Sauce for the Gander (The Marstone Series Book 1) Read online

  Nothing moved outside. Even if someone was there, he may not be able to see much from here; looking downwards, men would be dark shapes against the dark ground. Returning to the door, he took up a position just inside the room, from where he could see the entrance to the servants’ stairs and the top of the main staircase.

  If he was wrong about this evening’s activities, he was going to have an uncomfortable spell waiting, not to mention feeling an utter fool.

  A couple of hours passed before someone moved across his line of sight, a dark shape only just visible against the unlit corridor. He couldn’t even make out if it was a man or woman.

  Opening the door wider, he saw little more than a thin bar of light—someone was opening the door to his room. The figure took a step into the room, but no further, then retreated and moved along the corridor towards Connie’s door, out of sight. Will picked up his boots and hurried across the landing and down the stairs, his stockinged feet making no sound. He ducked into the small parlour to pull his boots on, struck by a sudden doubt. Should he have first made sure the person was not intent on harming Connie? Even as he hesitated, he heard quiet steps on the stairs, and made out the shadowy figure heading for the kitchens.

  A door from this parlour opened into the dining room, at the south end of the house—the opposite end to where he suspected the cellars had been extended. That would be the best place to leave.

  Sliding up a window sash with the faintest of squeaks, he climbed over the sill and dropped into the flower bed below. Something prickly scratched his hands, and he swore beneath his breath.

  The half moon hung low in the sky to the east, providing just enough light to see. Debating which way to go around the house, he settled on the back, through the orchard towards the stables—there was more grass to muffle his steps that way, less crunchy gravel. He moved slowly, sticking to the shadows until he could see beyond the north end of the building. Leaning against a tree, he resigned himself to waiting again. If he kept still and silent, no-one would notice him.

  Connie gazed up at the canopy above her bed, lit by the moonlight shining in through the open windows. The earlier rain had cleared the air, but she had woken feeling uncomfortably warm. Thirsty, too, with a dry mouth. Those two glasses of wine with dinner, perhaps. She liked the taste, but she very rarely drank wine.

  The glass of water beside her bed was almost empty. She filled it from the jug on the washstand and walked over to a window. A gentle breeze through the open sash helped to cool her, and she sat on the window seat while she sipped her drink.

  This window looked over the orchard to the east, the tops of the trees merely black shapes in the pale light. The stables and coach house lay beyond, near the north end of the house. She sat for some time, dreamily comparing this view to the small patch of back garden that was all she’d been able to see from her old bedroom in Nether Minster. As she watched, she gradually became aware that something—or someone—was moving beyond the solid shadow that was the stable block.

  Setting the glass down, she put her head out of the window. Several people, each leading a horse, were visible only as they passed through a patch of moonlight. Thieves, perhaps? Whatever they were doing, Will needed to know about this.

  She moved over to the connecting door, but paused with her hand on the latch. Might he misinterpret her entry into his bedroom? That thought was no longer as frightening as it had been, but she didn’t feel ready yet.

  She must tell him. She pulled a robe on over her chemise, then cautiously lifted the latch. “Will?”

  There was no reply. He’d left his curtains open, and the moonlight showed his discarded clothing over the back of a chair, and a lump beneath the bedclothes.

  She swallowed. She didn’t want to raise her voice, for fear of alerting someone else, so she’d have to shake his shoulder. But when she put her hand down it met only softness. Pulling the covers back revealed folded blankets.

  Was Will involved in whatever was happening outside? Or had he expected something to happen tonight? The blankets could not have been intended to fool her, so he must suspect some of the servants were involved. If that were the case, it would be unwise for her to venture out of her room.

  Will’s comments about smugglers came to her mind. The cellars, of course. That would explain Mrs Strickland’s nervousness when asked about the key. Something was hidden there, and was being removed now they had threatened to break the door down.

  There was nothing she could do now, other than wait for Will to return. Going back to the window in her own room, she peered out again. There was no movement beyond the stables. She wrapped her arms around her body, feeling very alone. The idea of people—strangers—creeping around the house was frightening, but at least they had been outside, and at the far end of the building from her.

  Eventually her eyes drooped in spite of her wish to stay awake. Telling herself firmly that if they were going to harm her they would have done it by now, she returned to bed. Whatever it was, it seemed Will had it in hand.

  Finally, Will heard the jingle of harnesses, and low voices from the north. He had no intention of confronting them, or even trying to identify them—that was far too dangerous. He’d only wanted to see if his suspicions were correct.

  How big is the operation?

  He cautiously stepped forward, moving towards a tree that would disguise him while he got a better look. The one ahead, with a nice, thick trunk.

  The trunk changed shape, and part of the shadow turned into someone else, watching as Will had been.

  Will froze. If this was one of the smugglers, Will might get some information from him without endangering himself. If he wasn’t, Will wanted to know who he was.

  He pulled a pistol out of his pocket. He didn’t cock it—the last thing he wanted to do was to attract attention by firing. The other watcher was intent on the happenings nearer the house, and Will crept to within two feet of him before he started to turn. Too late—Will pushed the muzzle of his pistol into the back of the man’s neck, reaching round with his left hand to cover his mouth.

  “Not a sound,” he breathed. “Understand?”

  He felt the man’s head move—a nod? He moved his hand a couple of inches from the man’s face.

  “My lord?”

  “Archer?” The tension left his body, and he put the pistol away.

  “I was locked in, my lord.” Archer’s words were so faint Will could hardly hear them. “Climbed out of a window to find out what’s going on.” The sleeping quarters above the stables were much closer to the ground than Will’s own bedroom windows.

  They stood together in silence. A few sounds and shifts in the shadows to the north of the house indicated that something was happening, but they could not see any details without moving close enough to risk being seen.

  “Time to go back,” Will breathed. “Best if no-one knows we’ve seen them. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Archer moved off with only a faint rustle, and Will began to pick his own way back around the house.

  Chapter 20

  Saturday 28th June

  Connie was woken by Sukey bringing her morning tea. She sat up to drink it, surprised she’d not heard Will return in the night. He was there now—she could hear movement and a low murmur of voices.

  There was a knock on the connecting door. Setting the cup down, she pulled the sheet up to her shoulders before calling him to come in.

  Will appeared—fully dressed, she was relieved to see.

  “Good morning. I trust you slept well?”

  “I… er, yes, well enough thank you. But I wanted to tell—”

  “Excellent. I came to ask if you would be happy to leave soon for our tour of the estate? It will be cooler in the morning. Mrs Curnow can pack some provisions for a picnic breakfast.”

  Irritated by the way he’d cut across her words, Connie stared at him for a moment. The sound of drawers opening and closing came from the next room; Will tilted his head in the
direction of the open door, then shook it.

  Ah—he doesn’t want Warren to hear.

  “Very well,” Connie said. “Half an hour?”

  “Thank you.” He left her to finish her tea.

  Will was waiting when Connie emerged from the house, the chaise ready on the drive with Archer holding the horse’s head. She accepted his help to climb into the vehicle with a small smile. Will gathered the reins, and Archer jumped onto the narrow seat at the back as they set off.

  They turned right at the end of the drive onto a road that led along the side of the valley towards Ashton St Andrew. It road rose gently, flanked by woodland, and it wasn’t long before Connie spotted the church tower surrounded by rooftops. They slowed, then Will turned off the road into a patch of trees.

  He must have caught her surprise.

  “I wanted to talk in private,” he said. “Archer, bring the blanket, will you? This concerns you, too.”

  He tethered the horse loosely to a tree, and walked a few yards to an area of flat ground. Archer spread the blanket on a fallen log for Connie to sit on and sat on the grass nearby.

  “I brought you both here because I don’t know who else in the house to trust,” Will began.

  Connie listened carefully as he described how he’d crept out of the house the previous night.

  “Archer—was anything said to you this morning?” Will went on, before Connie could tell him what she’d seen.

  “No, my lord. I pretended I’d slept through.”

  “Mrs Strickland couldn’t be found yesterday afternoon,” Connie reminded him. “Do you think she was making arrangements?”

  “That was my supposition, yes. She may not be the only one, though. Archer, you haven’t heard any talk at all about such things?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Very well. Listen, will you? To any gossip, or other talk, at Ashton Tracey or in the villages. I’ll give you some drinking money. I imagine most of the staff know what is going on, even if they are not directly involved. You could also see if you can locate the exit from the cellars beyond the north end of the house—but do not put yourself in danger.”

  Connie felt a sense of unreality. Whatever she’d expected of her marriage, it certainly wasn’t this.

  “There’s another matter,” Will went on, glancing at Connie. She nodded to show she was listening. “It’s almost certain that at least one person will be sending regular reports to my father—not only household affairs, but about my actions as well.”

  Spying on him? She shouldn’t be surprised, really, from what she’d heard about Will’s relationship with his father. Archer merely grunted, as if this was nothing new to him.

  “I suspect that it is Mrs Strickland. It is probably why she appears to think she has more authority than her position warrants. What I don’t know is whether she is the only one. Milsom, most likely, although she’s now safely on her way back to Marstone Park with the coach. See if you can find out about anyone else, Archer.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The groom sat a little straighter.

  “Now, Archer, I wish to talk to Lady Wingrave in private, without the chance of anyone overhearing. Can you think of an errand that would take you into the village?”

  Archer’s face screwed up in thought. “Is there a farrier there?”

  “There certainly used to be.”

  “Right—I reckon I need the shoes checking on this new mare,” he said. “And to see if the man’s good enough for shoeing Mercury.”

  “Good idea. Take the chaise. We’ll walk up when we’ve finished—leave us the basket before you go.” Will handed over some coins. “There’s an inn, too. Good place to start listening.”

  A big grin spread across Archer’s face as he got to his feet. “Right you are, my lord.”

  “Will, I saw something last night.” Connie spoke before Will had worked out where to start his explanations.

  “What? Where were you?” She hadn’t put herself in danger, had she?

  He relaxed as she explained what she’d seen and why she’d stayed in her room.

  “You did the right thing,” he confirmed.

  “Will, why does your father have people spying on you?”

  “And you—that’s almost certainly why he employed Milsom.”

  “Me?” Her voice was almost a squeak. “Why should I—? That is, why does he feel the need to spy on either of us?”

  “To ensure the next heir is truly of his blood.” He spoke without thinking, realising too late what his words could imply.

  Her mouth fell open for a moment, eyes wide. “If that’s what he thinks of me, why force me into this marriage? Is that what you think?”

  “Connie, I am not suspecting you of anything.” He reached one hand towards her, but let it drop. “My father has to be in control of everything. He doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t trust anyone, and they are watching me as much as you. More than you, probably.”

  She drew a deep breath, and nodded.

  “He even wrote to his solicitors in Exeter, instructing them to send on copies of the Ashton Tracey accounts, and details of any of my activities they knew about.” That letter had gone in the kitchen fire when Mrs Curnow wasn’t looking.

  He kept his eyes on her face until she relaxed and managed a weak smile. “I think you’d better explain,” she said. “You clearly didn’t want this marriage any more than I did. Why did you agree?”

  Fancott had been right, then. He was not the only one being coerced.

  He stood, pacing back and forth across the small clearing as he related his story. He felt again the resentment at his father’s unexplained determination to exclude Uncle Jack from the succession, and his frustration at being prevented from doing anything useful with his life.

  “So I’ve spent the last few years in London,” he finished. “With most of the staff spying on me. Father arranged several marriages, solely for me to produce an heir, but I managed to avoid them.”

  He stopped pacing, turning to face her, and was surprised to see her eyes narrowed. She was angry—with Marstone?

  “You find it onerous to have your activities restricted?” Her calm voice belied her expression.

  “Well, yes,” he said. “Who wouldn’t?”

  “Half the human race, apparently. I, like most women, must belong to a man. A father or a husband, it makes little difference; we are property. We are supposed to be obedient and accept this situation without complaint, as the natural order of things.”

  “Connie—”

  “My father is just as bad as yours,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Only with less money and status. You could live as you please in London, fighting duels over… over…”

  Loose women, he filled in mentally, feeling dazed. She hadn’t raised her voice, but the way she spoke left him in no doubt that she was angry. And with him, not with his father as he’d expected.

  “I was forced into this marriage on pain of being cast off with no money, and the only people who might have helped me would have lost their living had they done so.” She dropped her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before going on. “Would you have been destitute if your father had turned you off? Heaven forfend you might have to work for a living. Without references, what could I have done?”

  She held his gaze, her face now flushed.

  “Nothing,” he admitted. Shame washed through him as he realised she’d spoken no more than the truth. “Connie, I’m sorry. You are perfectly right, I had far more choice than you did.”

  Her eyes widened. Had no man ever admitted he was wrong to her?

  “Let me finish my story, Connie. Reluctance to work for a living was not why I agreed to this. Although, naturally, I was reluctant to do the only kinds of jobs that would have been open to me at short notice.”

  “Go on.”

  He explained about his debts, and the threat of selling Ashton Tracey. “It was time I settled down,” he admitted. “Many of my aff— er, misdeeds in
London were… well, I had to fill my time somehow. Here, I can learn to manage an estate properly, without my father’s hidebound steward vetoing every idea.”

  Will waited for a reaction, surprised how much her acceptance of his explanation mattered. Her gaze moved from the trees down to the blanket, before finally rising to meet his own. Much of the tension had left her face.

  “So your father is still attempting to control you, by having the staff report on you.”

  He nodded.

  “Why don’t you replace Mrs Strickland with someone you trust?”

  “I will, at some point, but if I get rid of her now, he’ll either bribe someone else, or threaten to sell the place if I don’t employ some staff of his choosing.”

  She seemed to accept that, but her gaze was focused somewhere in the distance again.

  “Connie?”

  “I was thinking. How do you feel about deceiving your father? Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, after all.”

  “He’s deceived… What did you say?”

  “Sauce for the goose. It’s a common saying, is it not?”

  And one that Fancott used often. She’d referred to ‘Martha’ a couple of times—Fancott’s wife was called Martha. “Connie, where did you live before we married?”

  “Nether Minster. It’s only a few miles from—”

  “I know where it is.” Fancott had said he knew ‘of’ Miss Charters… ha! “The old devil!”

  “Who?”

  “Fancott. He helped me with… with a problem I had some years ago, so when my father told me of the marriage arrangements, I went to him again. He advised me not to resist, and that all would be well.”

  Connie’s eyes widened. “Martha was—is—a mother to me,” she said. “She told me it would be well, too. But I never wanted to be a countess, or have wealth. I just wanted a proper family, with...” She shook her head.