His Shadowed Heart ((Books We Love Regency Romance)) (18 page)

*****

“Mama, wake up,” demanded an urgent little voice, the following morning, as insistent hands shook her shoulders.

Raising her head drowsily from the pillow, Caroline looked into the serious little face. “I am awake,” she smiled. “What now?”

“Look—the picture,” demanded the child, pointing to the bottom of the bed.

Focusing her eyes, Caroline abruptly raised herself up, stifling a would-be cry. At the foot of the bed, supported on two chairs, stood Elizabeth’s portrait.

Quickly she scanned the room, but they were alone with no clue as to how the portrait came to be there and she rang the bell for her maid, attempting to appear calm for the child’s sake.

“Lawks,
my lady,” cried the maid covering her face with her hands the instant her eyes alighted on the painting, and would have run from the room had not her mistress demanded she be calm and not alarm Julia.

“I will fetch the men,” cried the girl
, paying no heed to Caroline’s words. “The house must be searched again.”

“To what purpose?” replied Caroline, attempting to keep her voice level. “Whoever has done this, will be well away by now. I will hear no word of specters. My husband is right
—whoever moved the portrait was certainly no ghost. Take the child to the nursery and when she is dressed, return her to me. We leave for London at noon and I will keep her with me until then.”

Ordering the painting to be removed and stowed away in the attic, she attempted to ignore the mutterings of the servants. Feeling no desire to remain in the house whilst all was made ready for their journey to London, Caroline decided that she and Julia should take a small outing in the governess cart, wishing to keep the child amused and away from the servants and their imaginings.

Well wrapped against the frosty air with a fur rug cast over their knees, they set out to drive the southern boundary of the estate. Julia chattered the whole while and Caroline was relieved that she did not seem dismayed at her father’s absence, being quite content with her company. They passed the lake and drove on toward the boundaries of Lord Melchin’s land, but as they approached a small coppice, several birds took flight and they heard shots being fired. Realizing that they must be heading toward a shooting party, Caroline turned the pony and was about to return to the house when a vaguely familiar voice called out to them as one of the huntsmen appeared from the trees.

“My dear Lady Waverly,” hailed Lord Massey, leaving his companions and crossing the boundary.

Reluctantly she drew rein and allowed him to approach the side of the cart, her face remaining impassive though his was wreathed in smiles as he crossed the intervening distance.

“How exceedingly pleasant to renew our acquaintance,” he said, smiling silkily and extending his hand as he reached her side, but she kept hers firmly on the reins and his smile was seen to waver. “I had not looked to see you on such a cold day,” he continued
, ignoring his cool reception.

“Nor I you,
my lord,” replied Caroline. “I was not aware that you were in the vicinity.”

“I arrived but yesterday for a stay with my friend Melchin and thought it a good opportunity to join in the sport.” His gaze turned toward Julia. “Ah, I perceive you have your stepdaughter with you, a delightful child is she not?” Receiving no reply, Massey leaned closer as if imparting a confidence. “One can so readily see her mother in her—though I must admit, on close inspection, naught of her father. What a great pity, one would have expected her to have inherited at least one feature from her estimable sire, but ’pon faith, none is evident.” Still no reply, and placing his hand on the side of the vehicle he gave a hard laugh as Caroline drew away. “Perhaps,” he continued, much amused by her response, “it will become apparent as she grows. One can but hope. However, she is an enchanting child. One in which her father can certainly feel nothing but pride.”

As if on a sudden thought, he turned and looked about him, the sneer still very much in evidence. “On saying that my lady, where is my dear friend the earl this morning? Doesn’t he see fit to accompany his wife and daughter?”

Caroline stiffened; she liked not his mode of address, finding Massey’s over-familiarity insulting. “My husband is not at home at this precise moment,” she replied, “though I expect his return hourly.”

With hardened countenance, Massey turned back to her. “You don’t like me do you, my dear?” he mocked. “You should have a care. You show it too openly and it does you no credit. I assure you, it is less than wise, though I have no doubt that given the opportunity, I could change your opinion of me. Perhaps the experience would not prove as disagreeable as I once thought.” Placing his hand on the reins, he made as if to take them from her, but she snatched the whip from its stand and would have used it to break his hold had not Peter suddenly appeared at the opposite side of the cart, fury showing in his every line. Dog, at his master’s side, issued a low menacing growl.

Unbeknown to the inhabitants of Lordings, Peter frequently returned to the grounds, ever hopeful of catching sight of Caroline, unable to relinquish her completely. He had witnessed the meeting from his hiding place atop the rise overlooking the lake, but a short distance away, and had hastened immediately to her side heedless of the fact that he carried no weapon.

“Do you need any assistance, my lady?” he asked, his blazing eyes never leaving Massey’s face. “Are you ready to return home?”

Massey gave a mirthless laugh. “I see you are well
-protected, my dear. Waverly has you observed. Very wise of him, but it will not always be so—he cannot keep you protected forever.” He went to take the whip from her hand but Peter was there before him, leaving him to seethe, realizing that he had handed his firearm to the gamekeeper when he left the shoot.

“Go back to the house, Caroline,” ordered Peter. “I will attend to matters here.”

She did not immediately comply, but seeing Julia’s small frightened countenance as, unable to comprehend the situation, she looked from one face to the other, she urged the pony into a trot. With only a brief backwards glance, she left the two men facing each other.

“So, Waverly leaves a lackey to do his work,” scorned Massey, advancing toward Peter, his intentions perfectly clear, but Dog’s growl, reaching a crescendo, halted him in his tracks as the dog with hackles raised slowly advanced toward him. “Call off your cur,” he demanded, “or I swear I will kill it,” and he drew a skinning knife from a scabbard at his waist to hold it menacingly before him.

Peter gave a hard laugh. “He acts on his own. I do not order him.”

Massey lunged forward with the knife but Peter, realizing that he still held the whip, laid it about him. The lash snatched the knife from his hand and sent it spinning through the air, driving him back as it stung his wrist and face, drawing an angry welt across his cheek.

Dog not to be outdone, and desiring to protect his master at all costs, joined in the fray, clamping his powerful jaws about Massey’s thigh and dragging him to the ground. However, the noise of the encounter alerted Massey’s fellow sportsmen and three figures issued from the trees and seeing the altercation, they began running toward the struggle.

Seeing himself to be outnumbered, Peter took to his heels with Dog at his side, and headed toward the derelict copper mine where he had made his home.

*****

Arriving in the stable yard, Caroline immediately ordered the stable-hands to go to Peter’s assistance, telling them but the briefest details. She would have followed in their wake after securing Julia with her nurse had not Eaton claimed her attention.

“The coach is ready, my lady,” he informed crossing the cobbled yard to greet her. “We need only to harness the team. When do you wish to leave?”

“When I return,” she cried as she urged the pony to a brisk trot, pushing the secretary aside; and he watched with some amazement as she drove out of the yard.

For as much as she returned to the scene of the fray, there was no sign of either Massey or Peter and she drove the surrounding parkland in the hopes that she would see them. She certainly had no desire to spend another night at Lordings, especially without her husband’s company, but she felt she could not leave until she was assured that Peter was safe, and to this end, she continued her search until the afternoon was well advanced.

Dejectedly returning to the stables when he was not to be found, she was somewhat confused to see all the stable staff and several of the house servants gathered around a flat cart that stood in the yard.

Seeing her approach, Bradshaw came forward, placing his hand on the pony’s bridle. “You should go no further, my lady,” he said quietly. “It is not fit that you should see.”

Some instinct told her it was Peter, and jumping from the cart, she ran across the yard, but Eaton barring her way halted her approach.

“’Tis the youth, my lady,” he said, taking her arm and attempting to turn her aside so that she should not see the limp figure covered by a stained blanket.

“He is dead?” she cried, shrugging aside his hand and going to the cart. Pulling aside the blanket, she almost fainted at sight of her friend whom had lost half of his face, seemingly from a shotgun wound that had entered from his chin, and she started to shake violently, her eyes round with fear.

Seeing her distress, Eaton, paying no heed to convention, placed an arm about her shoulders and led her away from the sight. “He appears to have stepped into a man trap and the gun he was carrying went off.”

“He had no shotgun,” cried Caroline, the tears raining down her face, “and there is no way he would go onto Lord Melchin’s land where the traps are laid.”

“There was a shotgun found at his side and it was assumed to be his,” stated Eaton.

Looking around, Caroline demanded, “Where is Dog?”

“Do you mean a large black and white animal, my lady?”

“Yes.”

“He was standing over the body but they whipped him away, otherwise he would not have let them near the boy.”

“Then he must be found and cared for, I will not have it otherwise. I do not believe this is an accident. Peter was too aware of the traps and I know he did not own a gun. He thwarted Lord Massey when he would have waylaid me. I believe he must be responsible for his death, though I cannot prove it.” As she spoke, Dog crept unnoticed into the yard to crawl cowering beneath the cart, and seeing him there, Bradshaw ordered that he should be placed in a loosebox until matters had been settled.

“I will not stay at this dreadful place one moment longer,” she cried. “Have the horses put to. We leave immediately.”

“But,
my lady, it grows dark,” said Eaton, with some concern.

“I care not. I take Julia to London where she will be safe, but I must tell you that this is no accident and it must be proved. I know Peter too well, he would not have returned to Melchin’s land.”

“I will send for the constable and the matter will be looked into,” assured Bradshaw. “We will do what we can, my lady.”

“And you will take care of Dog?”

“Of that you may be assured. He will come home with me.”

“Then I will await news of the constable’s findings. You must send me details as soon as you can.”

*****

Julia slept for almost the whole journey to London but Caroline sat with eyes wide, her thoughts allowing her no repose, even seeming oblivious to the rocking of the coach as the groom attempted to reach his destination before midnight. Eaton had remained at Lordings at Caroline’s command and had assured her that he would oversee all arrangements for Peter’s funeral and, along with Bradshaw, have dealings with the constable before returning to Waverly House.

Chapter
Eleven

The earl’s horse carefully picked its way over the stony ground of the foothills, the light fading fast and the rain coming in torrents. Pulling up the collar of his waterproof and settling his wide-brimmed hat even firmer on his head, he attempted to peer through the downfall, searching for signs of Wellington’s army, but none were visible. Eventually, mounting a rise, he perceived what appeared to be a large encampment laid in orderly lines over the valley’s floor. There were scant signs of life, the rain having driven all but a few hardy individuals to seek shelter beneath canvas, and setting his horse on the precarious decent, he too longed for the comforts such shelter would afford

The overland journey had gone better than he had dared hope with warnings of rebel Spanish guerrilla activity fresh in his mind, against which even his nationality was not guaranteed proof, and he attributed this to the fact that he traveled alone, drawing no attention.

As he neared the camp, two armed sentries stepped forward to challenge him, raising their rifles to shoulder level and demanding that he identify himself. His horse fretted nervously as he waited whilst a sergeant was called and he was escorted into the camp. Half-curious eyes followed him as, dismounting, he led his horse amongst the tents in the wake of the sergeant, none being curious enough to forsake the comparative shelter they afforded for sight of a mere civilian stranger.