Chapter Twenty
Sibella’s bite of toast stuck in her throat and she hastily took a sip of tea to force it down. “I fancy a ride over the grounds this morning.” She warmed her hands around her teacup. “I simply must see more of the deer park.” As the duke and duchess failed to make an appearance at breakfast, there was no one to dissuade her but Harry.
He glanced at the sky through the window. “I don’t like that bank of dark clouds on the horizon. The wind’s picked up, see how the trees sway? The storm will reach us soon.”
“If I leave straight after breakfast, I can be back before the bad weather arrives.”
“I’d accompany you, but I woke with a headache,” Maria said, putting a hand to her forehead.
Harry eyed her anxiously. “Would you like me to ask mother for a restorative?”
“Heavens no,” Maria said. “I’m sure I’ll feel better soon.”
“I’m sorry your head hurts, dearest,” Sibella said sympathetically. “Please don’t worry. I’ll take Manley with me.”
Maria cast her an anxious glance. “Good.”
Harry signaled the footman to refill his coffee cup. “You’d best take one of my father’s grooms. Then there’ll be no likelihood of you getting lost. They know the estate whereas Manly doesn’t.”
“Manley has a wonderful sense of direction,” Sibella said hastily. “I think I’d hurt his feelings if I didn’t allow him to come.”
Harry picked up his fork and drew on the white tablecloth. “If you follow the path, you’ll come to the river. There’s a bridge about a mile along. Cross it and keep to the east. You should have little difficulty. Then you can retrace your steps. The bucks won’t give you any trouble this time of year.”
“Are you sure, Harry?” Maria asked, her eyes like saucers.
Harry reached across and patted her hand. “Only in spring when they get frisky. I did hope to show you some of the estate, my sweet.”
Maria laid a languid hand on her temple. “I couldn’t manage to ride, but a walk through the gardens would be perfect. They are known to be glorious.”
“Mother’s roses gain first prize at the church fete every year, but this is not the best season to view them,” Harry said. “But I can show you the hot houses.”
“How perfectly lovely.” Maria sent him a melting smile, and Harry grinned back.
Sibella worried that they might succumb to passion in a potting shed. She had certainly thrown opportunity their way. She stood. “I must go and change.”
“I’ll keep you company.” Maria followed her from the room.
Upstairs in their bedchamber, Sibella pulled on a boot. “Do be careful of your behavior with Harry. Caught in flagrante delicto and facing a scandal two weeks before your wedding would scarcely be wise.”
Maria laughed. “You are instructing me on appropriate behavior?”
“I feel entirely responsible. After all, I made you come here.” She angled the black riding hat on her head. “I must see this through. I hope you understand.”
“Yes, of course I do.” Maria sighed. “Please don’t worry about us. Harry is a gentleman. You have enough to deal with. I shall ask the duchess to give me a tour of the gardens.”
Sibella grimaced. “I didn’t intend to be a spoil sport.” She picked up her crop.
Maria kissed her. “Please do take care, Sib.”
“I will.” She forced a smile on her face. “After all, I’m hardly walking into a lion’s den.” She wondered if she indeed might be, as she descended the stairs.
Sibella slipped outside without encountering the duke or the duchess and walked to the stables. Manley waited with a dainty chocolate-colored mare. The grizzled haired groom approached her, his weathered face cheerful. His presence calmed her, for he’d ridden behind her when she was a child. But this time it wasn’t simply a matter of picking her up when she fell off her pony. “This is Clara, milady.” He led the horse to the mounting block.
As Manley adjusted the stirrups, Harry walked into the stable mews. “Thank you, Manley,” Sibella said after he’d assisted her to mount. “Saddle a horse. You shall accompany me.”
“I have one saddled, milady.”
Surprised that he’d taken it upon himself to ride with her, she walked her horse over the quadrangle to Harry. With a worried frown, he shaded his eyes and stared up at the sky. “Keep your eye on the weather, Sibella. Those clouds are marching toward us with the wind behind them.”
“But the sun is shining. It’s a heavenly day. Perhaps the storm will blow away before it arrives.”
“I doubt it. But I can see there’s no point in arguing with one of the Brandreth girls.” Harry grinned. “We’ll expect you at luncheon. Enjoy your ride.”
When Manley led a tall gray horse out of the stables and leapt into the saddle, Sibella gathered up the reins. She walked the horse over the cobbles. “Take good care of my sister while I’m gone,” she called over her shoulder. Harry’s enthusiastic affirmation reached her as she and Manley rode away.
The horses broke into a fast trot. They rode through the park, the air perfumed with pine. Stately statues dotted the grass among magnolia trees. Sibella had questioned Coombe about the proximity of his property to the abbey during their last meeting, and he’d been only too eager to explain. His park wasn’t large, but one corner separated by a stream ran with the southeastern border of the duke’s estate. Although the Lamplugh acres stretched for many miles to the north and west, the border of Arrowtree Manor was only a few miles as the crow flew, Coombe had told her, with a look of pride. She could not avail herself of Harry’s instructions, she would ride east toward the morning sun, and should reach the stream. Once across, she would turn south, which would take her onto Coombe’s land.
When Sibella took a path leading in an easterly direction, Manley rode up beside her. “His lordship said to ride north to the river, my lady.”
So Harry had given the groom instructions. “I desire to visit my fiancé, Lord Coombe, before he departs on a trip and didn’t wish to worry the marquess,” she said to the groom. “I trust you to be discreet.”
Manley nodded. “You know the way, Lady Sibella?”
“I believe I do, but it’s quite a distance, so we must hurry.” Sibella nudged her horse into a canter along a well-used bridle path.
Trees gave way to scrub woodland. Apart from the flutter of wings and the twitter of birdsong, it was quiet among the trees. The horse’s hooves stirred the carpet of rotting leaves, releasing the smell of damp-leaf mold into the chilly air. She raised her eyes to confirm their direction, noting where the rays of morning sun flitted through the trees.
They rode steadily east. Almost an hour passed with no sign of the stream. It was further than she expected and time was passing. She gripped the reins. It appeared unlikely she could be back at the abbey until after luncheon and hoped no one would grow concerned. A branch caught at her sleeve as the bridle path narrowed and meandered down a slope. With a gasp of relief, she heard the rush of water. They pushed through bushes and came to the deep-sided stream burbling over rocks.
The horses splashed across the rocky bottom, climbed the mossy bank on the far side, and emerged into a glade.
“Where to now, Lady Sibella?” Manley’s horse danced about, eager to gallop across the flat ground.
Sibella paused to get her bearings. The wind picked up and gold-edged gray clouds raced across the sky toward them, blocking the sun. A flash of lightning lit up the landscape and the rumble of thunder followed in an alarmingly short time. She tried to remember Coombe’s description of his lands.
“I believe we are now on Arrowtree land. We must take a diagonal path across the glade and travel south,” she called, praying she was right.
They rode over a plowed field bordered by hedgerow trees, the harvesting over. Another half hour passed, and gusts of wind began to tug at her hat. Rain-laden clouds caught up with them and loomed overhead. Lightning flashed again, the thunder deafening. She glanced up in dismay when a raindrop touched her cheek. “We must hurry,” she called to Manley.
Sibella touched her mare with her crop and they galloped across a meadow and jumped a fence, surprising grazing sheep. She scanned the horizon and caught sight of smoke blown about by the wind. “There’s the manor,” she shouted, hoping it was Coombe’s.
She set the mare at a wooden gate and cleared it easily. With Manley close behind her, she rode on through a copse of beech trees. Her thigh muscles aching. She’d not had such a long demanding ride in years.
Moments later, as droplets ran down her neck, they emerged onto the lawns of a small park at the stables of Arrowtree Manor.
Sibella dismounted as a stable hand rushed out to greet them. She nodded to the fellow and handed the reins to Manley. “Wait until I send for you.” She hurried over the gravel drive to the house and circumnavigating it, approached the front door. She brushed the droplets from her damp green velvet habit as a maid answered the door. “Please inform Lord Coombe that Lady Sibella Winborne is here.”
The maid curtsied. “The master isn’t here, my lady.”
“Oh, he’s left already?” Sibella stepped through into the entry hall. “Then I’ll speak to the housekeeper.”
She was shown into the drawing room. Heavy rain beat at the windows and the trees swayed about in a gale. Her stomach roiling with nerves, she couldn’t sit and strolled around, studying the room again. She had not cared for the house the first time and liked it no better now. Mary Jane seemed to haunt every nook and cranny. She rubbed her arms and took herself to task. She was being fanciful. What was the matter with her?
The housekeeper, Mrs. Elphick, appeared. “My goodness, Lady Sibella, you’ve missed Lord Coombe by several hours. Surely he wasn’t expecting you?”
Sibella smiled. “No, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision, Mrs. Elphick. I rode over hoping to catch him.”
“You rode, alone?” The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed, although she fought to hide her disapproval.
“My groom awaits me in the stables. My sister and I are visiting the Duke of Lamplugh. Lady Maria is soon to marry his son, the Marquess of Harrington.”
The mention of the duke worked, and a smile appeared on Mrs. Elphick’s long face. “My goodness, all the way from Lamplugh Abbey. I’m sure you’ll be wanting a cup of tea after your long ride. You’ve avoided the bad weather. But how shall you get home?”
“A bit of rain never hurt anyone, Mrs. Elphick.”
“My good mother never recovered from a soaking. Came down with a chest complaint, and that was the end of her.”
“I am sorry to hear it. But how annoying to have missed Lord Coombe. I wished to discuss with him several pieces of furniture my mother has gifted to me. I’m sure I can find a place for them.”
“Lady Coombe furnished the house most carefully. I doubt there’s a corner that hasn’t been filled.”
“Then some pieces must be replaced.” Sibella walked around the room determined to put her mark on the house if only in her mind.
Mrs. Elphick nodded doubtfully. “Yes, my lady, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to the tea.”
“I’ll shall make a quick inspection before I take my tea. I wish to see the bedchambers. I have an excellent desk I plan to place in my bedchamber for correspondence.”
Mrs. Elphick hovered at the door. “Oh? Yes, of course. I’ll have a footman escort you.”
“Not necessary, thank you. I know my way around after you so kindly showed me over the house the last time I came.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Elphick said again, looking so helpless Sibella had begun to feel sorry for her. “I’ll see to the tea, I’m sure Cook has some of her excellent carrot cake to tempt you. If you’ll excuse me?”
Sibella gathered up her skirts and climbed the stairs. With little effort, she located what must once have been Mary Jane’s chamber, furnished in Chinoiserie silks. A delicate perfume still hung in the air as if she’d just left the room. The chamber was a riot of pattern and color, unlike the formal decoration employed in the rest of the house: embroidered cushions on the silk counterpane, a flowery carpet, and romantic tapestries.
Sibella had noticed some excellent French pieces about the house. Perhaps Mary Jane inherited them from her Huguenot ancestors. There was a dainty cylinder-top bureau with finely inlaid rosewood parquetry against one wall. Sibella hurried over and pulled out each of the three small drawers. All empty. She turned her attention to the rest of the furniture, but the room had been stripped of its former occupant’s belongings. Nothing remained of Mary Jane except those small decorative touches and the hint of her perfume.
Relieved to find the corridor empty, Sibella dashed into the next chamber. Coombe’s. His clothes in the clothes press confirmed it. A handsome boxwood bureau de Pente decorated with floral inlays stood by the window. The fall-front bureau was locked. Sibella rummaged through the drawers of a table by the bed but found no key. She bent down and pulled up the edges of the rug, then searched behind the curtains. Aware that the housekeeper would soon come to find her, she spun around. She bit her lip and examined the ornate brass keyhole; doubtful Coombe would have taken such a big key with him. Just supposing he wished to keep it hidden from the servants? Where might he put it? Her breath shortened as she searched every corner of the room with mounting panic.
Where could it be? She gazed around not prepared to admit she’d failed.
The bed! A feminine choice for a gentleman’s bedchamber, elaborately carved, the header and footer painted cream and decorated with swags, ribbon motifs, and knotted bows. Under the mattress was a logical hiding place. She felt along under the soft mattress—nothing. She uttered a faint curse, a favorite of one of her brothers, and ran her hands over the surface of the mattress hunting for a hard object. Again, nothing. She straightened. That left the dome finials. She seized each one in turn. Three were fixed tight, and she was quickly growing disheartened until the last one moved in her hand. Endowed with panic-filled strength, she twisted the finial, first one way and then the other. Her heart thudding, the painted knob came free in her hand. With a gasp, she peered inside. A space was hollowed out. Nestled within was a brass key.
She clamped her lips on a triumphant cry, rushed to the bureau, and inserted the key in the lock. It turned and the fall-front opened. It was a complex piece of furniture, but luckily, a similar piece lived in her mother’s dressing room at Brandreth Park. She’d played at the desk as a child, and could locate the hidden locked drawers, and now opened each one. Mary Jane’s jewels were wrapped in velvet, as well as some documents, which a cursory glance showed were of no great interest. Deep within the desk, she found a sheath of letters written in a lady’s hand. She held them to her nose, recognizing Mary Jane’s perfume. With no time to read them, she raised her skirt and tucked them into the top of her stocking, securing them beneath her garter. She rustled when she walked, but it couldn’t be helped. She just had time to lock the desk and replace the key, for a solid tread sounded on the stairs.
Sibella hurried from the room. “I see there are several nice pieces here already,” she said, finding the housekeeper hovering in the corridor.
“Lady Coombe had excellent taste. Your tea is ready, my lady. I hope you have had sufficient time to look around at your leisure.”
“How thoughtful, thank you. Now I could do with that cup of tea.”
In the drawing room once again, Sibella sat on the velvet sofa. The maid brought in a tray. She unloaded the tea things, sandwiches, and a slice of carrot cake onto a rosewood pedestal tea table, scrutinized by Mrs. Elphick.
“You have a long, wet ride home.” Mrs. Elphick gave a gloomy shake of her head, no doubt thinking Sibella mad to have ridden all the way there.
“I expect so. Could you arrange for my groom to be given something to eat? These look quite delicious.”
As soon as Mrs. Elphick left the room, Sibella stood and removed the bunch of letters from her stocking. An eye on the door, she opened one. It was signed ‘your loving wife’. Disappointed, she returned the letter to the pile. She poured the tea into the china cup and added milk. Taking a sip, she picked up another letter. She read it in its entirety without a twinge of guilt. Perhaps Mary Jane would approve.
The letter began ordinarily enough but with a pleading tone. What followed was shocking. The neat sentences grew longer and less well formed, degenerating into accusations. Was she merely ill and a little unstable? Sibella opened another and scanned the words. Similar to the first, but with each one, little by little, a story evolved.
His lordship had refused to come to his wife’s bed. He made no secret of the female slave he’d brought to England and deposited in London, whom he visited whenever he wished. Apparently, he failed to hide his lack of desire for Mary Jane, telling her that her illness and the smell of laudanum made her unattractive to him. Each of her letters grew wilder, more enraged, and desperate. The final one dated twentieth May 1815, was addressed to him in the West Indies.
Mary Jane had found the slave he’d hidden in London. She learned from her how he mistreated the women at his plantation, having his way with them and begetting children, when he never came near her. This last letter was so explicit, it turned Sibella’s stomach. Mary Jane threatened to expose Coombe’s behavior to society. England was turning away from slavery, she wrote, and even though he may escape prosecution, he would be condemned.
Oh, poor, poor Mary Jane. Sibella’s eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away as anger churned her stomach. She gathered up the letters and stuffed them back under her garter. If this was not concrete proof that something evil had taken place here, it was certainly enough for Chaloner to see what a horrible man Coombe was and agree to put an end to their engagement.
She pushed away the cake, her appetite quite ruined, and went to ring for the housekeeper.
Mrs. Elphick appeared moments later.
“Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Elphick. I must be on my way.” She straightened her skirts, aware of a crackle from the bulky letters. “When was it that poor Lady Coombe passed?”
“Just after his lordship arrived back from the West Indies on 22 August 1815. Such a sad day I will never forget it.”
“Sad indeed.” Sibella pulled on her gloves. “I’ll walk to the stables.”
“I do hope you have a safe journey home, Lady Sibella,” the housekeeper said in a mournful tone. “But the rain…”
Sibella shook her head. “I’m a good rider. A little bad weather shall not bother me.”
“I look forward to you returning as my mistress.” The housekeeper escorted her into the hall where a footman stood waiting.
“How kind, thank…” The footman opened the door.
Lord Coombe stood on the step.
A groom held an umbrella over his head in the pelting rain. Horrified, Sibella watched the play of emotions travel over his face. Exasperation was quickly replaced by astonishment and then suspicion, which turned his brown eyes to stone.