The Stanforth Secrets (11 page)

The small Heysham church of St. Peter’s was very old, dating back to before the Norman Conquest, and there were more historic connections. High on the headland was a ruined structure said to be a chapel built by St. Patrick. In the churchyard stood a curious Viking memorial, a hogback burial stone. It was a gray stone, the shape and size of a large pig’s back, covered with carvings of people and animals. It supposedly marked the grave of a Viking warrior called Thorold, who died in the tenth century. It had been dug up only ten years before and attracted a steady stream of antiquarians, the latest being the Dutchman, Herr van Maes.

The whole churchyard was an ancient place, and Chloe always felt as if the spirits of a thousand generations hovered comfortably about. She could not blame them. Set on the headland in view of the rolling sea, this graveyard was a place to contemplate the hand of God.

Standing by Stephen’s grave, looking out across the bay, she braced herself against the brisk salt wind. One day Justin would lie here, she supposed, with what Lady Stanforth beside him? The thought caused her discomfort. She could not, must not, think this way of Justin. His choice of wife was nothing to do with her. She must not again be trapped by the Delamere charm, experience a few moments of delight during a lifetime of exasperation and disappointment.

A small voice told her Justin was not as like Stephen as she thought. Then she remembered the tales Stephen had told of their adventures. She had always known her husband could never have been the instigator of the most ingenious and inventive mayhem to their credit. On their elopement journey, had Justin not foolishly challenged a carter to a wrestling match and, having beaten him, continued to take on all comers until a blacksmith had nearly broken his back? Such bravado was probably admirable in a soldier, but not in a husband.

As she rode slowly back to the Hall, Chloe was very aware that the sooner she left Delamere, the better.

W
HEN THE INHABITANTS of Delamere Hall sat down to a cold luncheon, Sir Cedric joined them. The gentlemen were at first inclined to avoid discussion of the death but Chloe and, more forcefully, the Duchess, soon dissuaded them from being so delicate. Justin and Randal accepted this with resignation, but Sir Cedric was shocked. Chloe had noticed in the past that his notions of the behavior suitable for a Dowager Duchess did not mesh with reality.

On this occasion he was bold enough to remonstrate. “I think, Your Grace, that Lady Stanforth”—he indicated Belinda—“cannot like to talk of it. She was . . . er . . . related to the dead man.”

Chloe thought it was true that Belinda looked pale and not as composed as usual, which wasn’t surprising if Frank had once been her sweetheart. When the young woman spoke, however, it was to say quietly, “I suppose we all know one another hereabouts, and Frank’s mother was my father’s cousin. But his death doesn’t distress me any more than another man’s would. I would like to know what you think occurred.”

So, thought Chloe, Belinda does not intend to acknowledge any closer relationship than that. She didn’t blame the girl.

The Dowager Lady Stanforth, who had drifted down to luncheon in yet another old-fashioned gown, spoke up piercingly. “A young maid was once blown off the Head in a storm.”

“I have heard of such cases, Aunt,” said Justin kindly. “But today there was no more than a brisk breeze.”

“Do we know where he fell from?” asked Chloe.

“Yes. There are marks,” replied Justin. “The drop isn’t sheer, as you know, and it’s obvious he tried to find purchase as he slid. It was quite close to the house, but over to the north a little and out of sight. If you and Randal had been looking toward the Head you would doubtless have seen him. It is doubtful anyone else did.”

“Was there anyone else there with him?” asked the Duchess sharply.

“There is no way to tell from the ground, which is firm and dry. None of the staff is admitting to it. Was anyone here out of the house this morning, apart from Chloe and Randal?”

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken by Belinda. “Are you suggesting someone
caused
Frank to fall? Why would you think such a thing?”

Justin answered her. “It is certainly difficult to understand, but then he had no business in that part of the grounds. After Chloe and Randal rode out he was sent to the storage shed for a bag of oats. He was not seen again. The Head isn’t dangerous. It’s difficult to imagine him walking off the edge in a fit of absentmindedness.”

“A young maid was once blown off the Head in a storm,” said the Dowager pleasantly. Everyone smiled awkwardly and ignored her.

“Well,” said Belinda stolidly. “I was out in the rose garden and I saw nothing untoward.”

Chloe remembered seeing her leave the house. Frank had been alive then.

“The rose garden is to the south of the house. Is that not correct?” Sir Cedric asked. “It lies between the stables and the place where the young man fell?”

Belinda cut a piece of cheese. “I’m not sure where it is you say he fell, but the rose garden is on the southwest. The most direct route to the seaside of the house from the stables would take a person that way.”

“And when did you go there?”

“Between nine and ten. I spoke to Chloe as I left the house.”

Chloe corroborated this and added the fact that the maid and baby were with Belinda, just in case Cedric took the notion to consider George’s wife a suspect. She guessed that, in addition to her grief, Belinda was nervous lest her relationship with the groom be exposed. Having been in such a situation herself, Chloe sympathized with anyone threatened by scandal. As a duke’s granddaughter, Chloe had been able to face down Society but had still been scarred. Belinda would be destroyed.

Sir Cedric’s interest in Belinda was obviously waning, but he asked, “And how long did you stay in the rose garden, Lady George?”

Belinda shrugged. “I can’t be sure. I didn’t have a thought as to time. After I’d gathered the petals from the blown roses, I walked farther along the seaside of the house and down through the herb garden to pick a few other plants I needed. I was gathering supplies for my
potpourri
, you see. I spoke to Budsworth, the gardener. There had been no alarm raised then.”

Justin broke in. “And how long was it before Chloe returned to the house with the news?”

“I don’t know,” said Belinda simply. “I had to go up to feed Dorinda. I heard nothing until my maid told me, just before lunch.”

Justin looked around. “Frank would have gone by the rose garden and along the sea side of the house, or by the longer route around the front and through the kitchen garden to get to where he fell. As it happened, both were occupied. He must have proceeded to the Head after Belinda left the rose garden, but why he would go there remains a mystery.”

“Unless he intended deliberately to do away with himself,” said Sir Cedric solemnly. “That seems to be the most likely explanation. Nobody in the house had any apparent reason to wish him harm, and it seems clear nobody on the staff felt great enmity toward the young man. He was quite popular, particularly with the females. Everyone admits he had been in low spirits recently. There is no need to make a scandal of this, however. For my part, I am willing to accept this was just an unfortunate accident.”

Chloe thought it was kind of Cedric not to put the label of suicide on the death, but wondered at his exposition. Did he not realize Frank had been in low spirits because he was a servant in a house of which his equal was now mistress?

Furthermore, Chloe wondered, was Cedric really taking the word of the staff for truth? She knew they would keep their secrets from the gentry if they wished. No enmity toward Frank? She had caught a reference to him and Matthew, though she had thought it over a woman. If Frank had still been hopeful of Belinda, that did not seem likely. Chloe couldn’t see Matthew setting his sights on one of the Ladies Stanforth, no matter how unexalted her birth.

She was dismayed to think, however, that she had spoken to the groom so soon before his death and been unaware of the forces converging upon him, whether they had been internal or external. . . . She dragged her attention back to the desultory decision making.

Justin was agreeing to go along with a declaration of accidental death. Both he and Sir Cedric looked at Lord Randal, who had taken no part in the discussion.

“Nothing to do with me,” Randal said casually. “Even if there was something fishy, I’ll lay odds you’d never get to the bottom of it if you tried.”

Chloe waited to be consulted but, happily in accord, the gentlemen rose and the baronet took his leave. Justin and Randal went off together. The Dowager and Miss Forbes rose and wandered away. Belinda said she had to go to Dorinda. Thus, Chloe and the Duchess were left to finish their cups of tea.

The Duchess looked at Chloe’s scowl.

“And what’s nibbling at you, my dear?”

“Men,” said Chloe, darkly. “They have it all settled to their satisfaction, and not a word to us. Do they think we have no brains?”

The Duchess chuckled. “If you don’t take care, my gel, you’ll turn into a radical like that Wollstonecraft woman. Men do men’s work and women do women’s. Pity you never had children. You’d find you had enough to keep you busy without wanting men’s tasks.”

Chloe flushed. “Am I so unreasonable, Grandmama? I do not want to run the estate now Justin is back, but I do not relish being treated as if I were of no account. I know the people here better than any of them. Yet, they even asked
Randal
for his opinion!”

The Duchess shrugged. “You could work on them and bring them around, but what’s the point? Save it for your husband. He’s the one you’ll need to impress with your abilities. The more I think of it though, Chloe, the less I like this notion of you marrying earnest Ernest. I ask you, who’s more likely to let you run wild and poke your fingers in everywhere, someone like Randal or someone like Sir Cedric?”

Chloe refused to answer, though she silently gave the Duchess that point.

“What you need, gel, is another feckless man who’ll go off and leave you in charge. Or, if you don’t like that, marry a naval man. He can be depended upon to be absent nine months of the year.”

Chloe knew this was not what she wanted, though she chose not to investigate her feelings too closely. She put her cup down decisively. “I’m more than half convinced not to marry at all. Having achieved that rare state for a woman—independence—would I not be foolish to give it up? Perhaps it’s time we left Delamere, Grandmama. It’s clear I am not needed, and I would like a change of scene.”

The Duchess looked shrewdly at her granddaughter, then slowly took a number of sips of tea.

“Well, Grandmama?” asked Chloe impatiently.

“Just thinking,” said the old lady. “You don’t make rash plans when you’re my age. Next week’s a full moon. I prefer to travel when the moon’s full even though I’ve no intention of carrying on after dark. Accidents can happen, and at least one can press on by moonlight.”

“Next week, then,” said Chloe with a sigh. Seven days seemed an age with Justin an ever-present temptation to foolishness.

“Don’t look so fretful. You can’t run away before your dinner party, and you’ll need a few days to put Justin in the picture. He may have taken over things here, as is proper, but there must be a lot he doesn’t know. Then there’s Randal. He’ll escort us to the Towers, but he’s only just got here and deserves a few days with his friend. If the weather’s fine, we could leave next Tuesday.” With that, the Duchess pushed herself out of the chair and picked up her stick.

“Well,” she said. “If we’re to be rushing off, I’d best go talk to my maid. Get things in order.”

Chloe sat alone. Rushing off, indeed. She wanted to be gone now, today. With Stephen, that had been the way of things. Form a notion, carry it out. No hesitation, no planning. Was she in fact more like Stephen than she had ever supposed?

If so, all the more reason not to marry again. Stephen had made a poor husband, but he’d have made a worse wife. Chloe shrugged and turned her mind to the more interesting speculation—had Frank been pushed off the Head, and if so, by whom?

There was one person in the house who knew a great deal about Frank Halliwell.

Chloe went to the suite of rooms used by Belinda—a bedroom, a
boudoir
, and a room used as a nursery for the baby. At Chloe’s scratch, she was admitted by Belinda herself.

“Yes?” Aromas of rose and lavender, mint and citrus wove out of the doorway and gave Chloe her excuse for coming here.

“I was wondering,” said Chloe, improvising, “if you would show me how you make
potpourri
, Belinda. Yours is delightful. I know it’s an accomplishment which every lady should have, but I was never an attentive student and, running off with Stephen so young, I missed some of my lessons.”