The Worthington Wife Page 20

  “Nothing. I—I was thinking of Anthony. I’m simply not ready to think of marrying anyone.”

  She got up. “I must go out—I have things I must do.” Julia left the room, the house. It was drizzling, so she threw on a mackintosh from a closet. She got her car and drove as fast as she could to Worthington.

  There, she stopped in the drive. Her bare hands clutched the leather-wrapped steering wheel. She hadn’t worn gloves. She usually did—Mother had said she could not drive if she didn’t, or she would end up with a farm laborer’s calluses. How unimportant such concerns were now.

  The footman opened the door and Wiggins, walking past the foyer, saw her and hurried to her. “Good morning, Lady Julia.”

  It wasn’t a good morning. It was a terrifying one. “Is the earl at home?”

  “The earl has gone to Lilac Farm.”

  Lilac Farm. Yesterday, Cal had looked down at the shovel in the boot of the car. He had told her about a criminal case in America—a twelve-year-old schoolgirl from the State of New Jersey had been “criminally assaulted” and killed. He had stood there, the light casting the most ominous shadows under his sharp cheekbones, and told her that those three women might be dead. They might be buried somewhere. Even somewhere on the Worthington estate.

  “Why has he gone to Lilac Farm?” He couldn’t have gone to tell the family what he suspected, could he?

  Cal hadn’t voiced his thoughts but she’d seen it in the dark anger in his eyes. He thought a man from Worthington Park had done it. It could have been the old earl, or John, or even one of the men who worked on the estate—if he were bold enough to take the car. But she knew Cal was thinking it was Anthony. He’d said: Likely a man got away with murder because of who he was.

  “My lady, I fear it is his lordship’s intent to sell land to an American gentleman.”

  Wiggins’s words broke through her thoughts. Julia felt as if the floor had suddenly tilted and she was going to slide off it. “What? What American?” The man from London, supplied her frantic mind.

  “I did not eavesdrop, my lady. The gentleman bluntly asked Lord Worthington if the house was for sale. He also asked if I was for sale.”

  Her stomach lurched. But she hid her panic. “I am so sorry, Wiggins.”

  “The earl took this American with him. Should I be concerned for the future of the estate, my lady?”

  Wiggins looked utterly composed, except for a twitch to his jaw, but Julia knew the poor man was terrified. Cal had been angry after they had found the shovel. He felt the Carstairs family had gotten away with murder.

  She would have known, surely, if Anthony was so bad, so evil. And Cal had no proof. A shovel left in the boot of the car was not definitive evidence. Nor was the scarf.

  Cal had been angry. But surely he wouldn’t sell the farm away from the Brands because he was angry—without proof—at the Carstairs?

  And even if—if Anthony was guilty, poor people like the Brands had suffered enough. Cal’s rage must not hurt them, in any attempt to strike the Carstairs family. She had to stop Cal.

  “This man was not the only American gentleman who came to the house in the past two days, my lady,” Wiggins said. “Late yesterday an unsavory-looking man arrived by motorcar. He wore a suit of a pale pink, shiny material—” Wiggins sniffed “—and he had the mannerisms, accent and air of an American gangster.”

  That was the man in London. This then was a different man. What did that mean? “I must go. At once.” Leaving Wiggins staring in astonishment, she turned from her heel and ran out of the house, as if pursued by hounds.

  Was she already too late to save the Brands’ farm?

  12

  The Arrival of Cal’s Brother

  Julia’s shoes crunched on gravel as she rushed toward her car, her mackintosh flapping around her. She would drive like the wind to Lilac Farm—

  She stopped abruptly, almost skidding on the drive. Walking away from the house toward the converted stable-garage were two men. One was Cal, wearing his rough sweater and trousers, the sweater spattered with paint. The shorter, portly man walking at his side wore a dapper suit. They hadn’t gone yet—or were they returning?

  Her heart lodged in her throat. Julia hurried up behind them as the man stuck out his hand to Cal. “If you change your mind about selling, give me a call, my lord. I want that piece of property. Several hundred acres. I could do a lot with that.”

  Cal shook the short man’s large hand. “I’m sorry to have wasted your trip, but things have changed and I’m not planning to sell yet.”

  “These places can’t survive and that’s a fact. The future is in men like me,” the large man crowed. “The self-made men. It was soap for me. Then locomotives. Love the iron horses and they’ve made me rich.”

  “I’m glad I could at least help your wife’s charity.”

  “My Dora is a saint. Your contribution is very generous, my lord. As is your offer to sponsor me at your club. Damned hard to break into those places and my Dora is set on seeing our Annabelle married to a titled man. I don’t suppose—”

  “Sorry, Mr. Morgan, but I’m already promised to someone.”

  “Too bad. Annie comes with a dowry big enough to sink a ship.” With that, the large man left.

  Cal met her gaze. He looked guilty. She felt ready to spit fire. Yet the first thing that came out of her mouth: “I had no idea you’re engaged.”

  “I’m not. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t try to sell me Annabelle.”

  She smiled—just for a moment—then exclaimed, “Were you going to sell Lilac Farm to that man?”

  He grimaced. “I’d made the arrangements before we went to London. I forgot to cancel the meeting.”

  “You changed your mind?” She barely dared to hope.

  “Until I find out what happened to those women, until I get justice for them, I don’t want to start carving up the estate.” His blue eyes held hers. “And I promised you I’d wait if you posed for a portrait. I’m still waiting for your answer.”

  “I haven’t even been able to think about that. A portrait doesn’t seem so important now. But you are right to wait until we know the truth. You do agree that we have no proof yet that anyone from Worthington was involved. Not real proof. Americans believe in justice, do they not? That is what you sought when you came here—justice for your parents, especially your mother. Don’t condemn without proof. And what of the Brands—haven’t they suffered enough? You can’t throw them out of their home—”

  “I’m not going to do that,” he growled. “I’m going to look for evidence, find the truth. If someone on the estate murdered those girls, they must have buried—” He broke off. “Sorry, that’s not something you discuss with a lady.”

  She lifted her chin, fighting to be strong. “I have had to face tragedy. And I’m not afraid of the truth. I would rather have that than have secrets. But how can evidence be found now, so many years later?”

  “There are things than can be found. Even years later.”

  His face hardened as he said that. She knew what he meant—bodies. The spade in the boot of the car, encrusted with dirt. A man with a motorcar could have driven miles to find girls to flirt with, to lure into his vehicle. But why would that spade be left in the boot of Anthony’s car?

  He could have been helping with planting on the estate. He could have used it when they were searching for the girls. Or perhaps he had some other perfectly innocent reason for it.

  Or perhaps someone else had put it there.

  “You’re pale. Let me take you back to the house, Julia. You don’t need to worry about this.”

  “Cal, I can’t just not think about this. I have to know!” She paced in a circle, feeling so tense she might burst. “I should see Ben, see how he is. I should be driving to the hospital to see
Ellen. I should ensure the police constable is hunting for the man who hurt Ellen. But all I could do this morning was think of this—of whether Anthony had done this horrible thing.”

  “The photograph,” Cal said suddenly.

  She stared at him, confused. She saw the bristle of whiskers along his jaw. He hadn’t bothered to shave.

  “I found a photograph in my bedroom—it had fallen under the wardrobe. It was of a dark-haired girl wearing a corset. Signed ‘to A.’”

  “To Anthony? But why would that have been in your bedroom? Anthony never used that room. He was never the earl.”

  “I know. But the picture was there. And Sarah Brand had dark hair. Her mother confused you for Sarah.”

  “Sarah had black hair and blue eyes. We were of a similar height. I think her mind wants to believe I’m Sarah, when she sees me.”

  “Would you know if it was Sarah in the picture?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Cal ran off, suddenly, sprinting to the house. She followed, hurrying as fast as her low heels and trim-fitting tweed skirt would allow. By the time she reached the door, he was already coming back out. Frowning. “He burned the photo,” he said.

  “Who did?”

  “Wiggins,” he growled. “Maybe he knew the girl Sarah Brand and he was protecting the family.”

  “Protecting them?”

  “Maybe he knows Anthony Carstairs was driving Sarah around. Or maybe he knows what Anthony did to her—”

  “We don’t know Anthony did anything!” she cried. “It could have been someone else. Someone else could have used that motorcar and left the spade in it. There could have been some other reason. I want proof before I think of the man I loved as a—a murderer!”

  She spun away from Cal, to go to her motorcar.

  His hand wrapped firm around her arm—firm but gentle, forcing her to stop. “You aren’t driving anywhere. Not upset like this.”

  “I am going to go to Lilac Farm. You can drive me there if you wish.”

  They reached the farm to find Brand finally making himself a breakfast of tea and toast after tending to the animals. Julia could see he was exhausted. Mrs. Brand had been awake most of the night, so she was sleeping now, even though it was midmorning.

  “I have to watch her,” he admitted. “She gets up and she wanders in the night. She tries to go outside. Once she got away and I couldn’t find her for hours. I lock the place up now.”

  The poor man. She had to admit Cal was right—the farm was too much for them.

  “I will help,” she insisted. And she did, holding her umbrella up as she spread out seed for chickens. Cal helped, too, and when she attempted to carry buckets of water from the pump for the pigs’ troughs, he stopped her. Brand looked shocked.

  “Nae, ye shouldn’t be working, milady,” Brand said.

  “I cannot stand by idle and not help,” she said crisply. “But I wondered if Sarah ever told you she was frightened by a man. A man who might have tried to—to accost her.”

  She felt guilty as she asked the question. She knew, in her heart, she was trying to prove the man who had been driving Sarah wasn’t Anthony.

  “She never spoke of any such thing.”

  “Did Lord Anthony really take her driving in the car?”

  “Mrs. Brand thinks Lord Anthony took her in his motorcar, but I don’t believe it,” Brand said. “Lord Anthony weren’t like that. Neither were she. Sarah wanted to be married someday and she had no daft ideas about marrying above her station.”

  That was hope, at least. “Would you mind if I took a look in Sarah’s room?”

  Brand allowed it and Julia went to the house. Cal followed. She realized Cal was letting her take charge with this. The tiny room looked as it must have done nine years before. She looked in the one small wardrobe. Sarah’s clothes still hung in it, smelling of lavender sachets. She found a diary, but there was no mention of any secret love. But Sarah did record times when she’d watched Anthony drive by in his lovely motorcar.

  She had no choice but to let Cal look at it, too. Then she put it away, feeling sick. She left the Brands then. Told Cal, “I must go and see some of the women I’m helping today.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “It is not necessary. I am perfectly fine to drive.” They argued—to her surprise, he finally relented. He took her back to Worthington, let her go off in her car.

  She drove to the cottages and farms of several of the women. It made her feel better to see how they were surviving. One of the women, Mrs. Woddle, was in delight over the success of her sales of preserves. Now, after the War, with girls working in factories, they had to feed themselves and had no facilities to do so. Tea shops were booming.

  She went to see the Tofts. Neighbors were helping—and Nigel had been sending baskets of food and treats from Brideswell’s kitchens. It was almost heartbreaking, but she put on a brave face. If the family could, so could she. Seeing the eldest daughter, Mary, turned Julia’s stomach upside down. The girl had dark hair in pigtails and large blue eyes.

  Julia didn’t remember any girl going missing after 1916. It seemed the disappearances had stopped then. Why?

  Because Anthony went to war.

  She did not know that for certain. And it was not proof.

  Julia drove to see Ellen after that. In Brideswell’s hospital ward, she told Ellen, “I will loan you the money to begin a business. A seamstress business, perhaps. Please accept this.”

  Tucked in her cot, Ellen shook her head. “I would only let you down, my lady. I could never pay you back.”

  “I believe you can. You must tell me who attacked you. He should be arrested and imprisoned for what he has done.”

  “I can’t tell you his name. He would hurt Ben.”

  “Ben will be safe. I will ensure this man never comes near him. He almost killed you,” Julia said, in a vehement whisper so as not to disturb the other women in the ward. “Help me and we will have him arrested.”

  But Ellen would not meet her gaze. “I can’t do that, my lady.”

  Cal had been right. So painfully right. Ellen was willing to shield an evil man out of fear.

  Julia stood. “I will find out who did this. I am not going to let him get away with it.”

  Panic flooded Ellen’s face, turning her skin white where it wasn’t bruised. “Don’t, my lady. You have to keep out of it. You’ll get yourself in trouble.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I will be perfectly fine and I intend to help you.”

  Julia left, frustrated as she drove through the village. The dark, rainy weather matched her mood. But she was going to protect Ellen in some way—that was one thing she could do. She did not doubt the horrible wretch had taken money from Ellen when he had beaten her. It was the sort of thing a brute would do. And she knew where that money would be spent.

  She drove to the village nearest Ellen’s cottage, the small village of Worthington. Even in this tiny place, there were three pubs. Then she saw him. A large man leaving the Boar and Castle, the village public house. She was certain this was the man she had seen harassing Ellen on the street weeks ago.

  Julia got out of her motor, stalked over to the man. But a few paces away, her courage failed her. But it was too late. He must have sensed her. He turned with surprising speed for such a large man and he strode back toward her.

  She lifted her chin. It might be the middle of the day on the main street of the village of Worthington, but the rain meant the street was almost deserted. She had made a terrible, terrible mistake. “Lay a hand on me and I will scream,” she threatened, but her voice shook.

  “Ye were the one coming after me, milady.” His fleshy lips smirked.

  “I want your name.”

  “Ye don’t need it. Ye won’t have any trouble fro
m me if Ellen keeps doing as she’s told.” He puffed up his huge chest. “I’m looking after her. She doesn’t need meddling from the likes of you, milady. Keep away from her.”

  “Ellen told me you have threatened her child to force her to—to sell herself and give the money to you. How small and pitiful you are. I will not allow this to continue. I will find out who you are and I will have you arrested.”

  He laughed cheerfully. “I doubt that. Ellen would be the only one who could back up yer wild tale and she won’t grouse on me. Ye can’t hurt me. But ye’re fragile. I can hurt ye real easy. Ye go to see her one more time, and I’ll really make ye pay.”

  Fury made her stand up to him. “I will have my brother destroy you. I will ensure you never hurt Ellen or her son again. I will move them away, to a place you will not find them. I am a duke’s daughter and I have the power to crush you like the worm you are.”

  “Ye’ll regret that,” he snarled. “Don’t ye dare threaten me, ye cow.” He loomed over her, lifting his fist. She was scared, using every ounce of strength not to melt in panic. But she had a weapon. She lifted her umbrella and poked the pointed end into his stomach.

  He let out a howl of pain and doubled over. She spun and raced up the sidewalk.

  A car was coming toward her.

  It accelerated and as soon as it reached her, it screeched to a stop. The man behind the wheel leaned out to look at her.

  Cal.

  She wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him so tight he wouldn’t be able to breathe. Of course she wouldn’t do it.

  He jumped out of the car. He ran right past her, down the sidewalk. Shaking, she turned to watch him, but she couldn’t see any sign of the man who’d threatened her.

  Cal came back to her. “Julia, who was that man?”

  “I don’t know.” That much was the truth. She didn’t have his name.

  “Don’t lie to me, Julia. I couldn’t see exactly, but it looked like he was threatening you. I did see you drive your umbrella into his gut and I doubt you’d do that unless he asked for it.”

  Cal was looking at her as Nigel would. With the same autocratic, protective look.