The Sinners Club (8 page)

“Mama!” Margaret's color grew even higher.

“He is, and the proud father of two sons and a daughter.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Mainwaring pouted a little. “I suppose his sons are still young, are they?”

“Still in the nursery.” Jack put his cup down on the table and rose to his feet while Miss Mainwaring glared at her mother. “Thank you so much for the tea. I have another appointment at the vicarage, and I must be on my way.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith. If your employer does come into the title, I assume you will be moving into Pinchbeck Hall with him to take care of his affairs?”

“We haven't discussed the matter, ma'am, but I think it likely.”

“Are you married, Mr. Smith?”

He thought he heard a muffled groan from Miss Mainwaring behind him.

“No, Mrs. Mainwaring, I am not.”

Her smile this time was gracious. “Then we must hope that your employer's claim to the title prospers, and look forward to welcoming you to our neighborhood.”

“Thank you, ma'am, Miss Mainwaring.”

He bowed again, and headed for the door before she could start inquiring as to his family and potential income. As he closed the door, Miss Mainwaring started to berate her mother and he allowed himself to smile. Matchmaking mothers really were the devil.

Jack marched out into the sunlight and let out his breath. What an unpleasant, bitter individual Mr. Mainwaring was, his sour mouth and narrowed eyes mirroring his unpleasant interior. A man who saw no good in anyone but himself. No wonder the Picoults didn't like him. Jack hadn't taken to him either. The only person of worth he'd met was the eldest Miss Mainwaring.

But George Mainwaring was a local landowner, and probably much respected in the area, which gave him considerable power. The Picoults had nobody but each other and a reputation that was becoming worse every time Jack asked after them.

He walked around to get his horse and rode down to the village and into the stable yard at the inn. The taproom was empty, but Jack could hear the landlord shouting something out from the cellar below so he waited patiently. After a minute or so, Will Ferrers appeared, a barrel balanced on his shoulder, which he deposited with a thud on the wood plank floor.

“Mr. Smith, are ye off down to London then, sir?”

“Good morning, Mr. Ferrers.” Jack smiled at the landlord. “I'm not leaving yet, but as I'm staying up at Pinchbeck Hall, I did want to pay for my first night's accommodation before I forgot.”

“That's good of ye, sir. Would ye care for a pint of ale while you're here?”

“Yes, please. I also have a favor to ask you.” He waited while Ferrers poured him some ale. “I have two letters that need to go to London on the next direct mail coach that passes through here. I'll give you enough coin to cover their passage.”

“That will be first thing tomorrow morning, then, sir.” Ferrers topped up Jack's tankard.

“That's soon enough.” Jack put down some coins to cover the ale. “May I also borrow a pen and ink? I have to add something to one of the letters before it goes.”

“Be my guest, Mr. Smith. There's pen and paper in the best parlor at the back of the house.”

Jack picked up his ale, slid off the stool, and followed Ferrers into the small, dark parlor, where a desk stood in solitary splendor against the wall.

“Thank you.”

He waited until his host had departed, and retrieved the two letters he'd already written from his coat pocket. He needed to add a note to the Lennox solicitor to ascertain the exact nature of George Mainwaring's claim on the title and whether it was feasible that he could inherit. Each peerage was different, and subject to various restrictions and allowances, depending on the age of the title and the particular family's ability to keep the title alive despite the distressing ability of male heirs to die without issue.

There was something about George Mainwaring's dislike of the Picoults that was deeply vindictive and personal. If Mary had spurned his advances, would that be enough to damn her in his eyes forever? Jack suspected George had a great ability to bear a grudge. And it wasn't as if Mary were the only person who disliked the man. Mrs. Lowden hadn't had a good word to say about him either.

Still thinking, Jack resealed his letter and took them both back through to the bar, where Ferrers was arranging and polishing the pewter tankards.

“Here are the letters, Mr. Ferrers.” Jack put a gold sovereign down on top of them. “And hopefully this will cover my bill and their passage to London.”

“That should be fine, sir. How did ye find them up at the hall, then, all well?”

“Indeed. I met your cousin, Mrs. Lowden. She has taken excellent care of the house.”

“Sarah? Aye, she loves that place more than she loves her family.”

“She has children?”

“No, she's never married, sir. She's a bit too sour and forthright for most men's tastes around here. Although she did take care of the Picoults when they arrived at the park.”

“They've lived there awhile I gather.”

“About ten years or so, I'd say.”

“And one of them married the earl.” Jack fixed the landlord with a piercing stare.

Ferrers shrugged his wide shoulders. “Well, I didn't think it was my place to tell ye that, sir. Unlike many in this village, I don't mind the Picoults. They were friends with my children, and I never saw any harm in them. 'Twas a bit of a surprise when the old earl married the girl, mind you. I don't think any of us imagined him doing that.”

“Maybe he did it because she was carrying his child?” Jack suggested.

“Aye.” Ferrers nodded slowly. “If it kept the title out of Mr. Mainwaring's hands, then he might have gone for it.”

“Mr. Mainwaring isn't terribly popular in the village, I gather?”

“He's the local magistrate. The common folk have no cause to love him. He's known as a harsh man.”

“I met him this morning, and I'd certainly agree with that. He seems convinced that he should've inherited the title.”

“But he didn't know about your employer now, did he?” Ferrers smile was slow in coming, but full of dry satisfaction. “I remember his father as a lad. A right little scamp he was. Always in trouble.”

“So my employer has told me.” Jack put down his tankard. “Well, I must be going. I have to speak to the vicar as well.”

“Ye should find him at home at this time of day, sir.”

“Then I'll be off directly. Thank you for all your help, Mr. Ferrers!”

Jack made his escape, and leaving his horse at the inn, crossed the road and went over to the massive church. Its size seemed vastly out of proportion to the population in the village until one remembered the past greatness of the wool towns. In the shadow of the main tower sat a small stone house bearing a sign that read Vicarage of St. Deny's.

He went up the path through a beautifully laid-out garden and knocked on the door. It opened immediately. He was ushered inside by a smiling maid who left him in the front parlor while she went to summon the vicar. The surprisingly sunny nature of the room was in direct contrast to the icy grandeur of the Grange and far more appealing.

The man who appeared at the doorway was in his mid-fifties, and had direct gray eyes and surprisingly white hair.

“You must be the visitor who has set the whole village in a flutter. I'm Colin Tyler, the current vicar. Please do take a seat.”

“Mr. Smith, secretary to the Honorable Mr. John Lennox.” Jack shook the proffered hand. “I hardly intended to send the village into a twitter. I had no idea when I arrived here that things had changed so significantly at Pinchbeck Hall.”

“I believe that came as a surprise to many people.”

Jack studied the calm face of the vicar. “I understand that you officiated at the marriage of the late earl and Miss Picoult.”

“I assume the countess showed you the copy of the marriage lines?”

Jack nodded. “I also have a signed letter stating that there were no legal impediments you were aware of at the time of the marriage. I'll be taking the information back to the Lennox solicitors in London.”

“Naturally. Please, sit.” The vicar gestured at a chair and joined Jack by the fire.

“Forgive me for asking you this, sir, but do you have any idea why the marriage was kept secret?”

“I should've thought that was obvious.” He sat back in his chair and studied Jack. “Neither the earl nor his bride wanted to incur the wrath of the Mainwaring branch of the family.”

“But surely you can see that such secrecy only adds to the oddity of the union, and increases suspicion that something underhanded was going on?”

“Such a scenario would certainly be in your best interest, or should I say in your employer's best interest, wouldn't it?”

“Mr. Tyler, unlike most of the people I've met, you seem to like the Picoults. Why is that?”

“Because I'm a man of God?”

“I apologize, that was rather a stupid question, wasn't it? I'm just struggling to understand why two people can evoke such opposing feelings within the same community.”

“Because some of the people in this village have no Christian charity, and no ability to value those who, despite their appalling start in life, have striven to succeed.”

“Some might consider their means of striving to be suspect, sir.”

“But they don't know the truth.”

“And you do?”

Mr. Tyler dropped his gaze to his clasped hands. “I hold many confidences. I'm sure you're not expecting me to divulge the details.”

“With all due respect, you are not a Roman Catholic priest.”

“I still believe in the sanctity of the confessional, Mr. Smith. I cannot divulge that which has been told to me by someone in the belief that I will not betray their confidence.”

Jack sighed. “Sir, I am merely trying to understand what has happened, so that I can present a good account of myself to my employer when I return to London. Surely you can appreciate that?”

“I suppose it depends on whether you consider your employer a good man. I knew Mr. Lennox's father, you see.” He smiled. “We went to school together. John was a charming, feckless fellow who hated authority, and escaped his duty to his family as soon as he was able.”

“You liked him, despite that?”

“He was impossible not to like. He had that indefinable ability to charm the birds out of the trees. As far as I remember, he'd give you the shirt off his back, and he never willingly hurt anyone.”

“His son is very like him.”

“Feckless and irresponsible?”

“No. Unlike his father, my employer is ready to settle down and accept his responsibilities to his estates and his title.”

“Responsibilities that he now might not have?”

Jack held the vicar's wide gray gaze. “He is scarcely dependent on that income or identity, sir. He is well-occupied both at court and in the governance of this country.”

“Then he is certainly not like his father.”

There was a tap on the door, and the maidservant came in with a tray of tea and biscuits, and placed it on the table next to the vicar.

“My wife is out visiting the sick, so I'll man the teapot. She will be disappointed to have missed you.”

“I'm not leaving the village quite yet. I have some other commissions from my employer to carry out in the surrounding area. In fact, you might be able to help me with one of them.”

“I'm all ears, Mr. Smith.”

Jack accepted yet another cup of tea. “I'm searching for the family home of a man called Keyes.”

“There are many families with that name in this area. Can you be more specific?”

“The family I seek is landed gentry.”

“Oh, that Lord Keyes, the courtesy title the heir of the Marquis of Alford holds.”

“That's the one.”

“The family don't use the Keyes estate anymore. I don't believe it's grand enough for the current marquis.”

“Is it still habitable?”

“Oh yes, there are several Keyes relatives who inhabit the current house, and stop it from falling down. I don't think the current heir has ever visited it, though.”

“My employer's solicitors in London asked me to ascertain if the house was occupied, because they believe there is a small bequest due one of the family. I was hoping to visit the house and see if the beneficiary was still living there. Is it far from here?”

“It's about twenty-five miles away in the village of Lindsey St. Joan. It's the original medieval manor and still the largest estate in the village. You can't miss it.”

“Thank you.” Jack finished his tea, and the vicar refilled his cup. “If the weather improves, I should be able to visit the house, and be back within a day or so.”

“I doubt the weather will improve much, but the roads out toward the coast are better than most, so you should make good time. Ask Simon Picoult to draw you a map. He has a good eye for such things.” The vicar handed Jack the plate of shortbread biscuits. “Eat up.”

Jack bit into the buttery flaky biscuit and almost sighed with pleasure.

“They are good, aren't they? My cook used to work up at Pinchbeck Hall before she quarreled with Mrs. Lowden. I believe she trained in France.”

“Please give her my compliments.”

His host put the plate on the table beside Jack. “Help yourself. My wife will never forgive me if I don't ply you with refreshments until you are unable to move an inch.”