A Particular Circumstance (17 page)

Once more, they toasted each other and then he said, ‘Perhaps we may meet on Sunday, after Sunday school?’

‘On Sunday, then,’ she agreed.

It was not to be supposed that her actions had gone unnoticed and the next morning, Charlotte Grayson received a visit from Matthew King, who was both hurt and angry at the obvious deepening of the relationship between herself and Hugo Westbury.

Jane Grayson, fully aware of the implications for the planned betrothal of her eldest daughter, left them alone and indicated to Kitty that she should go and help Mrs Palmer in the kitchen.

‘Really, Charlotte,’ Matthew exclaimed as soon as the
drawing
-room door shut behind them. ‘It is the outside of enough that my aunt and I have had to endure all the gossip and sly hints from the neighbourhood tabbies at your reprehensible behaviour last evening.’

Charlotte was coldly polite. ‘What behaviour is that, pray?’

‘Why, your lengthy tête-à-tête with Hugo Westbury, in full view of the whole neighbourhood.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said, even more frostily. ‘It was perfectly respectable and our conversation was open for anyone to join us at any time. We were not attempting any illicit or
unsuitable
communication. You were certainly welcome to join us. But perhaps you were too busy with your own tête-à-tête with my sister,’ she added pointedly.

Matthew said nothing for a moment. His face went first red and then deathly white. ‘That is unworthy of you, Charlotte,’
he said, visibly shaken. ‘It makes me realize that all my hopes for our future have come to nothing. We can never now achieve happiness together.’

Charlotte was also shaken. For the first time, she was obliged to face up to the reality of a married life with Matthew, a clever and pleasant man, but one whom she did not love. In the last few weeks, she’d come to recognize that the understanding she’d had with Matthew King, which had promised a comfortable and secure future, was now at an end. This thought was somewhat like looking down into an abyss. Suddenly, she felt her whole future was empty and uncertain. She was twenty years old and if the love that she’d been able to count on was withdrawn so absolutely, perhaps she would never meet a suitable husband. Perversely, now that he was crying off, she remembered only the happy times of their relationship and regretted the gap that it would leave in her life. Conflicting emotions filled her. Overwhelmingly, though, her feelings were of relief, as she realized that she’d never valued the promise of their betrothal. In her secret heart, she was unable to believe totally in the idea that she could be wholly happy with Matthew King. Meeting Hugo Westbury had shown her the possibility of a passionate and wholly unconditional love that could be a much more
exciting
basis for a married life. Even if her secret hopes and dreams came to nothing, she thought, at least her eyes were now widely open as to what a deeply loving marriage could and should be.

She’d remained calm in the face of Matthew’s anger and disappointment and didn’t allow any of these mixed feelings to show in her face. She kept her expression neutral as she said, ‘If that is your wish, Matthew, I am happy to release you from any agreement that existed between us. I hope I will always be your friend, but I am thankful that we were never formally betrothed.’

Ears stretched and abnormally aware of the drama being played out in the drawing-room, Mrs Grayson and Kitty,
standing in the kitchen with Mrs Palmer, heard the wall-
shaking
slam of the front door as Matthew took his leave. Indeed, everyone in the house heard it and it was to be a talking point of Mrs Palmer’s for days to come.  

Charlotte’s mother and sister both felt it would be best not to broach the subject of the quarrel with Matthew and if they noticed that Charlotte was unusually quiet, decided not to comment on it. Jane Grayson did what she always did in times of family crisis. She cooked a special meal, which was Charlotte’s favourite – slow roasted lamb with a creamy onion sauce, accompanied by home-grown potatoes and fresh little garden peas. In spite of her rather subdued mood, Charlotte was hungry and anyway, tomorrow was Sunday and she would see Hugo again. As for Kitty, her tender young heart was wrung by her sister’s situation and she knew that Matthew must also be suffering. She was the only one who failed to do justice to Mama’s excellent dinner.

Matthew made straight for his aunt’s cottage after the
parting
from Charlotte and moodily declined all offers of
refreshments
or wine. Lavinia could see that he was not his usual pleasant self and surmised, quite rightly, that it was to do with Charlotte Grayson. She waited tactfully until they were seated in her cosy parlour, each with a glass of mellow sherry, awaiting the arrival of Adam Brown, before trying her subtle tactics to encourage him to confide in her.  

‘Matthew, dear, I have something to tell you.’  

‘Oh yes?’ he said, with minimal interest.  

‘Matthew … you like Adam, don’t you?’  

‘Oh yes. Splendid fellow.’  

‘Matthew … last night, Adam … asked me to … to marry him. And I said yes, Matthew.’  

‘Did you, by Jove? Well, Aunt, congratulations. I cannot pretend that it is unexpected.’  

‘You mean … you guessed?’  

He smiled for the first time since he had come home. ‘A blind man with both his eyes shut could guess, dear Aunt.’

‘Good gracious!’ she exclaimed, blushing. ‘But what of your own courtship, my dear? When are you and the lovely Charlotte Grayson to be betrothed?’

‘Never,’ he said moodily and scowled at his glass.

‘Oh, no, please do not tell me you have quarrelled,’ she said, distressed at the finality of his tone.

‘More than that. We should never suit, Aunt Lavinia. We both realize it. Please do not be tempted to pursue it. Charlotte and I will be friends only from now on.’

‘But how dreadful.’

‘Not at all,’ he said quickly. ‘It is for the best. And do not let it interfere with your own happiness.’ He stood up, smiling, and held out a hand to her. ‘You look far too young to be an aunt when you blush like that. And now, dearest of aunts, I hear Adam coming, so we must set out to be cheerful and entertain him.’

That same morning, Hugo Westbury had occasion to visit some of the estate cottages, including that of the Bakers and, it not being Sunday, he had no reason to suppose he might see Charlotte, but even so, a little germ of hope lingered within him and he was disappointed not to meet her. Having asked Mrs Baker’s permission to take Lucy for a ride with himself and Miss Grayson, he was further disappointed by the news that little Lucy was ill and would not be going either to Sunday school or on any outing, so he returned home. There he found his cousin Alfred ensconced in the drawing-room with a decanter of sherry and some small cakes in front of him.

‘Hope you don’t mind, old fellow,’ Alfred said. ‘That butler of yours put me in here. Said you wouldn’t be long.’ He waved a hand towards the sherry. ‘Why not join me in a glass of something, coz? Then I can tell you the latest gossip. Everyone’s agog at the way you were getting on so famously with the beautiful Miss Charlotte Grayson at the Castertons’ party.’

Hugo had no intention of listening to the gossip and was
already out of temper with both his disappointment at not seeing Charlotte and distaste at finding his cousin still on the premises so long after the other mourners had departed. He merely frowned at Alfred and said nothing, which didn’t deter his cousin in the slightest.

‘Not only that, but my man has it from someone in the know that Matthew King stormed up to the Graysons’ this morning and it ended with the young lady and himself having an almighty row and severing their friendship. What do you think to that, eh?’

‘I do not think anything,’ Hugo said coldly. ‘Miss Grayson’s friendships are her own concern and it is not up to me to offer any comment about either her or Matthew King.’

This was not the response that Alfred had hoped for and he said weakly, ‘I thought you would be interested, coz,
especially
as I notice that you seem to be the lady’s bosom beau at the moment.’

Hugo’s tone was now more icy than ever and said
pointedly
, ‘Oh, you notice that, do you? A pity you have no concerns of your own to notice, Alfred. What of your own life in London and your own social engagements? Will not your friends be missing you?’

‘Oh, they don’t signify,’ Alfred said carelessly. He was disappointed that Hugo had failed to react to his spiteful tittle-tattle and as for returning to his own friends, well, he couldn’t care less, because he hadn’t any true friends. 

Hugo tolerated only a few more minutes of Alfred’s nonsense and then he excused himself brusquely and went in search of Bunfield. There was but one inn at Felbrook, aptly named The Brook, and it was there that Bunfield had his
lodgings
– a single room only, but he was able to make use of the landlady’s little parlour downstairs. There were rarely any residents at The Brook and such regulars as there were always congregated in the tap room. It was in there that he found the Bow Street Runner, knocking out his pipe against the chimney back, with eyes lowered and ears open for any gossip.

Once Hugo had ascertained that Bunfield had seen him, he went into the inn yard and lounged casually outside the door. Bunfield came out immediately and both men went into the parlour where they could be private.

‘I am pleased to see you, sir,’ Bunfield said.

‘Yes, I feel that now is the time to investigate things a little further. How about a return visit to Mr Rudkin?’

‘Aye, sir. If you feels recovered from your – er – accident, I can be ready any time. The only other thing to report is, I have been keeping feelers out round Felbrook concerning your attacker and my informants state that not only is he local, but he is closely acquainted with your own cousin, sir, Mr Alfred Westbury, that is, and his servant Josiah Bennett.’

‘Is he indeed?’

‘But I thought we shouldn’t apprehend your assailant just yet, Mr Westbury, but just continue to keep an eye on him for the time being. Give him enough rope, sir, and mayhap he’ll hang ’isself.’

Yes, and that goes for my cousin Alfred, too, Hugo thought grimly.

Aloud, he said, ‘When can you be ready then, Bunfield?’

‘When you like, sir. Shall we say in an hour?’

There was no time for Hugo to say anything else, because there was a timid knock on the door. It was the landlady, very red-faced from cooking and wiping floury hands on her apron.

‘Beg pardon, Mr Wes’bry, sir, but there’s a young lady as wants to see you.’

Hugo frowned at this and she whispered, ‘It be Miss Grayson, sir.’

Hugo cursed softly under his breath. Damn! Of course, Charlotte knew he was in close touch with Bunfield. She must have guessed he’d be here.

‘Do you wish to be private with the young lady, sir?’ Bunfield said diffidently.

‘No. It is merely that Miss Grayson was present when the
body was found and she knows you are putting up here, Bunfield. Furthermore, she feels she has a right to some involvement in the mystery. Show her in, Mrs Lacey, if you please.’

Bunfield looked closely at Charlotte as she entered the room. She was dressed plainly, in a dove-grey walking dress, whose very plainness served only to emphasize her very vibrant beauty. He noticed that her maid remained firmly outside the door.

Hugo introduced them and Charlotte gave both men her most brilliant smile. ‘How do you do, Mr Bunfield. I am pleased to renew our acquaintance.’

She turned to Hugo. ‘Mr Westbury. I had hoped to see you tomorrow, but poor Lucy Baker has a bad sore throat and will not be venturing out to the Sunday school class. I thought … I thought … that I should tell you and Mr Bunfield of some more information that has come my way …. connected to your recent attacker, I mean.’

Hugo was polite and friendly, but spoke with studied
coolness
. ‘I understand and appreciate your interest, Miss Grayson, but I must protest that I do not wish you to
endanger
your own life in any way by getting involved in this dangerous business.’

But Charlotte was determined not to be put off. She
continued
as though he hadn’t spoken.

‘It concerns a man called Jim Butler. He is from Cromer but has lived round here for a number of years. One of the stable lads has told me that he is often backwards and forwards to Cromer. He is without any apparent work and never puts himself forward for employment on any of the farms near here…. And yet … and yet … he always seems to have money. He has a cottage on the edge of the village, very close to Sir Benjamin’s woods, and Luke the stable lad says that he is sometimes to be seen in the woods, in conversation with Mr Alfred Westbury’s servant. Luke has it that Jim Butler is a man who may be hired to commit violence, by anyone who
has the money to pay his fee.’

While she was speaking, Bunfield had been looking at her with his head on one side, his bright eyes never leaving her face. ‘I call that valuable information, Mr Westbury,’ he said gravely. ‘It confirms what my own informers have said about Jim Butler. Sounds as though he might be worth looking into.’

Hugo deliberately schooled his features not to reveal his thoughts. ‘I agree, Bunfield,’ he said neutrally. ‘Thank you for your help, Miss Grayson. It is very much appreciated. We are about to visit Cromer again and could follow up your
information
. Nevertheless, I must repeat, I do not wish you to expose yourself to unnecessary danger by concerning
yourself
in this.’

Charlotte felt as though she had been snubbed. She said indignantly, ‘But I already
am
concerned in it. When the body of your grandfather was discovered, it was before you even took up residence in Westbury Hall.’

‘That may be so,’ he said, smiling a little, ‘but if we are to get any further, Mr Bunfield and I must be able to get on with the investigation without having to worry about your own safety, ma’am.’

Although he spoke gently, she was aware that he would brook no argument. She caught Bunfield looking at her very gravely and subsided, her bottom lip protruding mutinously. Hugo had no right to tell her not to put herself in danger, especially as he was about to endanger himself by
accompanying
Bunfield to mix with the low-life of Cromer.