The Gentleman's Keeper, page 17
Miles clutched his arm to prevent him walking away. “The cottage? What do you mean?”
Gerard tasted something horrid in his mouth and spat. “Ipsial…” he tried again.
“All right, we’ll keep looking. We’ll walk. And you will tell me what you meant.” His unwavering stare focused on Gerard. “You are pale and you still are shaking. If you’re not ill, you’re afraid.”
Gerard waited for the surge of anger, the desperate need to fight. Perhaps he was too worried about Ipsial or his body had had enough, because he remained calm. “All right,” he agreed and strode toward the gardener’s hut.
“Why are you afraid of the place?” Miles asked again.
Gerard wanted to get this over with. He broke into a trot. “When I was a boy, my mother was rarely here. I don’t recall her well. Except that last day. That I remember. That…” He had never said these words aloud. His father’s devastated face, his hushed whispers. “Do not tell. Do not tell anyone.”
“I came to the hut and found my mother and another man. Someone I did not know. Both were dead. He was shot. I think she’d been strangled, for her face was purple. And there was so much blood and bits of gray muck. Even then I knew it was brain matter.”
The words rushed out of him. “They had almost no clothes, and they lay on the floor, the dirt-and-stone floor of the gardener’s hut. I couldn’t understand why they had so few clothes. I thought it’s too chilly to be here without clothes. And that blood—I walked close enough so that my shoes got blood on them.”
He slowed because he was out of breath again. Too much talking, not enough inhaling. “The blood remained on my shoes, and that’s how I could remember the whole thing. My father ordered me to forget. He took me back to my room, told the servants I was ill. They put me to bed.
“He must have buried my mother’s body on his own. The man was discovered later, alone. But my father hid my mother. I thought of him whenever I felt weak. I spent so little time, only a matter of minutes, near those bodies. He must have been with them for hours. And he never showed any weakness.”
He dragged in a long breath, and words and air seemed to come more easily. “I tried to speak of it to him later. He slapped me and reminded me that I wasn’t to ever mention the matter.
“‘Even with you?’ I asked him and he nodded.”
Gerard squeezed his eyes shut. He lowered his voice. “I had to know, so I asked him another time if he’d killed them. Her.” He swallowed back the familiar rise of nausea. “He gave me such a look, pure venom, and said, ‘Of course not, you fool. I would never do such a thing. I expect he killed her and then himself.’ I believed him.”
Miles made a small sympathetic sound and reached out to touch his arm. “’Tis an awful thing you witnessed. No wonder you could hardly face this place again.” He paused, then added, “But do you really believe those are the true facts of what happened that night?”
He laughed without humor. “It was not that my father was incapable of lying. On the contrary, he did a wonderful job for the rest of his life. No one here thought he lied when he said Mama went to London. No one here or in London suspected he didn’t tell the truth when he said she’d died of influenza.”
“And you are sure your father didn’t murder them?” Miles’s voice was quiet, gentle, but matter-of-fact—without a trace of pity, thank God.
For the first time in long minutes, Gerard felt the nausea recede. His heart slowed. “I suppose I don’t know and never will. But I believe him, because in truth, it was not in his nature to act with such passion. My father was a tidy, methodical man, a man who didn’t like fusses. He wouldn’t resort to such a bloody mess. He would ignore my mother’s indiscretions. Perhaps he always had.” He shuddered. “And I recall a gun next to the dead man’s body. Next to his hand. Mr. Hughes had a violent temper, people in London said. He’d lost his job as a banker because of it. My theory is that he must have followed my mother when she tried to return to the abbey and my father and killed her before she could.”
“Did you father tell you the rest of it? About Mr. Hughes?”
“No. Of course not. My father and I never spoke of the matter. Nor did he even mention the man’s name. I hired an inquiry agent in London recently, two agents, actually, Marsh and Court.” He smiled briefly at the memory. “For some reason, I suspect those two were more than simply partners in the agency.”
Miles opened the door to the cottage, calling, “Ipsial? Are you here?”
Silence met them. Miles strode over to the fireplace—right across the spot where Gerard’s mother and her lover had once lain—and put his hand near the ashes. “The hearth is cold. I’m almost certain he didn’t spend the night here.”
Gerard’s mind snapped back to the present and the task at hand. “Well, unless he’s hiding someplace in the house, where do you think he might be?”
Miles shook his head. “He could’ve set up camp any place on the grounds.”
“In the rain with no shelter? A city child like that? Has he done such a thing before?”
Miles thought for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”
Worry wove into the first frissons of anger in Gerard. “I wish you’d have informed me last night that he’d disappeared. We could have begun the search for him then.”
“I didn’t know, and at any rate, I wouldn’t worry quite yet. Ipsy has a way of coming and going like a cat. He’ll likely show up again around the next mealtime. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were getting his breakfast from Mrs. Billings right now.”
Gerard clicked his tongue in irritation. “What exactly did you and he overhear in the hallway? Does he know that Hubert is his true father? Don’t you think that might upset the lad?”
Miles slapped his cap against the side of his leg, and droplets of water sprayed from it. His expression betrayed uncertainty as his mouth thinned in a grim line. “Truth be told, Ipsial did seem quite angry last time I saw him. He talked with your cousin in the garden, and I listened in on the conversation. Hubert admitted he was Ipsial’s father and tried to convince him to go away with him, and he…”
“What? What else happened in this conversation you’ve waited till now to share with me?” Gerard’s temper was rising fast and fiery now.
Miles sighed. “Hubert tried to get Ipsial to admit to having witnessed us together. He was searching for ammunition to use against you. I don’t know what your cousin plans, but it’s clear he wants control over the abbey, and in order to get that, he must have a way to threaten you.”
“I see. And what did Ipsial reveal to him?” A hunk of lead had taken up residence in the pit of Gerard’s stomach. “Come outside. We will keep looking.”
They stepped out of the dank cottage, but Gerard barely noticed they’d left the evil place. He was filled with dread for the little wretch, and he was unused to strong worry for anyone.
Miles laid a hand on his shoulder. “Ipsial revealed nothing. Nothing at all. The boy remained quiet about what he may or may not have seen of us together.” Miles grimaced. “And the last thing he said to Hubert before he ran away was that he would never go with him—even if you didn’t want him here any longer.”
“What?” Gerard’s shout frightened several birds in the nearby bush, and they shot out into the air. “Why would he think I wouldn’t want him? And why did you not think it was important to inform me of all this immediately?”
Miles frowned and stared into his eyes, his big hand still resting on his shoulder. “Because I know Ipsial. He’s a loner at heart. It was the dead of night, and I didn’t imagine he’d actually go anywhere. I was almost certain he’d decided to sleep here. And, as I said, he might be at breakfast right now. We should walk back to the abbey and check.”
Gerard’s pulse beat in his ears deafeningly. His outrage was far out of proportion to the annoyance he should feel toward Miles right now. He recognized that, yet he couldn’t seem to control the anger that had taken hold of him. All he knew right now was that he must find Ipsial and see that he was safe. No pretend son of his was going to go through life feeling unwanted or unloved.
Without another word to Miles, Gerard turned and strode out of the clearing. All the way back to the house, he felt Miles’s presence behind him, heard the heavy tread of his boots and wanted to apologize for his anger. But why should he, when Kenway was in the wrong? He let that tide of righteous anger carry him all the way home, and when he entered the breakfast room and encountered Hubert calmly eating smoked kippers and eggs, he unleashed his fury on his cousin.
“I am well used to your behavior, but it stops now. How dare you come into my home and harass and intimidate my son? Despite what you believe, Ipsial is not yours. Do you think you’re the only man who has known Jennie McCray’s favors? I didn’t say anything last night, but now I’m letting you know in no uncertain terms that Ipsial is my son. Sprung from my loins. Heir to my estate and my name, and I will legally claim him as such. Do you really want to fight me about this? Would you stake your reputation and risk society’s censure just to undermine me? I think not.”
Gerard listened to these words pour out of him in a torrent as if a stranger had taken hold of his body and spoke through him. The look of shock on Hubert’s red face was priceless, and Gerard saw the moment when his cousin’s will broke and he accepted defeat. Hubie turned his gaze away, blinked, looked down at the floor. His shoulders hunched.
Gerard’s temper had flared and now faded, but he would not back down. “I will pay you a reasonable sum for your perceived ‘share’ of the family estate, and then we will speak no more of it. I don’t withdraw my offer to assist your daughter’s debut, but do not expect a ha’penny more. Am I understood?”
Hubie nodded dumbly, his hands still welded to his knife and fork, which were poised over his plate full of fish.
Ah, a little blind rage could do a body good. Gerard was trembling slightly from the strength of his emotion, but he felt good. He allowed himself a heartbeat to enjoy the sensation of victory, but more pressing matters summoned him.
He went to the bell and tugged it. Mrs. Billings appeared soon after.
“Please summon the staff, Mr. Farley included. We’ll be conducting a search for Ipsial. My son is missing.”
Her brows shot up, her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak. After a long moment, she said, “Yes, sir. Right away. Do you have instructions on where we might look for him?”
Gerard turned to Miles. “You know the property and Ipsial best, Mr. Kenway. Where should we search?”
Miles gave him a half smile, then turned his attention to Mrs. Billings. “Tell Joey and the others to concentrate on the north end of the property, beyond the stables. I’ll go to the village.”
“You can’t find the boy?” Cousin Hubie asked. He’d put down his knife and fork at last.
“Yes.”
“He’s a handful.”
Gerard strode from the room before he lost his temper again.
Hubie called after him, “No insult intended, cousin. Just a lively young chap.”
“That’s certainly true,” Miles muttered. “Boy’s a nuisance.”
Gerard felt himself smile. “A young idiot.”
“Indeed.”
“I only hope he’s safe.”
“He’s resourceful and intelligent. Much like his father.”
Gerard paused, his hand on the handle of the door to the courtyard. “No need to pretend now that we’re alone again. That infernal Hubie is his father.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Gerard. You are. I heard the truth of it in your voice, and I’ve seen it in your actions lately. You weren’t lying. Ipsial is your son.”
Gerard had to swallow twice before he could answer. “Thank you. Shall we find him and remind him of the fact?”
Chapter Nineteen
Gerard’s long stride covered the gravel path quickly. Miles ducked under a wrought iron trellis and followed. He half hoped the man would lash out again. Poor Gerard seemed so tense, he must break or release his fury.
Miles wished he could ease Gerard’s weight of emotion. For a short time in the gardener’s cottage, he’d seemed to at last stop hiding the burden and share it with Miles.
The story Gerard told of discovering his mother’s body would make anyone’s blood cold. How could he have kept such a secret to himself all this time? And despite what he said about his father’s innocence, he must wonder if his father had killed his mother and her lover.
Gerard walked so quickly, Miles had to run to catch up. “You’re fast,” he said as he jogged along beside him.
“I’m in a hurry.” Gerard bowed his head against a sudden rush of wind.
“We’ll find Ipsial,” Miles said as they started down the hill to the village. “He has always returned. And that was before you had tamed him.”
Gerard stopped and turned to him. “I’m sorry I lost my temper with you, Miles.”
“I don’t mind.” The funny thing was he didn’t mind, perhaps because he could see the pain behind the temper.
“I do.” Gerard’s mouth twisted into a rueful grin. “What’s more, I’ll try not to do it again, but I make no guarantees.”
“Best not.” Miles laughed.
They began walking again, Miles stopping to peer into the damp underbrush every now and again. He hoped the boy was smart enough to stay inside on a dreary day like this. A pity he and Gerard weren’t that sensible.
They called his name when they stopped to look, but without much conviction. The boy would be tucked into a nice warm place, Miles hoped. Ipsial would reappear, surly and whey-faced, and it would take all of their coaxing to get him to speak to them easily again.
“You have such a grim expression. I hope you’re not thinking about leaving my service,” Gerard said. He might have been joking, but Miles treated the question as if it was an honest inquiry. He had a simple answer for that.
“No. I like my work. I like you and your son. I am happy here.”
Gerard got that wide-eyed, openmouthed look again. For such a strong man, his moments of astonishment were funny, echoing Ipsial at his most charming.
“Thank you for that,” he said again, softly. “It helps to… It helps.”
They walked in silence for a time.
“In truth, I’m usually a restless man,” Miles said. He’d seen Gerard’s flaws, and he felt he must admit his own.
“I noticed you don’t stay at a job long. A year or so at your past postings. It should have stopped me hiring you.”
“Why did you decide to hire me?”
Gerard chuckled. “Your trustworthy face? Your shoulders? They seemed broad enough for the job.”
Was he making a lewd remark? Perhaps yes, judging from the smile lingering on his lips.
Miles said, “You trusted me and yet it took a great deal of effort to drag you to the abbey, Mr. Gerard. Several letters, in fact.”
“I was a fool. I should have followed you north almost immediately after you left my lawyer’s office.” His smile widened. “After all, I watched you leave too. The view was inspiring.”
“How pleasant to learn I was hired for my shoulders and, er, other attributes,” Miles said.
“No need to scowl. In truth you were hired because you seemed intelligent and honest.” Gerard still wore that broad smile, however.
They arrived at the first houses of the village and walked more slowly.
“Where should we go first?” Miles asked.
“To the Goat and Grape, I think. Mr. Reynolds is a fine source of information.”
Miles winced. “Indeed he is. We should consider which sort of stories we want broadcast to the villagers.”
“The bare facts, within reason. Hubert Gerard is visiting the abbey. We are here at the village because Ipsial, who is my son, is missing. They can speculate about anything else.”
“Let us hope they don’t,” Miles murmured.
Gerard clapped his hand to the middle of Miles’s back. “We will survive this.”
We? Did he mean the two of them as individuals? Or were the two of them together something more? Miles had never fancied himself as part of a unit, beyond his immediate family.
“Very well.” He settled his cap on his head and followed his employer into the smoky public room of the Goat and Grapes.
Mr. Reynolds had already taken his place by the fire today. He pushed himself up from the chair in greeting, then dropped back onto the seat.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he called. “Dreary weather we’re having, eh, sir?”
They joined him by the fire. Miles put his cap down on a table and held his reddened hands up near the flames while he rubbed the chill from his fingers.
Mr. Reynolds tapped his pipe against the stone side of the fireplace. “I hear tell Mr. Hubert Gerard is visiting the abbey. Haven’t seen him in quite a time. I recall his mother, your aunt, of course. She was a nervous girl. Very nervous.”
Miles wondered if the Home Secretary could use a talent like Mr. Reynolds. He was a marvel when it came to gathering and disseminating information.
“Yes, my cousin is visiting.” Gerard’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, but perhaps no one but Miles would notice.
Mr. Reynolds waved a thick-knuckled hand at the chairs set up near him. “Care to take a seat, Mr. Gerard? Mr. Kenway?” He pulled out a tin of tobacco. “I’d be glad to stand you a drink, sir, and catch up on the latest news from the abbey.”
“We would enjoy the opportunity, except we’re rather in a hurry. We’re looking for Master Ipsial and only stopped in here to find out if anyone has seen him.”
Mr. Reynolds, who’d been packing tobacco into his pipe, stopped and examined him. “Master Ipsial? You mean that boy what came in here with you before?”
“Yes.” Gerard cleared his throat. “Ipsial Gerard, my son.” He said the words loud enough so the five people in the room would hear. Possibly anyone in the private parlor might hear as well.
Silence fell, and only the pop and sizzle of the fire interrupted it. That settled the matter, Miles thought with some satisfaction. Gerard might as well take out an advertisement in the Times.
