Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

J ulian left the room at Ester's insistence and against his better judgment. He frowned as he closed the door of the anteroom and walked along the hallway, heading for his private study. Kingsley would have requested to await Julian there and was the only house guest who would be permitted such an indulgence. Julian protected his privacy fiercely.

But Ester's reaction was curious. He would have said that she was alarmed at the hearing of Kingsley's name. No, not alarmed… dismayed ? She had subsequently tried to cover it up but Julian had caught the initial reaction before she could mask it. What could be the cause of it?

Kingsley was a good man, one of the very best. He had been a loyal friend to Julian since early adolescence, sticking by him when others would not. They had fought battles together at Silverton Hill, the school in the borderlands between England and Scotland that both had attended. Wars against all who would belittle or even bully Julian for his refusal to be without his gloves. If Kingsley were a man of lesser morals, a cad or a rogue, then Julian might suspect him of being complicit in the scandal that Ester was trying to hide from.

But, that could not be.

Entering the study, still deep in thought, he saw Kingsley standing before the fire holding a hefty tome, frowning in concentration as he studied the pages. He glanced up at Julian's approach and grinned. Simon Thompson, Viscount Kingsley, had fair hair which fell in curls about his round face. His eyes were sky blue and his smile was that of a boy taking delight in the world around him. He was irrepressible.

"A translation of the Venerable Bede," Kingsley grinned, "his Life of Saint Cuthbert. Fascinating stuff."

"Truly?" Julian retorted dryly.

Kingsley snapped the book shut. "No need to sound quite so skeptical, old chap. I have developed a curious mind since our school days."

"I recall the build of dust on your books at Silverton. Something that was certainly not present on your cricket bat."

Kingsley shrugged and smiled brilliantly. "I was young and callous. Now I am old and…"

"Shallow?"

"Somewhat."

He helped himself to Julian's preferred seat. Julian dragged a chair over to take a position opposite.

"It is unlike you to forget an appointment, Windermere," Kingsley stated with a hint of chiding.

"Forgive me, Kingsley. I have an unexpected house guest who requires my attention."

Kingsley's left eyebrow went up. A sly smile broke out across his striking features. "And would that be a house guest of the female persuasion?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Julian replied, not rising to the suggestion of innuendo. "I rescued her from a brigand the night before last."

"A brigand? I have not heard of a new highwayman in these parts since Peter Clancy was caught and strung up. Do the night watchmen not patrol into these wilds?"

"Pah. The watchmen do not stir much beyond the boundaries of London as far as I can tell. But, the presence of the brigands is still unusual. I have not heard of highway activity for more than a year. This young lady was walking alone near the Theydon Mere on the Chigwell Road. Even without much criminal activity lately, that is never advised. Nevertheless, there she was."

"Theydon's Mere?" Kingsley asked suddenly. "The lake with the old boathouse?"

Julian had been about to speak but paused. "Yes, do you know it?"

"I passed by it on my way here from town. A lonely place indeed. What was she doing there alone?" Kingsley commented with concern creasing his visage.

"…Walking?" Julian shrugged. "I can't say I know much more. She was accosted on the road. Almost had her satchel snatched. I chased the fellow away but, sadly, I could not apprehend the rogue. He escaped."

"Well done, Windermere. A veritable chivalrous knight," he grinned, "and this was the night before last?"

There was an inflection to his questions and sharpness to his eyes that gave Julian pause. His friend was sitting with one leg crossed over the other and hands hanging loosely, forearms resting on the arms of the chair. It was a pose of indolent relaxation. His fine, golden brows were level, eyes intent on Julian's. His lips were pursed slightly. Julian wondered at the interest in the story. It certainly was a curious tale, but one that he had not expected to draw questions.

"Yes, it was. A young, local girl. From the village," Julian added slowly.

Ester wasn't from Theydon, of course. But Julian was intrigued enough by his friend's response to the story that he decided to adjust the facts, searching for any further reaction.

"Strange for a village girl to be roaming around those parts with a satchel full of coins at night, one would think it might make you an easy target for any rogue lurking about. What reason did she give for her little jaunt?" Kingsley asked, interlacing his fingers on his knee, perplexed.

"Your guess is as good as mine, old boy," Julian replied. "I warned her of the folly in it. Some family trouble, I gather. I have offered her shelter for a couple of days to help her regain her bearings."

"So, she remains under this roof?"

"She does," Julian affirmed. "Now, what was it you wished to discuss so urgently that it could not wait a few days?"

Kingsley stared at him blankly for a moment. Then he smiled, the same easy grin that Julian knew so well. "Ah, yes!" He clapped his hands. "I had my secretary compile a detailed summary of our joint business interests. I wish to discuss with you several promising investment opportunities that have recently arisen in York. I asked him to wait in the kitchen—excellent chap, but not a gentleman."

"Kingsley, Harper has served you loyally since his employment commenced last year. To consign him to the kitchens is hardly grateful."

"Ever the egalitarian," Kingsley laughed. "Precisely why I must be the face of our enterprises among the gentry. You, my dear friend, would perhaps be better suited to the salons of Paris or the new American republic, where such progressive notions are celebrated. With a name as plebeian as Harper, how could I introduce him in these halls where your ancestors shall forever gaze at my visage with disdain?"

Julian rolled his eyes drolly. "Well then, summon him forthwith, and let us hear his report," he declared, cutting through Kingsley's aristocratic pretensions. "They have been doing so already at mine. You learn to ignore them," he finished with a dry smile.

The man shrugged, then promptly rose and tugged on the nearest bellpull. Moments later, when Crammond entered the room, Julian ordered him to send Mr. Christopher Harper up from the kitchens.

"Ah, I was thinking," Kingsley began with another clap, framed with a bright smile, after Crammond departed, "that Harper and I could provide your damsel in distress an escort back to her home in Theydon."

"A little out of your way, is it not?" Julian said, shuffling in his seat to pour himself some brandy from the decanter on the side table.

"Not in the slightest!" Kingsley declared, jumping to his feet. "Not when we are providing aid to one you have taken under your esteemed protection, old chap," he finished, his smile never slipping.

Julian experienced a curious sensation then. As he watched his oldest and most trusted friend, he felt a twinge of doubt. Something in what Kingsley had said did not ring true. He could say with hand on heart that Kingsley had never lied to him. Not once in their twenty years of friendship. At least he had no reason to suspect he had ever been lied to. Now, for the first time, Julian wondered. What was it that had put him on alert? He tried to recall their previous words, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Kingsley's apparent interest in Ester was not proof. Nor were his deductions. His reaction had been slightly out of character but that was not conclusive in itself, particularly when weighed against two decades of friendship.

"I shall ask her if she feels ready to leave," Julian replied cautiously.

"I am in no hurry, old chap. I can change my schedule to accommodate her. Unless, you are intending to provide her escort yourself? Or perhaps… you are hoping to spend more time alone with her here?"

Kingsley's smile deepened and Julian felt disconcerted at his own innermost desires being exposed. It was a hazard of allowing another person to know him so well.

He shrugged, then gave a wave of the hand. "I will ask and I am sure your offer will be gratefully received. Being escorted into the village by the Phantom might do more harm than good, I fear," he replied.

"The Phantom!" Kingsley scoffed, "I still marvel that a man of honor and integrity should be vilified so simply because he chooses to hold himself apart from the community."

"There is more to it and you know it," Julian muttered, before taking a sip of the brandy from the crystal glass.

"Stuff and nonsense. You cannot expect me to agree with this rubbish. Whether the perpetrators are members of our own society or the common folk of village and town. You may be eccentric, old chap, but that is no reason for discourtesy. There are many poor houses in London that would not exist were it not for your policy of investing a portion of our profits in charitable works. I should like to knock some heads together in that benighted village."

His anger at the fear and suspicion with which Julian was regarded by many was customary. It had been that way almost since the day the two had met at Silverton. Julian felt a warm sense of comfort at the continuity, the return to familiar behavior.

"It is a pleasant place that I regard with affection," Julian stated, defending the place he had come to call home.

Kingsley only tutted. "Southerners are reactionary and hostile to strangers. No matter how long you live in a place. Northerners are far more accepting. I very much look forward to returning to my new estate for the hunts."

"New estates in the north?" Julian asked curiously, setting down his glass.

"Did I not tell you? I chose to invest my share of our profits in property and purchased land in Cheshire. The hunting is excellent with the wilds of Wales so close by. And the hospitality has been most generous. The price of land up there is also very advantageous... Whatever is the matter, old boy?"

Julian had been staring. A chill ran through him at the revelation. Kingsley's ancestral seat was in Hampshire, with property in London. Julian had not known that Kingsley had purchased land in Cheshire . Placing him in proximity to Ester's family. It would be feasible therefore that he would attend the same social functions as Ester had attended.

"I did not know you had purchased lands in the north," Julian commented, woodenly.

"Investing my share of our profits wisely. Bricks and mortar. Safest investment at the moment," Kingsley continued, "besides, you're a northerner yourself. I did not think you would object."

"Oh, I don't object. Far from it. It just came as a surprise, that's all," Julian hastily added. "Whereabouts is your new property?"

"Not far from a little place called Tarporley. Very picturesque place near a river. Ah, which reminds me, you must come with me for the hunting next time I visit."

Julian nodded absently. "Perhaps I will."

A knock came at the door just then, and Crammond issued a young man into the room. Mr. Christopher Harper . He was tall, with brown hair and high cheeks with a prominent nose. He carried a leather-bound sheaf of papers, tied with string, and moved with the air of a common-born man elevated in his status and aware of it.

"Harper, His Grace was telling me that he rescued a damsel in distress the other night. Out at Theydon's Mere. He foiled a highwayman in an attempted robbery."

Harper glanced at Julian with cold eyes, freezing in mid-stride.

"Indeed, Your Grace? How fortuitous that you were there."

"It was. And please, don't stand on ceremony. Crammond, bring a chair over for Mr. Harper."

"Incidentally, what is this fortunate young girl's name, Windermere?" Kingsley asked.

Julian pretended to think for a moment, as though the name had escaped him. "Emily, I believe. Emily Granger," he said, finally.

Glancing at Harper, he caught a look passing from Kingsley to his manservant. He had the distinct feeling that both men knew that he was lying.