Joan Smith (24 page)

I wondered how it had come about he only learned it at this late time in his life, for I assumed if he had known it before, he would have acted sooner. But a child would hardly be aware of such goings on, and when Welland began to grow up, he had been much away at school. It was only after he returned from university and began working as St. Regis’s secretary that he chanced upon the discovery, in some letter or document. Yes, rooting through old family records had occurred to him as a source of information. What must his reaction have been to learn that while he scribbled for a living, his own father had left a fortune in the hands of a silly widow who did not even know of his existence, except as a poor family cousin?

There had even been talk of St. Regis giving him Troy Fenners after my aunt’s death. But Auntie was not old; her death was eons away. An impatient young man might decide to take some of his father’s patrimony
before
she died.

For a frightening moment, it even occurred to me he might try to kill her, though there had been no evidence of that. There was pretty good evidence he was getting money, however, and the last remaining mystery was what he was using to blackmail her. She seemed genuinely unaware that Welland was her husband’s son, so that could not be the tool for blackmail.

No, it was something else. Something involving a lady, a mystery, and justice. I could not see how Alice fitted into this version at all. Auntie had asked me if I was sure it was a
man
I had seen scuttling down the hill last night. She had spoken of Alice, seen in the nightmare, which suggested to me she thought it must be a woman. But it was probably a ghost she meant.

I got to the village, posted my letter, and returned to Troy Fenners without bothering to see the modiste. It was while I drove up through the park that I was accosted by Welland. He pretended to be out exercising Diablo, but his exercise would not have occurred so close to home if he had not wished to see me. This was no longer construed as having anything to do with romance. He wished to discover whether his trick last night had been discovered. He would know he had lost his green glasses somewhere along the way, and be afraid I had found them, knew he had been in the secret passage, scaring my aunt to death. I would feign ignorance of the whole thing. I would not reveal by so much as a blink that I suspected him of any involvement in the affair other than his involvement as St. Regis’s ambassador. He must be lulled along into a sense of security till St. Regis arrived.

“Good morning, Valerie. Been into the village, have you?” he asked, riding up to me. I reined in for a chat, hoping to discover something of his plans.

“Yes, just posting a letter. What are you doing today?”

“I am giving you a lesson in curricle-driving this afternoon, if you are willing.”

By this time, I had formulated other plans for my afternoon. “I’m afraid I cannot. I am to help Auntie with some work—she wants to read me a few chapters from the
magnum opus,
to see how they appeal to me. But while we are talking, I must ask you to return the carton of family papers. Auntie was looking for something this morning. Could you bring them up to the house now?”

“What was she looking for?” he asked swiftly.

“Some letters from her husband,” I answered, purposely vague.

“They’re not in that box. I’ve been all through it.”

“Well, she was looking for the box in any case, and we had better put it back, or she might become suspicious.”

“I’ll leave it off at the kitchen door, and trust to your ingenuity to return it to the scriptorium.”

“Fine. You had better do it now, before lunch.”

“All right. I’ll see you tonight.”

I nodded in agreement and continued on my way. My afternoon would be spent pouring over the carton’s contents for confirmation of my theory. It was not till I had gone a few yards that I became aware of some incongruity in his appearance. He was wearing his green glasses. I had become so accustomed to seeing him in them that it did not strike me odd at first. But of course he had had plenty of time to lay in a store of them, in case of loss or breakage. He was really extremely interested in hiding his face. Was it possible he thought someone would trace a resemblance to Edward? This was not likely. His resemblance to my uncle was not so startling as that, and his father had been a Sinclair after all, to account for some family traits.

The carton was returned to the house, noticeably lighter than before. Some items had certainly been removed, but it was impossible to imagine what they might be. I had not made that close an examination of them before they left. What remained was innocent and useless stuff. I was downstairs within an hour after luncheon, rather wishing I had accepted Welland’s offer for a driving lesson. There was no reason he could not be put to use, and I
did
wish to learn to drive a curricle. When Dr. Hill popped in later on, I was happy I had stayed home. I would find a moment for a private chat with him.

“Where is Pierre today?” Hill asked.

“He took lunch with Welland. They will be doing something together this afternoon,” Loo answered. “Did Welland ask you to join us this evening for the séance?” was the next question.

“Séance? The Franconis have left,” he answered, startled.

“It is not Madame Franconi who is to lead us, but another lady Welland heard of who lives a few miles away. She is either a gypsy or a witch, or both. He says she has an excellent reputation. He has been to her for a fortune reading. She knew all his future—his marriage she forecast, and he is to be married soon, you know, to Miss Milne. He has arranged a séance for this evening, right here in our feather room. He wants you to attend.”

“I don’t think we should,” the doctor said at once. I was vastly relieved to hear this sensible opinion. I did not think we should attend either, though I was curious to learn what the purpose of it could be. He was leaving soon. Was it some final wind-up, some terminal appeal to Loo to give him money?

“Truth to tell, Walter, I should like to have a second opinion on—that matter, you know, that I have often discussed with you,” she said.

“I rue the day we ever let Madame Franconi into the house. Nothing but mischief has resulted from it.” He stopped short, with a conscious look toward me. The look told me he was privy to all my aunt’s secrets. I had to talk to him. As my aunt was receiving such good advice, I was happy to leave them alone.

“Could I see you for a moment before you leave, Dr. Hill?” I asked. “I gave my wrist a jolt in that jump the other day, and would like you to have a look at it. It is sore, and a little swollen.”

“I would be happy to, Miss Ford,” he agreed. “I shan’t be long here. Your aunt and I have a few matters to discuss.”

He stayed half an hour with her, which gave me time to weigh the wisdom of taking him into my confidence. I felt the need of mature guidance in this weighty matter. Who better than my aunt’s best, oldest friend? I hoped too that he might know something of Lavinia, and her affair with Edward.

He came to me in the parlor before he left. “Let’s have a look at that wrist,” he said. “I can put a tight bandage round it if it bothers you. It cannot be broken or you would have been complaining long since.”

“There is nothing wrong with my wrist, Doctor. I want to talk to you about something else entirely.”

“What is it?” he asked, shocked and curious.

“About my aunt, and her being blackmailed.”

“She told you? I wish she had not. There is no need to worry a young visitor in her home.”

“She told me nothing, but I have been at work, and think I know something about it.”

“What is it you think you know?” he demanded.

“I believe Welland Sinclair is involved, deeply involved. In fact, I believe he is behind the whole affair. Do you know anything about the man?”

“He came with St. Regis’s blessing. I know
that
much, and one cannot credit St. Regis would have anything to do with a crooked scheme.”

“He would not have to know. Indeed I don’t believe he does know. Do you know anything of Welland’s parents?”

“Very little. I never met them, though I know well enough Sir Edward once fancied himself attracted to the wife, before she married. Why do you ask?”

“Madame Franconi mentioned a lady, the mysterious lady demanding justice
...
”

“Yes, but she did not mean her.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, I ... I don’t actually
know,
of course. The whole thing was nonsense, in my view. But why do you think Sinclair is behind it, and even if he
is,
how should he be using his own mother, dead and in her grave for a decade?”

“I think Sir Edward was Welland Sinclair’s father,” I said, to get it all over, let him take the shock and assimilate it, before further discussion.

He sat back, speechless with amazement. “This is incredible,” he said at last.

“No, it isn’t, Doctor. Sir Edward had an affair with Lavinia, then suddenly it was necessary for someone to marry her, St. Regis engineered a match with Welland Sinclair, the old Welland I mean, and practically supported them for the rest of their lives, so far as I can see. Sir Edward knuckled under to him in marrying Alice Sedgely’s fortune, and in return, he hushed up the other affair. Now young Welland has found it out somehow and come down here to see how he could weasel Auntie’s fortune out of her.”

“But what of Alice?”

“What about her? The mysterious lady need not be
her.
Is that what my aunt thinks?”

“She has intimated something of the sort,” he admitted.

“What was the injustice done to her? She agreed to marry Sir Edward, then treated him very badly by running off with Arundel.”

“You
have
been busy,” he laughed. “Got that old tale out of your aunt, did you? Well, I must say this throws a new light on the whole thing. What can young Sinclair be up to, having this new gypsy coming to hold a séance?”

“You
frightened off the Franconis on him, I think?” I asked, with a knowing look that caused him to blush.

“I felt they had done enough mischief.”

“They were here some time
before
Sinclair’s coming, I think?”

“Yes, several months before. Just after Pierre arrived, it was.”

“Pierre.
He
could not be involved, could he? He is about the same age, but he has been in France the whole time, was born and bred there. It cannot have anything to do with him.”

“He is very French, is he not? Almost determinedly French, I would say. He makes little progress for a fellow who has been here half a year, with nothing better to do than learn the language.”

I considered Pierre only to dismiss him. Welland’s history dovetailed too well to be dragging in another suspect. “Pierre is wealthy. Everyone says so. I don’t think he is involved. What I am wondering is what tale Welland had the Franconis tell my aunt to get her to shell out so much money, for I don’t believe she even realizes Welland is Sir Edward’s son. I know
why
he is doing it, but I really cannot imagine
how
he is getting her to pay up. What tale can he have told her?”

Hill cleared his throat a couple of times, scuffled his feet, and kept looking at me, wondering whether to say anything.

“I believe you know what it is, Doctor, and I wish you will tell me. It has to do with Alice, has it not? Some story he fabricated about her?”

“Her body was never recovered,” he said, looking at his feet.

“I see. And from that acorn he has grown an oak, letting on she is not dead.
Now
I know why he was in the secret passage. Oh, yes, don’t
stare,
Doctor. He was there last night, and whatever he did, or said, he caused Loo to have a nightmare about Alice. If she had not had that dose of laudanum, she would no doubt have held communication with some woman dressed up to pretend she was Alice, grown old and poor. We must stop him.”

“I’d give an ear to know what he plans to do tonight.”

“I don’t care what he plans, it will not succeed. We are on to him, and will catch him out.”

“I have a mind not to come at all.”

“No, do come. I may need your help.”

“I never took the fellow for an outright scoundrel. I daresay you have got it all wrong, Miss Ford, and he means no more than to say good-evening to Lavinia. He really does put a deal of faith in this spiritualism business, you know.”

“I don’t think so. Doctor. He puts a deal of faith in my aunt’s belief in it. I wish I had thought to contact St. Regis sooner.”

“You have written him?” Hill asked, displeased. “Your aunt won’t like that.”

“The letter has already been mailed.”

“When?”

“This morning. He won’t be here for a few days. We can lull Welland along till he gets here, but we must not let him get any more money.”

“I am very happy you consulted me, Miss Ford. We’ll keep a sharp eye on him. He seems very cocksure, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he thinks he has conned us all.”

Hill left very soon, and I went on thinking about it. I found it odd Welland would agree to marry Mary Milne when he was about to get his hands on a different fortune, but he probably loved the girl. He had said so at first, till it became necessary to make up to me, to distract me from the truth.

I continued fretting over the problem long after Dr. Hill left. I was like a dog with a bone; I could not let it go. In one version Lavinia had in fact been married to Sir Edward, so that Welland was the rightful heir to Troy Fenners. In another, Pierre was deeply involved in it, all having in some unclear manner to do with the war going on with France. I even spared a moment to consider if it were possible Alice was indeed alive, which would make my aunt not only a bigamist, but destitute, for all the estate and income would belong by rights to Alice.

All this was a sheer waste of time. I knew who our culprit was, and must be busy to catch him. I went to the feather room to see if he had any calico hidden in the secret passage, any lamp or ropes. There was nothing. He was either leaving his preparations till the last minute, or planning some other trick for this evening. I toyed with various manners of exposing him during the evening’s performance.