The Secret of Pembrooke Park(123)

“Then I waited and watched the manor from a distance, just in case. Soon a gig approached with Mr. Brown at the reins and Clive Pembrooke riding that big black of his alongside. I admit I was surprised.

“A few minutes later, I entered the house, claiming to have heard a carriage and that I was coming to check on the place. I found Mr. Brown and Clive Pembrooke standing over Walter Kelly’s body. Clive Pembrooke was all cool civility, all concern and grief over Walter’s fate, theorizing the young man had fallen down the stairs in his hurry to answer the door. Of course there was nothing Mr. Brown could do for him. He was already dead—had died honorably, protecting his young mistress.

“The surgeon left to summon the undertaker. While Clive and I waited for him to come and remove the poor man’s body, Clive told me he had come to Pembrooke Park with the news he’d heard in London, that Robert Pembrooke was dead—killed by thieves who broke into the London house.”

Here, Mac looked at Abigail and interjected, “Lies, all of it.”

Then he continued, “Clive said he’d seen the valet’s horse out front, lathered and exhausted, and assumed he’d come on the same mission. He asked me why the man would ride so far in such a hurry. Whom had he meant to tell if the house was empty?

“I told him, ‘The housekeeper and me, I suppose. He wouldn’t know that she had gone to sit at her sister’s sickbed. And of course the rector and all the parish would want to know the news—the most significant news to grieve our parish since the death of Mrs. Pembrooke.’”

“Clive said, ‘His wife and daughter died, I believe I heard.’”

“‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Taken in the typhus epidemic that claimed so many.’”

“Then Clive said, all casual-like, ‘The poor man muttered something before I went for the surgeon. Perhaps it will make more sense to you than it did to me. He said his master had sent him home to hide his treasure.’”

Mac gave Abigail another sidelong glance. “That part of his story was true. Clive looked at me then with his snakelike eyes. Genial and venomous all at once. He asked me, ‘What did he mean by that? Had my brother some treasure I don’t know about?’”

“I shrugged and answered as casually as I could, ‘I suppose there must be some family jewels or something of that sort, though I don’t know the particulars. But I hardly think this is the time to worry about such things. Not when two men are dead.’

“I suppose it was a risk, speaking to him like that. But it was how I would have spoken to him under other circumstances. And I feared he would guess that I knew what he’d done if I acted servile or timid.”

“It seemed to convince him, for he continued on with his act of innocence in full confidence that the only witness against him—or so he thought—was dead.”

Mac turned to Leah. “Had it not been for you, my dear, or your father’s plea that I act quickly to hide and protect you, I shudder to think what I might have done, likely confronting him then and there—accusing him of killing both men, and likely ending up a third victim.” He shook his head. “Even so, how guilty I’ve felt. Perhaps I should have confronted him, called in the law, and tried to avenge Robert Pembrooke, to obtain justice, weak evidence or not.”

“No, Papa.” Leah laid a hand on his arm. “As Mamma and I have always tried to tell you—you did what Robert Pembrooke asked of you. You protected me. And likely saved your own life and perhaps even the lives of your wife and son in the bargain.”

He nodded. “I know. But I can’t help think I could have done things differently. Handled it more wisely. Found some way to guarantee your future and not merely your safety.”

“Do you think I care about the house? About the money?” She shook her head. “No, I would not have chosen to go through all I have, but you did not steal my life. You gave me a new one. You gave me the best mother, the best father, the best brothers and sister I could hope for. A loving, loyal family far better than I deserve.”

“But you are Robert Pembrooke’s daughter. You deserve better.” Mac paused, glanced at Abigail as if just then remembering she was there, and continued his story.

“When the other servants came back from London or from holiday, what news awaited them. Their master and his daughter were both believed dead. The new master had gone to collect his family and would be returning at some point to take over Pembrooke Park. That’s when I moved the portrait and hid the letter and family Bible and some of the jewels. Fortunately, his absence also gave Mrs. Hayes and me time to warn and coach the servants we thought we could trust, and to replace those we weren’t sure of.

“The old rector was reticent to lie, until I showed him the note in Robert Pembrooke’s own hand. He suggested we go to the law, but I knew, without the testimony of Walter, we had insufficient evidence. I would obey my master. I would let Clive have Pembrooke Park but not let on that Eleanor was still alive. Eventually, the rector agreed and noted her earlier ‘death’ in the parish record, in case Mr. Pembrooke came to check. And he did, eventually. Clive waited a ‘respectable’ fortnight before returning with his family to claim his brother’s house as his own, Robert barely in his grave.

“By then, we had sent Ellie to school for a year in the north near my sister—far away and safe, in case he came searching or threatened someone until they gave up the information. Later, when he asked me, I told Clive that my wife and I had two children, one who was away at school at the time.