Authors: Candace Camp
Richard considered her words but said nothing, just continued opening the drawers of the dresser and pulling out objects.
“Didn’t Reverend Radfield strike you as acting oddly?” she asked, picking up the various pots and jars that he was pulling from the drawers and examining them. It was obvious that Mrs. Woods had used cosmetics to enhance her appearance.
“You mean other than having illicit relations with married women?”
“Yes. He was so shaken when she died. He looked as if he were about to faint. And he said the prayer a little wrong, and that last thing he said—about her dying hereafter? That isn’t religious. I am sure it’s from Shakespeare—
Macbeth,
I believe.”
“Perhaps he is literary. No doubt he isn’t used to seeing dead bodies every day.” Richard gave her a sardonic look. “You realize, Miss Maitland, that if you were a properly genteel woman, you would have fainted or had hysterics or something of that sort.”
“No doubt. However, fainting and hysterics were not considered becoming behavior in a soldier’s daughter,” Jessica retorted, picking up a pot and opening it. “But you would think that a minister would have seen a fair number of dead or dying people.”
“But perhaps not violent death.”
“True. Besides, he couldn’t possibly have killed her. He is one of the few people who could not have. He was with Leona at the time.”
“Yes. And perhaps his discomfort came from knowing that he had just been engaged in breaking one of the Commandments,” Richard added.
Jessica closed the pot of flesh-colored greasepaint of the sort used by actors on stage and opened another pot. It contained much darker greasepaint. Jessica froze, her mind skittering back to the dead woman at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh! Rich—I mean, Your Grace! Look at this.”
Richard peered at the jar. “She painted her face. Yes, she has quite a few beauty aids, I see. Creams and rouges and black pencil.”
“Yes, but don’t you see? She wore cosmetics that made her look darker than she actually was. Don’t you remember how pale she was tonight? I remember thinking how pale she was.”
“She was dead.”
“I know. That’s what I assumed. But now, seeing this…I don’t think so. That night, when you chased the man out of your study, she was standing on the stairs with the others when we came back into the house, and I remember thinking that she was very scared because she looked so pale. But what it was, both times, was that it was night, and she had taken off the cosmetics. And another thing—I saw it tonight, but I didn’t think about it until just now. Her hair was darker, too!”
She pounced on another jar that he had set out on the table. “This is dye, such as some women use on their hair. I think she was trying to make herself look different. She was disguising herself. Why would she do that? Why would she travel by mail coach? Unless she was fleeing something—or someone.”
Richard frowned at her. “Perhaps. It is true that I have not yet found anything of a personal nature among her things—no letters or books or—”
“Sweet Mother in Heaven!” came an exclamation from the side of the bed, and they swung around to look at Mr. Cobb.
While they were talking, he had been poking into all the corners of the room, opening doors and drawers. Finally he had knelt beside the bed, and he had apparently found something under it, for a traveling bag was open in front of him.
“What is it?” Richard asked. “What have you found?”
Cobb reached into the bag and pulled out a smaller box. He had opened it, so the lid was standing up, revealing the contents of the box: several items of sparkling diamond and sapphire jewelry.
“I think I just found my jewel thief.”
“W
hat? Are you sure?” Richard asked, going over to the other man, Jessica following.
“Oh, yes. There was a portrait of Mr. Gilpin’s wife wearing this diamond necklace,” Cobb said confidently, taking one of the pieces and laying it on the bedspread. “And these earrings, too.”
He laid the box and jewels on the bed, then pulled more items from the bag: a leather purse containing a startling amount of gold coins, another, smaller, drawstring bag from which he spilled a handful of unset gems onto the bed, and another cloth bag containing some more jewels.
“I’d have to get my list, but I’m almost certain several of these other pieces would match the descriptions of the stolen jewels. There was a good bit of money taken, too. And these other jewels—I would lay odds that these were stolen from someone else in the past and taken out of their settings to make them easier to sell.” He shook his head. “A woman! I never guessed…. Well, that disproves the dancing master theory.”
“So she is—
was
the thief,” Richard mused. “But it could not have been she who I found in my study the other night. That was no woman I was fighting. He was not as big as I, but he was too strong for a woman.”
“That is a problem,” Cobb agreed. “But we cannot deny this evidence, either, Your Grace. These are the Gilpin jewels.”
“This grows more confusing by the moment,” Jessica said. “Is there a second thief? And is he connected or not to Mrs. Woods? Or was the person in your study there for some entirely different reason? And we still have no idea who killed Mrs. Woods, if, indeed, anyone did.”
“You are right,” Richard agreed. “It is too confusing. And I don’t think any of us are thinking clearly anymore. I suggest we all go to bed and leave it until tomorrow. Perhaps things will seem clearer then.”
They agreed that they needed sleep. Taking the jewels and money downstairs, Cobb and Richard put them in the safe, and Richard then locked the door to his study for extra protection. They went up the stairs, where Cobb parted from them, going up to his room on the third floor. Richard and Jessica walked down the hall toward their own rooms, side by side at the other end.
Despite the late hour, Jessica felt jumpy and wound up, her mind spinning. She had gone through so many feelings this evening—the anger and hurt at what had been done to her jewelry box, the passion she had experienced in Richard’s arms, then the fear Mrs. Woods’ scream had engendered, followed by the shock and horror of finding her body. She felt as though her emotions were raw and exposed.
“I don’t know how I will ever get to sleep tonight,” she mused aloud. “Right now I feel as if I could never close my eyes again.”
“Don’t tell me the redoubtable Miss Maitland is frightened,” Cleybourne said with a faint smile.
“Nervous, maybe. And confused. Yet I can’t stop thinking about it, wondering…. And how does my jewelry box fit into the whole thing? All of it must be connected somehow. I cannot believe in so many coincidences.”
“Your jewelry box?” Richard asked, looking puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I did not get around to telling you about that. We were distracted by something in the hall. That is the reason I decided to keep watch tonight. My jewelry box went missing yesterday.”
“Missing? Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“I don’t know. I guess it didn’t seem very important. And I could not believe that someone had actually stolen it. It wasn’t valuable. All my jewelry and the box together would have been worth no more than a few pounds. It held mostly sentimental value. I kept thinking that if someone had taken it, they would see how little it was worth and give it back—or that it had been in some mysterious way misplaced and would show up again sooner or later. Then, tonight, one of the maids brought it to me. She had found it in the music room. Nothing was missing except for one little earring, but…” Her voice faltered a little, but she shook it off and plowed ahead. “The box had been smashed to bits.”
“What!”
Jessica shrugged. “It is broken into pieces. The jewelry is all there, but the box is ruined. I cannot imagine why anyone would have done such a thing.” Tears sprang into her eyes, and she dashed them away impatiently. “I’m sorry. You must think me foolish to care so. It isn’t important compared to something like Mrs. Woods’ death. But my father gave it to me, and it is dear to me for that reason.”
“Of course. And it is important. Let me see it.”
“It’s inside.” They had reached the door to Jessica’s room and stopped while they were talking. She reached out and opened the door, closing it behind them for privacy, then leading Cleybourne into the room and over to the dresser.
“Bloody hell!” Cleybourne exclaimed when he saw the ruins of the jewelry case. He strode over to the dresser and picked up one or two of the pieces, looking at them in amazement. He turned to her, frowning. “It has indeed been smashed. Why? Who would—” He broke off, his face clearing. “Of course.”
“Of course…what?” Jessica gave him a startled look. “You know who did this?”
“I have a guess. Your former fiancé.”
“Darius?” Jessica gaped at him. “Why on earth would Darius take my jewelry box and break it?”
“Because it is yours. Because it is precious to you. This is not the work of reason. A thief would take the jewelry from the box and leave it, or take it all to sell. But to smash the box and leave the valuables, too—that indicates a great deal of anger. Anger directed against you personally. He tried to reignite your interest in him, and when you turned him down, it enraged him. Humiliated him. I made it worse by hitting him and warning him away from you. He wants to hurt you, and he knows he cannot without suffering the consequences. But this—it is a secret thing, a way he can hurt you without anyone knowing.”
Jessica looked from him to the box. “I suppose it does make sense, in a way. It’s just…well, I can’t imagine Darius caring that much, even in a bad way. It was all so long ago, and he was the one who broke off the engagement, not I. It is hard for me to believe he has loved me all these years, or that it sprang up in him again when he saw me here. I am sure that he would not like my turning him down, and certainly he would not like to be humiliated in front of you, but…” She shrugged. “This implies such violent emotion. Still, you are right, it does appear to be anger directed at me personally, and no one else here knows me. Well, except you, and I don’t think you are the type to smash jewelry boxes.”
“Why, thank you. I am honored that you trust me so.”
“Which makes Darius the most likely one.”
“The violence of this…it seems so wild and unreasoning. It makes me wonder if whoever did this might not also have killed Mrs. Woods.”
“Darius? Oh, that seems most unlikely.”
“I don’t know. This destruction seems to me to verge almost on madness. Certainly it indicates a violent temper and lack of control. That seems to me the sort of person who very well might murder someone—if she thwarted him, say. If that is the case…if it is Mr. Talbot, then you would be in grave danger.”
“No. It cannot be Darius,” Jessica said firmly. “That is impossible. For one thing, he doesn’t even know Mrs. Woods.”
“How do you know? You haven’t known the man or what he’s been doing for ten years.”
“But there has been no indication that he knew her. Anyway, Darius is not a killer. He is too weak a person to kill anyone. He might bluster or rage or even smash up a jewelry box. But he would not have the courage to kill someone.”
“Don’t assume that because someone is weak they won’t commit murder. Rather, I think murder is the outgrowth of weakness. The killer takes the easy way out of a situation. He kills because he doesn’t have the strength to face up to something that a strong man would. He kills from cowardice, not bravery.”
“Maybe so, but we still have no reason to suppose that it was Darius. There is no evidence. The only person we know she had contact with was Lord Kestwick, not Darius.”
“Why are you defending him?” Cleybourne frowned.
“Why are you so determined that he is the culprit?” Jessica retorted.
“You still care for him,” Richard accused.
Jessica stared, then began to laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “That is just too funny. I don’t care for Darius. Not at all. At first, yes, I was very hurt that he called off our engagement. But looking back, I don’t think that even then it was so much love as it was wounded pride. I was more devastated by my father’s scandal. And his death was much, much worse. Now, when I look at Darius, I wonder why I ever thought I was in love with him. It was much better that he broke it off. I would have been terribly unhappy being married to him. He is too weak. And I, as you have pointed out, am far too pushy and opinionated. We would soon have hated each other.” She paused, then let out a little sigh and added, “I am not, I am afraid, one of such deep feelings.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I got over my wounded heart fairly easily. I did not mourn as you have mourned. I did not love him the way you loved your Caroline.”
Richard grimaced. “I am hardly a good example of love.”
“You are extremely faithful and unbending in your love for her.”
“Am I?” There was a bitter tone to his voice that startled Jessica, and she looked at him closely. “She died four years ago this evening. And I—I scarcely thought of her at all tonight.”
“You had quite a few things to occupy your mind,” Jessica reminded him. “It is little wonder that you did not think only of her and her death.”
“It wasn’t those ‘things’ that made me forget. I was simply too busy thinking about you.”
Jessica felt as if her breath had been knocked out of her. She struggled to think of something to say.
“Hardly the thoughts of a faithful husband,” he went on, his mouth twisting sardonically.
“How can you say that? You have mourned her for four years. When I came here, you were still so despairing, so sorrowful for her that you were about to end your life. And do not tell me that you were not. I saw you with that gun—I saw your face. You may not have intended to do it at just that moment. But you wanted to. You planned to.”
“Yes. I did,” he admitted. “I grieved for four years. I grieved for my wife, I grieved for my daughter. Most of all, I grieved for myself. I despaired. But do you know why? It wasn’t pure, faithful love. It was because—” He looked away, then turned his gaze back to her, his jaw knotted as though he forced himself to speak. “I was nearly mad with grief because I knew it was my fault. I killed them.”
Jessica stared at him, stunned. “What? No. I don’t believe it. You killed your wife and daughter?”
“I should say, I drove them to their death. It amounted to the same thing. We were not a family leaving together, with me riding outside the carriage. Caroline had left me. She planned to run away with her lover. She was going to leave while I was away on a trip. She had the carriage loaded. She had written me a letter explaining it all. But I ruined her plans by coming home early from my trip. I missed them—I missed Alana mostly. Caroline and I—I loved her madly when I married her. Later I found out that she did not return my love in the same way. She had married me because it was the most advantageous match she could make. It was easy to decide she loved a duke, less easy to remain in love with one when she had to live with me.”
“Oh, Richard…” Jessica reached out to him, putting her hand on his arm. It was rigid beneath her touch. “I am so sorry.”
“I knew she did not love me, and after that my love began to cool somewhat. Still, she was my wife, and she was the mother of my child. Alana was the light of my life. I missed her. I missed my home. So I came home two days early, and I found the carriage packed and ready to go. Caroline almost fainted when she saw me. I asked her what was happening. She made up a story about having to visit her family. I wanted her to leave Alana, but she refused. I wanted her to wait, said that I would accompany them. Finally she admitted the truth. We had a terrible row. I told her I would not let her leave. There was no way I would allow her to take my child with her. She told me she hated me, that she loved another and would never be happy here. I told her I didn’t care. She could not take Alana from me. She ran from the room, crying.”
He shook his head. “At first, in my arrogance, I assumed that she had gone up to her room. I paced around the drawing room a bit, trying to calm down before I went up to see Alana. I didn’t want her to see me so angry. After a few minutes I went up to her room, and I found her nurse there, crying. She told me that Alana had gone, that Caroline had not allowed her to accompany them. Then I realized that Caroline had defied me. She had taken my daughter and left. I rode after them. It was cold, there was ice. She had, not unlike her, left it till too late to start. It was bitterly cold, and the light was fading. I shouted to them to stop. If it had been my coachman, he would have, but it was not. My coachman had been with me on my trip. She had hired a post chaise, with a hired driver. So when Caroline told him to drive faster, he did. He took a curve too fast, and the coach went off the road.”
Richard muttered a curse and walked away from her to the fireplace. He stood, looking down into the fire, leaning on the mantel. “That is what haunts me,” he rasped, and his eyes glittered with tears in the firelight. “If I had not chased them, they would not have died. It was my selfishness, my arrogance, my stubbornness. I killed them…because I wanted to keep them here.”