The Hidden Heart (3 page)

“I would count on nothing when it comes to that man.” General Streathern’s lip curled. “He is vile, and his wife is no better. I would not trust him not to seize Gaby if he has the opportunity. I left the man nothing, and he would love to get his hands on Gaby’s money. And that witch of a wife of his is able to twist honest men around her finger. I don’t trust the pair of them.” He frowned, then went on slowly. “I would not otherwise sully your ears with such a tale, but you must know the full extent of his wickedness. The man is a lecher, and I have heard that he has a…a preference for young girls. Girls of Gaby’s age.”

Jessica sucked in her breath sharply. “General! Do you mean—you think he would—”

“I do not know how low the man would sink, but I would not be surprised at the depth of his depravity, either. Let us just say that it would be safer if she were never under his control, even for a day.” He looked at her sharply from beneath his thick white eyebrows. “Your father was one of the best soldiers I ever commanded.”

“Thank you, General.” Jessica felt emotion swell unexpectedly in her throat.

“I am counting on you to have his same spirit.”

“I hope and pray that I do,” Jessica replied, adding firmly, “You can rely on me to keep her away from Lord Vesey.”

“Good.” He relaxed, easing back against the pillows. “Thank you, Jessica. If I should die, either now or later, he will come like a vulture. Get her away from here as soon as the will is read. Be packed and ready to go. You understand me, don’t you?”

“Yes, I will waste no time. I swear it to you. She and I will leave immediately after the will is read, even if it means leaving the luggage for later.”

He nodded. “You’re a sharp, sensible girl. I know I can trust in you. Take her to the Duke of Cleybourne. His estate is in Yorkshire, near the town of Hedby, no more than a hard two days’ ride by carriage.”

“I will.” Jessica reached over and took the old man’s hand. “But, please God, that time will not come for many years, and Gaby will be a married woman by then.”

“God willing.”

It was late at night and the house was dark, everyone tucked up in their beds, when a side door opened quietly and a dark figure slipped inside. The man stood for a moment, still and watching, then moved with equal silence down the hallway and up the servants’ stairs to the second floor. Once again he waited, poised at the top of the stairs for the slightest sound before he went on to the door he sought. He opened it and peeked inside. There was no sign of the General’s valet or a nurse keeping watch over the old man.

He slid through the door and closed it softly after him, then glided across the floor until he stood beside the bed. He stood for a moment, gazing down at the old man. The General looked so frail that for a moment he wondered if this was really necessary. The man had just, after all, almost died. There was always the possibility that he would not regain his health, and then General Streathern would be of no danger to him.

As he watched, the old man’s eyes opened, as if he had sensed the watcher’s presence. His eyes narrowed. “You!” he rasped. “What the devil are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” the younger man said lightly. “I am never to taint you with my presence. But, I thought it best to talk to you. You see things have changed.”

“Yes, they have.” The General pulled himself up into a sitting position against his pillows. His uninvited guest noted that it was something of a struggle for him.

“I wanted to make sure that you were not thinking of doing anything foolish.”

“You mean revealing what really happened? What makes you think I wouldn’t?” the General shot back, rather injudiciously. “I have no reason to keep silent anymore.”

“There is the slight problem of your not having brought the matter up years ago, when it mattered. It would not reflect well on you. Your name would be ruined.”

“Perhaps that is as it should be,” the old man remarked heavily.

“Easy for you to say, when you are facing the grave, anyway. I, on the other hand, have many years to live, and I have no desire to do so under the taint of scandal.”

“It would be worse than that.”

“Indeed? I think not. Only your word against mine, and you are an old fool who has just suffered an apoplexy. Everyone would assume that your brain simply was not working properly any longer.”

“Oh, they would believe me,” General Streathern said, contempt and hatred lighting his eyes. “I have proof, you see.”

The other man’s eyes were as cold as the General’s were heated. He surveyed the old man for a moment, then said, “Well, I am sorry to hear that.”

Swiftly he picked up a pillow from the bed and put it over the old man’s face. The General struggled, but he was weak from his illness, and it was not long before his struggles ceased. The visitor waited another long moment after that, then lifted the pillow and set it back with the others. He pulled the old man back down in the bed so that he was no longer sitting up but would look as if he had died peacefully in his sleep.

He cast a quick glance around the room, and it was only then that it struck him: if the General truly had proof against him, he could still be in danger. His jaw clenched, and he glanced at the still man in the bed, anger surging up in him. The old fool had made him so angry, he had acted in haste. He should have made him reveal where and what the proof was before he killed him.

He went over to the chest across the room and began to search through it, realizing even as he did so how difficult it would be to find what he needed. To begin with, there was the possibility that there was no actual proof, that the General might have been merely bluffing, hoping to scare him. And if the old goat had been telling the truth, he still had no idea even what the proof consisted of.
Was it an object? A piece of paper?
Whatever it was, he was certain that the General would have secreted it away somewhere. A safe was the most likely choice, so he searched the room but found none, knowing even as he did so that the safe was just as likely to be downstairs in the old man’s study or smoking room, or even where they locked up the precious silver. Finding it would be a daunting task in the best of circumstances. At night, with a houseful of people around who might wake up and discover him, it was almost impossible.

Even as he thought it, he heard the sound of the doorknob turning. He darted into the shadowy spot between the wardrobe and the corner of the room and waited, holding his breath. He heard the shuffle of an old man’s feet across the room and saw the flickering low light of a candle. Fortunately the light did not come close to where he hid. He, however, could see the features of a man close to the General’s age, dressed in nightclothes and dressing gown. The General’s valet, he thought.

The servant stopped at the foot of the bed and stood for a moment. Then he began to frown and edged around the bed to stand beside the old man. He sucked in his breath and let out a low wail. “Oh, no, oh, my lord, no!”

He moaned again, then turned and left the room at a pace close to a run.

The intruder did not hang far behind. He raced to the door after the servant and saw him shuffling down the hallway, moaning and crying out, “He’s gone! The General’s dead!”

He did not pause, but slipped along the hall in the opposite direction, running lightly down the main stairs and out of the house.

T
he carriage rolled to a stop, and Jessica pushed back the curtain to peer out into the dark, a question on her lips. As soon as she saw what lay before them, the question died unanswered. The coachman had stopped, no doubt, just as she would have, because of the looming dark bulk that lay ahead of them. It was a massive structure of dark gray stone, obviously built centuries before in a time of frequent strife, and added onto throughout the years until it was a sprawling hulk of sheer stone walls, battlements and Norman towers. Lights burned on either side of its open gateway, doing little to alleviate the darkness. It was gloomy and foreboding, dominating the countryside from its seat on a slight rise.
Castle Cleybourne.

Jessica had little trouble believing that it was the country seat of an old and powerful family. Nor was it difficult to imagine the place being besieged, war engines hammering away at its massive walls, soldiers on the battlements shooting down arrows on the troops below. What was harder was to picture it as a welcoming place to bring an adolescent girl who had just lost her last loving relative. She could not hold back a sigh.

Perhaps it had been a mistake, after all, to act this precipitously upon the General’s orders. It had shaken her so when the old man’s valet had run through the halls, wailing out the news of his death, that she had immediately set about readying Gabriela and herself for the journey to Gabriela’s new guardian. General Streathern’s death, following as it did hard on the heels of his seemingly prophetic words to her, jolted and frightened her, lending an eerie importance to what he had said. Had he foreseen that his death would come that swiftly? And had he foreseen other things, as well—things that had made him urge her to take Gabriela safe out of Lord Vesey’s hands?

She had sat up with Gabriela the rest of the night, holding the girl while she cried out her grief until Gaby fell, finally, into a restless slumber. Jessica had remained by the girl’s side, dozing by fits and starts in the padded rocker beside the bed, thinking about the General and letting her own tears flow for the man who had been so kind to her, standing by her when the rest of the polite world had scorned her. She had not cried like this for anyone since her father’s death ten years ago.

The next morning, she had told Pierson, the butler, about the General’s last instructions to her, and he had immediately set two of the maids to packing up her and Gabriela’s clothes and other necessities for the journey. He would not have ignored the General’s orders in any case, nor would any of the other servants, but Jessica could see in his eyes that he agreed with the General about the wisdom of removing Gabriela from Lord Vesey’s vicinity.

Jessica had gone about her business, seeing to the funeral arrangements and notifying all who needed to be notified of the old man’s death, including Lord Vesey at the inn in the village—even though it was like a stab wound to her chest to think of that loathsome man’s probable pleasure at the news. She had penned letters to the General’s friends, telling them of his demise, and another to the Duke of Cleybourne explaining the situation, while the servants went about the necessary arrangements to the house—draping crepe above doors and turning mirrors to the wall, muffling the door-knockers. Every spare moment, Jessica had spent with Gabriela, trying to ease the pain of this new death and separation.

The girl was white and hollow eyed but calm, not giving way to tears again until the last moments of the funeral. Jessica’s heart was heavy for her. Gabriela had had to suffer more sorrow than a fourteen-year-old should bear—losing both her parents when she was eight, and now losing the man who had been a grandfather to her, her only real remaining relative, for one could scarcely count Lord Vesey. Now all she had left were Jessica and the stranger who would be her guardian.

Despite the girl’s sorrow, Jessica knew that she had to explain to her why they must leave as soon as possible. She did not, of course, explain Lord Vesey’s depravity to her, deeming it unsuitable for a young girl’s ears, as well as exceedingly frightening for her. However, as it turned out, she did not need to justify leaving. As soon as Gabriela learned that they were going away in order to avoid Lord Vesey, she was eager to leave.

“I hate him,” she told Jessica vehemently. “I know it’s wrong. He is old and deserves respect…but he gives me the shivers. The way he looks at me…it’s as if a snake had crossed my path.”

“I understand. It is an apt analogy,” Jessica agreed. “He is a wicked man. Your great-uncle thought so, too. You must never be alone with him. If he comes into a room, you leave.”

“I will.”

At the funeral, Leona wept in her lovely way. Jessica wondered why the woman bothered, since the General was dead. Did she hope to influence the attorney who would read the will? Or was she simply unable to pass up an opportunity to focus everyone’s eyes on herself?

Jessica herself struggled not to cry, sitting beside Gabriela and holding her hand. She knew that she needed to be strong, for Gabriela’s sake, but she could not help remembering the many kindnesses that General Streathern had shown her, until finally she could not hold back the tears any longer, and she, too, had cried, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

Afterward, in the formal drawing room of the General’s house, his attorney, Mr. Cumpston, read the General’s last will and testament to them. It came as no surprise to Jessica that the old man left his house and his entire fortune to Gabriela and nothing to the Veseys. It was what he had told her the other night. It did come as a shock, however, when she learned that General Streathern had left Jessica his favorite inlaid wood box, containing several of his mementos, as well as a sum of money. She stared at the attorney, amazed, oblivious to the venomous looks the Veseys shot at her. It was not a large sum, she knew, compared to Gabriela’s fortune. Leona, she felt sure, would consider it mere pin money. But it was enough, if invested wisely, to provide Jessica with a livelihood for the rest of her life. She would not have to scrimp and save, and she would never again be at the mercy of others. It was freedom from the painful, frequently humiliating existence into which her father’s scandal had plunged her, and it made her heart swell with gratitude and affection for the General.

Lord and Lady Vesey, as she had expected, had protested the contents of the will long and vigorously.

“I am his nephew!” Lord Vesey had cried. “There has to be a mistake. He would not have left money to his butler and valet and…and
her
—” he pointed contemptuously at Jessica “—and left nothing to a relative!”

“It’s because of you!” Leona added, her eyes shooting into Jessica like daggers. “I think we all know why he left you money, don’t we? The sort of services you performed for the old—”

“Lady Vesey!” Mr. Cumpston exclaimed, shocked. “How can you say such a thing about the General? Or Miss Maitland?”

“Quite easily,” Leona retorted scornfully. “I am not a country innocent like you.”

“I was friend to General Streathern for many years,” Mr. Cumpston replied. “I knew him well, and I know that there was no taint of scandal attached to him or Miss Maitland. He explained all his wishes to me.”

“He was influenced by her!” Leona cried, her lovely face contorted into something far less fetching. “Her and that chit!” She waved her hand toward Gabriela. “They worked on him. Convinced him to exclude us.”

“That’s right,” Lord Vesey agreed. “Undue influence, that’s what it was. He was an old man, and feeble. He probably didn’t know what he was doing. I shall take this to court.”

“Very well, Lord Vesey,” the attorney said with a sigh. “Certainly you may do so. But I think you would simply be throwing away money on such a suit. The General was in full possession of his faculties until he was felled by apoplexy that day, and there are a large number of respected people in this community who will testify to that. The witnesses to the will were Sir Roland Winfrey and the Honorable Mr. Ashton Cranfield, who were visiting the General at the time. They, too, can testify as to the General’s ability to know what he was doing, and I think you will find few who would dispute the word of either of those gentlemen.”

Lord Vesey sneered but fell silent. Jessica had no very great opinion of his intelligence, but she suspected that even Lord Vesey would realize he had little hope with two such respected men as witnesses against him. He and Leona left the house soon afterward, and Jessica sincerely hoped that was the last she and Gabriela would ever have to see of them.

Mindful of her promise to the General, she and Gabriela had also left that afternoon, after packing up the last of their things, putting the lovely wooden box the General had given her into one of her trunks, then bidding the servants of the household a tearful farewell and promising to send them word from the home of Gabriela’s new guardian and trustee.

They had traveled throughout the night, stopping only to change the horses at post houses along the way. She and Gabriela slept as best they could in the rumbling carriage, woken often by jolts and jars. Though the carriage was well-appointed and as comfortable as such conveyances could be, it was a hard drive, and it was a relief whenever they stopped at an inn to change horses and could get out a bit and stretch their legs, free from the constant motion of the coach.

Now, having arrived at the duke’s stronghold the next evening, Jessica was swept by a new dismay. The castle did not look like a welcoming place.

“Are we there?” Gaby asked, pushing aside the curtain beside her and looking out. She sucked in a breath as she saw the looming structure. “Oh, my…it looks like something out of a book—you know, the romances Gramps disapproved of my reading. Doesn’t it look as if it holds ghosts and villains?”

“And at least one mad monk,” Jessica added dryly, pleased when the younger girl let out a little chuckle. “Well, shall we venture forward?”

“Oh, yes. It looks most interesting.”

Jessica smiled at the girl. Gabriela was handling everything so well it was amazing. Jessica felt sure that many another young lady would have fallen into a fit of the vapors by now, given the events of the past few days.

She ordered the driver to proceed and settled back in her seat. She hoped that the Duke of Cleybourne would not be too offended by their arrival after dark. It was not the best time to impose on someone, but she hoped that he would understand the exigencies of the situation. It was too bad, she thought, that Gabriela’s father and then the General had chosen someone so lofty in lineage and rank to be the girl’s guardian. She was afraid that he would be so high in the instep that it would be difficult to talk to him. Jessica had been raised in good circles: her father’s brother was a baron, and her mother’s father was a baronet. But that was a far cry from a duke, the very highest title one could have below royalty. Some dukes were even royal themselves. She feared that he might dismiss her, thinking Gabriela’s schooling and training in the polite arts was not good enough for the ward of a duke. She kept such thoughts to herself, however, not wanting to upset Gabriela.

The carriage rolled up to the gates, stopped for a moment, then rolled on into the courtyard beyond. The entrance had once been the outer wall of the castle, Jessica supposed, with huge gates that were closed at night, but in these modern times, the gates no longer stood, only the entrance. Inside the wall lay a small courtyard paved with stones. The coachman pulled up to the front steps of the house, then climbed down to help Gabriela and Jessica out.

The house was imposing, the timeworn stone steps leading up to a large and beautifully carved wooden door. Concealing her nerves, Jessica went up the steps, Gabriela on her heels, and knocked firmly on the front door. It was opened almost immediately by a surprised-looking footman.

“Yes?”

“I am sorry to intrude so late at night. I am Jessica Maitland, and this is Gabriela Carstairs. We are here to see the Duke of Cleybourne.”

The young man continued to stare at them blankly. “The duke?” he asked finally.

“Yes.” Jessica wonderd if the man was not quite right in the head. “The duke. Miss Carstairs is the grandniece of General Streathern. Her father was a friend of the duke’s.”

“Oh. I see.” The footman frowned some more but stepped back, permitting them inside. “If you will, ah, just sit down, I will tell His Grace that you are here.”

It was not, Jessica noted, the pleasantest of greetings. Her unease grew.
What if the letter had been delayed and the duke had not gotten it yet?
They had traveled very quickly, and it was possible they could have outstripped the mail.

The footman was gone for some time, and when he did return, it was with another, older man, who came forward to Jessica.

“I am very sorry, Miss…Maitland, is it? My name is Baxter. I am the butler here. I’m afraid that this is not a good time to see His Grace. It is, after all, nine o’clock, rather late for visiting.”

“I sent him a letter,” Jessica said. “Did he not receive it? I explained the circumstances of our arrival.”

“I, ah, I’m not sure. I, there has been mail, of course, but I do not know whether he has read it. His Grace did not seem to expect you.”

“I am very sorry if he has not received the letter. But if he has it and has not read it, it would be a good idea for him to do so now. It will explain everything. I am sure it must appear odd to him, but I really must meet with him. Pray go back and tell him that it is imperative that we speak. Miss Carstairs and I have traveled quite a distance. She is the duke’s ward.”