Chapter 3 A Sojourn at Springvale Estate #2
Whilst Hayward and I played a game of billiards, it occurred to me that I ought to confide in my friend; he would be apt to know which men in the area may fit the suspect’s criteria.
Thus, I related the known facts of Mrs. Cooper’s murder and the description of the unknown man who used the alias Mr. King and may reside near Salisbury.
Hayward took his shot and sank the red ball in the corner pocket. He straightened and met my gaze. “What a strange turn of events. It must have been a shock to learn that a murder occurred so close to your own house.”
“Yes, without a doubt.”
“I hate to think the killer could be a local resident.”
“The elder Mr. Barton meets the profile, but he is an improbable suspect.”
My friend snapped his fingers. “By Jove, yes. He is the right age, has a cleft in his chin, and his most recent trip to town puts him there at the right time.” He shook his head. “But the very notion is ludicrous. Barton cannot be the murderer.”
“Have you ever known him to wear a white wig?”
“No, never.”
“Can you think of any other local gentlemen who fit the suspect’s profile?”
Hayward’s forehead crimped. “No, there are none that come to mind.”
I replaced the red ball and took my turn, hitting Hayward’s white ball into a side pocket. “How did Mrs. Barton die?”
“She suffered complications from a difficult childbirth, and her infant son perished as well.”
“Oh, that is…terrible.”
“The loss hit Barton very hard, and it took him well over a year to rally again. I recall my parents voicing their concern for him back then.” Hayward cocked his head, twisting the cue in his hands. “In contrast, his first marriage was one of convenience.”
I turned sharply towards him. “Mr. Barton was married before?”
“Yes, my understanding is that his late father had mortgaged the estate, and the first Mrs. Barton brought the needed funds to discharge the loan.”
“What was the first Mrs. Barton like?”
“Well, I never met her, but my mother described her as a rather plain, reserved, and soft-spoken lady. I do not believe she made any close friends in the neighbourhood. Of course, she died less than a year after she married Barton.”
“What happened to her?”
My friend leaned upon the pool table. “She and Barton had been riding on the estate when her horse shied and jumped from a deer leaping across their path. Mrs. Barton fell, hit her head upon a stone, and died later that day.”
“Did anyone find her death to be in any way suspicious?”
“I recall my father saying that the lady’s father came for the funeral and publicly accused Barton of causing the incident, but he had no basis for the allegation.
The coroner had deemed her death an accident.
” Hayward scratched the side of his head.
“And lest you speculate that Barton may have already fallen in love with his future second wife by then, he did not meet her until two years after the first Mrs. Barton’s death. ”
The fact remained, though, that Mr. Barton had married the first Mrs. Barton for her money, and her death freed him so he could make a later love match. Had Mr. Barton acted to influence his first wife’s fate?
Saturday, 14 September
Knight's Manor
Darcy
Hayward and I followed the butler into the dining-parlour, where we exchanged greetings with Mr. Barton and Mr. Noah Barton.
The elder Mr. Barton urged me towards a pretty blonde lady with classic features and a well-proportioned frame. He introduced me to the lady, his daughter, Miss Cassandra Barton. She wore a fashionable gown of fine checked muslin and a pearl necklace.
Miss Barton beamed at me throughout our salutations, sparing Hayward a brief juncture of regard.
Whilst she did not breach propriety, she came close enough to provoke me to stretch my upper body backwards.
I guessed her age to be near twenty. She swept her arm towards a chair.
“Will you sit and have refreshments before you leave?”
I might have been more inclined to stay for a cup of coffee if she tempered her eagerness. “Thank you, but we ate before we left the house.” Her mouth squeezed shut for a moment.
Hayward glanced around the room. “I do not see your cousin. No doubt she is on one of her rambles.”
Miss Barton gave my friend a quick look. “Yes, Lizzy has not yet returned from her walk.” Her azure irises returned to me. “My cousin resides with us, so you are certain to meet her soon.”
I nodded.
She took a basket from the table and held it out to me. “You may not be hungry now, but you could take a muffin or a roll with you for later.”
“Thank you, no.”
Her smile wavered again for a few seconds, and she neglected to extend her offer to Hayward before she set the basket down. “Well, we must have you to dinner one night soon.” She directed her sight to my friend. “I shall send an invitation to Mrs. Hayward.”
“Thank you.” Hayward inclined his head.
My friend and I left the house with Mr. Barton and his son. Several of Mr. Barton’s servants led the way into the woods with a yelping pack of boisterous hounds close at their heels.
Elizabeth
“Lizzy, you have returned at last.” Cassie strode into the breakfast-parlour and slipped into the seat beside me.
“Good morning, Cassie.” I ingested a mouthful of eggs.
“You are tardy today.”
“Yes, I meant to return sooner, but the Hughes children called out to me as I passed their house. They wanted to show me their kitten, an adorable tabby. I ended up staying with them for half an hour.”
She shifted to face me, wearing a broad grin.
“You missed the opportunity to meet Mr. Hayward’s guest, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
He is the handsomest man of my acquaintance, his figure is faultless, and he is one of the most sought-after bachelors in town.
His name has appeared in the Fashionable Intelligence section of the London papers many times.
He owns a magnificent estate in Derbyshire with an estimated income of over ten thousand a year. ”
“That is all quite impressive. What do you know of his character?”
Cassie shrugged. “I have no doubt he is honourable. He is Mr. Hayward’s friend and a guest in his home, so that speaks in his favour.”
“That is true. I do not believe Mr. Hayward would expose his household to a man of poor character.” I bit into my roll.
“Of course he would not.” Cassie twisted a lock of golden hair around her finger. “I believe Mr. Darcy is the man I have been waiting for—my future husband.”
I almost choked on a morsel of bread. “But you cannot know this already. You just met him.”
“Nevertheless, I have a powerful feeling about him, right here.” She raised a hand to her heart. “I do not believe any other man could suit me better.”
“Well, I am eager to meet this paragon.” I infused exaggerated reverence into my statement, but Cassie did not appear to notice the gibe.
“And so you will. I shall invite the Haywards and Mr. Darcy to dine with us.” She leaned back in the chair with a fanciful gleam in her eyes, and her sight drifted upwards.
“I shall take every opportunity to secure Mr. Darcy’s affection.
He will choose me—I shall ensure he does.
” Her lips curved up. “I cannot wait to see Stephen…um…rather Mr. Ware’s expression when he sees us together. ”
Oh, Cassie. My cousin still cared deeply for Mr. Ware, but she refused to admit it. Why else would she be so eager to exhibit a new suitor before him? “I still believe Mr. Ware is your ideal match, and I wish you would forgive him.”
She glared at me. “I have grown weary of you, Papa, and Noah advocating for him.”
“Your happiness is our primary concern.”
“Mr. Ware had his opportunity to be my husband, and he tossed that aside. I loved him very much, but he has ruined any chance for us. I shall never forgive him.”
“Never is a long time.”
“My mind is made up.” Cassie pushed away from the table, creating a discordant clamour as the chair legs scraped the wooden floor. She stood and marched from the room.
Darcy
Although we all returned with a respectable number of grouse and partridges, Mr. Noah Barton caught the most birds and distinguished himself as an exceptional shooter.
Hayward and I begged off Mr. Barton’s offer of a drink at the house as Hayward had the headache.
So, we parted from the Bartons near the stables, and a groom brought out our horses.
My friend and I set off alongside a large paddock where a striking sorrel horse pranced within.
The animal bore the distinctive profile of an Arabian.
Based upon her build, refined and not excessively muscular, she must be a female.
Her markings—a full blaze and four socks—made her an exact likeness of Majesty, my late mother’s mare.
Last spring, Majesty had succumbed to a severe case of colic.
The loss had brought my sister low; the mare had been a favourite mount of Georgiana’s and a beloved living symbol of our mother.
I glanced at Hayward. “Just a moment, I want to take a look at this horse.”
“Ah, that is Lily. She is a fine mare.”
“Indeed, she is.” I directed Regal nearer to the paddock.
The reddish-brown steed, Lily, caught sight of us, and her ears shot up.
With a snort, she cantered away, kicking up her heels, before slowing to a trot and following the perimeter of the enclosure.
“Her gaits are impressive, and her conformation is faultless.”
“Aye, and she is well-trained too.”
As I followed the animal’s movements, an idea sent my blood pulsing: I must buy this mare!
She would be the perfect gift for Georgiana, and there could be no better way to nudge my sister from her state of melancholy.
I turned back towards my friend. “You go on back to the estate. I intend to purchase this mare from Mr. Barton.”
Hayward let out a short laugh. “I am afraid that is not possible. He would never sell Lily. But no doubt he has other fine animals he could show you.”
“No, I am not interested in any other horse.” I dismounted from Regal.
“Well, if you are determined to waste your time, I shall see you back at the house.” With a shake of his head, my friend rode away.
I tied Regal to a post and went to the front door. After a short wait, the butler led me to Mr. Barton’s wood-panelled study and announced me.
“Ah, Mr. Darcy, I am glad you changed your mind.” With a broad smile, Mr. Barton rose from his seat behind the sizeable mahogany desk. “Where is Hayward?”
“He has gone home.”
“Well, no matter.” He indicated a set of chairs near the fireplace. “Have a seat if you will. What would you like to drink?”
“Thank you, I should welcome a brandy.” I sat in one of the chairs.
“Yes, of course.” Mr. Barton poured two glasses of the liquor and passed one to me before taking his seat.
I took a sip and cradled the glass in my palm. “I happened to notice one of your horses in the paddock, the sorrel Arabian with a blaze and four socks.”
“Yes, that is Lily. She is a singular steed.”
“I agree. In fact, I have seldom seen a mare that impressed me so much, both in appearance and in the spirited way she moves. I want to buy Lily from you. You may name your price.”
His mouth tightened. “I am sorry, but she is not for sale. However, I have several other fine Arabian horses that may suit your needs.”
“No, thank you. My interest is solely in Lily.”
He raised his palms. “Well, then I am sorry to disappoint you.”
“Will you accept five hundred pounds for her?”
Mr. Barton’s brows shot up. “You must know she is not worth that much. But it matters not, for I have no intention of selling her.”
I brushed my knuckles over my mouth. I should never find another horse so ideal for Georgiana. I must buy this mare—no matter the cost.
“I shall pay you one thousand pounds for Lily.”
A choking sound escaped Mr. Barton. He leaned forwards. “Is this some sort of jest? That is a ridiculous price for any steed, except perhaps a champion race-horse.”
“My offer is serious. Will you part with her for one thousand pounds?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I cannot refuse this opportunity. I accept your offer.”
I heaved a deep breath. Perhaps Lily would be the key to lifting Georgiana from her depressed state.