The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) (9 page)

Chapter 14

One day slid into the next and Clairece did not wake. While Doctor Farris and James came and went, Anthony stayed determinately by her side.

“She should have regained consciousness by now,” Farris said, lowering the stethoscope.

“What else can I do?” Anthony scraped a hand over the stubble on his cheek.

“Keep talking to her. Read to her, it doesn’t matter what. Use your voice to draw her back.” Farris’ gaze skimmed over him. “How long has it been since you last slept—as in a bed?”

“I’m all right.”

“You won’t be if you don’t let someone else help,” Farris returned gruffly.

“Anything else?”

“Pray.” Farris left the room.

During the next two days, Anthony left Clairece’s side only to bathe and change clothes. At such times, Mrs. Dobbins sat with her, rattling on about inane things. He took his meals by Clairece’s bed and dozed in the chair with one hand resting on hers.

Well into the fourth night, Anthony finished reading the daily newssheets and reached for a book on her nightstand.
Pride and Prejudice.
He sighed, settled back, and flipped open the cover. A pressed flower fell from between the pages. He caught the deep-red blossom in his palm.

“You kept it.” He glanced at Clairece, then placed the memento back inside the cover and closed the book.

The once blazing fire had turned to embers and the room felt chill. Anthony stood and stretched, trying to ease his cramped muscles. He skirted a sleeping Caesar and moved to the hearth to add wood to the cinders.

At a moan from the bed, he wheeled around and raced to Clairece’s side.

“Sweetheart, open your eyes. Come on, love.” Her lids rose slowly and she blinked. “There’s my girl.” He smiled and perched on the edge of the mattress.

Clairece frowned. “What happened?” she croaked.

Anthony reached for her hand. “You were struck by a carriage outside the library.”

She closed her eyes. “I remember now.”

“Where do you hurt?”

“Everywhere.” She winced as she tried to sit up.

He leaned in to support her back while he fluffed the pillows behind her.

“How bad is it?” she asked, touching the bandaging on her head.

“There’s a cut on your forehead.” Her eyes widened in alarm. “It did not require stitches,” he hurried to add. “You have a few broken ribs, other cuts and scrapes, and a lesion on your thigh which did require a few stitches.” Anthony kissed her fingers. “I am so sorry, sweetheart, more than I can possibly say.”

“You’re doing everything you can, Anthony. Without you, I would be dead.”

“I suspect the person sending the notes is
responsible for this. I also think he lured you to England for the express purpose of killing you. He knew exactly who you were, and obviously believes you know something which could implicate him in the theft of the collar and your late husband’s murder.”

“But what? I’ve told you everything I can remember.”

Anthony patted her hand. “We’ll work this out.”

Her eyes began to droop. He settled in the chair and continued his vigil. He would send for Dr. Farris and James in the morning.

Aware of a presence in her room, Clairece opened her eyes and glanced toward the door. James leaned against the frame, waiting. She signaled him to come forward. “How are you, Ree? Is there anything at all I can do?”

She patted the edge of the mattress. “We haven’t had our chance to talk, have we? I can remember a time they couldn’t shut us up.” Aware her speech slurred, she noticed James glance at the remnants of a dark liquid in a glass on the nightstand. “They insist upon giving me that nasty stuff.”

He settled on the edge of the bed as requested, and took her unbandaged hand in his.

“I cannot believe this is happening, Ree.”

She squeezed his fingers. “Anthony believes I’m a threat to someone. I’ve always been a nuisance, though, haven’t I?” She blinked owlishly to clear her vision.

“Just . . . lively. Tell me about Tony.”

“Don’t be angry with him, James. None of this is his fault.”

“Tony is a man. If not his fault, whose?”

“Mine. I brought Anthony into this. Seven years ago I made a mistake and paid dearly for it. I’m still paying for it.”

Clairece recounted the incident and told of the man who’d betrayed her.

She met his sad gaze. “Afterward, I learned I was with child. I was seventeen, James, and all my girlish dreams vanished with one foolish act. I had a child to consider. Roger offered to care for me and claim the babe as his own. He explained it would be a white marriage—a marriage in name only, before I accepted.”

“Did the conditions change?”

“No. He’d been hurt in the war and it was not possible.”

James squeezed her hand and swallowed. “Had I known, I would have married you.”

“You had your whole life ahead of you. All those plans for your future were within your reach. I would not be the one to stop you from achieving them.”

“We weren’t just cousins, we were best friends.”

“We are
first
cousins, and though not illegal in America, a marriage between us would have been looked upon with disfavor, or worse. Besides, the love we share is not what should exist between a husband and wife.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “You deserved more. I loved you far too much to see you give up everything for me and I knew you would offer.”

“Was Roger good to you?”

“Yes. Although he became overprotective, he gave me what was within his power to give, all but what I came to understand I needed most.”

James’ brow raised in question.

“I wanted the kind of love I saw between my parents, and between Uncle Adrian and Aunt Angeline.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Roger was honest about his expectations. I was the one who wasn’t. I pretended to be happy, but I could see in his eyes he knew otherwise.

“After we married, I lost the babe. I hadn’t loved the father but I grew to love my baby . . . and suddenly it was gone.”

James’ eyes closed for a moment. “I am so sorry.”

“As a way to help me forget, both Roger and my father taught me to recognize a true antiquity from a fake. I buried myself in the diversion and the more I learned the more they taught me. And then we made the trip to New York.” She stared out the window, blinking rapidly. “Finding Roger’s killer is the last thing I can do for him. You know the rest.”

“Not all of it. Tell me about Tony,” James persisted.

Clairece sighed. “You may not want to hear this.”

James patted her hand. “You can tell me anything.”

She nodded in acceptance. “My sources gave me Anthony’s name as someone who might have the relic. On New Year’s Eve, I went to his home and snuck into his library. I’d been told he kept at least part of his collection in that room. I expected him to be with his guests.”

“But he was there,” James concluded. “Alone.”

She nodded. “He told me to leave, but I didn’t.” She twisted the sheet in her fingers. “I cannot begin to explain what seeing Anthony—just being in the same room with him—was like.”

Clairece smoothed the sheet over her waist. “The mask I wore gave me the anonymity to do something incomprehensible, something I would never do otherwise. With Anthony, I felt
desire
. Not the weak sort of fluttery thing young girls describe in poems, and not the infatuation I now realize was all I’d felt for Carlen. Anthony makes me feel alive, something I haven’t felt in a long time.”

James’ expression changed subtly as he focused on Clairece. There was something in his countenance Clairece had not previously noticed. Something troubling. Soon, she would ask him what had happened to him during the years they’d been separated.

“I want you to return to Ashley House with me.”

“Please, James, don’t ask it of me.”

“I don’t want you hurt again, Ree. Although Tony is my best friend, I don’t believe him capable of fidelity and a lasting relationship.”

Clairece slowly shook her head. “Anthony would never intentionally hurt me.”

“Not intentionally, no, but—”

“What more can I ask? There are no guarantees in life, dear cousin.” She squeezed his hand. “For as long as it lasts, let me have this.”

“Do you realize what you’re asking of me?”

“Yes. Although this goes against your protective instincts, do it for me,” Clairece pleaded.

James rose and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I’m here should you need me. Get some rest and I’ll see you later.”

Chapter 15

Anthony stepped into the hall as James strode past. “James, I—”

James held up a hand and continued down the stairs. “Not now, Tony. For God’s sake, not now.”

Anthony glanced toward Clairece’s door. If James was this unsettled, how must she feel? He gave a cursory knock and walked in.

Clairece turned her head toward him. “James is so upset.”

“I know, love. He just needs time.” Anthony moved to the side of the bed and sat. “I want to take you to my estate in Somerset. You’ll be safer there. If you wish, I’ll ask James and Phillip to accompany us.”

“But if we leave, how will we discover who’s behind this?” A tear trickled down her cheek.

Anthony wiped the crystal drop away with the pad of his thumb. “The most important thing is to keep you safe. We’re not doing a good job of protecting you here. Whoever this is will undoubtedly follow.” He tucked the quilt around her. “Try and rest. I’m going to
The Post
to see what I can find and on to the Yard.” He moved to the window and pulled the heavy draperies closed, sending the room into semi-darkness.

The connecting door eased open and Caesar trotted in. His soulful regard slid from Anthony to Clairece. With a graceful bound, the dog settled beside Clairece.

“Caesar, you don’t belong there.” Anthony reached for the reclining canine.

Clairece laid her hand on the dog’s head. “Please let him stay. I would like his company while you’re gone.”

“Are you frightened?” At her slight nod, he leaned closer. “Don’t be. Footmen are posted at each door and at the top of the stairs. A few are set to patrol outside. Now close your eyes. I’ll be back before long.”

Jeremy Stallings glanced up from his work. “Harding, I’ve been expecting you.” He motioned Anthony to a chair. As Chief Inspector with the CID, Stallings occupied one of the only private offices in the official building located on the Embankment. Although little more than a large closet, the space served its purpose.

Anthony settled in the ladder-back chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. “Why is that?”

“I heard a lady friend of yours, Mrs. Griffin, I assume, has been involved in yet another incident which could be considered an attempt on her life.” Stallings picked up a metal coffee pot and poured some dark liquid into a mug. “If things were this grave, why wait to come and talk to me?” He handed the cup to Anthony.

“We weren’t certain with the first assault, but this last time left no doubt. We believe they’re linked to the collar.”

“We?” Stallings cocked a brow.

Anthony peered at the questionable liquid before sipping. “God, how can you drink this?” He set the cup on the desk. “We, as in James Ashley, Lord Longhaven, and Lord Phillip Spencer, The Earl of Windsford’s son. They are her cousins.”

Stallings blew out a breath and leaned back in his large wooden chair. “Are we to expect a visit from the notable Adrian Spencer?”

“I would imagine so. I believe James sent word to him. Why do you ask?”

Stallings gave a bark of laughter. “You’ll understand when you meet him.” He sobered. “Why do you think someone wants Mrs. Griffin dead?”

Anthony sickened at the thought of Clairece lying prostrate at some madman’s feet. “It has to be something she witnessed at the time of the theft. There could be no other reason. The reprobate had the bollocks to try and kill her in broad daylight.”

Stallings’ eyes narrowed while he tapped a pencil on the desk. “So how may I be of help?”

“I need the passenger manifest for any ship leaving for New York around the time of the theft—say, two months before and returning shortly thereafter. If the collar was brought back to England, the person or persons would be listed both times and we can match the names.”

Stallings jotted a quick note. “I’ll put someone on it immediately. Any idea why the collar has taken so long to reappear?”

“I’m beginning to question if the story of the relic’s resurfacing was only a means to lure her here.”

Stallings’ brows rose. “Are you staying in town?”

“No. I’m taking Mrs. Griffin to Sanctuary Park. I stand a much better chance of protecting her there.”

“In Somerset?” At Anthony’s nod, Stallings continued. “How soon are you leaving?”

“It all depends on her ability to travel, but within the next two weeks.”

Stallings’ shrewd eyes narrowed. “You’ve taken quite an interest in . . .
Mrs. Griffin’s
case.”

“As it’s the same matter Her Majesty”—he returned the other man’s stare—“and
you,
asked me to take, then yes.”

Stallings smiled. “Of course. If I can help in any other way, send word.” The Chief rose. “You should consider the possibility whoever is behind this won’t hesitate to kill you as well.”

After leaving Stallings’ office, Anthony instructed his driver to take him to Whitefriars Street, the offices of The
Evening News and Post
. A frustrating quarter of an hour later, he was no closer to learning the identity of the person who had placed the ads.

Apparently, envelopes holding the short missives, as well as their payment, were left in a night drop. Advised it was not an uncommon procedure for the
personals,
Anthony stomped from the building mumbling all sorts of dire consequences to whomever allowed such an asinine practice.

He climbed into his waiting coach and leaned back wearily as he sifted through all the information pertaining to the collar and its theft. He was missing something, evidently an important something. Perhaps his involvement with Clairece was distorting the facts in his otherwise analytical brain.

One point to consider, the last words from Clairece’s late husband. If Roger Griffin had been involved in the theft, the knowledge would destroy her.

As his coach rumbled onto Park Lane, he noticed a black hackney waiting in front of his home. Hodges opened the door as Anthony exited his carriage and hurried up the front steps.

“Sir Gerald insisted on waiting and is in the drawing room, my lord.”

“Thank you, Hodges.” Anthony handed his gloves, hat, and coat to the butler. “How long has he been here?”

“At least an hour.”

Anthony sighed. “Has Jason returned from his holiday?” There were many things to discuss with his secretary before he could leave for the country with Clairece.

“Yes, my lord. Mr. Rutledge is in the kitchen having tea while awaiting your convenience.”

Anthony nodded and adjusted his cuffs and sleeves, then stepped through the double doors into the drawing room.

A slender man turned to face him. “Ah . . .
Cousin.
I apologize for stopping by unannounced, but I wanted to see for myself you were unharmed.”

A twinge of regret settled in Anthony’s chest. Gerald had always addressed him as Tony. But after Anthony had inherited, it had suddenly become ‘Cousin,’ a term uttered with obvious distaste. “I’m well, Gerald. Why would you think otherwise?”

“The rumor around Boodles holds you were nearly run down in the streets.”

“You should know not to put much stock in rumors.” Anthony strolled farther into the room. “May I offer you a libation?”

“Port, thank you.” Gerald glanced around. “You’ve done well for yourself. Truth to tell, I didn’t think you had it in you. It seems we all underestimated you.”

Anthony handed the other man a small glass of the sweet wine. “What can I do for you?” Gerald only sought him out if he wanted something. Often, a large sum of money.

“I’m overextended for the quarter. Roxbury Abbey isn’t paying what it once did, and a gentleman must keep up appearances.” Gerald took a sip and glanced around again.

Anthony caught the mercenary glint in his cousin’s eyes. “If I remember correctly, The Abbey sits on a nice parcel of fertile soil. You would be better served if you put the income back into the land, or invested in some fairly lucrative ventures. I could help if you—”

“The lucrative ventures I prefer,
Cousin
, are found at the tracks or gaming tables.” Gerald settled into a padded chair. “I never cared for the country and its interminable solitude.” He thumbed the crystal goblet. “I don’t remember Uncle Melville spending any time here.”

“He didn’t. I bought Inniswood while Harding Hall was refurbished.”

“Why not stay at Wade House? It was part of the entailment, I believe.”

“The townhouse sits empty, and will as far as I’m concerned.”

“Did you think by removing any trace of the old man it would also remove him from memory?” Gerald’s smile turned spite-filled. “I would think it a wasted effort. The mark on your temple should remind you of him.”

“Bugger you.” Anthony’s fingers traced the scar. At Gerald’s humorless laugh, he sighed. “We were once like brothers. What happened?”

“We grew up,” Gerald retorted coldly.

The door opened and Caesar’s head appeared. Glimpsing Anthony, the dog bounded forward. His awareness swung to Gerald and he stopped, a deep growl emanating from his chest. The menacing rumble grew louder until Anthony called the wolfhound to his side.

“How can you abide that devil-dog?” Gerald muttered, keeping a wary eye on Caesar.

“Is it the money, Gerald? I’ve worked hard for what I have. You of all people should understand. It was your choice to squander your inheritance instead of building something of value.”

“I was raised a gentleman, not someone to work with my hands or dabble in trade. I would sooner end in penury than marry a brash American heiress for her money, as so many have done.” Gerald affected a shudder. “I understand you’ve been seen in the company of such a woman.”

Having cultivated an iron control since he was eight, Anthony refused to be baited again by Gerald. “How much do you need?”

“Five thousand should do.”

Anthony sent his cousin a censorious look.

Gerald added hastily, “It was a high stakes game and I was winning, and then . . .” He flicked a nonexistent speck of lint from his pant leg.

“This is the last time. I would advise you to find a less expensive way to amuse yourself, or some other method to pay for it.”

Anthony ordered Caesar to stay and left the room with Gerald trailing behind. He took a seat at the large desk and pulled a book of cheques from the drawer. After scribbling the amount and signing his name, he pushed the piece of paper across the polished wood toward Gerald. “Take this draft to my bank. They’ll honor it.”

“As always, I’m in your debt.” Gerald sketched a bow, folded the cheque, and placed it in an inside pocket.

Anthony pushed to his feet. “If you truly have no interest in your estate and lands, name a price. As Roxbury Abbey borders Sanctuary, it would be worth my consideration.”

Gerald’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I suppose it would. I shall consider it.” He turned and strode from the room.

Anthony resumed his seat and swiveled to stare out the window. A stab of regret coursed through him. As lads, he and Gerald had been in each other’s pockets. Between semesters, the two would fish, swim, and raid the kitchens and pantries of both houses.

Once, after a particularly vicious beating from the earl, Gerald had consoled him. Things between them had changed after Anthony learned he was not the earl’s biological son.

At the death of Anthony’s mother, Gerald had been unavailable. Anthony had sifted through the charred remains of his mother’s belongings alone, salvaging only a small wooden jewelry box and the few mementoes it contained. With the coffer packed safely in his portmanteau, he’d left without a backward glance.

Later, and out of necessity, Anthony returned to bury the man he’d never been able to please, and to claim the inheritance the old earl had no choice but to leave him.

But even in death, the old man had tried to destroy him.