Cut to the Quick (38 page)

“Did you find Bliss?”

“No, sir, I didn’t. I’m sorry. I followed him a good way. He was headed north—I knew, because I met up with people who’d seen him. I was gaining on him, but I had to turn back before I’d run him to earth. My brother couldn’t take my place at the Lion for more nor a few days.”

“I understand. At least we know he left Alderton alive. I was half afraid we’d find him facedown in the mill stream, or at the bottom of the village well.”

“Oh, he’s safe and sound, sir. I’ve got proof of that.” He picked

up a bulky parcel wrapped in brown paper, and handed it to Julian.

“What's this?"

“It's his sack, sir—the pedlar's sack he carried, that's made of bits of cloth in all different colours. I bought it off the grocer's wife in Little Finchley. That's a village near Peterborough, that Bliss passed through a day or two before me. Seems she saw the sack and took a fancy to it, so he sold it to her. I had a time getting her to give it up. I had to pay her 'most all the money you give me, and make sheep's eyes at her into the bargain. But I thought you might like to have it, so, anyways, here it is. Funny to think of him without it. It seemed as much a part of him as his head."

“That may be why he sold it—because it made him too easy to identify. And perhaps he'd decided to give up the peddling trade."

“But, how would he get his living— Oh, I see, sir! You think somebody paid him to light out of Alderton.”

“Very possibly. Have you told anyone about my sending you to look for Bliss?”

“Not a soul, sir, I let on I was going north to see a friend that was took sick.”

“Good. Keep to that story for the time being. You know, you really would do well to offer your talents to Bow Street one of these days.”

“Would you put in a good word for me, sir?”

“I think I should tell you, in all honesty, I'm not a Bow Street officer.”

“Oh, no, sir!" Felton winked broadly. “Not you!”

Julian gave it up. “We'd better settle our accounts,” he said, taking out his pocketbook.

Felton lingered for some time, embarrassing Julian with vows of eternal loyalty and offers to have his brains blown out in Julian's service at a moment's notice. But at last he scampered off, and Julian went inside, concealing the brown-paper parcel as best he could under his arm.

Back in his room, he unwrapped the parcel and took out the gaudy patchwork sack. It was empty, and none too clean. “You want to keep that away from your togs, sir,” warned Dipper. “The moths've got at it.”

“Moths or no moths, it could well be worth more than anything my tailor ever turned out.” He explained whose sack it was and how he came by it. “The fact is, I’m holding several good cards I didn’t have yesterday.”

“What are you going to do now, sir?”

“I’m not prepared to lay my whole hand on the table. So the only thing for it is to bluff.”

Bluffing

TToward midday, Julian rode to Alderton and managed to catch Dr. MacGregor between patients. He told him about his confrontation with Geoffrey last night, his clandestine visit to his old room, and his recovery of Bliss’s sack.

“By thunder,” said MacGregor, “you have been discovering things at a great rate!” He shook his head. “I can't get over Lady Fontclair’s keeping a secret like that from her husband. I wouldn't have believed it of her. So now you say he’s going to turn this business over to another magistrate?”

“Yes—a fellow named Ayres. He wrote to him late last night. This morning Mr. Ayres wrote back agreeing to take over the investigation, but saying he couldn’t come to Bellegarde to hear the particulars till tomorrow. That gives me just the respite I need. I have a plan.”

“Lord help us!”

“I don’t know why you should put on that Cassandra-like face. I think my plans have been turning out rather well lately.”

“Well, don’t get too cocksure of yourself. Remember how that theory you had about Lady Tarleton being the murdered girl’s mother exploded in your face.”

“That theory was a bit wide of the mark,” Julian admitted. “But

it served a useful purpose. It provoked Lady Tarleton into telling me the truth about Colonel Fontclair’s letters.**

“I don*t think insulting a respectable female is anything to congratulate yourself about!**

“It isn*t, and I don’t. If it’s any consolation to you, my conduct toward her hasn’t gone unpunished. She never misses a chance to abuse my manners, morals, and origins to anyone who*ll listen.** “Well, a woman as proud as Lady Tarleton is bound to get her hackles up, when you come right out and accuse her of bearing a child wrongside of the blanket.**

“That’s true. Why do I feel it*s not enough of an explanation? Why do I think there*s something more behind her hatred of me?** “What more could there be?**

“That she wasn’t indifferent to Craddock when he made advances to her twenty years ago. That she’s guilty in thought of what I accused her of, even if she never committed the deed, and she can't forgive me for putting my finger on the greatest shame of her life. That, for some reason I don't understand, she*s afraid of me.** MacGregor shook his head. “All that’s beyond me. Tell me about this plan of yours.”

Julian told him.

“Does Sir Robert know what you mean to do?” MacGregor asked. “No. I thought it best not to tell anyone at Bellegarde. All the same, I need an ally. That's why I came to you."

“Me? What can I do?**

“I understand youre coming to dinner tonight.”

“That's right. I always dine at Bellegarde on Fridays.”

“Dinner is the only time today I can count on finding all the Fontclairs and Craddocks together. I want to be the last person in the drawing room, so I won’t come down till just before seven. I should like you to do what you can to detain anyone who's disposed to leave the drawing room before that time. And if anyone does leave, or doesn’t appear at all, send me word in my room, and I’ll put off my experiment till later in the evening.”

“I’ll do it. A week ago, I wouldn't have dreamed I’d be conspiring to lay a trap for the Fontclairs. But, Heaven help us, if Lady Fontclair can humbug Sir Robert like that, there’s no trusting any of them!”

"They’ve all lied about one thing or another. It’s curious, isn’t it, what base acts people will commit to protect their honour? It’s like taking money out of principal to pay one’s debts. One keeps off creditors from attacking the core property—but the property itself becomes damaged and diminished, till its hardly worth protecting anymore.”

*

All day, Bellegarde kept up a semblance of normality. Julian thought Lady Fontclair was mainly responsible for this. Estranged from Sir Robert, faced with imminent exposure of Geoffrey’s secret, still she went on gamely making lighthearted conversation and ministering to everyone’s needs. It helped that most of the family apparently did not realize how close to catastrophe they were. As best Julian could tell, no one but Lady Fontclair, the colonel, and himself knew of Sir Robert’s resolve to hand over the investigation—and the family secrets—to another magistrate.

The hours hung heavy on Julian’s hands. Toward the end of the day, he went to the music room in search of the one remedy he could count on to soothe and distract his mind. He had not been at the pianoforte more than a few minutes when Miss Craddock came in. "Please don’t stop,” she said. "I like to listen.”

"I think you’d like even more to talk.” He closed the piano and came over to her.

“Something's going to happen, isn’t it? I can feel it.”

“I think we may be very close to solving the murder. I can’t say any more.”

“I understand. I only hope whatever happens won’t be too painful for the Fontclairs.” She sighed. “I suppose it won’t be long now before they’re free of Papa and me.”

"It does seem likely Colonel Fontclairs secret will come out one way or another. If that happens, your father will lose his power over the Fontclairs, and if you wish to release Hugh from his engagement, you may.”

"You know I don’t wish to. But I have no choice—it’s the only right thing to do. But, oh, it’s hard! Never to see him again, to know he'll marry someone else! Do you think it will be Isabelle? I

know his family wanted him to marry her—Lady Tarleton made sure to let me know that, the very first day I was here. And Isabelle hates me for coming between them. I didn't realize it till last night, when she snapped at me like that. She practically bared her teeth at me! It was terrible. I felt as though I'd ruined her life.”

“The way I heard it,” said Julian, carefully neutral, “Hugh's marrying Miss Fontclair was just a dynastic notion of Lady Tarleton’s. There wasn't any engagement between them.”

His reasoning could not reach her. She was fast sliding into despondency. “Isabelle would make him such a good wife! She can talk to him about art and music, and she knows everything there is to know about Bellegarde, and being a country gentleman’s wife. And she’s so graceful and elegant! Her feet don't seem to touch the ground when she walks. I feel ordinary next to her, like calico next to silk. She’s—she’s the kind of young lady men write poetry about. Nobody would write a poem about someone like me.”

Julian recited, as though to no one in particular:

“I saw her upon nearer view,

A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free,

And steps of virgin-liberty;

A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet;

The reason firm, the temperate will,

Endurance, foresight, strength and skill;

And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light. ”

Maud’s eyes filled with tears. She reached out to him blindly, and buried her face in his shoulder. He put his arm around her waist. Hugh came in suddenly. “What is this?” he sputtered.

Maud’s head came up. Her face was flushed, her hair a bit dishevelled. “Oh! Mr. Fontclair.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting!” Hugh said savagely.

Julian came to his feet as composedly as he could. He knew he was in an awkward spot, yet he could not help feeling amused.

“Miss Craddock was very much moved by a poem we were discussing.”

“Oh, really,” cried Hugh, “you’ll have to do better than that!” “Perhaps we should talk about this somewhere else,” Julian recommended, seeing that Maud was growing alarmed.

“When and where you like!” said Hugh. He wondered if he was about to fight his very first duel, and pictured himself returning in grim triumph with a smoking pistol, or expiring gracefully on the field of honour with words of forgiveness on his lips.

“You can’t mean to quarrel?” Maud faltered. “Why should you? I don’t understand!”

“This doesn’t concern you, Miss Craddock. I think Mr. Kestrel understands my meaning very well.”

“I don't, really,” Julian confessed. “If I weren’t a guest in your house, I’d think you meant to call me out, but I can’t conceive you intended such a breach of the code of honour.”

Hugh was chagrined. It was true that a host ought not to challenge a guest, whatever the provocation—though it was rather shabby of Kestrel to hide behind such a technicality.

Julian was not ashamed of ducking the quarrel. He liked Hugh, in.spite of his silliness, and would rather not have to shoot him. Fortunately Hugh changed tactics. “Mr. Kestrel, I should like to speak to Miss Craddock alone. Please have the goodness to leave us.”

Julian looked at Maud questioningly. She mustered her courage and nodded to him to go. He inclined his head and went out.

Hugh drew himself up. Maud had never seen him look so like his father. “Miss Craddock, rather than draw inferences from your conduct that—in short, I think it only fair to allow you to explain yourself.”

“What?”

“I mean that if you have anything to say that might excuse your behaviour, I am willing to hear it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” cried Hugh, stamping his foot, “you know what I mean! You’re making me ridiculous, and I demand an explanation!”

“Excuse me, Mr. Fontclair, but I—I think the only person making you ridiculous is you!”

Hugh opened his mouth, but at first he could get out only a few infuriated gasps. “Miss Craddock, I know this engagement wasn’t of your seeking, any more than it was of mine, but I think in common decency you might make it a little less obvious you wish Kestrel were in my place! You've been glued to his side ever since he first came to Bellegarde, you couldn't spend two days in London without taking him with you, and now I find you practically swooning away in his arms!'*

“How can you? Mr. Kestrel is my friend! He's never sought to be anything more, and I never wanted him to be.”

“Forgive me, but, really, that's doing it a bit too brown! If this is the way you conduct yourself with your friends, then I take leave to tell you, you're a deal too friendly for common propriety, let alone honour!”

“Honour! Honour! Papa is right—that is all you and your family ever think about!”

“You wouldn't understand, naturally. You weren't brought up to set a value on anything that can't be reckoned up in pounds, shillings, and pence.”

“I might have known sooner or later you'd sneer at me for being a tradesman's daughter.”

“I'm not sneering at you. I just think we need to understand the differences between us. Perhaps among people of your sort it's acceptable to fling yourself at one gentleman's head while you're engaged to another. Here, it’s not at all the thing.”

“Well, you needn’t worry that I might be an embarrassment to you! Because I wouldn't marry you now for anything!”

“What a relief for you, Miss Craddock! What would you have done if I hadn't given you an excuse to break this mockery of an engagement? Married me, and become even better friends with Kestrel afterward?”

“Oh!" She pressed her knuckles to her mouth and ran out of the room.

Hugh stared after her, aghast. How could he have said those

things? He must have been mad. He felt he knew now what it was to be possessed by devils.

He had to tell her he did not mean any of it—had not known what he was saying. He rushed to her room and knocked. Her maid, Alice, opened the door and gaped at him. Her young lady’s bedchamber! Everyone knew the Quality were rather free in their ways, but an engaged bridegroom is not the same as a husband, and Mr, Fontclair ought to know it! “Miss Craddock is dressing for dinner, sir, and can’t see anyone!” she said, and shut the door in his face.