Sea of Secrets: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense (38 page)

The duchess’s reaction was more straightforward. “Good God,” she exclaimed, and flew to wrap her arms protectively around her son. “What has happened now?” she demanded, on her knees beside him, hugging him to her breast. She looked from me to Charles expectantly.

“Oriel knows more than I,” said Charles, when I did not speak. “But this may not be the best time to—”

“Of course; you are both soaked to the skin. Go and put on dry things, while we see to Herron. Then I want to hear everything.”

It was almost a relief to be ordered about by the duchess; her air of efficient command held the assurance that Herron would be all right—she would not allow him to be otherwise. The respite also gave me time to decide on my story. I thanked heaven Charles had not seen more, and had misinterpreted what he had seen. Otherwise I imagined that even now the duchess would be sending for the police.

I shuddered at the thought of prison, the trial, and then—what? Hanging? Or, if she shrank from the scandal of an arrest in the family, at the very least she would have me thrown out of the house. This time I would be completely without connections, without fortune or position. The world did not deal kindly with such creatures.

If only Herron did not talk, or if I could convince his family that it was his delirium speaking. I hurried to dress, hoping to be there when—if—he spoke against me.

We were a solemn little group gathered once more around Herron’s bed. He seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness, and his mother’s brow was knit with concern as she bent over him. Finally she sighed and looked around at the rest of us: Lord Claude, Charles, and myself. “Tell me,” she said.

I explained that I had been awakened by a noise and followed it to the roof to find Herron and my father. “I must have frightened my father,” I said. “I suppose he had heard about Herron’s watch for the duke’s spirit, because when he saw me he seemed truly frightened. He lost his footing, and I reached out for him.” I waited for Charles or Herron to interrupt me, to correct, but neither spoke; more confidently, I concluded, “But it was too late; I couldn’t keep him from falling.”

The duchess sat back in her chair, and I took a furtive peek at her face. Her expression was bleak, but not skeptical. “He is dead?”

“Yes,” said Charles. “I came in search of Herron, when I found he was not in his bed, and I saw Pembroke slip and fall over the edge. There was nothing either of us could have done to save him.”

Lord Claude released a long breath of relief, as if he had been afraid to breathe until now. The duchess only gave a single slow nod. “It is a fitting end for him,” she said. “But a mysterious one. What was he doing with Herron? I won’t believe he was trying to help him back indoors. Indeed, I wonder that Herron was able to make his way to the roof at all.”

I looked appealingly to Charles; I did not know how much to say, how much they would believe about my father. But the decision was taken out of my hands.

“Herron did not go of his own volition,” said Lord Claude. “Pembroke dragged him to the roof to push him off.” His voice was low but steady, and he met our eyes without hesitation. “Since he had been ordered to leave Ellsmere tomorrow, he was forced to act tonight. If the girl did frighten him, she probably saved Herron’s life.”

“Claude.” The duchess’s voice held fear for the first time. “What do you know of this?”

“More than I wished for you to learn, Gwendolyn.” He looked at me. “You know the whole story, don’t you?”

“Most of it, I think,” I answered, and since he seemed to expect me to tell it, I tried to comply. “When the late duke died, as you all know, he left his son’s inheritance in a trust to be administered by my father and Lord Claude. I’m not certain who succumbed first, but access to so much money was too tempting. I expect it was my father who first thought of what was to be gained by exploiting that access. Lord Claude is a generous man; naturally he found it difficult to resist all the possibilities offered by this wealth.” I realized I was pleading Lord Claude’s case for him, trying to make the others see his actions as I did. “He was tempted by the chance to make improvements on the estate, to buy his new bride expensive gifts—”

A tiny sound from the duchess made me break off. Her eyes were wide and pleading as they sought her husband’s, but he did not give any word or sign to deny what I had said. I felt a terrible aching pity for her. As harrowing as the last two days had been for all of us, for the duchess they were tantamount to crucifixion.

After a moment, I continued.

“But as Herron’s twenty-first birthday neared, they know they faced exposure. Therefore…”

“Therefore Herron could not live,” said Charles, almost gently. He seemed regretful but not surprised, and I wondered if he had come after Herron with a better understanding of his peril than he had revealed. “The fire and the duel were engineered by Pembroke to ensure that Herron died before turning twenty-one. I should have recognized earlier what was in the wind, but I did not realize until tonight when I found Herron missing.” He paused, and his father waited with doomed eyes for his next words. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said quietly. “It’s time this came out, for all our sakes.”

There was a long silence, while we waited for the duchess to speak. She had risen from her chair, and stared at her husband as at a stranger. That look came nearer to breaking Lord Claude than anything that had yet come to pass.

“Gwen, I didn’t want to hurt him,” he cried. “But don’t you see, if he went to the law, I would have been arrested, jailed—I would have lost you.” His whole heart was in the last words.

Still she did not move. “Then it was not Hugo who poisoned the wine. It was you.”

“I had no choice! Pembroke threatened to expose me if I did not dispose of the boy. He knew it meant condemning himself, but he would have done it to spite me. He had less to lose, and could assure himself a lighter sentence by informing against me. You cannot imagine what it has been like, knowing that the only way I could keep you was to kill my own nephew.”

“Claude, you would not have lost me.” At last she went to him, and he seized her hands desperately, as if afraid she would slip away. Tears stood in her eyes, but she faced him serenely, standing calm and strong like a queen. “Did you think you needed jewels and gifts to hold me? If you had only told me of this, we would have found a way. Men like Hugo cannot command us. There might have been disgrace, but I would not have abandoned you to face it alone.”

His face shone as if he were seeing a vision from heaven, but he could not yet allow himself to believe in his redemption. “But there may yet be scandal. On Herron’s birthday—”

“I have money of my own, Claude; I had a careful father too, and he made sure I had money my husbands could not touch. We will restore Herron’s inheritance with that. We may need to find a sympathetic lawyer, but we shall find a way to right this.” The gentle, measured tone did not change as she added, “But if you dare to think again of harming my son, I will see you hanged.”

With a great gasp of relief he snatched her into his arms. I felt myself relax. With her strong guidance, and without my father playing on his weakness, he could be recovered. I only hoped it was not too late, and that his wife could still love him as she once had in spite of what he had tried to do. As for Herron…

“He’s awake,” announced Charles suddenly, and the duchess tore herself out of her husband’s arms to return to Herron’s side. The unfocussed look had left his eyes, and he regarded his stepfather with something like his old glare.

“Darling, how do you feel?” the duchess pressed him. “It’s all over now, dearest. There has been a terrible misunderstanding, and Claude owes you a great apology, but you’re safe now.”

He licked his lips, and spoke in a voice that seemed to come from far away. “I heard,” he said, and Lord Claude moved to the bedside.

“My boy, I can’t expect that you will forgive me,” he said, with a dignity I could not help admiring. “But maybe, in time, if I can earn your trust again—”

“Did you kill my father?”

The words were weak, but unmistakable. Caught off balance, his uncle gaped. “What?”

“He isn’t himself yet, Claude; don’t listen to him.” The duchess stroked her son’s hair, trying to soothe him.

But Herron, weak as he was, was attempting to push himself up in bed, the better to stare down the man he still thought of as his enemy. Without a word, Charles helped raise him and propped him up with pillows.

“Did you kill my father?” he repeated. “You might have done it for the money, or to marry my mother, or simply because you resented him for being all that you never were and never could be.” The outburst seemed to exhaust him, and he struggled for breath, but did not relent. “I have to know, or this cannot end.”

In the silence his labored breathing was loud, and I saw Charles glance with concern at his bandaged shoulder, where fresh blood was showing. But he did not intervene. Lord Claude straightened, and met Herron’s eyes without rancor. “I—”

“Stop,” ordered the duchess. “Don’t say a word, Claude. You shall not answer that question.” She glanced at him to ensure that he would obey her; then, satisfied, she turned again to Herron. Her chin was set at the determined angle I had come to know and respect, and she spoke to Herron gently but firmly.

“You are never to ask that of your uncle again,” she informed him. “And I must insist that all speculation on the subject end here, Herron. We have had enough of death in the past, and it is time to leave it in the past. Claude is a good man, and I have faith in that goodness. I will not have you tormenting yourself, or the rest of us, with these groundless accusations.”

I am not certain which of us was the most astonished. “Gwendolyn, are you sure—” began Lord Claude.

“I am sure. I know you, and I know you are not a murderer. You could never bring yourself to kill, Claude; remember how you warned me against the wine, when doing so could only alert Herron of the danger? No, you are not a murderer.” She turned a formidable gaze on her son, who lay in stricken silence. “Anyone who says otherwise forfeits forever his place in my heart—and in my family. Do you understand?”

If he had not been so weakened by his ordeal he might have defied her. But his eyes wavered for an uncertain moment, and then he nodded.

A tiny smile of triumph flitted across the duchess’s face. She leaned forward to kiss him on the brow. “Good,” she said softly. “Sleep now, dearest.”

* * *

Herron was ill with a fever for four days. It was a harrowing time; his mother and I scarcely left his side, and the doctor left only to visit other patients. More doctors were called in from London, so that at any time a crowd of them could be found, shaking their heads and muttering, around his bed. We hung on every minute change in his color, his breathing, his pulse, hungry to see improvement.

As for me, I felt as if my own soul hung in the balance with his life. No just universe would allow him to die after I had killed to save him; I could not have become a murderess for nothing. Sometimes I felt that if he died, or continued for long in this half-existence, my mind would give way from the strain.

On the fifth day the fever broke, and we knew he would not die.

After the crisis had passed, his convalescence progressed slowly but steadily. When he had grown strong enough, on fair days he liked to be carried out to the terrace off the gallery, from which he could see the ocean reaching out to the horizon. His illness had changed him. He seemed older, and it was not just because of the spare new contours of his face that had emerged as he had grown thinner; his defiance and anger had grown into something more reflective. Somewhere in the ordeal he had undergone, his childhood had been left behind.

As the weeks went by and he grew more alert, he seemed not to mind my presence, so I would busy myself with a book or embroidery while he lay absorbed in his thoughts. Sometimes we would talk: mild, placid exchanges about his progress, the gradual approach of spring, the acquaintances who had asked after his health. Sometimes we would just sit in companionable silence. The threat that he would expose me never ceased to haunt me, but it began to recede.

One afternoon, while I was sitting by Herron’s bedside as he napped, Charles called me out into the hall.

“I’m leaving for Edinburgh tomorrow,” he said without preamble. “Now that Herron’s out of danger, I should be going.”

The unexpectedness of it stunned me; I had to put my hand to the stair rail to steady myself. “But why?” I exclaimed. “You hadn’t planned to go until summer. Why must you leave now?”

He looked into my eyes with such a pointed meaning that his answer was redundant. “I stayed to make sure Herron would be safe, and to learn what you had decided to do. You don’t need me here, Oriel. Knowing that, I’d rather go.”

“But I do need you. I don’t want you to go.”

His face brightened a fraction. “If you truly don’t want me to go, I won’t,” he said. “You have only to ask me to stay.”

I opened my lips to tell him to stay. But the word froze on my tongue; my eyes darted back to Herron’s door, and I knew Charles had to leave. I could not risk having him learn that I had killed my own father. Better to send him away now than see him shrink from me later. And even if Herron did not talk, Charles did not deserve a murderess for a wife. I could not live with myself if I let him marry me, knowing as I did what I was capable of.

Stricken, I stared at him wordlessly, and he gave a short, resigned nod.

“I see,” he said, his deep voice very quiet. “You have made your decision.”

“Charles, it isn’t what you think. I don’t love Herron any more. Or if I do, it is as a sister, or a cousin; not as I used to.” I faltered to a stop. There was no reason he should believe me.

“You don’t have to explain, Oriel; all I want is your happiness.” My eyes blurred at this; I could not have been less happy at that moment. “But remember that if you ever need me, all you need do is send for me. I’ll come whenever you ask.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And you needn’t fear that I’ll see your writing to me as an indication that you have changed your mind about marrying me. There are no conditions, no obligations.”