Her Officer and Gentleman (24 page)

“He met my mother.”

“She would have nothing to do with him as he was married. He ceased all contact with her, but he was never the same after that. He withdrew more and more. Charlotte was desperate for his attention. I truly believe she—”

“My lord?” Jameson stood in the open doorway, his face drawn with concern. “Lady Elizabeth is not in the house.”

“Did you look in the garden?”

“We have searched the garden and the cellars. She is nowhere to be found.”

Christian took a step forward. “Where can she be?”

“Nor,” Jameson said in a voice heavy with meaning, “can we find Lady Charlotte.”

Christian relaxed. “Then Beth is with Charlotte.”

Beth’s grandfather struggled to his feet. “Yes,” he said harshly. “She is with Charlotte. We must go after them!”

Christian frowned. “But why—” A chilled thought settled in his brain, freezing him in place for a moment. Suddenly, he saw it all. “It was Charlotte. She also knew my mother.”

“She ingratiated herself into your mother’s company after she discovered where my son’s true passion was. Charlotte can be very charming. She wrote her letters, pretended to be your mother’s best friend.”

“She is ‘Sinclair.’”

“Her grandmother’s name, one of the old Sinclairs.” The duke was already limping toward the door, his cane in hand. “We must hurry. She is not to be trusted—” His foot caught at the edge of the rug and he fell forward.

Christian caught him before the old man could truly fall. The duke’s hands clutched at Christian’s coat and the old man’s eyes met his. Tears welled in them. “You must catch up to them. Charlotte—she is not well.”

“Not well?”

“She is not well. Ask Bennington. He knows all about her, though it has not stopped him from making a cake of himself. He loves her though she is mad.”

Christian’s heart tumbled. “Mad?”

“Completely.”

Christian turned to Jameson. “Are any of the carriages gone?”

“No, my lord. And all of the horses are still stabled.”

“Then send out the men, all of them! Have them scour the grounds. They can’t be far.”

He led the duke to a chair, then turned to go.

The duke caught his arm. “You need to know what she is like. What she is capable of. Charlotte was the one who was corresponding with the
French. She’d been doing it for some time, simply to gain extra funds to maintain herself. She took her own letters and copied them, forging your mother’s handwriting. Then she delivered them to the king, pretending she’d found them while assisting your mother with some invitations to a dinner party. Since it was widely known Charlotte was close to your mother, no one questioned a word of the story.”

“You knew this?”

The duke’s eyes filled with tears. “I knew what had happened the day after they arrested your mother.”

Christian’s heart hardened. “Why did you not tell someone the truth?”

“You must understand. If I had exposed Charlotte, our family name would have been sullied. I wrote instead to your father, told him what had happened. He had the position and wealth to save her.” Anguish passed over the duke’s face. “I didn’t realize he was out of the country until it was too late. She was already ill. I-I went to visit her, but even I could see—” The duke shook his head. “There was no reason to sully our family name as her time on earth was to be so short.”

Christian swallowed a swell of bitter emotion. “We will discuss this later. I must find Beth.”

The duke collected himself with an effort. “Yes, yes! If Charlotte decides Beth will harm her position, embarrass her in any way, which asking about your mother would—”

“Where could they be?”

“I don’t know! They didn’t take the carriage, so it
must be near. Charlotte wanders all over the place, too.” The duke brightened. “The ruin! There’s an old ruin by the lake. Charlotte is forever there. You go through the garden and over the back drive. You can see it from there—”

The duke stopped talking, for there was no one else in the room but him; Christian was already running through the house, his boots thudding as he found his way to the back terrace doors.

B
eth paused at the edge of the clearing. The old ruins stood to one side, stately and vine-ridden against the side of the lake. Many people built their own ruins, trying to emulate fallen Greek temples and the like, but Massingale House boasted a real ruin, one of Roman design, and just as intriguing.

“I haven’t been here in months,” Beth said as they neared the ruin.

Charlotte led the way, lifting her skirts from the tall grass. “Hurry!” she called over her shoulder.
“It is going to rain. I don’t wish to be caught in it.”

Beth followed, almost running. She wished Charlotte would not go quite so fast, but she supposed that with the weather hanging over their heads in such a threatening manner, it was a good thing. It was long past the time for the truth to be revealed, come what may. She steeled herself and increased her pace.

Charlotte veered to one side as they came closer to the ruin. “It’s in here.” She disappeared around the corner of the building.

Beth followed, coming to a halt a second later. “Charlotte!”

“Down here.” Charlotte’s voice drifted up from the wine cellar that had been dug to one side of the ancient portico.

Beth went down the stone steps to the heavy door, a thick musty odor rising to meet her. The door was much smaller than a normal one, and she had to duck a little as she went.

Charlotte was there, in the back of the room, kneeling before a dusty shelf and feeling about for something.

“I have never been in this place.”

“The gardeners once used it to store their extra things, but since your grandfather built the new hothouse, they never come here.” Charlotte glanced back over her shoulder. “I love Massingale House. I believe I have been in every nook and cranny.”

“I love it, too,” Beth replied, stung a little by the implied criticism. “But I am not addicted to crawling into such small places as this.”

“Ah!” Charlotte pulled forth a small, leather-wrapped bundle. “Here it is!” She held it out to Beth.

Beth took the bundle and fell to her knees. Inside the leather pouch came the unmistakable jangle of metal and jewels. Slowly, she opened the pouch and gasped. A sapphire and silver filigreed necklace lay in her hands. Even in the small light coming from the partially open door, it was obvious that the piece was of master workmanship. The silver chain was intricately formed, generous pearls threaded between some of the most breathtaking sapphires she’d ever seen. But the most beautiful thing about the necklace was the large teardrop sapphire that hung from the center. “Oh Charlotte, it’s beautiful. How on earth did you end up with this—”

A scraping sound shattered her sentence. The room was plunged into black.

Beth leaped to her feet, the necklace forgotten as she frantically tried to make her way to the door. She ran into a broken crate, her shins smarting painfully before her hands found the door frame.
“Charlotte!”

From the other side of the door came the unmistakable sound of laughter.

Beth placed her hands to the door and shoved with all her might, but the door did not move.

“Charlotte!”

“Don’t even try! It is closed forever!” Charlotte said, her voice unusually crisp and clear.

Beth stepped back, trying to breathe, think,
do.
“Charlotte! The door—”

“Is locked. I will only be here a few moments and then I shall return to Massingale House and tell everyone you went for a walk beyond the grounds and that you were plainly distraught. After I leave, no one will find you. You will die here, alone and away from everyone you love. Even Westerville, though he will forget you soon enough.”

Beth pressed a hand over her mouth. “Charlotte, you cannot mean that.”

“Oh, but I do.” Charlotte gave a laugh that was not quite steady. “Beth, you want to turn your grandfather against me, to remind him of my mistakes, mistakes I paid for already, so many years ago—”

“Mistakes?” Beth leaned against the heavy wooden door, pushing with all her might. Christian would come looking for her. She knew he would. If she could just keep Charlotte talking, it would draw him to this place.

Her heart sank. It was thin reasoning. But it was all she had. She thought furiously. “Charlotte…you were the one who turned false evidence against Christian’s mother.”

“I put that witch where she needed to be! I had her locked away forever where men wouldn’t fall for her sick beauty. Yes, that was me. You did not know her, but she was evil, always entrancing men and then leaving them.”

Beth pressed her forehead to the smooth, cool door. “Wait? Father
cared
for her?”

“He was mad for her! But she would have nothing to do with him. Nothing! Before she came along, he loved me. Or was beginning to; I could
tell. When he grew ill, he needed me. I thought he’d finally realized we were meant to be together. Instead, the more ill he became, the more he called for her. It was as if I didn’t even exist.” Charlotte’s voice cracked on the last word.

Beth winced. That was just like her father, she thought. He’d always been so wrapped up in himself, in his own world. “You discovered how he felt about Christian’s mother and you forged the false evidence.”

“Oh, it was not that simple. I had to find a way into her life, be seen as her best friend. Everyone thought we were inseparable. She called me Sinclair, which is my family name, and I called her Titania, after the fairy queen. She thought that a compliment, but it was not.”

“Why did you bother with all of that?”

“To learn her handwriting. I had to change the letters to make them look like hers. Also, if I was her best friend, who would think I was lying when I was sadly forced to turn over evidence I’d ‘found’ in her desk?”

Beth turned her back to the door and squinted into the cellar. She had to think. She didn’t recall a window, but…was there a vent of some sort? A small one, even? She began to walk around the room blindly, running her hands up and down the walls. “You were very clever, Charlotte,” she called loudly. “Cleverer than I thought you could be.”

“No one ever pays me the least heed. Usually I like it that way, though I do not like it when your grandfather thinks me stupid. That makes me mad.”

“It would make me mad, too. How did he find out about everything?” Beth tripped over something in the dark, her leg banging painfully against a sharp edge. She reached down, blindly feeling for the object. It was a cask. Hope lifted and she turned it on its side, grunting a bit as she did so. Perhaps she could stand on it and—

A thud sounded as something hit the door.

Beth paused. “What’s that?”

“I thought perhaps I should cover this door. Just in case someone comes looking for you.”

“They will hear me scream.”

“Not unless they stand right where I am, leaning against the wood.” Another thud hit the door.

Beth gritted her teeth and stood on the cask, groping along the high part of the wall for an opening of some sort, swiping aside cobwebs and centuries of dust. Where was the opening? Where was—Ah! Her fingers brushed a small indentation in the wall.

It was a small opening, barely large enough for her fingers to fit through. It was small, but perhaps it would be enough. “Charlotte? How does grandfather know your secrets?”

There was a pause in noise outside. “What?” Another thud hit the door.

“I asked how Grandfather discovered your secrets?”

“Lord Bennington. He found out what happened and told everything to your grandfather. Between them, they decided the best thing to do in order to stifle any possible scandal was to lock me away.”

Bennington knew? Beth couldn’t see the staid lord keeping company with a woman he thought guilt of such duplicity. She ran her hands along the thin slit in the wall that was way over her head, her fingers barely brushing it. It was filled with decades of muck, mold and debris. Some of it rained down on her as she tried to dig it open, but she ducked her head and kept her hands busy. If she could get it open enough, perhaps she could tear some of her skirt and hang it from the window to draw attention. It was a pale plan, but all she had.

Meanwhile, she had to keep Charlotte busy. “Charlotte, how did Bennington discover what had happened?”

“He found some of the practice letters I’d forged. It was horrible, that night. Especially after he forced me to tell your grandfather everything.”

Outside the door, noise continued. “What are you doing out there?”

“You’ll see,” Charlotte answered in far too calm a tone.

Beth bit her lip. Even standing on tiptoe, she was too short to really clean out the slit. She needed a tool of some sort. She climbed off the cask and sank to her knees, then began blindly stretching out, looking for something she could use. Her fingers sifted through straw and dirt. Finally her fingers closed over a wooden peg that probably had once been hammered into the wall to hang herbs. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

“What are you doing in there?” Charlotte asked suspiciously.

“Wondering why my father did not value you as he ought. That is criminal.”

“It is more than that,” Charlotte said, clearly miffed. “I was the perfect wife for him. I was young and able to have a child and I loved him so much.”

“That was his loss.”

Another thud against the door rang through the room. “He didn’t love me.”

“He was very sick.”

Beth pressed her hands together, trying to make them stop shaking.
I have to do this. I cannot let Charlotte win again. For myself. For Christian. For Father.
With superhuman effort, Beth dashed the tears from her eyes, picked up the stick, and began digging at the opening with renewed effort.

“Charlotte? What are you doing?”

Beth paused. It was Lord Bennington! She ran to the door and pounded her fist, but all it did was bruise her flesh on the hard wood. “Bennington! Help me! Charlotte has trapped me in here and I cannot—”

“Charlotte! What have you—”

“She knew about what I did to Westerville’s mother.”

There was a long silence.

“Bennington!” Beth shouted again. “Please help me!”

A muted sigh was heard. “Charlotte, I cannot allow you to do this.”

“If I don’t, she will tell the world of her suspicions and I will end up in gaol. Is that what you want? Me in gaol?”

“No, no. Of course not. But to do this—Charlotte, I cannot allow—”

There was a dull thwack and then a tremendous weight thudded against the door. Bennington’s voice was not heard again.

Beth turned away, a hand on her stomach where it roiled. God give her strength, but she didn’t know what to do. She dropped back to her knees. A signal. That’s what she needed. Her fingers closed over the stick she’d found. If she could light this and stick it out the window, there was a chance someone from the house might see the smoke.

Beth’s heart leaped. But just as quickly as she felt the spring of hope, a new fear entered. Smoke was seeping into the room already, but from
under
the door.

Charlotte had caught the door on fire. The small vent was pulling the smoke now, filling the room with the fetid thickness.

“Beth, I am going to leave now! At least you won’t die alone. Bennington is here to keep you company.”

Beth could barely make out Charlotte’s voice. It came as if from a long way away. Beth covered her mouth with the edge of her damp skirt, her eyes burning. She was not going to die of hunger after all.

Eyes filling with tears, Beth looked around her. What was she going to do now?
Christian, hurry!

Christian ran down the terrace steps and tore through the garden. His gaze was drawn to the bench where he’d once kissed Beth.
Do not look. Do not slow down
. He reached the small gate in the back and threw it open.

Charlotte stood in the opening. Her gown was soaked, bits of leaves and bark clung to her. A slightly dazed look was on her face, a streak of black down one cheek.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Where is she?”

“Someone took her! We were walking down the road and—”

He shook her roughly. “Damn you to hell! You will tell me where she is or I’ll—”

From over her shoulder, he saw it. A thin trickle of smoke. It climbed up the sky and disappeared into the gray clouded air.

Christian pulled Charlotte close and spoke through clenched teeth. “If she is harmed, you will be next and by God, no force on earth will save you then.”

He threw her from him and raced on, covering the ground in great strides, branches whipping at him, cutting his cheeks and neck, though he felt nothing. All he knew was that Beth was within reach.

He stopped when he reached the ruin. The thin line of smoke had thickened now, great puffs billowing up to fill the sky.

“Bloody hell!” He ran to the back of the ruin and came to a halt. Before him was a steep incline
rimmed by a set of stone stairs—a cellar of some sort. Down the stairs was a pile of brush higher than his head. The brush smoldered and crackled, fire licking higher and higher.

“Beth!” he called.

No answer came. He tried to fight his way closer, but the now-thick smoke began to curl at him. Coughing, he took off his coat and turned, running to the lake. He soaked it, then ran back to the cellar. Wrapping his arm in the coat, he began knocking the large pieces of burning wood from the door.

“My lord?”

He turned to find Jameson and the footman, Charles, their faces flushed from running.

“More water! Now!”

Jameson nodded, turning to run toward the lake, peeling off his coat as he went; Charles followed behind him. Christian’s coat was drying now, the heat from the burning wood searing his hands.

“Beth!” he called desperately, his arms aching with the effort.

As if from far away, he thought he heard an answer. He paused, then yelled again, but no other answer was forthcoming. Christian clenched his teeth and looped his coat over a burning log and tugged it, yanking it from the pile and out of the way. As he did so, he noticed a boot at the bottom of the stack of wood. His heart sank. It was a man’s boot.
Bennington.