Emerald Garden (48 page)

“Lancelot’s claws,” Brandi breathed. “He attacked Hendrick, didn’t he?”

“Yes. I didn’t see the damage firsthand because Hendrick wore gloves when he visited the next day. So I have only gut instinct to go on. But that gut instinct is screaming that my loyal family solicitor is guilty as sin. Now all we need is evidence.” Quentin fell silent, then abruptly bolted to his feet. “I’m going to the cottage to fetch Father’s note.”

“You’ve thought of something,” Brandi submitted. “Is it about the strongbox?”

“Yes.”

“You needn’t go to the cottage. I tucked both notes Kenton left you in Papa’s ledger.” Reaching over, she withdrew them.

“Excellent.” Quentin unfolded Kenton’s stilted message, pacing as he pored over the words. “Here.” He came to a dead halt. “The answer is staring us in the face. We just didn’t know where to look, not without all the facts. Tell me, if Father did discover Desmond’s ugly deeds and, as a result, amended his will, what changes do you suppose it would reflect?”

“I assume Kenton would strip Desmond of any portion of the estate he feared he’d destroy: the title, the businesses—everything but the family name.”

“Making me heir to the dukedom.”

Brandi frowned. “Even though you’d loathe the idea, yes.”

“And making Colverton my home. Leaving Emerald Manor virtually unoccupied—a perfect hiding place for Father’s strongbox.”

Swiftly, Brandi rose, walking around to stand beside Quentin and read Kenton’s letter. “Yes. It fits perfectly. ‘Flourish’ and ‘implant’—allusions to Emerald Manors garden.”

“And the references to gems that we assumed meant only the strongbox—those point to Emerald Manor as well.” Quentin’s palm sliced the air. “Damn it, now it all comes together. The day of our wedding, Herbert said something to me about Father making solitary visits to the cottage. Just a few times, and just prior to his death.”

“He must have been seeking a place to conceal his strongbox.” Brandi gripped her husband’s arm. “Quentin, I know Emerald Manor better than anyone. If Kenton hid the box here, I have the best chance of determining where. Tell me what else Herbert said.”

“Only that Mother’s love for the cottage must have been catching, thus inspiring Father’s visits.”

“I’m right. I know I am.” Brandi scanned the plush flower beds surrounding them. “The gardens. Kenton’s references to Emerald Manor all pertain to them. Pamela spent every moment puttering in them. And Herbert virtually lived in them. If he observed Kenton’s visits, it was here, not in the cottage itself. He rarely set foot inside, other than for meals. Not to mention the fact that Mrs. Collins and the rest of the staff, though modest in number, dart from one room to another all day long. ’Twould be impossible for Kenton to find an opportunity or a location to secrete the strongbox.”

“Then when Father says ‘seeing beyond the surface’—”

“He means that he buried the strongbox in the garden.”

Restlessly, Quentin surveyed the manicured lawns. “But where do we begin? We have acres to search. For the first time I wish I hadn’t sent the staff away. If Herbert were here he would remember precisely where he saw Father. I’ll have to ride to the inn and question him.”

“I’m trying to think,” Brandi murmured. “Where did Herbert spend most of his time? The hedges near the north end of the cottage are a possibility, although lately they’ve been thriving and thus required very little of his efforts. The rock garden.” She pointed in its direction. “That would be a good guess. Herbert and I spent a week supplying and arranging new stones after I drenched the old ones with stream water.”

“We’ll search there before I go. Where else, Sunbeam? Where else did you and Herbert work, beside the rock garden?”

“Everywhere.” Brandi made an exasperated sound. “Herbert took great pride in keeping the gardens flourishing. To accomplish that, he seldom confined himself to one area unless there was a particular problem. Which there rarely was. Except for those geraniums.” She gestured toward the box of wilting flowers beside the gazebo. “They’ve been causing Herbert such aggravation. Pamela and I planted them just before she died. They’ve never thrived, no matter how hard Herbert tried to …” Brandi broke off, her eyes widening with realization. “Quentin …”

Quentin was already in motion, swinging off the gazebo to look closely at the drooping blossoms. “I can’t tell anything from a glance. Other than the fact that the area’s been recently spaded. But, since Herbert’s obviously been replanting, that in itself divulges nothing.”

“He only digs directly around and beneath the flower bed,” Brandi murmured, darting down the steps and squatting beside her husband. “But what about the area surrounding it?” Her trained eye searched carefully. “There.” She poked Quentin, indicating a tiny, irregular patch of earth five feet away. “ ’Tis barely noticeable. But someone has definitely spaded here. Not too recently.” She raised her head, her gaze locking with Quentin’s. “But not too long ago either. Quentin, it would explain everything. Kenton’s strongbox was elaborately painted. If he buried it here and the paint leached into the ground, it would doubtless contaminate the soil and kill the geraniums. No matter how often they were replanted, they would come into contact with the poisonous soil and die.”

“That’s all I need.” Quentin stood. “Where are your garden tools?”

“In the shed near the cottage. I’ll get them.” She was on her feet and running all in one motion. “There’s a shovel behind the gazebo,” she instructed over her shoulder. “You can start.”

“Good.” Staring after her, Quentin frowned, accosted by that same sense of foreboding he’d experienced four years ago in this very spot. He’d been right then. Was he right now?

Fear—stark, irrational—clawed at his gut.

“Brandi!” he shouted after her.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she called, disappearing from view.

Trying to shake his ominous feeling, Quentin walked around and fetched the shovel. Swiftly, he began to dig.

The area had, without question, been recently disturbed. Quentin’s pounding heart accelerated. What had his father buried? What was the proof that had pushed Hendrick over the edge?

A branch snapped behind him, and Quentin jerked about.

“By all means, keep digging,” Hendrick directed affably, his pistol cocked and aimed at Quentin’s head. “ ’Tis a pleasure to let someone else complete my task. I must admit, I was becoming, not only tired, but despondent. After an hour of ransacking your cottage, I’d found nary a clue to the location of Kenton’s strongbox. I should have guessed your brilliant mind would do my thinking for me.”

“So.” Quentin lowered his shovel. “It was you.”

“Who murdered your parents? Indeed it was. But, in my own defense, I must tell you I meant only for Kenton to die. The others …” He shrugged. “A tragedy, to be sure. Actually, if I’m to be completely candid, I never intended to kill anyone. Your father, however, is the most tenacious man I’ve ever met. Had he only left well enough alone, he’d be alive today.” Hendrick’s eyes narrowed. “Dig.”

Dutifully, Quentin complied, calling upon every ounce of self-control he possessed. To go berserk right now would only result in immediate death. That would leave Brandi—and the strongbox—at Hendrick’s mercy. No. He had to keep the bastard talking long enough to devise a plan. “What did Father do to so enrage you?” Quentin scrambled for a starting point. “Was it the fact that he hired an investigator?”

Hendrick gave a harsh laugh. “Garrety? Hardly. The dolt was as transparent as glass. The instant he arrived at my office requesting a list of contacts at the companies in which Kenton was investing, I easily hurled one obstacle after another in his path—ranging from businessmen’s fictitious trips abroad to company records being updated.

“No, Quentin, the problem wasn’t Garrety. It was Kenton himself. While I entertained his dimwitted investigator, he delved into other avenues. Dangerous ones. How many tête-à-têtes with colleagues and friends do you think it took for him to deduce that the discrepancies were not only in his records but in the records of over a dozen men? Discrepancies that, though I was careful to keep minimal on an individual basis, totaled a sizable sum?” Hendrick’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Not one of those filthy rich noblemen would miss several thousand pounds. Nor would any of them have suspected a thing. After all, they trust their solicitor. Except Kenton. Once he figured out I was the one aiding Desmond, he delved deeper and deeper. Not even the threatening note I sent frightened him off. I thought for sure, if only to protect Desmond, that he’d comply with my command and abandon his investigation. But he didn’t. Instead, he’d pressed on, his suspicions of me escalating by the day. The thought of spending the rest of my life in Newgate was distinctly unappealing. So, you see, I had no choice but to silence him.”

Pausing to wipe his sleeve across his brow, Quentin bit back his violent reply. “Why didn’t you wrest the evidence from Father before you killed him? Dead men aren’t terribly adept at supplying information.”

Impotent rage flashed across Hendrick’s face. “Don’t you think I would have if I knew it existed, you fool? I didn’t get your Father’s menacing note until it was too late. Kenton was dead, and I had no idea where his proof was hidden. Damn him to hell. If his missive had only reached my office
before
I sped off to Colverton, everything would have been perfect. I would have beaten the location of that dooming evidence out of him.
Then
I would have killed him on the spot, disposed of the body, and your mother and Denerley could have been spared. A most unfortunate twist of fate.”

“What was in this threatening note Father wrote you?”

Hendrick’s finger tightened on the trigger. “I’m not stupid. You’re stalling for time.” He glanced about the gardens. “Where is your lovely bride, by the way? I hope you’re not expecting
her
to rescue you?”

All Quentin’s restraint snapped.

“What have you done with Brandi, you son of a bitch?” Furiously, he tossed down the shovel. “You nearly killed her once. If you’ve so much as harmed one hair on her head …”

“Stop right there, Steel.” Hendrick’s eyes flashed. “I haven’t even seen your Brandice. Although I must say I find it amusing that you believe her capable of saving your life. Quentin Steel, famed war hero, awaits a twenty-year-old chit to wrench him from the hands of death. Well, nothing is going to prevent me from shooting you dead, despite all your brother’s sniveling attempts to the contrary. However, I suggest you dig quickly and effectively. In that way, I might be gone before Brandice comes looking for you, thus sparing her the same unhappy fate I intend for you. The choice is yours. But bear in mind that, this time, I won’t miss.”

“You bastard.” Quentin snatched up the shovel, the muscles in his arms standing out as he plunged it into the earth in hard, uncompromising strokes.

The sound of metal striking metal signified the attainment of his goal.

“Splendid,” Hendrick praised icily. “I’ll take over from here. Which means you’ve suddenly become expendable.” His finger closed on the trigger.

The shot rang out, slicing the air and finding its mark.

Hendrick’s scream echoed through the trees, and he dropped his gun, clutching his shoulder as blood spurted from between his fingers. He spun about, his wild stare finding Brandi where she stood, fifty feet away, her pistol still smoking. “You contemptible little hell cat!” Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he snatched up his weapon and raised it, simultaneously moving in Brandi’s direction. “I should have killed you the first time. I’ll teach you to …”

He never finished the sentence.

The onyx-handled knife slashed the skies, striking Hendrick dead-on, embedding itself in the center of his back.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

Quickly, Quentin strode over, seizing Hendrick’s pistol and leveling it at him as he verified that the solicitor was, in fact, dead.

Raising his head, Quentin found Brandi’s gaze.

He nodded.

She raced across the grass and flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Quentin, are you all right?”

For the second unlikely time, Quentin wanted to throw back his head in laughter.

“Yes, Sunbeam.” He enfolded her against him. “I’m fine. And so are you.”

Brandi drew back, white-faced, and stared incredulously into her husband’s eyes. “You nearly died. Why on earth are you grinning?”

“Because I love you. Because you’re incomparably, exquisitely beautiful. And because every time you ask if I’m all right, I feel suspiciously like you’ve stolen my line.” He kissed her, deeply. “It’s over, Sunbeam. At last, it’s over.”

So saying, he released her, walking over to the hole he’d dug and bending to lift the strongbox from its hiding place.

“I abandoned my gardening tools when I saw what Mr. Hendrick was about to do.” Brandi cast a shuddering glance at Hendrick’s body as she dug in her pocket. “But I do have the key.”

An instant later, they raised the strongbox lid, revealing a ledger and a stack of papers.

“I suspect all the proof we need is right here, Sunbeam. The records, I’m certain, contain Father’s accurate profits and losses. And the papers would have relegated Hendrick to Newgate for the rest of his days.”

“It certainly looks that way,” Brandi murmured, inspecting the pages. “From what I can make out, Kenton also documented the details of Hendrick’s spending habits. Based upon the blackguard’s lavish mode of living, he did more stealing than soliciting.”

Glancing at his father’s detailed notes, Quentin nodded. “The contents of this strongbox provide us with more than enough for Bow Street.”

“All that’s missing are these.”

Hearing Desmond’s voice, both Quentin and Brandi pivoted, staring.

Desmond sidestepped Hendrick’s body with but a flicker of revulsion, then walked toward them, proffering what appeared to be a legal document and a missive. “Father’s amended will and the message he sent Hendrick. The latter, I’m sure, will explain why Father feared for his life. It certainly clarified a few things in my mind—things of which I was stupidly unaware. In any case, I was with Hendrick when he decided to tear off to Emerald Manor to find Father’s strongbox. So I put myself to some use, staying in London and searching Hendrick’s desk until I located the key to his safe. Both these papers were inside.”