Family Plot Page 4

  The butler had apparently been watching for their arrival, for in spite of his working costume of apron and silver polishing cloth, he flung open the door as soon as Mr. Gavin Kirkbride’s foot touched the front stoop.

  “Mr. Gavin, sir, I have been charged with informing you that the other, er, guest has arrived, and that Mrs. Brodie is seeing to her comfort.”

  “Thank you, Jarvis. And my uncle?”

  “Still at breakfast, sir, and none the wiser, if I may say so.”

  Mr. Gavin Kirkbride nodded. “That’s all right, then. You may tell him we have guests, and that we await his convenience in the drawing room.”

  Jarvis bowed. “Very good, sir.”

  “Uncle Angus is in delicate health,” Mr. Gavin Kirkbride explained as he ushered Lady Fieldhurst and her charges into the drawing room. “My cousin does not exaggerate when he says the shock of Elspeth’s return could kill him.”

  “I tell you, it can’t be she!” Mr. Duncan Kirkbride insisted. “It’s a cruel prank, no more and no less.”

  “But to what purpose, Mr. Kirkbride?” Julia asked, seating herself on a straw-colored sofa of ornate yet outdated design. “Why would anyone wish to raise your uncle’s hopes in such a way?”

  “I’m wondering that myself,” he replied, regarding his cousin speculatively.

  “And you, Mr. Kirkbride?” Julia appealed to Mr. Gavin Kirk-bride. “What makes you so certain this is your cousin, when only yesterday you believed her to be dead?”

  Mr. Gavin Kirkbride sat down next to Julia on the sofa. “Look here, before we go further, perhaps you’d best call us ‘Mr.

  Gavin’ and ‘Mr. Duncan.’ I know it is a trifle irregular, upon such short acquaintance, but I fear all these ‘Mr. Kirkbrides’ will become confusing, especially once my uncle joins us and a third Mr. Kirkbride is added to the mix.”

  “Very well,” Julia agreed, but before she could press him for an answer to her question, the door was thrown open by a footman. A moment later, Mr. Angus Kirkbride entered the room, a shriveled figure in a high-backed Bath chair pushed by Jarvis. The butler positioned his master’s chair before the fire and then he and the footman withdrew, closing the door behind them.

  “Guests, eh?” The gnarled hands plucked restlessly at the tartan lap robe covering his legs, but his white hair was thick and his eyes, as he studied Julia’s face, were bright and shrewd. “We don’t entertain often here at Ravenscroft Manor. We’ve been a bachelor establishment for these ten years and more.”

  Julia could readily believe that. The drawing room, although clean enough, lacked a woman’s touch, as evidenced by the outmoded furnishings, faded velvet curtains, and ornamentation consisting almost entirely of framed hunting prints and stuffed and mounted animal heads.

  “Uncle, allow me to introduce Mrs. Pickett and her young nephews.” Mr. Gavin’s sweeping gesture took in Julia and the three boys.

  “How do you do?” she murmured, sketching a curtsy. The boys bobbed awkwardly, cowed into uncharacteristic silence by the frail old man.

  “These three lads made a surprising discovery on the beach this morning,” Mr. Gavin continued. “We thought you should wish to be informed of it.”

  “You thought,” muttered Mr. Duncan under his breath.

  “Aye, well, what of it?” demanded the old man. “No Frenchies coming ashore, are they?” He chuckled raspingly at his own wit.

  “No, sir, no Frenchies,” said Harold, finding his tongue at last. “It was—”

  “It was a woman, sir,” Edward piped up, not to be robbed of his moment of glory. “It was a woman washed up by the surf, sure as I’m standing here.”

  “Edward is quite right, Mr. Kirkbride,” Julia said, shushing the boy with a look. “He had run ahead, around that spit of land between here and the inn where we are staying. He found a woman lying on the beach at the edge of the water. She was unconscious, but appeared otherwise uninjured. I sent Harold to your house for help, since it appeared to be nearer than the inn from which we had come.”

  “Aye, you did rightly.” Mr. Kirkbride’s hoary head bobbed up and down. “Glad to offer any assistance we can.”

  “I gave orders for this woman to be brought to the house,” Mr. Gavin confessed. “You must brace yourself for a shock, Uncle. It appears Elspeth has come home at last.”

  “Elspeth!” The old man’s bony hands clenched in his lap, and his gaunt face turned a queer shade of grey.

  Mr. Duncan took two swift strides to the bell pull and gave it a jerk. “Jarvis! Brandy for my uncle, and quickly!”

  “Elspeth!” Angus Kirkbride’s voice was no more than a whisper. “I was informed my daughter was dead. God help me, I wished it so!”

  “And so she may be, sir,” Mr. Duncan pointed out, taking the brandy the butler decanted and holding it to his uncle’s colorless lips. “Just because this woman bears a resemblance to Elspeth does not necessarily mean it is she.”

  “And she is here, ye say?” The old man ignored Duncan’s warning and addressed himself to Gavin. “Ye must take me to her. At once, d’ye hear?”

  The woman was awake and alert, as Mrs. Brodie informed them. Apparently the housekeeper had been torn as to the status of this new arrival and, undecided whether to place the unfortunate woman in the servants’ quarters or a guest room, had compromised by settling the newcomer in her own bed, where she now sat up against the pillows sipping broth from an earthenware mug. The woman had been bathed and clothed in Mrs. Brodie’s own night rail, a voluminous garment of white cotton that seemed to dwarf its wearer. The sand had been washed out of her hair, and her long dark locks now lay in a single thick plait over her shoulder. The effect was sweetly childlike, although Lady Fieldhurst knew from the closer look she’d had at the beach that this woman was at least thirty years old—four years her own senior, and very likely more. Although she smiled at the party crowding around her bed, it was the courteous yet distant look one might give a stranger; her fine blue eyes regarded Julia with the same bland expression she bestowed on the man who might be her father.

  “Elspeth!” Angus Kirkbride leaned forward, all but falling out of his chair in his eagerness. “Push me up closer, Duncan, and let me look at her.”

  Duncan obeyed his uncle’s command, although his dark scowl indicated that he took no pleasure in the task.

  “I believe it is you, sir, whom I must thank for your hospitality,” Elspeth said, inclining her head in an approximation of a curtsy.

  “Dinna ye know me, child?” Old Angus looked stricken at so impersonal a greeting.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t the pleasure.” The smile she gave him held nothing of recognition. “Tell me, where is this place?”

  Angus’s eyes welled with tears, and the hand he had extended to caress his daughter’s cheek now fell uselessly onto his lap. His pain was so evident that Julia was forced to look away. If this was not Elspeth Kirkbride, it must surely be the unhappiest of coincidences. Surely no one could be so intentionally cruel as to cause the old man such suffering.

  “You are at Ravenscroft Manor, the home of Mr. Angus Kirk-bride.” Gavin stepped gamely into the breach, speaking to the woman in the hushed tones so frequently employed by those addressing the gravely ill. “What is your name, ma’am?”

  Duncan knew no such qualms. “Who are you and how did you come to be here?”

  The woman in the bed blinked up at him. “I—I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

  “Hmph!” Duncan muttered. “How very convenient!”

  “Dinna ye remember me?” Angus persisted. “And these men, dinna they look familiar to ye?”

  “Should they?” Her puzzled blue gaze slewed from Duncan to Gavin and back again.

  “You are on the southwestern coast of Scotland, near the village of Ravenscroft,” Gavin persisted. “Can you remember nothing of how you came to be here?”

  “Scotland, you say? I don’t remember—there may have been a boat—” She pressed her hands to her temples wi
th a groan. “Oh, it hurts to think!”

  “That’s quite enough for one day,” interposed Mrs. Brodie. “This poor lamb needs to rest. If there’s any change, sir, I’ll send word,” she added as an aside to Angus, then shepherded the group toward the door.

  Lady Fieldhurst cast an uncertain glance at the woman in the bed, then turned toward the door. She was surprised to see Harold, Robert, and Edward clustered just inside, apparently afraid to make a sound lest someone remember their presence and banish them from the sickroom. They met her gaze somewhat sheepishly. Once everyone had reassembled in the drawing room, however, Edward blurted out the question that had been on everyone’s minds from the moment the woman had been identified.

  “What are you going to do with her now?”

  Angus heaved a sigh. “I wish I knew.”

  “She is very like Elspeth, is she not?” Gavin looked to his uncle for confirmation.

  “Aye, that she is. It seems to me we must keep her here until we know for sure.”

  This suggestion found no favor with Duncan. “If you intend to feed and house her until her memory returns, Uncle, you may be waiting a very long time. With good food in her belly and a soft bed at her back, she may find it more advantageous to remain forgetful.”

  “Ye think she’s here under false pretenses?” The old man slewed around in his chair to look back at his nephew. “What makes ye say so?”

  “The whole thing seems a bit too contrived for my liking. With miles of Scottish coastline to choose from, where does she land but on the very beach where a female nearly identical in appearance disappeared fifteen years earlier—with her memory conveniently erased, sparing her the necessity of answering any awkward questions.”

  “Your point is well taken, Duncan—and yet she looks so much like Elspeth.” Angus wagged his white head. “ ’Tis God’s judgment on an old man’s stubbornness.”

  “At any rate, you need not make a decision at once,” Gavin pointed out. “She is not yet recovered enough to be moved. By the time she is on her feet again, her memory may well have returned, and she can tell us herself who she is.”

  Duncan crossed the room to pour himself a glass of the brandy Jarvis had brought for his uncle. “And what if she tells us she is Elspeth? Do we take her at her word, and kill the fatted calf to welcome the prodigal?”

  Angus nodded. “Aye, and try to make up for the years we’ve lost.”

  “But Uncle, what if this female is trying to take advantage of you?” Duncan demanded. “Would you let her make a fool of you in an attempt to recreate the past?”

  Gavin stepped forward to adjust his uncle’s lap robe. “Quiet, Duncan, you are upsetting him.”

  Duncan lowered his voice. “I beg your pardon, Uncle. I merely do not wish you to be taken in.”

  Seeing both Robert’s and Edward’s eyes grow round with undisguised curiosity, Lady Fieldhurst judged it high time to extricate them all from a family drama that was none of their concern. “The boys and I must be going,” she said, herding her charges toward the door. Courtesy, however, compelled her to add, “If you will allow it, I should like to return tomorrow and see how the invalid fares.”

  CHAPTER 4

  THE KIRKBRIDES OF

  RAVENSCROFT MANOR

  * * *

  Having been granted permission to inquire after the invalid’s progress, Lady Fieldhurst called at Ravenscroft Manor the following afternoon, escorted by Harold. Robert and Edward did not accompany them on this occasion, an exclusion that gave rise to much indignation until the innkeeper’s daughter, a blushing damsel of fifteen summers with more than a passing interest in Harold’s beaux yeux, stepped gamely into the breach with an offer to teach them how to fish in the surf. Even her best efforts, however, were insufficient to persuade Harold to join them in this exercise; alas, her attractions were no match for the more mature charms of the mystery lady currently in residence at Ravenscroft Manor. And so it was that he and Lady Fieldhurst presented themselves at Ravenscroft Manor unencumbered by the younger set. Here they were ushered into the drawing room, where they were met with the information that the patient was recovering, and that her memory appeared to be returning.

  “This is good news,” said Lady Fieldhurst, accepting a cup of tea from Gavin’s hand. “Has she remembered who she is yet, or anything of her past?”

  “She is indeed my daughter, Elspeth,” Angus said, beaming. “She has come home at last, and all is forgiven. We’ll not waste what time we have left in repeating the mistakes of the past.”

  Harold leaned forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on his knees. “But how came she to be lying on the beach? Did she say?”

  Angus sighed. “Alas, the manner of her return is proving elusive. She remembers nothing of her immediate past.”

  “She hasn’t had a chance to invent it yet,” Duncan muttered, helping himself to a scone.

  Gavin cast a disapproving glance at his cousin. “If she is an imposter, Duncan, you must admit she is a remarkably well-informed one.”

  Duncan gave a grunt that might have been agreement. “Aye, she’s been well-tutored, I’ll not deny that.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Duncan,” said Lady Fieldhurst, “but what makes you so certain she cannot be your cousin?”

  “Elspeth walked into the sea fifteen years ago. The next day, one of her shoes washed up onto the beach.”

  “Duncan is right,” Angus said. “We thought she was lost forever. Her return is nothing short of a miracle.”

  Lady Fieldhurst thought Duncan would have something unpleasant to say about his uncle’s miracle, but instead, he set down his cup and rose to his feet.

  “Miracle or not, Uncle, the excitement of the past couple of days is taking its toll on your strength. Let me help you back to your room so you can rest before dinner. You did invite the, er, lady to join us, did you not?”

  Angus shooed him away. “Nonsense! I’m not a bit tired. Mrs. Pickett, I would invite ye to dine with us tonight, but I’m selfish enough to want my daughter’s company all to myself on her first night with us. I hope ye’ll make allowances for an old man’s foolishness.”

  Julia inclined her head. “Of course, sir. Nothing could be more natural.”

  “As soon as she’s strong enough, I’ll give a great banquet in her honor. I hope you and your nephew will favor us with your company.”

  She glanced at Harold for confirmation. “We should consider it an honor, Mr. Kirkbride.” She hesitated for a moment, then, choosing her words with care, added, “I see you, at least, are quite convinced of her authenticity.”

  “Aye, and so would you be, if ye’d known my daughter in her younger days. There’s a miniature somewhere—Gavin, you know the one by Lawrence. Show it to Mrs. Pickett.”

  Gavin rose and offered Julia his arm. “As you wish, sir. If you will allow me, Mrs. Pickett?”

  She allowed him to lead her to a small side table on the far end of the room. He picked up a small framed portrait and held it out for her inspection. The subject was certainly younger than the woman she’d seen the day before, but aside from this fact, the resemblance was enough to make her catch her breath. The artist had captured a girl in the first blush of young womanhood, the sparkling eyes eager for the adventure that surely awaited her, the laughing mouth begging for its first kiss. This young woman would be her father’s darling—and, perhaps, would break his heart.

  “The resemblance is certainly striking,” Julia observed, handing it back to Gavin. “But so much depends on the artist’s interpretation. Is this considered a good likeness?”

  “Everyone who saw it at the time commented on how he had captured not only Elspeth’s likeness, but her essence as well. Her impulsive nature, her sudden bursts of temper, her affectionate spirit—all is there on the canvas, just as it was in life.”

  Julia looked again at the laughing countenance. “Affectionate spirit, indeed. And yet—will you think me impertinent if I ask if there was some unpleasantness between
Mr. Duncan and Miss Kirkbride? That is, did they part on bad terms? I should think he would welcome his cousin’s return. Instead, it seems he almost hopes to find she is an impostor.”

  Gavin gave a shrug. “Oh, Elspeth and Duncan were once thick as thieves! In fact, I believe my uncle once entertained hopes of a match between the two of them. No, I suspect Duncan is more concerned about the loss of his inheritance. Elspeth was in fact my uncle’s step-daughter. Uncle Angus married her mother when Elspeth was scarcely more than a babe and loved her as his own child, especially when the passing years made it increasingly plain that there would be no issue of his own. You can see how a match between Duncan and Elspeth would have pleased him, uniting as it did the child of his heart with one of his blood. He might have left his fortune to Elspeth yet still kept it in the Kirkbride family. It was not until much later that, supposing his only child to be dead, my uncle had his solicitor draw up a will dividing his assets between his nephews.”

  “Meaning Duncan and yourself.”

  “Just so. Now that Elspeth has returned, assuming that it is truly she, Uncle Angus may well cut us out—and rightfully so—in favor of his daughter. In such matters the inclinations of the heart ought to outweigh the accident of birth.”

  “If that should be the case, Duncan is not the only one who stands to lose a fortune,” observed her ladyship. “You, too, would lose your inheritance.”

  “True, but unlike Duncan, I can afford to be generous. You see, my mother left me, if not a fortune, at least an independence. Duncan has not that advantage.”

  A faint stirring in the room behind them captured her attention, and Julia glanced back to find Harold staring in rapt attention at the door. The subject of their discussion stood framed in the doorway, dressed in an antiquated gown that the housekeeper had presumably unearthed from some trunk in the attic. Looking at her, Julia had the impression of some ghost from the past returned to haunt the living. She shook off the strange feeling with a shudder.

  “My dear cousin.” Gavin crossed the room to greet the newcomer with a chaste kiss on the lady’s cheek. “How good it is to see you up and about. Let me introduce you to our fair guest. Elspeth, this is Mrs. Pickett and her nephew, Harold. They are visiting from London.”