Shades of the Past (27 page)

"No, not at all—"

Majel's hand shot up again silencing him. 

"You might look on my brother as
only
a viscount, his title lower than the one you will one day bear.  But, I will remind you the House of Marrable is very old, far older than that of Pendergast, and therefore its title of greater prestige.  It would be wise to act with a measure of honor as well backbone by standing by the house of Marrable and your brother-in-law and seeing him absolved of this deplorable injustice." 

Vanessa's eyes widened.  Majel truly astounded her.  She actually felt proud of Adrian's sister in that moment. 

Majel took a step toward her husband, her chin upraised. 

"Marrable blood is strong and constant, Nigel.  It binds us together, just as Aunt Gwen wrote in her will.  I intend to remain at Sherringham—along with the ghosts, bodies, scandals, and all—and do what I can.  If you still wish to flee to London with the children, I shall help you pack and see you to the station.  Afterward, I owe Constable Grealey a visit, along with a rather large piece of my mind.  He'll think the sky itself has fallen on him by the time I am through!  How dare he lay hands on a Marrable, let alone imprison the viscount himself!" 

At that, Majel stormed from the room, her back stiff and her bearing utterly regal.

"Majel? . . . Er, Pet?"  Nigel looked after her, then transferred his gaze to the others.  "Isn't she magnificent?"  He uttered the words with a note of awe in his voice.  Striding from the room, he hastened to follow her.

Vanessa's brows raised high.  The day was full of surprises.  For a man who could be an intolerably arrogant bore, she believed there might be hope for Nigel after all.

Cissy rose from the sofa to share a word with Henry.  She then crossed to where Vanessa stood. 

"We will accompany Majel and her family into Hereford.   I am sure you wish to see Adrian, but would you mind staying at Sherringham lest anything new erupts, or some word arrives?  We wish to ensure Lawrence has contacted Mr. Whitmore, the family's solicitor.  We also have yet to see or speak with Adrian ourselves today."

"Of course I don't mind."  Vanessa smiled. 

In all honesty, she felt a strong pull to remain at Sherringham.  She'd yet to reason everything out, still she sensed she was overlooking something important, right before her eyes.

"Give Adrian my love."  Vanessa reached out and squeezed Cissy's hand.  "Hopefully, he will already be free before I ride to Hereford to see him.  Oh, yes.  Adrian urged me to contact Cameron Kincaid should anything befall him.  I know Adrian wired him immediately after discovering Olivia's body.  But Mr. Kincaid should be apprised of what has taken place here today. 

"We will see to it," Henry said as he moved behind Cissy.  "You are sure you don't mind staying behind at Sherringham?"

Vanessa shook her head.  "Someone must look after the 'ghosts and bodies and scandals and all."  She gave a small laugh, quoting Majel.

After Cissy and Henry withdrew, Vanessa climbed the grand staircase to her chamber to fetch a heavy shawl.  She then left the mansion to walk in the gardens and collect her thoughts.

Despite what Constable Grealey believed, he did not hold
all
the pieces to the puzzle of Olivia's death.  Vanessa knew she must find the ones missing and fit them all together.  Where was Olivia's specter now, when she could be of great service and reveal who caused her death?  There was never a ghost to be found when needed!

Methodically, Vanessa reexamined the known facts surrounding the carriage accident and Olivia's death.  She then pondered the questions to which they gave rise.  Just as the discovery of Olivia's remains at the Abbey Ruin altered all previous beliefs held of that tragic night, so did the spirit photographs, taken in the tower, and the final letter Olivia had penned to her lover.

Lawrence claimed to have seen the viscountess and her maid procure a carriage from the stable and ride out toward Devil's Hairpin.  Yet Olivia did not die in the fire, but instead, in the tower study when she fell down the spiral staircase.

Olivia's letter stated that Adrian had withdrawn to his
private study
after they'd quarreled—presumably the tower study.  Or was there was another? 

Still, Adrian claimed to have smashed the decanter against the wall and left Sherringham immediately while the viscountess still lived. 

On the other hand, Olivia was interrupted as she wrote her lover.
 
Had she actually ever left Sherringham's confines?  Or had something drawn her directly to the tower study?  Possibly, Lawrence was mistaken as to identities of the women he’d observed at the stables.  It had been dark after all.  

In any event, it was clear from Olivia's letter that she intended to steal the Marrable jewels.  Since only she and Adrian would have had access to them, Vanessa concluded Olivia had succeeded in obtaining them.  It stood to reason, whoever killed Olivia, thieved the jewels for himself or herself just after her death.

Might the viscountess have been murdered for the jewels?  Doubtful, Vanessa thought, but she did not dismiss the possibility entirely.

Massaging the stiffness in the back of her neck, she lifted her face to the breeze stirring through the garden.  Vanessa was unsure where her ruminations led her, except perhaps in a very grand circle.  None of the details she'd considered explained the carriage mishap.  The axle had given way, she'd been told, but by accident or sabotage?  And if the latter, why?  It made little sense considering Olivia did not occupy the carriage—unless someone anticipated she would.

Vanessa expelled a breath, suddenly feeling like a dog chasing its tail.  This vein of reasoning was leading her nowhere new.  She turned on her heel, changing the direction of her pacing as well as her thoughts.  Deciding on a different approach, she focused on the events that occurred after the viscountess' death. 

Adrian had been quickly accused of murder, followed by Lady Gwen's departure from Sherringham, never to return. 

Vanessa stayed her step, canting her head.  Lady Gwen's self-imposed exile had always been an odd chapter in all of this.  But to her mind, so had Lady Gwen's prior years at Sherringham. 

The photographs in Nanny's quarters showed Gwendolyn Marrable to have been a beauty as a young woman.  From what Vanessa knew, she'd never been shy, but outgoing if anything.  Yet, Lady Gwen chose to remain tucked away in Hereford's countryside, never marrying.  According to her words of praise in her will, her father and brother were both generous men.  Assuredly, either one would have provided her a fine dowry.  Yet, Lady Gwen stayed at Sherringham, leaving only occasionally.  Through the years, she'd been deeply involved in the lives of her nieces and nephews.  Otherwise, her time and talents had been absorbed by her photography.

But then Olivia had died.  Adrian was accused of murder.  And Lady Gwen . . .  Lady Gwen left for self-imposed exile, abandoning everything that had been central to her life until that time.

While Vanessa had been in her employ, Lady Gwen never spoke of these things.  She knew Lady Gwen had written with some regularity to her nieces, alternating her letters between the two.  But to Vanessa's knowledge, she'd made no attempt to communicate with her nephews.  Perhaps, Lady Gwen expected Cissy and Majel to share her correspondence with their brothers.  She was ever traveling about, after all, and never long in any one place.

Deep in her heart, Vanessa knew the truth—though Lady Gwen could have returned at any time to Sherringham, she'd expressly avoided it.  But why?  Had she truly believed the claims against Adrian?

Vanessa continued to ponder the matter, making her way around a fading flower bed for a hundredth time.  A youthful voice rang out, shattering her concentration.  Looking up, she spied Geoffrey, rushing toward her.

"Mrs. Wynters, Mrs. Wynters!"  He came to a halt, huffing for breath.  "Mama and Papa have left for Hereford.  They want you to know.  Aunt Majel and Uncle Nigel have gone with them also."

"And your little cousins?  Did they ride out with your aunt and uncle, too?" Vanessa queried, wondering if Nigel was leaving with the children for the station after all.

"No, Mrs. Wynters."  Geoffrey stopped a moment and scratched his nose, his brows crimping.  "Why would they take the young ones to the constable's office?"

"Is that where they are going?"

 Geoffrey nodded.  "Aunt Majel said she has something to give Constable Grealey, and Uncle Nigel said he was going to help her.  I didn't see them carrying anything with them when they joined Mama and Papa in the carriage though."

"I see."  Vanessa hid her smile, secretly pleased with Nigel's evident change of heart.  

"Mrs. Wynters, I hope you won't tell Mama, but yesterday I was supposed to ask you for the mourning photographs and I forgot."  Geoffrey scratched his nose again, then screwed his mouth.  "I couldn't find Rascal anywhere.  He'd gotten into a pond and was sopping when I did find him and, well, I forgot.  I think Mama's forgotten too, for the moment."

Vanessa placed a hand to his shoulder.  "It's all right, Geoffrey.  We can get the photographs now.  Tell me, has your mother finished decorating the pages in the album?" she asked conversationally, as they began to walk toward the Photo House.

Minutes later they arrived at the door, and she worked the key in the lock.  The mechanism gave way with a click, and they entered in.  Proceeding to the long table, left of the door, Vanessa pulled open the center drawer and withdrew the cache of photographs from its depth. 

"Here you are, Geoffrey."  She gave them over, but as he thanked her and started to turn, she stopped him, touching his sleeve.  "Just a moment." 

Reaching for the top print, Vanessa lifted it off and studied the image.  The photograph was the one she'd taken of Lady Gwen in Knights Chapel, laying peaceably in her open coffin, her hands folded one atop the other.

Heat rippled through Vanessa as she realized what had bothered her so about the picture.  It wasn't what she saw in the print, but what was missing—Lady Gwen's Bible.  Vanessa had placed it in her hands just before the funeral commenced. 

"My God," she whispered, thunderstruck as everything came together in her mind in one extraordinary flash of insight.  Suddenly, she was transported back to Lady Gwen's last hours when Vanessa had hurriedly brought the Bible at her insistence.

"Burn it!  Burn it!" Lady Gwen had cried out frantically, imploring her to destroy the holy book.

Vanessa gripped the edge of the long table, her mind reeling.  Lady Gwen knew Sherringham's darkest secret.  That is why she'd left.  Not because she was a sheltered, sensitive soul, distraught by the last viscountess' death and her nephew's implication.  She'd left because she knew the truth of that night.

The pieces fit, Vanessa realized with crystal clarity as she envisioned that restless soul—traveling endlessly, surrounding herself with multitudes of entertaining friends and acquaintances.  Lady Gwen had filled all the hours of her days, all the moments of silence, as if afraid to be alone with her thoughts.  Even at night, Lady Gwen would pace the floor, sleep eluding her.  Eluding her because she knew who had killed Olivia.

Vanessa's mind continued to race furiously, fixing on the Bible.  Lady Gwen had been desperate for it to be burned.  But why, unless it contained evidence she wished destroyed?  What then?  A written account of something witnessed?  A confession encoded in the pages?  God above, was it possible Lady Gwen had been party to Olivia's death, accidentally or otherwise?

"Mrs. Wynters are you all right?" Geoffrey touched her elbow, concern filling his voice.  "Should I bring you the stool?"

"No Geoffrey, it's not a stool I need." 

Vanessa swallowed deeply.  What she needed was Lady Gwen's Bible.  She must go at once to the mausoleum and open her late employer's coffin.  Lady Gwen had literally taken her secrets to the grave and now held Adrian's future in her cold, dead hands.

Vanessa tore herself from her thoughts and rounded on the boy, her words coming out in a rush. 

"Geoffrey, you accompanied the family into the mausoleum the day of your great-aunt's funeral.  Can you tell me exactly where her coffin is located—where I can find it?"

The boy's eyes popped open wide.  "Are you going
there,
Mrs. Wynters—
inside?"

Vanessa held his gaze steadily.  "I realize my request seems strange, but there's something I must see—must
recover,
actually.  If I am right, it will mean a great deal for your Uncle Adrian.  The mausoleum is a sizable building, and I suspect there are a number of rooms inside.  Can you sketch the layout for me?"

Geoffrey straightened, drawing himself up several inches, importantly.  "I can do better than sketch it, Mrs. Wynters.  I can show you."

"Geoffrey, I'll not ask you to—"

"Please, Mrs. Wynters.  I know what has happened to Uncle Adrian, and I want to help him, no matter what the task or how small."

Tears misted Vanessa's eyes.  Was she ever to well up at the slightest inducement? 

"My dear young man, you have no idea how enormously important this is.  If we discover what I believe we shall, we will be able prove your uncle's innocence and see him set free.  We must hurry, however.  Do you know whether the mausoleum is kept locked?"