Though keeping Joanna’s secret had involved Catarina in so many lies, and caused her to reject Nicholas, she delighted in the baby. Maria was an enchanting little girl. That was the one joyful outcome of the whole miserable business, and made life bearable.
Olivia enjoyed her stay in Brighton, but confessed to Nicholas she would be glad when they returned to Brooke Court.
‘I want to see everyone again. Of course it has all been exciting, but I think I prefer living in the country most of the time.’
She had received two offers, both from unexceptional young men of good family and adequate income, but she confessed to her brother that she did not think she would like to live with either of them for the rest of her life, as they bored her.
One was concerned only with the fit of his coat and the correctness of his necktie, while attempting to set some new fashion by sporting violently patterned waistcoats and coloured pantaloons, and Nicholas privately suspected he was aiming to replace the Beau now Brummell had been forced to flee to Calais.
The other was a hearty young man dedicated to all forms of sport, who had confided in Nicholas that his family wished him to marry and provide an heir before he was killed in an accident on the hunting field, as they did not wish his very insignificant title to go to a detested cousin. Nicholas had taken a strong objection to having his sister used for such a purpose, and was thankful she did not favour the fellow.
She was still very young, and he hoped she would in time meet a man she could both respect and love. In late August he took her back to Brooke Court, but asked Lady Mortimer to stay with them for a longer time, as he himself needed to be elsewhere.
He did not enlarge on his plans apart from saying he meant to go to Paris for a few weeks. He was much too restless to stay at home. Jeremy was somewhere in the north, and had written that he would be visiting the lakes before returning to Marshington Grange. Trubshaw, he reported, wrote that all was well there, so Nicholas did not have to worry.
Nicholas reflected that he would have needed a strong reason to go back to Marshington, where he would be bound to meet Catarina. He was torn, his emotions in turmoil. He still desired her, but could not rid his mind of suspicions about the child. She must have lied to him when she said the baby belonged to a dead cousin. Thomas was reliable, and had a knack of drawing information out of people. When he’d been in the army he had often been used as a scout, and since he spoke the language he had been able to talk to the natives, and discover more about the enemy’s movements than others who had been forced to rely on interpreters. His information would be accurate, and it was damning for Catarina.
He went to Paris, and enjoyed a flirtation with a beautiful young Parisian, the wife of a French diplomat who was currently in Austria. When she intimated she would not object to something more than a flirtation, however, he discovered he had no appetite. The only woman he could envisage taking to bed was Catarina.
Was he to be celibate for the rest of his life, he wondered. Perhaps the repugnance he had felt on contemplating her invitation would lessen in time. He threw himself into all the entertainments Paris offered, visited the country chateau of an old friend, and when his conscience urged him to go home and make sure all was well there he quietened it by telling himself that any bad news would come to him quickly. He was not yet ready to face life in England without the prospect of having Catarina by his side.
* * * *
It was Mrs Eade who told Catarina of the trouble in the village. To occupy herself and try to forget Nicholas she had joined the weekly sewing circle, and half a dozen women were sitting round the Rectory dining room table with a heap of clothes they were sorting to find material suitable for turning into smocks for the poorer children of the parish.
‘Mr Lewis had several hens stolen two nights ago, and his old dog was killed. It is supposed to have been to prevent him giving the alarm.’
The women looked nervous.
‘How shocking!’
‘The poor man. He might have been killed in his bed.’
‘That’s not all. It seems as though someone has been milking one of the cows on the common, during the night.’
‘That sounds like vagrants, someone living rough.’
‘Are any of us safe in our beds? They’ll be breaking into houses next, in search of food.’
‘Is Dan still living rough in the woods, does anyone know?’ Catarina asked.
‘I’m sure some of the younger men know, but they won’t admit it, not even to the Rector, and he has spoken very firmly to them. He means to make it the subject of his next sermon.’
Briefly Catarina contemplated the vision of a dozen repentant young men rushing forward to confess knowledge of one of their former drinking cronies living wild in the woods, and suppressed a smile. If they were in church, which she doubted, they would hardly be moved by one of the Reverend Eade’s sermons. Though he very occasionally raised his voice, he was usually too academic for them, inclined to pepper his discourse with quotations from the classics, in Latin or Greek, and wander off into abstruse philosophical reflections. Now if Mrs Eade were to deliver it, she would at least be listened to with attention, as she had a very forceful way of stating her opinions.
Her amused reflections were interrupted and she paid attention to Mrs Eade once more.
‘Mr Lewis is setting up a guard. One of his men will sit up every night. Remember his barn which was set alight earlier in the year? He doesn’t want that to happen again.’
‘But don’t we all need protecting?’
‘What is the constable doing about it?’
‘They should have men patrolling the village every night.’
Catarina stopped listening. She felt sorry for Dan, even though he had brought his misfortune on himself. If it were he stealing the hens it would be in desperation. She wondered whether he would come to her if she rode near the woods, like he had on a previous occasion. He trusted her, she thought, and she might be able to help him. What he needed was to get away from the area. Perhaps if she could give him some respectable clothes and some money he would be able to leave and find himself a job somewhere he was not known. He might even be able to sign onto a ship going to New South Wales, and try to rejoin Annie.
* * * *
In Paris Nicholas was getting restive. He was tired of the parties, and the people. When he was invited to the Embassy to a reception for some visiting diplomats he almost sent his apologies, but at the last minute, suddenly impatient with the book he was trying to read, he decided he might as well be bored somewhere other than in his hotel suite.
The reception rooms at the Embassy were crowded, but Nicholas knew many of the people there. Rather to his annoyance he found his Aunt Clara had been invited, and as soon as she saw him she broke off her conversation with a timid looking Frenchwoman and came straight across the room to him.
‘You still here, Nicholas? I thought when you called you were only going to be here for a couple of weeks. It would have been courteous to have let me know your movements.’
Nicholas ground his teeth together.
‘Aunt, I told you I was unsure how long I would stay.’
‘Still flirting with that French jade, are you? Be warned, nephew, her husband’s reported to be excessively jealous, has fought two duels over her already, and he’s reputed to be a crack shot.’
‘Did he kill his men?’ Nicholas asked, intrigued. His interest in the lady had waned weeks ago, and when he rejected her advances she had made it clear she was no longer willing to tolerate his company. But he had not realized she was such a fatal attraction.
‘I expect so. I don’t pay much attention to these affairs. They are so vulgar. But I would hate to know a member of my own family had been killed by a jealous husband.’
She would not, he noted with some amusement, appear to regret his death, merely the manner of it.
Somewhat to his relief she saw another victim just entering the room, and with a parting recommendation to behave himself, almost as though he were still a schoolboy, she sped away. He looked round for more congenial company, and saw two men he knew from his days in the army the previous year. It was only when he had approached the group and been made welcome he saw Delphine Pearce was amongst them.
What did she know about his offer to Catarina? They had appeared to be good friends, and when Catarina had left him on that fateful day she had looked pale. Delphine would have been bound to ask her what was the matter, and in all likelihood Catarina would have told her. Women liked to have confidantes, he understood, and were likely to choose girls they had known at school. He knew Catarina had left town a few days later, for Olivia had been so disappointed not to have her at her private masquerade. Had she left London, gone back to the Dower House because of his proposal? In which case Delphine Pearce would almost certainly know at least the bare facts.
When the group split up Delphine remained, smiling at him, and he moved across to speak with her.
‘Let us find somewhere more private,’ she said before he could speak, and turned to lead the way to a small alcove at the side of the room. She sat on one of the sophas and patted the seat beside her.
‘How is Catarina?’ he asked, unable to prevent himself.
‘I have only received one letter, but she says she is well, though there is a good deal of unrest in the village. The harvest was exceptionally poor, and the villagers are facing a bad winter.’
‘My brother has not yet returned?’
‘He had not when she wrote. Why do you not go down there to see for yourself?’
Nicholas shook his head.
‘I don’t plan to go down there. Marshington Grange belongs to Jeremy now, and it would be interference on my part.’
‘Then he should be looking after it himself. Ah, Senhor Gomez, how pleasant to meet you again. It seems such a long time since I was at your party. My lord, may I introduce Senhor Fernando Gomez, one of the Brazilian delegation currently visiting Europe. Senhor, the Earl of Rasen.’
Nicholas stood up and offered his hand to the Brazilian, a flamboyantly handsome man with dark curling hair and brilliant green eyes. The other bowed, lifted Delphine’s hands to his lips, complimented her on her gown, then turned back to Nicholas.
‘I am honoured to meet you, my lord. I have heard your name on the lips of Joanna, my friend Eduardo’s wife. I understand she met you — now, where did she say? Not in Lisbon, I think, where she met Eduardo. It was something to do with her sister. I am hoping to meet the lady when I go to England.’
Delphine was smiling at him rather coquettishly, Nicholas thought sourly.
‘I was so sorry not to meet Eduardo Gonçalves myself,’ she said, ‘but unfortunately we left Lisbon in November, before he arrived. His romance with Joanna was rather a whirlwind one, I understand from Catarina, her sister.’
‘Catarina, yes. The pretty young widow. Joanna told me how sad it was that she was left with a young child.’
Nicholas stopped listening. He had not known Delphine had been in Lisbon, but from her words it appeared she had been there just before the time Catarina, if Maria were her child, would have given birth. Surely she must have known about it. Perhaps she did, and was keeping her friend’s secret. Joanna seemed to have mentioned it in such a way that Senhor Gomez took it for granted Maria was her sister’s child.
Before he could demand information Senhor Gomez was excusing himself to Nicholas, saying he had promised to introduce Delphine to another of his friends, and drew her away. Nicholas left the Embassy soon afterwards and spent the rest of the night juggling with dates. He did not know enough. He knew roughly when Maria had been born, and when Catarina had returned home. He must speak to Delphine again.
* * * *
Catarina was walking in the village near the Rectory when she saw Mr Trubshaw driving a gig along the main street. He was lashing the pony into a gallop, and apparently talking to himself, as his mouth was opening and shutting and he kept shaking his head. He drew to a clattering halt outside the small house belonging to the village constable and without bothering to tie up the pony, which was blowing so much it would hardly be likely to run away, he ran up to the door and pounded on it. A few minutes later both he and the constable were clambering into the gig and Mr Trubshaw turned it and set off back towards the Grange.
Wondering what had made the usually calm agent behave so oddly, she strolled back to the Dower House. Blodwen came into her bedroom as she was removing her hat, and was clearly excited.
‘My lady, there’s been a robbery at the Grange. One of the footmen came down here, sent by Mr Trubshaw, he was, to ask if we’d had any trouble ourselves.’
‘You mean someone broke into the house?’
‘Yes, indeed, through one of the dining room windows. None of the servants heard a thing, they only discovered it this morning when one of the gardeners saw the broken window. I suppose, with none of the family there, the dining room would not be in use.’
‘What did they steal? Do you know?’
‘Small pieces of silverware, they say. Easy enough to carry away in their pockets, but worth some money. I wonder if it was thieves from Bristol? Perhaps they think it’s easier to break into country houses, where there are no neighbours to see them like in a town.’
That made sense, but Catarina was suspicious. After the trouble Mr Lewis had encountered she suspected the culprit came from nearer home. She hoped it was not Dan. Despite everything she had a sneaking sympathy for him. There was also a mild feeling of guilt, which she knew was irrational, but which persisted, that it had been her own cook Ellen who had tempted him to betray his wife, and led to Ellen’s murder.
Blodwen was still talking, a scarcely concealed excitement beneath her scandalized tones.
‘Mr Staines has looked all round the Dower House, and now he is checking the garden. He said there are no signs anyone has entered the house, and nothing is missing. He had me check your jewellery, my lady, but I told him, I did, that no one could have come into your bedroom without your being aware of it. My lady is a light sleeper, I told him, she always wakes if the baby cries during the night, but “Better safe than sorry,” he says to me.’