Amy Lake (20 page)

“Maddie!” called Fiona.

“It’s that stupid Sir Irwin,” said Madelaine. “Why does he keep coming here? I don’t
want
him around!”

Sir Irwin. And Dee had been called out to a birthing.

Fiona took a deep breath, and when the knock came she opened the door, assuming an expression which she hoped conveyed a polite disinclination to entertain Sir Irwin one minute longer than necessary.

“Mrs. Marwick.”

There was something different about the baronet’s address, something less oily and sycophantic. Fiona frowned.

“What do you want?” she asked him, giving up on the polite conventions.

“If I might sit down for just a moment. I have news of your cousin, and a proposal which I think will interest you.”

  * * * *

Fiona lay down on her bed that evening without undressing, and tried to think. The events of the past afternoon were so unexpected that it was really too awful that Dee had not returned from the birthing. She needed to talk to an adult.

Sir Irwin had indeed made her another offer of marriage, but ’twas a proposal with a crucial twist.

He had not begun, as he had on all previous occasions, with insincere compliments. Fiona had offered the man nothing to eat or drink, but he sat down anyway, at the kitchen table.

“I am aware,” said the baronet without preamble, “that you have a cousin, one Wilfred Thaxton, who will be arriving here at any day, and who is the rightful owner of Tern’s Rest.”

Caught off guard, she stared at him without reply, wishing that lying came more naturally. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about’ was the obvious choice for this occasion; Fiona did not think she could carry it off.

“I am prepared to personally deal with this individual, and convince him to give up all claim on your cottage.” He gave her a self-satisfied look.

“I don’t understand,” was the best she could manage.

“Don’t play the fool with me,” said Sir Irwin.

“Supposing this person exists,” said Fiona, “what business is he of yours?” She wondered, as before, how he knew about Thaxton and the letters.

“That is of no account. What matters is that I will buy him off. This is my news, as it were. It seems that Mr. Thaxton is in far more desperate need of money than property.”

Mrs. Marwick’s expression conveyed disbelief. Sir Irwin elaborated. “His business would keep him in London in any event, he hardly has need for a cottage in County Durham. I can assure you we will come to an arrangement.”

“And why would you wish to do such a thing?”

The baronet coughed. “Ah . . . well, I would like Tern’s Rest for myself. Not the cottage, you understand,” he added quickly, as Fiona’s eyes flashed, “but only a bit of your land. An acre or two, no more, on Wyril Point.”

Wyril Point was to the north of the cottage itself.

Fiona was astonished. “Why?”

Sir Irwin seemed to hesitate. “’Tis a long roundabout tale, I’m afraid.” He dropped his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “The hall . . . my home . . . ’tis large enough, as you know, but the walls are full of damp, and the windows are insufficient to light the rooms, let alone keep them aired out.”

She nodded. Marsden Hall had been built perhaps a hundred years earlier, by a gentleman who seemed to have taken no account of the peculiarities of the local climate. The deficiencies of the house were well-known in Barley Mow; still, Mrs. Marwick was surprised to hear Sir Irwin admit to them, as he had always seemed so proud to inhabit the largest establishment for miles.

“I have wanted to build a new home at Wyril Point, overlooking the sea, from the moment I first laid eyes on the place,” said the baronet. “It sounds absurd, I know, and I cannot account for the attraction, but there it is. I should have explained this before, I realize that now,” he added, with a small shrug, “but it seemed an . . . inadequate reason for marriage.”

Not as bad as some, was Fiona’s first thought.

“I can do nothing of this, however, nor will I have any influence on Mr. Thaxton, until I am your husband.” He hesitated again, and gave her a long, speaking look. “I realize that the necessary bonds of affection between husband and wife do not exist between us, and I am content that you remain at Tern’s Rest, with Madelaine, as before.”

Her breath caught for a moment as she took this in. “And you will be—?”

“At my new home, on the point. I promise that you will barely know I’m there, and I will not visit Tern’s Rest without an invitation.”

The situation of the land was such that Sir Irwin, in this respect, was correct. Whatever he built at Wyril Point, she would be unable to see it from the cottage.

“Furthermore,” said Sir Irwin, smiling for the first time, “I will ensure that such changes are made in my will to ensure that your daughter will inherit the cottage, absolutely, after your death.”

Mrs. Marwick was so worried over losing Tern’s Rest, and so concerned for Madelaine’s future, that she found herself listening to the baronet with some attention. But the thought of being associated with him in
marriage
—

Sir Irwin stood to leave. “I will give you some time to think over my proposal. And, Mrs. Marwick—”

She looked up at him. Ampthill’s expression was earnest and apparently sincere, with barely a trace of that odd malice.

“—I admit there has been no love lost between us in the past. But do not let your pride blind you to the obvious benefits of this arrangement. For both of us.”

He left. Fiona had collapsed into a kitchen chair, unable to move or even pour herself a cup of tea for some time. Only Maddie’s eventual re-emergence from her bedroom bestirred her, and they ate dinner quietly, Fiona replying as best she could, vaguely, to her daughter’s questions about the baronet.

Now she wondered how she would ever sleep that night, and how long it would be before she could speak to Dee.

  * * * *

“Buy off an entail?” Dee frowned. “Those were his words?”

“Yes. He says that my cousin is in desperate need of money, and does not really want the property itself.”

“No.” The doctor shook his head. “I don’t believe it can be done.”

Fiona’s heart fell. “But why would he—”

“Although I have no doubt that his dislike of Marsden Hall is real enough. The place is a dismal old pile.”

“He seemed sincere. For once.”

Dee rolled his eyes. “You cannot believe anything Sir Irwin says.” He did not add that Mrs. Marwick would be at the baronet’s mercy if they married, as he knew that she understood that all too well.

Soon. The doctor had hoped for another report from his Runner, but would not be able to wait so long. He would have to tell Fiona soon, and heaven help them if he was wrong.

Chapter 36: Dr. Fischer Confesses

There had been a grounding on one of the sandbars off the Tynemouth, a fishing boat. The crew had worked in thigh-deep water for hours to get her back to sea, and Tom Cathcart, from over by Seaton Sluice, had fallen and swallowed seawater, and suffered a chill to the bone. Dr. Fischer was occupied for two nights watching the man, who eventually recovered, thanks in part to old Mrs. Cadogan, who had made up a hot tisane of murk root and jessamine. Mrs. Cadogan’s jessamine, in Dee’s experience, was like to wake the dead.

When the doctor was finally able to get to Tern’s Rest again he was disturbed at how exhausted Fiona looked, hollow-eyed and pale.

“Have you slept?” he asked.

“Enough.”

Dee did not think so, and wished he had more definite news of Mrs. Marwick’s cousin. Ford—his Runner—had been unable to discover anything further either of Thaxton or of Sir Irwin’s activities in London, and there was not so much as a rumor in the village of some supposed new coal mine. It made no sense. The nearest collieries were at Felling and Sheriff Hill; there had been talk of expansion, and of increased production, but what had that to do with the land at Tern’s Rest?

He must tell her. But if there was such a cousin, his ultimate appearance would be a agonizing blow. If he did exist—

Fiona would marry the baronet, thought Dr. Fischer. Rather than allow Madelaine to suffer the loss of their home. Gods, it was infuriating to think some stranger could take the cottage, someone who had never seen Tern’s Rest, and who had no relationship to the people of the village.

 “Perhaps,” Mrs. Marwick had suggested to Dee, at one point in their discussions, “Maddie need not know.”

“Not know? That you’ve been
married
?”

“He says that he would not come here without an invitation, and I’ve no intention of giving him one.”

Dee threw his hands in the air. “And no-one ever gossips in Barley Mow.” The idea, he thought, was a measure of how tired she was.

“Hmm.” Fiona made a face. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Good lord, Fiona—”

“She’ll never get over it. She’ll never get over having to leave Tern’s Rest.”

The doctor had a better opinion of Madelaine’s adaptability, but said nothing. Maddie was not the person he was worried about.

“Just wait,” he urged Fiona.

She nodded. “For now.”

  * * * *

As it happened, waiting was not possible. Sir Irwin arrived at the cottage the next day, a gloomy, rain-soaked morning, and Mrs. Marwick saw from his face that he had come to demand an answer.

“I have been most patient,” he told Fiona. “But nothing is served by further delay. If I am to buy off your cousin, it must be at once.”

“Are you in communication with Mr. Thaxton?” asked Fiona. “Is he on his way?”

“That is not your concern. But you can be assured that if we are married, he will not bother you again. And Tern’s Rest will be yours for the rest of your life.”

“’Tis a big step,” she told Ampthill, “to marry.”

The baronet had been pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Now he turned to her with a scowl.

“Not as big as most, when your life will remain exactly as it is, with no change in your address and no husband to cook or clean for.”

“As you have said.” Fiona was well aware that the agreement with Sir Irwin depended entirely on him. Society claimed that a gentleman’s word was to be trusted. But if he chose to come to her bedroom on any night—or every night, for that matter—there was no law that would gainsay him.
This
was the possibility that left her sleepless. A marriage to the baronet would leave her in possession of Tern’s Rest, and perhaps be the best for Madelaine. But the price she might pay was appalling.

She was putting her life in the hands of a man she despised.

Marriage to Lord Ashdown, under any circumstances, would be preferable. She could not imagine, now, what she had been thinking to refuse him. Lady Susan could have found another husband.

“I must speak with Dr. Fischer,” she told Sir Irwin. “Then you will have my reply.”

His scowl grew deeper. “What has that doctor to do with it?”

“That,” said Fiona, “is not your concern. Now please leave.”

  * * * *

Dee came by that afternoon, to be greeted by a determined, cheerless Fiona.

“I sent Maddie for eggs,” she told him, after relating the baronet’s visit. “In case I fall into hysterics. I cannot pretend anymore that this is not happening. I must give him an answer.”

Dr. Fischer sat down at the kitchen table, and took a deep breath. “Say no,” he said.

“But—”

“I’ve looked into the matter,” said Dee, “and I have some news.” And so it was then that Mrs. Marwick first heard of the doctor’s suspicions, and those of Lady Edwina, regarding Wilfred Thaxton.

Fiona stared at him, mouth open but speechless, through the whole of the explanation. Then she jumped up, grabbed the fireplace poker, and gave the kitchen fire a vicious jab. Sparks shot out into the room. Mrs. Marwick stared into the fire for several moments and then turned around with a convulsive movement.

“He made him up? He made him
up
?” she cried, furious.

“We believe so.”

“And all this time I’ve been worried sick over
nothing
?” She was nearly in tears.

“Fiona—”

“And
you
!” Mrs. Marwick glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We couldn’t be certain. I’m still not.”

Fiona collapsed back into her chair and buried her head in her hands.

“Sir Irwin must want your land for some reason,” said the doctor. “I’d feel better if I understood what it was.” He had given her the entire story, everything that the Runner had been able to discover about Ampthill’s activities, including his visits to the offices of Brandling, Henderson and Grace.

“I have wondered . . . if there is some connection.”

“Coal mining? But why?”

“That,” said the doctor, “is the question.”

“Perhaps he is making an investment.”

Dee shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“And he only wants the small piece of land at Wyril point.”

“So he says. Once you are married—”

Fiona flinched.

“Exactly. Once you are married he can do what he wishes with the whole of Tern’s Rest.”

“But he cannot mine
coal
.”

“No,” Dee admitted. “He cannot do that.”

Chapter 37: Refusal

Dee’s information about Sir Irwin, ‘Billy’ Thaxton, and the rest came as a profound relief to Mrs. Marwick, and she slept well that night for the first time in weeks. The doctor’s careful qualifications—he could be wrong, perhaps the Runner had missed his man, Fiona’s cousin might yet arrive—she dismissed out of hand. The doctor and Lady Edwina were correct in this matter, Mrs. Marwick was certain of it.

Dee argued for restraint, and for waiting a few more days, but Fiona reminded him that ’twas the baronet himself who had insisted on an immediate answer.

“I will not spend one more moment worrying about this
cousin
,” she said, and Dee gave in.

She wrote her refusal of Sir Irwin on the spot, a shortly-worded note in which she thanked him for his offer but found that she must decline.

Without further explanation.

Dr. Fischer had insisted on personally delivering this communication to Sir Irwin, and he reported only that Ampthill’s man-servant had taken the thing without comment, and that Dee had not waited for a reply.