Belmary House Book One (23 page)

“Was it only one time?” Ashford had to take a drink of his wine to be able to continue. “It must have made a deep impression on me, as it’s one of my happiest memories.”

He forced himself to stare deeply into her red-rimmed eyes, and prayed silently for Jeremy’s forgiveness. Jeremy slammed his fork onto the table, but Thea leaned over her plate, forgetting for a moment to sniffle or moan.

“I was hoping to hear your lovely voice again while I was here,” he continued, “but if you’re not up for it, I understand.” He glanced one last time at Jeremy, hoping he wouldn’t be tossed from the house. “It’s been so long since I’ve had any desire to play, but the thought of your singing has rekindled it.”

“My singing?” she asked, practically crawling over the table to his side. “Has rekindled your desire?”

“Enough,” boomed Jeremy. “Go to your room, young lady. Nothing’s getting rekindled tonight.”

She took her napkin from her lap and flung it at him, then narrowed her eyes at Ashford. “I’ll be in the music room whenever you’re finished.” She stood and turned to Jeremy. “You can’t keep me from singing. Are you really that cruel?” She didn’t wait for an answer and flounced dramatically from the room.

“Brilliant work,” he said bitterly, then paused. “Though she only chucked the napkin and not something that would hurt, and she wasn’t actually crying this time when she left.”

“You’re welcome,” Ashford said, tucking into his meal. “The Julian Alexander charm is always available to any of your sisters, should they need it.”

“I should beat you half to death and leave you on the road back to your own property, but I suppose I’d rather her mope about over you than that scoundrel.”

“I only know three songs on the pianoforte, and they’re all very romantic. You needn’t trouble yourself to listen if you don’t want to.”

“Do you want the beating?” Jeremy asked incredulously. “Have all your family troubles finally caused you to go off the deep end?”

Being forcefully reminded of why he was there deflated his relaxed mood. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, no longer hungry. He’d been having a good time for those few minutes, felt young and carefree for the first time in ages, but now he felt his old sour self. No wonder Matilda was always frowning at him, he must be terrible company. What if he tried to flirt with her in earnest, not just to keep her from arguing with him, what would her reaction be? It wasn’t worth thinking about. No matter how he tried to keep reality at bay, he knew he had to find out what Jeremy knew. His gut twisted and he finished his wine.

“Let’s have it, then,” he said.

“The beating?” Jeremy smiled, and nodded. “I know, I know. Don’t scowl so, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“You have news of my sister from when you were in France?”

Jeremy looked at him for a long moment, as if mulling over what to say. “I’m going to be a bounder and ask for a favor in return,” he said regretfully.

“Anything,” Ashford said before the request was completely spoken.

“You have to agree in advance, and you’re not going to like it.”

“I’ve already agreed,” he said, impatient now. Did Jeremy not trust his word? Did no one trust him anymore?

“You’re going to want to run out of here when you hear what I have to say, but I implore you not to. Stay with us for a bit. You’re good for Thea. Cajole her out of her imagined one true love, and you’ll be forever in my debt.”

“You’ll be forever in my debt if you stop prattling and get to what I want to hear.”

Ashford was already itching to leave, he planned to do so that very night, but now it looked like he really would be gone the full fortnight he had told Matilda.

He not only wanted to spring into action with whatever information Jeremy had about Camilla but he couldn’t stop worrying about Matilda as well. Every moment he was away from her was a moment she could get herself into trouble. Kostya knew to keep an eye on her, but he had the estate to run. He worried Serena wouldn’t be kind to her when he wasn’t there to impress. He sighed forcefully, dragging himself back to the dining table and Jeremy’s anxious face.

“I’ll stay and entertain your sister.”

“Thank you,” Jeremy said. “I do feel quite bad about imposing—”

Ashford cut him off with a sharp sound, reaching for the bottle of wine in the middle of the table and refilling his glass. He drained it before answering.

“How long have I known you? Stop insulting me with such nonsense. Your family is as mine.”

Jeremy also refilled his glass and Ashford kept a tight rein on his temper.

“May I speak frankly?” Jeremy finally asked, looking more nervous than when he’d requested Ashford to stay.

His oldest friend rarely looked so distressed and Ashford clenched his fists, fearing what he was about to hear, not wanting to know, but needing to.

“Of course. Speak freely.”

He cleared his throat. “The man Camilla took up with, Donal Blair, correct?”

“Yes. What about him?”

Even though he’d assured Jeremy he could speak freely, Ashford couldn’t help the clipped tone of his voice. Everyone knew about his sister’s affair, and everyone pretended not to to his face, of course talking incessantly about it behind his back.

Jeremy faltered for a moment before answering. “He was with her, in Rouleney. I saw him with Camilla. It was late, and dark, but I tell you this on my honor. It was them.”

“That’s impossible,” Ashford said. “I don’t doubt what you think you saw, but you know it’s impossible.”

“I’ve barely slept since that day, Julian. Since then I fear I’ve gone quite mad, but that day I was in my complete right mind, and my vision was clear. It was only all this mess with Thea that prevented me from getting to you sooner, as I know how tormented you’ve been.”

“You only saw her? She didn’t speak to you?”

“I called her name and she stopped, a fair way ahead of me. After a moment, she turned, and the lad did as well. She took his arm and they hurried away. I— forgive me for not following them.”

Ashford nodded. “It’s all right, old friend, calm yourself. This is very helpful.”

“Do you believe me?”

Ashford nodded, though he didn’t believe him. Couldn’t. It was impossible that he’d seen his sister with her lover. How could Jeremy have seen a dead man?

Tilly took the somewhat lumpy leather ball and bounced it into the packed earth square beside the barn she’d deemed perfect for her makeshift basketball court. The groomsman who’d worked on making it the past two days looked expectantly at her.

“It’s perfect,” she said, even though it wasn’t nearly as bouncy as a modern ball.

The fact that there was a straw basket hanging from the side of the barn and Kostya, Serena, several servants and two villagers actually wanted to play with her made her giddy with happiness.

She’d not only spent the last eleven days getting an entire new wardrobe, she’d actually given in and made some very pretty handkerchiefs. It only took two days for her to admit to herself that she enjoyed needlework, and that she was only spiting herself by refusing to join Serena when she visited every morning and set to work.

Serena had been difficult at first, stiff and unwilling to say much beside answer questions as tersely as she could, though she had been surprisingly enthusiastic in helping with the dressmaker. Tilly whittled away at her, drawing her portrait while she wasn’t paying attention, then doing more sketches when Serena had been delighted by the likeness. It pained Tilly that she hadn’t even had to cheat and make her prettier like she often did when she drew her friends or her mom. Serena couldn’t draw at all and was insatiable in her requests: her dogs, a still life of roses, a caricature of Kostya that made her sides split with laughter before she guiltily stuffed it in her bag when Kostya came in, curious about the noise.

They gossiped daily over their needlework, and took long walks around the vast property, sometimes visiting with the other neighbors or villagers. She longed to know about Ashford as a child, but she honestly liked Serena the more she got to know her, and the one thing that put her off was questions about him, so Tilly kept quiet, eagerly accepting any odd scrap. They’d tried to fly a kite one day, but lost it to a tree, and she found out the first time Ashford ever made a kite, it had ended much the same way.

Serena had pointed to a massive old tree, its thick branches winding up higher than she could see through its leaves.

“He tried to climb up to get it free, even though we’d been told dozens of times to keep our feet on the ground. It was a general rule of their mother’s, since both he and Cammie liked to climb things— fences, roofs, whatever they could. He fell flat on his back and knocked himself out, and I was sobbing, thinking he was dead, but Cammie hollered the whole time he wasn’t. ‘He’ll wish he was if he doesna wake up, for mum will beat him for climbing if we have to go fetch help’.”

Tilly had laughed at the childish sisterly fears. “She was more worried about getting in trouble than her brother’s safety. That sounds about right, I guess.”

Serena had shaken her head. “No, she said his bum was in too much pain for him to be dead. They always had that singular thing between them where they could feel each other’s pain. I always thought it so terrible while being oddly jealous at the same time. I have no siblings.”

It had taken all she had not to beg for more stories while they waited for a kitchen lad to scramble after their kite, but merely added that she was an only child as well, briefly mentioning Dex.

“We took turns visiting each other every summer and spent most Christmases together. He’s as good as a brother.”

Serena had nodded. “That’s how I feel about Julian and Cammie. Felt about Cammie,” she’d corrected herself, then frowned bitterly, distorting her flawless face. “Though I don’t think it was ever reciprocated. By either of them.”

The kite was rescued and Tilly was never offered such a glimpse into the past again.

She was fascinated by daily life on the estate. The land stretched seemingly endlessly in every direction. She learned to make butter and impressed Kostya with her almost forgotten fishing skills, something she hadn’t done since her father was alive. It was pure luck she caught anything at all, and used all her willpower not to shriek when she hauled it into the rowboat with them, even though it flopped terrifyingly until Kostya ruthlessly whacked it.

The villagers were cautiously polite with her, until she learned a thief had broken into the small silversmith shop and stolen some valuable items. Mr. Macrae, the shop owner, had a strong inkling who the culprit was, but no proof. Tilly and Serena had been in town early to pick up some bonnets and Tilly was appalled that he was going to wipe down the counter and put the overturned displays away as if nothing had happened.

Not caring that they all thought she was out of her mind, she ground up a piece of wood coal she dug from Mr. Macrae’s stove, then carefully dusted for prints. She wracked her brain on how to lift them in the absence of any kind of tape, trying both glycerin and sealing wax, finally able to lift a test print to her satisfaction before going on to take the ones that were all over the crime scene.

“It’s been forever since I actually collected them,” she admitted. “I usually just look at them. This is really quite fun.”

She’d wished she could share more about her real life with her new friends, but she was afraid to give away too much. She almost mused about how she originally wanted to be a cop, but wasn’t sure they would understand what she meant, since law enforcement in this time was so different. Certainly a woman wouldn’t hold such a position. And she had ultimately failed anyway, one of her biggest regrets.

She made Mr. Macrae press his fingertips and thumb into an ink soaked pad and leave her a set to rule him out, then tried to convince them to go and get a set off the suspect. He was a known troublemaker, a bully and drunk to boot, and they had been trying to find a reason to drum him out of the village for years. Even though Tilly explained that if he didn’t have anything to hide he should willingly allow himself to be fingerprinted, no one would go and ask him. Serena finally stepped up, suggesting she and Tilly take him a jar of jam, exchanging it with a different flavor after he’d already touched the first jar.

It was the most fun she’d had in ages, watching Mr. Macrae and the other villagers’ surprise when she showed them how the whorls and lines of the perp’s prints matched with what was left on the display case glass. It took several demonstrations using various villager’s fingers to convince them that everyone had unique fingerprints, but they finally sent for the constable, who caught the daft criminal as he rode to Edinburgh to try and sell the stolen goods.

It might have gone to her head just a little, because now here she was telling them the rules to the great game of basketball, that she completely made up on her own. She felt a bit ashamed but she wanted some exercise more vigorous than walking, and the preparations kept her from missing Ashford or worrying about getting home, something she couldn’t help but do when she sat quietly with her embroidery.

When she’d seen the large square of flat ground at the side of the barn, she’d hopefully explained her plan. Serena had found a suitable basket, carefully cutting out the bottom, and the lad who worked with the saddles set to making the ball out of scraps of leather. It was heavy and barely bounced, but everyone’s excitement made her not care at all, and she demonstrated dribbling and shooting.