The Dangerous Lord Darrington (11 page)

‘No, no, I was merely reassuring Kepwith that Mr Davies is going on very well.’ She turned back to the butler: ‘You may go now. And announce dinner as soon as possible, if you please.’

With a bow the old retainer walked away and she watched him in silence for a moment until the chiming of the clock recalled her attention. She said, ‘I feared I should be the last to come down to dinner.’

He knew her society smile was designed to keep him at a distance and he responded in kind, holding out his arm to her. ‘Shall we go in together then, ma’am, and brave Lady Arabella’s wrath?’

Guy watched Beth during dinner. She looked serene enough, but he noticed that she merely toyed with her food and seemed distracted, almost impatient for the meal to be over. It did not surprise him, therefore, when he returned to the drawing room after spending the minimum amount of time enjoying his brandy in solitary state, that only Sophie and her grandmother were waiting for him. They were playing backgammon and Guy declined their invitation for him to take a turn and very soon he excused himself, saying there were letters he wanted to write.

He made his way directly to Davey’s room, where he found his friend sleepy after enjoying a good meal and a bottle of wine.

‘Has Mrs Forrester been here?’ asked Guy without preamble.

‘Not since this morning, when Compton called,’ returned Davey, yawning.

‘Are you sure you are telling me the truth?’

‘Of course I am! Why should I lie to you?’

Guy frowned. ‘Your leg is not paining you? Or mayhap your ribs hurt, after being carted downstairs today?’

‘Nothing out of the way,’ replied Davey. ‘In fact, I would have been happy to be
carted downstairs
, as you phrase it, to join you all for dinner, only Compton would not hear of it. He said I could only be brought down to the drawing room in the afternoon as long as I promised to rest after that, ready for our journey tomorrow.’ He sighed, wincing as the breath pulled at his ribs. ‘You know Guy, glad as I shall be to get back to Highridge, I shall miss the company here.’

‘One young lady’s company in particular, no doubt.’

Davey grinned, his boyish face flushing.

‘Miss Sophie is an angel, is she not? So accomplished, witty, delightfully unspoiled—’

‘Have a care, Davey,’ cried Guy, startled. ‘She is also very young.’

‘Eighteen.’ Davey nodded. ‘I shall have to go slowly, but I am in earnest, Guy. And I think she likes me, too. I wonder if my sister would come and look after me? There could be no objection then to Sophie visiting…’

Guy laughed and clapped him on one shoulder. ‘You must write and ask her, once you are safely back at Highridge! But for now you must rest, my friend. We have a long journey tomorrow.’

Reassured on one point, Guy left, but other questions nagged at him as he made his way back to his room. If Kepwith was not referring to Davey, then who was he concerned for? A servant, possibly, but if that was the case why should Beth want him to believe they were talking about Davey? He rubbed his chin. She had distinctly said she would go down to him and had asked Kepwith for his keys.

He stopped. A sudden memory came to him of the night Miles Radworth had demanded more wine. Beth had been at great pains to ensure that he did not fetch it himself.

Guy began to walk again, past the door to his allotted room and through the winding passages that led to the back stairs where he had surprised Beth a few nights ago. There was no one in sight, but the clatter of dishes and voices echoing from below told him that the servants were busy. He hesitated for only a moment before setting off down the stairs. However unusual it might look, he was determined to get to the bottom of this.

He descended into darkness, for the warren of service rooms that ran beneath the main house was underground with only a few windows high in the walls of the kitchen and servants’ hall, and no natural light at all in the central passageway. A single lamp glowed on the wall and it took a few moments for his eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom. The passage stretched away before him with several blocks of light spilling out on to the floor from the open doorways. There was no one in sight, but shadows occasionally fell across the doorways and the noise and chatter he could hear suggested it was the kitchens. An open door opposite the stairs showed him the lamp room and he quickly helped himself to one of the bedroom candles that were arranged neatly on a narrow shelf.

Lighting his candle from the lamp, he headed away from the kitchens to a door beneath the stairs, leading back under the older part of the house. He reasoned that the stone undercroft of the old building would make an ideal wine cellar. The same reasoning told him that if the door did indeed lead to the wine store then it would be locked and Kepwith or Beth would have the key. Nevertheless, after coming this far it was only natural that he should try the door.

It opened easily.

Guy slipped inside and closed the door behind him. A quick glance showed that his guess had been correct. He was in a large stone vault, the walls of which were lined from floor to ceiling with bottles of wine. The lower racks were grey with dust. He remembered Beth brushing the dirt from her skirts and nodded to himself. There was a chaotic pattern on the dusty floor indicating that the butler had made innumerable trips to the cellars to collect wine for the table. As Guy moved away from the door he could see more distinct footprints on the floor. The wine racks ended and he found himself walking between neatly piled trunks and boxes and the occasional piece of heavy wooden furniture, no longer required by the family upstairs. As he held his candle aloft the soft glow showed him a heavy wooden door in the stone wall ahead of him. Cautiously he tried the handle. It turned easily, silently, as if it had been recently oiled. He opened the door an inch and paused, listening intently. From the far side of the door he could hear the murmur of voices then, louder, a distinct groan. Gently he pushed the door and it swung open with a whisper to reveal another gloomy vault. This one looked as if it had at some stage been used as a stable, for there were high wooden partitions projecting halfway across the floor. A soft glow of lamplight could be seen between two of the partitions. Guy extinguished his candle, closed the door behind him and moved forwards silently, stopping for a moment as he heard Beth’s voice.

‘Hush, my love. Here, drink this. It will help you.’

Guy moved forwards again until he could see the little tableau illuminated by a storm lamp hanging from a hook on the wall. Beth was sitting on the edge of a low wood bed in which lay a gaunt, bearded figure, propped up against white pillows. Guy was standing outside the circle of light and they did not notice him at first. He watched as Beth held a cup to the man’s lips, then she wiped his mouth with tender care. As she did so the man looked up and saw Guy standing in the shadows. His start alerted Beth and with a little cry she jumped to her feet.

‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed at him, planting herself between Guy and the man in the bed.

‘So this explains your night-time wanderings,’ he murmured, ignoring her question.

The man behind her shifted nervously. ‘Who is it, Beth? Do you know this man?’

Guy raised his brows. ‘Well, are you not going to introduce us?’

‘Please.’ Even in the dim light he could read the urgent appeal in her eyes. ‘Please, go away and forget what you have seen here.’

‘Beth, who is this?’ The man in the bed spoke again and Guy moved to one side so that he could see him.

‘I am the Earl of Darrington,’ he said conversationally. ‘And who are you?’

The man propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Simon Wakeford. Beth’s brother.’

Guy’s brows went up. ‘I thought you were dead.’

‘So shall I be, if I am discovered.’

Chapter Eight

B
eth clasped her hands together until the knuckles gleamed white. She would have given anything to prevent this meeting. Why had she not locked the cellar door behind her?

‘Ah.’ Simon collapsed back on his pillows. ‘So you are one of our guests. It is your friend who has the broken leg, I take it?’

‘That is correct.’ The corners of the earl’s mouth curved upwards. ‘I understand now why Mrs Forrester was reluctant to let me stay.’

His eyes were upon her, but whether they held mockery or sympathy she did not know because she would not meet his look. Beth felt quite sick with anxiety. She was unsure how to deal with the situation. She heard Simon voice the question that was uppermost in her mind.

‘What are you going to do now?’

‘I do not know, since I have no idea yet just what I have stumbled upon.’

With a calm assurance that infuriated Beth, he dragged a three-legged stool to the end of the bed and sat down. ‘Perhaps one of you would like to explain everything to me?’

‘How do we know we can trust you?’ Beth challenged him.

‘You don’t, but I am not going away now until I know the whole story—unless you intend to enforce my silence by murdering me.’

Beth threw up her hand. ‘Do not joke of such things!’

A heavy silence fell over them.

‘We have no choice, Beth.’

She turned to look at her brother, her heart aching at the sight of his gaunt, tortured features. Reluctantly, she nodded and turned to face the earl.

‘Simon is accused of a murder he did not commit.’ She gazed defiantly at the earl, but he remained silent, a look of polite enquiry on his face. She continued, ‘He was in Portsmouth, on his way back from the Continent, and went to the aid of a Frenchman and his wife who were being robbed, but one of the thieves was wounded and planted a necklace in Simon’s bag before he died. By then the victims had sailed for France, so he had no one to speak for him.’

‘And you had no way of finding them again?’ asked the earl.

‘No.’ Simon shook his head. ‘I knew their name, but precious little else. After I escaped I tried to find them in France, but—’

Lord Darrington put up his hand. ‘You went to France? I thought you had just come from there.’

‘I had, but once I was accused of murder it seemed safer to get out of England.’ Simon’s thin hand plucked at the bed-cover. ‘The mob rioted in Portsmouth and broke open the gaol. I escaped with some others and took a ship to France, but it foundered.’

‘Simon was injured swimming to the French shore,’ put in Beth. ‘He has had no proper nursing—’

‘Until now.’

Beth took his hand and squeezed it. ‘I am hopeful that the worst wounds are now healed.’ She shot a look at the earl, ‘He still has a swollen ankle and a recurrent fever.’

‘Ah. That explains the comfrey leaves.’ He met her eyes, but there was no reading their expression. ‘So what efforts have you made to find the French couple, what do you know of them?’

‘Only their name,’ said Simon. ‘I remember the man was considerably older than his wife.’ He added inconsequentially, ‘She was young and very pretty.’

Once again the earl fixed his eyes upon Beth.

‘And what part did Miles Radworth play in this?’

‘He was on the packet that brought Simon back to Portsmouth from his tour of the Continent. They struck up an acquaintance, and then, when Simon was accused, Miles came north to tell us what had happened. Since we believed Simon dead I thought no purpose could be served by making it known to all the family. Father was so ill and I was too busy nursing him to worry about what could not be changed.’

‘Do you mean Lady Arabella still knows nothing?’ interjected Lord Darrington.

‘She thinks Simon was drowned returning to England,’ said Beth. ‘We have been at pains to keep the truth from her. It would break her heart.’

‘Hence you or your sister read the newspapers to her?’

‘Yes. Grandmama’s sight is failing so there is little possibility of her reading anything about Simon for herself. There has been nothing in the newspapers since those early reports, but we will not take the chance of her finding out.’

The earl nodded and turned back to Simon. ‘By running away you have as good as admitted you are guilty.’

Simon shrugged. ‘What else could I do? If it had been only the dead man, I could have pleaded manslaughter, since there had clearly been a brawl. The jewels were a different matter.’ He gave a savage laugh. ‘The courts do not look favourably upon thieves. I did try to find the de Beaunes when I was in France, but I had no money and dare not use my real name, so I decided to come back to England. I managed to get a ship back to Plymouth and then began the long journey north to Malpass. I found a little work to pay my way, then the fever returned and I was laid low for weeks. But at last I made it here and Beth has kept me hidden in the undercroft ever since.’

‘When did you get back?’

‘Three weeks ago,’ Beth answered, seeing the blank look on her brother’s face. The poor boy lived in constant darkness and had little idea of the passing time.

‘I take it this explains the servants’ tales of ghostly noises,’ remarked the earl. ‘And those cries I have heard at night.’

Beth nodded. ‘Yes. At the far end of this vault is the door that opens on to the drive—the one beneath the steps to the main entrance. We keep it locked, of course, but occasionally when Simon is in the grip of the fever he cries out. And Tilly has a habit of leaving the inner doors open behind her. On such occasions Simon’s cries can be heard inside the house. We have been happy to foster the idea of noisy ghosts. Besides myself, only Kepwith, Sophie and my maid know that Simon is here.’ She added, ‘I have written to Mr Spalding, our family lawyer in London, and he is making enquiries in France, trying to find this Monsieur de Beaune and his wife. When we do, we shall be able to prove Simon’s innocence.’