Chapter Thirty-One

F or a moment, Jack hesitated on the threshold of the bedroom before him. Then he stepped inside and closed the door firmly on the woman in the corridor. The four people already in the room, arrested in their movement by his arrival, made a dramatic tableau.

The bedroom was huge, the walls lined with oak paneling that combined with the thick curtains drawn over the long windows, rendered it dark and gloomy. In the center of the wall opposite the door, a large four-poster bed stood, hung with heavy drapes of green and gold brocade. What little light there was came only from the plethora of candles that had been lit. They cast an eerie glow over the whole motionless assembly.

A rise in the bedcovers marked where Jack’s father lay, his head upon a heap of pillows. To the right side of the bed sat two women clad in drab, dark colors, one of whom, easily recognizable as Lady Trengrouse, clutched his father’s hand. The other had to be her youngest daughter. The only pretty one. On the other side of the bed, Dr Rescorla hovered in his somber black consulting coat, resembling nothing more than a thin crow come late to the feast.

For what felt like an eternity, nobody said anything and no one moved. Then, Lady Trengrouse, her spiteful face, as much like a pig’s as his mother had suggested, made to step towards him, but Sir Austin’s hand pulled her back. “No,” was all he said, his weak voice carrying in the silence.

They were all staring at Jack. If Lady Trengrouse’s look could have killed, he’d have been dead on the floor right now.

“What are you doing here?” she finally managed to spit out. The girl, his sister, on the other hand, was nothing but curious. Perhaps she’d long wondered about the half-brother who she must have known didn’t live far away.

It was up to Jack to do something. To break open the ominous silence. “I’ve come to pay my respects to my father.” Refusing to shrink under the accusing stare of Lady Trengrouse, Jack stepped up beside Dr. Rescorla and stood looking down at the figure in the bed.

Sir Austin peered back up out of eyes that should have been so like Jack’s own, but now were exhausted, bloodshot and ringed by dark shadows. “You came.” The side of his face nearest to Jack was pulled down and sagging and the words emerged slurred and difficult to hear. A trail of saliva ran from the downturned corner of his mouth.

Jack stared down at the man he’d always wanted to be closer to. Now it was too late. How could he be angry with a dying man? That his father had been so weak as to allow himself to be bullied into bigamy shocked Jack to the core, but the man was dying, and this was not the time for recriminations. It never would be.

A stool stood beside the bed, so Jack took it, drawing it close enough that he could take the pale hand where it lay on the covers, lifeless and chill, just a glove with loose bones inside it.

Across the bed, Lady Trengrouse released her husband’s other hand and sat up straighter. “You have no right to show your face here.”

Jack ignored her.

Dr. Rescorla cleared his throat. “Captain Trevelyan. I am afraid your father has lost the use of the right side of his body. His apoplexy has caused it. I’ve bled him, but there’s nothing more I can do. It’s just a matter of time, now. You are lucky he’s retained the power of speech.”

Sir Austin shot his medical man a venomous glare. So he wasn’t as feeble as he looked. “I know I’m dying, man. You may go, all of you. I wish to be alone with my son.” This time the words were clearer. He waved his left hand at Lady Trengrouse and Lavinia. “Go. All of you. Now.”

Rising to her feet, Lady Trengrouse turned to her daughter, catching her arm. “Come, Lavinia, we must allow your papa his vagaries.” The glare she shot at Jack could have had him in a smoking heap of embers on the floor.

The girl rose, but hesitated. “Might I not stay, too, Papa? I am your daughter as much as he is your son. You must know how much I love you.”

The old man’s eyes swiveled to take her in. “Very well. Not your mother. She must go.”

Lady Trengrouse looked as though she would have liked to have argued the point, but Doctor Rescorla, who knew Jack well and had treated his mother on occasion, took her arm, tucked her hand into his elbow and ushered her out. “Your husband has little time left. You need to allow him his final wishes, my lady.”

Did he know anything of the contents of the letter? He could only have been a boy at the time of Sir Austin’s marriage to Jack’s mother, but his father before him had been a doctor in Penzance. And the letter had said they’d married there. Someone must have stood as witnesses for them. Someone must have carried out their wedding. And yet no one had ever come forward to say so. Whoever those people were, they must have been in Jack’s father’s pocket not to have betrayed him as a bigamist.

The door closed behind them, and Lavinia returned to the far side of the bed, retaking her seat. Sir Austin’s eyes had closed. “Papa, I am here.” She took his one responsive hand in hers. “We both are.”

Sir Austin opened his eyes. “My children.”

“Mama has sent for Honoria and Horatia as well, only as Honoria is in a delicate condition, Mama fears she won’t be able to travel.”

Jack watched Lavinia with interest. This was by far the closest he’d been to her and now they were facing one another, he could see even more clearly how much she resembled their father. Unlike her two rather sturdy sisters, she was slender and curvaceous, with a pale, oval face and the wide golden eyes of Sir Austin. And Jack himself.

She stared back at him in open interest. “So,” she said, “you are my brother.”

“Half-brother.”

“I have always wanted a brother.”

Jack bit his lip. If he were to speak the truth he’d have to say that he’d always wanted a sister, but he wasn’t about to appear vulnerable in front of her. He was here to steal her name and her inheritance, and she’d not forgive him for that, brother or not. Not that it had ever been truly hers.

Sir Austin stirred. “I have not much time. Do you have the letter?”

Lavinia’s brow furrowed. “The letter? What letter?”

Jack nodded. “I do.”

“And you have read it?” His voice was weakening. Had he been holding on just so he could speak to Jack?

“I have.”

“So you know.”

“I do.”

“And do you have any questions?” The sick man’s chest heaved as he fought for breath. How sunken his cheeks were, how waxy pale, his eyes like dark holes in his skull.

“What do you want me to do with the information in the letter?” Let his father be the one to say whether Lavinia would love or hate her newfound brother.

“As you wish. But you are the rightful heir.”

Lavinia’s eyes widened. “How can that be, Papa? We thought it would be our cousin Henry? Surely he is heir to the baronetcy?”

Of course. The title and land must be entailed and could only go to the heir. The sudden realization that by taking the title he would not be depriving Lady Trengrouse and Lavinia of their home swept over Jack. They were to lose it anyway, to some cousin he’d never heard of.

“He is not.” Sir Austin closed his eyes and his breathing shallowed. “Jack will inform you of what is in my letter. I do not have the strength. But he is the next baronet. He will see you are well cared for…” His voice faded.

For a moment, Jack feared he’d died, but then his chest rose in a shuddering breath. No. He’d just exhausted himself.

Lavinia fixed Jack with enquiring, intelligent eyes. “Are you going to tell me, then, or keep it to yourself? I fear it is something important that I need to hear. Mama as well.” She spoke with intelligence and understanding, perhaps already guessing what he knew for fact. She was a sharp-witted girl, it seemed, not given to the vapors.

Jack rubbed his nose in an effort to give himself time to think. “Today, when I returned from my ship, my mother handed me a letter.” He licked his lips, searching for a way to say this that wasn’t too abrupt. “In it, my father told me that before he married your mother, he had already in secret married mine. In short, out of fear of his own father, he had committed bigamy. And after his father died, he was too afraid to admit he’d done so. He could have gone to jail, or been transported to the colonies.”

Her eyes widened again. “Go on.” She seemed a girl of quiet calm, perhaps not given to hysteria. Not so her mother, Jack feared. She was going to be beside herself with anger and shock.

“He told me that my name is not Jack Trevelyan, but Jack Trengrouse, and that I will be baronet after him and inherit all of the Trengrouse lands. He asked me to be kind to your mother and to you.”

She pressed her lips together. “So, I am the bastard and not you? All this time while my mother has been sneering about you living so close with your mother, all this time it was your mother who was Lady Trengrouse, and my mother the mistress?”

That was one way of putting it. Not quite the way he’d have worded it himself. He nodded.

Sir Austin’s eyes flickered. “You will take care of my daughter?”

Jack nodded. “I will.”

Lavinia’s eyes flashed. “I don’t need looking after. As it would have been had my cousin Henry inherited, my mother will have the unentailed fortune she brought to the marriage and we will not be paupers, let me assure you.”

So she had her pride.

Sir Austin nodded. “She is correct.” He closed his eyes again and sucked in another breath. His eyes flickered open. “But I would like Jack to be as a brother to you, little Lavinia. You will need him.”

She would indeed if she wanted to continue into society. She would need the approbation of her legitimate half-brother to get herself a husband, and even then, it would not be easy.

Sir Austin’s gaze flicked to Jack’s face. “Promise me you will take care of them.”

A mountain of conflicting emotions surged through Jack. His father, whose lack of courage had brought about this mess, wanted him to forgive and forget everything that had gone before. Wanted him to be a better man than he’d ever been. He wanted him to put out of his head how Lady Trengrouse had made the gardeners throw him out of the grounds as a boy, to put out of his head the taunting he’d suffered at school for being a bastard. He wanted him to accept Lavinia, and presumably her absent sisters, as his family, when they’d never been forced to accept him.

What would his mother say to this? She didn’t have a malicious bone in her body. She would forgive and forget for certain, or she wouldn’t now be waiting at Rosudgeon, afraid to come to her beloved husband on his death bed. Afraid to intrude on the family she’d stood aside for. Afraid to cause them upset.

He had to do what his mother would have done. What his father wanted him to do. “I promise,” he said.

His father’s head lolled on the pillow and Lavinia bent her forehead to rest it on his hand. “Oh, Papa. Don’t leave me.”

But he had gone.

*

Harriet woke the next morning to rain pattering on the bedroom window. She lay for a few minutes in the bed’s comfortable warmth, unwilling to throw the blankets aside and expose herself to the autumnal chill. A glance sideways showed her Lydia almost totally covered by her bedclothes, just the top of her dark head visible.

Then she remembered Jack, and her admission to Lydia last night that she liked him. Which had not been entirely honest. Not about how much she liked him, at any rate. To her surprise, this had not met with the disapproval she’d expected. Instead, Lydia had nodded with decision. “Good,” she’d said. “I like him too, although I should like him better if he were to give up the smuggling when he marries you.”

This had so shocked Harriet she’d been bereft of words for a full minute, and was saved from answering this declaration by the arrival of Bertha, come to tell them dinner was served. She’d had to throw on her dressing gown, that still held a faint aroma of tobacco in its threads, and run downstairs with Lydia to eat, putting off thinking about Jack until later.

Now, lying on her back and listening to the rain, she couldn’t escape the image of him standing with his legs slightly apart on the deck, swaying with the movement of the ship under him. The image was so vivid, she could almost feel the movement herself and, for a worrying moment, feared the return of the mal de mer. But it vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

Instead of lying in bed dreaming about a man she couldn’t have, would in fact be afraid to have, whatever conclusion Lydia had formed, she’d best get up. So she pushed back the covers and set her bare feet on the floorboards. Brrrr. Too cold by half. The water in the jug on the dressing table had chilled overnight so her wash was perfunctory and hurried. She’d leave Lydia in bed a while. No need for the children to rise as early as her and Bertha, not with it now cooling down so much.

The single-handed struggle into her stays overcome, she donned a workaday gown, a clean apron and her lace-up boots and quietly let herself out of their bedroom onto the gloomy landing. Downstairs, Bertha was just finishing sweeping the floor after having lit the fire in the range earlier. She looked up as Harriet came in. “Tea’s in the pot on the range.”

Harriet poured herself a cup and took it to the table while Bertha finished the floor. It seemed she’d been up a while and all the chores Harriet had planned to help her with had been accomplished. She dismissed the guilt for this with a sense of further guilt at the dismissal. Bertha, oblivious to her mistress’s conscience, sat beside her with a thud and poured herself a cup of tea. “Goin’ up to see him then?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Bertha wiped her lips on her apron front. “Are you goin’ up to the big house to see him today?”

What should she say? What had she done that had given away how she felt about Jack to her faithful servant?

Bertha placed a pudgy hand, still a little damp from the chores, on Harriet’s. “Don’t look like a frightened rabbit at me, my girl. I’ve known you all your life, don’t you forget. Longer than anyone. I know when I see that look on your face. And I knows it when I see it on the face o’ the man you’ve taken to as well. So, are you walkin’ up there to see him or not?”

Harriet scraped around for words and failed. How had Bertha seen more than she had? Was she right and was Jack as enamored of her as she was of him? On the ship he’d asked to kiss her, after all, but that had come to nothing. Just the merest brushing of the lips before they were disturbed. A gentle kiss. Could she trust him to be gentle in all things? She couldn’t risk repeating what she’d gone through with Ben again. And Jack was a man, after all, with a man’s needs, and Ben had always insisted that his needs be met whenever he required it. Wouldn’t Jack do the same?

That thought cooled her blood.

“No. I’m not running after him. If he wants to see me, then he can come here.”

Bertha slurped her tea. “I’ll lay odds that if you don’t walk up there to see him this morning, then he’ll be down here by teatime this afternoon.”

Laying odds on a man did not sound the right thing to do. Might Bertha be right? Might he be thinking right now of coming down to see her?

Bertha set her teacup down with a bang. “I wouldn’t play hard to get with him, if I was you. He’s a keeper and a gentleman.” She gave Harriet a hard look. “A sight better than the man you married.”

Harriet’s mouth fell open. She’d always been aware of Bertha’s silent disapproval of Ben, but never had it been voiced before.

Bertha nodded. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m not a fool. I saw what was going on when he was home from the army.”

“You did?”

She nodded. “You can’t hide anything from me. I had to hold my tongue though, or he’d’ve given me my marching orders and I wanted to stay close to you and the children. I had to keep quiet and just be glad he wasn’t home often.”

“So everyone knew except Lydia?” Shock cascaded through Harriet.

Bertha nodded. “That girl wouldn’t know a fact if it jumped up and hit her on the nose. She sails through life with her head either in the air or in a book.”

Harriet shook her head. “Not so vague as all that. She asked me about Jack last night before dinner.”

“And you said what?”

“That I like him.” She paused. “I didn’t tell her how much, but she guessed. She said I was to marry him.”

Bertha chuckled. “More sense than I thought she had. Well, I’ll be. Fancy that. And she was right. So you should marry him. He’s head over heels in love with you, but you’re too silly to see it.”

A delicious little wriggle of excitement coursed through Harriet, provoking the strangest of hot feelings in her very core. What might he be offering? Nothing, most likely, although he’d said he didn’t want a mistress. No. She was fooling herself here, and Bertha and Lydia were just as addled. Nothing would come of this. Nothing at all. But a very large part of her was hoping something would.