Nicholas said, “You’ve galloped all the way from Westminster?”
The earl ignored him and turned to the baroness. “Get rid of your servants, my lady. I’ve a matter of sensitivity to discuss.”
Nicholas said, “Sensitivity? I doubt you know the meaning of the word, sir.” He brought a chair for his wife and stood behind it as Emeline sat, her expression masked.
The baroness fluttered, standing alone and staring at her guest. The earl stood before her. “I intend arranging an annulment,” he informed her abruptly. “I’ve someone scribing the papers right now. It’ll be sent off to the Vatican next week.”
Everybody gazed at him in increasing confusion. Nicholas said blankly, “But you’re not married, sir.”
The earl finally acknowledged his son. “Don’t be a damned fool, m’boy. I’m here for you.” He put down his empty cup, hitched his thumbs into his belt, and extended his lungs as his stomach swelled. He said, “Admitted to me after the fire that you’d never bedded the wench. Since then you’ve been holed up in London and struck down with the damned pestilence. Had that fool nephew of mine searching for you, so presumably you didn’t return here for weeks. And no time for dalliance since then, I gather, what with sidling off to Gloucester, and whatever other odd business you’ve been up to.” The circle of open mouths remained silent around him. The earl continued, “So I’ve every intention of finishing the alliance.” He stared coldly at his son. “I take it, this is what you wanted, eh? Should have asked me before. I’m not pleased, but there’s no way out now it’s got this far. You never wanted the wench, and made that clear enough from the start. Well, now you’ve got your wish.”
It took Nicholas a moment. Then he said, quite softly, “You’re either drink sodden or luna pickled, sir. Is there a full moon? I’ve two answers to give you, but both will be given in private. Then I suggest you leave for Spain as soon as can be arranged.”
The baroness had sunk to the nearest chair, but Emeline now stood, coming forwards. Nicholas took her arm, leading her back to her shadowed seat. “I don’t understand,” she muttered, looking up pleadingly at him.
“None of us do,” sighed Nicholas. “Dealing with my father can be meaningless at the best of times. I imagine he’s drunk as usual.”
The earl twitched an eyebrow. “Your protestations don’t fool me, m’boy,” he said, raising his voice in irritation. “My trip to Spain is cancelled and that fool Ratcliff is being primed in my place. And it’s this wretched business of yours has caused it, family scandals, with my son slaughtering half the neighbourhood, and accusations flying through the palace corridors. Are you mad, boy? And have the audacity to call me pickle brained, when all the world knows what you’ve done.”
Emeline burst into tears.
Her mother gazed in increasing fear around the chamber, then began quietly to sob, both hands covering her face. From outside the door, a heavy thump rattled the floorboards, and a slightly muffled scream was silenced. Nicholas strode to the door and flung it open. Avice was huddled on the ground in the dark passage outside, blinking back tears. “Oh good God,” said Nicholas.
Emeline glared at the earl, wiping away her tears with her kerchief and then loudly blowing her nose. “You have made my sister faint,” she accused his lordship in a small and muffled voice. “And made my mother cry. And we are already so – worried about everything. Papa’s funeral was just a week ago and we’re still in mourning. And you’re so wrong, so terribly, terribly wrong.” She bit her lip with a sniff. “And I wish I was dead too.”
“Live with my no good son much longer, and no doubt you will be,” announced the earl. “Now listen to me, all of you. I’m not accusing anybody. Not that I don’t know the truth, but that’s a matter for the sheriff and I’ll cast no aspersions. But the fact is, everyone knows. First Peter. Now the father-in-law. Only one person links the two. It’s a nasty business, but I intend making the best of it. Splitting the two families as fast as can be – that’s my aim now. Show the Chatwyns have no interest in the Wrothams, and cut out any motive for blind murder. Nothing shady. A properly arranged annulment, and the bride price returned without rancour. And you’ll come back to Westminster with me, my boy. I’ll deal with you myself, but I’ll not have a son of mine with his head lying beside the block and all his Chatwyn blood draining into the sawdust.”
Nicholas sighed. “If this is your idea of family loyalty and filial defence, sir, then I’d say you could have managed it better. First, I have no intention of obtaining an annulment, nor do I have the grounds. And secondly I have murdered nobody, nor had cause for that either. For someone who has ridden all the way from court just to clear your family name, you seem remarkably ignorant of the facts.”
“I’m remarkably clear on one fact,” roared the earl, crimson faced. “I’m bloody well aware that his highness has cancelled my trip to Spain, and put any royal business on hold for me until this scandal is cleared up. Any chance of patronage and glory has gone up the chimney with the flames you lit, you wretched worm brained idiot, and I’ll not have another chance for a seat on the Royal Council next year because of you. The only way is to get you abroad before you’re arrested.”
Avice had crept within the hall, and was clinging to her mother, legs trembling. The baroness managed to say, “Please, my lord, I beg you – no more. You are wrong, I swear. Oh, mercy, this is all so disturbing – so shocking.”
The earl remained a swirl of fur and velvets, sleeves sweeping the floorboards. Emeline stood abruptly, avoiding her father-in-law’s furious march, and went to stand beside her mother and sister, one hand on the back of her mother’s chair, the other around her sister’s waist. She said, voice carefully controlled, “Nicholas, I believe you should take your father up to the small solar, and speak to him in private. I’ll look after Maman. She can’t deal with all this. You know she’s still upset about – well, about everything.”
“Speak to him upstairs?” Nicholas regarded his father with faint revulsion. “I’d sooner just throw him out.”
At which moment the Wrotham House steward stepped awkwardly through the partly open door, and cleared his throat, saying, “My lady. I do beg your pardon for interrupting.”
Every head swung around in expectation. “For pity’s sake, Sherman,” wailed her ladyship, “go away. Or get wine. I ordered the staff to keep out. So don’t just stand there. Do something.”
The steward bowed. “My lady, I regret to announce that you have another visitor. A young lady has arrived with her retinue, and is at present waiting in the withdrawing annexe. I explained that you were otherwise occupied, my lady, but she informed me that she has ridden a long way, and wishes to see you without delay.”
“Oh good gracious,” exclaimed the baroness. “Some silly village woman? And at a time like this? Who is it?”
“Another secret mistress, come to mourn her lover,” muttered Avice.
The steward bowed again. “It is a Mistress Sysabel Frye, who begs leave to speak with you, my lady.”
Emeline dropped her kerchief and Nicholas began to laugh. The earl, striding once again to mid floor with a flourish of crimson and a squeak of his boots, demanded, “That stupid niece of mine? What’s she doing here?”
“Probably on a much more benevolent errand than yours, Father dearest.” Nicholas grinned.