Chapter Eighteen #2
Tingles raced along Jack’s nerve endings. “‘A murder’? Did he have any idea who the victim was?”
“A woman,” he said. “Saw it happen, but Stanton paid him off and sent him away. I was hired to identify the lady whose body had been buried there. At time, she remains unknown.”
“Mr. Everton, I wish to hire you to keep me informed about anything you discover concerning the body. But also, I would like you to find someone for me.”
Everton’s eyes widened. “And who would that be, my lord?”
“Mr. Roland Stanton. He is in hiding, so it won’t be easy.
You could look for him at the Sedgewick estate, where he has established himself as the heir to the earldom.
I doubt he’ll be there now, however. If you find him, do nothing to alert him to his being followed.
Just advise me of his whereabouts as soon as possible. ”
Jack suspected Roland would be difficult to find, even for the likes of an accomplished Bow Street Runner.
He stood, pulled out his wallet, and handed Everton all the money he had.
“Take this on account. I shall be in Kent myself shortly and should like to arrange to meet you in London on my return.”
“Very good, my lord. I shall work my fingers to the bone to find Stanton. He won’t escape me.”
Jack went in search of a hackney. As he walked along the pavement to a hackney stand, he went over what he had learned from Everton.
If it were true that Roland Stanton was not the legal heir, it would indeed make sense of Roland’s strange behavior.
He would need to marry Prudence to ensure the properties and investments she’d inherited, at least, would become his, should his father’s guilt be uncovered, and he lost his right to the earldom.
As for the murder on Stanton’s property, had Jack’s mother found out the truth about the baby?
His father had told him she’d been a caring soul, who’d helped the poor folk in the area.
If Mrs. Stanton and the former Viscountess Hereford had been close friends, it was conceivable that she had gone at Mrs. Stanton’s bequest to support her through a difficult time, after Stanton’s mistress had usurped her position in the house.
Horrific as the possibility was, it made sense.
The Stanton residence was one of the first places they’d looked for Jack’s mother.
Only to be told they hadn’t seen her. But could she have gone to see Mrs. Stanton to offer her support, after she’d left Briggs that day?
And could she have come across Stanton on the grounds and confronted him?
He knew Mrs. Stanton had died soon after. Had she been murdered, too?
The thought of what might come to light—that it could be his mother’s body lying in the cold ground for all those years while his father had mourned—made Jack ill.
Before he could do anything else, he had to go down to Kent.
He needed to see the body. Could there still be something remaining in that grave that could identify her as his mother?
A pain settled in the back of his throat at the knowledge that he hadn’t loved her all these years, when it appeared it hadn’t been her wish to leave him.
While his first wish was to send Prudence a letter about the discovery of their astonishing connection from the past, he decided to wait until he had something concrete to tell her.
No sense giving her hope when it was pure conjecture at this point.
Far better to find Stanton and deal with him first. This was unsettling enough for her as it was.
*
Jack drove the curricle out of the avenue of trees.
Ahead, on a slight rise, stood the graceful Georgian building of warm stone, ivy encroaching on the wall of the eastern wing.
He pulled the horses up for a moment to reflect on the past before he faced the painful mission ahead of him.
Glenhaven Park looked much the same as it had when he had left it.
The gardens required attention, and the window frames needed to be painted, but nothing in the house seemed to have changed since his father had died.
The housekeeper and her husband, along with the skeleton staff, could only do so much.
Jack’s ideas for improving the lands had never been implemented.
His position with the government demanded so much of his time.
And, if he were honest, he wished to avoid the disturbing mystery that clung to those walls and permeated the corridors and rooms where his father had sadly lived out his final days.
Jack had been too young to remember his mother, beyond a sweetly scented woman holding him in her arms, and nothing of the day she disappeared. But Briggs, her groom, still worked for the family. And it was he Jack wished to see.
He slapped the reins with resolve and drove into the stable courtyard, where he handed the reins to Joseph before jumping down.
One of the newer young grooms hurried out to them. “Milord?”
“Where might Briggs be found, Jed?”
“He’s exercising the horses, milord. Should be back any moment.”
Jack stepped into the stables’ gloomy interior and was immediately struck with a wave of nostalgia at the familiar, warm, earthy, and slightly sweet smell of hay, with pungent undertones of linseed oil, leather, and horse.
He was assailed with memories of his life as a young boy here.
Not all were sad: riding his favorite horse, accompanying the gamekeeper into the woods to bag a brace of quail for dinner, which was the one thing he did that made his father smile.
At the clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobbles, Jack stepped out to meet Briggs, who was mounted on a gelding while leading two other horses.
Briggs’s face broke into a smile. “Good day to you, milord.” He bowed in the saddle and removed his hat to reveal his brown hair, which had turned almost completely gray. A lean, agile fellow even now, he dismounted effortlessly and handed the reins to Jed. “May I be of assistance?”
“Walk with me a moment, Briggs.”
Briggs rubbed his forehead, clearly baffled, but he matched Jack’s stride as they crossed the stable-yard to a quiet corner near the coach house.
“I know you were questioned many times about the day my mother disappeared, but I’d like to go over it again in case something vital was missed. Even the smallest thing might be helpful.”
Briggs nodded, a dazed look in his eyes. “Of course, milord.”
“You and Lady Hereford were returning to the house after a ride—this, of course, I know—when your horse’s hoof picked up a stone.” He paused and waited for Briggs to continue.
“That is just as it was, my lord. I’d dismounted to remove it and urged Lady Hereford to ride on without me, as a storm threatened. That done, I rode on, expecting to join her, but when I reached the house, I found she had not arrived.”
“Think back, for a moment, Briggs. While you attended to the horse’s shoe as my mother rode off, could you have seen or perhaps sensed anything unusual?”
Briggs paused. “One thing that struck me as odd at the time. I saw her take the left fork in the path, which leads away from the house.” He removed his hat and scratched his head.
“But I did tell your father that, and inquiries were made at all the surrounding properties. Lady Hereford hadn’t gone to the church and wasn’t seen in the village.
” He shrugged, his eyes reflecting his curiosity at such questioning. “That is all I can tell you.”
Grateful, Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “It is helpful. Thank you, Briggs.”
He walked along the drive toward the house.
The left path his mother had taken led through the woods to the east boundary, and about five miles beyond it lay the Stanton estate.
Would his mother have ridden that far to see her friend, Mrs. Stanton, with a storm threatening?
Could something have happened to her there, which had been subsequently covered up?
Although his gut tightened with impatience, it was too late for a social call.
He would visit the Ridgeways tomorrow and ask to see the bones.
That evening, Jack sat by the fire nursing a brandy.
He knew he wouldn’t sleep. After supper, he left the house with his father’s old spaniel, Honey, at his side, still eager for a hunt.
They ventured out under the full moon, the air cold and still.
While Honey searched for a creature disturbing the bushes, Jack strolled on, deep in thought.
Should tomorrow bring closure to the nagging mystery of his mother’s disappearance, it would also bring some level of peace for Jack, which sadly, had been denied his father.
The next day, Jack rode out after luncheon, having decided it was best to call at a reasonable hour. He needed Mr. Ridgeway in an amenable mood to receive him to grant his odd request.
Jack followed the route his mother would have taken to the boundary of their property.
He rode through the break in the hedge and out onto the road that led to the village.
Over on the opposite side of the road, the paddocks were enclosed with hedgerows.
Would she have shortened her journey with the storm brewing by jumping her horse over the hedges?
He had been told that his mother had been an accomplished horsewoman.
Several miles on, Jack entered the gates of Ridgeways’ estate.
The property had been well kept and was in the process of renovation.
Beyond the trees of the park, Jack spied the half-built summer house near an ornamental lake.
This must have been where they’d found the remains.
His heart began to thump. Could this possibly be his mother?
Or was he clutching at straws? And yet somehow he knew as he rode up to the house, which had been built around the time of George I.
Jack dismounted as a groom stood ready to take the reins from him.
Having no doubt, heard him ride in, Mr. Ridgeway greeted him from the doorway. “Good day, Lord Hereford. Your note stated you wish to know more about the remains found by the lake.”
“I would like to see them, sir. If you’ll permit? Are they still here?”
Ridgeway stepped down off the porch. “The magistrate has viewed them, but further inquiries must be made as to who it might be before they can be moved. May I ask why you express some interest in them, my lord?”
“After I have seen them, I will explain what brought me here with what must strike you as a strange request.”
Ridgeway nodded. He gestured to the path leading through the formal gardens. “Come this way. It’s more direct.”
“Has the parish constable’s investigation turned up anything, Mr. Ridgeway?”
“No. Difficult with them being so old, my lord. A lot happened during the eighteenth century.” He gestured. “It’s here at the northern end of the lake.”
Jack followed him. At the fear of what lay ahead, his chest grew so tight, he had to fight for breath.
He approached the excavation and stared down into the hole.
Something sparkled half-hidden beneath the soil.
He bent down and use his riding crop to sweep the soil aside.
If the wisps of hair the color of his own were not enough, the ring he exposed, lying near her hand certainly was.
Jack fell to his knees. With a moan, he squatted down and picked up the small, gold band studded with diamonds, which he recognized as part of the Hereford family jewels.
He straightened holding it in his palm. “This is my mother’s wedding ring,” he said, aware of a strange roaring in his ears. “It is part of the Hereford family jewels.”
Ridgeway gasped. “Your mother lies there? How extraordinary. Then you must take it.” He put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, my lord. Are you all right?”
With several deep breaths, Jack brushed the dirt from his knees and tucked the ring into his waistcoat coat pocket. “Yes, thank you. I believe I shall be now.”
“Will you come to the house for some brandy? You have a story to tell I should very much like to hear.”
Jack nodded. “I could do with one, thank you.”
As they sat in Ridgeway’s parlor and nursed glasses of brandy, Jack struggled with the knowledge that Stanton had killed his mother. But why? It led him back to Roland Stanton and the reason for his actions. “Would you know if there’s a physician in the village who would be a fair age now?”
Ridgeway nodded. “That would be Doctor Grace. He lives at Abbot Grove.” He raised his eyebrows. “I look forward to hearing what you learn from him. I hope it makes sense of all this.”
Jack mounted his horse and rode to Abbot Grove. The physician lived in a small cottage with a picket fence. Jack dismounted, looped the reins over a post, and entered through the gate. A gray-haired gentleman knelt over a garden bed with a trowel in his hand.
“Good to see you, my lord,” he said when Jack had introduced himself. “You were a babe when I saw you last.” He removed his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “Brings back sad memories, I’m afraid. Would you care for tea? Martha has made one of her delicious seed cakes.”
“I would, sir, thank you.”
Over tea and cake, Jack explained what he had found.
“Dear lord.” The doctor gripped the arms of his chair. “What evil is this? I am so sorry, my lord.”
Jack nodded his thanks. He couldn’t find the words to express his grief, so he changed the subject. “What was Mr. Stanton like?”
“I had very few dealings with him. A hard man. He wanted a son, but his wife had not conceived in many years, and I deemed it hopeless. After that, I lost touch with them, although there was gossip in the village. Something about her dying in childbirth and the child surviving. After my thorough examination, I considered it impossible and told Stanton so.” He shrugged. “I was not called upon again.”
As Jack left the cottage, his thoughts turned to Prudence.
Their lives had converged in the most surprising way.
It seemed as if fate had brought them together.
He’d felt something similar when he’d first met her.
She’d suffered the same brutality from the Stantons that his mother had and had come close to losing her life.
Determined to protect her, he dwelt for a moment on her compassion, her need for him, and took solace from it.
She understood and had helped ease that part of him that he’d thought would never heal.
His heartfelt wish was to be with her, every day for the rest of their lives.
Only then would the world right itself and the future look bright.