Lord Deverill's Secret (24 page)

“I understand,” she said.

The door opened and Matthew came out of the drawing-room.

“I’m sorry, the Prince commanded me to shoot and I had no choice,” he said to Cassandra.

“I know. I saw. It doesn’t matter. We’ve found who the villain is.”

Once they had told him, he nodded.

“I’ll occupy Goddard whilst you see Cassandra to the carriage,” he said to Justin. “Then we’ll take Goddard.”

“Agreed.”

They went back into the drawing-room. The Prince was becoming bored with his shooting game and there were signs that it was coming to an end. Anne was already heading towards the door, with Charles beside her.

“Justin, thank goodness. And Cassandra. I think it’s time we were going, before the Prince thinks of some other amusement.”

“I’ve already called for the carriage,” said Justin. “You’ll find it waiting for you.”

“What a relief!”

“I’ll take you out,” said Justin.

He offered Cassandra his arm.

Some of the other guests were beginning to leave. The Prince seemed happy for them to depart and was once more being the gracious host, bidding them farewell. Cassandra took her leave of him, and then went out to the waiting carriage. She settled herself down as Anne sat beside her, and Charles sat opposite her, then Justin closed the door. He bowed, bid them good night, and stepped back as the carriage pulled away.

“Well, that was a most unusual evening,” said Anne, as she settled herself back against the squabs. “I am glad to have seen the Pavilion, but I hope I may not have another invitation for a long while. How the Prince can find such spectacles entertaining I do not know.”

Cassandra agreed. Her evening at the Pavilion had not been at all what she had expected, but she had the satisfaction of knowing it had been successful. Mr. Goddard would soon be apprehended by Justin and Matthew. Tomorrow she would go back to her estate, and then…Then, despite everything that had passed between them, she found herself looking forward to seeing Justin again.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Tell me all about it,” said Maria the next morning, as she stripped off her gloves and untied the strings of her bonnet. “I mean to have the full story from you before you leave. You have no idea how envious I am! What was it like? Was it splendid, or was it vulgar? Was the Prince charming? What did you eat? What did you do?”

“It was splendid
and
vulgar,” said Cassandra, helping Maria off with her spencer. “I’ve never seen anything like it. There were dragons everywhere, and lanterns, and bamboo….”

Maria was agog as Cassandra told her all about the Pavilion’s lavish decorations, and she was positively astounded as Cassandra told her about the target practice.

“Well! I’d heard some strange things went on at the Pavilion, but this is too much. I used to long to go, but now I think I am content with the assembly rooms.”

“They are much more enjoyable, and much safer,” Cassandra agreed.

“And how was your dress received? Did you have any compliments?” asked Maria, as she settled herself on the chaise-longue.

“One or two,” Cassandra admitted, sitting next to her. “I was able to give Madame Joubier’s name to Lady Ackerling and Mrs. Pendowan, so she will be pleased.”

“She will indeed. Lady Ackerling is one of the best dressed ladies in Brighton and spends a fortune on her clothes.”

They spent the morning talking about the Prince and the Pavilion, with all its splendid guests. Maria demanded a full account of all the ladies’ clothes and Cassandra was happy to supply it, for it took her mind from other, less enjoyable, concerns.

At last Maria rose to take her leave.

“I wish you didn’t have to go back to the country,” she said. “Can’t I persuade you to stay?”

“No. The house is ready for sale and I’ve put it in the hands of my lawyers. Besides, Lizzie will be home this evening. I must be there in time to welcome her.”

“Then I must detain you no longer. But this won’t be your last trip to Brighton, Cassie. You must come and stay with us as often as you wish. We have plenty of room. Come at the end of the summer, before Lizzie goes back to the seminary, and of course you must bring her, too.”

“I’d like to, but I’ve been away from the estate for too long as it is. You must come and stay with us instead.”

It was arranged. In a few weeks’ time, Maria would swap the seaside for the country and enjoy the late summer on Cassandra’s estate.

Cassandra sighed as the door closed behind Maria. It was really happening. Her stay in Brighton was at its end. It should not bother her. Some terrible things had happened to her in Brighton, but there had also been some wonderful things…. Her thoughts turned to Justin. Her feelings for him had been in a state of almost constant turmoil since she had met him. Attraction and gratitude had developed into a desire to know more about him, from which had grown friendship, respect and trust. And then all those feelings had been swept aside by the desolate hollowness she had felt when she had learnt he had been in part responsible for her brother’s death. It had taken her into a valley of darkness, but she had come through it, climbing out of it as her need for Justin’s help had once more turned to friendship, trust and respect. And through those feelings something stronger had been threaded, something that made the thought of leaving him almost impossible to bear.

She would soon be seeing him again, she told herself. He would come to her estate and tell her who had paid Geoffrey Goddard to attack her. He would let her know that the villain had been apprehended, so that she would not have to fear being attacked again. But then…She had thought, at one time, he had feelings for her, but had they really been there, or had she imagined them, reading more into them than he felt? Matthew’s comments had led her to suspect that her feelings for Justin were returned, but did Matthew really know how Justin felt?

Shaking aside her gloomy thoughts she set about finishing her packing. John loaded the coach, Moll packed the hamper, she locked the door, and they were on their way.

Justin rode out of town towards a seedy lodging house some miles north of Brighton. Things had not gone according to plan the night before. Having returned to the drawing-room in the Pavilion, he had been unable to apprehend Geoffrey Goddard: the Prince had taken a fancy to the young man’s snuff box and the two had been deep in conversation. He had been forced to watch as they began drinking together, falling deeper and deeper into a drunken stupor as the night progressed. Knowing he would get no sense from Goddard in such a state, Justin had been content to follow him from the Pavilion in the small hours of the morning and then set a watch on him. But now Goddard would have slept off the worst of his excess and the time had come to apprehend him.

Meeting Matthew at the end of the road on which the boarding-house was situated, he entrusted his horse to the care of an urchin, and when Matthew had done the same he approached the house. A sharp rap on the door brought an unkempt woman to the doorstep. Clutching her dirty shawl around her shoulders, she pushed a greasy strand of hair out of her eyes.

“What d’you want?” she asked suspiciously.

“We are here to see Mr. Goddard,” said Justin.

“And oo might you be?”

“A friend.”

She looked him up and down, then her glance passed to Matthew.

“What’s it worth?” she asked.

Justin handed her a sovereign, and she opened the door.

“You’d best come inside.”

Justin and Matthew went into the dingy hall.

“Up there,” said the woman, nodding towards the staircase. “Third door on the right.”

“Thank you.”

They went up the creaking stairs and stopped outside Goddard’s door. It was painted a grey colour that had once been white, and here and there the paint was coming off.

Justin knocked on the door. There was no reply. He knocked again.

“Go away,” came a thick voice from the other side of the door.

“Goddard, it’s Deverill. I want to talk to you.”

“Come back later.”

“No. Now.”

“What are you doing up at this unearthly hour?” asked Goddard, coming to the door. He was dirty and unshaven, and he was still dressed in his clothes of the night before.

“We want to talk to you.”

He looked from one to the other of them, then shrugged and let them in.

“Drink?” he asked, picking up a bottle and waving it at them.

“No. You’ve had enough,” Justin said, taking it out of Goddard’s hand.

“Going too far, Deverill,” said Goddard, reaching out for the bottle.

“You can have it back when you tell me what I want to know,” said Justin.

Goddard looked as though he wanted to protest, but then he collapsed into a chair and said, “And what might that be?”

“I want to know who paid you to kill Miss Paxton?”

“Wha…?” Goddard looked from one to the other of them, and then a hurt look came into his eye. “Me? Kill little Cassie? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt little Cassie.”

“I’m not in the mood for games,” said Justin pleasantly, but with a smile that could have frozen the sea. “I want to know who paid you.”

Goddard looked at him muleishly.

“If you tell me what I want to know, I’ll let you go,” said Justin. “You’re the lowest of the low. In fact, you’re slime. But you wouldn’t have tried to kill Cassandra unless you’d been paid. So who paid you?”

Goddard looked at Matthew.

“This is a joke?” he said.

“No joke,” said Matthew.

“So who was it? Elwin? Was he afraid of her? Afraid she knew something that could harm him?” demanded Justin.

“Elwin’s never been afraid of anything in his life,” Geoffrey sneered. “He didn’t want to see her dead. He wanted her to take a lover and he intended to get a payment for making the introduction himself, but if that didn’t work, he was going to abduct her and sell her outright. It would be easy to do. She’s got no family to look out for her.”

Justin’s hands balled into a fist.

“Oh, hasn’t she?” he said dangerously.

Matthew put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Who paid you?” he said to Goddard. “If it wasn’t Elwin, then who?”

Goddard began to laugh.

“How much is it worth to you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Justin evenly, regaining control of himself. “But it’s worth a great deal to you. If you tell us, we’ll let you go. If not, we’ll hand you over to the authorities for attempted murder.”

“You haven’t any proof,” Goddard jeered. “You don’t know it was me.”

“Cassandra saw the mole on your wrist when you tried to drown her,” said Justin.

Goddard’s face fell. Then he recovered.

“Lots of people have moles,” he said.

“In that case, you have nothing to fear. No doubt you’ll be released without charge.”

Goddard looked into the two faces in front of him and wavered.

“Yes, well, I might be, and I might not. There might be some who’d believe it.”

“There might indeed,” said Justin. “In that case, you could find yourself locked up for a very long time. I hope he’s made it worth it. Tell me, what’s he paying you?”

“Not enough to go to prison,” said Goddard, reaching for the bottle in Justin’s hand.

Justin gave it to him, and took it back when he’d had a drink.

“Then I suggest you tell me everything,” said Justin.

Goddard reached for the bottle again, but Justin withheld it.

“All right,” said Goddard, slumping back in his chair with a scowl. “Just give me the bottle and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Cassandra’s journey was a pleasant one. The day was fine and the weather was warm. Once back at her estate, she set about helping Moll and John unpack the coach but once it was done she found it difficult to settle to anything. There was plenty to do, she reproved herself. The garden was overgrown—she really must ask Mrs. Windover to teach her the difference between plants and weeds, so that she could tidy the flower-beds in front of the house—and there had been a leak in the attic. Lizzie’s room needed airing, there had been a fall of soot from the drawing-room chimney and one of the dining-room curtains had rotted through and fallen down. She would have to see to it all before Lizzie and Jane arrived that evening. But for the moment, she wanted to escape from her problems.

Turning her back on them, she went out of the house. She had time for a walk before she had to face up to all the house hold difficulties. She went across the lawns and took a snaking path through the shrubbery at the back of the house. It was cool between the vast shrubs, but once out from their shadow the sun hit her with full force. The clouds parted to reveal a hot yellow sun and a clear blue sky.

She turned her footsteps towards the chestnut grove. It was a favourite walk of hers and it would be cool beneath the trees. Once she had walked its length, she would go back to the house and face her chores.

She cut through another swathe of shrubbery and turned towards the grove…only to feel her throat constrict. Someone had been cutting the trees down! The villain who had broken into her house! Had he attacked her grounds as well? She shook away the idea as being too unlikely. But someone had been felling the trees. The closer she went, the more wanton the destruction seemed. The trees did not appear to have been used for wood. They simply lay where they had fallen. There were no drag marks to show that any of them might have been taken away, no evidence of fires, nothing. But why would anyone do such a thing?

She drew closer. As she did so she saw Mr. Brown, her neighbour, standing there. She wondered if he had had similar problems on his own estate, and if he had come to warn her there were vandals in the neighbourhood. At that moment he turned round. He looked startled to see her.

“Mr. Brown,” she said.

“Miss Paxton. I thought you were in Brighton.”

“I’ve come home,” she said. “Do you know what happened here?”

“Oh, yes, I know,” he said.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

There was something odd about the way he said it, and something strange in his smile. It was quite different from normal. There was usually something ingratiating in it, but now it was almost jeering. She knew she ought to ask him to tell her what had happened, but somehow she did not want to know. She was about to make an excuse to leave him when he said, “I cut them down.”