Shades of the Past (30 page)

The wind continued to whistle around the room, rebounding off the walls and smiting the chimneypiece.  The plaque tilted then crashed to the floor. 

On the wind blustered, seeking its escape.  Finding one sufficient, it slipped through the crack beneath the door and shrilled throughout the Orangery.

»«

Vanessa watched from a nearby cover of trees as Lawrence emerged from the Orangery and mounted his horse.  She waited as he disappeared from sight, riding in the direction of the manse. 

Looking to the Orangery, she saw the glow of lamplight in the room above, indicating the likelihood Lawrence would return.  Still, she reasoned, he should be gone long enough for her to make a quick search for Lady Gwendolyn’s letter, detailing Olivia’s death. 

After securing Delilah's reins to a branch, Vanessa left her shelter and hastened toward the entrance door.  She pulled her cloak tight against the wind and rain, wishing now she'd taken time to don her waterproof.  But then, she'd surely have missed this opportunity.

Entering the Orangery, Vanessa found she could see little of the space by the flickering light.  Wall sconces bracketed either side of the doors, and a freestanding candelabra stood at the base of the stairs.  Still, the space swallowed their light. 

The shutters rattled against the unglazed windows of the entrance floor, unsettling her nerves as she crossed to the steps and began to climb.  At the top, she came upon a room at the front of the building.  By the light seeping from beneath its door, she knew it to be the place Lawrence had just occupied and, thus, the room she sought.

Vanessa reached for the doorknob then snatched her hand back in surprise.  It was bitter cold to the touch.  Determined, she grasped it once more and, giving it a firm twist, opened the door and entered in.

Vanessa noted the distinctive chill that gripped the room, but before she could think on it further, the disorder on the floor captured her attention.  Papers scattered the area before the hearth and amid them lay a heavy, sculpted plaque, broken to pieces.  The plaque appeared to have fallen from the face of the chimneypiece, leaving a square space of coarse brickwork exposed to view.

As Vanessa bent to collect the scattered papers, she immediately recognized Lady Gwen's handscript.  By their singed edges, clearly Lawrence had attempted to burn them.  Vanessa wondered at that as she glanced to the cold ashes in the fireplace and the disarray all about her.

Giving her attention to the damaged pages, she quickly assembled them into order and scanned them.

"May God forgive my weak and wretched soul.  And may you forgive me, Adrian, for I have wronged you greatly."

Vanessa wavered, stunned by Lady Gwen’s remorseful words.

"It is out of love that I act.  And fear, too, I admit.  Believe me, nephew, never would I allow matters to progress so far as to truly put you at risk of conviction for your wife's death.  I would come forward before then and testify.  For now, however, I am compelled to remain silent in order to protect another—my son."

Vanessa gasped aloud at the revelation.  Skimming down the page, she discovered his identity—Lawrence.

Her head came up.
  Lawrence. 
Jolted back to the present, Vanessa hastened to the windows and strained to see out through the rain, mindful he might soon return.   

Satisfied she remained safely alone, she returned her attention to the papers, consuming their words as rapidly as she could. 

A great sadness filled Vanessa for the beautiful unwed Gwendolyn, who’d waited decades for her lover to return and take her and their son away.  She'd remained faithfully at Sherringham, but in vain.  Still, Gwen's letter was filled with gratitude for the years she'd enjoyed with her son, taking part in raising him alongside her nephew and nieces, all in great comfort and privilege, owing to the benevolence of her brother.

Vanessa felt time press in on her.  Folding the pages to bring with her, she checked again at the window for sign of Lawrence, then made a swift search of the room for additional pages—those Lawrence had read in the crypt, describing Olivia’s death.  Finding nothing
and with few moments to spare, she turned to leave.  As she did, a brick on the chimneypiece caught her attention.  It sat out slightly farther than the others.  Indeed, it appeared loose, without any cementing mortar—as if it could be extracted . . .

Vanessa quickened to the chimneypiece.  Grasping the edges of the brick, she pulled and wiggled it forward until she could draw it out.  Peering into the hollow, she spied more of the cream-colored pages, these unscorched.  As she removed them, she discovered a small photograph of a man, his looks strikingly similar to Lawrence's—obviously, Lady Gwen's great love, William Darnell. 

Vanessa reached into the cavity again, this time bringing forth a weighty velvet bag.  She opened its mouth, then fingered out a bracelet of braided gold with a locket attached.  Her breath left her as she recognized it at once from the portrait of Leonine.  Vanessa knew she held in her hands the missing Marrable jewels. 

Again she felt inside the niche for anything she may have missed.  Immediately, her fingers closed on something hard.  Withdrawing it, the piece proved to be a brooch with a heron motif.  Vanessa's eyes widened at its charred condition.  She didn't understand its significance but added it to the other jewels.

One thing was clear, she reflected—the purpose behind Lawrence's frequent visits to Sherringham.  He kept the jewels secreted in the Orangery.  No doubt, at the time of Lady Gwen's death, he'd been checking on his hidden fortune, possibly even choosing yet another jewel to market in London.

Vanessa made another hasty check out the windows, confirming the courtyard below remained empty.  She could not tarry, yet she burned to know the truth.   

Crossing to where a lamp glowed softly on the room’s sole table, she smoothed out the unscorched pages.  Vanessa tensed as the tale that unfolded beneath her fingers matched with the one told by Lawrence in the mausoleum. 

Lady Gwen had indeed heard the full of Adrian's and Olivia's arguing in the west wing.  After all had quieted, she went to learn what she could of the quarrel for she'd overheard fearsome words of divorce.  On learning Adrian had quit Sherringham for London, she headed for the tower study, having a notion she might find Lawrence there.

Lawrence.
  Vanessa reread the name, relief sweeping through her.  Lawrence had been the one in the tower study, not Adrian.

On arriving there, Gwen found Olivia locked in a verbal battle with Lawrence.  Olivia was enraged, charging him with being unfaithful to her by having an affair with her maid. 

“Bonnie Beckford.”  The name escaped Vanessa on a breath.

From what Gwen overheard, the maid suffered a cold.  While packing the viscountess' trunk in her presence, the maid withdrew a handkerchief from the bodice of her gown and applied it to her nose.  Shockingly, the cloth bore Lawrence's initials. 

Vanessa imagined Olivia at her vanity, penning a note to her lover, warning that her husband had found them out, only to glance up and observe the girl withdrawing
her
lover's handkerchief from between her breasts.  Imagined too, Olivia smudging the ink on the page as she rose to confront the girl.

Lady Gwen's letter went on to describe the scene in the tower, Olivia taking a ring from her finger and throwing it at Lawrence—his gift, meant to celebrate their clandestine love.

Lady Gwen concluded her narration.  She didn't wish to believe Lawrence meant to kill Olivia.  Yet, in a fit of anger, he dealt Olivia a vicious slap and shoved her from him with enough force, to send her toppling backward down the staircase.

Vanessa swallowed, recalling her own fall down those same stairs, and before that, her slippage on the staircase in the cathedral.  Recalling, too, Lawrence's violent reaction, inexplicable at the time—wholly understandable now. 

Perhaps, Lady Gwen was right.  Lawrence hadn't intended to kill Olivia, although his quick-fire temper most certainly did.  Still, what of subsequent events? 

Lady Gwen's words offered no fresh insights.  She assumed Bonnie assisted Lawrence in staging the fiery accident, and that the charred body, pulled from the wreckage, was that of Olivia.  The matter of the ring perplexed her, however.  Why did the corpse wear the ring so recently cast away in the library?  And where was the viscountess’ wedding band?  Had Lawrence replaced it, returning his lover’s gift to Olivia’s finger—the last gesture of a repentant lover?  Even that explanation strained imagining, Lady Gwen penned.

The maid’s disappearance and that of the Marrable jewels mystified her as well.  Plausibly, Bonnie Beckford absconded with them, knowing her relationship with Lawrence and her service at Sherringham was at an end. 

Vanessa finished the account, concluding that at the time of her employer's death, Lady Gwen truly believed Adrian was beyond danger of being prosecuted for his wife's murder.  Not wishing the truth to be revealed or Lawrence destroyed, she'd pleaded with Vanessa to burn her Bible, knowing the secrets it contained.

Vanessa came back to the moment, seized by an urgency to be away and to deliver this newfound evidence into the hands of the authorities.  She wouldn't trust Grealey.  She needed to reach Cameron Kincaid.

Intent on freeing Adrian, Vanessa folded the pages and slipped them into the deep, inner pocket of her cloak.  She next returned Leonine's golden bracelet to the velvet pouch, adding the charred brooch and photograph of Lawrence's father.  As a final thought, she returned the brick to the chimneypiece giving the semblance all remained as she'd found it. 

Snatching up the pouch, Vanessa hurried from the room and descended the staircase to the floor below.  As she emerged from the Orangery, she saw that the storm had quieted and the rain ceased.  Overhead, the sky had lightened to a deep blue.  Despite the stillness that reigned over the glade, she detected a distinctive sound—the thud of horses’ hooves upon the road, coming from the direction of the manse.

"God in Heaven,"—the words vaulted from her throat—"Lawrence!"

Vanessa ran toward Delilah.  Freeing the reins, she cast herself upward, into the saddle.  There was no choice but to ride toward the mausoleum. 

Remembering the path there, she took heart.  Mourners had travelled by it from Hereford on the day of the funeral.  It would see her there now. 

Steeling herself, Vanessa turned Delilah toward the mausoleum and urged her on. 

Vanessa hoped against hope that she could reach the dell and disappear from Lawrence’s line of sight before he caught notice of her.

Her spirits rose as she reached her goal an eternity of minutes later.  Delilah slowed as the road dipped downward.  When it stretched out again, Vanessa gave the mare her head.   

On they raced over the narrow lane, toward the mausoleum.  Her determination redoubled as she spied where the road looped around the building’s front and disappeared to the far side where it ultimately led to Hereford.

Vanessa pressed on, the sound of horse's hooves drumming in her ears.  She assumed it to be Delilah she heard, but stole a glance over her shoulder anyway.  Her heart nearly stopped to find Lawrence, closing the distance behind them.

Touching her riding crop to the mare’s flanks, Vanessa urged Delilah forward.  Hope surged moments later as they verged on the mausoleum and began to round its drive.  But as they fronted the building, Lawrence gained on them, pulling his steed alongside. 

"Vanessa, stop!  Have you gone mad?"

Delilah skittered sideways as Lawrence's horse crowded her.  Leaning out from his saddle, he seized the mare's reins. 

"What in blazes is the matter, Vanessa?"  He forced her mount to a halt.  "I saw you leave the Orangery.  Were you looking for me?  Has something happened?"

Vanessa gasped, grabbing a handful of Delilah’s mane as she regained her balance atop the sidesaddle, her bones gone soft as gelatin.  

“Y-Yes, I was looking for you.”  She gulped another breath, her mind reeling for what to say, deeming it best to keep close to the truth.  “I sought you at the Orangery.  There was a light . . . in the upper window.  I assumed it to be your study.  But when I entered, the room appeared utterly destroyed, and you were nowhere to be found!”

“What on earth are you talking about?”  

“There was debris covering the floor—singed papers and ashes strewn about the hearth, and a stone plaque shattered on the floor. 

Lawrence drew back, his head tilting to one side as though he didn’t understand what she spoke of. 

 “I feared what might have befallen you,” she lied, encouraged by his distraction and hoping to talk her way out of the moment.  “I ran from the building to find help, but then I heard a horse’s approach.  I confess I panicked, not knowing what to think, and fled.”

 “You did the right thing, of course,” Lawrence said, his tone low, deliberate, as he mulled her words.

Vanessa released a pent breath, praying he believed her simple explanation and would allow her to return to the manse now.

 “There were
singed
papers and ashes you say?”  His gaze bored into her.

Vanessa throat went dry.  She’d revealed too much. 

“Were these papers still readable?  Ah, yes, I see that they were.  No doubt you read them.  Don’t lie, Vanessa.  The truth is written on your face.  You know that—“

“You are Lady Gwendolyn’s son.”  She shored up her courage.  “Yes, I read her words.  It must have come as a great shock.   By appearances, I assume you meant to burn those pages.”

He looked skyward, setting his jaw.  “It is a shameful blot on her past.  It serves no one to know of it, or to lessen the family’s high regard of her.”

“Or, of you,” she dared.

 “Or, of me.”  His gaze drew back to her.  “Yes, I tossed them into the fireplace, though how the devil they survived the fire or found their way onto the floor, I cannot begin to guess.”

“There was no fire, Lawrence.  The grate was cold.  Fortunately, whatever took place, the picture of your father survived undamaged.”

“
Picture
, Vanessa?”  His brow lifted at that.

Vanessa swallowed, realizing her mistake.  The picture had been hidden in the niche with the condemning papers, not lying upon the open floor.

 “My, but you’ve been busy this evening.”  Lawrence tightened his grip on Delilah’s reins, winding the leather strips once over, around his gloved fist.  “What else did you find?”

“Let go of the reins,” she demanded.

“
What else did you find
?” he ground out the words.  “More of Auntie’s pages, perhaps?—or should I say ‘mother’s’?”

“Yes, I found them.”  Vanessa met his gaze directly, emboldened for Adrian.  She saw no way to evade him, but she wouldn’t cower before the man.  “You lied to me, Lawrence.  Adrian didn’t push Olivia down the stairs.  You did.  And Lady Gwendolyn witnessed it all.”

Lawrence's features rearranged themselves, his countenance transforming before her, the lines hardening, his eyes growing cold and glinting oddly.

"Vanessa, listen to me . . .” Lawrence implored, the tone of his voice not matching the malignant look that had entered his face.  At the same time, he heeled his horse, causing it to jump forward and collide with Delilah.  Horseflesh thudded against horseflesh.

"Let go!" Vanessa demanded once more when he did not release her mare's reins.

Lawrence cast a glance to the greensward that lay before the mausoleum and to where it ended abruptly at the cliff—where the River Wye could be heard, coursing far below.

As Lawrence shifted his gaze back to Vanessa, a chill rippled through her.  

"Do you intend to kill me as you did Bonnie Beckford?" she challenged boldly.

His eyes widened briefly then narrowed, his brows deepening over his nose.  "Bonnie deserved her fate after exposing me—us—to Olivia."

"She deserved to
die?
  To be burned beyond recognition in a fire?” 

Lawrence’s cold-bloodedness astounded her.  Vanessa gathered her senses.  She must find an escape. He would never let her live.

"How did you manage it, Lawrence—the carriage mishap?”  She played for time.  “I know about the axle—that it was tampered with—but how did you guarantee the carriage would burst into flames when it plunged into the ravine?"

The hint of a smile touched one corner of his mouth. 

"Come now, you're a smart woman.  You know how volatile certain odorless lighting fluids can be.  Applied to an abundance of rags and strategically hidden . . .”  He shrugged.  “The carriage lamps did the rest."

The man seemed to actually be gloating, Vanessa thought with a renewed sense of outrage and dread.

"Why, Lawrence?"  Her thoughts sprinted as she strained to form a plan of escape.  "Why kill Bonnie when you could have placed Olivia's body in the carriage and sent it over the cliff alone?"

"Too untidy, my dear.  Much better that someone else be at the reins and not directly involved with the actual 'accident.'  Then too, Bonnie wouldn't have taken kindly to riding with a corpse in the seat beside her.  Even she did not know her mistress was dead."

"And so after the deed was done, you raced to the fiery scene, posing as the concerned bystander?" she guessed aloud.  "But there must be more.  Bonnie wore Olivia's ring, did she not?  You wanted her body to be mistaken for Olivia's.  Yet you claimed witnessing
two
women leaving from the stables.  Was there another woman, Lawrence, or was that, too, a lie?"

"Clever girl, aren't you?" he sneered.  "If you must know, there was but one—Bonnie.  I needed her to be identified as Olivia, and I needed to account for the two women's absences.  I could have suggested Olivia was the one to have fled the accident, believing her husband had attempted to kill her.  But others would have expected her to return at some time to press charges against him."

"And so you made it appear the maid was the one to have run away?"

"Precisely—bearing the blame for thieving a few precious baubles.  I didn't know Olivia had taken the Marrable jewels and added them to her trunk.  When I discovered them near the burning carriage, scattered on the ground, I realize they offered the perfect motive for the maid—the temptation of a fortune in jewels."

"But, of course, you kept the jewels for yourself," Vanessa charged, growing uneasy, knowing once Lawrence finished his boasting, he would wish to dispatch her straightaway. 

She swept a glance over the grounds surrounding them, desperate to find an escape.
 He held Delilah firm by the reins, but should she dismount, he could easily run her down with his horse. 

The cliff drew her gaze.  If she could reach it, she might be able to climb down its face.  Even if he followed, Lawrence wouldn’t have the advantage of his mount.  

"The ring—how did you get Bonnie to wear it?”  She played for more time as she eased the toe of her left boot free of the stirrup.  “I mean, the ring was Olivia's.  It was the only thing that could identify the remains as the viscountess.  My God!" she gasped in sudden horror.  "That is why you went down the ravine—to assure Bonnie's body—"

"Had burned beyond recognition," Lawrence finished.  "You are far too clever for your own good, dear Vanessa."

His thin smile struck fresh fear into her heart.   Her pulse beat erratically, but she forced her gaze to remain locked with his, lest he realize her intentions.  Slowly, she lifted her right leg over the sidesaddle’s two pommels, freeing her leg as she had the other.

"As to the ring, I truthfully told Bonnie her mistress had flung it at me in a fit of rage,” he continued.  “Pointing out her employment with the viscountess was at an end—but pledging my own feelings for her—I convinced her to flee to London with the ring.  It was worth a handsome sum.  She was to sell it and use the proceeds to prepare our love nest.  Of course, I insisted she wear the ring to remind her of my devotion and that it might not become lost."

"You are vile!" Vanessa hissed.

"I regret you feel that way, my dear.  If you held the same affection for me as you obviously do for my brother —that is, for my
cousin
—then perhaps we could come to an understanding, share a special relationship."

"Like the one you shared with Bonnie?"  She yanked again at Delilah's reins, but to no avail.

"Vanessa, Vanessa.  I can't let you go.  You know that."

Vanessa reached for the heavy pouch concealed in her cloak.  "And what of the Marrable jewels?  Don't you want them back before you kill me?"

 His brows shot up, his gaze fastening on the pouch.  Seizing the moment, Vanessa struck him hard across the face with her riding crop, then hurled the sack of jewels back toward the mausoleum with all her strength.  Lawrence yelped, cursing her as he watched the path of the jewels and marked where they landed.  As he did, Vanessa cast herself from Delilah’s side, stumbling onto the ground.  Regaining her feet, Vanessa broke into a run and headed toward the cliff. 

From behind, she heard Lawrence's roar, heard the hooves of his steed closing upon her.  But the sound began to grow, doubling, then tripling, issuing from a different direction altogether.  Looking up, she saw riders appear as they rounded the far side of the mausoleum.  At their head, rode Adrian!

Vanessa's heart leaped for joy, and she veered her steps away from the cliff’s edge toward him.  But Lawrence kicked into his horse, forcing her back as he moved between them.  Producing a small pistol from his jacket, he aimed it for Adrian's heart.

 "You can stop there,
brother
."  He spat the word with contempt.

Adrian hard reined his mount to a halt as did those behind him—Henry, Nigel, Grealey and his officers, and another man whom Vanessa did not recognize.

"It's no use, Lawrence.  Give yourself up," Adrian shouted.  "Your lady friend from the acting troupe has been arrested.  She sang like a nightingale.  We know the truth—that you possess the Marrable jewels, how you used her to sell them, the disguises she wore to make her look like Olivia, all of it.  Damn you, Lawrence!  The letter Olivia wrote the night she died—it was meant for you, wasn't it? 
You
were her lover.  And, as if that wasn't enough, she didn't believe you'd object to fleeing with her
or
stealing the family jewels. 

"I—I didn't know she intended to take them—not until—"

"Not until you scrambled down the ravine to confirm your handiwork—to assure Bonnie Beckford was dead."

Lawrence's face contorted, his lip curling with contempt.

"Really, Lawrence"—Adrian went on—"you know better than to confide in your lover when you are drunk."

"That slut!" Lawrence barked.  "I'll, I'll . . ."

"Kill her?  Like the others?" Adrian countered.

Vanessa watched, seemingly forgotten, as the men continued their verbal sparring.  Carefully, she began to edge along the cliff, sharply aware of the drop behind her and of the great distance to the river below.  Step-by-step, she moved toward Adrian and his men.  Coming into range of Lawrence's peripheral vision, she crouched down and began to crawl.

"You always had everything—the privileged firstborn of the firstborn," Lawrence derided Adrian.  "Did you know,
I
met Olivia first?  That I warmed her bed before you ever climbed between her sheets?"

Adrian's face darkened at that, his own temper rising.

"But then you accompanied me to the Drayton's ball that night," Lawrence groused, unrelenting.  "Afterward, she had eyes for only you—you and your titles, and lands, and wealth . . .  How could I, a mere second son, ever hope to compete?"