Fenella J Miller (20 page)

The young woman said no more and was obviously embarrassed herself, so Eleanor decided to question her no further. This part of the formal garden was quiet; the noise from the children seemed a long way away. Where were they going? Over the clipped hedges she saw the domed roof of the hideous mausoleum. She always avoided it and had no wish to view the buried remains of Alex’s ancestors.

A crypt—exactly the sort of place a curious boy might wish to investigate. Although why Ned had decided to do so when there was so much excitement going on elsewhere, she had no idea. The governess did not pause, but raced up the steps and through the door which had been left ajar. Breathless from her run, Eleanor followed the governess, expecting it to be light, that Miss Smithson would have thought to provide Ned with a candle.

She could see nothing, suffocating blackness closed in, the only illumination the sunlight from the opened door. Where was he? For that matter where was Miss Smithson? She couldn’t see either of them, couldn’t hear a sound. Then a hand was rammed between her shoulder blades and she was flying forwards. She landed painfully on her knees. By the time she scrambled up the door had slammed, leaving her in total darkness in a building full of dead people.

“Tell me, Foster, was that the last race? I fear my nerves could not stand another altercation between the losers.”

“I think that was the last, my lord. The rosettes have been presented, the children have their prizes. Look, they are all going over to the trestles to attack the food laid out there. Your part is done, sir.”

“Thank the good Lord for that! I shall make my escape.” Alex looked around. Where was Eleanor amongst the crowd? Their children along with her nephews and nieces were easily spotted amongst the more plainly dressed village children. No, young Ned was missing.

She was the only one wearing pink. She should be easy to see even among so many. He stood well over two yards in his stockings, able to see over most people’s heads.

He scanned the masses and felt a moment of unease; Eleanor was not there.

She must be inside, or had gone with Ned somewhere. There was no need to be concerned, but it would set his mind at rest to ask Lady Thorrington if she knew where either of them were. She was talking earnestly to the second of her sons, Jonathan.

“Lady Thorrington, excuse me for interrupting, but have you any idea where Eleanor is? I cannot see her here.”

“I don’t know, my lord.” She frowned. “In fact, I don’t believe I have seen her for some time. Jonathan, when did you last see your Aunt Eleanor?”

“About an hour ago, Mama. Miss Smithson came over to speak to her and they went inside together. Shall I go and see?”

Alex stopped him. “That will not be necessary, young man, but thank you for your offer. Go and get something to eat before the others finish it. I intended to go inside anyway. I need a drink of something stronger than lemonade.”

Foster caught up with him as he was crossing the dry moat. “Would you like me to make discreet enquiries as to her ladyship’s whereabouts, my lord?”

“Yes, do that. I should try the falconry; I think she is with Lord Edward.”

The butler approached him in the hall with a silver tray upon which rested a letter.

“Where did that come from? I didn’t see any post delivered this afternoon.”

“The note was brought by hand, sir, I have no notion by whom. I only discovered it a moment ago. The item cannot have been there long, my lord.”

Alex didn’t recognize the writing No doubt it was from one of his tenants. He would read it later. He tucked it in his jacket pocket and forgot about it. He asked for coffee and brandy to be sent to him in his study.

An hour later, the sound of revelry continued unabated outside. He supposed he must reappear at some point. He turned to collect the jacket which he had discarded earlier and noticed the paper. He might as well read it in case it required a response of some sort. He opened the note and his fingers clenched.

I have Lady Eleanor.

Do not bring anyone with you or she will die.

Come at once to the mausoleum.

Written in well-formed letters, the letter was obviously the work of someone tutored. The missive wasn’t signed. There was no need. He knew who it was from. Thorrington had taken Eleanor.

God’s Teeth!

This had been sitting in his pocket for over an hour. Would whoever it was think he had ignored it, and harm Eleanor? A sharp rap on the door disturbed his thoughts.

Foster stepped in, followed by Tom. They had not waited to be invited to enter. “My lord, Lady Eleanor is nowhere to be found. We have searched everywhere apart from the house; we did not wish to alarm anyone inside.”

Alex schooled his features into nonchalance, slipping the paper out of sight before it could be commented on. Foster had seen, and was looking at him curiously.

“Nothing of importance—a query from a tenant, I shall deal with it later. Lady Eleanor had a headache and is lying down in her room. I’m sorry, I should have sent word to you.” Somehow he kept his tone light. “Go out and enjoy yourselves, there is free ale and you will be needed to join the tug of war. I thank you for your assistance. I’m going to check how she is and then I shall join you outside.”

Foster grinned. “I enjoyed it, my lord. It’s far too long since there was anything of this sort held at Blakeley. Do you wish me to return to your chamber when you change for dinner?”

“There is to be no dinner tonight. A cold collation does not require anyone to dress formally.” His mind was already elsewhere. He wanted to race from the house. Her life might depend on his actions during these next crucial minutes. He was being watched; someone on his staff must be in the pay of that madman. He must not act precipitously.

As soon as the door closed behind his men, he was able to move. His breathing was laboured and his hands clammy. There was a knife tucked into his boot top, would this be enough? It had stood him in good stead when out riding on more than one occasion. Should he risk secreting a small duelling pistol in his pocket?

There was one in his desk. He glanced around nervously, almost expecting to see a servant lurking in the shadows. The room, of course, was empty. It took him moments to snatch the powder pouch and find the shot. He primed and loaded the pistol then popped it into his jacket pocket, patting his coat to check there was no tell-tale bulge.

The corridor was empty. For once no footman was waiting outside to run errands. He closed the door silently and walked soft-footed through the house, taking a less frequented route leading to a rear door. The sounds of merriment continued at the front of the house. How was it possible he was in the middle of this nightmare when everyone else was celebrating?

As he made his way through the formal garden to the mausoleum, he realized why Bentley had chosen this place. The man had been beaten into submission, humiliated by him, right here. Thorrington would want to take his revenge. He cursed the fact that he had underestimated the man’s capacity for evil.

From the corner of his eye he saw a movement, a flash of skirt. He looked again but there was nothing. Was it possible the traitor in his home was female? He paused on the edge of the gravel square that fronted the hideous marble building. There was no sign of anyone, no footprints in the gravel—all was silent as a tomb.

He knew who had delivered the letter, who had been watching him—the governess, Miss Smithson. Eleanor had left the party with her; the woman must have enticed her away somehow. This must mean Thorrington hadn’t arrived. Alex was being led into the same trap as Eleanor. This didn’t stop him moving forward.

He walked slowly on to the open space, his shoulders twitching. One of the riflemen could drop him in his tracks.

Alex approached the mausoleum, alert for any sound that might herald an attack. The door was closed. Well, that was to be expected. The key had been left in the lock. He was obviously intended to go in. He didn’t hesitate; whatever fate awaited him, Eleanor was inside in the dark on her own and he wished to be beside her.

This was Thorrington’s work. This time the bastard wouldn’t get away with it. Alex was not a violent man, but when he came face-to-face with Thorrington, the man would not live to see another dawn. Not if he had harmed a single hair of his beloved’s head.

Alex unlocked the door, the noise harsh in the eerie silence that surrounded him. Remaining in the opening for a moment, he strained his ears, but all was silent. Then there was a whimper in the darkness.

“Eleanor, sweetheart, is that you? Are you hurt?”

“Alex, you shouldn’t have come. This is a trick; it’s you they want. I’m cold and uncomfortable, but not harmed.” She stifled a sob. “Please go away, wait outside, there’s no one in here who can hurt me. You will be safer where you can see what’s happening. Miss Smithson is a wicked woman, she lured me here. I have no idea why she’s involved in my brother’s evil machinations.”

He stood, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. As soon as he stepped away from the door it would be slammed and he, too, would be helpless in the dark. Eleanor was right, much more sensible to remain where he could apprehend Thorrington when he arrived. Sensible it might be; but she mustn’t be alone in this horrible place a moment longer.

“Let me think, my love; if I’m only dealing with a woman then it must be safe for you to come to me. When I move away from the door the same thing will happen; I shall be locked in with you. I guessed the governess was behind the note. She must be under the thrall of your brother.”

Her voice sounded stronger. “I’m all right now I know you’re close. I can see you framed in the sunlight. If you stay where you are, I’ll get up and walk to you”

Keeping alert for a possible attack from the rear, he waited for his brave love to approach. “Keep talking and walking; I shall guide you.” From the darkness she appeared, her lovely gown covered in dirt and her hair escaping from its ribbons. He held out his hand. “Not far to go, my love. Be strong, keep moving forwards.”

Things were going to be all right. Perhaps he had been mistaken, this was no more than an unpleasant practical joke. She was at the end of the shaft of sunlight. She screamed a warning. Too late. Something sharp smashed between his shoulders, catapulting him forwards.

His moment’s inattention had given Smithson the opportunity she needed. The pain in his back intensified. He had failed. Then the world went black.

“Alex, my love, what has she done to you? Alex, speak to me.” She dropped to her knees and inched her way to where he’d fallen. The image of Miss Smithson’s face as she plunged the pitchfork into his back would live with her forever. Had that wicked woman killed him? Had the prongs punctured his heart?

A strong, warm hand reached out and grabbed her knee. “I’m not badly hurt, my darling. More stunned than anything. For a horrible moment, when it went dark, I thought I was done for.”

Was he grinning in the darkness? He sounded almost gleeful. “Alex, she pushed the pitchfork right into you. Are you sure you’re not bleeding?”

He slid toward her, then she was in his arms and her fear vanished. “I think I have a couple of puncture holes, but the prongs didn’t go in far. I shan’t bleed to death if that’s what you fear. However, if we remain kneeling on this icy floor we shall certainly
freeze
to death. We must get up and find our way to one of the tombs. We can sit on that.”

“We can’t move about in here. I spent an age to find the wall in order to lean against it.” The last thing she wanted to do was sit on a dead body. “I don’t think I can walk anywhere, I’m too frightened to move. We know where the door is, do we have to leave it?”

“Close your eyes. It’s easier to move about when you have made the blackness your choice. Your brain will believe you to be playing a game of blindman’s buff.”

He pulled her up, and then with his arm firmly around her waist he guided her confidently across the slippery marble floor. Her breathing steadied. She was safe. She was sure sitting on the marble tomb would be no warmer than being seated on the floor. She guessed why he had suggested this.

“You think we should hide, that we shall be safer there when my brother comes to find us?”

His arm tightened. “Good girl, you understand exactly. Your brother must be deranged and means to kill us both. He can hardly lock us in here and expect to get away with it.”

“We both saw the Smithson woman; she must know we will identify her, that her punishment will be transportation at the very least.”

“Stand still, my love. If my calculations are correct, we must be almost there. I don’t wish to cause myself or you further damage by colliding with an effigy. Walk behind me, darling, hold on to my jacket. Then if I stumble you won’t come down as well.”

They shuffled forward until he swore as his toe struck the tomb. “Excellent! Let me see, I should be able to tell exactly where we are when I identify this statuary.”

He was fumbling about in front of her. “Yes, it’s my great-grandfather’s vault. I have our exact position. We are at the far right-hand side of the building about three yards from the exterior wall. There’s space where we can hide. We will be invisible to anyone looking from the doorway. I doubt even with a lantern it will be possible to see where we are.”

This predicament was entirely down to his stupidity. He should have moved back from the doorway as soon as he knew Eleanor was safe. Now they were both at risk. No, he couldn’t have left her by herself. He would do the same again given the choice. What he should have done was bring both his pistols, but it was too late to repine. He must make do with what he had.

Should he tell her he had a gun in his pocket and was intending to shoot whoever came to find them? The range of his duelling pistol was not sufficient to fire from cover. He would let Thorrington get close before discharging his weapon. He was a good shot and there would be only one chance. He would not need a second one.

“Foster knows that you’re missing, sweetheart. He saw me read the note; I’m sure he will realize the significance of the letter and link it to our disappearance He will come looking soon.”

“Why should he look here? Nobody ever comes to this horrible building; it’s such a depressing place. We could be here for days and no one the wiser.”

She was far too quick. He’d hoped this would not occur to her, at least not initially. Should he reassure her that they would be discovered before they starved to death, or remind her that something far more deadly might well appear this very night?

“Well, we must wait until someone does come, either friend or foe. Whatever happens, I promise I’ll let no one harm you.”

This was not the time to tell her that he intended to kill her brother.

Thorrington slumped in his coach, waiting for dark to fall. If Helen did as they had arranged, both Eleanor and Bentley would now be incarcerated in the mausoleum. He was glad their last hours would be spent in such a place. He intended to approach from the tradesmen’s entrance—no one would be looking there. This was not his usual carriage, nor his usual coachmen. These were men employed at great expense, men who would turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to anything that happened.

His jaw hurt like the very devil. He was sure it had been fractured when that bastard had attacked him. His right eye was still swollen and his nose would heal with a crook in it. He’s been living on slops since the fight. Breathing sent stabs of agony through his chest. He would never get his hands on Eleanor’s money; his lawyers had explained it to him.

Tonight was for revenge.

Helen Smithson was eager and willing in bed, unlike his frigid wife. She had the idea that she apply for the position as governess to his children. She was well-educated, a gentle woman fallen on hard times when he had made her his mistress.

He had written her references himself, knowing she would give all the answers his wife required. Having her living under his own roof had made the waiting these past few weeks much easier.

When Jane requested Helen join her at Blakely Hall, it had been a godsend. He now had a spy in the enemy’s camp, someone who would do his bidding without a second thought.

A gust of wind rocked the carriage and he smiled. Bentley and Eleanor would have been missed by now, they would be searching throughout the grounds. No doubt Helen would be wailing and weeping like the rest of them. But they would never look in the mausoleum. He had discovered the whereabouts of the key on his visit here, had been intrigued by the building. At the time he hadn’t realized how significant his inside knowledge would be.

The moon was no more than a sliver of silver in the sky; he pulled his beaver low over his eyes, turned up the collar of his cape and rapped on the roof of the carriage. This was the signal for the coachmen to move. The horses’ hooves were wrapped in rags, there were no lanterns on the coach and the two men on the box had their faces muffled in dark cloths. They had walked the route, knew exactly where they were going and could do so without benefit of extra light.

He had perfected his scheme. Bentley and Eleanor were to be suffocated, that way when their bodies were eventually discovered it would be thought they had died from natural causes. It would be a double tragedy. His heart pounded and he flinched. It was just possible he might gain financially somehow from their deaths, but he was fairly sure that bastard would have tied up Eleanor’s money in such a way it would never return to its rightful place.

Jane, however, would be forced to return to him, and he could get his revenge on her and the children for deserting him. He closed his eyes, visualizing the scene, the part he would play when the bodies were discovered. He would offer his condolences, and as the only male relative of the Bentley brats there was a remote chance he could become their guardian. Then he could move to Blakely Hall, live in luxury at someone else’s expense.

He shrugged, wincing as his ribs protested. Whatever the outcome he would celebrate the fact that they were dead, that he had been the instrument in their demise. No one would suspect him. He would return unseen to Tendring Manor and his staff would swear he had been in his house the entire time.