Lisbon: Richard and Rose, Book 8 (23 page)

“Then I will request the presence of my largest footmen. I have some authority to hold prisoners,” Paul said.

“So we may question him as we would,” Richard replied.

“Exactly.” Paul gave a grim smile. “I am sure we can get the business done faster that way.”

“I will miss you,” Lizzie murmured.

Paul turned to look at her, and his expression was for a moment unguarded, adoring her, and with a promise in his gaze that I understood only too well.

The moment took me by surprise, and when I dared to glance Richard’s way, his slight smile told me he’d noticed. Hot blood coursed under my skin, and I tried to ignore the fact that my sister had a particularly faraway expression. I changed the subject hastily. “You trust us to stay here and be safe?”

He gave me a wry smile. “I plan to leave Carier behind, as well as the largest of the men we engaged in Lisbon. Also, you will promise to lock yourself in at night.” Carier would sleep in the bedroom between mine and the nursery. And he’d station servants at the doors.

After an evening at cards, in which Richard and I cheated outrageously and Lizzie and Paul merely watched our efforts with bemusement, we went up to bed in much better spirits.

I had hopes for that night.

They were dashed yet again. But as he lay on my body, heated with his efforts to please us both at the same time instead of to bring me to climax and leave him behind, I thought I felt the wet trace of a tear.

I would not have that. I pushed him up so I could look into his eyes.

Sorrow clouded them. “I love you, Rose, so dearly. I have no idea why this has happened.”

“You’re worried and tired.” I paused. I wouldn’t think of any other possibility, but the traitorous thought occasionally intruded. What if his condition proved permanent?

Nothing. In that case, nothing. I would still love him, would still want him with me at night, would still take pleasure in having him with me. I would never allow him to sleep apart from me again when we were in the same house. Ever.

Some days were made for naps, and the next day seemed like one of them. I missed Richard, who had left that morning for Lisbon, and I worried, even when I decided to sleep away the afternoon. Dreams disturbed me, and I woke crying out, though ten minutes after the experience I couldn’t remember what it was about. A lingering aura of terror remained with me, so I elected to read.

Returning on my own to the bedroom later that evening, I reflected on the ease with which Richard and I had taken to sharing the same bed again, despite our other problems. It was our natural state, as natural as breathing, and although I had spent most of my life sleeping alone, I found it difficult to get used to once more. I wanted to turn over and feel his arms close around me. I wanted to snuggle up to his heat and the comfort of his body. Consequently, I slept badly. And woke to a note.

He must have sent it overnight. It was dated the previous day.

Rose,

Know that you have brought me the greatest happiness I have ever known. It is more than love, it’s companionship, friendship and a shared life. I have joined with you, truly become as one. Whatever lies ahead for us, remember that, and remember that I do what I do for your health and security. Living without you doesn’t bear contemplating. I will not consider it.

Richard

He’d signed it with his usual flourish, but with a few extra crosses. Kisses I would make last until his return.

No wonder some people thought us foolish. But I can’t say that I cared much for their opinion in this instance.

Meeting for dinner that night seemed terribly uneven. Just Joaquin and us. With Richard’s permission, Paul had brought him up to date, and although he was understandably anxious, we spoke little of the business. We could not do anything to help, so we tried to relax, as much as we could.

Chapter Fourteen

I woke with a suddenness unusual to me. My eyes snapped open, and I stared up into the pleated silk of the bed canopy. Something had woken me, but I could hear nothing now. I glanced towards the window. It was still night, pitch dark outside.

A rustle made me turn my head to where the connecting door joined my room with the sitting room.

Carier stood there. I recognised his silhouette immediately. I sat up in bed, drawing the covers with me. “What is it?”

“I’ve apprehended the merchant, ma’am. He is ranting, and I thought it best to rouse you since you asked to be apprised of developments. He tried to get back in through the dairy. He must have stolen a key or had one cut. But we were waiting for him.”

I appreciated that he respected me and my opinions enough to consider me an adequate substitute for his master. “Where is he?”

“I have him secured in the dairy. We captured him as he entered. I have told no one yet. Do you wish me to rouse the household?”

“No, only Nichols.”

Nichols appeared as if conjured by a spirit, noiselessly gliding into the room. “I am already here, my lady. Please wait outside, Mr. Carier.”

She already had a loose robe ready for me, and she helped me into it with the minimum of fuss. I paused while she put my hair to rights, pinning up my nighttime braids, although I had no idea why she considered it necessary, and I took possession of the sturdy pistol she handed me. I was a better shot than most people knew, and it remained my weapon of choice.

Carier returned. “What do you wish to do, ma’am?”

At last, something to do. I would not allow anyone to deter me. “Question him, of course.”

“This way, ma’am.” Carier led the way down the stairs and along a service corridor, past the large, well-appointed kitchen where servants would be slumbering, and past several other rooms. If this house followed the same pattern as the ones I knew, the dairy would be outside or in a room with an outside wall. The better to allow the dairymaids to enter and leave without disturbing the household.

We entered a small room with a distinctive chill. No doubt it was on the cooler, north side of the house and had thick walls to promote what coolness there was. The shelves mounted on the walls held a collection of large, shallow bowls, some of them covered with clean cloths.

Someone had pushed the large centre table aside, and in its place a man sat on a chair, secured to it with thick lengths of rope. His mouth was unbound, but a man stood silently by holding a kerchief and another stood at the door. They were both our footmen. Thompson’s footmen.

The room was illuminated softly by two candles set in holders on the shelves with small mirrors set behind them. Enough light for me to see the man’s expression of sneering hatred.

“Since we know you’re not Barber, what do we call you?”

“Sweetheart?” His jeering mockery, using the name Richard preferred to call me in our private moments, jarred me. But I said nothing. He shrugged, or tried to, but he was too tightly secured to make a convincing job of it. “Jerry. Call me Jerry.”

Carier stood by my side, Nichols at my back. I kept my distance. The chair wasn’t fastened to the floor, so he could have made an attempt to jerk it forwards. “Well then, Jerry, tell me. Why did you kill Crantock?”

Jerry pursed his mouth. “I didn’t. But he had to go. He saw too much and he’d failed.”

“Failed?”

“That sickness aboard ship?”

Ah. That explained a few things. With the poisoned lemon cream, I should have thought of it before, but subsequent events had driven the seemingly natural events on board out of my mind. So the dessert had been the second attempt to kill us, not the first. And poor Crantock had died for it. That and his ability to identify the mysterious youth for us. A youth I was more than sure was John Kneller.

“You’ll hang anyway, for knowing about the death and aiding the murderer. I’ll make sure of that.”

“So why should I tell you anything?”

“We could be of great help to you. If you’re an accomplice, if you didn’t kill Crantock, it might be transportation instead of hanging.” But he’d caused the death of the maid. He’d hang for that. Not that I was fool enough to remind him of that now.

His expression changed, softened. He was considering our offer. If he was a paid accomplice, he’d turn coat for the chance of saving his life. “What do you want to know?”

“Who are you working for?”

“I don’t work for anyone.” But he lowered his gaze after a moment, and his mouth twitched an infinitesimal amount. The candles sent a sharp chiaroscuro onto his face, and we could see every movement.

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

I glanced at Carier. “The name,” Carier said.

“And the description,” I added. “In exchange for our word that you were not responsible for Crantock’s death.” Did he even know about the maid? He’d poisoned the cream, thinking that Lizzie and I would eat it, not that anyone else would suffer, and Lizzie had treated the matter with discretion. Barber—Jerry—was English, and might not know Portuguese well enough to find out from the villagers, some of whom were related to the dead girl.

Jerry tried to lean back, and the chair legs scraped against the stone floor. “An angel. A man so beautiful he took my breath away. And he loved me. But you can’t pin him down like ordinary mortals. Strong, with a body that made me worship him. Fine features, grey eyes. He asked me to call him John. An angel’s name.” His voice gentled as he spoke, and his eyes grew dreamy, faraway.

The hammer fell, and finally we knew for sure.

John had seduced him into obedience. That was his way. Emotion could bind tighter than money, especially when he had none. No emotion, that is. John could always get money, by stealing, smuggling or even prostituting himself out to men or women. He had a seductive personality, made worse because he felt nothing himself. He could calculate to a nicety when someone was ready to fall for him and act on it without compunction, without guilt. That was something he didn’t get from Richard. He presented a cold, heartless façade to much of the world, but underneath lay the heart of a sensitive man who cared deeply, sometimes too much. The two men were mirror images of each other. John, passionate and caring on the surface, frigidly insensitive about anyone but himself and calculating beneath, and Richard, exactly the opposite.

I needed no more confirmation. All our other speculation was useless. John Kneller was in Portugal and he wanted us dead.

“So you’re doing this for love?” I asked.

“That, and for justice. Your husband has treated his son shamefully. He has never given him his due. That’s all he wants.”

Lies, but lies John had used to his advantage before. I should have let Richard kill him last year, but I couldn’t bear the thought of a father killing his son. I should have done it myself. Carier would have helped me.

I didn’t bother to respond, and when Jerry began to growl insults, I felt almost weary of it. I was so tired of hearing those stories. I glanced around. “We can’t keep you here all night. The maids will want to use it in the morning. Carier, do we have somewhere we can keep him?”

“Indeed, ma’am. A secure cellar well away from the main part of the house.”

At Carier’s nod, our men untied him, keeping hold of his arms.

Jerry spat, the result landing in a sickening shiny spot on the well-scrubbed stone floor. “You think you have us, don’t you? I might have failed in my mission, but the other plan is still intact.”

“You were sent to kill me,” I said wearily.

“And your children,” Jerry added. “You’re in adjoining rooms; that makes it easier. But he can finish you off after he’s seen to his father.”

I went still. “What do you mean?”

Carier clapped a pistol to the side of his head. “Tell me now or I’ll drop you where you stand. That is not a threat. It’s a promise.”

Jerry shrugged. “I’d tell you anyway, just to see your face. He’s set a bomb. Nothing you can do about it. It’s probably gone off by now. I was to take care of you while he made sure of his lordship.”

Panicked, I turned hurriedly to leave the room, no longer concerned with the foolish man, but filled with terror. I couldn’t believe that was true. Not Richard, not like that. I had to tell someone, send someone after him. Even go after him myself.

I let my arm drop to my side, the one holding the weapon, and in my haste, I stumbled on a loose piece of flagstone. One of the men moved forwards to help me as I regained my balance. That was Jerry’s chance.

Events seemed to speed up. I heard a shout as Jerry broke free from his captors in a vicious movement that spoke of the rookeries. He leaped forwards and grabbed my arm to pull me back against him. He dragged it almost out of its socket, then, as I landed hard against his body, he twisted it behind me. I cried out in pain, trying to wrenching away, but by then the wretch had my pistol. As I turned back to him, he pointed it at me.

The shot sounded like a veritable explosion in the confines of the small room. I barely had time to throw my body sideways, but I wasn’t fast enough. Pain seared my arm. That, and the wet gush of blood, told me he’d hit me.

Pain tends to incapacitate by its very existence, but I’d given birth, I reminded myself. I could handle this level of agony.