The Secret Pearl(112)

“You cannot shift the burden from your shoulders by telling yourself that the man brought his fate on himself and that your cousin was also responsible?” he said. “You cannot tell yourself that you were in no way to blame at all?”

“Yes,” she said. “With my head I can. But the knowledge that I pushed him and that he died will always be with me. I know it is foolish. I will not detain you, your grace. You must be eager to be on your way and have as much daylight as possible for your journey.”

“There must be someone who knows where the valet came from,” his grace said. “Did he have friends among the servants? In the village?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Then we must find out,” he said. “I must try to emulate my secretary and discover all there is to be discovered. I shall ask around in the village. Will you question the servants again?”

“I have spoken with most of them already,” she said. “They know nothing, and it has to be remembered that they are Matthew’s servants, not mine. Besides, this is none of your concern, your grace. You wish to be on your way.”

“Do I?” he said, stopping on the graveled path and taking both her hands in his. “I want to see you happy, Fleur, and completely free. I can’t leave you until I know that you are both.”

“But why?” she asked, looking wide-eyed into his eyes.

“You know very well why,” he said fiercely, squeezing her hands until they hurt before turning to stride in the direction of the stables.

She ran to catch up to him. “Because of what you did to me?” she said. “But I was standing outside the theater for that very purpose. If it had not been you, it would have been someone else. Perhaps not that night. But the night after.”

He stopped suddenly and took her hands once again. “Thank God it was me,” he said, his eyes burning into hers. “If it had to be anyone, then thank God it was me.” He released her hands. “I shall return early in the morning,” he said. “I hope I will be able to bring you some information.”

He strode away again, and this time she did not follow. She stood looking after him.

And there was one thought uppermost in her mind. There was to be a reprieve of one day. Tomorrow he would say good-bye and would be gone forever. But not today. Not quite yet.

Tomorrow.





WE ARE PLEASED TO SEE YOU BACK HOME, MISS, if you will pardon me for saying so.” The little maid who had been sent to take Annie’s place was hanging up in the wardrobe the muslin day dress Fleur had just removed. Her manner was suddenly confidential. “As Ted Jackson said, you could not be guilty of those things you are supposed to be guilty of if you have come back of your own accord. Not that most of us thought you were guilty anyway, miss.”

Fleur came out of a deep reverie. “Thank you, Mollie,” she said. “It is kind of you to say so.”

Mollie’s voice lowered and became even more confidential, though the door of Fleur’s dressing room was firmly closed and no other servant probably anywhere near it. “And if you was to ask me, miss,” she said, “I would say that Mr. Hobson got no more than he deserved. I never did like him. He always thought he was God’s gift to women.”

Hobson had been a handsome man in his own way. Mollie could not be described as a pretty girl, by any stretch of the imagination. Fleur guessed that the maid had been spurned by him at some time.

“He expected favors for nothing in return,” Mollie said, confirming her suspicions. “But I never would listen to his sweet talk, miss, though he tried it on me more than once.”

“Did he?” Fleur had spent another frustrating two hours since the Duke of Ridgeway had left, questioning the servants. She was tired, and she wished she had said nothing to him. By now he would be on his way back to Dorsetshire and she would be able to start thinking about the rest of her life. As it was, he was coming back the next morning, and she was unable even to feel the full elation that his story should have brought her. “Did he ever talk about himself, Mollie?”

“All the time,” the girl said. “It was his favorite subject, miss.”

The words were spoken with such spite that Fleur smiled despite herself.

“His father made good over at Wroxford,” Mollie said, “as a butcher, miss, and that was how Mr. Hobson was able to get such a grand position as gentleman’s man. But for all that, he had no cause to put on such airs.”

“So that is where he is from?” Fleur said. “Wroxford?”

“Oh!” Mollie’s hand came across her mouth with a loud slap. “Mr. Chapman will kill me. He said we was to remember who was paying our wages and say nothing.”