“What of your aunt? If anyone were to know your mother’s secrets, would it not be her sister?”
“Aunt Rebecca? It never once occurred to me to speak with her on such a matter, as she sees Mother so seldom.” Frederick was surprised that he had not thought of asking her before now. “You are wise in suggesting it. I thank you, Mr. Tatham.”
“Of course, Your Lordship. I am here as and when needed. Will you depart for Pentford once more? Shall I saddle a horse?”
“In time. I must first go and speak with Lt. Buckworth, then look in on Josephine. There is too much at stake for me to be away from Chescrown for very long, but I fear that only I, not Mr. Hanson, will be able to draw the truth out of my aunt, if she knows it at all.”
“And the Duchess?”
“As dear as I hold your counsel, Mr. Tatham, I feel that it would be too much for Mother to bear at this time. I am going to make sure that all notes come to me from this day forward. None shall reach the Duke and Duchess if I can keep from it. They have suffered enough at the hands of this foul blackmailer, and I will see them suffer no more. Once I have discovered those who threaten all I love, they will know my displeasure at the end of a noose.”
Chapter 12
When Frederick set out for Pentford, he left Lt. Buckworth in charge of securing the safety of Chescrown. He instructed Mr. Johnson to ensure that no more letters were to reach the Duchess and relayed the doctor’s instructions for Josephine’s care. He hated to leave her in such a state, but the most recent missive had spurred him to swift action. One did not get to threaten the life of a Duchess without suffering the consequences.
Frederick rode to the farthest corner of the Pentford Estate until he reached his aunt’s cottage. As he approached, he could not help but smile at the beautiful sight before him. The whitewashed stone cottage shined bright in the forest clearing like a fresh blanket of snow against the lush green foliage. Roses climbed up the walls in hues of pink and crimson to match the painted red doors and window trimmings. Flowers filled the garden beds in a prolific array of sizes and colors. The air filled with their sweet scent.
To the side of the cottage stood a small orchard and vegetable garden. A deer eating fallen fruits startled at his approach and bounded off into the forest. The door to the cottage opened, and his Aunt Rebecca emerged into the daylight, smiling in greeting. She limped across the yard to the gate that separated her tiny floral oasis from the wilds that surrounded it. “Nephew,” she greeted as he dismounted and tied his horse to a hook in the wall. “What a delightful surprise.”
“Good day, Aunt. How fair you?”
“Gloriously well. My maid servant and I have been quite busy tending to the garden. What do you think?” she asked, gesturing towards her copious blooms.
“Beautiful, much like she that tends them,” Frederick complimented, bowing to kiss her hands.
“Oh, you flatterer,” she laughed. Rebecca led him over to an intricately designed set of wrought iron table and chairs that had been painted white. His aunt’s maidservant, Jane, came out of the house bringing tea and scones with strawberries and clotted cream. “We were just about to sit down for a spot of tea if you would like to join us.”
“It would be my pleasure, Aunt.” Frederick took a seat across from her and accepted the cup she extended him. They chatted about a wide range of topics from gardening to the recently apprehended poachers. “Do you not fear living so far from the manor house? You know you are always welcome to come and live with me at Pentford or Chescrown.”
“Thank you, but no, my dear boy. When you had Mr. Hanson bring my annuity and warn me of the poachers, I admit I was fearful for a moment. The picture he painted was quite a bleak one, but I have never once been harassed here. As with most poachers, they sought food, not mischief. It is best for all concerned that I remain here. People tend to be uncomfortable around my deformity, and I prefer the peace and serenity of my garden over the prying eyes and whispering tongues of others.”
“I cannot say that I blame you, Aunt. If I could do so, I would myself remain here with you, but there are pressing matters at hand, matters that I must ask your aid to interpret,” Frederick informed her, setting his teacup down upon the table.
“Oh?”
Frederick pulled the letters out of his pocket and handed them to his aunt. He explained how they had come to be in his possession and his mother’s reaction to receiving them. He told her of the poacher’s words. “Is there anything you can tell me about my mother, or grandfather even, that might have brought about such threats? Anything at all?”
“No, I am afraid I cannot, my dear boy. My poor sister to be forced to endure such threats. I cannot imagine her capable of anything that would produce such blackmail. Her denials of guilt are enough for me. Are they not enough for you?” His aunt’s somewhat chastising tone did not escape his notice.
“Of course, Aunt. Forgive me for causing you distress.”
“It is your mother to whom you should entreat forgiveness if you have made her to feel your distrust.”
“I only wish to protect her.” Frederick could not blame his aunt for feeling as she did about her sister, but he had seen the lie in his mother’s eyes. He knew there was much more to the story than she had been willing to share with him and if it took offending her to keep her safe, then that was exactly what he would do.
When Frederick left his aunt’s cottage, he promised to return for another visit as soon as he could manage. Leaving the Pentford estate, he headed for the village to speak with the Evans family. He stopped at the tavern to inquire as to where he might find their abode and was directed to the outskirts of town. Frederick rode through the streets until he came to the poorest section. Children begged barefoot in the streets, widows in black weave sold their handmade wares, dogs fought over scraps in the gutter.
He moved steadily forward keeping a vigilant eye out for pickpockets and other threats. His heart went out to the people in their suffering. As he reached the croft of Llewelyn Evans, he understood what the man had meant when he spoke of hearing the cries of his neighbor’s children. The houses were close together, and he had seen many children in need along the road. Had the roles been reversed he would have been tempted to poach as the Evans men had done. He could no longer view their deeds as criminal in such a light.
Frederick approached the yard of the croft and dismounted. The sound of an axe splitting wood drew his attention to the back of the house. He walked around the side of the croft and found Llewelyn Evans hard at work. Upon seeing Frederick, he ceased his labors and wiped his brow. “You are a fair distance from your estate,” he noted. It did not escape Frederick’s notice that the man omitted the use of his title.
“That I am, Evans, but I come on a matter of great importance.”
“Oh?”
“When we were in the forest, you mentioned my mother, but then refused to say more. My mother is under threat, and I very much need to know what you meant by invoking her name at that moment.”
“It is not my story to tell.”
