“Ah, you are a good, sensible girl, Katherine, and you know not to set your sights on the moon. Aveline likes to flirt with him, of course, and he is good-natured enough to humour her, but he will never marry her, or any of my girls. They grew up together like brothers and sisters, and that is a high barrier to overcome. If ever he had developed a true affection for Aveline we should have seen it by now. She was wild to go riding with you sometimes for the chance of seeing him, but I would not let her. It is quite a waste of her time. Whereas you are a new face here, so there is always a possibility. That is why I throw no rub in the way of your friendship with Mr Kent, for if heshouldhappen to fall in love with you… However, you must not get your hopes up, for I see no sign of it, and I dare say the earl would disapprove, so it is not to be thought of. And with only a thousand pounds to your name… you understand me, I am sure.”
“Yes, aunt.”
“Besides, if all he talks about is mills and such like, that does not sound very romantic. Next year, when Susan is old enough to venture into society, we shall all go to the assemblies at York… and Scarborough, too. We cannot aspire to London, but we shall find some way to show you off and find you a husband suitable to your station, you may be sure. There now, you look a little less bedraggled. I shall order some tea in the parlour. That will do you good. Come down whenever you are ready.”
“Thank you, aunt.”
Her aunt bustled out again, leaving Katherine in welcome solitude. The room was still filled with her aunt’s strong perfume, so she opened a window to allow fresher air to penetrate. Then she returned to her dressing table, and unlocked the lowest drawer. From it, she drew forth her mother’s prettily lacquered jewellery box. Inside there were three layers.
The top section contained the modestly unassuming pieces that Katherine wore regularly — simple crosses and pendants, a few pairs of ear drops, a bracelet or two. Beneath that, her mother’s beautiful items that Katherine would wear for formal occasions when she married — a diamond set that dazzled in the sunlight, some garnets, a sapphire pendant, several hair ornaments. She tried them on sometimes, just for the pleasure of seeing and touching them, feeling the weight of each piece and the chill against her skin when she first put it on.
But below that was another, secret, layer. All it contained were the few coins she had managed to save over the years, no more than a hundred pounds or so, and the precious papers in Papa’s hand. One contained the names and directions of the trustees of her mother’s dowry, now hers, and there were letters of authority to the trustees and the bank, the records of her baptism and confirmation, and a copy of her parents’ marriage settlement. These papers were all bound up together with red string, and she had never read them, but Papa had explained them to her when he had handed them over. It was two years ago, just as he was about to borrow a great deal of money to build the new mill.
“Katherine, your mother’s money has always been set aside for you, but now that the bank is taking such a close interest in my financial affairs, I don’t want there to be any confusion about what’s yours and what’s mine. Your grandfather always trusted me with your mother’s money and made no conditions, but I never took so much as a penny piece from it, and now I’ve tied it all up in a trust fund so the bank can’t get hold of it, no matter what.”
“Is it a great deal of money, Papa? Am I rich?” she teased.
He laughed. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no. Just a modest amount and some investments, which have never brought in more than a few pounds a year, but it’s yours, and I won’t let anyone take it away from you. If ever you lose the papers and I am not here, you can go to Mr Monteath. He knows all about it. But don’t tell anyone, sweetheart. It’s our little secret, understand? I wouldn’t want any fortune-hunters to think you’re a worthwhile target. When you marry, make sure he wants you just for yourself.”
She had counted the coins and gently lifted out the bundle of letters many times while the new mill was being built, and the beam engine and spinning machines installed. It was a comfort whenever there was a delay, or something cost more than expected, and her father’s usually cheerful face wore a frown. Whatever the value of her trust fund and the jewellery itself, it would be something to help them to rebuild their life if the new mill should fail.
Now that hope was gone, but still she kept the secret and it reassured her that if ever life at Cathcart House became unbearable, she had the means to leave.
***
ForKent,keptbusyby his father’s need for company, by Eustace’s little games and by his discussion of engines with Miss Parish, the summer quietly slipped away, but it was not without its share of surprises. If the idea of Walter, lazy, easy-going Walter who never exerted himself in the least, knuckling down to learn to be a man of numbers at the Treasury in London was astonishing enough, he managed to astonish his relations even more by betrothing himself to Winnie Strong. No one had the least objection to Winnie, a sensible good-hearted girl who had known Walter all her life, especially considering that his previous choice, the bouncy Bea Franklyn, had been the very opposite of sensible. Still, it was unexpected, that much was certain.
Then there was an even bigger shock, for quiet, bookish Cousin Bertram was betrothed to the not at all quiet or bookish Bea Franklyn. And the most curious element of all was that both these pairings turned out to be love matches, and the four of them drifted about with beatific smiles all day long.
Neither of these events managed to amaze the inhabitants of Birchall and Corland quite as much, however, as the news that a man had confessed to the murder of the earl’s chaplain, Mr Arthur Nicholson.
“Do you know him, this Tom Shapman?” Kent asked Miss Parish, the next time they rode together. “He lives in Birchall. You might have bumped into a murderer any time you went into the village.”
“I would not recognise him, no,” she replied. “I know his little workshop, and sometimes when I passed by, the door was open and a man was in there, hard at work, but I never had any reason to go in or to speak to him. The sign on the door says that he is a woodworker and locksmith, so I suppose he was able to break into the castle. A locksmith could open any door, could he not?”
“A locked door, yes, but not one that was bolted on the inside,” Kent said. “The main doors to the entrance hall had two locks and two bolts, and two butlers who swear they were all fastened, but at the basement level there are four doors, and no one is sure whether they were locked or bolted at all. There was a window with a broken latch, as well. It would not have taken the skills of a locksmith to enter the castle that night. Any random wanderer could have done it.”
“But it was not a random wanderer, it was Tom Shapman, woodworker and locksmith, and the real question, surely, is why? Why would a woodworker want to kill a chaplain?”
“Ah, now as to that, one might hazard a guess. Shapman wanted to marry Nicholson’s daughter last year. Went to the castle in his best Sunday suit and asked Nicholson for permission, as bold as you please.”
“I imagine the answer was somewhat brief,” she said.
“And loud. Nicholson called him an insufferable puppy, as I recall, and other, less savoury, expressions. Ranted about it over the port until we were all sick of it.”
“It does seem a little presumptuous.”
“Well, Tess put him up to it, naturally. Cousin Tess is a wild spirit, Miss Parish, who goes her own way, regardless of the wishes of other people or even propriety, it has to be said. She will go her length one of these days, and even my father will not be able to save her.”
“How old is Miss Nicholson?”
“Tess must be… let me see… twenty, I suppose.”
“Then she will be of age in under a year and may marry wherever she pleases, even a woodworker and locksmith. Those few extra months of waiting are hardly worth killing for, I should have said.”
“Precisely,” Kent said, pleased by her quickness. “It makes no sense at all, and the funniest part is that Captain Edgerton is exceedingly cross about it.”
“Cross that someone confessed? Surely he should be pleased?”
