Sir Benjamin Westbury was as usual sleeping late and breakfasting in his room when Hugo went downstairs. It was the sort of wonderfully joyous morning that made him glad to be alive, especially after the mournful discovery of his grandfather and the solemnity of the interment yesterday. No doubt he was demonstrating his own love of life and the feeling of gratitude that he was still here, he thought. Rapturously, wonderfully, vibrantly alive, on such a glorious sunny day, and he began to whistle to himself.
He’d decided to walk and see again some of his old childhood haunts and he swung along the well-worn footpath to the village, picking up a stout stick and every so often taking a swipe at a patch of nettles or thistle, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of Charlotte. He wondered if he would meet her. He knew she was singularly independent-minded and sometimes went walking without her maid. Maybe she would be out walking herself on such a fine morning. Perhaps they would be able to walk together for a while. As he entered the woods, he paused suddenly in his nettle-beating activity. There was not a soul about and yet, despite the very early hour, he had the unwelcome feeling that he was being followed. He looked behind him but could see no one. Whom should he see? Whom should he fear? He was in a safe and quiet country village, not in the dangerous city of London. He could only conclude that it was the strange events of his grandfather’s death that had given him this sense of some mystery, which had haunted him ever since he’d come back to live at Westbury Hall. He’d be seeing ghosts and apparitions next. He smiled cynically at the thought and returned to his nettle beating, and it was as well he did, for it meant that he half turned away from the path and, at the same time, from the heavy club which was poised to strike him. It was no ghost or apparition that felled him to the ground, but a man. A large, tough rogue, who bent over him and with arms like huge hams, hauled him to his feet and pushed him roughly against a tree, holding him tightly by the front of his expensive jacket and smart cravat.
A swarthy unshaven face was pushed close to his own and the man hissed into his face, ‘Nah listen, my fine swell, and listen good. Unless yer wants to be dead meat, keep yer nozzle out o’ what don’t concern ye, or next time yer daylights’ll be darkened permanent.’
He flung Hugo back against the tree, leaving him to slide down on to the grass, before he ran swiftly away.
As Hugo hauled himself up, he reflected that his instinctive feeling that he was being followed was quite correct and that the only explanation for the attack must be his investigations into the circumstances of his grandfather’s murder. He looked down ruefully at his ruined jacket and torn cravat. To the devil with the thug’s threats, but still, he’d be more careful from now on. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped his face and felt gingerly at the painful lump on the back of his head. No blood, thank God, and at least the ruffian hadn’t punched him in the face. He straightened his clothes and decided to turn back towards home. He was in no fit state to greet any lady, let alone one as critical and mocking as Charlotte Grayson.
It was at that moment that he saw Charlotte herself, coming towards him along the path, looking as beautifully fresh and smart, as though she’d just stepped out of a band box.
At first, she didn’t notice his dirty clothes and torn neck cloth, but when she drew nearer to him, she exclaimed impulsively, ‘Oh, Mr Westbury, what has happened? Have you had an accident, sir?’
‘You could say that,’ Hugo said grimly. ‘An accident in the form of a hired bully boy, who accosted me in order to deliver a warning.’
‘A … a warning?’ she faltered.
‘Yes. It seems I must desist forthwith from making enquiries about my grandfather’s death or else suffer the consequences!’ He smiled wryly to himself at his earlier feelings of light-hearted anticipation at a chance meeting with the beautiful Miss Grayson, which had culminated in a meeting of quite a different kind.
Charlotte had never looked so desirable as now, when she stood in front of him, her clear gaze meeting his own, only her tightly clasped hands betraying the anxiety she was feeling.
‘It is obvious then that the ruffian attacked you because of your interest in … in the body in the library.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So … what do we do next?’
Hugo registered use of the word ‘we’ and her look of genuine concern and frowned.
‘We don’t do anything,’ he said. ‘I am the one who must act to solve the mystery of my grandfather’s murder. As for you, ma’am,’ he said sternly, ‘take care not to go out unescorted, even in quiet Felbrook.’
‘But I was there when the body was discovered,’ she said mutinously. ‘It would be too bad of you to try and exclude me now! And I dislike feeling helpless. I am sure I could—’
‘No, Miss Grayson,’ he said more gently. ‘You must do nothing to draw attention to yourself. That way you will keep out of danger. For the moment, Bunfield and I will continue our investigations as secretly as possible.’ Noting her rebellious expression, he gave her his most charming smile and said gravely, ‘I will inform you of any progress that we make and I can always ask for your assistance if I should need it.’
She was silent but continued to look up at him questioningly, her large eyes bright and clear in the morning sunshine. He had a sudden vision of the beautiful Charlotte Grayson in his arms and feeling helpless, but quickly recalled himself to the present. He was about to observe that she was without her maid and was going to offer to escort her home, but then completely lost the thread of what he was about to say and could only gaze silently back at her. He had never felt like this before. Perhaps it was the effect of the blow to his head, he thought wildly. Devil take it, he was acting like some idiot moonling boy. He was disgusted with himself.
Still they didn’t speak.
Under the shadow of the trees, her eyes looked so enormous and so deep, he felt as if he could drown in them. God help him, he must be losing his mind. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her until she really was helpless and then to protect her and guard her from all danger.
The silence lengthened as they stood there still.
‘What . . what is it … Mr Westbury?’ she said at last, looking at him questioningly, almost fearfully.
With a supreme effort, he hastily pulled himself together. ‘Nothing … nothing, only be careful, dear Miss Grayson. I would not want you to be in any danger.’
‘I will heed your warning, Mr Westbury,’ she said, taking note of the ‘dear Miss Grayson’, and was suddenly demure as she took his arm and they walked sedately back to Felbrook Manor.
He took his leave of her at the gate, intent on not being seen in his untidy state and wishing to return to Westbury Hall as quickly as possible. He would have a meeting with Bunfield and decide on some plan of action. He cursed himself for not going out on horseback this morning. Now he would have to walk back. Tedious and time-consuming. On the other hand, he’d set off in the hope that by chance they would meet and in that, at least, he’d been successful. Then he wondered if it really had been by chance. Charlotte Grayson walking abroad without her abigail, or footman, he reflected, was perhaps indicative that she also had hoped they would encounter each other by chance. Even his thoughts seemed incoherent. He must try and calm himself.
By the time he reached Westbury Hall, in spite of his stiff limbs and a severe headache, Hugo was in a saner mood. He even managed to get to his room without encountering either Sir Benjamin or his hated cousin Alfred. His dignified and discreet valet, Latimer, was his usual quiet self as he picked up the torn neckcloth and discarded, soiled garments which his master had thrown on to the floor of his dressing-room.
Then he said tactfully, ‘Forgive me for saying so, sir, but you do not look yourself at the moment. Do you wish me to get the footman to prepare a bath for you?’
Hugo smiled appreciatively. ‘How perceptive of you, Latimer,’ he said. ‘I am stiff and weary and my head is throbbing as though it will burst.’
Latimer laid out a fresh set of linen and then, without looking directly at him, said softly, ‘May one enquire what has happened, sir?’
Hugo laughed out loud at this and said, ‘An unfortunate accident, Latimer, and I have a very sore head. Be a good fellow and bring me a brandy while I await the bath.’
‘Very good, sir,’ Latimer replied gravely and returned in no time at all with the decanter and a glass on a silver tray, and then he discreetly retired, leaving Hugo to his warm bath.
It was some time later when Mr Bunfield was announced and Hugo received him in the library.
Bunfield’s face was as innocent as ever, his small, twinkling eyes darting everywhere as he stood four square in front of Hugo. He had been summoned to discuss progress on the murder mystery and had his little battered notebook at the ready, but it was obvious that he knew something was wrong.
‘Beggin’ parding, sir, but you look … different, somehow.’
Although Hugo was now dressed in his usual smart style, it was clear that Bunfield’s sharp eyes had noticed something amiss. Hugo was obliged to smile at the way the Bow Street Runner echoed the words of his valet.
‘I am different,’ he said ruefully. ‘I was walking to Felbrook when I was set on by a huge ruffian who raised quite a handsome bump on the back of my head.’
Bunfield smiled back sympathetically. ‘So you decided to go walking about the countryside, did you, sir? Well, try a bit of grease on it, sir. A little rub o’ butter or lard takes the swelling down a treat.’
‘Thank you, Bunfield, I shall bear that in mind,’ Hugo said gravely. He smiled again as he imagined the horror on Latimer’s face if he should catch Hugo ruining his expensive hairstyle by rubbing any sort of animal fat into his scalp.
There was a pause and then Bunfield said quietly, ‘I have to admit to being at fault over this, sir. In fact I overheard Mr Alfred Westbury telling his valet to organize just such an attack on you, sir, but before I could intervene, one of my scouts met me with more information about the Golden Maiden. I was not quick enough to prevent the attack on you, Mr Westbury. I am truly sorry, sir.’
‘Think nothing of it, Bunfield. It was a warning, no more. I shall take heed of it and strive to be more careful in the future. But what of the latest on the shipwreck?’
‘Well, sir, one of my informants has told me that after Rudkin was saved from the wreck of the Golden Maiden, he became very friendly with the other survivor, Tobias Todd, whose real name was William Ingram. He was a former tutor at the Lynn Grammar School and was seemingly a quiet and respectable man with a scholarly demeanour. No one suspected that he had a past to hide. He generously offered Rudkin a temporary refuge when he became homeless and destitute. There was a degree of planned self-interest in the former schoolmaster’s seeming philanthropy, however. Rudkin was not to know this, but Ingram was a villain and a murderer. Ten years earlier, he had robbed and murdered Daniel Theaker of Norwich and had hidden the body in some caves at Heacham. It only came to light years later when Theaker’s remains were accidentally discovered. This was the only crime that was proved against him, sir, but it is probable that there were others.’
‘It sounds to me as though we should interview Mr Rudkin again, Bunfield.’
‘Aye, sir, mayhap we may also hear of other crimes that our Mr Ingram was connected with.’
‘Very well. We shall definitely pay Rudkin another visit. I shall take a couple of days to nurse my sore head and then we will get back to him. Meanwhile, please continue with your local enquiries. The ruffian who attacked me was a native of these parts, of that I am convinced.’
‘Aye, sir. I am also continuing to observe the movements of Mr Alfred Westbury and his manservant, Bennett. Those two need a close eye keeping on them. I suspect them of all sorts of devilry, sir, but am recording my observations in my little black book. Meanwhile, I shall await to hear from you regarding another trip to Cromer.’
He touched his broad forehead with the carved end of his stick and departed.
Long after Bunfield had gone, Hugo remained in the library, lost in thought. His cousin Alfred was nowhere to be seen and Sir Benjamin, who seemed utterly done up by the funeral of his youngest brother, kept to his room and only appeared at mealtimes. He wondered what Charlotte would think of Bunfield’s latest revelations and immediately decided that he might be better to say nothing about it when they next met.
This proved to be at a soirée given by the mother of the other of ‘the girls’ – Mrs Augusta Casterton. There had been a little coolness between ‘the girls’ since the announcement of Ann’s betrothal and Aurelia’s mama, not to be outdone by Mrs West’s lavish entertainment, was determined to make a push to land a giant matrimonial prize for her only daughter. In spite of the rumours that the heart of the charming Mr Hugo Westbury was utterly impregnable, Augusta Casterton was going ahead with her plan to help Aurelia to captivate him. She was not the sort of woman who would ever be daunted by such a deterrent to holy matrimony as an impregnable heart. In her book, all wealthy, handsome men were good husband material and her dear daughter must be the one who would change the mind of the excessively attractive Hugo Westbury and turn him into an ideal husband. Position, money and good looks were already his. What he needed to complete his cup of happiness was a wife, in the form of her dear daughter, Aurelia.
That Hugo chose to attend was not to indicate his interest in Miss Casterton, but because he was hoping to see or overhear something that might help him and Bunfield in their investigations. Also, it would definitely be an opportunity to meet Charlotte again and he found himself looking forward eagerly to that. His sore head was now completely healed and he felt somewhat dull and bored with only the subdued Sir Benjamin for company. He found Alfred so uncongenial, he discounted him as any sort of companion.
But, having accepted Mrs Casterton’s invitation, he was obliged to offer a ride to Alfred, who agreed promptly and made himself agreeable for once. Hugo decided not to confront Alfred with the fact that he knew Bennett had organized the attack on him, but would see if Alfred would lower his guard sufficiently to reveal himself. Alfred seemed highly pleased at sharing a coach with Hugo and chatted pleasantly and sensibly, without any of his usual oily or insinuating conversation.
Nor was Hugo disappointed when he reached the Casterton’s country mansion. One of the first persons he saw when he entered was Charlotte. She was, as expected, accompanied by her mother and sister, but also, this evening, by her Uncle Bertram. Predictably, Matthew King and his aunt were with them. Hugo was only a little behind the Grayson party as they reached the top of the staircase to be greeted by Mrs Casterton and Aurelia. Several people had already spoken to him and it was obvious that on this occasion, Augusta Casterton was determined to make it an evening to remember. She had invited everyone in the county who was of any consequence and now she stood with her daughter, acknowledging all the guests with dignified politeness. Hugo was greeted most effusively by Mrs Casterton and even the insipid Aurelia beamed at him and gave him a warm welcome.
Charlotte was talking to Lavinia and Matthew King when she saw Hugo enter Mrs Casterton’s huge drawing-room and, on an impulse, she excused herself and walked towards him, offering her hand in greeting.
‘Mr Westbury,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
Knowing that she referred to his sore head, he smiled openly and unaffectedly at both the pleasure of seeing her and with humour at the implied conspiracy of their shared secret.
‘Miss Grayson,’ he said, bowing over her hand. ‘I am indeed wonderfully well, unless you think that the blow to my head has addled my wits for ever.’
‘I cannot think that, sir,’ she laughed, ‘but will give you my considered opinion at the end of the evening. And, furthermore, I shall not be able to make a judgement on the state of your addled wits unless you are able to escort me into supper.’
She knew she sounded too forward and flirtatious, but how else could she respond to the tumultuous emotions that filled her at the very sight of him? He was so breathtakingly handsome in his formal evening dress and his well-cut hairstyle, which showed no evidence at all of his skirmish with the ruffian who had attacked him. He appeared to be absolutely unaffected by the experience; indeed, seemed calm and confident at the prospect of the pleasures of the evening before them.
Now he laughed immediately and with great pleasure at her obvious invitation. ‘My own feelings exactly,’ he said softly. ‘Indeed, my heart’s wish would be to escort you into supper, dear Miss Grayson. I shall hold you to your promise.’
Their eyes met and held and suddenly Charlotte’s confidence almost deserted her when she saw the unmistakeable gleam in his dark eyes. She changed the subject quickly. ‘Have you found out any more from Mr Bunfield?’
‘Well, a few more details of the shipwreck, but it is early days yet and we shall be pursuing further enquiries in Cromer. Meanwhile, I agreed to keep my eyes and ears open for anything that might be significant.’
He was still gazing compellingly at her and this evening Charlotte was feeling in a flamboyant mood. She knew she was looking her best in a fashionably low-cut gown, with her hair dressed high in formal ringlets at the back and more casual curls framing her beautiful face, which at this moment was alight with mischief and pleasure. She flirted her fan at him and Hugo was surprised at the sudden ease that he felt, talking to a woman he had formerly thought of as difficult and aggressive.
He was silent now and Charlotte was suddenly serious. ‘I do not know whether it is either wise or safe for you to continue with your enquiries. I only know that I must warn you to be careful.’
‘As I warned you, if you remember,’ he said, also serious now.
‘True. But now we shall have to part soon, or the gossips will be having a field day. It is a pity we have not the opportunity to speak more freely.’
Hugo smiled. ‘Au contraire, I thought we were speaking freely.’
Charlotte was also obliged to smile at this. ‘Yes, but in very restricted circumstances. If you should think of any way that I might be of help in this, you may visit us at any time. Mama has never been a she-dragon over callers and Papa always used to encourage any down-at-heel waif or stray who came to our house for help.’
Hugo’s lips twitched at the idea of himself as a down-at-heel waif or stray, but he answered with admirable gravity: ‘I never realized that your mama was so civil to me because she had me down as a waif or a stray. Which am I, do you think? Does “waif” describe me to a tee, or does “stray” fit me more accurately?’
She laughed again. ‘Odious man, you deliberately misunderstand me. And now I must go and join Mama and the others.’
Hugo bowed and Charlotte retreated back to Matthew and Lavinia, leaving Hugo still smiling at their exchange.
His smile soon disappeared as his cousin Alfred materialized silently at the side of him, his manner quite changed from what it had been in the coach.
‘Quite a looker, ain’t she?’ He said it with such leering innuendo that Hugo was inclined to plant him a facer. Only his well-bred social discipline prevented it. He said nothing and merely cocked a disdainful eyebrow, but Alfred carried on regardless.
‘But she is a bit of a hoyden, coz. Any man brave enough to wed her would be grasping a tiger by the tail, eh? Still, I must go over and pay my respects. She will expect it and might favour me with one of her smiles, or even a waltz.’
He left Hugo, and sauntered languidly over to Mrs Grayson and her daughters, leaving Hugo furious. He’d never liked his cousin Alfred. Even as boys, they were never good friends, and he found that the passing years had made him even more conscious of his dislike of Alfred’s oily personality.
As for Charlotte, she was obliged to greet Alfred politely and she allowed herself to be led on to the floor with a good grace, but was impatient, wishing it were time for Hugo to claim her to go into supper. She was obliged to be discreet, however. Her earlier conversation and banter with Hugo would not have gone unnoticed and she must not do any more to draw attention to their sudden and close alliance over the murder of Hugo’s grandfather. Her continued thoughts of Hugo Westbury and her preoccupation with his investigations must not be allowed to overwhelm her entirely.
Alfred was as usual dressed in the height of fashion, with more than a hint of the dandy about him and, looking at his splendid waistcoat, she wondered where his money came from. Mrs Palmer, the purveyor of all the village gossip, was adamant that Mr Alfred’s pockets were always to let and that he was looking out for a wealthy young bride, ‘or even a careless widder’, she sniffed, disapprovingly.
It became clear to Charlotte that Alfred was determined to press his attentions on her and she was soon concentrating so hard on not allowing him to pull her too close and in politely fending off his unwanted endearments, that she was unable to enjoy the dance at all.
She’d given no hint of the repugnance she felt at Alfred soliciting her hand for a waltz, merely accepting his invitation coolly, with no sign that she found him so unattractive. Looked at objectively, he was quite a good-looking young man. Not as striking as his cousin Hugo and if Mrs Palmer and others were to be believed, not as tall and strongly handsome as Sir Benjamin had once been. Good-looking all the same. No, it was not Alfred’s appearance that she found so obnoxious but some primeval inexplicable woman’s instinct that told her that he was dangerous. She didn’t need Hugo Westbury’s dire warnings to have nothing to do with his cousin; her own common sense warned her not to trust him. She knew in her innermost heart that he was not a good prospect for any respectable woman and she resolved to avoid him as much as possible.
Her instincts were borne out by his behaviour during the dance. She realized regretfully that her foolish acceptance of his proposed trip to Sheringham had been a stupid move. After all, she’d no intention of taking up his invitation, even if Mama agreed to it. As it was, he seemed to have the idea that he held some attraction for her. She bitterly regretted the encouragement she’d given him just to try to anger Hugo Westbury. The embarrassing innuendo of Alfred’s softly whispered remarks, the too-tight clasp of his moist hand at her waist and the way he stared fixedly at her bosom in the low-cut dress would make most young women steer very clear of him. Why had she been so stupid as to agree to his suggested Sheringham trip? She dealt with his brazen importuning by deliberately turning her thoughts to more pleasant subjects. She danced mechanically, determined not to respond to his suggestive overtures in any way. Her dogged perseverance in the face of his unwelcome behaviour did not endear her to him and was made the more difficult for Charlotte by the need to remain polite and not cause a scene.
It was obvious that her steady rejection of him angered him far more than any strong protestations on her part could have done, and finally he was moved to remark angrily, ‘It is your choice, Miss Grayson, to reject me in favour of my well-to-do cousin, Hugo, who has no more sense than to stick his nose into long-forgotten deeds which do not concern him.’
In spite of her preoccupation with trying to thwart his amorous intentions, Charlotte registered the significance of this remark and stored it silently for future reference. It was difficult for her to give Alfred her full attention in any case, because at that moment she noticed the usually pleasant Matthew glowering from the edge of the dance floor. Even when the dance ended and Alfred escorted her to her seat, he still continued to hang on to her relentlessly, being as charming as he knew how and including her mama and Kitty in the conversation as much as possible.
At last, Matthew led Kitty away to the supper room and George and Lavinia followed them, but still Alfred Westbury held on. It was obvious that he was angling for another opportunity to see her and he floated several ideas, in addition to walking in Sheringham, which included a river trip and picnic and even a riding party in the grounds of Westbury Hall, with lunch alfresco. Charlotte wondered fleetingly whether he’d asked permission from Sir Benjamin for this last idea. She doubted it. She observed that her mama was silent but watchful during several more minutes of his inane conversation. But he finally took his leave, having remembered that he was to meet an old friend in the card room. She was relieved when she saw Hugo coming towards them.
He gave Charlotte and her mama an elegant bow and said, ‘Miss Grayson, I trust you have not forgotten our supper engagement.’ Then with his most winning smile, ‘Mrs Grayson, ma’am. May I be allowed to escort two charming ladies into supper?’
Jane Grayson returned his smile with one which was very reminiscent of her daughter’s and said, ‘I am sorry, Mr Westbury. It is extremely kind of you, but I am to be escorted by Squire Perkins.’
Hugo bowed again and offered Charlotte his arm and led her into supper. He was punctilious in making sure she had what she desired from the buffet table and that the footman filled her wine glass as soon as she was seated.
‘Your very good health, Miss Grayson,’ he said, and nudged her glass gently with his own.
She responded with a sparkling smile, as he knew she would, and then he said very softly, ‘I feared that you were avoiding me when I was attacked by that ruffian. I had been walking towards Felbrook on the off chance that we might meet and possibly see Lucy Baker, of course.’
‘Oh,’ she said, somewhat at a loss. ‘Well, at least if we gave Lucy a little outing, we could perhaps speak more privately.’
He laughed. ‘We are alone at this table. No one can overhear us. I wonder what exactly it is, Miss Grayson, that you have to say to me that is so private and confidential?’
She coloured a little but said, ‘You know exactly what I mean. Pray do not pretend, sir, to be so lacking in understanding of a woman’s … curiosity … I want to hear all about that ruffian’s attack on you. What had you done to deserve it? What was the object of such a heinous crime in peaceful Felbrook?’
He laughed again, not answering her question directly, but with no trace of condescension or mockery. He found it so easy to talk to her now that their initial antipathy seemed to have worn off.
Charlotte used no subterfuges, was never arch or simpering, like other young women he had known. He’d never found it so easy to converse with a woman on equal terms and he was enjoying it, having quite forgotten now his original intention to win her affection in order to teach her a lesson. He realized he’d forgotten it some time ago. If he hadn’t been so accursed high and mighty in the beginning, they would have been friends before now.
Her voice was also low as she said, ‘One of the things I most miss about Papa is his conversation. Kitty and I could talk to him with utter frankness on any subject under the sun. In society, it is sometimes difficult for women to speak on matters which … which … may even affect us more than most….’
She looked him in the eye. ‘I want you to know that whatever you discover about the sad circumstances of your grandfather’s death, I appreciate your willingness to share your findings with me. It is just what Papa would have done.’
He was silent for a moment and then he said gravely, ‘I am flattered at your interest, Miss Grayson. And now, let us have another glass of champagne.’
Once more, they toasted each other and then he said, ‘Perhaps we may meet on Sunday, after Sunday school?’
‘On Sunday, then,’ she agreed.