The blood drained from Julia’s face as she read. By the time she’d finished, she felt clammy and faint, much like she had after a visit from Dr. Cordingley and his scarificator.
“There, you see,” Anne said triumphantly. “Your husband was a hero. I misjudged the man; I freely admit it.”
“Yes, I see,” Julie answered.
But it wasn’t all she’d seen.
A name had leapt out at her from the newspaper article: Lieutenant J. Marshland.
Jasper had lied to her. J. Marshland wasn’t his pen name. J. Marshland wasn’t anyone’s pen name. He’d been one of Jasper’s men. A soldier serving under him. The son of a country vicar.
“He was a dreamer. He loved novels—reading them and writing them.”
Jasper’s words in the Claverings’ garden echoed back to her.
No wonder the style of James Marshland’s books had changed after the war. It was because James Marshland was no longer writing them.
Thirty-Four
Jasper stood back as Lady Arundell investigated the dark interior of the stable. He was well aware of Goldfinch Hall’s haunted reputation. Rumors had plagued the estate long before he’d arrived and would no doubt linger long after he was gone.
It was nonsense, of course.
There were no ghosts at the Hall. No spirits cursed to wander the earth. Only rot and decay—the lingering effects of all-too-human neglect.
“I feel it here quite strongly,” Lady Arundell declared, coming to a halt in front of the empty loose boxes. “There’s a cold shaft coming through. A presence.”
“The floor has rotted away,” Jasper said. “So has the roof. What you’re feeling is the damp.”
“Do you mean to repair it?” Hartford asked. “I assume you will now you’ve married.”
Jasper shot him an irritated look. Whatever the man’s motivations for being here, he was making a damned nuisance of himself. “Eventually, yes.” He stepped forward. “My lady? If you will? The structure isn’t safe.”
Lady Arundell reluctantly withdrew with them back out to the empty stable yard. “Have you considered holding a séance? I’m not acquainted with any practitioners in this part of the country, but I daresay you could get a party together with some of the locals.”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” Hartford said. “The people in that drab little village don’t look particularly enlightened. According to history, it was they who strung up the house’s original inhabitants.”
“It was a political execution.” Jasper escorted them back to the house. “One of many during the Civil War.”
“I’m not interested in the history of Roundheads and Cavaliers,” Lady Arundell retorted. “I’m concerned with spiritual matters. And this house is a reputed hotbed of spiritual activity.”
“I have lived here six years, ma’am,” Jasper said, “and never encountered a ghost.”
Hartford grinned. “You’ve probably scared them away. You’re not a very welcoming presence.”
Jasper didn’t dispute the fact. He had no interest in welcoming anyone here. Not spirits. Not human beings. He wanted to be left alone with his family.
A family that was presently nowhere to be seen.
Nearly an hour had passed since Julia had gone off with Lady Anne. She hadn’t come back, nor had the children.
Jasper ushered Hartford and Lady Arundell back into the drawing room. He sent Beecham to the kitchens for more tea.
It was another quarter of an hour before Julia and Lady Anne returned. Lady Anne was determinedly cheerful, talking about some housekeeping book she’d given to Julia as a gift, but Julia was silent, her face nearly as pale as it had been in the aftermath of her bloodletting.
Jasper was instantly on his feet. “Is everything all right?”
“Excellent,” Lady Anne answered, sitting beside her mother. Her tone was bracing, but her attention lingered on Julia with thinly veiled concern. “We’ve had a lovely visit, haven’t we, my dear?”
“Yes. Lovely.” Julia sat down, her posture straight as a ramrod in her chair. She avoided Jasper’s gaze as she freshened everyone’s tea.
He watched her with a growing sense of unease. There was something strangely detached about her movements. It put him in mind of the way she’d looked when he’d seen her dancing with Lord Gresham at the Claverings’ ball. As if she’d withdrawn into herself.
By some miracle, he got through the next hour without drawing her aside to interrogate her. He walked with her to see their guests out, stood silent as she hugged Lady Anne goodbye and waved off the carriage.
Only when the coach had disappeared out of sight down the drive, when Beecham had withdrawn into the house, and Jasper and Julia were alone on the steps, did Jasper finally speak freely.
“What happened?” he asked. “And pray don’t insult me by saying nothing is wrong. You’re clearly upset.”
She smoothed the skirts of her gown, still avoiding his gaze. “I am upset. I’ve already told you so.”
“This isn’t about your fortune. Lady Anne must have said something—”
“Yes. Quite.” Julia looked at him at last. Her sapphire eyes were accusing, her countenance as hard as a piece of Sèvres porcelain about to crack.
His breath stopped.
But she didn’t accuse him of anything.
“I must change into my riding habit,” she said abruptly. “I’m taking Cossack out for a gallop on the moors.”
He scowled. “Now?”
“Yes now. You’re free to come if you like.” With that, she turned and strode back into the house.
* * *
The North York Moors were bleak and barren. As bleak as Julia was currently feeling inside. She gave Cossack a gentle nudge with her heel. He lengthened his stride, galloping over the treeless landscape toward the low heather-covered hills in the distance.
She already felt braver—stronger—just being on Cossack’s back. It was why she’d insisted on taking him out. If she and Jasper must have this conversation at all, better it was had while she was at her strongest.
He cantered behind her on Quintus. He was holding the stallion back, letting Cossack take the lead. Letting her take the lead.
And not only on horseback.
It was a stratagem, no doubt.
Jasper would say nothing—confess to nothing—until he knew exactly what it was he was being accused of.