Lady Gwendolen Investigates. ANNE ASHLEY
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He didn’t attempt to deny it. Instead he cursed, long and fluently under his breath, before demanding in the blunt, dictatorial manner to which she was becoming increasingly less resentful, ‘Who have you been talking to…? The local sawbones, I’ll be bound!’
Without experiencing the least need to resort to profanity, Gwen returned the compliment by not attempting to prevaricate, either. ‘Dr Bartlet was, eventually, a deal more forthcoming than you were, sir, certainly. As was my new maid, Annie, a veritable fount of local knowledge. And no mean judge of public opinion, I might add.’
‘Is she, by gad!’ He was decidedly unimpressed, as his next words proved beyond doubt. ‘And what good has it done you to discover all the unsavoury facts surrounding the death? It was enough for you to learn you had lost a good friend in such a fashion without learning every last sordid detail.’
Gwen favoured him with a searching stare, and easily detected a look of concern lurking behind the sparkle of annoyance in those dark eyes. ‘I believe you were trying to be kind in sparing me the unsavoury facts, sir. But let me assure you, I’m no child. My husband always did his utmost to protect me, but he never once attempted to prevent me from increasing my knowledge of the world. I’m fully aware of what Jane must have endured before she was strangled.’
One expressive brow rose at this, betraying his scepticism, but he refrained from comment, leaving Gwen to rise to her feet and go over to the window, whilst the silence lengthened between them.
‘What’s of most concern to me now is what’s being done to bring the murderer to book.’ She swung round, catching a guarded look, not untouched by guilt, flickering over his strong and decidedly aristocratic features. ‘From what I’ve discovered thus far, no one has been charged with the crimes, though several likely suspects have been named.’
‘Sheer gossip, more often than not stemming from some personal dislike or grievance,’ he returned, totally dismissive, before running impatient fingers through his thick, slightly waving dark hair. ‘Of course enquiries were made about Miss Robbins. And the other women, too. But nothing ever came to light. No one ever came forward admitting to having witnessed the tragic incidents. In point of fact, no one has ever come forward with any relevant information at all, as far as I’m aware. And as far as Miss Robbins is concerned—no one, myself included, even saw her leave Bridge House. Her absence wasn’t discovered until the evening, when she failed to go down to the kitchen for her dinner, and so a maid took a tray up to her room.’
The lines across his forehead grew more pronounced, making him appear more forbidding than ever. ‘Naturally I instigated a thorough search of both house and grounds. But it was dark by that time, so there was no possibility of widening the search. Her body was discovered two days later by a man called Furslow, Lord Cranborne’s gamekeeper.’
Gwen found these disclosures both interesting and puzzling at one and the same time. ‘Was Jane in the habit of wandering about the countryside when the mood took her?’ she asked, thinking him a very generous master in allowing his employees so much free time.
He wasn’t slow to set her straight on the matter. ‘Of course not! Not unless she undertook to take her charges out for some fresh air,’ he answered snappishly. ‘If her intention was to walk any distance, she was, at my insistence, always accompanied by a male servant, footman or groom.’ His expression relaxed markedly and his voice became noticeably less caustic, too, as he added, ‘Miss Robbins was extremely conscientious. She more than met my expectations. My wards improved in every respect under her charge.’
Although he continued to stare directly across the room in her general direction, Gwen gained the distinct impression he was seeing quite a different aspect. ‘It just so happened that my wards were among the first to succumb to the recent, widespread influenza outbreak. I took what precautions I could to ensure my entire household wasn’t afflicted by giving instructions that my old nursemaid was the only one to attend the sickroom until the girls were over the worst of it. Miss Robbins undertook to help me catalogue the books in my library during that period. But even so she was left with plenty of free time on her hands. Unfortunately, the weather naturally being so inclement at that season of the year, she rarely left the house.’
The cleft between his dark brows deepened once again. ‘If my memory serves me correctly the girls were well on the way to a complete recovery, and Miss Robbins had decided to recommence lessons, at least in part, the very next day. Maybe she decided to take full advantage of the last of her free time by taking a walk, and went further than intended.’
As she had done little travelling about since her arrival in Somerset, Gwen was unfamiliar with the area, and frowned as she attempted to recall the countryside she had passed through on that one and only visit made to Bridge House. ‘Is this Marsden Wood situated close to your home, sir?’
‘It’s about a mile and a half or so away, and lies to the south-east of my property.’
Gwen took a moment to consider what he had disclosed thus far. Jane, she clearly recalled, had been an avid walker years ago, and the mile-and-a-half hike would have meant nothing to her, a mere stretch of the legs, as it were. Even so, choosing to explore a wood in the middle of January did seem rather odd behaviour for someone of Jane’s sensible inclinations. Surely she would have been more likely to have explored the shelves in her master’s library for a suitable read than have run the risk of returning to Bridge House with skirts and boots caked in mud, after an exploratory stroll in a wood? And what was so interesting to view there at that season of the year? Furthermore, would she deliberately have gone against her employer’s express wishes and gone there alone? The answer came hard on the heels of the question—no, she would not, unless she had a very good reason for doing so. Odd…yes, it all seemed decidedly odd!
Suddenly aware that she was being, yet again, avidly studied by her forthright visitor, and that she was in the gravest danger of being accused of the sin of neglect, she apologised. ‘My only excuse, sir, is that I’m finding it immensely difficult to come to terms with my dearest friend’s demise, and my thoughts remain in turmoil. All the same, I must detain you no further, and must thank you again most sincerely for your help in the matter and for ensuring I received those personal effects.’
‘Wrong on all counts, ma’am,’ he returned, once more catching her completely offguard and surprising her by his response. ‘I’ve been of no help to you whatsoever. Yet, I expect that’ll change. And quite swiftly now you’ve set up home here.’ He took a moment to stare about at what for him had once been very familiar surroundings. ‘Warrender would have expected no less from a close neighbour and friend, even though we saw nothing of each other in recent years. And rid your mind of the nonsensical notion you’re importuning me. I’ve never permitted anyone to do that since leaving Oxford. But what you have singularly failed to do, ma’am, is refill my glass. It’s stood empty for the past five minutes, and I’m far too much of a gentleman to help myself.’
‘Now that I simply can’t believe!’ Gwen retorted before she could stop herself. The resulting bark of masculine laughter instantly vanquished her slight feeling of pique at what she had deemed unnecessary strictures on her skills as a hostess, and she found herself willingly complying with his request.
‘Without wishing to appear rude, why do you suppose you could be of service to me, sir?’ she asked, having decided to maintain this mode of plain speaking, at least when solely in his company, which she didn’t envisage would be so often that her powers of restraint would suffer as a result.
‘Well, for a start, ma’am, I can assist you in acquiring a half-decent carriage,’ he answered, after taking a moment to sample the contents of the refilled glass. ‘If you’re to continue residing here, and I assume that’s your intention, you can’t carry on making use of that antiquated bone-shaker of a vehicle. Old Percival used to ride most everywhere. Much preferred the open air. So that vehicle served his needs on the few occasions he was obliged to use it. But it won’t serve yours, most especially if you’re to put off your blacks in the near future. Which I assume you intend to do, as you’ve been widowed nine months now, by my reckoning. No one would expect you to