Greygallows (33 page)

'Did I not say he was the greater villain of the
two? Clare's
e
vil came from weakness,
from
following his whims without thinking of the consequences. At the end, his situation was truly terrible. In his place ... Well, I know what I would have done; but Clare could not do it, he was trapped by a lifetime of bad habits and false ideals. But Fleetwood! He must have known of Clare's reason for going to London last year. Indeed, he may have urged him to go; he had already learned to dread poverty. He also wished to avoid direct violence so long as there was a chance of getting rid of you by natural means. Didn't he interfere whenever Clare's temper made him forbid you to go to the village, with all its danger of infection? On all but the first occasion, when you happened to glimpse his sister leaving Clare's room, Fleetwood was the notorious White Lady; and a charming maiden he must have made, with his pretty face and willowy figure! Phosphorus, smeared on gauzy draperies, creates quite a weird effect by night. The White Lady plot was typical of their cautious cowardice; the second apparition served no purpose except to remove your suspicions of Fleetwood's sister and, hopefully, to make you nervous and susceptible. Of course at that time there was no special urgency. They believed they could experiment at their leisure, and Fleetwood, at least, must have enjoyed tormenting you. Then disaster struck, and they had to act quickly.'

'So stupid,' I muttered. 'It is so like you men, to ignore the logical, inevitable consequence ...'

'That is a vile slander on my sex, and one which I hope to prove that I, at least, do not deserve,' said Jonathan, with a look that made me blush. 'After all, nothing did happen, not for several
years. She must have learned of her condition early in the summer; it was after that that the plotters became desperate. Clare's attempt to get his hands on the remaining portion of your estate was indeed a desperate expedient. He needed the money for her, you see. If he could arrange a suitable establishment abroad, she could have the child without scandal, posing as a wealthy widow. Money has its own immunity; people do not question the rich.'

'I can see that, but I don't understand how they hoped to continue the farce. She could never bring the child here. Did Clare mean to abandon her, or give up his ancestral home? He could hardly keep both.'

'You still don't understand Clare. That was his difficulty; he would not relinquish
anything
he wanted. He wanted her; he loved her desperately, in his way.'

'And she him. How she must have loved him, to consent to such a thing! I can feel no anger toward her, Jonathan, only pity.'

'She must have suffered greatly,' he agreed. 'We should not grieve for her; this ending, hard as it may seem, was more merciful than many. I am confident she never knew of the danger to your life; she would never knowingly have consented to such a thing. Yet eventually she would have suspected the truth, and it would have ruined her peace.'

'And the child...'

'That, too, Clare wanted. His son—her son, no other woman's. His acknowledged heir, his ancestral estates handed down—he must have them all. Oh, it could have been managed. It
would be natural for a heartbroken widower to go abroad, to forget; equally natural for him to visit old friends there. In five or six years' time Baron Clare would return, with his second wife, and a child whose age could be falsified by a year or two. What a precocious three-year-old it would have been!'

'A year or two, yes,' I said, as the enormity of the plan dawned on me. 'But no more than that. He had to act quickly, Jonathan.'

'He did. It did not take him long to realize how to utilize my unwanted presence. We had ample opportunity to betray him; he saw to that. When we refused, he had to be more direct.'

'The note,' I exclaimed. Jonathan had not known of that, so I told him.

'Yes. You were clever enough to see through that trick. I was not so wise! You know why I came here tonight, don't you? And if I had not had the foresight to tell Jenkins and Tom some of my plans...' He nodded toward the blazing building.

'Thank God you did,' I murmured. 'Thank God for their courage and affection ... But you have not told me why you came.'

'Because tonight I found the proof I was looking for. They let me find it, I know that now; I should have suspected, when I found the papers so easily. I broke into the vicarage as soon as it was dark, and there the evidence was, in a box in Fleetwood's study. The box was not even locked! Fleetwood would not have left such a damning thing unless he meant me to find it; no doubt it was part of Clare's task tonight to conceal the thing once again, after he had disposed of us. But it was the one certain method of making me come for you. Once I knew
the truth I had hardly dared suspect, I knew you were in mortal danger, and I was free to get you away.'

'I don't know what made you suspect. No such idea ever occurred to me.'

'It came to me first the day we met her on the moor. I could not help but agree with your assessment of her character. And suddenly I thought: What if... At first it seemed to me utterly impossible; but the more I considered it, the more likely it became. It explained so much—even Clare's avoidance of you. It was typical of his strange mixture of principle and villainy that he would not approach you as a husband.'

'High principles were not the only reason,' I said coldly. 'Even Clare could foresee the difficulty inherent in two legitimate heirs ... Oh, don't look so shocked, Jonathan! I can pity Clare, but I cannot think well of him; how can I, when he meant to kill you? He allowed you to discover the truth, and because you knew the truth, you had to die. And I—why, he was fooling himself up to the very end. I would not have survived the "accident." Divorce was no solution to his problem; he needed my money, and he needed it at once.'

'Yes, I think Clare was unable to admit even to himself what he had to do. When the fatal blow struck you, it would have been another "accident." How unfortunate that the poor girl should have struck her head on a stone! He had no such qualms with me; I fancy he could have stabbed me cheerfully at any time for the past few weeks.'

'And then to leave the proof lying about! I
wonder they committed it to paper at all.'

'Oh, that was essential. Fleetwood would insist on it, in the case of Clare's death or betrayal.'

'I wonder what will become of him.'

'He will survive,' Jonathan said grimly. 'I will do my best to track him down, be sure of that; he has too great a capacity for evil, with that candid face and eloquent voice, to be allowed his freedom. But I have a feeling he has arts superior to mine. It will be a dreadful scandal, Lucy; yet it must come out. You do agree?'

'Yes, of course. You need not fear for me; talk cannot hurt me, not now.'

'At least some of your estate is left,' Jonathan said, trying to sound optimistic. 'The real property—mines and mills and factories—'

'Is that what my wealth comes from?'

'Yes. I thought you knew.'

'Those deformed children from the mills ... To think they might have been my work! Oh, Jonathan, there is so much to be done! You will help me, won't you?'

'To get rid of your ugly mills?'

'No, no, to make them into something helpful instead of evil. Train the men—give them employment instead of the children—shorter hours, free schools.'

'You will spend all of your profits,' Jonathan said. 'I don't think I can marry you after all.'

'And the village, here; I can help the people buy their land back, it will go to the Crown now, will it not? New houses...'

'I expect you will want to go to Oxford, to complete your education,' Jonathan suggested. 'I can go on strike with you. We will riot and march,
and perhaps attack Buckingham Palace...'

'Don't laugh!'

'I am not laughing at you. I only wonder whether I can be worthy of such a woman.' Jonathan's arm tightened. 'Lucy, you have faced almost all of it now. I took a copy of the paper. Do you wish to see it?'

I reached out my hand—and then stood still, as a long, low cry went up from the watching crowd. In a thunder of sound and flame the roof collapsed. The great chimneys wavered like reflections in water, and then fell into the boiling sea of fire. I thought, for an instant, that I saw ... But I did not, it was only my imagination. In the fiery light I looked at the paper Jonathan had handed me.

Signed by the Reverend John Fleetwood, of St. Catherine's parish, York, it was a copy of marriage lines—the marriage of Edward Grosvenor, not yet Baron Clare, and Charlotte Fleetwood.