Chapter Seven
“I wish I had more to tell you. I didn’t go by the pantry. I can only tell you what I know about my sister.” Angel’s older sister, Marge, sat across a small table from Laura in the castle kitchen, hands clasped in her lap. Laura didn’t doubt her sincerity. Heartache, loss, and frustration were written on the woman’s face.
“Tell me about Angel. What was she like?”
Marge’s shoulders eased. Her lips turned up into a serene smile. “Her name wasn’t a mistake. My sister was an angel with a soft way about her, yet able to hold her ground when she had to. Not everyone is good with people, but she had a special way with them. She soothed and cajoled the angriest temper and laughed and celebrated with others. Oh, she could be stubborn, but she was fair. I don’t know anyone who could say a bad word about her.”
“You make her sound more saintly than angelic,” Laura said.
Marge looked down at the table and sighed before she returned her attention to Laura. “She grew to be a wonderful, thoughtful woman. Angel worked hard, was honest, and truthful. She didn’t gossip. But saint... no. Although Evan would disagree.”
“It was a love match?” Laura asked.
“Our families are close and as children, Angel and Evan were always together. They grew up liking each other and often turned to one another for advice. They had a lot in common. Some things they never realized, but more than anything, they cared about each other.
“Their friendship changed about a year ago. She didn’t hear when I spoke to her.” Marge laughed. She had a beautiful loving smile when she spoke about her sister. “Angel didn’t hear when anyone spoke to her. Off in a daydream about him. Evan acted much the same. They only had eyes for each other.
“Of course we all knew what was happening. Neither one had any idea they were perfectly matched. They had such plans...” Marge stared at her hands in her lap.
Laura didn’t want to break the silence, but a question hung heavy in her mind. Why were Evan and Angel dead?
“He didn’t kill her. Evan would never hurt her.” Marge’s words were sincere. No one wanted to believe someone close to them could do something so horrible. Perhaps Angel hid things from her sister. As much as Laura loved Lisbeth and as much as they shared with each other, there were things she kept from her.
“He’d do anything to protect her. I’m sure he gave his life for her.” Laura was startled by Marge’s words.
Much like you would for Jamie. The admission dredged from a place of logic, reason, and love. Marge’s words were synonymous with her thoughts about her and Jamie.
Laura’s fingers toyed with the beads, warm on her neck. But were they warm for Angel or for her?
“There you are. Ready to finish examining the pantry I suspect. I think this is all a plot by Mrs. Turner to have us clean the pantry for her.” Jamie said from the bottom of the gatehouse stairs. She stifled the bubble of laughter that threatened to erupt and marched past him.
“Yes. I’m ready. No, I don’t think this is a ploy by Mrs. Turner. Are you coming? You still need to find Herbert’s whiskey.” She glanced over her shoulder as he came up beside her. She walked a little faster.
“We’ve spent two days searching through tins and crates. I think you told me about Herbert’s whiskey only to get me to help you.”
“I did not.” She couldn’t help but widen her smile. “You were there when Herbert said his favorite bottle is missing. If you spent more time helping me—”
“Now, lass, when not searching with you, I’ve been questioning Evan and Angel’s families, though I don’t know why I bother. They tell the same tale. There is no new information.” She ignored the irritation in his voice. They both were frustrated with the little progress they made.
They found their way around the crowded corridor.
“Every day more crates and barrels fill the area. It’s difficult to walk,” Laura said.
“The passageway is better than using the storage rooms down by the dungeon,” Jamie said. He hefted an apple in a basket by the door and replaced it while he waited for her to unlock the door.
Jamie followed her inside.
The last two days of moving boxes and sweeping the floor had been hard, but pleasant. The distance between them caused after months of absence melted away.
“I’m as puzzled as you are,” she said.
“We’ve searched every shelf,” he said.
Laura led the way to the back. One-by-one, Jamie pulled the barrels away from the wall. She sprinkled a few drops of water to keep the dust down before she began to sweep.
“According to Mrs. Turner,” Laura said, “the family used the pantry for storage while they moved into the castle. They stored everything from her ladyship’s personal things to supplies for the barn in here. Some of these crates and barrels haven’t been opened in a year.
“I have no idea if we’ll find anything, but I... I don’t know where else to search. I keep hoping Holger will return soon.” She sprinkled a bit of water. “Then there’s Evan’s family.”
“Half his family is in mourning and the other half disowning. Evan’s cousin is sure Angel corrupted Evan.” He pulled a barrel away from the wall.
“Yes, I heard a similar accusation from someone in Angel’s family, Evan corrupted Angel.” She ran a broom behind the next barrel. Nothing.
“His family shared information, but gave me nothing we didn’t already know.”
“Marge was very clear. Evan loved Angel very much, since childhood. Their friendship grew into love.” Laura kept sweeping, anything to avoid looking at him. She could easily be speaking about their relationship. Don’t be silly. He gave her no indication she was anything more to him than little Laura.
“I have to speak to Herbert. You coming along?”
She stopped sweeping mid-stroke and raised her chin. She wished she had better light. His face was in the shadows. Her mind floundered. Stop hoping for something that doesn’t exist. It will only lead to disappointment. Where was that ruthless woman who faced things head on?
“Something wrong?” he asked.
She shoveled what little debris she swept into a barrel and put the broom to the side. “No, nothing’s wrong. You go on. I’ll finish up here and meet you in the great hall.”
She walked with him to the outside door and watched him cross the courtyard. A graceful man. He commanded attention without saying a word. She admired that he knew who he was and his worth. When he wanted, he was a sensitive man, an oddity for sure. He had a knack for giving her his full attention and making her believe no one else mattered.
Halfway through the courtyard, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. Her breath caught as his stare met hers. She should turn away, but couldn’t. He gave her a knowing smile and a slow nod, then disappeared into the crowd.
Laura wasn’t sure what had just happened, but her heart pounded. She thought she was past her girlhood fascination. A deep sigh escaped her lips. She resisted touching her beads. She didn’t need to confirm her blatant thoughts. She went back to the pantry.
“Do you have a moment? If you’re busy, I can speak to you another time.” Jamie waited at Herbert’s solar door.
“Come.” Herbert rummaged through papers in his hand.
“I have questions about Evan and Angel before you leave for Parliament.”
Herbert motioned to an empty seat across from him. “I’ll be away at Scone until the end of the week and wanted to speak to you before I left. You start while I finish packing.”
“Aside from being dead, what were the conditions of Evan and Angel’s bodies?”
“Their bodies were moved.” Herbert put down the papers and closed his satchel. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Oliver said he didn’t let anyone into the pantry until I arrived. When I entered, Evan was on the floor, his body and hands covered in blood. A blood smear was painted across the floor as if he had been dragged. I thought perhaps Evan pulled himself over to Angel, but I didn’t find any hand prints.
There should have been hand prints.”
“Mary mentioned three things I found odd. First, as you mentioned, she found a lot of blood in the pantry and on Evan. She never mentioned anything about his hands, but she did say she found very little blood on Angel. Her wound hadn’t bled much. Second, Angel’s lips were blue. Third, she found skin under Angel’s fingernails and no marks on Angel’s or Evan’s body.”
“I don’t remember seeing marks on Evan’s body. The sight overwhelmed everyone. Some of what I witnessed came to mind days later.” Jamie rose and paced the room.
“I believe someone suffocated Angel before she was stabbed. That would explain her blue lips and why she didn’t bleed.” His sixth sense said he was right.
A cloud of dust and clatter of wagon wheels by the gatehouse caught Jamie’s attention. The tinker and his wagon rolled in. Holger. Now he and Laura could stop rummaging through the pantry and get some answers. He peered toward the kitchen and searched for Laura, but didn’t see her. Jamie turned to Herbert, anxious to finish their conversation. He had to speak to Holger.
“Evan didn’t murder Angel in a sudden rage. Evan is as much a victim as Angel. Both were murdered by someone else.”
“Why would anyone want to kill either of them?” Herbert sat back in his chair.
“We found this in the pantry. It must have rolled amongst some baskets.” Jamie handed him the vial.
Herbert examined the vial then took a whiff. He gaped at Jamie.
“The vial is my wife’s. Some time ago, I gave her six bottles filled with rose water when I returned from Edinburgh. She complained a bottle was lost when we moved her belongings into Caerlaverock. My wife is not—”
Jamie touched Herbert’s arm. “Someone has this planned to put blame at your doorstep.”
“This is deadly nightshade.” Herbert hefted the vial in his hand.
“I believe Evan and Angel were innocent victims. They surprised someone who planned to poison the food. They paid with their lives. This proves Donald’s warning was correct.” Surely now Herbert would use him to find the traitor.
“Walk with me to the stable.” Herbert picked up his satchel. “As a member of Parliament, some of my decisions are not popular and make me a target, which is something I deal with every day, but this takes a serious turn.”
“You mean traitor.” Jamie spit the words in disgust.
“I want to discuss securing Caerlaverock while I’m gone.” Jamie followed Herbert to the stable.
Laura watched Jamie’s back as he crossed the courtyard to see Herbert. Jamie’s gaze sent a shiver of desire through her. Why would he do that? She didn’t want to speculate. Back to the pantry.
She picked an apple from the basket and sent several cascading onto the floor, rolling every which way. Annoyed by her own carelessness, she scurried after one that rolled into the pantry.
Sonia appeared at the pantry door and placed the basket with the other escaped fruit back on the barrel.
“Many thanks.” Relieved, Laura put the escaped apple in the basket and bit into one she had taken.
“Come, m’lady. You shouldn’t be here, not alone.” Sonia, her brows pinched, reached out for Laura. Sonia’s feet shuffled close to the edge of the door sill, careful not to cross the threshold.
“Sonia, I’ll be fine. Why are you so upset?”
“You mustn’t be in the pantry. It’s dangerous. I’ll not leave until you come out of the room.” Sonia glanced at the kitchen, then focused on the courtyard doorway and wrung her hands.
Herbert was right. Villagers were a superstitious lot. Sonia must be apprehensive being in the area because of the deaths. To ease Sonia’s mind, Laura stepped out of the room.
“Much better, m’lady. The pantry is not safe for you.” Laura walked with Sonia to the courtyard.
“You go on before Mrs. Turner catches you.” Laura kept watch as Sonia navigated around the growing crowd on her way to the guest house. The aroma of meat pies wafted through the corridor and made her mouth water. Hefting the apple in her hand, she took a bite, sweet juices filling her mouth.
The sky was blue and clear, the air crisp with a hint at colder weather to come. It was September, and winter snows would come before too long. By the time they did, she hoped to be back at Glen Kirk.
Standing around admiring the view served no purpose in getting her home any faster. Laura returned to the pantry eating her apple. Sonia’s reaction to the pantry wasn’t unexpected. She shook her head. How superstitious people were. If she wanted to stop their foolish fears, she needed to find the answer to the murders and put Evan to rest.
She put her half-eaten apple on top of the salt barrel inside the pantry door. She’d finish it later.
An empty crate-width space created an entrance to the back portion of the pantry. Laura took the lantern off the barrel, picked up the broom, and side-stepped through the small opening. Searching this area satisfied her compulsive need to be thorough even though her efforts would probably yield nothing other than possibly finding Herbert’s lost bottle of whiskey.
Laura held the lantern high and let out a sigh of relief. She found a few crates stacked on extra pallets, not much else. With the lantern settled on the barrel in the middle of the small space, she swept the floor.
She swept around a crate tucked into the corner, tight against the wall. There was something jammed next to the wall. Curious, she teased the piece out and found a dirty cloth.
She set the cloth next to the lantern and pulled it open. Laura stared. The dim light bounced off a glittering jeweled brooch.
Boxes scraped the floor on the other side of the waist-high wall. “Mary? Jamie? Is that you?”
No one answered.
She wrapped the brooch in the cloth and turned to leave. How strange, she must have gotten turned around in the dim light. The space that led to the front of the room was filled with crates. At least she thought that was the way out. She turned in a circle, a mild panic building. Laura pushed against the crates searching for the way out. Nothing moved.
An odor wafted through the air. She stepped back against the boxes and sniffed again. Laura screwed up her nose. Spoiled eggs? She stepped back and her calf hit the wall of crates.
Yanked off balance from behind, Laura’s hair combs flew in every direction. She raised her arms to loosen the grasp of whoever pulled her hair. Her attacker tried to pry the jewel from her hand. Laura held tight. The aggressor pulled her head back further. Laura threw the gem and rag onto the floor and used both hands to pry the person’s hands from her hair.
Bent backward over the crate, her attacker forced a cloth over her mouth and nose. Laura’s stomach cramped from the nauseating order. She pulled at the hand holding the cloth. Her heart raced and her vision blurred. Stay calm. Fight the instinct to breathe.
Her attacker tugged. Thrown off balance, her foot shot out from under her and kicked the barrel. The lantern flew off its perch and crashed against the wooden boxes, splashing them with oil.
She couldn’t hold her breath any longer. Laura meant only to take a small breath. Instead, she gasped for air and took in gulps of sickening poison.
Wisps of smoke spiraled up from the small space. The snap of flames grew larger. Whoever held her shoved her to the floor.
Stunned and disoriented, she grabbed on to the edge of the box and pulled herself up in time to glimpse a man’s silhouette in the doorway before the door banged shut and the bolt slammed into place.
Trapped and coughing, she pushed the box. It didn’t move. Smoke thickened, making her eyes tear. She kept blinking trying to focus, but everything moved as if she peered through murky water. Best keep her eyes closed. She needed fresh air. Her strength waning, Laura managed to roll onto the top of the waist high box that separated the two areas. The smoke was worse here. There was no relief. Laura grabbed her skirt and covered her mouth and nose, but the smoke was already deep in her chest. Even small breaths sent her into spasms that were like knives stabbing
her chest.
Disoriented and dizzy, she turned onto her side and threw her legs over the edge. Her chest ached from the incessant cough. Don’t stop. Keep going. Laura gathered her strength and slid down the other side onto the floor.
She lay on the cool floor. A draft of fresh air bathed her face. Follow the draft. Her eyes closed, she used her hand like a blind person to find her way. She crawled along not knowing the course she navigated and hoped it led to the door.
The draft was stronger and cooler. Her eyes popped open and she caught a glimpse of light along the floor. The door. She staggered to her feet and pulled on the handle. It didn’t budge. Flames erupted, working up the crates on the other side of the boxes.
Her back against the door, she tried to think. Stop the fire or at least slow it down until she found a way out. No water, no blankets. There had to be something. Through her coughing, she pulled tops off crates, and searched for anything that would slow the fire.
She touched a barrel top and found her half eaten apple. A spark of hope burst inside her. She wrenched off the barrel’s lid and scooped salt into her skirt. Laura stumbled toward the fire with renewed determination and threw handfuls of salt at the flames. The fire subsided. Still she threw handful after handful of salt until her skirt was empty.
Weak and lethargic from exertion, smoke, and poison, she thought a man pulled a bottle out from behind a crate against the wall—whiskey. Jamie? Laura tried to get to him, but she couldn’t get her legs to work. She slid to the ground like a stuffed doll. Her hand touched a rag. The jeweled pin. She grabbed it before everything went black.
Jamie paced in front of the fireplace in the great hall waiting for Laura. He had gone to the pantry and found it locked tight.
“Come quick,” a woman called.
He stopped and turned to the door. No one was there. “Whose there?”
“Come quick. The pantry,” the woman shouted.
“Wait. What’s this about?” He hurried into the corridor. Had she rushed on? Smoke. Coming out from under the pantry door. He immediately lost interest in the woman.
The Highlander’s English Woman (The Stelton Legacy) Page 9
