“Stanton and his wife are now dead, but I spoke to Stanton’s elderly valet, who lives in Yorkshire. Hence my recent journey there when last you called. Without prompting, Joseph Gutteride told a similar story, and also”—he held up a hand—“said he was sure a murder had been committed on the premises around that time.”
Tingles raced along Jack’s nerve endings. “‘Amurder’? Did he have any idea who the victim was?”
“A woman,” he said. “Saw it happen, but Stanton paid him off and sent him away. I was hired to identify the lady whose body had been buried there. At time, she remains unknown.”
“Mr. Everton, I wish to hire you to keep me informed about anything you discover concerning the body. But also, I would like you to find someone for me.”
Everton’s eyes widened. “And who would that be, my lord?”
“Mr. Roland Stanton. He is in hiding, so it won’t be easy. You could look for him at the Sedgewick estate, where he has established himself as the heir to the earldom. I doubt he’ll be there now,however. If you find him, do nothing to alert him to his being followed. Just advise me of his whereabouts as soon as possible.”
Jack suspected Roland would be difficult to find, even for the likes of an accomplished Bow Street Runner. He stood, pulled out his wallet, and handed Everton all the money he had. “Take this on account. I shall be in Kent myself shortly and should like to arrange to meet you in London on my return.”
“Very good, my lord. I shall work my fingers to the bone to find Stanton. He won’t escape me.”
Jack went in search of a hackney. As he walked along the pavement to a hackney stand, he went over what he had learned from Everton. If it were true that Roland Stanton was not the legal heir, it would indeed make sense of Roland’s strange behavior. He would need to marry Prudence to ensure the properties and investments she’d inherited, at least, would become his, should his father’s guilt be uncovered, and he lost his right to the earldom.
As for the murder on Stanton’s property, had Jack’s mother found out the truth about the baby? His father had told him she’d been a caring soul, who’d helped the poor folk in the area. If Mrs. Stanton and the former Viscountess Hereford had been close friends, it was conceivable that she had gone at Mrs. Stanton’s bequest to support her through a difficult time, after Stanton’s mistress had usurped her position in the house. Horrific as the possibility was, it made sense.
The Stanton residence was one of the first places they’d looked for Jack’s mother. Only to be told they hadn’t seen her. But could she have gone to see Mrs. Stanton to offer her support, after she’d left Briggs that day? And could she have come across Stanton on the grounds and confronted him? He knew Mrs. Stanton had died soon after. Had she been murdered, too?
The thought of what might come to light—that it could be his mother’s body lying in the cold ground for all those years while his father had mourned—made Jack ill. Before he could do anything else,he had to go down to Kent. He needed to see the body. Could there still be something remaining in that grave that could identify her as his mother? A pain settled in the back of his throat at the knowledge that he hadn’t loved her all these years, when it appeared it hadn’t been her wish to leave him. While his first wish was to send Prudence a letter about the discovery of their astonishing connection from the past, he decided to wait until he had something concrete to tell her. No sense giving her hope when it was pure conjecture at this point. Far better to find Stanton and deal with him first. This was unsettling enough for her as it was.
*
Jack drove thecurricle out of the avenue of trees. Ahead, on a slight rise, stood the graceful Georgian building of warm stone, ivy encroaching on the wall of the eastern wing. He pulled the horses up for a moment to reflect on the past before he faced the painful mission ahead of him. Glenhaven Park looked much the same as it had when he had left it. The gardens required attention, and the window frames needed to be painted, but nothing in the house seemed to have changed since his father had died. The housekeeper and her husband, along with the skeleton staff, could only do so much. Jack’s ideas for improving the lands had never been implemented. His position with the government demanded so much of his time. And, if he were honest, he wished to avoid the disturbing mystery that clung to those walls and permeated the corridors and rooms where his father had sadly lived out his final days.
Jack had been too young to remember his mother, beyond a sweetly scented woman holding him in her arms, and nothing of the day she disappeared. But Briggs, her groom, still worked for the family. And it was he Jack wished to see.
He slapped the reins with resolve and drove into the stable courtyard,where he handed the reins to Joseph before jumping down.
One of the newer young grooms hurried out to them. “Milord?”
“Where might Briggs be found, Jed?”
“He’s exercising the horses, milord. Should be back any moment.”
Jack stepped into the stables’ gloomy interior and was immediately struck with a wave of nostalgia at the familiar, warm, earthy, and slightly sweet smell of hay, with pungent undertones of linseed oil, leather, and horse. He was assailed with memories of his life as a young boy here. Not all were sad: riding his favorite horse, accompanying the gamekeeper into the woods to bag a brace of quail for dinner, which was the one thing he did that made his father smile.
At the clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobbles, Jack stepped out to meet Briggs, who was mounted on a gelding while leading two other horses.
Briggs’s face broke into a smile. “Good day to you, milord.” He bowed in the saddle and removed his hat to reveal his brown hair, which had turned almost completely gray. A lean, agile fellow even now, he dismounted effortlessly and handed the reins to Jed. “May I be of assistance?”
“Walk with me a moment, Briggs.”
Briggs rubbed his forehead, clearly baffled, but he matched Jack’s stride as they crossed the stable-yard to a quiet corner near the coach house.
“I know you were questioned many times about the day my mother disappeared, but I’d like to go over it again in case something vital was missed. Even the smallest thing might be helpful.”
Briggs nodded, a dazed look in his eyes. “Of course, milord.”
“You and Lady Hereford were returning to the house after a ride—this, of course, I know—when your horse’s hoof picked up a stone.” He paused and waited for Briggs to continue.
“That is just as it was, my lord. I’d dismounted to remove it and urged Lady Hereford to ride on without me, as a storm threatened.That done, I rode on, expecting to join her, but when I reached the house, I found she had not arrived.”
“Think back, for a moment, Briggs. While you attended to the horse’s shoe as my mother rode off, could you have seen or perhaps sensed anything unusual?”
Briggs paused. “One thing that struck me as odd at the time. I saw her take the left fork in the path, which leads away from the house.” He removed his hat and scratched his head. “But I did tell your father that, and inquiries were made at all the surrounding properties. Lady Hereford hadn’t gone to the church and wasn’t seen in the village.” He shrugged, his eyes reflecting his curiosity at such questioning. “That is all I can tell you.”
