Authors: Brenda Joyce
The Third Heiress (47 page)
J
ill slammed the shift into neutral, steering wildly to the right of the two stopped cars. Tires screeched and her front fender grazed the red wagon’s rear bumper, the contact causing the Toyota to jump and sparks to fly. As the Toyota sped past the two standing cars, across the oncoming lane on a diagonal, Jill glimpsed the white, shocked reflection of one driver’s face in her mirror.
ill slammed the shift into neutral, steering wildly to the right of the two stopped cars. Tires screeched and her front fender grazed the red wagon’s rear bumper, the contact causing the Toyota to jump and sparks to fly. As the Toyota sped past the two standing cars, across the oncoming lane on a diagonal, Jill glimpsed the white, shocked reflection of one driver’s face in her mirror.
Ahead of her, traffic was cruising in two directions through the intersection at a steady pace. There was no oncoming traffic because of the red light. Jill continued to frantically pump the brake but nothing happened—the Toyota was cruising now under its own momentum and a glance at her digital speedometer told her that the car had hardly slowed. Her hands were wet on the steering wheel. Jill inhaled. A blue sedan was entering the intersection from her right; Jill turned her wheel hard to the right to avoid hitting him head-on.
The Toyota whipped around in a three-hundred-sixty-degree arc. Lucinda screamed again.
Everything became a blur—the blue sedan, trees and road railings, the traffic lights, as the Toyota spun around dizzily. A telephone pole loomed ahead. Dark, almost black wood, closer and closer still. And Jill thought,
Oh, no, God, not again.
Oh, no, God, not again.
The left front fender of the Toyota hit the pole and the car ricocheted into the metal railing on the other side of the road.
Jill’s head was whipped back by the impact as her air bag inflated instantaneously. And suddenly everything was still.
Jill stared through her windshield, which was intact, at the dented gray metal railing, beyond which was a grassy knoll, a brick wall, and behind that, a pleasant little wood-shingled house. Her heart began to beat. She gulped in air. The Toyota had been badly crushed in the front end, having crashed directly into the railing. The front fender had collapsed into a wide V. The hood had popped open. Jill continued to grip the wheel, so hard that her hands and fingers, which were dripping wet with sweat, began to cramp. Jill began to shake. It remained hard to breathe. She could not seem to get enough air.
All she could think was,
It had happened again.
It had happened again.
Hal’s bloody image, as he told her he loved her, as he called her “Kate,” as he died in her arms, assailed her.
Sirens sounded.
Jerking her out of the past. “Lucinda,” Jill whispered. If anything happened to her, Jill would never forgive herself. “Lucinda!”
“Jill,” the other woman said, one breathless word. Her skin had become grayish green, but her eyes met Jill’s, her glasses having disappeared.
The sirens sounded louder.
“Are you all right?” Jill cried. She did not seem to be hurt, other than one bruise beneath her eye.
Lucinda did not answer. Jill watched her coloring turn even more of a ghastly green as her lead lolled back and she became unconscious.
Terrified, Jill struggled with her seat belt and the air bag and staggered out of the car. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed two policemen alighting from their car just behind her, their lights flashing. “Officers!” she shouted, waving frantically. “There’s an older woman in the front seat and she just passed out!”
Jill stood still, watching and stricken, as one of the officers picked up his radio and as the other one ran around to Lucinda’s side of the car. The day, which was bright, dimmed and blurred. As if in a fog, or as if she were watching a television show with terrible reception, Jill watched the officer bending toward Lucinda, who remained inside the vehicle. Reality became distorted. Jill felt as if she were an observer, yet far away from the events actually taking place. Her knees slowly buckled and she sank into a heap on the ground.
Their brakes had failed. They had almost been killed.
Someone had almost killed them.
An ambulance sounded, its siren growing louder as it approached.
“Miss?”
Jill could not look up, hardly hearing the officer behind her. She hugged her shaking legs to her breasts. She no longer believed in coincidence.
Lady E. was dead. Her flat had been ransacked. And now this.
Someone was responsible for her failed brakes. And whoever that someone was, he—or she—did not care if Jill died.
Or maybe he did care. Maybe he wanted her dead.
“Miss? Are you hurt?”
Jill finally looked up as the officer came to stand in front her. She continued to shake. The ambulance had slammed to a halt beside the police car. Jill watched numbly as paramedics leaped from the vehicle, rushing toward the wrecked Toyota, a stretcher in tow.
I’m going to be sick, she thought, suddenly seeing the paramedics racing toward her and Hal, not Lucinda trapped in the Toyota.
She struggled with herself and found the presence of mind to speak to the officer. “Is she all right?”
“I don’t know. They’re taking her out of the car now.”
Jill got to her feet, no easy task, gripping the officer’s arm without thinking about it, as Lucinda was laid on a stretcher, her neck in a brace. “Oh, God.” The paramedics carried Lucinda on the stretcher toward the ambulance. Jill ran to them, stumbling. “How is she?”
“Nothing seems to be broken. Blood pressure’s low, pulse is steady. Looks like she fainted; she’s coming to.”
Jill muffled her cry with her own hand, watching as Lucinda’s eyes fluttered while she was being loaded into the back of the ambulance. “The neck brace?” she whispered.
“A precaution.”
Jill covered her face with her hands and wept.
“Miss.” It was the officer. “We’re going to have to take you into Emergency, too.”
Jill nodded, still covering her face with her hands. Lucinda was all right. Thank God.
And suddenly a blinding anger overwhelmed her.
Whoever had done this had to be stopped.
And she would not be stopped.
She realized she was staring at the officer, and her expression must have shown her rage, because he seemed taken aback.
Jill inhaled. She must not say anything that might have ramifications in front of the policeman. “The brakes didn’t work.”
The second officer stepped forward. “I know,” he said grimly. “I took a look while the medics were removing your friend. The line was cut. You’ve been leaking fluid, miss.”
Jill stared. As she had thought, this was deliberate. But who?
And suddenly she recalled Alex and Lucinda standing on the street in front of Lucinda’s house yesterday afternoon. Alex, who had spent all of last night with her.
Alex, who could have crept out of her bed at any time while she was asleep.
J
ill awoke to the sounds of a gull cawing. Soft, mist-laced sunlight was creeping into the large yellow and white bedroom where she had slept. As she blinked and found herself gazing at the four posters of her bed, the flocked walls and finally the gray morning sky outside, she stiffened. She had arrived late last night at Stainesmore in a state of fear and exhaustion, having taken a train from London and a taxi from York. After the accident, there had not been any way she could have driven up to the north. Making the police report had taken two full hours, and from there she had gone directly to the Paddington train station—ignoring Lucinda’s vociferous protests. Lucinda had been fine, other than some bruises, and had been released from the hospital shortly after arriving there. Jill had refused to wait to depart London for even another day. She had been more than determined to get to the north—she had been afraid to stay in town.
ill awoke to the sounds of a gull cawing. Soft, mist-laced sunlight was creeping into the large yellow and white bedroom where she had slept. As she blinked and found herself gazing at the four posters of her bed, the flocked walls and finally the gray morning sky outside, she stiffened. She had arrived late last night at Stainesmore in a state of fear and exhaustion, having taken a train from London and a taxi from York. After the accident, there had not been any way she could have driven up to the north. Making the police report had taken two full hours, and from there she had gone directly to the Paddington train station—ignoring Lucinda’s vociferous protests. Lucinda had been fine, other than some bruises, and had been released from the hospital shortly after arriving there. Jill had refused to wait to depart London for even another day. She had been more than determined to get to the north—she had been afraid to stay in town.
Last night, at half past eleven when her taxi had dropped her at the house, the housekeeper had greeted her warmly, as if she were an old family friend or an expected guest, and Jill had been shown to her room immediately.
Jill lay still for another moment. Sleep had been blissful; a blessing. She had been so tired she had not dreamed, not about Kate and not about the fact that someone might want her dead.
Thinking about Alex hurt. It hurt so much.
God. She had slept with him.
Jill flung her hand over her eyes. She could think so much more clearly now, with the accident almost twenty-four hours behind her. Ah, but it was not an accident—it had been sabotage.
Lucinda had told Alex their plans, as it had turned out. Lucinda refused to even entertain the possibility that Alex might be behind the failed brakes or Lady E.’s death. Jill was grim. She supposed that Alex could have gone directly to Thomas with the information. Thomas might have been the one to cut her brake lines. Jill hoped so—but she did not think so.
Jill sat up. She had left a window open and the morning air was chilly. Goose bumps were raised on her arms. Feeling terribly grim, she got up and slammed the window closed.
How could this be happening?
First Hal, now Alex. She had loved Hal. At the time, he had seemed so perfect. Now she knew better. Now she didn’t even understand why they had been together. He had deceived her, repeatedly, and she had only been a stand-in for his odd obsession with Kate.
Jill stared out at the mist-covered moors. Someone had tried to kill her and the odds favored Alex.
Jill washed and dressed quickly in jeans and boots. As she left her room, she could not help but glance at the closed door across from hers. Only a few days ago, Alex had stayed in that room. It felt like an eternity had passed since then. Worse, she almost expected the door to open and him to stroll out, smiling ever so slightly at her. Furious at herself, she shoved the image aside.
Trying not to glance repeatedly over her shoulder, but making sure no servant was about, she grabbed a cup of coffee from the buffet in the dining room and moved swiftly through the house and into the small study where she and Alex had previously gone over the estate ledgers.
Jill set her mug down on the worn desk, returned to the door, glanced
into the hallway, and saw no one. She closed it, debated locking it, and decided against it. She turned on one small lamp, parted the curtains very slightly, and found herself staring at the cliffs and a short, distant stretch of the beach and the sea. Someone was walking on the beach, a small distant stick figure, and gulls wheeled overhead. Jill turned away from the stark yet breathtaking view, pulling the draperies closed. Her heart drumming, a dozen excuses forming on the tip of her tongue should someone intrude upon her, she went over to the shelves and took down the unwieldy ledger for the years of Kate’s short life. She began reading each page, entry by entry. Every few minutes she would stop and cock her head, straining to hear if someone was approaching.
into the hallway, and saw no one. She closed it, debated locking it, and decided against it. She turned on one small lamp, parted the curtains very slightly, and found herself staring at the cliffs and a short, distant stretch of the beach and the sea. Someone was walking on the beach, a small distant stick figure, and gulls wheeled overhead. Jill turned away from the stark yet breathtaking view, pulling the draperies closed. Her heart drumming, a dozen excuses forming on the tip of her tongue should someone intrude upon her, she went over to the shelves and took down the unwieldy ledger for the years of Kate’s short life. She began reading each page, entry by entry. Every few minutes she would stop and cock her head, straining to hear if someone was approaching.
Jill could not relax. The task was endless, but her pulse kept up a swift, arrhythmic beat. She was hardly interested in the rents collected, salaries paid, taxes owed. But then she paused. Every single expense paid out was recorded. She was staring at kitchen records—the costs of groceries was itemized right down to four pounds of butter.
What if there was an expense referring to Kate’s stay in the Yorke Infants’ Hospital?
What if there was an expense referring to Kate’s stay in the Yorke Infants’ Hospital?
Briefly exhilarated, Jill combed through the month of May. An hour later Jill was prepared to give up. There was no expenditure listed for mid-May of 1908 assigned to the hospital. She was glum. Perhaps this was a wild-goose chase after all.
Then Jill realized that she was staring at a page listing the monthly salary of employees for the month of December. Jill started to close the ledger, thinking to poke around Coke’s Way, when the name Barclay leaped off of the page at her. She froze.
And bent closer over the volume, wide-eyed. She was looking at a list of Christmas bonuses—and one Jonathan Barclay had received ten pounds. Barclay, who had signed the receipt for Kate’s stay in the hospital, had been an employee of the family’s.
Trembling with excitement, Jill realized that next to every employee was written a job description—housemaid, butler, etc. But his position in the household was not listed. Jill thought it odd.
But her pulse continued to pound with excitement. Barclay did exist—and there was no mistaking his connection to the family now!
Jill went back a year, scanning lines, looking for his name. It did not appear.
Then she returned to May of 1908. She found the entry she was looking for. A purchase had been made for Lord Braxton in the middle of the month for the amount of seven pounds five shillings—but unlike other
purchases in the ledger, this one was not itemized. Did it matter? Kate had just given birth to Peter—and here was proof that Edward had been here, at Stainesmore, only miles away from the hospital.
purchases in the ledger, this one was not itemized. Did it matter? Kate had just given birth to Peter—and here was proof that Edward had been here, at Stainesmore, only miles away from the hospital.
She was getting closer and closer to the truth. And there was no doubt about it. The truth was in Yorkshire. She flipped backward. Her eyes widened when she found an entry for April 22. “Lord Braxton arrived at six P.M. with Mr. Barclay for a stay of indeterminate length.”
“Oh, my God,” Jill said, her pulse going wild. And she smiled. Here was the evidence she was looking for. Perhaps Barclay had been his butler or his valet, or even just a secretary. She might never know. But what she did know was that he worked for Edward—he had received a holiday bonus—and that both he and Edward had been in the country when Kate had given birth—when Barclay had paid and signed for her hospital bill.
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