Dreamspinner (50 page)

“I trust Ravi.” Kent sank slowly into a chair. “I’ve known him all my life. I can’t believe he’d hurt anyone.”

“Someone
here must have a hidden side, a motive we haven’t considered,” Emmett said. “How about Chantal’s other daughter?”

“Rose? For Christ’s sake, she’s my half sister... Emily’s half sister. And a harmless girl, besides.”

“I’m sorry, Kent, but we must consider everyone.” Emmett turned to Juliet. “She must be about your age, Princess. What’s she like?”

She saw an image of the girl’s milk-pure complexion and liquid brown eyes. The girl who’d crept in to leave the diary.

“She’s impetuous and emotional... almost childish at times. And she hates the Carletons, just as her father did.”

Emmett frowned. “Has she been unkind to you?”

“No, she’s just loyal to the past. She venerated her father.”

“That’s no proof,” Kent said.

Yet shadows dimmed the light in his eyes. Juliet’s heart wrenched. How dreadful it must be for him to suspect the people he loved. Rising from the bed, she went to him and dropped to her knees to lay her cheek against his thigh. He grasped her shoulders, his fingers pressing hard, as if he gained strength from her closeness.

“I’m sorry, Kent. I’m sorry to bring up these suspicions.”

“I know, darling.” He brushed his lips across her hair. “But I’d give my own life to keep you safe.”

Emmett coughed self consciously. “About Rose. Does she have an alibi for the attempts on your life?”

“No one here does,” Juliet said, turning to him. “And she reveres Dreamspinner. She might well be the one who stole it.”

“Stole?” Emmett said, astonishment quirking his mustache.

“The necklace disappeared a few days ago.”

Bowing his head, Kent raked his fingers through his hair. “Of course, there’s another possibility. Chantal hated Dreamspinner. Maybe she wanted to get rid of it.”

“I’m inclined to agree with her on that,” Emmett said, grimacing. “The necklace means nothing to me anymore. And yet ...” He stared down at the floor. “I can’t believe she’s a criminal. At one time I knew Chantal Hutton as well as I know myself. She’s a generous and warmhearted woman. Only someone coldblooded could kill her own daughter.”

“Coldblooded,” Kent said slowly, “or mad.”

“Nonsense. Chantal is as sane as you or I.”

Juliet studied her father’s confident face, then tried to picture Chantal thrusting a rock over the parapet and lacing the cream with a lethal dose of morphine. Somehow she couldn’t reconcile the images with Chantal’s forthright manner. Yet no one here seemed to fit that deadly role.

Emmett pushed to his feet. “I should like to question Ravi. Where can we find him?”

“He often takes tea with Chantal,” Kent said. “In her apartment.”

Seeing her father’s startled frown, Juliet said gently, “You should know, Papa. She and Ravi are...”

His eyes widened, then narrowed to reflective interest. “Indeed. Now, there’s a curious development.”

“Shall we go, then?” she said, scrambling up.

“You’re staying here,” Kent said.

“No,” Emmett said, “we shouldn’t leave her alone.”

“He’s right,” Juliet agreed.

Kent drilled her with a furious glare. She refused to flinch. Abruptly he muttered what sounded like a curse and turned, snatching her hand. “Come along, then.”

She walked out, flanked by her husband and her father. If Papa felt any pain from the vicious lump on his head, he showed no sign. She glanced from one man to the other; both wore the same look of concentrated ferocity. A kernel of contentment rested within her disquiet, a warm appreciation that they’d closed ranks to protect her. Yet she chafed at the notion that she wasn’t free to roam about her own home at will.

Dusk light seeped through the occasional deep set window. In silence they climbed the winding stairs of the north tower, the stone cool against Juliet’s hand. When they reached the landing, Emmett deferred to Kent with a nod.

Before he could knock, the door opened. Ravi stopped, a tea tray balanced on his palm. His muddy brown eyes widened slightly. “Yes, sahib?”

“I should like to speak to you. Chantal and Rose, as well.”

“Chantal is resting. I will ask—”

“Don’t ask. I’ll see the three of you.
Now.”

He pushed the door wide and walked inside. Juliet and her father followed.

Chantal stood in a doorway, golden candlelight from the bedroom silhouetting her queenly figure. Her blond hair cascaded loose over a low cut dressing gown; her face bore the softness of a woman just loved. Her dishabille gave Juliet the uncomfortable feeling of having interrupted a tryst. She looked sharply at Ravi, who set down the tray. Could the lovers also have engineered a murder plot?

Chantal frowned at Emmett. “This is most unexpected.”

“So I see.”

“Pardon the intrusion,” Kent said. “I’ve some questions to ask, and I’d like Rose to be present. Is she here?”

Chantal lifted a tentative hand to her bosom. “I’m not certain. I’ve been... in my own room. Having tea.”

For how long? Juliet wondered. Had Chantal switched a lighter gown for that dark henna silk? Or was Maud right? Ravi wore his customary pale robe...

Kent strode to a closed door and rapped hard. After a moment, the panel swung open and Rose poked her head out, her sable hair swinging girlishly free.

“Kent? Why are you here—?” Looking beyond him, she scowled, then marched out. The white lace ends of a fichu dangled to her skirt of dove gray silk. Juliet tensed. Could she be the one Maud had seen?

“Mama, really!” Rose said. “You promised
he
wasn’t coming back, that he’d only be here this afternoon.”

Chantal followed her daughter’s gaze to Emmett. “Mr. Carleton is a guest of Kent and Juliet. I trust you’ll be civil.”

“But Mama–”

“Sit down.” She made an imperious wave of her hand, the bracelets chiming.

Rose gave a disgruntled sniff, but plopped down on a hassock and folded her arms.

“Thank you,” Emmett murmured to Chantal.

She regarded him, her mouth set in a bitter line. Even from halfway across the room, Juliet felt the intensity of that shared stare. How must Chantal feel to look back on a lost lover, a lover who had given her a cherished daughter, then married someone else? Slipping her hand into Kent’s, Juliet treasured his solid warmth. Thank heavens she had made the right choice.

Chantal swung away. “Excuse me. I’ll only be a moment.”

“Wait—” Kent started, but she’d disappeared into her bedroom, leaving the door ajar.

“Let her go,” Emmett said gruffly. “It wasn’t fair of us to intrude without warning.”

Ravi glowered as he glided to the mantelpiece to light the candles in a pair of brass candelabra. Rose glared at the both of them. Releasing Juliet’s hand, Kent paced the dhurri rug.

Barely two minutes passed before Chantal emerged. She’d drawn up her corn silk hair and fastened it with a jeweled comb. A lace shawl covered the magnificent expanse of her bosom, and Juliet caught the aroma of sweet woodruff. A woman’s armor, she thought, Chantal wanted to look her best. For Emmett? Or because she sensed a confrontation brewing and strove to conceal her guilt?

Without preamble, Kent said, “A short while ago, someone struck Emmett over the head.”

Paling, Chantal braced a hand on the cane back of a chair. “Struck—?” Her widened blue eyes veered to Emmett, as if searching for injury. “Dear heavens. I’m sorry, Emmett.”

“The blow knocked him senseless, so he didn’t see his assailant.” Kent paused. “But Lady Maud saw.”

A moment of tense silence spun out. Rose clenched her fichu. Emmett shifted impatiently. Ravi stepped to Chantal’s side. The tableau reminded Juliet of sitting on the edge of her seat at a stage play, waiting breathlessly for the next line.

“So tell us,” Rose demanded. “Who did she see?”

“First I’d like to know where each of you have been for the past hour and a half.”

“Since she returned from the cemetery,” Ravi said, laying a dusky hand on her shoulder, “Chantal has been with me.”

She wheeled on him. “It can’t have been as long as that.”

An odd frantic entreaty underscored her voice. What was she hiding? Juliet wondered. Was Chantal afraid to ally herself with a man she knew to be a murderer? A thought stunned her. Ravi loved Chantal. Could he be seeking revenge on Emmett for hurting her?

His austere expression softened to gentle regret as Ravi cupped her cheek.
“Jaaneman,”
he murmured, “I am indeed certain.”

Scowling, Rose jumped up. “Don’t, Mama. Don’t let that heathen touch you in front of other people.”

Ravi narrowed his eyes to slits. “You would do well to mind your manners.”

Eyes flashing and bosom heaving, she stepped toward him. “You would chastise me? As if you had the right! Kent, tell him—”

“Please, darling,” Chantal said swiftly. “Calm yourself. You’ll make yourself ill. Perhaps you should go to your room.”

“I won’t be sent away like a naughty child.” Her slim fingers trembled around the fichu; her breath came in audible gasps. “No one must know, Mama. No one must know about you and that... that dark skinned pagan. You... who had the love of a duke. You’re desecrating Father’s memory...”

Suddenly she swayed. Whiteness outlined her tense lips. Eyes rolling back, lashes closing, she crumpled to the rug.

Alarmed, Juliet raced to her side. Everyone crowded around.

Chantal dropped to her knees beside her daughter. “Dear God!” she wailed, taking the limp hand. “What’s happened to my baby?”

“It’s only a swoon,” said Emmett, standing behind her. “Common in high strung girls. She’ll likely be fine in a moment.”

Yet he frowned in concern. Juliet touched the girl’s brow. The skin felt clammy, all color gone. The only sign of life was the shallow wheeze of her breathing.

Kent lightly slapped his sister’s cheek. She lay still. Deathly still, Juliet thought fearfully.

He looked up. “She needs smelling salts. Chantal?”

She lifted a hand to her throat. “Yes... yes, perhaps I have a vial somewhere. I’ll see if I can find it.” Rising, she vanished into her bedroom.

“The doctor was summoned to examine me,” Emmett said. “Perhaps he should take a look at the girl.”

“See if he’s arrived yet,” Kent told Ravi. “Then fetch a tisane from the kitchen.”

Ravi inclined his turbaned head and hurried out.

As the door closed, Juliet said, “Should we put her in bed?”

Nodding, Kent slid his arms beneath his sister’s pliant form. His strides long, he shouldered open the heavy oak door.

Following, Juliet entered a neat bedroom, three of the walls forming the octagonal shape of the tower. Light spilled from an oil lamp atop a small desk. He gently lay Rose on the frilly blue coverlet. Against the white linen pillow, her brown hair haloed her ashen features. She stirred, and a panting moan escaped her pale lips. Yet her eyes remained shut.

Juliet glanced from Kent to her father, who hovered in the doorway. “She’s having trouble breathing. She’ll rest more comfortably if I loosen her corset. Why don’t you both wait outside?”

Emmett nodded and ducked out.

Kent seized her hand. “I’d rather not leave you alone, Juliet.”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be perfectly fine, darling. You’ll be close by.”

He scowled at her. Then he glanced at Rose, who lay unmoving, her hand curled in childish fashion beside her pale cheek. His expression relaxed into brotherly concern. After planting a kiss on Juliet’s brow, he walked out, leaving the door ajar.

She rolled the girl onto her side and undid the row of buttons down the back of her gown. Then she plucked at the tight lacing until the strings hung free. Immediately Rose seemed to breathe easier. She lay limp, lashes dark against her wan face. She looked so dainty and vulnerable that Juliet felt a twist of compassion.

Rose was an odd girl, modest yet passionate about her place in the castle hierarchy. Though Juliet couldn’t condone Rose for lashing out at Ravi, she could see that the girl’s sensitivity to slights lay rooted in her bastardy, in her yearning to be recognized as a duke’s true daughter.

Resolving to spend more time with Rose, Juliet turned to inspect the small chamber while she waited for Chantal to bring the smelling salts. There were several arched windows and another, closed door. On the desk lay a tidy stack of papers, probably the unfinished play. The walls bore framed sketches in William Deverell’s lyrical style. She went to examine the one over the desk. Beneath a gilded canopy, an exotically robed man sat on a throne as several men paid him homage. In spidery script, she read
The Maharaja of Kashmir.

The ruler who had once owned Dreamspinner, Juliet mused. Rose had hung the sketch in a place of honor, where she could view it while she sat at work. She truly
was
fanatically devoted to the necklace—

Abruptly metal grated on metal. The sound startled Juliet. She spun toward the bed. Empty.

She looked to the door. Closed. Her blood chilled. Rose stood there, her hand on the iron bolt, her back to the thick oak panel.

She was smiling, and a strange slyness shone in her dark eyes. Around the milk pale skin of her throat glinted green stones in the design of a peacock.

Dreamspinner.