The Pleasure Trap (11 page)

Like a wild thing fleeing the hunters, the girl dashed into a clump of bushes and shrank into the darkest shadow. Crouched over, hand cupping her mouth to stifle the sound of her breathing, she waited in dread of discovery. She couldn’t make sense of what she’d seen. The big house wasn’t Bedlam, yet people still did terrible things.

She froze when she heard the crunch of boots on gravel. She knew that sound! He was taking his time, knowing that she was nearby.

Men came round the corner, and the man she now thought of as “the bad man” moved off quickly toward the river. She waited a moment, then she, too, took off, going round the back of the house and coming out on the other side.

Her heart was bursting, her lungs were close to collapse when she reached her destination, a dense thicket of briars that covered all that was left of a broken-down cottage. The cellar was almost intact. Groping her way forward, she tumbled onto a bed of dried grasses.

It was a long time before sleep claimed her.

Chapter Nine

Ash knew something was wrong the moment the Manor came into view. Men with lanterns were combing the grounds, and the house was ablaze with lights.

He and Hawkins were stopped at the gatehouse, and though the men on guard recognized them, they refused to let them pass until the constable had given his permission. As a result, they were left dawdling for ten minutes while one of the porters went in search of the constable. The porter finally returned with the message that her ladyship was expecting them and they were free to enter.

They rode in not much the wiser. All anyone would tell them was that there had been a vicious attack on one of Lady Sayers’s guests.

When he reached the front portico, Ash slid from the saddle with only a passing glance to make sure that Hawkins caught the reins. He was wound up like a child’s top and took several deep breaths to calm himself as he mounted the front steps.

In the entrance hall, Lady Sayers and her guests were talking in whispers, looking up the stairs as though waiting for someone to appear. There was no sign of Eve.

Before he could demand to know what was going on, Miss Claverley came to meet him. “A terrible business,” she said. “Lydia was attacked—stabbed, in fact. The doctor is with her now.”

“Where is Eve?”

“She’s with the doctor. You can’t go up there!”

“Oh, can’t I?”

With a rudeness that shocked the ladies, he brushed off Miss Claverley’s restraining hand and took the stairs two at a time.

“So that’s the way of it,” murmured Miss Claverley under her breath.

A footman was standing guard outside the door in the corridor and stepped in front of Ash as he reached for the doorknob. “You can’t go in there, my lord, not without the doctor’s permission.”

“Then get it for me!” said Ash, flinging the words at the hapless man.

The footman rapped on the door and, when a masculine voice bade him enter, Ash pushed by the footman into the room.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the bed. Lydia was ashen-faced but seemed to be in a deep sleep. Eve was on a chair close by, her hand clasping Lydia’s. A maid was gathering up bloody towels and bandages, and the gentleman whom Ash presumed was the doctor was drying his hands on a towel.

“It’s Lord Denison, is it not?” said the doctor. “Lady Sayers said that she would send for you. I’m Braine, by the way, Archie Braine.”

He was young to be a doctor, in Ash’s opinion. He had a countryman’s complexion weathered by wind and sun, and Ash could quite easily picture him as a shepherd, tramping across the hills with his dogs and flocks.

Ash did not correct the doctor’s assumption that he’d been sent for by Lady Sayers. He hadn’t decided yet how to explain his presence, but he knew he wasn’t going to allude to his illogical alarm for Eve. He waited until the maid quit the room before he spoke. “Mrs. Rivers looks as though she’s sleeping peacefully,” he said.

“She’s a very lucky woman,” the doctor replied, “very lucky indeed. The knife did not penetrate any vital organs, though she lost a lot of blood. But she did suffer a concussion, and I’m more concerned about that.” He nodded toward Eve. “It’s my view that Miss Dearing saved her life. She knew not to move her until she had stopped the bleeding, and a very good job she made of it, too. I was amazed that a woman would know so much.”

Though he spoke to the doctor, Ash’s eyes never left Eve’s face. “The thing you have to understand about Miss Dearing, Doctor, is that she researches all the subjects that crop up in her novels. I’d wager that one of her heroines had to stop some poor devil from bleeding to death. Am I right, Eve?”

She gave a watery smile. “Marianne in
The Hounds of Crathes.
”

“What did I tell you?”

The doctor smiled. “All the same,” he said, “women on their own are easy prey. That villain might have attacked you, too, Miss Dearing. Have you thought of that?”

“I had my dog with me, and the servants were close behind. Dexter would attack anyone who tried to harm me.”

She looked so pale and fragile that Ash hated to press her about the attack. It was the thought of the villain hanging around to finish what he’d started that made the decision for him.

“Eve, what happened tonight? How did Lydia come to be attacked? I gather they haven’t found her assailant, because I passed servants searching the grounds when I rode in.”

She cleared her throat. “A woman’s scream awakened me. She was right below my window. I threw the window wide and yelled that my dog was on the grounds and would kill anyone who was out there.” She shook her head. “I can’t remember my exact words. It wasn’t true. Dexter was with me in my chamber.”

Ash said slowly, “You were wakened by a woman’s scream?”

“Yes, I heard a woman’s scream. Then I ran outside with Dexter and found Lydia.”

They all turned when the door opened and Lady Sayers entered the room. “Eve,” she said, “the constable wants to question us. Why don’t you tidy yourself before you come downstairs? Ah, Dr. Braine. The constable would like a word with you first. I’ll stay with Mrs. Rivers.”

Eve got up, and for the first time since he entered the room, Ash became aware that she was in her nightclothes. She’d draped a long shawl over her shoulders, not, he guessed, for warmth or for modesty’s sake but to hide the blood that spattered her nightgown.

With her dark hair hanging in a thick plait down her back, and violet smudges under her eyes, she looked like a child who had seen too much and knew too much. He’d seen that look on the faces of young recruits who had survived the horror of their first battle.

She’d acted quickly to prevent a murder. She’d taken charge, sending for both the doctor and the constable. She’d stanched the bleeding. She was competent with pistols on the dueling field at twenty paces. In the boudoir, however, she was a complete novice.

He gave his head a shake as if to clear his brain. Where were these wild thoughts coming from?

By the time Eve joined them, Ash had a fair idea of how events had unfolded. Nothing was certain, however, because Lydia had yet to come round. She’d been unconscious when Eve found her, so no one knew whether she’d recognized her assailant or what she was doing outside the house when everyone was asleep.

They were waiting for Lady Sayers in a small upstairs parlor, sitting around a fire that was hot enough to scorch his boots. Apart from the constable, Ash was the only gentleman present. He got up when Lady Sayers arrived and he offered her his chair, then he took up a position at the sideboard, where he had a good view of everyone. They were all looking expectantly at the constable, who was seated in the big wing armchair that flanked the fireplace.

Ash smiled when Constable Keble made a notation in a small notebook he held in one hand. It made him think of Eve. Keble was fiftyish, of medium height, with dark hair that was grizzled with silver, and he had the same ruddy complexion as the doctor. Ash knew all about these country constables and had little hope that Keble had much idea of how to proceed, in spite of the official-looking notebook. Constables were local men of some standing, but they were rank amateurs and worked at other jobs to make ends meet. If Lydia had not survived the attack on her, he had no doubt that someone from London would have taken over the investigation.

Keble looked up and treated his audience to a spare smile. “I hope you’ll bear with me,” he said. “I know you have already made statements, but there are some points I want to clarify. In cases such as these, the victim usually helps us in our inquiries. The doctor advises me, however, that Mrs. Rivers suffered a concussion when she fell, trying to escape her attacker. Nothing serious, you understand, but it may be a few days before I can question her, and in my business, time is of the essence.”

His remarks were met with a general murmur of sympathy, then the questioning began, with the constable noting every small detail in his little book: the masquerade at Vauxhall; the time they arrived home; who heard the scream; who was first on the scene; who saw Mrs. Rivers last; and so on.

“Can’t these questions wait?” asked Lady Sayers at one point. “Whoever attacked Lydia is long gone. We can answer them just as well after we’ve had a good night’s rest.”

Anna Contini shook her head. “I doubt if I will sleep a wink.”

The constable tapped his pencil on his notebook. “There’s a reason for asking these questions now. Everything is fresh in your minds. By tomorrow, you may have forgotten some small detail that could lead to the arrest of the person who stabbed Mrs. Rivers.”

He gave them a moment to consider his words, then went on brusquely, “Did Mrs. Rivers have any enemies? Think, ladies, you must know something.”

Lady Sayers shook her head. “We wouldn’t know, not really. We’re colleagues, not friends.” She sighed. “Lydia isn’t what you’d call popular, but that’s not the same as having enemies.”

Anna Contini leaned forward in her chair. “There hasn’t been time for Lydia or any of us to make enemies. We’ve only been here for little more than a week.” She threw Lady Sayers a reproachful look. “I consider Lydia my friend, but that’s because I’ve tried to get to know her.”

“Oh?” The constable smiled. “And what did you discover?”

Anna bit down on her lip.

“Mrs. Contini,” the constable said, giving her a hard look from beneath his bushy brows, “I insist that you tell me.”

Anna visibly stiffened under that frown. As though the words were dragged from her, she said, “She keeps house for her sister in a small village near Warwick. It’s not much of a life. What I mean is, it’s very dull, and her sister is very demanding. When Lydia comes up to town, she likes to spread her wings and enjoy herself.”

“Now that,” said Keble, “is very helpful.” He made another notation, then his gaze fastened on Eve. “I’ve been told,” he said pleasantly, “that you and Mrs. Rivers did not always see eye to eye, that there was, in fact, a running battle between you on your books and,” he flicked an eye in Ash’s direction, “other matters. Jealousy, was it?”

There was an audible gasp. Ash, who had propped one elbow on the sideboard, immediately straightened. This was news to him.

Miss Claverley was bristling. “That’s a lie! And what, pray tell, has it to do with anything? Eve saved Lydia’s life tonight. The doctor told us.”

Eve’s frigid voice cut across the babble of voices raised in her defense. “I’m not aware of any quarrel between myself and Mrs. Rivers. But even if there was, that’s not a strong enough motive to do her physical harm. Why would I stanch the bleeding if I wanted to kill her? Everyone saw me. I’m not hiding anything.”

The constable spoke to his little book. “It’s possible that you stabbed her, then returned to the house and went through the motions of opening your window to warn the attacker off.”

Ash was about ready to grab the constable by the throat.

Lady Sayers’s voice arrested him. “Oh, no, Constable Keble,” she said. “We all heard the scream and came out of our rooms at the same time. Eve was in her nightgown, and there wasn’t a spot of blood on it when she left the house. By the time we caught up to her, she was drenched in blood, so I draped my shawl over her to hide it.” She shivered. “It was awful.”

After a prolonged silence, Keble nodded sympathetically. “So,” he said, “no one has any idea who might have attacked Mrs. Rivers.”

When no one answered, he looked a question at Lady Sayers. She sighed and said, “I’m of the opinion that Lydia had a tryst with some unknown gentleman who became violent when she resisted his advances.”

Miss Claverley said slowly, “At Vauxhall tonight, Mr. Fleming said that Lydia was playing a dangerous game by pretending to be Angelo. Perhaps one of the hecklers came after her.”

“Who the devil is Angelo?” demanded the constable. “It’s the first time his name has cropped up.”

“A writer of short stories,” Ash replied. No one seemed to know what to say beyond that, so he gave the constable a summary of what had taken place at the symposium but left off his own vested interest in discovering Angelo’s identity.

After hearing him out, the constable said, “Sounds to me like a storm in a teacup. Maybe Angelo doesn’t enter into it. In my experience, the attack on Mrs. Rivers looks more like the action of a jealous lover.”

Miss Claverley looked thoughtful, but she didn’t say anything.

Some other suggestions were thrown out: It was a gypsy; it was the woman who had run away from Bedlam; it was a housebreaker whom Lydia had caught in the act.

Suddenly, Constable Keble snapped his notebook shut and everyone fell silent. “Ladies,” he said, “you have been most helpful.” He nodded to each of them in turn. “Only one more thing. I must ask you to remain in town for a day or two until I’ve had a chance to look over my notes. I may have other questions for you.”

Keble turned to Ash. “Lord Denison, would you mind seeing me out?”

Ash had known his turn would come but was surprised that the constable had decided to speak to him in private. In the front vestibule, Keble picked up his hat and cane, then dismissed the footman on duty. There was no one to overhear them now.