Authors: Brenda Joyce
The Third Heiress (50 page)
Lightning pierced the night sky again, thunder cracking directly overhead. Jill saw him. An unmoving solid shape among the swaying, misshapen trees that marked the boundary between the manor and the cemetery. Jill turned and ran.
Like a sprinter, clods of dirt and mud flying up beneath her feet, finally reaching the overgrown grounds surrounding the manor and then the side of the house itself.
The house looked ruined, vacant, brooding. Jill debated hiding somewhere inside—but she was afraid of being trapped. Besides, wouldn’t it be the first place Alex would look for her?
“Jill! It’s me, Alex! Jill! Wait!”
Jill could not believe her ears, because it sounded as if Alex were only yards away from her, and where as before he had been behind her, and to her left, now he sounded as if he were in front of her, and to her right.
But that was impossible
.
But that was impossible
.
No one could circle around her so quickly
.
.
Jill didn’t think twice. She ran past the house. Ahead was the dark, jagged outline of the tower.
“Jill! Stop!”
She could hide in the tower—or she could try to scramble down the cliffs to the beach.
There was no safe hiding place. Alex had seen her—he was going to catch up to her at any moment.
And Jill ran directly to the tower. Frantic, she bent, and within seconds, her hand closed over a huge, sharp rock. Jill straightened.
“Jill,” Alex said, and he stepped through the gaping stone walls to face her.
OCTOBER 18, 1908
I
t was almost three o’clock. Kate paced the foyer of her home, wringing her hands, trying to tell herself that everything was all right, trying not to be afraid. But her temples throbbed with astounding pain—and nothing was right.
t was almost three o’clock. Kate paced the foyer of her home, wringing her hands, trying to tell herself that everything was all right, trying not to be afraid. But her temples throbbed with astounding pain—and nothing was right.
Edward had not come home last night, which meant he had stayed very late at the birthday party, and that morning Kate had received a letter from Anne.
Pain stabbed through her head with such intensity that Kate cried out,
seeking a chair. And when the pain had passed, she pulled the folded letter from the pocket of her cloak with shaking hands and reread it for the fourth time.
seeking a chair. And when the pain had passed, she pulled the folded letter from the pocket of her cloak with shaking hands and reread it for the fourth time.
Dear Kate,
I owe you a tremendous apology. I have never behaved in such a manner before, as I did last night, and I am filled with regret. I can only say in my self-defense that my passions ran away with me, given the unusual circumstances which we find ourselves in.
Kate, I have spent the entire evening thinking about this terrible twist of fate. I believe that we must meet to discuss what we must do. Surely, as we are both reasonable women, and good friends, we can find a solution to our dilemma that is acceptable to all involved. I wish to pick you up at 3 o’clock. Please, meet with me, so we may lay this matter to rest once and for all.
Sincerely, Your Friend, Always, Anne
Kate stared at the neatly scripted letter. Something was very odd. But she could not say, precisely, what.
Her pulse raced. There was a noise behind her and she leaped to her feet, whirling, but no one was there. Kate licked her lips, which were dry. She could not understand her fears or herself. She no longer felt safe, not even in her own house. She had tried to tell herself that she was distraught, overtired, and that her imagination was running wild, that nothing was so vastly wrong, that no harm could come to her in her own home. But she could not soothe herself.
Kate paced, replacing the letter in her pocket, glancing nervously at the clock standing on the marble table. It was ten to three. Maybe what was so disturbing was that Anne not only wished to meet, but that she wished to pick her up as well. That made no sense. Where did Anne wish to go? Why not speak frankly in the privacy of Kate’s home?
And the tone of the letter was at such odds with Anne’s hateful words last night.
What if it was a trap?
Kate cut off her own cry with one of her gloved hands. She was becoming mad, to suspect a trap, and what kind of trap could it possibly be? Perhaps Anne had been up all night, as she herself had been, regretting
everything. Perhaps she truly wished to find a solution to their dilemma. Kate had to believe that.
everything. Perhaps she truly wished to find a solution to their dilemma. Kate had to believe that.
Kate wanted, desperately, to believe that.
“Madame.” Peter’s nurse came forward, the bundled-up baby in her arms. “We are ready.” She failed to smile as she usually did. The Frenchwoman’s eyes reflected concern and worry as they met Kate’s.
“Let me hold him,” Kate whispered, overcome with grief. It was overwhelming, as if she would never see her son again. But that was absurd. She would go out with Anne and be back by suppertime.
Tears interfering with her vision, Kate held Peter to her breast. She rocked him, watching his angelic face as he slept. Already she could see signs that he would look like his father. How happy that made her.
Kate finally gave the baby back to Madeline.
“Madame. How long shall we stay at the countess’s?”
Kate looked at her. Was she doing the right thing in sending Peter to the countess? The urge had struck her almost violently, shortly after receiving Anne’s letter. Peter would be safe in the Collinsworth home, in the countess’s care. Of that, Kate had not a doubt. “Until I return,” Kate swallowed. “I expect to be back at supper.”
Kate really didn’t know why she felt compelled to send Peter to his grandmother. She told herself that the countess would fall in love with him and change her mind about Kate and Edward’s marriage. Perhaps the countess was their very last hope.
“Good day, then,” Madeline said.
Impulsively Kate kissed her cheek, then did the same with Peter. He woke up and smiled sleepily at her. His eyes were brilliantly blue.
Kate felt a surge of panic. But she waved them out, then stood in the doorway and watched their small carriage departing. Tears streamed down her face.
Kate found it hard to breathe as she faced the street, waiting for Anne. She heard the coach first. The Bensonhurst carriage rolled down the street, pausing before Kate’s house. Kate inhaled, motionless, her heart careening inside her chest, wanting to turn tail and run the other way now that Anne had come. But she summoned up her courage, telling herself that she was a silly fool, and hurried from the house. They would solve this, then, once and for all.
A servant opened the carriage door for her. Kate faltered because Lady Bensonhurst was seated in the backseat beside Anne.
Kate hesitated, filled with dread.
“Do come in, Kate,” Anne said, her voice odd and high and filled with shrill tension.
Kate almost refused; she almost turned and fled back to the safety of her own house. But she could not continue to live this way, made ill by panic and fear and frightened of her own shadow. Kate stepped up into the coach.
The door was closed.
Kate faced Anne’s mother as the coach rolled away, expecting a severe, hateful tongue-lashing. To her surprise, Anne’s mother was pale, sitting rigidly on the forward-facing backseat, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. She seemed anxious. She seemed afraid. She seemed to wish to be anywhere but there, in the carriage with Kate. And she avoided Kate’s eyes.
“Very well.” Anne’s jaw flexed. She produced a small pistol from her handbag and pointed it at Kate.
Kate’s heart stopped. In that moment, her entire life sped before her eyes—every single happy, bitter moment. “Anne!”
Anne did not smile. “Don’t worry. I am not going to shoot you. Mother, tie her hands.”
Kate was disbelieving as Lady Bensonhurst produced a cord from behind her back. “Anne! You are mad! What do you think you are doing?” Kate cried.
“Do be quiet,” Anne said. “I am abducting you, Kate. You see, you are now about to disappear, from my life, from Edward’s life, forever.”
OCTOBER 20, 1908
I
n spite of being trussed up like a felon, her hands and ankles bound so tightly that they had lost sensation, becoming numb, Kate had finally fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion. She was awoken by the sound of her locked carriage door being opened. A dismal twilight greeted her—fol—lowed by Anne’s and Lady Bensonhurst’s severe, strained expressions.
n spite of being trussed up like a felon, her hands and ankles bound so tightly that they had lost sensation, becoming numb, Kate had finally fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion. She was awoken by the sound of her locked carriage door being opened. A dismal twilight greeted her—fol—lowed by Anne’s and Lady Bensonhurst’s severe, strained expressions.
Kate stiffened, her gaze locking with Anne’s. “Where are we?” They had been traveling since yesterday afternoon without a single stop—except to dismiss the coachman at a wayside inn. From that point on, Anne had driven the coach, and Lady Bensonhurst had chosen to sit with her. Kate had only been able to discern, before the window shades were drawn, that they were traveling north.
Anne smiled slightly. “Get out.”
Kate’s tension increased. She did not like Anne’s superior smile. And the light in her eyes was so brilliant that it was unsettling. Her friend had become insane—there was no other explanation for her behavior. “Anne, I wish to talk to you,” she began.
Anne raised the pistol. “Mother, untie her ankles so she can walk.”
Lady Bensonhurst succeeded in doing what Kate had spent all night trying to do, without success; with one stroke of a small knife she cut through the cords that had left Kate’s fingers bloody and in shreds.
Immediately the circulation began to return to Kate’s feet. The effect was painful, causing her to cry out.
Immediately the circulation began to return to Kate’s feet. The effect was painful, causing her to cry out.
Anne pulled the trigger on the gun. “I said get out, Kate.”
Kate froze, biting her lip. “Surely our friendship must mean something to you,” she implored.
Anne’s face became set in a manner that was frightening. There was no mistaking her resolve or the depth of her anger.
Kate did not hesitate. She somehow stood, reeling, unable to use her hands to prevent herself from falling. Anne gripped her elbow and pulled her roughly down from the coach. Anne pushed her forward.
And Kate gasped. They were at Coke’s Way. But the manor house that belonged to the Collinsworth family was locked up. There was no tenant there now. Edward had told her, fondly, that he would never let the place again. “What are we doing here?” Kate cried.
Anne pushed her another time. Her strength was inhuman now. “How stupid do you think I am, Kate? Do you think you could tell me about the child and that I would fail to learn every detail of your life from that point on?” Her laughter was low, brief. “Recently I discovered that Edward sent you here to have Peter. It is ironic, is it not? You shall disappear here, under his very nose—in a place he will never think to look for you. I have spent days deciding where to hide you!”
Kate refused to move forward, facing Anne. “I won’t do this. Anne, can you not see that this is not the way for you to build a future with Edward? You cannot build a life with someone based on lies and even murder!” Kate began to tremble. She did not believe Anne intended for her to die. She refused to believe it. Anne would make her disappear, and dear God, Edward might think she had run away, but after Anne married Edward, she would let her go. Wouldn’t she?
Kate knew there were ramifications to that scenario that she was not considering. But she could not consider them. They were far too terrifying.
“Lady Bensonhurst,” Kate cried. Anne’s mother stood by the coach, not looking at either of them—as if that might prevent her from seeing what was actually unfolding before her very eyes. “Please stop your daughter from committing what we all know to be a grave and dastardly crime!”
Lady Bensonhurst regarded Kate. She was as white as a sheet. Her features were pinched, her eyes wide, dark circles underneath. Kate wanted to see moral fortitude. What she saw was resignation.
“Go,” Anne gritted, pushing Kate forward—but not toward the manor house.
Ahead was the tower.
Kate froze.
She had always hated the tower. She had never once gone inside. Edward had teased her about it. He had told her it was quaint and charming, all the guests at Coke’s Way thought so. Kate began to shake—convulsively. “Please don’t do this,” she whispered, her teeth beginning to chatter.
Anne pushed her forward roughly again. The heavy wood door was open. Kate halted. She was not going to go inside—she could not. The tower, she knew, would be the death of her.
“Go in,” Anne said, shoving her inside.
Inside, the tower was cold, damp, and airless. Kate could not see at first—her eyes had to adjust to the darkness. The roof was missing in places, and high up, far too high for her to reach or climb, sections of stone were also missing. Had those sections been lower, Kate realized desperately, she would be able to squeeze through and crawl out to freedom.
Freedom. Would she ever be free again?
“Where is Peter?” Anne’s voice cut through the shadowy darkness, the frightening stillness, of the tower.
Kate whirled. “At home.”
“You lie. I can see it in your eyes. I won’t have that bastard competing with my son.” Anne’s eyes were wide and filled with determination. Her pupils seemed huge.
Kate was panting. She felt claustrophobic. “I don’t like it here. Don’t leave me here. I can’t breathe!”
“Then you will die, won’t you—for lack of air,” Anne said coolly. “Perhaps we can make an exchange. You—for Peter.”
Kate stared. “How can you be so hateful. I loved you like a sister. And I swear, if you touch Peter, you will pay for it! Edward will make certain of it! Anne, stop, think, please, consider what you are doing! Release me—and I swear, no one will ever know what has happened these past two days.”
Anne stared back. “You are the insane one, Kate. To think to destroy my life, my dreams, my love. Never mind. I will find Peter, just the way I found out that you were here, and not in New York, during your pregnancy.” Anne turned to go.
Kate’s shaking increased. “Please untie me.” She rushed after Anne and stumbled, falling to the ground on her bound hands and knees, where she choked on a sob. The immensity of her predicament, the hopelessness, finally seized her. Kate looked up. Anne stood in the doorway. Behind her was nothing but a dark, dusky sky and the grotesque shapes of trees left
stunted and gnarled by too many storms to count. “Don’t you remember Christmas two years ago?” She wept. “We were to be best friends forever. You gave me the locket.”
stunted and gnarled by too many storms to count. “Don’t you remember Christmas two years ago?” She wept. “We were to be best friends forever. You gave me the locket.”
Anne regarded her unblinkingly. “Of course I remember. That was before you betrayed me.”
Kate remained on the ground. Their gazes locked. And then dizziness assailed Kate. She closed her eyes, trying to control herself, and she failed. Kate vomited.
It was not a short spasm, but one that seemed to go on and on endlessly. And when it was over, Kate wept, faced now with nightmare reality.
“Are you carrying another bastard, Kate?” Anne’s cool, distant voice cut into Kate’s misery and grief, into her sudden, utter futility, like the blade of a knife.
She was exhausted, beaten down, and, too late, wished so desperately that she had told Edward about her confrontations with Anne. “Yes,” she whispered, not looking up. “Have mercy,” she choked.
The door slammed closed. Kate heard the sound of a lock turning. She collapsed into a heap on the ground, the damp earth her mattress and her pillow.
“Please, Edward, please find me,” she moaned. But she knew Anne was right. He would never think to look for her under his very nose.
J
ill’s heart was pounding with such force that she could not seem to breathe, that she felt faint. She backed up, away from Alex, gripping the rock that she held behind her back.
ill’s heart was pounding with such force that she could not seem to breathe, that she felt faint. She backed up, away from Alex, gripping the rock that she held behind her back.
Alex stared at Jill, shining his penlight directly on her face.
Jill couldn’t see his expression; the light was blinding. Her heart dropped with sickening force. This was it, she knew. This was the very end of the line, the very last stop.
Images swept through her mind with stunning speed, a confusing kaleidoscope of scenes with her and Alex, as lovers, as friends, as adversaries.
Jill backed up again. A nightmare, she thought, come true.
“Jill.” He lowered the light and suddenly she could see his eyes, pale and unnaturally bright in the darkness of the tower. “You’re too brave for your own good, aren’t you?”
Jill clenched the stone. There was no point in replying. She wondered if he would search her for the evidence she’d stolen from the Libretto before doing whatever it was that he had come to do.
“And too damn smart,” he said grimly, and then he sighed. He started toward her. “Alex, don’t come any closer,” she warned, trembling and backing up. Her spine hit the wall. Her frantic gaze darted past him—she could never get by him to run out of the tower.
He halted in midstride. “Jill. You didn’t have to run away—even if you did steal my files. I want to explain. But not here, in the goddamn rain.”
Jill fought to breathe, harshly and loudly. A line of sweat was creeping down the side of her temple, more sweat was pooling between her breasts. Outside, lightning lit up the sky and thunder cracked. “Where do you want to go, Alex? Out to the cliffs? So I can fall to my death? That would be damned convenient, wouldn’t it?” She choked on her last words.
The penlight wavered, and briefly, she saw his eyes, which were wide. “Are you crazy? Has Kate Gallagher driven you insane? Jill, I’m trying to stop you from hurting yourself,” he said vehemently.
Her gut reaction was that this was a trap. But it dawned on her that he did not seem to have a weapon. He was holding the penlight, nothing more. Jill shook off her confusion with an effort. “I can’t believe I ever trusted you at all.” Bitterness echoed between the tower’s four stone walls.
He did not reply. A sudden silence fell there between them, hard, and because he’d raised his light again, Jill could not see his face, just the eerie dark shadow of his form. It was disconcerting, frightening. Pounding rain filled up the silence of the night.
“Jill,” he started, when a car’s engine sounded from outside. Alex turned his head. The engine was cut and it died. Jill froze, paralyzed. She could hit him with the rock now. His back was to her—this was her chance. Knock him out—maybe even kill him—and run like hell.
She could not move.
She could not lift the stone.
“Who the hell is that?” Alex asked abruptly.
A car door slammed.
“Your accomplice?” Jill suggested with sarcasm, but she was alarmed—because there had been alarm in his own tone.
“Step back,” he ordered.
Jill didn’t obey. A shining light wavered as the person holding it walked toward the manor. And an image of the Mercedes with William driving flashed through Jill’s mind. Then she thought about Vicar Hewitt, just across the way. Maybe he had called the local police. Jill dared to hope, to pray.
He came toward her in a rush.
Jill flinched, her heart ceasing its frantic beat with sickening abruptness as he threw his arm around her, almost tackling her. Jill met his eyes, thought, This is it, he’s going to strangle me, but he moved her back against the wall, turning off his own penlight. “Don’t make a sound,” he breathed in her ear.
His grip was like a vise. Shock and confusion reigned. Sweat streamed down Jill’s body in rivers. Relief came. Alex was hiding her, not hurting her, but why? Who were they hiding from? And was Alex the good guy or the bad guy? And did the person outside know they were in the tower, and not in the house? What if that person was the police? Should she scream for help?
As if he understood her thoughts, he whispered, “Ssh,” in her ear, the single hushed sound filled with warning. Their gazes locked. And Jill nodded.
If she was making a mistake, she would find out—sooner than later.
The minutes passed endlessly—a painful slice of eternity. And suddenly a large flashlight was shining into the interior of the tower, blinding them. “How quaint,” a very familiar female voice said.
Jill jerked at the sound of Lucinda’s voice. For one moment, she was stunned. And then she cried, “Lucinda, get help!”
“Mr. Preston, please stand back from Jill,” was Lucinda’s calm reply.
Jill did not understand. Alex continued to hold her against the wall, and he did not move. Then he shone his penlight toward Lucinda.
Her face was an expressionless mask.
And then Jill saw the large steel revolver in her hand. It was pointed at them both.
OCTOBER 23, 1908
S
he was going to die.
he was going to die.
Kate lay curled up on the wet, cold ground, shivering, too weak to move. Three, four, five days had gone by since Anne had locked her in the tower. At first, Kate had kept track of the days by the rising and setting of the sun. At first, she had been hopeful. She had shouted for help until she could no longer speak, her throat left miserably raw and sore and dry. No one had heard her cries; no one had come to her aid. There was no way to get out of the tower; the front door remained securely locked. The hope had died.
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