Sally MacKenzie Bundle (111 page)

“Congratulations, Miss Peterson. You won the grand prize, didn’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Now I know why you never found my room—you were too busy in Lord Knightsdale’s chamber.”

“Mr. Stockley, you are insulting.”

Mr. Stockley shrugged. “Your pardon. No insult intended. We all must have an eye to the main chance, mustn’t we?” His eyes dropped to her throat. “Interesting necklace.” He stared so intently, it would have been embarrassing except it was clear it was the jewels and not her person that attracted his attention.

“Thank you.”

“Betrothal gift?”

“It is part of the Knightsdale set, yes.”

“Hmm.”

The music began. Every time the steps brought her back to Mr. Stockley, his eyes were on the Knightsdale sapphires. It was most peculiar. She was delighted when the music finally drew to a close. She was beginning to feel like a museum display, though she doubted even the most interesting artifact got the undivided attention Mr. Stockley was lavishing on the Knightsdale necklace.

She was fanning herself by one of the windows to the garden later when a servant brought her a note.

“Thank you.” She took the folded paper from the tray he offered. She didn’t recognize the man—he was one of the temporary help brought on expressly for the ball.

She didn’t recognize the handwriting, either, but she wasn’t focusing on that as she read the short message.

Claire needs you in the nursery. Come quickly.

Why the nursery? Claire shouldn’t be in the nursery this late. What could be the matter? Where was Nanny?

Emma tapped the paper against her hand. It didn’t matter—if Claire wanted her, she would go. Perhaps the little girl just needed some attention, a good-night kiss. Emma would slip out and see what
was amiss. She’d be gone only a moment. No one would miss her.

She hurried up the stairs.

“Claire? Claire, it’s Mama Peterson. Where are you?”

The nursery was dark and quiet. Too quiet. Something was wrong. She caught her breath. She was quite alone. She should have told Charles where she was going. She should have had him come with her. At least she should have stopped by Nanny’s room on her way up the stairs. She turned to leave.

“I don’t think so.” Mr. Stockley’s hand slapped over her mouth and his arm pulled her back tight against his body. For a small man, he was very strong.

“I have a knife, Miss Peterson.”

Emma felt something sharp prick her side, right under her left breast.

“I will stick you if you make the slightest noise. Nod if you understand me.”

Emma nodded.

“Good.” He released her but kept his knife against her side. “Now, very carefully, remove that lovely necklace.”

Emma fumbled with the clasp. “Are you the one who has been using the secret passages, Mr. Stockley?”

“Yes, not that they have proven at all helpful. Hurry up.”

“I am trying. It is not easy.” Emma’s fingers were shaking too much to work the clasp free. “Is Claire here?”

“Claire?”

“I got a message—”

“That was just to get you up here. As far as I know, your little Claire is sleeping soundly in her bed. Hurry up with that necklace.”

Emma felt Mr. Stockley’s knife pressing harder into
her side. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and concentrated. Finally she felt the clasp come free. Mr. Stockley grabbed the necklace.

“Tell me where Knightsdale got this.” He punctuated his question with another stab of his knife. “Where’s his safe?”

“I don’t know. He had the necklace in his pocket. I never saw a safe.”

“Hmm. I guess I’ll just have to ask him myself.” He grabbed her right hand and twisted it behind her back, keeping his knife under her breast. “I believe that’s a conversation I shall enjoy.”

Emma tried to keep from panicking. “I don’t understand. If you are just a thief—” Emma sucked in her breath as Mr. Stockley jerked her arm higher.

“I am not just a thief. I am not a thief at all. This belongs to me.”

“The necklace?”

“No.” He pushed her farther into the nursery. “Not this necklace. Others. Necklaces and earbobs and stickpins. Rings. Tiaras. I can’t find them. I’ve looked. Bloody hell, I’ve looked. I know they’re here somewhere. I’ll get Knightsdale to tell me. I’ll show him your necklace and tell him he won’t see you again if he doesn’t give me the jewels. I think he’ll talk quickly. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Emma tried to slow their progress. Where was Mr. Stockley taking her? “I still don’t understand. There are jewels hidden at Knightsdale?”

“Yes. Randall stole them from my father.”

“Are you certain—” Emma eyed the candlestick by the schoolroom shelves. Could she…?

He jerked her arm again. “Don’t even think about it. I’d rather not kill you, but I will if I have to. I’ve
killed before, so don’t think I haven’t the stomach for it.”

Mr. Stockley shoved the heavy chair away from the door to the hidden passage.

“You couldn’t have killed Lord Randall—you were too young.”

He pushed Emma against the wall, holding her there with the weight of his body while he reached up with his left hand and felt along one of the high shelves.

“Of course I didn’t kill him—that was my father.”

“William?” Emma felt sick. Had Mr. Stockley killed the man Charles had assigned to watch him?

“The footman? No, I just knocked him out. Men, especially big brawny idiots like your William, underestimate my quickness and strength. He’s trussed up safely in my wardrobe. Ah.”

The door swung open. Emma stared at the dirty, dark, spider-filled passage. Mr. Stockley was not going to make her go in there, was he?

“I killed the present marquis’s brother, of course—and his wife and servants. I paid Atworthy well to spy on them—he told me they had taken the jewels to Italy. I tore that carriage apart, went through all their bloody belongings. Atworthy lied. He meant to steal the jewels himself. He admitted it before I skewered him.”

Mr. Stockley’s knife pricked Emma again. This time she was certain it had drawn blood.

“I see.”

“Not for long.”

Mr. Stockley shoved her in the small of her back. She stumbled into the passage.

“I hope you don’t mind the dark, Miss Peterson. I neglected to leave you a candle.”

“But, you can’t—”

“Ah, but I can.”

He slammed the door in her face. She heard the scrape of the heavy chair being pushed back into place.

She bit her lip. She would not give Mr. Stockley the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

C
HAPTER
17

Where the hell was Emma? Charles looked over the ballroom again. Could he have missed her? She
was
short.

“Aunt, have you seen Emma?”

“Hmm. Now that you mention it, no, I haven’t. Perhaps she’s in the ladies’ retiring room. I’m sure she’ll be back shortly.”

Charles nodded and went off to play host, asking Miss Russell to dance. He’d already partnered each of the Farthington twins. At least he hoped he had danced with each one and not just one twice. They had dressed exactly alike tonight, even down to the same color ribbon in their hair.

Miss Russell was too intimidated by his presence or too polite to object when he spent most of their dance scanning the ballroom for Emma. He did not see her. Surely no woman could spend thirty minutes or more in the retiring room?

He hadn’t seen Stockley, either. Damn. He was glad he’d put William to watching the man. The footman was an amateur pugilist. He should be able to
handle Stockley. Still, he’d be happier if he saw Stockley’s ugly face in the ballroom.

He deposited Miss Russell with the Farthington twins at the end of their set and went in search of the Duchess of Alvord. He’d ask Sarah to look for Emma.

He found her with her husband and Robbie.

“Ah, the newly betrothed.” James grinned. “Congratulations, Charles. I highly recommend the married state.”

Robbie rolled his eyes. “I’m going to have to find new friends. You are both becoming as dull as ditch-water.”

“Perhaps you should consider joining us.” James grinned.

Robbie shook his head. “Not I. I’m too young for parson’s mousetrap.” He laughed. “Where is Emma, Charles? I’m surprised she’s not at your side.”

“I was wondering the same thing. Have any of you seen her?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Sarah frowned. “Would you like me to check the retiring room?”

“Please.”

“Are you worried something has happened to Emma, Charles?” James asked as Sarah hurried out of the room.

“No. Well, yes. I don’t see Stockley either.” Charles reminded himself William was shadowing Stockley, but the thought did little to settle his churning stomach.

“Surely you can’t think Emma would prefer Stockley to you?” Robbie took another glass of champagne from a passing servant. “She’s not so jingle-brained.”

“No, I don’t think that.”

“You think Stockley poses some danger?” James’s tone was sharp.

“Perhaps.” Charles could tell James was thinking of his cousin, Richard, who had kidnapped and almost raped Sarah in the spring. “I’m certain it’s nothing like you faced. I just don’t like the man.” Where
was
Emma? He looked around the ballroom again. Surely she should be back now.

“And?” Robbie asked.

“And?”

“There is obviously something else you are not telling us.”

Charles shrugged. “Well, there have been some odd occurrences.”

“Odd occurrences?” James’s eyebrows shot up.

“Yes. Someone has been using Knightsdale’s hidden passages.”

Robbie choked on his champagne. “I didn’t know Knightsdale
had
hidden passages.”

“Neither did I, so whoever is prowling the estate knows more about it than I do.”

“Well, that’s not a surprise.” Robbie took another sip. “Both your father and your brother kept you in the dark there.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t much interested in Knightsdale affairs.” He felt a tap on his arm and turned to see Sarah. She did not have Emma with her.

“I’m sorry, Charles. I couldn’t find her. I did ask a servant. He said she’d received a note and left a half hour or more ago.”

“Damn. Uh, your pardon, Sarah.” Charles did not like having Emma and Stockley both missing. Who would have sent Emma a note?

He felt James’s hand on his shoulder. “Can we help, Charles? Robbie and I will be happy to look for Emma.”

“Or Stockley,” Robbie said.

“No. It is probably only a coincidence that they are both absent. Most likely one of my nieces wanted Emma. I’ll just go upstairs to check. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

“All right,” James said. “But if you’re not back in half an hour, Robbie and I are coming after you.”

“I’ll be back—but yes, if I’m not, I’ll be happy for your assistance.”

Charles tried to walk sedately through the ballroom—no need to give Lady Oldston, Mrs. Pelham, or the other society tabbies any tidbit of gossip to chew on. Once he cleared the door, he picked up his pace. By the time he reached the staircase, he was running, taking the stairs two at a time.

He reached the long gallery and stopped. There was a pistol pointed at the center of his chest.

Mr. Stockley smiled. “Just the man I was looking for,” he said.

Emma counted slowly to ten, then fumbled in the dark for the lever Charles had said was there. She wished now she had asked more questions—she wished she had asked to see the lever. He had said it was lower on the wall than he expected, but he was taller than she. Where was it?

Something crawled across her hand. She screamed, jumping back, bumping into the passage’s back wall. Something filmy brushed her face.

Dear God. Spiders. She could not think of spiders. She would not. The real spider was Stockley. If she did not keep her wits about her, Stockley would entrap Charles in his web. The man was mad. And a murderer. There was no time for a fit of the vapors.

She stepped up to the door again and carefully felt
all around it. There, on the right side—the lever. Charles said to push it up, not down. It moved easily. The door opened—barely. Emma shoved as hard as she could.

It was hopeless. The door would not move another inch. It was securely blocked by the heavy chair Charles and then Mr. Stockley had pushed in front of it.

No one—certainly not she—was going to get out of the passage this way.

She could try shouting, but there was no one on this floor—no one to hear her until Nanny and the girls came upstairs in the morning. By then it would be too late. Mr. Stockley would be gone and Charles—she wouldn’t think about Charles.

She would just have to find another door. She would have to make her way along this black, dirty, spider-filled passage.

She had the sinking feeling Charles’s life depended on it.

She ran her hands carefully around this door so she could recognize an opening by feel alone. There was no hope of seeing anything in this stygian dark.

She wished again she had asked Charles more questions. Were there other doors on this level? If the passages had been built to help the family escape, it was unlikely. There were no other family rooms up here. Which meant she would have to descend to the next floor, probably not by staircase. She had best plan on doing some climbing.

She was happy the neck of her beautiful ball gown was so low—it made wiggling out of it somewhat easier. The thought that this exposed more of her person to spiders was one she firmly shoved aside.
She would worry about spiders after she had warned Charles of Stockley’s madness.

She put her hand on the wall and shuffled toward the main hall. She hoped. It would be so easy to get lost in the dark.

She shoved that thought away also. f

She wanted to move faster, but she forced herself to be patient. Somewhere ahead was the way down to the next floor—she would not do Charles any good if she took it flying head first.

In a moment, she was glad of her caution. Her lead foot slid into air. She pulled it back quickly, leaning heavily against the wall, heart pounding.