Katherine could not agree with him. Any letter from Corland about her was bound to be bad news, as far as she could see. What was there of good news to be had? Kent was no longer her friend, and nothing else mattered to her at that moment.
When she left the breakfast parlour, Davis was waiting for her. “The mistress would like you to attend her in her sitting room, madam.”
The sitting room! The place of reprimand and, most recently, of banishment to Helmsley. As she entered the room, terror filled her heart — she was to be sent away again, she was certain of it now, and she could not—
“I have received a letter from Mr Kent Atherton,” her aunt said brightly.
Kent! A letter! That was not what she had expected at all, and it could not be about anything terrible, for her aunt was smiling. Her astonishment must have shown on her face, for her aunt laughed.
“Yes, I was surprised, too, but it is very proper of him. He could not write to you directly, so he wrote to me instead, and a very good letter it is, too. I do not entirely understand it, for it concerns matters of secrecy, so I shall not press you on the point. I am sure if the Athertons have secrets, they must have good reason for them, so there is no need for me to know anything about it. I would never ask you to break a confidence. Your uncle and I are agreed that you should have the letter, for it is intended for you, my dear, and there is nothing in it to put you to the blush. Well… any more than usual, that is. I never saw such a girl for blushing! But you will grow out of it in time, I dare say. There, my dear. Read it, and if you want to talk about it later, I am happy to do so.”
Pressing the letter into Katherine’s hands, she rose and left the room, leaving Katherine in a state of utter turmoil. But there was only one way to settle her mind, and that was to read what Kent had written.
‘Mrs Alan Cathcart, Cathcart House, Birchall. Madam, Pray forgive me for approaching you in this unusual way, but I am at a loss to know how else to proceed. A situation has arisen regarding Miss Parish which my conscience absolutely requires me to address at the earliest opportunity, yet I cannot write to her directly, nor do I feel that I can speak to her. Not only must the subject be a painful one for her, but I feel it important to measure my words with the utmost care lest I make a difficult situation worse. I must throw myself on your mercy, therefore, and trust to your excellent judgement as to how much of this to convey to Miss Parish.
‘You will, I am sure, be aware that a breach has occurred between Miss Parish and me. I do not know how much she has disclosed to you, but for my part I cannot speak of it, since it is a matter of secrecy involving others which I cannot honourably expose. You may therefore have to take my word for it that the cause is a serious matter of principle. Miss Parish then acted according to her own high principles. At the time, this made me angry, and to my shame I spoke to her in terms which no gentlemen should ever use against a lady. This occurred on the Sabbath, too, and within the shadow of the church itself, which only makes my disgrace the greater. I am deeply ashamed of my behaviour, and beseech you to convey to Miss Parish my profound apologies for the insult I offered her. I do not ask for her forgiveness, for I know it to be impossible that she should ever think well of me again.
‘As to the other matter which stands between us, I cannot yet resolve the argument in my mind, or make a clear separation of right and wrong, for there are good and proper considerations on both sides. Accordingly, I do not know whether we can move forward from this, and if so, how it may be done. I can only say that my discussions with Miss Parish have led me to consider my own principles more seriously than I have ever done before, and for that I am deeply grateful to her.
‘I shall shortly be going away for a while to reflect upon recent events more carefully without the distractions of familiar surroundings, where it would be too tempting to fall back into my previous ill-considered ways. I hope to emerge from this process improved in character, at least in a small way, so that I may look to my own future with greater confidence.
‘If it please you, madam, may you convey to Miss Parish my very good wishes and assure her that I shall always hold her in the greatest esteem. I am respectfully yours, Kent Atherton.’
Katherine hardly knew what to make of it. He held her in esteem! That was something, surely? It was not a complete rejection, and he talked of reflecting on his own principles and his previous ill-considered ways. That sounded almost like a repudiation of his wickedness, and yet he said he could not determine what was right or wrong. That was very bad — surely he could see the evil in his actions? And yet… on the whole, she thought it was encouraging.
But oh, how she would miss him when he was away! However awkward it might be to meet him occasionally, or even if she never saw him at all, the knowledge that he was still there, somewhere in the neighbourhood, was a comfort. Merely knowing that at any moment — at church, perhaps, or in the village, or on one of her rides — she might look up and there he would be was something to brighten every day. Now there was only the sorrow that infused her heart and seeped throughout her body whenever she was alone, and especially in the dark, lonely hours of the night. Only in her music could she find any solace.
***
Kentarrivedearlyatthe tower to check that all was in order. Wallace was there, and together they walked through the now empty cellars.
“It all looks suspiciously clean for an abandoned tower,” Kent said.
Wallace gave a grunt that might have been laughter. “Sir Hubert won’t say owt, Mr Kent. Don’t worry. I’ve brought some decent wine, beer for the men and summat to eat, so if owt goes amiss, at least you can get tha’sen foxed.”
Kent chuckled. “You think of everything. Thank you! Now get yourself off. I am the only one needed today.”
After that, there was nothing to do but lay out food and drink on the big table in the main room and await the arrival of the magistrate.
He came in state, with half a dozen hefty fellows, although two of them Kent recognised as part of the smuggling operation, and all of them were local men who greeted him deferentially. Sir Hubert patted him cheerfully on the back with a reassuring smile. At least he knew that Sir Hubert was on his side, and quite happy to turn a blind eye to the smuggling, so long as his supply of brandy was unchecked.
But there was one additional man in the party, and it was the one that Kent dreaded.
“I have invited Captain Edgerton along as a pair of independent eyes,” Sir Hubert said. “Make sure we do everything in the proper form, you know. You have no objection, I am sure?”
And Kent was forced to smile and bow to the captain, and say that no, he had not the least objection in the world.
The captain smiled, baring gleaming teeth, and made him a florid bow. At his side hung his habitual sword, and his greatcoat pockets were weighed down with what Kent was sure were pistols.
The day had just become immeasurably more dangerous.
20: Mule Droppings
Kentlostnotimein showing the visitors into the tower’s cellars, where they walked all around, ostentatiously looking behind the two empty wine racks, tapping the walls and scuffing the floor for signs of a trapdoor. Kent had to admire the convincing way they set about their work, even though it was obvious nothing could possibly be concealed in so empty a place.
Captain Edgerton ambled about behind the others, looking very much amused, as if he saw through the pretence. Would he comment on the noticeable smell of brandy pervading the air? He would not. He said not a word, merely nodding when Sir Hubert asked if he were satisfied, and then brought up the rear as everyone trooped back up the stairs.
Tankards of beer were passed round to the men, who stuffed their pockets with pastries and wandered outside. Sir Hubert Strong and Captain Edgerton sat down and sipped wine, chatting about nothing in particular, as if this were merely an ordinary morning call.
