The Notorious Widow (12 page)

“That was unfortunate, and I scolded him for thoughtlessness,” she said through a bite of cake. “Not that my lecture was necessary. He was appalled at the damage. He and his friends had gone riding after an evening in the Plate and Bottle’s taproom. A race got out of hand.” She shrugged. “He made generous reparation, of course. I would expect no less.”

He held his tongue, though the minuscule damage payment had been an insult in itself. Jasper had made it clear what would happen if Jones complained. Catherine knew the details only because she had been with Mrs. Jones when the woman collapsed in tears, terrified about how they would survive.

“I trust he has compensated every victim of his high spirits,” he said, hoping to discover other cases.

“Of course, and he has sobered with age. Only once did he truly lose control of a situation, and you can be sure I took him firmly to task for it.”

“What happened?”

Her mouth tightened in a grim line, and for a moment he feared she would turn the subject. “When some friends damaged the parlor at the White Hart Inn, he did little to stop them. There was no excuse for such laxity, and so I told him. I don’t care what they were celebrating. But he learned a valuable lesson that day and terminated his friendship with the lad who started the fight.”

“Quite proper,” he murmured, again refusing to challenge her. “He will be a charming addition to Parliament when the time comes.”

Having barely managed to keep the sarcasm from his voice, he turned the topic to other gossip while they finished their tea, then bade her farewell and headed for the White Hart. He must risk exposing his investigation if he was to discover the details of this latest story.

The innkeeper smiled when he arrived. “Lord Rockhurst! Will you be needing rooms again this evening?”

“Not today, Falconer, but I am looking for information if you can spare me a few minutes.”

“Of course, my lord.” He gestured to a parlor, then sent a servant for ale.

“I am investigating a complaint against Jasper Rankin,” said Blake when they were alone. “I would prefer to keep it quiet until I discover whether it has merit, you understand – no cause to start rumors if this proves groundless. So far, there is little evidence either for or against the charge.”

“You will find nothing you can use,” said Falconer stiffly. “Rankin is an exemplary man.”

“So I’ve been told, but someone mentioned an incident that destroyed this room.” He had already spotted the damage. It would take years before the new paneling matched beams darkened by centuries of smoke, and he would stake his favorite team of horses that the cracked flagstone and chipped fireplace dated to the fight.

“’Twasn’t the first fight at the White Hart. Nor will it be the last.”

“What happened?”

“’Twas a boxing match that day out toward Topsham – Barlow versus Gates. Not as important as the Cribb-Molineaux fights, but it drew a good crowd.” He shrugged. “Rankin and several friends met here before driving out to watch, then returned afterward. A fair amount of money had changed hands, as expected, but they was a jovial bunch. The trouble only started after they’d emptied a few bottles.”

“Who started it?”

Falconer shook his head. “Two of the lads were demonstrating what Gates could have done in the final round to win – he’d lost. One struck harder than intended. The other retaliated. Tempers snapped, and before you could say Jack-a-dandy, they was all involved.” He shrugged. “Rankin blamed young Collinsworth, not that it matters. Collinsworth has never returned. Rankin paid for the damage and a bit over. These things happen.”

Blake drained his ale slowly. Falconer had not suffered from the incident, so either he was not the intended victim, or it had truly been a case of high spirits. “Was anyone injured?”

“Richard Umber, though not badly, and several lads sported black eyes. Collinsworth took the brunt of it. Rankin called him a fool for losing his temper, and he cut the connection for hurting Umber.”

“Trouble happens when too many bottles go dry, so why end their friendship?"

Falconer drained his own ale. “Collinsworth had been looking for a fight all day – insulting the Davies boy’s horses, flirting with another lad’s companion, arguing with anyone who bet against Gates. As they left for the mill, I heard him question Davies’s intelligence for backing Barlow. When Gates lost, Collinsworth turned surly. Maybe he’d wagered more than he could afford, or maybe meanness was in his nature.”

“So he started a fight. Which boxer did Jasper support?”

“Barlow. He has a good eye for horses and fighters. I doubt you’ll find evidence against him. He’s no saint, but he does right by anyone what’s hurt, even if he was not at fault. That’s more’n I can say for many lords.”

“So it would seem.” He rose. “By the way, how badly was Collinsworth injured?”

“Broken nose, cracked ribs, and he lost an eye. I hear he stays on his estate these days.”

Blake nodded and took his leave. The description had jogged his memory, recalling a scrap of conversation at White’s. Collinsworth did more than stay in the country. He’d cut all contact with others, becoming so reclusive that men were already calling him a hermit, though he was barely five-and-twenty. Another victim of Jasper’s spite. He had probably disparaged Jasper’s eye when they placed their bets. So he’d lost one of his own.

Pondering Jasper’s nature, he hardly noticed the countryside as he rode back to Seabrook. Not until he reached the stables did he take in his surroundings. Catherine was waiting for him.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, turning his horse over to Ted.

“I don’t know. Harry Fields turned up an hour ago. He demands speech with you but refuses to say why.”

He could see Harry lording it over Catherine. “Where is he?”

“The kitchen.” Curiosity blazed in her eyes, tempered with hurt at being snubbed by a tenant child. After everything else she’d suffered, this was the last straw.

“He meant no disrespect,” he murmured, offering his arm. Heat flowed from her touch, so fierce he nearly cursed. “He must have heard something about Jasper. I’d asked him to keep my interest secret.”

She relaxed.

“You will join us, of course, for this concerns you,” he added. “Where should we talk?”

“The folly, I think. It is cold enough that even the gardeners are remaining inside.”

He stopped at the corner of the house, covering her hand with his own. It slid past her glove before he could stop himself. “Then it would be better if you and Harry joined me there. And perhaps you can come up with an innocuous reason why he would seek me out – for the benefit of your staff,” he added.

“Right.” But anger glowed in her eyes.

“Catherine, I know any deception must grate, considering Jasper’s rumors, but the longer I can hide my interest in his affairs, the easier it will be to learn the facts I need to defeat him.”

“I know.” She managed a tremulous smile. “We will meet you in the folly.” Relinquishing his arm, she headed for the kitchen.

* * * *

Catherine’s hand tingled. But at least he had mistaken her fury at her unwarranted reaction for distress over the situation. She had no right to find him attractive. Quivering in delight every time they touched would bring nothing but trouble. From now on, she must remain as far from him as possible and hide any hint of silliness.

Harry was sitting at the table, devouring a plate of lemon biscuits. Foam clung to his upper lip from a cup of new milk, but he scrambled to his feet when she appeared. “Mrs. Parrish. Is he here?”

Conscious of Cook’s sharp ears and two hovering maids, she ignored the question. “Come with me, Harry.”

He complied, then frowned when she led him outside. “I have to see Lord Rockhurst,” he insisted.

“And so you shall. But he prefers to meet in private, particularly if you wish to discuss his secrets.”

He nodded but did not relax until he spotted Rockhurst in the folly. Then he sprinted up the steps.

“I understand you wish to see me,” said Rockhurst when Harry skidded to a stop in front of him.

Harry glanced her way, frowning.

“She knows everything,” Rockhurst assured the boy. “Rankin is telling lies about her, just like he did about Jemmy. But I need information if I am to prove it and prevent him from doing so again.”

Harry cocked his head at her, sending the strangest sensation through her chest. Never had she encountered anyone who was so obviously judging her. Her face heated.

“I ’spect you’re right,” said Harry at last. “Georgie over at t’ smithy claims she’s a great gun, and even Pa was glad for t’ help she give him last winter when Ma was so sick.”

“How is Jemmy?” asked Rockhurst, recalling him to the subject.

“Snappish. He don’t mind his usual chores or even being punished for something he done, but this is different.”

“No one enjoys paying for someone’s lies,” he agreed. “Now what did you wish to tell me?”

Catherine took a seat out of Harry’s sight so she would be less distracting. She didn’t expect Rockhurst to succeed, but she had to admit that enlisting a child to search for evidence was an interesting approach. Children went everywhere and were often overlooked by adults. Few people expected them to understand what they heard or saw. Of course, a child’s word would not outweigh Jasper’s denials. Nor would it prevent him from retaliating once Rockhurst was gone.

“I don’t know if this means anything,” Harry began diffidently. “My brother Bob had to fetch some nails from t’ smithy yesterday and took me with him.” He grinned. “Bob flirts with t’ smith’s girl, but he don’t want Pa to know. He blames me for not being at hand when he’s ready to leave to explain why t’ errands take so long. In return, he does some of my chores so’s I can check on Jemmy.”

“I presume he encourages you to run off for a good long time,” said Rockhurst.

“Right. Anyway, Georgie and me went downstream, looking for mushrooms. When we got to that copse just past t’ village, we heard Master Jasper shouting on t’ other side of a hedge.”

“Who was he with?” asked Rockhurst.

“Farmer Lansbury.”

“He owns a farm near Exeter,” Catherine clarified when Rockhurst glanced her way.

“I take it Jasper was unhappy?” Rockhurst said.

Harry nodded. “We didn’t dare creep close enough to see. If he’da heard us, we’d be doing double chores for a month or more. But I think Lansbury’s cart was blocking t’ road. Or maybe he was moving slower’n Master Jasper wanted to drive. The road pinches there, with high hedges both sides so’s two wagons can’t pass. Master Jasper went on and on about inconveniencing one’s betters. Then he swore Lansbury would be sorry.”

“But he made no specific threat?”

“No. But he’ll do something. He said it t’ same way he told Jemmy he’d be sorry he poked his head in that carriage.”

“Thank you.” Rockhurst laid a companionable hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I can’t promise to protect Lansbury, because I don’t know what Jasper has in mind. But I will do what I can to keep him from harm. Have you heard whether Lord Rankin is back yet?”

“Last night. Happy as a lark for now. It’ll be a week afore he gets that—” He glanced over his shoulder and snapped his mouth shut.

Catherine felt her face heat.

“Just so.” Laughter bubbled under Rockhurst’s voice. “You’d best be heading home before your father sees you’re gone. Let me know if you hear anything else, but don’t ask questions. And stay away from Jasper.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry skipped happily away.

“You know there is no way to protect Lansbury,” she said softly.

“Who is he?”

She shrugged. “A yeoman farmer, who works his land, pays his taxes, and leaves others alone. He and Edna have no children, but he brought in a nephew to help with the farm. Everyone assumes Brad will inherit. And soon. Lansbury’s health is not good.”

“Harvest is complete, so he won’t suffer like Jones. Does he raise animals?”

“A few, but only for his own use.”

“Can his wife be seduced?”

“Never!” Picturing Edna making eyes at another was ludicrous. “She dotes on him, dividing her time between running the house and helping with parish work. Harold found her invaluable, as have I.”

“And Brad? How old is he?”

“Eighteen.”

He grimaced. “An age ripe for trouble – or an explanation for trouble once it finds him. My groom will keep an eye on him to keep Rankin from tempting him into deep gaming or some other excess.”

CHAPTER NINE

“Look at the geese,” exclaimed Sarah, bouncing with excitement as she pointed out the carriage window. “I thought they were all gone.” Her face suddenly twisted into a frown. “I hope they don’t freeze. Mary says they have to leave in the winter because it is too cold here.”

Blake turned until he could see where she was pointing. She was right. A dozen geese flew in a ragged V headed south. “It
is
rather late,” he agreed. “But the weather has been quite mild, so they are fine. Animals sense how severe a season will be.”

“Maybe they are snow geese,” she suggested. “Mary says that snow geese can live in very cold places.”

“I don’t know about that, for I’ve never seen a snow goose, but I suspect that these are common gray geese.”

“We had gray geese by the lake last month. Uncle William was pleased.”

Because they made such good eating.
But he said nothing lest he dampen Sarah’s spirits.

Inviting her to Exeter had been a good idea. She had a unique way of looking at the world that made the journey seem shorter. When they’d passed a farm, she had not mentioned the men repairing a fence or the maid beating a carpet or even the toddler rolling on the grass with two puppies. “Look at the haystack,” she’d said, giggling. “It looks just like Grandmother Ernestine’s hair!” Which was true, he reflected, recalling his visit to the gallery. One of the ladies had sported the towering hairstyle popular during the previous century.

He’d also discovered that she knew more about birds than about the estate animals.

“Mary tells me about them,” she had explained. “She loves birds. Laura teases her and says we must find a man who looks like a bird if we ever expect her to wed.”