Hearts of Gold (4 page)

Magnus had to be content with that. ‘Thank you, Ignatious. I understand perfectly, and his business couldn’t be in better hands, though I would have wished to be trusted with it.’

‘Sometimes having an executor within a family can be detrimental to both parties. Now, if you’re agreeable, we will drop the matter and attend to the business at hand.’

‘Yes, of course.’

Three storeys high,
Smuggler’s View
overlooked the bay to the Isle of Purbeck, a view that could never be built out. The house was roomy enough to cater for a large family, but not ostentatiously so.

Ignatious told him, ‘They’re good tenants, and are willing to renegotiate the rent if we’ll renew the lease for the life of their relative. She’s an elderly lady who resides here for the benefits of the sea air. She is not expected to live much longer.’

‘Allowing the tenant to dictate the terms of the lease is not a good business practice, neither is taking a gamble on longevity. What if the lady lives longer than expected, and John returns?’

‘I daresay you’ll offer him a home at Fierce Eagles.’

‘Offering is not the problem, but my uncle has stated he’ll never live there again. I do have to think of his welfare, and not out of duty but because I love the man as if he was my own father. I suggest we renew the lease on six monthly terms, payable in advance, and at a rent that’s reasonable for this area. When that time is up, we’ll give them the first option on another six months. If the lady is not expected to live, then they should welcome the chance not to be encumbered with a long lease.’

Ignatious Grimble gave a faint smile as he pushed open the gate. ‘You’re as astute as John believed you were. You were always a studious, steady and thoughtful child – and a steadying influence on my son, Gerald, for which I’m grateful.’

‘Gerald and I are the best of friends, always will be.’

The inspection didn’t take long. The invalid lady managed to walk with a stick, but she ran out of breath easily and placed her hand against her chest to ease it. Having been paraded and her condition witnessed, she was ushered away by a nurse. Her son was happy with the lease arrangement, and they departed.

An hour later Magnus was in Poole, knocking at the door of a smaller house situated in the lower part of Constitution Hill. A maid he’d never seen before showed him into the drawing room. ‘I’ll enquire if Mrs Parkhurst will see you.’

Magnus raised an eyebrow at that. He paid Isabelle’s rent and expected her to be able to see him on short notice.

She came in five minutes later, looking slightly flustered, her dark hair hastily styled, and wearing a fussy, over-decorated pink gown that he didn’t particularly like. She was uncorseted, for her flesh strained against the material at the waist. ‘Magnus, I wasn’t expecting you. You usually visit on Friday evening.’

‘Yes, I do seem to be a creature of habit, don’t I? I was over this way and decided to drop in. A pleasant surprise, I hope.’

‘Of course. It’s always a pleasure to see you, Magnus.’

She was flustered, and he was suspicious. ‘You look dishevelled, Isabelle. Were you in bed?’

A blush seeped under her skin. ‘I had a bad headache earlier today . . . I’d been resting. then I took a bath to relax me.’

‘Ah, so that’s why the maid said you might not be able to see me. And is this bad headache gone now?’

She shrugged. ‘It was nothing, really, and the maid’s new.’ Isabelle moved to the sherry decanter on the table. ‘Would you like some refreshment?’

‘I came to see you, Isabelle. Do you not have a kiss for me?’

She came and stood in front of him, the alarm now faded from her brown eyes. She was a beautiful woman, and he’d known her before she was widowed. Her luscious mouth showed a row of white even teeth when she smiled and surrendered her mouth to his. There was a faint smell of cigar smoke in her hair as her body pressed against him, humid, and musky with perspiration. Ringlets curled damply against her pale neck. She’d lied about the bath.

There came the sound of the door to the street stealthily closing.

He resisted the urge to cross to the window and see who was leaving. ‘Were you entertaining a man when I arrived?’

She turned her head away. ‘I told you, I was taking a bath.’

Taking her chin between finger and thumb he turned her face back to his. ‘You smell of tobacco smoke. Are you telling me the truth? Shall I call the maid and see what she has to say?’

She shrugged. ‘I told her to leave us alone together. As for the cigar smoke, my former brother-in-law visited earlier. We shared a glass of wine in the conservatory because the sun had warmed it. He smoked. It was probably that which gave me the headache.’

He didn’t know whether to believe her or not. ‘Strange that he felt he had to sneak out without being introduced.’

‘Oh, he left much earlier. It would have been the maid leaving on an errand. Don’t be so suspicious, Magnus.’ She stroked her hand against his groin and her voice took on a husky, but slightly sullen note. ‘Are you staying the night?’

The thought of sleeping with her when she might have come from another man’s embrace was abhorrent to him. In fact, despite looking forward to his encounter with Isabelle, his need had suddenly fled. But no doubt it would be back.

‘I think not, Isabelle. I’ll be here as usual on Friday, and I’d be obliged if you’d change the bed sheets and take a bath.’

Anger fired in her eyes. ‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy about our arrangement. It’s not as if we’re married, and you weren’t so fussy when I was wed to Henry.’

‘I wasn’t supporting you financially then.’

‘Just cuckolding a business client. Do you think that paying my rent gives you exclusive use of my body and control over my life? I can quite afford to pay my own rent.’

‘I’m well aware of your financial state. You’d be a prize for some man.’ Perhaps he was taking her too much for granted.

‘But not for you, obviously. If you want me exclusively you can put a ring on my finger and move me into Fierce Eagles.’

He felt genuine surprised at that. ‘Marriage?’

‘Does it surprise you that I might want a secure relationship, and normal things like a child of my own?’

‘Yes, it does. You were an unfaithful wife to Henry, and you’d be the same to me. You’re a trollop. How many other men are paying your rent?’

She laughed. ‘Do you really want me to tell you?’

‘Yes.’

‘None. Just you, Magnus Kern. You’re jealous.’

He wasn’t, and that bothered him. His feelings for Isabelle didn’t go past the physical. He was comfortable in such an arrangement as they had, and so was she, he’d thought. He was also selfish. Like any other beautiful possession he admired certain aspects of her. But did he want to marry her?’

‘I’ve always been honest with you Isabelle. I’m not looking to wed just yet, but if I were . . .’ He shrugged, left himself uncommitted, because he still wouldn’t want marriage with her. ‘Would you rather we brought this relationship to an end?’

She moved against him again and began to loosen his cravat. ‘Don’t be silly, Magnus. You’ve spoiled me for any other man and I’ve been totally faithful to you. I think of nobody else.’ When she pressed a kiss against the hollow of his throat his desire came back. Shrugging out of his coat, he pulled open her gown, slid it from her creamy shoulders and watched it pool around her ankles.

She was full-bodied, her breasts ripe, her hips wide and her thighs firm and heavy. He reached out with a fingertip, caressed each rosy nipple, so they sprang hard against her silky skin. The smell of soap rose from the dark apex of her thighs and he felt ashamed of himself.

‘I’m sorry I was mean.’

She kissed him, released his trousers bringing him surging against her. ‘Be mean to me again. Punish me. Let’s go upstairs so we can play games.’

What if her room smelled of smoke? What if the bed was rumpled? He decided he didn’t want to know one way or the other. ‘I haven’t got time, there’s no moon tonight and I want to be home before dark.’

‘Then let’s do it here.’ She pushed him gently on to the chair and straddled his lap.

Sliding his hands under each dimpled buttock he said against her ear. ‘Yes, let’s.’

Later, he handed her the jeweller’s box he’d brought with him. ‘Happy birthday, Isabelle.’

She exclaimed over the diamond brooch. ‘You remembered?’

‘Of course I remembered. Don’t I always?’

‘Just like a proper husband,’ she mocked.

The hair on his neck prickled a warning. Isabelle was tightening the noose a little. From now on he must be careful not to say anything that would give her hope.

He’d stayed later than he’d meant to. His horse gave him an annoyed look and stamped its foreleg a couple of times. Soon they were heading home, at a faster pace than usual. As the light began to wane the air grew bitterly cold and the horse began to blow. One of the servants had possessed the sense to open the gates and hang a couple of lanterns on the gateposts. He gave the horse a little slack, and as the last vestige of light fled he passed under the scrutiny of the eagles.

The groom must have heard him coming and the door to the stables opened, spilling light from the lanterns across the yard. Robert stepped forward to take the lathered horse away. ‘Sorry, Rob. I was held up and had to push him.’

‘He’s up to it. It’ll take the ginger out of him a bit. He’ll be all right after a good rub down and a feed.’

Magnus grinned. He was in need of a good feed too. He’d already had the rub down. As he strode towards the house he mused that he’d had both an interesting and productive day.

The house looked warm and welcoming. He’d always liked Fierce Eagles, and had been astounded when his uncle had gifted the place to him.

As he entered the hall he looked up at the portrait of the former mistress of the house. Dressed in dark red satin, her dainty, bejewelled hand held a fan. Her daughter was about eleven, and clothed in pink taffeta and lace. Margaret leaned into her mother’s lap, grave-faced except for a hint of mischief in those innocent green eyes that looked straight at him.

Poor John, to lose both of the women he loved. Margaret had been lovely, delicate, and lively and she would have grown up to be like her mother. Magnus had loved his sweet little cousin. Perhaps he would have married her had she lived. John would have liked that.

He avoided the drawing room, instead heading for the cosy confines of his study, where he knew a fire would have been kept burning for his return. Pouring himself a brandy he took the chair by the fire and savoured each sip as he waited to be called to his dinner.

The staff would be waiting with some eagerness to hear the news from his uncle, and he smiled as he reached out and touched the missive.

Sarette had settled into the shelter that John Kern called home.

He’d built another lean-to on the side for her, just like his own, so she could have some privacy. A wooden frame supported flour sacks sewn together for walls, and a slope of corrugated tin. He made a bed frame from branches to keep her off the ground, and stood the legs in tins of water with kerosene in them to keep the ants at bay.

Today he’d rigged up a line and said, ‘That’s a wardrobe to hang your clothing on.’

‘Thank you, but I only have what I stand up in.’

‘So you do. You can’t blame those people, since they paid hard cash for the claim and the camp. It was the Irishman who robbed you. I’ll go and see them. I can’t carry off the whole camp and won’t get a second opportunity, so what means the most to you?’

She didn’t hesitate. ‘There’s a small tin trunk that contained personal goods that belonged to my mother. My father gave it all to me. That’s where the woman got the dress from.’

John scratched his head and thought for a moment. ‘Can you make me a list of what was in the trunk?’

He unfolded a polished writing case with silver hinges and mixed a small amount of ink before handing her a pen, with the advice. Don’t press too hard or you’ll ruin the nib.’

She began to write on a scrap of paper he gave her, concentrating on her spelling and getting all the letters even.
Hairbrush and mirror. Bible. Gloves
. . .

‘You have been educated, I see. You have good writing skills.’

‘My mother taught me. She was a governess before she married my father, and my father taught me numbers. He was a clerk in a bank. When we left here he was going to send me to a proper school.’ Speaking of her mother had triggered Sarette’s memory. ‘Oh, yes, and there was a brooch with my mother’s likeness in it.’ Spitting into the inkwell she mixed the last traces of ink in and added in almost invisible lettering,
locket brooch
.’

‘Ladies shouldn’t spit, not even to moisten inkwells. Don’t do it again.’

Sarette looked up into eyes as dark as molasses. John Kern had a handsome, but rather stern face under his grey whiskers. He wasn’t a man she’d deliberately disobey. ‘Sorry, sir.’

‘You needn’t call me sir.’

‘But I’m your housekeeper.’

He laughed at that, said mockingly, ‘And what a grand house it is that you have to keep, Miss Sarette Maitland.’

‘I like it. I have my very own room.’

‘You’re easily pleased. Have you ever lived in a proper house?’

‘Sometimes I remember a house in England. It had a thatched roof and a garden that smelled of roses.’ She closed her eyes and smiled, drawing on some distant memory. ‘Everything was green, and I remember being happy there. My mother drew a picture of it in her sketching block.’

‘Would you like to go back to England?’

‘Oh yes. When I’m grown up. I could be a governess like my mother was.’

‘Not a very worthy ambition, if I may say. Governesses are usually spinster ladies. They don’t earn much and when their charges grow up they’re dismissed from their positions.’

‘Well, perhaps I’ll find gold and be wealthy, and marry a fine lord.’

‘You think a blue blood would want a scruffy little ragamuffin like you when he has the most beautiful, most wealthy and perfectly mannered young ladies in London to choose from?’

‘My pa said I’m beautiful. And you’ll be sorry you said that when you have to bow to me.’ She opened her eyes to the sight of him pushing a revolver into the waist of his trousers. ‘Are you going to dig for gold or hunt for dinner? I can help you. I know how to sift the dirt and you could give me fifty per cent of what we dig up.’