Shady Lady (25 page)

“Jo. It’s me, Waldo. Let me in.”

When she opened the door, both Waldo and Harper slipped inside.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why are you here, Harper?”

He gave her a huge grin. “I’m going to stay in this room, as quiet as a mouse, hoping you-know-who will come creeping in, then we’ll have the bastard, if you’ll excuse my French, Mrs. Chesney.”

Her heart leapt to a gallop, and she put a hand on her breast to slow it. “You think he’ll try to kill me?”

Waldo saw the fear-bright eyes and the pallor of her cheeks, and he put his hand on her shoulder to steady her. “It could all be very innocent,” he said. “Maybe he won’t try to do anything at all.”

“Then what is he
doing
here? I mean, no one was expecting him. He was supposed to be fixed in London for the Season.”

“We don’t know. Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe it’s not. But now that he
is
here, I think he’ll try to verify whether Chloe is where he put her. And if he doesn’t, we’ve lost nothing. But we’d be fools not to anticipate his next move. So we are going to do exactly what we planned to do if he walked into our trap. And when you think about it, this is better than we planned. We have access to the house. At this very moment, Ruggles is stationed in the room opposite the viscount’s suite and will know the moment he leaves it.”

“Much good that will do if the viscount’s room has a door like that.” She pointed to the jib door.

“It doesn’t. The house has three servants’ staircases, but only two rooms with a door that gives directly onto one of those staircases: yours and Lady Brinsley’s. All the other doors lead onto corridors.”

She was impressed. “I had no idea you were so accomplished. It would never have occurred to me to check the staircases. So you really were a crack British agent.”

Harper’s only comment was a short, sharp snort.

“So, what do we do now?” she asked.

“Harper stays here; you’re coming with me. We’re not going far, but you’ll need a coat or something to keep you warm.”

She went to the closet, got her cloak, and put it on.

“Where is your pistol?”

“Right here.”

“Good girl.”

“Where are we going?”

“To my carriage.”

“You’re not sending me away?”

He made a small sound of impatience. “Of course not. You’re going to be our scout.”

She liked the sound of that. “Lead on!”

Waldo led her through the jib door and onto the servants’ staircase. There was enough light from wall sconces to make everything out. It wasn’t as grand a staircase as the one that began in the great hall, but it still had four tiers. They were on the landing of the second tier. On the same landing was another door that they had to pass before they came to the stairs.

Waldo stopped and said, “This is the door into Lady Brinsley’s chamber.”

“How do you know whose chamber it is?”

“Because the door is unlocked, like yours, and naturally I went in and had a look around.”

“You were taking a chance, weren’t you?”

“Not really. I knew her ladyship was in the chapel.”

Jo looked back the way she had come, then looked at Waldo. “What if,” she said, “Chloë came this way? Maybe Morden did go to her room that night and she ran from him. She could have come here for help or to hide.”

“Well, we know she didn’t get help, and I think Morden made sure of that by choosing his time with care.”

She got the point at once. “When his mother and her companion were in the chapel.”

“Yes. And where would she hide? He could come in either door at any moment and find her.”

She looked at him hard. “But?” she prompted.

He smiled. “But she might have had time to hide her notebook before he caught up to her.”

Her mind was working frantically. “Supposing you’re right, do you think Lady Brinsley found the notebook?”

He began to laugh. “If Chloë left the notebook there—and it’s a big if—then I think her ladyship must have it. Harper and I searched her chamber and found nothing.”

“But—”

He put a finger to his lips. “Work it out for yourself,” he said, “but no more talking till we are in my carriage.”

And with that, he began to descend the stairs.

C
hapter
25

T
here were no horses harnessed to the carriage. Waldo had located it right next to the old tithe barn, which was now the coach house, so as not to arouse suspicion. It made an excellent observation post.

From this vantage point, they had a clear view of the house, or as clear as they were likely to get when the only light came from outside lanterns hung on poles or from the few windows on the upper floors where people had yet to retire for the night. In that obscure light, all the trappings of modernity faded away and the house looked as it might have when it was first built, centuries ago, a magnificent monastery to serve God and all the inhabitants in neighboring villages.

Jo had learned that Holywell Abbey was the original name of the building until it passed into the hands of the second Earl of Brinsley. What monstrous conceit on his part to rename it after himself, monstrous and profane. The thought chilled her and she gathered her cloak more closely about her.

Waldo’s voice was hardly as loud as a whisper. “Whatever happens, Jo, I want you to stay here until either I or Ruggles or Harper comes to fetch you.”

“You think something may go wrong?”

“No. But I don’t want to be distracted by worrying about you.”

“I thought I was to be your scout?”

“And so you are. Just make a mental note of anyone who looks suspicious and report it to me when I return.”

“What about the viscount?”

“You’re to leave him to me.”

It didn’t sound like much of a job, and she was beginning to wonder whether he was purposely putting her out of harm’s way. He would have known that she would want to be part of what was going on. But somebody had to be the scout, she supposed.

After a while, she said, “How do you know that Morden will come this way? What if he comes out by another door?”

“It doesn’t matter which door he comes out. Ruggles won’t be far behind him. He’ll signal to let us know where he is.”

“A signal?”

“An animal cry—distinctive—so I’ll know it. Now, no more questions. Let’s not give our position away.”

One by one, the lights in the upstairs windows winked out. Time passed. A time or two, she tried to speak, but Waldo silenced her with a gesture. He was completely focused on the house and grounds. She studied his profile. In that gloomy interior, he didn’t look like the Waldo she knew. There was no charming smile, no humor in his eyes or expression. Everything about him was stern and harsh. Now, finally, she believed all the rumors she’d heard about his war record. He wasn’t a slightly tarnished Prince Charming. He was a slightly tarnished knight in silver armor.

She stifled a smile. It seemed sacrilegious to smile when they were hoping to unmask a murderer. She should be as vigilant as Waldo. And she was, for a time, but when there was no signal from Ruggles and no one left the house, she let her mind wander.

She heard rain pattering on the roof of the carriage. The fragrance of new-mown grass wafted through the open window. The breeze was soft with the promise of summer. A time or two, she yawned. She felt safe with Waldo beside her.

She lurched out of sleep on a jolt of terror. She couldn’t breathe. When she struggled, the hand on her mouth relaxed.

“Don’t make a sound,” said Waldo, “or our quarry may take flight.”

As awareness came back to her, she nodded and inhaled a long breath. She’d been dreaming of Chloë, a mixed-up dream where Morden was the abbot and he was walling Chloë up in a tomb. It was her turn next, and all her supplications to the monks went unheeded.

Waldo’s hand covered her shoulder. “Jo, are you all right?”

She blinked up at him. “I am now. So it’s started, then?”

He moved slightly, giving her a clear view of the window. A man was detaching the lantern on the pole closest to the back door. She couldn’t make out his features because his back was to them.

“How do you know it’s Morden?”

“Because,” said Waldo, “Ruggles gave the signal. You have your pistol?”

“Right here.” It was cradled in her arm.

“Remember what I told you. Stay here and keep out of sight. If anything goes wrong, fire the pistol and I’ll come running.”

A moment later, Waldo left the carriage by the far door. There was no sound. Both doors were unlatched. Minutes passed, but there was still no sound. She could see Morden because he was carrying a lantern. Her eyes trailed him as he took the path to the gamekeepers’ cottages. Not far behind him were two shadows, Waldo and Ruggles. She watched until they all merged into the night.

Her heart was beating very fast.

She knew the lay of the land because Waldo had been here before and had made a map of the area. Beyond the gamekeepers’ cottages was the home farm, with its pastures and woodlands. There was a stream there that fed into the Thames at Henley, but it wasn’t deep enough to submerge a body.

“Chloë,” she breathed out, a catch in her voice, “where are you?”

She heard something, some movement at the back door, and she hastily drew back from the window. Another figure emerged from the house. He, too, went to one of the poles with a lantern on it. As he reached up to detach it, the light shone full on his face. It was Morden.

She was stunned. Then who—
A decoy
! He had sent someone ahead of him to lay a false trail. For one panicked moment, she thought of shooting her pistol. That would bring Waldo and Ruggles back. But it would also scare off Morden, then they would never find Chloë.

That left Harper, but by the time she got to him, Morden could be out of sight. She fretted for a little while longer, but when Morden began to move, she knew she had no choice. As soundlessly as she could manage, clutching her pistol in her hand, she left the coach as Waldo had done, by the far door.

It didn’t take her long to figure out where Morden was going. The conservatory, detached like Chloë’s, was served by a wide path. It wasn’t far from the house. He kept to the path, while she took cover in the stretch of shrubbery that bordered it. She waited until he had entered the conservatory before she moved, then she picked her way around a dense clump of rhododendrons and looked through a pane of glass. She couldn’t see him, but she could see the haze of the lamp as it penetrated deeper into the conservatory. Then it stopped moving.

He must have reached his destination, Chloë’s final resting place.

She was rigid with fear. She knew what she had to do next, but her feet refused to obey the commands of her brain. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to confront Morden on her own. But if she didn’t do it, no one else would, then he’d get away with murder.

It was that thought that steadied her. He had murdered Chloë. He had snuffed out a life without remorse. He had sent someone to kill her too. Who would be next? Waldo? The killing had to stop.

Move
, she told her reluctant feet, and they obeyed her. The door was ajar. She slipped inside and paused. The light was far ahead of her, but she couldn’t say where exactly because she didn’t know the layout of the conservatory, not with any certainty. All she could remember from the visit earlier that afternoon was that it was a maze of twisted paths—twisted paths, towering palm trees, banks of flowers, and ancient artifacts to remind people of the house’s proud history, as though they could forget.

Many minutes passed before she marshaled enough confidence to move. She had taken only a few halting steps when she heard the door behind her close. Someone was close by. She could hear him breathing. Her pistol was in her hand but she had yet to cock it. Blood was pumping to every pulse point. She had stopped breathing. The sound of her pistol as she pulled back the hammer was unmistakable. She whirled herself around, but she was too late. The blow caught her on the side of the head, and her pistol slipped from her nerveless fingers. Then she was seized and dragged toward the light.

Waldo became suspicious when their quarry climbed a stile and began to traverse the pasture behind the home farm.

“What is it?” asked Ruggles.

Waldo looked back the way they’d come. “We’ve come too far,” he said. “Morden couldn’t have carried a body this distance.”

“What if he forced her at gunpoint?”

“Too risky. Someone might see them, some of his tenants or the gamekeepers. They were out that night looking for poachers, remember? Morden would have known it. No. This doesn’t feel right. He must have concealed the body closer to the house than this.”

“Then what is he doing now?”

“I don’t know. But I think he’s cleverer than we gave him credit for. I don’t think he has fallen into our trap. I think we may have fallen into his.”

“You think he’ll ambush us?”

“I don’t know. You’re sure this is Morden we are following?”

There was a short silence, then Ruggles said, “I recognized his coat. There are so many capes on it, he looks like a coachman.”

Another silence, then Waldo said, “I’m going back. You go on. But don’t take any chances. Kill him if he tries anything.”

“No quarter asked or given?”

Waldo didn’t respond. He was moving fast, in spite of his lame leg, making for the coach where he’d left Jo, calling himself all kinds of a fool for underestimating an enemy.

Ruggles climbed over the stile. “Just like the old days,” he said, and he quickened his pace to keep up with his prey.

“Last time,” the viscount said, “I had everything prepared in advance. All I had to do was knock Chloë on the head and toss her into the drain. This time, you’ll have to give me a few minutes till I get things ready.” He straightened and looked at Jo. “I must correct myself on one point. I had to go back to her room later and clear it of odds and ends—her toiletries and so on—so that everyone would believe she’d packed up and left. I gave that little bag to my valet to dispose of.”

He was speaking to her in a normal, conversational tone of voice, as though they were in his mother’s drawing room. Only they weren’t having a reasonable conversation. A few moments ago, he’d attacked her. The pain in her head was needle-sharp, and her throat hurt where his fingers had squeezed when she’d tried to scream. Nausea was making her stomach heave.

If she hadn’t felt so weak, she might have made the attempt to escape. Meanwhile, she was breathing slow and deep, trying to get her bearings. She was sitting on the tiled floor, her back against a stone urn, and he was standing by the sundial, one of the prized artifacts, beginning to dismantle it. He’d warned her that if she tried to stand or made a sound, he would kill her.

What she couldn’t understand was why he hadn’t killed her already.

She choked back her fear. Panic wasn’t going to save her. She had to find a way to put off the awful moment when he’d do to her what he’d done to Chloë.

“Chloë—” She cleared the lump of fear from her throat and tried again. “You’re wrong about Chloë. She’s not dead. And only I know where she is.”

She thought the lie would gain her some time, until she realized how easy it was to dismantle the sundial. The top came off, then the pedestal, and he was down to the base. Soon he’d know the truth and know that she’d lied to him.

“You almost had me convinced,” he said, “until you came out here.” Hands on hips, he stared at her, a malevolent smile on his lips. “You wanted to find Chloë? Well, I’m going to show her to you.”

He was lying about one thing. If he was convinced that Chloë was in that drain—what drain?—he wouldn’t be here. He would know she was dead and he had nothing to fear. Calling him a liar wasn’t going to help her. She had to think of something else.

The base was harder to move than the other pieces. She watched him grunt and strain as he tried to shift it to the side. The beds of pansies were crushed beneath his feet. It flashed through her mind that when Waldo saw those crushed flowers, he would know where to look for her.

Horrible thought! She squelched it at once. “You’re not going to get away with this,” she said. “My friends will be looking for me.”

He straightened, shook his head, and began to laugh. “Try again, Mrs. Chesney. I sent them on a wild-goose chase.” He looked at his watch. “They won’t be back for at least an hour. My valet will see to that.”

They’d followed the valet and not Morden. He’d tricked them all. She’d never leave this place alive. Terror rose in her throat. He saw the look on her face and laughed. “No one will ever find you, because no one knows this place exists. I found it when I was a boy, when workmen were repairing my mother’s conservatory.”

“What is it?” she asked hoarsely.

“The bathhouse of the old Roman villa. It’s all that’s left to show that the Romans were once here, that and the few artifacts you see. It’s where the spring was. In later years, they called it Holy Well because the waters were supposed to have miraculous properties.”

His little speech was so well rehearsed, she could imagine him giving it to curious visitors who came calling. Even now he was boasting about his remarkable heritage. He couldn’t help himself.

Miraculous waters. That’s what she was praying for, a miracle.

“Holywell Abbey,” she said dully.

He laughed. “So you see, you and Chloë will be resting in holy ground.”

He was going to kill her. That smiling monster was going to kill her. When he found Chloë’s body, it would be all over for her. There would be no reason to keep her alive. She had to make her move before he removed that stone base.

“You’re wasting your time,” she said, and was surprised at how calm she sounded. “She’s not in there. You thought you’d killed her, but you didn’t. She found a way out and made her way to Paris. You’re ruined, Morden. Her memoirs are to be published—”

He silenced her with a violent motion of one hand. “Lies! All lies! I read your piece in the
Journal
. You thought you would entrap me, but it’s you and your friends who walked into
my
trap.”

So, he knew about the
Journal
. It didn’t matter. She had to go on with the lie. “She’s in Paris, I tell you. She found another way out of your drain and came to me in Stratford. I helped her get to Paris.”