Chapter Thirteen

It took only a few hours for the news of Lord Earling’s death to spread through the village. By the time night fell, even the outlying farms were privy to the gossip, including an assortment of true and untrue details. It was said, for example, that “’is lordship was nekkid as a babe” when found and that “Sheriff Madison suspected the killer would strike again when the next full moon was in the sky.”

Corey heard the news from his father when he stopped at the farm for a cup of tea in the afternoon while exercising Captain Clarke’s riding horse. “Mind, Corey,” said Seamus Carne, as he poured hot water from a kettle on the hob, “find out when exactly the varmint died and make sure the lassie’s time is accounted for.”

“Da, you’re pulling my leg, sure. Sheriff Madison won’t suspect Miss Winstead, you can’t think.”

Mr. Carne looked his son in the eye. “You do as I say, lad. A woman who was nearly forced to open her legs to a man is capable of murder, mark what I’m telling you. Miss Winstead be not the type for violence, but does Madison know that? She was pert to ’im, and that sort of man doesn’t take kindly to pert lassies.”

Corey tried to laugh off the warning as he trotted over the field on Crystal. But unfortunately, he couldn’t think of one instance when his da had been wrong. Unlike other men who always had an opinion, his da said little unless he knew what he was talking of. Corey remembered with a smile when he had introduced Clara to his father. When the girl was across the room engaged in speaking with someone else, his father had said, “Aye, Corey, a good lassie, a very good lassie. A good wife she’ll make.”

Corey’s heart gave a little jump as he thought with joy that Clara loved him as much as he loved her. He hadn’t been sure until the day by the river, the day that had ended in such distress for all of them. But on that day, in the sweet soft light of the summer afternoon, he had asked the question he wanted to ask, and she had given the answer he wanted to receive. Thinking of Clara made him almost pity Lord Earling for being rejected by the woman he loved.

To Mrs. Carne fell the duty of telling Hannah that Earling had been murdered. Hannah’s quick mind ascertained instantly that she would be a suspect. She fervently wished she had been more guarded in her behavior to the sheriff, but what was done was done, and she took comfort in the knowledge that she was innocent of the crime and therefore would no doubt be rapidly cleared.

****

During the next few weeks while Hannah was endeavoring to forget every circumstance relating to Lord Earling and taking joy in Corey’s announced engagement, Miss Maria Compton was dwelling upon the expected arrival of a letter, and each day had her anxiously watching for the post. When the looked-for missive finally did arrive, she took it hastily to the garden away from the ever-vigilant eyes of her aunt and uncle.

Maria tore open the envelope and quickly scanned the contents:

Richmond, August 10, 1839

My dear Miss Compton,

I was very surprised indeed to receive a letter from you at my father’s house in Richmond. However, I opened it with alacrity, expecting to read some amusing gossip about our mutual friends in the Village of Mystic. The actual contents set me aback, as you can well imagine.

I pondered your letter for some time and had nearly convinced myself that any response would be a mistake. But eventually I came to the conclusion that however unjust your accusations may appear to me, you obviously feel I have wronged you. Something in my behavior, then, was amiss if I caused you pain. I wouldn’t want to give pain to anyone, and I sincerely regret that I inadvertently did so to you.

Your letter stated that my attentions to you had given rise to a general belief in the village that we were attached to each other, a belief you shared and that my subsequent words and actions contradicted. You accused me of idle gallantry and flirtatiousness and a base disregard for your feelings. As concerns this matter, I must be completely honest or my answer will contain a ring of insincerity that will likely increase your anger instead of assuaging it.

I confess that when we met, I thought you one of the loveliest women I had ever seen. Your manners were playful and confident, and I felt free to meet them with lightness and frivolity on my side. Whenever we met, I enjoyed dancing and conversing with you, but you danced and conversed with many others, and you appeared to be as charmed and happy in the company of others as you were with me. Now comes the part difficult to explain: Because I appeared to be one of several men whose company was acceptable to you, I felt myself free, in a sense, to take my time in becoming acquainted with you. In my view, I was under no obligation to either withdraw or commit myself to a serious courtship; I believed that your heart had not yet been touched.

I must accept some share of the blame for raising gossip about us for I acknowledge I paid more attention to you in public than was perhaps prudent. In my defense, however, I must state that I was completely ignorant of the feelings you now say you developed toward me. I am truly, truly contrite that my thoughtlessness has caused you pain.

Your second accusation astonishes me. I don’t know where you would have garnered the notion there was anything improper in my relations with my wards’ governess, Miss Hannah Winstead. Miss Winstead has been under the protection of Mrs. Carne and her daughters. Furthermore, Miss Winstead is a lady in every sense of the word and is above reproach in her manners and conduct. You can’t have seen anything in my conduct toward her to give you such an idea, for I have no hesitation in stating that I have always treated her with the respect she deserves.

Once again, I send my sincere regrets that I caused you pain. It was unintentionally done, and I hope and trust will be of short duration.

Yours sincerely,

Aaron Clarke

In a rage, Maria threw the letter to the ground and stamped on it. After thus venting her anger, she turned abruptly and stalked across the garden, attempting to recover herself from the humiliation of such words and phrases as Aaron Clarke had glibly used to excuse himself.

He had begun to love her; she was not such a fool that his pathetic explanation could destroy her belief that she had once had him in her power. He had begun to love her, but something had changed him. When? At what moment had he ceased to look at her with the glow of dawning affection?

Although she couldn’t ascertain when and how his love had been withdrawn, she was absolutely certain as to the cause: Hannah! “A lady in every sense of the word…the respect she deserves…” Yes, it was Hannah who had done the mischief. Whether she had done it by design or in innocence, Maria didn’t care. Hannah was the cause of Maria’s failure to become the mistress of River’s Edge and the wife of a wealthy, prominent member of the community. Aaron Clarke not only possessed considerable worldly assets but also was young and attractive as well as being the younger son of an English baronet. It would have been a brilliant match for her, and the envy of every other single woman in town would have added spice to her wedding day.

Slowly, Maria returned across the garden. She retrieved the letter, dusted it off, and concealed it in her reticule.

She looked toward the house and through an open window saw her aunt sitting in the drawing room. Maria sneered with hatred. She would have been rid of all of them—her overbearing father, her whining mother, and her watchful aunt and uncle. She would have been wealthy and independent.

But Hannah Winstead had taken it all away from her.

At dinner that evening, Maria’s anger was still in such force, she was barely able to eat. In lieu of food, she drank as much wine as she could before her aunt’s disapproving glance forced her to cease. She sat at the table in a sullen silence, ignoring her relations’ attempts to draw her out.

Just as dessert was being served, her uncle’s conversation suddenly caught her ear. He was saying, “…and Sheriff Madison was of the party. You know, my dear, he’s as close-mouthed as a clam for the most part, but Bartlett’s port had loosened his tongue.”

“Indeed? What did he say?”

“Said he’s got a suspect in that fellow Earling’s murder. But he can’t arrest her because he hasn’t found a witness to put her in or near the inn during the time of the murder.”

“Her!” cried the two ladies together.

“Sheriff Madison thinks Lord Earling was murdered by a woman?” Maria asked breathlessly.

“Indeed he does. He wouldn’t say who, but my guess is the little doxy staying at Clarke’s place. His ‘governess.’ ”

“But why?” Maria asked eagerly. “Why would you think it would be Hannah?”

“Charles Hanford’s servant was passing by River’s Edge last week when he saw Earling gallop down the drive, looking flustered and with his cravat all awry. The horse stumbled, and the servant paused lest the beast fall and render the man in need of assistance. But Earling brandished his whip at him and shouted at him to get out of the way.”

Maria’s aunt looked perplexed. “How does that implicate young Hannah Winstead, my dear?”

“He was calling on her, don’t you see? For whatever reason, they must have had words.”

“Perhaps he had words with one of the Carnes. They protect Captain Clarke’s property rather zealously.”

Maria said cautiously, “I think Hannah was acquainted with this Lord Earling. I believe I recall her mentioning the man as someone she had known in England.”

“Indeed? If that be so, I must tell Madison. Every detail is important in such a case as this.”

“When exactly,” Maria began, looking with innocent perplexity at her uncle, “did the poor man perish?”

Her aunt laid her hand on Maria’s. “My dear, these details are not fit for the ears of a young lady.”

“Good heavens,” said her husband. “Such a detail as the time of the murder will not harm her.” Turning to Maria, “Madison said it occurred on Wednesday afternoon, between the hours of noon and four o’clock.”

Maria paled and placed her hand over her breast. “Good God,” she whispered. “It cannot be.”

“What? Maria, what’s the matter?”

“I saw her—Miss Winstead—leave the inn by a side door that day!”

“What!”

“I was walking toward the Strouthers’ to read poetry with Miss Strouther and Miss Adeline. I went by the side of the inn to take a shortcut on the path that goes through the little meadow. Hannah slipped out just as I passed.”

“Did you speak with her?” inquired her dumbfounded uncle.

“Of course. I asked her where she was bound, but she didn’t answer. She was wearing a large cloak although the day was very warm, and she clutched it round her and hurried away.”

Colonel Compton rose immediately and rang the bell. The butler hurried in.

“Send for Sheriff Madison! Immediately!”