Bride (43 page)

Resignation stilled his next protest. Using a sturdy silver buttonhook from the dressing table, he worked at the lock. Several sharp twists broke it free of the hasp.

Struan rested his hands atop the trunk and closed his eyes.

Using his shoulder for support and praying aloud, Justine knelt beside him.

They lifted the lid together.

Chapter Twenty-six

T
hey lifted the lid together and held hands tightly while they looked down into the chest.

“Clothes.” Struan pulled out piles of heavy, jewel-encrusted satins, fragile silks and lace, embroidered headpieces and exquisite fans, buckled shoes and finely embroidered gloves. “Look at these. They're old. And these …” He held up several long strands of pearls—and a small, brown leather-bound journal.

Beneath the journal lay a gown of creamy, pearl-studded satin, its bodice stiffened. And a veil attached to a tiny cap.

Justine clapped a hand over her mouth. She tried but could not trap the laughter that bubbled forth.

Struan glared at her. “I fail to see humor here.”

“Han—Hannah's masquerade gown,” she sputtered, pointing. “Your grandmother's c-costume.”

He frowned even more deeply. “How did you know my grandmother's name was Hannah?”

“I w-worked it out.” Justine hugged her middle and laughed until tears fell. “That's her journal.”

Struan opened the book. “You've seen this before?”

“Hm-hmm. Hannah's g-ghost I-left it for me.”

“Collect yourself. You are overwrought.”

He was right, but at least one mystery was a mystery no more. “These,” Justine said, reaching into the chest and withdrawing a set of brass and leather bellows. “What would a ghost want with them?”

“What ghost? What—”

“I used the bellows.”

Startled, they turned their attention to the doorway where Max hovered, a pathetic figure in a loose nightshort with his legs and feet bare. He held Ella's small, flat-nosed puppy in his arms.

“Go back to bed,” Justine told the lad kindly. “Everything's going to be all right, you'll see.”

“No it's not. We're bein’ punished. Probably the spirits took Ella because we played tricks on ‘em.” He sat on his haunches and looked upward. “That's where they've got her. I'll be next. We only wanted you two t'be together and happy. We just helped a wee bit. Ella was Hannah and I was the wind. She dressed up and pretended, and I used the bellows to blow out the candle in the ballroom and such. We meant no harm.”

Justine and Struan eyed each other, both struggling to be serious. “You didn't tell me,” Struan said, and coughed.

“I almost did. But I obviously wasn't going to be believed, and quite right, too.”

“She said she was going.”

Justine snapped her gaze to Max. “Ella?”

“Aye. She wouldna listen t'me. I told her no good would come o'it, but she wouldna listen.”

Struan was on his feet and striding to help the boy up. He took him to a chair, set him down with the dog, and pulled a second chair near. When he was seated himself, he leaned over Max. “Ella said she was going to leave?”

Max nodded. “Aye. She got ready in that fancy green habit with the silly wee bonnet. But she said she'd be back before anyone noticed. Only, she wasna back a'tall.” He sniffed. “She still isna back, and I'm scairt.”

Justine went to the boy's side. “Where did she go, Max?”

“I don't know.” He shook his head miserably from side to side. “She wouldna tell me. All she said was that she had t'help Papa. She said he was in trouble, only nobody knew exactly why. She thought she could do somethin’ about it.”

Struan ground the heels of his hands into his eyes and muttered a muffled curse.

“Don't,” Justine placed a hand tentatively on his shoulder. “We don't have time for looking back—except at whoever, it is who probably took Ella. That's what you think, isn't it? That she's been kidnapped?”

If he intended to answer, Buttercup's arrival stopped him. She carried an envelope on a silver salver. “There's none but us maids t'do anythin’,” she said. “The rest is searchin’. I found this in the vestibule.”

Struan took the envelope. When the girl didn't immediately leave, he stood up. “Take Max back to his bed, if you please.”

“Is it about Ella?” Max asked, crushing the puppy so hard it squeaked.

“To your bed. If there's news, I'll come to you.”

With a yearning stare at the finery piled upon the floor and spilling from the trunk, Buttercup took the boy and the dog and closed the bedchamber door behind her.

Slipping the envelope into a pocket, Struan offered Justine his arm. “I'll see you to your bed, my dear. This has been far too much for you.”

Justine sat in the chair Max had left.

“There is no point in your waiting here,” Struan said.

“Read the letter.
Now.”

He swung away. “I hardly think it appropriate for you to give me orders, madam.”

She got up once more and touched the back of his neck. “You cannot expect me to sleep when you may just have received some word of Ella.”

For a moment he looked at her. He produced the envelope and passed a finger beneath the flap in one motion. Withdrawing a single sheet of heavy paper, he flattened and read it quickly.

Confusion and pain crossed his features by turn.

“What does it say?” Justine asked in a whisper. “Is it about Ella?”

He nodded and thrust the paper at her. “I cannot believe it. You will not believe it.”

Justine sat down again and read the elegant hand aloud:

“Hunsingore, Ella is in my care. You are the lowest of men and deserve death. Had you not”
—she bit her lip and fought for breath—
“Had you not pretended paternal affection in order to defile this girl, as you defiled the other creature in the abbey all those years ago,”
—goose bumps shot out on her clammy skin and she could not look at Struan—
“then this business would not be necessary. You must atone for your sins. I had intended to take your home and then reveal your sins to the world, but matters have not evolved as I planned Instead you will place two hundred thousand golden guineas in bags and leave them beside the northerly track from Kirkcaldy. As soon as darkness falls tomorrow evening, place the bags near the five-mile marker and leave. Later I shall send word of Ella's whereabouts.”

“Avenall”

Her heart hurt. “Saber?”

“Yes,
Saber.
Your beloved cousin. How he must have laughed at us from his hiding place on our very doorstep. No doubt our marriage was an unwelcome complication to him—possibly it was what stopped him from trying to commandeer portions of Rossmara lands. He might also hesitate to brand his cousin's husband a criminal lecher.”

“Did you tell him about your past?”

“I told no one.”

“Then how would he know about the abbey?”

“Diligence will produce whatever information a man wants to learn. He was taken with Ella. Then he turned his back on her. She must have told him about her early life and he decided my reasons for taking her under my protection were not pure.”

A logical argument, but Saber had always been gentle. Deceit and vengeance would be beyond him. “I know Saber. He would not do this, Struan.”

“He has underestimated me. And overestimated me. I have no means of putting my hands on the sum he mentions. And I also have no intention of waiting until tomorrow to retrieve Ella. Defiled under the guise of paternal affection? The man is a foul aberration.”

She would not argue now. “What do you intend to do?”

“Ride to Northcliff at once. I'll take him by the throat and show him who is to suffer for this.”

“Wait,” Justine implored. “Something is very badly awry here. It is an attempt to divert your attention.”

“Because no relative of yours could possibly be a scurrilous bounder?”

“Because Saber could not do this. And he could not frighten Ella. Also, he is a very intelligent man. He would know this cannot succeed.”

Struan took back the letter and read again. “You may have a point there. But Ella is gone and this is a ransom note. Explain that, if you please.”

“Is it in the same hand as the other letters?”

He frowned. “I cannot be sure.” He glanced at the back of the envelope and sniffed the paper. “No particular scent and no seal made by… Possibly not.”

“There, then!” Triumph brought blood to her face. “If Saber had been…”

His smile was as much sad as cynical. “If Saber had written the other letters, this should be the same? How true. And, since it is not, it is perfectly sensible to assume the earlier letters were the work of another while this is, indeed, Saber's hand.”

“No.”

“It is also the first mention I've had of my committing some crime against Ella.”

“But not against… You have been accused of wrongdoing with a female at an abbey?”

Struan's face became expressionless. “That was suggested in the previous letters.”

“And for that you were threatened with bodily harm.”

“And worse.”

“Such as retribution against your family?”

“Yes.”

She drew a slow, shaky breath. “Was Glory Smith the person at the abbey?”

“Yes.” He averted his face.

“The abbey where you were to have taken your final vows?”

“Yes.
But it is not as you imagine. She made me drunk and I had not eaten for days. I was wrong, but it was… I now know what manner of woman she was, and is.”

“You did not touch her on the night when I saw her coming from your apartments?”

He ripped his neckcloth undone and tore it off. “If you must ask, then you have decided upon the answer.”

A light tap at the door brought his sharp “Come.”

This time it was Mairi who trod reluctantly into the room. “I've a message from Mrs. Moggach, my lord. She says t'tell ye Robert Mercer's at the kitchen doors. The tenants and Brother John have taken their search all the way t'Northcliff Hall and back.”

Justine held her hand toward Mairi. “Did they see any sign of Ella?”

“In a way.”

“In a way?” Struan roared. “Be plain and be exceeding quick, my girl.”

“Struan.”

He waved Justine to silence.

“It was the little filly the marquess bought for Miss Elizabeth. The one for when she's big enough—”

The last of Struan's patience snapped before Justine's eyes. “What of the filly?” he demanded. “The purpose for which she was bought is of no import here.”

“No, my lord,” Mairi agreed. “Well, the filly was found in the grounds of Northcliff Hall. And Miss Ella's new riding bonnet was tied t'the bridle.”

Potts didn't grumble in earnest until Justine told him to drive on. Struan had been given enough of a start toward Northcliff not to hear carriage wheels behind him.

The coach would be slower than the stallion Struan rode, but if he even suspected Justine was following him he'd make her return to Kirkcaldy.

She had pleaded with him to wait for Arran and Calum and seek their counsel. Struan had refused to listen to her. Struan had refused to speak to her.

The Franchot town coach in which Justine had traveled from Cornwall covered the rough roadway toward Northcliff Hall with remarkable ease. Fine springs cushioned each jolt.

Justine peered anxiously from the windows until, at last, a sharp rise gave way to a downhill sweep and a stone wall bordering a large estate. Not far from the wall stood a massive house.

Potts brought the carriage to a stop beneath the statue of a stag atop an archway through the wall. Justine lurched to open the trap and shout, “Onward, Potts. As fast as you can now.”

“I don't like the looks of things, my lady.”

“Please go on.”

“I don't like the feel of it, my lady.”

“Potts.”

“Your grandmother would never forgive me if anything happened to you. Your husband would never forgive me. My duty to you and your family comes first. It isn't right. We should—”

“Drive on, Potts!” Justine slammed the trap.

Leather creaked. Wheels ground on gravel. The carriage shot forward, throwing Justine against the squabs. She held on to a strap while Potts contrived to hit every dip in the driveway. He shot around the building and came to a halt before the front door of Northcliff Hall.

Grim-faced and breathing heavily, Potts appeared to open the door and place the steps. He handed Justine down. “You'll rue this night,” he told her. “You mark my words. Not a light showing in the place.”

“Don't exaggerate. There aren't many lights.” She hurried toward the house, passing Struan's grazing black horse on the way. “No need to accompany me, Potts. Wait by the carriage. I don't anticipate being here long.”

That was when she noticed the front door was open and that a rumble of masculine voices came from inside.

Justine pushed the door wider and stepped gingerly into a cold marble foyer. The voices she'd heard belonged to Struan and an aged, stooped butler.

Struan was the first to notice her. “Justine!” He covered the space between them entirely too quickly. “How dare you disobey me!”

“How dare I disobey you?
Sin's ears!
One would think we were still in the eighteenth century! I did not disobey you. I merely did what I considered essential. I came to ensure you were safe—and that you didn't make a
fool
of yourself.”

His mouth remained open while Justine swept past him. “I am Lord Avenall's cousin,” she told the butler. “I understand he is a guest here.”

“I only do as I'm told,” the man said. “That's all. What I'm told t'do is what I do.” He peered around the green and white museumlike space as if looking for approval—or an audience. “Nudge. I'm one of the Nudges. Butlers all, we are. Always have been.”

“The man's incompetent,” Struan said. “And he seems to be the only servant around. I've asked him to take me to Saber.”

Shuffling, arching his head on its bent neck to squint up at them, Nudge pushed the front door shut.

“Is Mr. North in residence?” Struan said.

Nudge fumbled with his untidy neckcloth. “Gone t'the Continent.”

Justine smiled reassuringly. “We're sorry not to see him, but we came to visit Lord Avenall. He's my cousin.”