The Mysteries of Pendowar Hall (The Audacious Sisterhood of Smoke & Fire #1)

Chapter One

Cornwall, England

October 1849

D iana Taylor loved the rain. A long ramble across the moors during a gentle shower was one of her favorite pursuits. She was far from home, however, and this was hardly a drizzle. The relentless downpour had been pounding against the roof of the carriage for hours.

Wrapping her woolen cloak more tightly around her, Diana glanced out the rain-splattered window. She had been traveling for four numbing days, accomplishing the first part of the journey by train. But the new railway system in England, although a marvel of speed and technology, was still in development, requiring so many changes at so many stations and involving so many delays that Diana questioned its efficacy—and it did not yet extend as far south as Cornwall. She had been obliged to complete the last leg of her journey by stagecoach and had been met this afternoon at the Crown Inn at Truro by this elegant vehicle. If all went well, they should arrive at Pendowar Hall before dark.

To Diana’s mind, she couldn’t arrive soon enough. She longed for a good, hot meal by a warm fire and to stretch out in a clean bed.

All at once, a flash of lightning erupted from the heavens, followed by an ear-splitting clap of thunder. Diana gasped as the bolt struck an ancient oak at the roadside, scattering sparks into the air. With a mighty roar, the uppermost section of the leafy giant crashed down across the road before them. The horses whinnied in terror and the carriage lurched to a halt.

Diana’s heart leapt into her throat. Now what?

The coachman descended from the vehicle and approached, his cloak sodden and moisture dripping from his cap. Diana let down the window and blinked back the rain.

“Well, miss, this be a fine kettle of fish. That tree has blocked the road entire.”

“We must find another route, then,” Diana advised.

“There be no other route, miss.”

“Surely, there must be a byway or cart track somewhere?”

“A few, but they’re a ways back and I don’t dare try ’em, not in this weather. We’d be sunk in mud for sure. Pendowar Hall still be six miles off and there’s not much to speak of between here and there. We’d best return to Truro.”

“Return to Truro?” It meant backtracking seven miles in the wrong direction and spending the night or even longer at the dreadful Crown Inn. “Oh, surely not.”

“Sorry, miss. There’s nothing for it. With any luck, the road’ll be cleared tomorrow, and you can try again.”

Diana was deeply disappointed. “Well, then—” Before she could complete the thought, the drumbeat of the rain was pierced by the tramp, tramp, tramp of approaching hooves. Diana peered out the window at the road behind them. A man thundered up on horseback. His boots and well-made dark cloak pronounced him to be a gentleman. Reining in the animal, he took in the fallen treetop.

“When did this happen?” His voice was cultured, deep, and gruff.

“Only a moment since, sir.” The coachman, seeming to recognize the gentleman, crossed to him and touched his cap.

The rider glanced briefly at the carriage from beneath the low, wide brim of his hat. Through the pouring rain, Diana caught a glimpse of stern features on a clean-shaven face. She guessed him to be in his early thirties. Turning, he exchanged a few words with the driver which Diana could not hear, finishing with:

“If we use the carriage horses, I believe we can clear away that tree. I’ve done it before.”

Nodding, the coachman retrieved a length of rope and set off to begin unhitching the horses.

Through the open window, Diana called out, “Sir, I should be glad to help.”

“Stay in the carriage,” the newcomer commanded bluntly. “This is man’s work.”

Man’s work ? Diana bristled. What exactly did that mean? A proper Englishwoman would not think of participating in an activity so filthy as road-clearing, but these were hardly normal circumstances.

The horseman dismounted, an effort which appeared to cause him pain. When he touched the ground, he grimaced and retrieved a cane affixed to his saddle. Diana’s annoyance vanished, replaced by sympathy. This man was either injured or lame. She could hardly sit idle in the safety of the carriage while he rescued her from the road.

Donning her hood, Diana opened the carriage door, stepped down from the vehicle and, braving the elements, hurried towards him down the muddy lane. “Sir!”

The gentleman’s horse, no doubt startled by her outcry and rapid approach from behind, danced skittishly and knocked into its rider, causing him to fall to his knees in the muddy road.

Diana, aghast, rushed to him and crouched at his side. “Sir! Are you all right?”

The man’s hat remained on his head, its brim preventing her from seeing any of his features but a deep scowl. “I told you to stay in the carriage!”

“I’m sorry. May I assist you to a stand?”

“Get away!” he growled.

Ignoring this directive, Diana took his arm and provided what support she could as the man maneuvered to his feet. He was drenched and muddy now, and it was all her fault.

“I’m so sorry,” Diana said again, handing him his cane. “May I help—”

“You have been quite enough help, ” he barked irritably. “Get back in the coach! This is no weather for a lady.” Retrieving his horse’s reins, he limped to the vehicle and thrust out a hand to assist her to board, his demeanor brooking no refusal.

Diana, beset by conflicting emotions—embarrassment and regret for causing the man’s fall, sympathy for the pain from which he suffered, and resentment at his authoritative and condescending manner—grudgingly re-entered the conveyance. She closed the door and window and sat shivering in silence, upset with herself and the entire circumstance.

The rain beat down. The stranger tethered his horse to a tree. The man’s debility, although it appeared to give him great discomfort, did not prevent him from organizing and fully participating in the efficient removal of the fallen tree.

When the exercise was completed and the carriage horses returned to their former positions, the horseman took off down the road.

Diana watched him go, annoyed by his attitude, while at the same time, grateful for his help. He could have easily gone around the obstruction via the woods. Yet he had voluntarily undertaken a difficult task under miserable conditions.

The coachman, who more and more resembled a drowned rat, knocked on Diana’s window and she lowered the glass again. “Are ye all right then, miss?” he inquired. “We be free to move on now.”

“Yes, thank you. We are fortunate that gentleman came this way.”

“We are, miss. It just so happens he had business in Truro and was on his way home. ”

“Home?” Diana recalled the driver saying there wasn’t much between here and Pendowar Hall. “Is he a neighbor of the Fallbrooks, then?”

“Why no, miss. That were Captain William Fallbrook himself, the new heir and master of Pendowar Hall.”

Captain William Fallbrook? Diana’s cheeks burned. What a strange and mortifying way to meet her new employer.

And, if Mrs. Phillips was to be believed… her chief suspect.

As the carriage rattled on, Diana brooded. A Royal Navy captain was no doubt accustomed to giving orders and having them instantly obeyed. No wonder he’d been angry when she’d ignored his directive to remain in the carriage. She was responsible for the man’s tumble in the road, for she had startled his horse. She felt terrible about that.

Still, Captain Fallbrook might have been more civil to her. He must have known who she was. She was traveling in his coach, after all, and her arrival was expected. Yet he had rejected her offers of assistance, hadn’t bothered to introduce himself, and had left without a parting glance.

This lack of acknowledgment stung a bit—but she supposed it was to be expected. The last letter she had received from Captain Fallbrook had been terse and to the point, merely thanking her for her interest in the position and inquiring as to her anticipated date and time of arrival at Truro.

Folding her gloved hands in her lap, Diana sank back against the fine leather seat and reflected on the purpose of her journey, which had all begun two months ago with a visit to her godmother…

*

“My deepest condolences, my dear Mrs. Phillips,” Diana said from her seat by the fire in her godmother’s parlor. “I only met your brother once, but he was kind to me.”

Diana had been six years old and visiting Rose Cottage in Yorkshire with her family when Sir Thomas Fallbrook, on a trip north, had called on his sister at the same time. He had frightened Diana at first with his gruff and imperious manner, only to delight her and her three siblings by giving them each a sweet, warm from his coat pocket.

“He was a good man.” Mrs. Phillips sat across from Diana in a comfortable chair, a formidable black widow’s cap blooming around her greying curls. “Although it has been many years since I saw him last, I always look— looked forward to his letters.” She choked back a sob.

Eliza Phillips had been Diana’s mother’s best friend, and Diana loved her as dearly as if she were a blood relation. She had been a source of comfort and advice for the better part of Diana’s life, and it hurt to see her suffer. “Sir Thomas’s passing is a terrible loss.”

“Indeed, it is.” Mrs. Phillips dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, her brow wrinkling. “And I must tell you, Diana: something about it does not sit right with me.”

“Oh?”

“It is these letters I received from Thomas’s lawyer, a Mr. Latimer.” Mrs. Phillips put on her spectacles and retrieved two missives from the drawer in a nearby end table. “He says the parish constable ruled Thomas’s death a suicide.”

“So you said.” Diana nodded in sympathy. “That must pain you greatly.”

“It pains me because it is utter nonsense!”

“Why do you say so?”

“Because I knew my brother. We grew up together at Pendowar Hall. I may have left ages ago to marry, but Thomas and I have corresponded regularly all these years. He was a strong, determined man with high principles. He was not the type who would take his own life.”

“How can you be certain? You said he had difficulty getting over the loss of his second wife and son.”

“Yes. But they died three years ago.”

“Grief has no timetable, Mrs. Phillips.” Diana knew that only too well. A stab of sorrow, shame, and guilt pierced Diana’s chest as the memory came crashing back, still as sharp and awful as it had been more than twenty years ago when her beloved mother had been taken from her. Diana could never forgive herself for what had happened that day.

“Thomas missed Sylvia and little Robert terribly, but he was in no hurry to join them. And he has a daughter still living who needs him.”

“Even so, he may have had some reason to end his life. Perhaps he was ill? And in pain?”

“He never breathed a word about illness to me. Indeed, up until a week before he died, my brother was traveling on the Continent and in robust health.”

“Might it have been an accident?” Diana suggested.

“Impossible. Thomas and I used to walk that cliff path every morning, rain or shine. We knew every twist and turn so well, we could have walked it blindfolded. There is no way on God’s green Earth that Thomas took a misstep and fell to his death.” Leaning forward and struggling to take a breath, Mrs. Phillips continued. “This was no accident, Diana. And Thomas would have never deliberately killed himself. He was pushed off that cliff, pure and simple!”

Diana stared at her. “Pushed off? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying: I think my brother was murdered.”

Diana pressed her lips together. Her godmother had always been an excitable woman with an active imagination, prone to fears and fanciful thoughts. But she was in mourning, and Diana wished to be respectful. “Who would have wanted to kill your brother?”

“That is what I need you to find out.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Mrs. Phillips turned her full gaze on Diana. “I need you to go to Cornwall and find out what really happened to Thomas.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, but I am. Thomas had money, a great deal of it. Now my nephew, Captain William Fallbrook, has inherited the entire estate—an ancient and valuable property—as well as the title of Baronet of Portwithys. Thomas took that boy in when his parents—our brother, Edmund, and his wife—passed away, sent him straight off to the Royal Navy, and made a man of him. I’ve never met my nephew. He’s been at sea most of his life. But is it a coincidence that he, who spent many holidays as a boy and all his leave from the Navy at Pendowar Hall, and must have understood its value, came home just a few days before Thomas died? Hmm?”

Diana groped for words. “You think Captain Fallbrook killed your brother—his own uncle—to inherit?”

“It’s possible, isn’t it? I suppose someone else may have done him in. Not everyone liked or understood Thomas as well I did. I will not rest until I learn the truth. But I’m too old to travel. And you are such a clever woman, Diana.”

“My dear Mrs. Phillips,” Diana began, but her godmother interjected:

“I will never forget that dreadful week when Hortense disappeared. Everyone said my cat had left for good, and I should forget her. Except you. You couldn’t have been more than eight years old, but you enlisted your little sisters’ aid and made it your business to find her. If not for you, my poor Hortense would have died in that abandoned woodshed.”

“Perhaps, but we were just children. I—”

“You and your sisters solved so many little mysteries like that over the years, whenever you came to visit. When I lost the key to the cellar? That time you found my emerald ring? You three are a wonder, my dear, at finding things—and I suspect, at finding things out .”

Mrs. Phillips’s remarks brought a smile to Diana’s lips .

Her mother’s favorite saying was Where there is smoke, there’s fire. “If you hear a rumor or see signs that something is amiss,” her mother used to warn Diana and her sisters when they had been small, “it is probably true.”

Their dear mother was long gone from this world, but her maxim had stayed with them. As little girls, to their father’s annoyance, Diana, Athena, and Selena—who were all a year apart—had questioned everything.

They’d called themselves the “Sisterhood of Smoke and Fire.” They had been named after goddesses, after all, which made them feel special and powerful. Their older brother, Damon, had also been named after a Greek legend. But, a studious and solemn lad, he didn’t share their “predilection for detection,” as he liked to call it, and had no wish to join their society.

Boldly, and unapologetically, the three sisters had investigated even the most innocent-seeming domestic circumstance or situation in the parish, determined to discover what terrible truths might have been lurking in the shadows. More often than not, they had turned up nothing. But once in a while, they had uncovered something unexpected. Such as the time when a neighbor’s brother had gone missing. They had interviewed practically everyone in the village until they’d learned the truth: he had eloped with a dairy maid.

Those had been childish games, however. They were mature ladies now and long past all such nonsense.

“Mrs. Phillips,” Diana said gently, “these circumstances are very different from a missing key or ring, and far more serious. Your brother’s cause of death has already been established. The authorities wouldn’t have deemed it a suicide without a valid reason.”

“Wouldn’t they?”

“Did he leave a note or some evidence of his intentions?”

“I have no idea!” Mrs. Phillips waved the letters in the air with a frustrated hand. “I wrote asking for an explanation, but all I got were excuses and platitudes. ‘No one could have guessed’… ‘Your brother must not have been in his right senses’… ‘It is the opinion of the parish constable’… His opinion, indeed! I tell you something is fishy about this whole business. I want proof of what happened, and a reason!”

Diana didn’t know how to reply. Her godmother’s theories sounded like idle suppositions. And yet this was clearly important to her. “You know I would do anything for you, Mrs. Phillips. But I cannot just show up at Pendowar Hall unannounced and start asking questions.”

“Of course not. But an ideal opportunity has just arisen. My only niece, Emma—Thomas’s daughter, she’s now fifteen years of age—requires a new governess. I have not seen Emma since she was an infant, but I am dreadfully worried about her. Her poor mother died when she was born, you know.”

Diana nodded. She had heard the tragic story many times, how Sir Thomas Fallbrook had lost his first wife in childbirth and later, his second wife and son as well. “It is so sad, what has happened to that family. My heart goes out to Miss Fallbrook.”

“Mine as well. And now her father is gone! Just think of that poor, orphaned girl! Well, in truth, she’s a girl no longer but a young lady. And quite a handful, from what I hear. Thomas once wrote to say that Emma runs wild now and has some kind of learning difficulty. Which is no wonder when you think of all she’s been through.”

Diana’s ears perked up. “What do you mean, a learning difficulty?”

“Thomas never really understood it. He used to say, ‘Emma does not apply herself to her studies.’ He was at his wit’s end with her. Captain Fallbrook is her guardian now—but as a Royal Navy man, he has no experience with such things. He wrote, requesting my advice. He said he prefers to be addressed as ‘Captain’ rather than ‘Sir William,’ despite the title he’s inherited! What do you make of that?” Without pausing for a reply, she frowned and went on. “Well! I don’t trust him! Who knows what the man is up to, or what he did to achieve his position? I can’t leave poor Emma in his charge without someone I trust there to look after her.” Mrs. Phillips leaned forward in her chair. “I can think of no one as qualified as you for this position, Diana. You could do Emma a world of good. And while there, you can look into my brother’s demise. Of course, you would have to be discreet about it.”

“I don’t know—” Diana began, but once again, Mrs. Phillips cut her off.

“I realize that Cornwall is a great distance away. But I know you’ve been restless lately and require a new post.”

It was true. Diana had been born into a well-to-do family, but eleven years ago, when she’d been eighteen years of age, her widowed father had recklessly gambled away his fortune, and Diana and her sisters had been obliged to find work as governesses. Their circumstances had changed again last year when their father had passed away. He had spent the intervening years haunted by guilt, mending his ways, scrimping, and saving, and due to a good return on an investment, he’d been able to leave each of them and their brother a very small inheritance. The tiny income it produced, however, proved to be not enough to live on, even though Damon had retained the family cottage and allowed Diana and her sisters to stay there rent-free.

Well-meaning friends had pointed out that Diana and her sisters ought to find husbands. But, having spent their most eligible years hidden away as governesses, they were reconciled to the idea that they had missed their chances at marriage. Which, from Diana’s point of view, was no loss at all. Before and after her stints as a governess, Diana had suffered too many heartbreaks. She had now fully embraced the spinster state. She and her sisters had been studying German and Latin, with the hope to someday open a school for girls—but that seemed like an unattainable dream. Their home was not big enough to host such an endeavor.

Athena and Selena had already taken positions again as governesses in Yorkshire and Lancashire, respectively. Diana was the last holdout, reluctant to give up this fleeting interval of independence. She had spent the past year struggling to get by, devoting herself to personal study and volunteer work in the community. But the experiment was at an end. She could no longer afford to pay even the modest salary for Martha, their loyal, aging housekeeper. Her brother couldn’t help—on his meager income as a curate in a poor parish in London, he could barely afford his own upkeep.

Diana had planned to place an advertisement in the paper next week, seeking a new post. Besides her state of near poverty, however, there had been another motive behind the quest.

Lately, she had found her days unsatisfying.

Teaching—sharing her excitement of learning and overseeing the daily improvement of her students—had given Diana’s life meaning and purpose. During her years as a governess, she had endured many challenges, but she had been fond of her pupils, and she had enjoyed the work itself. Without it, she felt like a boat without a rudder.

She was anxious to get away. Away from the pitying looks from the postmistress and greengrocer and ladies at church over her failed love affair last year. She longed to see new vistas… and to be useful again. To do some good for others.

“If you’re looking for work,” Mrs. Phillips was saying, “you could find no better place than Pendowar Hall. And you will have one friend nearby in the village of Portwithys.”

“Who?”

“Your brother, Damon, asked for my help some two years past to find an incumbency for a college friend of his. I recommended the man to Thomas, and Mr. Wainwright now serves as a curate in that parish.”

“How kind of you to arrange that. I remember Mr. Wainwright, although we only met once, years ago. ”

“It is always nice to know someone when you move to a far-off place. I’m sure you’ll love Pendowar Hall as much as I did. It is a magnificent estate in one of the most beautiful spots in Cornwall.” Reaching out, Mrs. Phillips took one of Diana’s hands in hers and, pausing to take another breath, added meaningfully, “As for my primary purpose in sending you there… I will need you to act quickly, my dear.”

Sudden foreboding wrapped Diana like a dark veil. “Why is that?”

“It is my heart. My doctor says I may live another five or six months. But likely not much more.”

“Oh! I suspected you might be ill but had no idea it was so grave as that.” Tears welled in Diana’s eyes. “Had you told your brother before he…?”

“No. He had suffered so many losses already. I didn’t want to trouble him with my worries, poor man.”

“Let us hope the doctor is wrong.”

Mrs. Phillips pursed her lips. “I must face reality, my dear. I feel myself fading. Still, I pray, every day, that God will grant me more time.” She fixed Diana with an imploring look. “And I pray for something else as well.”

Diana squeezed the older woman’s hand with affection. “What is that, my dear Mrs. Phillips?”

“Please, Diana. If you love me at all, I beg you to do this for me. Go to Pendowar Hall. Be my eyes and ears. Report to me what you discover. If someone killed my brother—or if he really did take his own life—I need to know the truth before I die.”

*

A horse’s whinny roused Diana from her reverie. She glanced out the carriage window. They had been traveling for what seemed to be an interminable distance. It was growing dark now and the rain, which had eased to a fine mist several miles back, had ceased altogether.

In the end, Diana had given in willingly to her godmother’s request. How could she not? She required employment. And more importantly, it was, for all intents and purposes, Mrs. Phillips’s deathbed wish.

Years ago, on the day her mother had died, Diana had ignored another such wish, and her pain and regret would haunt her for the rest of her life. Perhaps, by doing this deed for her godmother, she could begin to make amends for that mistake. And it was the right thing to do, for Mrs. Phillips’s sake.

Diana believed her godmother’s suspicions to be a figment of her imagination. They appeared to be based on nothing but air. To focus those suspicions on her nephew Captain Fallbrook seemed particularly unlikely. A man who went out of his way to help others by clearing a tree from the road under miserable conditions did not seem the type to commit cold-blooded murder.

If Sir Thomas Fallbrook had died by his own hand, it was heartbreaking. But if Diana could provide some proof of that and set Mrs. Phillips’s mind at ease about the matter before she died, it would be worth the time and effort.

The clock was ticking, however. She only had a few months to accomplish it, or Mrs. Phillips might be gone.

Diana’s pulse quickened as she thought of the challenge ahead, along with her other reason for going to Pendowar Hall: to teach a girl who was apparently in need of help.

“Emma does not apply herself to her studies,” Mrs. Phillips had said. “She runs wild and has some kind of learning difficulty.”

Diana presumed that meant Emma was often distracted or had trouble concentrating. She had dealt with these problems before and had generally met with success.

Worry, however, overtook her. What if this time, she failed? What if, despite all her best efforts, her new pupil proved to be impossible to teach? What if she couldn’t find the evidence Mrs. Phillips was hoping for?

Diana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She would not fail.

She could not.

Her godmother was counting on her.

They were deep in the countryside now and the glow from the carriage lamps made ghostly shadows of the dense thickets of trees on either side. The only sounds were the whoosh of the wind, the squeak of the carriage, and the steady thump-thump-thump of the horses. The road was stony, muddy, and rutted in places, but the vehicle was well made with excellent springs and proved equal to the task. Lulled by the soothing motion of the coach, her mind began to drift, and she fell asleep.

Diana had no idea how much time had passed when she was awakened with a start by the coachman’s “Whoa!” and the jolt of the halting carriage.