Smuggler's Kiss (32 page)

‘What is it you want from me?’ the woman asked. She had wrapped her hands in her apron and looked scared. I wondered if she could be the child’s mother, but thought she looked too old.

‘May I sit down?’ I asked. She nodded nervously and sat herself on the edge of one seat while I took another. I was glad to take the weight off my aching leg.

‘I’ve been with Will all winter,’ I said. ‘I was with him when he came here and left some things once. I saw he had a key. He spoke to a child called Beth.’

At these words, the woman glanced nervously at the stairs that led up from the back of the kitchen. I continued as though I hadn’t noticed. ‘I think perhaps he came at Christmas too. We were staying nearby and he disappeared for the night. I guessed he came here.’

Her eyes were fixed warily on my face. ‘So why don’t you ask him what you want to know yourself?’

‘I was with Will on the coast a few weeks ago. They tried to arrest him for murder. He got away. We—that is two of his other friends and I—care about him very much. We wanted to know more about this accusation. It doesn’t seem to fit the person we know. I thought perhaps you might know more than we do.’

‘If he wanted you to know, he’d have told you. I can’t go spilling his life story to strangers,’ she said tearfully. I was upsetting her, I could see.

‘I’m so sorry to come here like this,’ I said. ‘I don’t mean to cause trouble. I just want to understand.’

‘In love with him, are you?’ she asked suddenly.

I blushed and turned my head away. ‘We’re just friends,’ I said.

‘Hmm.’ The woman turned away and put a kettle onto the fire. ‘Tea?’ she asked unexpectedly.

‘Thank you,’ I faltered. I watched as she bustled about getting down cups from the dresser, a milk jug and tea from the larder and setting them onto the table. When the water boiled she poured it into the pot and sat down at the table. She looked straight at me. ‘What do you want to know? I don’t promise to tell you everything; and there’s a lot I don’t know myself.’

‘First of all, who are you and how do you know Will?’ I asked her, relieved that she no longer seemed afraid of me.

‘I was … nursemaid in the household where he grew up. My name is Jane Moorland.’

‘And that household was … ?’

She shook her head.

‘Please,’ I begged. ‘I wondered … whether he was by any chance cousin or brother to … James Marlow?’

Her eyes widened. ‘So you know that, do you?’

‘I guessed. I heard his surname when they tried to arrest him. And then I remembered that he’d been startled when I told him … told him that I’d once been engaged to … ’ I coughed, embarrassed. ‘To James Marlow,’ I admitted.

‘Engaged?’ Jane frowned. ‘But the viscount’s married.’

‘That’s what Will said. He was a widower when I knew him. His wife had died in childbed.’

‘I live so out of the world,’ said Jane, shaking her head. ‘That sort of news never reaches me. But you didn’t marry him?’

I shook my head. ‘No. My father lost his fortune. He speculated in the South Sea venture.’

‘Ah,’ said Jane. ‘Then he didn’t want you? Well, it always was money with James.’ Again she shook her head. ‘Since you know so much, I might as well tell you that William is James’s younger brother.’

It made sense to me. It explained the feeling I’d had once or twice that I’d seen Will somewhere before. I’d known his brother. ‘I had no idea James
had
a brother,’ I said, puzzled.

She shrugged. ‘I’ve heard they never mention him now. He was very young at the time. He was still at Cambridge when all this happened four years ago. He wasn’t known in what you would call
the fashionable world
.’ She spoke the words rather scornfully. ‘And it was all hushed up.’

‘The murder? Will you tell me what happened?’ I pleaded.

‘I can tell you what I know. But it isn’t much.’

Jane poured me a cup of tea and pushed it towards me. ‘The family acquired a young ward years ago. Elizabeth Jones. She was the orphan of some poor relations who’d passed away. They took her in. She was the prettiest child, but the sort that knows it, if you know what I mean? Both the boys were of that impressionable age. Both fell madly in love with her. That worried the parents. She had no money, you see. None at all. They weren’t having their precious sons marrying a penniless nobody.

‘I don’t rightly know what happened next. There was gossip below stairs. Of secret betrothals and the like. All I know is that she was sent away suddenly. But then four years or so later, she reappeared with a child. Knocked on the front door, she did, demanding to see the earl and his wife. Well, you can imagine the scene and I daresay you can imagine the gossip in the house among the servants.’

‘I can,’ I said, having overheard snatches in my own home. I tried to imagine a similar scene in my parents’ house, but as I had no brothers, I failed. ‘So what happened next?’

‘She declared the little girl was their grand-daughter.’

‘Will’s child?’

‘No one heard that. At first we all assumed it was James’s. Many of the maids knew what he was like, you see … ’ she broke off in confusion, blushing. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean … ’

‘It’s quite all right,’ I assured her. ‘I’m not really very surprised.’

I was lying. I’d always idealized James. I’d thought he was the perfect husband, of whom my father had cruelly deprived me by losing our money. Perhaps I had been mistaken. How well had I known him after all? A few balls, a couple of dinners and formal morning calls; I realized now that would have given me only a knowledge of his company manners, not of his backstairs habits. Perhaps he was every bit as vile as the man I
had
married.

‘When Elizabeth was leaving,’ said Jane, taking up the story again, ‘she tripped on the stairs. Both she and her infant were killed by the fall. At least that was what we were told at the time.’

‘My God,’ I breathed, horrified. ‘But it wasn’t true?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know to this day. But a few days later, Master William fled. Just before they arrived to arrest him for murder.’

I gasped. ‘He pushed them? No, surely not!’

‘That’s what they said. There was a witness, you see. A man who claimed to have been with Elizabeth. A relative of hers that it seems no one had known of until then. He went to the magistrates.’

I shook my head confused. ‘So you left?’

‘Yes. Master William asked me to come here. To look after the child.’

‘I thought you said the child had died?’

‘I said we were told she had. It wasn’t true. Her mother died in the fall, she didn’t.’

‘This doesn’t make any sense,’ I cried, completely bewildered. ‘If Will was a murderer, why did he go to trouble and expense to look after the child? And if he did, surely it must be his child, not his brother’s? Why did you trust him?’

‘I was unhappy in that house. Master William had always been kind to me, even when he was just a child. When he offered me a cottage and a job of raising a child, I jumped at the chance. I’ve never asked him what happened that day. If he did it, he’s sorry for it, for he’s taken good care of us ever since.’

My hands were shaking. I gripped them together on the table in front of me. ‘So you think the child is his? And that he did do the murder?’ I asked, dreading the reply.

‘I don’t know. He was so young at that time. Barely more than a schoolboy. But I’ve always thought he might have done it.’

I leaned my head forward on my hands and groaned. That wasn’t what I’d hoped to hear. I’d come all this way, sure that if this cottage held any answers at all, it would be to clear Will’s name, not to sully it. I thought about him; his fair hair caught back in a black ribband; his piercing blue eyes laughing at some joke. It couldn’t be right.

‘You’re quite wrong, Auntie Jane,’ said a small, clear voice behind me. I jumped and looked round. A little girl stood at the foot of the stairs. She was dressed simply and plainly in a grey gown and a blue pinafore. Her fair hair was neatly plaited, and she couldn’t have been more than about eight years old.

‘Beth!’ cried Jane, flustered. ‘What are you doing here listening? I sent you for a walk!’

Beth shook her head. ‘I didn’t go. I thought perhaps this lady was bringing a message from Will. He told me he’d send a message.’

‘It’s very wrong to eavesdrop,’ said Jane angrily. I could tell she was upset about the things the little girl must have overheard. But I was intrigued.

‘Why did you say your Auntie Jane was mistaken?’ I asked her. I pushed my empty tea cup aside and leaned forward to look at her. She met my eyes with an open gaze. She had the same blue eyes and fair hair as both Will and James. It was easy to believe that she was daughter to one of them.

‘Because I remember that night,’ she said.

‘Beth! You’ve never said so before!’ exclaimed Jane, obviously astonished.

‘I told Will.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said “You’re quite right. But mum for that, little Beth”, and ruffled my hair. Then he gave me a hug. And he promised he’d always take care of us.’

‘Then perhaps you should keep quiet as he said,’ said Jane nervously.

Beth ignored her and looked straight at me. ‘It wasn’t Will that pushed Mama down the stairs,’ she told me. ‘It was the other man. Will’s brother. At least, perhaps he didn’t mean to push her down the stairs. I can’t quite remember that bit. It was all so loud and confusing and I was crying by then. But Mama was holding onto me with one hand and to the man with the other. She was crying and saying things to him.’

‘Like what?’ Jane asked.

‘Grown-up matters. I was too little then to understand. I only knew she was upset and crying and that upset me. She made him angry, I think.’

‘And what happened then?’ I asked curiously. I was amazed by the girl’s self assurance.

‘He pushed her. And she fell down. Down those hard stairs. I fell on top of her, but it still hurt me a lot. I can remember. It was the worst night of my whole life.’

‘And Will said that you remembered correctly, did he?’ I asked her. Beth nodded.

‘He did,’ she said. ‘And he told me not to tell anyone, but he was really my uncle. Is he coming to see me again soon?’

The spring had resolved into summer and there were leaves on all the trees. I woke in the stuffiness of a warm night, feeling stifled in the tiny bedchamber under the eaves. Beside me, my sister was fast asleep. From across the landing, I could hear my father’s rumbling snores. That was the worst of a cottage. You couldn’t get away from each other, even in sleep. I looked at my sister slumbering, her face peaceful. We had talked a great deal in the last few weeks. I understood much about her now that I hadn’t understood before.

The room was hot and stuffy and I was restless. That must have been what had woken me. I couldn’t go back to sleep in this heat. In fact I couldn’t even lie still. As I sat up in bed and threw back my covers, I felt something out of place among the linen bedding; something rough against my skin. I grasped it and lifted it to the moonlight. It was a short length of thin rope knotted into a clove hitch around a small stick. I stared at it in bewilderment. How had this got here?

It was such a poignant reminder of my time at sea that I felt my heart contract. I scrambled to my feet and went to the window, wondering if it had been thrown into my room that way.

Leaning out of the tiny cottage window, I could smell the roses in the garden below, their scent magnified by the cool night air. A full moon shone overhead. There was no sign of anyone, but the rope hadn’t appeared from nowhere.

I threw a light wrap around my shoulders and crept quietly down the stairs, determined to see if anyone was there. I told myself there would be no one, but my heart whispered that it could be Will and wouldn’t listen to my attempts to silence the seed of hope.

We had no live-in servants in this small cottage; only a maid who came to us during the day, so there was no one to see or hear me lift the latch of the kitchen door and creep out into the summer night.

The grass was cool and damp on my hot feet and the air was still. I looked around the garden, but could see no one. I sat down on our rustic bench in its arbour of honeysuckle with a sigh, wishing … well, I wasn’t sure what I wished. If only I had heard some news, any news at all from my friends of
The Invisible
. But there hadn’t been a word in the two months since I’d left the coast. We’d moved on several times, looking for somewhere pleasant and yet small and cheap enough that we could support ourselves on what little money we had left without getting into debt. I thought we were settled now, but how was anyone to trace me to send news? I clutched the knot tightly in my hand.

There was a rustle in the greenery beside me and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I squeaked and cowered on the bench.

‘Shh! Isabelle, it’s only me!’ whispered a shadowy figure. ‘I threw the knot through your window to wake you!’

I peered at the speaker, but whoever it was stood between me and the moon and all I could make out was a silhouette with wild black hair. The person sat down beside me, pulled off a wig and the moon fell full on his face.