Home Is the Sailor (20 page)

“Your sister said that Ronald has been informed that you will stand as guardian to the younger ladies of the household, in the event of your father’s death.” Will shook his head, as though unwilling to put the thought to words. “Davy, what if he decided to make certain you would not be around to fulfill that responsibility?”

David took a breath to scoff, then met Will’s sober eyes, and closed his mouth. It was a suggestion he could not dismiss. “That,” he said at last, “that would go beyond all reason. One death could appear accidental. A second? That would be—”

“Perhaps a third,” Will said. “I think that someone in your family must write to your brother’s commanding officer, and see what details may be discovered about the death of Ronald’s wife.”

David shook his head. “Ronald is utterly selfish and he can be cruel,” he said, “but I have never known him to be so single-minded as to be stupid. Ordinarily, he would have set himself to charm you, and make me appear insignificant.”

“He may have had sense enough to realize such a task would be impossible.”

“It’s true, you showed no awe of his elevated status. Ronald prefers sycophants to equals. But to deal with all one’s problems by killing off those who seem to be in the way...That might work once or twice, but it could not be sustained.”

“Not under ordinary circumstances, no,” Will said, “but your brother has been to war. And what is war, in its basest sense, but killing those who oppose you? You and I have known men like Captain Smith, who kill when duty requires it but stop when the enemy lowers his flag. But we’ve also seen those who start out mean and develop a taste for death, like a herd-dog who begins hunting sheep. Remember Simpson, that foremast jack Captain Smith hanged after he murdered a whore in Portugal? That woman’s life meant nothing to him—he strangled her in cold blood.”

David nodded. A dozen childhood memories assailed him—toys stolen or broken, animals tormented, beatings that Ronald carefully concealed from their parents and governess—and worse at school, when he had a clique of followers to support him. “And you think my brother may be such a one.”

“I think he may be.” Will’s voice was gentle. “But only because you have been telling me he is ever since you first mentioned him. And I have seen enough now to believe that you may be right.”

* * * * *

They were given a day’s respite after what David was thinking of as the alarums and confusion. Virginia kept to her room. Unfortunately, so did the Countess. David was puzzled at his mother’s refusal to stir from her boudoir. He knew that Will was probably right, and the loss of her eldest son had been a devastating blow, but this apathy was unlike her—even when she was ill, she was more inclined to fuss over everyone else than to let anyone care for her.

“Just an hour downstairs, Mama,” he encouraged. “We would all take heart if you would only come down and spend some time with the family.”

“Not yet, my dear,” she said placidly. “Anne is more than capable of acting as hostess, and I know Amelia has the household well in hand.” She pulled her blankets up a little closer to her chin. “Is Captain Marshall being looked after?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Well, then, since he is nearly family, there’s no need to worry yourself.”

And that was that. David kissed her cheek and left, feeling that she had gone off somewhere just out of reach.

The Earl was taking most of his meals with his wife. Ronald was in and out during the day, but not present in the dining room, either; he generally had breakfast sent up to his room instead of spending time at table with his family, then vanished until the household had gone to bed. At least, David thought, with their parents tucked away there was no need for any of them to pretend they enjoyed Ronald’s company, though Anne did voice a complaint that he might at least attempt to give the appearance that he had an interest in his own family. Amelia replied tartly that she preferred honest disinterest, and the matter dropped.

They had no significant news from the outside world, either from Sir Percy or the slightly delayed paper from London. Everyone knew Bonaparte was preparing for war, but the peace dragged on. And the weather helped no one’s mood. An occasional hour of wintry sunlight was invariably followed by clouds and mist, and sometimes rain. David cudgeled his brain for anything more that they might investigate, but as Will said, short of asking Ronald questions that he would surely refuse to answer—and betraying their suspicions in the process—they could do nothing more than wait for him to betray himself in some way.

He wished he had some idea of the form that action might take.

* * * * *

Things were not going according to plan. The fools were supposed to stay at the house, not go snooping around in the village. That stupid beer-hauling bitch—talking to them! Sound carried a long way at night, and there was no doubt her name was mentioned. And she would be open to bribery, without a doubt. She would sell anything for the right price, especially if it made her the center of attention. She must be dealt with.

But there was another danger even more pressing, one that must be seen to immediately. Time was short, and all one’s plans might be sent to perdition by a single stroke of bad luck. Better to make certain that demented harpy was silenced before her drug-fueled prophecy came to pass.

And then ...then one would have power, money, and absolute control.

No reason to wait any longer.

Tonight.

Chapter Eleven

“Davy, get up!”

The voice beside his ear was quiet but urgent. Despite it being pitch-dark in the bedroom, David knew it was Will shaking his shoulder. He dragged himself out of the soundest sleep he’d had since returning home, and pushed himself up. “What’s wrong? What time is it?”

“A little past four. Out in the hall—come quick!”

He snatched up his dressing-gown and followed, though Will moved too fast for him to keep up,  and by the time he was out in the hall Will was nowhere to be seen. As he peered around, blinking, David saw Amelia’s door open on the other side of the gallery. She poked her head out, shielding a candle with one hand. The flickering light and deep shadows made her look like something from a dream. “Davy, what is it?”

“Down here!” Will called softly. “She is still breathing, but do we dare move her?”
 

David followed the sound of Will’s voice to the stairway, and Amelia came behind him with the candle “Who is it?” he asked, awake enough to realize that this was no dream. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Lady Virginia. I think she must have fallen.”
 

As the light fell across the figure sprawled near the balustrade, halfway down the stairs, David saw that Will was correct. “But how could she get out here? Why would she leave her room? Where’s her maid?”

“Get Kirby,” Amelia suggested, bringing the light closer. “Allow me to sit beside her, Captain. Would you get me a glass of water, please?”

David took a candle from one of the sconces at the top of the stair, and lit it from his sister’s taper.

She caught at his arm as he leaned close. “Davy, if anyone asks, let them think that I first discovered her.”

“Very well, but why?”

“If this was not an accident, then someone pushed her—and it would be better if there were no hint that either of you were involved. I can honestly say I saw you looking out in the hall, and we can both say we thought we heard something.”

“You’re right,” he said. “Good thinking. Will?”

“I’ll do as you think best.” Will followed him up the stairs. “Would water from my room be acceptable?”

“As well as any, I suppose. I’ll get Kirby, then see what happened to Virginia’s maid. She should know better than to let her go stumbling around in the dark!”

He and Will parted at the top of the stair, and he went to summon his mother’s unflappable maid. He had barely scratched at the door when it opened, and Kirby stood there holding a candlestick. “Master David, what is that commotion?”

“Is my mother awake?”

When Kirby shook her head, he said, “Good,” and drew her out into the hall, explaining the situation in as few words as possible. “Please go help my sister—I’ll see what’s become of Lady Virginia’s maid.”

“Margaret is devoted to her ladyship,” Kirby said. “She would surely have kept her from wandering about!”

“So I should have thought,” David said.

And so she might have, if she had been awake. Lady Virginia’s maid, Margaret, was sitting in a straight chair in the private parlor, just outside her mistress’ room, with a small lamp burning on the table beside her, and a half-darned sock on the floor beneath the chair. She ought to have heard and seen what happened. Indeed, it seemed impossible that Virginia could have walked past her without being noticed, even though Margaret was dead to the world, for her feet were extended partway across the path to her ladyship’s bedroom.

David cleared his throat, called the young woman’s name, and finally took hold of one shoulder and shook her.

She groaned and sat upright. “Yes, sir?”

“Are you unwell?” he asked.

“No, sir!” She scrambled to her feet and attempted a curtsey, but her knees failed and she dropped back into the chair. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

David had not paid much notice to Virginia’s maid—he had never seen her before this visit—but when he’d been in her room earlier, while the Vicar was there, she had seemed perfectly alert and well-behaved. He was certain his sister-in-law would not tolerate a tippler, and the maid did not seem drunk, nor was there any smell of spirits. He could detect no guile in her pale, anxious face, only confusion.

Once she knew what had happened, she would be in a panic over what must appear to be dereliction of duty. The real crisis was out in the hall, but Will, Amelia, and Kirby were equal to dealing with whatever might be required out there. David thought he might learn more if he asked his questions now, before Margaret knew what had transpired.

He pulled up a footstool and sat upon it, bringing himself closer to her eye level. “Margaret, when I entered, you seemed to be asleep. What is the last thing you remember?”

“Lord, sir, I must have been asleep. Lady Anne sent me off to rest for awhile this afternoon, but I’ve been with my lady all through the nights. Even if I rest my eyes I listen, and if she moves I jump right up...but my head aches so!” She touched her left temple and winced.

He brought the lamp close enough to look, and saw a lump forming on the side of her face, vanishing into the hairline. “You’ve had a nasty wallop there—it’s starting to bruise. Do you remember what happened?”

“No, sir, nothing. Might be I fell and hit my head, but then how would I come to be sitting here?”

“I couldn’t say,” he responded. He couldn’t say, but he could guess—the maid had been dozing, understandably enough, and a quick blow to the head had insured that she would not awaken until it was much too late. “You must summon your courage, Margaret. There has been an accident. I’m afraid Lady Virginia has taken a fall down the stairs.”

It was his turn to wince when she let out a wail of dismay. She jumped up; David caught her before she pitched onto her face.  She pulled fretfully away from his support and stumbled two steps to the bedroom doorway, where she could see for herself that the bed was empty. “Oh,
no!”

Then she fainted.

He groaned and bent to heave her back into the chair, wondering what to do next. Wake the Earl, that was certain—if the activity the hall hadn’t already done the job.

But when he got back to the staircase, he saw no sign of his father. There were servants aplenty on the stair, though. Under the combined supervision of Leland, Kirby, and Amelia, Virginia was being lifted onto a sling of blankets. Amelia had a few quiet words with the butler, and then joined David. “She’s breathing, but unevenly,” his sister said. “Her pulse is weak, and I could not wake her. Nor could Kirby. They’re going to put her back in her bed—I’ve no idea what else we can do.”

“Has someone gone for the doctor?” he asked, as the awkward procession struggled up the stairs and headed for Virginia’s room.

“Yes, Leland sent a boy out to the stables, to take the gig and fetch Dr. Fiske. That poor man! He must sometimes wish he had become a scholar, or studied for the ministry.”

“Perhaps we ought to send for the Vicar, too,” David said. “Just in case.”

Will, a mere spectator, sidled over. “What of the maid?”

“She had been knocked unconscious, and it took some doing to wake her up.”

“Knocked unconscious?” he echoed incredulously. “By Lady Virginia?”

“I expect that is what we’re intended to believe. Amelia, did Ronald ever come home, do you know?”

“He did not,” she said. “According to Leland, he is once more off visiting friends.”

“How convenient.” And how singularly inappropriate, with the family so recently bereaved. A sudden suspicion struck him. “You had better tell Kirby not to try waking Margaret, she fainted again when I told her what happened. Will, come with me, please!”

He strode down the hall to the room that had been Mark’s and was now infested by Ronald. He knocked, just in case his brother had returned unannounced, then turned the knob and entered.