The Outcast's Redemption

Grace hurried across to the chapel. It was most likely Mr Jones had gone in there for some reason, but it could be children from the village, up to mischief, and the sooner they were sent on their way the better. She stepped inside and stood for a moment, while her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. Someone was standing by the opposite wall, but it was definitely not a child.

‘Mr Peregrine! What on earth are you doing here?’

* * *

Wolf turned. Grace Duncombe stood in the entrance, a black outline against the sunshine.

‘The door was open and I was curious to see inside.’ He saw the frowning suspicion in her eyes. ‘I have not been stealing the church silver, Miss Duncombe, if that is your concern.’

‘There is nothing of that sort left in here now,’ she replied. ‘But what business can you have at the Hall?’

‘Curiosity,’ he repeated. ‘After what your father said last night I was interested to see the house, but you may be easy. The caretaker knows better than to let strangers into the house.’

Aye, thought Wolf, Jones would turn a stranger away, but the man had been happy enough to let Wolf wander through the familiar rooms. If Grace had arrived ten minutes earlier she would have found him in the entrance hall of the house itself. That would have been more difficult to explain away.

‘It was remiss of Mr Jones to leave the chapel open,’ she said now. ‘I must remind him of his duties.’

‘Must you?’

‘Why, yes. While the family are absent we must respect their property.’

‘Very commendable, Miss Duncombe, but since we are here, would you object if I took a moment to look around? You may stay, if you like, and make sure I do no damage.’

‘I shall certainly do so.’

Silently he turned to study an ornately carved edifice with its stone effigies. A curious stranger would ask whose tomb this was, so he did.

‘That is the tomb of Roland Arrandale and his wife,’ said Grace, stepping up beside him. ‘He was the first Earl of Davenport. The second and third earls are buried here, but the Hall was not grand enough for James, the fourth earl. He built himself a new principal seat and bequeathed Arrandale Hall to his younger son, John. His descendants are buried in the vault below us and you can see the carved memorials on the walls.’

‘Including these,’ murmured Wolf, looking up at two gleaming marble tablets.

‘They are recent additions. For the late Mr and Mrs Arrandale, and Florence, the poor wife of Mr Wolfgang Arrandale. I believe the younger son arranged for these to be installed at his own expense when the trustees refused to pay.’

Wolf kept his face impassive. What were those cheese-paring lawyers about to deny money for such things? And Richard—confound it, his little brother should not be bearing the cost. This was his fault. All of it.

‘It was fortunate there were no children,’ he said, keeping his voice indifferent.

‘Oh, but there was,’ she corrected him, as he had hoped she would. ‘There was a little girl. She was adopted by an Arrandale cousin, I believe.’

‘I am surprised her maternal grandparents did not bring up the child.’ He glanced at Grace, hoping she might answer the question he dare not ask. She did not disappoint him.

‘The Sawstons moved away from the area after their daughter’s death. They wanted nothing more to do with the Arrandale family, nor their granddaughter.’ Disapproval flickered over her serene countenance. ‘It was cruel of them to abandon the baby at such a time. The poor child had done nothing to warrant it, except to be born.’

And that was his fault, too. A shudder ran through Wolf and he turned away, saying curtly, ‘There is little of interest here.’

‘Unless you appreciate craftsmanship,’ she told him. ‘The font cover is by Grinling Gibbons.’

‘Is it now?’ Wolf went to the back of the church where the stone font stood behind the last box pew. He ran a careful hand over the elaborately carved wooden cover. ‘What a pity I did not know that earlier, I might have carried it off to sell in the nearest town.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Is that not what you think of me, Miss Duncombe, that I am a thief?’

‘I do not know what you are.’

‘Your father trusts me.’

‘Father trusts everyone.’

‘True. He is a saint and I will not deny that I am a sinner. But I am not here to steal from the chapel.’ Her darkling look was sceptical. He shrugged. ‘I have seen enough here now. Shall we go?’

She indicated that he should precede her out of the church, then she carefully locked the door. She stood on the path, as if waiting for him to walk away.

He said, ‘If you are going to the vicarage, I will escort you.’

‘Thank you, but before I leave I am going to take the key back to Mr Jones.’

‘Very well, I will wait for you.’

She looked dissatisfied with his answer, but she turned on her heel and hurried away to the house. Wolf followed more slowly. He could only hope that Jones would not give him away.

A few minutes later she returned and he was relieved by her exasperation when she saw him. Clearly she had no idea of his real identity.

‘Yes, I am still here,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I shall escort you back to the vicarage. It is not at all seemly for a young lady to walk these grounds alone.’

‘I have done so many times without mishap.’

‘So you are an unrepentant trespasser.’

‘Not at all, there is a right of way through the park.’

‘And you walk here for pleasure?’ he asked her.

‘Not today. I have been visiting an old lady. It is much quicker to walk home this way than through the village.’

‘It would be quicker still to ride. And having seen you in the saddle I know you ride very well, Miss Duncombe.’

‘One cannot live within twenty miles of Newmarket without riding.’ He detected the first signs of a thaw in her response. ‘However, riding today would not have been so convenient. You see, I came through the village and carried out several errands. I passed on Mrs Truscott’s recipe for a restorative broth to one family, called in upon a mother with a newborn baby to see how they go on and took a pot of comfrey ointment to old Mr Brent, for his leg. That would have been much more difficult if I had been riding Bonnie. I would have been forever looking for a mounting block to climb back into the saddle.’

‘I quite see that. But do you never ride here, in the park?’

‘I would not presume to do so without the owner’s permission.’

‘Are you always so law-abiding?’

‘I am the parson’s daughter and betrothed to Sir Loftus Braddenfield. I am obliged to set an example.’

‘Of course.’

She looked up. ‘I think you are laughing at me.’

‘Now why should I do that?’ He saw her hesitate and added, ‘Come, madam, do not spare my feelings, tell me!’