'Til Death Do Us Part (17 page)

H
E
AWOKE
ON
the dark wings of a nightmare and a raging headache.

He wondered again if he should have killed the doctor. But he had been warned not to bring undue attention to himself. Getting rid of a body was always a problem that took planning and considerable energy. He was in no condition to undertake such a task. The wound to his head had weakened him. He needed time to recover.

He got up from the pallet and dressed in the cold bedroom. The pain in his head made him clumsy. He looked at the small bottle sitting on the floor beside the pallet. He did not want to cloud his mind with the drug the doctor had given him.

The voices murmured in his head, assuring him that it was safe to take the medicine.

He hesitated a moment longer and then, reluctantly, he opened the bottle and swallowed some of the contents.

After a time the pain receded somewhat. When he was certain he would not lose his balance, he made his way slowly downstairs. He
forced himself to eat a little cheese and some bread and then he made a pot of strong tea.

When he finished the small meal he went into the unfurnished parlor and sat cross-legged in front of the altar. He lit the white candle and contemplated his failure. The injury to his head would heal but the wound to his honor was deep.

He gazed at the photograph that hung on the wall above the altar. The voices in his head whispered to him, reminding him that he had a quest to fulfill.

“I will not fail again,” he vowed.

He spoke to the voices but he did not take his attention off the woman in the photograph.

He was a knight. His oath was his bond.

He would cleanse himself of the taint of failure and the dishonor that it had brought down upon him. And then he would fulfill his quest.

“'Til death do us part,” he said to the woman in the photograph.

“Y
OU
ARE
GO
ING
to pay a visit to a crime lord tonight?” Andrew paused his fork halfway to his mouth. He was clearly fascinated. “Why? Bloody hell, how did you meet him in the first place?”

Calista winced. “Really, Andrew. Language. We have guests.”

Although she routinely hosted the salons and teas she used to facilitate introductions among her clients, dinner guests were a novelty at Cranleigh Hall. In spite of events, she was discovering that she was enjoying the experience. Probably because Trent was seated at the other end of the table, she thought.

Trent and Eudora had arrived with their luggage a few hours ago. Mrs. Sykes had been elated at the prospect of houseguests. She and Mr. Sykes had spent the afternoon opening up two bedrooms and preparing them for visitors. Mr. Sykes had made a show of serving dinner in grand style.

Andrew flushed and looked across the dining table at Eudora, who calmly buttered a roll, evidently unconcerned with his language.

“My apologies, Miss Hastings,” he muttered.

“Think nothing of it.” Eudora gave him an airy smile. “I have two brothers. I assure you I am not the least bit delicate when it comes to language.”

She took a healthy bite of her roll.

Relieved, Andrew turned back to Trent. “Well, sir?”

“It's a complicated story,” Trent said. “Suffice it to say that Pell is a fan of my Clive Stone novels and from time to time he has assisted me in my research.”

“What questions will you put to Mr. Pell?”

“I am hoping that he will be able to identify the man who attacked your sister and me last night.”

“I should accompany you,” Andrew declared. “You will no doubt be entering a dangerous neighborhood. Don't you think that it would be a good idea to take a companion with you? I purchased a gun last week.”

Calista put her fork down so quickly it clanged on the dish. “You did
what
? You never told me that you bought a gun.”

“Didn't want to worry you any more than you already are,” Andrew mumbled.

Calista started to argue but Trent silenced her with a look. Then he turned to Andrew.

“I would appreciate your company,” Trent said. “Mr. Pell will be in his office tonight. Although his men will be patrolling the nearby streets to secure the safety of his clientele, it is only common sense to take a few precautions.”

“Excellent,” Andrew said. “I will bring my gun. I have not had much chance to practice with it, but I expect that most villains would run from the sight of a revolver.”

“You will not be allowed to take it into Mr. Pell's office,” Trent said. “But it might not be a bad idea to have it with us on the journey.”

Calista found herself torn. Her instinct was to forbid Andrew to
take such a risk. At the same time, she knew she no longer possessed that sort of authority over him. He was a man now. He made his own decisions. And he appeared positively thrilled at the prospect of the adventure into the criminal underworld.
Just as I would be if I could accompany Trent
.

Trent would be with him, she reminded herself. Trent would protect him. But she was also worried about Trent. On the other hand, logic dictated that the two men would be safer together.

She caught Eudora's eye and in that moment she knew that both of them were concerned. It occurred to her that Eudora would also feel at least somewhat better about the plan if Trent had a companion at his side.

Trent ate some of his potatoes and fixed his attention on Andrew. “I am curious about what your research on Nestor Kettering has produced.”

“Not much more than what we already knew, I'm afraid,” Andrew said. “After Kettering left London he went heiress-hunting in the countryside. Managed to get himself invited to a number of shooting parties, country house weekends, that sort of thing. In the course of one of those forays he met a young lady, Anna Wilkins, who by all accounts is quite lovely and quite rich. Her father was dying and eager to see her wed and settled before he left this world.”

“The wedding occurred a year ago?” Trent asked.

“Eleven months ago, to be precise. The couple moved to London where, evidently, Kettering immediately set about enjoying his wife's money.” Andrew stabbed a chunk of roast beef with his fork. “As I said, most of that I already knew. But I did learn a couple of interesting facts when I chatted up one of the maids. Turns out the father's will left Anna in control of her inheritance.”

“For which she can thank the new property laws,” Eudora said.

“Yes, indeed, but there is another intriguing aspect of the father's
will,” Andrew continued. “The maid I spoke with is involved in a romantic relationship with the coachman. He overheard a conversation between Kettering and another gentleman. Kettering was complaining about his circumstances. It seems that Anna's father might have had a few concerns about his daughter's new husband.”

“Why is that?” Calista asked.

“According to the maid, the father's will stipulates that if Anna dies, the money goes to distant relatives in Canada, regardless of the cause of death. The same holds true if she is committed to an asylum for any reason.”

“The two most popular methods for removing people who stand in the way of a fortune,” Eudora observed.

Trent was intrigued. “You're right, the father must have had some serious concerns about his daughter's safety. He tried to protect her by making certain Kettering would not profit if he harmed his wife or locked her up in a private asylum.”

“If we are right about Nestor,” Calista said, “that will is probably the only thing keeping Anna alive.”

“I wonder if she knows that she is living with a madman,” Eudora wondered.

“Probably not,” Andrew said. “The staff certainly seems unaware of Kettering's propensity for murdering governesses. I doubt they would remain in his employ if they knew the truth. According to the maid, Anna Kettering is a very lonely woman. Her husband is rarely at home. She takes solace in séances. Attends a sitting at least once a week, sometimes more often.”

Calista put down her butter knife. “I wonder who she is trying to contact on the Other Side?”

“Does it matter?” Eudora said. “Séances are nonsense. The mediums who claim to be able to summon the spirits of the departed are all frauds.”

T
RENT
AND
A
very excited Andrew left in a hansom an hour later. Eudora joined Calista at the front door to see the men off. When the cab disappeared into the fog, Mr. Sykes closed the door.

“Why don't you wait in the library?” he suggested gently. “I'll have Mrs. Sykes bring in some tea.”

“Thank you,” Calista said. “It's going to be a long night.”

“The important thing,” Sykes said, “is that none of you will be alone tonight.”

“Quite right, Mr. Sykes,” Eudora said.

Calista led the way into the library. A cheerful fire burned on the hearth. Mrs. Sykes carried a tea tray into the room and poured two cups.

“Don't worry about the gentlemen,” she said. “I'm sure they will be fine. Mr. Stone appears to be very competent.”

Calista smiled. “You mean Mr. Hastings, don't you, Mrs. Sykes?”

“Oh, right,” Mrs. Sykes said. “Very easy to confuse the two, isn't it? Mr. Hastings appears to have a great deal in common with his creation.”

She departed, closing the door.

Calista looked at Eudora. “I feel perfectly dreadful about having dragged you and your brother into this mess. But I must admit I am very grateful to both of you.”

Eudora smiled. “On the contrary, I think it is I who should be grateful.”

“For putting your brother in harm's way? I very nearly got him murdered, Eudora.”

“I'm aware of that.” Eudora's expression grew serious. “And I will admit that aspect of the situation is unnerving. But it is so good to see Trent exhibiting some degree of interest and enthusiasm for something other than his writing.”

“What about you?” Calista asked. “I have the impression that you feel a certain degree of enthusiasm for Edward Tazewell.”

Eudora turned pink. “Is it that obvious?”

“You went so far as to stand up to your brother when he expressed his disapproval of my agency. You made it clear that you intended to continue attending my salons. I'm assuming that Mr. Tazewell was one of the reasons you were so adamant about remaining a client of my business.”

“Trent meant well. He was only trying to protect me.”

“I know.”

“Over the years there have been other men who have displayed a certain interest in me. At least three were simply after money. It is no secret that Trent has used the income from his writing to rebuild the family finances. He has been very successful with his investments in properties and he has been careful to share the income with Harry and me.”

“I see.”

Eudora wrinkled her nose. “I've had another sort of admirer, as well. You would be surprised by the number of people—male and
female—who have befriended me in hopes of persuading me to convince Trent to read their manuscripts and recommend them to his publisher.”

“Oh, my.” Calista laughed and sipped some tea. “I can understand why you are wary of suitors.”

“I'm afraid I've had some unpleasant experiences,” Eudora said. “But Mr. Tazewell is different. He does not need my money—he has a nice income of his own.”

“I would never have introduced him to you if I thought he might be a fortune hunter.”

Eudora smiled. “In addition, he has no interest in writing a book. He prefers to invent things. Did you know that he holds at least four patents for various types of machines designed to do complex mathematical calculations?”

“No, I wasn't aware of that.”

“He also is convinced that oil will be the fuel of the future. We are running low on coal, you see.”

“I'm afraid I haven't given the subject much thought. What is it, exactly, about Mr. Tazewell that intrigues you?”

Eudora considered the question for a moment. “I have asked myself that question many times since meeting him. The truth is, I cannot say for certain. He is not what most people would consider a charming conversationalist. When he does get interested in a topic, it is difficult to stop him from exploring it in excruciating detail.”

“The engineer in him, I expect.”

“He is not at ease in frivolous social situations. That is why your salons appeal to him. They are always of an educational or instructional nature. In that sense, he reminds me a little of Trent and Harry. For better or worse, they are all serious men, perhaps to a fault.”

“They are certainly not shallow.”

“Indeed not.” Enthusiasm warmed Eudora's voice. “When it comes
to serious matters, Mr. Tazewell's interests are quite wide ranging. He is keen on investigating the latest advances in engineering and science. And he is very modern in his views on the subject of women's rights. He is a widower with two young daughters, you know.”

“I know,” Calista said, amused.

Eudora flushed. “Yes, of course. As it happens, he is very concerned that his little girls be given the same education that would be given to boys. I applaud that notion, most likely because I had a rather unusual education, myself—at least it was unusual for a girl.”

“Is that so?”

“Our parents held very modern views on such matters. After Papa died my mother continued to teach us. My education came to a halt when she married that terrible man, Bristow. Everything changed after he came to live with us. And then Mama . . . died.”

Eudora broke off and got to her feet. She moved to stand in front of the fireplace and stood watching the flames in silence.

Calista rose and crossed the room to stand beside her.

“Trent told me that he was away from home, traveling in America, when your mother died,” she said. “He also told me that you and Harry and the servants were convinced that Bristow murdered her.”

“Trent told you that?” Eudora looked up, startled. “That is very . . . interesting. Trent almost never talks about what happened to Mama. I have never known him to confide in anyone outside the family.”

“I think he has concluded that there are certain similarities between the situation in which I find myself and the circumstances of your mother's death.”

Eudora gripped the mantel with one hand. “One thing certainly seems to be true—in both cases there is no evidence to take to the police, at least none that would provide cause for an arrest.”

“I'm so sorry, Eudora.”

“That bastard Bristow used to beat Mama, you know.”

Calista could not think of anything to say. She put her hand on Eudora's shoulder.

“Harry tried to interfere but Bristow simply turned on him and beat him, as well. After that Mama tried to conceal the bruises from us. Trent never knew about the beatings because Mama never told him in her letters. I think she understood that he might do something violent—something that might get him arrested or even killed—if he knew what was happening at home.”

Calista considered what she knew of Trent's personality. “Your mother had every reason to worry.”

Eudora did not take her attention off the fire. “It's so very easy for a man to hurt his wife or even kill her and get away with it. One can only wonder how many times it happens. But we hardly ever read about it in the press.”

A deep sense of knowing unfolded inside Calista. “Is that the real reason why you have never married?” she asked quietly. “You fear being trapped in a marriage like your mother's?”

“Her marriage to Bristow lasted less than six months but it was quite frightening. My mother insisted that I lock myself in my bedroom every night when he was in the house. Mercifully, he spent most of his time in London, going through Mama's money.”

“Dreadful, dreadful man.”

“Marriage is a terrible risk for a woman, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

Eudora managed a rueful smile. “Yet, even knowing the risks, sometimes the thought of having a family of one's own—a good man and children to love—can be quite . . . compelling.”

“I think that, deep down, most decent people wish to love and be loved in return,” Calista said.

“So we sometimes take the risk.”

“Eudora, it is not my place to say this, but I'm quite certain that
your brothers would take steps to protect you if you were to find yourself in a terrible marriage.”

“Don't you think I know that?” Eudora turned away from the fireplace and picked up her cup and saucer. She tried to take a sip of tea but her fingers were trembling, so she hastily set the cup back on the saucer. “Trent risked his life to save me on one occasion. And as for Harry, he would do the same if he believed I was in danger.”

“But you fear marriage all the same?”

“It is not marriage I fear, Calista. As you say, I have two brothers to protect me. But I cannot abandon Trent. I told you, he lost his true love because of me. I will not be free of that burden until he finds another love.”

“I don't understand how you can possibly blame yourself for what happened,” Calista said.

“The scars,” Eudora said. “Bristow threatened to throw acid in my face, you see.”

“Dear heaven.”

“There was a terrible scene in Harry's laboratory. In the end, Trent was the one who was struck with the acid. Afterward Althea could not bring herself to look upon his face.”

“What of Bristow?” Calista asked.

“He fled that day. He went back to London. After Trent had begun to heal he followed Bristow. Harry and I were terrified that Trent would kill Bristow and then hang for murder. But in the end, Bristow died of a fever.”

“I am very glad he is no longer in your life.”

“No one shed any tears for him, I can tell you that much.”

“You do realize that Trent does not want you to be burdened with guilt because of what happened, don't you?”

“I understand,” Eudora said. “But that does not change how I feel.”

There was nothing more to be said on that subject, Calista thought.
Guilt was a terrible taskmaster. She looked at the clock. It was going to be a very long night.

After a moment she turned to look at the file drawers that stood against one wall.

“The other day you mentioned that it might be helpful to have some sort of system that would make it easier to match people with similar interests,” she said.

Eudora gave a small start, as if yanking herself out of her gloom-filled thoughts. She looked at the files. “Yes, a way to cross-reference interests and, perhaps, certain characteristics of your clients' personalities. I think you would find such a system quite useful. I have a similar system set up to keep track of the plants I grow in my greenhouse. I use it for any number of purposes.”

“It appears we are fated to spend a very long evening together, worrying. I suggest we put the time to good use. I would be very grateful if you, in your position as my new assistant, would give me some practical instructions on how to go about setting up a proper filing system such as you have described. In the process we might be able to discover something in the client files that connects to Nestor Kettering.”

Eudora assumed a professional demeanor. “I would be happy to take a look at your present system and see what modifications might be made.”