Echoes in Stone (22 page)

She’d eaten the apple butter that day. Then she’d been horribly ill afterwards.

He grimaced. He could almost feel the roiling in his stomach again, they way he’d been so sick. Now, next to the remains of those apple tarts, three birds lay dead.

Dash spun on his heel, running for his horse. He needed to get back to Tremayne Hall. He leapt upon his horse and took off at full gallop. He slowed his brutal pace only when he reached the curve in the road. Lily died here. Had her death really been just a horrible accident?

Beautiful, glittering, treacherous Lily. Her life had made his a living hell. Her death had brought him Jessa. Was it possible danger had stalked Lily before her death, just as it now stalked Jessa?

He reined in his horse and dismounted, to stand at the charred place by the road. What had caused the carriage to overturn that night? Why here? The road curved, but it wasn’t sharp. A fast carriage should have been able to take the turn without incident.

The blackened ground and twisted tree limbs provided no answers. There’d been speculation a deer had leapt from the woods, startling the horses. Now, doubt crept in.

He paced the road for thirty feet in each direction, his eyes on the ground. Could there be a pothole or rock to snare a carriage wheel? Nothing. He crossed the road to stand in the place he’d stood that night, once he’d admitted there was no chance of saving Bobby or Lily. He crouched on the ground, staring at the burned copse, trying to recreate the scene from that night.

Low on his left, his peripheral vision caught a flash of something lighter than the surrounding undergrowth. He rose to investigate. Around the trunk of a sapling, a girdle of white showed where the bark had been ripped away. He ran a hand over the exposed pulp. It circled the trunk in a straight line. No animal would have chewed the tender bark away in such a neat fashion. Dash straightened, drawing in a sharp breath.

No animal but man.

A rope, tied to this trunk, stretched across the road, then tied on the other side, could have left such a mark. A rope, placed at just the right height to catch a horse at chest level on a dark night. Easily enough done. The fire would’ve burned away the evidence on the far side of the road. Whatever remained could be retrieved the next day. No one would notice a bit of rope in the road in the dark. Not in the presence of that inferno.

“Dammit Lily! What finally drove you out that night?” Dash swore, startling a flock of sparrows into flight.

Who’d known he and Lily would have that final, towering argument that night? Who’d known she’d rush from the house, straight to her death?

Someone planned for Lily to die that night. Whoever it was still had to be in the house. The house where he’d left Jessa alone.

Dash ran for his horse. Time was running out. Two thoughts kept pace with the pounding rhythm of the hoof beats. The pounding rhythm of his heart.

Jessa was in danger.

And he might be too late. Again.

28.

The devil will come to claim his own…

JESSA PUSHED THE shrill scream past the lump in her throat, spinning to confront the specter reflected in the mirror.

“Lily! Oh my God, Lily!” Jessa swung her lamp in the direction of the figure, but the woman stepped back out of the halo of light.

In the single moment of illumination, the malevolence melted from the woman’s face, as if it had only been a distortion in a fun-house mirror. The sneer morphed into a sad smile. “Jessa, I’m so sorry. You should never have come. I should never have asked it of you.”

Jessa stepped toward her.

“No!” The figure stepped back deeper into the gloom.

Lily. It had to be. Her hair, half hidden under a shawl, tumbled loose to her waist, although the shadows dulled the color. The shapeless dress sat on a figure grown gaunter, more rawboned than Jessa remembered. The face looked more hollowed, Lily’s once round cheeks sunken.

“Lily.” Jessa raised her hand to the woman in supplication. “Lily, please. Tell me what’s wrong. We’ve been mourning you. I thought I’d lost you. Oh God, Lily, whatever it is, whatever’s happening, please let me help.” She couldn’t hold back her tears.

Lily shook her head. Her hands, clasped together at her waist, her bent shoulders… everything in her posture spoke of grief. “Jessa, it is too late. There’s nothing to be done now. It’s always been too late for me.”

She glanced at the hallway door, as if afraid someone would interrupt her. She rubbed her hands together, her agitation growing. “You must listen to me now, Jessa. Listen. There’s little time.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

Jessa strained forward to hear her.

Lily glanced once more at the door. “The child, Jessa. No matter what else, you must protect the child. She’s innocent and—” A sob escaped her lips. “Jessa, promise me. That man. He means her ill. They all do. Please Jessa. Promise me!”

Jessa wanted to hug Lily close, wanted to reassure her. But when she stepped toward her, the woman moved closer to the door.

“No, Jessa! You mustn’t touch me. Your promise Jessamine. I must have it!”

Jessa stood still, afraid to move lest she frighten this pathetic woman further. “Of course, Lily.” Jessa struggled to keep the fear from her voice, to sound as soothing and reassuring as if it were Holly standing there bereft, pleading with her. “I’ll keep the child safe. I love Holly as if she were my own. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe. And you need have no fear of Dash harming her. I’ve seen him with her. He treats her—”

“
No
!” Lily reared back, her features once more sliding into a snarling grimace.

Jessa stared, transfixed, as the beseeching figure transformed into someone fierce, angry. And very dangerous. “Susanna?”

The woman shook back her hair, stood straight, tall, smoothing her rough brown dress. This was the figure from Jessa’s nightmares.

“No, Jezebel. The child is not safe in your care. You’ve allowed yourself to be blinded by the devil. He whispered his pretty words in your ear, speared his serpent’s tongue in your mouth. His mark is there, on your throat. You are not to be trusted.”

She glared at Jessa. Hatred radiated from her in almost visible waves. She took a step toward Jessa, then cocked her head once more in the direction of the door. Jessa listened, hoping it was Mrs. Penrose or one of the servants coming to tell her luncheon was ready.

With no warning, the woman turned, fleeing through the door.

Caution and common sense fled with her. Jessa picked up her skirts to chase after her. She wasn’t fast enough. In the gloom, she tripped over the sheet she’d thrown on the floor earlier. She skidded into the hall to see the formerly closed door at the end of the hallway now stood open.

“Lily! Lily, wait for me!” Jessa called as she ran toward it. “Lily, let me help you!”

She reached the door, holding her lamp high to peer beyond it. A flight of stairs fell away before her. These must be the back stairs used by the servants. Nothing stirred in the darkness below her. She’d be a fool to descend, not knowing what, or who, might be waiting for her at the bottom.

Prudence won out. If Lily roamed this house, someone had to know. She had to be getting food somewhere, to sleep somewhere. Someone besides her knew Lily was alive.

Jessa lowered the lamp. From the open bedroom door on her right, a figure leapt from the darkness.

“I told you that you were out of time.” The voice hissed, near Jessa’s ear.

Jessa—caught in mid-turn—tried to dodge but wasn’t quick enough to escape the brutal shove to her shoulder. Off balance, she toppled backward through the open stairwell door. In her desperate scramble to halt her tumble, she dropped the lamp, listening as it shattered in the darkness below. She missed the step. Screaming, she fell into emptiness.

Just before darkness claimed her, a figure moved in the shadows at the head of the stairs.

Susanna, her mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “Now Jezebel, you will die. The devil will come to claim his own.”

29.

Oh Captain, she’s dead!

“YOUR LORDSHIP, THANK the good Lord you’re here!” Mrs. Penrose stood on the front steps of Tremayne Hall, eyes wide, her face blotchy with tears, her mobcap askew. No groom rushed to take Dash’s horse. No gardener worked the flowerbeds. The front door stood wide, with what looked like most of his staff milling about the foyer.

Dash halted his horse and leapt off . “Mrs. Penrose, calm yourself. Tell me what the devil is going on here.”

“Oh, your lordship. Oh Captain, she’s dead!”

Dash’s heart froze. He seized the woman’s shoulders, shaking her. “What the hell do you mean?” Without waiting for her response, he rushed through the door.

On chairs or huddled in small groups, maids and footmen, stable boys and gardeners whispered together. Terror clawed up his spine and seized his heart.

Winston, kneeling in front of the sobbing cook, strode toward him. “Dash, thank God you’re back. It’s a mess. I was about to send someone after you. It’s—”

“Where the hell is she? What happened? Dammit, I
knew
she shouldn’t be left alone. Dear God, Jessa—”

Winston paled. “It’s not Jessa. I mean—”

Blood drained from his face. The high-pitched buzz in his ears threatened to deafen him. He grabbed Winston. “Holly? Oh my God—”

“Oh, your lordship,” Mrs. Penrose said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say—That is, it’s not Miss Palmer, sir. Nor Holly. It’s the cook’s assistant, Melwyn.” The words came out on a sob.

Breath slammed back into Dash with the weight of a sledgehammer blow, leaving his chest heaving. “Mrs. Penrose,” he said through gritted teeth, “if you’d be so kind, please ask everyone to step into the parlor. They’ll be more comfortable there. I need a moment with Winston, then I’ll be in.” Dash glanced at the morose faces of his staff. “Perhaps you might offer a cordial to those who may feel the need of it. I’ll be with you soon.”

Dash stormed through his study door, Winston in his wake. He went straight to the sideboard, poured two glasses of whiskey, then offered one to his shaken manservant. “Damn it, Winston, what the blazes is going on here?”

Winston accepted the proffered glass, then sank into one of the side chairs. He sipped the whiskey, then ran a hand over his pale face. A fine sheen of sweat marred his brow. “Dash, I’m not sure myself. I was working in my office, going over menus with Mrs. Penrose. One of the maids came tearing into the room, half-hysterical, screaming someone was dead. I’m afraid I had to slap her to get her to make any sense.”

Winston drew a deep breath, then took another sip of whiskey. “Melwyn, the cook’s assistant, had been found dead. Cook had gone out to the garden, leaving Melwyn to clean up the breakfast things. When she returned, she found the woman.”

Dash, still standing at the sideboard, sipped from his own glass, then moved to sit beside his friend. Even on Lily’s worst days, Winston had remained unruffled. A maid’s hysterics shouldn’t have discomposed him so. “Go on. What happened next?”

“Mrs. Penrose and I followed the maid to the kitchen. Cook was bawling—staff were running in all directions. I saw a woman—I saw her—Melwyn—lying on the floor. Dishes, broken crockery all around her. I don’t know if she dropped a tray when she fell ill, or if she broke them in her—in her death throes.”

Winston swallowed hard. “She’d been sick Dash. All over herself, the floor—the stench, oh God Dash. You can’t imagine the stench.”

Had the situation not been so serious, Dash would’ve smiled. Poor Winston, with his weak stomach, to have been witness to such a scene. No wonder he looked so shaken. “Forget the odor, Winston. Just tell me the rest. The staff is in my parlor with ready access to my spirits. I need to go to them.”

Winston looked up, giving Dash a wan smile, then sipped his whiskey again. His smile faded. “Dash. I thought—that is to say—Melwyn is, or rather was, a blonde. I thought—dear God Dash, I thought it was Jessa.”

Dash leapt to his feet, his heart pounding. He’d been raced home, terrified Jessa might be in danger. “Where is she, Winston?”

“We put her in the little room off the kitchen. It didn’t seem right to leave her lying there on the floor like that, in—in all that—that mess.”

Dash grabbed Winston’s shoulders, shaking him. “Not Melwyn, God rest her soul. I meant Jessa. Where is she? I didn’t see her when I came in.”

Winston shook his head, blinking owlishly at Dash. “Miss Palmer? You’re right, of course. I didn’t see her there. I haven’t seen her at all today. Perhaps she’s with Holly?”

Dash yanked open the study door. “Winston, go to the parlor. Try to get the staff in some semblance of order. Have you sent anyone for the doctor, to confirm how she died?” Winston shook his head. “Well send someone now. Though God only knows what good it will do, as you’ve moved the girl. The mess has been cleaned up, I suppose?”

Winston nodded. “That was Cook’s doing. Said the mess couldn’t be left there. Frankly, at that point, I didn’t care.” He clutched his stomach, as if remembering the smell. “I’m sorry Dash. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Well, you’d better start thinking now. Deal with the staff. Send someone for the doctor. And to notify her family. Gossip flies faster than a hawk. I’m going to go check on Holly and see if Jessa is with her.”

Dash took the stairs two at a time, racing down the hall to Holly’s room.
Please God, let them be safe
. He stopped outside his daughter’s door to compose himself. It wouldn’t do any good to upset her. He entered without knocking.

Holly sat on the floor, playing with one of her dolls. Her nursemaid, Gwenna, stood at the window, her back to the room. From her drooping shoulders and bent posture, she’d been told of Melwyn’s death. At least the girl had sense enough to hide her tears from Holly.

“Papa!” Holly jumped to her feet, running to Dash, her arms out, wanting to be picked up.