The Notorious Widow (22 page)

“Do not jump to conclusions,” he murmured, squeezing her hand, which remained under his. “We still have no real evidence. So far, I’ve heard only one man’s tale of that night. Perhaps I should have waited to tell you, but I felt you should know. Did anyone repeat Harold’s description of the accident?”

“Not that I recall – but I was in shock.”

“You did not speak to the man who found the wreckage?”

“Mr. Berens?” She shook her head. “He was at the funerals, of course, but he said nothing about Harold being conscious.” She shuddered, imagining the pain he must have suffered. By the time she’d learned of the accident, he’d been dead. Everyone had assured her that he had felt nothing.

“So you know his name. Do you also have his direction?”

The question pulled her attention back to the morning room and the hand clasping hers. “He died a month after Harold.”

Rockhurst released a frustrated sigh. “How?”

“Carelessness.” She shrugged, folding her hands to evade his touch. “He set a candle too close to his bed. The curtains caught fire, burning the house to the ground.” She shook off a shiver. Jasper’s involvement explained several of the oddities about Harold’s death, though it raised other questions. “Who were the witnesses at the inn?”

“Squire Hawkins, Colonel Bangor, and one of the inn’s grooms. Several others witnessed the card game, but if Jasper had threatened your father to his face, they would have said something at the time. None of them left soon enough to overhear his plans.”

“But they might share Father’s conviction that Jasper cheated Nigel West.”

“I said nothing about cheating.”

She shook her head. “Father would never have publicly berated Jasper if he thought the game was honest. He would have waited until they were alone to avoid embarrassing him.” Rising, she paced to the window and back. “I wonder if Nigel suspected cheating. He told his family that his father had lost everything – the man had died barely a week earlier. Jasper may have suggested the lie, threatening to do worse if he challenged him over the game.”

“Or West might not have known the truth. He was so drunk he could barely stagger out to his horse that night, and he left the inn before your father accosted Jasper.”

“I doubt many people know about that card game,” she murmured, her mind following a different tack. “Father’s death dominated gossip for weeks. I don’t recall hearing a word about Nigel’s losses, though that is no evidence,” she added. She had been prostrate for days and then too concerned about Sarah and their sudden poverty to care about other problems.

“Where is Nigel now?” Rockhurst sounded interested.

“He moved to Plymouth, taking his mother and sisters with him. The last we heard, he was working as a clerk to a solicitor there.”

“I must speak with him.”

“Don’t.” She met his startled gaze. “Leave him out of this. Even if he suspected cheating, he can offer no proof, and his own actions belie the charge. He is rebuilding his life. One sister is keeping company with the solicitor’s son. Revealing that he gamed away the family fortune could affect his job and terminate his sister’s courtship.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” he scoffed, stepping closer.

“I am not. What if the solicitor decides such poor judgment is intolerable in an employee and reflects on his entire family? There is no way to prove Jasper cheated and no way to recover the funds.”

“Surely his family knows the truth by now.”

“I doubt it. The Wests left within the week and spoke with few people before they fled. They were not really part of local society, you understand. The father had inherited the old Wilkins place from an uncle only a few years earlier.”

“Are you saying that I should ignore Jasper’s attack on your father because asking questions about that night might hurt West?”

“No. I am saying that whether Jasper cheated is irrelevant. The Wests are gone. Asking about the card game will start rumors that could easily spread to Plymouth. Why inflict new pain on a man who is already a victim? Concentrate on the accident.”

“Very well. I will keep West out of it if possible. But I vowed to force Rankin into admitting he lied about you. If exposing all the circumstances of that night is the only way to succeed, I will do so.”

“It is not worth the price.”

“It is.” He stared into her eyes. “What of Sarah? Jasper will not allow this scandal to die. He can’t. Think about your words that day in the orchard. He believes you know what happened to your father, so destroying your credit is his only protection.”

The shock drove her back to the window. Why had she not suspected this earlier?

I know what you are … you have destroyed too many people…

Her own words. She had been referring to Amy Carruthers and Jenkins, but his guilty conscience had thought she meant Harold and her father. So he had struck back, making sure that no one would ever believe her.

“I will speak to Hawkins and the colonel as soon as possible,” said Rockhurst, pulling her away from her thoughts.

“You will learn nothing from Colonel Bangor. He fell on his head last month and has been unable to think clearly ever since. Besides, if he had entertained the slightest suspicion, he would have said something at the time. He would never pass up a chance to expose Jasper, for he has long hated him.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “That I don’t know. But he would never remain silent after two deaths. His own explanation is ghosts.”

“George mentioned ghosts.”

“Which George?”

“The White Hart’s groom. He claims that road is haunted.” He led her back to her seat, turning his chair to watch her more closely.

She covered nervousness with a light laugh. “It is nonsense, of course, but the story persists. The ghost is supposedly a Frenchman who long ago washed up on the coast. A squire’s daughter nursed him back to health. Naturally, the two fell in love.”

“Naturally,” he agreed.

She relaxed for the first time since morning. “The squire was upset, for he wanted his daughter to form a grand alliance – she was a great beauty. Also kind, generous, loving—”

“Talented, a paragon of every virtue, guaranteed to melt the hardest heart and sweep—”

“Stop that,” she demanded, laughing.

“Why? Are you now claiming she was an antidote?”

“Whose story is this?” she demanded as her treacherous heart turned over. His eyes sparkled. Humor smoothed the lines from his forehead, revealing how anxious he had been since his arrival. His investigation weighed heavily on his spirits.

“Yours, of course. Pray, continue. I’m all ears.”

No, he’s all hard body and flashing eyes.
She stifled the reminder. “As I was saying, the girl was worthy of a grand alliance. The stranger claimed to be noble, but his clothes were those of a pauper, so the squire dismissed him as a fraud – the man was French, after all.”

“And we were undoubtedly at war with France.”

“Aren’t we always?”

His eyes twinkled, as he again claimed her hand. “If there is any basis for the story, he was probably a spy.”

“No doubt.” She wrenched her hand away, firmly reminding herself that touching him could only lead to trouble. “The squire had already begun marriage negotiations with a powerful lord, so as soon as the Frenchman could walk, he turned the man out.”

“Thus forcing the lovers to elope. But the evil squire tracked them down and—”

“Quit interrupting!” she ordered, then cursed under her breath when she realized her face had twisted into a pout. Donning a sober expression, she finished the tale in a rush. “They planned to elope, but the girl’s maid betrayed them to the squire. When the Frenchman approached the meeting place, the squire and his trusty footmen cut him down, then buried him and his horse where they fell. There is a cairn beside the road that supposedly marks the spot. The next day he learned that the Frenchman had been a duke of great wealth and power. The daughter cursed her father to eternal oblivion before flinging herself off a cliff. The duke still haunts that road, seeking her and attacking anyone who disbelieves his tale.”

“Tragic, and possibly even true.”

She shrugged. “I doubt it. There is no evidence the squire ever existed – believers attribute that to the daughter’s curse. I suspect the story arose from the rock formations along the road. They cast odd shadows in moonlight and harbor patches of mist even on clear nights. More than one horse has panicked there. And there used to be a formation that resembled a rearing horse when glimpsed through mist from the right angle. It collapsed about ten years ago, but it might have once included a rider.”

“Yet Colonel Bangor believes the tale.”

“Colonel Bangor suffered an accident there many years ago. He found it easier to blame the Frenchman’s ghost than his own poor driving. It soothed his pride, which was the only real casualty.”

“And now he has suffered another accident.”

“Happenstance. He slipped on a patch of moss and fell from his roof while verifying his housekeeper’s claim that some slates needed repair – he has always insisted on checking everything personally. There were half a dozen witnesses. The doctor believes he will recover, but at the moment he remains confused.”

“Squire Hawkins should recall that night.” He rose to leave. “I will speak with him in the morning.”

She still had misgivings. If no one had suspected Jasper at the time, raising the subject now had a better chance of hurting the Wests than of finding evidence against Jasper, but Rockhurst was in no mood to listen, so she nodded.

Once he was gone, she rose to pace the room. This news eliminated any hope of convincing him to leave. On the other hand, she now wondered if he might actually succeed. Could there really be enough evidence to force a confession?

She wanted to believe. Dear Lord, how she wanted to believe. The alternative was so painful. But there was more than hope behind her decision to continue this fight a little longer. Curiosity played a role – what had really happened on the coast road that night? And even stronger was a burning need for revenge.

Shuddering, she paced faster. She hated to admit that she was reacting even a little like Jasper, though this situation was very different from his petty quarrels. He must pay for his crimes. In her family alone, there were two dead, one ruined, three besmirched, and no end in sight.

Poor Harold. Another innocent bystander cut down to serve Jasper’s arrogance. Tears pricked her eyes. He had been a good man – sweet, kind, and genuinely caring. Love had come gently during their years of marriage, turning friendship into something deeper that sharpened her grief when she lost him.

She blinked back tears. Two years should have put this behind her, but he had not deserved such a fate. Dying because Jasper attacked another man made it worse.

Her father had been very different from Harold, though both had embraced justice and fair play. He was stubborn – a trait she had inherited – which had caused many an argument between them. She recalled the exhilaration that had accompanied her few victories. But even his stubbornness had had a certain charm. She missed their confrontations almost as much as she missed Harold’s concern. Rockhurst reminded her of both men.

She sighed. She had never questioned the accident. One of her last arguments with her father had been over that team. He’d doted on that pair, though she’d considered them fractious. Flashy, certainly, but difficult to hold. She’d even predicted that they would bolt on the coast road after dark, which had raised guilt after his death. A storm had broken up that night, producing unexpected shifts in light as the full moon dodged in and out of clouds. When added to the eerie rock stacks and patches of fog endemic to that road, it was no surprise that a driver who had spent some time in a taproom would come to grief. Mixed with her remorse for not fighting harder had been the fear that he’d set his team at the road to prove her wrong.

But she had never understood Harold’s presence. They had been finishing dinner when he’d received a summons from the ailing widow Green. She’d assumed the widow was near death – the woman died a week later. Now she had to wonder what the widow had wanted.

Harold had gone from Mrs. Green’s to the White Hart, then accompanied her father home, leaving his horse behind.

She shook her head. Nothing made sense. Mrs. Green had lived only half a mile from the vicarage, so Harold would have walked. Only after speaking to her had he saddled his horse and gone to Exeter. He must have intended to fetch her father to the widow’s bedside, then return to town.

Which brought her back to the widow Green. Since her father had been the area’s leading magistrate, the widow must have been reporting a crime. But what could a dying woman say that would demand a night journey in foul weather?

Even as her curiosity stirred, she realized that she was creating a mystery so she could forget Jasper’s plots for a time. But she needed a break from her own problems, and maybe it was not too late to address the widow’s concern. Mrs. Green’s housekeeper might know what she had wanted. She was presently employed by Miss Mott.

But that must wait until morning. In the meantime, she would check on Sarah, then find Laura. If Squire Hawkins agreed with this tale, Rockhurst would leave soon. Time was running out to attach him.

* * * *

Laura was in the drawing room, seemingly blue-deviled because Rockhurst had again spent the day in Exeter. Catherine stifled her memory of that morning kiss, reciting the familiar litany under her breath: Laura deserved a good husband, and Rockhurst was the best. It wasn’t his fault that she’d tempted him into forgetting his scruples. Even a saint could suffer an occasional lapse.

“Wear the blue gown this evening,” she said, noting that the fire was nearly burned out. Laura should have summoned Rob to replenish it. “Blue shows your coloring to advantage and makes your eyes glow. Rockhurst has found evidence that might force Jasper to recant his lies, but that means he will soon leave us.”

“I won’t be coming down for dinner.” Laura stared at her hands.

“Is something wrong?” Catherine joined her sister on the couch. Laura’s eyes were still puffed from her night of tears, but brooding on the assembly would do her no good. “I know last night was difficult, but everything will be all right soon.”