Blood Marriage (25 page)

The twitch returned to Bergen's lips.

The library door opened and Vlad entered. His face was solemn, his hands clasped over his round belly above stained and rumpled clerical skirts. What little hair he had was disturbed from its usual white halo, as if he had gotten out of bed in such a rush that he'd had no time to comb it. 

"The runners have gathered the servants in the ballroom to question them. We are on our own for a while," he said. "Most of the staff will be leaving us as soon as the runners release them. I retained as many as I could."

Elizabeth didn't miss the fleeting expression of satisfaction that passed over Fielding's face. With no servants to cook or serve breakfast, it seemed her attempt at distracting him from his questions had failed. All the men's eyes were on her. She smiled her best hostess smile.

"Then we'll simply fend for ourselves." She walked to the door. 

Lennie looked at Fielding as if asking if he wanted her stopped. The answer must have been no, because the runner stepped aside. 

"I'll prepare something," she said. "You may all meet me in the breakfast parlor in twenty minutes."

"You cook?" Leo looked startled, the other men interested.

It was an unusual talent for a woman of her class. But long before the countess had offered her a position, Elizabeth's family had been in reduced financial circumstances. She'd learned to cook out of necessity. She could have explained that, but it seemed wiser to get out of the room and away from the detective's inquiries as quickly as she could, so she just nodded. Detective Fielding rose from the sofa. 

"I don't cook," he said, "but I make a credible cup of tea." 

Elizabeth frowned. The firm set of Detective Fielding's jaw told her he wasn't going to let her escape him so easily. "The duke asked that the gentlemen await him here in the library," she said.

"Surely His Grace will want breakfast as well?" Fielding was looking at Vlad.

Elizabeth's eyes flicked to the priest, hoping to find support to escape the runner's company, but Vlad didn't look at her. He smoothed a hand over his bald head and nodded distractedly, mumbling, "Yes, I will speak with him," as he left the room.

Fielding's smile was victorious, but his voice coaxing. "It isn't every day a future duchess cooks a meal for a man of my station. I'd like to be there." 

The other men rose as if in agreement. Lennie held the door open. Elizabeth suppressed a sigh of frustration and swept out into the hall, leading the way to the kitchen, a trail of curious and hungry gentlemen following in her wake.

Chapter Thirty

Elizabeth was relieved to find the fires had already been set and hot coals still glowed in both the modern stoves. In the adjacent dining area used by the household servants, dirty dishes and half-filled glasses marked a breakfast that'd been deserted. Most of the staff had probably been finishing their meal when they'd received the news of Grubner's death.

Elizabeth took an apron from a peg on the wall. To her surprise Lennie did the same. Fielding found a kettle near the stove and shook it gently, checking the water level. Satisfied, he set the kettle on to boil. 

It was Bergen who rummaged through the larder and produced eggs, a long string of sausages, and a slab of bacon. He handed them to Elizabeth, then found a place on a stool out of the way, apparently feeling he'd made his contribution to the coming meal. Randall took a seat nearby, still nursing the brandy he'd brought with him from the library. Leo began pulling plates and cups from a cupboard and setting them on a tray. 

To Elizabeth's relief, Fielding seemed content to watch her boil sausages and fry bacon and eggs, leaving off questioning her for a while. When the kettle whistled, he warmed a teapot Leo had set out, then made tea. Leo left the room to carry the tea tray into the breakfast parlor. Randall tossed back his remaining brandy and picked up the tray Leo had loaded with plates, cups and silverware, and followed him out. 

Lennie had been cutting bread and toasting it in the fireplace. Huge piles of warm slices were stacked on a platter atop a warming mantle. Now he set out a separate tray with a cup and plate. He brought the plate to Elizabeth as the first of the eggs and bacon came out of the pan. She filled it for him. He leaned in close to his boss and Elizabeth heard him say "Margaret." Fielding pulled a smaller teapot from a shelf and filled it as he had the larger before setting it on the tray. When Lennie left the room with the tray, Elizabeth could have sworn she saw a softening in the detective's eyes. She didn't bother to tell either of the lawmen that Katie had probably already taken a tray to Margaret, since in truth she was glad to see the burly runner go, if only for a short time.

Unfortunately, the fact that the kitchen was empty now save for Bergen, the detective, and herself, seemed to give Fielding the itch to begin his inquiries again.

"About that dress..." Fielding began.

"Yes, we definitely need to do something about the dress," Bergen interrupted. He left his stool to stand behind Elizabeth while she turned bacon in the pan, positioning himself to create a barrier between Elizabeth and the detective, making further questions difficult. Elizabeth threw a grateful smile over her shoulder at the doctor as his fingers moved up her spine deftly buttoning her dress. 

"Get your hands off my wife, Bergen." Nicholas sounded more tired than angry as he stepped into the room. Bergen left the top few buttons unfinished and headed for the door. 

"Hands off another man's woman?" Bergen said as he brushed past Nicholas. "Good advice, Nick. For all of us."

Regret and compassion played across Nicholas's face as he watched the doctor leave the room, but it was gone when he turned to the detective.

"I'd like to speak with my wife alone," Nicholas said. 

Fielding's jaw hardened and Elizabeth thought he might refuse, but perhaps the expression on Nicholas's face made him reconsider because he forced a smile. "I'll have to question her," the detective said.

"After breakfast," Nicholas agreed.

Elizabeth dumped the last of the bacon onto a platter beside the eggs and boiled sausages. Nicholas took Bergen's place behind Elizabeth and finished buttoning her dress while Fielding set the platter on a tray, fussing with the toast and other items for longer than necessary, delaying. Finally, he took the tray and left the room.

Immediately Nicholas whirled Elizabeth around and kissed her hard on the mouth, then held her a little away from him, his blue eyes serious.

"Listen carefully. I need for you to trust me, and obey me. Can you do that?"

"Yes, of course," Elizabeth said. The taste of him lingered on her lips and she wanted to press herself against him. Instead she looked steadily into his eyes.

"It's possible I'll be arrested. If not today, then soon. If that happens, I'll be taken to London to stand trial." 

Elizabeth shook her head. Nicholas's hands tightened on her shoulders.

"Listen. We haven't much time. You must not follow me to London. Do you understand? You must leave here and tell no one. No one. Not a servant, not Amanda, not even my father. Tell no one that you're leaving or where you're going. When you get somewhere safe, send your direction to Mrs. Huntington at her house in London. Then wait for me. I'll come as soon as I can. There's money for you upstairs in--"

"The ladies have come down for breakfast. I'll be making more toast," Lennie said from the doorway. "Fielding needs you in the breakfast parlor, your lordship. Your missus can stay with me. We'll need more eggs."

Though Lennie watched, Nicholas kissed Elizabeth once more, tenderly, holding her as if he might never see her again. Then he left the room. Lennie stared after him for several long seconds.

"I'll get more eggs and bacon," Elizabeth said. Her knees felt weak and her hands were shaking. Nicholas might be arrested. The words whirled through her mind, making her want to run after him, cling to him. She took a breath and forced herself to concentrate on what was important in this moment, avoiding the runner's questions. The best way to do that was to keep cooking.

She walked to the larder and opened its heavy door. She would need enough food to feed Mrs. Blakely, Harriet, Lucy, the countess and Amanda. She began to pull items from the shelf and set them in the sling she made by gathering the corners of her apron. One wall of the larder adjoined Cook's bedroom. Through it she could hear the anguished sobs of the old woman. 

Suddenly Elizabeth felt ashamed. In her relief that the victim hadn't been Jimmy, in her concern for her husband and agitation over the runner's questions, with all that had been going on that morning, she'd forgotten for a time that a real man, someone's relative, someone's friend, had died last night. From the look on the duke's face when he'd knelt next to his stable master's body, Karl Grubner had been a loved and valued member of this household. One she had never known and now never would.

"Come away from there, ma'am." Lennie had followed her into the larder. He shook his head at the sounds of grief. "It's an unhappy business," he said, and they both returned to the kitchen. Lennie toasted bread and Elizabeth fried more eggs and bacon. They worked in silence for a time. When Lennie finally spoke, his voice was deep and low. The sound seemed to roll ominously around the room, coming at Elizabeth from every angle, creeping over her, the words winding themselves around her.

"There were seven bodies found in London," he said. "Six women and a hackney driver in the park." He tossed a piece of golden toast on the warming mantle and picked up another slice of bread. "With Grubner that makes eight dead and just one, Margaret, that survived. All of them the same, pale and bloodless bodies with two puncture wounds to the neck. One of the women, a girl who worked in one of the shops where your husband bought your clothes, had her neck broken as well. Younger. Stronger. Probably fought harder than the others."

Elizabeth looked down at the dove-gray dress she wore. The expert stitching and exceptional quality of the fabric marked it as a work of the finest modiste. Had the girl whose neck had been broken worked on this dress, sewn it with her own hands? Elizabeth turned the bacon in the pan, wishing she could block out the sound of Lennie's voice.

"Had a lot to live for that one. Was getting married in a few week’s time. Her man took it hard when he got the news." 

The last of the eggs were ready. Elizabeth transferred them to a platter, willing the bacon to cook faster so that she could escape Lennie and his tales of death and sorrow. Nicholas wasn't responsible. It was a coincidence the dead girl had worked in one of the shops he'd visited. That was all. A coincidence.

"The jarvie was a sad one as well," Lennie continued. "Didn't have a family other than his mother. He was her sole support. We made sure the poor woman got the two gold crowns your husband paid the man to wait for him in the park. Not that it will keep her long, of course."

"How do you know who paid him those crowns?" It was stupid to ask. It would only encourage him to tell her more, and she didn't want to know.

"Lots of jarvies at that fancy party that night. They notice things. Particularly when it comes to swells handing out money. More than one saw your husband give the hackney driver a crown and promise him another later. There were two on the body."

The bacon was done, but Elizabeth's hands were trembling so violently that when she tried to lift the pan it slipped from her grasp. It landed back on the stove. Grease sloshed and popped. Lennie reached around her and took the towel from her hand. He loaded the bacon onto the platter beside the eggs, then picked up the dish with one big hand, the plate of toast with the other and started toward the door.

"Coming?" 

"In a while," Elizabeth said. 

Lennie strode out of the room. Elizabeth, her legs shaking and aching as they hadn't in days, stumbled across the kitchen and out the back door into the yard. Birds sang merrily. The sun washed everything in a bright spring glow. Elizabeth fell to her knees and doubled over, retching and sobbing into the soft green grass.

When the heaving finally stopped, Elizabeth sat rocking on her heels trying to think. Inside the house they were eating breakfast, but it wouldn't be long before the questions began again. What would she say about last night? What could she say that wouldn't result in Nicholas being arrested?

She stopped rocking. Why hadn't they arrested him already? If what Lennie had told her was true, her husband could be tied to the scene of at least two of the murders in London. Yet they hadn't arrested him. So they must not have any direct evidence he was involved in those killings. And while Nicholas had left the house the night Margaret was attacked, so had others. Since neither Margaret nor Katie had been able to give any helpful information about their attacker, it was possible the runners had nothing tying her husband to that crime either. 

That left the killing in the stable. Again, though Nicholas had gone out last night, so had Amanda, Leo, Lucy, the duke, and who knew how many others. And all those guests and family members, as far as Elizabeth knew, had, like Nicholas, been in London at the time of those killings. They had certainly all been at Lady Huntington's party the night the jarvie was killed, hadn't they? 

The staff at Heaven's Edge hadn't been in London, so they were not suspects. She hadn't been in London when the seamstress was killed since by then she'd brought her mother to Heaven's Edge. Bergen had escorted her down, but he'd left again the next day, after instructing Margaret in her mother's care. The doctor had returned a few days later, well before Nicholas, the duke, and the other guests had arrived. But where had he been during those missing days? The fact that the killer was one of the residents of Heaven's Edge didn't mean it was Nicholas.

And then there was Randall. Could the Count of Glenbury be a vampire like Nicholas? Could he have killed Grubner? He'd certainly been at Mrs. Huntington's ball the night the jarvie was killed and in London at the time the other murders were committed. And last night he'd been shot, fallen through the stairs, and later slammed face forward into a pile of rubble when she'd fallen from the castle wall. Yet, this morning, though he was limping and badly beaten up, he was alive.