Chapter Fifty-three
The furrow in Westland’s brow deepened as he looked at Norman the Butler, scarcely able to comprehend what he was hearing.
“So, let me get this straight. Lord Southerby arrived, performed some tricks with his hat and horse, drank my whisky, amused my wife with a few stories, and — immediately after rummaging about in my attics — with my wife — whisked her away in one of my own coaches.”
Norman shifted uneasily. “Um, when you word it like that, my lord… yes. Essentially.”
“And all this took him… how long?”
“Little less than two hours, my lord.”
“And, um, forgive me,” said Westland, shaking his head in bewilderment, though his voice remained calm and unemotional, “but do we know what, exactly, they were doing in my attic?”
“No, my lord. Would you like me to fetch Mrs Manning?”
“Good heavens, no. It’s far too late, the dear woman will be abed, and there’s nothing we can do at this late hour. And, Norman, do apologise to Mrs Marsh for our late and unexpected arrival.”
“No need, my lord. Mr Edgecombe advised that we were to expect you. Your rooms are prepared.”
“Did he now?” For the first time in days, a hint of a smile touched Westland’s lips. “Well, Eddie, you can disturb. Let him know I’ve arrived and wish to see him. If anybody knows what the devil is going on, it will be that wily young fox.”
Norman hesitated. “Um, begging your pardon, my lord… but Mr Edgecombe departed with her Ladyship and Lord Southerby… three days ago.”
“What?” Westland’s composure cracked. “Eddie… my Eddie left with them?” he spluttered. “Three days ago!”
“Yes, my lord. Lord Southerby apparently informed him you would be arriving sometime late this evening and…”
Westland’s hand shot up to silence the butler as he turned to Humber, fury igniting his usually guarded features. “Three days! We’ve been played, Sebastian! He planned it — knew we would come here first — he gave himself a head start.”
Sucking in air between his teeth, Humber shrugged his shoulders. “Seems that way, old chap. Here.”
With a deep sigh, Westland hung his head and raked his fingers through his hair, “Is it just me, or is everyone going mad?”
“I think …” starting Humber.
“Rhetorical!” bit Westland, snatching the glass Humber was offering. Shaking his head, he laughed sarcastically, “And why, pray tell, am I so astonished?”
“Rhetorical?” asked Humber, doing his best to hide his smile as his friend shot him a murderous look.
Unfazed, Humber, giving Westland a wide berth, sidled toward Norman. “Don’t suppose we could conjure up a few sandwiches, or a bit of supper,” he asked with a cheeky grin. “He’s always better on a full stomach.”
“Of course, my Lord.”
“Thank you, Norman. And don’t go to any trouble, whatever is in the larder. Cold cuts, cheese and bread… simple fare is fine.”
“Yes, my lord,” replied Norman, then leaned a little closer and whispered, “or a pork pie, baked fresh this morning?”
“Oooh, with Cook’s special chutney?”
“And a helping of Sherry Trifle to follow?”
“Ha! She knew I was coming.”
“Indeed, she did, my lord.”
“I hold firm they are the best pork pies in the Kingdom… I’ll woo her over to Raven Hall eventually.”
“You can keep trying,” said Norman over his shoulder, and with a smile, left the two men in the study.
Wandering back towards the desk Westland was sitting behind, Humber laughed, “What’s that look for?”
“You don’t seem the least surprised to find no one here.”
Humber just rolled his eyes as he flopped into the chair opposite. “Why would I be? We’re trying to catch Valentine, who clearly doesn’t want to be caught yet. So, you can cast that suspicious scowl elsewhere, if you please.”
“Hmph,” grunted Westland, “well, stop trying to steal my cook, then.”
“Never,” laughed Humber, “and you know as well as I, none of your staff would ever defect.”
“Really? Yet Eddie… bloody Eddie of all people, has abandoned me!”
“Oh, stop with the hysteria, will you?” Humber scoffed. “You sound like a little girl still in ribbons whose doll’s been misplaced. It’s so not you, it’s quite off-putting. And… once you’ve done brooding and pouting… and had something to eat, you’ll know as well as I, why Eddie’s gone.”
“Really, enlighten me?” grumbled Westland.
Shaking his head, Humber took a gulp of his drink, then sat forward and stared at his friend. “Seriously? You have to ask?”
Despite himself, Westland sighed grudgingly as his head dropped back to rest on the chair. “Because he’s looking out for me. Being my eyes and ears.”
“There you go,” teased Humber triumphantly, just as Norman returned with a tray. “Oh, good man, just on the desk here will be perfect. Thank you, Norman.”
“Pleasure, my lord. Enjoy.”
Already lifting a substantial slice of pork pie to his mouth, Humber murmured, “Mmm, divine,” as he dropped another thick wedge on a plate and pushed it towards his friend. “Eat.”
Nodding as he pulled the plate towards him, Westland sighed wearily. “What’s going on, Sebastian? Have they been playing me all along? Has this entire marriage been part of some elaborate game? Southerby, Mason, all of them… in cahoots from the beginning?”
Humber, looking up sharply, stopped chewing and quickly swallowed. “Cahoots! What on earth are you talking about?”
Sighing deeply, Westland absently pushed the food around his plate. “I have to wonder — Southerby delivers a letter — the day before Sylvie stumbles across me. The daughter of a man he colludes with. Two of the most notorious gossips… just happen to be there.”
“Jesus!” spluttered Humber. “Now you are starting to sound like a madman!”
“Am I though? Think about it. Southerby meets with Mason… secretly. I’m drawn into Louis’s orbit. I chase my wife halfway across the country… and where are they now? Scotland? Or somewhere else entirely. And let’s not forget, it was Southerby who strongly counselled in favour of the match.”
“Yes… We all did…” said Humber, shaking his head. “You’re making connections that don’t exist.”
“Am I? Really? Sylvie’s only ever met Valentine once to my knowledge, yet she quite happily trots off to Scotland with him… if we can believe that is in fact where they are heading, as what my aunt has to do with this farce, I cannot imagine.”
“Come on, old chap, you heard Norman… horse tricks and stories? He’ll have put Sylvie at ease within minutes. He’s a master when it comes to…”
“Deception? Duplicity?” cut across Westland, his voice cold and unemotional.
“Well, yes, when called for,” said Humber with a wry smile, “but I was going to say, a master when it comes to reading people… and situations. He adjusts his persona to the company. To put them at ease and earn their trust, or in some situations, put the fear of god into them. And…” he said, holding up his hand to still his friend, but Westland ignored him.
“And… charming my wife into absconding with him.”
“Oh my god,” spluttered Humber, half-laughing, half-choking on his drink. “Is that where all this is coming from? No. You don’t seriously think you’ve been cuckolded, do you?”
“Hmph.” Westland sniffed, looking away. “Right now, I don’t know what to believe.”
Still amused, Humber leaned back in his chair and took another bite of his pie as he studied his friend.
Westland shot him a sidelong glance. “I don’t know why you’re looking so smug. He’s playing you as well, using you as an unwitting pawn.”
Humber shrugged easily. “Hm, a pawn, yes. Unwitting? Mmm… not so much.”
Westland lunged across the desk, but Humber lithely sprang from his chair, nimbly evading him. Holding both hands up in defence, he laughed, “Whoa — shoulder, remember? Bit unsporting, old chap, taking advantage of an injured man.”
“Injured! I’ll bloody injure you if you don’t start talking,” growled Westland, still poised on his feet.
“Fair enough, erm… once you sit back down, big man.”
Still glaring, Angus reluctantly lowered himself to the chair. “Well?”
Tentatively retaking his seat, Humber smiled as he brushed some crumbs from his shirt. “Well, the way I see it…”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re in love,” Humber said lightly, “and not thinking straight.”
Inhaling deeply, Angus leaned slightly forward, his voice now ominously calm. “Regarding the part where you’re not an unwitting pawn.”
“Oh, so you don’t deny it? Interesting.”
“Sebastian, do I look like I am in the mood for your teasing?”
“Mm.” Humber tilted his head, considering. “Probably not.”
Staring back, studying his friend, Westland’s eyes suddenly widened. “Ha!” he laughed sardonically. “You’ve got no bloody idea what they are up to or why they are going to Scotland… do you?”
Evoking a raised eyebrow from Westland by delaying his response, Humber sipped his drink slowly before answering. “To say I am an unwitting pawn would imply I was not aware I was being deployed, yet here I am. Happy and willing.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“Am I? As you just did?”
Closing his eyes, Westland rubbed his left temple with two fingers.
When he spoke again, guilt and sadness weighed heavily in his voice.
“How can I love another, when the very thought disturbs me? When it wakes me in the night, sweating with fear, knowing how dangerous it would be if I were to allow such feelings to develop? Knowing I could seriously hurt her… even more than I already have.” His voice cracked.
“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’m not thinking straight.
But she’s still my responsibility, and dashing off blindly on some fool’s errand, doing God knows what, worries me. Greatly.”
Humber’s expression no longer held any amusement, but deep concern. “Oh, Angus,” he said gently, “love isn’t something you can control.”
“No. But my wife’s well-being and safety are.” Westland’s tone was steady now — deadly calm. “So, I’ll ask you once again, as my friend and a man whose word I still trust… why are they travelling up to Scotland to visit my aunt?”
Nodding in resignation, Humber sighed. “Honestly? I don’t know all the details as to why. But, I think it might have something to do with your father.”
The look on Angus’s face instantly darkened. “My father?”
“Look, old chap, I understand why you don’t want to talk about it, and I respect that. We all do. Yet, you know there has always been a measure of doubt about the events of that day. Questions about your aunt’s story. However difficult, surely some part of you must want to know the truth.”
“There is no doubt,” Westland murmured back. “I know what happened.”
“You remember what you were told… as a child of only five years. But what if…”
“No, Sebastian,” his voice now hauntingly distant, his face pale, expressionless.
“I remember what I saw, what I heard. Father shouting. Mother’s twisted, tangled body on the floor.
Her eyes…” his hand trembled around his glass.
“Her beautiful, big eyes, lifeless. The pistol, so loud. So much blood. Blood everywhere… and my father’s head… ”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Humber stared, stricken, and it was several moments before he could command his voice. “Angus… you never told me.”
Blinking slowly, as if surfacing from a long way down, he refocused on the man whose voice had brought him.
He gave a faint, broken smile. “That I remember? No, I suppose I haven’t.
It is something I’ve spent my entire life trying to forget, yet the images torment my dreams at night and the memories haunt my waking hours.
So you see, there is no doubt, just an ugly, shameful truth. ”
“I’m so sorry, Angus. If I’d known… if we’d known…”
“Nobody knows. Except Augusta. My aunt. It was she, sitting by my bed when I awoke. The one who helped me understand… understand my parents were never coming back.”
“I see,” murmured Humber. “So… her account of what happened…”
“Was my account,” he said flatly. “I was just a child. I could barely comprehend what I’d seen, let alone understand the ramifications such a truth would bring down upon us.
Augusta was consumed with grief for her sister — and fury at my father.
I suppose branding him a monster was her way of finding justice.
But all it brought in the end was shame and humiliation.
Those who didn’t believe her shunned her.
By the time I was old enough to speak for myself, to defend her… it was too late.”
“Too late?” murmured Humber.
“Augusta had already retired to Scotland, no longer wanting to be part of a society that ridiculed her. And to my shame,” he gave a hollow laugh, “I stayed silent. Didn’t want to fan the embers and reignite an old scandal.”
“Oh my god, Angus, you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“If only that were true. Augusta is my only family. She took me in, cared for me, and I repaid her with my silence.”
“Cared for you?” Humber’s voice rose incredulously. “Angus, she tormented you for years with frightening tales of an evil witch cursing your family with tainted blood… and madness.”
“I know it seemed that way, yes. She was hard on me, even a little unkind at times, but it was her way of protecting me.”
“Protecting you? Protecting you from what?”
“From myself.” The words landed like stones. “She’d seen the changes in my father, his deterioration into madness. She believed it was hereditary. That the madness would come for me too. She just wanted to prepare me for what is to come.”
Uncommonly still, Humber simply murmured, “I see. So…?”
“So, once again, my silence is causing harm. I’ve brought this whole mess down upon myself.
” Rising slowly to his feet, his voice was now dangerously calm.
“I ride at first light. Goodnight, old friend.” Without another word, he walked slowly from the room — each step deliberate, as though heading to face his executioner.
Humber sat motionless, staring into his empty glass. His breathing was slow, even. Then suddenly, he sprang up, crossed the room, and poured himself another, very generous, whisky.
“Fuck,” he hissed into the half-dark. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”