Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy (33 page)

Aidan’s fear rose quickly. “Jamot? Did he harm her?”

Hill shook his head in denial. “I asked. Miss Nelson claimed Jamot released her when I called out her name.”

“Why did Miss Nelson not speak to me of her encounter?” Aidan asked, his face set in taut lines. The idea of Jamot accosting Miss Nelson bothered him more than Aidan cared to admit.

“I imagine the Baloch recognized the lady, and Miss Nelson likely feared her brother would discover her whereabouts. She confided the truth in the only means, which seemed reasonable to a woman hiding her identity. We must recall Miss Nelson placed herself in danger to bring you knowledge of the supposed hauntings. When you observe it for yourself, you will recognize how easy it would be for your ghost to disclose her presence in the cave’s opening. Your ghost was as real as you assumed.”

Aidan looked away in hopes of hiding his anxiety.
What were Miss Nelson’s connections to this mystery?
“We should see where the tunnel leads,” Aidan said cautiously.

His decision had set Hill in motion. “I will secure several lanterns and the horses. You, Gentlemen, should bring the weapons.” With that, he was gone.

Aidan braced his weight by catching the back of a chair. “What have I done?” he murmured.

Swenton rested a hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “You, my Friend, have chosen to reclaim your life, and I, for one, think it more than time. Wherever this adventure takes you, you are not alone in the madness. Hill and I are here, and I suspect Miss Nelson’s heart is in your grasp.”

Aidan said what he thought never to speak. “The lady chose to spend the night with me before she departed.” His voice rose with desperation, and he swallowed hard to push the madness away. “If Miss Nelson meant to leave me, why seek me out? Did the woman mean to drive me insane with questions?”

“I know little of the female mind, but a feminine confidant once explained that women do not reason as do we. They exist purely on emotions. If Miss Nelson chose you, it was because the lady meant to have one night with the man she loves before escaping whatever demons chase her.”

Aidan could not comprehend what Swenton purported. Everything about the woman said he should walk away from her, but Aidan was afraid he might never forget Mercy Nelson. He did not want to return to the man who barricaded the lonely pain within. With a deep sigh of resignation, he said, “Let us finish this.”

Twenty minutes later, they gathered outside the opening. Aidan permitted Lucifer and Swenton to lead the way. An unexplained panic sat heavy in his chest, and he could barely see two steps before him. The baron had commented on how well the waterfall disguised the area, but Aidan had the sudden feeling he should have remembered the cave’s presence.

It was a tight squeeze for Hill as he moved from the small opening into the larger, but he was through in seconds, and Swenton followed. When it was Aidan’s turn, he hesitated. In his mind the walls were moving. Compressing the space to one too thin for a child, let alone a man.

“Come,” Swenton hissed. He stared through the opening at Aidan.

Aidan made himself swallow. It was all a trick of his mind. He knew the reality, but it did not stop his heart from racing. He nodded curtly and stepped between the sandstone walls. There were worse ways to die, he reasoned. Being crushed by the earth would be relatively fast. He doddered and came close to tripping over his own feet.

The hills, which ran through his land, were part of a line of Bronze Age earthworks and had been quarried and mined for copper since the late seventeenth century. Surprisingly, an extensive area of lowland heath marked the summit of one of the southerly hills. In other places along the line, sandstone had been extracted for building, and sand used as a scouring agent.

When Aidan cleared the space, he expelled the breath he did not realize he held. Was it the walls or the fatalistic grimness pushing against his chest? Looking about the area to earn his bearings, he said, “What is next?”

Hill lifted his lantern higher. “We should follow the passage. See where it takes us.”

“It must have an outlet,” Swenton insisted. “There is no way Jamot would allow himself to be trapped in a cavern without an escape.”

Hill nodded his agreement. “Stay close, and keep the lanterns high where we might see what lies ahead. I would not put it past the Baloch to include a few traps for unsuspecting souls.”

They were moving along a gentle slope. At first, Aidan stumbled behind his friends, but with each step his resolve hardened. He would see this chaos to its conclusion. So, despite the drumming of his heart in his ears, Aidan permitted his Realm training to take control of his reactions. He searched the dark, narrow passages for clues.

They moved slowly through the channel. It was much longer than Aidan had anticipated. He assumed it was a side shaft of a former copper mine. Water trickled through cracks in the wall, and it was cold, but Aidan had experienced worse conditions in service to his country. At least, wailing half-dead soldiers did not surround him. Or did they?

Hill stopped suddenly, and he and Swenton nearly bumped against Hill’s backside. “What was that sound?” Aidan whispered anxiously.

They clustered together and shuttered their lights. They listened carefully: An odd whine could be heard somewhere in the distance. “Could be a trapped animal,” Swenton ventured in hushed tones.

“No animal I know makes a sobbing sound,” Hill reasoned. “It is a person.”

“And he is in difficulty.” Aidan darted around Swenton.

His friend caught Aidan’s arm to impede his progress. “Easy, Hero,” Swenton cautioned. “It could be a trap.”

Aidan shook off the baron’s hand. He let out a short, sarcastic laugh. “Yes, someone set up a trap hoping we would stumble upon it. Be reasonable.”

Hill stepped around him. “I will lead.”

Aidan scowled, “I do not care who leads.”

Swenton chuckled, “That would be an anomaly.”

“Someone lead,” he growled through gritted teeth. Another soft wail drifted their way.

Hill opened his lamp to light the passage. He moved speedily, but carefully, through the darkness. The sobs grew louder, and their pace quickened.

Turning a corner, again Hill came up short. Aidan and Swenton framed Lucifer’s shoulders. Before them, Mr. Poley crouched on the slate and sandstone floor. In his arms, he rocked Mrs. Babcock’s body.

Aidan darted around Hill to kneel beside Mr. Poley. “What happened?” he asked in concern.

“She is dead,” Poley said on a catch. “What will I do without her?”

Aidan strained to check for a pulse on his housekeeper’s neck. Finding none, he motioned Hill and Swenton close. “Poley, you must tell me what has occurred.”

His valet looked wildly about him. “I told Beatrice…we should attend services, but…she insisted…we should call on Sophia instead.”

“Why would you call upon Mrs. Rhodes?” Aidan encouraged.

Confusion crossed the valet’s countenance. “Beatrice thought it time.”

“Time for what?” Swenton prodded softly from beside the man while Hill eased the housekeeper’s body from the valet’s grasp.

Poley’s chin dropped heavily onto his chest. “To speak to Jonathan regarding…regarding Sophia’s behavior.” Aidan wondered on the obvious familiarity of his servants with Susan’s parents. He could not imagine the possibility. Suddenly, he experienced the sickening dread that his household staff had assisted in his father’s maneuverings.

Swenton must have noticed Aidan’s dismay for the baron asked, “Mrs. Rhodes’s behavior? Perhaps you should start at the beginning. Did you speak to Mr. Rhodes when you called upon the manor?”

Poley did not look up. Instead, the valet studied his empty hands. Sorrow deepened the lines of the man’s face. The valet attempted to keep his composure. From his eye’s corner, Aidan noted how Hill reverently wrapped Mrs. Babcock’s body in the lady’s cloak. “Beatrice has grown exceedingly concerned. We called upon our sister’s husband.”

Aidan attempted to stifle the word, but even he could hear the incredulity in his voice. “Sister!” His heart lurched hard within his chest.

Poley’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but he continued his story. It was as if the man wished to free his conscience. “Sophia. The youngest of the Poleys. Since our childhood, Beatrice has been the matriarch of the family.” The valet paused awkwardly. “Beatrice made the marriage between Rhodes and our Sophia. She arranged for our sister to have the respectability Beatrice could not. Merlin Babcock was a drunkard and a womanizer. We counted ourselves fortunate the day he passed out on the wharf and fell to his death into the icy waters of the Irish Sea. Afterwards, Beatrice moved us all to Cheshire. I began my time at Lexington Arms and eventually became the late viscount’s manservant.”

Swenton redirected the questioning. Pressing for information, he asked, “What happened this morning?”

Poley raised his chin to gaze upon the baron. Aidan was certain the valet saw no one else. “Beatrice called upon Jonathan. She thought our sister’s husband had permitted Sophia to fall deeper into despair and had given Sophia too much laudanum and other questionable medications, which Jonathan swears is the only means to control Sophia’s fits of delusion.”

Aidan suggested, “Sophia searches for Susan in my house?” He felt a sense of urgency.

Poley looked to Aidan as if seeing him for the first time. “My sister’s grief is great,” he said simply.

Swenton proposed, “Your conversation with Mr. Rhodes did not go well?”

“Jonathan appeared at a lost for words, but we were encouraged,” Poley returned his gaze to Swenton, “when Sophia joined us for breakfast.” The man dabbed at his eyes. “Although a bit frail, Sophia appeared in good spirits. Beatrice and I returned to Lexington Arms with hopes of having our sister in our loving arms again. Yet, by the time we reached this point, Beatrice was doubled over in pain. Our Bea has had trouble with her heart for the past few years, but this was more than heart trembles.”

Swenton asked, “Then you think Mrs. Babcock’s heart gave way?”

Poley’s shoulders stiffened. “No, Sir. I believe someone poisoned Bea, and that someone was Sophia.”

Aidan thought for a moment he had misheard his valet, but a quick glance to Swenton and Hill said his friends were as astounded as he. He softly assured Mr. Poley he would see to Mrs. Babcock’s body before he motioned the others to the side. They huddled close in the shadows to speak in hushed tones. Meanwhile, Poley peeled away the wrapped cloak to hold his elder sister’s hand.

“How should we proceed?” he asked.

Swenton followed Aidan’s bewildered gaze. “Obviously, we know where this tunnel ends. It appears, we should seek out the magistrate; we should not act without the law.” It was a Realm policy not to respond to a crisis on a personal basis, but somehow this felt different. “Mr. Poley did not actually admit Mrs. Rhodes is your ghost, but he has revealed several incriminating facts. We should move him and the housekeeper’s body to Lexington Arms and await the magistrate.”

“I suppose I owe the pair that much,” Aidan admitted. A hint of insecurity darkened his expression.

Swenton continued, “We should determine if Poley knows the whereabouts of Miss Nelson’s letters, as well as what makes your valet believe Mrs. Rhodes has murdered her sister, and why he and the housekeeper have kept their own counsel for so long.”

Aidan added, “I want to know if Jonathan Rhodes has housed the unknown lord, as well as Jamot in his home.”

The baron frowned. “Is it possible Susan’s father has his hands in the opium ring?” Again, Fate had turned Aidan’s world upside down.

“Poley spoke of the opiate-derived medications Rhodes provides his wife, but such pain encumbrances are common in many households,” Aidan whispered. The possibility of the connection between Susan’s father and their investigation rocked Aidan’s composure. “Although I despise disturbing the happiness of the engagement party, we should send word to Pennington and Sir Carter.” Aidan watched Hill’s countenance harden into a grim line with each new suggestion. “Is there something you wish to share? You appear quite grave.”

Hill hesitated, and that particular fact worried Aidan. His friend rarely withheld his opinion. “
Grave
is an ironic word choice for I hold information, which will further complicate your life, and it is straight from the grave. I suffer, my Lord. I am torn between doing what is correct and what will protect you. What I have to share goes beyond Mrs. Babcock’s and Mr. Poley’s secrets, but it will explain much of what has occurred. The servants’ secrets are also Lexington Arms’ secrets.”

Aidan asked cautiously, “How can that be so? I know you well, Hill. You would never purposely place me in danger.” He looked to Swenton for support.

Hill protested, “I never claimed you in danger, but you will suffer, nonetheless.”

The baron insisted, “If these secrets will free Lexford to claim his life, you must tell him, Hill. A friend would do nothing less.”

Lucifer’s eyes searched Aidan’s countenance for a command, and he wanted desperately to crawl back into bed and to start this day over, but with a deep steadying breath, Aidan said, “Tell me.”

Hill sighed heavily before nodding his agreement. “Mrs. Babcock was more than Lexington Arms’ housekeeper. She was the late viscount’s long time mistress.”

Aidan hissed, “That is impossible. My mother would never tolerate…”

Hill’s words overrode Aidan’s objection. “Lady Cassandra wrote of her humiliation at the previous viscount’s hands.”

“When? When did my mother write of this degradation?” Aidan demanded.

Hill leaned forward to assure privacy. “Lady Cassandra’s diary was hidden in a false drawer in her escritoire. It was found with the renovations of the viscountess’s suite. I have hidden the book in my quarters.”

Aidan swayed in place. “You have read my mother’s words?” he said through trembling lips. Aidan could not read his friend’s expression in the interior’s dimness, but he recognized the familiarity of trust in Hill’s tone.

His friend said sadly, “Aye, Sir.” Hill touched Aidan’s shoulder in a comforting gesture, but Aidan knew no peace. “There is one thing more you must know. When I said earlier you were born to be Viscount Lexford, I spoke the truth. Andrew was Beatrice Babcock’s son. He was never meant for the viscountship.”

Aidan was not certain the blackness rushing in had anything to do with the tunnel’s lack of light. “Why would my father and mother perpetrate a lie upon me?” he said weakly. His mind raced with the possibilities. He shut his eyes to shore up his barriers, but Aidan knew the dam had been breached, and there was no turning back.

Hill confided, “You may read Lady Cassandra’s confession to learn your mother’s motivations, but put simply, when the previous Lady Lexford did not conceive early on in the marriage, your father suggested a replacement. Mrs. Babcock had been brought to Lexington Arms before your parents’ wedding, and she was with child. Many servants were dismissed so no one would know of the deception. Lady Cassandra was made to accept the falsehood, and Andrew became the heir. It was eight years before Aylene was born and ten before your birth. By then, no one could deny the lies they had set in motion.”

“Did Andrew know?” Aidan entreated. Anger mixed with the churning in his gut. Could the untruths have driven his brother to issue a foolish challenge over a woman for which Andrew did not affect?

Hill explained, “If Lord Andrew held such knowledge, Lady Cassandra never spoke of it.”

Swenton glanced to the grieving valet before reminding them. “This is beyond anything you have faced previously, and we have much to untangle. Are you able to continue, Lexford?”

Aidan gave himself a good mental shake. He had much to absorb, but to find all the answers to the myriad of questions flooding his chest he knew he must take one step at a time. “Please assume the lead.”

Unable to respond on his own, Aidan would unquestioningly follow the baron and Hill. His mind raced with the scantily clad possibilities. Lucifer bent to lift Mrs. Babcock’s body to him while Aidan looked on in dismay. He wished for the luxury of returning to Lexington Arms immediately to read his mother’s journal. Perhaps then Aidan could comprehend what had occurred so many years prior. He foolishly thought he should feel different; after all, if what Hill said was true, and Aidan held no doubt otherwise, he was the rightful viscount, but somehow his clothes seemed to fit him the same as they had always done. Should not lightning have struck, even in a tunnel? Like with a magic spell? Should not the world have shifted? Everything being turned aright? He held the lantern higher so Hill could see his way; yet, he could not seem to concentrate on the task at hand.

Aidan dredged up an image of his late housekeeper, and his lips curled in distaste. He could not fathom the woman as possessing anything but a sour expression. How could his father have preferred Mrs. Babcock to Aidan’s mother? Certainly, Lady Cassandra Kimbolt outshone Beatrice Babcock in beauty and grace. “Damn!” he groused as he stumbled to a halt and then rushed to catch up to Hill’s straining steps. Although he followed dutifully behind the others, his thoughts had remained on his father and Mrs. Babcock. An image of the two in a sweaty embrace caused the bile to clog Aidan’s throat. The previous viscount had likely shared a bed with the woman while his wife, Aidan’s mother, rested alone in her quarters. Had Arlen Kimbolt brought Mrs. Babcock to the master’s chamber while Lady Cassandra remained in the adjoining suite? The thought of the degradation his mother had suffered caused Aidan to see red.

“Could you hold the lady while I fit through the space?” Aidan looked up to find their group preparing to slip through the opening’s entrance. Hill rested against the wall, his bundle held low against his middle. Swenton had sent Poley through the opening first to wait on the other side of the waterfall.

Aidan’s eyes darted to the narrow opening between the sandstone pillars; yet, he did not move to assist Hill. He shook his head adamantly in the negative. A blistering determination rose quickly. “No!” The word ricocheted off the tunnel walls. “No,” he said angrily. “I will not touch my father’s whore.” He stiffened in open rejection.

Swenton swung around. Gingerly, the baron touched Aidan’s arm to curtail Aidan’s ire. “You must hold your temper, Lexford. Do not play this hand too early,” he cautioned.

“Do you not understand what this woman did to my mother?” Aidan hissed. He pointed an accusatory finger at the housekeeper’s body.

The baron backed Aidan up against the opposing wall. “Now, listen to me. You have a right to despise what happened. You can own indignation. But it will not change a thing. Trust me, Lexford; I know scandal’s foul tongue first hand. You must come to terms with actions put in place years before you were born or your anger will eat away your soul. Tell me what good it will do to make Hill’s assertions known. You will ruin your good name for the vindictive pleasure of calling a dead woman a ‘harlot.’ Is it worth the shame you will bring to your threshold to have Mrs. Babcock labeled as such? Will you have your servants and your tenants know your dishonor? And what of Aaron? If the child’s father was a by-blow, what does that do to the boy’s place in this world? Would you destroy an innocent’s future?”

Aidan jammed his fingers into his hair. Begrudgingly cold, he declared, “I cannot permit Aaron to inherit.”

Swenton nodded his understanding. “You are the child’s uncle and guardian, which means you must protect the boy, even from yourself. See to Aaron’s safety, but meanwhile, marry and produce your own heirs. No one needs to know Andrew’s parentage.”

Aidan stared into the baron’s serious expression. “You wish me to perpetuate another lie,” he said in disbelief.

“No, Lexford.” Swenton’s features twisted in mock amusement, and Aidan became uncomfortable with the intensity of the baron’s gaze. “I wish you to live a happy life, one that sings the praises of your viscountship.” With that bit of advice, the baron stepped away. “I will take Mrs. Babcock, Hill. You have done more than enough.” Swenton placed Mrs. Babcock over his shoulder, like a heavy sack of flour. Aidan watched as the baron worked his way carefully through the narrow opening.

“Are you coming?” Hill gestured toward the exit.

Aidan swallowed hard. Swenton knew much of the devastation of scandal upon a title. The baron’s mother had brought deceit to Swenton’s door, but somehow the baron had risen above the ballyhoo. Aidan thought of Aaron, the boy so like his father. He could not in all conscience harm the child. Such a petty act would give Aidan no satisfaction. Permitting hurt and loss to coat every facet of the boy’s life could not be part of his legacy. He made his feet take a few tentative steps. “You go first,” he said half-heartedly. “I will see to the lanterns.”

*

Swenton sent Hill to retrieve the magistrate and the village physician. He appreciated the way the baron had taken control of the situation. Aidan’s mind could not concentrate on any one point for very long. He insisted upon Swenton using Valí to transport Mrs. Babcock’s body the short distance to the house. “Valí does not care for others to sit upon his back, but he will tolerate Mrs. Babcock’s weight,” he had said as he held the horse’s reins while his friend and Poley laid the housekeeper across the saddle and tied her body about the horse. Swenton had given him an odd look, but despite the baron’s earlier warnings, Aidan could not bring himself to touch the woman. The situation might require him to keep a tight lip, but Aidan would not grieve the housekeeper’s passing.

As Swenton rode away with Valí on a lead string, Aidan and Poley began a slow trudge to Lexington Arms on foot. He had to remind himself not to permit his valet to know he had learned of how Mrs. Babcock had come to the manor. As an alternative, he focused on a subject most dear to him: Miss Nelson. “Poley, I must know what became of the letters Mrs. Babcock recovered from Millie,” Aidan said evenly. The calm demeanor he managed to assume surprised him.
Thank Heaven for my Realm training
, he thought.

The valet did not turn his head. Instead, Poley kept his eyes on Lexington Arms’ chimney spouts, barely visible above the distant tree line. Aidan finally understood why his father had tolerated Poley’s dim-wittiness and the valet’s singularity. “Beatrice hid them under the stone hearth in her sitting room,” the man said matter-of-factly.

Aidan hesitated before asking, “Did you read them?”

Poley paused, and Aidan patiently waited for the man’s response. His man glanced to Aidan’s home with a narrowed, speculative gaze. Finally, the valet said, “I did not, but my sister took the liberty to read Miss Purefoy’s words; Beatrice apprised me of their contents.”

“And?” Aidan encouraged.

“And Beatrice determined it was best to keep Miss Purefoy’s letters from your notice. The lady had departed, and that fact served Beatrice’s purposes.”

Aidan determinedly set his feet in motion again, and Poley fell in beside him. He purposely waited before asking his next question: “Why would your sister desire Miss Purefoy’s departure?”

The valet’s shoulders rose in a protective slant. “Beatrice has spent the last thirty years protecting the viscountcy, and from the time of Miss Purefoy’s arrival, Beatrice recognized the lady’s perfidy for what it was. My sister’s every thought has been to protect Arlen Kimbolt’s name.” Aidan quickly understood the housekeeper would have intimate knowledge that Mr. Hill’s deception held no basis. Mrs. Babcock would know Miss Purefoy could not be Arlen Kimbolt’s by-blow.

Aidan bit back his reprimand. Mr. Poley would never comprehend how Beatrice Babcock had brought shame to the viscountship. The woman had, obviously, captained the lives of her siblings and to a certain extent Aidan’s life, as well. As the current viscount, the woman’s loyalty should have been to him, but Mrs. Babcock was a superb chess player, and they were all her pawns. Cautiously, he asked, “How was Miss Purefoy a threat to the Lexford title?”