The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) (21 page)

Chapter 38

“Your coffee and mail, my lord.” Hodges entered the sunlit office where Anthony conducted estate business.

He had spent the last couple of hours working his way through a stack of correspondence and other documents needing his attention. He frowned at the overflowing tray. “Where did all this come from?”

“If I were to venture a guess, my lord, it appears the post held your mail until they collected a sufficient amount to send a courier.” Hodges set a cup of steaming brew to Anthony’s right.

Anthony scowled. “What an asinine thing to do. Some of this”—he indicated the completed pile on the desk—“needed my immediate attention.”

He added a splash of cream to his coffee. “Any word from Jason?” The time spent away from his businesses was proving far more difficult than he’d anticipated. Jason was needed in London to help oversee the running of the factories when Anthony was out of town. Consequently, Anthony had no way of knowing whether some of the items he’d painstakingly worked through had already been managed by his secretary.

“Mr. Rutledge is expected within the hour, my lord.”

Anthony nodded and started sorting through the new stack of correspondence. “Is my wife awake?”

“Lady Harding has called for her maid and will join you shortly.”

“Good.” He glanced up to find Hodges watching him, a knowing expression in the other man’s eyes. “What of
Don
Philippe?”

“He just returned, my lord, and asked to speak with you.”

“Please, show him in.”

Within moments, the sound of boots echoed on the entry tiles. Philippe appeared at the door and Anthony indicated the chair across from his. The look on Philippe’s face gave him pause. Covered in dust, it was evident the other man had not slept. Anthony handed him a cup of coffee.

“
Gracias
. I searched for the scar-faced man and found nothing. At the train station in Bristol, I questioned those who had worked through the night. No one remembers seeing a man of his description. A person such as he does not just vanish.”

“Perhaps we should gather a search party and run him to ground. The region is dotted with abandoned crofter shacks and dilapidated structures.”

“It is worth a try, but I hold no expectations we will find him.” Philippe sipped the hot liquid.

“Do you believe he’s left the area?”

“I do not. The man is determined to kill Clairece and will not stop until he accomplishes his task, or we stop him.” Philippe gulped down the rest of his coffee. “Such men are dogged in whatever pursuit their master sets before them.”

Hodges appeared at the open door. “Please excuse the interruption, my lord, but Inspector Stallings is here to see you.”

“Show him in.” Anthony glanced at Philippe. “This man is brilliant, and misses nothing.”

Both men rose as Stallings entered. The Inspector’s regard centered on Philippe for a few comprehensive seconds, then shifted to Anthony.

“Welcome to Sanctuary Park and Harding Hall, Inspector. May I introduce
Don
Philippe Montenegro? Don Philippe, Chief Inspector Stallings,” Anthony said.

Stallings clasped Philippe’s outstretched hand. “A pleasure,
Don
Philippe. You are . . . related through Lady Windsford, if I’m not mistaken.”

Respect flickered briefly in Philippe’s eyes. “
Si.
You are correct.”

After the men were seated, Anthony addressed Stallings. “What news do you bring?”

“The information is not good, Harding.” Stallings withdrew the ever-present notebook and gave the scrawled observations a cursory glance. “I understand a young woman was murdered.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“With anything of this nature, a report is sent to my office in London. Constable Higgins telegraphed such an account. A detective assigned to work unsolved murders found the report this morning. He recognized some pertinent facts, and brought them to my attention. During the last few years, a significant number of women were murdered and no lead to the killer found.”

“I would think such a thing occurs more often than anyone realizes,” Anthony mused.

“It does, however, the ones I speak of were found with their hands tied and a cord wrapped around their necks. They’d all been savagely beaten and raped.”

A cold dread rendered Anthony momentarily speechless. “Am I to understand you believe this incident is related?”

“I do.”

“Then, by inference, one of the men after Clairece is this depraved repeat killer?” Anthony kept his hands firmly on the desk to stop them from shaking.

“That’s my belief.” Stallings slid the notebook into his pocket. “Our murderer finally made a mistake. Hopefully, one that will lead us to him.”

“In what way?” Cold rage simmered in Philippe’s features.

“No clues were ever found to indicate the killer’s identity. We’d about given up hope of finding any, but this,” Stallings patted his pocket, “narrows it down considerably.”

“We have every reason to suspect it’s not the man with the scar but his master, who perpetrated the crime.” Anthony outlined what they’d discovered since the maid’s murder, withholding mention of his family’s connection to the collar until he could consider all of the ramifications. “Have you consulted the police in New York to see if a similar crime was committed during the time our man was there?”

“The inquiry was sent this morning. I’ll have two extra men in Southampton by nightfall to help with the passenger manifests. The men we’re looking for most likely sailed from there.” Stallings flexed his shoulders. “Before it gets too late, I need to meet with Constable Higgins and view the body. I’ll secure a room at the inn, so send word should you need me.”

“Why not stay here?” Anthony suggested. “You’ll be far more comfortable, and the communication between us, much simpler.”

Stallings hesitated. “I’ll accept your kind offer if it won’t upset Mrs. Griffin. My tendency to be somewhat outspoken can be off-putting. I don’t wish to cause her any undue stress.”

“Mrs. Griffin and I were married in Bristol so I feel confident I might speak for her. She would not want a little misunderstanding to impede the progress of this investigation.” Thinking of Clairece, he grinned. “If it happens again, I’m certain she will inform you of your transgression.”

“I shall be on my best behavior,” Stallings quipped. “Congratulations, Harding. She’s a fine woman.”

“I consider myself fortunate.” Anthony glanced toward the door where Hodges waited. “Please see Chief Stallings is given a fresh horse and inform the staff we have another guest.”

“Certainly, my lord.” Hodges bowed.

As the sound of footsteps faded, Anthony shut the door. He resumed his seat behind the desk and sighed at the set expression on Philippe’s face. “Until these men are apprehended, no one from this estate goes anywhere alone, not even the men. I won’t curtail the staff’s days, or half-days, off, but I want male escorts with the women any time they leave this house.”

“If you wish, I will set these instructions in place,” Philippe offered.

Anthony nodded. “Why Lucy? If the man’s appetites are perverse, why not just choose one of the prostitutes from the local brothel? The Golden Goose might not house many women, but from what I hear, they do a thriving business and are willing to accommodate . . . certain tastes.”

“A different female would not affect you the same. In his choice of your housemaid, he sends the message he can still reach inside these walls.”

“Son-of-a-bitch.”

“We now recognize what he is, and what he is capable of. Such knowledge brings us closer to capturing him.” Philippe leaned forward in his chair. “Set a man to watch this . . . Golden Goose and the tavern, and yet another at the green grocers and bakery. These men must be able to fight but still control their bloodlust. It does no good to cut off the tail of the snake when we must take the head.”

“Most of my men already patrol the grounds around Harding Hall. We have only a few left for such an endeavor. Perhaps I should send word to James to bring others with him.” Anthony raked his fingers through his hair. “For God’s sake, what does it take to capture two men?”

“How hard is it to stop the wolf as he preys on sheep in the pasture?” Philippe’s eyes narrowed. “We require men accustomed to searching for wolves. How many can you house?”

“There’s a renovated wing not in use, and a loft in the stable which, if filled with bunks, can accommodate at least ten.” Anthony studied the other man. “What are you suggesting?”

“I will send for men who are skilled at the hunt. You mentioned a loft?”

“It’s an upper floor which hasn’t been used in some time, but can easily be made ready. It is warm, and dry, and has a small cook-stove for heat and preparing small foodstuffs. The kitchen staff could prepare enough food for the main meals.”

“Good. I shall telegraph Rafael Cordova. He will know what is needed.”

“How long will it take for them to arrive?”

“They travel quickly,” Philippe responded. “They will not blend in with those from around here but will, by their very presence, communicate our intent to stop those responsible.”

“I’m thankful for the help.”

“A good shepherd senses when his flock is threatened, and knows to bring in the wolfhounds.”

Anthony grinned at the simile.

“I met Roxbury while checking his estate,” Philippe said.

“Gerald is here in Somerset?”

“
Si
. He wishes to speak with you. He is your cousin?”

“Yes. We grew up together.”

“I do not trust this
Gerald
.”

“At one time, I would have trusted him with my life, but I cannot say that is true any longer. He’s changed, and I’m not certain I know the man he’s become.” Anthony made a decision. “There is something else you should know.”

Chapter 39

Clairece approached Philippe in the front hall. Dusty and disheveled, he’d likely been out all night searching for those responsible for the young maid’s death. From his expression, he’d not been successful.

“I must excuse myself from our walk,
niña
. Urgent business demands I return to Bristol.”

“Will I see you tonight?”

“Tomorrow. Stay safe, and take no chances.” Philippe pressed a kiss to her cheek and climbed the stairs.

In the study, she found Anthony bent over some papers. He smiled and came to his feet to take her in his arms.

“Did you get some rest?” he asked.

“I did, though the bed felt unaccountably empty after you left. I passed Philippe. He said he was going to Bristol on business.”

Anthony seated her before resettling in his own. “He mentioned notifying a
Don
Rafael to send more men.”

“Don
Rafael Cordova?” She stared, realizing the significance. “The men you speak of are
caballeros
from the Cordova and Montenegro estates in Spain. They are highly trained horsemen. More than mere
vaquero
. These men would rival the finest cavalry anywhere.”

“You sound familiar with them.”

“I am.” Clairece toed her shoes off and drew her feet up under her. “They are magnificent to behold. They ride as if part of the horse and, at times, use only their legs to guide their mounts, leaving their hands free. They are all excellent marksmen.”

“They sound intimidating, which is what we need.” Anthony leaned back in his chair. She sensed there was more he wanted to say and, whatever
the more
was, it distressed him.

“Chief Stallings is here and will be staying with us for a few days. He hasn’t yet discovered a name but did bring other news.” He told her of the women found slain in London and their comparison with Lucy.

At the realization her stalker was far more deranged than she’d thought, Clairece shivered.

Anthony pressed forward. “We will stop them, darling. I promise. Nothing will happen to you, or anyone else.”

“I didn’t think this situation could get worse, yet it has.”

At a soft clearing of a throat, they both looked up.

“Ah, just the man I wanted to see.” Anthony came to his feet. “Clairece, this is Mr. Jason Rutledge. Jason, may I present my wife, Lady Clairece Wade, Countess Harding.”

Jason bowed, smiling broadly. “A pleasure, my lady.”

“Jason is my man-of-business-cum-secretary, and friend,” Anthony clarified.

“Mr. Rutledge.” She quickly lowered her feet, searching for her discarded shoes. “As such, you must call me Clairece.”

“And I am Jason.” He held out his hand to help her to her feet.

“I shall leave you gentlemen to your business. There is much to do before our other quests arrive.” Clairece slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.

Jason laid a stack of papers on the desk and settled into a chair. “Before I forget, Lord Willoughby stopped by on his way out of town. He said to tell you if you needed him, he’d be at his country estate with his wife.” Jason grinned. “So, when did you decide to marry?”

“It was a sudden decision. God, Jason, this lunatic is worse than we ever imagined.” Anthony quickly caught Jason up on the happenings, including Jeremy Stallings’ suspicions regarding the murders in London.

“Let’s see. We have the Chief Inspector,” Jason raised one finger, “and a
Don
Philippe,” second finger, “with numerous others on their way.” He gestured with both hands. “Is this man so formidable?”

“Consider what he is capable of—and all those who rely on us for protection—and yes, he is.”

“Still no leads from Stallings?”

“He has men in Southampton and Portsmouth looking through the manifests. It’s only a matter of time.” Anthony thumbed the stack of papers. “They tried to kill me on the way here.” At Jason’s muttered curse, he continued. “In the event they’re successful, some things need to be set in place.”

“I will attend to it, but nothing will happen to you.” Jason’s brow furrowed. “I stopped in at the pub in Bristol for a quick pint and to rest my arse. There was talk of a murdered girl. Of course, I had no way of knowing she was one of your servants.”

“Was anything said regarding who might be responsible?”

“Most thought it was a gentleman, perhaps even a nobleman, but someone said it was a scar-faced man.”

“Did this person say where he’d heard the rumor?”

“No, and I didn’t ask. Do you think it was our mysterious
gentleman
?” Jason queried.

“I’m not certain. Still, I’ll send a message to
Don
Philippe once he arrives at the Bristol Hotel and inform him of the happenings at the pub.”

For the next few hours, Anthony signed documents, evaluated prospective investments, and covered anything of importance regarding the needs of the children’s home. Thanks to Jason and the new supervisors at the factories, everything now ran smoothly.

“Sir Gerald came around shortly after you left,” Jason said.

“What did he want?”

“He mentioned you offered to purchase Roxbury Abbey and the land it sets on.”

“Ah, yes, so I did.”

“Does he stay at the Abbey?” Jason asked.

“No. Gerald closed the mansion a few years back without leaving even a small staff to maintain the property. As near as I know, nothing has been done since then.”

Jason studied him for a moment. “Is it your wish to buy this, or is it a means to help Sir Gerald?”

“Roxbury Abbey is a beautiful piece of architecture dating back to the middle fifteenth century. Although the land is fertile, the acreage sits barren. There is a section too rocky for crops, but if we ran sheep, we could market the wool to the weaving houses.”

“Or . . .” Jason leaned forward, his eyes bright with excitement. “We might investigate opening a small factory here and employ some of the villagers to do the shearing, carding, and spindle work. If we don’t wish to compete with the Scottish weavers, we’ll sell the yarn.”

Anthony grinned. “Can you remain for a couple of days? We obviously have much to discuss before you return to London. Ride out with me and have a look at the property. Either way, I want the Abbey returned to Sanctuary.”

“I’d be happy to.”

Anthony thought for a moment. “Jason, how are you with a firearm?”