Page 58 of Needs Must
‘Nonsense! Celia’s behaviour is beyond reproach, which is more than can be said for Mrs Harte’s.’ Cal’s mother’s chin jutted defiantly as her eyes glistened with malicious glee. ‘If even half of what I am hearing …’
‘Desist!’ Cal silenced his mother’s reproach with a cut of his arm through the air. ‘I advise you to think very carefully before repeating the rumours you have heard from Celia’s friend, in this room and especially outside of it.’
‘She killed her own husband!’ Celia screeched. ‘Mr Graves warned us, and I have had it independently confirmed. No one will receive her, and you cannot possibly have anything to do with her. You will blacken the family name beyond redemption.’
‘You have incontrovertible proof that she committed this crime?’ Cal treated his sister to a look of lofty scorn.
‘Well no, but the authorities wished to speak to her about the circumstances of her husband’s death and she fled Jamaica before they could do so.’ Celia and their mother shared an indignant nod. ‘If that does not speak of guilt then I don’t know what does.’
‘Then she lost no time in getting her claws into you; a wealthy and influential protector,’ the dowager added.
‘Since you are so concerned about the whole business, have you stopped to ask Mrs Harte for her version of events before condemning her?’
‘How could we?’ Celia asked. ‘It would be indelicate – and anyway, we are barely acquainted.’
‘Yet you harbour no such restraint when it comes to spreading rumours.’ Cal removed his backside from the edge of his desk, where it had remained during the course of this unpalatable yet inevitable conversation, and walked towards his mother and sister, towering over them. His expression, he knew, would be as black as his mood and he could tell that the ladies were a little cowed by it, as well they should be.
‘It would not be necessary if we were not so concerned about our family’s reputation,’ Celia replied defiantly.
‘And I suspect that you would also find it unnecessary if I agreed to let you remain beneath this roof. I dare say that the rumours would still abound, although it would be less obvious that you were the source of them.’ Cal pointed a finger at his sister and she physically flinched. ‘You have tested my patience beyond endurance, Celia, with your spiteful and manipulative behaviour. Youwillleave here in two months’ time – and if you cannot manage without her, Mother, then I suggest that you accompany her.’
‘What?’ The dowager’s mouth fell open. ‘You might be able to bully Celia but you will not succeed in bullying me. This is my home, and I will not be driven out of it by a doxy who is no better than she ought to be.’
‘Be careful, I warn you!’ Cal held up a hand, curtailing his temper by the sheer force of his will. ‘Do not test me by saying anything that you might later regret and that cannot be retracted, Mother.’ He paused, assured of their complete attention. ‘If you don’t like the way that I conduct my affairs then feel free to retire to the dower house and maintain your own establishment. As for you, Celia, bear in mind that the allowance that finds its way into your hands from my coffers comes entirely at my discretion and can be cut off at any time.’
‘You wouldn’t!’
‘If one word about Mrs Harte’s background finds its way into the public domain then you will find that not only can I, but that I most assuredly will. Be in no doubt that I do not make idle threats. I know just how much you enjoy setting trends with your up-to-the-minute fashions,’ he added, casting a scathing glance over Celia’s gown. ‘I also know that Daventry cannot afford to support you in such sartorial style. Bear that in mind and put your own interests ahead of a petty desire to harm the reputation of a lady who has done you no harm whatsoever. And now if you will excuse me, I think we have said all there is to be said on the matter.’
The ladies shared a glance. Celia opened her mouth, presumably to protest, but their mother silenced her with a look. Less hot-headed than her daughter, the countess knew when to withdraw.
And how to bide her time.
‘I thank the good Lord that your dear father is not still alive to witness the actions of his heartless eldest son,’ the dowager said. ‘Come, Celia. We know when we are not wanted.’
Cal opened the door for them and watched them go, aware that he had not heard the last of the matter, but as sure as he could be that Celia would not spread rumours about Mrs Harte. At least not yet.
Cal had bought them the time that they needed.
‘You were cornered,’ Jules said, walking into the room. ‘I could hear raised voices from three rooms away.’
‘They pushed me too far this time.’ Cal threw himself into a chair. ‘I have made my views plain, and they know I will not back down.’
‘Which will not stop them from working away at you, employing emotional blackmail to remind you of your duty.’
Cal shrugged. ‘Mrs Harte has agreed to our proposal,’ he said. ‘Get someone to run Aykroyd to ground and have him meet us at the gatehouse tomorrow morning.’
‘Will do.’
‘Have him watched in the meantime. If he tries to contact Harte, I want to know about it first.’
Jules waved a hand in salute and left the room to carry out Cal’s orders.
Chapter Seventeen
Henry Aykroyd was feeling mellow. The pretty little widow who’d offered him board and lodging was proving to be most obliging in other respects as well, and he felt no pressing need to bring that arrangement to an end. He’d spent the first night in the district sleeping in a barn, despite the fact that Ian had paid him well for his services and he could afford better. There was no point in wasting money, or so he’d thought until he realised how cold the nights were, forcing him to concede that he was getting too old to rough it. He’d grown accustomed to his home comforts, but since the tavern was the only place in Arndale that provided accommodation and Donna Harte was already in residence there, he’d been left with no alternative than to look further afield.
A cove in the taproom he’d got chatting to had mentioned Rosie Beauchamp in Coulton, a couple of miles away, and Henry had found his niche. Sweet little Rosie, with two little ones tumbling in the yard, with her red work-worn hands and sunny disposition, was clearly looking for a man to take her dead husband’s place. Henry wasn’t that man. He’d become accustomed to the good life and wasn’t prepared either to lower his standards or to tie himself to just one woman, depriving the rest of the female population of his attention. That, he reasoned, would not be fair.
