Peril at Somner House (12 page)

“Our Lady Trevalyan captivates all, does she not?” The Major's observation cast itself to my ear. “Yet, I'm sure you haven't delayed in making conquests of your own.” He tilted his glass toward Lord Roderick. “A man of title and in keeping with the mode. Well done.”

“Mode?” I hissed at the insinuation lurking in his smile.

“Lord David. Or have you forgotten him so soon? Admit it, you were in love with him.”

“I was
not
in love with him.”

“No,” the Major agreed, “you were infatuated with him.”

I seethed in my chair. No matter what I said, it pleased him to say the opposite. “Why are you here, anyway?”

He affected his most charming smile. “I was invited.”

“I don't mean
here
at the house, but the island.”

“I told you. Rough seas have landed me in your quarter. Aren't you happy to see an old friend? After we've shared so much together…”

Devil take him. He had the ability to charm anyone, even Bella. I caught her glancing over once or twice, curious as to our relationship.

“Note Fernald declined the dinner invitation,” the Major attempted a conspiratorial familiarity. “Watch. He'll make a dramatic
after dinner
interruption.”

“You are misinformed, Mr. Browning. He's coming in the morning.”

He grinned. “Shall we make a wager on it?”

His seductive gaze traveled to my lips. I flushed scarlet, wishing I could remain wan-faced like other girls of my acquaintance. But no, whenever embarrassed or enraged, emo
tion flooded to my cheeks and no amount of powder could conceal it. “You are wrong about Fernald.”

“I beg to differ, dear Daphne. He doesn't wish to be seen playing Fido with the enemy.”

“Playing Fido with the enemy? Truly, Mr. Browning, you have the most preposterous expressions. I suspect you found that one belowdeck.”

He grimaced.

“And don't, pray, act as if we are friends, for friends, sir, we most certainly are not. And I am not ‘dear Daphne' to you, either. Those dear to you don't ignore letters.”

Feigning a look of indignant hurt, he sighed. “We're not going over that again, are we? Acquit me. I'm innocent. It was a misfortune of events, and, for the record, I do consider you a special friend…dare I hope we're something dearer to each other, much dearer than friends?”

His twinkling eyes went on to make their own silent appraisal of my outfit and hair.

This time he had gone too far. Sliding out of my chair, more to hide the too-quick beat of my heart, I fled to find a moment's peace and quiet. Finding a darkened corner, I paused to catch my breath. How dare he seek to eye me in that way, almost like a lover! I flushed again, pacing down the
hall. I was not one of his playthings existing simply to amuse him—

“Oh, Daphne…”

I spun around to face Arabella.

“I saw you leave the room,” she began, her dark eyes concerned. “Did the Major upset you?”

“No, the Major
did not
upset me,” I expressed with conviction. “It is merely his chafing,
erroneous
audacity I cannot abide—”

“Is that so, Miss du Maurier?”

Strolling to us, the Major bowed. “I am grieved my behavior offended you.”

It was only a half apology and he wasn't grieved about a thing. “It's not your behavior but your
manners,
sir, which are in error.”

Arabella glanced from me to him, wondering how we knew each other and the depth of our relationship.

Leaving them both in the hallway, I headed back into the dining room. By now, everyone had abandoned their seats and were ensconced around the blazing fire in the drawing room.

I went to the fire to thaw out my hands. The warm flames soothed my temper and I began to regret my childishness. What mature, reasonably intelligent woman took offense to such a minor grievance as the return or neglect of a letter? I had made a scene, which my mother detested, and I should have waited for a better moment, for my dramatics had not gone unnoticed.

Gently tugging my hand, Lady Kate coerced me to the seat she shared with Angela facing the fire. “Ange told me about the Major,” she whispered with a flick of a smile across her lips. “He was quick to get up after you. I hope he apologized?”

“If one can call it an apology,” I retorted, grimly surveying his reentry and congenial conversation with Arabella.

“Major Browning does have a certain reputation,” Kate murmured.

Angela nodded, confirming her intention to divulge the news later. Kate soon shuffled away to assist her brother-in-law, who was having difficulty conversing with the Major's lieutenants. One look at Roderick's heavy brow signaled his distaste at having to play host when he'd prefer the silence and solitude of his tower.

Feeling akin to this feeling myself and tired of Angela's raucous jokes encouraged by too much champagne, I joined Kate. I asked Rod a series of boring questions about island species and the lieutenants soon lost interest, despite my wondrous gown and shining appearance. They gravitated back to Kate, Angela, and Bella, and I secured Roderick for myself.

“You're very close to your cousin, are you not, my lord?”

“Close? Close to Bella?” He sounded surprised. “Not particularly.”

“I have a confession to make, my lord.”

“Please don't call me that,” he began to say as I told him of my jaunt up the tower and meeting the Pencheffs. As I'd hoped, the mention of the name “Pencheff” cast a wary glow across his glacial cheeks.

“You spoke to Mrs. Pencheff?”

“Yes.” I followed his gaze to Arabella. “She said you three cousins used to play down in the caves. That must have been great fun.”

I was being deliberately cruel, since I knew very well what kind of fun that entailed, but I justified that it was all within investigative boundaries.

“I, er—”

He was saved an answer by the very abrupt interruption of Mr. Fernald and a fat bearded fellow bearing the largest briefcase I'd ever seen stumbling behind him.

“Forgive my intrusion,” Mr. Fernald began with an attempt at manners. His very presence, of course, conceded the Major his victory. How did he know Fernald would call tonight instead of tomorrow? A lucky guess? Or did he have prior knowledge? I slanted my gaze toward the Major's face, which showed nothing but the merest surprise. Why was he here?

I watched him greet Fernald, perhaps in order to lessen the anxiety on the deathly white face of Kate, who had gladly accepted his supportive arm.

“Couldn't this have waited until tomorrow, Fernald?” Roderick spoke beside me.

“No, sir, it couldn't 'ave. It's a nice peaceful island we 'ave here and I'm keen to 'ave things all wrapped up.”

Too keen, I thought. He was desperate to settle the matter before his superiors arrived from the mainland. Perhaps he fancied himself the highest authority on the island and intended to prove it.

“I've brought Mrs. Eastley and her father with me, too. They're waitin' outside with your family attorney.”

Roderick showed no emotion at this statement, nor did he attempt to dissuade Fernald from carrying on his business. I imagined Max Trevalyan would have reacted very differently, raging at the man and ordering him to leave. Was it weak of Rod to give in to Fernald's demands? Or did he do so because one could not stop the inevitable?

Fernald, obviously, had wished to use the element of surprise. The party ended and the guests dispersed as Roderick
apologized and promptly guided Fernald and Kate to the study. Bella started to follow but Fernald blocked her efforts.

“No, Miss Woodford. Ye're not required.”

Bella's face darkened. She could do nothing but accept the prohibition, but I saw the same question occur to her as it did to me, Sir Marcus, and the Major.
Where could we go to listen?
The library was next to the study and I laid silent wagers as to who left first and on what false pretense.

To my infinite shock, Angela shot to her feet, scurrying upstairs, her heels clanking on the floorboards, and I followed her lead.

“Ingenious of you.” I smiled, finding her waiting at the end of the corridor.

“Quick,” she whispered. “This way. Kate's room.”

“I thought her room was below?” I whispered, tiptoeing to the tiny bedchamber at the end of the hall.

“Yes, but this one's her retreat room. I remember her saying from here she can see directly down to the study. There's a hole in the floor. See.”

The tiny room, decorated in various shades of pinks, over-flowed with lace trimmings, dolls, beaded lamps, and pearled cushions. I stopped by one of the paintings gracing the wall, a pretty landscape featuring a rose garden.

“Don't stand there gaping,” Angela hissed. “We've work to do.”

Her ear was already glued to the floor, and my ear followed suit. The floorboards were cold without the rug's protection, but the hole was large enough for one eye to see at a time. Angela and I agreed to take turns.

“Has nothing been left for his son?” Mrs. Eastley asked. “Nothing at all?”

“No, ma'am.”

“But I have his note here.”

I imagined her waving it before them, the copy of the will Sir Marcus and I discovered in Max's desk.

“It's witnessed,” rumbled Jackson.

“
One
witness,” noted the attorney. “
Two
witnesses are required.”

“But it's his boy! Anyone can see that.”

No one disputed the fact.

“My lord?” prompted the attorney. “Lord Roderick?”

“I'm afraid my brother left no legacy in his formal will for the care of his son. The handwritten note came to my attention upon my brother's death and given the unfortunate state of my brother's estate, and the illegitimacy of the child, I will contest the note should it go to court.”

“But!” Jackson spluttered. “It's not a note, it's a will, and
you
said—”

“What I promised, Jackson,” a sighing Rod reiterated, “shall stand. Your grandson and Mrs. Eastley will want for nothing and as soon as the estate is in order, I shall settle a sum upon them, or, if Mrs. Eastley prefers, an annuity to be paid over a period of time.”

“I prefer an annuity,” said Mrs. Eastley, her swiftness in tone suggesting her desire for a quick, painless settlement.

Her father did not agree.

“I want more for me girl! And more for me boy, too, as I'm helpin' raise him. Ye brother were no good, knockin' up me girl like that—”

“Father, please,” Mrs. Eastley pleaded. She possessed a quality I found almost alien to her parent. Perhaps she'd gone to a select seminary or private school? This might explain her
marriage to the late Mr. Eastley, a man of some standing on the island, by all accounts.

“My Rachael ain't like the others,” Jackson insisted. “She's well-bred, married well, and I like to see her widowhood well funded since she's got to raise Trevalyan's brat.”

“Father, I
said
I was happy with the annuity.”

“Oh, I can't bear this!”

Angela and I exchanged a look of shock.

“I can't endure
any more
!” Kate let out a wretched cry. “I won't hear any more about the child!”

“Surely the particulars can now wait until a more congenial time,” Roderick proposed after the outburst. “The hour has grown late.”

 

Sleep deserted me.

I lay awake, listening to the wind whistling against the windowpanes. A fierce howl stirred outside and I wrapped the coverlet tighter around me. Due to the nature of the weather, one could safely assume the Major and the others had been invited to stay overnight at Somner.

Major Browning.

I allowed my thoughts to drift to his windowpane. I glared into the still darkness of the night. When a lady's letter failed to solicit a reply it generally implied utter disregard or worse, complete disinterest. “I trust you received mine,” he'd said on our first meeting. Received what? A mere postcard detailing his current post and where I might write him? How thoughtful! Just like his ilk to expect ladies to write to him while he enjoyed the pure pleasure of choosing to whom, how, and when he responded.

The door opened, and Angela crept in. Awake, I monitored her stealthy approach. What had kept her so long below? Or, more importantly, who?

“Oh, you're awake.” She jumped, concealing her edginess with a dismissive yawn. “The others are still down, drinking brandy. The men, I mean.” She chuckled to herself in the darkness.

The chuckle went on to no further elaboration and I did not ask. A wave of tiredness overcame me and I clutched my pillow, thinking of poor Josh Lissot lying awake in his cold prison cell for a crime he may not have committed.

 

It wasn't the night's fancies. I believed Josh Lissot was innocent. I felt it instinctively. He may have
thought
he'd murdered Max, but his hand hadn't delivered the fatal blow.

I went down early and slipped out the terrace side door. Again, its eerie creak arrested my attention. No one would emerge for hours, except Arabella, who had retired soon after me the night before, and I intended to make full use of the morning. I headed not in the direction of my usual morning walking circuit, but down the drive.

I thought to hire a conveyance from the nearest farming tenants and luck proved with me. Spotting a farmer slashing his fields, I waved and upon seeing me, he soon stopped what he was doing to speak to me.

He started at the sight of me. “From the big house, are ye?”

At this time of morning, I suppose ladies did not venture outdoors. “Yes I am, and I am keen to get to town. No one else is about so I'm wondering if you have a bicycle I can borrow?”

“No. Not one in good workin' order, miss. Not for a lady like yeself, anyhow.”

“I should like to see it regardless, if you don't mind.”

He shrugged, rather annoyed I'd stopped him at his work to look at a bicycle not fit for a lady.

To my surprise the bicycle seemed perfectly equipped for the job, though rusted, and I was reminded of my excursions with my friend Lizzy Forsythe, riding down the lane and meeting boys. Lizzy, a pretty, voluptuous creature given to attracting male attention, had me ride her brother's old bicycle while she flaunted herself atop her pink handled and beribboned show pony.

“The bicycle is perfect.” I thanked the farmer and, wheeling out the conveyance, took the first left.

Nothing could stop me now. The wind in my hair, I relished the freedom, the independence, and fun work of pushing myself to town. I remembered the way vaguely from our outing, and following the signs and the winding road, I cycled to the place where they held Josh Lissot. Kate had glanced forlornly at the building in the square, and on this cold winter's morning, I appreciated the architectural lines of what might have once been a very fine town hall.

Nobody attended the stark front desk. I hesitated to ring the bell, glancing at the large ticking clock on the wall opposite me. A quarter to nine. I didn't suppose they began work so early on the island.

Disappointed, I turned away to wait. If I'd thought for just a moment, I would have brought money to buy a hot pasty from a bread shop I'd seen on my way in.

After a good twenty minutes, a voice echoed from down the hall.

“Can I help ye, miss? Are ye from Somner House?”

I nodded, slowly. I didn't remember the sergeant's face, but he'd seen me at the house and I smiled my best shy smile. “I've come to see Mr. Lissot. I know I should have waited for Mr. Fernald but I was up early.”