The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales) Read online

  But could he ever prove it? thought Wolf. He saw the housekeeper surreptitiously wiping her eyes and he continued cheerfully, ‘Now let us have that tea while it is still drinkable.’

  ‘It will serve several times yet,’ she told him, fetching more cups. ‘I shall use the leaves again for Truscott and me, and then dry them and give them to the poor.’

  ‘Times are hard here?’

  ‘Times are hard everywhere, Master Wolf, what with the war and everything, but there’s no doubt that since your parents died, life has become much more difficult in Arrandale. The steward was carried off in the same epidemic and that made matters even worse, for there was no one to run the estate. These London lawyers don’t understand, you see. They expect their rents every Quarter Day and make no allowances for bad harvests, or sickness. What charity there is in the village comes from Mr Duncombe and his daughter.’ She hesitated. ‘There is some hereabouts that blames you for the troubles, Master Wolfgang.’

  ‘And with good cause. If I had not been so wild no one would have believed me capable of murdering my wife, I would not have fled the country and my parents would not have died.’

  ‘You don’t know that, sir.’

  ‘No, but it is what many believe, is it not?’

  ‘Aye, sir, it is. Which is why you must take care. There’s some in the village as would give up their own mothers for a shilling.’

  ‘I am aware of that, but I must talk to Brent, our old butler. Where will I find him?’

  ‘He lives with his niece and her husband in the house beneath the elm trees, at the far end of the village. His sight is very poor now and he rarely goes out.’

  ‘I need to see him alone, if possible.’

  ‘Then this morning would be a good time, the others will be off to market.’

  ‘Then I will go now.’

  He rose and began to pack up the dishes, but Mrs Truscott stopped him.

  ‘You be on your way, Master Wolf, but be careful. There’s plenty hereabouts with long memories, and though you ain’t dressed like your old self there’s no disguising that tall frame of yours.’

  ‘I have been disguising this frame of mine for years, Mrs T., but don’t worry, I’ll take the lanes and skirt the village.’

  ‘Shall I tell Mr Duncombe you will join him for dinner?’ she asked. ‘He’d like that, I’m sure.’

  Wolf paused at the door. ‘I would, too,’ he admitted. ‘But what of his daughter?’

  The housekeeper gave him an enigmatic look.

  ‘Miss Grace will come round when she knows you better, sir, you’ll see. You could always charm the birds from the trees and that’s a fact!’

  Chapter Two

  Grace was in the morning room with her father when Truscott informed him that Mr Peregrine had gone out, but would join him for dinner. Mr Duncombe received the news with equanimity, but not so Grace.

  ‘Mr Peregrine is very sure of his welcome,’ she remarked, when they were alone again.

  ‘And why not?’ replied her father mildly. ‘We have offered him hospitality, as we would any of God’s creatures.’

  ‘But we know nothing about the man.’

  ‘He has a good heart.’

  Grace shook her head. ‘You are too kind, Papa, too trusting. I have put him over the stables.’

  ‘Yes, so I understand.’ Her father chuckled. ‘I am sure he has slept in worse places.’

  ‘But you will have him sit down to dinner with us.’

  ‘Yes, dear, and I would remind you of what the Bible says: “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers.” Hebrews, my love, Chapter Thirteen.’

  She smiled. ‘Somehow I do not think Mr Peregrine is an angel in disguise, Papa.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but I can assure you he is a gentleman and, I think, a man worthy of our help.’

  More than that he would not say and soon retired to his study to work on his sermon. Grace tried not to think that he was running away from her, but she was left with the uneasy suspicion that Papa knew more about this stranger than he would tell her. She glanced out of the window. It was a fine day, if she hurried through her household duties there might be time for a ride before dinner.

  * * *

  Wolf found the little house under the elms without much difficulty. He had taken the back lanes around the village, his hat pulled low on his brow, and he adopted a slouching, shambling gait so that anyone seeing him would not think him a gentleman, let alone Arrandale of Arrandale. The house appeared to be deserted, but Wolf kept his distance for a while, watching and waiting. It was no hardship, for the sun was high and it was a warm spring day. At length the door opened and an old man limped out. Wolf recognised him immediately. The butler looked no older than he had done when Wolf had last seen him ten years ago. The old man sat down on a bench against the wall of the house and turned his face up to the sun. Wolf approached him.

  ‘Good day to you, Brent.’

  ‘Who is that?’ The butler peered up short-sightedly.

  ‘Do you not know me?’ Wolf dropped down until his face was level with the old man’s. He smiled. ‘Do not say you have forgotten me.’

  ‘I know the voice, but...’ The faded eyes stared into Wolf’s face. ‘Is it really you, Mr Wolfgang, after all these years?’

  Wolf grasped the frail, outstretched hands. There was no doubt of the old man’s delight. He said gently, ‘Yes, Brent, I am come back.’

  ‘Lord bless you, sir, I never thought to see the day! Not that I can see very much, for my eyes ain’t what they was.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘But ’tis not safe to be out here. Pray, step inside, sir.’

  ‘Let me help you up.’ Wolf took his arm and accompanied him into the house.

  ‘Forgive me if I sit in your presence, Master Wolfgang, but I’ve got a leg ulcer that pains me if I stand for too long.’

  ‘I think you have earned the right to sit down,’ replied Wolf, helping him to a chair and pulling up one for himself. ‘You served my family faithfully for many years.’

  ‘Aye, I did, sir, and very sorry I was when the old master and mistress died and the house was shut up for the last time. Very sorry indeed.’ He brightened. ‘Are you come back to stay, master?’

  ‘Not quite yet. First I have to prove my innocence. That is the reason I am here, Brent, I want you to tell me what you remember, the night my wife died.’

  ‘I remember it as clear as day, sir, but I told it all to the magistrate and he said there was nothing in it to help you.’

  ‘I would like you to tell me, if you will. Starting with the argument I had with my wife before dinner.’ Wolf’s mouth twisted. ‘I am sure you heard that.’

  The old man sighed. ‘Aye, the whole household heard it, but if you will excuse my saying so, sir, we was accustomed to you and your lady’s disagreements, so fiery as you both were. You went out and Mrs Wolfgang ordered a tray to be sent up to her room. That left only the master and mistress and Sir Charles to sit down to dinner.’

  ‘Ah yes, Urmston, my wife’s cousin.’ Wolf sat back. Sir Charles Urmston had always been received warmly at Arrandale. Personally, he had never liked the man. Wolf and Florence had never needed much excuse to hurl insults at one another and on this occasion she had accused him of hating Charles because he was the man Wolf’s parents would have liked for a son, rather than the wild reprobate Wolf had become. The idea still tortured him.

  ‘I went out for a ride to cool my temper,’ he said now. ‘What happened while I was gone?’

  ‘We served dinner and Meesden, Mrs Wolfgang’s dresser, took up a tray for her mistress. Mrs Wolfgang did not come downstairs again. About eleven the mistress prepared tea in the drawing room, just as she always did, to be served with cakes and bread as a light supper. Then, shortly after midnight, I was coming upstairs to the
hall when I heard a shriek, well, a scream, more like.’ The old man stopped, twisting his hands together. ‘If only there’d been a footman at the door, he’d have seen what happened, but it was late and they was all in the servants’ hall.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Wolf. ‘Just tell me what you saw.’

  ‘Mrs Wolfgang’s body at the bottom of the grand staircase, her head all bloody and broken and you kneeling over her. I remember it so well. White as a sheet, you was. The master and mistress came running out from the drawing room and you said, in a queer sort of voice, “She’s dead. She’s dead.”

  ‘Such a to-do as there was then. Mrs Arrandale fell into hysterics and we was all in a bustle. The doctor was sent for and the master sent word that your horse was to be brought round, as quick as possible.’

  ‘How incriminating must that have looked,’ Wolf declared. ‘If only I had waited, stayed and explained myself.’

  ‘Ah but your father was anxious for you. Even if Sir Charles hadn’t been pressing him I think he would have insisted—’

  ‘Charles? You mean Urmston urged him to send me away?’

  ‘Aye, sir. As soon as Sir Charles came in from the garden he told your father to send you off out of harm’s way until they could find out what really happened. But they never did find out, sir. Instead...’

  ‘Instead they found the Sawston diamonds were missing and I was doubly damned.’ Wolf finished for him. ‘Who discovered the necklace was gone?’

  ‘Meesden, sir. She had been fetched down to her mistress, when it was found Mrs Wolfgang was still alive. The poor lady was carried to the morning room and Meesden stayed with her ’til Dr Oswald arrived. Fortunately he was dining at the vicarage and was soon fetched. Meesden went up to Mrs Wolfgang’s bedchamber for something and came down screaming that the lady’s jewel case was open and the necklace was gone.’

  ‘And everyone thought I had taken it,’ muttered Wolf.

  ‘I never believed that, sir. Even though the evidence...’ The butler’s words trailed away.

  ‘Aye,’ growled Wolf. ‘My wife always kept the key hidden behind a loose brick in the fireplace.’ He was suddenly aware of his neckcloth, tight around his throat like a noose. ‘To my knowledge only three people knew of that hiding place. Florence, her dresser and myself.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I have no doubt Meesden told everyone that fact.’ The distress in the old man’s face confirmed it. Wolf reached out and touched his arm. ‘Think, Brent. Are you sure there was no one else in the house that night?’

  ‘Well, ’tis only a feeling...’

  ‘Tell me.’

  Brent paused, his wrinkled brow even more furrowed as he struggled to remember.

  ‘I told the magistrate at the time, sir, but he made nothing of it. You see, once I had taken the tea tray into the drawing room for the mistress I prepared the bedroom candles. I was bringing them up to the staircase hall when I heard a noise upstairs. Voices.’ The old man sat up straight. ‘I thought it was Mrs Wolfgang talking to someone.’

  Wolf’s lip curled. ‘Some would say it was me. That I returned and pushed Florence from the balcony.’

  Brent shook his head. ‘When I saw you kneeling beside Mrs Wolfgang’s body I could tell you’d just come in. It was bitter cold that day and we had the first heavy frost of the winter. There was still a touch of it on the skirts of your coat, as there would be if you’d been out o’ doors for a length of time. I told the magistrate, but he paid no heed to me. He thought I was just trying to protect you.’

  ‘And no one else in the house saw or heard anything?’

  Brent shook his head slowly.

  ‘No, sir. Your father and the magistrate gathered everyone in the servants’ hall and asked them that very question, but ’twere bitter cold that night, so those servants who had not gone to bed was doing their best to stay by the fire in the servants’ hall.’

  ‘But the voices you heard upstairs, could it have been my wife’s dresser? Surely Meesden might have been with her mistress.’

  ‘No, sir. When Meesden brought her mistress’s tray downstairs after dinner she said she was going to bed and she passed on Mrs Wolfgang’s instructions that on no account was she to be disturbed again until the morning. Quite adamant about it, she was, and then she went to her room. The maid who sleeps next door heard Meesden pottering about there, until she was sent for, when it was known her mistress was still alive.’

  Wolf frowned, wondering if there was some little detail he was missing. He said, ‘I must visit the house. Jones is living there, I believe.’

  ‘Aye, Master Wolfgang, he is, and he would be willing to talk to you, I am sure, but take care who else in the village you approach, sir. There’s many who lost their livelihoods when Arrandale Hall was shut up and they would not look too kindly upon you.’

  ‘That is understandable, but if I do not try I shall not make any progress at all.’ Wolf rose. ‘I must go. Thank you, Brent.’ He put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. ‘No, don’t get up. I will see myself out.’

  ‘You’ll come again, sir. You’ll let me know how you get on?’

  ‘I shall, you may be sure of it.’

  * * *

  Wolf walked back through the lanes, going over all the old man had told him. He would not risk going through the village in daylight but he would make his way to Arrandale Hall later, and perhaps, once it was dark, he might call upon one or two of the families that he knew had worked at the house, the ones he felt sure would not denounce him. The pity of it was there were precious few of those. He had spent very little of his adult life at Arrandale. Some of the old retainers would remember him as a boy, but most of the newer staff would have little loyalty to him, especially if they believed he was the reason Arrandale was closed up.

  The thud of hoofs caught his attention and he looked round to see Grace Duncombe riding towards him on a rangy strawberry roan. She sat tall and straight in the saddle, made taller by the very mannish beaver hat she wore, its wispy veil flying behind her like a pennant. Wolf straightened up and waited for her. She checked slightly, as if uncertain whether to acknowledge him, then brought her horse to a stand.

  He touched his hat. ‘That is a fine mare. Is she yours?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her response was cool, but not unfriendly. ‘Bonnie is my indulgence. I have a small annuity from my mother that I use for her upkeep.’

  He reached out and scratched the mare’s head.

  ‘You need not excuse yourself to me, Miss Duncombe.’

  She flushed and her chin went up. ‘I do not. But people wonder that I should keep my own horse when we have had to make savings everywhere else.’

  ‘I imagine she is useful for visiting your father’s parishioners.’

  Her reserve fled and she laughed. ‘With a basket of food hanging on my arm? I cannot claim that as my reason for keeping her.’ She smoothed the mare’s neck with one dainty gloved hand. ‘I have had Bonnie since she was a foal and cannot bear to part with her.’

  ‘I understand that. I had such a horse once. A black stallion. The very devil to control.’

  ‘Oh? What happened to him?’

  ‘He died. I am on my way back to your father’s house now. Shall we walk?’

  Grace used the gentle pressure of her heel to set Bonnie moving.

  Perhaps he is a highwayman and his horse was shot from under him. That might also account for the scars on his body.

  She quickly curbed her wayward imagination. She had seen a shadow cross the lean face and guessed he had been very fond of his black horse, so it was no wonder he did not wish to talk about it. She must follow her father’s example and be charitable.

  ‘You would find it quicker to cut through the village,’ she said, waving her crop towards a narrow path that wound its way towards the distant houses.

 
‘Not much quicker.’

  ‘Ah. You are familiar with Arrandale?’

  ‘I can see the church from here, Miss Duncombe, and it is clear this way will bring us to it almost as quickly as cutting back to the village.’

  ‘And you would rather avoid the villagers,’ she said shrewdly.

  He shrugged. ‘You know how these little places gossip about strangers.’

  Grace pursed her lips. He frustrated every attempt to learn more about him.

  She said now, ‘That should not worry you, if you have nothing to hide.’

  ‘I am merely a weary traveller, taking advantage of your father’s hospitality to rest for a few days.’

  ‘I fear taking advantage is just what you are doing,’ she retorted, nettled.

  ‘I mean no harm, Miss Duncombe, trust me.’

  ‘Impossible, since I know nothing about you.’

  ‘You could ask your father.’

  ‘I have done so, but he will tell me nothing.’ She paused. ‘I understand you are dining with us this evening.’

  ‘Yes. Do you object?’

  She stopped her horse.

  ‘I would worry less if I knew something about you.’

  He looked up and she had her first clear view of his eyes. They were blue, shot through with violet, and the intensity of his gaze was almost a physical force. Her insides fluttered like a host of butterflies.

  ‘One day I will tell you everything about me,’ he promised. ‘For the present I would urge you to trust your father’s judgement.’

  ‘He seems to have fallen completely under your spell,’ she snapped, seriously discomposed by the sensations he roused in her. ‘You might be an out-and-out villain for all we know.’

  Grace inadvertently jerked the reins and Bonnie sidled. Immediately he caught the bridle, murmuring softly to the mare before looking up again.

  ‘Your father knows I am no villain, Miss Duncombe.’

  He placed his hand on her knee as if in reassurance, but it had quite the opposite effect on Grace. Her linen skirt and several layers of petticoats separated them, but the gesture was shockingly intimate. Waves of heat flooded her, pooling low in her body. Her alarm must have shown in her countenance, because his hands dropped and he stepped away.