Anne Perry - A Christmas Visitor

Gower’s face flushed dull red, his eyes like black holes in his head. Now it was he who looked for a moment as if he would find it impossible to control his physical desire to lash out, even grasp at Benjamin and pull him off his horse. He moved, his arm out, then stopped.

“Is that what happened to Judah?” Benjamin asked, his voice grating between his teeth. “He called you a failed thief, and you lost your temper?”

Slowly Gower relaxed and a slow smile spread across his face. “I’m not sorry he’s dead, Dreghorn. I’m glad. He was a corrupt man, an abuser of power and office, and there’s not much worse than a judge who uses his position to steal from the men who come before him believing they’ll receive justice. If the judge himself is rotten at the heart, what hope is there for the people? That is a high sin, Dreghorn. It stinks to heaven.”

He stepped back, lifting his head. “But I did not kill him. He wronged me bitterly. He sent me to prison for a crime I did not commit, and he stole my inheritance from me, as well as eleven years of my life. I spoke against him, and I shall do so as long as I have breath, but I never raised my hand, or told any other man to. As far as I know, it was a just God who finally punished him. And if I wait my time, and plead my cause before the people, perhaps He’ll give me back what’s mine as well.”

“Over my dead body!” Benjamin said bitterly. “I’ll not accuse you of murder until I can prove it, but then I will. And I’ll see you on the end of a rope.”

“Not if there’s any justice under heaven, you won’t,” Gower retorted. “I didn’t kill him.” And with a harsh, sneering smile still on his face he strode past them through the snow back toward the center of the village, the wind off the lakeshore tugging at the tails of his coat.

Benjamin watched him until he was out of sight, then he and Henry rode back toward the estate.

“I love this land,” he said after a little while. “I’d forgotten how good it feels. I couldn’t bear it to be poisoned by that man. I know Judah. The idea that he would be dishonest in anything is absurd. What can we do about it, Henry? How do we stop him saying these things?”

Henry had been dreading that question. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to think of a way, but after meeting Gower, every sort of reason seems doomed to failure. He has convinced himself that the deeds were genuine.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Benjamin said abruptly. “They were not only forgeries, they weren’t even good ones. The expert swore to it, but anyone could have seen it when one looked. Gower’s just so corroded with hatred he’s lost his wits. Maybe prison has turned his mind.” He looked at Henry. “You don’t think he’s a danger to Antonia, do you?”

Henry did not know how to answer honestly. He longed to be reassuring, but there had been a wild hatred in Ashton Gower which defied reason. He had no doubt that the man was guilty of forging in a stupid attempt to get the estate. It had apparently been such a poor attempt that any serious look at it must have told him it was not genuine. Even if Henry had not known Judah, there was the testimony of the expert. Perhaps Benjamin was right, and Gower had lost his mental balance in prison. Heaven knows, he would not be the first man to do that.

“Henry!” Benjamin said sharply.

“I don’t know.” Henry was forced to be honest. “I think we should warn Antonia. The servants must be told. The house must be locked securely at night. You have dogs, they would warn of anyone who should not be around. It may all be unnecessary, but as long as Gower remains in the area, and in the frame of mind he is, I think it would be better.”

Benjamin stopped, reining in his horse hard, and turning in the saddle. “Do you think he murdered Judah?”

It was a jarringly ugly thought, but it had been on the edge of his own mind, too. “I really don’t know,” Henry admitted. “I think he is an evil man, and possibly a little mad. But better we should take preventions we don’t need, than that we should fail, and regret it afterwards when it is too late.”

“How can we warn Antonia without frightening her?”

“I don’t believe we can.”

“But that’s … God damn Gower!” Benjamin swore savagely. “God damn him to hell!”

PART TWO

I T STOPPED SNOWING IN THE EVENING, AND A HARD wind blew down the lake, whining in the eaves and rattling the windows. But in the morning when Henry pulled the curtains, even before Mrs. Hardcastle came with tea, there were bare patches on the north and west faces of the hills, and lower down the snow had drifted deep against walls and fences.

The postmaster arrived after breakfast with a telegraph message from Ephraim, sent the day before from Lancaster, to say that he would be arriving on the midday train. The lawyer also rode up from the village, before going on to Penrith, to speak about the estate to Antonia and Benjamin. Therefore, it was again Henry who stood on the platform when the train came in, belching steam into the air, and nearly an hour late because of snow drifting over Shap Fell.

He saw Ephraim immediately. He was as tall as Benjamin, but leaner. And he walked with a loose, easy gait in spite of the cold. He carried only one case; it was quite large, but in his hand it seemed to have no weight at all. Like Benjamin he was burned by the sun and wind, and frowned very slightly as he saw no one he was expecting on the platform waiting for him. He glanced up at the sky, perhaps fearing the snow had been worse here, and he would not be able to go farther until it cleared.

“Ephraim!” Henry called out. “Ephraim!”

Ephraim turned, startled at first, then his face lit when he recognized Henry, and he dropped the case and came forward to clasp Henry’s hand.

“Rathbone! How are you? What are you doing here? You’ve come to stay with us over Christmas? That’s wonderful. It’s going to be like old times. You look cold, and sort of pinched. Where is everyone? Where’s Judah? Have you been waiting long?”

“Not on the platform,” Henry answered with a smile. “I’ve been at the inn with a pint of Cockerhoop.” That was the light ale that was so popular locally. He felt a lift of gratitude that Ephraim could welcome him so generously at what had been intended as a family reunion. He was, after all, not a Dreghorn, merely Antonia’s godfather, an honorary position, not one of kinship. He dreaded having to tell him the real reason he was here; his stomach knotted up and his throat was tight. Was it better to crush his pleasure immediately with honesty, or allow a little time, let him take joy in homecoming first?

Ephraim was smiling broadly. He was quieter than his brother, a man of deep thoughts he shared seldom, and great physical courage. Whatever fears or doubts he had about anything, he mastered them without outer show. But after being in Africa for four years, the sight of his beloved lakes again woke a joy in him that found expression easily.

“Sounds perfect,” he said with enthusiasm. “We’ll go for some long walks in the snow, climb a bit even, and then sit by a roaring fire and talk about dreams and tell each other tall stories. I’ve got a few. Henry, there are things in Africa you wouldn’t believe!” He picked up his case and matched Henry stride for stride out to the waiting trap which Wiggins had brought around ready when he heard the train draw in.

“How’s Judah?” Ephraim asked as soon as they were in the trap and moving. “Have you heard from Ben yet? And Naomi? Is she coming, too?” There was an eagerness in his voice when he mentioned her name, and he turned away as if to guard the emotion in his eyes from being seen.