Murder Most Malicious (28 page)

“But that's not all. After he said those things, he shrugged me off and sat down at his piano. His
beloved
piano. As I stood there gaping, he played some frivolous melody that made me want to murder him right then and there. But I didn't. I waited. I hoped he might take pity on me and help me find a way to recoup my losses.”

“But he didn't, did he, Mr. Hensley?” This time Phoebe's voice held no challenge. Like Eva, she managed to project a convincing empathy.

“I asked him again Christmas night. I thought perhaps the spirit of the season had mellowed him. And I believed him to have become engaged that night . . .” His scowl returned. “To your blasted sister, my lady.”

With nothing to say to that, Phoebe only compressed her lips.

“That night as I helped him out of his evening clothes, I raised the issue again. And this time . . .
this
time he said I was lucky to even have employment. He said I was no more deserving of recompense than the many shopkeepers to whom he owed money. If they could wait on payment, so could I. At that moment, I'd had enough.” Nick barked out a laugh. “He cared as little as he did the day he sent all those soldiers to their deaths. Lord Allerton didn't deserve to breathe another day longer.”

“You strangled him.” Phoebe paused, obviously considering. “That would explain a lack of blood. What did you use, his cravat?”

Eva winced at her calculated guess. Nick smiled.

“Very good, Lady Phoebe. You are rather skilled at this. His cravat proved a most convenient weapon, being right there at my fingertips.”

Phoebe's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open for an instant. Then she said, “The shirt stud. Henry must have torn it off as the two of you struggled. Of course! Eva, don't you see, it was the only clue he could leave us.”

“Did he?” Nick raised one eyebrow as if he and Phoebe were engaged in an academic debate. “I hadn't realized. But how was that a clue? He was always careless with his wardrobe. One of the banes of my existence.”

“Exactly, Mr. Hensley. Your job was to see to his clothing.” Phoebe's chin took on a triumphant tilt. “Buttons and other such notions fall under a valet's domain. It was Henry's way of telling us who attacked him. Only I wasn't clever enough to realize it.”

“Enough.” Eva threw her hands in the air. “Nick, whatever you intend doing out here, please reconsider. Phoebe is only a child—”

“I'm not!”

Eva spoke over her. “You can make your escape without hurting either of us.” She took a step toward him.

The gun swung toward her. “Stay there, Evie. I never intended hurting anyone else—not you or your precious Lady Phoebe, not Connie or even Theo Leighton, though he's another of the devil's brood.”

“Connie and Theo!” Phoebe gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth.

“His lordship apparently reached the same conclusion you did, Lady Phoebe.” Nick bared his teeth again. “Little meddling fool, you are. You were talking about this cottage and Theo realized I would know about it. He came running below stairs with . . .” He laughed and extended the gun farther. “Well, with this little weapon of his. Unfortunately I had the better of him and, to say the least, he won't be needing his pistol again.”

“Oh, Theo . . . he's . . . dead?” Tears glistened on Phoebe's cheeks. “I suspected him . . . I never much liked him. . . .”

Eva tightened her arm around her. “Nick, you can't keep on like this. Two lives gone, and Vernon sitting in a jail cell for a crime you committed—” Eva's thoughts became lost in a tide of fresh horror. “And Connie. Is she alive or dead?”

Phoebe gasped again and stared at Nick. “Where is she? What have you done with her? And
why
Connie?”

“She saw me sharpening Lord Wroxly's razor. She didn't even have to say anything, I saw it in her eyes and knew what she was thinking. I was disposing of her while you believed I'd gone to town today, Evie.”

The breath whooshed out of Eva and she feared she would faint. Still, she pushed the question out. “Disposed of her where?”

“You're about to find out. Move.”

 

Panic caught Phoebe in a choke hold. From the corners of her eyes she took in her surroundings. She remembered the rock he had used to break the lock on the cottage door. Could she find another? The falling snow made it difficult to discern one thing from another. Besides, could she retrieve a rock and use it fast enough before he shot one or both of them?

Her foot slid on the slippery ground, and instinctively she reached out for balance. Eva quickly came to her rescue, securing a hold on her arm. But with her other hand Phoebe kept reaching, because her fingers had brushed pine needles and an idea sprang to life. She grabbed one of the lower boughs and tugged for all she was worth, and succeeded in breaking loose a shower of snow from not only the one branch, but several.

The weight of it knocked all three of them off balance. Phoebe seized the opportunity by lunging into Mr. Hensley's side. Eva wasted no time but barreled into him as well, and the two of them plunged to the ground.

“Phoebe, run!”

It was a suggestion she ignored, instead launching herself onto the heap Eva and Mr. Hensley had become. Wildly she threw punches, praying none of them landed on Eva. An explosion stung Phoebe's ears and a high-pitched ringing grew to a deafening pitch. The gun had gone off.

“Eva?”

“I'm all right!”

Mr. Hensley swore. His arm lay flat out on the ground, the pistol pointing into the forest, his hand covered in black powder. Phoebe flung herself at his wrist, using every bit of her determination and all of her weight to pin the weapon to the frozen ground. Mr. Hensley struggled beneath her and she despaired of restraining him for much longer. Eva was struggling to untangle her legs from his and finally managed to drag herself out from under him.

Suddenly, blood flew in droplets in the air and splattered Phoebe's coat. Mr. Hensley bellowed and went rigid, his arm once more hitting the ground beneath her weight. Phoebe looked up to see Eva kneeling over him. Blood dripped from her closed fist. Phoebe found the source: Mr. Hensley's nose—a nose that now tilted to one side.

On all fours Eva scrambled around him and prized the gun from Mr. Hensley's fingers. A violent shove from the valet sent Phoebe hurtling dizzily onto her side. At the same time, Eva gained her feet, drew back her foot, and kicked. The blow landed square in Mr. Hensley's ribs. He gave a wet roar, the blood now running into his mouth, and when Eva kicked out again, he caught her ankle and yanked. Eva's other foot came out from under her and she crashed onto her back with a sharp cry. His nose streaming, Mr. Hensley started to push to his feet. Phoebe charged bull-like on all fours, intending to hit him full-on—

A second shot stopped her cold. Blinking, Eva sat up and pointed the pistol at Nick. “Touch my lady Phoebe again, Nick Hensley, and the next shot goes straight into your miserable heart.”

But who had fired the shot? Not Eva, Phoebe was sure of it. The next moments were a confusion of shouts, running feet, a twisted jumble of arms and legs as Mr. Hensley was dragged away from her, and then, finally, a soothing voice in her ear.

“Phoebe, it's all right, you're safe now. Are you hurt?”

C
HAPTER
19

A
t first Phoebe could make little sense of the commotion around her, or of the voice speaking softly to her or the arms gently encircling her. An electric lantern clicked on, flooding the scene with a garish glare that temporarily blinded her. And then some of the fog of confusion cleared and she recognized the handsome features hovering above her. “Lord Owen?”

He smiled. “Owen will do. Can you stand?”

“Yes, I . . . I think so.”

Two other men flanked Mr. Hensley, each gripping an arm and hauling him to his feet. He was snarling, swearing—and then fell silent. He stared, even as Phoebe stared in disbelief, at the man to his right.

“You're dead.” Mr. Hensley spat blood with each word. “I killed you.”

“I'm afraid not.” Theo traded a mirthless grin with Miles Brannock, who stood at Mr. Hensley's other side.

“Surely you'll have one devil of a headache for the next several days, milord,” the constable said.

Theo nodded ruefully. “Should have shot me, Nick.”

“Would have done, if it weren't for the racket it would've made,” the valet muttered bitterly, and spat another mouthful of blood.

Phoebe rose with Owen's help. A raw gash at Theo's hairline filled her with remorse for ever suspecting him. “Oh, Theo, I'm so happy you're not dead.” Her gaze took in both Theo and Lord Owen. “Eva had called Constable Brannock, but how do you two come to be here as well?”

“First Theo left the library, then you,” Owen said with a half shrug. “I knew something was going on, so I followed. I'd assumed you both went upstairs, and I arrived in the gallery to see Theo slipping out of his room with his little pistol in hand.” When Eva held the weapon up, Owen nodded. “That tweaked my suspicions—sorry, Theo—so I followed, but at a great enough distance that he wouldn't detect me. I trailed him down the back staircase, but by the time I came upon him, he was a heap on one of the landings.” He glanced over at Theo. “There was a moment there I thought you were well and truly dead. Thank God you came around.”

“And I realized it must be Nick Hensley who'd done Henry in when you and Fox talked about the gamekeeper's cottage,” Theo said. “I remembered about the root cellar, and I knew Hensley knew about it, too. We'd all been there as boys. The pieces all fell into place.”

“We need to secure him and get that root cellar open.” Miles Brannock's brogue was clipped with authority. He slipped his own gun—not a dainty silver pistol but something heavy and black and unforgiving—into a holster hidden beneath his overcoat. Then he helped Eva up off the ground.

The three men made short work of restraining Mr. Hensley. Miles Brannock linked a pair of handcuffs around a tree limb and secured Mr. Hensley's hands above his head. He wouldn't be going anywhere.

Phoebe couldn't resist approaching him. She looked him up and down as a bitter taste rose in her mouth. “I'm on to you, Mr. Hensley.”

He laughed bitterly. “Really? How is that?”

“Killing Lord Allerton was never about the war, was it? It wasn't about making up for the losses of others. It was all about what you lost. The money. You snapped and killed him, and afterwards panicked. I think you made up the rest to convince yourself he deserved it, to soothe your guilty conscience.”

“I didn't make up what happened a year ago, you silly girl. Men died because of him.”

“I understand it happened, and I believe it was most likely Lord Allerton's fault. But you . . .” She paused and looked back at Theo, who was silently watching and listening. “Lord Theodore wouldn't have you for his valet. There must be a good reason for that.”

Theo came forward and set a hand on her shoulder. “My brother spoke of that day to me not long after. Said they might have pushed the Germans back if the men hadn't forgotten to bring their spines along with them when they charged. It made me sick to hear it, but you, Mr. Hensley, you nodded and laughed under your breath. Thought no one noticed, did you? No one notices the valet?” He moved closer to Mr. Hensley, and whispered, “
I
noticed, you . . .”

His voice plunged lower still, and Phoebe couldn't hear what he called Mr. Hensley.

Constable Brannock spoke from close behind her. “Milord?”

Theo stood another moment in front of Mr. Hensley before nodding and moving away. He approached the cottage, stopping a few yards to the right of the storage room door. He began kicking at the ground, his ear tilted. Phoebe detected no difference from one strike of his foot to another, but he reached a spot where he kicked multiple times. Bits of snow and earth flew up from the heel of his boot. “This is it.”

“There are shovels and things inside, and the door isn't locked.” Phoebe started to hurry over to Theo, but Owen stopped her.

“We'll handle it. But it would be a good idea for you and Miss Huntford to wait inside, out of the cold.”

“It'll be just as cold inside as out.” Phoebe went to stand with Eva. “We'll wait here.”

Theo didn't go for the shovel. He merely crouched, brushed aside layers of snow, dead leaves, and twigs, and began clawing at the ground. Miles Brannock helped him. Chunks of earth scattered.

Phoebe knew frozen ground didn't break apart so easily. The spot had already been dug up once and recently, then carefully replaced to appear natural to the casual eye. She certainly hadn't noticed anything amiss when they'd been here last. Dear heavens, if she or Eva
had
noticed, what would Mr. Hensley have done? Would either of them be standing here now?

Theo soon uncovered the wooden planks and iron latch of a trap door. Phoebe slipped her arm through Eva's. “It won't be long now.” She spoke through clenched teeth. In tense silence they ventured closer to the others.

Theo who reached for the latch. “Everyone ready?”

At their nods he pulled. The door let out a protesting grind, the sound jarring in the quiet wood. Theo let it fall completely open and it hit the ground with a thwack. “Nothing for it,” he said, but Constable Brannock grasped his arm before he could descend the first stone step.

“I'll go first, milord.” He took up the lantern, holding it out before him as he picked his way down the ancient steps.

“Do you see anything, Constable?” Phoebe called down after him.

His answer came immediately. “Are there any blankets in the cottage?”

“Yes, there are.” Eva hurried inside and returned carrying a bundle.

“Toss them down. Better yet, Lord Owen, would you please bring them down.”

Phoebe frowned, then pressed a hand to her mouth. “Is Henry
alive
?”

“No, milady, but Connie Robson is and I'll need help carrying her out.”

 

That next day Eva's heart squeezed as Lord Wroxly's sapphire blue Rolls Royce came around the drive and stopped in front of Foxwood Hall's main entrance. Despite the cold, the staff and even the family had assembled outside in a formal receiving line typically reserved for illustrious visitors. After the chauffeur opened the door and assisted Lord Wroxly out of the vehicle, the earl in turn offered his own assistance to George Vernon. Lord Wroxly had insisted on collecting Vernon himself this morning, had brought him a fresh suit of clothes as well as Mr. Phelps to help him prepare for his homecoming.

Applause broke out, turning Vernon's fair complexion several shades ruddier. He smiled shyly and looked askance, but the sound of his name repeatedly called out coaxed his lips into a wide grin and brought assurance to his step as he came forward to greet the others. Mr. Giles hurried forward and in an uncharacteristic show of affection, caught Vernon in a bear hug.

“Thank you, everyone.” Vernon's voice was gruff, an attempt, Eva guessed, to hide the emotion he was feeling. “It's good to be home. And I can't thank you enough, Lord Wroxly.”

The earl slapped his back. “Never doubted you, my boy.”

“No, indeed, Vernon,” the countess chimed in. “We're delighted to have you home again, where you belong.”

“Welcome home,” Phoebe said simply, and offered her hand to Vernon.

“I know I have you to thank for my being here, my lady. And Miss Huntford, too.” He smiled over at Eva where she stood among the other servants. His nod expressed all the thanks Eva needed, and she returned the gesture.

“Come, everyone, back inside. Before we all catch our deaths.”

Lord Wroxly's hearty declaration was met with a moment's stunned silence. They had had enough talk of death to last a lifetime. But chatter swiftly filled the air as the servants closed around Vernon and the gathering funneled through the front door. Connie, who should have been in bed but could not be restrained there today, walked at Vernon's side, her arm through his. Eva spied Mrs. Sanders's disapproving look, but their budding romance would be a matter to be dealt with another day.

For today, there would be no work for the servants. Lord Wroxly had declared this a holiday for all of them; there would be food and drink, and Lady Wroxly had her gramophone carried down to the servants' hall for the occasion.

When Eva lagged behind the others, Phoebe sought her out in the Great Hall. “Aren't you going down, Eva?”

“I'm afraid I don't much feel like celebrating, my lady. I'm thrilled for Vernon, and for Connie, too, but . . .” She turned and faced her young mistress full-on. “I trusted him, my lady. I feel so foolish, and I endangered you and everyone with my blindness.”

Phoebe took her hand and squeezed gently. “No, Eva. You couldn't have known.”

“But you knew before I did. So did Connie, and Lord Theodore. I was the only one taken in by him to the very last.”

“Excuse me, Miss Huntford?”

She and Phoebe turned to see Miles Brannock handing his coat to Mr. Giles. He removed his domed helmet and came toward them. What on earth could he want?

“Miss Huntford, I wondered if I might have a word,” he said.

Phoebe spoke before Eva could gather her thoughts. “What is this about, Constable? I thought everything had been resolved.”

“It is, my lady, to be sure.” He paused, his eyes on Eva. A small smile played on his lips. With each passing second Eva's confusion mounted. “I just thought . . . since you've got your coat on . . . would you care to take a walk?”

“A walk?” Eva frowned. What on earth could he mean by that?

“Yes, a walk. With your leave, of course, Lady Phoebe.”

“No . . . I don't think . . .” Eva started to say.

“Of course, she may. Why, today has been declared a servants' holiday, so Eva has leave to walk all she wishes.” Phoebe gave her a nudge, and silently Eva vowed to accidentally stick her with a brooch pin at the next opportunity. “Go on, and have a nice walk.” The girl had the audacity to wink.

With little choice short of being rude, Eva buttoned up her coat. She pretended not to notice the arm Miles Brannock offered her and instead walked back outside with a respectable distance between them. She had been fooled once; the bitterness of it stung and would for a long time to come. She would not be vulnerable again. Besides, what did she really know about this man who had survived the war with nary a scratch?

Phoebe felt oddly at loose ends after Eva left with Constable Brannock. She briefly wondered what might come of it, hoped the constable might help Eva forget the past week, then dismissed the matter from her mind. She climbed the stairs, planning to spend a quiet afternoon reading in her room, and if she didn't experience a bit of excitement for these next several months, so much the better.

At the top of the stairs, a voice beckoned.

“Phoebe.”

She looked about, saw no one, then realized where the voice had come from. She stepped into the billiard room and into Owen Seabright's embrace. “I thought you were packing to leave,” she whispered, her skin heating where his arms encircled her.

“I was. But I wasn't about to depart before seeing you. Alone.” He leaned back a bit to study her. “How are you? Any lasting effects from last night?”

“Only a new resolve not to interfere in police business.”

He laughed softly. “Resolves are meant to be broken and something tells me it's only a matter of time before that one snaps like a twig.” He raised her chin with the tips of his fingers. “I'd been investigating Henry since the summer. Once he began swindling friends of mine there was no chance I'd let him get away with his little game. Others have already been apprehended, but Henry had covered his tracks fairly well. With Julia's help, and Lord Bellington's, we were amassing enough evidence against him to have him declared a traitor to the realm and stripped of his title.”