Winterwood Read online

  If that was what he hoped to do, he had succeeded all too well. She was cold with apprehension.

  “Then come,” she said briefly.

  As she had expected, Sir Timothy was completely perplexed as to why she should have gone out to walk in the dusk and come back with a strange man. He looked from one to the other, blinking, his spectacles mislaid as usual.

  “Is Mr. Peate a friend of yours, Miss Hurst?”

  “No, Sir Timothy, I thought you had understood. He is a nephew of Lady Tameson and has called to see her.”

  “A nephew? I hadn’t heard about that.”

  Jonathon Peate stood smiling.

  “By marriage, sir.”

  “You mean on Willie Peate’s side? I hadn’t heard Willie Peate had a brother.”

  “That’s quite understandable. He emigrated to Australia.” Jonathon’s cool blue eyes flicked to Lavinia. She knew he was lying, and that the choice of Australia was deliberate.

  “That’s interesting, upon my word.” Dear Sir Timothy was quite unaware of undercurrents. “Did he make a fortune there? I hear some lucky fellows have in the gold diggings.”

  “I’m afraid my father wasn’t so fortunate. He died on an expedition into the interior. My mother returned to England with me. I remember nothing of this, of course. I was a very young child.”

  “And so you’ve had to make your own way in the world,” Sir Timothy observed.

  “That is true.” Jonathon shifted his position casually, as if to show off his clothing, which was in impeccable taste. But he still didn’t look a gentleman. He was too bold, too brash. He looked as if he had carefully studied gentlemen’s fashions, and had himself outfitted in absolutely correct manner. But his true fancy would be for louder, more showy clothes.

  His tale about Australia must be deliberate fantasy. He had never left England, Lavinia was certain. She was also beginning to doubt if Willie Peate had ever had a brother.

  If that were so, who was this man?

  She would have to make Lady Tameson tell her.

  She said that she would go upstairs and see if Lady Tameson were well enough to receive a visitor.

  “Oh, she’ll see me,” Jonathon said. “She has quite a soft spot for me, you know.”

  A great noise had broken out upstairs. Edward came rushing out of Lady Tameson’s bedroom blowing a trumpet earsplittingly. Eliza was wringing her hands and exclaiming, “Master Edward! You are a most disobedient little boy.” To Lavinia she said, “Really, miss, that boy just can’t be controlled. Phoebe is no use with him at all.”

  “What has he done now?”

  “Just blown his trumpet fit to wake the dead in my poor lady’s ear. He was jealous of her playing cards with Miss Flora, though goodness knows why, when he says he can’t abide the poor lady himself.” She lowered her voice. “He’ll come to a bad end, that boy.”

  “Is Lady Tameson all right?”

  “Yes, thank goodness. Only cross and put out.”

  Lavinia went into the room to find Lady Tameson, quite unhurt, sitting up with her black eyes sparking.

  “What is it, Miss Hurst? If you’ve come to take Flora away, we haven’t finished our game yet.”

  “No, Miss Hurst, Edward interrupted us.”

  Lavinia silenced Flora. “Well, I am going to interrupt too. Your aunt has a visitor.”

  The briefest surprise—or was it apprehension?—crossed Lady Tameson’s face.

  “A visitor for me. Who?”

  “Your nephew, Lady Tameson. Mr. Jonathon Peate.”

  One hand moved slightly on the coverlet, the fingers closing. Lady Tameson said in a perfectly self-possessed voice, “What’s Jonathon doing here? I hadn’t expected him.”

  “He says he’s staying at the George and Dragon in the village. He walked across the fields. Indeed, I encountered him by chance in the garden.”

  Lady Tameson’s eyes were hooded, unreadable. “Then I suppose I had better see him, after his long walk. Ask him to come up. Flora, we’ll finish our game tomorrow.”

  The door was shut firmly when Jonathon went into Lady Tameson’s room.

  “That one’s up to no good,” Eliza muttered. “And if you ask me, the mistress is frightened of him. She used to get all of a twitter in Venice when he was around.”

  “You mean Mrs. Meryon?”

  “Yes. That was before you came, Miss Hurst. There was one night when she couldn’t sleep at all; she just kept walking up and down as if she had something desperate on her mind. Wouldn’t let the master in at all. Said she had one of her headaches, but it was more than that. I believe it was something to do with that Mr. Peate.” Eliza’s good earnest face was worried. She looked each way, and lowered her voice. “He’s after his aunt’s money, you mark my words.”

  That was a very reasonable assumption, but Lavinia was sure it wasn’t the full story. Jonathon Peate wanted more than a legacy.

  “Why did he choose to come when the master and mistress was away?” Eliza went on. “Worming his way in, that’s what he’s doing.”

  And wandering secretly about the gardens as if he were estimating the value of Winterwood for his own private purposes.

  It was extremely tempting to try and listen at the door. Lavinia overcame this temptation and went to supervise Flora’s preparation for bed. She did, however, hear raised voices, as if Jonathon and his aunt were having an argument. But shortly afterwards Jonathon gave his loud confident laugh, so the disagreement could not have been serious, although Eliza reported later that Lady Tameson was overexcited and restless and had had to be given a soothing draught. She hoped the mistress would soon be home to forbid upsetting visitors.

  To Lavinia’s relief, the man had departed when she went downstairs. Sir Timothy spent the evening ruminating on him.

  “Extraordinary fellow. Bit of a rough diamond, wouldn’t you say, Miss Hurst? What do you think he’s after?”

  “I expect a share in his aunt’s estate,” Lavinia said soberly. “I don’t think we can blind ourselves to that, Sir Timothy.”

  “But I thought the old lady had tied the thing up. Didn’t Mallinson fix it all when he was down? Still, Peate can’t be expected to know that.” Sir Timothy began to laugh. “Ha ha! The fellow would have been here a bit earlier if he’d known that.”

  “Wills can be altered,” Lavinia pointed out.

  “That’s so. And I wouldn’t put it past Tameson Peate. She’s become remarkably secretive. She’s not at all the young woman I remember. I wouldn’t put it past her to have some sort of macabre joke at the end. That’s what makes entailed estates so much more pleasant. Daniel knew Winterwood would be his, and Simon knows he’ll follow. There’s a beautiful simplicity about that.”

  “But isn’t it a little unfair to Flora and Edward?” Lavinia said.

  “Flora will marry, and have her own home. That’s if she can get out of that damn wheelchair. Yes, I admit it’s a bit hard on the younger son, but Daniel will make some provision for Edward. He’ll buy him a commission in a good regiment, no doubt. I was a younger son myself, but I managed. Even had the Queen knight me,” he added with simple pride.

  Lavinia supposed Jonathon Peate had gone back to the village. She was pretty sure he would still be about when Charlotte and Daniel returned, but it had suited him to see what he could while they were absent. When she went upstairs later, Eliza reported that Lady Tameson was sleeping, but uneasily.

  Lavinia slept uneasily, too. The atmosphere seemed to have changed so much since Jonathon Peate’s arrival. It was scarcely a surprise when the gentle rapping came at her door in the middle of the night.

  She sprang out of bed, her heart thumping.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s only me, miss. Eliza. Could you come? My lady is asking for you.”

  Lavinia had the door open.

  “Is she ill?”

  Eliza was dressed in flannel gown and nightcap and held a guttering candle.

  “No, but she’s got so
me bee in her bonnet about her will.”

  Eliza had lit the lamp at Lady Tameson’s bedside, and the old lady sat bolt upright, her face gaunt and heavily shadowed.

  “Miss Hurst! I want your help.”

  So Jonathon Peate had succeeded so quickly in what he had come to do. Lavinia went forward.

  “What can I do, Lady Tameson?”

  “Get a pen and some paper. We don’t need any grand solicitor from London. I know how to do this. Quick, girl.”

  “But—are you sure?” Lavinia couldn’t help hesitating.

  Lady Tameson clenched her fists and thumped the sheet.

  “Would I send for people in the middle of the night if I were not sure? Whose fortune is this, I would like to know?”

  Reluctantly and with some apprehension, Lavinia got pen and ink and paper from the writing desk in her own bedroom. The half-finished letter to Robin caught her eye. But there is something hanging over this place… She closed the desk and locked it, and returned to the large dim room with its curiously melodramatic atmosphere.

  “Now,” said Lady Tameson, “write that I hereby revoke all previous wills”—she gave a dry chuckle—“You see I learned the jargon from that pompous fellow from London. I Tameson Barrata revoke all previous wills and declare this to be my last one. Arthur Mallinson to be my trustee as before, but I bequeath everything, put a line under everything, there’s to be no mistake about it, to my great-niece Flora. There! Write it.”

  Lavinia’s pen stopped dead.

  “Write it, write it!” the old lady ordered.

  Lavinia wrote, her hand trembling. The surprise was so great. Flora an heiress. It was wonderful. Jonathon Peate was routed.

  But so was Charlotte, and so was Daniel, with his plans for Winterwood.

  The room seemed stuffy and too hot, the old lady’s hand as she impatiently grasped the pen to sign the amateurish document like a claw. She signed her name slowly, in large shaky letters, then leaned back and said triumphantly, “Now, you, Miss Hurst. Write that you are a witness. And Eliza. That makes it legal.”

  Lavinia obeyed, and Eliza nervously followed her example.

  “Now put it in the bureau. Lock it, and give me the key. Not that anyone will be prying. They all think my will’s safely in London with Mallinson.” She began to chuckle again, and gasped a little for breath.

  “That horrible child Edward nearly deafened me with his trumpet tonight. Why should he get all my money?”

  “Was Edward to get it previously?” Lavinia asked in surprise.

  “It’s none of your business, young lady, but I had intended to leave my fortune to my dutiful niece Charlotte.” There was a queer note of sarcasm in her voice. “So you could rest assured it would have finally been her darling Teddy’s. Why else did she smother me with attention? Now Flora—that child’s honest. And brave. And I believe she cares a little for me.”

  “Your nephew, Mr. Peate?” Lavinia couldn’t resist asking the question.

  Lady Tameson lay back.

  “Him!” she said. Her black eyes had a look of malevolent triumph, as if she enjoyed outwitting that brash young man. But the effort had exhausted her.

  She said very wearily, “Stay with me, Miss Hurst, and I will sleep.”

  Lavinia obediently pulled up a chair and sat at the bedside. Eliza went back to her bed behind the screen. The lamp was turned down, and the old lady seemed to sleep. But she was still restless. She groped with her hand, and Lavinia took it.

  “Greed,” she muttered. Her eyes opened briefly. “You’ve found out about people too, Miss Hurst. One sees it in your eyes. Too young for that…” At last her breathing became regular and she slept.

  Chapter 11

  CHARLOTTE ARRIVED HOME FULL OF extravagant gaiety. She said they had had a wonderful time; the Queen, who looked dumpier than ever after the birth of her last child, had been exceptionally gracious, and they had met a number of interesting people. She had brought gifts for the children. Where was her darling Teddy, and how was Aunt Tameson?

  Flora had hoped her mother would notice her new shoes. She had thrown aside her rug, and displayed her feet ostentatiously. But when Charlotte gave her a perfunctory kiss, and hurried on to embrace Edward, Lavinia saw her draw the rug back over her thin legs, and go quite silent.

  Next Charlotte demanded Sylvie, and the little creature sprang forward prettily for her caresses.

  It was an attractive picture when Daniel, pulling off his gloves, strode in.

  “Papa!” Flora shrieked, coming to life.

  Daniel stooped over her and swung her out of her chair, her skirts flying.

  “So Miss Hurst has kept you well.”

  “Oh, yes, Papa. We went to Dover and she bought me the shoes she spoke of. And we were all in the drawing room last evening and Miss Hurst danced with Edward. And later Mr. Peate came to see Great-aunt Tameson.”

  “Mr. Peate!” Charlotte was very still, her eyes grown dark.

  “He is staying in the village,” Lavinia answered. “Yesterday he walked across the fields and then came up to the house to see Lady Tameson.”

  “Why did he walk? It’s a wonder he wasn’t shot for a poacher,” Daniel said.

  “I suppose he hasn’t a horse or a carriage,” Edward said pertly.

  “If you ask me, the fellow hasn’t got anything.” That was Sir Timothy, who had come pottering in in his velvet smoking jacket, his spectacles hanging precariously over one ear. “He’s a complete blackguard, I believe. All this talk of Australia. Stuff and nonsense. There must have been a bad streak in Willie Peate’s family.”

  “Has he gone?” Charlotte asked in a voice so quiet that one scarcely noticed its panic.

  “Out of these parts? Bless my soul, no. He said he wouldn’t be leaving without paying his respects to his dear cousin. I imagine he means you, Charlotte. He said something about a promise. I wouldn’t have thought that was a word that made much sense to a fellow like that.”

  Charlotte had picked up Sylvie, and wrapped her arms tightly around the shivering animal.

  “Did he see my aunt?”

  “Certainly. That’s what he professed to have come for.”

  “How was she afterwards? Miss Hurst?”

  The midnight scene was a deep secret. Eliza had been made to understand that, too.

  “A little excited and restless, Mrs. Meryon. Eliza gave her some of the draught the doctor left.”

  Daniel set Flora back in her chair. His eyes fixed on Charlotte, he said, “Ask Mr. Peate to dinner, my love.”

  “But I thought you didn’t like him.”

  “We must be civil, nevertheless. I believe you said something in Venice about his being welcome at Winterwood.”

  “I suppose I did say something like that. After all, Aunt Tameson is his aunt, too. If only by marriage. I didn’t really think he had enough regard for her to bother to come.”

  “Perhaps Winterwood interests him as well as his aunt.”

  “Why do you say that?” Charlotte asked too quickly.

  Daniel was watching her, frowning a little.

  “I only made a comment, my love. I had a fancy a man like Jonathon Peate would be drawn toward a great house. I scarcely imagine he has the entree to many.”

  Charlotte made her familiar gesture of pressing her hands to her temples.

  “Don’t let us talk of it now. I am utterly exhausted. That long drive. I must go up. Edward, bring Sylvie for me. You may stay a little while if you’re quiet Poor Mamma’s head—”

  She drifted away, the pretty color gone from her cheeks, her head drooping as if the weight of her coiled black hair was too much for her.

  Her headaches were not real, Lavinia suddenly knew. They were a form of escape. She had become very adept at using them. Did Daniel mind? There was nothing in his face but the faint anxiety which Lavinia realized was almost habitual when he looked at Charlotte.

  For the rest of the day Charlotte kept to her room, except to make a short
visit to Lady Tameson.

  “I couldn’t help hearing some of what was said, Miss Hurst. The mistress seems upset about Mr. Peate’s visit. She said, ‘You’ll have to send him away,’ and my lady just laughed and said ‘Try.’ ‘Try,’ she said, several times. Then she said, ‘Just let me die in peace, both of you.’ I don’t like it, Miss Hurst.”

  “You don’t like what?”

  Eliza set her lips. Her honest eyes were puzzled.

  “I don’t like what’s happening, yet I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong. All I know is I’m on that poor old woman’s side. And Miss Flora’s, if it comes to that. She’s the only one showed her aunt a bit of love. My, there’ll be a to-do about that secret will.”

  “Keep the secret, Eliza,” Lavinia urged.

  That night Jonathon Peate came to dinner. Lavinia didn’t know who had invited him, but there he was, handsome in his brash way, paying exaggerated attention to Charlotte, whom he called “pretty cousin.” He was also more than a little interested in his surroundings, and Lavinia saw his eyes wandering speculatively. He even tested the thickness of the carpet with his toe, not minding that his action was noticed.

  “Are you interested in carpets, Mr. Peate?” Daniel asked dryly.

  Not in the least abashed, Jonathon gave his easy laugh and said that he was interested in everything.

  “You have a fine place, Mr. Meryon. I’ll be frank and admit that I’m not accustomed to luxury.”

  “You never stayed with your aunt in Venice, then?”

  “Goodness me, no. I hadn’t seen her for years. Charlotte and I were in the same position in that respect.”

  Charlotte seemed to wince slightly, as if she disliked his familiarity. Yet she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. It was as if she were hypnotized. She could have pleaded her headache and stayed in her room, but it seemed almost as if she were afraid for Jonathon Peate to be there without her, as if she were worried about what he might do or say.

  Certainly he was an entertaining guest. He had traveled a great deal, and talked graphically about countries and people and voyages, both on steamships and sailing vessels. He said he intended to go to America after his poor aunt’s death.