Coming Home (20 page)

C
OLLY PACED. THE large library enabled him to stretch his long legs with ease.

How should he go about this? He knew her longing for family, yet he had just received word that her uncle's body had been found, slit from belly to throat near Goodman's Fields. And nobody had seen her aunt since yesterday. The maid, Annie, had told the marquess's man that ‘The missus acted a bit strange, sir. Last night it was. She hurried through the kitchen, pushing Cook out of the way, and ran across the fields at the back of the house. James went after her but he couldn't find her. Nobody's seen her since.'

Colly braced himself for some difficult questions from Juliana.

But when she entered the library he could see that, far from seeking answers, she would have avoided this interview if she could. Her borrowed dimity dress swung loosely, showing an entrancing view of neat ankles as she trod towards him.

He bowed, but before he could speak she said, ‘Mr Hetherington, I must thank you most sincerely for all your care of me over the past few weeks. I – I seem to be falling into danger wherever I go, thanks to my wretched family.' Her voice lowered on the last word.

He tried to see her face, but she kept her head down. He took a breath. ‘I'm afraid I have some more bad news about your family, Juliana.'

She tried to make light of it. ‘I did not think things could possibly get worse.'

He stepped closer and took her hand. ‘Juliana, your uncle has been murdered. They found his body in London, not far from where we found Kit and Tilly.'

‘Oh!' She stared at him in horror. Then, recovering, she said, ‘Well, that's not precisely
bad
news, Mr Hetherington. At least he can't hurt anyone else. I mean—'

‘I understand.' He massaged her fingers gently. Still the same
calluses. Life was not treating Juliana Colebrook any better. Anger welled up in him and he turned away so she could not see how helpless he felt in the face of her hardships. Damn his father to hell. Thanks to the old tyrant he could do nothing except keep a watching brief over the woman he loved.

‘Sir? Colly, what is it?'

Juliana laid a gentle hand on his, and he could stand it no longer.

He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Juliana,' he breathed into her hair. He closed his eyes, inhaling that enticing citron fragrance.

She did not object to his sudden attack. On the contrary, she snuggled against his chest and he could not prevent himself from swallowing hard and noisily. She murmured something indistinguishable into his waistcoat. Freeing one hand, he tilted her face to his and, as her arms tightened around his waist, he gently turned her face aside and brushed a kiss against her ear. He would not take advantage of her unhappy state to push for more. She shivered with pleasure and he greedily absorbed the sensation like a man savouring a piquant snuff. Then tired of fighting himself, he pulled her even closer, flush up against his hard – and getting harder – body. And waited for his face to be slapped. Nothing happened.

Instead, convent-bred Miss Colebrook wriggled invitingly against him as she stretched up to stroke his face.

God, it felt
so
good. It felt as if she really cared for him. For a second he nearly succumbed, then warning bells clanged. What did he think he was doing? And in the Marquess of Trewbridge's library, for God's sake!

He began to draw back but her lips were parted in expectation, and he couldn't resist kissing her. Just once. As he leaned forward she murmured, ‘Colly.'

Quite a few women had murmured his name, but none had ever said it as if he were the most important man on earth. As he felt the soft lips meld with his, he knew a heady relief. At last! He settled in to feast.

‘Oh, sorry. Excuse me.'

John Trewbridge's voice scraped across Colly's skin like a flaying knife. He jerked back. ‘What…?'

The library door closed.

Juliana stared up at him, her eyes huge. ‘Was that – was that Lord Brechin?' she stammered.

‘I'm afraid so. Better John than the marquess, however.'

‘Yes!' Juliana agreed fervently.

And now they were well apart, a gate-legged table separating them. Juliana looked a trifle dishevelled. He glanced down. He did not look precisely unruffled himself. How the hell was he going to wrestle himself back into a manageable state? Fifty buckets of ice chips might do it.

‘Oh God, I'm sorry Juliana. I—'

She shook her head. ‘It was not all your fault, Colly. It takes two to – er – do this sort of thing.'

Even now, she made excuses for him. Why did she persist in thinking so highly of him? She was an amazing woman.

He smoothed down his sleeves and fingered his cravat. ‘I – I need to find John,' he said desperately.

She put out a restraining hand. ‘Please, before you go, could you advise me what I should do? The marchioness has invited me to stay at Trewbridge for a while.'

Colly smiled. ‘I think that is an excellent idea. I know the marchioness has been asking among her friends if anyone needs a companion. So—'

She interrupted him and he saw the fear in her dark eyes. ‘But I cannot wait forever for the marchioness to come up with a prospective employer. I have no money.'

‘I understand. I shall ask Captain Easton to send you what the infirmary owes you.'

She bit her lip. ‘Thank you. But I doubt it will be very much. I only worked there for two weeks.'

‘Oh, Easton implied it was a reasonable sum,' Colly lied. Easton had said nothing of the sort, but Colly intended to subsidize her wages. If he was careful she would never know.

‘I must return to the Colebrooks' house to check on the servants and see if my aunt is well.'

‘I'll come with you,' he offered.

She did not protest but said simply, ‘I would feel safer that way.'

He felt ridiculously pleased. ‘Come, I had best find John,' was all he could manage.

W
HEN JULIANA AND Colly arrived at the Colebrook house the following day, however, four brawny village lads were carrying her aunt's body into the stillroom. James was conspicuous by his absence.

Cook stood by, wringing her hands. ‘Miss Colebrook, thank goodness you've come! I did not know what to do because … well, they say the poor lady did it herself.'

Juliana nodded. Guilt nudged at her. If only she'd got here sooner. She
knew
her aunt had been unhappy. ‘I understand, Cook. Thank you very much for taking the responsibility. How did it happen?'

‘Some village lads found her body floating in the river down towards the ford, Miss Colebrook. The doctor sent them out to search.' Cook sniffed into a man's huge handkerchief. ‘They say that last evening she walked past some of the village lads who were swimming there and just waded in. Nobody could stop her. She was carrying heavy stones in her pockets, and when the blacksmith tried to grab her she dived under the water and—' Cook shrugged and a tear dribbled down her face. ‘And this morning James and Annie up and left. They're not from these parts. They've headed back to London.' Cook's usually florid face was pale and faintly puzzled, as if the world she knew had changed and she could not understand what she must do next.

Juliana thought of something that would calm Cook's frazzled nerves. ‘Would you find some ale for these kind gentlemen?' she asked, hearing the whispers and the steady shuffling sound behind her cease. ‘Then we must decide what to do.' She looked helplessly at Colly. ‘Can you…?'

‘I'll see to everything downstairs, Juliana. Perhaps you'd best go upstairs and ensure that everything is in order.'

And in her aunt's bedroom she found it. Aunt Colebrook had perched a letter jauntily on her dressing table, as if, having decided to end her life, she felt relief and amusement in walking away from her problems.

Holding the note, Juliana noticed something else. There were very few personal belongings in her aunt's room. She had seen inside the room only once, but she was sure there had been a jumble of knick-knacks on the mantelpiece. Now the marble mantelpiece was bare. And her aunt's clothes were strewn about as if a whirlwind had passed through. She wasn't sure, but she didn't think her aunt would normally have left her bedchamber in such disarray. But, of course, the circumstances were anything but normal.

Juliana scanned the note again. And blinked. She put the note in her pocket to read again later.

Upstairs on the attic level she looked in her own room. All was intact. She returned downstairs and pushed open the door to her uncle's bedchamber. Shocked, she stopped on the threshold.

The bed hangings flowed in shredded tatters from the tester to the carpet. Garments lay spread across the room, slung on chairs and across the bed, even on the windowsill. No brush set, nail paring knife or any personal items were left on the dressing table.

It looked as though Annie and James had taken payment in lieu of wages. They must have hired a carrier from Melksham.

In her uncle's study the desk drawers stood open and empty. Juliana remembered that an expensive jade paperweight had held down her uncle's papers. It was gone. And the gold penholder he had fiddled with as he'd told her she was ‘nothing like her father' had disappeared.

Colly spoke from the doorway. ‘Is everything all right, Juliana?' Then his face twisted. ‘Well, as right as it can be under the circumstances. '

‘My aunt cannot be buried in hallowed ground.'

‘No.'

‘It is very strange. When she received a message saying that my uncle was dead she—' Juliana broke off.

‘She what, Juliana?' He took her hand as her face puckered and she handed him the piece of paper.

‘Read it,' she whispered, searching for a handkerchief. Already she knew the lines off by heart.

‘Poor Aunt,' Juliana murmured.

‘Poor you,' Colly retorted, ‘if you are left to deal with this wretched household. We will have to find out the whereabouts of this Mr Beck.'

‘I shall have to stay here. I cannot return to Trewbridge and leave Cook on the premises alone. We'll never see James and Annie again, not after what they've done.'

‘How do you mean? What have they done?'

She showed him the damaged rooms. They stood in the doorway of her uncle's room and he pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. ‘I can understand them stealing some knick-knacks, but it seems pointless to vent their spleen on a dead person.'

Juliana grimaced. ‘He was not a kind employer,' was all she said.

Colly grunted. ‘He probably had a hold over them or some such thing,' he said.

‘Yes,' she agreed. ‘He was that sort of man.'

Colly paced around the room. ‘There is much to be done here, Juliana, but first of all I shall find Mr Beck. We will be guided by him.'

Thank goodness for Colly. She had no notion how to arrange her aunt's burial or how to close up a house. Worst of all, there was no money to pay off Cook. However she knew very well how to lay people out, and it was up to her to see that her aunt looked respectable.

Colly pulled her close. ‘Are you all right, my d—Juliana? This is very trying for you.'

She nodded against his cravat. ‘Are you going into Melksham?' Her voice was muffled.

‘Yes. If Beck is not based in Melksham, I shall go on to Hungerford.'

‘It would be best to try Hungerford first. Uncle Sholto and Pettigrew used Prior's Bank in Hungerford.'

He put her back from him and examined her face. ‘How do you know that, Miss Efficiency?'

She smiled wanly. ‘Tilly once told me that Annie saw them coming out of the bank together.'

‘Very well. But Juliana, you cannot stay here alone. I've arranged for one of the lads downstairs to stay here today. This afternoon, no matter what happens, I'll convey you and Cook back to Trewbridge. It might be very late, because I don't know how long I'll be.' He paced restlessly along the hallway and back again.

‘D-do you think some of Uncle Sholto's associates might come calling?' Juliana asked, swallowing hard.

‘It's possible. With Ames and your uncle dead and Pettigrew in Newgate, there are probably very few players left. But who knows? It would be best if you and Cook kept the doors locked today.'

Juliana grimaced. The early September day was stifling.

She followed him out to the Trewbridge carriage and watched till the dust clouds kicked up by the carriage had faded. It had been wonderful having his support today, but she must not rely on it. Soon she would be on her own again.

She went back inside and locked the door.

I
N THE EVENT, it was the larger of the Trewbridge carriages that arrived first. Cook was ‘putting together some odds and ends for a wee snack' as she put it, when they heard carriage wheels in the driveway. To Juliana's surprise, Tilly, Lord Brechin, his valet, Lady Brechin and her maid all alighted from the carriage. Quite a contingent.

Juliana opened the door. ‘Good heavens! What brings you all here?'

‘Chaperons!' Marguerite said, laughing.

Juliana rolled her eyes. ‘If you are referring to Mr Hetherington, he's in Hungerford.'

‘Not any more. He should arrive here very soon. He sent us a message from Hungerford and told us that things have become very, er … difficult for you.' Here Juliana laughed at Marguerite's masterly understatement and Marguerite grinned. ‘So John decided we should come to help.'

Juliana cast Lord Brechin a grateful look which he deflected with a vague smile.

Colly followed hot on the heels of the Brechins.

Half an hour later the entire company assembled in the drawing room.

‘Not a very welcoming room, is it?' Marguerite said.

Juliana laughed. ‘The whole house is depressing. I hope your bedchambers are acceptable. Tilly and Cook did the best they could, and poor Amy has been slaving away rushing up and downstairs trying to find enough bedding for us all.'

‘How is Tilly?' Marguerite enquired.

Juliana shook her head. ‘Not good. But she wants to keep busy.'

Marguerite nodded in understanding.

‘Your uncle's claret is outstanding,' Colly reported, after taking a tentative sip.

‘Probably smuggled,' his loving niece said. ‘He knew how to look after himself.'

‘Not when it really mattered, he didn't,' Colly muttered. He had not told Juliana how her uncle had been killed, and he intended to avoid the subject unless she pressed him.

Mac, John's valet who had been his batman on the Peninsula and who took all sorts of tasks in his stride announced, ‘Dinner is served.'

And although the rest of the house was run-down and shabby, Cook rose to the occasion. With no Sholto Colebrook to pull in her reins, she delighted in creating an excellent dinner.

‘What are your plans for tomorrow?' John asked Juliana.

She grimaced. ‘I doubt the vicar will entertain the idea of a Christian burial, so I'd best speak to the undertaker,' she said. ‘Aunt should be buried at the crossroads.'

‘I don't think it will come to that. I'll take care of it. That's why we came,' Lord Brechin said, very reminiscent of his father. ‘Colly, what did this Mr Beck have to say?'

‘It's probable that Juliana will inherit all this,' Colly said, grinning at Juliana's look of horror. ‘Juliana, your aunt was correct. It seems you are the last of the Colebrooks. According to Mr Beck, your uncle's bank account is not to be sneezed at, either.'

‘No!' Juliana snapped. ‘I will not take that money.'

‘I think you'll have to. It might take some weeks, but eventually the money will be yours.'

‘Then I shall give it away. I could not bear to profit from money obtained through the misery of helpless children.'

‘You could donate it to the poorhouse,' Marguerite suggested, helping herself to some of Cook's fine Spanish cream.

‘What an excellent idea, Marguerite!' Juliana exclaimed. ‘That's what I shall do. But I will give it for the benefit of the children only.' She could not repair the damage her uncle had done, but she could help other children, those whose parents could not afford the necessities of life.

‘Will you sell this place when probate is granted?' Colly asked.

‘Heavens, yes! I cannot afford to run a large household.'

‘The income from that will be a good dowry,' John commented, watching Colly.

‘I do not intend to marry,' Juliana said, crunching down firmly on a bite of celery.

‘Neither did I,' Marguerite muttered.

Colly's eyebrows shot up. He stared hard at John.

‘Yes, things were difficult for a while,' John said, answering Colly's unasked question.

Juliana's gaze moved from John's face to Marguerite's. ‘Was there a problem?' she asked, puzzled.

‘Aside from the obvious one, you mean?' Marguerite sounded most belligerent.

Juliana cringed. She must have hit a raw nerve. ‘I don't understand. What is the obvious one?' She was confused. She had heard nothing about Marguerite's family. Perhaps they were unacceptable to the Trewbridges?

‘There, Marguerite. Hoist with your own petard!' John crowed. He grinned at Juliana. ‘Thank you, Juliana. I had to work hard for months to persuade her that her limp was not important to me.'

‘The limp?' Juliana said. ‘Gracious, I hardly notice it, Marguerite.'

Marguerite reddened. ‘I'm sorry, Juliana. I know it sounds petty, but when your whole life has revolved around “Marguerite's leg” you become very sensitive about it. John was not at all sympathetic.'

‘“Better a limping leg than no leg at all”, was what I said,' John intervened.

‘I did not speak to him for a week,' Marguerite admitted.

‘And was that all that kept you from marriage?' Juliana asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

‘No. My mother, you see, had decided that as she could not marry off a daughter with a limp, she'd have me as a prop in her old age.' Marguerite pulled a face. ‘I did not look forward to it, let me tell you. Mama is umm … very difficult.'

John snorted into his syllabub. Marguerite speared him with a glance.

‘Sorry, darling,' he apologized, grinning. ‘I am awed at your understatement. The old harridan would have had you waiting on her hand and foot.'

‘Yes.' Marguerite shuddered.

It seemed that a lot of people had embarrassing relatives, Juliana mused.

Colly tossed her an ‘I told you so' look, which she ignored.

‘What is
your
objection to marriage, Juliana?' Marguerite enquired.

‘My relatives,' she replied tersely.

‘But you haven't any now, have you?' Colly said.

She threw him an impatient glance. ‘I mean the sort of people they were. No respectable man would marry a woman from a family such as mine – a father who was a thief when it came to
discovering
questionable antiquities, an uncle who was a criminal of the first order, and an aunt whose guilt forced her to suicide.'

There was a short silence.

‘But your mother's side of the family is very respectable,' Colly said quietly into the hiatus.

In spite of everything, she smiled. ‘Yes. They are nice people. However I am in England and it is my English relatives who count.' She grimaced.

‘Tell us about your Portuguese family, Juliana,' Lord Brechin encouraged.

My, he
was
like his father. Before she knew it, she found herself recounting tales of her childhood. The shabby English dining room became fuzzy around the edges and her narrow point of focus became Portugal – the harsh sadness of the
fado
, Portugal's lazy warmth flowing counterpoint to its strict formality and the brassy brightness of its sun. She came to herself with a bump when Colly commented, ‘After the sale of this house you will become a woman of means. If you wanted, you could return to Portugal.'

Opening her mouth to refute his suggestion, she glimpsed the pain in his eyes. Did he not want her to go? So why had he said that? She stared at him.

John smoothed over the awkward moment. ‘We might be able to find your relatives in Brazil. I'm sure my father has contacts there. After all, he has contacts everywhere.' He rolled his eyes and everyone laughed.

 

Indeed, when they returned to Trewbridge after Aunt Colebrook's burial, Juliana found that the Marquess of Trewbridge
did
know someone at the newly established English consulate in Rio de Janeiro. So she penned a letter to her relatives and the marquess franked it and sent it off to Brazil.

She reflected how easy it was to organize things if one were titled, or rich and powerful – or all three. At Melksham, when she'd been faced with the insurmountable problem of dealing with an aunt and uncle who could not be buried in consecrated ground, John had organized everything. Workers from the village were hired and the Melksham house received a more thorough cleaning than it had for some years. Several gardeners tamed the neglected gardens, then the house was closed up and the key despatched to Mr Beck. Cook was ecstatic when she found she was to be employed at the Brechins' manor house at Westbury. When Juliana tried to thank John Trewbridge for sending Cook to his home which was rarely occupied, he brushed her thanks aside saying, ‘Anyone who can cook like that is a treasure. She will earn her keep.' So Juliana had given up worrying. Who was she to stand in the way of furthering Cook's career?

On her first night back at Trewbridge Juliana discovered that it felt very odd to have no burdens weighing upon her shoulders. It had been many years since she'd been worry-free. She could not remember when she'd last felt so … rudderless.

Something else was odd, too. Her grumbling stomach had ceased grumbling. All she felt now, after a delicious dinner
chez
Trewbridge, was the faint reminder of a niggle. It had begun to settle down on the day Colly accompanied her to her uncle's house. Her stomach seemed to have decided that if Colly and the Trewbridges were happy to shoulder her problems, then it had nothing more to complain about.

Clambering into the luxurious bed she wondered why she felt so useless. Was it that nobody needed her? What was she going to do with herself? She stared at the ceiling, wondering if her uncle's money was really going to be hers. If that happened, she imagined Uncle Sholto would scream his anger all the way from Hell. She stifled a giggle.
How
he would hate to know that the niece who had ‘too much to say for herself' was trying to ascertain the most practical way of spending his money! She stroked the silk sheets. Such luxury. But she must not become used to it. The Trewbridges' warm cocoon of friendship was only temporary, for as soon as the claim on her uncle's estate had been settled, she must move on.

She climbed back out of bed and parted the floor to ceiling velvet curtains. A nightjar squawked unmelodiously in the Lady's Garden beneath her window, quite drowning out the ecstatic, soaring notes of a nightingale. For a few precious moments she imagined herself back in Portugal, hearing in the nightingale's melody the bell-like trill of a chamariz. Homesickness never went away, she thought. It was like an aching tooth. Always there. But she must put Portugal to the back of her mind. She was in England now.

The marchioness had mentioned a pleasant friend who might need Juliana's services, but at the moment the lady was sojourning with her daughter in Tunbridge Wells. Lady Trewbridge had said airily, ‘Anyway, Juliana, if the claim on your uncle's estate is settled, you will not need to become a companion after all.'

Could the nurse from Sao Nazaire become Miss Colebrook of Ivy Cottage somewhere in England? Of course she could. So many possibilities. What had she been thinking? There was plenty to do.

The most important thing was to tell Colly about Benny Ames. Colly had been kind-hearted enough to allow her to recover from her London experience, but she must tell him what had happened. He had risked everything for her. Padding across the cold floor she went to her hatbox
and took out her herbal notebook. It fell open naturally at the centre page and she lifted out the three pressed pansies. Holding them to her cheek she felt a little comforted. With the pansies clasped in her fingers she crawled back into bed and pulled the bedsheet up around her neck. She and Tilly would never forget that revolting man. She could only be thankful that Kit had not suffered his attentions. Such world-weary eyes that man had had – as if he had seen everything evil the world had to offer yet his jaded appetite demanded more. She knew he had killed her uncle. Although Uncle Sholto's body had not been found till two days after that creature had died, Colly had told her that Uncle's body had lain in the gutter in an alley off Rosemary Lane until someone had seen fit to inform the authorities. He must have been murdered as soon as he reached London to report that the child-selling ring was under investigation. Even as they scoured the streets of Whitechapel searching for Kit and Tilly, her uncle already lay dead. Colly had not told her of the manner of Sholto Colebrook's death and she would not ask. It was enough that the man's worthless life was over.

But because of him – the last of her father's family – she must leave Trewbridge. If any of the local gentry heard about her family, Colly and the Trewbridges would be looked at askance for befriending her. She had seen the way these English set such store upon reputation.

In the event that Mr Beck disproved Juliana's claim she would find Tilly a place in another household and then quietly disappear into a town such as Bath where old ladies sought dutiful companions. She sighed. She could be dutiful, surely? From what the marchioness had told her, some of those ladies could be hard taskmasters. Her wretched independence had ill-prepared her for tending selfish dotards, but at least she'd have a roof over her head. She could not wait for a reply from her cousins. It might take months.

Everything depended on Mr Beck's decision.

She touched the pansies delicately with a long finger. ‘What do you want to do with your life, Juliana?' she asked herself. In the darkness the walls threw back two little words – two impossible little words.