The Third Heiress (43 page)

Read The Third Heiress Online

Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: The Third Heiress
11.51Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
His hand was on hers again, but this time, his grip was painful. “You’ve overstayed your welcome, Jill,” he began roughly.
Jill saw Lauren coming. She tried to shake him off and failed. He walked her into the foyer, where Lauren caught up with them, rounding in on them and blocking their way “What is she saying?” she cried, her face utterly white, making her coral lipstick stand out starkly against her skin.
“I’ll handle this,” Alex said firmly. “I’m taking Jill home.”
“No, you’re not.” Jill broke free of his grasp. “You’re busy with Miss Jerry Hall. I’ll get a cab.”
“Jill.” Lauren’s gaze was wide, wild. “What are you saying? That my grandfather murdered someone? Are you insane?!”
“Your grandfather, Edward, was my great-grandmother’s lover,” Jill said harshly. “Kate Gallagher was Edward Sheldon’s mistress and she had his child—and he killed her—in cold blood!”
Lauren gasped. “I don’t believe that. You are insane! What do you want from us? Why are you doing this?”
Jill faltered, because Thomas reached them, his face flushed, his eyes blazing.
“Those accusations are highly irresponsible. We will not be blackmailed, Miss Gallagher. Not only will we not be blackmailed, I will not have my family’s reputation muddied like this. You are slandering the good Sheldon name.”
Jill did not move, incapable of doing so in the face of Thomas’s fury.
Thomas seemed to recover some of his composure. He straightened. His smile was a mere curling of his mouth. “Get her out of here, Alex. And meanwhile, my lawyers will be contacting her in the morning.”
Alex grabbed Jill’s arm.
Lawyers, Jill managed to think. Did that mean he was suing her for slander?
“You are lying,” Lauren cried.
“No.” Jill shook her head. “Kate didn’t disappear. She died. I found the grave. She died seven months after having Edward’s child. And shortly after she died—eight months later, in fact—Edward married your great-grandmother. What your family has done disgusts me,” Jill cried back.
“Jill.” Alex’s tone was like the lash of a whip. “I’m taking you home. You’re angry, you’re confused, and you can’t possibly think clearly under the circumstances. Let’s go. You’ve already made enough of a scene, and tomorrow you can formally apologize to the family before Thomas sues your ass.”
“Let me go,” Jill said.
And then, with her peripheral vision, she saw a shape clad entirely in black with a huge diamond and pearl pin slowly collapsing toward the floor.
Jill stumbled, pulling against Alex, turning in time to see William and Thomas supporting the nearly prone figure of Margaret.
T
he silver monster halted at the curb in front of Jill’s flat. Jill remained huddled on her side of the car, staring straight ahead, hating herself. Not for her quest for the truth about Kate, not for her need for justice, but for bringing more pain and maybe even ill health to a woman as gracious and innocent of wrongdoing as Margaret Sheldon was.
Alex had not said a word to her in the entire twenty minutes since they had left the house. In fact, he had not even glanced at her a single time.
She had never seen him so angry. And now the tables were turned. She was angry with him but she felt horrible for behaving like such a low-class cretin with his family. They certainly had every reason to despise her and think her a threat. Why had she let her tongue loose like that? It had
been so foolish. Now she might never uncover the truth, because whoever wanted to stop her knew her agenda. And worse, what if Thomas really sued her? She didn’t have a penny to her name with which to defend herself.
“We’re here,” Alex finally said, turning off the ignition.
Jill tensed and dared to look at him. Why had he turned off the car? Did he think to come in? All of her suspicions about him—all of KC’s warnings—rose to the forefront of her mind. “I am sorry,” she said quickly. “I will apologize. Thanks for the ride.” She shoved open the door and leaped out of the car.
He did not return her gaze. “We’ll discuss everything in the morning.”
“Yeah.” Jill could not believe he would not even look at her. She should not care. She did not care. She slammed the door closed and stepped away from the sports car.
The Lamborghini’s engine came to life, and it pulled away from the curb. If Alex looked back, even once, in his rearview mirror, Jill did not see.
Jill watched the car’s taillights disappear around the corner. She was hugging herself. “I don’t care.” Good riddance, she added silently.
Then she looked toward her flat. She hadn’t thought to turn any lights on because she’d left well before noon. The house was utterly black, cast in shadows and darkness. It somehow appeared squat, almost ugly. An image of Lady E., dead, not alive, flashed through her mind. Jill stared at her flat, shivering.
The house seemed so cold. It was no longer charming and quaint, it had changed, as if it had taken on a life of its own. Jill shivered again, thinking that it appeared different, strange—almost ghastly, almost menacing.
Jill dreaded going inside.
She told herself that she was drunk and her imagination was running away with her. Which was very natural, considering that she was obsessed with a ninety-year-old murder—and that Lady E. had been killed just last night.
She glanced at the adjacent flat, where Lucinda lived. All of the lights were on, giving the house a warm, incandescent glow. Lucinda’s flat appeared friendly, inviting, benign. Jill started up her brick path.
Lucinda opened the door immediately, smiling. “Hello, Jill.” Then her expression fell.
“Is something wrong?” Jill asked, dread churning in her stomach, already knowing that something was terribly wrong.
“Janet Witcombe is dead.”
Their gazes locked. Jill could not believe her ears, and for one moment, she pictured the kind old lady crumbled on some clinical floor, her features distorted and grotesque in death. “What happened?” she breathed.
“She died this morning. A blow to the head. Apparently she fell,” Lucinda said, wringing her hands. “Oh, do come in, Jill. What am I doing, making you stand outside on such a cool night—and you without even a coat!”
Jill stepped into Lucinda’s cheerful foyer. “So it was an accident,” she said slowly. “Janet was very old. She was well into her eighties.”
“I think she was eighty, just,” Lucinda said. “Shall I make us some tea?”
Jill didn’t answer. Old people fell down and died every day. It was hardly unusual. Then why was she so … upset? So … uneasy?
Had it been an accident?
“Jill? What is wrong? You’re so pale.”
“I’ve had a bit too much to drink,” Jill said, shaking her head, hoping to clear it. But she couldn’t. Her senses were screaming a warning at her, one she didn’t want to identify. “Janet seemed awfully healthy and spry for an elderly woman.”
Lucinda blinked, her blue eyes behind her oversized tortoiseshell frames widening. “You don’t think?” She gasped. “Jill, Janet
fell.
It’s as simple as that.”
“Lucinda, I’m exhausted, I think I’ll just go back to my flat.”
“Are you certain you won’t stay for some tea? You seem distraught.”
Jill declined, wanting to go home, to be alone, to try to think. On Lucinda’s porch she paused, once again staring toward her house, the hairs on her nape rising. “Oh, don’t be a fool,” she snapped aloud. No one had murdered Janet Witcombe because of her recollections of a thirty-year-old conversation about a woman who had disappeared ninety years ago. And whoever had killed Lady E. was undoubtedly at the Sheldons’ right now. Besides, she had to feed Sir John.
Jill started purposefully back to her flat. She seemed to have trouble fitting her keys in the front lock much less opening it. Jill realized that her hands were trembling.
Alex had given her the name of a doctor. Maybe she needed to go. She didn’t know how much longer her body could stand up to such emotional distress.
She finally got the door open and found herself breathless from the effort it had cost her. Jill turned on the lights.
And she froze.
Her flat had been ransacked. Drawers were overturned on the floor,
their contents spilled everywhere, the pillows that had been on the sofa were slit open, its cushions were scattered about the room, and the doors of the armoire swung wildly ajar.
Jill staggered backward, taking in the extent of the mess, crying out.
And then her gaze veered back to the armoire—to the wide open doors.
They were swinging.
Whoever had done this, had done it recently.
Jill turned and ran.
SEPTEMBER 15, 1908
K
ate leaned forward, filled with excitement, hardly able to contain herself. Bensonhurst had appeared ahead of her, in the cul-de-sac at the end of the block. Her carriage, drawn by two bay mares, moved swiftly toward the stone mansion with its Gothic spires and neo-classical columns. Kate sat back against the velvet squabs of her seat, clasping her gloved hands together, beaming. It had been so very long since she had seen Anne and she could hardly wait!
The carriage halted in the paved drive in front of the house. Kate could not wait for her footman to open the door, and pushed it herself. As she stepped down, he appeared to help her to the ground. Kate was rounder now, having given birth to her son just four months ago. She had become, she thought ruefully, a plump matron. Edward had told her just last night that her curves were delightful.
She did not blush, thinking about the passion they had found once again after so many months without. But her pulse raced and she was impatient to be in his arms yet again. And he had only left her a few hours ago. Already she missed him—almost desperately.
She loved him so much that sometimes she was afraid, no, terrified, that some terrible tragedy would befall him. That he would walk out of her door, only to be hit by an oncoming coach, ending his life—and
ending their love. Kate had decided months ago that her fears were the result of his unyielding father. The earl had not changed his tune about them; even now, Kate knew he concocted schemes to drive them apart.
Kate walked past both a coach and a spanking new Packard motorcar, shaking herself free of her morbid thoughts, thinking about Anne again, and how delightful their reunion would be. Her knock was received by the butler, whom she recalled very well and smiled broadly at. “Hullo, Jenson.”
“Miss Gallagher!” The short, bald butler beamed back at her. “I must say, it is so good to have you back!”
“It is wonderful to be back,” Kate said, suddenly teary-eyed. In that instant, so many memories flooded her—the very first time she had met Anne, at Brighton on the promenade—which was also the first time she and Edward had laid eyes upon one another. Their come-out ball, the horse races at Newmarket, and the week at Swinton Hall. Overcome, and suddenly realizing how entwined her and Edward’s romance had been with her life with Anne, she glanced around at the entryway, noting that nothing had changed. “Ah, one of my favorite paintings,” she said, moving to stand in front of a Rembrandt oil of a mother and child. Then she turned. “Is my dearest friend in the entire world at home?”
“I will tell Lady Anne that you are here,” Jenson said. “Would you care to wait in the salon?”
“I can find my way.” Kate smiled as he left and she wandered into the salon with its pink walls and pale beige ceilings.
“Well, this is a surprise.”
Kate tensed at the sound of Lady Bensonhurst’s not particularly pleasant voice. “Hullo, my lady. How nice to see you again.” Kate did not smile either.
Lady Bensonhurst did not enter the salon. Her gaze slid over Kate, lingering on the fullness of her breasts and the more pronounced curves of her hips and abdomen. Kate had the terrible inkling that Lady Bensonhurst knew she had a child. But that was not possible. No one knew other than the two simpleton maids, Miss Bennett, Edward, and of course, his father. And Anne. She had written Anne in the winter out of sheer desperation, loneliness, and fear.
“I thought you had gone back to New York,” Lady Bensonhurst said flatly.
“I did. But I have returned to London. Truly, I have become quite the Anglophile.”
“I see.” She refused to smile. “You are losing that stunning figure, my dear.”
“Too much rich food, I fear.” Kate also refused to smile.
“Hmm. My daughter is not at home—” she began.
Anne appeared, moving swiftly down the corridor. “Kate!” Her face lit up.
“Anne!” Kate smiled as her dear friend continued forward. She expected an embrace. To her surprise, Anne held out both arms, but clasped her hands instead and kissed her cheek.
“How wonderful that you are here,” Anne said.
Kate looked at her, oddly taken aback. Anne had changed, and it was difficult to put her finger on it—she was more assured, less meek of manner, more gracious—and more aloof. Anne had dropped her hands. Kate clasped them to her skirts. “I have missed you so, my dear,” she said. “You look wonderful, Anne.” And it was the truth. She was prettier than ever. Her fair skin glowed.
Anne smiled, a slight blush covering her cheeks. “We have much to talk about.” Her gaze also took in Kate’s weight gain. Anne turned. “Mother, if you do not mind?”
Lady Bensonhurst finally smiled, and it was strained. “Do recall, Anne, that we must attend the dinner party tonight at Uxbridge Hall and you must soon dress.” She nodded at Kate and walked away, her full skirts billowing.
Kate had stiffened. She could not help but be peeved, even dismayed, and perhaps envious, for she had not been invited to dine at Collinsworth’s—and she never would be. She wondered if Edward would be present at the dinner party.
“So tell me how you are?” Anne asked, low, as they sat down side by side on a velvet settee.
Kate dismissed her touch of jealousy as ridiculous. She touched Anne’s hand. “I am so happy, my dear, you have no idea.”
“I received your last letter. I am so glad you delivered the child safely, Kate. How do you feel? And how is the babe? Will I ever see him?” Anne’s voice had dropped to a whisper.
Kate beamed. “He is a bundle of joy. Oh, Anne. I am two times in love—with our son and his father.” Tears filled her eyes. “I think I am the luckiest woman on this earth.”
Anne stared. “But he does not marry you, Kate,” she finally said, low. “I have worried about you, dear. He should have married you some time ago.”
Kate shook her head. “Anne, we have not truly shared our thoughts or
feelings in almost a year. He asked me to marry him. In fact, he decided to go against his father and was prepared to be disowned. I would not let him do such a thing.”
Anne’s eyes were wide. “I wish you would tell me who this paragon of men is! I do admit I have wracked my mind, time and again, trying to discover who he could possibly be.”
Kate hesitated, almost blurting out the truth, and truly wanting to do so. But the moment of recklessness passed and she patted her hand. “One day, you shall learn the truth. But for now, because our situation is so delicate, it is best that we keep his identity a secret. I do fear what his father would do to us if we revealed our affair to the public. I dare not tell you who he is.”
“So what will you do? He wants to marry, and you have your fortune, but now you will not marry him?” Her brows slashed together.
“One day he would come to despise me for taking away his family and his heritage.” Kate sighed. “I do know how terrible this sounds, but his father is very old.” Kate winced just hearing how her words sounded. She was the last person in the world to wish someone dead. If only Collinsworth were not such a stubborn, manipulative, and callous old man.
But Anne was calm. “So you wait for him to die. Well, that would be splendid! Your paragon could have his title and you.”
“It does sound so cold and calculating. If only his father were not so set against us,” Kate said, feeling a deep despair. She quickly shoved it aside, because she wanted to enjoy her reunion with Anne and because she believed in true love. Their love would win out in the end, and it was a precious belief that she’d clung to during the entire past year.
At that precise moment, Jenson appeared with a maid, the latter wheeling in a trolley filled with scones, cakes, and tea. “Oh, thank you, Jenson,” Kate cried. “How did you guess that I am ravenous today?”
He was smiling from ear to ear. “You always had a hearty appetite, Miss Gallagher. Do see. I have brought you your favorite—raspberry tarts and green tea.”
A few moments later, the servants were gone. “So how have you been, Anne? What delicious news do you wish to share with me?” Kate asked eagerly.
“Kate, you cannot imagine how wonderful this past year has been. I am quite popular now—I can hardly believe it. I mean, I do know my fortune is very enticing, but still, it is so nice to be all the rage. I can hardly believe that two years ago when we first met I was so shy and retiring and so utterly lacking in confidence.”
Kate smiled because Anne’s eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, and she had never been more animated or prettier. “You have grown up, my dear. I am so happy for you.”
“Father has been deluged with offers for my hand,” Anne said excitedly. “I have had a dozen serious suitors in the past half year. Is it not unbelievable?”
“Actually, it is very believable, for you are one of the loveliest people I know. Anne, I want you to find love, not just a husband.” Kate hugged her impulsively. Anne did not pull away, but she did not return the embrace. Kate stared, somewhat perturbed.
Anne smiled, eyes lowered. “Oh, but I have.”
“I beg your pardon?” Kate was not quite sure that she had heard correctly.
Anne faced her, eyes aglow, clasping both of her hands tightly. “I am in love, Kate, with the most wondrous man, a man of elegance, charm, and astounding good looks! Indeed, he is one of the premier bachelors in this land, and our families have already agreed upon this match!”
“Oh, Anne—why didn’t you tell me this immediately!” Kate cried in delight.
Anne shrugged, her smile secretive. “Sometimes the best must come last.”
“Oh, do not tease and torment me now! Who is this knight in shining armor whom you shall wed?”
Anne laughed. “Oh, he is a knight, Kate, in fact, I am sure you will think so too, for you met him last year. It is Lord Braxton, Collinsworth’s heir.”
Kate gasped. Her heart dropped like a rock, with sickening force.
And somehow a part of her knew that it was the beginning of the end.
J
ill’s first impulse was to flee. Instead, she slammed the light switch, turning off the lights. Darkness bathed her.
Oh, God. Was the intruder still inside? Should she call the police? Was Sir John all right?
Jill dared not breathe. She strained to hear, and had a pin dropped, she would have heard it. The house was devastatingly silent.
Frighteningly silent.
She had to find Sir John. She was afraid he had befallen the same fate as Lady E. But her courage was failing her—her back remained pressed to the wall by the front door. Her knees felt strange, weak.
Jill reached behind her and slowly groped for the knob. When she had found it, she turned it, then pushed the door and ran outside and all the way back to Lucinda’s. She pounded on the other woman’s front door.
“Jill?” Lucinda appeared almost immediately. “Dear, what is it? What has happened?”
As Jill spoke, her teeth chattered. “Someone has ransacked my flat.” Alex’s image flashed through her mind. Had he gone home—or had he parked the Lamborghini a few blocks away and come back to do his damage?
She shook her head to clear it. Was she a fool? Whoever had ransacked her flat had done so while she was with Alex—no single person could have made such a wreck in a mere few minutes.
She was relieved, but only for a second. Alex could hire a henchman, as could Thomas or William or anyone else. Anyone in the family could have had their hand in this.
“Come inside, Jill,” Lucinda was saying with real worry. She took her arm and pulled her into the house. “Are you certain that the flat was actually ransacked?” She locked her door behind them.
“Lucinda. Everything has been turned upside down in the parlor. Pillows were slit,” Jill cried tersely.
“Oh, dear. But—in this neighborhood?!”
Jill walked past her and sat down on the sofa, holding her head in her hands. “It’s one of them. Someone in the Collinsworth family. Someone who thinks I want a part of their fortune. Or someone who doesn’t want me blabbing to the world what I know about Kate and Edward.”
“Jill, I don’t think anyone in the family would ever behave in such a way. Maybe you should ring up the police, Jill.”
Jill grimaced, reaching for the phone, watching her hand shaking. But she did not pick it up. Instead, she said slowly, “What will the police do? They’ll hear my story and write me off as some Looney Tune.” Jill regarded Lucinda, suddenly shaken all over again. The police would hear her talking about her murdered great-grandmother and laugh in her face. They would think her a nutcase. And she could easily imagine how convincing and sincere William and Thomas would appear to be if the police dared to question them. “The Sheldons are respected members of this community—I’ll be the one who comes out of this blackened, not them.”
“Jill, I am certain the family had nothing to do with this. Collinsworth is a pillar of the community. Did you know that the various earls were all
preeminent men? Leaders and lawmakers and such? It is almost a tradition; the community expects leadership and altruism from the earls of Collinsworth.”

Other books

Babylon by Victor Pelevin
Frozen Grave by Lee Weeks
One Special Night by Caridad Pineiro
Heathcliff's Tale by Emma Tennant
Swords of Waar by Nathan Long
Her Homecoming Cowboy by Debra Clopton