Shades of the Past (7 page)

Majel took a step back.

"B-But this amount, your lordship."  Vanessa's words tumbled over one another.  "It's far too excessive.  And Lady Gwen had much to say of excess in her will, if you remember.  I doubt she'd approve."

Lord Marrable turned toward her, trapping her in his midnight gaze. 

"She'd more than approve, Mrs. Wynters.  We both know what a generous person she was."

Generosity surely runs in the Marrable family,
she thought to herself. 

"But why would you make such an offer?  You've seen nothing of my work."

A light appeared in his eyes.  It was like a small glowing window suddenly illumined from somewhere deep inside.

"I trust in my aunt's faith in your abilities and only wish to honor her request.  I would also remind you that my sister, Cissy, has seen your work and spent a good portion of the luncheon praising your skills.  The offer stands, Mrs. Wynters.  The decision is yours."

Vanessa glanced to the paper again, still stunned by the sudden shift of events.  "I—I don't know quite what to say."

"Say yes," Cissy urged as she came to Vanessa's side.  "Why, I have a sensational idea.  You can stay here and begin your new career, photographing Royal Sherringham.  It would be a marvelous project for a picture book."

Lawrence moved to Vanessa's other side.  "What a splendid idea.  Sherringham is a masterpiece of Gothic Revival architecture and has a long and fascinating history to tell."

"What Lawrence says is true," Cissy quickly added.  "We could all help you with the text."

Lawrence pressed closer.  "And don't forget the photographs you took on your travels.  Aunt Gwen's too.  You could publish them in association with her estate.  The public is always eager for exotic photographs.  Indeed, you
must
stay at Sherringham."  A note of eagerness grew in his voice, and he looked to his brother, smiling.  "What do you say to that, Adrian?"

An indefinable look entered Lord Marrable's eyes as his gaze passed from Lawrence to Vanessa and back.

"You are welcome to stay at Royal Sherringham for as long as you please, Mrs. Wynters," he said stiffly but graciously, his dark eyes pulling from Lawrence and returning to her.

Cissy grabbed Vanessa's hands at once and turned her toward her.  "Do say you will stay.  It's a wonderful idea and the books will be wonderful too.  Henry and I plan to remain a while longer.  Think of the fun it will be."

Vanessa felt quite overcome, but the plan seemed sound and not even Majel voiced further objection.  Of course, that had much to do with the silencing hand Lord Pendergast had placed to her shoulder.  In truth, Majel appeared ready to burst with emotion.

Vanessa's eyes drew once more to Lord Marrable.  "How can I refuse so generous and kind an offer?  Yes, I accept and I will happily stay at Sherringham."

A smile rose from the depths of her heart and found her lips.
 
But no sooner than she made the pronouncement, a deathly cold sliced straight through her, stealing her breath away.

Adrian rode out, his exchange with Lawrence still burning in his brain.

Perhaps he'd been too harsh with his brother yesterday.  Perhaps their wires had passed one another, as Lawrence insisted.

Adrian pressed on, feeling the power of the stallion beneath him as the steed's hooves ate up the road.  He passed rapidly along the lane, leaving Sherringham, with its brooding towers and pinnacles watching from behind.

His anger remained, unabated, boiling in his veins.  Word of Aunt Gwen's death had not reached him for nearly a week.  A week!  Thank God for Cameron Kincaid.  His friend had appeared on his doorstep late at night, bearing Lawrence's telegram which Cameron's uncle had forwarded from the moors of Scotland.

"Did I do wrong to dispatch the wire to Glengyle?" Lawrence had challenged when Adrian took him to task over the matter.  "Last we spoke, you were to be salmon fishing with the brother of that runner with whom you've become chums."

"I was with his
uncle
, and Cameron Kincaid is not a 'runner' as you put it, but an inspector with Scotland Yard."

Lawrence waved away his words.  "Whatever his post, how the devil should I have known you left Glengyle for London?"

"By the telegram I sent you when I learned of Kincaid's discovery."  Adrian moved around his desk.  "I expected you to meet me."

"Well, when I didn't appear, you might have assumed I failed to receive
your
telegram," Lawrence countered, then rested back in the deep, cushioned chair, lacing his fingers.  "Presumably, my man Wilfred forwarded your wire to Hadleigh Hall where I was grouse shooting.  As luck would have it, I left prematurely.  Word came from Sherringham that the tiles had arrived from Italy—the ones that are to line the upper fireplace in the Orangery.  I departed straightway to inspect the shipment, never having received your missive."

Lawrence rose then and began to pace.

"As it was, I was but a day at Sherringham when a lad from Hereford appeared, delivering Mrs. Wynters’ telegram.  I needn't tell you, Auntie's death came as quite a shock.  I drafted messages to you and our sisters and instructed your butler, Timmons, to wire them on.  I then set off for Paris to assist Mrs. Wynters in the bitter task of transporting Auntie home."

He stopped his pacing and faced Adrian.

"I suppose I should have waited for you, brother.  I was stricken and not thinking rightly.  You were so blasted far away.  I simply dashed off to the rescue, as it were.  That is what family does in a crisis, after all, especially when one of their own has fallen on foreign ground."

That and, in your case, rush to succor beautiful young women in distress
, Adrian added hotly to himself. 

Instantly, he upbraided himself.  The accusation was undeserved.  How did the thought even burrow into his head?  True, Lawrence had a weakness for a pretty face, but he had no way of knowing Mrs. Wynters was so exceedingly comely.

Adrian frowned at his own admittance, again wondering from whence it sprang.  He expelled a breath, then fixed Lawrence with his gaze. 

"Fortunately, Laird Kincaid sent your wire on to his nephew at the Yard and, in turn, Cameron delivered the news to me personally."

And barely in time,
Adrian thought to himself as he spurred his horse on.  Despite his brother's explanations, he still felt somehow dissatisfied with his meeting with Lawrence. 

Leaning into the great black, he welcomed the wind in his face.

He would have never forgiven himself had he missed Aunt Gwendolyn's funeral altogether.  It was damnable enough that he hadn't been the one to secure her remains or to arrange or even attend the services for her.  He keenly felt the need to have overseen every detail.  It mattered.  Deeply. 

It wasn't just that he loved that dear woman, or that it was his place as head of the Marrable family to have done so.  But more, he was the reason she'd lived in self-imposed exile these past years.  It remained an open wound in his heart.  He knew Aunt Gwen had stayed away from Sherringham specifically to keep her distance from him.

Passing through the twin gatehouses that marked the entrance to Sherringham, Adrian headed along the road that led through Herefordshire's rolling hillside and stretched toward the city.  In the far distance to the west loomed the Black Mountains of Wales.  The sight of their rugged outline jerked his thoughts back to Scotland and to Glengyle.

 Cameron Kincaid was to have joined the fishing party in the Highlands but was delayed at the Yard.  The delay proved providential, however.  For a third time since their disappearance, one of the Marrable jewels had surfaced.  This time the piece appeared not far from the Yard itself, in the posh section of Kensington High Street.  On receiving Cameron's news in Glengyle, Adrian had wired immediately to Lawrence and then departed for London.

So many wires,
he thought grimly—his, Lawrence's, Cameron's, Mrs. Wynters.  It was not surprising they'd crossed, that he'd not received word of his aunt's death for so many days.  He had to accept Lawrence owned no fault in the matter, though a devil in him wished to find a place to lay the blame. 

Adrian hardened his jaw.  Guilt rode him.  That was at the root of his anger, he knew.  Though he'd tried, he had never gotten a chance to see his aunt again after those fateful days surrounding Olivia's death.

At the time, Aunt Gwen had been overcome by the tragedy.  She was doubly stricken when he was accused of his viscountess' death, of tampering with her carriage which led to the fiery accident. 

Had Aunt Gwen heard their violent argument earlier that night?  Did she believe the accusations even for an instant?  But soon, it wasn't Olivia's death alone that shadowed him.  The accusations triggered suspicions about the death of his first wife, Clairissa.

People believed what they wished, he reflected bitterly, slowing his horse as the road began to wind downward.

After Olivia's accident and the subsequent investigation surrounding him, Aunt Gwen decided to travel awhile, saying she needed a change after so much distress.  Privately, the doctor agreed.  It would be therapeutic for her to get away from Sherringham where both the viscountesses' tragedies had taken place.

Adrian gave in to her wishes and increased her personal allowance so she might experience not a moment's worry in that regard.  A maiden lady, thirty some odd years old and seemingly stable, served as her companion.  But, to his understanding, the woman proved shockingly unreliable when she eloped across the Scots border with one of his aunt's poet friends. 

He learned through his sister that their aunt had found another lady to accompany her, this one younger than her last companion but quite acceptable.  That was Mrs. Vanessa Wynters.  Somehow, he was sure Cissy failed to mention the "Mrs." part.

Neither he, nor his siblings, expected their aunt to stay away from Sherringham entirely.  But then, hadn't he stayed away as well?  Perhaps they were both fleeing, unable to bear the memories.

If anything, Sherringham clung to her memories, of that he was sure.  Even last night, as he lay abed in his room for the first time in years, he could still hear Olivia's voice, haranguing him.  Clairissa's too.  Would he never cease to hear her screams?

Closing upon a sharp bend in the road, Adrian reined in the stallion.

Dismounting, he walked with the horse to the road's edge, halting at the place where Olivia's carriage had hurtled off the side, tumbling down the ravine and bursting into flames from the lamps and coal heaters. 

He stood unmoving for a long moment, scanning the rocky landscape below.  Then slowly, he reached into his coat and withdrew an ornate piece of jewelry from an inner pocket. 

He contemplated it, rubbing his thumb over the baroque pearl that formed the body of the gem-studded dolphin brooch—Leonine Marrable's brooch, once presented to her by her kingly lover but lost two-and-a-half years ago when Olivia escaped into the night with her lady's maid, taking with her the Marrable jewels.

Adrian closed his fingers over the brooch.  He'd returned to Sherringham to lay more than his aunt to rest, but also his last viscountess and the mysteries haunting her death.  He wanted answers.  Once and for all, he wanted to know exactly what happened that fatal night after he'd left Sherringham, and who now possessed the Marrable jewels. 

Slipping the brooch back into his pocket, Adrian began to pace the ground, picturing the sequence of events in his mind's eye.  At the time, Lawrence had been able to provide the most complete and reliable details.  Not only had he been the first to arrive at the scene, but prior to that, he'd actually seen Olivia and her maid make their hurried departure.

Lawrence had been working in the study in the west tower at the time.  It overlooked the stables and carriage house and owned a superior view of the grounds and surrounding countryside as well. 

Voices drew him to the window that night where he observed two women rushing toward the outbuildings, baggage in hand.  Both were easily identifiable—Olivia in her satins and velvet cloak and her maid, Bonnie Beckford.  Soon they reappeared in a small carriage, Olivia driving and whipping the horse to a swift pace. 

Lawrence continued to watch the dim light of their carriage lanterns as they moved along the road and passed out of Sherringham's gates.  Being in the tower, he could still see the lights for a time.  Just when he expected them to disappear altogether, at a point the family called the Devil's Hairpin, he saw the light seemingly bounce to the left, flaring bright, then tumbling down the embankment.  Fearing the worst, Lawrence raced from the tower, secured a horse, and quickly rode out.

Brave Lawrence.  He had scrambled down the hill somehow, to try and pull the women from the burning wreckage.  The palm of his right hand bore a wicked scar for that effort.  But his attempts proved hopeless from the start.  He found Olivia's body engulfed in flames, burned beyond recognition.  Later, only the ring she wore could identify her.  Bonnie Beckford, however, was not to be found.

It was not until the following day that the jewels were discovered missing from Sherringham's vault.  Only Olivia could have procured them.  It was assumed the jewels had spilled out during the accident, or leastwise came to the maid's notice.  Discovering the fabulous fortune, she evidently seized the moment and the jewels and fled.

Six months to the day after the tragedy, one of the pieces reappeared in an exclusive shop in Highbury.  Twelve months after that, Countess Hazelden attended a charity ball wearing a pair of Leonine Marrable's earrings.  She'd acquired them from a jeweler with an elite clientele in Brompton.  It cost Adrian a significant sum to reclaim them.

Now, after another year's lapse, the dolphin brooch came into the possession of a jeweler on Kensington High Street.  This time, the store owner supplied a detailed description of the seller, which proved as startling as it was beneficial.  The woman, he recalled, possessed an abundance of flame-red hair, large golden-brown eyes, and stood to a height of, approximately, five feet, five inches.  It wasn't Bonnie Beckford he described, but Olivia!

Cameron Kincaid, with whom Adrian had worked from the outset on the case, noted that the woman had likely worn a wig, and that Bonnie Beckford stood near in height to that of Lady Marrable.  Though no one could remember the precise color of the maid's eyes, brown—even golden brown—was fairly common.  That she'd chosen to pose as his late viscountess, Cameron deemed tasteless, if not sick-minded.  Still, he found no reason to doubt the woman selling the brooch was, in fact, Bonnie Beckford.

But was it? 

The question plagued Adrian no end, as did another matter—the ring that had identified the body as Olivia's.  It was a simple cluster design, set with rubies, not one he'd personally given her, but one which she'd worn on numerous occasions.  Yet, he couldn't recall her wearing the ring that night when they argued no more than two hours before her death.  She had, however, been wearing her wedding band. 

What became of it?  Had Olivia removed it after their angry words and tossed it into her case along with the other jewels?  That would explain why the band remained missing to this day.

But could there be another possibility?  Could the body have been mistakenly identified?  What if Bonnie Beckford now lay entombed in the family mausoleum, and Olivia yet lived, richly provided for by the Marrable jewels?

Adrian shook his head at the strain of his logic.  It created more questions than it answered.  Why, for instance, would the maid have been wearing Olivia's ring?  It was improbable, though not impossible, that his wife had gifted it to her.  If Olivia was anything, she was lavish in her generosity, much like Lawrence. 

Lawrence.  He must speak with his brother and sift through the details of his account once more.  The servants too, those who'd remained in service since the time of the accident, would need to be re-questioned.  Adrian vowed to have his answers and to trap the thief who was selling off the Marrable jewels.

Remounting his steed, he touched his heels to the stallion's flanks and turned back for Sherringham.  Minutes later, he passed through the gates and headed for the sprawling manse which, in reality, was part castle, part manor house.  When it appeared in sight, he thought it presented a rather forbidding aspect this day, the layers of centuries clinging to its stone, shrouding it with a melancholy air.