“They will discover the difficulty.”
“They might. They might not think to question the status of your chaplain, in which case all is well. But if they do, the claim might very well be rejected, throwing the family into turmoil at an already difficult time. If Lord Birtwell is married by this point—”
“Lord, yes!” the earl said. “He is betrothed to Miss Franklyn, and they will be married very soon. He will have children of his own — a son, expecting to inherit in his turn. No, I cannot do nothing. What is the second option, Mr Willerton-Forbes?”
“To tell those most affected, but to keep it as a private matter. Then, when the time comes, Lord Birtwell stands aside and permits a claim from the next in line. Who is the next heir, my lord, after your own sons?”
“My brother, George. He has several sons, so the succession is safe, at any rate. But this matter cannot honourably be kept private. Miss Franklyn, at the very least, must be told of the change in Birtwell’s fortunes, and then there is Olivia — how could she go off to town next year to find a husband, when she is illegitimate? Oh, and there is Izzy! My second daughter, who was married in the chapel here by Nicholson five years ago. Her marriage is invalid too, and her daughters are illegitimate. She and Farramont will need to marry legally before there is a son. Dear God, what a mess! But what is the third option? To make our disaster public, I suppose.”
“To face up to the full consequences, yes,” Willerton-Forbes said gently. “My suggestion is that you take yourself at once to York, and talk to the Archbishop. I assume you know him well?”
“Well enough, yes.”
“Lay the whole before him, and he will advise you. It may be that he will find some way to declare your marriage valid after all, or if not, he will institute enquiries through the official channels to determine once and for all whether Mr Nicholson was ordained. Then you will know.”
“Then we will know,” the earl repeated grimly. “Say nothing of this to anyone yet, gentlemen, until it is quite certain. It is perhaps fortunate for Nicholson that he is already dead, for I could cheerfully strangle him with my bare hands at this moment. I do not normally hold with violence, but for him I could make an exception. I wonder what other secrets he held… I shall send Alice to you this morning, Captain Edgerton. She has hidden behind her grief for too long. We need to know who killed that man.”
“Andwhy, my lord,” Michael said softly. “Because until we know that, we cannot know whether you or anyone else of your family may still be at risk.”
8: An Interview With Lady Alice
The Lady Alice Nicholson was brought to the old nursery by Lady Rennington, who twittered unhappily. “I am not sure what you said to my husband this morning, Captain, to send him haring off to York, and now he is insisting that poor, grieving Alice answer all your questions, when she is very far from well enough.”
“Do not be concerned, Caroline,” Lady Alice said, her voice softly melodious. “This must be done eventually, and I want to do everything I can to help the captain to catch Arthur’s killer.”
“I shall stay with you, to support you through the ordeal.”
“No. Please go. In fact, I should like everyone to leave, excepting only the captain himself.”
“Alice, I do not think—”
“Go, Caroline.”
Having seen her sister-in-law settled on a chair in front of the table that served as a desk, Lady Rennington did, indeed, go, and Sandy likewise. Lady Alice sat very upright in her chair,her hands neatly folded in her lap. Even at forty-eight, she was a beautiful woman, her golden hair showing no sign of grey.
“We are alone, Lady Alice,” Michael said. “There is no one in the adjoining tower room, and both doors are closed. You may speak privily to me, whatever you wish to say. I usually have Mr Alexander with me to take notes, but since he is not here, will it disturb you if I make a few notes myself?”
“Not at all.”
“Would you like a glass of wine? Or shall I send for tea?”
“I want nothing, Captain. I should like to get this over with. I assume you wish to know how I came to be standing beside my dead husband covered in his blood?”
“Eventually, yes, but first I should like to know more about Mr Nicholson. I have heard a great deal about him, but it is all outer features. I know, for instance, that he was handsome and affable, very agreeable company and an excellent card player. Never put himself forward in an unbecoming way, but always willing to be helpful. All of which sketches a very pretty picture of a well-liked man, but does not tell me much of his character, of his inner thoughts and private moments. That is where you can be of inestimable value, my lady, and more than is usual in a wife, for you would not be distracted by a handsome face or a ready smile. You saw him in other ways, and that is what I should like to hear today. Might we start at the very beginning — with the first occasion on which you met Mr Nicholson?”
She smiled, the memory clearly a pleasant one. “Arthur arrived with my father a few days before Christmas. He had just been ordained, and had met Papa on the way north. They were snowed in for some days at an inn, and found that they got on well, so Papa brought Arthur with him to be our chaplain. Papa had been gone for some time, so we were all gathered in the entrance hall to meet him, and there was Arthur. He made me a full bow, which few bother to do.”
“You could tell that?”
“Oh, yes. I cannot see, Captain, but my other senses are acute. I can distinguish the difference between a respectful bow and something more perfunctory. Arthur was always very respectful towards me, and henoticedme. He saw me in a way that no one else at Corland truly did. We used to meet often… I thought accidentally, but he used to loiter wherever he thought I might be. I took my exercise in the gallery every day, and he was often there, sitting with a book. I could detect that peculiar smell that books have — the leather and a certain mustiness from the paper and glue. I asked him one day what he was reading and he described it, and read me short passages. And so we fell into the habit of meeting there. He would read aloud, and then we would discuss the subject matter. He had the most beautiful voice… smooth and mesmerising. I could listen to him for ever. Sometimes a new topic would arise from our discussions or he would simply bring books that he thought would interest me, and not just the dull histories that my governess had thought suitable. Arthur would read all manner of books to me, and the newspapers, too. I had never realised before how I had thirsted for such knowledge.”
“I can see how an attachment would form under such circumstances,” Michael said.
“Oh yes! We were very drawn to each other, right from the start.” For the first time, her voice wavered, but she took a deep breath and continued. “He understood, better than anyone else, that I had been living only half a life until that point. I went nowhere, did nothing, had no friends. I hated to be dependent on others, so I stayed on familiar ground. But he had rope guides put around the garden so that I could walk there unaided, and he got me riding again — that was wonderful! We roamed the moors day after day in the summer, talking, always talking. We never tired of talking to each other.” Another long pause, herbreathing ragged. “Of course we fell in love. It was Arthur who put the idea into Papa’s head that I might marry one day. No one had ever thought it possible, you see.‘How can she marry when she cannot even display herself in the dance?’Mama said once. But Arthur thought everything was possible. Once Papa got the idea in his head, he tried to make a match with a baron, but happily that fell through. Arthur and I married and have been blissfully happy ever since that day. I know many wives say such things, Captain, but in our case it was true. We were everything to each other, spending many hours each day together. I used to have a footman with me at all times, to be sure I came to no harm, to prepare my food at table and so on, and a secretary to read and write my letters, but Arthur took on all of those duties. I cannot imagine how I shall go on without him.”
Again she paused to steady her breathing, and Michael sat scratching away with the pen to give her time to recover her composure. After a while, when she seemed calmer, he said, “You have just one child — a daughter?”
“Yes, Tess. Teresa, but we have always called her Tess. She is twenty years of age now. You have not talked to her yet, I believe.”
