Her Ladyship's Companion (22 page)

The time to act was now. Secretly. They mustn’t be given time to plot. She’d go to Harold’s room. Melissa blew out the candle. She opened the door and crept into the dark hall. If only she could make Harold appreciate the seriousness of the situation. He had to be made to understand that sympathy was not enough in this case; he would have to do something.

The absolute darkness in the hall disoriented her a little. She fumbled forward. No, she wasn’t going correctly. That was a wall. Melissa ran her fingertips lightly along the wall to guide her.

She went a few steps. Then the carpeting changed abruptly, and Melissa stumbled. She fell forward against a pedestal. Some fool had put a glass ornament on it. In the endless moment after she knew it was too late she had time to feel the smooth, cold glass figurine slip through her fingers. It crashed to the floor with a noise louder than all the church bells in London.

Where was she? Where else? Directly in front of the library. Most definitely her guardian angel was not on duty tonight.

Her last hope vanished as the door of the library opened. Giles and Sir Adrian had returned from the cellars unheard and in record time. She was trapped in the shaft of light, there amid the ruins of some ridiculous broken clown figure and the overturned pedestal. Silhouetted by the firelight, in the doorway, stood the two of them, huge, shadowy figures staring out at her. She stood paralyzed, fatalistically ready to accept whatever happened to her. There was no point in trying to run.

Sir Adrian spoke first. It was probably not the first time he’d been confronted by young ladies in their nightdress creeping along the halls after dark. “Miss Rivenwood,” he said gently, “whatever are you doing here at this hour?”

What lie to tell? Never had Melissa’s mind responded so sluggishly. And never had she needed her wits about her more.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. That would buy her time. It had the merit of being true, even obvious. “I ... I had the headache.” That also was true. Her head, if not aching, certainly felt odd, as if it were stuffed with cotton wool. There she stopped, invention failing her.

“So you came down for medicine,” Sir Adrian finished for her smoothly. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Oh, God. He knew. She met his sinister dark eyes and had no doubt of it. He knew she’d come down to check the laudanum bottle. But she had to remember. She’d found it full. She had no suspicions that hadn’t been lulled. That was the way to play it, a woman feeling a little foolish. Yes. And shy at being found in her nightclothes.

She pulled her robe over her breasts more securely. She couldn’t know how pale her face was or how her hands betrayed her by trembling. “I couldn’t sleep,” she repeated. “I thought … I was so tired, you see. I made a mistake.” She didn’t have to pretend to be stumbling over her words. She couldn’t help it. “But it wasn’t so. I feel so stupid.”

“And your candle?” Sir Adrian prompted gently, making whatever he would out of her disjointed words.

Candle. Yes, why
was
she in the dark without a candle?

“It blew out in a draft,” she improvised. “I couldn’t find a light. The fire was too low.” She had never been any great hand at lying, she agonized fleetingly.

“You’re pale as a ghost,” Giles said with concern, coming toward her. She didn’t flinch away from him, but it took all her self-control. He lifted one of her reluctant hands. “And your hands are like ice. Whatever possessed you to come wandering through the halls in that flimsy outfit? And nothing on your feet.” He touched her shoulder. “Ye gods, you’re drenched through to the skin again. You must be mad. Come over here to the fire.”

Melissa was shakingly afraid of them. But with one on either side, urging her into the room, she was unable to escape. She fought down the panicked impulse to fight loose and run. That would be disaster. She had to bluff her way through. “Please, no,” she pleaded as she was borne into the library. “I’ll just go up to my own room. I’ll be quite all right.”

“Nonsense,” Sir Adrian objected. “You look as though you’re about to faint.”

Melissa felt that way, too.

“Sit,” Giles ordered. He reached for the brandy decanter on the tray and poured her a healthy jot into a bowl-shaped glass. He put it into her hand. “This will fix you right up,” he promised. “Something in the way of being special.” He watched her closely.

What sort of betrayal was he looking for in her face? “I don’t want it,” Melissa argued. “Really. I don’t care for brandy. It would be wasted on me.”

“Stop making a fuss, Miss Rivenwood,” Giles ordered. “This is no time for these airs. You’re rattling with shivers. After you drink that, I’ll take you upstairs. We’ve got to get you into bed before you come down with something.”

“Quite,” Sir Adrian agreed. He was leaning against the table, smiling down at her like a cat.

Melissa, with the promise of escape from these monsters held out in front of her, made the best work she could of choking down the liquor. It tasted like something with which to clean boots, but then, good or bad, it always did. Maybe it wasn’t poisoned after all. When she attempted to push the glass away half finished, she was prevented by Giles. So, willy-nilly, she finished the whole. It was the easiest way out. Besides, when her eyes were on the glass, she could look away from Giles. She didn’t have to see that look of warmth and caring on his face, knowing it was all false. The enormity of his duplicity made her senses reel.

By the time she’d downed all the brandy her senses were reeling in truth. The drink had hit her empty stomach like a cannon shell. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes for a minute. It was an exceedingly soft chair, but it showed an alarming tendency to spin around. She caught hold of it with one hand that felt curiously numb and distant. After a while Giles removed the glass from her other hand. He turned her face gently toward the candles to study it, then let it fall back to the cushion.

“She’s out like a light,” he said wonderingly. “Must be exhausted.”

“Or feverish?” Sir Adrian asked. Could it have been worry in his voice? “Better get her upstairs.”

“Doesn’t feel feverish. Little idiot. Her hair’s still damp.” Giles laid his hand on her forehead. “How the devil did she get soaked through again?” Melissa heard their voices as if from a long way off. “And why’s she gone like this? I didn’t give her that much.”

“It’s that damn brandy, Giles. First that wretched reputable stuff and now liquid thunder. Believe I’ll have another myself.”

“It certainly argues she’s led a sober existence, doesn’t it? No head for alcohol, that’s certain.”

“Assuredly.” Adrian lifted one of her hands and let it flop nervelessly back to the chair. “It’s real,” he said matter-of-factly. “You know, old chap, I’ve always wondered about the secret of your success with women. Now I know. You must send me a bottle of it. Tally-ho then. Let’s get the young lady up to bed. Must say, unusual experience for me, bringing a girl upstairs unconscious. How you do widen my horizons, Giles.”

“Will you shut your mouth, Adrian?”

Melissa scarcely noticed when Giles lifted her carefully up into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. Her mind, confused by the brandy and even more by the potent ingredients of the cook’s tisane, knew only that her fear and anxiety were gone. She felt heavenly, warm and secure. It was certainly not with her sane, rational mind that she snuggled contentedly into Giles’s arms, her cheek moving caressingly along his sleeve. Had she known, she would have been horrified. She would have been shocked when he slipped off her robe and laid her down on the bed, then toweled her hair gently dry. But she was lost in a dream. In her sleep she smiled, and when, at last, he pulled the covers over her and left her, she fell down, down into dreamless darkness and knew nothing at all further that night.

Chapter 17

...
position, secured for you at great difficulty. After this show of blatant ingratitude you need expect no further aid from
me.

Excerpt from the letter of the Reverend Gregory Rivenwood to Melissa Rivenwood, July 10, 1818

Melissa was awakened by Betty, bringing in tea. The maid approached cautiously, uncertain whether to awaken her, but Melissa was dragged out of heavy slumber by some unformulated, urgent imperative in the back of her mind. She sat up. Groaning, she looked out the window. The storm had broken. Bright sunlight streamed in. She clutched her head. It ached abominably. Her nose was stuffy, and the inside of her mouth tasted foul.

Betty set the tea down next to her. “I hope you feel better this morning,” she said, watching Melissa anxiously. “Robbie’s quite recovered. Dr. Cathcart was by to see him early this morning and says he’s going to be out of bed by tomorrow. But we none of us would want you to be the one to suffer for it, you being the one who found him and all.”

Memory flooded back. Robbie. Listening at the window in the library. Giles planning to kill the boy. The absolute necessity of reaching Harold and getting Robbie away to safety.

“Good
God!” she exclaimed. “How long have I been asleep?”

“It’s short of noon,” Betty said complacently. “I knew you needed your sleep. Sleep’s the best medicine. That’s the cook’s tisane does that. Got laudanum in it. Works every time. I must say,” she went on, not at all noticing Melissa’s look of stark dismay, “it seems to have done you a world of good. You have much better color this morning, if I do say so.”

Melissa sprang up, throwing the bedcovers aside. She ignored the pounding in her head determinedly, but the world was an exceedingly painful place. Cold water from the basin helped a little. Then she dressed. It became a major undertaking just to tie herself into her damp shoes.

“Tell me quickly,” she demanded. “Where’s Mr. Bosworth?” She saw Betty standing there perplexed and, more important, silent, and she infused more authority into her voice. “Don’t just stand there. Where is he?”

“Well, miss, I’m sure I couldn’t say exactly. He walked out toward the north preserve with Mr. Tarsin after breakfast, that I do know. But whether he came back in or not, that’s a different matter. But no, I think not. I would have heard,” followed by interminable detail of the respective duties of various maids and why Betty would have heard.

Was it Harold’s turn to be the victim of an accident? Melissa wondered. She might already be too late. She ran from the room, leaving a puzzled Betty behind her. She took the steps two at a time. There was no sign of anyone in the gardens. She’d try the woods. She cut through the forest along one of the little paths and ran toward the cliffs. This was where Miss Coburn had fallen. She had a terrifying premonition that a second tragedy had been enacted there today.

Her hair straggled in elflocks down her neck and flew behind her as she raced blindly down the path to the sea. Abruptly she ran into a man blocking the path. Her heart leaped into her throat. She thought it was Giles. Then she gasped in relief. It was Harold, at last.

“Mr. Bosworth!” she panted, clinging to his coat. “I’ve found you, thank God. I had to find you to tell you.” She took several deep breaths. “He’s going to do something terrible unless you stop him. Robbie’s in great danger.”

Harold, not unnaturally, stepped back in some confusion from the uncivilized spectacle the girl was creating. He demanded sharply, “What are you doing here? What do you want?” He held her at arm’s length and stared at her suspiciously.

“I’m looking for you,” she babbled. “I must warn you. Listen to me. Those accidents Robbie’s been having, the fire, the robbery, and … and his fall yesterday, they aren’t accidents. Giles has been trying to murder him. Do you understand? You’ve got to help me. We’ve got to get Robbie away from here. I’ve got to put you on your guard.”

“On my guard?” Harold echoed strangely. Melissa saw the look on his face, and her heart lifted. Maybe this was not such a broken reed to lean upon. There was a glimpse of something steely under the vague, soft exterior. “On my guard?” he repeated. His eyes wandered over her shoulder and searched the empty path behind her. “I’m always on my guard against him. You don’t need to tell me about that.”

“You mean, you know?” Melissa was bewildered. “But how long have you known? Why haven’t you done anything to protect Robbie? He could have been killed last night!”

Was Harold so weak and thoughtless that he’d allowed a murderer to have charge of the boy all this time? She was indignant. Then she realized that he must have misunderstood her. No wonder. She forced herself to calm down and speak collectedly. “They plan to kill Robbie. I found out only last night. I was in the housekeeper’s room, and I heard Sir Adrian and Giles talking in the library. That’s what I’m trying to say. Do you understand? Do you believe me?”

“I believe you,” he said simply. Hope was dawning in Melissa’s heart. He couldn’t have taken her news any better. Between the two of them they’d save Robbie.

“I have proof,” she said. “I mean, not solid proof exactly. But I’m not making any mistake. They are trying to kill him. It’s not just something I’m making up. The robber was there with them, the man who robbed our coach. They were paying him off to keep him from talking. I heard the whole thing. They’d planned for him to shoot Robbie during the holdup, but he changed his mind. So last night they gave him money—”

Harold interrupted in a strange voice. “You actually heard them talking to the robber? Here? At Vinton?” His calm broke. Melissa thought he’d finally realized what she was talking about. “That’s impossible,” he said. His chin gobbled up and down in denial.

“I swear to you, I heard them. Giles gave the man money to go away. Any hour now, any moment, they may get through to Robbie and kill him. They’ve already killed Miss Coburn. And last night they … They mentioned you. They said you mustn’t find out what they were planning. When I heard you’d gone out this morning with Giles, I was afraid he might already have tried to do something to you.” Melissa grabbed his coat frantically. By sheer force of will she had to convince him. He had to get Robbie to safety. Let him not fail her now. “Robbie is in terrible danger! You’re the only one who can do anything about it. There’s no one else I can turn to.”