Caversham's Bride (The Caversham Chronicles - Book One) (38 page)

According to Millicent’s servants, not one of her stepdaughters ever visited her, and they requested she not visit their father’s tomb on the estate as he is laid to rest near their mother. In a recent correspondence with the husband of the eldest daughter, Ren was told that Mrs. Linley’s family should make arrangements for her interment after her passing as the daughter’s wished their stepmother not be buried on the grounds of their family home, with their mother and father.

If ever there was a contemptible family to avoid, it was this one. Ren was certain that the animosity of her stepdaughters weighed heavily on his aunt. She likely felt alone and unwanted. Hers was a situation that could cause even the strongest of women to fall into melancholy. Depending on how this visit went, he would speak with his wife about either taking in Aunt Millicent, or bringing her to live closer to Haldenwood, perhaps set her up in the village where she was born.

Aunt Millicent’s manservant, Mr. Fletcher, took the reins of his horse as he rode into the stable yard. A burly man, he was a good hand with the small number of livestock they had, and he kept the minimal grounds tidy. His wife, Mrs. Fletcher, cooked and cleaned for the three of them.

Ren hadn’t spoken to his aunt since the funeral, though he’d corresponded with her once. In that letter, she didn’t sound as separated from reality as the Fletchers made her sound in their recent note. Ren asked Fletcher about the situation before he went in to speak with her.

“Mrs. Linley has been crazed of late, Your Grace. Says the wildest things, she does.”

“Such as?”

“She says her son is very much alive, an’ she sees him at night when he comes to visit her. She says he tells her that he’s coming for her one day soon and he’s goin to take her to live in London with him.”

When Ren felt he’d heard enough, he sought out his aunt. He ducked his head as he stepped down into the warm reception room, where his aunt sat in her rocking chair before the fire. Her hands were folded together in her lap, her eyes closed, as though in prayer.

If possible, she appeared much older than even five months ago when they buried Thomas. Her gray hair was almost white now and cut short. His aunt’s once radiant skin and full cheeks were now ashen and sunken into the bony recesses of her face. Her clothes were clean, as was her home. Ren cleared his throat and she lifted her gray-green eyes to his and smiled.

“Your Grace, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” She called for Mrs. Fletcher, then rose and slowly made the three steps to stand before him.

Ren kissed her cheeks and said, “I came to wish you Happy Christmas, Aunt.”

He led her back to her seat before the fire, and he took the chair opposite her. “I’ve also come to see how you fare. To ask if you are happy here, and see if there is anything I can do for you.”

“No, no. I am well. Except that I cannot read or do my cross-stitching any longer because the eyes do not see well enough.” She lowered her gaze, and said sheepishly, “It is also why I have not replied to your last letter.”

Ren thought she looked well, though seemed a little nervous. “Think nothing of it, Aunt. That is why I am here to check on your welfare.”

She brightened at that. “You have always had a caring heart, Your Grace, even as a child. And I hear that you are now to have child of your own soon. How wonderful for you.”

“Yes. My wife and I are very pleased by the addition to the family.” Ren wanted to ask her how she learned of Lia’s condition, but she soon started in on the delusional talk.

“Yes, Thomas told me on one of his earlier visits that you’d married and were expecting an heir. He’s also married, you know, and his wife is expecting a child as well.” She clapped her hands happily and said, “What fun it will be next Christmas when we have both babes under the same roof. You will come to visit next year too, won’t you?”

Ren nodded, playing along with her imagination so as not to upset her. Mrs. Fletcher brought in the tea cart, and poured.

“Thank you, Edna,” his aunt said. Once the housekeeper left the room, she continued, “Of course Thomas is planning to remove us from Cornwall to London, as it’s more civilized and there are the various entertainments a young couple such as he and his wife enjoy. He says I will live with them and watch my grandchildren grow.” She passed him a dessert plate with little cookies, and he took one and set it aside. “Thomas has turned his life around, Your Grace, he has seen the error of his youthful indiscretions and is now in the black, having married an heiress.”

When he first arrived she appeared normal, and he was hard pressed to conclude his aunt was losing her mind. But when she began to speak of her dead son as though he still lived, Ren knew she skated the edge of sanity.

“Where is Thomas these days?” he asked. “I haven’t seen him in months.”

“He’s living with his wife’s family in Yorkshire, though they are planning a move soon.” His aunt shook her head, the only sign of confusion he’d seen thus far. “To Town,” his aunt said uncertainly, “Yes, to Town. That’s what he said.”

Ren continued his interview in the least aggressive way he knew. He appeared genuinely interested, as he continued. “He must have married whilst I was out of the country. Whom did he marry? Anyone I know?”

“Your Grace, your memory is as troubled as mine if you do not recall,” his aunt stated. “Why he married Lord Skeffington’s eldest, Lady Margaret.” She appeared a little more confused here, but kept on with her tale. “Thomas said you weren’t at all pleased when they came to you and told you of their love. But he said you... understood and gave your blessing.”

Ren played the part of the adle-brained one to ease his aunt’s growing upset. “I remember now, Aunt! That’s right. He’s very right! I did forget.” He watched her relax as she understood his words. “I’m sure it’s because I remember no woman before my wife. I love her you know.”

“That is wonderful dear. I loved my Whitby all those years ago. The Admiral and I could have had a amiable relationship if his daughters hadn’t filled his head with lies. But that is all done now. The Admiral is gone, and his daughters have banned me from visiting his grave at the family chapel.

“I pray for their souls, you know,” she said wistfully. “The Admiral’s, Whitby’s, my brother’s and your mother’s and stepmother’s.”

“We all appreciate that, Aunt.” He set his cup on the tray and rose. “Well, I must be off. I have some business to tend in Plymouth in the morning, and hope to make it home by Christmas.”

After saying his good-byes, Ren left with an uneasy feeling. One that began the moment she started to speak of Thomas as though he were still alive. Ren lied to his aunt about where he was staying, just in case they buried the wrong man, and she told her son where to find him.

Ren weathered the cold wind and persistent mist to ride straight through to the inn near Falmouth where he met with the rest of his retinue and returned the borrowed horse. They then left immediately for London. He had to speak to Michael. He needed to know if Michael was certain that they’d buried Thomas on that day five months earlier.

O
ne gray, snowy afternoon, Lia left her sitting room in search of the book she’d been reading. She couldn’t remember where she’d set it down, and decided to start her search in the library, as that was the last place she remembered having it.

The children had been very excited during luncheon, and Elise and Lady Sewell explained to Lia about their holiday tradition of collecting holly one week before Christmas. It was a big event—an afternoon where the entire family and staff spent time hunting the perfect boughs with plump red berries for use in decorating. So Elise and both children, along with several footmen and gardeners bundled up and went in out into the snow to cut only the best boughs.

While the children were out, Lady Sewell napped, as she would be the one directing all the decoration of the public rooms with greenery as soon as they returned. And, when they got back to the house, the children were promised warm chocolate and cookies by Cook.

After retrieving her book, Lia passed Mrs. Davies on her way to the linen pantry to see about the holiday table cloth for the family dining table. “Mrs. Davies, how much longer will the children be out?”

Mistaking her frown for one of worry, she added, “It usually takes an entire afternoon to collect the quantities necessary for decorating the entire home. If you’re worried about the children, I know they are all bundled up nice and warm, and there are several footmen and gardeners with them Your Grace. You needn’t worry.”

“Oh, that isn’t it, Mrs. Davies,” she sighed. “It’s just that I would have loved to get some crisp, fresh air myself.”

“Your Grace, as much as any one of us would love to escort you on a walk outdoors, His Grace has ordered that you are not to leave the home.” The housekeeper’s expression, though sympathetic, told her she would not break her husband’s wishes.

“I know,” she said, the tone of dejection not lost on the other woman. A crash from the vicinity of the kitchens caught Mrs Davies’ attention, and she excused herself. Once Lia had her book in hand, she turned to go back to her room, when another light contraction tightened across her belly. She held on to the back of a chair near the door, pressing a fist into her low back, hoping to relieve the muscle cramping. Once the muscles relaxed, Lia decided to return to her room for a nap.

She hoped this situation in Cornwall would be settled soon. She truly felt sorry for her husband’s aunt. The widow lost her only child several months ago, and Lia could understand how the grief might cause the woman to lose her grasp on reality.

Lia thought about Ren’s most recent letter, and his promise to be home in time for Christmas. She couldn’t wait for him to return, and for their child to be born. Then she could resume a normal life. In the foyer, Lia looked up the marble staircase to the gallery landing, wondering if there were anyone she could call to escort her.

Odd, she thought, as Lia found herself suddenly alone. It was a strange feeling. Having been virtually shadowed for the past few months, she felt a bit uncomfortable standing there in the vastness of the hallway, with no one around.

Wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders, she placed a foot on the first step, deciding to go up alone, just as she heard a knock at the front door. Lia waited, thinking someone surely would answer it.

A moment later, whoever it was knocked again. Realizing how cold it was out, and wondering if it were one of the children, she waddled to the door and pulled it open. She saw no one, and stepped out onto the great porch. “Children? Is that you Luchino? Playing games, are we?”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

R
en sat in his office at Caversham House, with Michael across the desk from him. Both men tried to remember the condition of the body that had come out of the Thames that day in July. Michael was the first to see the beaten and decomposing body, as it took Ren a full day to return to Town after receiving Michael’s urgent note, which meant Ren relied heavily on his friend’s opinion.

Michael listed off the things he remembered. “First, we both acknowledge that the body was savagely beaten, shot, and spent at least a day in the river.” After Ren nodded, Michael continued. “He appeared to be the right age, height and size, as Thomas. Your cousin was never as tall as you and I, nor as broad. The straight brown hair appeared the same. The face was less identifiable because of the beating it took with a club or heavy stick of some sort. Teeth were broken or missing altogether, and there was some damage caused by fish, and lastly, there was a ball to the chest, which is likely what killed him.” Michael rested back in the chair. “I would make the same determination today, as I did that day.”

Ren stood, went to the window, and looked out onto the street below. “The items found on the body, in the pockets were his. He was wearing the fob and watch that was his father’s. The silver snuff box was engraved to him from a former mistress, and we verified she gifted that to Thomas several years ago.”

It didn’t feel right. Something about the whole thing just didn’t feel right. Thinking on it, he decided it began with the personal effects on the body. Why didn’t he question this before?

“There was no robbery,” Ren mused aloud. “It was a well-known fact that Thomas was in dun territory. If a creditor sent a bludger after him, you’d think he’d remove anything of value Thomas had on his person.” His eyes grew wide as he went on, the truth began to unfold. “But, if someone was trying to fake his death, wouldn’t he choose a person who looked like him, and then plant some of his personal effects on the man? Then see to it that the one thing that would make him distinguishable from all others was destroyed?”

Michael started to catch his meaning. “The man’s face was unrecognizable because of the beating.”

Ren nodded as he began to pace the floor. “The beating alone, then throwing him into the river would have killed him. But what if the man was shot first, and already dead when the watch and snuff box were planted on the body. Then, knowing determination of identity would include, at least to some extent, facial recognition, they beat the face beyond what is recognizable....” He turned to Michael and stated, “It all makes too much sense. It’s too clean. Too perfect.