The Westwick Heights family appeared then, making the room seem crowded and noisy, as greetings were exchanged. Uncle George had the same patrician air as Uncle Charles and Tess’s mother, but then they could not help being the childrenof an earl. Aunt Jane made straight for Mama, seeing her as the greatest object of compassion in the room. Tess did not dislike Aunt Jane, for there was nothing objectionable about her at all, but she had never attracted her aunt’s attention. She was far too healthy to be an object to a lady whose only interest in life was ailments — her own and everyone else’s.
At noon, the appointed time for the meeting, the study door opened and they were allowed inside. As they drifted across the library and squeezed into the little round room, one of the corner towers of the castle, Tess’s cousin Bertram asked how she was. He was the only person to address her.
Then, because Eustace was late, as usual, they all had to wait for him to arrive, giving everyone plenty of time to detect the shocked expression on Walter’s face and the grey, tear-stained cheeks of Aunt Caroline. Bad news, then, without a doubt.
Tess could not have imagined just how bad it was. Her father — her wretched,wickedfather — who had been chaplain at Corland Castle for thirty years, who had married Uncle Charles and Aunt Caroline, had, it appeared, never been ordained at all. He was not a clergyman, and not qualified to conduct marriages. The earl’s marriage was invalid and all his children rendered illegitimate.
No wonder Walter was shocked. As the heir to the earldom and all the entailed estates, he had held the courtesy title of Viscount Birtwell. Now, thanks to Tess’s father, all that had been taken from him. He hadnothing.No inheritance, no title, not even the modest comfort of being a legitimate son. Uncle George, the earl’s younger brother, was now the heir presumptive, and Bertram after him, and the two of them looked as shocked as anyone else.
There were many questions asked, of course, but nothing could make things right and set everything back the way it was. The women wept, the men were grim-faced and Walter leftalmost at once to inform his betrothed, Bea Franklyn, that she would never be the Countess of Rennington, merely Mrs Walter Atherton.
Tess crept away to her favourite hiding place, a small balcony high above the main staircase, and pondered her situation. She was one of the few unaffected by the change in the family’s fortunes. Her own father’s marriage had been conducted by the parish parson, so she herself was still legitimate, still bound by the terms of that stupid will. Her uncles, aunts and cousins were in disarray, but her life had not changed at all, except that her father’s perfidy was now revealed for all to see. She had always known him for a rogue, but she had never suspected that his wickedness stretched so far.
She saw the others emerge below her, dispersing to their own favourite places to ponder their broken lives. They were silent, by long habit saying nothing in front of the servants, but that was mere foolishness. This could not be hidden from anyone, not the servants, not acquaintances, not the malicious section of society in London that would gloat over such a downfall. It would be in the newspapers, very likely, and the entire world would know the worst of her father.
What a wicked man he had been! No wonder someone had murdered him. Tess had always known that he was lining his own pockets at the earl’s expense, always suspected that there was more she did not know, but this was beyond anything. To pretend to be a clergyman for all these years… to put himself forward as a pious, God-fearing man, and yet to be living such an enormous lie — it was incredible!
The castle fell into its afternoon slumber. A carriage arrived at the front door, but was turned away. No one was receiving callers today. After a while, the Westwick Heights family appeared, their carriage was summoned and they departed. Then silence again. Below her, only the occasional footmanstriding past importantly on some unknown errand disturbed the afternoon’s tranquillity.
All at once, Tess could not bear to be still. There was nothing more to be learnt at the castle, so she would unburden herself to Tom, her faithful friend. Betty and Harold, her mother’s watchdogs, were nowhere to be seen, for once, so Tess slipped down the service stairs and out through the garden door, collecting an ancient bonnet from a peg as she passed by. Then she was free, striding down the path to Birchall.
Tom was out, only the village woman who cleaned for him busy at the workshop, and she was soon finished. Tess made herself a pot of tea and waited for Tom to return. But he did not come, only Betty and Harold, indignant at being left behind.
“You shouldn’t go off on your own, Miss Tess,” Betty scolded. “Anything could happen if we’re not by to protect you.”
“What could happen to me in Birchall village, where everyone knows me?” Tess said.
“If you come callin’ on Tom Shapman all by yourself, you know what folk’ll say ’boutthat,”Betty said. “We’re here to look after you.”
“And tell my mother everything I do,” Tess said with a spurt of anger. “Do not imagine me ignorant of your true purpose.”
“Shedoesask, it’s true,” Betty said, lifting her chin. “After all, she can’t see herself, so she has to have other eyes watchin’ over you. But we don’t tell her all you get up to. No point in worryin’ the poor lady, now is there? You’d be amazed if you knew how often you pray in church or deliver potted meat to the poor.” She chuckled. “Leastways, that’s what we tell her ladyship. But we’re loyal toyou, Miss Tess, first and last. We’ll keep you safe, but we won’t betray your secrets.”
Tess did not for one moment believe them, but it was beneath her dignity to argue with servants, even such familiar ones as Betty and Harold. Betty had been a junior nursemaid whenTess was still in the nursery, a well-built girl willing to wade into fights between the older boys and haul the combatants apart, or carry a younger child bodily, but for ten years now she had belonged to Tess alone, acting as lady’s maid as well as chaperon. Harold had been added when Tess was twelve, and already showing a propensity for wandering far and wide. Her mother had never attempted to stop the wandering, merely providing an escort to rescue her if she got into too much trouble.
Eventually, Tess gave up waiting for Tom, and set off back to the castle, Betty puffing in her wake and Harold loping along behind. Almost the first person she met as she crossed the great hall and set foot on the stairs was Captain Edgerton coming down them, light-footedly skipping from step to step. He was an unlikely person to be investigating her father’s murder, having been a soldier in India, and still displaying a military air, a sword always hanging at his waist. He was amusing, however, and polite, too. Now he stopped on the half-landing beside Eustace’s display of armoury and made her a flourishing bow.
“Miss Nicholson. I trust I see you well?”
“As well as ever, Captain. Have you discovered who killed my father yet?”
“Not as yet, ma’am, but progress is being made, I feel.”
“Is it?” she said disbelievingly. “And have you found any trace of my fortune?”
Instantly, he was wary. “There was nothing in your father’s safe beyond the items already disclosed to you, Miss Nicholson — around a thousand pounds in cash, a few documents of no great moment and your mother’s jewels.”
“And nothing elsewhere? Under the floorboards? Up the chimney? A secret drawer?”
He grinned, showing a fine set of gleaming teeth. “Nothing like that, and believe me, we have looked. We have lookedeverywhere.”
“What about this house at Pickering?”
“Let on a long-term lease, and the tenant says that Mr Nicholson never went there. All her dealings have been through the attorney. Miss Nicholson…” He looked sorrowful suddenly. “I would love there to be a great fortune awaiting you, but your father was a sensible man. Whatever wealth he possessed would be held in the bank, not stuffed up a chimney.”
“I am sure you are right, sir,” she said demurely.
But she was entirely certain he was wrong. The house at Pickering… that had possibilities. She would talk to Tom about it.
