Emily Hendrickson (27 page)

“I have ordered the destruction of all the deadly nightshade in this area. My men will convey the message to Twisdale’s help as well. I feel strongly that the
atropa belladonna,
commonly known as deadly nightshade, was responsible for Lady Twisdale’s death. It somewhat resembles the whortleberry—being a dark blue berry of similar size. It is possible the belladonna berries might have been mistaken for the others.” Julian placed an emphasis, a skeptical one, on the word “mistaken.”

“But you do not believe this, do you?” The squire compressed his lips into a grimace. “What then? How do you prevent Twisdale from taking this innocent girl to her death—supposing that is what he intends.” The squire laced his fingers together, awaiting a pronouncement from Julian.

And Julian did not know what to tell him.

When a gentle rapping on the door disturbed their conference Julian was glad for the momentary respite.

Chloe hesitantly entered the room, pausing by the door and offering a pleading look.

“If you please, sirs, I would not disturb you but for the letter just come from London.” She stepped forward and turned to face Julian. “Laura has written that her mother presses her to accept Lord Twisdale. She fears her only hope is to run away. That could be dangerous, particularly if that serpent catches her. He might well elope to Scotland with her.”

Squire Hopgood gave a start at Lady Chloe’s name for Twisdale, then nodded. “Aye, the man is a serpent, a regular snake in the grass.”

Chloe whirled about to look at the squire, a hopeful expression on her face. “Then you agree that my dearest friend must not face the prospect of death at his hands, for I know that must be what happened to the late Lady Twisdale.”

“Why would he do such a thing?” Julian mused aloud.

“Money,” the squire shot back. “Lady Twisdale came well dowered. It seems he gambles heavily and lately has lost on some investments. I was suspicious and did a bit of investigating on my own some time ago. Didn’t call the runners up from London, not sufficient evidence. The remains of that pie disappeared mighty quickly.” The squire gave them a knowing nod, then added, “One of the maids noted that her ladyship seemed to have unusually dilated eyes, but that girl disappeared and has not been seen around here since. Word has it that she was kidnapped but there again, no proof exists. There were rumors of slavers, but…”

Chloe gasped and sought a chair upon which to sit. “It would seem that Lord Twisdale has the power and influence to further his evil scheme.”

“We thought to spread a few rumors about Twisdale in the village—the sort to thoroughly discredit the man,” Julian said, wondering what the squire thought of such a notion.

“Good. It would be well to drop hints that anyone who offers information will be kept safe, the identity of that person not revealed,” the squire added.

“My gardener said Twisdale’s man—Pollard was his name—was run down by a coach as he walked home from the village inn. No clue there?”

“None,” the squire said, shaking his head with obvious disgust. “It were a plain black traveling coach of the sort you see fairly often. No decoration on the sides, nondescript horses from what I can make out. Ordinary. Everything was ordinary, except a man was killed.”

“And the driver did not stop?” Julian asked.

“No. It is possible the driver didn’t know Pollard had fallen beneath his wheels when he drove that coach thundering through the village. But I doubt it. Pollard looked to be run clean down, no accidental hit, pardon my blunt speaking. Lady Chloe,” he added when he observed how she paled.

Julian exchanged a look with Chloe, then turned back to the squire. “I would appreciate any help you can give us on this, Hopgood.”

“I’ll do my best, sir, make no mistake on it. I have no love for Lord Twisdale, nor do many hereabouts.”

“I will write to Laura and other friends in London, dropping more hints about Lord Twisdale’s late wife, if you think that might help,” Chloe said, her color coming back nicely at the thought of the man reaping his just rewards.

“You hope to draw him into the country?” the squire inquired, alert and reminding Chloe again of an eager hound on the scent of a vixen.

“Yes,” Julian said, thoughtfully rubbing the handle of his cane while he leaned back against his chair. “I should like to meet him out here.” Then a thought struck him. “What luck would we have with the cook? Suppose we confronted her, concoct some manner of tale?”

“Might be frowned upon by some purist, but I’d not say a word against it. Come to think of it, you are the supreme official in the county—at least you have the regulating of the militia. I fancy there are few who will argue with your methods in ridding of us a blackguard like Twisdale.” The squire rose from his chair and saluted Julian with one hand as might a soldier. “I think we may just know success in this endeavor.”

“If Twisdale will only fall into our trap, once we have it set,” Julian concluded with a cautious smile.

Chloe joined Julian while they sauntered to the front door to bid the squire farewell. They chatted about the weather, the squire observing that the harvest looked to be a fair one if the weather continued good.

He paused before leaving to turn to Chloe. “I know you two are on your honeymoon—and surely this must be the strangest one on record, but my wife and I would deem it a pleasure to welcome you for dinner and a bit of conversation. Mrs. Hopgood would be pleased to hear of London fashions, you see, as well as to meet you.”

Chloe blushed prettily and said all that was proper. They arranged to attend a dinner at the Hopgoods’ home the following Friday.

If she was in a muddle it was all Julian’s fault, Chloe decided once the front door had closed and she watched Julian retreat to his library. The dratted man turned her brain into a jumble and disordered her senses so she scarcely knew whether she was on her head or heels. While they had chatted with the squire, Julian had lightly rested his arm about her shoulders, drawing her close to his side. ‘Twas a wonder she could make a coherent reply.

All he had to do was to touch her. That was it. And as she had noted before, he seemed to do that quite often.

“Chloe,” he called, beckoning her to follow him.

“What is it?” she said when she joined him at the door where he waited for her.

He leaned against the polished wood, staring down at her as though debating something. At last, reaching some conclusion he spoke.

“About the cook. How did your little scullery maid obtain her information on the goings on next door? I wondered if we might use that same connection again.” Julian again placed an arm about Chloe’s shoulders, guiding her along into the library with him to the window that looked toward the Twisdale estate and house.

“Rose?” Chloe said, reflecting on the maid and struggling to remain sensible. “No, I scarcely believe she would ask Kate to snoop. I rather think that you and I will have to pay a call on the Twisdale house. You in your capacity as Lord Lieutenant and I as a witness to the call and the interrogation.”

“By Jove, do you think it might work?” He tightened his clasp on her shoulders, disturbing Chloe’s nerves.

“If we present the image of people who know the truth of what happened, perhaps offer her clemency if she will confess to what Lord Twisdale ordered her to do. For the more I think on it, the more I am convinced the cook was his pawn in all of this. Why else would the very one who prepared that deathly tart be still employed and the others dismissed?” Chloe reasoned, trying to ignore the enticing warmth of his arm about her, the masculine scent of him, his very nearness.

“Excellent reasoning. I suggest there is no time like the present. Ready yourself in your most intimidating garments, my dear wife. We are paying a call on a cook.” He grinned down at her, drawing closer and closer to her until Chloe thought she would expire from sheer longing right then and there. It was wicked for a man to have such long lashes and dark eyes that were beautifully rich in color. Wicked.

Chloe gladly fled the library to dash up the stairs to the security of her room.

Within short order she was dressed in London style, prepared to call on a duchess at the very least. Her garments were rich and elegant and designed to impress. The evening primrose pelisse had a skirt trimmed with tiers of exquisite vandyking and a wide collar edged in rows of lace. It covered a gown of ivory-and-green striped poplin that peeped out when she walked. A matching parasol was tied with green ribbons—the same green that embellished her straw bonnet. Evening primrose silk roses were tucked beside the green ribbons in the very latest London charm.

She clasped the parasol with hands covered in yellow limerick gloves and her yellow kid slippers peeked out from beneath her gown with each step she took down the stairs.

“Well, you look splendid, my good wife,” Julian said while reaching out to adjust a ribbon on her bonnet when she reached his side.

Chloe wanted to beg him to cease calling her his wife so often. Why did he persist in this, reminding her of what ought not be? Did he think to taunt her? Or perhaps he tested her?

“Come, I requested that the gig be brought around for us. It is a homely little vehicle but much used by the country folk.”

When she saw his notion of a homely little vehicle Chloe wanted to laugh. True, it was a gig, but its elegance and style proclaimed it to be from the finest carriage builder in London. She suffered him to lift her onto the seat, then waited, acutely aware of him when he climbed in at her side.

He took the reins and they set off along the avenue and the lane that came from the village.

At the Twisdale gate Julian drew to a halt, then jumped down after handing the reins for Chloe to hold. There was no evidence of anyone about to tend the approach. “Dratted gate is shut tight against possible invaders. I shall change all that,” he declared with a sharp push of the heavy wrought-iron entry gate. It creaked open and within minutes they bowled along a weedy, overgrown avenue.

“What a difference between his estate and yours. He has a poor agent, for the place looks uncared for and nothing is as it ought to be,” Chloe remarked while searching the grounds they drove past.

“How did you become so knowledgeable?”

“With my brother John off to the Continent, Mama and I were left alone. It was necessary at times for me to take charge when Mama was absent or not feeling quite the thing.”

“It is well she has someone to look after her now,” was Julian’s thoughtful reply.

“Mama was not intended to live alone,” Chloe agreed.

The main house was quite as gloomy as the glimpse from the road implied. They drew to a halt before the front entrance and sat in the gig for a minute or two to study the place. No servant came to tend them, nor to open the front door in greeting.

“Perhaps if some of that ivy was cleaned away it might appear a trifle more cheerful,” Chloe suggested.

“Trim needs painting, lawn needs trimming, indeed the whole place needs a freshening up. Sign of a lack of money or interest and in Twisdale’s case, I fancy it must be both.”

He climbed down from the gig, then looped the reins over a post before coming around to assist Chloe from the little carriage.

Their wait before the dull, ornate oak door proved long. Julian tried the door pull without success. The rap of the knocker echoed through the house loud enough for them to hear.

“I wonder if there is anyone at home?” Chloe mused just before the door was thrown open and a man with a severe expression confronted them.

“Lord Twisdale is not in residence. I have no notion as to when he plans to come here again,” the man announced with proper dignity.

“I am the Lord Lieutenant for the shire, Julian St. Aubyn. I insist upon questioning your cook.”

“The cook, sir?” the butler echoed, turning several degrees paler. He backed away from where Julian and Chloe stood just inside the door and looked as though he would most gladly flee if he could bring himself to abandon his post.

“We shall await her presence in the library. Direct her to us immediately.”

“Indeed, sir. At once, sir. I shall fetch her directly, sir,” the butler gabbled in his haste to be gone, then he fled down the long hall toward what was presumably the kitchen, for all that there was no green baize on the door.

“You have been here before? Else how would you know how to find the library?” Chloe wondered, trotting along at his side while traversing the entry hall.

“Once, years ago. We met in the library and it was the previous Lord Twisdale we met. He was quite different from his son, who seems to have taken after his mother.” At the far side of the hall Julian gestured toward their left, the right corridor heading off where the butler had disappeared.

The walk down this hall revealed a few spaces on the wall where pictures had obviously been removed. Otherwise the house appeared in surprisingly good condition. Unlike the exterior, the rooms were neat and clean, smelled of lemon and lavender, and showed that someone cared.

At the far end of the corridor, Julian paused, then opened the door leading to a splendid library. Beautiful paneling adorned the walls into which bookshelves had been built at one end of the room. Deep red draperies flanked the many-paned windows. Above the bookcases a row of classical busts frowned down upon them and Chloe shivered when she glanced up to catch sight of them.

“I feel much the intruder,” she said after finding a seat to one side of the enormous mahogany desk.

“You are Lady Chloe St. Aubyn and look to be a duchess at the very least,” Julian said. He gave her a considering look, then added, “I shall have to consider loaning the Prince Regent a vast sum of money so I may acquire a peerage, so as to join your rank. I think Lord and Lady St. Aubyn has a nice ring to it.”

“Julian, it is hideously expensive and you need not do so to please me,” she cried softly. “Think of the money, and would it not be better spent elsewhere?”

“What? A good wife who seeks value for money spent? I am indeed a fortunate man.” Julian felt his first ray of hope, for all unknowingly Chloe had spoken of a life
together
in the future.