“‘I tell you this so that you will understand the truth and will not therefore have to suffer the rumours that will nodoubt swill about. Here is the plain story — Mr Nicholson, our chaplain until his demise, was not ordained when he first came to us. He was not therefore authorised to conduct marriages, and thus—’”She hesitated, and then resolutely ploughed on. “‘Thus my marriage to my dear Caroline is void, and all our children are now illegitimate. George is now my legal heir, and Bertram after him. I have talked to the Archbishop of York, but nothing can be done about it. Isabel is also a concern, since Nicholson married her, too. Josephine is safe, for she was married in town and Nicholson had no part in that. Miss Franklyn has been informed, and the result is that Walter’s betrothal is at an end…’”Her voice wobbled only for a moment, before she continued with greater firmness.“‘…and what is to become of him and the younger children I cannot say. You will understand that we cannot presently receive company, even from such good friends as yourselves, so pray do not be offended. We do not wish for condolences, and we cannot imagine that anyone has any practical advice to offer us in our extraordinary situation. When we are a little more settled, we will open our doors to callers again. There is only one thing you may do for us now, and that is to remember us in your prayers. Rennington.’”
She laid the letter down on the table. How strange it was — a letter just like the many hundreds of other letters from Lord Rennington to Papa over the years, all of them to arrange some pleasurable event or other. A cricket match, or an archery competition. Fishing, shooting or hunting, as the season permitted. A long ride over the moors, if no other entertainment offered itself. He was not a man who liked to idle away the hours at home, and although he had slowed down in recent years as his liking for good food inhibited his more energetic pursuits, he still liked to be outdoors, and preferably with amenable company.
And thenthisletter, the words telling of the most incredible turn of events. Mr Nicholson not ordained at all! The earl’s marriage void! The children all illegitimate! And Walter’s betrothal ended…
Lily’s exclamations of horror and the more measured voices of Mama, Papa and Uncle Alfred would run on for some time, Winnie knew.
“I have eaten enough, Mama. May I go now? I want to get on with the jam before the next batch of fruit arrives.”
“Of course, dear,” her mother said vaguely, before turning back to the discussion.
Winnie had been busy in the still room for no more than half an hour before her mother crept in.
“Winnie…”
“Yes, Mama?” Although she knew perfectly well what she was about to say.
“Winnie dear, you are a good, sensible girl, and you will not become…carried awayby this news, I am sure. Walter may no longer be betrothed to Bea Franklyn, but that does not mean he is… available.”
“I know, Mama.”
“His circumstances are very different now, with no money of his own and no expectation, as well as the taint of illegitimacy.”
“Thatdoes not affect anything. I hope we would not turn away from him on that account.”
“We must as Christians sincerely pity him, and keep him and all his family in our prayers, certainly, but we must be aware that he is not even a gentleman any longer, and his future is most uncertain. He may have to look about him for a career, and even if he can establish himself in some way, he will move in a very different level of society. We may see him in the same old way, but he will not necessarily view us as he did before, do you see?”
“Of course, Mama. Besides, he has never noticed me before, so why should he notice me now?”
“I knew you would understand. Nothing has changed, not really.”
“No, Mama.”
But it was not true.Everythinghad changed.
***
Michael kept discreetly out of the way for a day or two after the shattering announcement. It would not do to tread on the toes of the earl’s family, so abnormally sensitive at the moment. But the disruption brought opportunity, too, and most specifically the regular visits from the earl’s new heir, his brother Mr George Atherton, and his son, who were bidden to learn about the estates which would eventually be theirs. He asked Simpson to request a meeting. However, it was not Mr George Atherton who appeared, but his son, a pleasant-looking man of twenty-five.
“Simpson said you would like to talk to my father,” he said. “He and my mother have gone to see the Dowager, but he sent me instead, to see if I might be of service to you. Bertram Atherton.”
Michael made him a low bow. “Thank you, sir. I am very much obliged to you. His lordship has insisted we confine our enquiries to the castle only, so I must take every opportunity of consulting with passing visitors. May I present to you my wife, cousin to the Earl of Morpeth, and my esteemed Scottish colleague, Mr Alexander.”
“Mrs Edgerton. Alexander.” Mr Bertram bowed politely, eyeing them with interest. Michael guessed that he and his friends had been the subject of much gossip in the neighbourhood.
Michael offered him a chair and poured Madeira, while Mr Bertram gazed warily at the axe resting on a sideboard.
“What did you wish to ask, Captain?” he said.
“You live at Westwick Heights, is that so?” Michael said, and Bertram nodded. “That is at Birchall village, I understand, some four or five miles from here.”
“That is so.”
“I have been told that no one from Westwick Heights was at the castle on the night that Mr Nicholson was murdered. Is that correct?”
“To the best of my knowledge. I cannot vouch for every last one of the servants, but no one from the family was here and none of the servants ought to have been here. We rarely stay at the castle, since we live so close.”
“And you did not dine here?”
