The Swordmaster's Mistress: Dangerous Deceptions Book Two(53)

Jared made no attempt to tell her it was otherwise, for which she was thankful, she was not in the mood to be mollified and patronised. Not that he had ever tried to...

She realised with a start that he was speaking. ‘The new Lord Northam – let us refer to him as Theo for now, it makes things simpler – will be much involved with his father’s funeral. Where will that be?’

‘Near Nottingham. He will be interred in the family mausoleum at their country seat, I am sure,’ Guin said, grateful for something to think about other than the fact that her image was all over the London print shops. ‘At least that will get Theo out of London. I can imagine him calling someone out over this.’

‘More than likely,’ Jared said. ‘I would hold his coat for him. If he got in first, that is.’

‘You would challenge someone for me?’

‘Of course.’ He seemed surprised that she would ask and something inside Guin melted. ‘But other than that, there is nothing to be done that we are not doing – finding who murdered your husband and who has been persecuting you. And, while we are about it, keeping you out of the public eye until another, more titillating, scandal comes along.’

It was difficult to think of something more titillating than the adultery and double murder that the print implied, but Guin took a steadying breath and poured tea all round. ‘Did you discover anything this morning?’

‘That your first husband’s death was all that it appeared, that his grave now has a fine headstone and that he had a sister, Elizabeth.’

Guin put down the teapot with a thump that set the little table rocking. ‘Francis had a sister?’

‘One who has set up a headstone calling for vengeance, what is more.’ Jared described the headstone, his conversation with vicar and innkeeper and his day in the saddle attempting to find where Francis has gone on the last day of his life.

‘He was on foot, the weather was foul. I have visited every hamlet and farm within a five mile radius of the inn and found nowhere he was seen, no-one who admits having any business with him. Which means that, unless he had a rendezvous with someone passing through – ’

‘He was coming here,’ Guin said slowly. ‘But why? Because whatever it was he wanted, it was not here – the house was closed up. The Quentens had intended to let it, I believe, but Augustus saved them from having to do that.’ Then she realised that talking to the innkeeper and viewing the scene had convinced Jared of her innocence in Francis’s death, but that before, he had been uncertain. It left her, she realised, surprisingly angry. Her hand shook as she made herself sip her tea. She could not rant at him here and now, she told herself.

‘That would account for his frustration as reported by the innkeeper and how heavily he was drinking.’ Jared picked up his cup, thought for a while, apparently did not notice her tension. ‘We have been wondering what connection there is between the tricks played on you and the murder of Lord Northam. I am beginning to think that whatever it is, it centres on this house. Francis Willoughby brings you here to this village, visits this house, dies before he can achieve his purpose, then Lord Northam appears having bought this same house, comes here and meets you. Months later you return to Allerton Grange together and the attacks on you begin, then follow you to London.’

‘Do we now wait for something to happen here again?’ Faith asked into the silence that followed.

‘Excuse me, sir, but there’s something I don’t understand.’ Dover had been working his way through the meat pie in silence. Now he pushed away the plate and looked round the group. ‘I can understand that Elizabeth Willoughby might, misguidedly, blame Lady Northam for her brother’s death and cause those attacks to happen. She might even be resentful that Lord Northam assisted Mrs Willoughby, as she was then, when the magistrate was becoming difficult. But surely, murdering him was a complete over-reaction. I mean, I can see that she might want to murder Lady Northam, if she really is so obsessed and unreasonable, but why him?’

‘Could it be coincidence and motives behind the attacks on me and Augustus’s murder are not connected?’ Guin wondered. ‘Coincidences happen all the time, but we do not notice them.’

‘If it were not for the fact that Francis almost certainly expected to find someone, or something, here, at this house, then perhaps coincidence might explain it. The innkeeper thought Francis reminded him of someone, but he had no idea who. It is suggestive, though.’

‘The Quentens’ steward, I wonder,’ Guin mused. ‘I never met him and I do not know his name. He left the district when they did, but I seem to recall something Augustus said about him obviously being competent and well educated from the records that he left. He assumed he was a gentleman who had fallen on hard times. Could he be a brother, perhaps? But, no, it cannot be that. Augustus would have commented on the similarity of the names.’

‘Unless one or other of them was using a false identity,’ Faith suggested. ‘We know Mr Francis Willoughby was not entirely honest – ’ Guin repressed a snort, ‘– but we know from his headstone that was his real name. A brother might be flying under false colours, perhaps.’

‘It sounds as though a query to the Quentens is called for,’ Jared said. ‘If the agent is no longer employed by them they should know where he has gone.’