The note from Sir Hubert was brief —‘You may return here whenever you choose.’Walter breathed a sigh of relief. Winnie had, if not forgiven him, at least permitted him to resume his attempt to scratch out a career for himself. It was something, at least. He ordered his boxes packed and returned to Birchall House late in the afternoon, just in time to change for dinner, for the Strongs dined early.
Winnie was already in the drawing room when he entered, but there was no opportunity to speak to her, for Lady Strong descended upon him and engaged him in conversation as if nothing had ever happened to disrupt the smooth flow of good relations between his family and hers. As if he had not destroyed her daughter’s hopes of a good marriage by his stupid,stupidarrogance. He could not decide whether her behaviour arose from ladylike good manners, or whether perhaps she was not even aware of all that he had done.
He was still undecided when the arrival of the Cathcart family was announced, followed almost immediately by the rector, Mr Dewar, and his family, and he was drawn into the business of being a good guest and making conversation, with no more than an occasional glimpse of Winnie moving about the room. She seemed pale tonight, and perhaps a little distracted, but no doubt that was due to his unwelcome presence. He wished he could speak to her, to thank her for her forbearance, but then it occurred to him that any attention from him might distress her, so perhaps he would be best advised to keep her at a distance. It was so hard, when he had been used to be on such easy terms with her! Now he hardly knew how to approach her.
For one reason or another, he had not seen any of the Cathcart or Dewar families since the discovery that he was no longer the heir, and discovered that he was now a person of the greatest interest to the young ladies. The older members of the two families were more interested in Winnie and her visit to London, but Miss Cathcart and the three Miss Dewars clustered about him, handkerchiefs at the ready to hear the whole of the affecting story.
Their breathy gasps and murmurings of‘How terrible for you!’grew tedious in very short order. It was hard for him to see the horror in his situation that they clearly expected him to feel. It was a shock, of course, to find himself suddenly cut off from all that he had expected, but at the same time, it was curiously freeing. Until now, his whole life had been planned out for him — his school, his college at Oxford, his membership of White’s, his introduction into society all mapped out from the moment of his birth. He would marry suitably, produce the requisite heir, and in time assume the mantle of Earl of Rennington and all the responsibilities that entailed. He would take his seat in the House of Lords and vote Tory, just as his father did and his grandfather before him. His suitable wife would raise the next heir to follow in his footsteps. And because he was a dutiful son, he would have done it precisely thus. Or perhaps it was inertia that had held him fast.
But now — he was free! He could make his own life, marry where he chose, live where he wanted. His father was generous enough to support him while he found his way, but in time he would be independent, not beholden to anyone… not constrained by tradition or his father’s wishes. So as he explained it all to his intent audience, he could see bewilderment on their faces.‘So brave!’, one of them murmured, patting his arm gently. He hardly knew what to make of it, but as they clustered around him, a dreadful fear grew in him that he nowfeatured in their matrimonial ambitions. Viscount Birtwell, the heir to an earldom and vast wealth, was far out of their reach, to be treated only with the deepest respect, but the illegitimate Mr Atherton had been sufficiently reduced in rank to be attainable, in their eyes.
It was horrifying. Having only just been released from one ill-fitting betrothal, he was by no means inclined to rush into another. He had passed many seasons in London and not been drawn to any of the daughters of the aristocracy, so he was hardly likely to take up with a provincial miss. But instantly the image of Winnie flashed into his mind. She was one provincial miss it would not be a penance to wed. It had almost happened, five… no, six years ago! Astonishing thought. And he had impulsively offered her marriage just a few days ago, although—
‘I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth!’she had screamed at him.
Her rejection was as painful as if she had stabbed him through the heart. Such pain! Why did it hurt so much? Perhaps Aunt Alice was right. Perhaps he was in love with her… dear, dear Winnie. Whom he could not even go near any more, for fear of distressing her. It was unbearable.
Fortunately, dinner was not as late as usual, and Walter was relieved to be summoned to sit beside Lady Strong, who directed the inoffensive Miss Parish to take the seat alongside him. She was some sort of cousin to the Cathcarts, and had come to live with them three months ago after her father died. Walter had never managed to get more than three words in succession out of her, and had no expectation of exceeding that number on the present occasion, but a silent dinner companion was better company than one who wanted to flirt inexpertly through two full courses.
Not that he minded flirtation, in the general run of events. A slow evening could be immeasurably enlivened by alittle delicate badinage, preferably witty. Just at the moment, however, it was the last thing he wanted. He could not see Winnie at all, for the table was fully extended and she was at the far end of it, but he was content to know she was there. Better not to see her, in fact, for her pale face and those huge eyes were a constant reproach. But he would do better… hewouldbe worthy of her, on that point he was determined.
So he applied himself diligently to being a good dinner guest, asking Lady Strong about her married daughters and receiving a great deal of unwanted detail about the progress of their present delicate conditions, although all couched in roundabout terms. Lady Strong was far too polite ever to mention such indecorous terms as‘baby’, ‘pregnancy’ or ‘confinement’to a gentleman, so it was a testament to her conversational skills that she could talk at such length on the subject.
Nor did Walter neglect Miss Parish, finding her more than willing to talk about her recently deceased father, her long dead mother, and the older brother tragically killed at sea. But he was able to express the usual platitudes appropriate to a man who had served his country admirably by joining the Royal Navy, and although she was too downcast to enjoy the fish, by the time it had been removed with a loin of beef, she had cheered up enough to eat a tolerably hearty meal.
Afterwards, Walter listened to the ladies’ musical performance, and applauded with enthusiasm, although only Miss Parish on the pianoforte and Lily on the harp showed any aptitude. After that, he willingly joined a group playing whist, until the ladies withdrew, and shortly after that he himself went upstairs.
“A good evening, sir?” Rashleigh said, helping him out of his coat.
“Very pleasant,” Walter said, in surprised tones. Ithadbeen pleasant, in fact, despite not exchanging a single word withWinnie. But she had been close by, she had sung very prettily after dinner, and he had heard her laughing once or twice at the large table where most of the young ones were engaged in a round game. So that was a relief.
Tomorrow, he would begin work again with Mr Alfred Strong, and there would be breakfast with Winnie and another whole evening for him to show her that he was a reformed character. He was no longer the arrogant, selfish, inconsiderate lout she thought him. He was humble and considerate and willing to please, and sooner or later she would notice and approve.
And perhaps, one day, far in the future, he might have sufficiently redeemed himself that she might look on him with favour. Dared he aspire to her hand? That might be too ambitious, but he could hope, surely. There was always hope.
25: An Imperfect Man
Captain Michael Edgerton had a great deal of experience in interviewing those he suspected might be able to help him investigate a crime. Some were enthusiastic, spilling every detail of their lives, and the lives of their friends, relations and casual acquaintances. Some were taciturn or sullen or argumentative or resentful. Generally, they were cooperative, and the higher up the social scale, the more likely to put a good face on it. But never before had he come across a noblewoman who simply barricaded herself in her boudoir and refused to speak to him at all. Whenever he asked, he received a swift response by way of the maid — the Lady Alice sends her regrets but is unable to oblige Captain Edgerton with another interview. Once was quite enough.
After several days, Michael went to the earl. “Can you not persuade her, my lord? I cannot move forward without speaking to her again.”
The earl heaved a sigh, a hunted look in his eyes. “The poor woman is grieving for her husband, Edgerton. Surely—”
“She has had almost two months to grieve in seclusion,” Michael said. “I need to talk to her.”
“But you cannot surely suspect her of—”
“I suspect everyone, andespeciallythe one person discovered standing beside the body, axe in hand, covered in blood,” Michael said sharply. “Whoever killed Nicholson would be coated in blood, but I have asked every single person in this castle if they saw any bloodstained garment, or any remains of one burned, or any item of clothing missing, and no one reports a single such case — except for one. I need to talk to her, my lord.”
“You have already talked to her at some length.”
“I have new information. There is the fact that the Lady Alice’s perfect husband sired an illegitimate son, and was having her jewellery copied, which is something that a lady might justifiably resent.”
“You cannot seriously suggest— Oh, this is ridiculous, Edgerton! Leave Alice alone. The answer lies outside this castle, we can be certain of that.”
“Can we? I wish I had your confidence, my lord. Very well, you leave me no choice but to ask the magistrate to arrest Lady Alice and take her to York gaol.”
“Arrest her!Arrest the sister of an earl?You exceed your authority, Edgerton. Besides, Strong will not act without my approval. My views do carry some weight in the county, you know. Neither you nor anyone else can gainsay a peer of the realm.”
