Oxford Whispers (25 page)

Chapter
53

PETER HAD, FOR the moment, lost control. The human shell he had taken on was becoming weaker and weaker. Maybe he had made the wrong choice when he selected his accomplice. The behavior of his host had become erratic. He could not foresee when the next outburst would come.

Peter was in a state of high alert. After the woman’s murder authorities would look for him. He had let his emotions rule him, and now modern sciences would trap him. They would prove his guilt. He had not been careful enough about the physical evidence he had left behind.

His possession of the body he inhabited would not last much longer. The murder had asked too much from him. His energy faded with each tick of the clock. Dormant at the moment, he was being carried around in the realm of the host, reduced to helplessness and impotent silence.

He had to break out and get to Sarah. By nightfall this long journey would be over, and Sarah would be his.

THINKING INTENTLY, Rupert took a long, deep drag on his cigarette. He stood with his back against the wall of the Faculty of History, where he had just gone through a frosty tutorial with McCain. On George Street cars sped by and slowed down, bicycle tires whirled, and car doors slammed. He didn’t pay attention to any of it, the noises were all background.

Hopefully nobody would report him for the breach of Coach Bartlett’s training rules. But God, how he needed a smoke. Even if the taste was bitter and less satisfying than he remembered.

He threw the cigarette butt on the ground and started tuggi
ng at his ear. It was an old habit of his. Getting to Iffley Road might be a sound idea. He had already missed the first half of his daily training routine by going to Magway early that morning.

“Rupert?”

A clipped voice dragged him out of his thoughts. H
arriet’s voice.

He didn’t have to move because she planted herself in front of him, all blond, all picture perfect, and for once without that hairy coat he hated.

“It’s great to bump into you,” she said, her words soaked in honey.

Rupert released a sigh. He didn’t want to pretend, but Harriet loved games.

“I have to get to training,” he said, trying to get around her. He stared down and tried to hold his impatience at bay.

“I’ll follow you then, at least part of the way.”

Some girls didn’t get the message easily. Oblivious of her stilettos clicking on the pavement, Rupert strode toward Cornmarket Street. He quickened his step there, forcing Harriet into a trot. But she could run in heels and talk.

“Monty told me about your breaking up with the American girl.”

Rupert froze. What the hell? Had Monty broadcast the news to all Oxford?

Years of hiding his true feelings kicked in. He gave a half-shrug and rammed his hands into his pockets. When he moved again, it had started drizzling, but he had a swagger in his step.

“Rupert please, stop walking. I need to say something.”

Another sigh, but he did what she asked.

In a rare show of shyness, Harriet fumbled for her words. “I thought … I would say that … well, I owe you an apology.” She might have practiced this hesitant delivery, but she sounded sincere. “I’ve been unfair to you. You had the right to leave me, of course. But I don’t think that girl understands who you are, not the way I do.”

Her hand now lay over his forearm. When Madison touched him there, even through thick layers of clothing, his heart beat faster, and he always wanted more. His pulse didn’t even flinch at Harriet’s contact.

She flicked her hair and fluttered her eyelids in a textbook-style flirting attack. Falling into the trap would be so darn easy, but he was done with screwing up his life. “I’ve somewhere to be.”

She leaned in, and the flowery scent of her perfume brushed across his face. “Take a break. Let’s have lunch together, maybe a glass of wine. You need to relax. You can’t train the whole time.” She nodded toward a nearby restaurant they had been to before. The food smells fused with the exhaust fumes in an unappetizing mix.

Rupert looked back and forth between the restaurant and Harriet’s questioning face.

“Harriet, you and I are over. For good.”

Her chin dropped.

“I don’t want any ambiguities between us. I was a prick last night with Madison, and she might never want to talk to me again. But I’d choose one more second with her holding my hand over an eternity with you in my bed. ”

Anger twisted her face, and she looked ugly. Just as ugly as she was inside.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go and beg my girl for forgiveness.”

A BLANKET OF DARK clouds had moved overhead, and fat drops of rain splashed onto the pavement. Some of those in the crowd around Madison on the High Street rushed to find shelter. She hunched her shoulders in an attempt to avoid the downpour and pulled her coat up to cover her head.

The police interview over, she was eager to go back to her room and do what needed to be done. Her objective was to rid the world, or
her
world at the very least, of Jackson-slash-Peter. The question was how?

She drew comfort from the prayer in her satchel. The extract from Mamie’s book of magic followed her everywhere, ready to serve. She had to find the right time and strike at a moment when both Jackson and Peter were vulnerable.

Unlike Ollie, Madison had chosen to play truant. For the first time in her life, she was skipping school. She crossed the High Street with a quick stride. Her momentum broke when she caught a glimpse through the window of the Queen’s Lane Coffee House.

At a table Pippa was in full-throttle, flirting mode. She was absorbed in conversation, her hands entwined with those of a man, and the dude wasn’t Ollie.

Chapter
54

NO WONDER PIPPA hasn’t checked on me after Miss Lindsey’s death. She’s too busy.

Squinting, Madison focused on the square-jawed face of Pippa’s companion. When had she seen this dude before?

The Christ Church ball, last November. He was the rugby player Pippa had left the party with. Her mouth fell open. What was Pippa playing at?

Her body tense, Madison stepped into the cafe. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon tingled in her nostrils. Not wasting time, she planted herself in front of Pippa.

“Hi.”

The redhead jumped in her seat and let out a small yelp of surprise, while her hand flew to her chest. The place was baking hot, but she was wrapped in a cashmere shawl.

“Madison,” the girl acknowledged, but didn’t pause to introduce her companion.

“Can I talk to you?” Given Pippa’s lack of response, Madison added, “In private.’

Taking her time, Pippa sipped her coffee, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and stood. A few steps away from the table, she asked, “What can I do for you?”

“Who the hell is he?” Madison snapped, her eyes fixed on the stocky guy.

“Who? Patrick? He’s an old friend of mine.”

“An old friend you happen to have slept with a few months ago?”

“How do you know that?”

“I was there, remember? I saw you leave the ball with him.”

Pippa’s gaze flicked upward. “So what? I slept with the guy. That doesn’t mean I can’t talk to him anymore.”

“No. You’re right. But you can’t flirt with him. What about Ollie?” Madison’s nails bit into her palms.

Pippa looked over her shoulder, as if to check whether her friend was still waiting for her. Reassured, she turned her eyes back to Madison.

“I know what you’re getting at. It’s a bit rich coming from you. After all, Jackson McCain is not just a tutor to you. You spend more time with him than you do with your own boyfriend. The guy is in love with you, and you’re leading him on.”

To control her reaction to the insult, Madison ground her teeth together. She answered with a shake of the head. “Pippa, you’re repeating yourself.”

“And you’re such a hypocrite,” she sulked.

Madison was ready to spout off with a cutting reply, but her cell vibrated against her hip. Annoyed with the interruption, she checked the screen nevertheless. The police had told her to remain at their beck and call.

BACK AT HOME. COME ASAP PLEASE. REALLY URGENT. R

Urgent? Urgent like I-want-to-get-back-with-you urgent?

Pippa had kept her eyes on Madison, and her eyebrows raised in an arc.

“I have to go.” Eager to convey her feelings, Madison laid her hand on Pippa’s wrist. “Please, don’t hurt Ollie. He loves you very much.”

Pippa nodded, her lips frozen in a pout, but she refused to apologize.

A CHILL OVERTOOK him. He saw Sarah walking out of the coffee house.

Where was she headed?

Peter had to follow her, stay close to her. The host had been in control for a while, but he was now in charge again. Streams of energy seeped from his essence as he exerted his will to control the human he inhabited.

Now Peter had a plan.

Soon he would carry Sarah away from this world.

FIFTEEN MINUTES after leaving the Queen’s Lane, Rupert opened the door and invited Madison into his house. That was it. Nothing in his expression betrayed the fact that they had made love for the first time a few days before. If anything, he looked tense and ill-at-ease. He cleared his throat and kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, almost insecure.

So not Rupert.

Her heart banged against her chest, but she took a seat on the Chippendale sofa without showing any emotion.

A woman was killed in my bedroom last night. I could use some support.

Rupert didn’t mention Miss Lindsey’s murder, so Madison assumed he hadn’t heard about it. Refusing to play the role of victim again, she didn’t volunteer the information. Instead she straightened her posture, lifted her chin and kept her
ninnies
high.

“So, what did you find out in Magway?”

Rupert remained standing and dominated the room.

“I think I found out the mystery behind
The Wounded Cavalier
. The missing piece of the jigsaw.”

A shiver of anticipation ran through Madison’s body. Breaking her concentration, she threw a glance toward Rupert. “I know you’re fascinated by that painting. Archie Black told me so yesterday. What I discovered at Magway answers some of the questions raised by your research on Robert Dallembert and Rose Alspeth.”

Rupert ignored Madison’s gasp of wonder. His catch-up with Archie Black must have been pretty intense. Rupert kept on leaning against the wall, his posture now more relaxed. Hunger for him overwhelmed her. Her mouth went dry. She wanted to touch him, to taste him.

Only she couldn’t. Not anymore.

Thank God he hadn’t noticed his effect on her. His voice was deep and clipped, like the first time she heard him speak at the ball.

“I was intrigued by your obsession with Robert Dallembert.” He punctuated his sentences with a dismissive nod. “Archie mentioned that you knew about Shakespeare Burton’s association with my family. Apparently, very few people are aware of it.”

Guilt, for holding everything back from Rupert, made Madison shuffle in her seat.

Shoving his hands back into his pockets, Rupert forged on. “I checked on this Shakespeare Burton, and that’s when I found a reproduction of
The Wounded Cavalier
. I knew …” He shook his head. “I knew I had seen that painting before. I knew it meant something to me.”

Rupert stared straight into the empty side of the room, his thoughts seeming to be on hold. Then, at an unhurried pace, he came and sat on the other end of the sofa. Madison wanted to move closer to him, but she stifled the impulse.

He turned his head and planted his bright blue eyes on her. “I told you about my grandfather?”

“The one who gave you the old records and your fancy car?”

Rupert nodded, and the shadow of a smile broke his face. “I used to be very close to him. He was a history buff.”

Rupert’s face showed his affection for the dead man. “When I was a boy, we used to spend countless hours in Magway’s library, going through our collection of artifacts. That’s when I first saw the painting.”

“You mean the painting’s in Magway?” She forced her mind to focus and remember. “Impossible. It’s in London, at the Guildhall Art Gallery —”

Rupert cut her off. “Not the painting itself, but a sketch of it. It was on the reverse side of an old piece of paper, like something from a diary, a page that could have gotten loose …” He stopped and looked down, his eyes on his shoes. “I went to Magway to find the drawing, which was still in the private papers of Charles Vance. I discovered more than I was looking for. A great deal more.”

Chapter
55

FROM THE FOOT of his chair Rupert grabbed a manila folder similar to the one Madison had seen with Archie at the Oxford & Cambridge Club. She knew the drill now; the acid-buffed paper, the white cotton gloves, the careful handling of antique documents.

At last the contents of the folder sat displayed on the coffee table before her.

Madison struggled to swallow, for in front of them was the familiar scene in the forest and the same three characters she knew so well. Their expressions, drafted with a pencil, were more striking than in the painting itself. The lack of color and background detail emphasized their emotions.

Compassion on the face of the Maiden, despair in the posture of the Cavalier, jealousy in the eyes and hands of the Puritan.

On the bottom right, were scribbled three initials. Madison squinted and read out loud, “W.S.B.”

She shook her head, forcing her brain to start churning again. “Okay, but I don’t understand why this discovery is so important. I knew Burton had stayed at Magway for a while. Professor Black told me so.”

“Turn the page.”

With her gloved hand, Madison turned the timeworn leaf. Old-fashioned, neat handwriting covered the parchment, the ink almost erased in some parts. That’s when she realized that the document must have been torn from a book. The right-hand edge was jagged and the first line started mid-sentence.

Rupert confirmed her suspicion. “It’s been torn from a diary. Perhaps by Burton himself. I believe the diary is Robert Dallembert’s.”

He gestured for Madison to read.

She started doing so. Robert’s words morphed into images, as if the scene were happening all over again in front of her, as if he were telling her the story.

I REMEMBER THE clearing, the oak tree, the crumbled wall. But something is missing now, or rather, someone. Sarah.

She will never walk in her beloved forest again because she is dead.

Peter Perkins has killed her. He has murdered Sarah and stolen her newborn child. My child. I do not know if the cropped-hair killer will come, and if he does, will he be a coward and bring his henchmen?

I have no choice but to take the risk. I have to ensure my daughter will grow up away from this madman.

“I have come as you requested, and I have come alone.”

I also remember Perkins’ voice from the day Sarah rescued me. Today, the scowl has gone from it. I turn toward him. He stands unbending, on the other side of the wall. How long has he been lurking there? Is my enemy a phantom?

“Maybe you should have brought company. I am here to seek revenge.”

He gives me a pathetic laugh, which unsettles me.

“Revenge …” His head tilts to the side, his gaze clouds. “I understand my dear sister-in-law has been spreading rumors. In her account, my wife’s death was not the consequence of childbirth. And when I thought Anne was on my side …”

“She was, until you killed her sister. Why? Why?” Despair makes me stamp my foot like a child. “You married her. You promised to love her, to honor her …”

Perkins runs his hand through his hair. He opens and closes his mouth several times before forming words. “I do love her. You will never know how much. But she betrayed me.” He presses his palm over his lips.

His actions become feverish. He jumps over the ruins of the wall and loud breaths rush out from his mouth.

“Why did she lie to me?” His voice is filled with rage. “Why did she use me?”

I cannot answer. For Sarah wronged him, this is true. I wronged him too. “You should have gone after me, not her.”

Perkins’ shoulders hunch and I can see a twitch on his cheek. His eyes are wet.

“Did you kill her? Is Anne telling the truth?” I am willing to give him a chance to clear his conscience.

In response, he lets out an uncontrolled moan.

“You cannot keep Rose. She is not yours,” I plead.

His posture alters brutally, shaking fists now pointed at me. “You will witness your own blood raised in the true Puritan way.”

In a few steps, I stand in front of him and wrench on his arm to pull him toward me. “You are mad. Hatred is your lord.”

He bursts into laughter, and his acrid breath reaches my nostrils. But my attention is drawn to the dagger he has grabbed from his belt. His coat had hidden the weapon until now.

I push Perkins away and take hold of my sword, hanging from my hip. “Perkins, you have no chance at this. I am a trained soldier and have been fighting for my king. Please, give up your rights to my daughter.”

I have come here to kill him, but now, in the middle of this uneven battle, my resolve falters. Sarah will not return to living form, whatever vengeful deed I commit. I should try and do what is right for Rose. She is the only hope, the only future for our ill-fated love.

“I will never give Rose up. You will never get to her.” His scream is the one of a low, evil beast. He leaps toward me. His arm arches, the dagger points straight at my throat.

I have no choice. With a swift extension of my arm, my sword impales his chest, and blood splatters across his waistcoat. He collapses at my feet.

I kneel and throw his dagger away by precaution. The man is dying— my sword has gone for his heart.

I might have been able to unarm Peter. I could have brought him before the authorities. I could have claimed my daughter with pride, rather than murder. A faint growl escapes Perkins’ lips. With the veil of death dropping over them, his eyes remain fixed on me.

“I curse you, Dallembert. I curse you both. You will never find peace.” Those are his words, his last.