An Inconvenient Engagement Page 14

  Alastair stood and wiped at the tear tracing its way down his weathered cheek. Eliza reached up and laid her hand on his arm. “Uncle, I fear we must go to Aunt Gemma’s.”

  He nodded and covered her hand with his own. Then she led him inside. He sat heavily on a chair as she climbed heavily up the stairs to retrieve her pelisse. After buttoning the pelisse, she helped him into his jacket and slipped her pattens on to protect her boots from the mud and dirt. She hitched old Bunch to the repaired pony trap and helped her uncle into it.

  Eliza walked beside the pony trap where her uncle rode. She knew her uncle would never make the two-mile walk and that the pony would never make it carrying the two of them. So, she had worked to convince him to ride and let her walk. He had resisted until she said it would help her with her own grief, and then he relented.

  It was a silent journey, both of them shedding tears from time to time, neither attempting to intrude on the other’s grief. When they crossed over the river, however, Eliza burst into tears and had to hold tight to the pony’s halter for guidance.

  It was not much better when they arrived, for Aunt Wetherby was inconsolable. A couple ladies from the village were there, including Addy Welles who was uncharacteristically silent and simply organizing tea for everyone. Eliza hugged her aunt and stepped aside for her uncle who was surprised by the way Gemma clung to him. Then began the long wait for the news of how Alice had died.

  “I told her since she were a babe to stay off them bridges.”

  “Alice would go her own way, Aunt.” She kissed the top of her head and left her crying in the arms of her uncle to go and search for her cousin.

  Jamie hung in the background, ducking outside now and then to work, drawn back by duty to his mother. Still, he was out more than in, and Eliza found him out in the larger of the two outbuildings, cleaning one of the harnesses.

  She picked up one of the rags and began rubbing the oil into another section of the leather. She said nothing, just continued working beside him.

  “Alice loved the smell of the barn,” Jamie said after a while.

  “Did she?” Eliza was surprised.

  “Yes. She liked to act ashamed of being a farmer’s daughter, but she loved the animals. One of those kittens got sick, and she nursed it until it was better. That was Alice. She acted hateful but was kindness itself.”

  “I wish I could have known her better.”

  Jamie lifted the harness and hung it back on its pegs. “She was hard to get to know. But I will say if anyone tried, it was you.” He suddenly broke down into tears and she put a hand on his shoulder. “It was my fault, Eliza. I should have stopped it.”

  “It was not your fault!”

  “I knew something was wrong! I saw her crying over the kittens. I should have known. I could have followed her and challenged him – protected her. I should have done something.”

  Eliza watched him, barely seventeen, and bearing all the responsibilities of the farm and his sister’s tragedy. “James Wetherby, none of this is your fault. All of this happened because of Alice’s choices. I know it is hard to think of, but it is the truth. These were her choices, not yours.” His sobs quieted after a time into sniffles, and he rubbed the back of his sleeve across his face. “Father would have plenty to say if he caught me like this.”

  “Caught you…what? Bearing the weight of his responsibilities so young? He would be terribly proud, Jamie.”

  He sniffed and looked at her. “Do you think so?”

  She nodded. “Oh yes.”

  He dragged in a breath. “Thank you, Eliza.” He nodded in the direction of the house, “You go on up. I’ll be ok.” He stood a little taller, she thought.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Most Honorable Edward, the Marquess of Tollingsworth, was on his way out when his visitor was announced. Normally, he would have instructed his butler to say “Not at home,” but here he was, looking rather concerned in his non-emotive way. Tollie, as he was affectionately known by his closest friends, was not as vapid as his manner often indicated. He was far more intelligent and feeling than his peers and masked the unfashionable tendencies with a flippant airiness. But now he looked at his unusually subdued servant and the card held out to him.

  ‘Sir William Strathom’

  “William, old boy!” He glanced at his pocket watch and considered. “Well, I can give him a few minutes. Where have you stowed him?”

  He found William pacing, he stopped in midstep as The Marquess of Tollingsworth entered. He took a deep breath and recalled the image of Eliza crying softly to give him courage.

  “Lord Tollingsworth, I have a very delicate situation to discuss with you.”

  “Well, Strathom, have a seat. I can give you a few minutes.”

  “It involves the cousin of a very dear friend of mine. She has disappeared, and this was found among her things.” He held out the folded note. Lord Tollingsworth took it and read it, then his mouth formed into a grim line among the growing redness. “Damn swine – not the first time from what I have learned. I do hope this girl has not done herself a harm…”

  “We don’t know – we have yet to find her.”

  A bell rang in the distance. Moments later, the butler arrived with a letter outstretched. Lord Tollingsworth reached for it, but he shook his head and handed it to William instead. “This from an express.”

  “I told them where I was coming…this must have news…” He opened the letter and read the few words there. “It is as we feared – she has been found. Dead. Presumed drowned.”

  Tollingsworth closed his eyes and stood after a moment. “I fear I am partly to blame. I met Daunton on a trip to the continent. He seemed the perfect gentleman, well-heeled and great fun.” He paused, as though remembering. “Brought him here for an extended house party, he ends up meddling with almost every young maid in my house. Sent him off and now he lives in some rooms on the other side of town. His own father won’t have him.”

  “Tollie, you can’t take this on yourself.”

  “Strathom, I can bear some of it. It was I who introduced him at the Loughtons and to Lytchley.” Tollie adjusted his neckcloth and sighed. He was well aware he did not have the fashionable looks associated with one of his title and station, but his lack of height did not correlate with a lack of character. “I fear my granny will not have the pleasure of my company today. I must pay a visit to this scoundrel. Strathom, you will accompany me?”

  “My honor, yes.”

  “Then let’s go, man, my carriage is waiting. I will send word for your horse to be stabled until we return.”

  The carriage ride was not long. Daunton was staying in some rooms on the cheaper side of town after having been expelled from Brindlewood, Tollie’s family estate. They discussed their approach and then fell silent. Tollie’s large, soulful eyes stared out the carriage window, William staring at the floor.

  They pulled up in front of an old Tudor inn. The door lay in a darkened alleyway and the carriage had to turn slightly so that they could step free of it. They climbed the short stairs where they were let in by a slatternly maid. She disappeared with their cards and then returned and bid them follow. They were led into a cramped little parlor that stank of stale food and something like vomit, where Daunton stood with a tumbler in hand. “Tollie, Strathom. To what do I owe this little pleasure? Didn’t ever expect to see your eminence on this side of town.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you on this side of town.”

  “Little trouble with cash flow at the moment. Father being rather a stickler.”

  “Perhaps he has heard about your appetites.”

  Daunton snorted. “Perhaps. Give him time, and the old prodigal son will come home again.”

  William replied, “Maybe not this time.”

  Daunton looked at him and frowned, downing another drink. “Whaddya mean?”

  “A girl is dead this time,” said William

  He tipped his head back and downed the last of his dri
nk. “Ha! Can’t pin it on me.”

  “It is no laughing matter.” William said tightly. Tollie gave him a warning look and William struggled to contain himself.

  Daunton wiped his mouth with a stained handkerchief and let out a breath of impatience.“Well? Who is it?”

  “Alice Wetherby,” said Tollie.

  “What of her?” Daunton’s face was impassive.

  “You left her in a hell of a condition,” said William.

  Daunton laughed shortly. “Girls of that class will say anything.”

  “Damn it, the girl is dead!” William shouted.

  Daunton poured himself another drink. “Well what am I to do about it? If she couldn’t face it, that was her decision.”

  “Yours, too,” Tollie said.

  “And what of it? I was alone, she was willing, same old story with the predictable end. I can’t help what the girl did.”

  Tollie held out a restraining hand to William. “We did not come here expecting any regrets on your part, merely applying for some financial help for the family. Some reparations, if you will.”

  Daunton frowned incredulously at them. “Are you putting a monetary value then on this girl’s life?”

  “No,” Tollie replied. “But rather on the expenses acquired as a result of her death.”

  Daunton set the glass down with a clinking thud. “Well, sod off the both of you. We all know there isn’t a law on the books that can be brought against me.” He smirked at them both and added, “What can you do? It’s a man’s world.”

  There was silence. “We will make sure that your father and every member of your clubs and your social circle knows what you have done. You will be shut out from all good society.”

  Daunton’s face darkened. “Then I will demand satisfaction.” He looked at Tollie.

  William broke free of Tollie’s hand and stepped forward. “You can’t deny what you have done.”

  “No, but it will give me a good excuse to put a bullet between dear Tollie’s sanctimonious eyes.”

  Tollie squared his shoulders and said, “I am not afraid of you. We will take our leave. We know how we must act. William.” Daunton merely eyed them darkly from behind his drink.

  It was late when William returned to Tredwell. Tollie had offered to put him up for the night, but he preferred to ride home despite the late hour. He rode into the stable and was going to put the mare up himself, but Rivers stepped out from the shadows and took her from him without a word. Too exhausted even to argue, William turned and went up the stairs to his own room. There, Leavitt helped him to undress and then stepped wordlessly out to leave him alone.

  He sat on the edge of his bed and dropped his head into his hands. What had started as a simple confrontation and demand for some form of justice had turned into a potential contest of honor. Could this situation have gotten any worse? Tollie had taken on the bulk of the responsibility, merely relying on William to second his actions. William had pledged to do so and had signed a letter penned to the Earl of Daunton informing him of his son’s action. After that, it would depend on whether Daunton himself kept his pledge to see them on the field of honor.

  He straightened and stared into the fire. Eliza’s face hovered before him, and he gave in to a moment’s reliving of his last meeting with her. Her little hand clutching at his, her face turned to him in mute request for his help. He would be damned if he did not step up!

  Sleep was suddenly far away, and he stood, pulling on his dressing gown and stepping out of his room. He made his way along the hall to the moonlit gallery and stopped at the point where he had kissed Eliza. He felt again the rumble of need coursing through him, vibrant and alive. Dragging in a heavy breath, he looked at the portraits. They looked out passively, mute witnesses of his agony.

  On the other side of the town, Eliza sat in her window seat looking out toward Tredwell Abbey. She could still feel the solid warmth of Sir William’s hand as he held hers. She closed her eyes and remembered the very smell of him as he had neared her, the woodsy, masculine scent tinged with horse. Her heart beat faster, and she did nothing to stop it.

  It had been late before she and Uncle had returned home. Aunt Wetherby had finally succumbed to exhaustion and been led to her bedchamber. Neither was very hungry for the cold supper left out by Cook, but they had eaten in silence anyway. Eliza had looked up to see her uncle sitting silently with his eyes closed and had known a moment of panic until he had taken a deep breath and sighed. At that, she had ushered him on to bed and helped Bessie to clean up.

  Now, she sat silently observing the clouds chasing their way over the half-moon. She hugged her knees to her and held the blanket tight around her to conserve warmth. Cold prickled along her arm as it rested against the icy glass, and she drew in a deep breath and swung her legs off the seat. Eliza was certain she would not sleep, but after crawling between her covers, and shivering them into warmth, she nestled down and was almost instantly asleep.

  In a rather small room behind his main surgery in town, Dr. Welles looked at the sad mound covered by the blanket. There would be an inquest, and it was up to him to determine cause of death, and any further information. He held the sketch made by the men who had found her. He lifted the blanket and looked at her, still frozen in place. She lay mostly prone, curled slightly to one side in an almost fetal position. Had she fallen into the water then succumbed to the cold, or had she drowned and then washed up on the bank? For that, he must look at her lungs, and she must thaw before he could do that. He stoked the fire in the exam room.

  He knew one thing, though, and that was that the girl had died before the snowstorm. The amount of snow deposited on the body had made that clear. He checked again to see the degree of thawing and then covered her again and returned to his room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dr. Welles made the first cut of the ‘Y’ incision that he had learned long before in medical school. Bone shears would be needed to break through the sternum and ribs, carefully so as not to damage the organs underneath. He peeled back the pleura and cut into the icy cold tissue beneath. And there it was – water. The girl had drowned.

  But why? There were no bruises, so she did not go into the water following a struggle. Willingly? Again, why? There were so many possible reasons, and so few that he could determine. He turned his attention to the organs at the base of the ‘Y’ and frowned. There was one reason that he could determine….

  The inquest was held the next day. The Bucket and Bull was filled to capacity by curious villagers. Eliza sat between her uncle and Aunt Wetherby. Jamie sat on the other side of his mother. Sir William was present as well and Eliza found herself distracted by his presence. She caught his eye for a moment and felt a thrill go through her. Then their attention was called to order and, she forced herself to look away.

  The proceedings were relatively short. The jury was allowed to observe the body and see for their own eyes the lack of defensive marks and wounds. Young Henry Rivers was called to give evidence of finding the body, and then Dr. Welles reported his findings. When he revealed that Alice was pregnant, the room erupted in hushed whispers which the judge had to work hard to quieten. The jury retired but came back relatively quickly. Death by self-murder. Suicide.

  Mrs. Wetherby dissolved into sobs at the pronouncement. Eliza did her best to comfort her, but it was no use. “That villain! That scoundrel! How dare he take my little girl! He must pay for this!”

  “He has paid for it.” Sir William’s words caused a hush. He stood, now, and for the first time Eliza noted that he was rather disheveled.

  “What do you mean?” sniffed Gemma.

  He cleared his throat and said, “I have just come from the field of honor this very morning. Lord Tollingham has prevailed and Daunton is dead.”

  Eliza stepped from the cluster of people. “And Lord Tollingham?”

  “Injured, but alive.”

  “Then he has my fervent congratulations!” Aunt Gemma declared. She was led o
ut of the inn by Eliza and Uncle Enger. Together they supported Eliza’s distraught cousin back to Little House. Reverend Bart followed with Sir William and Jamie, the parson lamenting loudly the frailty of human nature and the tragedy that often accompanies it.

  Everyone piled into the parlor of Little Cottage. Eliza was glad they had finally gotten the foot of the settee fixed. She busied herself at first seeing that everyone had a place, then stood to one side. Cook had prepared a collation of cold meats, cheese, and bread that was mostly ignored, except for Jamie. Tea was served but no one drank much. William hung back, not sure of his place, but unable to leave Eliza’s side in this crisis. In the very remote chance that he could somehow be of service to the grieving family, he stayed. Mrs. Wetherby finally blew her nose, wiped her tears and turned to the baronet.

  “Sir William, can you tell us what happened? How came Lord Tollingham to challenge that scoundrel?”

  “He didn’t, rather it was Daunton who challenged. Tollie and I went to see him after the discovery of his note amongst your daughter’s things. He did not deny his involvement and was very disrespectful. Tollie gave him the option to man up to his mistakes or face exposure. He laughed at us, and when we promised to make his actions known, he demanded satisfaction. They met this morning, and I have just come from there.”

  “You could be arrested!”

  “I was only a willing second. It is Tollie who carries the burden. Luckily, Daunton’s hand was not so steady as his.”

  “Then Daunton truly is dead,” Jamie spoke for the first time.

  William looked at him. “Yes. I saw him fall. Lord Tollingham’s aim was true.”

  Jamie merely nodded, mouth set grimly.

  Mrs. Wetherby dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and said to Reverend Bart, “Sir, we must get her buried now. There is a place next to her father and our baby boy who died so young. I would like her laid there.”