Joan Wolf (36 page)

Slowly I looked up from
Robinson Crusoe.
Giles had not been paying much attention to the story, and now I understood why.

“Do you think so, Giles?” I asked carefully.

He ran his finger up and down the edge of the book’s leather binding and wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Yes,” he said.

God, I thought, How did one go about telling one’s five-year-old child that someone was trying to kill his uncle?

I began cautiously, “These accidents may
seem
suspicious, Giles, but...”

He tilted his head, looked up at me, and said angrily, “Don’t lie to me, Mama. I’m not a baby.”

I looked into the eyes that were so like mine, and I knew that if I lied to him now, he would lose all trust in me.

I sighed. “Well then, if you want the truth, it certainly does look as if someone is trying to kill Uncle Stephen, darling.”

Now that he had the truth, he shivered and his firm little body pressed closer to mine. “I’m afraid, Mama. Who is going to take care of us if something happens to Uncle Stephen?”

I placed the book on the floor and put my arm around my son. “Nothing is going to happen to Uncle Stephen,” I said. “And I will always be here to take care of
you.”

I rocked the chair gently back and forth.

Giles hid his face against my shoulder and said in a muffled voice, “Do you like Uncle Stephen, Mama?”

“Of course I like Uncle Stephen,” I said, continuing to push the rocker with my foot.

“Do you like him
very much?”

A warning bell went off in my brain. “Yes,” I said calmly. “I like him very much.”

“Do you like him better than me?”

I stared at the blue-and-white tile of the schoolroom fireplace and thought carefully about my answer. Stephen’s whole future relationship with his son might depend upon what I said now.

I stopped rocking and said to Giles, “I will never like anyone better than you. I may like Uncle Stephen
as much
as I like you, but it is a completely different kind of liking. The love I have for you is very special and it belongs to you alone. No one else will ever have it.”

“You look happy when you’re with Uncle Stephen,” Giles said in an almost but not quite accusatory tone.

I dropped a kiss on his sunny blond head,
“
I
am
happy to be with Uncle Stephen,” I said. “We were best friends when we were children, and I have missed him very much.”

Silence. The small body pressed against mine felt stiff, not relaxed. Clearly my words had not reassured him.

I said, “When you grow up, Giles, you will fall in love with a girl and you will marry. Will you love me any less because you have a wife?”

His head lifted from where it was buried in my shoulder. “Of course not, Mama!”

“We have a special place in each other’s hearts, and that place can belong to no one else. Isn’t that true?”

“I suppose so.” His words were certainly not a ringing affirmation, but I felt the rigidity drain from his body and he became more cuddly.

But the filial inquisition was not yet over. “Are you going to marry Uncle Stephen, Mama?”

Good God! I thought. I haven’t had time to prepare answers to these kinds of questions!

“Would you dislike it very much if I did?” I asked cautiously.

“I suppose you will have to marry someone,” my son said regretfully, “and Uncle Stephen is probably the best. At least he listens to me. Not like Jack, who only listens to Genie!”

“We haven’t decided anything, Giles,” I said, “so please
do not go around telling everyone that Uncle Stephen and I are going to be married!”

“Everyone knows it already,” Giles returned placidly.

It was my turn to stiffen. “Who is
everyone,
pray?”

“Mrs. Nordlem and Hodges and Cook, Mama. I heard them talking in the kitchen yesterday.”

I was horrified.

Giles must have sensed my distress, for he hastened to assure me. “They were happy about it, Mama. They all like Uncle Stephen.”

“I am relieved to hear that.”

The irony passed right over Giles’s head. “You can’t marry Uncle Stephen if he is dead, Mama,” he pointed out. “I think we should find the bad man who is trying to kill him.”

“That is an excellent idea, darling.” I began to rock the chair again.

“But how can we do that, Mama? Weston Park is so big! He could be hiding anywhere.”

I realized that my son had no inkling that the enemy he sought might lie within the house and not without.

“I don’t think any of us should go out until that man is caught,” Giles said. His voice had lost its usual assertive timbre. “It isn’t safe.”

“You will be perfectly safe, darling, as long as you aren’t with Uncle Stephen,” I said.

“I don’t
like
it that a bad man is after Uncle Stephen,” Giles said.

“Nor do I, darling,” I said. “Nor do I.”

We rocked in silence for a few more minutes, and then I picked up
Robinson Crusoe
and began once more to read.

It was not until I was reflecting upon this conversation in the quiet of my own dressing room that it occurred to me how odd it was that Giles had never once expressed dismay that another man would be taking Gerald’s place.

* * * *

* * * *

The house was very quiet for the two days after Stephen’s accident. The refurbishing of the Dower House was nearing completion, and Aunt Fanny spent much of her time at her own home, supervising the finishing touches. She kept a reluctant Nell with her.

Adam was out about the estate for most of the day, and he took Jasper with him so that his soldier son could get some firsthand knowledge about how to administer his own property.

Jack and I spent hours in my office, making plans for the projected stud farm.

Stephen remained in bed under the eagle eye of Jem Washburn, who was still sleeping on a trundle bed in Stephen’s room so he could be near his charge at night. Stephen protested mightily, but the fact that he allowed me to cajole him into remaining in bed was a testament to the fact that he still was not feeling very well.

I also thought that my story about Henry Marfield had had a salutary effect.

On the evening of the prescribed third day of rest, the ringing in Stephen’s ears finally ceased. The following morning I found him at the breakfast table, fully dressed and eating steadily, if not heartily.

“That ringing was driving me mad,” he confessed.

“What about the headache?”

“It’s better.”

“Is it gone?”

“Not quite. But it’s considerably better.”

He certainly looked better—if you discounted the ugly lump on his forehead and the bruises under his eyes. But his color was definitely improved, and his eyes were their usual shade of blue.

“It’s a miracle you didn’t break your nose again,” I said.

“Believe me, I would have taken a broken nose to another pop on the forehead any day,” he returned.

“That is true.”

We were alone in the dining room except for the footman standing at the sideboard, which was loaded with silver dishes of eggs, bacon, kidneys, lamb chops, and muffins.

“James,” I said, “will you bring us some more muffins?”

The silver basket standing not ten inches from James’s arm was heaped with muffins.

“Certainly, my lady,” James said in a wooden tone.

“Close the door on your way out,” I said.

“Certainly, my lady,” James said again.

As soon as the door was closed and we were private, Stephen said with amusement, “What was that all about?”

“I don’t need any more gossiping among the servants,” I said darkly.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. I didn’t want to agitate you while you were feeling so poorly, but we simply cannot allow things to go on as they are, Stephen! The next attempt on your life may be successful.”

He sighed. “I realize that, Annabelle.”

“Who is it, Stephen? Do you know?”

“Yes,” he said, “I do.”

“Tell me,” I said steadily, and he did.

I didn’t say anything when he had finished; I just shaded my eyes with my hands and stared at my coffee spoon.

“I kept hoping it wasn’t true,” Stephen said, “but the more I checked, the clearer his guilt became.”

I nodded.

“When the man I sent to Northamptonshire came back, then I knew for certain.”

I nodded again,

“Well... what do you want to do?”

“I know I should be feeling furious, Stephen,” I said. “He tried to kill you, after all! But all I can feel right now is a terrible sorrow.”

Stephen rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. “I know.”

I bit my lip in indecision. “What do you think we should do?”

“I think we need to confront him.”

I nodded. “And then?”

“Then ... then we shall have to think of some way
can remove him permanently from Weston, Annabelle. I don’t think you want to have him arrested?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll talk to him,” Stephen said. “You don’t have to be there.”

I straightened in my chair. “I have no intention of leaving you to face so unpleasant a task by yourself.”

“Very well,” Stephen said. The bruises under his eyes were looking darker. “We’ll talk to him before he has a chance to leave the house this morning.”

We heard a hesitant tap on the dining room door. Poor James didn’t know if it was safe to come in or not

“Come in!” I called.

James came in with a new basket of muffins, which he set next to the full basket that was already there.

“Your muffins, my lady.”

I felt so sick to my stomach that I couldn’t eat one of them.

* * * *

I left a message with Hodges, and Stephen and I retired to the library. I told him about each of my new hunters, and he listened with apparent interest and exhibited the proper enthusiasm. But we were only marking time, and we knew it.

We had left the library door open, and our ears were so attuned that we heard the sound of the steps in the passageway at the same time.

We sat in tense silence, waiting. I was in the chair behind the desk, and Stephen was in the chair to my right. Two other chairs were grouped around the desk, one facing Stephen and the other facing me.

The steps stopped in front of the library, and then the partially open door opened all the way. A voice asked, “Did you wish to speak to me, Annabelle?”

“Yes,” I said. “Come in, Uncle Adam, and shut the door behind you.”

Chapter Twenty-five

He knew we knew. I could tell from his face as he came slowly into the library and took the big wing chair that faced the desk. He was ashen, but he tried to smile.

“It’s good to see you out of bed, my boy,” he said to Stephen,

The first flicker of anger licked through my veins. I looked at Stephen. His eyes were steady, his face was grave, and his voice when he spoke was very quiet. “I have been going through your books, Uncle Adam,” he said. “And by my reckoning, during the past ten years you have embezzled at least forty thousand pounds from the Weston estate.”

“Ah, Stephen,” Adam said with regret. He looked old and very, very tired.

Stephen said, “It was the last big storm that made me suspicious. I went around to all of our tenants to check on the
damage.” Adam wasn’t meeting Stephen’s eyes; he was staring instead at the Turkish carpet at his feet. Stephen went steadily on, “The damage was extensive, Uncle Adam. Charlie Hutchinson’s roof was leaking like a sieve, but according to the books, the Hutchinsons had received a new roof two years ago. Charlie told me that he had been asking you for a new roof for at least twice that long, but that you never authorized one. Yet our books identified a rather large amount of money that had supposedly gone for the Hutchinsons’ roof.”

Adam continued to stare at the rug, looking older and older with every word that Stephen spoke.

“You charged for a new well for the Martins and for new fences for the Thorpes, but neither of those improvements was ever done, were they, Uncle Adam?”

Slowly Adam removed his gaze from the carpet. “You know they weren’t, my boy.”

“The stream that flooded the Benningtons’ house was never dredged, yet you charged the estate for the work.”

“There is no need to detail all of my ... subterfuges ... Stephen,” Adam said.” I do not deny that what you are saying is true.”

I could hold in my feelings no longer. “How
could
you, Uncle Adam? We all trusted you! Relied on you! How could you betray us like that?”

He looked at me, and for the first time I saw a spark of life flare in his gray eyes. “I did it because I needed the money, Annabelle. Do you really think I could have afforded to buy Jasper a commission in the cavalry, or Nell a London Season, on the paltry salary that Gerald and his father paid to me?”

I blurted in surprise, “But you never seemed to be in need of money—”

My voice broke off, and I flushed. Stephen had just finished explaining precisely why Adam never seemed to need money.

Adam’s lips curled in an ironic smile. He said, “I received a house to live in and a salary that kept us in food and clothing.” The smile disappeared, and his lips pressed together to form a hard, straight line. “I did not want my children to end up like their father, a poor relation hanging on to the sleeve of his rich relative.”

“Uncle Adam!” I was shocked. “No one ever thought of you that way!”

“Perhaps you did not, Annabelle,” Adam said bitterly, “but Gerald and his father most certainly did.”

I did not know how to answer him. I had always considered Adam to be a valued member of our family. Surely he was wrong!

Stephen’s quiet voice filled the awkward silence. “Aunt Fanny’s rich cousin never did exist, did he, Uncle Adam? You were the one who bought that property in Northamptonshire for Jasper.”

“Yes,” Adam said wearily. “I did.”

Stephen went relentlessly onward. “You systematically charged the estate for materials that were never delivered. You regularly added large percentages to the bills for food purchased for the kitchen, and the additional amount went into your pocket.”

I could feel my eyes growing larger and larger. “But
I
am the one who keeps the household accounts,” I said to Stephen. “Surely I would have noticed if something were amiss!”