Reckless (Mockingbird Square 4)

“Where is Great Uncle Cecil’s house?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter. They’d just passed through a non-descript village with a sign post and a grey stone church, an ugly vicarage nestling beside it.

“Three miles further on.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion and she turned to look at him. “I thought…There was a sign …What was that village we just went through called, Nic?”

“I’m not exactly sure—”

“Oh, I think you are sure! That was Denwick, wasn’t it? It’s Margaret’s village! You sneaky thing! You knew all along that it was Margaret’s village and she lived three miles from Great Uncle Cecil, and you didn’t say a word.” She clapped her hands together and laughed aloud, her eyes sparkling as they hadn’t in days.

He shrugged, as if none of that had occurred to him, or he didn’t care. Or both. “I can’t help it if our relative lives three miles from Miss Willoughby, Sib. Mere coincidence.”

She was still smiling. “How long is it since we’ve seen our great uncle?” she quizzed him. “I’m not sure I ever have.”

“I think I was six when father brought me up here. You were a babe in arms, too young to make the journey.”

“Why on earth was Great Uncle Cecil so important that father brought you here at all, Nic?”

“Family was important to father, you know that, and Cecil was a wealthy man with no heirs. Last I heard I was his heir. I suppose that was why we came, so that Cecil had a face to put to my name when he wrote out his will.”

She shook her head. “I still don’t understand why it is suddenly so imperative that we see him, now, in the dead of winter. Come, this is to do with Margaret, admit it, Dominic. You haven’t been yourself since she left.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Are you planning to check on her? See if she really is as miserable as everybody thinks she is? And if she is, then what? You can hardly just ride off again. You’ll have to do something. Of course you will! That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“I suggest you save your breath, Sibylla. If I remember correctly, the steps leading up to Great Uncle Cecil’s front door are very steep.”

She laughed as if she thought he was joking. She soon discovered he wasn’t.

Sir Cecil Throckmore’s house may once have been grand, but these days it seemed closer to falling down. As Dominic stepped through the front door, he wondered why his great uncle, who was rumoured to be almost half as rich as he himself, hadn’t spent a penny of it on making his life more comfortable. Had he known how dire his relative’s circumstances were, he would have visited much earlier. He could have settled Sir Cecil in Mockingbird Square, he told

himself, and looked after him. However, as soon as he came face to face with his great uncle his visions of a jolly old man shrivelled and died.

“You’ll have to take me as you find me,” Great Uncle Cecil announced in a gruff, unfriendly voice. He glared at his relatives through pink, watery eyes, barely visible beneath a hat that resembled an upside down bowl with fur lining, while wrapped about his neck. Most of his chin was a thick woollen scarf liberally sprinkled with bread crumbs from his last meal. Dominic wasn’t sure how many extra layers of clothing Cecil was wearing, but it must be a lot. He looked as round as a ball.

“Don’t you have any servants?” Sibylla demanded, clearly of the opinion that the elderly couple who had greeted them at the door weren’t enough. “I have brought my maid with me, and Nic has his valet, and then there are a couple of footman and the outriders.” Her dark eyes widened in her distress. “Where are we going to put them all?”

Sir Cecil smiled, showing off his large false teeth, and it wasn’t an amiable smile. “There’s an inn in Denwick. They can put up there if they don’t like it here. Young people have no stamina. In my day you expected to be cold in the winter.”

“Not indoors,” Sibylla retorted.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” her great uncle went on, unrepentant. “As I said, there’s an inn in the village and I believe it is very well thought of.” He looked out of the window at the fast falling snow and his face—what they could see of it—turned smug. “Although it doesn’t look as if you will be decamping there tonight.”

Dominic rubbed his hands together to thaw them out. He told himself they could remain in this frozen shell of a house for one night. Dominic’s constitution was strong, but after tonight he would have to remove his sister to the inn.

“I wasn’t prepared for visitors,” Great Uncle Cecil stated the obvious.

“You did write and invite us,” Dominic reminded him.

“I write and invite you every year, Dominic, but you never come.”

Sibylla made a snorting sound, her eyes twinkling, and said, “I knew it!” Her brother pretended not to notice.

After a hearty meal of soup and bread, and some rather good port to follow, Sir Cecil left them to the mercies of his elderly servants. Dominic didn’t blame them for the poor welcome, they’d done their best under the circumstances.

He’d thought he could manage one night but it was even worse than he’d feared. His bed chamber was freezing, the fire smoky and sullen, his bed was unaired and the sheets damp to the touch. Every surface was covered in a noticeable layer of dust. He decided not to undress but wrapped himself in a quilt and lay staring up at the ceiling, his every breath a puff of white, and wondered what on earth he was doing here.

He shouldn’t have come. He’d known that when he set out but he’d been unable to help himself. Sibylla was right in believing he’d tricked her. He’d led her to think they were on a visit to Great Uncle Cecil when all along he had been planning to visit someone else altogether.