The Third Heiress (44 page)

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Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: The Third Heiress
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“No, I did not know any of that.” Jill continued to shake, and to stop the tremors, she hugged herself, trying to breathe deeply. It was impossible. “Was Edward Sheldon a leader and a lawmaker, too?”
Lucinda’s eyes brightened. “Actually, my dear, he spent his lifetime modernizing the estates. He brought the earldom into the twentieth century He was also a major supporter of labor reform.”
Jill felt like pulling out her hair. “He doesn’t sound like the kind of man who would murder his mistress,” she said. “But appearances are deceiving.”
“Jill, Edward would have
never
murdered anyone,” Lucinda said firmly. “I think you should notify the police. Maybe we should ring up Mr. Preston as well.”
“No! He’s the last person I want to call,” Jill cried sharply. She took a deep, ragged breath. “There’s no point in calling the police. Trust me on this one.” Jill started to tremble uncontrollably all over again.
“Oh, Jill, first the cat, now this. This is so terrible!” Lucinda stared at her. “And Mr. Preston is a gentleman. Surely you don’t think he had anything to do with this?”
Jill stared, feeling near hysterical tears rapidly rising to the surface. She fought to swallow them. “I don’t know what to think. I trusted him. I … I liked him. I don’t know what to think.” Tears slid down her face. “I can’t trust anyone!”
“You poor dear.” Lucinda came and sat beside her, putting her arm around her. “I am going to make you some sandwiches and tea. You need to eat, it will make you feel better. In fact, I’ll spike the tea with some brandy. That will do the trick.”
Jill didn’t hear her. What if something terrible had happened to Sir John?
Suddenly she could see Kate in the tower, begging for her life, reduced to tears, terror, and desperation.
Something terrible had happened to Kate … what if she, Jill, had been home earlier? What would the intruder have done?
Jill was on her feet.
“Jill?” Lucinda asked, bewildered.
“I need to find Sir John. Lucinda—do you have any weapons in the house?”
Lucinda blinked. “I have some Mace.”
“Mace,” Jill said, a bubble of frightened laughter erupting from her chest. “How about a flashlight?”
Lucinda nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
Jill’s knees seemed to knock together. She was a coward—but she had to go look for Sir John anyway. No matter how frightened she was.
And suddenly Jill realized, knew, and felt just how frightened Kate had been, a prisoner at the mercy of a madman, with her life at stake.
She stood and walked to an oval mirror in the entryway. For one instant, Jill could not believe that she was looking at herself.
She was ghastly white. Her face seemed narrow and pinched with strain and fatigue. Her hair was an uncombed riot of tangles around her face. But what was truly the most frightening was the wild, panicked look in her eyes.
It was a look she had seen before. It was the exact same look Kate had in her dreams.
Lucinda returned, handing Jill the Mace, holding the flashlight. “If you’re going back over there, I’m coming with you,” she announced.
Jill’s heart turned over with real gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered.
T
hey crossed between the two houses in darkness. Lucinda held a flashlight, but she kept it low, shining it only directly upon the ground in front of them. Jill told herself not to be nervous—the intruder was, by now, gone. And although she had every reason to feel dread, she kept telling herself that she was not going to find Sir John bloody and headless. It was a mantra.
The three steps leading to the front porch creaked as they went up them. The groaning wood sounded so loud in the quiet of the night. Where were the crickets? Jill wondered. The street cars? How come the neighborhood was suddenly so deserted? She glanced uneasily around but saw nothing and no one. She felt breathless.
They paused before the front door. Jill gestured at Lucinda, who understood, and she swept the front porch with the flashlight. There was no headless cat anywhere in sight, thank God.
Jill dared to breathe. She slowly opened the front door, her heart slamming, almost expecting someone to jump out at her, and she turned on the lights.
“Oh, dear,” Lucinda said quietly, taking in the mess in the parlor.
Feeling slightly braver because she was not alone, Jill crossed the parlor
and entered the kitchen, turning on every possible light as she did so. The kitchen was empty, but it, too, had been ransacked. The cupboards above and below the kitchen counters were open and various items were scattered everywhere, from bags of coffee to containers of ketchup and mustard to salt shakers, cereal boxes, and frozen bagels, Broken plates, saucers, and cups were shattered on the linoleum floor. Even her refrigerator door was open.
The floor creaked behind her. Jill whirled, but it was only Lucinda. Her heart thundered at a frightening rate. Jill whispered, “Can I borrow that light?”
Lucinda handed it to her, her expression grim, and Jill went out the back door. She called for the cat loudly, hoping if the intruder was around her cries would encourage him to flee. A few minutes later she ducked back inside, the house suddenly inviting compared to the dark shadowy gardens outside. When she rejoined Lucinda in the kitchen by the back door, she had failed to find the cat.
“Maybe he’s upstairs,” Lucinda suggested.
“I hope so.” Jill closed the refrigerator as she walked past it, avoiding stepping on shards of glass and porcelain. Her pulse seemed to be slowing—but it was hardly normal yet. “Well, at least we can be pretty certain that whoever was here is long since gone.” The fear had lessened, but she remained ill at ease. Whoever had done this had been angry. Why else sweep the china to the floor?
“Yes,” Lucinda said, her tone tight.
Jill glanced at her and immediately felt sorry for the older woman. “Lucinda, you don’t have to do this. I’m okay. I was shaken up, but I’m fine now.” It was an utter lie.
“That’s all right, dear. I don’t think you should be alone right now.” Lucinda seemed pale. Her eyes were wide behind her tortoiseshell frames.
Jill led the way as they went upstairs, calling loudly for Sir John now. Five minutes later they stood in the upstairs hallway, at a loss. “He’s gone,” Jill said. “He has disappeared.”
“Undoubtedly he is fine.” Lucinda patted her arm but she was not smiling. “He probably was frightened by the intruder. You know how he is. He’s hiding somewhere.”
Jill looked at her, saw the doubt reflected in her eyes. “I hope so.”
“I think you should sleep on my sofa, dear,” Lucinda said, glancing nervously around.
“Thank you,” Jill did not hesitate.
They went downstairs. Jill locked the house, leaving on two lights, before they left it together. As the crossed between the two flats, Lucinda asked her what she intended to do next.
“I don’t know.” Jill was terse, glancing over her shoulder not once but three times. No one was lurking about. No one was following them. “But the prospect of staying here doesn’t thrill me.” That was one of the greatest understatements of her life. “Maybe I’ll go back to Yorkshire for a few days.” An image of Kate and the tower overcome her with stunning force. Jill’s stride slowed. She thought about the photographs she had found at Coke’s Way. Hal had been drawn to the ruined manor for a reason. Were the answers there?
Jill was certain of one thing now. KC was right. Somehow, across the span of a century, Kate was desperately reaching out to her, Jill. Kate wanted her to find out the truth. A truth that others were determined to hide. And that truth was in the northern countryside.
“Do you expect to rest in the country—or to continue your search for clues about Kate’s death?” Lucinda cut into her thoughts.
It took Jill a moment to comprehend her question, for she was already back at Coke’s Way, already back at the tower. She had to reorient herself to the present, away from both the future and the past. “To continue my search,” Jill said. “I need hard evidence, Lucinda, I need real, solid proof that Kate is my great-grandmother, that Edward fathered my grandfather, that he killed Kate.” She hesitated. “And if he did not kill her, then I want to find out who did.”
“And you think those answers are in Yorkshire?” Lucinda asked, pushing open her own front door.
Jill realized she had not locked it when they had left to go search for the cat at Jill’s flat. “I feel it in my bones. I didn’t get to play sleuth up there the way I wanted to. I hardly got a chance to search Stainesmore or Coke’s Way. The staff knows me now. If I’m very bold, I’ll bet I can talk my way in as an invited guest.”
Lucinda nodded. “Let me make you those sandwiches, Jill.” She hesitated. “Jill? I wouldn’t mind making the trip with you. I can probably take a few days off. I would love to see that portrait of Kate.”
Jill’s eyes widened. “That would be great! I could use the company. Should we drive?”
“Unfortunately my Honda will never make the trip.”
“I can rent a car,” Jill replied eagerly. “In fact, I’ll do so tomorrow.”
H
ow far would someone go, Jill wondered, pushing a Hoover vacuum back and forth in the parlor, to scare her away from Kate Gallagher?
It was a frightening question—one that had kept her up all night.
And she was scared. Things had gone too far. First Lady E., then the intruder. Jill didn’t think he’d been looking for anything. Jill thought he’d merely wanted to terrorize her—and he had succeeded. Even now, she had a knot in her stomach that would not ease.
She sighed grimly, her back starting to ache. She wanted to finish cleaning the mess from last night so she could rent a car for the trip north. She’d been housecleaning since early that morning—it was almost noon—and this was not her favorite chore. Jill was about to quit when she sensed a presence behind her—when she sensed that she was being watched.
In that instant, her heart lurched hard and she froze. Then she turned, gripping the Hoover’s tube and preparing to use it as a weapon. Her gaze fell upon Margaret Sheldon, standing on the threshold of the parlor—the very last person she expected to see.
Jill recovered and turned off the vacuum. She approached the other woman slowly. Margaret looked every bit like royalty in a pale blue spring suit that cried Yves Saint Laurent and a smart off-white hat. “Lady Collinsworth. You startled me.” Recalling how crass she had been to crash her party last night and mouth off, Jill winced. She was afraid to find out why Margaret had dropped by.
Margaret did not move. “I apologize. You did not hear your knocker.” She stared, unsmiling.
Jill tensed. In that moment, she knew this was no ordinary social call. “I owe you a huge apology,” she began.
“No.” Margaret raised her hand, where a huge emerald sat. Her smile was forced, tremulous. “Miss Gallagher, I don’t know what you want, or why you’re doing what you’re doing, but I am asking you to stay away from my family.”
Jill flinched.
“Hal is dead. You have no idea what that has cost me.” A tear slid down her face—which was set in a mask of controlled anger and equally controlled grief.
“I’m sorry.”
“No!” Margaret trembled. “I know that you and Alex motored up to Stainesmore for the weekend. I want you to stay away from him. Please. You’ve done enough as it is. Stay away from all of us.” She was frighteningly white.
Jill did not know what to say. She had never felt so rotten. “It’s not what you’re thinking. There’s nothing between Alex and myself.”
“Hal isn’t even cold in his grave.” She reached into her pale blue alligator bag and produced a silk handkerchief. “I must be frank. I believe you’re taking advantage of him. I’m not quite sure what it is that you want—from him, from us all.”
“I’ve never taken advantage of anybody,” Jill said hoarsely.
Margaret did not seem to hear her. “I heard what you were saying last night in my home. How could you? I was kind enough to invite you in—and you accuse my father-in-law of … of … I can’t even repeat it!” she cried.
Jill could not feel worse. Margaret was beginning to cry and Jill felt sorry for her and was close to hating herself. She knew her grief over the loss of Hal remained as strong as ever. Jill told herself to listen to the other woman, to walk away Instead, she said, “Someone killed Kate Gallagher, Lady Collinsworth. There was never any justice. Don’t you care?”
Margaret sat down abruptly, her hand on her bosom, as if her heart was bothering her.
Alarmed, Jill knelt before her. “Are you okay?”
“No.” She looked up, breathing heavily. “Frankly, I don’t know what you are talking about. I know nothing about this Kate Gallagher, and whatever did happen, why, that was almost a century ago! Maybe, for some reason, you want to hurt all of us. Is that what you are about? Do you want to hurt my family?”
“No. I’m not trying to hurt you.” Jill stood. “Let me get you some water.” She rushed off into the kitchen, wondering what she would do if Margaret fainted on her sofa. When she returned, handing the countess a glass of ice water, Margaret opened her eyes and took a sip. “I’m sorry,” Jill whispered. “Just stay calm. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

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