Shades of the Past (28 page)

"I think so."  He nodded thoughtfully.  "Mr. Manning, the groundskeeper, should have a key."

"Good.  We need to persuade him to open the doors for us.  Keep in mind, Geoffrey, it’s best no one knows what we are truly about.  They might object to our doing . . . well, what must be done.  Fortunately, the family is away for the time being.  I don't wish to involve Timmons or his wife, Joan, either.  I'm sure they would deem it most improper for us to disturb the dead."

"Is that what we're going to do?"  Geoffrey's voice rose several notes, his eyes widening even more.

"Not really."  Vanessa smiled. 

Relieving him of the photographs, she returned them to the drawer. 

"I want you to find Mr. Manning and tell him we wish to visit Lady Gwendolyn's crypt.  With all the excitement of late, I imagine no one has thought to remove the withered blossoms from her tomb.  Convince Mr. Manning that is our purpose.  I'll arrange for a gig or cart to be brought out and meet you both at the stables."

Geoffrey preceded her from the Photo House, and Vanessa delayed only long enough to secure the door.  As she traveled the length of the courtyard, she noticed how the skies had further darkened.  The wind blew stiffer now, carrying the heavy scent of damp earth.

Arriving at the stables, she made her request then waited as a conveyance was rolled out and a horse harnessed.  Geoffrey soon appeared with an imposing, bearded man who wore rumpled work clothes and grasped a large ring of keys—Mr. Manning.  To Vanessa's relief, the grounds keeper proved an obliging fellow who asked no questions.  In short order, the threesome was on their way with Vanessa at the reins. 

She set the horse to an easy pace, following the now familiar route.  She reminisced how, on the day of the funeral, the distance from the manse to the mausoleum seemed long indeed.  Now, time passed quickly.  Already, the Abbey Ruin was coming into sight. 

Vanessa shivered as she swept her gaze over the ancient-looking relic.  The sanctuary area, with its damaged wall, became visible for the briefest of moments, reminding of their recent, horrid discovery there.  Vanessa looked away and pressed on.

The Orangery came next into view, its pallid facade glowing ghostlike amid the dark grove of trees.  The reflection pool that stretched before the building appeared black as it mirrored the threatening sky.  The only hint of color to be detected was in the dry, curled leaves of autumn, drifting across the water's surface.

Vanessa took hold of herself.  Her imagination was beginning to overcome her, seeing death at every turn, in every leaf.  She knew what was required of her, if she was to save Adrian, and she was determined to see it through.

 The road dipped as they entered the dell where the mausoleum sat in majestic isolation.  Rounding the building to its far side, Vanessa reined the horse and cart to a halt.  From the near distance, she could hear the rush of the River Wye coursing noisily below the cliff's edge. 

Vanessa stepped from the small conveyance, the breeze tossing her hair about her face as she gazed up the long flight of steps to the mausoleum's bronze doors and the black mourning wreaths there.  Mr. Manning began the climb as she remained rooted in place, unmoving.

"Mrs. Wynters?"  Geoffrey came to her side, his voice carrying concern.  "Are you all right?"

"Yes.  Quite all right.  But let's get this over."

Together they mounted the steps, Geoffrey carefully matching his pace to hers.  When they gained the top, Vanessa found herself short of breath but couldn't say whether it was due to the climb itself or the prospect of opening Lady Gwen's coffin. 

Mr. Manning worked a large key in the door's lock.  After a solid
clunk
signaled his success, he applied his strength to one of the massive bronze panels and began to push it open.  The door protested their intrusion with a deep, metallic groan, grating along Vanessa's already taut nerves.  She gazed inside the shaded depths and after exchanging a glance with Geoffrey, crossed the threshold, her heart pounding. 

The mausoleum's chill air enwrapped her as she moved inside.  Geoffrey followed directly behind, while Mr. Manning remained respectfully outside the family crypt.

As they entered the central rotunda, Vanessa beheld an amazing sight—Leonine Marrable's elaborate sarcophagus, centered directly beneath the dome.  The dome, itself, floated above a ring of windows which, on a brighter day, would bathe the interior with light.  Today however, everything appeared shadowy, the pure white marble of Leonine's effigy cast in grays.

Numerous other sepulchres encircled the rotunda, alternating along the walls with soaring Ionic columns and deep niches, filled with statuary.  One statue, bearing a striking resemblance to Charles II, watched over Leonine's resting place.

"This way, Mrs. Wynters.  Great-aunt Gwen is in the room directly across, on the opposite side."  Geoffrey led the way, hastening past tombs centuries old, and paused before the portal that opened onto the back-most chamber.  "She's in here with her parents and my grandparents, Viscount Lionel, and his wife."

Geoffrey pointed to an unadorned tomb, its plain slab top spread with a host of shriveled flowers.

Vanessa moved deep into the chamber to stand before the vault, Geoffrey trailing her.

"What do we do now?" he asked in a breathless whisper.

"You don't have to be party to this, Geoffrey.  I'm going to have to open the tomb.  The coffin too." 

"How will you remove the top, if I don't help you?"

Vanessa found his gaze resting intently upon her, followed by a shrug and a nervous smile.

"How indeed?"  She smiled too.  "Come then, let's get on with it."

Clearing away the dead flowers, they set them aside along with Vanessa's shawl.  They then considered how to best slide and turn the marble slab to the end of the tomb and applied themselves to the task. 

Vanessa and Geoffrey first used their shoulders, arms, and hands to push at the lid's weight.  Vanessa had forgotten how cold marble could be until she touched it.  Her fingers quickly turned to ice. 

The lid budged slowly—an inch, then two, then several more—causing a fierce scraping noise that echoed off the walls.  They continued to shove at the slab, moving it bit by bit and revealing the coffin within the vault.

Vanessa quickly realized the slab was too heavy for a woman and a boy to lift down.  It would need to be removed altogether in order to raise the coffin lid.  Undaunted, she shoved at the slab once more.

"Need assistance?" a familiar voice sounded from behind.

Geoffrey jerked upright and Vanessa whirled around, her heart thrashing against her ribs.  Several yards away stood Lawrence, studying them both with his pale blue eyes.  Past his shoulder, she spied Mr. Manning waiting by the door.

"I see my timing is impeccable.”  Lawrence stepped further into the chamber.  “I'd just entered Sherringham’s gates when I saw you two at a distance.  I thought it supremely odd to see you headed in this direction with Manning here, so I followed.  He tells me you came to tend to Auntie's crypt—remove the dead flowers, I believe he said.  Or is there something else you came to remove?"

"I'm no grave robber, if that's what you are insinuating," Vanessa declared, realizing how condemning this all must look.  "I'm not here to steal Lady Gwendolyn's jewelry off her."

Lawrence's eyes shifted to his nephew then back to Vanessa.  "I didn't suggest you were—either of you—though for the life of me, I can't conceive a single reason as to why you would be opening her tomb."

Geoffrey stepped forward, moving protectively in front of Vanessa—a gesture that reminded her of Adrian.

"Mrs. Wynters is trying to help Uncle Adrian."

Lawrence arched a skeptical brow.  "And how is that, young man?"

Vanessa pressed her lips together, reluctant to confess her purpose, yet having little choice but to do so.  Stepping forward beside Geoffrey, she quickly related her theory that Lady Gwen had known the truth of Olivia's death and concealed a written account of it in her Bible.

"She was absolutely desperate for the book to be destroyed.  Don't you see?  It all makes perfect sense—the timing of her leaving Sherringham, why she stayed away these past years—"

Lawrence held up his hands, stopping her rush of words.  "I believe you, Vanessa." 

He dragged his hand over his golden head and paced a moment as he absorbed all she'd said.  He glanced to her once more, his eyes holding an intense, penetrating look that, inexplicably, caused Vanessa to shift self-consciously in place.  But in the next instant, the corners of his lips curved upward.

"Vanessa, you're a wonder.  It wouldn't surprise me if you've solved the entire mystery single handedly.  But opening the casket of the dead is no task for a lady.  Manning and I will see to it.  Besides, Aunt Gwen is
my
relative after all."

Lawrence removed his jacket and gestured Manning forward.  The groundskeeper paled, but did as he was asked.  Together the two men took hold of the slab, sliding it to the end of the tomb before easing it off and down onto the floor.

Manning appeared increasingly distressed and backed away as Lawrence turned to open the coffin itself.

"No fear, I'll do this part myself."  Lawrence nodded to the groundskeeper who swiftly withdrew from the chamber entirely.

Lawrence chuckled, shaking his head, then returned his attention to the vault.  Reaching inside, he lifted the coffin lid straight up.  Vanessa drew Geoffrey back, her breath sealing in her throat, but like her, the boy could not pull his eyes away.  Though Lawrence blocked their view for the most part, Vanessa could still glimpse Lady Gwen's white hair.

"Forgive us," she whispered softly, as Lawrence leaned forward to take the Bible from his aunt's hands.

Closing the coffin, he straightened, holding up the cloth-covered Bible for all to see.  But instead of giving it over to Vanessa, he began searching through its pages himself.

"What are you expecting to find exactly?"

Vanessa and Geoffrey moved closer, but Lawrence kept the volume closely guarded.

"A letter, perhaps," Vanessa replied.  "Or writing on the book's pages—underlining, perhaps.  I'm not sure."

Lawrence flipped through the pages, then fanned them once more.  Finding nothing, he examined the leather ends and felt through the woolen covering.  Finally he removed the cloth altogether.

"Hello," he muttered.  "Look here, the stitching has been removed from the binding.  There's something inside, between the two layers of leather."

Vanessa and Geoffrey waited anxiously as Lawrence worked a sheaf of flattened paper out of the binding.  Handing her the Bible at last, Lawrence opened out the pages and began to scan them.

Vanessa grew frustrated as he continued to withhold the papers.  But as he read the lines of Lady Gwen's spidery script, all color drained from his face,

He raised his eyes to her, shock registered in their depths.  For a moment he could not seem to speak.

"My God," he voiced at last.  "You were right, Vanessa. Aunt Gwen
did
witness Olivia's death, and she names her killer."

Relief flooded Vanessa.  They would be able to clear Adrian once and for all.  Thank God.  Thank God.

"What does the letter say?" she pressed, more anxious than ever.  "Who killed Olivia?"

Pain creased Lawrence's eyes as he looked to her.  He seemed to choke on the words. 

"Vanessa, I'm sorry . . . I know you didn't expect . . .  It's Adrian.  Adrian murdered Olivia."

The rains began minutes after the small group departed the mausoleum—a light sprinkling mixed with the wind at first, then a heavier, pelting downfall.  Vanessa spread one side of her shawl over Geoffrey, hugging him close, while Mr. Manning drove their cart.  Lawrence rode just ahead, leading the way.

For the whole of their soaking journey, Vanessa sat in a wooden daze.  She welcomed the sting of the rain on her face, wetting her cheeks in place of tears.  She found she could no longer cry, not after the rest of what Lawrence had revealed of his aunt's letter.

"Given that her rooms were located in the west wing, Aunt Gwen had been privy to the full scope of Adrian's and Olivia's quarreling there.  When all quieted at long last, she writes she emerged from her chamber and went in search of Adrian.  She found him in the tower study." 

Vanessa puzzled that.  Adrian insisted he’d left
the estate immediately after his last clash with his wife—leastwise, after he’d smashed the crystal decanter.  But, Vanessa held her silence, allowing Lawrence to continue his summary without interruption. 

"Auntie started to enter the tower study but found Olivia to already be there.  Neither Adrian nor Olivia observed her, so she remained quietly at the door.  Olivia, as Auntie tells it, was in the course of disputing something Adrian had said.  He gave her his back and began to mount the staircase to the upper level.  Olivia stormed after him, hurling threats and accusations, striking at his back with her fist as she accused him of carrying on an affair of his own—one with her personal maid, Bonnie Beckford."

Vanessa closed her eyes, the charge tearing at her heart.  Some might regard her as naïve, but she couldn't conceive it, not of Adrian. 

"Aunt Gwen states Olivia angered Adrian thoroughly.  They'd only reached the top of the staircase when she grabbed at his arm.  He spun around on her then, shoving her away from him and slapping her.  Olivia fell backward, tumbling down those treacherous, twisting stairs and breaking her neck."

Olivia's lifeless image in the tower photograph loomed before Vanessa’s mind’s eye.

"Auntie was horrorstruck," Lawrence continued, consulting the pages.  "She returned to her rooms and locked herself inside.  She claims to remember little after that as she'd lain on her bed for hours and fell asleep. 

"The following morning, when she learned of Olivia's fate in the carriage accident and of Bonnie’s disappearance, Auntie knew Adrian lied.  She suspected he’d sent his lover away to await him elsewhere, but that he still possessed the jewels—an elaborate ruse to cover the truth of Olivia’s death.  Auntie kept her silence when the authorities arrived.  Adrian was blood, after all—her nephew, whom she'd practically raised, and the current Viscount Marrable.  She couldn't betray him.  But neither could she stay at Sherringham."

A jolt of the cart snapped Vanessa's attention back to the present.  In that same instant, the manse came into sight.  The light in its windows glowed dimly through the blowing rain.  Long minutes later, Mr. Manning brought the cart around to the entrance portico, where she and Geoffrey alighted with Lawrence's aid and followed him inside.

Not a soul greeted them in the great, vacant hall, the servants apparently preoccupied elsewhere and the family still in absence.  The light of the chandelier created dancing pools of golden light in the hallway, though most of its dimensions remained swathed in shadows.

Lawrence paused, turning toward Vanessa.  "I realize you wish to read Aunt Gwen's account for yourself.  You'll understand, however, given its content, I prefer to go over the pages alone for a while, digest them and all that, before the others return.  I promise to make them available for all to see later." 

At that, he tugged on the nearby bellpull, summoning the staff to see to Vanessa and Geoffrey’s needs, then withdrew.
 As they watched Lawrence's retreat down the corridor, right of the entry, the boy suddenly pulled away from her, his face reddened and his eyes filled with tears. 

"I don't care what Great-aunt Gwen wrote in her letter.  I won't believe it.  Uncle Adrian isn't a murderer.  He's
not,
he's
not!
" 

Huge tears rolled over Geoffrey’s cheeks as he spun on his heel and ran down the opposite corridor, back toward his family's suite of rooms.

Vanessa's every impulse urged her to go after the boy, but she knew what he needed most was a good, hard cry.  As did she.  Still, her own tears would not come. 

Dragging the sodden shawl from her shoulders, she folded it to a square, then moved to climb the grand staircase to the Upper Cloisters and her chamber.

Vanessa arrived at the room at what seemed an eternity later, her heart feeling heavy as iron.  After changing from her sodden clothes into a dry, woolen gown, she let down her hair and began combing it out.  She stared into the mirror, seeing yet not seeing herself as she pondered the last hours and worried the facts. 

Her emotions suddenly boiled to the surface once more. Vanessa slammed down her comb on the top of the dresser, her anger sharpening, her forbearance at an end.  She wanted to
see
Lady Gwen's condemning words with her own eyes. 
Read
each damning sentence as it appeared in Gwen's spidery script.  Even then, no matter what dire tale the pages told, Vanessa wanted to speak with Adrian before accepting the charges against him.  Like Geoffrey, she would remain skeptical, believing Adrian's innocence until proven otherwise, beyond doubt.

Quitting her chamber, Vanessa went in search of Lawrence.  He'd not refuse her this request.  Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty, then forty.  She encountered few servants about the manse and was grateful when she came upon the maid who so often attended her, Mary Ethel.

"Do you know the whereabouts of Mr. Marrable?" Vanessa asked in a rush.

"I believe he's gone out again, madam."

"In this storm?"

"Oh, he's not gone far I imagine.  He oftentimes works at the folly."

"You mean the Orangery?"

"That would be the likely choice."

Vanessa thanked the maid, grateful for the information.  "Mary Ethel, I'd like you to take Geoffrey some warm milk and stay with him until his parents return.  He's quite distraught over matters concerning his uncle, the viscount."

"Of course, Mrs. Wynters, and a saucer of warm milk for that pup of his too," she offered.

Vanessa started to part then quickly turned back again.  "Can you tell me where I might find Timmons?  I've yet to see him tonight."

"I believe he and his Mrs. are with Nanny Pringle.  She was quite undone when she received word of his lordship."

"Yes, I imagine she was.  Thank you, Mary Ethel."

Vanessa headed for Nanny's quarters, deciding against traveling the Tudor gallery.  Fortunately, she’d learned of a much quicker route, well illuminated the entire way. 

Perhaps it was providential the three people who'd resided at Sherringham the longest were presently gathered together.  Not
everything
she'd learned thus far fit neatly together.  There were still several important questions needing answers.

Lawrence downed the last of his brandy, then picked up the small faded photograph to examine it once more.  He'd found it tucked deep in the leather binding of Aunt Gwen's Bible.

No, "Aunt" Gwen was incorrect.  Her letter contained far more than the details of Olivia's death.  It disclosed what, for him, was the most shocking revelation of all.  Lady Gwendolyn Marrable was his mother.

Lawrence tossed the picture back onto the table where the multipaged epistle rested.  He then rose to pace the confines of the Orangery's upper drawing room and grapple with his swirl of thoughts. 

Jamming his fingers through his hair, he changed direction and came back to where the table stood before the tiled fireplace.  Glancing down to the photograph, he studied the dashing young man smiling there—William Darnell, once Sherringham's Master-of-the-Horse, many years ago.  Darnell's golden features reflected his own, down to the dimple creasing his left cheek.

Lawrence filled his glass for a third time and resumed his seat.  Leafing through the pages of Gwen's letter, he scanned their lines.  There was much more to his kindly "maiden aunt" than anyone ever knew—excepting her brother and sister-in-law, the Viscount and Viscountess Marrable. 

“So, mother, you fell madly in love with Darnell and gave yourself recklessly to him.” Lawrence tossed back another mouthful of brandy.

The brief affair resulted in Gwen's conceiving a child.  It meant absolute ruin for her and scandal for the family, something Lord Lionel's wife would not abide.  She'd aspirations of her own among the upper elite, to point the Prince's inner set.  But such a stigma meant social oblivion.

Gwen recounted how she and her lover were separated, Darnell being dispatched to a post in India by her brother’s arrangement.  Lionel, whom she portrayed as an indulgent and a forgiving man, blamed himself for being oblivious to what was right before his face. 

When the viscountess learned of her own pregnancy, a plan was quickly hatched to send the women abroad to the South of France for the duration of the viscountess' confinement—Gwen, of course, accompanying her.  Nine months later, Viscountess Marrable returned triumphantly with twin sons.

Lawrence rubbed his eyes, comprehending at last why the woman he'd always believed to be his mama had been cold and emotionless toward him all these years, though in fairness, she'd not been overly warm to Adrian either.  But then, "children are such sticky creatures," she'd ofttimes say, allowing none of her children—the boys or girls—to touch her and risk messing her gowns and hair.

Lawrence suddenly threw back his head and expelled a shout of laughter, the irony of it all welling up inside him.  All these years he thought he'd missed out on the grand Marrable inheritance by a matter of minutes—the first born inheriting all, the second, nothing.  He laughed again.  By the dates given in Gwen's letter, he was a full month older than his "brother."  Being a small child—or was it that Adrian had always been the larger—no one had discerned any difference of age in the "twins."

Lawrence crushed the letter in his hand, his mood swinging sharply.  He and Adrian were
not
twins.  If the letter was ever made known, being bastard-born, he would not only lose his place as next in line of inheritance, but he would be removed from it altogether—a shameful blot on the family's most recent history.

But history
could
be changed.  None knew the truth of his parentage.  If Adrian should be found guilty of Olivia's and Bonnie Beckford's untimely deaths—and possibly implicated in that of Clairissa's—he would face certain execution. 

Lawrence rubbed his chin then rose to pace, his pulses quickening.  With Adrian dead, he, himself, would inherit the Marrable titles, lands, and properties, not to mention the lucrative family coal mines. 

He snatched up Gwen's letter and shuffled through the pages.  She'd mentioned only one other piece of evidence of his birth—sealed in an envelope and given to the keeping of the family's solicitor.  Lord Lionel had arranged in the event of his and Adrian's premature demise, the truth would be verified.  The inheritance would circumvent Lawrence and go to another.  Gwen agreed to this, in exchange for the facade of legitimacy for her son and Sherringham as their home. 

Lawrence set the pages down.  The envelope held by the solicitor posed no great difficulty, he deemed.  There were those who could be employed to secure it—by whatever means.  Besides, should Adrian die, wouldn't the solicitor be obliged to turn the letter over to him?  Not even the solicitor knew its contents.

Topping off his brandy, Lawrence raised his glass to toast Adrian. 

"Our fates are yet entwined, 'brother.'  But one must find its end, so that the other might thrive.  You've long had your turn.  Now it is mine."

Lawrence laughed, then emptied the glass.

"It was a dreadful time for all of us at Sherringham, what with yet another viscountess' death—so tragic."  Timmons wagged his head with remembered sadness.

His wife, Joan, patted his hand, nodding in agreement.  She turned her large, doe-soft eyes to Vanessa.  "Of course, there were the accusations brought against Lord Marrable."

Her words brought loud sniffles from Nanny who was seated before the parlor's fireplace in one of the deep, upholstered chairs.  Joan went to lay a hand to the older woman's shoulder and soothe her.

"The Mrs. and I had never seen Lady Gwendolyn so greatly distressed," Timmons went on to explain.  "At first she kept to her rooms like a hermit and refused to come out.  Excepting for the funeral, of course."

"She didn't seem the same after that," Joan added from where she stood.  "Not while she remained at Sherringham.  Too much pain, or memories.  Lady Gwendolyn had lived at Sherringham most all her life.  Then she left."

Nanny's sniffles became a muffled sob.  Joan attended to her at once and suggested a comforting cup of tea.

"How extraordinarily sad for everyone," Vanessa commented as Joan moved to the sideboard. 

When she offered her tea, Vanessa declined, thinking it time she withdrew from Nanny's chambers.  Her conversation with the Timmons had yielded little new, leastwise nothing to shed light on Lady Gwen's letter or to aid Adrian.