Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3) (27 page)

Harriet’s hand hovered over the coffee pot. “A cup of coffee, Mister Stanton?”

The door opened. Arthur, his riding habit muddied, his hair flopping over his forehead and tears streaming down his face, ran to her. “Stop Grandfather, Mamma! You must stop him! Come to the stable.”

When Harriet gathered him into her arms, he pulled himself free. “Come to the stables before it is too late.”

“Too late for what?”

Hysterical, Arthur could not answer.

“Shocking behaviour,” Gerald Stanton commented. “I shall severely punish Frederick if he ever forgets himself like this.”

Buckley stood. As though Arthur was one of his own children he picked him up and patted his back. “Come along, little gentleman, we shall go and see what your grandfather intends to do.”

With quick footsteps Harriet followed Buckley out of the Abbey. They crossed the large, flagstone quadrangle to a door in a wall. On the other side of it they saw Mister Markham dismount from his horse. At the sound of Arthur’s hysteria, he turned around.

Dominic handed the reins to a groom. A few quick steps and he reached her side. “What has happened? Why is Lord Castleton distraught?”

“Prince.” Arthur choked the words out.

A footman hurried past them, a pistol in his hand.

At the end of the stable yard stood Pennington, Jack, stable boys and several grooms, one of whom held the Exmoor pony’s reins.

With measured footsteps the earl walked towards them. “Buckley, put Lord Castleton down.

Grim-faced, Buckley deferred to the older man.

Harriet knelt and put her arms around her son while her father-in-law looked down at him.

“Castleton, you are a lord. I expect you to act like one. I shall help you to pull the trigger.”

“I don’t know what caused Arthur’s distress, but I assure you he will not fire your gun.” Her child rigid in her arms, Harriet glared at her father-in-law

Pennington scowled, his hateful grey eyes hard as slate. “My heir will not be raised to be a coward.”

“What do you want the child to shoot?” Buckley asked, a gentle hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

Jack crossed the stable yard. He plucked Arthur up from Harriet’s arms, and cradled him in his arms. “Don’t cry, Arthur, I will not allow Grandfather to slaughter Prince.” He faced Pennington. “If you had not encouraged my cousin to jump over that high hedge on his pony, I don’t think the saddle would have slipped, and the child would not have been thrown. Instead of blaming the poor creature, ask yourself why it happened.”

Harriet stood, all the blood seeming to drain from her body. She pressed a hand over her heart. “The girth?” she hazarded.

Jack’s face set in the harsh lines a much older man. “Just so.”

“Someone loosened the girth?” Dominic asked.

Jack nodded.

Mister Markham drew closer to her. “Are you faint?”

“Yes, no, I don’t know.”

“Why would anyone do such a thing?” Gerald Stanton fingered the clerical bands at his neck.

“Of all people, it should be obvious to you.” Buckley spoke in the manner of a gentleman addressing one who had lost his wits.

Mister Markham handed the reins of his horse to a groom. “With your permission, Lord Castleton, I shall take care of your pony.”

“Thank you,” Arthur managed to say between sobs.

“Who would loosen the girth?” Pennington asked, his face pale despite his powder and rouge.

Buckley held up his hand and contemplated a ring on his finger. “Well, I did not. I am sure Lady Castleton would not have tried to murder her son.  Jack is rich enough to snap his fingers at a possible inheritance from you, father-in-law. So, one asks oneself who could have done such a thing?”

They looked at Mister Stanton, who gulped. “You could not, do not think that I, a man in holy orders, could be the culprit.”

“You could,” Pennington snapped, “if you steeled yourself.”

Harriet shuddered. “Who was responsible for attempted murder? Jack or Lady Isabel, Buckley or Lady Katherine, Reverend or Mrs Stanton or an unknown person.”

Harriet scrutinised Pennington’s face. He showed no sign of remorse. Her anger seethed. She would not, could not remain under the roof of a monster. One who had intended to force a four year-old to shoot his beloved pony. She took a deep breath before she spoke. “Jack, please put Arthur down. I shall take him to the nursery.”

Harriet clasped vulnerable son’s  hand. “Don’t cry, Arthur. Mamma will not allow anyone to shoot Prince.” She glared at Pennington, choking back the words: You are insane. If she uttered them, he might suspect she planned to leave with Arthur. If Pennington did, Harriet was sure he would try to prevent her. She would prefer to depart quietly without leaving any clue to her destination. Yet, where could she go?

Chapter Twenty-One

With Arthur’s pony on a leading rein, Dominic rode slowly and thoughtfully back to The Rectory. In his opinion Lady Castleton’s assessment of Pennington was correct. Although the earl did not gibber like an unfortunate inmate of Bedlam, he was not sane. Instead of his decision to shoot the docile Exmoor pony, Pennington should have questioned the grooms and stable boys to find out who loosened the girth.

Dominic assumed one of the earl’s relatives was responsible for an attempt on Arthur’s life? He frowned. Although the murderer had failed, he or she might devise another plan, so Arthur and his mother must leave Clarencieux Abbey as soon as possible.

He rode on, his lips pressed into a thin line, while he considered several alternatives until he reached the stables behind the rectory. Dominic dismounted. He handed the reins of his horse and the pony to the groom, and gave the man brief instructions.  

A gleam of curiosity in his eyes, Jim touched his forelock. “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll keep a close eye on the Exmoor, and lock the gate at night. I sleep over the stable, so I’d hear if anyone breaks in.”

Dominic nodded at the man. “Good, the pony must not be harmed.”

“Trust me, sir, my lad and I will make sure he’s not.”

“Good. Water my mare but don’t remove her saddle.”

Dominic could not be certain the earl would try to have Prince shot. One never knew to which lengths a madman might go.

After a quick word with his sister, he would return to Clarencieux to speak to Harriet.

Dominic hurried into the rectory. “Where is Lady Gwenifer?” he asked the maidservant, who opened the front door.

“In her bedchamber, sir.”

Usually, Gwenifer got up in time to breakfast with him; this morning, presumably tired after the ball she must have slept later than usual.

He went up the stairs two at a time, hurried along the short corridor and knocked loudly on his sister’s bedroom door.

“Come in,” she called.

Propped up in her four poster bed by plump pillows in lace-edged linen covers, Gwenifer put her cup of coffee down. “What is it? Robert!?” she faltered, her eyes wide with alarm.

“No, I don’t think there is a change in his condition.”

Gwenifer patted the edge of her bed. “Sit here instead of frowning down at me. Have you had your breakfast? Should I send for more bread and butter? A cup of hot chocolate, or would you prefer coffee?”

“No thank you, I ate before I went to Clarencieux.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “So early in the day!”

“Yes.” The news he intended to give Lady Castleton earlier in the morning seemed less urgent.

“Did something happen there to put you in a lather?”

“I am not, as you so vulgarly put it, in a lather.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Maybe not, but you are out of countenance.”

Without including unnecessary details, Dominic told her what had occurred. “Lady Castleton and her son cannot remain at the abbey. If you agree, I shall bring them here. You will enjoy their company until other arrangements can be made for them,” he concluded.

“It will not do.” Gwenifer vehemently shook her head. “I agree Harriet and her son cannot remain at Clarencieux after her father-in-law’s monstrous behaviour. Nonetheless, you should consider it would cause gossip connecting your name to hers if she put up here?”

“Why should a visit from your friend cause tittle tattle?”

His sister shook a finger at him. “By now, through servants’ gossip, rumours are already spreading beyond the abbey. If her ladyship stays with us, people will ask themselves why.”

“Gwenifer-”

“Please listen to me. Although Harriet has joined the ton, even a hint of scandal would ruin her.”

“A lesser evil than another attempt on Lord Castleton’s life.” His mouth twisted in the travesty of a smile.

“What would be best?” Gwenifer pressed her hand to her heart. “I know, Mamma, asked me to call on her with Harriet and her son. If we do so immediately, I shall tell Mamma what has happened and insist they stay at Faucon Castle.”

Dominic frowned at his sister. There was a time for everything.” To be blunt, “I doubt Mamma will agree to anything which will further my acquaintance with Lady Castleton.”

Regardless of his parents’ and sister’s wishes he could only think of one honourable way to protect Harriet.

* * *

Harriet looked at Bessie across the top of her son’s head.

The nurse knelt in front of Arthur. “Look at me, my little love, and please stop crying. You’re not the first and won’t be the last child to fall off his pony.”

“G…grandpapa wanted…me to…to sh…shoot Prince,” Arthur sobbed.

“Well, you didn’t. Now, stop your noise while I take off your muddy clothes.”

In response to Bessie’s reprimand, Arthur sniffed and obeyed her.

Faint with the horror of knowing someone tried to kill her child, Harriet sank onto a chair. Equally horrified by the earl’s attempt to force Arthur to kill the pony, she trembled. She completely understood why, before he died, Edgar chose not to mend the rift between himself and his father. He must have known, or at least suspected, the earl was either cruel to the core or only fit for Bedlam. She cursed the day Mrs Tarrant, with the best of intentions, introduced her to the evil old man.

The door opened a little. A man cleared his throat. “Colonel Leigh, my lady, the butler told me I would find you in the nursery. May I come in?”

What did he want? Harriet tried to check her emotions while she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “Yes, you may.”

The colonel entered the room and shut the door. With the keen eyes of a man accustomed to taking charge, he glanced from Bessie and Arthur to Lady Castleton. “If you will pardon me for saying so, my lady, your face is pale. You need a glass of brandy.”

“You are thoughtful, but no, thank you.”

Bessie stood and glanced from Harriet to Colonel Leigh before she addressed Arthur. “Now, now, Lord Castleton, don’t you fret. There’s mud in your hair, so you shall have a nice, hot bath, followed by breakfast. By now, you must be very hungry. She clasped Arthur’s hand. “Begging your pardon, my lady, don’t worry. I shall take good care of his lordship.”

Yes, Bessie would, and she did not want to converse with the colonel in her child’s presence. Harriet forced herself to her feet. “Colonel Leigh, all is well so we should leave Arthur’s nurse to take care of him.”

“Nonsense, it is far from well.” Leigh followed her into the hall. “There is something I wish to say.” He cleared his throat. “You can trust me. Your husband and I were good friends.”

“Yes, I know.” In silence, Harriet led him to her parlour. “We may be private here.” She indicated a pair of chairs upholstered with dove-grey chintz patterned with blowsy roses.

Leigh waited for her to sit down before he seated himself. A shadow seemed to cross his face. What was it? Regret?

“Lady Castleton, you and your boy need protection. It is out of the question for both of you to remain here. “

What should she reply? It would be humiliating to admit she was dependent on Pennington’s charity.

“Lady Castleton, please believe that I wish you well.”

“Thank you.” Surprised, Harriet studied his weather-beaten face and the military air clinging to him like his tight-fitting pantaloons.

“May I say I have always admired you?” he asked, seeming somewhat ill at ease.

She nodded. “Thank you for your kind words,” she responded, somewhat embarrassed.

“Ah, you are too overcome by today’s shocking events to say much.” Something was either stuck in his throat or he was reluctant to continue. After he cleared his throat, he continued. “Lady Castleton, I shall come to the point. Do you know I am a baronet’s younger son? Despite that, my income is sufficient to support a wife in comfort.  I realise I am fifteen years older than you, but, nevertheless, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

What should she say to the well-meaning officer? Dismayed, although appreciative of his well-meant proposal, Harriet hesitated, her hands gripped together on her lap.

The colonel leaned forward. “Forgive my forthrightness. I am a plain spoken soldier unaccustomed to-”