Elizabeth Bailey - The Captain's Return

“Murdered?” A sudden, if irrational, fear for Annabel caught at Hal’s chest.

“Happened only a week or two back. Not that no one round there is cryin’ over him. A bad ’un he were, they say, be he never so much a markiss.”

“Lord, is he talking of Sywell?” cut in Mr Colton.

“What do you mean, Ned?”

“What’s the name you said, Weem? Steep something?”

“Steep Ride, sir.”

“Then it must be the same. Steepwood Abbey was Sywell’s seat. Lord, Hal, it’s the most appalling scandal! The whole town was talking of it. Not that it’s anything new. The fellow has been notorious for years.”

Captain Colton frowned deeply. “I’ve never heard of him.”

His brother waved this aside. “You’ve been more or less out of the country for the last seven years. I’m telling you, there’s been the devil’s own work in Steepwood. First Sywell’s wife ran away. That was a few months back. Disappeared without trace, and had half the tabbies rumouring that he’d killed her. Then it was found there was gold missing. And now the fellow’s been slashed to pieces in his own bedchamber!”

Hal breathed somewhat heavily. “And this is where Annabel is living! What in Hades was the fellow about to bring her to such a hole?”

“What fellow?”

“This fellow she married. Lett, or whatever his name is.” The Captain paused, arrested by a sudden thought. “Wait a minute. Why does that name ring a bell?”

“Does it?”

“There’s something about it.” He pondered it in his mind. Had he heard it before? Was it possible he had known Annabel’s husband? “Who was Lett, Weem? Did you find out anything about him?”

“Seemingly he was of our cut, guv’nor.”

“You mean he was a soldier?”

“Aye. Nor he ain’t chose Steep Ride for his missus.”

Edward Colton leaned back against the wall, where clung remnants of a brocaded paper, faded and peeling. “What in the world is he talking about, Hal? And if Lett was an army man, you might well have met him.”

Hal shook his head, intent upon his batman. “What do you mean, he didn’t choose Steep Ride?”

Weem shrugged. “Seemingly the lady and the babe come there after he was killed.”

“Babe?”

A sudden dread premonition seized Captain Colton. He reached out an unsteady hand to grasp at his brother’s shoulder, but his blue-grey eyes were fixed on his batman.

Weem was looking smug. “Ah. Wondered as how you’d take that bit of it, guv’nor. Nor you won’t like it when I tells you that this here babe has a noddle o’ red hair.”

“Good God!”

Hal hardly heard Ned’s comment. A heavy pulsing entered his chest and his brain felt as if it were going to explode. His throat tightened, and his voice seemed not to wish to obey him.

“How—how old? The babe. How old is it?”

Weem considered the question, trouble gathering in his sharp-featured face. “Just a toddler, guv’nor. I’d say not much more’n two—three at most.”

“Oh, dear Lord,” groaned Ned.

Captain Colton could not speak. What havoc had he wrought that fateful night? Had he not dreaded this very outcome, lying sleepless night after night in a crude cot in cantonments in Spain? Or bivouacking by an impromptu fire, supping on stewed rabbit, augmented by a potato or two filched from a nearby field? Weem had always been expert at ferreting for food to eke out the most meagre of rations. Would he had long ago had the sense to send him ferreting after this.

The nightmare of his worst fears realised! Yet when Annabel had so steadfastly refused to answer his letters, he had at length supposed that fortune had favoured them. But it had not been so. Had Annabel turned to him in the extremity of this unlucky accident? No, she had not. Hurt rose up, as sharp and bitter as when she had first rejected him.

“Well, that explains the locality,” said his brother musingly, recovering from his first astonishment. “I wonder if it was Howes who set her up at Steep Ride.”

“Who else?” said Hal bitingly. “Why the devil couldn’t the old curmudgeon have come down off his high ropes? If he’d only sent me word—”

He broke off, becoming aware of his batman’s steady regard. Useless to suppose that Weem had not already guessed the sum of it. But there was no need to bandy words in his presence that must necessarily wreck Annabel’s reputation.

“You’ve done well, Weem. I’ll want every last detail, mind, but that can wait.”

Dismissed, the batman withdrew, leaving Hal confronting the accusing eyes of his senior. He threw up a hand.

“You need not look like that, Ned! I did everything I could to make it right. I promise you, I have a stack of letters to prove it.”

“Returned unopened,” agreed Mr Colton. “I know. You told me. What you didn’t tell me—”

“I know. Devil take it, do you think I meant to do it?”

He crossed the parlour, as if he must avoid his brother’s gaze, and went to stare out of the window upon the unkempt lawns. Only a short time ago he had been agreeing with Ned upon the number of gardeners required to return them to a semblance of order. His godfather had been old and ailing for some time, and the place had been allowed to deteriorate. How little he now cared!

“It was at a ball that it happened,” he disclosed, without turning round. “We had not met since she broke off our betrothal. We quarrelled mightily. We were both too much empassioned to have any rationality left. Inevitable, I suppose. So much hot air.” He turned suddenly, the blue-grey eyes afire. “And she did love me, Ned. I swear she still loved me!”

“Then, perhaps,” agreed his brother meaningfully.

An obstruction lodged in Hal’s chest. “You need not say it. What woman could continue to love the man who ruined her?”

Mr Colton came across the room. He was not near as tall, nor as broad in the chest as his brother, and his hair was less vibrant, tending more to gold. But he had the advantage of him in both years and temperament. Hal’s tempestuous personality had ever been his undoing.

“You can’t be absolutely sure, Hal, that she was ruined.”

Hal’s tone was bleak. “Can’t I?”

“She is not precisely living in obscurity. Weem says there is some society there. Evidently she has acquired respectability.”

“Respectability!”

“It’s not lightly won, Hal. It is possible that Annabel did marry. Even if the child is yours, Annabel may have taken refuge under another’s name.”

“The devil she did!” Something clicked in the Captain’s brain. He slammed a fist into his open hand. “No. Annabel didn’t marry a man called Lett. There is no such man.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I’ve remembered why it sounded familiar.” Grimness settled in his chest. “Lett was the maiden name of Annabel’s mother.”

His brother was silent for a moment. But Hal’s first shock was fading. Not for nothing was he a soldier. He was a captain, in command, given to swift decisions. What was needed now was not regret, but action. He stiffened his shoulders.

“What will you do?” asked Ned frowningly.

“Oh, I know what to do!”

His brother began to look alarmed. “Now, Hal—for the Lord’s sake, think before you act!”

“I’ve thought for three years. I’m done with thinking.”

“Oh, dear Lord! Hal!’

But Captain Colton was already on the move. Before he reached the door, his brother caught his arm. “Wait, Hal!”

He turned. Removing the hand that imprisoned him, he grasped it strongly. “Ned, I’m coming home with you, so you’ll have every opportunity to argue. But let me advise you not to waste your breath. You can say what you like, but you won’t change my mind.”