Читать книгу Lord Hawkridge's Secret - ANNE ASHLEY, Anne Ashley - Страница 8

Miss Emily Stapleton cast a glance at her silent companion, seated beside her in the curricle, before fixing what one languishing dolt in Brighton the previous summer had been overheard to describe as deep pools of sheer enchantment on the road ahead.

Tooling herself about the countryside had swiftly become one of her favourite pastimes, especially since the long and dreary winter months had given way to what was betraying every sign of becoming a very fine spring. All in all, she decided, experiencing a feeling of smug satisfaction, life at the moment was exceedingly pleasant, free from cares.

Her decision to remove to Dorsetshire and live with her paternal grandfather had undoubtedly been a heart-rending one to make, and one, moreover, of which her beloved late mother would have staunchly disapproved, but even so Emily had never regretted the choice she had made. After all, the alternative had been unthinkable, and a subject upon which, even after almost half a decade, she still found it distressing to dwell.

By dint of long practice, she once again succeeded in thrusting the painful memory to the back of her mind as she cast a further glance, brimful of mischief this time, at her companion. ‘You’re very quiet, Sarah. Not nervous, I trust, at being driven about by a female? Even my watchdog,’ she added, deliberately raising her voice for the benefit of the small, stocky individual perched on the back, ‘is secretly impressed with my ability, although he stubbornly refuses to admit to it of course.’

Jonas Finn’s deep grunt in response made Sarah chuckle, something which she tended to do far more frequently whenever in the company of her closest friend. ‘I’m not in the least nervous,’ she assured her, ‘and I’m enjoying the experience very much. I would have come out with you long before now if I hadn’t been so busy with all the arrangements for the party next week.’

Exercising masterly self-control, Emily managed to refrain from comment, even though there was much she would dearly have liked to say, and possibly would if there wasn’t a noticeable improvement in her companion’s day-to-day existence in the very near future.

One of the things that had very much increased her enjoyment of residing in Dorsetshire during the past years had been the swift friendship which had sprung up between her and Sarah Nichols, who had been invited by her godmother, Lady Deverel, to make her home at Deverel Hall a matter of a few months before Emily herself had come to live with her grandfather.

Undoubtedly their orphaned status was the common bond from which a solid friendship and a deep, almost sisterly affection had rapidly emerged. Many in the locale had expressed genuine sympathy for them both. Which, Emily considered, in her case at least was totally unmerited. The Honourable Mr John Stapleton might not have been the ideal person to take charge of his orphaned granddaughter. Undeniably he was selfishly set in his ways, and considerably vague on occasions, but for all his woolliness of mind, which Emily privately thought was a sham for the most part, they rubbed along together remarkably well.

He had from the first made her very welcome, and had permitted her to do more or less as she pleased; whereas poor Sarah had been invited to live in a household where its occupants were not above taking full advantage of her presence to such an extent that her status was little above that of a housekeeper-cum-companion. And an unpaid one at that! It made Emily fume to think that her sweet-natured friend was so put upon by those who were happy enough to call her Cousin, even though the connection was remote. To be fair, though, Emily was forced to own that Sarah herself was much to blame for her present lifestyle.

‘And I suppose you have seen to all the arrangements in your usual efficient way.’

Grey eyes were swiftly lowered. ‘I—I haven’t been responsible for them all. Godmama has been of immeasurable help.’

‘A likely story!’ Emily scoffed. ‘Your godmother couldn’t organise the lighting of candles in a front parlour! And as for that pampered daughter of hers…I do not doubt that you will be so much at Drusilla’s beck and call from now until her birthday party takes place, ensuring everything is perfect, that you’ll be given precious little time to organise your own toilette.’ Once again she risked taking her eyes off the road ahead to cast her friend a suspicious glance. ‘I’ll wager you’ve not even begun to make up that length of pink silk you purchased the other week.’

The sheepish expression was answer enough. ‘No, I thought not,’ Emily muttered. ‘If you give it to me I’ll make a start on the gown. I might not be your equal with a needle, but at least I can cut it out for you.’

Sarah betrayed her mortification in a very becoming blush. ‘Oh, no! I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of our friendship by asking such a thing.’

‘You won’t be, because I offered,’ Emily pointed out, determined to have her way in this.

A flicker of gratitude sprang into Sarah’s eyes. ‘Well, if you’re certain you don’t mind, I would be most grateful. I did wonder when I’d find time to make a start on the dress. I understand that Cousin Charles has invited several of his friends to the party whilst he has been staying away in London. In fact, there will be so many guests putting up at the house that I’ve offered to give up my room so that we can accommodate all Drusilla’s friends too.’

This intelligence induced Emily to take her eyes off the road once more in order to subject her friend to a prolonged, considering stare. ‘And where do you propose to sleep? In one of the attic rooms, I suppose, with the rest of the servants?’ She had meant it in jest, but it swiftly became clear, when Sarah appeared reluctant to meet her gaze, that she had hit upon the truth. ‘You don’t mean to tell me that that is where the Deverels are expecting you to sleep?’

‘Well, yes. But—but I did suggest it in the first place…And it’s only for a few days.’

‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this!’ Emily announced, hard put to conceal her disgust. She had never been afraid to speak her mind, most especially when in the company of people with whom she was well acquainted, and so did not think twice about adding, ‘Well, you’re not! You can stay with Grandpapa and me. And I won’t take no for an answer!’

The invitation, though forcefully delivered, was kindly meant, and Sarah, gazing ahead at the stretch of road which traversed Kempton Wood, was very tempted to accept. ‘Well, if you’re certain your grandfather wouldn’t object to having a—Look out!’

Sarah’s unexpected warning coincided with a considerably gruffer one delivered from the rear of the carriage. With lightning reflexes, Emily quickly had her horses veering to the left in an attempt to avoid a collision with the staggering figure that had unexpectedly emerged from the edge of the wood.

Hurriedly bringing her team to a halt, Emily glanced back over her shoulder to discover to her intense dismay the man now lying sprawled on the ground. ‘Oh, dear Lord!’ she cried. ‘I must have hit him, after all!’

Without a second thought she tossed the reins to Sarah, before jumping down from the curricle and racing back along the road, her faithful and ever vigilant groom at her heels.

‘Be careful, miss,’ Jonas warned, drawing out the pistol which he invariably carried whenever accompanying his young mistress about the countryside. ‘It might be a trap. There could be others lurking. I don’t reckon you did run him down.’

Although occasionally described as stubborn and headstrong, Emily was not so wilful as to ignore sound advice. ‘No, I didn’t think I had,’ she agreed, approaching the recumbent figure with caution and swiftly detecting the dark stain seeping through a charred portion of his coat. ‘No, it isn’t a trap, Finn. He’s hurt. He’s been shot!’

Dropping to her knees, Emily carefully turned the man over on to his back before gently resting his head in her lap. He wasn’t very old, no more than twenty-five or six, she judged, but she very much feared from the position of the wound in his chest that he was destined not to celebrate a further birthday.

Lids, badly swollen, flickered as she brushed the blond hair back from his grazed forehead, and a moment later she was subjected to a puzzled, faraway look from eyes of a similar hue to her own.

‘Lie still,’ she urged gently, as he made a feeble attempt to raise an arm. ‘We’ll get help to you soon.’ She glanced up at her groom, who remained avidly scanning the wood, and was about to instruct him to go back to the house to get help when the stranger began to speak, thereby instantly regaining her attention.

‘No…time.’ His voice was so faint that Emily only just managed to catch the words. ‘Must…must get word to The Kestrel to be in—in…Raven…m-midnight…six…six-teenth.’

‘What’s that he said, miss?’

‘I’m not certain, Jonas. Sounded utter gibberish to me,’ she admitted.

‘He’s probably lost his wits, miss.’

‘No, Jonas. I’m afraid he’s just lost his life,’ she enlightened him, as the stranger’s head lolled to one side, and his last breath passed between the cut and swollen lips.

It took Emily a moment or two to recover from the very unpleasant experience of having someone die virtually in her arms, then, with the admirable self-control which she always displayed in times of stress, she rose to her feet, mistress of herself once again. ‘There’s nothing more we can do for the poor fellow now, except drag him off the road. We’ll go directly back to the house. You and the stable-lad can come back here to collect the body in the cart, and then go straight over to see Sir George Maynard and apprise him of what’s happened, whilst I, in the meantime, see Miss Nichols safely returned to Deverel Hall.

‘Now, for the love of heaven don’t argue, Finn!’ she ordered, when he was about to do just that. ‘I’m quite capable of driving the two miles to the Hall without your escort.’

A little over an hour later Emily was back in the pleasant house which had been her home for the past few years, and was endeavouring, without much success, to explain to her somewhat eccentric grandsire precisely what had taken place during the eventful journey back from the local town.

Appearing faintly bewildered, he regarded her in silence for a moment over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. ‘Shot?’

‘Yes, Grandfather, shot.’

‘But I thought you just said that you’d run him down.’

‘No, I didn’t say that,’ she corrected, striving to be patient with the old gentleman, who could be something of a trial on occasions. ‘Do try to pay attention, sir. I said I thought I must have run him down, but I hadn’t. He’d been shot.’

He bent a look of mild reproach upon her. ‘But you cannot go about the county shooting people, my dear. I dare swear a great many folk deserve it. But it simply won’t do. Will not do at all! Besides, Sir George won’t be best pleased when he hears about it.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Emily exclaimed, just as the door opened and her grandfather’s housekeeper showed none other than the local magistrate himself into the parlour.

Sir George Maynard, a large, grey-haired gentleman with a big barrel chest, which his waistcoats strained to cover, and deceptively merry blue eyes, which little escaped, was a much respected figure in the community. He was an old acquaintance of John Stapleton’s, and had a fondness for his friend’s granddaughter, which he betrayed now by casting her a sympathetic smile, whilst giving her slender hands a brief, reassuring squeeze.

‘A very distressing experience for you, my dear. Wouldn’t have had it happen for the world.’

‘Glad to hear you’ve taken it in such good part, George!’ Mr Stapleton announced, instantly gaining his friend’s attention. ‘Least said soonest mended, eh? I’ve already given her a scold, so it’s best we forget about the whole business.’ He glanced about in a vague manner. ‘Now, what brought me in here in the first place, Emily?’

‘Your book, Grandfather. It’s here on the table.’ She picked it up and handed it to him. ‘Why don’t you return to your library, and leave me to talk to Sir George. I’m certain he’ll be happy to join you for a glass of port later.’

Never needing much encouragement to repair to the room where he spent much of his time, Mr Stapleton was happy to leave, and Emily was even happier to close the door behind him, before turning to her visitor whose round face was wreathed in an understanding smile.

‘A bit vague this morning, eh?’

Emily raised one fine brow in a sceptical arch. ‘He’s only vague, as I suspect you must realise, Sir George, when he doesn’t choose to be troubled by something.’

She invited her visitor to take a seat and then, without asking, as he had never been known to refuse, automatically poured him a glass of wine. ‘You’ve spoken to Jonas Finn, I do not doubt, and have seen the body?’

‘Yes, m’dear,’ he acknowledged, after sampling the contents of his glass and watching her gracefully lowering her slender frame, which was a delight for a man of even his advanced years to behold, into the chair opposite. ‘I don’t suppose for a moment there’s much more you can add, so I’ve no intention of plaguing you with a barrage of questions. I’ve arranged for the body to be removed to the undertaker’s in Kempton.’ The Baronet regarded her in silence for a moment. ‘You didn’t recognise the fellow, I suppose?’

‘No, sir. Never set eyes on him before today.’

‘Er…Finn did just happen to mention the man said something to you before he died.’

Emily nodded. ‘But nothing that made any sense. He spoke so faintly I could hardly catch what he was saying.’

‘Pity. It might have given us a clue as to his identity.’ The local Justice of the Peace paused to sample a drop more of the excellent claret whilst all the time studying his companion’s delicate features above the rim of his glass. ‘What—er—did he say precisely, m’dear?’

All at once Emily suspected that much more lay behind the stranger’s death, that he had not merely been set upon, badly beaten and shot, and that Sir George was definitely keeping something to himself. She was very tempted to do likewise, but then thought better of it. ‘I gained the distinct impression he was keen on ornithology. His last words, if I remember correctly, were about birds—kestrels, I think. But, as he had just stumbled out of Kempton Wood, perhaps seeing birds was the last thing he remembered.’ She shrugged. ‘Who can say?’

Just for a second or two there was an added sparkle in the Baronet’s merry blue eyes. ‘Well, if you should recall precisely what it was he did say, perhaps you’ll let me know.’

‘I dare swear it would all come back to me if I took time to think about it,’ she didn’t hesitate to assure him. ‘Though I must be honest and admit that it’s an incident I would far rather forget.’

‘Very understandable, m’dear.’ Tossing the remaining contents of his glass down his throat, he rose to his feet. ‘Well, I’ll be on my way. I’ve an urgent appointment to keep and must set out for London this afternoon. Perhaps you’d be good enough to inform your grandfather that I’m forced to cancel our Friday evening’s chess session. But you can tell him I remember the exact state of play, and that we’ll resume the game after my return.’

Sebastian Hawkridge, seated behind the desk in his library, was gazing through his morning’s correspondence. His intelligent forehead was furrowed by lines of deep concentration as he scanned the missive in his hand. His mien clearly betrayed the keen perception of an extremely astute gentleman, but it was a countenance that few in the polite world had ever been privileged to see.

To have played the part of a fashionable fribble would have been a role too hard to maintain. Yet he had certainly done his utmost in recent years to give the impression that he cared for nothing so much as the pursuit of pleasure. On occasions even this portrayal had been difficult to preserve, but it had been vital to keep up the pretence in order to enable him to undertake a very personal crusade, without arousing the least suspicion among his fellow peers.

Always alert, he clearly heard the sound of the doorknocker filtering through from the hall. He had issued strict instructions that he did not wish to be disturbed, and so knew the moment his butler entered the room that the caller’s business must indeed be urgent for his trusted servant to disobey an order.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord, but a Sir George Maynard is here to see you on a matter, he assures me, of the utmost importance.’

It took Sebastian a moment only to recall the gentleman to mind and appreciate the precise nature of the business which must have brought him to the house. ‘Yes, show him in, Clegg,’ he instructed, and then rose from his desk in readiness to receive his unexpected visitor.

Once he had furnished him with a glass of wine and had him comfortably established in a chair by the hearth, his lordship swiftly dispensed with pleasantries. ‘Your visit, sir, is unexpected. But I doubt you have journeyed to the capital merely to make a social call. Bad news, I assume.’

‘Afraid so, Hawkridge. Sir Giles Osborne informed me that in the event that I was unable to get hold of him, I could safely pass on any information I attained to you. Sir Giles, so I’ve been informed, is out of town, but he ought to know as soon as possible that the man he sent into Dorset has been murdered.’ Sir George wasn’t slow to detect the flicker of sadness in the younger man’s penetrating grey eyes. ‘Was he by any chance a friend of yours?’

‘We were acquaintances only. I know that Sir Giles thought highly of him. Anderson was a good man.’

Leaning back in his chair, Sebastian stretched out his muscular legs, displayed to advantage in a pair of tight-fitting breeches and shining Hessian boots. ‘I think it’s safe to assume that he was killed because he had discovered something. Osborne, as you probably know, suspected that stretch of coastline was being used by smugglers, and those he’s keen to apprehend. He’ll be back in London early next week, but I doubt he’ll be in a position to replace Anderson speedily. His people are stretched pretty thinly on the ground, so I understand. Nevertheless, I’ll have a word with him when he does return.’

Sir George regarded the younger man in silence for a moment. ‘I’m aware that your interests are somewhat different from Osborne’s, but that you do exchange information from time to time. I haven’t read of any robberies in the newspapers recently, so I can only assume that whatever Anderson had discovered would have been of more interest to our mutual friend.’

‘More than likely,’ Sebastian agreed. ‘Who discovered the body, by the way?’

‘The granddaughter of a near neighbour of mine.’

The shapely hand raising the glass to Lord Hawkridge’s lips checked for a moment, and his gaze was suddenly disconcertingly direct. ‘You wouldn’t, by any chance, be referring to Emily Stapleton?’

‘Why, yes!’ The Baronet was clearly astonished. ‘Are you acquainted with her?’

His lordship’s ruggedly masculine features were all at once softened by a surprisingly tender smile. ‘Oh, yes. I know little Emily Stapleton, right enough. I’ve been acquainted with the family all my life. She and her mother were my nearest neighbours when I resided in Hampshire. In fact, Emily’s mother was my godmother.’

Once again Sir George didn’t attempt to hide his surprise. ‘Great heavens! I never knew that. I remember her mother and father very well. Laura was a lovely woman. It was so very sad that her marriage to Philip Stapleton was so tragically short. He died at the Battle of the Nile.’ He shrugged. ‘Still, I suppose you knew that. Emily doesn’t remember her father too well, of course. But her mother’s death hit her pretty hard, poor child.’

‘I know that too, sir. I was with her at the time.’ Sebastian released his breath in a long sigh. ‘She’s still happy enough living with her grandfather, I understand?’

‘Oh, yes, my boy.’ Sir George’s portly frame shook as he gave vent to a chuckle. ‘Damnable intrepid little thing! Jaunts about the countryside tooling her own carriage now, would you believe?’

There was no semblance of a smile on the younger man’s face. ‘I’m well aware of it!’ Disapproval was clearly evident in the clipped tone. ‘I was given little choice in the matter. The little minx forced my hand!’

Sir George’s bushy brows rose sharply. ‘I’m sorry, my boy. I don’t perfectly understand. Why should Miss Stapleton’s behaviour concern you?’

‘Because, Sir George, I am her legal guardian and not John Stapleton, as most people believe. And I would be very much obliged to you if you would keep that information to yourself.’

Although not perfectly understanding the need for secrecy, Sir George didn’t hesitate to give his word, before his thoughts returned to the reason for his visit. ‘Anderson said something to young Emily before he died. I didn’t like to question her too closely. That young lady has a head on her shoulders, and I didn’t wish to arouse her suspicions. Didn’t want her involved in all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.’

‘And she didn’t tell you what he said?’

Sir George shook his head. ‘Said something about Anderson being keen on bird-watching, would you believe? But I can’t imagine that that can be right.’

His expression once again keenly alert, Sebastian rose to his feet and stood before the hearth to stare intently down at the burning coals. ‘I was wrong, sir. Unless I’m gravely mistaken that message might well have been for me. It’s vital I find out exactly what he said.’

‘I’ll go and visit Emily the instant I get back.’

‘No, don’t do that. It would be better if I questioned her. I’d learn a great deal more than you would. As mentioned, I’ve been acquainted with her all her life, and know how to handle her. Damnation!’ he cursed softly. ‘I would have preferred to have waited, but Fate it seems is forcing my hand.’

Understandably, he turned to discover a puzzled expression on the Baronet’s plump features, but chose not to elaborate. Instead he said, ‘Would I be right in thinking that the Deverels are close neighbours of yours, and that there’s to be a party held at their home in the not too distant future?’

‘Why, yes! Have you been invited?’

‘I was, but turned it down. Charles Deverel and I were up at Oxford together. Unless I’m much mistaken he’s still in town.’ Placing his half-finished glass of wine on the mantel shelf, Sebastian went striding over to the door. ‘I don’t wish to appear rude, sir, but I must go out and run Deverel to earth without delay, and somehow get myself re-invited to that damnable country party without, I hope, arousing suspicion.’