The Rake's Rainbow (31 page)

When she finally reached her room, her hand shook so hard she could barely turn the key in her lock. On the verge of collapse, she threw herself across the bed.

Why?
screamed her brain. Her eyes saw nothing but the black hole of the gun barrel. Sobs tore through her throat, and she wept for a long time.

The attempt was deliberate. That much was abundantly clear. The assassin first identified her, then took careful aim. Who would wish her dead? 

“No!” she protested aloud. “I will not believe it.” 

New tears welled. She fought them down, pacing the floor in agitation. Was this not exactly what she derided Thomas for?  Allowing love and desire to cloud his reasoning so that even blatant evidence was ignored or explained away?  Two accidents on the stairs. A shooting in the garden. He had been away most of the night – ample opportunity to arrange such a thing. Yet she could not believe him responsible. He lived for honor. And if he chose to kill an unwanted encumbrance, he would never hire another to carry out the act. He had been asleep in his room when she returned to the house.

Another possibility came to mind. She clung to it as to a lifeline.

Thomas might not be responsible, but what of Alicia?  She could not accuse her openly, of course. But who else existed with the slightest motive for terminating her existence?  Every sense accepted
her
guilt.

Caroline relaxed into a smile. Could she use this attack to further her own cause? 

Hope bloomed as she explored this possibility. If nothing else, it distracted her mind from the horror of that pistol shot. But the longer she considered the situation, the more certain she became. It did not take long to develop her strategy.

First and foremost, she must remove from town without delay. If Alicia wanted her dead, this morning’s failure would not prevent a second attack. She would pack a small valise and order out the carriage immediately. Dawson could pack the remainder of her clothes to be sent down when Thomas joined her. And she would have to reward Dawson for her faithful service. Perhaps the earl could advance her enough. Caroline’s reticule was woefully empty just now.

She would not wake Thomas before leaving. If he was–  No, he was not guilty, she reminded herself sharply. She would leave him a letter containing an explanation of the morning’s events.

No longer did she face having to make a direct accusation. The shooting might be enough by itself to force him into seeing Alicia for what she was. He could come up with no other suspects either. Dawson should pack her cloak last, allowing him to examine it.

She descended to the breakfast room.

“What?” The earl nearly choked on a piece of bacon when she baldly announced the murder attempt.

“I fear it is true,” she calmly repeated. “And I have no doubt who was behind the plot.”  When horror convulsed his face, she hastened to reassure him. “No!  Thomas would never stoop to such depths. You know that as well as I do. I am convinced a certain unnamed female conceived this action.”

“My God, I’ll see her transported for this,” he swore viciously.

“No, you will not,” countered Caroline. “Do you want to plunge us all into scandal?  Society would never believe Thomas was not involved. Let him handle it. He will settle things without publicity. Please do not meddle unless he requests it. This might be the one thing that will force him to confront the truth. Since I emerged unscathed, I am actually delighted at this turn of events.”

He frowned for several minutes before his brow smoothed. “Very clever, Caroline. What do you plan to tell him?”

“Nothing in person, believe me. Prudence dictates that I leave immediately for Crawley. I cannot risk another attempt. The carriage will be here in fifteen minutes. I left a letter for Thomas describing the attack, but naming no names and assigning no blame. He should be able to reconstruct the plot without further assistance. And will accept it more readily if he does so.”

Marchgate nodded. “Is there any evidence you can offer to aid his thinking?”

“My cloak. It contains two holes. I will leave it in my room.”

The earl blanched. “You must take Worth for protection,” he insisted, naming his head groom. “He can return later.”

“Thank you.”

They discussed the details of her forthcoming journey while she finished breakfast, then bade each other a fond farewell, and she slipped away into the fog.

Chapter 17

Caroline arrived at Crawley at two, weary from the emotional strain to which she had been subjected for so long. The entire journey had passed in agonizing memory and unanswerable questions.

Though convinced that Alicia was responsible for the morning’s attack, she could not completely banish a nagging suspicion that Thomas might be involved. Or might condone his idol’s actions. Obsession obeyed neither common sense nor prudence. Would he accept a
fait accompli
without delving too deeply into how it came about?  Could that convoluted brain somehow twist Alicia’s attack into a justified action?  Though she was convinced that his conscience would eventually rebel against such horrors, the immediate outlook was definitely uncertain. Nor could she forget the disappointment that had flickered across his face after the first accident or the hatred that blazed following the second. He may not have initiated either action, may not even have entertained the idea of eliminating her, yet he was not slow to recognize what it meant to his future.

But she loved him. No suspicion could alter that. Unbidden, her thoughts moved ahead through the years. Could she share his house if he stubbornly continued adoring Alicia?  Sadly, she could not. The constant pain would destroy her. Love would turn to bitterness. Anger would eat at her soul. It would not take long for mutual recrimination to destroy them both.

How long could she endure the present situation before she gave up all hope?  A month?  A year?  If Thomas remained adamant, would her efforts turn his course?  She shook her head. Even if her hopes proved true, he might not redirect his attentions toward her. Suspicions of Drew would cloud his judgment.

Wearily, she gave up. Unless Thomas acknowledged Alicia’s true character, there seemed no hope for their future. So she was back to her initial problem. How long should she wait before removing from the scene?  And where would she go?  Sheldridge Corners was not a possibility. Not only was it unfair to her parents, but she could not tolerate the sympathy she would receive from her family. Perhaps the present Lord Cummings could help. There were several aunts and elderly cousins who might be willing to take her on as a companion.

This is the last chance. Give me the strength to leave if it fails.

As the carriage pulled to a halt, she composed her features into a calm mask.

“Welcome home, my lady,” greeted Peters at the door. “Is his lordship not with you?”

“No.”  She smiled. “Again I must apologize for not warning you of my arrival. But with the funeral behind us, I simply could not remain in town. Lord Hartford will follow in a few days, as soon as he winds up his brother’s affairs. But the journey has wearied me. Dinner on a tray in my room will suffice for tonight, Peters.”

“Shall you need Sarah, my lady?”

“Yes, please, and a bath. The house looks lovely. I see the new covers are installed in the drawing room.”

“Last week.”

“Wonderful. You and Mrs. Peters have done well.”

She climbed to her room, relaxing for the first time in days. Despite the amount of work yet to be done, she could not but feel content in her own home. The idea of leaving tore at her heart, but unless Thomas recovered from his obsession, she would have no choice.

A bath improved her outlook and she lay down for a nap, sleeping soundly until a nightmare intruded late in the afternoon.

She had been cornered in the Marchgate garden by the cloaked killer, reliving that awful instant when the realization that he was going to shoot had paralyzed her legs. Only when she established that her assailant could not be Thomas had she been able to move. Her attacker was much too short.

Sleep was now impossible. She donned an old cloak and wandered toward the lake, again pondering the events leading to her flight from London. The nightmare would fade in time. No one could survive such an attack without residual terror. It would continue at least until Thomas returned. His attitude would determine how long it would remain. If his obsession continued, the dream would intensify. If he repudiated Alicia, it would fade quickly. If he set his idol aside but retained her image, she did not know what would happen. But until then, she must concentrate on estate duties.

The rest of the day flew past in a flurry of activity. She met with Jacobs, who introduced her to Richards. Jacobs’s leg was much better, allowing him to walk with the aid of a cane. He could not yet stand for any length of time, but should soon be riding for short periods. Another hour passed with Talbert. Estate conditions improved daily. Planting was complete. She was surprised at the difference in the gardens and grounds. Deadwood and overgrowth were gone. Many garden plantings were too damaged to recover and had been removed. She must plan replacements.
If she stayed
. But even with bare spots, the grounds began to do justice to the manor.

These activities kept her thoughts at bay. But an evening at the pianoforte failed to do so. She could not connect with the music. Nor could she reach any real conclusions. Fears, plots, options, and longing swirled through her head, unaffected by the most challenging pieces. There was no one with whom she could discuss her problems. Drew might have offered sound advice, but he was beyond reach. She could not air her difficulties with anyone local. Not even the vicar. She had to protect Thomas from rumors.

There
was
a vicar who could help, of course. Her fingers crashed in a dissonant cluster on the keys. Vicar Cummings, her own father, would listen and understand, and he knew enough of London society from his own youth to offer realistic advice. Was Uncle William still there?  Could she bare her soul to her father without advertising to Waite her rift with Thomas? 

Possibly. Particularly if she could make it appear her stop was a side trip between London and Crawley, taken because the Marchgates had departed, but Thomas’s business was incomplete. After all, he would not return for some days yet. She would be back at Crawley before his arrival. It was perfect.

Peace at last descended over her spirit. Issuing the necessary orders for an early departure, she composed a brief note explaining her absence in case Thomas returned early, then went to bed.

* * * *

Thomas awoke to a mild headache from George’s brandy and the familiar fog that had plagued him since Robert’s death. Another day to be endured, one that must start with a confrontation. Hopefully he was right to believe that Caroline would welcome this discussion.

He sat up gingerly, not yet ready to face Cramer. A folded paper propped on the washstand caught his eye, Caroline’s copperplate on the outside. Cold fury washed over him as he read.

Thomas–

I leave for Crawley immediately. Between accidents and attempted murder, London has proven unhealthy. There is no need to rush your business. Worth and Larkin can ensure my safety.

Disturbing your sleep can serve no purpose, so I will content myself with reporting facts. As I walked in the garden just after dawn, a hooded and cloaked man stopped at the mews gate. After watching me closely for some time, he removed a gun from beneath his cloak, deliberately aimed at me, and fired. He immediately raced away. I was unable to discern his direction as heavy fog distorted the echoes of his footsteps.

This time he missed, but his care and deliberation convince me he will try again. I refuse to offer him a chance to succeed. Flirting with death is not my style.

I am making no accusations, Thomas. You care nought for me, as I well know. But I cannot believe you are so lost to honor that you would stoop to murder even to rid yourself of an encumbrance that must daily grate on your soul. Yet the fact remains that someone desires my death. I will not remain a target.

Caroline

He hated her.

Not only did she stand in the way of happiness with Alicia, she was a leaden burden.
An encumbrance that must daily grate on your soul...
She certainly understood his dilemma. But how dare she imply that he might kill her? 

He paced the room, fists clenched in anger. In spite of her disclaimer, she must believe it. Why else would she leave without even waking him?  He had every right to know immediately of the shooting. And she had no business making decisions on her own. He should decide whether to send her home.

He again read her infuriating missive.
Stoop to murder...
She had even relinquished her good sense. Did she have no understanding of honor?  Were she ten times as bad – nay, a hundred times – he would never harm one he had pledged to care for. How could he ever accept her after this outrage?  He should have found a way to marry Alicia.
She
would never suspect him of infamy! 

His mental bluster continued for some minutes before he admitted in surprise that it was, in fact, bluster. His pacing abruptly stopped. Did he really hate Caroline?  He carefully smoothed the crumpled note. Taking a deep breath, he pushed aside the anger at her sudden departure, ignored her hints at his involvement, and reread the message.

Shorn of his emotional response, her words struck terror in his heart. He shuddered. By no stretch of the imagination could the incident be an accident. Was it an attempt to scare her?  Injure her?  Or was she correct to suspect deliberate murder?  Icy shivers marched down his spine.

Who would want to kill Caroline?  He rejected the obvious answer, and more forcibly rejected it again, but it would not go away.
Someone desires my death...

Grimly he summoned Cramer. Twenty minutes later he strode toward Davies Street, with an open mind for the first time in more than a year.