Shady Lady (24 page)

He took several calming breaths, then pushed back his chair and got up. There was only one person he could confide in, one person who always took his part, right or wrong, and that was Bates. He found him in his dressing room, laying out garments for that evening’s entertainment—dinner with friends at Wattier’s.

Bates took one look at his master’s face and pushed him into a chair. “What you need,” he said, “is a shot of brandy to get your color back. You’re as white as parchment.”

It was good to be fussed over, good to be listened to without fear of looking stupid or ridiculous. After a few sips of brandy, he felt more like himself, but he would be the first to admit that Bates always had a calming effect on him. He couldn’t remember a time when Bates hadn’t been there for him to lean on.

Slowly at first, then with gathering confidence, he told Bates about the Chesney woman and Chloë and how he couldn’t decide what to do for the best. He didn’t go into details but spoke, as always, in the same vague terms.

He’d come to the right person. After a thoughtful silence, Bates said, “You’re never going to have any peace of mind until you know whether this Lady Webberley still has the power to hurt you. We’ll go to Brinsley Hall. Do what you have to do there, then we’ll see.”

“But what if it’s a trap? What if Jo Chesney wrote that piece in the
Journal
hoping that I would lead her to Lady Webberley?”

Bates shook his head. “If it’s a trap, she’s not going to spring it until after her newspaper comes out here, and that’s not for a few days yet. She can’t know that you’ve already got a copy and know that Lady Webberley is going to publish her memoirs.”

“But—”

Bates spread his hands. “You’re not the one who is going to walk into a trap. She is. She’s not expecting you to act now. Only after you read her piece in the
Journal
. Anyway, maybe it’s not you she suspects. Maybe it’s someone else, maybe one of your mother’s other guests.”

There was a short silence, then Morden nodded. “It’s possible.”

“Then we’ll take her unawares, won’t we?”

The viscount thought briefly of Jacob Fry and the debacle he had made of taking Jo Chesney unawares. This time there would be no mistake. This time, he would take care of her personally.

He looked into Bates’s kind eyes. “Yes, we’ll take her unawares,” he said, and smiled.

When lessons were over for the day, Jo joined the children for a game of cricket on the immaculate lawns. Five minutes with the inestimable Miss Tanner as umpire put her staunchly in the children’s camp. The woman was a fiend. She couldn’t seem to understand that they weren’t playing cricket for the county but for fun.

Her eyes never strayed far from Eric. Maybe that was why Miss Tanner came down so hard on her. She wasn’t paying attention to the game. He seemed to be having a good time. His best friend wasn’t Jenny, who at eight had adopted airs and graces that befitted her advanced years, but Marion, five-year-old shy little Marion, whose protector he had become.

Her thoughts slipped, as they often did, to Eric’s mother. Sarah Foley had done a fine job of raising this boy. She wished she could say the same for his father.

A sour note
, she inwardly chided. She had to get over her bitterness. And, to be fair, though Eric couldn’t remember his papa, when he spoke of him it was with kindness. No doubt he got that from his mother as well.

The cricket match stopped when two riders appeared on the drive. Waldo and Thomas had returned from Tattersall’s, where they’d gone to look for a pony for Eric. It was a secret, which was just as well, because there was no pony in tow.

When they saw the two riders, all the children jumped up and waved their arms. Her own heart did a little flip-flop, and that made her impatient with herself. She couldn’t be in love with Waldo. She knew what love was. It’s what she had felt for John. This was different. She didn’t trust it to last.

Harper came out of the stables when the riders dismounted. She saw him confer with Waldo and wasn’t surprised when, not long after, Waldo came to get her. Harper would have told him about her visit to Lady Langston, and she was eager to talk to Waldo too.

A light drizzle began to fall, so everyone made for the house to take cover. Waldo followed the children only so far, then turned aside and led Jo to the old ivy-covered gazebo that overlooked the lake.

She wasn’t interested in the scenery. She said at once, “Lady Langston was—”

He stopped her with a kiss—slow, proprietary, and devastatingly sweet. He was smiling when he lifted his head; she was having trouble breathing.

“Lady Langston was . . . ?” he prompted.

“Lady Langston,” she began, but the thought disintegrated. He was kissing her cheeks, her ears, her chin. She was offering her lips, but he wouldn’t take them.

When his hand cupped her breast and squeezed, she hauled out of his arms. Panting, she got out, “Stop this at once! Someone may see us.”

He looked around. “No, only the swans.”

When he took a step toward her, she backed away. “Waldo,” she cried, “will you listen? I have something important to tell you.”

He captured her in his arms. “Nothing,” he said, “is more important than this.”

He wasn’t smiling now. He was serious. He was going to take her here, in broad daylight, in a rickety old gazebo that was open to the elements. All he was waiting for was a sign from her.

It wasn’t decent. She couldn’t allow it. That’s why she moved closer, so that her breasts were crushed against his chest. That’s why she drew his head down and sealed his lips with hers.

Their bed was cushions from a wicker sofa that Waldo scattered on the floor. He was gentle, then not so gentle when he felt the passion rise in her. They didn’t have time to undress. Desire turned suddenly to desperation, taking them both unawares. He adjusted their clothes and entered her. The pleasure became unbearable, the leap to abandonment happened in a heartbeat. Her cry of release echoed his own as he emptied himself into her in deep, hard thrusts.

Long minutes passed before he slipped from her body, allowing her to sit up. She adjusted her drawers; he adjusted his trousers. They sat on the cushions, arms folded, with their backs against the front of the sofa.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” she said.

He kissed the nape of her neck. “You’ll get used to it.”

She turned quickly, eyes narrowing on his face. “I don’t
want
to get used to it! It’s too much. It’s too overpowering, too . . . too everything.”

He looked reflectively into space. “You may be right. I can see us in a snug little cottage, in front of the fire, surrounded by children . . .” He glanced at her. “No, I can see from your face, no children, only Eric. Can we have dogs? I’m almost as fond of dogs as I am of children.”

“Bowman,” she said, “do you never give up?”

He turned his head to look at her. “Do you want me to?”

She spoke with more honesty than wisdom. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Good.”

“That’s good?”

“It means we’re making progress.”

She finally got to talk about Lady Langston when Eric was in bed. It had stopped raining, so she and Waldo went for a walk around the perimeter of the lake.

“So, what I’m asking myself,” she said, “is this: What difference does it make when Morden was born?”

“I think Chloë could have answered that question. That’s why she had to die. What we’re looking at here is a powerful motivation.”

“I know, but nothing comes to mind. I mean, if Morden wasn’t the legal heir, I could understand it, but his parents were married long before he was born. Years, in fact.”

He took her hand and linked it through his arm. “And Lady Langston thinks that Morden’s mother may have confused the issue?”

“Yes. And confused Chloë. It seems innocent enough to me. What do you think?”

“Oh, I disagree. I think it’s anything but innocent. Let me think about it, all right?”

“Fine.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m going to see Lady Brinsley tomorrow at the Hall. Lady Langston invited me.” She went on to tell him how it came about. Finally, she said, “It will give me an excellent opportunity to ask questions and look over the house. Why are you shaking your head?”

“It’s too dangerous. It’s exactly the same situation Chloë was in.”

“Except that Morden won’t be there. And even if he is, he won’t have read the piece I wrote in the
Journal
, you know, the one that’s supposed to panic him into doing something foolish.”

“You’re missing something important.”

“What?”

“If Morden is older than he pretends to be, that means both his mother and father connived to hide that fact.”

“So?”

“So it’s a conspiracy, Jo. That means we have three prime suspects, not one.”

“All the more reason for me to go.”

“I’ll think about that too.”

It started to drizzle just then. “We could take shelter in the gazebo,” he casually suggested.

He looked at her, she looked at him, then turned to look at the gazebo. “It’s closer than the house,” she observed.

They looked at each other again and started to laugh. “Well,” he said, “what are you waiting for? Let’s set the gazebo on fire.”

Later that night found Waldo sitting up in bed, propped against the pillows, with Jo’s softness nestled against him. In another few minutes, he would escort her back to her own room, before the house stirred. Meanwhile, she was sleeping and he was going over in his mind all that she’d told him about her visit with Lady Langston.

He had pretty well worked everything out. Morden was still his prime suspect. He knew why the chaise that was to take Chloë to Stratford had never been traced. He was certain that her body was concealed somewhere in the grounds of the Hall, somewhere close to the house. He knew the motive for doing away with her. What he hadn’t worked out was how he was going to bring her killer to justice. Even if they found Chloë’s body, all the evidence was circumstantial and had little chance of standing up in a court of law.

He might be forced to take the law into his own hands.

“Waldo?”

“I’m here, Jo.”

She sighed and drifted off to sleep again.

He was wearing the softest of smiles. There was something deeply satisfying in hearing his name on her lips when she was hardly conscious of what she was saying.

Progress.

Take two steps forward.

But this time, there would be no going back, not even if he had to take the law into his own hands with Jo as well.

The thought made him wince. As though she would allow it! As though he would want her against her will! He’d already decided on his strategy and he was going to stick to it. It wasn’t a question of her coming to him willingly. That wasn’t enough for him. If she couldn’t give him her whole heart . . .

Since when had he started lying to himself? He would take her on any terms he could get.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Time to get back to your own room, Jo.”

She came to herself slowly, stretched, and sat up. “You sound cross.”

“No. Just thinking. Someone has to keep an eye on you, so I’ve decided to come with you to Brinsley Hall.”

She lifted her face to him. Her eyes were shining. “Thank you, Waldo. I was wondering how I could talk you into it.”

“Seems like we both have the same problem,” he murmured.

She didn’t hear the irony behind his words. She had looked at the clock and was hastily dressing so that she could get back to her own room before the servants were up.

C
hapter
24

J
o cast one comprehensive glance at her companions and tried to inject the same worshipful look into her own expression. Mr. Charswell, the landscape gardener, was practically a prophet, and these avid gardeners were his disciples. So she should look the part and not betray that she was bored out of her mind. And really, it wasn’t as though the lecture was uninteresting. It was simply that she didn’t have acres and acres of parkland to beautify. She had a small patch of garden. She didn’t want to know how to design an artificial lake. She wanted to know how to get rid of aphids.

Harper, she was sure, was as bored as she. If he stifled one more yawn, she would be forced to tread on his toes. He was supposed to be designing a garden for her. She was on tenterhooks because his breathing was edging close to a snore.

Waldo was one of the party, but he hadn’t stayed for the lecture. He’d said that he had business in Henley and would join them later for dinner. That was just an excuse so that he could roam the grounds, narrowing down possible hiding places for a body.

The more she thought about it, the more incredible it seemed. The Brinsleys could trace their lineage back to the Plantagenets. Their home was as old and venerable as their blood lines. This seemed like the last place on earth where a murder would be committed.

The lecture was coming to a close and, uh oh, everybody looked as though they were bursting to ask questions. She tried to look intelligent when the speaker’s eye fell on her.

She was saved by Lady Brinsley.

“I’ve arranged to have refreshments served on the terrace,” she said. “We’re a small group. We can ask our questions over tea and cake.”

And they
were
a small group. They were, Lady Langston confided, fewer in number than they’d been the last time. Not everyone wanted to travel as far as Oxfordshire just to take in a meeting of the Horticultural Society. But if they didn’t go to the Hall, they would hardly ever see Elinor, poor dear.

On the terrace, Jo managed to exchange a few words with the other guests. The Miss Boyds must have been in their sixties, but they made her think of kittens chasing blowing leaves. They didn’t pursue a conversation to its end but were easily distracted by every stray word or thought. Lord Skene was bluff and hearty and his wife was the opposite, but for all that, it was easy to see that there was real affection there. There were two other couples, much the same as the Skenes. All in all, a convivial gathering of long-standing friends.

She wasn’t sure how Lady Brinsley’s stern-faced companion fitted in. Miss Dunn seemed to have only one interest, and that was to make herself indispensable to her employer. After a while, one forgot that she was there.

She couldn’t fathom what Chloë had in common with these people, apart from an interest in gardening. Nice as they were, they were too old for her. Hardly had the thought occurred to Jo than she changed her mind. These weren’t merely nice people. They were the salt of the earth. An interest in gardening may have brought them together in the first place, but they were like a family now. They really cared for each other. One only had to see how they’d rallied around Lady Brinsley to know that. In this company, she bloomed.

If Lady Brinsley suffered from nerves, no one would have known it. She seemed to be enjoying herself. She wasn’t jumping up and down, but she was quite animated. And she hadn’t blinked an eye when Jo, Waldo, and Harper had turned up on her doorstep. In fact, she’d made them feel very welcome.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Jo said casually, “What a pity Lady Webberley isn’t here. Has anyone heard from her? Someone mentioned she was in Paris.”

No one looked guilty or seemed put out by the question, but there was a shift of focus from the landscape gardener to Lady Brinsley, as though, of them all, she was the most likely to know the answer.

Her ladyship smoothed her hair back from her face and smiled artlessly. “I’ve heard the same rumor,” she said, “and if it’s true, I think Chloë has behaved abominably, and next time I see her I shall tell her so. But how like Chloë to go off to Paris without a word to anyone! One can’t help envying her. She does what she wants when she wants without consulting anyone else’s wishes.”

There was no reproach in her voice. She might have been a fond mother excusing a daughter’s foibles. It was a telling little speech. Jo wondered how much freedom Lady Brinsley enjoyed. Not much, by the sound of it. For a married woman, everything was subject to her husband’s wishes, and some husbands were tyrants.

She was jerked out of her thoughts when she heard Harper’s voice. He was talking to the guest speaker. She searched her mind for something to say to draw Mr. Charswell’s attention away from Harper, who was more ignorant of gardening than even she was. Lord Skene got there before her. It wasn’t gardening the gentlemen were talking about but coaches.

Harper caught her stare and winked.

Not long after, when the ladies rose to view the conservatory, there wasn’t a gentleman in sight. They’d excused themselves to go outside to compare notes on their various coaches.

She was in her room about to dress for dinner when she got the shock of her life. A part of the wall opened, and a maid, carrying a pitcher of hot water, entered. Jo put a hand over her heart and sank down on the bed. “I’d thought you’d come through that door,” she said, pointing to the door into the corridor. “You gave me such a fright.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I did knock. Didn’t you hear me?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know there was a door there.” She smiled to show there were no hard feelings. “It’s what they call a jib door, isn’t it?”

“Yes’m.”

Jib doors were not uncommon and gave directly onto the servants’ staircase, but she hadn’t expected to find one in a converted monastery. But she shouldn’t have been surprised. The building was beautifully made over, a pleasing blend of old and new. There was a splendid, four-tiered Georgian staircase rising from the great hall to the attics, and in the main rooms, one would never have known that the house was once a monastery. The chapel was all that remained of the monks’ church.

When the maid had set the pitcher of water on the washstand, Jo said, “You’re Anna, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Her ladyship sent me to help you dress for dinner.”

As Anna set out towels and soap, Jo said, “My friend, Lady Webberley, was here just before Easter. Do you remember her, Anna?”

There was a slight hesitation, then Anna said, “I remember her.”

Odd
, thought Jo. She sensed a change in the maid. Either she was afraid or she hadn’t liked Chloë.

Or maybe Jo was imagining things. She tried again. “Do you remember which room was hers?”

“This room was hers.”

Jo’s heart lurched. “
This
was Lady Webberley’s room?”

Anna nodded and looked down at the floor as a dull stain spread across her cheeks.

Jo pushed herself off the bed and crossed to the maid. “You’re ashamed of something, Anna,” she said. Her voice was stern. The girl could not have been more than fifteen or sixteen, but Jo did not let that deter her. “It’s something to do with Lady Webberley. I think I know what it is”—she had no idea whatever—“but if you don’t confess, I swear I shall send for the magistrate and have you arrested.”

Tears welled in the maid’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I made amends,” she said. “I posted it and paid for it out of my own wages, just like the priest told me to do.” Her shoulders began to shake and she had difficulty getting the words out. “I know I sinned, but it wasn’t a mortal sin. Please don’t call the magistrate in. It will break my mother’s heart if I’m transported.”

A handkerchief wouldn’t have mopped up that flood of tears, so Jo fetched one of the towels from the washstand and handed it to Anna. “I promise I won’t send for the magistrate.” This time, she spoke in a kindly voice. “So sit down in that chair and, when you’ve come to yourself, tell me the whole story.”

Anna obeyed.

“Let me get this straight,” said Waldo. “The maid found Chloë’s letter to you and kept it for almost two weeks before posting it?”

“Poor Anna. It weighed on her conscience to such a degree that she confessed the sin, her word, to her priest. Luckily, she’d kept the letter. He told her to post it and her sin would be forgiven. It cost her eightpence, so you see, the penalty was quite severe. I doubt that she earns more than eleven or twelve pounds a year.”

They were out on the terrace, leaning against the balustrade, watching the sun set. Behind them, the French doors were open and they could hear the buzz of conversation as the old folks—as Waldo called them—played cards. Lady Brinsley was playing the piano, something soft and tragic that suited her soft and tragic expression, and Jo wondered whether Lady Brinsley’s famous nerves were at work or whether her ladyship was hinting them all off to bed.

“And she took the letter out of spite?”

Jo nodded. “Not only did Chloë not say good-bye to Anna, but she did not leave the customary gratuity, you know, for services rendered. All she left was the letter addressed to me.”

“What a mercenary wretch!”

“Not really. I think Anna’s feelings were hurt. Chloë hinted that she might find a place for her in London, but that last morning, Chloë had cleared out, leaving Anna to face the other servants after boasting that she might be handing in her notice. It was an impulsive act that she regretted almost at once, but she didn’t know how to put it right.”

“Mmm.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “I think you’re taking her part. No. It’s more than that. I think you admire her.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps I do. Only someone with a good heart could feel such guilt and shame. A heartless person would have destroyed the letter and never given it another thought.”

His smile was reluctant. “She’s still a wretch. She lied to Ruggles. She didn’t know anything, she said. What I’m asking myself is why she made a clean breast of things to you. What did you say to her to get her to confess?”

Her smiled was complacent. “You’re so clever, you figure it out!”

“You threatened her?”

“A little. But that’s not why she confessed. She was mortally afraid before she entered my chamber.”

His clever eyes were on her. After a moment’s thought, he said, “It was your name. She knew you were Chloë’s friend because she posted the letter and saw your name on it.”

Her smile vanished. “Now you’ve spoiled my triumph. Yes, it was my name. She thought I had come to denounce her to the authorities.” She gave him a sharp look. “Which I’m not going to do. She acted rashly, but she’s sorry for it, so that’s the end of it.”

He spread his hands. “I won’t say a word.”

“Good.”

He sighed. “Are you sure she knows nothing about Chloë’s diary?”

“Very sure. I searched the room, but of course, I didn’t find anything. I didn’t expect to after all this time.” There was a silence, then she went on, “She left nothing behind but that letter. I know Chloë. She wouldn’t have forgotten to leave a gratuity for the maid. She was always thoughtful that way. She might forget to thank her hostess, but not the maid.”

She looked up at him. “She left her room in a panic. The letter proves that. So does the lack of a gratuity for the maid. I’m finally convinced that she’s still here.”

His hand covered hers and squeezed. “We’ll find her, I promise you.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a figure who suddenly appeared on the other side of the balustrade. It was Harper and he was breathing hard.

“Guess who has just arrived to add a little spice to our party?” He took in their surprised stares and grinned. “Yes, the viscount himself. I haven’t seen him, but Ruggles did. He followed him all the way from town.”

“Where is Ruggles now?”

“Hiding in my room,” replied Harper.

“Good. Tell him to stay out of sight until I find out what’s going on.”

Jo said, “I don’t like the sound of this.”

Waldo held her gaze for a moment, then smiled faintly. “Jo, you’ll have three of His Majesty’s crack agents guarding you. Don’t you have confidence in our abilities to protect you?”

“Yes, but who is going to protect you?”

They laughed, thinking she’d said something witty, but she meant every word.

The viscount did not join his mother’s guests. A footman entered, whispered something in her ladyship’s ear, but no announcement was made regarding his presence. Evidently, the viscount had no wish to be part of his mother’s house party.

Tea was served, and shortly after they all trooped off to their beds except for her ladyship and her companion. They went to the chapel for prayers, as they did every evening. Waldo managed a quick word with Jo before they parted to go to their different chambers.

“Lock yourself in,” he said. “I’ll be along to talk things over as soon as the coast is clear.”

Once in her chamber, she lost no time in doing what Waldo advised. There was one problem. There was no key in the jib door, and that alarmed her. Ever since she’d heard that the viscount had arrived, she’d felt shivers of apprehension. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be here until he’d read her latest tidbit about Chloë in the
Journal
.

She told herself she wasn’t being hysterical when she pulled her box out of the closet and found her pistol. This was the act of a rational woman, especially one who had been attacked once before. She checked to see that it was primed and ready, then sat in a chair waiting for Waldo to arrive. She had only one shot. The thought turned in her mind. After she fired her pistol, she would be defenseless. She needed something else as a weapon. After stewing for a moment or two, she got up and went to the fireplace. The poker would do very well.

Now that she had two weapons, she returned to her chair feeling a mite less panicked.

Time passed. She wondered what was keeping Waldo. When the doorknob rattled, her heart lurched so violently, she could hardly breathe. If she hadn’t been expecting Waldo, she would have picked up her skirts and run through the jib door. She was in half a mind to do just that when she recognized his voice.