The Black Widow (10 page)

The butler actually went so far as to lay a hand on Demetrius’s arm, but one fierce scowl, and the little man jerked his hand away again as if he had been burned.

“I am not leaving until I speak with Miss Prestwich,” Demetrius said resolutely. “So if you will not tell me where she is, I shall be forced to find her myself.”

Hester began to giggle. “Oh, this is too delicious! The corpse walks! Tell me, kind sir, are you perchance a specter risen from the grave to terrify all the maidens?”

Ignoring her, Demetrius turned on his heel and started down the corridor, throwing open doors, checking each room for Miss Meribe. By the time he went up the stairs to the second floor, there was quite a procession behind him—the aunt, the sister, the butler, a footman, and two maids. All of them were protesting vigorously, and together they sounded like nothing so much as a gaggle of irate geese.

When he finally found the right door, his heart ached at the sight of the girl standing so still in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped tightly about herself, and her face as white as death. She did not move, not even when he entered the room.

“Meribe,” he said softly, and she turned blind eyes toward him. “I am all right. I was not seriously hurt.” To his relief, he saw recognition gradually bring color back to her face.

“Lord Thorverton? They said you were near death,” she whispered. She reached out a hand to him, then started to sway.

He caught her in his arms before she could collapse, and she clutched him desperately. “They said ... they said ...” She began to cry, great wrenching sobs.

Leaving the rest of the onlookers gawking in the doorway of the room, Aunt Phillipa stormed up to Demetrius and glared at him. “How dare you call my niece by her given name!”

He did not bother to reply. Staring impassively at the older woman, he continued to stroke Miss Prestwich’s head where it rested against his chest. Finally, with a snort of disgust, the aunt stalked from the room, muttering her usual imprecations against the male of the species and salting her speech with curses against Humphrey Swinton and all his assorted relatives.

Miss Hester next attempted to interfere. “Really, Meribe, you are acting like the veriest watering pot. I vow you will quite ruin his lordship’s waistcoat if you continue in this way.”

“I suppose you are the one who brought home all the gossip?” Demetrius said, not doubting for a moment the truth of his assumption.

“And if I did? What business is it of yours?”

“A word of warning, Miss Prestwich. If you continue along the path you have chosen, someday you will come to regret every unkind word that you have ever uttered.”

“Hah! You make me laugh,” she replied, but her laughter sounded forced, and after a moment she turned her back on her weeping sister and left the room.

The butler, when he took over, showed more sense than the two women. “Move along now, all of you,” he said. “The show is over. Go about your business.”

He managed to shoo away all the servants except Jane, Miss Prestwich’s abigail, who walked into the room and planted herself firmly on a chair by the window. Folding her arms across her chest, she glared at Demetrius, as if to say that wild horses could not make her abandon her mistress in such a compromising situation.

With the distractions removed from the scene, Demetrius turned all of his attention to the poor girl sobbing in his arms. His waistcoat was indeed already ruined, but he would gladly have sacrificed a dozen waistcoats if it would have saved her such pain.

He murmured little soothing words, and after an eternity—which was probably only five minutes or so—he was rewarded by a lessening of her tears.

“They said ... you were attacked ... by three men ... last night,” she finally managed to say.

For a moment he debated whether or not to tell her the truth. A lie would be so much kinder—but also so much more dangerous, were she ever to discover the truth.

“I was set upon by a single man, who did seem determined to dispatch me, but my uncle and a servant were nearby, and they managed very efficiently to rescue me. For my part, I cannot claim to have cut a very heroic figure.”

His attempt at humor failed, and she pulled herself out of his arms, but only far enough that she could check him for injuries. With desperate fear in her eyes, she began feeling his arms and running her fingers over his chest, as if checking for injuries or bandages.

Catching her hands in both of his, he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone, “Other than a few bruises on my throat, I am none the worse for the attack. And no, you may not rip off my cravat to see for yourself. You may ruin as many waistcoats as you wish, but I fear I must draw the line when it comes to my neckcloth.”

Meribe stared up at him in disbelief. How could he make jokes at a time like this? Why, every minute he was with her increased the chances that the next time he would in truth be struck down by the fatal curse.

Trying to pull her hands free, she protested, “But you must leave here at once. Your life is in great danger.”

“But not from you,” he said, refusing to release her.

“From being with me,” she corrected him. “Please, please, you must not come near me again. I cannot allow you to continue your foolhardy attempt to disprove the curse, not when it has already almost cost you your life. I could not bear it if anything happened to you.”

“Miss Prestwich, listen to me!” His voice was so intense, she ceased her struggling. “The man who attacked me knew my name—it was not a random act of violence.”

“What are you saying?”

“I strongly believe that the man was paid to attack me.”

There was a gasp from the maid, and Meribe became as still as if she had been turned into a pillar of salt.

“Do you understand what that means?” Lord Thorverton continued. “It means that someone is determined to keep you unwedded—determined enough to resort to murder.’’

“That ... that cannot be true!”

“It is easier to believe that someone wishes you harm than to believe that you are afflicted with a fatal curse. As I have mentioned on numerous occasions, I am not a superstitious man, but neither am I a naive fool. Long ago I learned that there is much wickedness in this world.”

Meribe stared at him in shock, her mind trying to assimilate what he said. Had those other nice young men been ... murdered?

“In this case, the villain has chosen the wrong victim. I swear on my father’s grave that I shall discover his identity.”

There was no laughter in his eyes, and Meribe saw again a ferocity in his expression that should have frightened her. But somehow, she could never be afraid of him. Even while she stared at him, his expression softened.

“Your bedroom, I regret, is not the proper place to discuss this matter. I must go home and change my waistcoat, but I will return in an hour with my carriage. Can you be ready to drive out by then?’’

“Drive out? Surely you cannot wish to—” Seeing the fierce look return to his eyes, she stopped abruptly.

“The easiest way to put paid to the gossip that is currently flying around London is to appear in public so that everyone—including the murderer—can see with his own eyes that I am unscathed.”

“But if what you say is true, then if I am seen with you, whoever has done this will doubtless try again.”

“Exactly,” he said, and his expression almost made her pity the murderer, ruthless villain though he was.

* * * *

One time around Hyde Park was all that Meribe could endure. If she had thought she attracted attention earlier, it was nothing compared to the way people stared and pointed at her today. To her relief, Lord Thorverton said, “Well, I think we have given these rudesbies enough opportunity to gawk, do you not agree?”

Attempting to keep her tone as light as his, she said, “You are right. I believe enough eyes have popped and enough jaws have dropped that it is safe to say all of London will soon be talking of your miraculous recovery. And of your foolishness in continuing to associate yourself with me,” she added.

Deftly maneuvering his pair through the gate leading out of the park, he did not, as she had anticipated, turn his horses’ heads toward her house. “Where are we going?” she blurted out.

“St. James’s Park should be quieter and more conducive to conversation, and we have not yet made any definite plans for discovering the identity of the murderer.’’

“I still find it difficult to believe that someone is deliberately plotting against me. Surely such things happen only in novels.”

“Mrs. Radcliffe and others of her ilk may contrive elaborate and rather unbelievable plots, but not all villains are figments of an author’s imagination. Napoleon himself is ample proof that there really are people who choose to be villains, although we may count ourselves lucky that few work their evil on such a grand scale as he does.” He deftly steered his horses through a narrow gap between a brewer’s dray and a greengrocer’s cart.

Although the day was warm, Meribe could not completely repress a shiver. “I think I would almost prefer to have it be a curse,” she said finally, wishing she could clutch Lord Thorverton’s arm and hide her face against his shoulder. But with the example of bravery that he had been displaying, she could not act in such a cowardly manner. “And truth to tell, I find it quite unbelievable that I have made such an enemy.’’

“As a matter of fact, I have already been considering the possible impulses that might lead someone to commit murder,’’ Lord Thorverton said as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. Then he explained the reasoning that had led him to the conclusion that greed was the most likely motive. By the time he finished, they had arrived at St. James’s Park.

“There is one other thing I think we should consider,” Meribe said in a faint voice. “My aunt has often expressed the wish that both my sister and I remain single so that we three can all live together in harmony with no men to disrupt our lives. Perhaps she ...” But such thoughts were too appalling, and Meribe found she could not accuse her aunt of such dastardly deeds.

“There is one major flaw in your reasoning,” Lord Thorverton said with a smile.

“And what is that?”

“As virulent as your aunt’s prejudices are against the male of the species, I cannot picture her enlisting the aid of a man in her plot. Now, if a very large
woman
had attacked me last night, I might be inclined to think that your aunt had had a hand in the matter.’’

“Or a smallish, easily intimidated man,” Meribe said with a smile of her own. “You may have noticed that neither our butler nor any of our footmen are even of average stature. Where men are concerned, the bigger they are, the more offensive Aunt Phillipa finds them.”

“Which brings us back to greed as the motive,” Lord Thorverton reminded her. “Was your father a rich man?”

“Certainly not. At least,” she amended, “I have never considered us to be rich. We always lived very simply in Norfolk, and Aunt Phillipa delights in finding a bargain. On the other hand ... Papa did find it necessary to come to London once a month to look after his affairs, although he never explained what kind of business he was involved in. And I am afraid I never thought it was my place to ask him questions about such things.”

“I assume you and your sister are the major beneficiaries of his will?’’

“Well, I have always assumed so. Until I arrive at the age of one-and-twenty, everything remains in a trust, and Hester and I receive quite generous allowances. But as far back as I can remember, it has always been understood that as the elder, Hester would inherit our estate in Norfolk and I would inherit the smaller property in Suffolk that came into the family with my grandmother. I have also heard my father mention investments, but I do not know the extent of them, nor how they may be devised.”

“Then you do not know how much money you stand to inherit from your father, or who will benefit if anything happens to you?”

“I am sorry, but the only other thing I know is that I am required to have a Season every year until I am of age. Aunt Phillipa has grumbled enough about that clause, and I confess that I would sooner stay in the country.’’

Which was not the whole truth, nor yet was it exactly a lie since it involved mere supposition on her part. So often and so vehemently had her father expressed the opinion that blood was thicker than water, that she could not believe he would have left any of his estate away from his family.

Which in turn meant that the only one who might possibly benefit was Hester. But surely her own sister could not have resorted to murder, no matter how she delighted in cutting other people down to size?

The mere idea was so horrible, so sickening, that Meribe could not bring herself to tell Lord Thorverton her suspicions.

“Before we proceed with our attempt to discover the identity of the person or persons who hired the assassin,’’ Demetrius pointed out, “we must find out the terms of your father’s will so that we may discover if it does indeed provide a motive for murder. Are you perchance acquainted with your father’s solicitor?’’

“I have met Mr. Wimbwell several times when he came to visit us in Norfolk bringing papers for Father to sign, but I have never had an occasion to converse with him beyond the usual social amenities.”

“But his place of business is here in the City?”

“Oh, yes, I am sure of that.”

“Then I shall discover his direction and arrange an appointment for us to speak with him. Will your aunt object, do you think?”

“Undoubtedly,” Miss Prestwich replied. “But I no longer feel the slightest desire to worry about what she will approve or disapprove of.”

Demetrius smiled. “You sound quite fierce. What has happened to cause this display of independence?’’

“When Hester told us about the assault on your person, Aunt Phillipa displayed a ... a singular lack of compassion and concern for your well-being.” Miss Prestwich glanced away, as if ashamed to look him in the eye.

“I would imagine she said something along the lines of, ‘Well, it serves him right, the obstinate fool.’”