The Music Box (40 page)

Insight registered in Hermione’s eyes. “You’re going to take Gaby away,” she inferred.

Bryce’s nod was definitive. “Until we figure out the identity of that madman—yes, I am. We won’t go far, only to my home in London, but that’s far enough to put a safe distance between the murderer and Gaby. It’s the only way, Hermione, until we can determine who this scoundrel is, find concrete proof of his guilt, and see him imprisoned in Newgate.” Bryce turned to Gaby, reaching down and clasping her hand. “I’m sorry, Wonderland. Were you dreaming of a large, elaborate wedding?”

“I was dreaming of marrying you,” Gaby stated simply, unsurprised by Bryce’s line of thought or his authoritative tone. She well understood the reason for his reaction, and she loved him all the more for his determination to protect her and their family. True, her dreams of being married had always included a traditional wedding with a flowing gown and a joyous party amid the lush gardens of Nevon Manor. But all that paled beneath the dire issues confronting them now.

So she would become Bryce’s wife—in whatever manner he deemed best.

“Gaby?” Bryce prompted, watching her expression.

Gaby’s fingers tightened in his. “I agree with everything you just said. And if circumstances preclude a few of my dream’s secondary aspects, so be it, as long as I become your wife.” She chewed her lip. “But with regard to London … we will return to Nevon Manor as soon as this nightmare is behind us, won’t we?”

“The instant the murderer is caught.” Bryce kissed her fingertips. “I want to be here as much as you do.”

A reassured nod. “I know.”

“Mr. Lyndley’s logic is sound, my lady,” Chaunce concurred, laying a soothing palm on Hermione’s shoulder. “Miss Gaby’s life is in danger. Keeping her safe comes before all else.”

“Of course it does,” Hermione agreed, her dismay eclipsed by loving concern.

“Sweetheart,” Bryce continued, touching Gaby’s cheek, “now that we’ve broached the subject, I’d like to pursue it—for just a few minutes. I realize you’re exhausted and still suffering some degree of pain and shock. But can you tell us what you remember about this afternoon?”

Gaby nodded again, staunchly gathered her thoughts. “I never actually saw the man who tried to kill me.” For the first time she said the words aloud, and she began to tremble with reaction. “He was wearing a mask. I was some fifty yards from Crumpet’s warren when I heard rustling in the brush. I turned, thinking it was Crumpet. It wasn’t. I caught a glimpse of a masked figure in black, clutching a rock. He raised his arms, brought the rock down on my head. That’s all I remember until I awakened amid the fire. That and a musky smell—the sickening smell of death.”

“Burning grass and wood,” Hermione murmured.

Bryce nodded. “Do you remember anything else about him?”

“No,” Gaby said after a moment. “I only saw him for a fleeting instant.”

Hermione swallowed hard. “I think the more important question is why. Why did he do this to Gaby?”

“You can guess the answer to that—evidence or not,” Bryce returned quietly. “We all can.”

“Yes.” Gaby shivered. “He was alarmed by my recent, more distinct memories of the fire. Whoever he is, he was afraid I’d remember something he didn’t want anyone to know about. Something that would implicate him.” A tormented pause. “Bryce, that leads me to only one conclusion: what I overheard the night of the fire—the men’s voices—wasn’t just two people trapped in an accidental death; it was murder.”

“And I’m willing to bet that whoever committed the murder also started the fire,” Bryce agreed. “Probably to cover up his crime. I’m sure he never intended for the fire to blaze so completely out of control, to claim so many lives. But it did. After which, it became even more imperative for him to avoid discovery, which he managed to do effortlessly, given that everyone believed the fire to be a chance occurrence. In fact, he wasn’t even at risk—until you remembered the voices in the coal room. That showed things in an entirely new light, which unnerved him enough to try to silence you.”

“So one of the voices I overheard was his, and the other, his victim’s.” Gaby met Bryce’s gaze. “Clearly you believe that whoever this killer is, he lives at Whitshire.”

“It certainly makes sense. After all, you were attacked the very day after Thane reassembled his staff and told them about your reawakened memories. That’s
too
striking a coincidence. Also, as we mentioned a few minutes ago, Delmore’s murder now looks doubly suspicious, given its location and timing. All these incidents are connected somehow—I just don’t yet know how. But Delmore’s partner, Frederick Banks, is in the process of assembling all the documents relating to the late duke’s yacht. He’s agreed to send for me the moment he’s through. I suspect those papers will fill in some of the missing pieces. So … do I think the murderer is living at Whitshire? Definitely. And I’ll wager that whoever he is killed Dowell that night.”

“But who? And why?” Again Gaby rubbed her head. “Dowell—every time I hear his name, my head begins to ache. That must be a sign we’re getting close. I just wish I could remember more.” She winced as her fingers brushed her bandaged wound.

“You will—but not tonight.” Bryce reached over to the nightstand and poured a cup of tea, then added a few drops of laudanum to it. “We’ve done enough conjecturing for now. You’ve been through an ordeal. You need your rest in order to recover. We’ll all be here, as will the mystery, when you awaken.” He supported her shoulders and held the cup to her lips. “This is a fresh pot of tea. Chaunce brought it up while you were asleep. It’s still warm. I want you to drink the entire cup, then lie down and close your eyes.”

He waited while she complied, then eased her back down, tucking the bedcovers about her and watching the laudanum take effect.

“All right.” Gaby’s eyelids were already drooping. “I suppose I am a little tired.” A yawn. “Bryce?” she said abruptly, her lashes fluttering.

“Hmm?”

“You did say three days?”

Bryce leaned down, brushed a chaste kiss on her mouth. “Yes, Wonderland. Three days and we’ll be married.”

“Chaunce …” Clearly, she was fighting the effects of the drug.

“Miss Gaby, you really should rest,” Chaunce chided her gently.

“I will.” She gave him a faint smile, her blue eyes—though glazed and battling to remain open—soft with tenderness. “But first I need to ask you my important question. Will you walk me down the aisle, give me to Bryce … not away but to a new life that will also encompass all the beauty of my old one?”

A muscle worked at Chaunce’s throat. “I’d be honored, Miss Gaby.”

“Thank you. And Aunt Hermione …”

“I’ll be your aunt and your bridal attendant all in one,” Hermione vowed.

“No. My best friend and my mother,” Gaby’s words were slurred, but not too slurred to have an impact.

Joyous tears slid down Hermione’s cheeks.

“And the whole family … will be … there …” Gaby sighed, a wisp of sound that was as awed as it was faint. “Mrs. Bryce Lyndley.” A faraway smile. “Much better than Wonderland,”

With that, she slept.

Lily knocked on Marion’s door, then dashed inside the instant she heard the mumbled “Come in.”

“Lily, why are you awake at this hour?” Marion asked, worry lacing her tone as she sat up in bed. “Is it Miss Gaby? Is she worse?”

“Oh, no.” Lily scrambled onto the bedcovers, kneeling beside Marion with a wide grin. “She’s much better. She was awake for a long time, Marion. And I heard her and Mr. Lyndley talking to Lady Nevon and Chaunce.” An impatient tug at the sleeve of Marion’s nightgown. “Guess what they said?”

“What?”

“They’re getting married. In three days.”

“Three days?” Now Marion was wide awake. “Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh. I heard them say so. Mr. Lyndley, especially. He didn’t want to wait.”

“Let’s go.” Marion sprang out of bed, yanked on her wrapper in a few clumsy tugs, and snatched Lily’s hand. “We’ve got to awaken Mrs. Gordon, make sure the gown is finished and find out what else is left to do. Everything’s got to be perfect.” She tripped over the belt of her wrapper, shoving it aside impatiently, only to trip on it again.

Pausing, she jammed the belt into her pocket and leaned down to give Lily a hard hug. “Lily, you’re the best eavesdropper in the whole world!”

Like thieves in the night, they darted through the hallway, racing purposefully toward Mrs. Gordon’s chamber.

G
ABY’S WEDDING DAY DAWNED
with all the radiant splendor that filled her heart: dazzling sunshine, twittering birds, and one exuberantly screeching woodpecker.

“Vicar Kent will be here in an hour,” Hermione reported to Gaby, flitting about the sitting room as the grandfather clock inched its way toward 9:00
A.M.
“He was charmed by your desire to be married right here at Nevon Manor and, therefore, delighted to perform the ceremony in our chapel.”

“He’s a wonderful man,” Gaby proclaimed. “Today the whole world is wonderful!” She whirled across the room to hug her aunt.

Chaunce strolled in, arched a brow at the two frolicking ladies. “I came to see what the commotion was about, thinking perhaps you required my help. Instead, you require my advice.” He glanced first at Hermione. “My lady, you’ll tire yourself out before the ceremony if you continue in this manner. And, Miss Gaby”—he turned to the bride—“need I remind you that just three days ago you were nearly killed? Dr. Briers cautioned you to stay in bed for a day; you were out the next morning. He instructed you to limit your activities, to move about a bit at a time; you were frolicking in the woods by yesterday. And he insisted you spend the morning of your wedding abed—a reasonable enough suggestion, since the ceremony is to take place at ten o’clock, but you’ve been up since dawn, fluttering about like your crazed woodpecker. If I hadn’t bolted the door, you’d be running outside with the children.” Chaunce rolled his eyes. “What am I to do with you?” A pointed glare at Hermione. “With both of you?”

“Why not join us?” Hermione suggested with a twinkle. “I feel stronger than I have in weeks, like a young girl myself. And Gaby …” She inclined her head at her niece, who was now waltzing about the room, alternately humming and greeting the sunshine that spilled through the windows. “Does she look peaked to you? I think not. Besides, I’m quite sure she’ll agree to retire early this evening, won’t you, my dear?”

Gaby tossed her aunt a conspiratorial grin. “You have my word, Aunt Hermione.”

“There,” Hermione proclaimed with a flourish. “That should ease your unfounded worry. In addition, today is a joyous celebration, the culmination of years of praying, months of planning—”

Chaunce’s warning cough was interrupted by a question from Gaby: “What months of planning?”

Hermione recovered herself gracefully. “Very well, then—days. Humor me, darling. I’m trying to pretend I actually had the month or two I yearned for to plan a romantic, dream-come-true wedding for you. I wanted your day to be perfect.”

“It is perfect,” Gaby assured her. “My family is here, and I’m marrying Bryce. Not only that, but Bryce has asked Thane to stand up for him as his groomsman. Now, what could be more perfect than all that?”

“A well-taken point,” Chaunce conceded. “However, unless you plan to be married in your worn-out day dress, with a bit of this morning’s custard on your cheek, I’d suggest you improve upon perfection by going upstairs to change.”

“Goodness! You’re right.” Gaby stared down at herself in dismay.

“There’s still plenty of time,” Chaunce assured her. “Marion said to tell you she’s drawn you a bath and laid out the dress you requested.” He frowned. “I had hoped Lily and Jane would be here to help Marion weave a few flowers through your hair, but they and Ruth are nowhere to be found. Dora offered to take their place; I think between her and Marion, they’ll do a splendid job of arranging your tresses, flowers or not. Oh, and Mrs. Gordon has ordered everyone away from the dining room and yellow salon; apparently, she’s scrubbing them both free of some scuff marks that were allegedly left on the floors and on the windows overlooking the garden. She’s none too pleased about the situation, either; she nearly bit my head off. Of course there was no one else about for her to chastise and warn away. Nonetheless, given her rather piqued frame of mind, I’m more than happy to stay out of her way.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Now that you’ve called it to my attention, the entire manor has been unusually quiet since breakfast. Even the boys are nowhere to be found, although Peter is probably in Bryce’s chamber reading his legal texts while Bryce prepares for the wedding. Thane is also up there—in his case, to assist the bridegroom. But there’s been not a thud or a shout or even a peal of laughter in hours. Where is everyone?”

“Perhaps they’re all getting dressed, just as I should be,” Gaby proposed, brushing a stray lock of hair off her face with more than a touch of self-censure. “And with the vicar arriving in less than an hour, I’d better do so—and swiftly.” She seized Hermione’s hands.

“Will you come up with me? I know you need time to dress, but—”

“I’ll sit with you while you prepare for your bath,” Hermione offered at once. “We’ll have a lovely prenuptial chat. Then I’ll go to my chambers and dress. After which Dora and Marion can arrange our hair in my sitting room. How would that be?”

“Ideal.” Gaby hesitated, a flicker of worry dimming her exuberance. “Aunt Hermione, are you sure Thane’s staff wasn’t upset about not being invited to the wedding? Mrs. Darcey, Mrs. Fife—so many of them are very dear to me, and I hate the fact that we were forced to exclude them. I understand we had no choice, that the decision was made for my protection, but I just can’t envision any one of those wonderful people trying to harm me.”

“But one of them might have,” Hermione said firmly. “The way Thane handled the situation was the only way to ensure your safety, Gaby. He was extremely diplomatic, explaining that you were still weak and shaken by your ordeal and that, as a result, we were limiting the guest list to those at Nevon Manor so as not to overtax your strength. He added that you were still in shock and somewhat dazed, and he ended with a pointed mention of the fact that your concussion had left your memories of the
accident
—he stressed that word—muddled and indistinct. Thane’s explanation was intended to accomplish two objectives: to eliminate the potential for hurt feelings, and to lull your assailant into a false sense of security in the belief that you, like everyone else, believe the fire to have been accidental.” Hermione wrapped an arm about Gaby’s shoulders. “So put your worry over the Whitshire staff from your mind. Today is your wedding day, darling. It’s going to be the most wondrous day of your life. I want nothing to taint it. Now, let’s go up and get ready, all right?”