25 News From Corland

Bertram wandered into his father's study one morning. His father was writing a letter, but he willingly broke off from the task.

"You are sending Morton off to find Whyte, I hear," Bertram said.

"Yes. I am just writing to this Edgerton fellow to let him know the boy is missing."

"But you cannot think that Whyte is involved in Nicholson's murder?" Bertram said. "We know he was here on the night it happened."

"Do we? And even if Whyte himself were innocently tucked up in his bed, he has brothers and cousins and friends enough who could have acted on his behalf. Running away, if that is what he has done, proclaims his guilt loudly enough. Edgerton will want to know, and he can decide what to do about it."

Bertram said no more, ambling about the room and idly polishing his spectacles as his father returned to his letter. When it was sanded and folded and sealed, however, he turned to look at Bertram curiously.

"Was there something else?"

"Father, I am thinking of getting married."

"Good. You are five and twenty now, which is a proper age to begin looking about for a wife. Unless… perhaps you have someone in mind already?"

"I do, in fact."

"I trust she is not one of these two friends of Julia's who arrived on our doorstep the day you were expected home, and not by accident, I suspect. As the possible heir to an earldom, you are a person of the greatest interest to young ladies of a certain type."

"I am happy to reassure you that young ladies of a certain type are of no interest to me. I would like the Miss Pailthorpes better if someone could convince either of them that their singing is not fit for public performance."

His father winced. "Oh, Lord, yes! They are terrible! Miss Parish is the only girl in these parts with any aptitude for music, since Izzy moved away. Lily Strong, I suppose, and at least the harp is a peaceful instrument. One can sleep through it very well, I find, which one cannot do with the Miss Pailthorpes. But if not one of those two, then it must be someone you met at Landerby."

"Not exactly. Someone I already knew. Bea Franklyn."

His father's eyebrows shot up. "Bea Franklyn? This would be the Bea Franklyn that Lucas describes, not without some justification, as a leech?"

Bertram laughed. "Yes, that Bea Franklyn."

"The one you swore never to marry? The one whose own father suggested you leave the country to avoid?"

"The very same. I have got to know her a little better these past weeks."

"Bertram, are you in difficulties with the girl? Have you done anything you should not have done?"

"Done anything—? Oh! No, no, no, nothing of that sort. She has not been compromised, if that is what you mean. Father, you must know that I would never—"

"Yes, of course, but she is a conniving minx, and I would not put it past her to try a trick like that."

"She would not stoop to such stratagems," Bertram said huffily. "She is open and straightforward in all her dealings, you must know that of her."

His father gave a grunt that might have been laughter. "There is something in what you say. After all, she said openly that she intended to marry you, but you were steady in your resolve not to be drawn in, as I recall. What happened to change your mind… if you can tell me, that is?"

"I kissed her," Bertram said, smiling at the memory. "Or rather, she kissed me and… and I suppose I realised there was more to life than Roman poets."

"There is more to life than Bea Franklyn, too," his father said sharply. "But… have you spoken to her already?"

"No… at least, not precisely."

"What does that mean?"

Bertram sighed heavily. "She was so miserable at Landerby, Father. She had begun learning Latin, and recited a Horace ode so splendidly, but then Lady Esther would not permit it, and Bea was quite cast down. So I… several of us, in fact… went to her and… and offered to marry her. She turned us down… all of us, but at least she knows now that I am willing. It was too precipitate, of course, I realise that now. I cannot in all conscience offer for Bea… for anyone until I know whether I am to inherit the title or not, so until Uncle Charles decides, I can do nothing."

"Even then, you might not know," his father said. "If he remarries your aunt, then that settles the matter, but suppose he decides to marry someone younger. The marriage might not be fruitful at all. Or it might produce only girls. Or, even if a son is born, he might not survive infancy. Life is uncertain, Bertram. You and I might both be carried off with putrid fevers and Lucas would inherit. None of us can foretell the future, so we can never be guided by it. That does not mean that you should rush out and offer for Bea Franklyn immediately, however. I can see that you have developed an attachment to her, but I am by no means convinced that she is the right wife for you. If you are minded to marry, I am very happy to hear it, but I would prefer you to fish from a larger pool than this one small corner of Yorkshire. Let me take you to town and—"

Bertram shuddered.

"Well, perhaps not. But York, perhaps, in the autumn. You would meet a much wider range of potential brides at the assemblies and entertainments there, and the Franklyns might be inclined to spend a few weeks there, as well. Then you can make a rational comparison. Will you consider it? Or at least reassure me that you will not rush into anything."

"I have no intention of rushing into it. I should like you and Mother to get to know Bea a little better, Father. Indeed, I should like to get to know her better myself. These Latin lessons are the ideal means to allow us both to discover what we want. At the moment, she says that she does not wish to marry at all, and Latin consumes her every thought, so there is no question of anything more between us. Franklyn chaperons us ferociously, you know. His presence not ten feet away is a great deterrent against any impropriety."

His father chuckled. "Franklyn is a sensible man. So you will do nothing to further your cause with Miss Franklyn?"

"Not yet. I think we both need a time of reflection."

"Good. And we might discuss the issue of York with your mother. She will be taking Emily there this year, so your presence will attract no comment, and I confess I should be very glad to see you taking your proper place in society, instead of burying yourself in your books all the time."

"You have never mentioned it before, Father."

"I always hoped that one day you would wake up and notice there were attractive females in the world, and be driven to acquire one for yourself. I just never expected it would be Bea Franklyn who woke you. Yes, Carter, what is it?"

The butler bowed. "A letter from his lordship at the castle, sir. A groom brought it just now."

"Is a reply expected?"

"No, sir." He stepped forward and proffered a silver salver, on which lay a sealed note.

"I hope he is not in another pother about the Northumberland estate," Bertram's father said with a smile, as he broke the seal. "Clarke knows what he is doing, and— Good God!"

"Not bad news, I hope?" Bertram said, alarmed.

"I— No, it is good news… or so we must take it. Tom Shapman has confessed to killing Nicholson."

"Tom Shapman? The woodworker? But why?"

"Something to do with Tess Nicholson… wait, here it is. ‘He wished to marry Tess, but Nicholson refused to consent.' That is hardly a reason to kill the man. Tess will be of age in a few months and free to marry where she pleases, even a woodworker. That makes no sense to me, and Shapman always struck me as a sensible fellow."

"Still, if Shapman is the murderer, then it cannot be Whyte, can it? But then why has he vanished?" Bertram said.

"Good point. I shall send this letter to Edgerton anyway, and Morton can see what news he can find of Whyte. Well! Tom Shapman! I never would have guessed that."

***

Bea was drawn out of the library one day by her stepmother's insistence that they sit on the terrace awaiting callers.

"Must I, Mama? I have a long passage to translate before Bertram comes tomorrow, and Hobbs can tell me if anyone calls."

Lady Esther was too refined to raise her eyes heavenwards, as Aunt Betty would have done, but she gave a very slight sigh and said, "Bring it outside with you if you must, but tuck it away in your work basket the instant anyone calls."

That was an acceptable compromise to Bea, and since no one at all came to call, she was able to work undisturbed.

"I suppose no one yet knows we are home," Lady Esther said, after she had been forced to move into the shade no fewer than three times as the sun sank majestically in the sky. "I suppose no one will come now."

But even as she spoke, the sound of hooves on the drive brightened her eye a little. "Books away, Beatrice."

"Yes, Mama."

When Hobbs brought the visitor onto the terrace, however, both ladies were surprised to see Walter Atherton.

"Mr Atherton! How charming of you to call," Lady Esther said.

Bea jumped up and rushed across to greet him. "Walter! Whatever are you doing here?" She tucked one arm into his, and towed him towards her stepmother.

He detached himself to make his bow to her stepmother. "Good day, Lady Esther, Bea. I am glad to find you on your own for I have news to impart."

"How intriguing. Pray sit, Mr Atherton. Will you take some wine? Or lemonade is most refreshing in this hot weather."

"Is it?" he said. "I should prefer wine, thank you."

Once Hobbs had been dispatched to bring the refreshments, Walter turned to the ladies and said, "I came at once to tell you, for I should not wish you to hear it from anyone else."

"How very alarming," Lady Esther said.

"Oh… no, nothing to be alarmed about. It is good news… at least, I think it is."

His eyes rested on Bea as he spoke, and she was filled with foreboding. It was Bertram — it must be! Some accident, or—

"I am engaged to be married… to Winnie Strong."

Whatever Bea had expected, that was not it. She was conscious of a whoosh of relief… nothing to do with Bertram then.

"I thought there was some man from London," Bea said. "A man with a fine estate and four thousand a year."

"That came to nothing," Walter said. "He was never right for Winnie, and she gave him his marching orders in the end. Which was a piece of luck for me."

"Oh, yes. I congratulate you, Mr Atherton," Lady Esther said smoothly. "Such a sensible match for you in your present circumstances. Miss Strong is an eminently practical girl, she will be able to manage very well on your reduced income."

Walter looked bewildered. "I hardly chose her for her ability to make gooseberry pie!"

"Why did you choose her?" Bea said. "She has no dowry to speak of."

Walter smiled with such warmth that Bea was startled. He had never smiled that way at her! But then she had a revelation.

"Oh! You are in love with her! Why did you never say?"

"Beatrice, a lady does not enquire into a gentleman's affections," Lady Esther said gently.

"We established a long time ago that I am no lady, nor ever likely to be," Bea said robustly.

Before her stepmother could reply, Walter laughed. "Bea, I am delighted to see that you are as open and forthright as ever. Lady Esther, I have long been wishing to examine the new parterre below, which reminds me very much of the one at Valmont. I know you will not wish to stroll about in this hot weather, but perhaps Bea may be permitted to show me the improvements?"

Lady Esther laughed. "And you, sir, are as charming a rogue as ever. I doubt you were ever within a hundred miles of Valmont."

"Oh, I am sure I must have been in the same county, at least. It is in Kent, is it not? Or Surrey? Berkshire?"

"It is in Hampshire, Walter," Bea said, laughing. "Home to the Duke of Falconbury. Family name, Litherholm. Mama made me learn all the dukes and marquesses."

"Well remembered, Beatrice," her stepmother said. "The parterre at Valmont is certainly very fine, or it was the last time I visited. A lucky guess on your part, Mr Atherton."

Walter chuckled. "These great houses always have a parterre, and that being so, I have surely seen an engraving of it in a book somewhere. Grandmother was forever showing me such things. You will not mind if I stroll about with Bea?"

She graciously assented, and they descended the steps to the newly planted parterre and walked sedately round the perimeter.

"So tell me about Winnie," Bea said. "How did you come to fall in love with her?"

"I think I must have been in love with her for years," he said, and again his face softened into a glowing smile. "She was always my very good friend, but I never understood how much she meant to me until this fellow started paying court to her."

"And has she conveniently fallen in love with you, too?"

"That is the amazing part of it, Bea. Winnie has been in love with me for years — ten years, if you can believe it, and never said a word or showed it in the slightest. I had not the least idea. Did you? Perhaps you suspected something? Did she ever say anything when I was engaged to you?"

"No, not a word. Ten years? And you had no idea? I could not do that! If I loved a man so well as that, I should have told him so."

Walter chuckled. "So you should. After all, you told me you were going to marry me and you were not in love with me… were you?" he added, an anxious tone in his voice. "I should not wish you to be unhappy on my account, Bea."

"No, no, no, nothing like that. It was a practical matter for both of us. A suitable match, as Mama would say."

"Bea…" he began, with a sideways glance. "I should not wish you to think… that I was discontented with our arrangement. I went into it willingly, and I think… I truly believe we would have rubbed along together pretty well."

"I think so too," she said slowly. "But… there would have been something missing."

"Exactly!" he said eagerly. "With Winnie, it is so different. I feel so… so alive, if that makes sense. As if it is summer every day."

"It is summer, Walter."

"Ha! So it is. But it feels like… so much more. Oh, I am no good with words, so I cannot describe it to you properly, but with Winnie I feel as if we complement each other perfectly, as if we are meant to be together, and I am so happy I could burst. I hope… truly I hope you find your perfect match, too, Bea." A pause, and then he went on gently, "How are you getting on with Bertram? Any luck yet?"

"No, I have abandoned my plan to marry him." She tried very hard not to sound subdued, but was not entirely successful. "Unlike you, he has told me very steadfastly that he has no intention of marrying at all, and I have given up all thought of it. In fact, I am not sure I want to marry myself. I am learning Latin and—"

"Latin! Whatever for?"

"It is fascinating, Walter. Bertram is teaching me about future tenses at the moment."

"Oh, Bertram is teaching you, is he? So this is just a clever way to win the heart of a bookish man like Bertram."

"You malign me, Walter Atherton. I have no such plan. I simply like learning Latin, that is all."

"What a strange, unaccountable girl you are, Bea." He shook his head sorrowfully. "Latin! Whatever next?"