That Infamous Pearl (31 page)

Rowena glanced around
anxiously as she descended the stairs into the gloomily atmospheric main hall
of Brandfon Abbey. Part of her noted with amusement the poorly executed stained
glass windows, clumsy copies of ancient chests, and suits of armor sporting
components clearly hailing from at least three separate centuries. But she
barely felt the humor of it, for although she had managed to avoid Alaric thus
far, she was nervous that he might appear at any moment. She had slept very
late, partly because she had not wished to encounter him over breakfast, but
also because her worries had kept her awake until just before sunrise. She had
then sipped chocolate in her room and lingered over her toilette until Lawson's
impatience became obvious. Finally, with no further excuses to keep her from
joining the company, she had emerged, and now looked about uncertainly.
*

"Ah, there you
are, Lady Brayleigh." Lady Brandfon bustled out of the sitting room and
looked at her cheerfully. "How delightful. The ladies were just about to
take a turn in the gardens. Would you care to join us?"

Rowena mustered a
smile. She could think of few things that might be more tedious, but at least
Alaric would be unable to corner her.

"Certainly, Lady
Brandfon, that sounds charming. Your gardens mesmerized me last night, and I
would love to see them in the daylight." She paused, wondering if Alaric
was lurking nearby. "Before we begin our stroll, could you tell me where
the gentlemen are?"

"Ah, they set
out on horseback," said Lady Brandfon. "They don't care for such
sedentary pursuits as we ladies do. Shall I send someone to fetch your shawl?"

"No, I believe I
will be fine. It's a lovely day." Rowena relaxed slightly, relieved that
Alaric was not about, but somehow disappointed as well that he had made no
attempt to talk to her. Surely he was not going to allow her to speak to
Marguerite without a stern lecture on how she must conduct herself. It would be
totally unlike Alaric. But perhaps he was more concerned with keeping an eye on
Malcolm.

"Come along
then. Lady Bingham is joining us, of course, as is Mrs. Brenderby. I am sure we
shall have a delightful time. My gardener is quite remarkable, I believe, and
we have many unusual plants not often seen in England."

Rowena followed in
her hostess' wake, allowing the flow of conversation to wash over her. She
barely heard the lively discussion on the relative merits of various varieties
of roses, and merely nodded her head and smiled whenever she was prevailed upon
for an opinion. She noticed that Lady Bingham also paid little attention to the
conversation, but seemed to be preoccupied with other matters. Rowena wondered
what fiendish plots the woman was devising.

Her thoughts were
interrupted by Lady Brandfon. "Ah, Lady Brayleigh, do tell me what you
think. Mrs. Brenderby is of the opinion that this hedge should be trimmed back
in order to obtain a better view of the woods. I feel that so broad an outlook
would diminish the intimacy of the landscape. Please help us solve our dilemma."

Rowena turned towards
her hostess, looking absently at the enormous hedge that rose before her and
eyeing the woods that lay on the other side of it. It seemed that perhaps Mrs.
Brenderby was right, for the wood was definitely more appealing than the heavy
privet shrubbery. However, there was also no reason to offend her hostess, as
Rowena felt more and more certain that she was unlikely to repeat this visit.

"I believe--"
she began, when there was a sudden explosion nearby. Rowena jumped and turned,
and as she did so she felt something fly past her with a whistling noise,
passing within inches of her head. She started and stumbled backwards, the
color washing out of her face, while Lady Brandfon
gave a screech
of alarm.

"Someone is
shooting at us," she screamed. "Oh, my goodness, I knew that those
poachers would cause problems. I made Sir Peter promise to do something about
them, but he is far too lax. Oh, my dear Lady Brayleigh, are you all right?"
She rushed to Rowena's side. "Goodness, you must be faint. My smelling salts
must be about somewhere."

Rowena looked around
her, startled by the sudden noise and confusion. With dawning shock, she
realized that she had almost been shot. Everything about her began to move very
slowly, and her knees felt weak, as though they could no longer support her
weight. Mrs. Brenderby was staring at her in horror, and Lady Brandfon was
about to enfold her in a damp embrace. She swayed slightly, realizing that the
blood draining from one's face need not be only a literary turn of phrase, and
Lady Brandfon urged her down onto a carved stone bench that stood nearby.

"Goodness. Mrs.
Brenderby, come take Lady Brayleigh's arm. I do believe she must feel faint.
Quickly, now. She came so close to being killed. What a horrible thing to have
happened."

There was the sudden
thudding of hooves, and then the booming voice of Sir Peter was heard, yelling
from near the woods.

"Did you hear
that, hey? Damn poachers, shooting on my land. The gall of them. I'll have the
magistrate down on them."

There was a moment of
silence and then running footsteps approached. Rowena looked up to see Alaric,
his face alight with concern, moving swiftly through the tangle of the gardens.

"Rowena. Rowena,
are you hurt?"

Rowena looked up at
him with detached surprise. His eyes were worried, his face very grave. How had
he known that she had almost been hit by a bullet?

"I'm fine,"
she managed, her voice trembling. "I was merely startled."

"Startled,
indeed, the poor lamb," interjected Lady Brandfon. "She was almost
killed. The bullet must have passed within inches of her. It's mere chance that
she isn't lying dead in front of us now."

"That's enough."
Alaric's voice cut through the rising hysteria of Lady Brandfon's. He looked up
as the other men approached.

"Is anyone hurt?"
asked Sir Peter anxiously. "My apologies. Damn poachers. I'll make sure
they're all hung."

"How did you
know this happened?" asked Rowena.

"We were riding
in the woods, and heard the shot nearby," offered Mr. Brenderby. "And
then Sir Peter heard Lady Brandfon scream. It seems he recognized his wife's
voice."

"Are you all
right, Rowena?" Charles was looking down at her anxiously, his eyes very
serious. "You weren't hit?"

"No, I'm fine,
Charles. I will be quite all right as soon as I rest a moment. Don't be
concerned." Rowena gave him a shaky smile.

Charles shook his
head. "Someone should pay for this."

"I'm sure no
harm was intended," said Rowena. "Please, don't fuss over me."

"It seems that
wherever Brayleigh goes there is gunfire," said Lady Bingham suddenly, her
voice full of malice.

"What do you
mean by that, Marguerite?" asked Alaric. He glared at her, his face a cold
mask.

"Nothing at all.
I'm sure it is only coincidence that violent events occur wherever you go."
Marguerite smiled softly.

"Well, nothing
to be done about it, hey?" said Sir Peter, straining to fill the awkward
pause. "Come along, Lady Brayleigh. We'll get you back up to the house and
you can rest."

"I'll see to my
wife, Sir Peter." Alaric stepped forward and lifted Rowena up into his arms
as effortlessly as he would a child. "I'll feel more comfortable if I am
sure she is safe."

"Certainly, my
boy. Nothing like a husband to care for his wife's needs, I always say. Is
there anything we can fetch for you, Lady Brayleigh?"

Rowena shook her head,
trying to retain her dignity despite being held high up off the ground against
Alaric's broad chest. "Please, don't let this disturb your afternoon. I'll
be fine. Continue your activities."

"Brave girl."
Sir Peter beamed at her. "We'll see you later, then, hey?"

Rowena smiled at him
as Alaric bore her off through the gardens, his long legs moving at a rapid
pace. She looked up into his face, but could read no emotions there.

"Alaric?"

He looked down at
her, and the grimness about his mouth eased a little. "You are truly
unhurt?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm
fine. I was simply startled, and frightened. It isn't every day that I'm shot
at."

"I shouldn't
have brought you here," he said, his voice angry. "I knew it was a
mistake to agree to your wild plot."

Rowena stared up at
him. "You don't think it was poachers who fired that shot?"

"No more than I
believe that the runaway carriage was an accident," answered Alaric. "This
time they have gone too far and they will pay."

"Who?"
asked Rowena. "Do you think Marguerite did this? She was with me the
entire time, you know."

Alaric gave her an
enigmatic look. "I think the killer of Alfred Ingram was involved in this,
yes."

Rowena considered his
words. "Perhaps she has someone working with her. Voxley is not here with
her; perhaps he was hiding in the woods."

"Perhaps."
Alaric had reached the house and he carried her up the stairs to her room,
taking the steps two at a time. "You will stay in your room for the rest
of the day. I won't have you in danger again."

"But I have to
speak to Marguerite this afternoon," Rowena protested. "It is
imperative that we end this now."

"Oh, it will
end." Alaric glared at her. "But you will not be involved in it."

"You cannot
simply go to her and accuse her. She'll never admit anything to you. But she
thinks me a naive child, and who knows what she might give away."

"You are a naive
child." Alaric's gaze softened as it swept over her. He set her gently on
her feet. "You have no idea of the danger you are in."

"Marguerite can
hardly shoot me in the solarium," argued Rowena. "Alaric, you must
let me do this. If you don't, I'll cause a scene. I'll find some way to talk to
her. You know that you cannot stop me."

Alaric shook his
head. "You are far too headstrong. If I let you go, will you promise to be
very careful?"

"Of course. I am
always careful, Alaric. You know I will be very cautious."

Alaric shook his
head. "I have some knowledge of your idea of caution, my dear. The
Arlingbys have a different understanding of the word than most of us."

"Surely you don't
think I am as rash as Malcolm! I can be very discreet, Alaric. It is unkind of
you to say otherwise."

Alaric grinned
reluctantly. "Very well. I will allow you to discreetly speak to
Marguerite this afternoon. But you must be very careful. Do you promise me you
will do nothing to put yourself in danger?"

"I promise."
Rowena sank down on the bed. Now that her victory was won she was feeling
tired. "Perhaps I should rest for an hour or two."

"What a good
idea." Alaric eased her back onto the pillows and pulled the coverlet
gently over her.

"Do you promise
me that you will wake me up in time?" Rowena asked, her voice already
fading.

"I promise."
Alaric sat down in a chair next to the bed and watched as Rowena slowly fell
asleep. His hands clutched the arms of the chair as his gaze stayed intent on
her sleeping countenance.

Two hours later
Rowena entered the solarium, trying her best to look calm and collected. The
rest had done her good, but she was not accustomed to gunfire, and had found
the experience unnerving, particularly since Alaric obviously believed it had
not been an accident. The thought of meeting with the very person who was
possibly responsible for two attempts on her life, was doing nothing to calm
her down. Although Rowena was certain that there was little Marguerite could do
to her inside Brandfon Abbey, she still felt a pang of anxiety.

"Ah, there you
are, Lady Brayleigh. I was beginning to wonder if your courage had deserted
you."

Rowena pivoted and
saw Marguerite standing on the other side of the room, gazing at her with an
unconvincing smile on her lips. She had obviously arrived early and chosen the
best spot to stand in order to convey an awe-inspiring effect, Rowena thought
with a reluctant twinge of admiration. Marguerite wore an afternoon dress of
frothing white muslin, which might have made her look innocent had the cut left
more to the imagination. As it was, the gown contrasted brilliantly with her
black hair and blue eyes, and she stood near the huge windows that looked out
over the grounds, framed by the vaulting glass and exotic plants that decorated
the room. Rowena hastily swallowed her annoyance and stepped forward,
attempting to look suitably impressed.

"I came because
I must hear what you have to say," she answered softly. "I must know
the truth about my husband."

Marguerite gave her a
shrewd look. "I think you already know the truth. You simply need someone
to confirm it. Hasn't Malcolm already convinced you of his guilt?"

"Malcolm's belief
that Alaric is guilty is not proof. He has no evidence. I thought that you
would know far more about his movements and behavior at the time of the murder.
I can't condemn my husband without knowing the facts."

Marguerite swept
forward and seated herself on a blue velvet sofa, arranging her skirts
carefully. She patted the cushion next to her, and Rowena approached her
reluctantly, seating herself gingerly next to her enemy. Marguerite smiled.

"I was very
close to Alaric," she murmured. "And I can tell you much of how he
behaved at the time. But if you are asking me to clear your husband, I cannot
do that. I am quite certain he is Ingram's murderer. If you are not careful you
will be his next victim."

Rowena stifled the
urge to laugh in Marguerite's face and fought to keep her voice under control.

"What can you
possibly mean? Surely you don't think he is trying to kill me?"

"There have been
two attempts on your life in the past week," Marguerite pointed out. "Surely
that is a bit of a coincidence. Alaric has killed before, and I fear he will do
so again."

"But why would
he wish to do away with me? I am his wife."

Marguerite sighed. "You
are either hopelessly naive or very stupid. Alaric married you only to show
Malcolm that he could have anything he wants. But he has no further use for
you. And if he kills you, it will be a second lesson to Malcolm; Alaric is not
someone to be toyed with. Alaric is not interested in young, unsophisticated
women. He needs a wife who understands his ways and will give him the freedom
he needs."

"Someone like
you?" asked Rowena, unable to keep the tart tone out of her voice.

Marguerite shrugged. "He
should have married me twelve years ago. But yes, I think I would be a much
better match for him than you are."

Rowena shuddered. If
she was not totally convinced of Alaric's kindness, she might find Marguerite
persuasive. Marguerite's apparent willingness to marry a man she believed was a
murderer also made Rowena increasingly nervous. The woman was obviously a
hardened case.

"You have no
proof that he means to harm me," she protested. "And you have no
proof that he killed Ingram, either."

Marguerite sighed. "Very
well. I will tell you everything, and then you will know that I am speaking the
truth. On the morning that Malcolm discovered Ingram's body Alaric left his
house very early in his curricle, taking no one with him and telling no one
where he was going. But I know he was carrying a pistol."

"How are you so
certain?"

"I bribed his
valet." Marguerite shrugged at Rowena's raised eyebrow. "Alaric and I
had had a silly quarrel, and I wished to make it up with him. I was infatuated
with him, much as you were when you married him." She patted Rowena's hand
condescendingly. "I quite understand. Alaric has certain, um, endowments that
are most appealing. At any rate, I was obsessed with finding him and speaking
to him. His valet warned me not to talk to him that day; he said his master was
in a towering rage and carrying a pistol."

"But that isn't
proof that he killed Alfred Ingram," protested Rowena. "That only
means that he was armed, for which he might have many reasons. Malcolm had been
threatening him, and my brother is very hot-headed."

"Nonsense. Charles
Montfort had come to the house only the night before and told Alaric that
Malcolm was to go to Ingram the next day and offer him a large sum of money for
the Pearl of Sirsi. He even told Alaric the time Malcolm meant to arrive in
Merton. Alaric was very careful to rise before that and leave with plenty of
time to spare."

"How did Charles
know of this?" asked Rowena curiously.

Marguerite waved her
hands vaguely. "Charles knows everything that goes on about town. He's
such a good-natured fellow; everyone confides in him. It is hard to believe
Alaric and he are cousins, as their personalities are so different."

"And he told
Alaric about this? He must have known it would make him very angry."

"He was trying
to show Alaric the futility of fighting over the pearl, that Malcolm, who was
the true owner, was determined to retain it. But Alaric wouldn't listen. He was
furious and swore that he would have the pearl no matter what the cost. And you
see what the cost was--Ingram's life, Malcolm's reputation, and possibly your
life as well. This matter will never be put to rest until Alaric is convicted
of his crime."

"But no one saw
Alaric at the site of the murder," protested Rowena. "This is still
not proof."

Marguerite frowned. "Alaric
is a clever man. Do you think he would let himself be seen? But he was seen at
Ingram's shortly after the murder. The magistrate had just been summoned and
the servants were holding Malcolm when he arrived. He must have been waiting
nearby and could not wait to gloat. He is a cruel man, Rowena. He carefully
planned to lay the blame upon your brother, and then married you only to hurt
your family further. Charles said he was terribly cold when he arrived at
Ingram's, showing no sympathy for the dead man but only saying that he deserved
to die for his greedy attempts to play Alaric against Malcolm."

"Charles was
there as well?" Rowena's forehead creased in thought.

"Oh, Charles had
ridden out to Ingram's, fearing Alaric might be up to some mischief. He
realized he had not managed to talk Alaric out of pursuing the pearl, and he
thought his cousin might attempt to interrupt the meeting between Ingram and
Malcolm in some way. But he was too late to prevent the murder; his horse threw
a shoe on the way there and he was detained."

"Indeed?"
said Rowena. She gazed past Marguerite as an incredible thought began to form in
her mind. "Charles seems to have been very involved in this affair."

Marguerite blinked
and gave her an impatient look. "He was concerned for Alaric. For some
reason he has a ridiculous fondness for his cousin. It's not as though Alaric
has ever done anything for him."

"He pays his
gambling debts," Rowena said softly.

"Does he? Well,
it is his duty as head of the family. If Charles' debts of honor were not paid
it would be a dreadful scandal," observed Marguerite with a shrug. "But
we are straying from the point. You must realize now that Alaric killed Ingram.
He was furious when Charles told him Malcolm meant to bargain for the pearl. The
servants were all terrified. He left the house early, carrying a pistol, and he
was at the scene of the crime shortly after it occurred. He showed absolutely
no sympathy for Ingram. It is obvious that he is the killer."

"But he didn't
think Malcolm was guilty at first," observed Rowena.

"He was trying
to get him to stand trial. Of course he would have been convicted, and Alaric
would have been free of all suspicion. It was a cold-blooded and clever
strategy. We all knew Malcolm didn't do it and urged him to flee. Even Charles
told him to do so, and he should have sided with his cousin."

"Charles told
Malcolm to flee the country?" Rowena looked puzzled.

"He thought it
was wrong that Malcolm should be punished for something he didn't do. As much
as he cares for his cousin, he is as convinced as I am that Alaric killed
Ingram."

"Is he indeed?"
Rowena stood up abruptly and walked over to the window, staring out at the
gardens without truly seeing them.

Marguerite shot her a
perplexed look. Rowena seemed to be suddenly far more interested in Charles'
actions than Alaric's. "He told me so once. It alarms him, knowing that
Alaric can be so violent." She paused and bit her lip. "Surely you
believe me. You cannot possibly imagine now that your husband is an innocent
man."

"It certainly
would not appear that way," said Rowena tartly. "Thank you for your
time, Lady Bingham. You must forgive me; I find that there is something very
important I must do."

Leaving an astounded
Marguerite staring after her, Rowena rushed out of the room, turning her
conversation with Marguerite over and over in her head. It had not occurred to
her to ask before, but it seemed Charles was involved with this matter at every
turn. He had told Alaric when Malcolm would be with Ingram, he had been at the
scene of the crime shortly after it was committed, and he, more than anybody
else, had reason to wish Alaric dead. He was the heir to the earldom and to all
the Brayleigh wealth, wealth that he needed to pay his debts and keep his
future wife in a comfortable style. Rowena ran down the hall, searching for
Alaric. She had to tell him that it was Charles, not Marguerite, who was the
most likely culprit.

She saw a parlor maid
bustling down the hall and rushed up to her. "Have you seen Lord
Brayleigh?" she demanded. "Hurry, it is very important."

The girl stared at
her and blinked. Rowena tried to calm herself, imagining that she must look
rather wild.

"Lord Brayleigh,"
she repeated. "Where is he?"

"I saw him in
the billiard room, my lady," said the maid.

"Thank you."
Rowena turned and flew down the hall, leaving the maid staring after her in
amazement.

Rowena burst into the
billiard room, flinging the door wide in front of her. Alaric stood behind the
table, dressed in immaculate afternoon dress, a queue balanced lightly between
his fingers as he surveyed the table. She drew in a breath of relief. The mere
sight of him made her feel more confident.

"Alaric. Alaric,
I must speak to you. It is very important."

Alaric looked up to
see Rowena standing in the doorway, surprise and alarm in her wide violet eyes.

"Alaric, it is
not who we think," she said hastily. "It is--"

She broke off at the
warning look on Alaric's face and turned to see who else was in the room. Charles
stood on the other side of the billiard table, looking at her with
astonishment. She realized abruptly how odd she must look, bursting into the room
and speaking so urgently. She managed a tiny laugh.

"Oh, Charles. I
didn't know you were here. I...had something to tell Alaric, but it is of
little importance."

Charles looked from
her astonished face to Alaric's, which was covered by a heavy frown. He raised
an eyebrow.

"Have I stumbled
onto a mystery?" he asked lightly.

"No, of course
not," said Rowena. "I am sorry if I seem alarmed. Perhaps what
happened this morning upset me more than I thought it did. I seem to be
ridiculously on edge."

Alaric came over to
her and took her arm gently in his hand. He squeezed it slightly.

"You should
return to your room, Rowena. I told you that it was far too early for you to be
up and about. You received a serious shock to your system. You must give it
time to mend."

"But Alaric, I
need to speak to you. Perhaps you could come with me?" Rowena gazed
anxiously up at him. It was urgent that she tell him of her suspicions now. Charles
might very well be dangerous. He had tried to dispose of Alaric once already,
and now they were alone together.

"Later, my dear,"
said Alaric soothingly. "I must finish my game with Charles. I will come
up to your room when I am done."

"But Alaric--"

"Rowena, you are
becoming hysterical. Go to your room and lie down. We will discuss this later."
Alaric's fingers bit into her arm and her eyes widened as he gazed down at her,
an intense gleam in his emerald eyes.