Burning Bright (Brambridge Novel 2) Read online

  James hunched forward over the flowing mane, his elbows tucked in and his boots firmly in the stirrups. As the wind blew through his own hair, he breathed out. The familiar feeling of being alive returned to him as it had time and time again on the Peninsular. He hadn’t had that feeling since… since the day before with Harriet. Except that that feeling had come with an intensity of emotion he hadn’t felt since leaving Brambridge.

  His boot almost flew out of a stirrup as he lost concentration. Damn her. She must have hypnotized him. Read something in one of the many books that she had always had her nose in. Either that or the two long years of avoiding all social contact altogether as he had scrambled across Spain and Portugal in advance of the British Army had taken its toll. She was the first woman that he had thought about like this in a long time.

  Reseating his boot in the stirrup, James hunched over Scorpius’ neck again, noting the marker that showed half a mile to Ottery St Mary.

  With a scream, Scorpius slowed and then stopped dead. James hunched lower and pressed his powerful knees into the sides of the horse to urge him forward, but he would not move, skittering sideways on the spot.

  Dismounting, and avoiding the trembling hooves, James held the reins loosely and made his way to the horse's head. Scorpius' eyes rolled even more furiously than before, and his muzzle dripped with foam. Clucking quietly, James checked the horse over carefully, from mane to hoof. Nothing appeared to be out of place. However, it was clear that Scorpius could not bear to ride him any longer. Indeed, every time James made to mount, the stallion sidestepped away neatly.

  With a bark of disbelief, James grabbed the reins again and set off on foot towards Ottery St Mary. The army had bred a quick march into him that could last all day if needed.

  Gradually Scorpius quietened, and by the time they reached Ottery St Mary, he was mischievously placid-looking. Finding a stable on the outskirts of the town, James led the horse into the yard, and stood waiting. A middle aged ostler paused in the middle of shifting straw in a stable and leaned on his spade. Straightening, he looked James in the eye, mouth opening in disbelief. James raised an eyebrow. The ostler snapped his mouth shut.

  “I recognize you, sir. Pardon me for saying, Major Jim Lucky.”

  James frowned. At his look of disbelief, the ostler snapped a salute. “Harald Denys, private, Fifth Grenadiers, sir.” He dropped his hand slowly back to his side, shaking his head. “We used to see you ride into battle in front of your troops at the end of the war. You were legendary, a scout who became a major. You rode out alongside your soldiers. Lord Lassiter was the only other man to do that.”

  The ostler stopped talking, dropping his eyes. James slowly relaxed his shoulders.

  “Other men would have done the same,” he muttered.

  Harald gazed at him in disbelief before taking Scorpius’ reins. “I’m assuming you want to stable him for a few hours, sir?”

  It was James’ turn to be surprised. Scorpius had meekly turned his head, nudged Harald on the shoulder and then half-closed his eyes.

  “I think you need to know something about…”

  But it was too late; Harald was already leading Scorpius away and crooning to the large black horse.

  Amused, James strode away to look for Mr. Granger’s offices. Weaving in and out of the paths of ladies completing their shopping, he realized that he had arrived from Paris with nothing for his mother and his sister. He hunched his shoulders. Who was he trying to fool? He hadn’t wanted to buy them anything.

  Following a group of older women, he stopped outside the ‘The Ottery Emporium’. A group of bright tin soldiers in Hussar colors marched in a display in the window. James stared at the inanimate figurines. Where was the mud? The piles of dead men and horses? Gritting his teeth, he pulled open the shop door. A young lady stood in the entrance with her arm outstretched on the door handle. She stumbled. Thrusting out open arms, he caught her and swept her back to her feet. A pair of large, blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes blinked back at him, whilst his hands spanned a small waist.

  “Oh my goodness,” she murmured. “I'm so terribly sorry.”

  “I apologize,” James said brusquely. “I wasn't looking where I was going.” A short silence ensued as she made no effort to stand on her own.

  “Melissa! Melissa!” A lady's voice broke off as she caught sight of James and the girl. Melissa stood slowly, brushing at her skirts.

  “Well good afternoon, sir.” The lady cocked her head coquettishly at him. James turned; she was handsome in a mature way, dressed in beautiful silks and fur.

  “Apologies, my ladies,” he said shortly, realizing he had not introduced himself. “Lord Stanton at your service.” He swept a bow and laid a kiss on each of the ladies’ gloved hands.

  “Goodness me! I am Mrs. Eliza Sumner, and this is my daughter Melissa.” The lady pushed her daughter forward.

  “Pleased to meet you, my lord,” Melissa said in a low musical voice, dipping her skirts in a curtsey. She blinked at the floor, and then turned to gaze at him with deep blue eyes that many a man must have drowned in.

  “Where do you live, Lord Stanton?” asked Mrs. Sumner.

  “In Brambridge, but I'm here to see my lawyer, and also to buy some ribbons for my mother and sister.”

  “Oh Lord Stanton, how lovely of you! But tell me, how much experience do you have of choosing such fripperies?”

  “Not much,” he admitted. “It has been two years since I have seen my mother and sister, and fashions have changed.”

  “Well, you must let us help you!” Mrs. Sumner pushed Melissa forward. “Melissa is so fashionable, and has good taste. She will have you sorted out in no time.”

  “Thank you.” James looked at Melissa reluctantly. Her gaze seemed to have sharpened, but then melted away again into a soft sea of blue.

  Melissa took him by the hand and drew him to towards the wall of ribbons adorning the surround of the shop counter. All the colors of the rainbow were displayed, in thick and thin strands. Some were of obvious French origin, whilst others bore the lace making marks of the areas around Ottery St Mary.

  “Tell me what your sister is like,” Melissa said in a quiet voice. James was taken aback. “To choose her ribbons.”

  “She is outgoing, and loves to joke and laugh. She is mischievous and she has deep brown hair.”

  “Is she married?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “How old is she?” Melissa laid a hand on his arm as she reached forward.

  “I, I can’t remember.” James shook his head. He couldn’t focus, shaking the urge to pull Melissa’s hand off his sleeve.

  Melissa looked at him and lifted her arm lightly. “Hmm, then I think you should go with this one.” Melissa pulled out a bright red ribbon that was scandalously close to scarlet. Thinking that it would suit Cecilia right down to the ground, James thanked Melissa gravely. Melissa then pulled out a more demure blue ribbon. “And this one for your mother.”

  James paid the counter clerk, whose eyes remained riveted solely on Melissa. He frowned; he felt nothing. He could admire her like a painting. She was just like all the beautiful rich widows who had thrown themselves at him on his return to London. They had left him cold.

  Harriet on the other hand made him feel hot at the edges.

  But he didn’t want to feel hot at the edges. He had an estate to keep.

  Glancing quickly at his fob watch to cover his momentary confusion, James cursed. The hour was nearing one-o-clock when most businesses would be closing for lunch. Searching his pockets, he found a card and handed it to Mrs. Sumner.

  “As a token of my esteem, please do call on us at Brambridge Manor. I know that my mother would be glad to know tidings of London, and my sister would well enjoy some fashionable news.”

  It might cheer Cecilia up. She couldn’t have had much company over the past few years. Melissa giggled at James' words. He fought himself not to grasp the card back out of Mrs. Sumner’s hand
s.

  “Why thank you, Lord Stanton,” Mrs. Sumner called after him. The card had already disappeared into her reticule.

  James strode to the door.

  “We shall be certain to call on you soon!”

  James blinked as he stepped into the bright sunshine of the afternoon. In looking for his own card, he had found that of the lawyer. Looking up and down Ottery High Street, he quickly caught sight of a large sign for 'Granger and Sons' hanging above a smart shop window. As he started towards it, a well-dressed gentleman left the front door and, without looking up towards James, set off in the opposite direction. James hastened his steps.

  A young man sat in the meagre front vestibule. His shoulders were almost as broad as James', and his scarred knuckles and broken nose revealed a penchant for using his fists. A quill and large inkwell stood incongruously in front of him on the table.

  “Lord Stanton to see Mr. Granger,” James announced.

  The man narrowed his eyes and then sat back with his arms folded. “Got ’n appointment?”

  “No, but he'll see me.”

  “Ain't got no appointment, ain't going in. Don't care who you are,” the man said petulantly.

  James contemplated the man seated in front of him. His eyes flickered sideways to take in the sparsely furnished desk, and settled on a prominently placed name plaque.

  “Samuel,” he murmured to himself.

  “Samuel,” the man said, suspicion in his voice. James could now see the resemblance to the father. This must be the ‘and son’ that the sign advertised. He walked around the desk and towards the back door from where the sound of papers shuffling came. A meaty hand thumped down on his back, picked him up by his collar and laid him out on the floor.

  “I said, don’t go in!” Samuel shouted, his fist bunched to punch James in the stomach.

  Quickly, James flattened himself and rolled to the side, wincing where his wounded shoulder ground against the floor. It wasn’t anything worse than he had experienced in Spain.

  “Ooh ow!” came the yell, as Samuel's fist ploughed into the wooden floorboards. Taking advantage of his misery, James stood, grabbed the ink well and slammed it into Samuel's head, sloshing ink all over the man’s face, into his hair and all over his clothes. Samuel’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the floor unconscious.

  Grabbing the edge of the desk, James hauled himself to his feet. Without bothering to straighten his clothes, he pushed his way through the inner door.

  There was only one man inside. His desk was covered in papers, but as James drew closer, he could see that a box of expensive cheroots lurked under the documents, and a glass of port hid behind the desk lamp.

  “What have you done with my son?” Mr. Granger demanded.

  “Samuel? He’s still outside.” Despite appearances, this was like no other lawyer that he had ever visited. James sank into the chair in front of the desk. Mr. Granger stiffened.

  “I didn't come here to cause trouble.” James put his hands on the edge of the desk and leant forward. “Look, I’ve heard some disturbing rumors surrounding the estate.”

  Mr. Granger relaxed and sat back in his chair. “Tell me more?”

  “Servants have been laid off without their wages, and the fields are barren.”

  “It’s not such an unusual occurrence.”

  James frowned. “It is for Brambridge. The mine should support it. The land is fertile, I know it is.”

  Mr. Granger coughed. “Have you a list of names?”

  James blinked at the change of direction. “Er, yes.” He handed over the list that Bill had given him.

  “Well, this is a very sorry list indeed. The first one, Carband, was sent home for stealing ducks, the second one, Miss Farling, was caught having indecent relations with the butler, the third one was insubordinate to Edgar Stanton...”

  And so the list of thirteen names went on. James could not believe what he was hearing.

  “Surely, not all of them can have been guilty of all these crimes. Thirteen people in the space of one year is unbelievable!”

  “I am afraid, sir, it is absolutely true. Your father and Edgar agreed that the only way to deal with it was by giving the servants their leave without back pay.”

  “Well, I want them reinstated,” James said firmly.

  “No, we can't do that. I'm afraid, Lord Stanton,” said the lawyer with a sneer, “we have agreed with Edgar Stanton that we will only take instructions from him with regards to the estate finances.”

  “Edgar?” What in the blazes?

  “Did you not see him leaving? Of course we thought he had come here at your bequest.” Mr. Granger would not meet James’ eyes. “We thought it best to take instruction from him as an impartial observer in this affair. Besides, he has run the estate finances for the last two years while you neglected the estate, and is a highly successful businessman in his own right. We understand that you have not yet moved in, and nor did you do so as soon as you arrived. In short sir, you have no track record, and no history.”

  James clenched his fists. He wanted to reach over the desk and pull the smirking lawyer over it by his cravat. “You need to replace Edgar with myself. I am Lord Stanton, and I am heir to the estate.” Granger rose from his seat. James stood quickly.

  “I am afraid, my lord, that that is not true and we both know it. Unless you find Ms. Mompesson, and even then marry her, you will not get a penny more from the estate.” He stopped and his smirk grew wider. “Besides, Edgar has legally signed to be the financial executor of the estate for six months.”

  James clenched his fingers into a fist furiously and strode to the door as Granger pushed his chair back from the desk. James had missed his opportunity by half an hour by humoring those silly women.

  Samuel had disappeared from the vestibule by the time James left the offices. A trail of blood led to an adjoining door. Standing blinking in the sunlight, James looked hesitantly to his left and to his right. His trip to Ottery had been a waste of time. Far down the High Street the church bell chimed the hour. James thrust his hand into his pocket to support his shoulder. He really had hit Samuel quite hard. His hand closed around the two letters he’d left there, making a fist he scrunched them into a ball. Where was he now? Despite spending every night scouting the countryside round Brambridge, he could find no connection to those who might be disrupting the trade routes, and he still wasn’t the owner of the Brambridge estate.

  Marie Mompesson. Why didn’t she haunt his dreams instead of the war and the violence? James closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If he treated this as another mission then he would be looking for all traces of Marie, family, records of existence.

  His eyes snapped open. Records. He glanced to his right again as the church finished striking. Ottery St Mary church would contain all the records of births, deaths and marriages in the surrounding area.

  It took only minutes to let himself into the church. The cavernous building was dark inside and lined with plaques dedicated to the dead. With a shiver, James started down the aisle in order to find the church office.

  The rector was not there, although a cheerful lay verger allowed him access to the records. Opening up the book, James sighed. It was full of lists of names written in small copperplate writing. Obviously sensing James’ frustration, the verger disappeared back into the office.

  Folding his long legs uncomfortably into a pew in the cold church, James looked through the list of births, deaths and marriages for two hours. There was nothing. No mention of Viscount Summerbain, or Marie Mompesson.

  “Have you tried Brambridge church? Mr. Madely is a fount of information,” the lay verger said cheerfully, bustling back out of the small office. “We don’t keep their records here. If the person you are looking for is local, then he might know of them.”

  James nodded. “Of course.”

  “It is a shame that the magistrate Thomas Patrick is no longer in Ottery. He left last year without a forwarding address. Fun
nily enough, it was just after I was visited by another Major too—Major Coxon Williams.”

  James grunted in reply. He didn’t care about Coxon Williams. His name wasn’t Mompesson. Quite glad to say goodbye to the gratingly-happy verger, James strode quickly back to the stables. At his request, Harald quickly saddled Scorpius.

  “Thank you.” James swung himself onto the horse’s back.

  “It was no problem, Major Lucky. Anything for a fellow soldier. Besides, we've enjoyed having Scorpius here in the stable. Of course, ever since we removed the thistle from underneath your saddle, he's been much better.”

  “Thistle? What thistle?”

  “When you arrived, Scorpius was jumping around like a box of angry frogs. We unsaddled him to put him in the stable and found the thistle wedged into his side underneath the heavy blanket. It had drawn blood. He's all better now, of course.”

  James picked up the reins. The thistle had not been there when he had saddled Scorpius himself that morning. He had only left Scorpius for half an hour by himself whilst he had broken his fast and fetched his telescope. Someone at the inn had obviously pushed the thistle under the blanket whilst the straps had been let loose.

  CHAPTER 9

  Harriet thrust forward on the front legs of the garden chair and peered down in the dull light at the results of the last spelling examination she had set. No matter which way up she held the paper, the handwriting was still illegible. She looked at the overcast sky and cursed. There wasn’t enough light inside the dark cottage for the kind of work that she was doing. The clouds also threatened impending rain.

  “Look, Harriet, if you have any more problems with Edgar, then tell me.” Bill leaned heavily on the cottage fence, bowing it under his muscular weight.

  That was the other reason for her curses. Sitting outside the cottage meant all and sundry stopped for a chat. She cast a quick look at the pile of papers next to her chair and shuddered. This wasn’t the only example that she would need to attempt to read before the day was through.