The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales) Page 9

  She stooped to lay a bunch of flowers at the base of the stone and paused for a moment, resting her gloved fingers on the carved lettering. Wolf was silent, unwilling to intrude upon what was clearly a private moment and wondering why she had invited him to join her. When she rose he noticed that she was still carrying flowers.

  ‘Two bunches, Miss Duncombe?’

  ‘Yes. This way.’

  She led the way to a far corner of the graveyard where a small, square stone marked a plot beneath an ancient yew tree, whose overhanging branches made the twilight so deep that Wolf had to bend close to read the inscription.

  ‘“Henry Hodges. Curate of this parish. Twenty-six years.”’

  ‘My fiancé.’ She placed the flowers on his grave and straightened. ‘He died five years ago. We were going to be married at Christmas, on my nineteenth birthday.’

  Wolf knew he should say something consoling. Instead he found himself asking her how he had died. She did not answer immediately, she was staring fixedly at the grave and he wondered if she had heard him.

  ‘Violently,’ she said at last, her voice very low. ‘Henry was on his way home late one evening after visiting a sick parishioner. He saw a w-woman being attacked, robbed. Henry intervened and...and was stabbed.’ She shook, as if a tremor had run through her. ‘He was brought to the vicarage, but we could not save him. He died in my arms.’

  Wolf struggled not to reach out to her. He said curtly, ‘And the man who killed him?’

  ‘Hanged. Not that I wanted that.’

  ‘You could forgive him, after what he had done?’

  ‘Not forgive, no. But I did understand.’ She took a deep breath. ‘My father spoke for the man at the trial. He was one of our parishioners and Papa said he had been a good man, a stable hand at the Hall until it closed. Since then years of poverty and want had driven him to despair.’

  ‘Is that why you wanted me to accompany you? That I might more fully appreciate the harm my family did by closing the Hall?’

  ‘No. You are not responsible for that. As I understand it your father’s profligate ways had long made the estate’s downfall inevitable.’ Her dark, troubled gaze was fixed on him. ‘I wanted you to understand that my heart is here, with Henry. Anything else is just...just earthly desire.’ She turned and began to retrace her steps, saying over her shoulder, ‘That k-kiss. It should not have happened. I should not have allowed it.’

  So that was it. She was warning him off. Not that there was any reason to do so, he had already decided Grace Duncombe was a complication he did not need in his life.

  ‘Sometimes these things catch one out,’ he replied lightly.

  ‘Apparently so.’ She glanced at him. ‘I wanted to explain, before we set off for London tomorrow. I do not hold you wholly responsible for what occurred in the stable, and...and I want to think no more about it.’

  ‘Consider it forgotten, Miss Duncombe.’ A few fat drops of rain splashed on the path and he raised his umbrella again. ‘Shall we go back now?’

  Grace took his arm and Wolf led her back to the vicarage, wondering why he did not feel more relieved that she was in no danger of losing her heart to him.

  * * *

  It was almost twenty miles to Newmarket and Grace spent the journey squeezed between Wolfgang and Truscott, in a gig only intended for two people. Wolfgang rested one arm along the back of the seat to make more room for her, but it felt to Grace as if he had his arm around her. She tried not to lean against him, but it was impossible to sit bolt upright for the whole time, and as the gig bowled along the road through the early morning darkness the rocking motion made her sleepy. At one point she awoke to find herself snuggled against him. When she tried to sit up his arm pulled her gently back against his shoulder.

  ‘Hush now,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Truscott needs room to handle the reins, even though the horse sees the road better than he does.’

  And Grace allowed herself to believe him. She sank back against his convenient shoulder and dozed contentedly until they reached their destination.

  * * *

  A grey dawn was just breaking when they alighted at the inn, but even at that early hour the place was bustling. Grace was thankful that they could go into the dining room, where a few coins soon procured them two cups of scalding coffee.

  It put new heart into her, so much so that she could almost forget her embarrassment at having virtually slept in Wolfgang’s arms. She looked up to ask him what time the mail was due in and found he was gazing at her. A slow, lazy smile curved his lips.

  Two thoughts raced through her head. She could not remember him smiling, really smiling before. And how much she wanted to smile back. That would never do, one could not share smiles with a suspected murderer!

  She said crossly, ‘Pray sir, why are you laughing at me?’

  He immediately begged pardon but that only made her glare at him.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘That no other woman of my acquaintance has ever looked as neat as you do at this ungodly hour.’

  ‘Any woman of sense would be in bed at this hour.’

  ‘There is that, of course.’

  Grace had answered without thinking, but his response made her choke on her coffee and a blush of mortification burned her cheeks.

  ‘You should not say such things,’ she told him, wiping coffee from her lips.

  ‘Why not? I was complimenting you on your appearance.’

  She was not deceived by his innocent reply, but decided it would be wiser not to pursue the subject. She heard the laugh in his voice when he spoke again.

  ‘I know you are trying to maintain a dignified silence, but you have coffee on your cheek. Here, let me.’

  He reached across, cupping her chin with his fingers and drawing his thumb gently across her cheek. Grace wanted to close her eyes and rest her face against his hand. When she looked at Wolfgang there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze. Her breath stopped. She could not look away, his eyes were violet-black in the lamplight and they seemed to pierce her very soul.

  ‘London mail!’

  The landlord’s strident call broke the spell. Grace looked up to find the dining room had emptied.

  ‘You’d best be quick,’ the landlord warned them, standing by the door. ‘The mail don’t wait for no one.’

  Wolf rose and put his hand under her elbow. ‘Come along, Miss Duncombe.’

  She would have liked to shake him off but really, she was not at all sure that her legs would support her.

  * * *

  There were only two places left in the mail coach. Grace took the window seat and Wolf climbed in to sit beside her. She pulled her cloak about her. At least she could lean into the corner of the carriage. There would be no need for her to fall asleep on his shoulder, as she had done in the gig.

  Soon they were rattling over the open road, swaying and jolting so much there was no chance for Grace to rest, she was afraid her head would crash against the window.

  ‘This ’un’s a bone-shaker and no mistake.’ A motherly woman sitting opposite grinned at her. ‘Never you mind, dearie, the road is a vast deal better on t’other side of Hindlesham, you wait and see.’

  Grace nodded. She hoped so, for she had no idea how she would endure a whole day’s travel.

  * * *

  By the time they reached Hindlesham the sun was creeping over the horizon. As they clattered through the streets, two of the passengers began to gather up their things ready to alight at the Golden Lion. The coach swept into the inn yard and even before it stopped the ostlers came running to change the horses. The early morning sun was low enough to shine through the arch and on to the side of the coach where Grace was sitting, illuminating her through the window. She decided that as soon as
the passengers had alighted she would change seats, but even as the motherly woman heaved herself out of the door Grace spotted Claire Oswald standing in the yard and knew she had been recognised. It would be pointless to move now. Claire waved and came up to the open door.

  ‘I wondered if you would be here, Miss Duncombe. When I did not see you in the coffee room I thought perhaps I had been mistaken and you were catching the night mail.’

  Claire was looking rather fixedly at Wolfgang and Grace sat forward to block her view.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Oswald.’ She glanced around the yard, hoping she did not sound as anxious as she felt. ‘Is Sir Loftus with you?’

  ‘No, he is busy in the market. Mrs Braddenfield had a letter for the mail and I said I would deliver it.’

  The ostlers had finished their work and the shout went up to stand clear. Miss Oswald stepped back.

  ‘I wish you a good journey, Miss Duncombe.’

  The door slammed and Grace waved through the glass as the coach began to pull away.

  ‘Well, that was unfortunate,’ murmured Wolfgang. ‘I presume that was Claire Oswald.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The other passengers were busy making themselves comfortable and did not appear to be taking any notice, but Grace was wary of saying more.

  * * *

  She and Wolfgang passed the rest of the journey in near silence and when they eventually alighted at Bishopsgate the sun had already set. Grace stood in the yard with her small trunk at her feet and feeling bone-weary.

  She said, trying to be cheerful, ‘I would not have believed sitting down all day could make one so tired.’

  ‘We have a little further to go yet,’ Wolf warned her. ‘Wait here while I find someone to take us to Hans Place.’

  ‘There really is no need for you to accompany me across London,’ she replied. ‘You had much better find yourself lodgings.’

  ‘I promised your father I would see you safely to your aunt’s house.’

  There was a note of finality in his voice and Grace did not argue. If truth were told she was too tired to make the effort. However, as she waited for him to find a cab she remembered something that had been nagging her at the outset of the journey and once they were in the hired carriage she asked him the question.

  ‘The lady we saw at Hindlesham, Miss Oswald. Can you remember meeting her when you were at Arrandale? She looked at you most particularly.’

  He frowned.

  ‘I do not think so. I was rarely at Arrandale before my marriage. My father decided that the future heir should be born at the Hall. Having chosen my wife for me, he thought he was entitled to rule my life.’

  ‘Chosen? Did you not have any opinion?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I had far too many opinions! But I always knew I would have to knuckle down some time. Florence Sawston came from a good family and brought a fortune with her. It was a provident match and approved by both families. When it was clear she was carrying our child it seemed sensible to move to Arrandale and acquaint myself with my inheritance, but Father and I had never dealt well together. It was a disaster. He saw my attempts to familiarise myself with the running of the estate as interference, every suggestion was scorned. I was a dissolute wastrel with no idea what was due to my name.’ His lip curled. ‘And that from a man who had lived for years on the profits of Arrandale, squandering his money on mistresses, gambling and high living. It was clear almost as soon as I moved in that we could not work together. We could never meet without arguing.’

  ‘That must have been very uncomfortable for your wife,’ she murmured.

  Wolf gave a bark of laughter, but there was little humour in it.

  ‘Florence thrived on conflict. She was an expert at stirring the coals, setting me even more at odds with my father. Sometimes I think it was a match made in hell.’

  ‘And your mother, did she not support you?’

  ‘My mother was only interested in her own comforts. Richard and I had learned long ago not to worry her with our concerns.’

  ‘I am sorry. I cannot imagine how it must be to live in a house of strife.’

  ‘Do not pity me, madam. It was a bed of my own making. Arrandales are masters of it, we go through life raking hell, so we should not complain when we get burned.’

  Grace wanted to reach out to him, to comfort the lonely boy he must have been and the angry, wayward young man growing up without a parent’s love. She gripped her hands tightly together in her lap. Ten years in exile had made him bitter and he would not want her comfort, or her sympathy.

  And whatever Papa said, she was not even sure that he deserved it.

  They came to a halt and by the light of the streetlamps Grace could see they were in a square surrounded by terraces of tall, new buildings. As they alighted from the cab the door of one of the houses was thrown open and Aunt Eliza came flying out.

  ‘Dear Grace, how happy I am to see you and in such good time, too. I have been looking out for you this past hour, but I really did not expect you to arrive so soon. Come in, my dear, come in. And Mr Peregrine, too. Come in, sir, we cannot welcome you properly while we are standing on the street!’

  Wolf thought it was like being taken up by a small whirlwind. Mrs Graham ushered them inside, talking all the time and never pausing until they were in the welcome warmth of her elegant drawing room.

  ‘Now then, a little refreshment. Jenner, fetch the tray, if you please.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am, but I will not stay,’ said Wolf. ‘I came only to see Miss Duncombe delivered safely to you. The cab is waiting.’

  ‘Nonsense, Mr...Peregrine.’ She was smiling and looking at him with a decided twinkle in her sharp eyes. ‘My brother mentioned that you were an old acquaintance and I see it now. Yes, I remember you very well, sir, and I will not allow you to go anywhere else tonight. You shall stay here, as my guest. No, not another word. I insist. Jenner, send Robert to pay off the cabbie and fetch in Mr Peregrine’s bags. He is to take them to the blue room, if you please, and do you bring in the refreshments. Wine, I think, and a little bread and butter. Unless you would like Cook to find you something hot for supper?’

  Wolf shook his head and Grace said politely, ‘Thank you, no. We dined on the road.’

  ‘Oh, I should have had Jenner take your greatcoat, sir, but never mind, take it off and throw it over the chair over there, with Grace’s cloak, then come and sit by the fire, do.’

  The lady was already pulling Grace down on to a sofa beside her, so Wolf took a chair opposite. He glanced at the door, to make sure it was firmly shut.

  ‘So you know me, Mrs Graham?’

  ‘Lord bless you, sir, I remember you very well,’ came the cheerful reply. ‘You were always in a scrape as a boy and it seems to me that nothing has changed.’

  ‘I fear this time it is more than a scrape, ma’am—’ He broke off as the butler returned.

  ‘Yes, well,’ said his hostess, ‘we will discuss everything as soon as we are settled comfortably. Thank you, Jenner, that will be all. I shall ring when I need you again.’ She paused just long enough for the butler to withdraw before saying, ‘Now, why has my niece brought you to London, Mr Wolfgang?’

  ‘I did not bring him, Aunt!’

  ‘I have come to find my late wife’s dresser,’ he said, when Mrs Graham waved aside Grace’s indignant protest. ‘I believe she may be able to help me discover the truth about my wife’s death and the theft of the Sawston diamonds.’

  ‘And about time, too.’

  ‘You believe he is innocent, Aunt?’

  Wolf winced at Grace’s surprised tone. It was clear what she thought of him.

  ‘Those of us acquainted with Wolfgang Arrandale as a boy know he is no villain, my love.’ Mrs Graham turned her eyes towards him and added drily, ‘However, from what
I heard of the situation at the Hall ten years ago, I could understand if you had murdered your wife.’

  ‘You are frank indeed, madam! I did not do so, however.’

  ‘And how do you intend to prove it?’

  ‘I need to find out what happened to the necklace. Its loss was reported by my wife’s dresser. I know Meesden came to London after my wife’s death and set herself up in a little shop. She could not have done so on the salary my wife paid her.’

  ‘And where is this shop?’ asked Mrs Graham. ‘Perhaps we could help you find this woman.’

  ‘Aunt, no!’ exclaimed Grace.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am, but your niece came here to get away from me,’ said Wolf.

  ‘I am sorry, sir, if I appear unfeeling, but—’

  ‘Not at all, Miss Duncombe, I understand that I have put you in a difficult situation.’ He turned back to Mrs Graham. ‘I will accept your hospitality for tonight, ma’am, but only for tonight.’

  ‘My dear sir—’

  He cut off the widow’s protests with a shake of his head.

  ‘You are very kind, madam, but your brother has already put himself at considerable risk to help me. I must pursue my enquiries alone.’ He glanced at Grace, who was stifling a yawn. ‘I fear we have exhausted Miss Duncombe. We have been travelling since dawn, you see.’

  As he had hoped, Mrs Graham was immediately distracted.

  ‘Oh, of course. Poor Grace, you have scarcely eaten a crumb. You must be ready for your bed. I will take you up immediately and send Robert to show our guest to his room.’

  Wolf rose to bid the ladies goodnight and when they had left the room he sank wearily back in his chair. Mrs Graham’s unquestioning belief in his innocence had lifted his spirits, but now he felt exhausted and not just from the physical exertion of the journey. It had been a trial to maintain the polite, distant friendliness with Grace in front of their fellow passengers. Several times they had started a conversation, only to break off the moment it became interesting, aware that they were not alone. Which was a pity, because they had much in common, if only they could talk. He closed his eyes. The only time he had spoken freely was in the cab to Hans Place. For a moment he had let down his guard and given her a glimpse of his early life. He should not have done so, because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he did not want Grace Duncombe to pity him.