The Perfect Princess (41 page)

Without conscious thought, Rosamund got up. Her mind was racing; her blood was pumping hard and fast. “You can’t be Richard’s nemesis!” she cried.

“Nemesis?” Callie’s eyes glittered. “Yes, you’ve hit on the right word. This is about revenge. But no, I’m not Maitland’s nemesis. I didn’t appear onstage until the last act. I had nothing against—Richard? Is that what you’re calling him now? But my role was so interesting, I couldn’t turn it down.”

Rosamund tried to say something, but her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She was staring at Callie, and everything was becoming clear to her. If Callie was not Richard’s nemesis, there was only one part she could have played. And, of course, she was made for it: the
delicate bone structure, the small stature; and she had always loved theatrics.

Her mind suddenly conjured up a scene from the past. They couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen years old. Everyone had to do a party piece on Christmas Eve. She had played the piano, no more than adequately, and received a polite round of applause. Callie had made a quick exit, then returned to the drawing room, making a grand entrance, dressed in boy’s clothing. Then she delivered Portia’s famous speech from
The Merchant of Venice
, dressed as the lawyer, word-perfect and riveting. The applause had been tumultuous and, of course, Callie lapped it up.

It came to Rosamund that even this was playacting. The stage was set; Callie was giving a word-perfect performance and she, Rosamund, was an audience of one. Callie wanted to astound her with her brilliance, and she was succeeding. She fed on applause.

They were in the last act, Callie had said. How would it end?

A primeval dread sent shivers along Rosamund’s spine. Callie wouldn’t be telling her all this just to pass the time of day. She was savoring her moment of triumph, then she would end it. And she was prepared. Her muff lay right at her hand. She was brimming with self-confidence, almost giddy with it.

She saw now that she’d been lured here. Callie had known that Prudence had gone to her brother’s place to convalesce, and she, Rosamund, had boasted that she was done with ducal carriages and footmen, and all the trappings of her father’s exalted position. She just wanted to live like an ordinary girl!

Oh, what a fool she’d been! She’d taken Harper with her, but he wasn’t watching the house. He was outside the grounds, watching and waiting for Charles Tracey to appear.

Where was Nemesis?

The thought made Rosamund’s knees begin to buckle. She straightened them and tried to get hold of her breathing. Nemesis had to be here somewhere.

“You look pale,” said Callie. “Have I shocked you?”

Shocked
wasn’t the word for it. Her chest rose and fell with pent-up terror.
Don’t panic
, she inwardly yelled. She had to take her bearings, think what to do. She had to keep Callie performing until she saw a way out of this.

Harper! She had to alert Harper.

When she spoke, she was surprised that she was still coherent. “You were the boy Richard saw in Lucy Rider’s room?”

“I was.”

“What made you do it? Does this man have some kind of hold over you? Did he force you to do it?”

Anger blazed from Callie’s eyes. “No one forces me to do what I don’t want to do. You’re so conventional, you could never understand. I killed Lucy Rider for the thrill of it.”

Rosamund swallowed hard. “But this man,” she said, “he doesn’t kill for the thrill of it. He wanted to punish Richard, didn’t he?”

Callie’s eyes narrowed. “Richard again? I see he made quite an impression on you, too. But you’re only half right about Frank. Oh, he wanted to punish Maitland, all right, but that was only part of it. To have the power of life and death over someone is as close to immortality as we’ll ever come. Frank understood that.”

On a sudden insight, Rosamund blurted out, “You killed your husband!”

Once again, Callie was highly amused. “He was the first. Don’t look so horrified. I got him drunk then smothered him with a pillow. He didn’t suffer.”

Rosamund’s horror wouldn’t have been so consuming if Callie had sounded more like the deranged woman she was. But they might have been talking about
the latest fashions, or who was soon to be married or not.

When Callie stood up and put her hand in her muff, Rosamund rushed into speech. “Callie, this isn’t you. What has this man done to you?”

Callie chuckled. “You could never understand. All your life, you’ve followed rules. Frank and I make our own rules. We live on the razor’s edge. We dare everything on the throw of the dice. Life and death have no meaning for us. The first time we met, like recognized like. I told him how I’d killed my husband, and he applauded. He told me how he’d killed his wife, and I clapped. I knew then that I had met my soul mate.”

“You killed Digby and Whorsley!”

“No, Frank did. I killed the boy.”

“But why? What did the boy ever do to you?”

“Nothing. He just happened to be there. I believe he was collecting on a debt for his master. That’s what he told me before I cut his throat. Well, I had to, you see. He’d seen us.”

The muff was discarded and a wicked-looking pistol was pointed straight at Rosamund’s heart, a dainty pistol suitable for a lady, and easily concealed in her reticule or muff.

Why, oh, why
, thought Rosamund wildly,
didn’t I listen to Harper?

Callie said, “Frank must be wondering what’s keeping me. This was only supposed to take a moment. But I couldn’t resist putting you right about a few things, and now that everything has been said, it’s time.”

“How can you do this?” Rosamund cried out. “We were raised together. We were like sisters.”

“Sisters!” Callie was incredulous. “I was the poor relation! You were the apple of your father’s eye! Do you know what my father told
me?
That I must always show a proper respect and gratitude, or he might be turned off
and we’d end up in the poorhouse. So I had to smile and simper and pretend to like you. Well, I didn’t like you. I despised you, and at last I can say it.”

Callie didn’t make an arresting picture now. Arrogance gave her features an ugly, spiteful look. Rosamund knew that her own face must be registering her hurt and shock.
Later
, she told herself fiercely,
feel sorry for yourself later. Think of how you can alert Harper
. And where, oh where, was the caretaker?

Her eyes darted around the room, looking for a means of escape or something she could use to defend herself. The decanter of sherry was within arm’s reach, and she was only a step or two away from the door, but she’d be dead before she could reach it.

When Callie raised the pistol, Rosamund flinched. “If I’m going to die,” she cried out, “I want to know why.”

The pistol lowered a fraction. “Because you said you were going to prove Maitland’s innocence. I knew you wouldn’t give up, and how right I was! You made a beginning with Newgate, but you wouldn’t stop there. Even as a child you were immovable once you set your mind on something. I knew I had to stop you. You cheated me once, but you won’t cheat me this time.”

“I cheated you?”

“Rosamund,” Callie said in a chiding tone, “haven’t you worked it out yet? The night of your ball, I mistook Prudence Dryden for you. I fired that shot outside the folly.”

Rosamund was past being shocked by anything this madwoman could say. She was concentrating on inching closer to the table with the decanter on it.

“You’ll never get away with this,” she said. “Aunt Fran knows I came here to meet you. Charles knows, Harper knows, and . . . and the caretaker must know.”

Callie smiled. “Fenton? Oh, yes, but he will verify my story. I told him I’d given up on you and he watched me leave. Not long after, Frank hit him on the head and
locked him in the coal cellar. I returned, and here we are. The authorities will think that housebreakers broke in, and when you discovered them, they killed you.

“No one saw Frank or me. This house is off the beaten track. You have no neighbors to watch your comings and goings. I warned you about that, didn’t I?”

She’d run out of questions except one. “Who is Frank? Why does he hate Richard so?”

“It’s ancient history. You wouldn’t know him even if I told you his name. I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. It’s Frank Stapleton.”

There was no blinding enlightenment. She’d already begun to suspect as much. Now it was time to get out of there. “Frank Stapleton!” She looked at the door to the little sunroom and said in a loud voice, “Did you hear all that, Officer Walters? You’d better get out here before she blows my brains out.”

The pistol swung to the sunroom door, and that was enough for Rosamund. She snatched up the decanter and flung it at Callie with all her might. As the decanter and its contents went flying, Callie dodged away, but she held on to her pistol. In one bound, Rosamund went through the door to the hallway, and she stopped dead. Ascending the stairs was a gentleman she recognized, George Withers, and he had a pistol in his hand.

Frank must be wondering what’s keeping me
.

Frank Stapleton. George Withers?

On that panicked thought, she spun around and went haring along the corridor to the back stairs.

When she flung out of the back door, she flattened herself against the wall. She’d heard Callie cry out that Frank should take the front stairs while she went after Rosamund. She hoped they thought she would hide herself in the kitchens. That would slow them down and give her a chance to get to Harper, and it wasn’t going to be easy, for they were now on opposite sides of the house.

Her closest cover was the stable block, but to get to it,
she had to go down the side of the house then cut across the sward. If Stapleton came out the front door, he would see her. It couldn’t be helped. She had no choice.

When she came to the turf, she kicked off her shoes and took off like an arrow. Everything seemed different now. Distances had suddenly increased tenfold. The grounds were not a small acreage. They stretched out to infinity.

A shout on her right alerted her to the fact that she’d been spotted by Stapleton, and an answering cry at her back told her that Callie was after her, too. She could outrun Callie, but she hadn’t a hope against Stapleton. If only Harper would come through the gates, he would see her! She couldn’t scream; she couldn’t spare the breath.

This couldn’t be happening, she thought wildly. The sun was shining; the trees were a riot of color; the pastoral setting was as pretty as a picture. And two maniacs were trying to kill her.

When she reached the cover of the stable block, she stopped to get her breath. She knew she couldn’t run any farther. This is where it would end. Harper would hear the shot and come running, all right, but much good it would do her! She had to do something, even if the gesture was futile.

Callie hadn’t lied. The caretaker had been working on the window frames. He’d left the job half done. She picked up the plank he’d been working on, then turned back to meet Callie or whoever should turn the corner of the stable first.

Every sound seemed to be magnified a thousand times; the soft footfalls of someone crossing the grass; someone’s labored breathing; the lazy drone of a bee; her own panicked heartbeat.

Her timing was faultless. The full force of the plank struck Callie across the chest. Air whooshed out of her lungs. As she toppled backward, the pistol fell out of
her nerveless grasp. Rosamund threw away the plank and went after the pistol, then shrank back when Stapleton came round the corner.

He smiled at her, actually smiled as though he were flirting with her, then he transferred his own pistol to his left hand and picked up Callie’s pistol.

“Now, that wasn’t nice,” he said to Rosamund, and clicked his tongue.

Callie was getting her wind back. She hauled herself to a sitting position. Her face was mottled with fury. “You bitch.” Then to Stapleton, “Frank, give me my pistol.”

“Certainly, my dear.”

Screaming was her last resort, thought Rosamund. She opened her mouth, but it wasn’t a scream that split the air. It was a pistol shot. Frank Stapleton had put Callie’s own pistol to her temple and pulled the trigger.

Rosamund flinched away in horror. Death was instantaneous. Callie’s face was frozen in surprise. Her mouth formed a round
O
and her brows were arched above her dark eyes. A small bullet hole disfigured her left temple. When Stapleton straightened, Callie sank back, her lifeless eyes staring at the sky.

Rosamund put a hand to her mouth. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t take her eyes off Callie.
Get up!
she wanted to scream.
No more playacting! This game has gone on long enough!

But it wasn’t a game. It was all in deadly earnest.

Her eyes jerked up when Stapleton moved. Without haste, he dropped Callie’s pistol on the ground beside her and transferred his own pistol to his right hand.

Rosamund’s throat worked. “She said you were soul mates,” she whispered hoarsely.

He gave a careless shrug. “Mrs. Tracey meant nothing to me. It was the boy I admired, Sebastion. That’s how he introduced himself when we met at a masqued ball. It was weeks before he told me his secret. I could never really think of Sebastion as Mrs. Tracey.”

She gestured helplessly toward Callie. “But why this?”

“I had to end it. He was becoming reckless. Nothing frightened him. If I hadn’t killed him, he would have killed me eventually. He was beginning to lose respect for me. Close your eyes, Lady Rosamund. I promise this won’t hurt.”

He hadn’t lost any of his charm. It made her want to be sick. But she hadn’t lost the will to live. She had to do something. Harper must have heard the shot. He must be close by. But close by wasn’t close enough.

She made a gesture with one hand. “For the love of God, close her eyes. She loved you. Show some respect.”

When he turned and looked indifferently toward Callie, Rosamund seized her chance. She launched herself at him. As they toppled to the ground, the gun was knocked out of his hand, slithered over cobblestones, and came to rest against a stone urn. She bit, she scratched, she pulled his hair out by handfuls, but the contest was unequal. He backhanded her across the face, and before the mist cleared from her brain, he had dived for the gun.