“And Cal?”
“He’s selfish and mean and thoughtless.”
“He was lovely when we were little,” Lily said. “I remember him taking us for piggyback rides on his back, over and over, as often as we wanted.”
“Yes, well he’s changed, then, hasn’t he?”
“There might be reasons for that,” Lily said quietly. “We cannot know what he endured. War is a terrible thing.”
Rose hunched a careless shoulder. “He wasn’t wounded.”
“That we know of. Not all wounds show.”
Rose turned on her. “If it was so terrible for him over there, why is he so eager to go back? He doesn’t care aboutus, Lily—he just wants to stick us in a safe place and get back to his life. He doesn’t care how we feel or what we want.” She paced to the window and gazed out into the gray afternoon. “Two weeks stuck in here, Lil—I’m going to go mad!”
“But you said—”
“I know. But I won’t give him the satisfaction.”
“He’s trying, Rose,” Lily said quietly.
“He certainly is—extremely trying.”
***
For the next week or so, while the girls were recovering from their injuries—and because there was no danger of them sneaking out and showing their bruised and battered faces in public—Cal took the opportunity to check another four names on his list. He traveled to Frome and Midsomer, down to Bruton and then to the other side of Glastonbury. All to no avail.
The longest any of the men had been absent from home in the last five years was a week, and that was to attend a fair. It was disappointing, but at least he was narrowing the field.
He returned to Bath to find a letter from his lawyer that threatened to turn everything upside down.
A disturbing rumor has come to my ears. I hesitate to repeat gossip—and would stress that I have not yet been able to verify it—but there is talk that your brother Henry left a child—a living child.
Cal wasn’t surprised. It would be a bastard, of course. Given Henry’s proclivities, he wouldn’t be surprised if there were more. But a bastard child was easily dealt with—settle an allowance on the mother and make provision for the child’s future. All very straightforward. Nothing for a lawyer to get his drawers in a knot about.
He turned the letter around to read the cross-writing.
In the course of my inquiries, I met a fellow who, on finding I represented the new Lord Ashendon, spoke with some heat of Henry’s son, George, who I gather is something of a wild child. According to this fellow—who I must say seems quite respectable—your brother begot this lad by an earlier marriage.
I stress that I have no actual evidence of such a marriage and can only conclude that if it did take place, your brother for some reason kept it secret. Of course I have set inquiries in motion, but if this fellow is correct and your brother Henry did leave a son, a legitimate son—well, you will perceive the implications for yourself.
Cal did indeed. But why would Henry have made a secret marriage? There was no reason for it to be secret. Unless it was bigamous—that was a possibility.
Henry had married Mariah just over sixteen years ago, when Cal was twelve and Henry was just two-and-twenty. Mariah had died not quite two years ago and the babe withher. If this boy was being talked of as a wild child—he would have to be at least fourteen or fifteen.
It didn’t make sense. Cal returned to deciphering the letter.
My informant is from Alderton, a village some fifteen miles north of Cheltenham, and I understand the child resides nearby at a place called Willowbank Farm. The legitimacy or otherwise of this boy needs to be established as quickly as possible. Rumors are dangerous things and estate affairs could be held up for months if not for years if there is a dispute. I hesitate to ask your lordship to go in person, but I am off to Canterbury—finding your brother’s will is of the first urgency—and the fewer who know about this boy, the better. In the meantime, should you require a legal opinion when you get there, may I recommend an old acquaintance of my father’s, Mr. Samuel Chiswick, a lawyer, semiretired, who lives in Alderton. He is both reliable and discreet and should be able to advise you.
Cal refolded the letter. Odds on the child would be a bastard. Phipps was going on hearsay and rumor, which was ridiculous for a man of the law.
But if the boy did turn out to be legitimate,hewould be the new Lord Ashendon, which would free Cal from the rest of the nonsense. He could make the necessary arrangements and get back to his life.
Besides, he had another two names to check near Cheltenham. Two birds with one stone.
He sent for Hawkins and instructed him to have the carriage ready first thing in the morning. They were going to Alderton, a small village north of Cheltenham.
He spoke to the girls before he left and extracted a promise from them that while he was away, they wouldn’t venture out at night unescorted. They weren’t happy about it, but when he promised to take them out somewhere exciting when he returned, they reluctantly agreed. “Word of a Rutherford.”
