The American Earl

  THE AMERICAN EARL

  by

  Joan Wolf

  Chapter One

  For as long as I live I will never forget the morning I found my father’s body. I had awakened with the dawn and decided to take a walk in the garden before breakfast. I wrapped my old wool cloak around my nightdress, slid my feet into my boots and went quietly down the stairs.

  The French doors at the back of the house let me out into a beautiful morning. The air smelled frosty and clean and the moon was still bright in the sky. I began to walk along one of the pathways, thinking it was a perfect day for hunting and wishing we were going out. I was looking up at the moon when I stumbled over something on the ground. I gained my balance and looked down. Two legs wearing riding boots jutted out from the shrubbery.

  My first thought was that some drunk had found his way into the garden and passed out. My second thought, as I regarded the expensive boots, was, if this is Papa, I’ll kill him.

  I dropped to my knees and pushed away the branches. A man was lying on his back in the midst of a tangle of boxwood. His face was a bloody pulp and I screamed. As I backed away from the ghastly sight, I saw the distinctive ring of the earls of Althorpe on the hand that was still clasping a revolver.

  It was my father.

  Nausea rose in my throat and I heaved the contents of what had been last night’s dinner into the shrubbery. When I finally stopped retching, I ran for the stables, my cloak streaming out behind me.

  Toby, the old groom who had known me all my life, was haying the horses. He took one look at my face, put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me to sit on an unopened bale.

  “What’s wrong, lass?” he said sharply. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Toby, Pa…. I stuttered trying to get the words out, “Papa’s dead. I found him in the garden. He…he killed himself.”

  My stomach heaved again and I pinched my lips closed and swallowed hard.

  Toby swore. Then he took my hands into his large, calloused warm ones. I was shivering and his hands felt good on mine.

  He said, “What were you doin’ out in yer nightdress anyway, lass?”

  “I don’t know.” My teeth were chattering now. “I just wanted to go out into the morning. Then I found him.” I looked up into my friend’s weathered brown face. “What should I do?”

  “You’re sure he’s dead?”

  I shut my eyes. “Yes. His face was blown away but I recognized his ring.”

  Toby swore and I opened my eyes. I had never seen him look so grim. “Go back to the house and get dressed,” he said. I’ll take Baron and ride to fetch Sir John.”

  Sir John Barrington was the local magistrate. I clutched my cloak around me and shivered some more. “What will he do?” I asked.

  “He’ll take care of things. Just you go back to the house, Lady Julia, and have a hot cup of tea.”

  “I’ll have to tell Maria and Cousin Flora,” I said, my voice quivering.

  “You will,” Toby said, that grim look still on his face. Then, as if he couldn’t hold the words back any longer, “God in Heaven. What was the bloody man thinkin’, to do such a thing to you? If he had to kill himself why didn’t he do it somewhere else?”

  “I d-don’t know.”

  I let him pull me to my feet. The shock was receding a little and Toby’s anger was igniting in me as well. “He always was a bastard,” I said.

  We looked at each other for a long moment, the truth clear and bleak between us. Then I said, “I’ll go back to the house.”

  Toby patted my shoulder. “Tell me exactly where you found him, so I can tell Sir John. You don’t want to see him again.”

  The dreadful picture of my dead father flashed before my eyes and I shuddered. “No.”

  I told Toby where to look and began to walk toward the stable door. My legs felt rubbery and I tried to steady my breathing.

  “I’ll have Sir John come to the house to speak to you after … when he’s done,” Toby said.

  I nodded, went out the door and slowly made my way back to the house.

  * * * *

  I let myself in the front door and walked along the passage that led to the family wing. Stoverton was really two houses, the grand fortified castle that had been built hundreds of years ago and the newer part, which had been built by my grandfather, where the family lived. The passage between the two wings was lined with high windows that showed a fountain on one side and a statue of a mostly-naked Greek goddess on the other.

  I went immediately to the library, my favorite room. From floor to ceiling the walls were lined with mahogany bookshelves filled with the books my family had collected over the years. The room was furnished with several Turkish rugs, two large desks, a globe, and a pair of ancient-looking but comfortable velvet sofas, which were arranged in front of the stone fireplace.

  The room was cold. We never lit a fire in here until after breakfast. It was, in fact, one of the few rooms where we ever lit a fire. Coal was expensive.

  I asked Lucy, our only maid, if she would ask Cousin Flora and my sister to join me. It wasn’t long before they came into the room, both of them swathed in heavy shawls. I still wore my cloak draped over my nightdress.

  Cousin Flora frowned when she saw me. “Julia, what on earth are you doing downstairs dressed like that?”

  Flora was a short, stout woman with a kind face. She had come to stay with Maria and me a year ago, when Maria’s governess was let go. She was one of my father’s many cousins and my Aunt Barbara had invited (or pressured) her into living with us so there would be an adult female in the house.

  Flora and Maria sat on the sofa facing me and I told them what I had discovered in the garden.

  Maria went pale as snow. “Papa killed himself?”

  “I’m afraid so.” I went to sit beside her on the sofa and put an arm around her shoulders. Maria was four years younger than I and I had always taken care of her.

  Flora said, her voice trembling, “Dearest Julia. What a terrible thing for you to find.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. Once again my stomach heaved and I gritted my teeth and forced it down.

  Maria turned to look at me. She had been born with the famous good looks of the Marshalls. Her hair was golden, her eyes deeply blue, her features classically beautiful. There were tears in her eyes now, but I knew they weren’t tears of grief. She was afraid of what Papa’s death would mean for us.

  “We’ll be all right,” I said. I was eighteen and had been in charge of Stoverton for several years. “I’ll take care of you, Maria. Don’t worry; we’ll be all right.”

  Her mouth trembled but she nodded.

  Neither of us felt any of the grief that one would expect to find in the children of a suddenly deceased father. We knew little about him and what we knew we didn’t like. Maria put her head on my shoulder and whispered, “Oh Julia, what are we going to do?”

  * * * *

  Sir John Barrington, the magistrate, had Papa’s body removed to the icehouse. Then he met with Cousin Flora and me and asked if we had found a suicide note.

  I hadn’t even thought to look.

  It was lying on the mantle in the morning room, propped up against a clock. My name was on the outside. Sir John, a stocky, brown-eyed man, handed it to me. I scanned it, gritted my teeth and handed it back to him.

  The magistrate looked at me inquiringly and I said, “Read it so Cousin Flora can hear it too.”

  Sir John cleared his throat and began,

  My dearest Julia, I am sorry to leave you and your sister this way, but it is for the best. My financial choices have made it impossible for me to provide for you. Tommy’s boy will be the next earl, and I have looked into his situation. He is a wealthy man
and I know he will do his duty by you. Believe me, this is the best solution for you and your sister. Your father, Philip, Earl of Althorpe.

  “Best solution,” I repeated furiously. “The bastard!”

  “Julia!” Cousin Flora bleated. “My young cousin is upset,” she said to the magistrate apologetically.

  “I understand.” The brown eyes regarding me were kind. “There will have to be an inquest, Lady Julia, but I have seen enough to give evidence. You may bury your father whenever you please.”

  Cousin Flora moaned. “Oh dear. What are we to do about a burial, Sir John? Althorpe’s a suicide. He can’t be buried in consecrated ground.”

  “He should be buried at the crossroads with a stake through his heart.” I said.

  “You don’t mean that, Julia!” Cousin Flora looked at me in distress. “You know you don’t.”

  In fact, I did, but I realized the great scandal a suicide in the family would create. Centuries of Marshalls had made our name one of the greatest in England. I wouldn’t let Papa’s death tarnish my heritage.

  I said to Sir John, “Is there any way to hide the fact that he was a suicide?”

  He sighed. “I’m afraid not, Lady Julia. If it was only I who viewed the body, perhaps we might, but I brought several other men with me. I cannot guarantee their silence.”

  I clenched my fists at my side, but said nothing. There was nothing I could say. My father would be buried in unconsecrated ground and the Marshall name would be stained forever by his cowardly action.

  Cousin Flora said, “We must send for Lady Barbara, Julia. If anyone can make the rector bury Althorpe in the church, it will be she.”

  My Aunt Barbara was my father’s younger sister and she had inherited all the ambition and determination that had passed him by. I disliked her intensely, but as I gazed into Flora’s washed-out blue eyes, I realized that she was right. Much as I abhorred the idea, Aunt Barbara was our only hope.

  Feeling desperate, I asked my cousin, “Will you write to her?”

  “Of course I will, dear,” Flora replied.

  I gave her a grateful smile.

  Sir John said, “What do you know about the next earl? Didn’t his father go to America years ago?”

  “Yes, he did,” Flora said. “And according to Althorpe he must have done very well for himself. What a blessing that will be.”

  “Good God,” I said out loud, the horror I felt clear in my voice. “Are you saying the new earl is an American?”

  Chapter Two

  I had sent Maria upstairs while Flora and I spoke to Sir John, and after he was gone I went up to her room. She was sitting in front of her cold fireplace wrapped in a blanket. I went to take the other chair and wrapped myself in an old wool shawl.

  “What did Sir John say?” she asked when we were both as comfortable as was possible in this freezing room.

  I told her about the problem of the burial and that Flora had sent for Aunt Barbara.

  “You actually invited Aunt Barbara to come here?” Maria asked in amazement.

  I sighed. “We need her to persuade the vicar to bury Papa in the church. She’ll bully him into it and no one else can.”

  Maria’s lips twitched in a small smile. “Yes, she will.” Her face became grave again. “Who will be the new earl, Julia? Do you know?”

  It may seem strange that we didn’t already have this information, but after my brother Philip died, everyone had expected my father to marry again and produce a new heir. In this, as in everything else, he had been a disappointment.

  When I didn’t answer immediately, she asked, “Will we have to move out of Stoverton?”

  Leave Stoverton? Never! I thought. I loved Stoverton more than anything in the world, except Maria. The Marshalls had lived on this land since the fourteenth century. I was rooted here in a way that my father had never been. I never wanted to leave.

  I said somberly, “The new earl is the son of Papa’s younger brother who went to America. The new earl is an American, Maria.”

  Maria’s hand flew to her mouth. “But Julia - the Americans killed Philip!”

  My brother had died when the yacht he was a passenger on collided with an American privateer in the Channel. It’s true we were at war with America, but that an American ship should dare come into English waters was almost unbelievable. Philip and the others on board had been thrown into the water and drowned. Since our other brother, Charles, had died a few years earlier, the earldom, according to British law, would pass to Papa’s only brother. As he was dead as well, the earldom would go to the next nearest male Marshall, Thomas’ son, who was an American.

  The two of us sat there and contemplated the catastrophe that My father’s suicide had brought upon us.

  * * * *

  My father’s funeral was quiet. Aunt Barbara had successfully bullied the vicar into allowing him to be buried in the church with all his illustrious ancestors, an honor which he most certainly did not deserve. None of our large extended family attended, nor did any of the tenants or villagers. The general feeling among family and dependents was the quicker my father was dispensed with the better.

  My father’s solicitor, Mr. John Shields, who bore a strong resemblance to a bulldog the squire once had, called on us the day after the funeral. Aunt Barbara, Maria and I met with him in the library. Since my aunt had arrived we had been forced to use more coal – I didn’t want her to know how tight money was - so the beautiful old library looked warm and inviting as we sat in front of the large stone fireplace.

  “There is nothing we can do about the estate until we hear from the heir,” Mr. Shields said, after he had offered his condolences. “No creditors can be paid, no moneys dispensed.”

  Aunt Barbara and I were sitting on one of the old blue velvet sofas and the solicitor sat on the other one, facing us. He continued, “Lady Julia, I fear this means you won’t have the allowance your father made you to run the house. My hands are bound. All of your father’s estate is untouchable until we can speak to Mr. Evan Marshall, the new earl, and receive his directions.”

  Aunt Barbara said in her well-bred, haughty voice, “Surely you can make some arrangements, Shields. We’re at war with America. How on earth are we to contact Evan Marshall if we can’t get a letter to him?”

  The bulldog face nodded solemnly. “I understand your concern, my lady. Since it’s not possible for a British ship to land on American soil, I will direct a letter informing the earl of his new honor to an English solicitor in Kingston, Jamaica. I have worked with him before and found him trustworthy. He will put the letter aboard a Jamaican vessel bound for Boston. American ports are open to Jamaican goods.”

  “Is that where Tommy’s son lives, Shields?” Aunt Barbara asked. “Boston?”

  “He lives in a town just north of Boston called Salem, my lady. I looked into the family when your nephew Philip died; I felt it was necessary to know something about the new heir. His name is Evan Marshall and he owns a very profitable shipping company.”

  “He’s in trade.” My aunt looked as if she had spied a rat. “Well, at least he’s got money. He’ll need it. I don’t think Althorpe left him anything but debts.”

  I felt as if I was living a nightmare. At least my father had given me an allowance to run the house, even though it was a pittance. Now I was to get nothing until this American agreed to it? How were Maria and I supposed to live?

  Aunt Barbara thought she had the solution to this problem and after Mr. Shields had left, she told Maria and me to pack our clothes. “You’re coming back to Mereton with me. I always thought it was a disgrace that your father allowed you to remain here with no adequate supervision. It was horribly improper.”

  She had tried to get me to go and live with her once before, and I had refused. I refused again. “I won’t leave Stoverton. Someone has to be here to look after it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Julia. You are seventeen years old. You cannot possibly ‘look after’ Stoverton. Nor can you
be left here on your own.”

  “I’m eighteen,” I corrected her, my voice matching the haughtiness of hers. “And who else has looked after Stoverton for all these years, do you think? Mama was rarely here and my father not much more.”

  “You have a steward,” Aunt Barbara said. “It is his job to look after things, not yours.”

  “The last steward left two years ago,” I said flatly. “I’ve been doing his job ever since.”

  My aunt stood and began pacing the room. “This whole situation is outrageous. I knew I should have insisted you come to me after your mother died.” She stopped and glared. “But you carried on as if I was taking you to a house of torture. And Philip, weakling that he was, stood by you.”

  Maria’s soft voice made itself heard. “Please don’t argue. It’s upsetting.”

  “Of course it’s upsetting,” Lady Barbara snapped. “That is precisely why you should not be here. But Julia insisted….”

  I went over to take Aunt Barbara’s seat next to my sister and picked up her hand. “Our aunt is right about one thing,” I told her. “You should go to Mereton. I’m sure Aunt Barbara will get you a governess and a music teacher, and you’ll have Lizzie to talk to. It would be the best thing for you, Maria.”

  Aunt Barbara backed me up. “Of course we’ll get you a governess, Maria. I’m sure Flora has tried, but … well, best not to say anything more. And your cousin Elizabeth will be happy to have your company.”

  Maria sat up straight. She had the Marshall family height as well as its coloring. At fourteen, she was four inches taller than I. “I won’t go without Julia.”

  Her blue eyes held mine steadily. Everyone always talked about how stubborn I was, but Maria wasn’t far behind.

  “I can’t leave,” I told her.

  “I never thought you would.”

  The two of us looked at my aunt. I said, “If Cousin Flora stays with us, everything here will be perfectly proper. No one has questioned its propriety for the last few years, and I don’t see why that should change. It’s not as if my father was ever here.”