Waltz With a Stranger (37 page)

“Like a thief, you mean?” James sighed. “Unfortunately, I’ve learned several unpleasant things about Gerald since this business began. And I had no good opinion of him to start with.”

“I met your cousin,” Pendarvis said, almost abruptly. “Only once, but you must have wondered, when my name came up in those letters, if there was any sort of connection.”

“I did,” James acknowledged, relieved that Pendarvis had raised the subject himself. “When did this meeting take place?”

“Several days before he died. I came to visit my great-uncle at the Hall. Your cousin was there, having a brandy with him in the drawing room.”

“He was?” None of this had been mentioned during the inquest, James recalled. “Did you know that Gerald was his godson?”

“Not when I first came in. But your cousin apprised me of it soon enough. Pardon me if I offend you, but I was not overly impressed by him. To be honest, I rather disliked him.”

“You would not be the first to do so. What business did Gerald have with your uncle?”

Pendarvis shook his head. “I’m not certain. On the surface, it appeared to be an ordinary social visit, but something about it—didn’t feel right to me.”

“Were they discussing anything of note?”

“Not that I could tell. Great-Uncle was rambling on, as he often did, about the glories of Pendarvises past. The mines and fisheries they started, the houses they built, even their involvement long ago in the trade—and your cousin was drinking it in like mother’s milk and urging him to go on.” Pendarvis paused. “That’s what struck me as false, I suppose. As far as I knew, he’d never troubled to visit Great-Uncle Simon before, yet here he was now, hanging on his every word. I couldn’t quite believe in it. Not that it mattered,” he added wryly. “Neither of them paid the least attention to me. Besides, it seemed ungracious to spoil an old man’s pleasure in a visitor, so I went up to bed, and by the next morning, your cousin had gone.”

Puzzling indeed, James reflected. Why would Gerald, of all people, be interested in the doings of the Pendarvis family? Especially since his father’s attempts to interest him in the Trelawney history and lineage had met with sullen indifference. James could well remember his uncle’s fury and Gerald’s sulks when the latter had refused to learn any part of the family tree. No, if Gerald had come to visit Simon Pendarvis, it could only have been because he wanted something from him. Money, perhaps? Had he sought to ingratiate himself with an old man he usually ignored in hopes of being named in his will?

Pendarvis said, as if reading his mind, “I considered my great-uncle’s will, of course. He died before he could change it to reflect—what happened in January, but he’d left your cousin three thousand pounds, which has since reverted to the estate. Not an inconsiderable sum,” he added, looking James straight in the eye. “But I would never have killed for it.”

James met his gaze with equal honesty, his last doubts of the man vanishing. “Of course not. Thank you, Mr. Pendarvis.”

Pendarvis relaxed just enough for James to realize how tense he’d been before. “Robin,” he invited, with the barest of smiles.

James smiled back and offered his own Christian name in return. “James. Now, if you would permit it, I’d like to speak with your staff at the Hall—that is, if they’re the same ones who worked for your great-uncle last Christmas. They might remember more about Gerald’s visit.”

“I haven’t turned anyone off since I inherited,” Robin assured him. “You may talk to whomever you wish, though I believe the butler and housekeeper may be of the most use here. Is tomorrow afternoon soon enough?”

“That would be fine, thank you.” James rose from his chair. “Might I offer you something? Tea, or a glass of sherry?”

“No, thank you.” Robin rose as well. “It’s time I headed back. There’s much work being done at the Hall, and it goes more smoothly when I’m there to oversee it.”

“Ah, yes, the hotel scheme. Harry’s told me something about it.”

“I thought he might. Perhaps you’ll let me show you some of the plans tomorrow?”

“Perhaps—if time permits.” James followed his visitor out into the passage.

The front door opened as they neared it, and Aurelia came in, smiling and becomingly flushed. She stopped short when she saw them, her eyes widening. “Good afternoon, Trevenan. Mr.…” She let the word trail off questioningly.

James introduced them, saw the flash of speculation in Aurelia’s eyes on hearing Pendarvis’s name.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Newbold,” Robin said, sketching a bow. “But I must be on my way home. I’ll see you tomorrow, Trevenan.”

“Tomorrow,” James confirmed with a nod.

Aurelia turned to James as the door closed behind Robin. “Is everything all right?”

“More or less. I’m satisfied that Pendarvis wasn’t involved in Gerald’s death. In fact, he’s told me some things that might prove useful. Apparently, several days before his death, Gerald visited Simon Pendarvis.”

“Why would he have done that?”

“That’s what I intend to find out, by talking to Pendarvis’s staff. I can only hope that bears more fruit than my search of the cottages,” he added, grimacing.

“So the shipment wasn’t there?” she asked with sympathy.

“Not so much as a potsherd.” Weary, James rubbed a hand over his face. “Bolts of silk and muslin, more than a dozen crates of tea and porcelain—I’ve practically memorized that inventory. They can’t all have vanished into thin air.”

“Of course not,” Aurelia said bracingly. “Your cousin found a good hiding place, that’s all. But with you, Sir Harry, and now Mr. Pendarvis working together, I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before you discover it. In the meantime, why don’t you go and have something to eat? You missed luncheon, after all.”

James managed to smile at her. “Sensible, as always. I’ll ring for some sandwiches.”

“That’s sensible too.” She smiled back at him, headed for the stairs.

“Aurelia?’ He did not know what made him call to her, but as she glanced back at him, he found himself asking, “Has Mr. Vandermere called today?”

She hesitated, flushing slightly, then replied, “He has. In fact, he joined us for luncheon. I was just seeing him out now. He’ll probably call tomorrow too.”

His heart seemed to constrict at her words. “Are you sure—this is what you want?”

A bittersweet smile ghosted about her mouth. “Are any of us ever sure of what we want?” she said at last, and hurried up the stairs without waiting for an answer.

Their heads neared, and their hands were drawn in one,

And they saw dark, though still the unsunken sun

Far through fine rain shot fire into the south;

And their four lips became one burning mouth.

—Algernon Charles Swinburne,
Tristram
of
Lyonesse

“I’d heard you were back. I thought I’d come by, pay my respects.”

The words floated out to James as he and Harry rode through the gates of Pendarvis Hall the next day. He frowned to himself; the well-bred voice was familiar, but he could not place it immediately. Then, entering the courtyard, he saw Sir Lucas Nankivell, astride his chestnut hack, talking to Robin, who was standing on the front steps of Pendarvis Hall.

“Very neighborly of you, Nankivell.” Beneath the surface courtesy of Robin’s voice, there was an undertone that James could not identify.

Perhaps Nankivell heard it too, for his next words sounded slightly less affable. “I hope you’ve given some serious thought to our last conversation. My offer still stands, you know.”

“Thank you, but I prefer to retain my shares for now.”

“Is that wise? A scheme as ambitious as this,” he gestured toward Pendarvis Hall, “could only benefit from a quick infusion of capital. Especially if you lack investors.”

“Oh, I haven’t given up hope of finding those.” Robin turned his head, caught sight of his visitors. “Trevenan, Harry—welcome to Pendarvis Hall.”

Nankivell glanced in their direction as well. “Ah. Good afternoon to you both.” He touched his hat. “How is your family, Tresilian—all well, I trust?”

“Very well, thank you,” Harry acknowledged, his tone carefully neutral.

“And Miss Sophie?” Nankivell went on. “I saw her out riding just the other day.”

“Sophie is fine. She’s looking forward to her birthday celebration next week.”

“Ah, yes.” Nankivell patted his horse’s neck. “Eighteen—a woman grown, at last.”

No mistaking the significance of his remark. To James’s relief, Harry did not rise to the bait. “So she tells me,” he said equably. “But she’s still quite young, for all that. You’d understand, I’m sure, if you had sisters yourself.”

“No doubt I would.” Nankivell inclined his head. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I must be on my way. Pendarvis, I hope you will reconsider my offer.”

“I promise to give it the attention it deserves, Nankivell.” Again James heard that not entirely cordial undertone in Robin’s voice, though he could not tell if Nankivell had. The baronet merely nodded again, kneed his horse to a trot, and rode out through the gate.

“What was that about?” James asked, once Nankivell had gone.

“I inherited some railway shares from my maternal grandfather,” Robin explained. “Sir Lucas wishes to buy them, but since they provide much of my income, I refused him.”

Harry grimaced. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Apparently he’s been trying to buy up shares in railways and other such ventures for the last six months, at least. With only limited success.”

“Is Nankivell in debt, then?” James inquired, surprised. “He looks prosperous enough.”

“I daresay he does, at first glance,” Harry agreed. “But there have been some whispers going round the county that his mine is exhausted, and that he’s taken out a mortgage on his estate. Of course, he might be better off if he spent more time tending to his interests in Cornwall instead of gallivanting off to London for half the year,” he added censoriously. “Anyway, Nankivell’s finances are among the reasons I don’t favor a match between him and Sophie.”

James wondered if he was imagining the admonitory note in his cousin’s voice, and glanced at Robin, who seemed unaffected. “Indeed. Your sister deserves a man who can provide for her.” He beckoned to a groom to take charge of the horses. “Come in, please, both of you.”

James studied the house as he followed his host up the steps. Once a modest medieval manor, Pendarvis Hall had been rebuilt during Queen Anne’s reign, and now rivaled Pentreath for size—if not elegance, to his partial eye. But no one could deny its grandeur.

Robin caught the direction of his gaze and smiled a little wryly. “Impressive, is it not? But I doubt many can live on that scale now, unless their estates can support themselves.”

“And that’s why you mean to transform the place into a hotel?” James asked.

“Among other reasons.” Robin led them inside. “But even if I could afford to live like Great-Uncle Simon, my parents are long dead, and the Hall is far too large for one man alone.”

“You might marry and have a family,” James suggested.

Robin’s face went still and expressionless. “I am not in a position to consider that just now,” he said at last. “But I don’t want the Hall to pass out of the family altogether. This way, I can ensure that the house survives in some form,
and
retain all the staff. Talking of which, whom do you wish to speak to first?”

***

The butler, a tall, austere Cornishman by the name of Praed, remembered showing Gerald into the drawing room where he had left both host and guest to their brandy and returned below stairs. A good half-hour later, Mr. Robin had arrived and been shown in as well. All told, Gerald had stayed nearly two hours; unusual for that time of night. While Praed could not recall what the gentlemen had been discussing, he observed that Mr. Pendarvis had been much affected by the death of the previous Lord Trevenan, and inclined to dwell upon the past.

Which confirmed what Robin had told him, James reflected, but did not explain Gerald’s apparent fascination with his godfather’s reminiscences. “Did my cousin make any further visits to Mr. Pendarvis?” he inquired, without much hope.

“Not to my knowledge, my lord.”

“Thank you, Mr. Praed.” James glanced at Robin, who sent the butler back to his duties.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Dowling, came in next. Her account was similar to Praed’s, though unlike the butler, she hadn’t actually spoken to Gerald. But she’d kept track of how long he’d stayed, just in case he spent the night and an extra chamber needed to be readied.

“Mrs. Dowling, did you notice anything unusual about the house, after my cousin’s visit?” James asked. “Anything at all, however minor?”

The housekeeper frowned. “Well,” she began, after a lengthy pause, “this may have naught to do with your cousin, my lord, but…sometime after the master died, I noticed the key to the old lodge was missing. I couldn’t think where it had gone. We’d the locksmith in to make a new one just before you came to take charge of the Hall, sir,” she added to Robin.

“A key?” James stared at her, his mind racing. “Would it happen to be an iron key, plain and slightly rusty, about this long?” He held his thumb and forefinger about four inches apart.

“Why, yes. It was about that size, as I recall.”

James exhaled, forced himself to remain calm. “Thank you, Mrs. Dowling.” He turned to Robin and Harry. “I found such a key among Gerald’s personal effects, just a few days ago.”

“Then, gentlemen, I believe we have a lodge to open,” Robin said, getting to his feet.

***

The old lodge was located across the park, no distance at all on horseback. Within minutes, they were dismounting and making their way to the door.

“I haven’t set foot inside this place in years,” Robin admitted, taking out the key. “It’s so far from the main house and dropping to bits, besides. I was actually thinking of razing it and having something else built on this site.” He opened the door, stepped gingerly over the threshold. “Mind the cobwebs.”

The parlor stood just off the narrow entrance hall, its furniture shrouded in holland covers and several large wooden crates stacked in the middle of the floor. Shipping crates, bearing the stamp of a familiar name…

For one stunned moment, they all stood and stared at the missing shipment, now so miraculously found. Then Harry swore fervently, breaking the spell, and moved to investigate the cargo. Shaking off his paralysis, James proceeded to do the same.

“Great-Uncle must have slipped your cousin the key on the sly,” Robin said, joining the search. “Good God, hiding the shipment here might even have been his idea!”

James paused, frowning. “He’d have condoned Gerald’s theft?”

“I doubt your cousin told him the whole story. He probably compared what he’d done to the free trade, hiding luxury goods right under the nose of the law. That would have appealed to Great-Uncle’s sense of adventure, and his love of the past.” Robin handed James one of the crowbars they’d brought with them. “Shall we open these and see just what’s inside?”

They worked in silence, prising off the lids of the crates. James found himself mentally marking off the items in Mercer’s inventory. Porcelain vases and bowls in delicate hues and intricate patterns, trinkets of jade and ivory, bolts of brocaded silk and airy muslin…

He straightened up from the last crate. “Everything seems to be here, except the tea. There should be about half a dozen crates of it.”

“He might have been able to sell that right away,” Robin suggested.

“Perhaps,” James conceded. “There’s certainly enough demand for it.” He glanced around the roomful of cargo. “I suppose we should inform Mercer the shipment’s been found.”

“Wait.” Harry held up a forestalling hand. “I’ve just thought of a way to kill two birds with one stone.” He glanced at James. “I say we move all this to Roswarne now, and contact Mercer—somewhat later. Perhaps on Midsummer Eve, if your Trelawney cousins are willing to join us that night?”

James met Harry’s gaze with perfect understanding. “Under the circumstances, I’m sure they’ll be glad to accept your invitation.”

***

The sea was lively today, its rolling waves crowned with lashings of foam. Aurelia walked along the sand, hoping the sea’s tumult would calm her restless thoughts. And the solitude, of which she had far less now that she’d agreed to see Charlie again.

But that wasn’t fair.
She’d
made the decision to let him renew his courtship, and so far, their meetings had been pleasant, though in a somewhat muted way. Nostalgically sweet, like a bouquet of pressed flowers, without the heady fragrance or promise of fresh-picked blooms. But this was old affection, not new, Aurelia reminded herself. And could not former love revive, given the right circumstances? The shadow of his desertion lingered, but it was growing fainter, more a memory of disappointment now than the heart-wrenching betrayal it had been. They were careful in their dealings with each other, as kind and considerate as they knew how to be. Maybe
too
kind and considerate, if such a thing was possible.

Which was infinitely preferable to rancor and bitterness. Except that, with each day that passed, she felt increasingly unsettled and dissatisfied.
How
is
that
for
clarity, dear Claudine?

“Aurelia?” Charlie’s voice spoke up from behind, startling her. Between the roaring surf and the soft sand underfoot, she had not heard him approach.

“Lady Talbot tells me you often walk here,” he explained, as she turned to face him. “I hope you don’t mind my joining you.”

She did, actually, but it would be rude—and unkind—to say so. “Not at all.”

Charlie gazed out at the water. “Beautiful waves. Reminds me of Newport. Remember that first summer we were courting?”

“I remember.” It seemed a lifetime ago, those days when she’d lingered on the veranda, hoping for a glimpse of him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy, before or since. Have you?”

More recent memories arose in her mind—of a dark-haired man holding out his hand to her as a waltz played in the distance. Of that same man lifting her to the saddle and swinging up behind her. And just yesterday, watching her with those night-dark eyes and asking her if this—this tentative, painstakingly polite courtship—was what she wanted. “It was a very special time for us, Charlie,” she said at last. “But one oughtn’t to live in the past.”

“Of course not,” he said quickly and agreeably—almost too agreeably, Aurelia thought, then chided herself for being overly critical. “Indeed, I should like very much to talk of the future. Shall we walk?”

She took his arm and they began a slow promenade along the water’s edge. “So, what are your plans after this summer?” he asked. “Will your family be returning home for the wedding, or does Amy mean to marry here, in England?”

Home. It took a moment for her to remember that was supposed to be New York. “Oh, Amy has her heart set on getting married in New York, probably sometime in September or even October.” A grand Society wedding, befitting her status and fortune. Aurelia would have preferred a smaller, more intimate ceremony, but she reminded herself forcibly that she wasn’t the bride. “And then she and Trevenan will most likely winter abroad, for their honeymoon,” she continued, ignoring the wistful pang that always accompanied that thought.

“And will you be traveling as well, or do you mean to stay at home this winter?”

“Oh, the latter, I suspect. I did rather miss Christmas in New York last year—sleigh rides, caroling, even skating parties.” She managed a smile. “I may even chance a few turns about the ice this winter, now that my leg is so much stronger.”

Alarm flickered in Charlie’s eyes at this professed ambition, but to his credit, he refrained from expressing the reservations that had irked her before. “Well, you’ve always had spirit,” he said manfully. “And what about spring? Will you be returning to England then?”

Where Amy would be settling in as Trevenan’s wife? Not a chance of that, Aurelia thought. Aloud she said, “Oh, I haven’t decided yet. I was actually thinking about college. You know Miss Witherspoon always hoped at least one of us would go. What about you, Charlie? Are you missing New York, and your job at the bank?”

“A little,” he admitted. “I’m enjoying my holiday, but a part of me is looking forward to taking up my work again. Of course, I’m very much the junior partner there, but Father’s bringing me along in the expectation that I’ll succeed him in the fullness of time.”

That came as no surprise to Aurelia. Mr. Vandermere had always had very definite ideas regarding his only son’s future. “I am sure you’ll fulfill all his hopes for you.”