In Westbury Hall, all was quiet. Hugo Westbury had dispensed with his valet and was engaged in trying to dress himself. He pulled on his clothes, wincing a little, because although his wound was healed it was still a little sore. Even putting on his shirt was very testing and he rested after getting one of his arms in the first sleeve, before groping behind him for the other. The twisting of his body set the scarred flesh at his side singing with pain, but he was determined to persist. This morning, he had ordered his valet to direct the small hand mirror from his dressing chest to his wounded side so that he might see the progress of his injury. He had been pleased and delighted at the sight. Doctor Armstrong had removed the stitches and there remained only a narrow red line to show where he had been injured. Armstrong had assured him that, unless he indulged in undue exertion, the flesh should now be completely knitted together.
‘It will eventually fade into a fine silver line and no one will know of it but yourself, sir,’ the good doctor had said.
In spite of the discomfort, Hugo smiled. Now he was ready to be up and about and the long tedium of bed rest and medication would be forgotten. Soon he would be back to overseeing the repair of the estate cottages, he would even be able to see Charlotte…. This thought made him pause even longer over his attempts to shape his starched cravat into an acceptable arrangement. He gazed into the mirror. His face was still pale with the sort of pallor which was induced by confinement indoors and he was looking somewhat gaunt because of lack of appetite. What he needed, he decided, was a gentle ride along the lane which led to Felbrook and if he should reach Felbrook Manor, why, he could call in and greet his friends, the Graysons. But the very effort of dressing and standing before the mirror was too much and he was obliged to sink into a chair and rest.
This was only a temporary defeat. Tomorrow, he would call for his groom and have him saddle up Gypsy and bring him round to the front door. He was determined to try to ride.
In the library, Sir Benjamin was sitting alone, gazing down at a letter he had just received from Harry Bunfield. He took his paper knife from the desk and slit open the envelope.
Sir Benjamin,
I have the actual criminal, viz. Josiah Bennett, as attempted to murder Mr. Hugo Westbury, and twice attempted the kidnap of Miss Charlotte Grayson, but his accomplice and the man who put him up to it, I cannot apprehend, for lack of proof, so I cannot name him, although you know him, being related, like. I beg leave to warn you that my informers say that this murderous villain is planning to call on you very shortly, so be on your guard sir.
Your obedient servant,
H. Bunfield
Having read the note twice, Sir Benjamin stood up stiffly and walked with some difficulty over to the great carved fireplace, which had been completely restored after the damage of the thunderstorm. He released the secret opening of the panelling which had recently been Charlotte Grayson’s prison and set it wide open. Then he sat down at his desk and began to write.
My dear Hugo,
Tonight, I will surely die, either by my own hand or by that of your attempted murderer, so this seems a good opportunity to tell you, in a few words, how my brother, Charles, your grandfather, met his death.
Briefly then, I was seated alone in the library on the night of November 19th, fifty-nine years ago when the secret panel, which very few knew about, was dashed violently open and my brother, George, burst into the room. Behind him came a man called Tobias Todd who was later revealed to be William Ingram, and his companion, a common sailor named Rudkin. They were supporting my younger brother, Charles, who seemed desperately ill. They laid him on a sofa by the fire. He had been injured when the Golden Maiden had capsized, but was given every attention by myself and my servants. The sailor, Ted Rudkin, was rewarded and despatched back to Cromer, but George and Todd stayed on.
Later, when Charles was somewhat recovered, there was a massive argument which came to violence. Both my brothers had been in love with Lady Mary Spence and her decision to marry Charles had continued to rankle with George. On this particular night, George drew his sword and cried, ‘Dastard and seducer draw your sword!’ He bade Charles defend himself. Charles had no alternative but to obey. He snatched up a small sword from the wall and returned the attack. Deaf to my pleas, they fought furiously. Charles, being already weak, was soon wounded, quite grievously and turned away, but in that moment, George sprang towards him and stabbed him deeply between his shoulder blades and thus my unfortunate brother Charles died instantly and my other brother George was only slightly scratched.
Then I committed the most serious folly of my life. With the help of the evil Todd, I hid Charles in the priest hole and closed the panelling. To avoid all risk of scandal, I paid Todd and sent him on his way, but of course, I could not be rid of George so easily. This is why my hateful brother and I lived for years hiding the guilty secret of your grandfather‘s death not to be revealed to a living soul. But I know that George passed the information on to his equally hateful son. It is why Alfred has been so resentful of my decision to choose you as my heir. He is determined to get rid of you and I am equally determined that he shall not.
This night shall see the problem resolved and I shall sign myself for the last time,
Sir Benjamin Westbury
He sat for a few moments with bowed head, studying what he’d written, and then sanded and folded his letter as he heard a discreet tap on the door.
‘Come in, Alfred,’ he said expressionlessly.
As Alfred stood gazing at him silently, Sir Benjamin said, ‘Yes, come in and close the door, if you please, and be seated. You are just the man I want to see.’
‘Oh, really? Any particular reason, sir?’
‘Only that Mr Bunfield informs me that your man, Josiah Bennett, has been arrested in connection with the vile attack on my heir, Mr Hugo Westbury, and I know that you have personally been involved in that and also in the attempted kidnap of Charlotte Grayson. I wish to hear all that you know of the matter.’
‘I? What should I know?’ He sat down in the chair opposite to Sir Benjamin and began to fiddle with an ornate Indian curio which was lying on the desk. It was a slim silver dagger from Benares, which Sir Benjamin used as a paper knife.
‘What should I know?’ Alfred repeated and began to stroke the silver knife between his fingers.
‘You know why, how and wherefore you set those rogues on to your cousin Hugo and left him for dead,’ Sir Benjamin said quietly, ‘and why you kidnapped Charlotte Grayson and hid her behind the panelling there.’
‘Oh no, Sir Benjamin, not I, you are mistaken.’
‘No, I am not mistaken,’ Sir Benjamin replied calmly. ‘I know you are as guilty as hell,’ Sir Benjamin continued as though Alfred had not spoken, ‘but I would like you to have this chance to make your final peace with Almighty God, before you die.’
‘Before I die? What the devil do you mean?’
‘I mean that I am going to kill you, Alfred.’
Alfred Westbury stiffened. His knuckles gleamed white as he grasped the knife in both hands and glared at Sir Benjamin.
Then he consciously relaxed and made to appear at his ease, lolling back in his chair and observing Sir Benjamin through viciously narrowed eyes. ‘Why, what talk is this, sir? You speak as though your brain is disordered. I fear that you are out of your mind….’
‘Not so,’ said Sir Benjamin softly. ‘I was never more sound of mind and as for my body, it has not always been old and feeble. Once, I was as tall and strong as an oak, and can be again. Just as long as it suits my purpose, Alfred,’ he said serenely.
To Alfred Westbury’s horror, Sir Benjamin rose to his feet and straightened up to his full height. Suddenly, the years fell away from him, his shoulders expanded, his head was erect as though his strength was restored to him.
Alfred leapt to his feet and raised the only weapon he had near at hand, the glittering, enamelled knife. ‘You must be insane. Stand back,’ he snarled, ‘or it will be the worse for you.’
‘Oh no, Alfred.’ Sir Benjamin’s voice was quiet but deadly. ‘On the contrary, it will be the worse for you.’
He stepped even closer to Alfred, as though he wished to clasp him in his long arms and Alfred, pale with fear, leapt at him with the knife, driving it into the old man in a vain attempt to halt his inexorable advance. Then with a scream of terror, Alfred turned and made for the priest’s hidy-hole, with Sir Benjamin staggering after him, his hand now pressed to the wound which pulsed in his chest. Alfred sped along the secret tunnel, with Sir Benjamin staggering after him, to the place where it came out into the woods. There, Alfred turned, ready to strike again, but Sir Benjamin, with a final effort, wrested the weapon from his grasp. There was a terrible gurgling scream as with his last strength, he thrust it unerringly into Alfred’s throat.
Then silence. Sir Benjamin collapsed on the floor and tried to drag himself back along the secret tunnel, but after a while, he sank on to his face, his silvery head laid on the ancient stone, and he was still.
It was Harry Bunfield who found him. Once Josiah Bennett had been safely bestowed in Lynn Gaol, he made his way up to Westbury Hall and once admitted by the butler, he presented his card and insisted on being shown into Sir Benjamin’s library. The butler remained impassive as Bunfield followed the trail of blood and devastation to Sir Benjamin and Alfred Westbury, but as he told the housekeeper later, he had been all of a tremble at the sight of the open panel and all that gore.
He’d had to retire to the sanctuary of his pantry and seek a well-known alcoholic restorative to calm his jangled nerves. But when the full horror of the day’s events had finally been revealed, all the servants were equally affected, Sir Benjamin being a loved and popular employer.
It only remained now to inform Mr Hugo Westbury of the deaths of his two relatives and here, Harry Bunfield uncharacteristically engaged the help of the good Doctor Armstrong in this mournful task.
Hugo was lounging on the day bed in his room, restless, bored and still listless with the enforced inactivity of the last few days. Sunday was always so confoundedly dull. Charlotte would be busy with her Sunday school and would not be visiting. Sir Benjamin would no doubt be at church and then would have his lunch and an afternoon nap during the long hours before dinner. He was allowed downstairs for meals, but the devil of it was, he never felt hungry. Tomorrow, with or without Armstrong’s permission, he would take Gypsy out. He felt strong enough now and, with a groom in attendance, could manage a short, gentle ride in the grounds of the Hall. He might even meet Charlotte. This possibility occasioned such a pleasant reverie that he was surprised when the butler knocked on the door to announce Doctor Armstrong. There was no doubt in his mind that the good doctor was pleased with his progress. He could leave off the sleeping draught now there was no need to have the wound looked at. Even the slightest precautions against any overexertion were unnecessary. And there was no objection to healthful exercise, provided he did nothing foolhardy, of course.
All this was a source of quiet satisfaction to Hugo, but then he was further surprised when at the end of his visit, the doctor walked to the door and invited Harry Bunfield to come in, before taking a seat at the side of him.
Both men were very grave and Bunfield said softly, ‘I have something to report, sir, which is of a very serious nature, Mr Westbury.’
‘Oh yes, and what can that be, I wonder?’
‘Well, Mr Westbury, brace yourself for a shock, sir,’ Harry Bunfield said. He paused for a long moment and then said, ‘Today, Alfred Westbury’s manservant was apprehended for being involved in and organizing the attack on yourself, Mr Westbury. The said Alfred Westbury returned to Westbury Hall this afternoon and he and your great uncle, Sir Benjamin Westbury, fought to the death…. Both are deceased, Mr Westbury.’
Hugo looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Fought to the death? Deceased?’ he asked in a wondering voice.
‘Yes, I am afraid so, sir. I have arranged for both parties to be laid out on trestles in Sir Benjamin’s library. The servants are forbidden to enter until they have your permission, sir.’
Doctor Armstrong clasped Hugo’s hand and said gently, ‘I am so sorry about this, Mr Westbury, and I only hope this tragedy does not set your own recovery back.’
Hugo nodded slightly, totally bemused at the turn the interview had taken and unable to either take in the information or make any reply.
‘It is a bad business,’ Bunfield said, shaking his head, ‘and if I had acted sooner, mayhap I could have prevented it….’ He gave a long sigh. ‘But the best thing about it is that the mystery of the dead body is now solved. When I takes down the full statement of that villain, Bennett, all will be explained and I hopes as then you will be able to get on with your own life in peace, Mr Westbury.’
‘Meanwhile,’ interposed Doctor Armstrong, ‘I shall arrange to have your great-uncle and your cousin taken away for a coroner’s inquest.’
He looked more keenly at Hugo and said quietly, ‘If I were you, I should forgo horse-riding for the time being. I shall give you something to calm your nerves and shall visit you again tomorrow.’ Hugo nodded and leaned back against the sofa cushions, his brain unable to take in what Bunfield and Armstrong were saying to him. Only after they had departed and he was finally alone did his weary mind begin to process the information it had received.
That his hateful cousin Alfred had wished him dead, nay, even plotted his murder, was bad enough, but that Sir Benjamin Westbury, his benefactor and the one source of kindness and affection in his life, should also be no more, hurt him to his innermost core.
He let his head fall back and put a weary hand over his eyes. Yes, he would certainly follow the doctor’s advice and forgo horse-riding for a while. He had hoped to give little Lucy Baker her long-awaited treat and perhaps see Charlotte and ride with her. Realistically, he knew it would not be more than that. He would not be able to do more than talk to her or perhaps hold her hand … would not be able to give way to his overwhelming desire to take her in his arms … hold her close … kiss her…. Even without a chaperon, he knew this would be impossible. He would have to be modestly satisfied with a word, a glance from those fine grey eyes. But even just to see her … to be with her…. He gave himself an impatient shake and rang the bell for the butler to get him some brandy.
And so, the rest of the day was spent in lonely misery.
The following days were no better. Hugo kept to his room, barely speaking to his servants and with only Doctor Armstrong to keep him in touch with the distressing reality of the inquest and the arrangements for the funeral. As the neighbourhood gradually found out about the death of Sir Benjamin and Alfred Westbury, condolence cards and floral tributes were left at Westbury Hall and Hugo was aware that friends, including the Graysons, had called to pay their respects, yet still he remained aloof from it all.
The Lynn News, had a large spread, headed:
Alfred Westbury caused Mr Hugo Westbury to be attacked and left for dead and when confronted by his great-uncle, Sir Benjamin Westbury, he stabbed and mortally wounded him. Sir Benjamin defended himself and both men were found dead yesterday in the grounds of Westbury Hall.
Sir Benjamin will be remembered as a good and fair landowner, liked and respected by his tenants and friends alike. He had recently returned from India, and is succeeded by his heir, Mr Hugo Westbury, who, it is reported, is now recovering from his injuries. Two suspects are being examined by the magistrate in Lynn.
After all the formalities were over, Sir Benjamin was interred in the family vault, at a quiet ceremony attended only by Hugo, the vicar, assisted by his curate, Reverend Andrew Preston, and Doctor Armstrong. Even Bunfield was not present. No mention was made of the disposal of his cousin’s body and Hugo was utterly indifferent to Alfred’s fate.
At church the following Sunday, Hugo and Charlotte merely exchanged polite bows and a quiet ‘Good morning’. Even the servants did not intrude on his grief, only the irrepressible Bunfield, who visited doggedly and kept him abreast of the developments in his enquiries.
Hugo was still too sick at heart to care about the details of the case and it wasn’t until Adam Brown requested an interview that he came out of his self-imposed silence to welcome him to Westbury Hall.
Adam was not on this occasion accompanied by Matthew, but by the vicar, Mr Swift. They were invited into the library and offered a glass of wine and Hugo was aware that both men were looking at him with some interest.
The three men were silent for a while and then Adam Brown said gently, ‘I am so sorry at the way things have turned out, sir, and would like to extend my profound sympathy at the loss of your esteemed great-uncle.’
Hugo noted in passing that the lawyer did not say ‘to you and your family’. Because he had no family, he thought bitterly. Some far-off relatives in America, perhaps, related to his long-dead mama and whom he had never seen, and that was all. He nodded without replying and waited for Adam Brown to continue.
‘The reading of Sir Benjamin’s will is just a formality, Mr Westbury. I have asked Mr Swift to be a witness, but as no one else is concerned in any bequests, there was no need to invite anyone else to the reading. Sir Benjamin left all his considerable fortune to yourself, sir. As well as this country estate, Sir Benjamin owned property and farms in Yorkshire and Leicestershire. He owned a substantial town house in Berkeley Square, which is at present leased to a relative of Lord Hampton and, of course, his business concerns in India, which were sold out and wound up earlier this year.’
Adam Brown coughed softly and continued, ‘In all, Mr Westbury, your inheritance is somewhat in excess of two hundred thousand pounds. Please peruse the document and ask any questions that you might have.’
As if in a dream, Hugo read through the legal document which was his great-uncle’s last will and testament. The words ‘I bequeath all these to my great-nephew, Hugo Westbury’ were repeated after every itemised possession and bank account that Sir Benjamin had owned. There was no mention anywhere of Alfred Westbury or any other member of the family. Apart from a few minor bequests to old servants and a sum of money for the restoration of St Paul’s bell tower, there was nothing more to mention and Hugo returned it to the lawyer without speaking.
After Mr Swift had departed, Adam remained, conversing in his quiet, gentlemanly way about his betrothal to Matthew’s Aunt Lavinia and their forthcoming marriage, but Hugo was paying little attention to what he was saying and merely answered in monosyllables. At last, Adam also took his leave and Hugo was left completely alone.
After a solitary dinner, he sat for some time, still brooding on the events of the last few weeks and wondering, almost despairingly, why Charlotte was suddenly so unfriendly and aloof. Even Latimer dared not disturb him and Hugo’s mood became blacker than ever. Finally, as the evening sun began to set in a spectacular red sky, Hugo squared his broad shoulders and made a sudden resolution. He would forget about going riding. Tomorrow, instead of brooding alone, he would walk to Felbrook Manor and insist on seeing Charlotte. He would refuse to leave until he had spoken to her.
Once this plan was firm in his mind, he rang the bell for Latimer and took himself off to bed.
The next morning, he set off immediately after breakfast, a most unfashionable time to go visiting, he reflected, with a half smile, but he was determined on it. He wore his country gentleman’s nankeen jacket and breeches and a simple stock, rather than his usual elaborate cravat. The morning was cool, but with the promise of autumn sunshine still to come and in spite of his anguish at Sir Benjamin’s death, his heart felt a little lighter, even though his thoughts were disjointed. He would see her today. They would be able to talk in private. He was determined to ask her to marry him. He would refuse to take no for an answer. He loved her. He was almost certain she loved him in return. If not, he would court her and make her love him.
His wound was not paining him at all now. It had completely healed and there was only a thin, jagged, pale line in the flesh of his side to show he had ever been injured. Not yet silver, as the doctor had promised, he thought grimly, but still, all healed up. He rejoiced that the evil Alfred’s plan to remove him had not succeeded and wasted no time on hypocritical thoughts of sorrow for his cousin.
All these meandering thoughts sped away from him like a hare before the hounds when he saw her coming towards him. After the first shock of surprise and recognition, he noticed that she was not walking with her usual upright confident stride, but her head was bent and she walked slowly as though lost in thought. But what a delight she was to look at. Her high young bosom rising and falling with her breathing. Long slender legs, silhouetted faintly through the light fabric of her gown. Slim shapely hands whose touch he remembered so well, inflaming him when she had disentangled the Bakers’ kitten and soothing him when he had been injured. Was any woman ever so bewitching … and so tormenting?
His heart beat faster, but he managed to greet her coolly as he slowly advanced towards her. ‘Good morning, Charlotte.’
‘Good morning, Mr Westbury,’ she said demurely. Then her natural curiosity overcame her and she asked, ‘Why are you out so early when … when you are so … so badly wounded?’
‘I thought that was obvious. I came in pursuit of you.’
Charlotte turned her head away and fidgeted with the satin ribbons of her pretty straw bonnet. ‘Oh, indeed, Mr Westbury?’ she said faintly.
‘Yes,’ he said, taking her hands firmly away from the ribbons and holding them in his own. ‘And what is more, Charlotte, I love you and am determined to marry you.’
In her agitation, Charlotte pulled away from him and stepped backwards, but unfortunately, caught her heel on an inconvenient tuft of grass and fell backwards on to the dry springy turf. Regardless of his wound, Hugo immediately threw himself down beside her and pinioned her arms above her head.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘The tables are turned. You were on top of me when I was ill, but it is I who am on top now.’
‘You knew?’ she gasped. ‘Oh, it is so dishonourable of you to mention it…. Let me go, Mr Westbury … how can you be so … so ungentlemanly?’
‘Very easily,’ he said, smiling down on her wickedly. ‘Especially when I have you in my power like this.’
‘Please, Mr Westbury. This is most improper. Let me go….’
‘Not a chance,’ he said in a whisper and then he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her, softly at first, but then he released her hands, to pull her body closer and kiss her more passionately.
Charlotte determined to lie passive and utterly still in his arms, in order to cool his ardour and bring him to some sense of the impropriety of his conduct. But her lips refused to act upon the message that her brain was giving them and seemed to have a will of their own as she found herself responding quite disgracefully to his lovemaking, her willing mouth softening under his.
Hugo rolled on top of her, pressing himself against her, and began to stroke her mouth with long, sensuous kisses until Charlotte’s traitorous body arched upwards towards him and she returned his kiss with a passion to match his own.
As soon as he felt her response, Hugo freed her mouth and whispered against her neck, ‘So, you do love me, then?’
‘You know I cannot think properly with you lying on top of me like this,’ she complained breathlessly and then, immediately, she whispered softly, ‘Yes. I love you.’
He rolled to one side and pulled her into his arms again. ‘And you will marry me?’
‘Yes.’
When she was finally able to raise her head, Charlotte realized that her bonnet had rolled across the grass and her hairpins had come loose, but she felt such a burst of happiness within her that she was inclined to forgive him.