“Oh, Bella,” she breathed out.
She crouched there, shaken and horrified, staring into the black depths of the crypt, and the same eerie feeling that had overtaken her in Rodney Stone’s rooms engulfed her now and her whole body began to shake. She tried to scream, but all that came out of her mouth was a terrified whimper. Like a wild thing in a panic, she started to her feet and fled.
She tore up those stairs as though the demons of hell were after her, out through the bay—and straight into the arms of a figure who came out of the mist.
“Jessica!” said Lucas, and his arms closed around her like a trap.
A scream tore from her throat. Twisting and turning, she tried to fight him off, but his arms only tightened till she could scarcely breathe. When she stopped struggling, the brutal pressure of his arms eased.
“Jess, what is it?” He looked over her shoulder toward the crypt. “What are you running from?”
Murderer!
she wanted to scream, but pure animal instinct rushed in to protect her. But her instincts could not mend her broken heart. He had known that she was in Chalford, had known exactly where to find her. There was only one way he could have known. He must be her Voice, and he could read
her
as easily as she could read him.
She’d thought that she’d resigned herself to the fact that Lucas and her Voice were one and the same person, but now she saw how wrong she had been. She’d been clinging to the faint hope that by some miracle she would be proved wrong. With the death of all hope, something inside her quietly slipped into despair.
“Jess, tell me,” he said, and he gave her a shake to loosen her tongue.
“In there,” she choked out, pointing to the crypt. “In there.”
“You found Rodney Stone’s body? Where? Show me, Jess.”
He would kill her, too, and no one would ever know where to find her. “Why, Lucas? Why?”
“Who can say how a murderer’s mind works? All I know is he’s got to be stopped. Now show me where you found the body.”
Yes, he had to be stopped, and she was the only one who could do it.
They would play out the charade to its bitter end. Clinging to him like a woman in the grip of hysteria, she began to babble. It was all an act to allay his suspicions, but it seemed to work. His arm tightened protectively around her and his words were soothing. And that was all an act, too.
At the entrance to Saint Martha’s crypt, they halted.
Lucas was staring at the hole in the wall as though he’d never seen it before. He was a consummate actor.
She put a finger to her lips and whispered shakily, “There’s someone down there. I hit him with a rock. I think I may have stunned him.”
Lucas frowned at her. “Stay here,” he ordered, and reaching into his coat pocket, he produced a pistol.
He had taken her bait. She must be a consummate actress, too. She waited until he had disappeared from sight, then, reaching inward, she grabbed for the edge of the door and began to pull. She heard his exclamation of surprise, then the tread of his boots as he tried to intercept her. The stone door was heavy, but sheer terror gave her strength.
It was only as the door slammed shut that she realized how foolish she had been. Unlike her, Lucas would know how to get out of the crypt. Obviously, he came and went as he pleased. All she had done was gain a little time for herself.
On that thought, she whirled around and took off. She instinctively avoided the straight route out of the ruins and leapt for one of the low walls. She reached the top, but the slab under her feet tilted, and she pitched forward onto the ground. Her head cracked against one of the boulders that littered the area. Winded, stunned and shaken, she lay there like a lifeless doll.
She didn’t know how long she lay there before she became aware of her surroundings. She blinked rapidly and, rolling to her side, curled into a ball and moaned as though a knife had pierced straight through her heart. It had all come back to her. Memories—bitter, galling memories—were flooding her brain and she was drowning in them. Lucas was her Voice! Lucas was her Voice! And he had tried to murder her once before. That’s why she’d run away from Hawkshill.
And history was repeating itself.
She didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. No one mattered, not even herself. She’d credited him with a few scruples. She’d thought he cared for her, but that was a lie. He’d wanted to silence her because she knew too much.
There were no tears, only dry, choking sobs. She couldn’t stop the shivering. Her teeth were chattering. If Lucas had come upon her then, she could not have done a thing to save herself.
Time passed and she slowly came back to the present. She gave a bitter, shaken laugh. How many times had she prayed to have her memory restored? She’d been better off as she was. God was more compassionate than she’d known.
He had to be stopped. First her father, then Rodney Stone, and now Bella. She hadn’t found Bella’s body, but in that moment of terror in the crypt, when she’d sensed the malevolence of the murderer, Bella’s image had been seared into her mind.
Her mission had come to nothing. She had failed, failed,
failed
. If only she hadn’t trusted him, Bella would still be alive.
She dragged herself to her knees, then to her feet. She mustn’t allow herself to give in to despair. Her own private hell would still be there waiting for her when this was all over.
There was a whisper of sound from the other side of the wall, then, “Jessica?”
Lucas!
Ignoring her aching head and chattering teeth, she took off.
Haig House was the only place of refuge close by. Lucas would know that, too. He would try to cut her off. No matter. She had no choice. She had to go on. If she could only slip by him unseen, she could find Rupert. He would know what to do.
She paused for a moment, looking toward the path,
hoping to see Lucas’s horse tethered there so that she could use it to make her escape. There was nothing to be seen but a froth of vapor shrouding the hedgerows, and the walls of the priory’s boundaries. And even if she were to see the horse, she couldn’t be sure that Lucas was not there, waiting to pounce on her.
Her eyes scanned the way ahead. The mist obscured her view, but that was a blessing. It would conceal her from the eyes of predators. She looked over her shoulder. What was he
doing?
What was he waiting for?
“Jessica …”
A bubble of panic rose in her throat, and she was off and running.
When she reached the trees, she paused for breath. She looked behind her, but there was no sign or sound of pursuit, no thundering of hoofbeats crossing the turf. She would have to go where a horse could not follow.
She cupped her hands to her eyes and sagged against the trunk of a tree. A droplet of moisture splashed on her face. She looked up. Raindrops had gathered on the boughs and were dripping onto her. Her coat wasn’t soaked but it was uncomfortably damp. Her soft leather half boots were caked with mud and stained beyond repair. Until that moment, she’d been dry-eyed, but the sight of the water marks on her new boots broke the tenuous thread of her control.
She choked back the sobs and angrily dashed away the tears. She had to get a grip on herself, she had to concentrate. Moving quietly and quickly, she passed through the belt of trees and came to the road. Up above was Haig House, but it too was lost in the mist. Nothing and no one were stirring. On that thought, she dashed across the road to the shelter of the trees on the other side.
From that point on, the going became harder, and the climb exacted a toll. By the time she reached the summit, she had a stitch in her side, her calves ached, and her breathing was labored. But all her aches and pains went
out of her mind when the house suddenly loomed up in front of her.
It looked so safe and solid, something normal in a world gone mad. Checking to see that the coast was clear, she dashed across the turf.
CHAPTER
25
S
he ran through the shrubbery that grew along the foundations of the house, then embraced the stone wall as if it were her lover. One moment of relief was all she allowed herself. It wasn’t over yet, and Lucas could still intercept her. On that sobering thought, she sank down and tried to get her bearings.
The mist here was less dense, held at bay by a breeze that wafted over the downs. But whenever the breeze died down, the mist rolled in again. She was at the side of the house, not far from where the marquee for Bella’s ball had been set up. All that stood between her and the terrace with its glass entrance doors was the conservatory.
She stayed there for a long time, listening. There were small sounds—the drip of water from the roof into a puddle; a forlorn songbird—but there was nothing to alarm her. She got to her feet, then moving quickly and silently, began to make her way to the terrace. She had just drawn level with the conservatory when the door opened and Rupert came out. He was more surprised
than she. She had frozen like a sculpture. He dropped the clay pot he was holding. It fell with a thud on the grass, and though it didn’t break, the rose in it snapped in two.
“Jessica!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were in Chalford. My God! What’s happened to you?”
She looked down at herself. She looked a fright, but that didn’t matter. Raising her eyes, she gazed up at him. No man loved a woman more than Rupert loved Bella, and she was just about to bring his world down upon his ears.
She said feebly, “I’m sorry about the rose.”
“The rose?”
She pointed to the ground, at the rose that had snapped in two.
He picked it up. “Don’t be. It won’t be wasted,” and he shortened the stem and tucked it into the pin on the lapel of his coat. “Now come into the house, and tell me what’s happened.”
In answer, she grasped him by the arm and dragged him into the conservatory. Roses of every hue were set out in tiers everywhere the eye could see. The scent made her shiver. There were two stone benches just inside the door. He led her to one and made her sit. His look of puzzlement had changed to one of consternation.
“What is it, Jessica?”
“Does the door lock?”
He nodded.
“Please, Rupert, lock it. L … Lucas is after me.”
His brows rose, but he did as she asked. When he came back to her, he said, “Now what’s all this about you and Lucas? Have you had a falling-out?”
“Rupert,” she said, groping for a way of softening the blow, “when did you last see Bella?”
“What does this have to do with Bella?”
“Please! Answer me!”
He frowned at her harsh tone. “Four days ago when
she went off on a shopping spree to town. Didn’t you see her there?”
“Yes, but she left yesterday to return to Chalford. She should have been here by now.”
“If I know Bella, she’s probably stopped off somewhere to visit friends. No need to look so worried, my dear. Now, tell me about you and Lucas.”
His words did not reassure her. She’d sensed her Voice’s presence in the crypt. He’d been there recently. And Bella’s perfume had permeated the air.
She swallowed past the constriction in her throat. “Rupert, I know that what I’m about to say will shock you, but please hear me out. Lucas is a murderer. No! Listen to me! He killed my father. I was there. I saw him. He tried to kill me, too. And Rupert, oh Rupert, I’m almost sure he’s killed Bella. I’ve just come from the old priory. I found a way into Saint Martha’s crypt. I was looking for Rodney Stone’s body. There was no light, but I could smell Bella’s perfume. And I found a rose. She must be there, don’t you see?”
His face and lips had gone deathly white.
“I feared something like this would happen,” she went on, “but I never thought his next victim would be Bella. We’ve got to stop him. I locked him in the crypt, but that was some time ago. He won’t be there now. And I heard him calling my name.”
“You went into the crypt?” he said and paused. “Jessica, what are you talking about?”
She jumped to her feet, walked to the glass door and peered out. “He’ll know that there’s nowhere I can go but here. He could be here at any moment. He may be here now. He’s armed and dangerous.” The last was wrung from her. “Oh, Rupert, what are we going to do?”
Her words died when she turned to look at Rupert. He was bent over, holding his head between his hands.
She sat down beside him and put a comforting hand on his arm. “Rupert, you’ve got to stop him. But be careful.
Lucas is dangerous. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”
“Jessica!” He raised his head. “Bella can’t be dead. And what’s this about Rodney Stone? You’re confused. I know you are. Now calm yourself, and tell me exactly what happened. What were you doing in the priory? And don’t tell me Lucas has murdered anyone because I won’t believe it.”
She
was
on the verge of panic, and his reluctance to believe her wasn’t helping. Realizing she would only make matters worse if she did not calm down, she quickly related the events of that morning. But all the while, she kept darting a look out the windows.
When she stopped speaking, he said, “Jessica, you’re in a panic for nothing. Bella has her maid with her, as well as four stalwart coachmen and my carriage. Has something happened to them too?”
“I don’t know,” she cried. “Perhaps she came here in secret to meet Lucas.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe that.”
“Then why was there a rose in the crypt?”
“What rose?”
She felt in her pockets, but all she produced were her gloves. She set them aside and dug deeper. There was no rose. “I think I must have dropped it when I fell.”
“When your memory came back to you?”
“Yes.”
“And you locked Lucas in the crypt.”
“Yes!” she cried out. “Rupert, I’m not deranged! I’m telling you the truth. I swear it. Rodney Stone’s body is there, and Bella … oh God, I think something must have happened to her too.”
Suddenly rising, he walked to the glass door and looked out. With his back to her, he said, “The wind is rising and the mist is clearing. There’s no sign of Lucas. I don’t think he found a way out of the crypt, Jessica. I think he must still be in there.”