Читать книгу Heiress On The Run - Laura Martin, Laura Martin - Страница 13

Chapter Five

As Edward’s pencil danced over the paper he felt all the tension and worry from the last couple of days flow from his shoulders. Drawing preserved his sanity, it was a hobby that had become much more. In the last few years he had lost himself in his sketches, picking up his pencils whenever his grief or solitude threatened to overwhelm him. Sometimes he drew from memory, a person from his childhood or scene from the village. Often he would sketch faces, allowing his pencils to flow over the familiar lines of the faces of the people he had lost over the years.

Today he was sitting by the window, drawing the view he could see. He’d needed this time alone, some space to regroup and sort through the events of the last couple of days. So he had retreated to his rooms soon after Amelia had finished telling him her story.

It was strange having another person in the house. Ever since he had dismissed the servants a few weeks after the fire he had lived alone. Edward knew he’d turned the house into a sort of mausoleum, a place of memorial for all that had he had lost. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest way of dealing with his grief, but he’d never felt he deserved anything more than the loneliness he had imposed on himself. Now, with Amelia’s presence, he felt uncomfortable and guilty. It should be Jane here with him, not some pretty young woman.

He didn’t believe for a second Amelia had actually killed this Captain of hers. A petite little thing like her wouldn’t be able to best a seasoned soldier with just a letter opener. Far more likely the scoundrel was still alive and hell-bent on vengeance. That was the real reason he’d allowed her to stay, to ensure she was kept hidden from McNair and whatever plans he had for the woman who’d injured him. Part of him had wanted to hold back and send her on her way, but he knew his conscience couldn’t bear the burden of another death.

So he had promised to look into Amelia’s claims and before he had retired to his rooms he’d walked to the edge of the estate and found a willing boy to deliver a message to his steward for a couple of shiny coins. Hopefully the man would visit later and they could get the business sorted as soon as possible.

Then life can return to normal. Edward grimaced. As if anything in his life could be termed normal.

Mulling his future over in his mind, Edward glanced out the window again, his hand with the pencil in falling to his lap as he saw Amelia pacing about the garden. As he watched he saw her heft a spade from the ground and start to dig.

For years the lawn had been overgrown, but covered in lush, green grass. Now it was beginning to be peppered with several muddy holes of varying depths all scattered about in front of the flower bed. It looked a complete mess.

It wasn’t the mess, however, that made Edward spring up from his chair, it was the realisation of exactly where she was digging. Now there was only a thorny tangle of overgrown bushes and Edward couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a flower, but he knew for certain the area she was attacking had once been the rose garden. The rose garden Jane had once loved so much. With a growl of displeasure Edward stood, pushing his sketches to one side, and quickly made his way downstairs. Out in the garden the full extent of the damage became apparent.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

‘Digging,’ came Amelia’s cheery reply.

She carried on plunging the spade into the ground, a look of steely determination on her face.

‘Why are you digging?’

‘To rescue the roses.’

She didn’t look up at him as she spoke, too intent on her task.

‘Stop,’ he said, adding a quiet ‘please’ as an afterthought.

‘Won’t be long now.’

She carried on wielding the spade.

‘Stop now.’

The hole in front of them got a little larger and Edward’s shoes were sprinkled with mud.

‘Stop,’ he bellowed.

Amelia halted, the spade frozen in mid-air, and looked at him with puzzlement.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong?’ Edward tried to keep his temper in check, but as he looked around at the devastation in front of him he lost the battle. ‘You’ve destroyed my garden.’

Amelia took a step back, but Edward couldn’t regret the volume of his outburst. She had desecrated the rose garden, the patch of ground he and Jane had spent hours planting and tending together.

‘It was a mess to begin with.’

Edward felt guilty. He knew he had neglected a lot in the past three years, allowing the house and gardens to fall into disrepair. He regretted allowing the garden he and Jane had planted so lovingly become this overgrown mess of tangled brambles, but that did not give Amelia the right to swoop in and attack it with a spade.

‘If I had wanted it any different, I would have done it myself.’

‘Like the rest of the house?’ Amelia challenged him.

He could see she regretted her comment as soon as she’d said it, even going so far as clamping her hands over her mouth as if trying to pull the words back in.

‘Do not touch anything else,’ Edward said, his voice low and dangerous. ‘Now leave.’

She hesitated for just a second and then dropped the spade and hurried back to the house.

‘I’m sorry,’ Edward whispered, closing his eyes. ‘I’m sorry for letting things get like this.’

He knew the house and gardens were in a terrible state. No one could live there and be unaware of the dust and the weeds and the crumbling stone, but over time he had become used to it. Each time he’d noticed another cobweb or another fault he’d closed his eyes to it and tried to forget. He knew this was partly due to his need to punish himself. The problems arose when he realised he’d let the things Jane had loved fall into disrepair. He should have been a better custodian.

Carefully he began replacing the clumps of earth Amelia had dug up, patting the turf on top and trying to return the grass to how it had looked before. Once he had finished he sat back and regarded the overgrown rose bushes thoughtfully. After a few minutes he got up, walked to one of the outbuildings and began his search for the gardening equipment.

* * *

Half an hour later his fingers were scratched and bleeding, but the tangle of rose bushes had been trimmed back to a more respectable size. Each individual plant was distinguishable from its neighbour now, and although there were no buds on the bushes it looked more like the garden it had once been.

As he sat back on his knees he sensed Amelia’s presence behind him.

‘They must look beautiful when the flowers are in bloom,’ she said quietly.

They had been beautiful. The whole garden had been beautiful. He and Jane had often taken evening strolls through the grounds in the summer months, stopping to admire the roses or sniff the fragrant flowers.

He turned to face her, trying to work out what to say. Amelia was already walking back towards the house, her head held high, but the slight hunching of her shoulders belying the burden she was carrying.

* * *

Amelia didn’t want to return inside just yet. She had been shocked by Edward’s reaction to her trying to do a spot of gardening and was still smarting from his harsh words. She couldn’t quite understand why he had reacted in such a fashion; it was only a rose garden. Part of her had wanted to be helpful, to repay Edward’s kindness with an act to show she was grateful for him letting her stay. Her other motivation for wanting to attack the flowerbeds was much more selfish.

Amelia couldn’t bear to be idle, not at the moment. Every second she wasn’t occupied with some task or other her mind wandered back to the encounter with McNair in his study. Over and over she would relive the moment he had lunged at her and she’d plunged the letter opener into his abdomen. It made her feel sick and light headed, but no amount of willpower could stop her from dwelling on her crime.

Only when she was occupied, preferably doing something physically demanding, did her mind take a break from brooding over the events of earlier in the week. So she’d decided to attack the flowerbeds, thinking Edward would be pleased to see some part of the estate tidy and thriving.

Amelia kicked at a pebble on the path, taking her frustration out on the small stone. She wanted to be angry with Edward for speaking to her in such a tone, but part of her wondered what had fuelled the outburst. There was something deeper going on at Beechwood Manor, something she didn’t quite understand yet. Edward was a damaged soul—no one shut themselves away from the world like he did without a good reason. She rather suspected he had lost someone close to him and that loss had prevented him from moving on with his life.

Ever since she had first arrived Amelia had felt the grief and heartache emanating from Edward, but she had felt something else as well. There was a power there, a sense of authority that made Amelia wish he would just fold her in his arms and keep her safe from the world.

Pausing, Amelia flopped down on a bench and closed her eyes. Here she went again, jumping to conclusions about people before she really knew them. With McNair she had been taken in by his good looks and easy charm. She’d fallen for him within ten minutes of meeting him and declared her undying love less than a week later. Her judgement when it came to men couldn’t be trusted. She didn’t know Edward, not really, and she wouldn’t allow herself to ever fall victim to a man ever again. From now on she wouldn’t pin her hopes on anyone but herself.

‘Good afternoon, miss.’

A voice startled Amelia from her reverie. She sprang to her feet, ready to flee if the need arose, and was confronted by a stout, portly man in his sixties. Slowly Amelia relaxed. If he did pose a threat she rather thought she would outpace him with nothing more than a brisk walk.

Forcing her racing pulse to slow, Amelia smiled warily at the newcomer.

‘Tobias Guthry at your service, miss, and what a pleasure it is to meet you.’

Amelia took his proffered hand, allowing his podgy fingers to enclose hers briefly.

‘I am Sir Edward’s steward, been summoned by the master himself. Sorry if I startled you at all.’

Mr Guthry was looking increasingly anxious and Amelia decided he was most likely harmless.

‘You must forgive me, Mr Guthry, I was miles away and I wasn’t expecting anyone.’

‘You gave me quite a surprise yourself, miss. In the past three years I’ve been working for the master I’ve not seen a single other person about the grounds.’

‘Yes, I understand Sir Edward is a very private person,’ Amelia said, wondering if this amiable little man might be willing to tell her any more about her host.

‘Oh, very private, miss, the most private a man could be.’

‘Tell me, has he always been this way?’

Mr Guthry gave her a sidelong look and his already pink complexion turned beetroot.

‘I wouldn’t like to speculate, miss, I’ve only known him since after the...er...the incident.’

He glanced at the fire-damaged portion of the building as he spoke.

So the fire had been the turning point in Edward’s life. She wondered if he’d been injured in it, or whether he’d lost someone he loved as she had first suspected. A slither of guilt slid into Amelia’s consciousness. After all he was doing for her she ought to know more about him and the reasons behind his peculiar choice of lifestyle. The worst thing was he’d probably dropped hints, even alluded to whatever terrible event had affected him so badly, but she had been too caught up in her own world to notice.

‘Do you come to see Sir Edward often?’ Amelia asked, changing tack.

‘Only every couple of months.’

She was surprised at this. Edward seemed the sort of man who liked to be in charge of things, completely in control. True, to manage an estate such as this, which must encompass land outside the boundaries of Beechwood Manor with tenants and farmers and livestock, you would have to not live in such reclusive circumstances, but all the same she couldn’t picture him giving up complete control.

‘Sir Edward must trust you very much, Mr Guthry.’

The portly man visibly swelled with pride at Amelia’s words.

‘Come inside and please make yourself comfortable, I will let Sir Edward know you are here.’

Amelia ushered him into the sitting room she’d entered the night before. It was the only room in the main part of the house vaguely suitable for guests. At least the chairs were no longer covered in dust sheets, but still there was rather a ghostly feel to the room.

She left Mr Guthry wiggling his ample backside into one of the armchairs and set off in search of Edward.

Cautiously she knocked on the door to his set of rooms in the West Wing, and when there was no answer after a few seconds she took a few steps inside. Edward’s sketches were scattered across the desk, with an open pad of paper resting on the windowsill, but there was no sign of Edward. Amelia knew he wasn’t outside or in the main portion of the house, which only left the fire-damaged East Wing.

Quickly Amelia padded along the landing, feeling like a rebellious child for even thinking about venturing into the East Wing. His warning never to enter that part of the house was ringing in her ears, but she couldn’t exactly leave Mr Guthry waiting indefinitely.

At the end of the landing another long corridor swept off at an angle to the main house, identical upstairs and down. Amelia paused before stepping over the threshold, a shiver travelling down her spine and making her glance back over her shoulder to check she was alone.

She took a step and then another. Already the fire damage was evident: blackened walls, the faint smell of smoke, damaged paintings hanging over the peeling wallpaper.

‘I told you not to enter the East Wing.’ Edward’s voice made Amelia jump with fright.

He emerged from the shadows like a phantom, taking Amelia firmly by the arm and guiding her quickly back to the main section of the house.

‘You are never to enter the East Wing.’

Amelia was about to protest, about to question why, but she saw the haunted look in Edward’s eyes and decided for once to keep her mouth securely shut. She waited for him to reprimand her further but he just continued to lead her away from the fire damaged corridor.

‘There’s a Mr Guthry waiting to see you,’ she said, once her heart had stopped pounding and she’d caught her breath.

The normality of her response, or the familiarity of Mr Guthry’s name, seemed to pull Edward back from whatever precipice he was teetering over. Slowly he regained his focus and Amelia was relieved to see the haunted look fade from his eyes.

‘Good,’ he grunted as they descended the main staircase, ‘He can find the proof all this murder business is nonsense and then you can be on your way.’

Normally Amelia would have bristled at his tone and his dismissive attitude towards her plight, but even she could recognise a man who had just confronted some past demon and deserved a little forgiveness for his sharp manner, so instead of making a withering retort she led Edward calmly to Mr Guthry, all the time wondering what it was in the East Wing that Edward didn’t want her to see.

* * *

With Edward and Mr Guthry ensconced in the sitting room Amelia wandered the house for a few minutes before finding herself back in the homely West Wing. Safe in the knowledge that Edward would be busy for at least the next half an hour Amelia ventured into his bedroom, the room they had both shared the night before, and made her way to the desk. Trying her hardest not to pry any further through his personal documents, she sat and rummaged through the drawers until she found a blank sheet of paper and a pen.

Amelia was not a keen writer of letters. Sitting and constructing beautifully worded, descriptive prose was not in her character, she much preferred to be outside doing something. Nevertheless today she would grit her teeth and get on with her task.

Dearest Lizzie,

How long it seems since I left you in London and how much has happened during that time. I hope you are faring better than I, and that my aunt has not discovered our deception and is treating you well.

Amelia paused, sucking on the end of the pen as she wondered how best to word the description of what had happened over the past few weeks. She did not want to trouble her cousin more than was necessary, but Lizzie was currently masquerading as Amelia Eastway and, if Edward was right and there was a chance McNair had survived, her cousin could become a target.

A hundred times I have wished for you to be by my side these past few days. I have been sorely in need of your calm words and sensible cautions. As you had suspected, McNair was not the man I had hoped and ever since I tracked him down in Brighton

a series of unspeakable events have occurred.

I cannot go into detail on paper, but I hope we will be reunited soon and I will tell you everything then.

The most important thing, dearest Lizzie, is for you to be vigilant. I fear I am being hunted, most likely by a magistrate or one of his officers, but also possibly by McNair. As you are currently going by the name Amelia Eastway I urge you to be careful. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you because of my foolishness.

I will write again soon, hopefully with a solution to this predicament rather than all these concerns, but until then know that I am safe. A gentleman has given me shelter in his old dilapidated house for a few days until things have settled down. I feel peculiarly safe here.