Silverbridge (18 page)

Tracy replied, “No. It’s perfectly intact. Would you care to see it?”

“I think I can manage to live without a view of your tongue,” Liza said in the same acid voice as before.

“Really?” Tracy’s voice was sweet. “You’re always so interested in me and in everything I do, that I thought perhaps you’d be interested in my tongue as well.”

Several people at the table laughed. Liza had been trying to discompose Tracy ever since the filming started, and so far Tracy had got the best of her every time.

Tactfully, Jon began to talk to Tracy about a review he had seen of a new London play in the
Times
that morning. He had an amusing story to tell about one of the stars of the play, and Tracy dutifully laughed in response, but her heart wasn’t in it.

They didn’t finish filming until eleven and, when Tracy was finally free, she went up the main staircase in order to cut through the upstairs drawing room to the family apartment. She was exhausted and depressed and thinking about bed and not ghosts when she pushed open the drawing room door and stepped inside.

The room was in deep shadow, except for a single candle burning on one of the Chippendale side tables. It was a moment before Tracy’s eyes adjusted and she saw the couple seated together in the Queen Anne wing chair next to the table with the candle. Charles was still dressed in his dinner clothes, but Isabel wore a blue velvet robe and bedroom slippers. Her long auburn hair was tied back with a ribbon, as if that was how she wore
it to bed. She was sitting on his lap, with her cheek buried in his shoulder. His hand was gently stroking the hair away from her brow.

“Caroline has a perfect right to want me gone,” she said in a voice that ached with unshed tears. “It isn’t fair to be angry with her, Charles.”

“Perhaps not.” His curt tone dismissed Caroline. “Perhaps she has even done me a favor by forcing my hand.” For a moment his hand gen
tl
y cupped the back of her head, commanding attention. “Now listen closely, love. This is what we are going to do. I sent Rupert to Southampton this afternoon to buy you a ticket on a ship to Boston. I have a family connection there with whom you can stay while you wait for me to join you.”

At that, she straightened up and looked into his face. “No, Charles. I will go to America if that is what you want, but your place is here.” Her husky voice sounded very firm. “I won’t take you away from your home and your family.”

There was a long silence as their eyes held. Tracy stood so quietly that she scarcely breathed. At last he said, “I am not a sentimental man, Isabel. Don’t think that I am making some grand, unthinking, romantic gesture that I will one day come to regret. It’s quite the contrary, in fact I am ruthlessly putting my own personal happiness above my home and my family. This is a deliberate choice, and one that you must allow me to make.”

His voice was very quiet and very sober, and his dark eyes seemed to be boring into her soul. After a moment her neck bowed in surrender, like the graceful stem of a lily, and her head came to rest once more on his shoulder. He cupped her nape with his hand and said, “When I came back from the war and found you here
…
it was as if I had found a part of myself that had been missing all my life. I knew it immediately. Caroline, the children—they seemed like wraiths to me. All I could see was you.”

Isabel’s husky voice drifted to Tracy’s ears. “I know. I felt the same way.”

He rested his cheek against her hair. “When I am with you, I am at peace. If I let you go, I will never be at peace again.”

The candlelight glittered on the signet ring he wore on his right hand. The ring looked familiar and Tracy abruptly realized that Harry wore that exact same ring.

Charles was going on in a ruminative voice, “Perhaps if I hadn’t been to war and seen so many men die, I would be less ruthless. But I know how brief life can be, and I don’t want to spend the rest of mine regretting your loss.”

A draft caused the single candle to flicker momentarily, putting the couple in shadow, but then it steadied, and Tracy could see them again. Isabel said, “What about your children?”

His face took on what Tracy was beginning to think of as its commander in chief expression. “I will appoint my cousin George to act as trustee for William. George acted for me at Silverbridge during the war, and he knows the estate as well as I do. There will be ample money to take care of the boys and Caroline; they will lack for nothing.”

His imperious tone made it clear that he considered
that particular subject closed. But Isabel wouldn’t let it drop. “They will lack a father,” she said softly.

His response was final. “They would lack a father even if I remained.
My body might be here at Silver
bridge, but my heart would be dead.”

She raised her face, and for the first time Tracy saw the tears sparkling on her cheeks. “But Charles—what will you
do
in America? I simply cannot imagine you anywhere but here.”

His reply was supremely confident. “I shall amass a fortune and build a magnificent home for you and for our children.”

After a moment, she laughed shakily. “You probably will.”

He smiled and ran a gentle finger down her nose. “Of course I will.” His face sobered. “We may not be able to marry, Isabel. It will be up to Caroline to decide whether she wants to divorce me or not; I won’t force that issue. But in a new country no one need know about my previous marital situation. There is no reason for you not to have all the respect and status due to my wife.”

Again that note of confidence sounded clearly in his voice.

Isabel sighed. “I shouldn’t let you do this, but I love you too much to stop you.”

“You couldn’t stop me, even if you wanted to,” he replied with a trace of amusement.

She straightened away from him. “I could refuse to go to Boston. That would stop you.”

His amusement deepened. “I’d kidnap you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she returned snappily.

His kissed her forehead. “Let’s not argue, my love.
We can
’t keep having midnight meetings
like this, and I need to make certain that you understand what you are to do.”

Her momentary indignation died. “I’m listening.”

“I told my secretary to book you on a ship to Boston. I also gave him a letter to my cousin, Stephen Oliver, with instructions to send it on the next available ship going to America. Stephen should receive it before you arrive.”

“Do you know this cousin, Charles?” Isabel asked in a muted voice.

The candlelight glimmered on his golden hair as he shook his head. “I have never met him. His branch of the family has been in America since before the colonies revolted. But he has a successful shipping business in Boston, and we have had cause to correspond on a number of occasions. I know he will keep you safely until such time as I can join you.”

Worry was clearly visible on Isabel’s face, but all she said was, “All right.”

“Do not concern yourself about Stephen Oliver,” Charles ordered. “I have further instructed Rupert to buy a ticket for himself so that he may accompany you to Boston. Once you have arrived in that city, he will open up a bank account for you, so you will not be dependent upon Stephen.”

“You don’t have to send poor Mr. Holt with me, Charles,” Isabel protested. “I shall do perfectly fine on my own.”

His face took on its commander in chief expression. “You are not traveling on a ship to America without an escort.”

Evidently Isabel recognized that expression as well as Tracy, for she ceased to protest, and asked instead, “How long will it be before you can join me?”

“Two months, I should think. I have a great many legal ends to tie up here before I can get away.”

She cupped his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. “Are you certain that you want to do this?”

His expression was perfectly sober as he replied, “More certain than I have been of anything in my life.” He pulled her close and buried his lips in her hair. Like a sleep
er in a daze, Tracy walked quietl
y to the other door, let herself into the family apartment, and left them there, alone.

18

T
racy’s mind was so agitated by what she had heard and seen that day that she didn’t expect to get much sleep. In fact, her last though before she fell asleep was,
I’m going to be awake all night.

The next thing she knew, it was morning.

She peeked through the narrow opening in Harry’s door on her way down to breakfast and saw a heap of blankets from which protruded a tangle of tawny hair. Her fingers itched to smooth that hair away from his face, but the small black head that was resting on the pillow next to his clearly had other thoughts. Ebony’s hostile green stare bore an unmistakable message:
Go away.

Tracy went on down the stairs to the kitchen, where she was surprised to find Tony, dressed in another Savile Row suit with a gray silk tie, drinking coffee at the table. “You’re up early,” Tracy said.

“I have a breakfast appointment with a client,” he
replied, politely standing as she came in. “But I simply cannot leave the house without a cup of coffee, so I made a pot. Help yourself.”

“Thank you.” Tracy poured herself some and leaned against the counter, her eyes on Tony, who had sat back down at the table. His blue eyes glimmered a little as he regarded her.

“Congratulations,” he said. “It’s quite a feat to appear
sans
makeup in the morning and still manage to look beautiful.”

Tracy ignored the compliment, watched him closely, and said, “Did you know that someone tampered with the brakes on Harry’s car? That’s why they failed, and he had that horrible accident.”

Tony’s look of incredulity could not be faulted. “Someone tampered with the brakes? Are you sure, Tracy? Why on earth would anyone want to do such a thing?”

“I was hoping you might be able to answer that question.”

His incredulity deepened. “Me? Why should you think that?”

“You’re his brother.”

“I’m his brother, not his keeper.” His expression suddenly changed. “Who told you that the brakes were tampered with, anyway? Was it by any chance Ian Poole?”

Tracy took a swallow of coffee. “Yes.”

Tony snorted. “Well, there you have it, then. Ian is covering his own
backside. He’s the one who main
tained that car, and he obviously missed the fact that the brakes needed replacing. He’s not about to admit that,
however, so he came up with this story about the brakes being tampered with.”

Tracy said steadily, “Harry believes him.”

Another snort. “Of course he does. Ian is one of Harry’s inner circle
of magic friends who can do no
wrong.”

Tracy took another sip of coffee and regarded Tony over the rim of the cup. “The fire marshal thought that the stable fire had been set. Doesn’t it seem a little odd that two suspicious ‘accidents’ should occur within such a short space of time?”

Tony wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “The fire marshal’s investigation has turned up no proof of arson. From what Harry told me, he based his suspicion on an empty kerosene can he found in the stable. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if Ned Martin didn’t have a small kerosene heater that he uses when he has to be in the stable at night. No doubt he, or somebody else, was careless, and the kerosene caught on fire.”

“Harry said he doesn’t allow any flammable liquid near the ba
rn
.”

“He told that to the fire marshal, too.” Tony put the napkin down on the table. “And Ned Martin is another one of Harry’s inner circle, so it would never occur to my brother to question him. But the fire marshal could find nothing else to indicate that the fire had been deliberately set, and he has ruled it an accident.”

Tony seemed to be sincere, but Tracy knew that a good actor could play any scene with conviction. She said, “You don’t seem very impressed by your brother’s friends.”

Tony leaned back in his chair. “Loyalty is all very
well, but Harry carries it to extremes. And I question the wisdom of making friends outside one’s class. People like Ian Poole and Ned Martin look at Harry as a source of income. The more they can get out of him, the better. He doesn’t have enough money to buy a new car, but I know for a fact that he lent Ian the money to start his garage. And Ian has yet to pay him back.”

There it was again, the class thing. Tracy said defensively, “I think loyalty and generosity are admirable qualities.”

“Yes—in a dog!” Tony retorted. “A man should have more discrimination about whom he trusts. Please don’t get me wrong, Miss Collins. I love Harry. It’s because I love him that I hate to see him always scraping for money. If he would only sell Mauley the land, he would be fixed for life. And Silverbridge would still be one of the premier estates in the country. In fact, once Harry had the money to bring back the gardens and make the necessary repairs to the buildings, it would be one of the most beautiful homes in all of England.”

“He likes farming, though,” Tracy said. “If he sold all his farmland, he would be out of a job.”

Something sparked in Tony’s blue eyes. “You appear to understand him very well.”

Tracy didn’t know what to answer.

Tony grinned. “Well, good for Harry. You are a definite improvement on Dana Matthews. She had money, but she was nuts. And Harry’s other serious girlfriend came from one of England’s best families, but her father is even more broke than Harry. He came to his senses a month before the wedding and called it off. You, on the
other hand, are beautiful, presentable, and rich. Perhaps Harry has finally got himself on track.” He stood up.

Tracy wanted to smack him. “Do you mean to be insulting, or are you just dense?”

“And you’re smart, too,” Tony said approvingly.
“
Don’t get me wrong, Miss Collins. I’m in your co
rn
er all the way.”

He crossed to the door but before he left he turned to say one more thing: “Try to persuade him to sell that property, will you?”

Then he was gone.

H
arry arrived in the kitchen a half an hour after Tracy had gone. He still had a headache, but he had treated it with aspirin and thought that he would be all right as long as he didn’t try to ride.

He was disappointed to have missed Tracy but surprised and pleased to find Meg in the kitchen when he came in. She was seated at the table with a bowl of cereal in front of her, and either she had only taken a small amount of cornflakes or she had actually eaten some.

“Good morning, my lord,” Mrs. Wilson said after the dogs had given him a much noisier greeting. “Scrambled eggs, bacon, and fried tomato?”

It was his usual breakfast, but for some reason his stomach rejected the idea of all that food. “No thanks, Mrs. Wilson. I’ll just have some toast.”

“You look awfully pale, Harry,” Meg said. “Are you sure you’re well enough to get up?”

“I’m fine,” he replied.

She gave him a skeptical look but said nothing. Instead she dipped her spoon into her cereal, filled it with cornflakes, and ate them.

Thank you, God,
Harry thought.

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” Meg said.

Mrs. Wilson brought him a cup of coffee, and he joined Meg at the table. Instead of returning to their sofa, Marshal and Millie sat on either side of him, ears lifted expectantly.

Mrs. Wilson brought a plate of cinnamon raisin toast to the table, and Harry gave half a slice to each of the spaniels.

“You spoil those dogs something fierce, my lord,” Mrs. Wilson said.

“A child or an animal that isn’t spoiled isn’t loved,” Harry returned peaceably, and took a bite of the toast he had left.

“
I
wasn’t spoiled,” Meg said defiantly.

Harry looked at his sister’s set face and felt a pain in his heart. “I spoil you,” he said. “Look at how I’m letting you lie about, no school, no job. All you do all day is watch the movie being filmed. If that isn’t spoiling you, I don’t know what is.”

“I’m sick, that’s why I’m not in school,” Meg shot back. “No school will take me. They’re all afraid I’m going to die.”

She looked so fragile in her brave blue sweater. He reached out and took her hand. It was like holding a bundle of bones. “Don’t die, Meggie. It would break my heart to lose you. I’m sorry that I didn’t pay more attention to you when you were little. But I love you, and I want you to get better.”

Meg had dropped her eyes when he said he was sorry, but she raised them again when he had finished speaking and gave him such a timid, hopeful look that it made him feel like crying. “Do you really love me, Harry?”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I love you very much. You’re my sister, Meg. I would do anything in the world to help you.”

She said, “Would you come with me today to watch the filming?”

He had a million things he needed to do and another million things that he wanted to do. He looked into her hopeful eyes, and said, “Of course I will.”

T
he lighting and set crews were setting up in the drawing room and wouldn’t be ready to film until after lunch, so Harry used the time to go down to the stables. A sense of familiar contentment came over him as he came into view of the horses turned out in their paddocks. Pendleton had seen him coming and was waiting at the fence for his usual tribute. Harry produced the expected sugar cube from his pocket, rubbed his horse’s forehead, straightened his forelock, and proceeded to the riding ring, where Ned was riding Lady Anisdale’s mare, Marita.

Marita was a three-d
ay-event horse that Maria Anis
dale had sent to Harry for training. The mare did very well in the cross-country and stadium-jumping components of the event, but she had been losing points on the dressage test.

He stood for a few moments in silence, watching as the mare cantered a twenty-meter circle. “Bring her shoulders in a little more,” he said, then watched in silence once again. “She’s looking much better,” he said
at last. “She’s really reaching under with that inside leg.”

Ned brought the mare down to a trot and then to a walk. He stopped in front of Harry, who bestowed a pat on Marita’s sweaty chestnut neck, and said, “She’s leaving next week, so that will be one less horse for us to worry about.”
Ned unbuckled his helmet and took it off, baring his curly brown head to the cloudy sky. “Have you spoken to the insurance company?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, his voice more clipped than usual, “and they are going to drag their heels because the fire may have been arson. In fact, I got the distinct impression that they thought I might have set it myself.”

“That’s just ridiculous,” Ned s
aid heatedly. “Why would you burn
down your own stable, a listed historic building?”

“An excellent question and one that I have charged my solicitor to bring up with the insurance company. I don’t have the patience to deal with them. The fellow I talked to on the phone made me so angry that I hung up on him.”

Ned grinned. “Better to hang up than to tell them what you think of them.” He swung down from the saddle. “It will work out, Harry.” He regarded his employer with concern. “How are you feeling? Are you sure you shouldn’t stay in bed? I heard you had a bad concussion.” His hazel eyes narrowed as he assessed Harry’s face. “You’re much too pale.”

Har
r
y scowled. “I’m all right.”

Inside the ring, Ned began to lead the mare in a ten-meter circle to cool her down. Harry rested his arms on
the fence, and said calmly, “Ian Poole told me that the accident happened because someone cut my brake lines.”

Ned stopped in his tracks, and the mare stopped with him. “Are you serious?”

“Ian was quite serious. There’s no doubt about it, apparently. The car was in for work three weeks ago and Ian checked the brakes and they were fine. He also said that he looked at them after the accident and they weren’t frayed, as they would have been from wear. They were cut quite cleanly.”

“My God.” Marita nudged Ned’s shoulder and he ignored her. “Have you told the police?”

“Not yet.”

“You have to tell them, Harry. It sounds as if someone is out to get you.” He pushed a curling lock of hair off his forehead. “But
who?
”
He shook his head in bewilderment. “You don’t have enemies. I don’t get it.”

Harry said jokingly, “I can’t even suspect any of my competitors. They all know that I am retiring Pendleton and that I’m out of competition until another of my horses moves to Grand Prix.”

“It’s not funny, Harry!” Ned exploded. “You’ve got to do something. You just can’t sit around waiting for this maniac to strike again.”

The mare blew impatiently out her nose, and Ned began to walk her in a circle once again.

Harry said, “What do you suggest I do?”

“Go to the police,” Ned replied promptly.

Harry’s negative headshake was firm. “The police will be as clueless as we are. In fact, if they’re brought in, they might just scare the bastard away.” His face
hardened. “I don’t want that. I want to find out who burned my stable. And I
will
find out, Ned. I swear it.”