Nicola Cornick (25 page)

Annabella shivered a little before the concentrated
desire in his face. She put out a hand and tentatively touched his shoulder. ‘But your arm…Should you not be resting?’ Unconsciously, her fingers brushed across the bronzed skin of his chest, revelling in the feel of him.

‘The doctor tells me that I should spend some time in bed,’ Will said with the shadow of a smile, ‘and we have an entire day before we can put our plans into practice tomorrow night, so I intend to take his advice…’

Charles Harvard was ill at ease in the elegant dining-room of the Marquis of Mullineaux’s house at Oxenham. It was not the grandeur of the company or the estate that overawed him, but the uncomfortable feeling of walking into the lion’s den. At first, when he and Admiral Cranshaw had received their invitation to dine, Harvard had begged his superior officer to excuse him, arguing that his duty conflicted with the occasion. Cranshaw had called him a damn fool and looked at him as though he really believed Harvard to be mad.

‘Can’t afford to offend an influential man like James Mullineaux,’ he grunted, shovelling his breakfast kedgeree down his throat as he spoke. ‘Besides, Mullineaux’s sound—may be a friend of Will Weston, but wouldn’t do anything to prejudice the course of our investigation! Damn it, the man’s a justice of the peace and a damned fine shot besides! Would have thought an ambitious young officer like yourself would be glad of an opportunity to further your acquaintance!’

Faced with his Admiral’s monumental displeasure
and utterly unable to explain himself, Harvard had been persuaded to attend for dinner, and had almost immediately felt vastly uneasy. He found himself next to Lady Stansfield at dinner, an unkindness on the part of his hostess which could scarcely be matched.

The old Countess had eyed him up and down with disfavour and said, ‘Harvard? Of the Yorkshire Harvards?’

It was impossible to tell from her tone whether it would be a good or bad thing to claim kinship with the unknown Yorkshire cousins, so the Captain had explained that his was the Sussex branch of the family. Lady Stansfield had sniffed her disapproval but offered no comment. As a fine turbot stuffed with spinach and ham followed the soup, Harvard began to relax infinitesimally. Lady Stansfield spoke again.

‘Making any progress on your wild-goose chase?’ she enquired affably.

Before the Captain could think of a tactful response, Alicia had interrupted from further down the table.

‘Grandmama, it is not really appropriate to ask poor Captain Harvard about business whilst we’re at dinner!’

‘I should say not,’ James agreed with deliberate tactlessness. ‘I’m the sure the Captain don’t want reminding of his lack of success!’

Harvard flushed.

‘Have you seen the Regent’s Pavilion at Brighton?’ Lady Stansfield enquired, with suspicious affability.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Harvard decided to risk it. ‘I thought it most attractive.’

‘Monstrosity! Carbuncle!’ Lady Stansfield spoke
through a mouth of spinach. Harvard thought he also heard her say ‘Stuffed shirt!’ but he could not be sure.

Further down the table, as far away from Captain Harvard as possible, Annabella sat watching her grandmother bait him. Seeing Harvard, knowing what he had tried to do to Will—to her husband—made just sitting in the same room with him a trial for Annabella. But she understood the necessity for a cool head. Just as she had helped Will by hiding him through the time at Larkswood, now she would help them trap his would-be murderer.

Marcus was talking to Admiral Cranshaw, who was in high good humour as his glass was filled and refilled and a loin of beef succeeded the turbot.

‘I hear that John Dowland is back in port,’ he was saying casually.

‘Ah,’ Cranshaw nodded sagely. ‘Dowland’s back, is he? Sound man, sound man. Bruising rider to hounds, too!’ He took a swill of his wine. ‘D’y hear that, Harvard? Dowland’s back! Must be all of two years since you saw him, eh?’

Harvard dropped his fork on the floor and snapped at the footman who bent to retrieve it. He appeared to have gone very pale.

‘Bad
ton
to blame the servants,’ Lady Stansfield observed malevolently. ‘Very bad
ton,
young man!’

Harvard ignored her. ‘Are you sure, my lord?’ He was addressing Marcus Kilgaren, who looked rather surprised.

‘Why, yes, I heard it from Will Weston before he disappeared! I remembered it particularly, for Will said he planned to go to Portsmouth to see Dowland…’

Harvard was already half out of his chair when he realised that all eyes were upon him and he sank back, reddening.

‘Extraordinary behaviour!’ Lady Stansfield said, looking down her nose.

Cranshaw, his face as red as the wine, seemed to have noticed nothing amiss. ‘Aye, a good captain, Dowland was,’ he reminisced. ‘It would have been at Lake Champlain that you last saw him, eh, Charles? His was the only other ship the Americans couldn’t take, apart from yours and Weston’s…’

‘Yes, sir,’ Harvard said woodenly.

‘I expect Dowland remembers Champlain well,’ James said pleasantly. ‘I’m sure he’d be an interesting man to talk to…’

‘Oh, fine fellow!’ Cranshaw agreed enthusiastically. ‘Of course, he’s been out of touch a long time; after the battle at Champlain he was sent to the West Indies…Portsmouth, you said, Kilgaren? Well, well, he’ll be glad of some shore leave, no doubt…What’s the matter, Harvard?’ Cranshaw had flushed even more red with annoyance as his junior officer had stood up. ‘Meal’s not over yet, y’know!’

‘Perhaps the Captain has been at sea too long,’ Annabella murmured
sotto voce
. ‘Here on land it is the
ladies
who retire first!’

There was general laughter. Cranshaw waved aside Harvard’s impassioned ‘Sir!’

‘Later, man, later!’ He was not to be denied his pudding. ‘I declare, you’re behaving damned oddly tonight!’

Harvard subsided again. But they had not finished with him yet.

‘Heard an extraordinary story from my gamekeeper today,’ James said, his eyes meeting Alicia’s briefly with a wicked twinkle. ‘Apparently he apprehended a poacher last night, a man from Challen, whose enterprises have taken him as far afield as the borders of Sir Dunstan Groat’s land. Anyway, the man told a story that might interest you, Cranshaw.’

The Admiral grunted through a mouth of pudding. Harvard had gone a pasty white.

‘Seems he was out the night Will Weston disappeared,’ James continued, with blithe disregard for Harvard’s sickly countenance, ‘and says that he has some information that might be of interest. I promised to go to hear his tale tomorrow…’

Harvard raised his wineglass with a hand that shook slightly. Some wine splashed on to the white cloth.

‘If he has information germane to our enquiry—’ his voice sounded strained even to himself ‘—then he should be turned over to our authority…’

There was a sudden silence. James, who had been helping Annabella to some more dessert, turned and raised his black brows.

‘My dear Harvard,’ he spoke quite gently, ‘the man was caught armed and resisting arrest, and with some of my deer! He is on a capital charge! But I am happy for the Admiral to accompany me if he wishes to hear the fellow’s tale—’

‘No!’ Harvard caught himself. ‘That is, a criminal such as that cannot be a reliable witness—’

‘Nonsense, Harvard!’ Cranshaw wiped his mouth on his napkin and laid it down with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘If the fellow’s got some information about Weston, I should be pleased to hear it!’ He was feel
ing more generous now, more expansive. ‘Tell you what, Harvard, you’re always set on work, that’s your trouble!’ He waved an arm in effusive appreciation.

‘Fine food, excellent cellar, pretty women…’ he approximated a courtly bow at Annabella, who smiled back ‘…and all you can think about is questioning prisoners! Dashed dull, what!’

The door opened. Fordyce trod softly into the room and whispered urgently in James’s ear. James threw down his napkin and stood up.

‘Seems you will have a chance to speak to Dowland sooner than you might have expected, sir,’ he said pleasantly to Cranshaw. ‘He is here now, in fact, and asking to see you urgently. And I understand that he has Sir William Weston with him! Why, Harvard—’ James’s voice was suddenly as cold as ice ‘—wherever can you be going in such a hurry? Fordyce, Liddell, please detain the Captain for a moment. There is something I am sure he must be interested to hear…’

‘Here we are like three grass widows,’ Caroline complained disconsolately, two days after the gentlemen had left for London. She cast aside her magazine with a grimace. ‘Why must we sit here tamely waiting for them to come back to us? Can we not entertain ourselves?’

Annabella sighed. It was raining, which seemed peculiarly appropriate. To have had Will snatched from her arms so soon after their marriage was particularly hard to bear, but she knew he had to go to clear his name and sort out all the unpleasantness occasioned by Harvard’s own arrest for both treason and attempted murder.

When the Master-at-Arms, Hawes, had become aware of his captain’s arrest he had hastened to vindicate himself and blame all on Harvard. His testimony, taken with that of James’s poacher, was sufficient to clarify the matter of the attempted murder. Captain Dowland’s assertion that he had seen Will Weston go to the aid of the stricken
Bellepheron
and that he had neither needed nor gained Harvard’s aid at Champlain, was even more damning. It became apparent that Marcus’s theory had been correct and that Harvard had lost his nerve in the dying stages of the sea battle, fearing capture so much that he had abandoned the conflict and fled. In the heat of the action no one had clearly seen or even guessed his deed, except for Hawes who was as guilty of treason as his master. And when Harvard had heard the first rumours swirl that a captain had abandoned the fight, he had been quick to pin the blame on Will Weston.

That left only the small matter of identifying the person who had stirred up the rumours again two years later and Will had been confident that he could find that out when he went to the Admiralty. It was ironic, Annabella thought, that Harvard had had more reason than anybody to prevent the Admiralty taking the rumours seriously, and that when they had done so he had been forced to revert to his murderous plan to try to save his own skin…

‘So what do you suggest, Caro?’ Alicia asked, cutting across Annabella’s thoughts.

‘Why, that we too should go up to London!’ Caroline jumped to her feet. ‘The Little Season will have started and anything is better than moping around here! Mrs Weston may not care to accompany us, but
I’ll wager Lady Stansfield would be game! Come, what do you say?’

Annabella felt a sudden rush of excitement. She had never been to London and it would have the added advantage of bringing her nearer to Will.

‘Well…’ Alicia said cautiously, trying not to smile as she saw her sister’s bright eyes fixed on her pleadingly, ‘perhaps…’

‘Capital!’ Caroline clapped her hands. ‘I will make arrangements at once! And,’ she added, with a very naughty smile, ‘we shall not send word to the gentlemen, I think! They will hear soon enough!’

The ballroom at Stansfield House had seen many a spectacular social occasion but none so impressive as the ball given by Lady Stansfield a week later. The
haut ton
had been stunned to discover her ladyship back in Town, accompanied by not one but both of her beautiful granddaughters. That those granddaughters appeared to be unaccompanied by their husbands was an even greater bonus.

In the days preceding the ball, Annabella had had to be almost forcibly restrained from going out to see the sights of the city and in particular to acquaint herself with the delights of the Bond Street shops. The impact of their arrival would be all the greater for having kept themselves hidden away, Alicia and Caroline argued, and Annabella acquiesced reluctantly, having extracted a promise from her sister that they would go on a shopping expedition as soon as possible. But on the night of the ball Annabella was forced to admit that her sister’s strategy had been sound. The ballroom itself, decorated with tiny col
oured glass lanterns and stained glass panels which cast ethereal coloured shadows, was the perfect foil for herself and Alicia. In a rich strawberry silk and lace dress Annabella felt more elegant than she had ever been, and the distinction of the company made the event a far cry from the provincial assemblies she was accustomed to.

Hugo Mundell, accompanied by his sister and her fiancé John Dedicoat, were amongst the first arrivals. Mundell seemed in high good humour to see Annabella again, pressing a leisurely kiss on her hand and complimenting her on her appearance.

‘I understand that it is customary to congratulate a lady on her marriage,’ he added with a smile. ‘Alas, Lady Weston, I find I can only be sorry to hear of yours! Will has snatched you away before the rest of us had a fair chance!’

Annabella, diverted by the novelty of being addressed by her married name, thanked him prettily for the compliment and agreed to grant him two dances later in the evening.

‘But where is Will this evening?’ Mundell pursued, looking round. ‘Surely he cannot have been foolish enough to leave you alone so soon after the wedding?’