Chapter 14
THE INGLEWOOD HOUSEHOLD
James stopped at the door of the Sheep’s Head Tavern. He smiled slightly and found a certain sympathy within himself for the young man sitting at the bar, a mug of coffee before him. He walked up to the stool next to him and pulled it out.
“I’m somehow gratified to see you are not indulging in spirits at this early hour,” he said as he sat down next to Mr. George Inglewood. He motioned to Mr. Hopkins that he’d like a coffee as well.
Mr. Inglewood had forgone his cravat, his shirt open at the neck; however, all other aspects of his attire were pressed and neat.
He turned his head and nodded to James. “Good morning. I’m surprised to see you at this fine establishment so early in the day,” he said, gesturing with his hand to encompass the entire, empty tavern.
“I was looking for you. I had a notion I might find you here,” James said calmly. He nodded his thanks to Mr. Hopkins when that worthy passed him a glass mug of coffee. Steam curled up from the hot brew. He lightly placed his hands around the mug.
“Looking for me? I’m the least person in this village. What could you want with me?” he asked despondently.
James frowned slightly. “Why do you call yourself the least person? You’re the son of the local squire and magistrate.”
He barked a humorless laugh. “I would that I wasn’t.”
“Having had some dealings with your father over Mrs. Jones’ death, I would hazard a guess your discontent stems from him.”
His shoulders slumped. “You have that right.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Ask away.” George stared into his mug.
James kept his expression neutral, his tone flat. “Is your father cruel?”
George’s head jerked up. “Why would you ask that?”
“Your sister’s friends told my wife of seeing bruises on her,” he told him matter-of-factly.
George looked at him. In his eyes, James thought he saw conflicting thoughts racing. Finally, he breathed out as if he’d been holding his breath for a long time.
“That’s true,” he finally said. He shifted on his stool to face James. “He liked to squeeze her arm or her hand until she couldn’t help but whimper in pain.”
“Did you never try to stop him?”
“Once I did to him what he did to her—my hands are strong from pulling ropes on the yacht,” he stated, holding his hands in front of himself and looking at them.
“I squeezed his arm so tightly that he bruised, as my sister did. I told him that was how his behavior felt to Georgia, and it was too much, too vicious. And you know what he did afterward? He thanked me. Thanked me! He did not thank me so he would stop; he thanked me so he could know what level of pain he caused her!”
“Why didn’t you report him to Mortlake, or the magistrate in Folkestone?”
“What could Mortlake do? He might be the highest-ranking aristocrat in the area, but my father is the magistrate. And what would the magistrate in Folkestone do? He’s a virtual pirate!
Smuggling goods from Europe to England!” George said, his voice now agitated.
When he settled down, he continued. “Besides, a man can do anything he wants to his family as punishment short of killing them,” he finished bitterly.
James stared at George for a moment, then picked up his mug and sipped his coffee. “But he did kill your sister,” he stated calmly, softly.
George looked at him silently for a moment, then he started to cry. “Yes,” he whispered.
“Tell me about it,” James encouraged him. “You will feel better for doing so.”
He shook his head. “No, I won’t. I told Mrs. Jones, and look what happened to her. I can’t have a third death on my soul.”
“Third?” James queried.
“My sister, Mrs. Jones, and you,” he ground out.
James shook his head. “He won’t kill me, and you are not responsible for the deaths of your sister and Mrs. Jones.”
“I am!” He buried his face in his hands as he sobbed.
James passed his handkerchief to him and slid some coins onto the bar. “Come. Come with me,” James urged him. He pulled him up and guided him toward the door.
“What are you doing? Where are we going?” George asked.
“To Summerworth Park,” James said. “Hiding in a bar all day is not healthy, even if you only drink coffee. That would change eventually. And returning to your home, where your father can question your activities, is not advised. You look as if you haven’t slept in days.
You need rest. Come with me. We will put it about that you have volunteered to help prepare for the gathering tomorrow after Mrs. Jones’ burial. ”
George came willingly enough, though his steps were slow. As they walked to Summerworth Park, James wondered how he might use what he had learned to have the magistrate arrested.
Not an hour after she sent the note off to Mrs. Hull, Cecilia received a response.
“Thank you, Daniel,” Cecilia absently murmured as she shifted Hugh’s weight to her hip and took the note from Daniel.
She saw that Mrs. Hull had dashed off her response on the backside of the note Cecilia had sent to her.
Dear Lady Branstoke,
By previous arrangement, and now lucky happenstance, Mrs. Hester is coming to the vicarage today at 4:00 p.m. to join me for tea. Please join us. I suggest you arrive sometime shortly after 4:00 for a surprise visit.
The Vicar is at Mortlake House. I’m hoping that is a good thing.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Hull
Cecilia took Hugh to her dressing room and laid him on a blanket on the floor, then rang for Sarah.
Hugh fussed and kicked his feet angrily, his face contorting into discomfort and tears.
Cecilia sat down on the floor and pulled him into her lap.
“Your mouth is hurting. I know, little love. I’ll ask Sarah to fetch a biscuit.
You can gnaw on that until nap time,” she told him, rubbing his back to soothe him.
“Yes, my lady?” Sarah said from the doorway.
“Please get one of Mrs. Rutledge’s biscuits for Hugh. When you return, we will discuss a visit I must make today for which I would like your company and assistance.”
Sarah sat wide-eyed and aghast at all Cecilia told her about what Sir James and she had learned from Miss Inglewood’s diary.
Sarah readily agreed with Cecilia that it was imperative that they speak with Mrs. Hester.
Cecilia and Sarah agreed that getting her to speak to them about what she knew might prove difficult.
Sarah suggested that she coax the woman to talk while Cecilia held Mrs. Hull in conversation.
This would help put the woman at ease. Sarah could tell Mrs. Hester that Cecilia had found and read the diary.
Hopefully, Mrs. Hester would want to know what was in the diary, and she would be the one to first ask a question of Cecilia.
If she initiated the conversation, she would be more inclined to keep asking questions about the journal and, with the right gentle prodding, continue the conversation by offering what she knew or had seen.
At four o’clock, after giving Hugh one last kiss and handing him over to Mary Alice, Cecilia left Summerworth with Sarah as her companion for propriety, and they walked the half mile to the vicarage.
“Lady Branstoke,” Mrs. Hull enthused when she answered the door to her knock. “Come in, come in, please.”
“Is the vicar here?” Cecilia asked loudly as she crossed the threshold.
Mrs. Hull smiled, and replied equally loudly, “No, he be up at the Mortlake House, visiting his daughters.”
“I’m sorry to miss him, but delighted to hear his daughters are talking to him.”
“As am I. But come into the parlor. Mrs. Hester is here for tea, and since you’ve walked here from Summerworth, you should join us. You as well, Sarah,” Mrs. Hull said.
When they walked into the parlor, Mrs. Hester looked like she was preparing to leave. “I—I should go,” she said to Mrs. Hull, “now that Lady Branstoke is here.”
“Not at all,” Cecilia said. “Please, you were here before me and enjoying a comfortable coze with Mrs. Hull. Far be it for me to disturb that.”
“But you are a lady and I—”
“Pshaw. I wasn’t always, you know. For eight years, I was married to a merchant. I am no longer comfortable with society’s class rules. Let me introduce you to Sarah, my lady’s maid, companion, and friend. She has seen me through some wild experiences.”
“That I have,” Sarah agreed. “I could tell you some stories…” Her voice shifted to a shared secrets tone as she sat down next to Mrs. Hester.
“How was the vicar this morning?” Cecilia asked as she accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Hull. She kept one ear tuned to hints of the conversation occurring between Sarah and Mrs. Hester.
“Very well, when I arrived here this morning and practically giddy after breakfast when he received a note requesting he come to Mortlake House for the day.”
In the background, Cecilia heard Sarah commiserating with Mrs. Hester over the loss of Miss Inglewood and now Mrs. Jones.
“Did he tell you how it came about that they are talking?” Cecilia asked Mrs. Hull.
“Something about rearranged seating cards at dinner?”
Cecilia laughed. “Yes. Before dinner, I snuck into the dining room and did some careful seating rearrangement. Lady Mortlake was quite put out with me when she discovered what I’d done.”
“I imagine so. She is an amiable woman, for a countess, but a bit starchy.”
Cecilia reached over and patted her hand. “Comes with the title.”
“I know. So tell me exactly what you did.”