Murder Most Malicious (27 page)

“Thank you, Mr. Giles. That's all
very
interesting. But I . . . er . . . mustn't keep you any longer.”

“No, indeed, my lady. I must see to the serving of dinner now.”

Phoebe watched him traverse the corridor, and as soon as he stepped out of sight she rounded on Eva and gripped her hands. “That's it—that's where Henry is. I had no idea of the existence of such a cellar . . . but Lord Theodore might very well have learned of it as a boy. It's the kind of thing boys have an uncanny knack for knowing.”

“Do you still want me to telephone Miles Brannock?”

Phoebe nodded emphatically. “Yes, do. I'll wait here and you can tell me what he says. Even if Lord Theodore is not involved, we might just have discovered where Lord Allerton lay.”

Eva hurried out to use the telephone in Mrs. Sanders's office. While Phoebe waited she surveyed the room around her—the shoes waiting to be polished, her grandfather's overcoat that needed a brisk brushing, several shirts that wanted ironing, including one of Phoebe's own blouses, and then there were the items lining the shelves. Some were tools of a valet's or lady's maid's trade: brushes, polish, cleaning solutions.... Phoebe's gaze fell upon Grampapa's shaving kit, probably brought down for cleaning and sharpening. She walked over to it, placing her hand on the silver latch.

“Lady Phoebe, good evening.” Surprise laced Mr. Hensley's greeting. He stopped short on the threshold, his expression quizzical.

“I'm sorry to intrude, Mr. Hensley. I'm just waiting for Eva to return from . . .” She trailed off, uncertain why his presence made her feel like a trespasser, or why she felt the need to make excuses for being there. His gaze fell to where her hand rested on the tooled leather case of the shaving kit, and for some odd reason she snatched her hand back as if the razor inside could somehow slice her fingers.

Her fingers . . .

“My lady, the con—” Eva rounded the corner into the room and came to a halt. “Nick, I didn't see you come down. Have you come to help with dinner?”

“I certainly will if you need me, but actually Mr. Phelps asked me to bring up Lord Wroxly's shaving kit. It seems our Lady Phoebe has already claimed it.”

“No, I was only looking . . .” Awkwardness came over her again, sending excuses to stumble from her lips. She moistened them, then clamped them shut.

“Nick, you'll never guess,” Eva said in a murmur. “We think we know where Lord Allerton is.”

“Good heavens, Evie! Where?”

“Well, I expect we must have trod over the very place . . .”

Phoebe wanted to shush her—why, she didn't know. But it was too late, and as Eva went on to explain, her thoughts took a sharp turn. Valets had access to their masters' shaving kits—it was their job to keep the brushes clean, the blades flawlessly sharp. A nicked chin would never do, nor a scraped neck....

She studied Mr. Hensley, looking distinguished in his severe black suit. But the man wasn't always a valet. He once worked at Foxwood. First as a gamekeeper's assistant, later as an under footman. He'd been a boy when he first entered into service here.

What had Phoebe herself said?
Boys have an uncanny knack for knowing . . .

Mr. Hensley might have known . . . in all likelihood
had
known . . . about the old root cellar.

The silence jarred her from her thoughts. Eva was studying her with a curious expression. “Are you all right, my lady?”

“She's fine,” Mr. Hensley answered, his mouth curving in a smile, his eyes sharp with cunning, and the tiniest of silver handguns pointed in her direction.

C
HAPTER
18

A
t first Eva didn't understand the gleam of light flashing in Nick's hand. And why did Lady Phoebe look like that—shocked and frightened and deathly pale?

“Nick, whatever are you doing? Good heavens, put that thing away before you hurt someone. Where on earth did you get it?”

It was Phoebe who replied, in a voice devoid of inflection. “It's Lord Allerton's, isn't it, Mr. Hensley? You gave out six others of his belongings, and you kept his pistol along with whatever other satisfaction you had in murdering him.”

“My lady, no, I'm sure you're quite wrong. Nick would never . . .” Eva regarded the weapon in Nick's hand. Surely he had a reasonable explanation. “They served together in the war. . . .”

“But he did kill Henry, Eva. It wasn't Lord Owen or Lord Theodore, or Julia or anyone else. It was Mr. Hensley.”

Aghast, Eva turned back to him. “Nick, please say something. Please tell Lady Phoebe she's wrong.”

“We're leaving.” He gave a waggle of that insidious little weapon, as if it controlled invisible strings attached to Eva and Phoebe. Neither of them budged. Phoebe's face mirrored the burgeoning horror flowing through Eva.

“You'll never get us out of here without being seen,” Phoebe said. “The rest of the staff—”

“Are all busy carrying up dinner.” Nick waved the gun again.

“Then they'll be calling for me to help.” Eva latched on to hope. “Someone will be here any moment looking for me.”

“No, they won't.” Phoebe shook her head gravely. She released a breath. “They won't come, Eva, because I took you away from the kitchen. They'll make do shorthanded rather than risk offending me by insisting you return. Blast.”

Eva dug in her heels. “Well, then, I've already ca—” She broke off as Phoebe shot her a fierce message with her eyes. Why
not
tell Nick that Miles Brannock had already been alerted? But then she realized Constable Brannock would go directly to the gamekeeper's cottage. She could only hope and pray that was where Nick intended to take them. But if Nick knew of Constable Brannock's involvement, he might do something drastic, such as take them to some other location and kill them both.

Lady Phoebe—
her
Phoebe—dying in some icy ditch. Eva's throat closed. The room began to spin, turned fuzzy and dark. She reached out to clutch her young lady to her but found only the hard edge of the worktable. Phoebe called her name, and something small and cold nudged the middle of her back.

Those two things were all she needed. Tightening her grip on the table, she straightened and shook her head to clear it. As the blood flowed more normally, she heard Nick speaking.

“We're leaving
now.
We'll go out through the servants' courtyard. I suggest you both take a cloak. It's deadly cold outside.”

His voice and his steely eyes were deadly cold as well.

Outside, Eva and Phoebe, having taken the advice to wrap woolen cloaks around them, walked arm in arm with Nick following, and always that threatening weapon trained on their backs. When Eva and Phoebe turned toward the garden gate, he stopped them.

“This way. There isn't time for a stroll through the gardens, ladies, nor would it be a particularly good idea with the dining-room windows overlooking the path.”

“My family will wonder where I am, you know. I imagine Amelia has already gone upstairs looking for me.” Despite her brave words, Lady Phoebe trembled against Eva's side.

“Yes, one would assume.” Nick gave a low chuckle. “That's why we'll take the lorry. Mr. Giles has grown quite careless about keys, hasn't he, my lady?” He prodded Eva to unlatch the service gates while he kept the gun leveled on Phoebe and then ordered them to walk through. A dozen different means of resisting ran through Eva's mind, but she dismissed them all as too great a risk to Phoebe's life.

“You didn't take the lorry the night Henry died,” Phoebe said, and Eva wished she would stop engaging Nick in pointless conversation. What if she angered him?

“No, my lady. Didn't think of it, really. I had to do something quick, so I switched my shoes for his boots and began walking.” They reached the truck parked in its bay hidden from view of the house. He opened the driver's side door. “You first, Evie.”

Yes, she should have known he would keep Phoebe close beside him at all times. She climbed in and slid to the far end of the cold leather seat. Phoebe hesitated. “Why did you murder him?”

Eva's heart skipped a beat. Why did the girl persist in challenging him? “Phoebe, please, just do as he says and get in.”

“Yes, do get in, my lady. There will be time for talk later.”

Would there? Was Nick going to spare them? It seemed illogical to Eva, but she held on to the hope. Soon they were rumbling down the estate road past the stables. The truck slid on icy patches, prompting Eva to stifle more than one cry. She held an arm across Phoebe's torso as if that could keep her safely in her seat if they crashed. Phoebe sat with her teeth clenched so tightly her jaw visibly pulsed, but otherwise she showed no fear. Several minutes after passing the stables Nick pulled the truck off the road and shut the engine. With the dousing of the headlights, the only illumination was that of the moon reflecting dimly on the snow.

“All right, I go first, then Lady Phoebe.”

When they were all three standing on the frigid ground, Phoebe shivered and pulled her cloak tighter. “Now will you tell us why you killed Henry?”

He gave a cavalier shrug. “Start walking and I'll explain. You take the lead, Evie.”

She wanted to claw his face each time he called her
Evie,
but with outward calm she began moving icy branches aside to find the path to the cottage.

“I think once you hear the truth you'll agree I did the right thing,” Nick said almost amiably. “It started years ago, during the war. Lord Allerton had always been the devil's own whelp, but the war brought out the weasely coward in him as well. Men lost their lives because of him. Then about a year ago he proved himself no better than a St. Giles cutthroat. Our camp had been shelled all day, and anytime a soldier so much as poked a finger out of the trenches, he was peppered by machine gunfire. Lord Allerton and I were on the rear lines—where we were relatively safe—but even so, we could feel the men reaching their breaking point. Finally, an order to pull back came over the wire, but at the same time the shelling stopped.”

Eva kept pushing through the brittle foliage, not sure if she had found the path or not. She wasn't even sure they were walking in the right direction, but since Nick didn't correct her she kept going, but slowly, stumbling on purpose and stalling for time.

Nick's voice came again, eerily muffled by the trees and the hissing snow that began falling in dry, sharp flakes. “The shelling stopped, and Lord Allerton decided the Germans must have given up. Perhaps their arsenal had run short, he said. So instead of sounding the retreat . . . Good God . . .”

His voice broke, and the raw emotion of it brought Eva to a halt. She turned, and rather than seeing the fiend who held them at gunpoint, she perceived a soldier caught in the throes of grief and terror. “What did he do, Nick?”

“He gave the order to attack. Thought he'd use the opportunity to make a name for himself, the selfish, stupid wretch. He'd already been awarded a Distinguished Service Order—not that he deserved it—and I suppose he was hoping for a Victoria Cross this time. He sent boys and young men charging out into no-man's-land . . . and that's when the shelling started again, like a firestorm.” He groaned as if with physical pain. “Evie, your brother, Danny. Myron Henderson from the village, and the tailor's elder son. There were others—the uncle of your hall boy, Josh. And the village boy who intended asking Dora to marry him when he got home. You see, our battalion was made up of Cotswolds men. And that bastard, that miserable excuse for a man, sent them all either to their deaths or, like Myron, to a future where they must live without the limbs God gave them. Still others haven't recovered from the shell shock and probably never will.”

Eva barely heard anything past her brother's name. The battalion should have retreated. Danny might still be alive. Might even now be helping her father with the farm . . . A weight descended on her chest, crushing and painful, and for a second time that night she struggled to breathe.

“And you thought you could make it up to them by killing Henry and dispersing a few of his baubles?” Phoebe's anger rivaled the frigid air in bitterness. Eva started to caution her, but she kept relentlessly on with the blind bravado of youth. “No, Eva, I will not be silenced. Mr. Hensley, your actions were no better than those of a lawless vigilante. If Henry sacrificed the lives of others due to his reckless decision, you could have brought it to the attention of the authorities. Didn't his commanding officers notice he disobeyed orders?”

Nick shook his head, staring at the ground in obvious misery. “He lied. He said the lines were down, that the order didn't reach him until after he sent our soldiers out. Even the men in the trenches didn't know the truth. Only I knew. I knew because I was with him when the order came.”

“But why now?” Phoebe persisted. “Why did you wait so long?”

A change came over Nick's expression, the sorrow vanishing and ruthlessness returning. “You ask too many questions, my lady.” He flicked a gaze at Eva and back to Phoebe. “Walk.”

They continued along the trail, until the cottage came into view in its little clearing, the snow on its roof glowing blue against the darkness. Eva saw no sign of Miles Brannock and knew their time was swiftly running out. “Nick, leave us here and take the lorry. You can be long gone from Little Barlow before Phoebe and I make it even halfway back to the house. There is no need to—”

“Wait a minute,” Phoebe said, the challenge rising in her voice once more. “Mr. Phelps also received one of your ghastly surprises in his Christmas box. He didn't fight in the war and to my knowledge he didn't lose anyone either. So why him? And again, why now?”

Her questions brought them to another halt at the edge of the clearing, beneath the overhanging branches of a towering Scots pine.

“You're awfully demanding for a young lady who's run out of options. So like your kind you are—arrogant and oblivious.” Nick's eyes narrowed, and Eva almost fell to her knees in fear when his finger twitched on the trigger. “But there's no reason why you can't know. You won't be able to tell anyone. Our dear Lord Allerton had served up a Victory Bond scam—”

“Yes, we know all about that,” Phoebe said.

Nick frowned in puzzlement before smiling vaguely. “I'll add
clever
to your list of attributes, my lady. When we were in London on leave last summer, I overheard him convincing an acquaintance to invest, and damn my own stupidity, I believed the opportunity to be real. I invested. Heavily. Only to find out when the war ended a month ago the bonds I purchased were worthless. As were the ones I encouraged Harlan Phelps to invest in. Luckily for me, the man's pride has stilled his tongue.”

“That's why he refused to share his room with you,” Eva said. “He's angry about his losses and blames you.”

“Can't say as I blame him,” Nick muttered.

“Money.” Phoebe shook her head. “I knew it had to be a motive. It so often is.”

Nick lurched toward her and Eva darted between them. The pistol struck her shoulder. The pain was sharp and radiated down her arm. She braced for the sting of a bullet, but in the next instant realized the pistol hadn't discharged. Nick stood toe-to-toe with her, his breath heaving and his nostrils flaring. He looked nothing short of a demon in the shadows of the forest. He shoved Eva backward. She stumbled into Phoebe and the two tumbled to the ground.

Nick stood above them. His teeth were bared, his chest rising and falling, the pistol extended down at them. “Don't try that again, Eva, or you'll both be dead.”

“Let Phoebe go, Nick.”

“No.” Nick and Phoebe spoke at the same time. With her knees bent beneath her cloak, she looked like a vulnerable waif abandoned in the cold.

“I'm not leaving you, Eva,” she said in a voice that brooked no debate. Eva's chest constricted.

“Get up,” Nick ordered, almost a shout that made Phoebe flinch. But to Eva, his short outburst meant he didn't suspect anyone else might soon be arriving. Perhaps if she stalled him long enough . . .

Once she and Phoebe were back on their feet, Eva said, “Nick, I believe it was more than money that spurred you to do what you did. You aren't that shallow.” Perhaps a show of sympathy would distract him from his purpose.

“By God, Evie, you've no idea how right you are. I went to him, still having no clue he was in on the scam. I told him how much I'd lost—I was essentially ruined, every bit of the money I'd saved gone. And do you know what he did?”

When his pause stretched on with seemingly no end, Eva asked, “No, please tell me. What did he do, Nick?”

His expression suddenly twisted with rage, and he once again lurched toward them. Eva wrapped her arms around Phoebe and pulled her back, but Nick stopped within a couple of feet of them, so close Eva swore she felt the heat of his anger. “He laughed! Laughed at me, Evie! Said a servant should know his place and not presume to eavesdrop on his betters. Said I got what I deserved.”

It was all Eva could do to muster an appearance of commiseration. “Oh, Nick, how dreadful. I'm so sorry.”