Escaping Notice (19 page)

“Nonsense. And I want you to hand me that book immediately.” She
held out her hand.

“No.” The table shook and moved six inches as he jammed his foot
against a leg.

“Ned! Immediately!”

“Can’t. Don’t have it with me.”

“Then promise me you’ll tell Mr. Caswell and give it to
him.”

He remained stubbornly silent, his mouth pressed into a thin
line.

“Promise, Ned, or I’ll be forced to tell Mrs. Adams.”

“She’ll kick you out, too, if you do that!”

“Perhaps, but really, Ned, you cannot do things like this.” She
knelt in front of him and took his hands. “Promise me you will tell
Mr. Caswell. It may be critical to his investigation. I didn’t mean
to shout at you, but it is very important. You do see that, don’t
you?”

“Maybe.”

“Will you promise?”

“Oh, all right. I’ll give the book to Mr. Caswell.”

“Thank you, Ned.” She stood and picked up another strip of lace.
“Now, you had better get back to those potatoes. Cook's pot will be
boiled dry before you finish.”

“Good,” Ned said with relish. “Because I'm sick of
potatoes.”

“ …
every man’s station is honourable or otherwise, as his own
conduct makes it.” —
The Complete Servant

After due consideration, Hugh sent a message to his lawyer, Mr.
Petre, and Mr. Gaunt. It was time for Mr. Gaunt to break the news
of Lionel's death to those at Ormsby. The last time he had been
there, Miss Leigh had only seemed concerned about Lionel, not the
earl. Strange, but her fears had proved well-founded. Hugh had
survived. Her favorite, Lionel, had not.

Hugh left orders with the footman, Frank, to show Mr. Gaunt into
the tiny office off the library allotted to the steward. When Gaunt
arrived, the two men shook hands before Hugh waved him to sit in
the honey maple chair tucked into the corner next to the desk.

“Any news?” Hugh sat as well, resting an elbow on the scarred
surface of the desk. “Have you found the man with the blue
jacket?”

“Not yet. No one seems to have recognized him, although everyone
agrees he was thin. Like a scarecrow.”

“Then we have nothing.” Hugh stared out of the window and ran
his hand over the rough hair of his beard. The urge to leave — take
to the seas and never return — struck him. He almost laughed,
thinking of Ned's desire to run away to the sea.

What was it about the ocean that made men view it as an
escape?

“I have a number of lines of inquiry yet to follow.”

“Ned Brown found my brother’s diary.” He hesitated and then
pulled it out of his pocket to hand to Gaunt. “I read a few
pages.”

A few sections had been enough for him to discover his brother
had resented him and had viewed him as uncaring and obtuse. Lionel,
apparently, was not looking forward to life in the church, and
instead of applying himself to his studies, he had spent his days
and most nights lost in drink and gambling. But the distractions
had not helped
a
nd his frustration with
Hugh had grown.

Why had he not said something? Hugh didn’t care what his brother
did, as long as it was something he wanted to do, something he felt
passionate about. Unlike Hugh, Lionel had a choice.

Hugh had only had the Twilight. His stomach churned.

“Was there anything you felt would be useful?” Gaunt took the
book gingerly, as if he was not sure he wanted it.

“He … gambled. I doubt you will find anything useful, but we
need to be sure.”

“Did you refuse to pay his debts?”

Hugh stared at him in surprise. “Never. Why would I do such a
thing? He was my brother. I gave him an allowance.”

“Did you ever argue over the money? Did he fear you would not
lend him the amount he owed?”

“No, I never even knew he gambled. He never asked for more
money.” But Lionel’s journal indicated he had felt Hugh would
admonish him if he had known how much his brother had lost. Pride
had kept him from asking for more.

Had pride killed him?

“Does he mention who held his debts?”

Hugh shook his head. “Not by name. Honestly, I cannot see that
this is relevant, but ….” He waved a hand. If they were to find the
truth, they needed to collect all the facts, no matter how
irrelevant they may seem.

“I understand. It does seem unlikely. If he owed a large debt,
it would be assumed that you might feel obligated to pay it for
your brother. Why kill you without even asking for the money
first?”

“That’s it, then. I wasn’t unpopular, I had no active enemies
that anyone could identify. But obviously there was something.”

“We will discover it, never fear. I have sent a man to France to
question Miss Peyton and her lover on the off chance they know
something. In the meantime, we will announce your brother’s
passing.”

“I hope it shakes something loose. I cannot remain in this role
indefinitely.”

“I agree. In fact, it would be far safer if you would leave
until I can complete the investigation. Go back to London —”

“No!” Hugh hit the desk with his fist, making it rattle. “I have
things to do here and questions of my own to ask. We will continue.
If you are worried, then consider that an incentive to find the
answers more expeditiously. Now, unfortunately, it is time to let
Miss Leigh know about Lionel.”

“And you, my lord?”

“My body has not been found yet, has it? It is enough that the
Twilight wreckage and Lionel's body were discovered. He must be
buried. Let the mystery concerning my whereabouts continue.”

“They will think you are dead.”
It’s cruel
. Gaunt did not
say it, but the words hung in the air all the same.

“All the better.”
No more cruel than murder
.

“How far should we allow this charade to continue? It would be
natural for the will to be read and your heir notified.”

“Petre can delay. I have no objections to the will being read.
It is not as if the heir to my title can immediately assume the
responsibilities. That will take a few months. You
will
have
answers before then.” He eyed Gaunt's lean, intelligent face with a
certain amount of cynicism. While Second Sons had an excellent
reputation, that did not guarantee a successful result.

In fact, it was a failure that had ultimately made Hugh pick Mr.
Gaunt's agency. Gaunt had failed to restore Lady Beckworth's
highly-treasured cook to her, claiming he could not find her. Since
it was Hugh who had hired the Beckworth cook away with a hefty
increase in salary — and a promise to avoid changing the menu fifty
times a day as Lady Beckworth had done — he was grateful to Gaunt
for his discretion.

Hugh was reasonably sure that Gaunt was perfectly aware of the
cook's whereabouts.

In fact, Hugh had heard rumors that his cook had offered her own
inducement to Gaunt not to find her.

Gaunt showed excellent judgment. A quality precious few had.

“May I ask that you join me, my lord, when I speak to your
household? I'd appreciate another set of eyes.”

Hugh smiled and nodded, wondering if Gaunt would have asked if
he had already read Lionel’s diary. Those who knew him best
obviously considered him less than observant.

“I'll introduce you,” Hugh said, considering it. “I'm the house
steward. It would be appropriate.”

Gaunt’s face grew longer and more serious. “You should be
prepared to cut short your charade after the announcement. It will
be hard on them.”

“It was hard on me. They will weather it. I will not argue about
it further.” He rose and gestured toward the door. “Let us get this
over with.”

Hugh led the way to the butler's office near the front door. Mr.
Symes was sitting in the sole chair, sorting through a stack of
correspondence. He glanced up and frowned when he caught sight of
Hugh.

“Mr. Caswell, do you require something?” He stood up and stacked
the letters into three neat piles, aligned precisely with one inch
between them.

A glance indicated that the tallest stack was addressed to Hugh
Gerard Castle, Earl of Monnow.

Thank you notes for the ball.

The second stack was addressed to his aunt. The smallest stack
contained messages for various members of the household, as well as
a few invoices that had another name on them: Mr. Hugh Caswell.

How quickly tradesmen learned about changes in an earl's
household. How disappointed they would be when they discovered
there was no such person as Mr. Caswell.

“Mr. Symes, there is some news we must impart to Miss Leigh. It
will not be pleasant, so it would be best if she were attended by
her new maid. You and Mrs. Adams should also be present. You can
then inform the rest of the household. We will use the library.
Shall we say fifteen minutes?”

“What is it?” Mr. Symes’ eyes flickered from Hugh to Mr.
Gaunt.

“Please collect the others and join us in the library.”

“Yes, Mr. Caswell.”

With a sharp nod, Hugh turned and strode through the marble
hallway, past the grand staircase to the library at the rear of the
house. By force of habit, he went to the large desk near the
window. He almost sat before he caught Gaunt's black eyes on
him.

“Are you sure you would not rather return to the living as the
earl?” Gaunt asked.

“I’m sure I would. But now is not the time.” Hugh continued
round the desk and pulled up one of the chairs padded in deep brown
leather.

He pulled additional chairs forward to form a half-moon. A
little to the left of these, alongside the floor-to-ceiling
bookcases, he placed a few wooden chairs, thinking of Helen. He was
not sure who Mr. Symes would decide to invite, and he wanted to
keep the situation under control.

There would be no chasing around searching for chairs and
scrambling to arrange them. No confusion. Everyone would just
quietly enter, be seated, and wait for the news.

He stood back and eyed the room, realizing that in his
nervousness, he had arranged all the chairs in a huge fan,
spreading out from the central pivot-point of the massive desk.
They could seat the entire staff and still have several rows of
chairs left empty.

He pulled a few away and placed them back in their original
locations, in intimate groupings of two or three throughout the
huge room.

“What is the meaning of this?” his aunt asked in a querulous
voice as she strode through the doorway. “I do not understand. Why
should the house steward wish to meet us?”

Mr. Symes followed her at a discreet distance, wringing his
pudgy hands. “I'm sorry, Miss Leigh. Mr. Caswell indicated there
was something he needed to tell us.”

“Us? What do you mean,
us
?” She caught Hugh's gaze and
strode forward, her eyes hard and accusing. “Who are you to insist
on meeting with
us
?”

“The earl's steward, ma'am.” He gave her a slight bow. “And this
is not my choice.”

“What is it?”

He led her to one of the padded chairs directly in front of the
desk. She gazed at Gaunt, standing to one side of the desk, then
turned back to Hugh. The massive, vacant chair behind the desk
spoke volumes. Unless they were completely insensitive, even a
casual visitor glancing through the library doors would sense
something was terribly wrong.

A slight breeze, a certain freshness of air, announced the
presence of others. Helen had slipped into the room while he was
speaking to his aunt. The sight of Helen’s warm, lovely face lifted
his heart. He straightened and moved to Mr. Gaunt's side.

Helen took one of the wooden chairs against the bookcase, close
to Miss Leigh. She gazed at his aunt with an anxious look wrinkling
her smooth brow. Her hands restlessly plucked at the edges of the
apron she wore over her plain, dark blue dress. She looked pale and
tired, with smudges under her eyes. The bruise still shaded her
cheekbone, its blue now fading into greenish-yellow.

Gaunt was right about one thing, Helen needed to return home.
She was wearing herself thin taking care of his aunt, and he could
easily find whatever trinket she had lost.

Mr. Symes and Mrs. Adams glided in and circled the chairs,
heading for the last two in the line against the bookcase. No one
spoke, but they all watched Hugh as if expecting him to burst into
flames.

He let them stew for five full minutes before he stepped
forward. He loomed over his seated aunt. He stepped back, resting a
hip against the edge of the desk. She glared at him, occasionally
puffing air between her thin lips as if about to say something and
then thinking better of it.

“I apologize for asking you here. The earl's lawyer, Mr. Petre,
has sent Mr. Gaunt with news.” He glanced around, debating the
relative merits of making the announcement himself or leaving it to
Gaunt. He decided he preferred to be free to observe those present.
He nodded to the inquiry agent. “Mr. Gaunt, if you would,
please.”

“Thank you,” Gaunt said. “As Mr. Caswell indicated, I bear news
and unfortunately, it is not pleasant.”

“For heaven's sake, get on with it,” Miss Leigh said in a high,
fidgety voice. The legs of her chair squeaked as she moved
restlessly. “I suppose it involves our finances. My nephew would
not listen to me when I tried to convince him not to hold a ball
here. It was a ridiculous expenditure, and now I suppose we will
all suffer for it.”

Hugh stared at her, surprised. What had made her think they were
in such desperate straits that a ball would ruin them?

“I regret it is not that,” Mr. Gaunt replied. “I am very sorry
to inform you that the earl's boat, the Twilight, has been found.
It apparently foundered and pieces of her were discovered along the
coast —”

Miss Leigh stood up. The pink ribbons dangling from her cap
fluttered wildly as she shook. She clutched at her throat, her skin
gray and sickly. “Lionel? That's where he went, isn't it? Not to
the vicar's. That's why we have not heard from him.”