shoulder. “You may go to York tomorrow, Tess, but just now I suspect everyone is awaiting dinner.”

“Oh. Of course,” she said in a small voice, rising smoothly to her feet. “I beg your pardon, uncle.”

“Dinner will be put back, naturally,” the earl said, rising also. “Tarvin, you are welcome here. You are both welcome, but do you go and change, Tess. We will talk more about this later.”

“What is there to talk about?” she said in angry tones, before striding out of the room with a swish of her black skirts.

Edward bowed to the earl and followed her from the room. A footman led him up the stairs to an elegant room aswirl with activity. Two maids were hastily throwing sheets onto the bed, another carried a wobbling tower of linens, while a fourth rushed in with a steaming ewer of water. Meanwhile, several footmen were manoeuvring boxes under Deakin’s supervision. There was a dressing room, fortunately, so Edward was able to escape the chaos and dress as swiftly as it took Deakin to remove the appropriate garments from one of the trunks.

He returned downstairs to find the drawing room deep in a multitude of intense conversations. With no one to announce him this time, no one looked up as he entered, so for a while he loitered near the door, unwilling to put himself forward in such a family crisis.

Eventually, one of the men came forward, quite young, no more than one or two and twenty.

“I am Kent Atherton, Lord Tarvin,” he said with a grin. “One of Tess’s many cousins. Shall I introduce you to everyone, or do you plan to pretend to remember us all? Or is a drink the most urgent requirement?”

Edward laughed. “A drink first, definitely, and then introductions. It is five years since I was here, and I never got everyone straight at the time. I cannot remember you at all.”

“Ah, the forgettable one of the family! Such is the fate of youngest sons everywhere,” Kent said cheerfully, deftly steering Edward to the sideboard where decanters of wine and sherry sat.

Thus fortified, Edward allowed himself to be taken across the room and introduced to Lady Alice Nicholson, Tess’s mother. Her widow’s attire would have identified her instantly, and her still-luminous beauty was very memorable, but he had forgotten, until she turned towards him and fixed her gaze on his ear, that she was blind.

“Lady Alice,” he murmured, bowing. “May I offer you my sincere condolences on the recent death of your husband.”

“Thank you, Lord Tarvin,” she said with a gracious bow of her head. “Pray sit beside me and tell me all that my daughter is about these days, for she is not the world’s best correspondent. She is betrothed to your cousin, I understand?”

“Indeed. He is my aunt’s son from her first marriage. His father is long dead, and I am a trustee for his fortune, a duty I inherited from my uncle, the late 3rd Baron.”

Unexpectedly, she blushed slightly. “I knew your uncle very well,” she said, with a soft smile. “In fact, a marriage was proposed between us, but he preferred Myrtle Horncastle and I preferred Arthur Nicholson, so it all worked out very well in the end. Although it was a pity she had no children. Not for you, of course, but a marriage without children is a strange, half-formed beast, like a meal without meat. We were very happy when Tess came along. But do tell me about this young man with the strange name — Ulric Frith. Lady Tarvin writes to her sister, the countess, of course, but Mr Frith has been but little mentioned. What sort of man is he?”

How on earth to answer that question? Should he tell the truth? But really, there was no need to trouble them with the details. With a possible marriage at least nine months away, anything could happen. “He loves horses,” he said finally. “Tess has been riding with him every day.”

“Has she, indeed? That will be good for her, at least. But I must tell you, Lord Tarvin, that I am not at all inclined to favour such a hasty match, and to a man who is not at all known to us. He is a man of some wealth, she assures me, and presumably he is of good standing in his own neighbourhood, but we know nothing of him and he does not accompany her on this journey, which does not speak well of his care for her. If you have any influence with her, and you must have or you would not be here, I hope you will advise her to consider carefully before taking such a step. Marriage is not something to be undertaken impulsively, on a whim.”

“I regret that my influence over her is negligible.”

“Mine also, sadly,” she said with a wry shrug of one elegantly clad shoulder. “I do not think she takes the least notice of any of us.”

“It may be that this Tom Shapman has more of a hold on her mind than we had supposed,” Edward said carefully. “She seems very upset by his confession.”

“Tom Shapman!” she said, her expression hardening. “That man killed my husband, Lord Tarvin. If she cares anything for him, then she has poorer judgement than I had ever suspected.”

Tess arrived at that moment and dinner was announced almost at once. Edward was scooped up by Lord Rennington, and Tess by Kent and a pretty young woman. He searched in his mind for a name, and since pretty young women were more memorable than youngest sons, he quickly identified her as the earl’s youngest daughter, Olivia. At dinner, Tess was far from him, too far to hear what she said, although what glimpses he caught of her showed her drooping and eating very little. By the time Edward was able to escape from the dining room, she had already retired to bed.

He went up himself as soon as he decently could, but he had not been in his room long, and had done no more than loosen his neck cloth with a sigh of relief and pour himself a bedtime brandy, when there was a scratching at the door. Deakin went to answer it.

“Tell whoever it is I have gone to bed,” Edward said, throwing himself into a chair beside the fireplace, where a low fire burned.

As soon as the door opened, Tess rushed in, wearing only a nightgown and robe, her hair in a long plait reaching to her waist. “I must talk to you!”

“No, no, no, no, no!” Edward cried, jumping up and grabbing her by the shoulders to propel her back to the door. “Talk, yes, but not in my bedchamber at this time of night… or any time, come to that.”

“We cannot talk out in the corridor.”

“If it is urgent, you can get dressed, I can restore my neck cloth and we can go downstairs to the drawing room, with a proper chaperon — your mother, ideally, but any member of your family would do, and Simpson would be about, too. Good heavens, Tess, have you no sense of propriety at all?”

“Oh.” She deflated at once, her face desolate. “I… yes, of course. How stupid of me.”

“If it is not quite so urgent, we will have all day to talk in the carriage tomorrow.”

Her expression brightened. “You will come with me, then?”

“Of course I will. I would not miss it for the world.”

“You make it sound like an amusement — a balloon ascension, or a juggler, or some such,” she said sullenly.

“Tess, you infuriate and intrigue me in equal measure, but you and your problems are far more interesting than a balloon ascension, I assure you.”

She grinned impishly. “I infuriate you, do I?”

“You do, especially when you turn up in my room at this time of night. What time is it? Gone eleven, and we have an early start tomorrow, so go and get some sleep. If we can be on the road by eight, we will be at York by the middle of the afternoon, all being well. Go now. Go on. Shoo.”

Laughing, she skipped away, and Edward closed the door firmly behind her.

“That girl will be the death of me, Deakin. What am I to do with her, eh?”

“Whip her until she submits to authority,” Deakin said, as he eased Edward out of his coat.

“Would that work? I have a feeling it would not. She might very well pretend to submit, but go her own sweet way in secret. Yes, I am sure she would, for I suspect she has been doing it for years. Any other ideas, Deakin?”

“Lock her up in an asylum.”

“And yet, I do not think she is insane. She may appear irrational, but I suspect she has a good reason for everything she does. All I have to do, if I can, is to find out what those reasons are. I should like to know, for instance, why she betroths herself to Ulric when she is clearly very attached to this woodworker fellow, and even encouraged him to offer for her. And why, I wonder, is she so obsessed with this house of hers in Pickering, which sounds like a very ordinary little house to me, not likely to hold any great treasure. It is a puzzle.”

Deakin carefully unbuttoned Edward’s waistcoat and gently removed it. “If you ask me, my lord, I should say you were getting in very deep with that young lady. She’ll have you wrapped round her thumb as quick as winking, if you let her.”

“You think I should be careful, do you?”

“No, my lord. I think you should cut and run back to London as soon as you can. She’s trouble, that Miss Nicholson, big, big trouble, and you’re one who’s always been so clever about avoiding troublesome young ladies. You need to escape from her as fast as you can, before you find she’s caught you so tight in her web there’s no getting away at all.”

“Thank you, Deakin,” Edward said evenly. “You may go now. I can manage the rest.”

“Very good, my lord,” Deakin said, gathering up discarded clothes and bowing himself out of the room with his usual imperturbable dignity.

Edward donned his nightgown and robe, then returned to his chair by the fire, brandy in hand. He was thoughtful, but a little smile lingered on his lips. Coming to his room! And a balloon ascension, indeed! There was just no knowing what she might say or do next, the tantalising little minx.