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

Chapter Nine

D iana dreamt that night of the footbridge across the river. Sir Thomas was standing at the rail, a feverish glint in his eyes, as if he meant to throw himself into the rapidly flowing waters.

“Sir, do not do it!” Diana cried.

She raced to the bridge, but when she got there, he said calmly, “Suicide is a sin, young lady. I would never commit such a desperate act.”

At which point she awakened with a start.

The dream felt so real, it kept Diana awake half the night. Her mind spun with all that she had learned over the past few days. Mrs. Phillips’s assertion resounded in her brain:

He was a strong, determined man with high principles. He was not the type who would take his own life.

Diana had come to Pendowar Hall to prove her godmother wrong. She’d hoped that learning the reason behind Sir Thomas’s tragic act of suicide would at least set the good woman’s mind at rest.

But would a man so set against self-destruction—a man who wished to spend eternity in the churchyard beside a beloved wife and child—have truly killed himself?

Sir Thomas’s body had been discovered at the base of the cliffs. Captain Fallbrook had found a suicide note, which implied it was no accident—but did not absolutely prove that it was suicide. Sir Thomas’s early morning walks were apparently a daily ritual. If someone had wanted Sir Thomas dead, they could have followed him or, knowing his typical route, hidden in the shrubbery by the outcropping, pushed him to his death, and forged a note to cover their tracks.

Who would do such a thing? And why? It occurred to Diana that, perhaps, she should not eliminate the captain as a suspect. He’d had motive and opportunity, after all, and he’d been the one who had ‘found’ the note. But no. No. Although she had only spent one evening in the captain’s company, something told her that he couldn’t possibly be culpable of such a crime.

When dawn broke, Diana rose, dressed, and went downstairs to the great hall, where she stopped and stared up at Sir Thomas’s portrait.

“What happened to you?” she whispered to the empty room. “Please tell me. Help me to help my godmother. And your daughter.”

There came no answer.

Diana sighed in disappointment. She wished she could speak to Captain Fallbrook about this, but she had not seen him for several days.

On her morning walk, she encountered Mr. Nankervis weeding a grove of palm trees. Diana stopped to admire the graceful wave of the fronds in the breeze.

“Ye’re up early, miss,” said he.

“As are you.” She smiled. “Do you know, I never saw a palm tree in person before I came to Pendowar Hall.”

“They be a rare sight in this country, to be sure,” the gardener replied, “but they do well in these parts. Captain Fallbrook sent them back ten years ago from his travels—a gift for the baronet. Small trees they were at the time, but they’ve grown like weeds.”

“What a kind gesture.”

“The captain is kind, miss. And easy to work for. When he took over, he said, ‘I’m no expert when it comes to gardening. Just keep up with what ye’ve been doing, and I’ll thank ye for it.’ ”

Diana was still irritated with Captain Fallbrook for his indifferent attitude towards Miss Fallbrook, but this report spoke well of his character. “I hope Sir Thomas was an equally gracious employer?”

Mr. Nankervis hesitated. “If I’m honest, miss, my old master were a good man, but… he wanted things done his way. If it weren’t done to his satisfaction, he let ye know about it. Got very particular in his last few years.”

Did such an attitude create resentment among his workers and tenants? Diana wondered. “From what I can see, you’ve been doing a marvelous job.”

“Thank ye, miss.”

Another thought occurred to her. “Mr. Nankervis, it has come to my attention that Sir Thomas was not buried in the churchyard. Does he perchance lie here on the grounds?”

“He does, miss.”

“Where might I find his grave?”

“In the white garden.” He pointed. “It be the last walled garden just before ye reach the river.”

“Thank you kindly.”

He tipped his cap.

Diana found the designated spot—a rectangular-shaped garden with a gurgling fountain, narrow pebble paths, and leafy beds enclosed by tall hedgerows. She paused uncertainly at the entrance. Captain Fallbrook, his hands resting upon his cane, stood within, in solemn meditation before a marble headstone that sprouted from a small lawn.

Diana was about to leave when the captain turned.

“Miss Taylor. Good morning.”

“I beg your pardon, Captain. I have no wish to disturb you. I shall go.”

“I was just paying my respects to my uncle, but I am quite at liberty. Join me.”

It was more a command than an invitation. But she did work for him, after all. And she wanted to speak with him.

Crossing to the captain’s side, Diana studied the headstone.

IN MEMORY OF

SIR THOMAS EPHRAIM FALLbrOOK

FOURTH BART. OF PORTWITHYS

BORN 18 FEbrUARY 1790

DIED 10 JUNE 1849

IN HIS FIFTY-NINTH YEAR

A DEVOTED HUSBAND AND FATHER

A LIFE WELL-LIVED

MAY HE REST IN PEACE

“What a fine testimonial,” Diana remarked.

“I hope my uncle would find it so.” The captain seemed to be in a better mood than he had been the last time they had conversed. “This was one of his favorite spots on the estate. After he…” His brow creased. “Since the churchyard was out of the question, I hoped he would find this an acceptable resting place.”

“It is a lovely garden.”

“You should see it in spring and summer. He only allowed plants with white flowers here. It is an impressive sight.”

“I imagine so. Do you come here often?”

“I try. Did the rounds first thing every morning aboard ship.”

“It must be very different for you now.” As the words left Diana’s lips, blood rushed to her cheeks. She could see in his expression how her comment might be misconstrued. “I only meant,” she added quickly, “it must be very different to walk in a garden rather than on the deck of a ship.”

He nodded. “There is nothing quite so bracing as the wind in your face on the deck of a ninety-eight-gun ship of the line. But I also enjoy the dew on the grass and the chorus of birds in the trees.” He tapped his lame leg with his cane. “It has, admittedly, been difficult of late. My doctor insists that exercise is vital to a full recovery, though, so…” He gestured to a nearby wrought-iron bench. “Sit with me for a moment?”

Again, it felt like a command, not a request. But Diana did as bid, taking a seat as Captain Fallbrook maneuvered his lanky frame onto the bench beside her. It was impossible not to be affected by the pain on his features as he stretched out his bad leg in front of him.

“May I ask how you were injured, Captain?”

“Took a bullet in the thigh last spring as we boarded a pirate vessel. It was touch-and-go for a while there. I spent a couple of months in a Royal Navy hospital and nearly lost the leg.”

“How fortunate that you did not.”

“I owe a debt of gratitude to the surgeon who removed the bullet, for not chopping it off then and there—and to the nurses who looked after me when the thing got infected. My first month at home I was still stuck in a wheeled chair. Damn nuisance. Forgive my language. I have spent too many years at sea.”

“I will not faint at a coarse word or two. I have taught several boys. And I have a brother.”

“What does he do?”

“He is a clergyman in London.”

“I like London.” His voice softened and a pensive smile lit his face. “I wish I could visit more often. But I have spent the better part of my life in the Mediterranean.”

“How thrilling it must be to sail from port to port.” Diana grinned in return. “Do you have a favorite?”

“There is something unique and memorable about them all. I enjoyed Athens. And I have fond memories of Naples.” He glanced at her. “You remind me of a lady I once met there. She had your smile.” He went quiet at that, as if absorbed in thought.

His comment brought Mrs. Gwynn’s warning to mind— “a woman in every port.” “What happened to her?”

“I have no idea.”

And there it was. A man this handsome , Diana thought, no doubt broke hearts across the Mediterranean. “I envy you your travels. I should love to see Mt. Vesuvius, the Acropolis, and the Parthenon.”

“Perhaps you shall someday.” The sound of birdsong filled the air. “Does your brother enjoy his work?”

“He does. He is full of energy and devotion, determined to improve the lot of humanity.”

“‘Choose a job you love…’” the captain began, and she finished with him, “‘…and you will never have to work a day in your life.’”

“You have read Confucius.” He sounded astonished.

“He is one of many brilliant philosophers I admire, along with Aristotle and John Locke.”

The captain glanced at her, wide-eyed. “I’ve never met a woman who read philosophy.”

“More women would, if school curriculums included it for girls and universities would open their doors to them.”

“Did you attend school?”

“For a few years. Primarily, my sisters and I educated ourselves.”

“How?”

“In my mother’s library.”

“Your mother ’s library?”

“My father was a traditional landed gentleman, fond of shooting and farming and such. My mother was different. She loved to read, studied a great deal, and encouraged her children from infancy to do the same. She died when I was young, but I insisted that my siblings and I continue the practice on our own.”

Captain Fallbrook shook his head slightly. “You are indeed a most unusual and remarkable woman, Miss Taylor.”

“I am not so remarkable, Captain. But I am fortunate—as Confucius would say—to have work that I love.”

“As am I. ”

Under his scrutiny, Diana’s cheeks grew warm. To her surprise, she was enjoying his company. A connection seemed to be forming between them.

No sooner had she recognized this, however, than her guard went up. She would not, could not, allow herself to be attracted to this man. For one thing, he was her employer. Diana and Captain Fallbrook were not of different stations—Diana was the daughter of a gentleman—but still, it would not do.

For another, the captain had a reputation .

“Handsome is as handsome does, Miss Taylor… A leopard doesn’t change his spots.”

Captain Fallbrook was the last sort of man in whom Diana would be interested— if she were interested in a man. Which she was not. She had been down that road twice, and both times it had ended badly. She would never risk her heart again. Men were rarely what they seemed. They kept secrets.

What secrets were Captain Fallbrook hiding?

Is it a coincidence that Captain Fallbrook came home on leave just a few days before Thomas died?

A tiny voice in the back of Diana’s mind once again prodded, what if Mrs. Phillips’s accusations had merit? When the captain had said he’d never wanted Pendowar Hall, could it have been a cover story? Again, Diana told herself, No. She couldn’t believe that. He seemed to be a good and honorable man.

She was struggling to find a way to direct the conversation back to Sir Thomas, when he said, “So: how goes it with Emma?”

“I have begun a new course of instruction. She is working hard.”

“Good. I wish you luck.”

“Thank you. Captain, may I make another observation about Miss Fallbrook? Something unrelated to her education?”

“You may.”

“She looks up to you.”

“To me? I think not. She hardly knows me.”

“That can be rectified. Miss Fallbrook told me of a gift you once gave her: a little horse carved from wood.”

He puzzled over that. Then the memory seemed to come back to him. “Ah, yes. Picked it up in Sicily, as I recall.”

“She treasures that figurine. She has made a whole collection of animals of clay to keep it company.”

“Has she? Who would have thought?”

“Miss Fallbrook has never known a mother’s love. Now, her father is gone as well. You are the only adult in her life. I suspect that she craves your affection and approval, Captain. If you could find a way to pay her more attention, I know it would mean a great deal to her.”

“More attention, eh?” He studied his hands, seemingly uncomfortable. “Duly noted.”

“There is something else that worries me. It concerns the manner of her father’s death.” She explained the problem: that Miss Fallbrook felt abandoned, believed her father had killed himself out of grief over his wife and son, and if that were true, what did it say about his feelings for her?

“You mean how could he leave his only daughter, so cruelly and definitively, in the care of no one but a disabled cousin?”

“I did not mean…”

“Facts are facts, Miss Taylor.” His tone was bitter.

“You are not disabled, Captain. You can walk. And you said yourself, your wound is on the mend.”

“So, it seems. But as for the rest…” He frowned. “Uncle Thomas did kill himself and leave Emma in the lurch.”

Diana looked him squarely in the eyes. “Did he?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Is it certain that your uncle committed suicide? Or is it possible that his death might be attributed to another cause?”

His blue eyes flashed. The good will that had been building between them vanished in an instant, as if the air had been let out of a balloon. “What are you saying? Do you wonder if my uncle killed himself for a different reason? Or are you implying he was pushed off that cliff?”

Diana hesitated. “Either, I suppose. But—”

“The answer to the first question is: I don’t know. As for the second: unequivocally , no . My uncle left a suicide note on his desk.”

“What did the note say?”

“It was short and to the point: I cannot go on. And he signed his name.”

“That is short, indeed. Might the note have been forged?”

“I know my uncle’s hand as well as I do my own,” he snapped.

“And yet isn’t it possible that someone familiarized themselves with his handwriting, inscribed those four words, and found a way to drop the note on his desk?”

He stared at her. “A wild speculation, Miss Taylor. What on Earth propels your interest in such a morbid subject?”

Diana realized that she had angered him and was sorry for it, but having brought up the subject, felt compelled to go on—and, despite Mrs. Phillips’s warning, to tell him the truth.

“It was… your aunt.”

“My aunt?”

“Mrs. Phillips, my godmother. She asked me to come to Pendowar Hall not only to teach Miss Fallbrook, but also because… the circumstances of her brother’s death did not sit well with her. She asked me to look into it.”

His jaw dropped. “Aunt Eliza sent you to spy on me?”

“I wouldn’t call it spying ,” Diana returned quickly, and less than truthfully, “but—”

“What else would you call it?” He huffed out a sharp breath. “This is unconscionable. I ought to terminate your employment here and now, Miss Taylor.”

“I hope you won’t, Captain. I think highly of Miss Fallbrook and want to help her if I can.”

“Do you?”

“Yes! And with regard to the other matter… I think your aunt may have a point.”

One dark eyebrow arched imperiously. “You think my uncle might have been murdered?”

“I think it’s possible.”

Silence fell. He still looked incredulous. Finally, he said, “Enlighten me.”

Diana shared what Mrs. Gwynn had told her about Sir Thomas’s plans to build a play area as a memorial to his wife and son, as well as Mr. Emity’s and Mr. Wainwright’s assertions about Sir Thomas’s aversion to suicide, and his wish to be buried in the churchyard.

The captain frowned. “My uncle never mentioned a play area. As to the rest… I knew about the latter, but not the former.” Irritably, he added, “But that proves nothing. People behave in odd and unexpected ways when they’re depressed. I once had an officer under my command, a good man with a wife and three children in Bristol, who professed similar beliefs about suicide. And yet one morning at sea, he threw himself off the bridge. I shall always wonder why.”

“I am sorry for him and for his widow and children.”

“So am I.” He glanced away. “In June, when I came home, I sensed my uncle was upset about something. I was in such a dark mood myself, we did not speak much. One night, though, he brought up Aunt Sylvia’s and Robert’s deaths in such a way, that…” His features tightened with remorse. “I did not understand the depths of his dejection until it was too late. I should have guessed, however. I saw him writing in his journal more often than usual.”

“Your uncle kept a journal?”

“A whole series of them, dating back to the days when I visited Pendowar Hall on holiday as a boy and whenever I came home on leave from sea. ”

“Have you read his journals?”

“Never.”

Diana sat up straighter. “The most recent one might give insight into his state of mind at the time of his death.”

“I am aware,” he shot back. “But I don’t know where he kept them. Neither does Emity. I suppose Uncle Thomas didn’t want his private thoughts to be read by anyone but himself.”

“The journals must be somewhere in the house.”

“I have made a thorough investigation of the most likely places he would have stored them—his bedroom, the blue parlor, his study—but found nothing.”

“Perhaps I could help,” Diana offered.

“Thank you but no, Miss Taylor. This is not your business.”

“Two sets of eyes are often better than one.”

“Keep your eyes on the job for which you were hired: to look after my cousin. And forget this ridiculous notion about my uncle.”

“But, Captain. If Sir Thomas wasn’t depressed… if he was worried about something or someone … if he feared he was in any kind of danger… his morning walking route was apparently well known, and—”

“Miss Taylor,” he said, interrupting, “I’ve never met my aunt Eliza, but she has clearly let her imagination run away with her—and so have you. She sent you on a fool’s errand.” Checking his pocket watch, Captain Fallbrook labored to his feet. “I must take my leave. I have a meeting with my steward, and you have a pupil to teach. Pray direct your attention to that and stay out of matters that do not concern you. Good day.”