River Of Fire (9 page)

"You look very like her," he observed.

"Not really. We have the same coloring, but she was much taller, almost Father's height." Rebecca turned from the portrait, cradling the cat against her. "And of course Mother was beautiful."

Kenneth considered saying that Rebecca was also beautiful, but refrained because she would surely think him a flatterer. Yet as he watched the setting sun turn her hair to silky fire, he saw that there was true beauty there for anyone with the eye to see it. Reminding himself to keep his mind on business, he said, "Was Lady Seaton as charming as she appears in the portrait?"

"When she was happy, the whole house glowed. And when she was sad…" Rebecca hesitated. "We all knew it."

"She was moody?"

Rebecca's face froze and she began moving toward the door. "Who isn't sometimes?"

He had touched some kind of nerve. He thought for a moment, wondering how to recover from his slip. Reluctantly he recognized that if he was to win Rebecca's trust, he would have to reveal something of himself. Quietly he said, "My mother died when I was sixteen. Nothing else has ever hurt as much."

Rebecca paused and swallowed hard. "It… it leaves an unfillable hole in one's life." She dosed her anguished eyes for a moment. "How did your mother die?"

"Slowly and painfully, of a wasting disease." A sharp memory of that terrible year struck him. He began straightening papers on his desk. Gruffly he said, "I've seen great courage in battle, but none greater than hers as she faced death."

While Kenneth resembled his fattier physically, in temperament he was very much Elizabeth Wilding's son. One of his first memories was of his mother's long, graceful fingers clasping his chubby hand as she guided him in writing his own name. It was from her that he had learned drawing and how to truly see the world around him.

Though her bluff husband had loved her in his way, he had been unable to deal with Elizabeth's slow dying. It was to her son that she had turned for comfort and support. Kenneth had been forced into adulthood that year. He and his small sister had drawn together in their grief, and the bond had never really been broken during his long years away.

The Gray Ghost gave a soft meow, which pulled Kenneth from his reverie. He realized that his unmoving hands rested on the piled papers in front of him. Uneasily he looked up and saw that Rebecca was regarding him with compassionate eyes.

His intention had been to show sympathy, not weakness. He got to his feet. "Your father explained about the daybook. Are the earlier ones kept here in the study? I thought it might help me understand the business better if I glanced through the last several years' worth."

"You'll have to ask Father. I'm not sure where he keeps them. Until dinner, Captain." She turned and left the study.

He watched her go, knowing that his first instinct had been correct: She was trouble.

Rebecca petted the Gray Ghost for comfort as she went downstairs to the kitchen. It had been upsetting to discuss her mother, and Captain Wilding's sorrow when he talked of his mother's death had triggered her own grief. Still, his sensitivity had shown an unexpected side of his character. For a moment, the stern army officer had revealed the boy he had been.

He was an intriguing puzzle. Her first impressions of him had included both harshness and intelligence. Those qualities were certainly part of him, but he was also tolerant and surprisingly philosophical. She had deliberately revealed her ruined reputation to see his reaction. To his credit, he had shown neither shock nor lewd speculation.

After feeding her cat, she headed purposefully up to her studio again. She had half an hour before she must dress for dinner. Time enough to try another sketch or two of the captain.

As they had agreed beforehand, Kenneth visited Lord Bowden to make a report after his first week at Seaton House. He was promptly shown into Bowden's study. At Kenneth's entrance, Bowden set his newspaper aside and gestured for the visitor to take a seat. "Good day, Lord Kimball. What have you to report?"

Kenneth studied the older man's face. Having met Sir Anthony, he could see how strong the physical resemblance between the two men was. The same spare figure, the same medium height, the same chiseled facial bones. But Sir Anthony's vitality, his flashes of charm and occasional petulance, made him seem much younger than the two years that actually separated the brothers. "I've not made as much progress as I would like," he said as he took a seat. "This will be a slow investigation."

Briefly he explained about the lack of long-term servants, and how much of his time had been taken in dealing with Sir Anthony's accumulated work. Then he described how he intended to proceed. He ended by saying, "Sir Anthony keeps detailed daybooks that could reveal a great deal about the critical time period. Unfortunately, I've learned that the relevant volume was left at his country house in the confusion after Lady Seaton's death. I won't get to see it unless I'm still part of the household this summer, when Sir Anthony retires to the country again. Given the difficulties of this investigation, it may come to that."

Bowden listened with a frown. "I had hoped you would have results before then."

"A certain amount of progress is being made, though it isn't of an obvious sort. I'm becoming familiar to Sir Anthony's friends. Soon I can start to question them about the past. Also, I want to speak with the previous secretary, Morley."

"That will be simple." Bowden reached into his desk for a pen and wrote down a name and address. "He is now secretary to a member of Parliament, a friend of mine."

Kenneth gave a nod as he accepted the paper. "You arranged that? I suspected it was no accident that the position in Sir Anthony's house became available when it did."

"I learned that Morley has political ambitions. It was simple to see that he was offered a situation that would further them." Bowden leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Granted you haven't had the time to find real evidence, but what are your impressions so far?"

Kenneth spent a moment marshaling his thoughts. "Lady Seaton's death is like an open wound that is felt but never acknowledged. Sir Anthony hasn't once mentioned his wife, yet sometimes he stares at the portrait of her that hangs in his study. His daughter can barely endure talking about her mother's death. I wish I could read their thoughts, but I can't." Kenneth gave Bowden a quizzical glance. "Is Lady Claxton the mistress whom he was rumored to want to marry? Certainly they are involved, but the affair seems casual."

"Lavinia Claxton?" Bowden snorted. "I suppose that was to be expected. She spreads her favors rather widely. It was for someone else's sake that Anthony murdered Helen, but I was unable to learn the woman's identity. In his way, he is discreet."

Kenneth frowned as he thought about that. If Sir Anthony loved another woman enough to kill for her, it seemed odd that he would be carrying on with Lavinia rather than his prior mistress. He wondered what had ended the earlier affair.

That is, if there really
was
a significant earlier affair. He felt as if he were chasing shadows.

Bowden said unexpectedly, "What is my niece like?"

Kenneth found himself reluctant to discuss Rebecca. "I scarcely see Miss Seaton except at dinner. She's rather quiet and spends all her time in her studio. Did you know she's a gifted painter?"

The other man's brows arched. "I had no idea. Perhaps that explains her immorality. Artists seem to feel that the laws of God and man don't apply to them."

Kenneth found that he had to clamp down on his temper. "Miss Seaton may have made a foolish mistake when she was young, but I've heard no rumors about misbehavior since."

"Try harder," Bowden said coolly. "I'm sure the rumors will be there. I hope the next time you will have more to report."

Disliking the pressure, Kenneth said, "It's a mistake to insist on weekly reports. You will become frustrated at the apparent lack of progress, and it does me no good to feel that you are looking over my shoulder."

Bowden's face clouded. After a long silence he said reluctantly, "Perhaps you are right, but I must insist that we meet at least once a month."

"Very well, but future meetings shouldn't be held here. We're less than a mile from Sir Anthony. If he hears I've been seen entering your house, I'd be out on the street five minutes later. For the same reason, don't write me at Seaton House unless it's an emergency." Kenneth handed Bowden a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it. "I'm using this postal receiving station for personal correspondence. I'll stop and check for messages every day or two."

Bowden put the address in a desk drawer. "Now that you are established, I trust matters will proceed more quickly."

"Perhaps, but I suspect this investigation will take longer than either of us wishes." Kenneth got to his feet. "I'll see myself out. Good day to you, Lord Bowden."

He left the study, then paused, hidden in the shadowed hall, as the butler admitted a small, graceful woman with silvery hair. From the way the butler greeted her, it was clear that she was the lady of the house. So Bowden had married, if only to keep the title out of his despised brother's hands.

As Lady Bowden went to the stairs, she noticed Kenneth and gave an absent nod. Kenneth wondered what kind of marriage had been possible when Bowden was obsessed with his former fiancee.

On the walk back to Seaton House, he thought about how his secretarial position was turning out to be rather enjoyable. Both Sir Anthony and Rebecca were so involved in their painting that they didn't question his activities as long as his work got done. Sir Anthony's friends had accepted the new secretary with careless good humor and talked freely in front of him. He had already learned some useful facts that way.

It had taken longer to establish his authority over the servants, but they'd settled down nicely after he discharged the laziest maid and hired a butler, an efficient man called Minton. Soon the household would be running with silken smoothness

In Kenneth's rare free moments, there were marvelous works of art to admire. His chief regret was that he saw so little of Rebecca. After the talk they'd had his first day, he'd thought it would be easy to win her confidence and learn more about her mother's death, but as he'd told Lord Bowden, he scarcely ever saw her. Guests were usually present at dinner, which made serious conversation impossible. She would eat quietly, then excuse herself from joining the company in the drawing room.