The Stanforth Secrets (10 page)

Chloe pulled Mercury’s head around and rode angrily off. Fury at Randal’s manner pushed aside even the thought of Frank’s death. Among Stephen’s many faults was the virtue, as far as she was concerned, that he had never tried to rule her. Since fleeing from her home at seventeen she had been her own mistress. Randal had just made her aware of how readily that could change. Remarriage would have many disadvantages.

As soon as she arrived in the stableyard she told Garford what had occurred. He was much shocked and hurried off to summon the assistance of the two gardeners. Soon a small party with a pony cart set off to fetch the body.

Meanwhile, Chloe went directly to Justin in the office and found him going through a stack of files.

“Hello, Chloe.” He rose at the sight of her agitation. “What is it?”

“Frank—he’s your undergroom. He’s fallen off the cliff and killed himself.”

Justin came forward and put an arm around her. It felt wonderful.

“Bear up, my dear. Did you find the body? Where’s Randal?”

That revived her recent grievance, and she pulled herself away. “Will you not treat me like a vaporish female. I didn’t even see the body. Randal found him and he’s stayed there. He sent me to get help. He said you should go, so I suppose you must. What right he has to come all dukely over us I’m sure I don’t know. Now I suppose I should follow orders and go and get Sir Cedric, as he is the Justice.”

Chloe finally ran out of breath and Justin took her back into his arms. “Randal only did as he ought, you know. Does he suspect foul play?”

Chloe was so involved in trying to handle being in Justin’s arms, no matter how impersonally, that his words took a moment to register.

“Foul play? Whoever would want to hurt Frank?”

“It does seem unlikely,” said Justin, rubbing Chloe’s back till she felt like purring. “It was just Randal sending for the Justice . . .”

Justin seemed to pull his thoughts together, stopped his stroking, and put Chloe away from him a little. “If you don’t mind, Chloe, would you go for Sir Cedric? Are you up to it? If, as I gather, the head groom has gone off to get the body, there’s no one else.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” said Chloe, moving completely away from him. “But it’s nonsense to think of anyone having a hand in Frank’s death. Nothing of that kind ever happens here. The nearest thing to murder we’ve had in years was when Jenny Moorcock hit Sam Sharp over the head with a tankard and he didn’t get his wits back for days. They were both drunk, though, and it’s an old quarrel.”

“Perhaps, if there has been foul play, it is something similar. A quarrel and no real harm intended. Would he have had any reason to be on the headland, though?”

“None that I can think of,” Chloe said with a frown. “I must go.”

She had been thinking over Randal’s words, and though they still stung, she had to admit that in the world’s view, he had a point. After two steps she turned back. “I’m relieved you’re here to handle this, Justin. I have to say, however, that I’ve been mistress here ever since my marriage, and I fear I may try to rule the roast. Randal says I’ve grown uppity, and he’s doubtless right. Tell me if I overstep myself.”

His smile was singularly sweet. Stephen had also been gifted with such a smile, but she had discovered there was nothing behind it, that he would bestow it as readily upon an innkeeper, a dowager, or a wife. For some reason, Chloe had the feeling that with Justin it was different.

“Of course,” he said, “but I don’t expect it.”

“Then you don’t know me,” said Chloe saucily. “I have a very managing disposition.”

He walked forward and took her hand, still covered in her York tan glove. If, as it seemed, he had taken the notion to kiss that hand, it was of course sensible of him to peel the glove back a little so his lips could brush her skin. Her breath quivered and their eyes met for the first time, she thought, in their lives.

After what seemed like years he said, “No, perhaps I don’t know you, Chloe.”

He slowly smoothed the leather over her wrist once more. Chloe’s breath caught, and she retrieved her hand a little awkwardly as Justin walked back to straighten the papers on the desk.

“You must do exactly as you wish, my dear,” he said.

Chloe searched her mind for rational words and found none. Quite simply, she fled.

Despite the urgency of the occasion, Justin stood in thought for some time after she had gone. He tried to make himself consider his duties. Was this event in any way connected with the missing papers? He couldn’t imagine how, but another violent death following so quickly upon his arrival was highly suspicious.

Was anyone else in danger?

Instead of tackling these questions, however, his mind was filled with the sensation of having Chloe in his arms for the first time. Her name seemed to pound in his brain, like the beat of a drum.

Chloe. Chloe. Chloe.

With a movement almost violent, he kicked the coals of the fire into flame, then went to join Randal on the beach.

 

 

Cantering the mile to Troughton House, Chloe tried to make sense of her feelings. The shock of a death and Randal’s high-handedness, topped off by Justin’s sudden tenderness, seemed to have rendered her incapable of rational thought. Was she insane to think Justin still felt that special awareness which had troubled them four years ago? If he did, what on earth would come of it? She had no wish to repeat the pattern of her marriage. Justin and Stephen had been very alike. She had thought she loved Stephen once and found only a hollow shell. Why should she think this time it would be any different?

She did not need to ride all the way to the Grange, for she came across Sir Cedric leaning against a gate talking to one of his tenants. His untethered horse grazed nearby and raised its head curiously as she approached. Sir Cedric came over as soon as he saw her. At her news, he mounted to ride back with her to the scene of the accident.

Sir Cedric had been Chloe’s only regular male visitor during the last year, and she knew he would one day propose to her if she gave him the opportunity. She hoped it would not come to that. She had told herself over the past year that it was her desire to escape the associations of this locality that held her back, but there was another reason as well. Sir Cedric was boring.

He was an intelligent, well-circumstanced gentleman of thirty-five, and immensely dependable. It was somehow typical that he was not only available when required, but on the road and waiting. He was even quite handsome, with a healthy trim body, regular, if undefined, features, and neatly cut soft brown hair. Chloe did not have to see him beside Randal and Justin, however, to know he would fade in their company. There was so little animation about him, and no spontaneity. Chloe remembered her grandmother’s words. The thought of fifty years of evenings spent by the fireside with Sir Cedric made her shudder.

He glanced at her and said, “You look upset, my dear. Why don’t you go back to the house. This is no business for a lady.”

Chloe ignored his suggestion and urged Mercury to a little more speed. She had determined to go to the beach to show the men she wasn’t to be shunted aside, but when she arrived at the path she saw the body was already in the cart and coming toward them.

Sir Cedric halted beside her. “That’s right. No need for you to come down, my dear,” he said kindly. “I suggest some hot sweet tea and a rest in your room. In times of stress, my sister is a great believer in Dr. Linmer’s Nerve Pills and always has a supply on hand. She will be only too pleased to send some over if you request it.” He patted her hand. “How fortunate this happened when Lord Stanforth was here to take the burden from you.”

Chloe smiled tightly and agreed. After he had ridden ahead to the beach, however, she walked her horse and waited. She saw Sir Cedric stop the cart and pull back the cloth to look at the corpse, then continue down to where Randal and Justin waited. The cart rolled on, up to the road.

Garford gave a salute. “Nasty business, Your Ladyship. Reckon we’d best take him to his Aunt Katy’s place.”

Chloe looked at the shape beneath the cloth—so recently a man and now no longer. Frank Halliwell had lived above the stables, but Chloe recollected now that he had been raised by his mother’s sister, a spinster who kept goats and chickens for her livelihood.

“Very well. I will go ahead to break the news,” she said.

She picked the undergardener to accompany Garford in the cart and sent Budsworth, the gardener, back to his tasks. Then she trotted inland to Katy Stack’s smallholding.

Chloe found the well-padded, middle-aged woman digging up potatoes in her plot, her strong movements showing that her bulk contained a lot of muscle. She looked up and stopped to lean on her spade.

“ ’Day to you, Milady.”

Chloe slid off the horse and tethered him to the fence. “I’m afraid I come with sad news, Miss Stack.”

The woman’s face became blank, almost stupid—the universal reaction of the local people to any hint of trouble. “Frank, I reckon. What’s he gone and done?”

Chloe walked up the path toward the older woman. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident, Miss Stack. He fell off the Head. He’s dead.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, with a sharp, almost vicious movement, the older woman drove her spade into the earth so that it stood there straight, and wiped her rough hands on her apron. “You’d best come in the house, Milady.”

“Thank you. They’re bringing the body here, Miss Stack. I hope that is all right.”

“Where else? I’m the only family he has hereabouts. His mam and dad died of fever when he were nobut a lad.” She led the way into the kitchen of the small cottage. The room was clean and pleasantly decorated with flowers and bright pieces of embroidery. Chloe looked at plain Miss Stack with surprise.

“This is a very pleasant room, Miss Stack,” she said.

“I like it,” said the woman flatly. “Reckon we’d best have some tea,” she added. There was a blackened kettle sitting on a grid over one corner of the fire. She pushed it farther over the heat. Immediately, steam began to wisp out of the lid. “Sit you down, Milady.”

Chloe chose one of the plain chairs by the pine table. Miss Stack washed her hands in a bowl of water before taking a seat opposite.

“How’d it happen then?”

“We’re not quite sure, Miss Stack, but he appears to have fallen from the headland near the house. It would have been very quick.”

“Aye.” The woman looked at her rough, strong hands. “He were a good lad, Frank. A worker. He were saving to start his own livery in Lancaster. Had big ideas. Still had hopes, I reckon, of Lady Belinda.” This last was said with a sarcastic edge which told Chloe the woman was aware Belinda had no right to be so called.

“Frank loved Belinda?” she queried in surprise.

“Aye. They were close as you like not that long ago. None of us’d been surprised if they’d have wed, even though her la-di-da mother wanted better for her. But then she up and married Mr. George.”

The woman heaved herself up to attend to the boiling kettle. “Don’t do, that sort of thing. Folks should keep to their own. But Nellie Massinger’s always had notions. Sending Belinda to that school in Lancaster, and the boys to the grammar school. Now that Belinda’s My Lady, Nellie’s took the notion to send the youngest to university down south.”

The pot was tinware, but Miss Stack opened a cupboard and took out two fine china cups and saucers. It was into these she poured the strong tea. She added milk and sugar and brought them to the table, placing alongside them an earthenware plate of lardy-cake.

Chloe took a small piece of cake and complimented her hostess. It was very good. Her chief appetite, however, was for information about Belinda and Frank.

“Once Belinda became the widowed Lady Stanforth, however,” she said, “and had a jointure, she could look a great deal higher than Frank, I’m afraid.”

“I know that and you know that, but there were no telling Frank. He seemed to think she’d come round, seemed to think he could talk her round. He were an handsome lad, fair enough. Happen he thought that’d turn trick, but I told him, Belinda’ll be looking for more than a bonny face now. Young’uns never listen.”

Chloe would have liked to learn more, but the cart could be heard in the lane. Miss Stack drank down the rest of her tea and rose to her feet. She took off her apron for the solemn moment and went to meet the men, directing them to bring the body into her small parlor and lay it on the floor there. She and Chloe observed the process, then Miss Stack placed a penny on each eyelid to hold it shut.

Frank did not look so very different, Chloe thought. He was dirty and bruised but if his neck was broken, the men had managed to lay him down so it was straight. He looked totally irrevocably dead, however. In such a brief time, the spirit had left the flesh.

She glanced at the older woman, wondering how she must feel. This man had been like a son to her. The total absence of expression was perhaps more telling than any tears. Stony-faced, Katy Stack laid a hand for a moment on the young man’s bruised cheek, then draped the sheet back over the corpse.

“I’d best go see the vicar,” she said as they left the room.

“I could do that for you if you wish, Miss Stack,” said Chloe. “As Frank worked for the Hall, we would wish to bear the cost of his burial, if you would allow it.” It seemed such an inadequate gesture of support.

Katy Stack nodded. Her face was still blank but Chloe saw there was moistness in her eyes. “Kind of you, Milady. I’d rather not leave him alone, you see.”

“I understand.” Chloe laid a hand for a moment on the woman’s work-worn ones. “I’ll make the arrangements, Miss Stack, and if there’s anything you need, send someone to the Hall.”

 

 

After conducting her business with the Reverend Sotherby—and receiving his acceptance of her invitation to the dinner party, which had completely slipped her mind—Chloe took the opportunity to walk through the graveyard to her husband’s resting place. It was not a practice that had much meaning for her. She could remember him in his house, connect him with his horses and his acres, but not with this rectangle of earth and carved monument. The sight of Frank’s body had brought back memories of Stephen’s death, however. He too had gone suddenly from life into death.