Scandal at the Dower House by Marina Oliver Page B

family name of the friends they had been meeting in Lisbon and the hotel where they had stayed when their cousin Antonio escorted them there. They had said something about travelling further south, but Antonio had no notion where. Nicholas wrote to Thomasbegging for his help, either in searching himself, or employing someone to do so. Thomas promised to do his best, but said he held out little hope without more clues.
    Nicholas told himself that Catarina’s return could make little difference to the accused woman. She had not been there; she could only give her a character testimonial, and there were others who could do that. But he was by now seriously worried for Catarina. She had, as far as he could discover, corresponded with no one in England since she had left. What had happened to her? He was missing her, thinking of her every day. He knew he loved her, wanted to see her, to hold her safe in his arms, to care for her for the rest of her life.
    Jeremy, he knew, guessed something of this, but with rare tact his brother made no reference to it, pretending that the real reason for contacting Catarina was to help the suspected murderer.
    ‘If she did not do it, who did?’ Jeremy would ask, but no one in the village could supply a name. Ellen had, they discovered, been walking out with a young man from her own village before she came to work at the Dower House, but his friends vouched for him, saying he had been with them on the fateful night. They could discover no other liaisons, no one else with a motive.
    Christmas came. Jeremy was by now able to ride around the estate, and Nicholas frequently rode over from Brooke Court. He visited London and his other houses occasionally, but remained away for no more than a few nights. Rationally he knew he would hear any news just as quickly in Gloucestershire, but in Somerset he felt closer to Catarina. He would wait there until they had news.
     
    When Catarina told Joanna she intended to keep the baby herself, Joanna merely shrugged.
    ‘As long as I don’t have to have anything to do with her,’ she said.
    She even refused to select a name, so Catarina called herMaria, after their mother. She wanted to name her Brooke, but reluctantly accepted that if she did people would assume the child was her own, so she called her de Freitas, for her family.
    ‘We will tell people she is a cousin’s child who has been orphaned, and I have adopted her.’
    ‘I really don’t care what name you give the brat.’
    Joanna had swiftly recovered her health, though she was plumper than before, with a voluptuous bosom. By the new year she was fretting to become involved in Lisbon society.
    ‘It’s a great shame your friend Delphine had to go home,’ she said, more than once.
    Catarina silently disagreed. She had been involved in so many uncomfortable lies since Joanna had been pregnant that she dreaded to have more to contend with. How could she account to Delphine for Joanna’s presence in Lisbon when she had not been visible before? If people came to know about the baby they would soon realize the truth.
    Joanna wanted to explore Lisbon, so Catarina sent her out with Luisa. She remained in the apartment, partly because the baby was ailing and she was concerned, partly because she did not wish to be seen with Joanna by any of Delphine’s acquaintances .
    Her precautions were, however, of no avail. The doctor had prescribed medicine for the baby and, when Catarina went out to fetch it from his dispensary, she met Joanna at the end of the street talking to an elderly Portuguese lady. The woman turned to Catarina and smiled.
    ‘Oh, you too! You are both so like your mother,’ she exclaimed. ‘She was one of my best friends when we were children . That’s why I spoke to your sister, to ask if you were related. I am giving a reception next week for some Brazilians who are about to go back home. I have also invited some of the English officers who have been administering the country.