Authors: Brenda Joyce
The Third Heiress (49 page)
Jill did not know what to do. She wanted to fax all of the documents stuffed into her anorak to Lucinda, but she was afraid to stop in the village, afraid those few precious minutes would enable Alex to catch up with her. The Land Rover careened down the hilly, twisting road. It was misting out and Jill tried—and failed—to find her wipers.
Periodically Jill could glimpse the choppy gray waters of the North Sea through the sparse trees on the left side of the road. She realized Coke’s Way was not far ahead.
Grainy, grayish headstones pierced the fog, ahead of her, against a backdrop of slick wet grass and spiny trees.
The chapel! She could fax everything from the vicar’s office.
Jill gunned the accelerator pedal. She raced down the road and swung the wheel wildly, turning far too abruptly across the oncoming lane into the drive of the chapel. She hit the brakes, the Rover spitting gravel. And even as she ran toward the old stone church, she was frantic, wondering if Alex was on the road behind her, if she was losing her small, precious head start.
Lights were on—a good sign. She thrust open the old, scarred wooden door, found herself standing in the nave. The chapel was filled with shadows because of the late afternoon and the rain that would start at any moment. “Vicar? Vicar Hewitt?” Her voice sounded high, raw, and panic-stricken even to her own ears.
He appeared out of the shadows at the far end of the nave. Slowly approaching. Jill could not make out his expression because of the gloom but suddenly she was paralyzed, because it flashed through her mind that he had been waiting for her. But no, that was impossible, she was losing her grip, completely.
“Miss Gallagher?”
“I need your help,” Jill cried, twisting her hands and realizing with some odd, detached surprise that they were scratched. “I need to use your fax, and I need you to keep a lookout for me!” Tears slid down her cheeks.
“A lookout?” the vicar asked, pausing to stand before her.
“I’m being followed,” Jill whispered. “I’m in trouble. Can I use your fax now?” She started past him, toward the small office behind the nave.
“Miss Gallagher. You are distressed. Let me take you to my home for some hot tea and you can explain to me what this is all about.”
Jill shook her head, running now down the nave. “Maybe you could
send these faxes for me.” She could envision Alex behind the wheel of the Lamb, just moments away.
send these faxes for me.” She could envision Alex behind the wheel of the Lamb, just moments away.
“I’m afraid you do not understand. I do not have a fax machine.”
Jill stumbled and stared. It took her a full moment to comprehend what he was saying, and then, when she did, she heard the most awful sound she had ever heard in her life—a familiar, powerful roar—the sound of Alex’s Lamborghini stopping in the drive outside of the chapel.
For an instant, Jill was paralyzed.
In the next instant, she looked up, met the vicar’s dark eyes. “Don’t tell him I’m here!” And she ran past him, down the nave, into his office, and out the back door.
The vicar did not move. A moment later the front door opened and Alex stepped inside, removing a pair of yellow-tinted sunglasses. It had begun to rain, and his distressed brown leather jacket was spotted with water.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Preston,” the vicar said. He pointed. “She went that way.”
Alex nodded.
OCTOBER 17, 1908
T
he last place she wished to be was at Bensonhurst.
he last place she wished to be was at Bensonhurst.
Kate stood on the landing above the ballroom, staring down at the crowd. She had not seen or spoken to Anne since that horrendous occasion a week and a half ago at the Fairchilds’. In the interim, she had not been able to eat or sleep. She had spent most of her time with Peter, holding him to her breast, trying not to give in to her grief and despair and a terrible sense of impending doom.
Kate clutched the railing for support. She had nibbled on dry toast that morning, and now felt faint. She wished she had eaten something heartier. But she supposed there was a bright side—she had been able to squeeze into her most dramatic ball gown, a bare, black lace creation she had worn once before her pregnancy. She was making a statement. She knew she was beautiful and desirable, and tonight, no one would think otherwise.
She had dressed for Anne now that they were rivals.
The ballroom below was filled with guests; Kate was late. She saw Anne and her parents holding court in the very center of the huge room, Anne lovely in a pale pink taffeta gown. She was wearing, Kate realized, some of the Bensonhursts’ most priceless jewels. Diamonds dangled from her ears, were roped about her throat. The jewelry was overpowering. Kate
herself was wearing nothing but a locket on a black velvet ribbon. It was a very special locket, given to her by Anne at Christmas two years ago. In it were their two portraits. That holiday, they had sworn to be best friends forever.
herself was wearing nothing but a locket on a black velvet ribbon. It was a very special locket, given to her by Anne at Christmas two years ago. In it were their two portraits. That holiday, they had sworn to be best friends forever.
Briefly, Kate’s eyes blurred with tears as sadness overcame her. She had become overly emotional these past few days—every little thing, every recollection, every memory, every doubt, every fear, was enough to make her weep. How torn she was over her predicament. She did not want to be at odds with Anne, she did not want to fight with her for Edward’s hand. She wanted everything to be set right; for things to be the way they had been before Kate had returned to London.
Then Kate realized that the earl of Collinsworth and his wife, the countess, stood beside Anne and her family and she stiffened. They had all seen her.
Kate slowly came down the stairs, refusing to tremble, her long, scalloped hem trailing after her. She wondered if Anne had told her secret—hers and Edward’s—to the world. Everyone seemed to be staring at her, as if she were an uninvited guest—or a fallen woman. Kate neither faltered nor flinched. And she had been invited—before that fateful day in the Fairchilds’ gardens.
Kate continued toward Anne, her parents, and the Sheldons, her head held impossibly high, her cheeks flaming, hoping against hope that Anne had not heartlessly destroyed her reputation. They were at a terrible impasse, but surely such a friendship meant something, still.
And where was Edward? Kate did not think he had arrived yet.
She had not breathed a word of what had transpired to Edward. She had not dared.
Kate felt more than ill. She felt as if she were on a terrible precipice, and that there was no way to step back, that there was no way to safety, to certainty. She had been living with an almost insane fear, a feeling that one small nudge and she would be hurtling downward, to her death. These past few days, she had been haunted by her fears and what could only be a frightful premonition—that something disastrous was about to occur. That her very worst nightmare would soon come true. That she was about to lose Edward, Peter, everything.
She had recently come into the habit of glancing over her shoulder, almost expecting to see Anne there, or someone, watching her, waiting for her. Kate was afraid she was unraveling; she was afraid she might be losing her mind.
She paused before Anne and her family. “Happy birthday,” she said with her most gracious smile. Her pulse was pounding in her chest. Nerves beset her.
And Anne did not smile back. Anne stared at her as if she were a monster with two heads.
Oh, God, Kate thought, feeling so ill she might very well vomit there on the spot. But she continued to smile, and she kissed Anne’s cheek. Anne said not a word. Her expression was frozen into a nearly expressionless mask. Her eyes, however, were filled with disdain.
Kate turned so abruptly that she lost her balance. Only to find Lady Bensonhurst staring at her with such censure that she realized, in the next heartbeat, that Anne’s mother knew about everything. And the civil greeting Kate had been about to offer died unspoken on her lips. Anne’s mother knew—
Anne had told her about Edward and Peter
.
Anne had told her about Edward and Peter
.
A feeling of panic rushed over Kate.
She looked past her to the earl of Collinsworth and his wife. His cold hard stare was every bit as unwelcoming as Lady Bensonhurst’s. The only person present who seemed to have any compassion was the countess; her smile was slight, but perceptible.
It hardly mattered. Kate had come out of pride. She had also come to stake out her territory, even if Anne would be the only one to know what she was about. And perhaps she had come hoping to find that an old friendship still lived. Now she managed a curtsy, muttered some greeting, she knew not what, and fled.
She needed air. Desperately.
As she rushed through the crowd she finally saw Edward, his gaze fixed upon her. But Kate could not stop. She was truly about to be sick. She ran past astounded guests and through the terrace doors onto the terrace behind the house. In the corner, she hung over the railing, heaving dryly, miserably. The night could not be worse.
“Kate!”
Not now, she thought silently, desperately, clinging to the stone balustrade.
Edward’s hands steadied her shoulders as she straightened. “You’re ill! When did you become sick?”
Kate did not face him; he remained standing behind her. The moon was full in a starry night sky—a very unusual sight. “Very recently,” she said with real and bitter irony.
He was silent. Then his hands tightened on her shoulders and he
turned her around. “You have been acting strangely all week. Avoiding me, I think, as much as it is possible for a woman to avoid the man she shares a bed with. What aren’t you telling me?”
turned her around. “You have been acting strangely all week. Avoiding me, I think, as much as it is possible for a woman to avoid the man she shares a bed with. What aren’t you telling me?”
Kate looked up at his beloved face, into his searching eyes, and almost blurted out everything.
Anne said, “Edward. Kate is ill, please do not embarrass her. Let me manage this, as this is a moment between women.”
Kate looked past Edward and saw Anne behind him, her eyes overly bright, her expression extremely, severely, composed. And she was afraid, terribly afraid, to be alone with her.
For one moment, Edward did not move. Then he stepped aside. “Of course. I would never wish to embarrass a lady.” He bowed and finally smiled at Anne, but stiffly, before striding away.
Kate almost called him back.
And Anne’s face changed. “How dare you come here!” she cried, low. “How dare you set foot in my home!”
“Anne …” Kate began, shocked by her vehemence. She had expected bitterness, perhaps, and anger, but not fury, not rage.
“No! You must leave, this instant, before you humiliate me upon my birthday!” Anne’s eyes were glittering unnaturally. Two spots of pink had appeared on her cheeks, perfect little round circles that might have been painted there. The effect was clownish.
Kate stepped backward. “Anne, I did not come here to humiliate you. In spite of everything, we are still friends, I do love you …”
“Then why did you come? To congratulate me because of my engagement to your lover?”
Kate flinched.
“Get out,” Anne gritted, gloved fists clenched. “Get out and do not think to ever come back!”
Kate felt as if a stake had been stabbed through her heart. How could this be happening? How could Anne despise her so? For one moment Kate hesitated, seeking desperately the words that might mend an ancient friendship and end a bitter new rivalry, but no words came to her mind. Anne’s angry, hostile gaze did not relent. Kate gave up. She lifted her skirts and rushed past Anne. She could not retreat fast enough.
A
s Jill ran out of the back door of the chapel, it began to rain. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the Land Rover sitting in the drive. Damn it! Vicar Hewitt could lie for her but Alex would know she was there anyway.
A tight, frantic feeling seized her, interfering with her breathing, as she raced across the lawn behind the chapel.
s Jill ran out of the back door of the chapel, it began to rain. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the Land Rover sitting in the drive. Damn it! Vicar Hewitt could lie for her but Alex would know she was there anyway.
A tight, frantic feeling seized her, interfering with her breathing, as she raced across the lawn behind the chapel.
She thought she heard him coming, behind her.
Jill had reached the stone wall that ran parallel to the road. She did not hesitate, but launched herself onto it, scrabbling over it, and jumping off of it to land on her hands and knees on the other side. Stones and the roots of trees dug into her hands. She thrust herself to her feet. She could not get enough air and she was covered with sweat.
Jill dared one quick glance over her shoulder, but it was pouring now, and she could not make out any sign of Alex approaching.
It didn’t matter. She knew he was there. She could feel him coming after her.
Was this the way it had been for Kate? Had she run like this from Edward?
Suddenly Jill thought she heard the engine of a car.
She rushed to the side of the road, strained to hear, and at first heard only her thundering heartbeat and her raspy, tortured breathing. Then she heard it—louder now—there was no mistake about it. A car was driving in from the north—from the direction she herself had just come.
Jill turned abruptly, but didn’t see Alex. Shaking like a leaf, she waited, until she saw the headlights piercing the gloom. She began waving her arms frantically, not daring to cry out. A small hatchback approached. Jill debated jumping in front of the car, but it was coming on at a good clip and she was afraid that, in the downpour, she might get run over. She jumped up and down, waving at it desperately, tears streaming down her face, praying that the car would stop, the driver would let her in, and take her to safety. The hatchback zoomed past her.
God! Jill didn’t think twice. She raced across the road, her footsteps sounding terribly loud on the pavement, climbed the opposite stone wall, and found herself in the cemetery.
Coke’s Way. She could hide there—it wasn’t far.
Jill ran through the maze of headstones, through the fog steaming up from the ground, stumbling on the sodden earth and grass, dodging the shadows that were misshapen trees and bushes, flinging glances repeatedly over her shoulder. And then she heard him.
Jill turned, frozen, but now heard only the rain and the wind. She whirled, running—and the ground disappeared beneath her feet.
Jill fell.
Hard, into a wide hole in the ground.
She landed on her buttocks and her hands, and for one moment was
stunned and out of breath. She had fallen into a deep pit or cavern. In the next instant, wet earth squishing through her fingers, a series of chills swept over her entire body. Realization struck. She had fallen into a grave.
stunned and out of breath. She had fallen into a deep pit or cavern. In the next instant, wet earth squishing through her fingers, a series of chills swept over her entire body. Realization struck. She had fallen into a grave.
Jill jumped to her feet, breathing harshly, loudly, afraid Alex would catch her now—and then what would he do? Fortunately, her eyes were level with the top of the grave—it wasn’t as deep as she had feared. Fear and adrenaline gave Jill the kind of strength she’d never had before. She managed to hoist herself out of the grave while scrabbling up the dirt walls with her feet.
Once on solid ground, Jill lay flat on her stomach, panting and fighting for air. But she did not have time to lose. She got up—only to realize that she had been lying in the freshly overturned earth. Her gaze fell on the tiny, barely discernible headstone at the head of the grave.
She stared, for one moment stunned motionless. A second later she was on her knees, bending over the tiny, almost nonexistent slab of stone that marked Kate’s grave.
Jill was paralyzed.
Kate’s grave had been dug up
.
Kate’s grave had been dug up
.
Someone had desecrated Kate’s grave
.
.
Or had it been desecration?
“Jill!”
Jill inhaled at the sound of Alex’s shout.
“Jill! Jill! Where are you?!”
He was some distance away. Farther than she had thought—maybe across the road. But he was big and strong—he could cut the distance down between them to nothing within seconds.
“Jill!”
Jill ran. She left the cemetery, the manor with its two chimneys a dark, looming shadow ahead of her. Thunder boomed overhead. Jill faltered, finally collapsing against a gnarled tree, the rain beating down on her. She could hear Alex calling her again.
She started to cry. Had he been the one to destroy the grave? And why? Was it for more DNA? Or to find out the truth about how Kate had died?
Lightning split the sky, out in the sea.
She froze, realizing the way the lightning had lit up the dark sky. It had lit up the entire landscape—and she had practically been standing out in the open. Had Alex been able to see her? Suddenly Jill wished he would call her again—so she could discern where he was. But no shouts rang out now from the vicinity of the cemetery and the road. There was only the rumble of distant thunder, the drumbeat of rain, the howl of wind.
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