head, but kept her thoughts to herself. She had seen Caroline’s face, wild with grief, and for an instant had shrunk beneath the intensity of its pain. What must it be like to lose your only child and not know what had happened to him? Surely it would be better to risk distressing the Armitages if it meant solving the mystery of their son’s disappearance. But evidently Rye was a close-knit community and secrets were secrets and had to be kept. But not by her. A tantalising thought arrived. She might be able to help Mrs Armitage and surely the poor woman deserved whatever aid she could offer. At the same time she would annoy Justin Delacourt. She had been left feeling flustered and gauche by his closeness while he—he was just a little too smooth, a little too in control. It would be good to disturb that infuriating calm. Justin was charged with the onerous duty of finding his friend and he would need every small clue he could lay his hands on. And she had one now, and not a small clue at that. A very big clue. She would dangle it before him, tease him with it, and at the same time edge Caroline a little closer to finding her son.
* * *
The will was read and there had been few surprises, since except for several small bequests to servants and close friends, everything had been left to Sir Lucien’s son. The lawyer from London had come and gone, leaving Justin to distribute the gifts his father had bequeathed. A beautifully tooled calf-bound volume detailing the delights of Sussex and Kent was destined for Henrietta Croft, in remembrance of the happy hours she and Sir Lucien had spent poring over its expensive illustrations. His father had left a handwritten note with the book, asking Justin to deliver the gift personally. The dead man’s request gave his son cause to sigh. It would mean a journey to Brede House and a possible encounter with the impossible young woman. He knew Mrs Croft left the house infrequently these days and how to get the book to her without meeting Miss Ingram presented a problem.
He had turned it over in his mind for several days without finding a solution, irritated with himself that he had so little control over his feelings that he shirked from visiting one of his father’s oldest friends. It had been raining incessantly since the lawyer’s departure and when on the third morning, he awoke to a cloudless blue sky, it seemed a sensible time to go in search of the old lady. She was sure to have kept within doors for the last few days, but hopefully would be unable to resist the promise of such glorious weather. There was a chance that he might overtake her on her way to the busy shopping streets of the Citadel and, if so, he could take her up in his carriage and present the precious gift to her there and then.
First, though, he must keep his word by visiting Five Oaks. Although it had been cold overnight, waves of sun-warmed air were already radiating off the land and chasing away all but the finest veils of mist. He steered the carriage through the Chelwood gates into the autumn lanes and was at once enveloped by a landscape of glorious colour: coppiced trees fountained upwards and linked arms to create a cavern of russet foliage, while here and there patches of sunlight pierced the canopy and mottled gold all they touched.
Despite the difficult morning ahead, he felt more optimistic than he had for weeks, ever since that first dreadful intimation that his father was dead. It must be the blissful weather, he thought, for little else had changed. The estate was still in desperate need of renovation, his friend was still missing and his regiment still awaited his return. Yet some kind of magic was being woven for his heart felt unaccountably light as he sped his horses on their way.
* * *
At Five Oaks he was greeted with great affection, waved into the sunny drawing room and plied with refreshments. Relieved that no mention was made of the task Caroline Armitage had laid on him, he talked animatedly of the various schemes that he and Mellors were devising to set Chelwood to rights. After half an hour he rose to take his leave and remembered Sir Lucien’s bequests only when he had reached the front door.
‘I had almost forgot!’ He delved into the old carpet bag he had unearthed from the hall chest at Chelwood. ‘The will has now been proved and I have several gifts to distribute. My father wanted you to have his collection of old maps. I have them here’, and he brought forth several rolls of stained cream parchment.
‘How very kind of Lucien,’ James responded warmly. ‘He knew my interest in the history of the area. But would you not wish them to remain at Chelwood? I remember them decorating the walls of his study there. It would seem a better resting place for them.’
‘His study is now mine, Mr Armitage, and is covered in schedules for the advancement of the estate. There is even the odd illustration of a rare pig! My father knew how much you would value these—far more than I—and I hope you will accept them as a small remembrance of him.’
James clasped the younger man’s hands in his. ‘I would be honoured to have them, Justin. They will be accorded pride of place in my own study.’
Justin hesitated. He had yet one more gift for Five Oaks, but he did not know how to introduce it. Caroline saw his hesitation. ‘What is it, Justin? You have something more?’
‘Mrs Armitage, please forgive me. I am clumsy. I should never perhaps have brought it with me, but I am legally bound to carry out the provisions of the will.’
The Armitages were looking at him, puzzled expressions on both their faces. He drew from the bag a small carved wooden object. ‘It is a native Indian curio that my father purchased when he was serving in America—’
‘And it is for Gilbert,’ she finished for him.
‘Yes,’ he admitted, not knowing how to proceed.
‘How very kind of your father to remember Gil’s collection. Of course you should have bought it.’ Her voice had only the slightest tremor. ‘But will you do one thing for me before you go and take it to Gilbert’s room.’ Her voice was cracking now. ‘You know where it is, you know where he kept his collection.’
Justin sprang forwards, relieved to be doing something. ‘I promise to find the perfect place for it.’
He was past the waiting couple and up the stairs before Caroline’s tears began to flow. He felt angry with himself that so far he had done nothing to help the Armitages. He had been too busy with estate matters and, he told himself crossly, too busy with the girl. True she had taken up only an hour of his time at Chelwood, but simply thinking about her had wasted precious hours, too. He had not daydreamed like this since he was a boy and he needed to snap out of it.
Gil’s room was just as its owner had left it, just as Justin had seen it the last time he had visited: bedclothes uncreased, cushions plumped, fresh paper on the desk and a newly sharpened quill and pot of ink in the writing tray. The mirror reflected the same pictures, the mantelshelf held the same ornaments. He remembered being here three years ago, laughing and joking with his friend, twitting him over his ever-growing collection of native artefacts. You need to travel, Gil, he’d said, and not just in your mind.
He strode over to the large, wooden display cabinet that filled one corner of the room and opened its two glass doors. The shelves were already full and it took time to find a space into which he could fit his father’s small offering. He reached up to the top shelf which seemed a little less crowded and shuffled several objects closer together. There appeared to be some resistance towards the back of the shelf and with some difficulty he reached over and pulled forth a sheaf of papers that had been taped to its underside.
Immediately he saw they were part of a private correspondence. He should not look at them. They were Gil’s. He went to tape them back and by accident caught sight of the subscription which headed the first page.
‘My darling.’ My darling? Surely not. Surely not Gil. He was no ladies’ man himself, but Gil was even less of one. He could not recall a single instance when his friend had shown
