Elizabeth Thornton - [Special Branch 02] (39 page)

Jakes, the real Jakes, was different. Maitland had talked with him for a long time after he’d been brought out of the coal cellar. They’d worked together in Spain, Jason told her. Maitland trusted him. She didn’t know how much Jakes knew or how much Maitland had told him, but she’d heard Jakes pass on Harry’s message.
The best man won
.

Maitland had talked to her for a long time, too, about Gracie and Johnny Rowland, and what they’d found at Heath Cottage. Maitland was sure it was Johnny Rowland who had come to her door the night he was murdered, maybe to ask for her help, or for another reason they had yet to discover. He would know more, Maitland said, when he questioned Lady Mary. That’s when she discovered that Lady Mary was not in London, but at Rosemount.

Now they understood how Harry was always one step behind them. At Special Branch, he’d been at the center of things. He’d known their next move almost before they’d known it themselves. It was the attack at Haddo that first aroused Maitland’s misgivings. At the crucial time, two of his agents were tracking down people who were connected with the case. They’d had the opportunity to post down to Haddo and return to London before they were missed.

He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but Gerrard’s murder, almost as soon as he’d become their prime suspect, convinced Maitland that someone at Special Branch was either passing information to Harry or
was
Harry. He’d narrowed it down to Landon and Lord Ivan, the two agents who’d had the time and opportunity to attack Gwyn at Haddo.

Tonight, when Lord Ivan couldn’t be found at Gerrard’s house, Maitland knew who his man was and he feared the worst. So they’d made straight for the Marylebone house.

Another shiver passed over Gwyn. She could not reconcile in her mind the cold-hearted killer she knew Harry to be, a man she feared and hated, with the smooth-faced Lord Ivan who looked so young and innocent in death. She felt much the same about Jason and Maitland, only it was the other way round. She knew they were good, compassionate men, yet they had shown no mercy to Harry.

And she had wanted to dance on his grave.

What else could they have done?

She wanted Mark. She wanted to put her arms around her son and hold him tight. She wanted him to grow up to become a good man. She didn’t want him to take a wrong turn and become like Lord Ivan. She wanted him to care about people, she wanted—

She gave a start when Jason spoke to her.

“Did you find anything in the box?”

For a moment or two, she didn’t know what he was talking about. “Oh. The box. No. I didn’t have time to look.”

In the aftermath of all they’d been through, Lady Mary’s box didn’t seem so important.

“Richard would like to know.”

“It’s upstairs.”

“I’ll come with you.”

The box was on the floor where it had fallen when she’d charged Harry. Sketches and watercolors were strewn around like a patchwork quilt. Gwyn held the candle while Jason gathered them up.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “What’s this?”

In the palm of his hand he held a gold signet ring. Gwyn leaned over to get a closer look. “It has a rose design, doesn’t it?”

“I think so.”

“Well, that ring wasn’t there before. I’ve shown the sketches many times. I would have found it.”

Jason set aside the ring and began to examine the box itself. The leather lining on the lid was split in one corner and he pried it off. “So there’s your portrait,” he said. “Behind the lining.”

It had been painted onto the inside of the lid and was faded almost beyond recognition. But Gwyn knew it was Lady Mary, not so much a younger version, but a different woman entirely. The eyes of the young woman in the portrait were bright with hope.

“What is it?” asked Jason, staring up at her.

“Nothing,” she said, and swallowed hard.

He gave her a searching look, then went back to examining what he’d found.

“What is it, Jason?”

“A note and a cutting from a newspaper, the
Bristol Post
. The note is dated June fifteenth, 1783, and so is the cutting.” He read the note first.
The gardener will trouble us no more. Mission accomplished. Hugo
.

Gwyn’s breath quickened. “The gardener must be Williard Bryant. And Hugo … well … I think he murdered him. I think the ring will prove it.” She picked up the ring and tried to read the inscription inside. “It’s his ring,” she said. “It has his name engraved in it—Williard Bryant. What does the clipping say?”

“Hold the candle closer.” After quickly scanning it, he let out a breath. “Sweet Jesus!” he said.

“What?” asked Gwyn. “Tell me!”

He lifted his gaze to hers. “It says that Williard Bryant, the young landscape designer, was shot dead and robbed in Bristol when he was walking back to his lodgings after dining with a client. All his money was taken and his signet ring. The ring had a distinctive rose seal, the mark of his profession.”

They stared at each other for a long, long time.
Finally, Gwyn said, “So this is why Gerrard was willing to kill. It proves he was a murderer.”

Jason said, “I don’t know if there’s enough here to convict him.”

“Maybe not, but if it had gone to trial, he would have been disgraced.”

Jason got to his feet. “I’ll give this to Richard, then we’ll go to an hotel for the night. We can’t stay here, and we’re not expected at Half Moon Street.”

“And tomorrow we’ll go to Rosemount to see Lady Mary?”

He smiled at her eagerness. “Tomorrow we’ll go to Rosemount.”

She didn’t go downstairs with him but made some excuse about having to change and tidy herself before they went to the hotel. Maybe it was rude not to say good-bye to Richard Maitland, but she didn’t know what to say. How could anyone behave normally after what they’d seen and heard?

She tried to push her unsettling thoughts aside, but it was hard not to think of Lady Mary. She was sure now that Lady Mary had been in love with Williard Bryant. Maybe they’d planned to elope and that’s why Hugo had killed him.

Lady Mary, Gracie—there was so much to think about. She picked up Gracie’s coat. She would give it to Lady Mary, she decided. If there was one thing she never doubted, it was that Gracie would eventually find her way back to Lady Mary.

An involuntary shiver made her teeth chatter, and she looked around for her coat to keep her warm. It was discarded in a heap on the bed, and it was very much the worse for wear. She’d worn it to Heath Cottage and she’d been wearing it tonight. It was mired in mud; one of the sleeves was half torn off, and a streak of blood stained the bodice. The coat would have to be replaced.

Now that she was soon to be Jason’s wife, she could have coats filling all the closets and wardrobes in Haddo if she wanted to. But never would she find a coat she loved half as well as her dirty, forlorn, green summer pelisse that she’d made with her own hands.

She didn’t know why she started to cry. It was only a coat.

She awakened with her heart thundering and tears welling in her eyes. As the dream faded, she let out a shaken breath. She’d been dreaming about Mark, only he wasn’t Mark. He was Lord Ivan, and there were grim-faced, cold-hearted men after him. Jason was one of them, and he refused to save his own son.

As her fear receded, reality swept in. They were in the Clarendon. She and Jason had arrived late last night and had finally managed to get a bite to eat. Then they’d gone to bed. But Jason wasn’t in bed with her now.

She pulled herself up and waited for her eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. His scent still clung to her body. She was sore and achy. She couldn’t remember how many times he’d made love to her last night, only “love” wasn’t the right word. There had been something desperate in the way he’d reached for her time after time. And she’d failed him. She couldn’t respond, though she’d tried. She’d felt as though she were in a stranger’s arms.

He was at the window, already dressed in his shirt and trousers, and the light from the lamps in the hotel’s courtyard cast cruel shadows on the hard planes of his face.

She shivered. “Jason?” she whispered.

He turned slowly. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said, “so I thought I might as well get dressed.”

He came to her and sat on the edge of the bed, but he made no move to touch her. “I was thinking about Lord Ivan.”

“What about him?”

“I think he hated his father, don’t you?”

“I … I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it. But now that you’ve made me think about it, no, I don’t think that at all. I think he loved his father, but he thought his father didn’t love him.”

There was a long silence, then Jason said, “He was bad through and through. I should be rejoicing that he’s dead. But all I feel is this vast ocean of regret.”

The arctic chill that had settled in her heart melted a little. “I know. That’s how I feel too.”

“What went wrong? He had every advantage and he turned into this cold-blooded killer.”

She didn’t answer because she realized he was lost in his own thoughts.

He said violently, startling her, “Mark is going to know that his father loves him. I’m going to cherish him. I promise you, Gwyn, I’m going to cherish him.” He suddenly stopped. “What the hell am I saying? I don’t know the first thing about children. I don’t think I understand anything at all.”

She reached for Jason’s hands and brought them to her cheeks.

“What’s this?” he said. “Tears?”

She found her voice, though it was shaky. “You’re a good man, Jason Radley. You’ll make a good father. We’re going to do the best we can, and that’s all we can do. Now come to bed and love me, just love me.”

He was Jason again, just a man with all a man’s strengths and frailties, and the loving was sweeter than anything she had ever known.

She had no coat, but the weather had warmed, so she wore her kerseymere shawl over a gown of gray crepe, and she felt quite fashionable. Well, presentable at least.

They arrived at Rosemount House late in the afternoon and were met at the door by a beaming housekeeper.

“Mrs. Barrie,” she said before Jason or Gwyn could say a word. “Her ladyship is expecting you. That nice Mr. Maitland was here earlier, and told us you would be coming. May I take that?”

This last referred to Gracie’s blue coat that Gwyn carried over one arm, but Gwyn demurred. If she couldn’t find Gracie, she would leave it with Lady Mary and no one else.

The housekeeper stared hard at the box Jason was carrying, but she didn’t offer to take it from him. “Well, well,” she said. “Come in, come in.”

She led the way to a glass conservatory at the back of the house. Sunlight streamed in through every window and was filtered by fronds of palm trees that grew almost to the glass ceiling. Flowers that Gwyn could not name grew in colorful profusion in raised beds. She heard a waterfall. She had the feeling that she’d stepped into one of the sketches in Lady Mary’s box.

In the center of this tropical paradise, there was a clearing. Lady Mary was sitting in a wicker chair, listening to a young woman who was reading to her. Gwyn’s eyes fastened on the young woman.

“Gracie?” she said hoarsely.

She was dimly aware that Jason was saying something about returning Lady Mary’s property. She saw him place the box on the wicker table by Lady Mary’s chair, but her attention was focused on the young woman who had risen and was coming toward her.

“Well, I never!” exclaimed Gracie. “You’ve still got my coat, Mrs. Barrie.”

Her pleasant smile changed to a look of alarm when Gwyn swooped down and swept her up in a bear hug.