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  He had shown only gratitude for his rescue from destitution and a desire to please her in any way he could. She had intended to tell him exactly what she thought of his unfaithfulness and breaking of his promises, but so far he had kept his word over their marriage on everything. He had continued to work physically around the estate and to supervise the staff more than satisfactorily.

  In fact the new steward, Mr Bayliss, had complained that his lordship seemed more than capable of running his estates, without his own interference. He feared she would consider his employment unnecessary, but Celestina said that since her lord seemed capable of dealing with the repairs and daily running of the estate with sufficient staff, Bayliss could concentrate on the secondary aspect of his orders. She felt it was important that Kittleton Place was brought back to a productive financial status as soon as possible, or she would be continuing to throw good money after bad.

  The reports she had received of her husband’s behaviour had centred on his life in London and the various debaucheries that he had been involved in. They had confirmed he was still considered a handsome man, whom the ladies found charming and somewhat pruriently reported that he had a reputation as an accomplished lover. But the report had concentrated on his career as a drunken gambler, a man whom the duns were always chasing, a duellist and a brawler. Her agents had advised her that Xavier as a husband was a thoroughly bad risk and that Kittleton Place would prove to be a bottomless pit, which would eat her money. Celestina could not but admit that the report had been totally correct. Xavier Falconer was not a concern that she should have ever considered investing in. They had been right to advise her that he was a bad risk.

  Marrying Xavier had gone completely against her business acumen and Kittleton Place was certainly swallowing money, although it was still well within her means. So far, what she had spent on buying Xavier and his home was merely small change, because she had bought up many of his debts, before their marriage, on a percentage basis, because no-one believed they would ever be paid. She had planned for the huge outlay that she knew would still be necessary and part of her enjoyment over making her plans, had been imagining rubbing Xavier’s nose in how she had saved him from penury.

  The reports she had received about Xavier had told the truth, but not the whole truth. They had pointed out his debit points, but had said little to his credit. His charm had been mentioned only as a devious trait, designed to get whatever he wanted. Celestina, burnt by his faithlessness, had convinced herself, that she would now be immune to it. She had never intended to keep the deception up about their earlier meeting and her former identity so long. Yet the opportunity to reveal that she was the same innocent whom he had seduced had never yet presented itself. Although she had her speech decrying his duplicity in promising her marriage and then forgetting about her all worked out, she had learned a lot more about the character of Xavier, than her girlish memories had ever known.

  Celestina decided she had not taken the measure of Xavier Falconer fully, when she had browbeaten him with the choice of marriage or eviction. His drunkenness on her arrival, had merely confirmed the information on the report. She had congratulated herself, on how easily she had achieved her aims, until the matter of consummation had been reached. Then there had been a sudden glimpse of steel beneath the charming exterior. It was clear that you could control Xavier so far and only so far. Celestina no longer saw the day she finally revealed her identity to him as a delightful means of punishing him, but as an unpredictable row that she would be unable to predict or control. She had no idea how he would react, but she feared it would be explosively.

  Spending time with Xavier after that debacle would no longer be so pleasant. She assumed it would be either a series of shouting matches, or he would simply silently turn away from her and ignore her in silence. She thought him too much a gentleman to consider hitting her and Hector would soon thrash him if he tried, but there was an air of menace to him that frightened her slightly, so she had no desire to fall out seriously. She felt revealing her identity at this stage would be tempting fate. Unfortunately she could not guess when there would be a suitable time to tell him. The longer she kept it hidden, the greater the shock it would be to him. She told herself often that she would just tell him straight out and remove the veil, so he could see her face. Yet each time she had tried to begin to tell him, the well thought out words had dried on her tongue and she had said nothing.

  Celestina admitted that she was finding ignoring his lovemaking harder and harder. He was so tender and gentle when they were in bed together and although he never tried to kiss her on the mouth, his kisses spread everywhere else on her body. She tried to redirect her thoughts. Just thinking about the night before, when his kisses had worked between her legs, spending some considerable time dwelling on that area before he made love to her, was making her feel hot and breathless. She was worried that not only she was succumbing to enjoying his lovemaking but that she was also falling back in love with him again.

  After dinner that evening, Celestina brought her notes and the sample for Xavier to see.

  “Celestina, I’m overwhelmed with how well you have selected the colours for the refurbishment. The Place will be much improved by a new, softer touch. I think you are to be congratulated on how much you have achieved today and on what you have decided,” Xavier declared, well aware that Celestina was unsure whether he would approve her taste.

  He looked through the various choices they had made with snippets of fabric and paper pinned to the notes. He stopped when he reached the notes for the ballroom, which had been formerly called the great hall. It was half panelled with a warm oak wood.

  “I am not entirely sure that the reds you have chosen for the ballroom will not be a bit overpowering, especially with all the panelling,” he suggested.

  “Yes I see what you mean. Do you think we should go for a quieter colour?” she asked.

  “I think the room needs some colour, but with the long windows at both ends, the claret and straw curtaining should provide that, but if we pick out the straw colouring for the wall coverings, instead of the red, it might look sumptuous without being too strong.”

  “Thank you Xavier, I think that will work. It was the room we spent the longest time discussing and we could not totally agree on anything.”

  Chapter Nine – Accidents

  Mr Gregory Wellmouth rose punctually and consumed a satisfactory breakfast at the White Hart post house where he had stopped for the night. The weather had been foul on the previous day and the roads had been hard on both the horses and his coach driver, Henderson. He seemed to have acquired a bit of a cough as a result of the rain. Mr Wellmouth hoped that a night in the warmth of the white Hart tavern would have eased his cough and they could set off and make good time to Falmouth. The rain had now settled down to a faint drizzle but from glancing through the saloon window Gregory thought it might clear up and turn into quite a nice day. If they stopped briefly to change the horses and lunch at the Three Horseshoes where they did a fine ordinary, they should reach Falmouth before nightfall.

  Half decent weather would give Henderson’s cough a chance to improve. As Gregory intended to make a thorough inspection of his chandlery shop at Falmouth harbour, he would make a stay of several days there, so Henderson could take some time to recuperate from his minor indisposition. He had reserved a suite at the Seven Stars in Falmouth which was well positioned for him to be able to walk to the quay and surprise his employees. He was concerned about how badly the shop was doing. Being at some distance from his head office in London might mean there had been some laxity in his workers, but it had only been three months since he had last visited. There had been too many small disasters and problems occurring in getting supplies to his chandlery shops of recent days. There had been far too many for Gregory to believe there had not been some malice in the thefts, spoilage and misdirection that had been taking place.

  Gregory Wellmouth had been a ship’s chandler since a you
ng boy, helping out in his father’s shop. When his father finally passed on, leaving the business to Gregory, it had acquired another two chandleries. Since then Gregory had expanded, buying up chandler’s shops when their proprietors had retired or died, leaving no heir who wished to continue the business. He had never before had such difficulties organising the supply of basic materials to the sailing ships that called in at the ports where his shops were located. He prided himself on having everything that was needed for a long voyage.

  Much of his wares were fairly basic:- tar, tallow, linseed and whale oil, varnish and turpentine, as well as canvas, twine, rope, oakum and cordage for repairs. He sold essential tools because they got lost overboard or wore out, so his shops stocked hatchets, hammers, chisels, planes and axes. Sailing ships needed to be able to mend anything that went wrong at sea. Wellmouth chandleries also sold lanterns, boat hooks, nails, even brooms, mops and galley supplies. Vital foodstuffs for long journeys, such as ship’s biscuits, and salt pork were available amongst many other products. Yet goods from previously reliable suppliers were failing to reach his shops. It was very worrying.

  Then William Higgins had begun to make him offers to buy Wellmouth Chandleries. He thought the amount offered derisory and bluntly told him he intended to leave his business to his sons. The formerly affable Higgins had almost seemed threatening, as he advised him that he should take the offer from Higgins & Morpeth, before it was too late. He had been astute enough to wonder whether there was a connection between Higgins and the string of accidents, which he was now convinced were not accidental.

  The attacks on carters en route to his shops, the destruction of their loads by vandals, whose identity had not been discovered. The changing of orders, although his employees denied doing so, resulted in a surplus of certain items arriving than needed, but still had to be paid for, while important lines always seemed to fail to reach his shops. Yet his competitor Higgins & Morpeth, chandleries and ironmongeries, did not appear to be suffering the same difficulties.

  Gregory could not explain why, but there seemed to now be considerable animosity between the employees of the two companies, when before they had been relatively friendly competitors. He had known Richard Morpeth quite well and even considered him a friend. He had even attended his funeral two years ago and shook William Higgin’s hand at the internment. Since Morpeth’s death, the friendly camaraderie had changed. It had been a gradual process but it appeared as if the main aim of the Higgins and Morpeth chandleries was to try and put Wellmouths out of business. Yet he could find no evidence at all that they were involved in the sabotage.

  A rumour had gone round London that William Higgins had been struggling to keep the company afloat after his partner’s death. Gregory had no idea how his demise had affected the company’s finances, but some said he had taken on a new partner. Gregory had spent considerable time and money trying to find out whether that rumour was true and if so, the identity of the new partner. All he had got were further rumours. The sleeping partner was a titled gentleman who did not want his name associated with trade, came from one source. Another said he was an unscrupulous individual whom it was better not to cross. Gregory had tried to get spies into the company, but those that managed to get positions with the company, found nothing to report to him, if they reported at all. Why previously good workers should fail to report Gregory could not imagine. He refused to consider the possibility, which his sons had argued, that Morpeth and Higgins’ men had somehow murdered his spies. No one killed men over some business rivalry.

  They had argued he was being naïve, because he was a benevolent employer who preferred to believe his workers were trustworthy. Yet one of the carters who should have been delivering stock to his Portsmouth shop had died when his loaded cart had been stolen. Another had received a nasty whack on the head and a broken shoulder as some blackguards had attacked him on the way to Southampton. He would recover, but could not identify the culprits who injured him and stole his livelihood.

  Gregory wiped his mouth and went out to the yard where there was some kind of commotion occurring. He found Henderson in the stables with the inn’s landlord and several of the grooms. They were staring into one of the stalls where the corpse of the post house’s chief ostler lay awkwardly sprawled. The clean straw beneath him was covered with blood and muddy water, where the blood had continued to flow along with the muddy water from the yard that had drenched his clothes.

  It was none of his business he told himself and was not even a coincidence. Such wickedness was happening according to the newspapers in many places over England, where a man could be killed for the few shillings in his pockets. Seeing the body reminded him of his own mortality and he shivered. Perhaps his son James had been right, in advising him to hire a strong footman to travel with him. He had tried not to believe there was any serious risk. He would consider hiring one when he returned to London. He caught Henderson’s eye who nodded in return and while the landlord sent one of his grooms off to fetch the local watch, Henderson chivvied a couple of the grooms to hitch up their horses.

  Mr Wellmouth returned to the inn and slipped the potboy sixpence to fetch his bags from his bedroom. Shortly afterwards Henderson pulled the carriage round to the inn’s door and he boarded with his luggage. The drizzle continued for another hour, but soon the sun came out and they seemed to be making good time. All thoughts of the corpse in the White Hart stables was forgotten along with any threats to his own well-being, as the sun shone down and began drying up the puddles in the road, making it quite a pleasant journey. As they neared the Three Horseshoes, Gregory had pushed his worries from his mind and was back to feeling ebullient and benign to the rest of the world.

  Henderson had expected the stop and pulled into the yard where he got on with ordering fresh horses while his master stretched his legs before heading for the taproom and ordering them both a decent lunch. A pint of his host’s best cider went down well, while he was waiting for Henderson and their food. So he ordered a second to drink with the meal. Henderson arrived with the food and they set to eating with considerable enthusiasm, but were back on the road within an hour. Now they were taking a road that was more rugged than before. The horses were heaving the carriage uphill and along a meandering path between small hills, then Henderson was forced to slow the horses right down, preventing them from galloping down the other side. Mr Wellmouth dozed, but the journey was not very restful and he soon found he was being shaken awake by the potholed road the carriage was crossing.

  The scenery was now less lush, a few stunted trees edged the road in places and some straggly grassed fields sustained a few sheep and cattle as they passed. A few bedraggled cottages had been built at intervals along the road and some larger farms were set back from the road along paths that were even worse than the one they were travelling on. Every now and then there was a distant view of the sea, but it was quickly obscured as they rounded another corner. The road turned sharply down, winding downwards around a small hill.

  Henderson was trying to slow the horses which were eager to pull hard while they were heading downhill. He was shouting to them and hauling on the reins attempting to slow their plummet down the hill. Mr Wellmouth hung on to the strap, expecting a rocky ride downwards. The carriage decelerated as they went around the corner and the land on his right became lower so he could see the road ahead was now more gently downhill for some distance, although it was still not straight.

  He let go of the strap and relaxed, it was not much further to Falmouth and after this stretch, the road levelled out for some distance and was much better made. Soon he would be able to put his feet up in the Seven Stars and order a good supper. He felt really tired after so much travelling and was looking forward to handing the responsibilities of regularly inspecting the company’s chandleries to his sons. He was getting too old for all this gallivanting about, but he had three fine sons and although they were still a bit inexperienced, they would do him proud. He knew they were sens
ible lads and would take the Wellmouth Chandleries to greater profits in the future. He sat back in his seat once more and closed his eyes.

  The carriage rumbled around the hill clattering on the now dry stones. As they neared the bottom of the hill, the carriage should have been straightening out. But there was an almighty crack and jerk as the carriage moved sharply upwards and began to turn over. A scream came from Henderson as he flew from the tilted box over the hedge into a small thicket of young trees. The horses sped up once more now Henderson no longer restrained them. The sound of the carriage on its side being dragged clattering along, frightened the horses further and the leaders bolted on down the road. A small gig was pulling out from a farm track driven by a young lad, he tried to drag his pony back from the road, but the Wellmouth crippled carriage crashed broadside into it, knocking him from the box and terrifying his pied pony, which managed to get free from its traces and raced off, returning to its stable when it finally calmed down and decided it was hungry.

  The carriage team were frenzied by the crash and the strange noises emanating from the vehicle behind them, tore the wrecked carriage from the tangle with the gig, heading further up the road. The door of the carriage flopped open as it pulled free of the gig depositing a groaning Mr Wellmouth in the hedge beside the gig. His team careered on down the road dragging what remained of the smashed carriage. The rear wheels had separated from the axle and the box was sliding on one side, dragging the front wheel as it moved. Debris from the carriage was scattered behind it in the road. Henderson had moved briefly after landing in the thicket, but his injuries had now rendered him unconscious, spurting blood from several parts of his body. He was a battered bloody scarecrow, as he lay propped in the thicket by the twigs that impaled him. Help was not going to reach him soon enough for him to survive the appalling crash.