Joan Wolf (28 page)

“Everything is lovely, Mrs. Compton,” I assured her.

She treated me to the gap-toothed smile that always gave her elderly face an endearingly urchin-like look. “I just made them muffins ten minutes ago, my lady.”

“They are utterly delicious, Mrs. Compton. You know I have always adored your hazelnut muffins.”

The old lady’s smile broadened. “You have that, my lady. From the time when you was a little girl you have always asked for my hazelnut muffins.”

Mrs. Compton moved on to take an order from another customer, and I turned back to my conversation. “I know smugglers are still operating in the area, Susan. Gerald got all his brandy from the free traders, as did his father.”

This had always been a sore point with me. The earl and Gerald had been so outraged when they had discovered that Stephen was involved with smugglers, yet neither one of them had hesitated to buy goods from the very people they supposedly condemned!

“Bob still gets some things from the ‘gentlemen,’ too,” Susan said. “But I don’t think they have ever used the Ridge woods to hide their shipments, Miss Annabelle. The Ridge woods belong to the hall; everyone knows that.”

“Stephen was caught on the Ridge path,” I reminded her.

She finished chewing her own hazelnut muffin. “Well, might be it’s true that the gentlemen have used the Ridge path
to move the goods from the cove to wherever they was being hidden,” she admitted. “But I’m certain sure they never hid nothing in the Ridge woods.”

“Then what about this, Susan? Someone was transporting smuggled goods through the woods, and when he heard Stephen coming he got off the path and hid. Then, when it looked as if Stephen were going to leave the path as well, the smuggler shot him.”

Susan’s response to this idea was depressingly lukewarm. “Maybe, but what smugglers would be doing abroad in plain daylight is a mystery to me, Miss Annabelle.”

I stared glumly at my tea, annoyed with Susan for not supporting my idea and afraid that she was right and I was wrong. When I looked up again I saw Sir Matthew’s sister coming into the shop. Our eyes met and we both smiled and nodded a greeting.

I began to shred my muffin with my fingers. Susan drank her tea and waited. She had always known when to be silent. It was this last thought that decided me to tell her the whole story. I knew I could trust Susan to keep a secret.

I said in a low voice, “This is not something we want to get around, but the only reason Stephen wasn’t killed was that at the very moment the shot was fired, he turned his head to look at something.”

Susan had been reaching for the teapot to refill her cup, but at my words she went perfectly still.

“It is difficult to believe that such a close shot could be an accident.” My voice trembled. “It looks as if someone were shooting to kill.”

Susan withdrew her hand and put it in her lap. She stared across the table at me with widened eyes. “Oh, Annabelle,” she said.

I bit my lip. “It is—rather worrying.”

Susan slowly began to shake her head. “I’m not saying there ain’t smuggling going on at the cove,” she said, “but I won’t believe that any of the gentlemen would deliberately fire a shot at Mr. Stephen.”

“Perhaps they didn’t know it was Stephen.” I wasn’t ready to give up my smuggling theory yet. “They may have caught only a glimpse of a figure through the trees, and fired because they were frightened.”

“If the shooter couldn’t see who was there, then the chance was it was
you
on that path, Miss Annabelle,” Susan said bluntly. “And no one would dare to fire a shot at you.”

I felt as if someone had kicked me in the stomach. It had never once occurred to me that I might have been the target of that deadly shot.

“I never thought of that,” I breathed. “And Stephen had Giles with him, too.”

Susan was appalled.
“Giles
was there? Is he all right? “

My muffin had been reduced to a heap of crumbs on my plate. Mrs. Compton would be very upset.

“He was frightened,” I said. “He believes the shot was deliberate, Susan.”

“No one would fire at you, Miss Annabelle,” she repeated.

“Someone might fire at me if he thought I was going to find him in possession of illegal goods,” I said stubbornly. “Particularly if the shooter was someone who knew I disliked him.” Someone like Jem Washburn, I thought to myself.

I was not going to give up my smuggling theory without a fight. Frightening as such a possibility was, the other possibility was even more terrifying.

“I don’t believe it,” Susan said. “I don’t believe anybody was taking illegal goods through the Ridge woods, and even if they was, I don’t believe anyone would try to kill you, or Mr. Stephen, either, just to protect their own selves.”

To be honest, I had a hard time believing it, too.

“There is another possibility,” I
said, aware that I had my back against the wall, “Perhaps it wasn’t a chance meeting at all. Perhaps someone was actually lying in wait for Stephen— one of the smugglers whom he sheltered five years ago.” One of the reasons the magistrate had insisted that Stephen must be punished so strictly was that he had refused to give the authorities the names of his associates. “Perhaps this smuggler was afraid that now that Stephen was back he would reveal the names of his confederates. Perhaps he decided it would be safest to make certain that Stephen remained silent permanently.”

“Miss Annabelle,” Susan said patiently, “no one who knows Mr. Stephen would be that stupid.”

I looked at her bleakly. “You don’t think it was smugglers?”

She shook her head.

“Or poachers?”

Another head shake.

“Do... do you think that someone else was lying in wait for Stephen?”

Susan’s eyes were huge in her white face. “It looks that way, don’t it?”

“But if the shooter really wanted to kill Stephen, then why didn’t he follow up on his advantage?” I objected. “Stephen was unarmed. He and Giles were sitting ducks.”

“The shooter couldn’t know whether or not he was armed, could he?” Susan pointed out. “Most gentlemen take a gun when they go out into the woods.”

I stared at her unhappily.

“There is also the chance that the shooter was someone Stephen and Giles knew, and he didn’t want to take a chance on being recognized,” Susan said.

At the sound of my worst fear spoken out loud, an
icy
hand gripped my heart.

“It could have been a complete stranger,” I said desperately. “There are a lot of soldiers and sailors coming home now that the war is over. Someone may have been camping out in the woods and panicked when he heard voices.”

Susan gave me a look filled with pity and said chillingly, “Tell Mr. Stephen it’s best for him to be careful.”

Emily Stanhope, Sir Matthew’s spinster sister, was leaving the shop, and she stopped at our table to say a few words. She greeted Susan and asked me pleasantly, “How did the cubbing go this morning, Annabelle?”

“Very well, thank you, Miss Stanhope,” I said. “I believe Sir Matthew was pleased.”

“Oh, Matthew is always pleased if he can get up in the middle of the night and go galloping through the woods after his beloved hounds,” his sister said with an ironic look. Miss Stanhope did not hunt.

I forbore to point out that one rarely galloped while one was cubbing. I said instead, “Sir Matthew is a wonderful master of foxhounds.”

“He was born for it,” Emily Stanhope agreed, the irony sounding in her voice as well.

After a little more chitchat, Miss Stanhope moved off and Susan and I were alone once more.

I said, “I hope you didn’t suffer any damage in yesterday’s storm.”

Susan obligingly followed my lead. “The pigpen was swamped, but otherwise we’re all right. Not everyone was as lucky as we, though.”

“Yes. Mr. Grandville told me that the Hutchinsons’ roof sprang a leak. I hope there was no permanent damage done.”

“Emma said she had pots everywhere. Charlie has been after Mr. Grandville these last four years to reroof that cottage. Maybe now it will get done.”

“I am sure it will,” I said. I signaled to Mrs. Compton that I was ready to leave.

“I have some news that might interest you, Miss Annabelle,” Susan said.

She was wearing her “You’re not going to believe this” look, so it couldn’t be ordinary news, like another baby on the way. I leaned toward her, full of breathless attention.   “What? “

“Marietta Adams is going to marry Jem Washburn.”

“No!”

“Yes. They started walking out a few weeks after Jem came home.”

“I can’t believe that George Adams would agree to such
a match.” George Adams was the village’s only blacksmith, and he had a very prosperous little business. His daughter was one of the valley’s “catches.”

“Evidently Jem come home pretty plump in the pocket,” Susan informed me. “He paid up all that was owing on the farm, and he’s goin’ to work it himself. Mr. Grandville give him the lease on it.”

I said bitterly, “I for one would be interested to know just how Jem Washburn earned enough money to make him ‘plump in the pocket.’ “

“Well, howsoever he may have earned it, he’s honest now,” Susan said, “The Washburn farm’s been neglected, of course, but it’s good land. Jem says he’s going to grow hops. The way the price of wheat has been falling, Bob says maybe he’ll try hops, too.”

“When is this wedding to take place?” I asked,

“Soon as Jem gets back.”

My eyes widened. “Jem’s gone?”

“Just for a week. He’s gone up to Kent to look at some farm there that’s growing hops.”

Was Jem in Kent? I wondered. Or was he perhaps involved in some lucrative smuggling scheme closer to home?

I had never had any doubts about who had embroiled Stephen in that smuggling venture five years ago. It was because of Jem Washburn that Stephen had been forced to spend five years in Jamaica.

I had good cause to dislike and distrust Jem Washburn. Nor was I as certain as Susan was that Jem was Stephen’s friend.

Mrs. Compton was hastening toward our table, and I braced myself for the reproaches that were sure to come over the sadly mashed muffin on my plate.

* * * *

When I got home, I looked into the nursery and found Giles and Miss Stedham at tea—without Jack. Giles’s face was rosy with sunburn, and he told me in great detail about
his kite-flying experience in West Haven. He had clearly had a wonderful time.

Before I left I invited Miss Stedham to have dinner with the family. I would arrange things so that Uncle Adam took in Aunt Fanny and me, Jack took in Nell, and Jasper took in Miss Stedham.

Next I looked into the housekeeper’s room to tell Mrs. Nordlem to set an extra place for the governess and was caught for almost half an hour as she regaled me with news of all the damage the storm had done to the local farms.

My housekeeper was a bosom bow of Mrs. Clinton’s housekeeper, and between the two of them every inhabitant of the valley was kept apprised of what was happening in the hall, the farms, and the village.

Miss Stedham wore the same gown to dinner that she had worn every time I had invited her before, and I made a mental note to make certain that the poor girl got some new clothes. She looked lovely, however, and I was delighted to see Jasper conversing with her with every evidence of pleasure.

Jack did not look pleased at all. In fact, he scowled at Jasper in a very intimidating manner. Jasper was clearly startled when he looked up and caught Jack’s belligerent look.

I said from my place at the top of the table, “The storm evidently did quite a bit of destruction yesterday.”

Adam said in a surprised way, “We lost some flower beds, of course, but there was no serious damage done, Annabelle.”

“I meant to the farms, Uncle Adam. Mrs. Nordlem spent at least half an hour reporting to me all the sad tales of how the tenants suffered.”

Stephen spoke from his place opposite to mine. “What tenants were hurt, Annabelle? “

“Well, the Hutchinsons, of course. Their roof leaked. But even worse was what happened to the Benningtons. The stream behind their house rose and flooded the whole first
floor of the house. Mrs. Clinton’s housekeeper told Mrs. Nordlem that there was mud all over everything.”

Sometime during the course of the day, Stephen had removed the bandage that the doctor had wound around his head. All he was wearing now was a patch of white plaster over the wound on his temple. He said quietly, “I thought that stream had been dredged, Uncle Adam.”

Adam said, “It was, my boy, but evidently not enough, I’ll see that it gets done again.”

“All of the Benningtons’ furniture will have been ruined by water and mud,” Stephen said. “Tell Florrie Bennington that we will replace everything she lost.”

His voice was very soft and gentle. There was no reason for Uncle Adam to turn so red, but he did. “All right, Stephen,” he said gruffly.

I ran my eyes quickly around the other faces at the table to see if anyone sensed the sudden tension between Uncle Adam and Stephen the way I did.

Jack was looking at Miss Stedham, who was studiously not looking back. Nell was looking at Stephen. Aunt Fanny was eating her roast lamb with obvious enjoyment. My eyes reached Jasper’s face and stopped.

Jasper was looking at his father with a very grim expression about his mouth.

I hate this, I thought with sudden fury. I hate looking at my family, at people I love, with all this monstrous suspicion in my heart!

But I couldn’t help it. There was one fact about yesterday’s shooting that I couldn’t seem to get out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried. It bothered me so much that I hadn’t been able to mention it to Susan.

The only people who could have known that Stephen was going to be in the Ridge woods yesterday afternoon were the people who lived in this house.

I insisted that Miss Stedham accompany us to the drawing room after dinner, where I had the happy inspiration of asking if she played the piano.

“Yes, I do, Lady Weston,” she replied.

I regarded her with approval. There was no fuss about Miss Stedham, no simpering false modesty. It occurred to me suddenly that she was someone I would like to have as a friend.