If You Were Mine (4 page)

Dominic could only wonder what Rupert had led Isobel to
believe about
him
. After all, the staff at Willowbrook had been adamant that
Isobel had been betrothed to Bertram DeLisle just prior to her
disappearance. The thought made Dominic’s stomach churn with
building rage.

It had
been Kitty, a rather robust looking maid, who had bravely come
forward. After a lot of reassurance, she had described Isobel’s
flight from the Gosport Hall in the middle of the night, and her
ultimate destination. Kitty had herself escaped the house having
been found by one of Rupert’s staff and set free. As soon as Rupert
had learnt of Isobel’s escape, he, along with his henchman, had
left the house to search for her. This had given Kitty the time she
needed to make her own escape. Having given all of her funds to
Isobel, she had taken some money from the desk in the library and
eventually found her way back to Willowbrook, whereupon she had
resumed a rather nervous position among the house staff. Luckily,
Rupert didn’t consider her useful enough to follow her.

Assuring
Kitty of their eternal gratitude, both Dominic and Peter had
promptly returned the funds Kitty had given to Isobel, and given
her the position as companion to Aunt Elspeth. She was also going
to receive a small cottage on the Willowbrook estate in
appreciation for her diligent care of Isobel and her services to
the family.

Having
garnered as much information as they needed, Dominic and Peter,
along with several of the remaining staff began an exhaustive
search.

For
days, they questioned locals in towns and villages, and combed
fields, all to no avail. Slowly, they moved north but could find no
sign of her, until Peter had overheard a chance conversation in the
village pub just outside of Peterborough.

A
beautiful young woman, a stranger to the area, was found dead on
the outskirts of the town wearing nothing but a necklace. Careful
questioning of the locals, and the farmer who had discovered the
body, had led them to learn about her final resting place in this
small, rural graveyard.

Having
had no identification upon her, she hadn’t even given the dignity
of being buried among any of her ancestors in the family crypt.
Instead, she had been quickly buried in a simple pauper’s grave in
a village she hadn’t even resided in, with nothing to mark her
presence but a plain wooden cross. If it hadn’t been for the
villager’s shock and sympathy for her plight, she wouldn’t even
have had the cross.

Anger
began to bloom inside the empty aching void that was Dominic’s
heart. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pushed to his feet feeling
considerably older than his four and thirty years.

“
What I don’t understand is,” Dominic shifted against the cold
that had begun to seep into his bones, “why didn’t she come to
Havistock? I told her the day I left that if she needed anything,
she was to contact Havistock Hall. My man of business was under
strict instructions to assist her in every way should she approach
him for help. He assures me he has never received any such
communication from her.” He didn’t think he would ever be warm
again.

“
We know Rupert kept her locked in her room. The few remaining
staff in residence were under strict instructions to keep her
isolated, and had been paid highly for their services. Her only
contact with the outside world was through Kitty, who herself was
watched closely by Rupert’s men.” Peter cursed roundly and abruptly
turned away from the graveside, as though he couldn’t stand to be
there any longer.

“
She wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to contact
Havistock Hall. Even if she did write, Rupert would have ensured
her letter didn’t go anywhere.”

Dominic
sucked in a frustrated breath, and in a desperate bid to seek
relief from the clawing pain that gripped him, focused on what they
had learnt about Isobel’s final weeks.

“
I know, but we also know that she left the house at some
point and disappeared. We don’t know at the moment where she went,
and where Rupert and his men finally caught up with her, but it
must have been somewhere around here. Someone must know
something!”

Peter
paused and looked back toward the dark soil that entombed his
sister’s final resting place, before turning toward his best
friend. He had fought in hellish conditions with Dominic Cavendish
by his side, and would trust the man with his life, certainly with
his sister’s life. He knew Dominic well enough to appreciate just
how deeply in love he was with Isobel. Grief had turned his
handsome features grey, and with the deep lines that now married
his classic features bore testament to how devastated he was by the
news of her brutal murder.

“
We know the Rector was contacted by the Magistrate, who
having no idea of her identity ordered a pauper’s funeral,”
Dominic’s warm breath fogged in the cold autumn air as mist settled
around them, giving the graveyard a pervading sense of eerie gloom.
“We also know that she was found by the track somewhere near here.”
His voice quavered as the vivid image of his beautiful sister, cold
and lifeless lying in the mud rose in his mind. Anger and grief
surged through him, and he abruptly fell silent as he attempted to
control his emotions.

Neither
man could bring themselves to mention the word ‘murder’, but both
knew they were thinking the same thing.

Any
question as to the validity of her identity had been soundly
quashed, when the farmer had described the only item found upon her
body was a single necklace, the detailing of which was instantly
recognisable to both men. A solitary small stone set in a star
shaped mount, hanging from a thin chain had been given to her by
her father upon her tenth and last birthday she had shared with
him. Although the small item of jewellery was of little financial
significance, it had held great sentimental value to her. After his
death, Isobel had refused to remove it and worn it everywhere. Both
men knew that she would never willingly have parted with
it.

Both men
turned at the sound of clopping hooves and watched a tall, gaunt
man disembark from a small curricle, before carefully picking his
way through the gravestones toward them.

“
Good evening, gentlemen.” He eyed the slightly menacing men
warily as he introduced himself with a small bow. “Sir Hubert
Williams, Magistrate at your service.”

“
Good evening,” Peter replied stiffly, making no attempt to
adhere to social etiquette. He didn’t care if the Magistrate
understood or not.

Dominic
nodded brusquely.

“
I understand you knew the woman?” The Magistrate appeared
momentarily lost for a name, and made do with a small nod in the
direction of the dark soil.

“
Yes, she was my sister. I understand you found one item upon
her body?” Peter’s voice was harsh in the silence of the heavy air.
The Magistrate shivered warily at the underlying threat lurking in
the husky timbre of his voice.

“
Y-yes,” visibly shaken, he hastily produced the length of
necklace that was given to him. “It was the only thing of worth
that we found that could mean something,” he lapsed into silence as
both men stared in horror at the necklace dangling from his
clenched fist. “Do you recognise it?”

Dominic
cursed the trembling in his hand as he reached out to touch the
shimmering chain of her beloved gift, and knew deep within his soul
that he had lost her forever.

Abruptly, he turned away. The tight knot of emotion lodged in
his throat threatened to choke him as he stumbled around the
gravestones, slipping like a spectre into the growing
mist.

“
That’s Isobel’s.”

Dominic
heard Peter’s husky response, but couldn’t bring himself to turn
around.

“
Lady Isobel Davenport, my sister,” Peter’s voice was devoid
of emotion as it swirled around the graveyard. “She should be
resting in the family crypt. With your assistance, I shall arrange
for her to be relocated forthwith.”

Dominic
fought the urge to punch something; or rather someone. He took a
deep breath and with every ounce of willpower he possessed,
attempted to keep his voice calm and impassive as he slowly
returned to them.

“
What do you know about the circumstances of her death?”
Although his voice was quiet, the intonation was deadly. The
Magistrate knew instinctively that should he not give the man the
answers he needed, he would certainly become a ruthless
adversary.

The
Magistrate shivered. “Nothing much I am afraid. Nobody seems to
know anything. I have extensively questioned the farmer who found
her. She wasn’t there the afternoon before, but sometime between
dusk and dawn, she -” He paused not wanting to incur the taller
man’s wrath.

“
They dumped her,” Dominic finished for him, studying the
shorter man closely. Something warned him that the man wasn’t being
entirely truthful, and they weren’t getting all of the
facts.

“
There were no tracks at all? Nothing? No strangers in the
village or the pub either before or afterwards?” Dominic didn’t try
to keep the disbelief out of his voice. He wanted the man to know
that he sensed something was amiss.

Warily,
the small man shook his head. “Nothing I’m afraid, Sir.”

Dominic
wanted to push him further, but held the words back when Peter
shifted uncomfortably beside him. He frowned slightly at Peter’s
warning look, and lapsed into sullen silence. Clearly Peter
considered the man wasn’t entirely being dishonest, but wasn’t
being completely forthright with them either. Frustration clawed
and burned in his stomach.

Dominic
couldn’t bear to hear any more, and when the men began to discuss
the movement of the body, he took several steps away from them,
disappearing into the encroaching gloom for a few private moments
to compose himself.

His
abrupt departure made the Magistrate to jump in shock, as he
scanned the swirling mists around them warily. Like a ghost, the
big man simply vanished without a sound.

With a
shiver, he turned to the somewhat reassuring bulk of the man beside
him. “I will give you my direction. Should you need any further
assistance please do not hesitate.”

At the
other man’s abrupt nod, he quickly took his leave and with a curt
bow, spun on his heel and made for his curricle as fast as his
heels could carry him.

Several
minutes later, with a final lingering look at the grave site, Peter
and Dominic turned and made their own way carefully around the
assembled gravestones surrounding the old Norman church.

“
Do you think she was trying to get to get to Melton when
Rupert caught up with her?” Dominic was unable to keep the whisper
of hope from his voice.

Knowing
his friend well, Peter heard the unspoken question. “I think she
may have been, but we know she didn’t get there. God why, Dominic?
Why kill her?” Pain and anger laced his voice as Peter raged.
“Wasn’t it bad enough that Rupert had already tried to sell her to
that bloody scoundrel DeLisle? Why kill her?”

Images
and thoughts of her final moments swirled around in his head, many
too hideous to contemplate. What had they done to her that they
needed to hide?

Isobel
was undoubtedly beautiful and clever. He also knew from the long
hours he had spent listening to Peter recount their childhood, that
she had a wild and slightly reckless side that once revealed, was
difficult to contain. He too had encountered her wilful streak that
at the time had unmanned him, and strengthened his desire to make
her his wife as soon as possible. Was it this wild side Rupert had
been unable to vanquish? Had her own stubborn refusal to bow down
to him led her to her death?

Solidarity and silence settled between the two men as they
rode through the night. Tall and proud, and clearly of military
bearing, their presence was so blatantly menacing that even the
gang of ruthless highwaymen lurking in the bushes watched them pass
without a murmur.

The
Magistrate also watched both men slowly disappear into the swirling
fog shrouding the evening air. Shaking his head, he puffed out a
deep sigh of relief as they finally disappeared into the gloom. His
collar felt uncomfortably tight as he considered the events of the
evening, and the possible disaster narrowly averted.

“
That was close,” he muttered quietly to himself. “Very
close.” He frowned as he clambered aboard his curricle. He could
only hope that both men would soon depart from the area, and life
could return to normal. He needed them out of the area, before they
discovered the truth.

Easing
his curricle onto the rutted track, he turned his horse,
thankfully, in the opposite direction towards home. He had a
strange sense of foreboding that tonight wasn’t the last he would
see of them. Shaking off the pervading sense of doom, he carefully
shot their retreating backs one last worried glance, before
clicking his horse into a faster walk.

He had
made a promise to a friend a long time ago, that he would take
whatever action necessary if he was called upon, and indeed, he
had. He could only hope that the actions he had taken today had
been the right ones. As he trotted along, doubts began to creep in
and his involvement in events a month ago suddenly didn’t seem so
sound. Well intended or not. Their distress upon confirming the
identity of the gently bred woman had been a true and honest
reaction, so why had he been asked to secure the outcome he
had?