The Notorious Widow (21 page)

A cat inched toward a bird that was pecking around the cobbles under the corn bin. George watched it pounce, then resumed his tale. “Rankin left. I finished harnessing the curricle and led it round to the door. Two men drove off in it, but they never made it home. An early traveler found them at dawn. The curricle had overturned into a ditch, killing the man who’d scolded Rankin, fatally injuring his passenger, and breaking the leg of one of the horses.”

“But no one saw the accident.”

George shook his head. “I told you I had no proof. The muttered threat of a drunken man means nothing.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I think Rankin waited until the curricle left, then followed it. It had rained hard that day, stopping only an hour before Rankin collected his horse. The curricle tracks showed on the road when we drove out to retrieve the bodies, as did the tracks of the two horses pulling it. A single horse had also traveled that way. Its tracks veered into the curricle’s a quarter mile before the crash.”

“Was there any evidence that they were made at the same time?”

“I didn’t examine them closely, but the horses changed from trot to gallop at that point.”

“What do you think happened?” he asked again.

“I think Rankin tried to injure the team. Veering into the ditch where those tracks met would have strained a leg or two. But instead of shying, the horses bolted – they was high-strung tits that jumped at every little sound, and I saw no evidence in the tracks that the driver had control – dropped the ribbons, most like. He was three sheets to the wind that night.”

“So the horses panicked, ran a quarter mile, and only then veered into the ditch?”

“With help. Twice more that single horse veered into the curricle’s path. Where they finally swerved off the road, the ditch was deeper and rougher. The driver’s head hit a rock. His passenger was still alive when we got there, but he died on the way back to town. We had to put down the injured horse.”

“Two men dead, yet you said nothing about the tracks?”

George stared at his boot. “I tried, but the men with me was too busy loading the passenger into a wagon – we still hoped he’d live then. When we reached the White Hart, folks here was already claiming accident, and I’d had time to think. With both men dead, what purpose would it serve? Rankin would destroy me if I said anything.”

Jasper would attack whether he was guilty or not. George’s story carried no weight, for he was only a groom, but suggesting Jasper was guilty of wrongdoing would be an insult. The tracks might have contained evidence, but no one else had heeded them – unless the man who found the wreckage had noticed them.

“Who found the accident?” he asked. “Perhaps he can tell me more.”

“He’s gone, my lord. That’s all he said at the time.”

He would track down the traveler later, if necessary. Someone must recall the man’s name. “Is there anyone else who might have heard Rankin’s threats that night?”

“Squire Hawkins and Colonel Bangor, maybe. They followed him out of the inn. Then there was the passenger’s story, though nobody heeded it. He was out of his head.”

“The passenger?” It took every bit of control he could muster to hide his shock.

“Afore he passed out, he told the gent what found him about an attack by a horseman. But he was raving from fever and pain by then. Those who heeded him blame the ghost – that bit of road is haunted.”

“But you believe him.” He dropped his voice to a whisper as a man stepped out of the inn and crossed the road toward the cathedral.

“Maybe I hate Rankin too much.” His eyes also followed the departing gentleman.

“I doubt it. What did the fellow say?”

“He swore a horseman swooped down and jerked the ribbons from the driver’s hands. Then he whipped the horses into a frenzy, slicing into their forelegs – it’s true the horses’ legs was cut up, but those rocks was sharp. The horseman laughed when they bolted. Whenever the horses slowed, he whipped them again.”

“Did he name the culprit?”

George shook his head. “His words weren’t clear, and the tale was jumbled up with ramblings about Judgment Day and greenery and cats, or maybe it was cravats. He mighta mentioned names – Jack, Nigel, Shar – or mayhap they was groans. He was clearly out of his head. It is easier to believe the ghost spooked the team than to connect his words to Rankin. And easiest of all to suspect the driver lost control of a spirited team after drinking too much.”

“So you kept quiet, even though two men died.”

“If Squire Hawkins and Colonel Bangor saw nothing suspicious in his lordship’s death, who would believe me? I don’t interfere with the quality.”

Blake froze. “Who were the victims?”

“Old Lord Seabrook and Vicar Parrish,” he admitted.

Fear. He should have listened to his instincts.
Threatened to reveal his reprisals unless he left me alone
. If that’s how Catherine had expressed her threat, it was no mystery why Jasper had attacked. Who would have understood Parrish’s dying words better than his wife? Even if she’d heard them secondhand, she might have understood – or so Jasper feared.

Jasper’s attacks on inferiors put him in no danger. He’d already admitted many of the incidents. If Catherine charged him with deliberate intent, he would twist her words until she appeared hysterical. But the death of a lord was a different matter.

He paced across the yard and back. As he’d reminded Catherine only that morning, a baron had precedence over a viscount’s heir. Jasper might wish otherwise, but he was not the highest-ranking gentleman in the area yet. He remained a commoner, subject to the same laws that governed tradesmen and farm workers. In practice, that did not matter, for few held heirs to the same standards. But this was murder.

Could he use this incident to force the confession that would restore Catherine’s reputation? He didn’t know, but he finally had a place to start.

“All right, let’s go over the tale from the beginning,” he said, returning to George’s side. Pulling out a pencil and a scrap of paper, he sighed. “What can you tell me about the men in the taproom that night? Let’s start with the lad who lost his fortune.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Catherine jumped when Rockhurst strode into the morning room. Her nerves were still on edge from their encounter in the rose garden.

He had left her restless and unable to concentrate. Going to the nursery had been out of the question. Sarah would have noticed and demanded an explanation. Yet she couldn’t remain in the manor, either. In her confusion, she might throw herself into his arms if they met unexpectedly in a hallway. So she’d gone to the village.

That visit had certainly cured her of any dreams about Rockhurst.

Jasper’s poison had done its work even on the neediest parishioners. None of them wanted a kind word or helping hand. It was the first time the lower classes had shunned her, and it hurt. But even worse pain had followed.

Brad Lansbury cut her dead outside the Green Gull, though she suspected that assaulting her would have been more satisfying. Whatever Rockhurst had said to Mrs. Lansbury had yet to bear fruit, for Brad clearly believed Jasper’s lies. Or maybe he remained angry over William’s attack. One eye was swollen shut.

She was still reeling when she ran into Vicar Sanders.

“How dare you strut into my village and expose my parishioners to your obscenities?” he demanded without even a greeting.

“You are mistaken, sir.” She tried to remain civil, but his sudden concern for people he had ignored for two years swirled a red mist before her eyes.

“Don’t contradict your betters, girl!”

It was too much. “How can you call yourself a man of God, yet condemn me on the unsupported word of one man? If you had paid the slightest attention to the parishioners you claim to serve, you would know that they have been fighting slander and worse from that same source for years.”

“Harlot!” he snapped, overriding her voice. “Take your lies and excuses elsewhere. Debauchery has no place here. I must already purify the vicarage to remove your evil influence. Get you gone from my parish. I’ll have you arrested if you dare set foot in my church again.”

“Your
church?
Your
village?
Your
parish?” Her fists clenched. “They belong to my brother. You might consider who controls this living before turning yourself into a spokesman for an arrogant fool.”

“My duty to God transcends loyalty to a man nearly as corrupt as you.” He gestured to a knot of people who were staring in fascination. “I must protect these innocents from contamination by the greatest sinner to walk the earth since Sodom and Gomorrah fell."

He continued his tirade, but she stopped listening. For whatever reason, Sanders had decided to make a public show of crucifying her. Perhaps Jasper had added new lies since the assembly. Or maybe Sanders had finally heard the ones Rockhurst refused to repeat. He might even relish the idea of driving off a person whose activities drew attention to his neglect. Not that his motives mattered. Her life here was finished. And the real losers were the parishioners. She had no illusions that Sanders would pay them any heed once she was gone.

She had stopped in the woods on the way home, staring at a spotted mushroom for hours as her mind grappled with her dilemma. She needed to leave. The people she had served for so long no longer wanted her aid. Sanders had barred her from entering the parish church, and asking William to intercede would only make matters worse. Replacing Sanders would give Jasper a new opportunity to revile them all. And his next target would be Harold’s parishioners. He might already have begun, judging from today’s reaction. So she must leave them in the hands of a vicar as priggish as William but a thousand times colder.

Yet Rockhurst was also right. She had no place to go and no way to support herself. While Harold had had distant ties to several respectable families, he had known none of them. His parents were dead, as was his only sister. Finding a decent position required a character reference from her vicar – an impossibility – and would force her to leave Sarah behind. Parishes only helped the needy from their own districts, and even the workhouses only took in locals – not that she would consider that, for Sarah would wind up in a mill, or worse. Which left her the choice of becoming a courtesan or leaving the country.

She’d finally returned to the house, her thoughts jumbled – and not just by Jasper’s schemes. Every time she tried to focus, memories of Rockhurst’s embrace distracted her. The heat. The excitement. The overwhelming pleasure.

Now here he was again, this time in the flesh. His amber eyes glowed like ancient gold as he shut the door firmly behind him. For a breathtaking moment, she thought he would sweep her into his arms.

“I found out why Jasper fears you,” he said, taking the chair next to hers without waiting for an invitation to sit. “And this time there should be enough evidence to force a confession.”

“What?” Both hands clutched her chest as her head reeled – with disappointment that he seemed unaffected by their kiss, with shock that anyone thought Jasper could fear a vicar’s widow, with reluctance to admit that she’d decided to leave. She drew several quick breaths.

“Harry Fields discovered the incident. There is no way Jasper can pass this one off as high spirits. It was deliberate malice, with witnesses. I’ve just spoken with one of them, and there are two others, both gentry.”

“Then why did they say nothing earlier?” She forced her hands into her lap in an attempt to relax. He was trying so hard to believe success was possible that he must have overlooked something obvious. But she could not afford dreams.

He frowned. “The others heard only part of his plans, so they missed the connection at first. By then, other people’s assumptions had closed the matter, so they did not question the verdict. Or maybe they found it more comfortable to ignore their suspicions, since nothing could have been changed.”

“Then why would they reconsider now?” Her fists crumpled her skirt.

“You are determined to be gloomy,” he complained, “though I can hardly blame you after last night. Perhaps I am overstating the evidence, for I’ve heard only one man’s story, but Jasper’s guilt seems clear.”

“What happened?” She suddenly realized that he was oddly reticent today.

His expression changed to one of sorrow. “One of his revenges went awry. In trying to injure a team of horses, he caused an accident that killed two men. The witnesses overheard his threats against the driver. The man who discovered the wreckage said the passenger claimed that a horseman had caused the crash, but no one believed him because he was delirious.”

“Dear Lord! Not Harold!” Spots swirled before her eyes.

His hand covered hers. “Forgive me for reviving your grief, Catherine, but this is too serious to ignore.”

She choked down sobs, fighting to maintain her composure. She had not been braced for such news. Several minutes passed before she could speak. “What happened?”

As he described the card game at the White Hart and her father’s confrontation with Jasper, tears again threatened, for she could imagine the scene so clearly. Her father had never remained silent when others misbehaved.

“How like Father,” she murmured when he finished. “He believed title holders had graver responsibilities than ordinary men, and he criticized anyone who harmed another. I can almost hear his lecture.
If a man wishes to risk his fortune, that is his business, but no gentleman remains in a game that might harm innocents. You should have protected West’s family instead of taking advantage of his drinking to line your own pockets. You ignored your responsibility to those who lack your high station.”

“If you are right, then he packed several insults into a short speech – ungentlemanly behavior, taking advantage of a stripling, greed, failure to uphold his duties.” He shook his head. “And Jasper was already half seas over.”

“I wondered why Harold was with Father that night. He’d said nothing about visiting Exeter or the Manor, and his horse was at the White Hart when he d-died.” She cursed the stutter, but shock still gripped her. “He must have accompanied Father to warn him of his danger.”