Читать книгу The Outcast's Redemption - Sarah Mallory - Страница 9

Chapter Two

Grace was in the morning room with her father when Truscott informed him that Mr Peregrine had gone out, but would join him for dinner. Mr Duncombe received the news with equanimity, but not so Grace.

‘Mr Peregrine is very sure of his welcome,’ she remarked, when they were alone again.

‘And why not?’ replied her father mildly. ‘We have offered him hospitality, as we would any of God’s creatures.’

‘But we know nothing about the man.’

‘He has a good heart.’

Grace shook her head. ‘You are too kind, Papa, too trusting. I have put him over the stables.’

‘Yes, so I understand.’ Her father chuckled. ‘I am sure he has slept in worse places.’

‘But you will have him sit down to dinner with us.’

‘Yes, dear, and I would remind you of what the Bible says: “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers.” Hebrews, my love, Chapter Thirteen.’

She smiled. ‘Somehow I do not think Mr Peregrine is an angel in disguise, Papa.’

‘Perhaps not, but I can assure you he is a gentleman and, I think, a man worthy of our help.’

More than that he would not say and soon retired to his study to work on his sermon. Grace tried not to think that he was running away from her, but she was left with the uneasy suspicion that Papa knew more about this stranger than he would tell her. She glanced out of the window. It was a fine day, if she hurried through her household duties there might be time for a ride before dinner.

* * *

Wolf found the little house under the elms without much difficulty. He had taken the back lanes around the village, his hat pulled low on his brow, and he adopted a slouching, shambling gait so that anyone seeing him would not think him a gentleman, let alone Arrandale of Arrandale. The house appeared to be deserted, but Wolf kept his distance for a while, watching and waiting. It was no hardship, for the sun was high and it was a warm spring day. At length the door opened and an old man limped out. Wolf recognised him immediately. The butler looked no older than he had done when Wolf had last seen him ten years ago. The old man sat down on a bench against the wall of the house and turned his face up to the sun. Wolf approached him.

‘Good day to you, Brent.’

‘Who is that?’ The butler peered up short-sightedly.

‘Do you not know me?’ Wolf dropped down until his face was level with the old man’s. He smiled. ‘Do not say you have forgotten me.’

‘I know the voice, but...’ The faded eyes stared into Wolf’s face. ‘Is it really you, Mr Wolfgang, after all these years?’

Wolf grasped the frail, outstretched hands. There was no doubt of the old man’s delight. He said gently, ‘Yes, Brent, I am come back.’

‘Lord bless you, sir, I never thought to see the day! Not that I can see very much, for my eyes ain’t what they was.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘But ’tis not safe to be out here. Pray, step inside, sir.’

‘Let me help you up.’ Wolf took his arm and accompanied him into the house.

‘Forgive me if I sit in your presence, Master Wolfgang, but I’ve got a leg ulcer that pains me if I stand for too long.’

‘I think you have earned the right to sit down,’ replied Wolf, helping him to a chair and pulling up one for himself. ‘You served my family faithfully for many years.’

‘Aye, I did, sir, and very sorry I was when the old master and mistress died and the house was shut up for the last time. Very sorry indeed.’ He brightened. ‘Are you come back to stay, master?’

‘Not quite yet. First I have to prove my innocence. That is the reason I am here, Brent, I want you to tell me what you remember, the night my wife died.’

‘I remember it as clear as day, sir, but I told it all to the magistrate and he said there was nothing in it to help you.’

‘I would like you to tell me, if you will. Starting with the argument I had with my wife before dinner.’ Wolf’s mouth twisted. ‘I am sure you heard that.’

The old man sighed. ‘Aye, the whole household heard it, but if you will excuse my saying so, sir, we was accustomed to you and your lady’s disagreements, so fiery as you both were. You went out and Mrs Wolfgang ordered a tray to be sent up to her room. That left only the master and mistress and Sir Charles to sit down to dinner.’

‘Ah yes, Urmston, my wife’s cousin.’ Wolf sat back. Sir Charles Urmston had always been received warmly at Arrandale. Personally, he had never liked the man. Wolf and Florence had never needed much excuse to hurl insults at one another and on this occasion she had accused him of hating Charles because he was the man Wolf’s parents would have liked for a son, rather than the wild reprobate Wolf had become. The idea still tortured him.

‘I went out for a ride to cool my temper,’ he said now. ‘What happened while I was gone?’

‘We served dinner and Meesden, Mrs Wolfgang’s dresser, took up a tray for her mistress. Mrs Wolfgang did not come downstairs again. About eleven the mistress prepared tea in the drawing room, just as she always did, to be served with cakes and bread as a light supper. Then, shortly after midnight, I was coming upstairs to the hall when I heard a shriek, well, a scream, more like.’ The old man stopped, twisting his hands together. ‘If only there’d been a footman at the door, he’d have seen what happened, but it was late and they was all in the servants’ hall.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Wolf. ‘Just tell me what you saw.’

‘Mrs Wolfgang’s body at the bottom of the grand staircase, her head all bloody and broken and you kneeling over her. I remember it so well. White as a sheet, you was. The master and mistress came running out from the drawing room and you said, in a queer sort of voice, “She’s dead. She’s dead.”

‘Such a to-do as there was then. Mrs Arrandale fell into hysterics and we was all in a bustle. The doctor was sent for and the master sent word that your horse was to be brought round, as quick as possible.’

‘How incriminating must that have looked,’ Wolf declared. ‘If only I had waited, stayed and explained myself.’

‘Ah but your father was anxious for you. Even if Sir Charles hadn’t been pressing him I think he would have insisted—’

‘Charles? You mean Urmston urged him to send me away?’

‘Aye, sir. As soon as Sir Charles came in from the garden he told your father to send you off out of harm’s way until they could find out what really happened. But they never did find out, sir. Instead...’

‘Instead they found the Sawston diamonds were missing and I was doubly damned.’ Wolf finished for him. ‘Who discovered the necklace was gone?’

‘Meesden, sir. She had been fetched down to her mistress, when it was found Mrs Wolfgang was still alive. The poor lady was carried to the morning room and Meesden stayed with her ’til Dr Oswald arrived. Fortunately he was dining at the vicarage and was soon fetched. Meesden went up to Mrs Wolfgang’s bedchamber for something and came down screaming that the lady’s jewel case was open and the necklace was gone.’

‘And everyone thought I had taken it,’ muttered Wolf.

‘I never believed that, sir. Even though the evidence...’ The butler’s words trailed away.

‘Aye,’ growled Wolf. ‘My wife always kept the key hidden behind a loose brick in the fireplace.’ He was suddenly aware of his neckcloth, tight around his throat like a noose. ‘To my knowledge only three people knew of that hiding place. Florence, her dresser and myself.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I have no doubt Meesden told everyone that fact.’ The distress in the old man’s face confirmed it. Wolf reached out and touched his arm. ‘Think, Brent. Are you sure there was no one else in the house that night?’

‘Well, ’tis only a feeling...’

‘Tell me.’

Brent paused, his wrinkled brow even more furrowed as he struggled to remember.

‘I told the magistrate at the time, sir, but he made nothing of it. You see, once I had taken the tea tray into the drawing room for the mistress I prepared the bedroom candles. I was bringing them up to the staircase hall when I heard a noise upstairs. Voices.’ The old man sat up straight. ‘I thought it was Mrs Wolfgang talking to someone.’

Wolf’s lip curled. ‘Some would say it was me. That I returned and pushed Florence from the balcony.’

Brent shook his head. ‘When I saw you kneeling beside Mrs Wolfgang’s body I could tell you’d just come in. It was bitter cold that day and we had the first heavy frost of the winter. There was still a touch of it on the skirts of your coat, as there would be if you’d been out o’ doors for a length of time. I told the magistrate, but he paid no heed to me. He thought I was just trying to protect you.’

‘And no one else in the house saw or heard anything?’

Brent shook his head slowly.

‘No, sir. Your father and the magistrate gathered everyone in the servants’ hall and asked them that very question, but ’twere bitter cold that night, so those servants who had not gone to bed was doing their best to stay by the fire in the servants’ hall.’

‘But the voices you heard upstairs, could it have been my wife’s dresser? Surely Meesden might have been with her mistress.’

‘No, sir. When Meesden brought her mistress’s tray downstairs after dinner she said she was going to bed and she passed on Mrs Wolfgang’s instructions that on no account was she to be disturbed again until the morning. Quite adamant about it, she was, and then she went to her room. The maid who sleeps next door heard Meesden pottering about there, until she was sent for, when it was known her mistress was still alive.’

Wolf frowned, wondering if there was some little detail he was missing. He said, ‘I must visit the house. Jones is living there, I believe.’

‘Aye, Master Wolfgang, he is, and he would be willing to talk to you, I am sure, but take care who else in the village you approach, sir. There’s many who lost their livelihoods when Arrandale Hall was shut up and they would not look too kindly upon you.’

‘That is understandable, but if I do not try I shall not make any progress at all.’ Wolf rose. ‘I must go. Thank you, Brent.’ He put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. ‘No, don’t get up. I will see myself out.’

‘You’ll come again, sir. You’ll let me know how you get on?’

‘I shall, you may be sure of it.’

* * *

Wolf walked back through the lanes, going over all the old man had told him. He would not risk going through the village in daylight but he would make his way to Arrandale Hall later, and perhaps, once it was dark, he might call upon one or two of the families that he knew had worked at the house, the ones he felt sure would not denounce him. The pity of it was there were precious few of those. He had spent very little of his adult life at Arrandale. Some of the old retainers would remember him as a boy, but most of the newer staff would have little loyalty to him, especially if they believed he was the reason Arrandale was closed up.

The thud of hoofs caught his attention and he looked round to see Grace Duncombe riding towards him on a rangy strawberry roan. She sat tall and straight in the saddle, made taller by the very mannish beaver hat she wore, its wispy veil flying behind her like a pennant. Wolf straightened up and waited for her. She checked slightly, as if uncertain whether to acknowledge him, then brought her horse to a stand.

He touched his hat. ‘That is a fine mare. Is she yours?’

‘Yes.’ Her response was cool, but not unfriendly. ‘Bonnie is my indulgence. I have a small annuity from my mother that I use for her upkeep.’

He reached out and scratched the mare’s head.

‘You need not excuse yourself to me, Miss Duncombe.’

She flushed and her chin went up. ‘I do not. But people wonder that I should keep my own horse when we have had to make savings everywhere else.’

‘I imagine she is useful for visiting your father’s parishioners.’

Her reserve fled and she laughed. ‘With a basket of food hanging on my arm? I cannot claim that as my reason for keeping her.’ She smoothed the mare’s neck with one dainty gloved hand. ‘I have had Bonnie since she was a foal and cannot bear to part with her.’

‘I understand that. I had such a horse once. A black stallion. The very devil to control.’

‘Oh? What happened to him?’

‘He died. I am on my way back to your father’s house now. Shall we walk?’

Grace used the gentle pressure of her heel to set Bonnie moving.

Perhaps he is a highwayman and his horse was shot from under him. That might also account for the scars on his body.

She quickly curbed her wayward imagination. She had seen a shadow cross the lean face and guessed he had been very fond of his black horse, so it was no wonder he did not wish to talk about it. She must follow her father’s example and be charitable.

‘You would find it quicker to cut through the village,’ she said, waving her crop towards a narrow path that wound its way towards the distant houses.

‘Not much quicker.’

‘Ah. You are familiar with Arrandale?’

‘I can see the church from here, Miss Duncombe, and it is clear this way will bring us to it almost as quickly as cutting back to the village.’

‘And you would rather avoid the villagers,’ she said shrewdly.

He shrugged. ‘You know how these little places gossip about strangers.’

Grace pursed her lips. He frustrated every attempt to learn more about him.

She said now, ‘That should not worry you, if you have nothing to hide.’

‘I am merely a weary traveller, taking advantage of your father’s hospitality to rest for a few days.’

‘I fear taking advantage is just what you are doing,’ she retorted, nettled.

‘I mean no harm, Miss Duncombe, trust me.’

‘Impossible, since I know nothing about you.’

‘You could ask your father.’

‘I have done so, but he will tell me nothing.’ She paused. ‘I understand you are dining with us this evening.’

‘Yes. Do you object?’

She stopped her horse.

‘I would worry less if I knew something about you.’

He looked up and she had her first clear view of his eyes. They were blue, shot through with violet, and the intensity of his gaze was almost a physical force. Her insides fluttered like a host of butterflies.

‘One day I will tell you everything about me,’ he promised. ‘For the present I would urge you to trust your father’s judgement.’

‘He seems to have fallen completely under your spell,’ she snapped, seriously discomposed by the sensations he roused in her. ‘You might be an out-and-out villain for all we know.’

Grace inadvertently jerked the reins and Bonnie sidled. Immediately he caught the bridle, murmuring softly to the mare before looking up again.

‘Your father knows I am no villain, Miss Duncombe.’

He placed his hand on her knee as if in reassurance, but it had quite the opposite effect on Grace. Her linen skirt and several layers of petticoats separated them, but the gesture was shockingly intimate. Waves of heat flooded her, pooling low in her body. Her alarm must have shown in her countenance, because his hands dropped and he stepped away.

‘Perhaps you should ride on, if you are afraid of me.’

Afraid? Grace’s head was full of chaotic thoughts and feelings. He unsettled her, roused emotions she had thought long dead, but, no, she was not afraid of him. Quite the opposite.

‘I should,’ she said, gathering her reins and her disordered senses at the same time. ‘I shall!’

And with that she set Bonnie cantering away.

* * *

Wolf watched her go, the skirts of her russet riding habit billowing and accentuating the tiny waist beneath her tight-fitting riding jacket. He had to admit it was a fine image. He had thought when he first saw her that her hair was the colour of pale honey, but out of doors, with the sun glinting on her soft curls, it reminded him more of ripe corn. And those eyes. They were a rich, deep blue. Dark as sapphires.

With a hiss of exasperation he took off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. Bah, what was this, was he turning into some foppish poet? And, confound it, what had come over him to talk to her like that? He had said he was a lowly traveller, he should have touched his cap and kept a respectful silence.

It might be wiser to eat in the kitchen this evening, but Wolf knew Mr Duncombe would be able to tell him more about his family. Ten years was a long time and Wolf wished now that he had kept in touch, but it had been his decision to cut himself off. He had thought he would never return to England, but that was changed now. He had a daughter, a responsibility. Settling his hat more firmly on his head, he set off once more for the vicarage. As the good parson said, the past was gone. He must look to the future.

* * *

Grace was determined to wear her most sober gown for dinner that night, but when Betty came up to help her dress, she rejected every one pulled out for her as too tight, too low at the neck, or too dull. In the end she settled for a round gown of deep-blue silk gauze with turban sleeves. Its severity was relieved with a trim of white silk at the neck and ankles and a run of seed pearl buttons down the front. She found a white shawl with blue embroidery to keep off the chill and, throwing this around her shoulders, she made her way downstairs to the drawing room.

‘Oh.’

Grace stopped in the doorway when she saw their guest was alone. She had deliberately left her entrance as late as possible to avoid just such a situation.

‘Do come in, Miss Duncombe. Your father has gone to his study to find a book for me. He will be back immediately, I am sure,’ he said, as she came slowly into the room. ‘I hope you will forgive me dining with you in my riding dress, but I am...travelling light. And I had not noticed, until I changed for dinner, that this shirt is missing a button.’ Again that dark, intense look that did such strange things to her insides. ‘I hope you will forgive me. It hardly shows beneath the cravat, and at least, thanks to your housekeeper’s services, it is clean.’

Her training as a vicar’s daughter came to her aid.

‘If you will give it to Truscott when you retire this evening I will see that it is repaired. I will have your other shirt laundered, too.’

‘Thank you, ma’am, but Mrs T. is already dealing with that.’

Mrs T.! She bridled at his familiarity with her servants, but decided it was best to ignore it. She turned thankfully to her father as he came back into the room.

‘Here you are, my son.’

He held out a book and Grace’s brows rose in surprise. ‘The Mysteries of Udolpho?’

‘Mr Peregrine wanted something to amuse him if he cannot sleep,’ explained her father. ‘And he is unfamiliar with Mrs Radcliffe’s novel.’

‘I do not see how you could have failed to hear of it. It was a huge success a few years ago,’ remarked Grace.

‘I was out of the country, a few years ago.’

Heavens, thought Grace. It gets worse and worse. Are we harbouring a spy in our midst?

‘Ah,’ cried Papa. ‘Here is Truscott come to tell us dinner is ready. Perhaps, Mr Peregrine, you would escort my daughter?’

Grace hesitated as their guest proffered his arm, staring at the worn shabbiness of the sleeve.

Oh, do not be so uncharitable, Grace. You have never before judged a man by his coat.

And in her heart she knew she was not doing so now, but there was something about this man that disturbed her peace.

‘Do not worry,’ he murmured as she reluctantly rested her fingers on his arm. ‘I shall not be here long enough to read more than the first volume of Udolpho.’

‘I am relieved to hear it,’ she retorted, flustered by his apparent ability to read her mind.

His soft laugh made her spine tingle, as if he had brushed her skin with his fingers. When they reached the dining room and he held her chair for her the tiny hairs at the back of her neck rose. He would not dare to touch her. Would he?

No. He was walking away to take his seat on her father’s right hand.

* * *

Wolf wanted to ask questions. Coming back here had roused his interest in Arrandale. His eyes drifted towards Grace, sitting at the far end of the table. It would be safest to wait until he and the parson were alone, but after ten years of resolutely shutting out everything to do with his family, suddenly he was desperate for news.

‘So Arrandale Hall is shut up,’ he said.

‘But it is not empty,’ said Grace. ‘A servant and his wife are in residence.’

Wolf’s mouth tightened at her swift intervention and the inference that he wanted to rob the place. He kept his eyes on the parson.

‘Do you hear anything of the family, sir?’

‘Alas, no, my son. I hear very little of the Arrandales now.’

‘There was something in the newspapers only last week,’ put in Grace. ‘About the Dowager Marchioness of Hune’s granddaughter, Lady Cassandra. She was married in Bath. To a foreign gentleman, I believe.’

Wolf laughed. ‘Was she indeed? Good for her.’

Grace was looking at him with a question in her eyes, but it was her father who spoke.

‘Ah, yes, you are right, my love, but that can hardly interest our guest.’

‘No, no, of course I am interested.’ Wolf hoped he sounded politely indifferent, as befitted a stranger. ‘I take it there are no Arrandales living in the area now?’

‘No. The house was closed up in ninety-five. There was a particularly bad outbreak of scarlet fever that spring and old Mr Arrandale and his wife died within weeks of one another.’

‘Is that what they say killed them?’ Wolf could hardly keep the bitterness from his voice.

‘It was indeed what killed them, my son.’ The parson turned his gentle gaze upon him. ‘Nothing else.’

‘There had been some trouble earlier that winter, had there not, Papa? At the end of ninety-four,’ remarked Grace. ‘I was at school then, but I remember there were reports in the newspapers. The older son killed his wife for her jewels and fled to France. It was a great scandal.’

The old man shook his head. ‘Scandal has always followed the Arrandales, my love. Not all of it deserved.’

‘You say that because your living is in their gift,’ muttered Wolf.

‘No, I say it because I believe it.’

‘But, Papa,’ said Grace, ‘you believe the best of everyone.’

Wolf did not look up, but felt sure her eyes were on him. Mr Duncombe merely chuckled.

‘I look for the best in everyone,’ he said mildly, ‘and I am rarely disappointed. Do pass me the fricassee of rabbit again, my dear, it really is quite excellent.’

Wolf wanted to ask about the child, his daughter. Had the parson seen her, was she tall, like him, or small-boned like her mother? Was she dark, did she have his eyes? The questions went round and round in his head, but he knew he must let the matter drop. When Mr Duncombe began to talk of more general matters he followed suit, but his long exile had left him woefully ignorant.

‘You appear singularly ill informed of how matters stand in England,’ observed Grace, clearly suspicious.

‘I have been living in the north country, they have little interest in what goes on nearer London. That is why I have come south, to take up my life again.’

She pounced on that.

‘Oh, are you a local man, then, Mr Peregrine? I do not recall any family with that name hereabouts.’

‘No, the Peregrines are not local,’ he replied truthfully.

The parson shifted uncomfortably.

‘My dear, it grows late and I am sure Mr Peregrine would like to join me in a glass of brandy. I do not often indulge the habit, sir, but since you are here...’

Grace rose immediately. ‘Of course, Papa.’

‘If you wish to retire, Grace, I am sure our guest will not mind if we do not send for the tea tray.’

Wolf knew he should agree with his host. They could bid Miss Duncombe goodnight now and he would be free of her questions and suspicions, but some inner demon made him demur.

‘If it is no trouble, a cup of tea before I retire would be a luxury I have not enjoyed for a very long time.’

Grace looked at him, eyes narrowed.

‘You seem to be inordinately fond of the drink, Mr Peregrine.’

‘I believe I am, Miss Duncombe.’ He met her gaze innocently enough and at length she inclined her head, every inch the gracious hostess.

‘Of course Mr Peregrine must have tea if he wishes it, Papa. I will await you in the drawing room.’

With that she swept out of the room.

* * *

As soon as the door was closed Mr Duncombe said, ‘Was that wise, sir? My daughter is no fool.’

‘I am aware of that, but I was not funning when I said I have missed life’s little luxuries.’ The old man’s brows rose and Wolf’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘Not tea-drinking, I admit, unless it was in the company of a pretty woman.’ Wolf saw the other man draw back and he hurried on. ‘Pray, sir, do not think I have any thoughts of that nature towards your daughter, I would not repay your hospitality so cruelly. No, I have no interest in anything save clearing my name.’ He looked around to check again that they were alone. ‘On that subject, sir, what do you know of my own daughter?’

‘Alas, my son, I cannot help you. She lives with Lord and Lady Davenport, I believe. Doctor Oswald was dining here the night your wife died and a servant came to fetch him. When we met again Oswald said it was a miracle the baby survived. Your wife never regained consciousness.’ In the candlelight Mr Duncombe’s naturally cheerful face was very grave. ‘He told me, in confidence, that if it had not been for the missing diamonds the magistrate would have recorded your wife’s death as a tragic accident. Alas, both the doctor and the magistrate are now dead.’

‘So you have a new Justice of the Peace?’

‘Yes, Sir Loftus Braddenfield of Hindlesham Manor,’ the parson informed him. ‘And that is another reason you might wish to avoid being in Grace’s company, my son. She is betrothed to him.’