Emerald

by Emerald (retail) (epub)

  I was still sleeping in the small attic room where Greyson had put me. I suppose it was silly to think I was any safer there than anywhere else, especially now I knew Greyson had wanted me dead. But all the same, I liked the way the roof bent downward, almost as if it were a protection, and the small proportions of the room made for fewer shadows.

  I lay for a long time, awake in the candlelight, straining my ears for the faintest sound of Edmund coming up the stairs. Then, so suddenly that it startled me, there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Come in!’ I said. But when the door opened, it was not Edmund but my uncle who stood there.

  ‘Charlotte, my dear, you are in bed early this evening. And Edmund is asleep in a chair down in the drawing room. There must be something to this talk of marriage that makes you young folks sleepy.’ He smiled and sat beside me. ‘I’m sorry, child, if I seemed a bit short-tempered with you earlier. It’s just that I can’t bear even to think of Greyson, do you understand?’

  ‘I was thoughtless to mention him. I’m the one who should be sorry.’

  I wondered how I could broach the subject of the drugs. Perhaps it would be wrong of me even to try. Uncle Tom wasn’t very strong, and he’d had enough shocks lately. Smiling, I took his hand in mine.

  ‘Poor Uncle, I’ve been nothing but trouble to you ever since you set eyes on me!’

  Smiling, he shook his head vigorously. ‘Nonsense! You must not talk like that. You’ve brought me fresh hope in my old age.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear I’ve been of some use, though I don’t think I can agree with you.’ I kissed his cheek. ‘Is there anything I can get you before you go to bed?’

  He smiled at me with an impish expression. ‘I wouldn’t mind some sweet cake and a glass of wine, if you are going to get something for yourself.’

  ‘Yes, I am going to get something for myself. I’ve just decided I’m hungry!’

  There was no sign of Wenna anywhere in the downstairs rooms. The house was strangely silent, for, although it was dark, it was really quite early, and no one had been given any supper.

  I took a candlestick with me and pushed open the kitchen door. Everything was as I’d left it earlier – neat, orderly, and empty of any activity.

  I’d been stupid not to think of it before, but I suppose I’d still been in a semi-drugged state. By now there should be pies baked for the weekend and bread, smelling fresh and crusty, in the larder, but the shelves were bare. What on earth could be happening? Surely all the maids and cooks couldn’t have been dismissed.

  It didn’t take me long to get my uncle his drink of wine, but he would have to do without his cake until another day.

  I looked in at Edmund and saw he was still sleeping peacefully, his hair flopping over his eyes just like a little boy’s. I tucked the rug more firmly around his shoulders and went back up the stairs.

  ‘Uncle Tom.’ I tapped on his door softly. ‘I’ve brought your wine.’

  He was tucked up in bed like a round-faced cherub, waiting with anticipation for his wine and cake. I gave him the wine and wrapped my robe firmly around myself, trying to pluck up the courage to tell him what I’d learned.

  ‘Uncle Tom, everyone has gone! We seem to be alone in the house. Not even Wenna is here.’

  He looked at me through startled eyes over the rim of his glass. ‘Perhaps they are all in bed, Charlotte. An early night, just like us.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, Uncle, the larder is empty. There’s been no cooking done for the weekend, and you know none of the cooks will bake on Sunday.’

  He scratched his silver hair, looking as perplexed as I felt.

  ‘What could have happened to them?’ His voice trembled, and I felt an almost overwhelming pity for him. He was like a bewildered child, punished for something he hadn’t done.

  ‘Perhaps they’ve walked out for some reason. They may think there’s a danger of being shot at. I’m sorry to mention it, Uncle, but it is a possibility.’

  ‘What can be done? Can’t you go and wake young Edmund?’ He swung his thin legs over the edge of the bed. ‘Yes, why didn’t I think of that before? Let’s go and get him.’

  ‘All right, Uncle, but put something warm on. I don’t want you catching a chill on top of all this.’

  Together we went down the stairs, and uneasily I held the candle high, looking from side to side. There was an unnatural silence in the old house. All the usual creaks and groans seemed to have stopped, as if by magic.

  Slowly I led my uncle into the drawing room, and such was the state of my nerves that I was surprised to see Edmund still sitting in the chair where I’d left him, though the rug had slipped to the floor.

  ‘You wake him up, Charlotte. This is no time for sleeping.’ Uncle Tom stood before the dying fire. ‘I think I’ll just stir this up a hit and add some coal and logs. It’s going to be a cold night, and the dratted thing will only have to be relit in the morning if I allow it to go out now.’

  I smiled indulgently as Uncle fussed ineffectively around the grate.

  ‘Here, let me.’ I took the tongs from him and built the fire up, brushing the hearth so that it looked neat again. ‘Wenna would have a fit if she saw the place untidy,’ I said before I realised that Wenna was no longer there.

  ‘Oh, well, I dare say we’ll manage until we can get someone else up here to work.’

  Uncle Tom went over to Edmund and shook him by the shoulder.

  ‘Come on, young fellow; this is no time to sleep.’

  There was no answer. Edmund’s head lolled awkwardly to one side. With a feeling of dread in my throat, I moved closer and with an effort stopped myself from screaming out. The dose of drugs in Edmund’s cup must have been a lethal one, because he was dead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Somehow I helped Uncle Tom upstairs and settled him in a chair. He leaned back, looking pale and tired.

  ‘In the morning we must go into town and get help,’ I said, rubbing my hands together, trying to bring a little warmth into them.

  Uncle Tom started to cough violently. ‘My medicine please, Charlotte.’

  He pointed to the rosewood chest, and, alarmed, I hurriedly lifted the top and searched about among the bottles and jars for his medicine.

  Suddenly I noticed a small cloth bag tied at the top with green ribbon. Scrawled across it in red ink was one word, ‘Poison.’ Deftly I opened it and dabbed some of the powder onto my finger. It tasted bitter, similar to the dregs of Edmund’s tea.

  I moved a few more bottles and saw a rolled-up piece of paper, and when I unfolded it the word ‘Bradwr’ stared up at me.

  ‘For your information, Charlotte, it means ‘traitor’. Your father’s name for me! He wasn’t as easy to dupe as you’ve been.’

  Uncle Tom was standing behind me, a gun pointing at my back. I could scarcely believe my senses.

  ‘Did you kill Edmund?’ I whispered.

  ‘Unfortunately. He became too ambitious! He wanted to marry you before I had found the jewels. Legally, they would have been his then. You do see I had no choice, don’t you?’

  ‘Do you mean he was working for you?’

  Uncle Tom must have heard the disbelief in my voice, because he chuckled. ‘Of course he was! I’m sorry I had to dispense with his services.’

  Slowly I turned round. ‘But why did he turn against me?’ I asked bitterly.

  ‘My dear child,’ my uncle said, ‘he liked the thought of all that wealth.’

  ‘Oh, Uncle, you don’t even know if there is any wealth here.’

  I was playing for time, frantically wondering how I could escape.

  ‘Oh, yes, you have some of it in your room; and now you can lead me to the rest of the valuables.’

  ‘I don’t know where those things came from. They just appeared in my room.’

  ‘Don’t try to fox me with your talk about ghosts, Charlotte. I’ll admit it was a good story to cover up what you were doing. You even had me fooled for a time. I suppose th
e map is in your room?’

  ‘Map? What map?’ I put my hand to my head in despair. ‘Uncle, I have no idea what you are talking about.’

  ‘The map to the underground passages, of course!’ he said, as if explaining a lesson to a difficult child. ‘Edmund told me how you found your way out of there.’

  I turned away and pressed my hands to my face. I could hardly think straight.

  ‘Was it you who tried to kill me?’ I said at last, though it was difficult to bring the words out.

  ‘Edmund had a hand in some of the attempts. He bungled them purposely. I didn’t really want you dead until I had the map.’

  ‘But, Uncle,’ I said, gripping my hands together, ‘you nearly succeeded when you shot at me.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I admit to making a blunder there, but then I had to deal with Greyson, too, which made things a little difficult.’

  ‘You couldn’t have shot Greyson! He was your son!’

  I almost screamed the words, and my uncle laughed unpleasantly. ‘That’s where you are wrong. He was only my stepson, although he never knew it himself.’

  He came around until he was facing me. ‘Nothing was mine, you see, in spite of all I’d done to bring the boy up to the best of my ability. I was to gain nothing from it all.’ He smiled. ‘Greyson had Winston, and you, my dear Charlotte, had the Plas; only we must change all that. You must make a will leaving everything to me.’

  ‘Won’t people think that’s rather odd?’ I said, trying to speak reasonably.

  He shrugged. ‘Why not? Who else could you leave it to? Everyone else is dead.’

  ‘Well, Uncle, you are going to be a lonely old man,’ I said quickly. ‘There won’t be anyone to enjoy it all with.’

  ‘A rich man is never lonely, my dear Charlotte. Haven’t you yet learned that much about life?’ He moved nearer to me. ‘Come now, enough talking. Lead the way to your room, and we’ll get the map.’

  Obediently I walked along the corridor, even though I knew the gesture was utterly useless – there was no map that I knew of. When I reached my room, I tried again.

  ‘Uncle, please, I don’t know where the map is.’

  He jabbed me viciously with the gun, and I knew it was useless to argue. I went through the motions of looking inside my cupboard, with Uncle Tom leaning over my shoulder all the while, in case he might miss something.

  ‘Ah, there it is. Very sensible of you, Charlotte.’

  He drew out a folded paper that crackled as he opened it. I watched in amazement. I had no idea where it had come from.

  ‘Good. This is very explicit. Let’s go,’ he said, and pushed me to the door.

  ‘Go where, Uncle?’ I asked in dismay.

  He stood looking at me impatiently for a moment. ‘Why keep up the pretense, Charlotte? We were both after the money and precious stones, but you have lost. Take your defeat in good spirit, that’s what I say! Now over to the chapel – quickly!’

  It was cold under the bright stars, and the grass brushed fingers of dampness across my ankles. It seemed unreal to be walking through the gardens with a gun pointing at my back, and Uncle Tom of all people holding the trigger. And yet there was a feeling of relief inside me that Greyson hadn’t, after all, tried to kill me, though a lot of good that knowledge would do me now.

  The curved wooden doors stood open, and the interior of the chapel looked eerie and strange in the dimness. Uncle Tom lifted the lantern high, looking around suspiciously. Then he indicated that I should enter first, and reluctantly I obeyed.

  It was difficult getting the trap door open, but at last Uncle Tom was forced to put down the lantern and the gun and assist me.

  I took the slim chance his temporary disadvantage gave me and thrust back the door suddenly, racing away down the stone steps and almost pitching head-long in my terror. At the foot of the stairs I tripped over something and to, my horror saw that it was the body of William, the coachman. Greyson had been telling me the truth all along; that was becoming increasingly evident.

  ‘You won’t get far down there without the map, so come back, and I’ll make a deal with you!’

  I didn’t stop to consider which passage to take; I just rushed into any entrance in my eagerness to be away from Uncle Tom. There would be no deal; just a quick and sudden death. He wanted everything for himself.

  Breathless, I stopped, my heart pounding so loudly it seemed as though my uncle must hear it. It was totally dark now, and I felt suffocated by the thick blackness. But there was no point in standing still, waiting to be caught. I had no alternative but to go on into the passage.

  Several times I slipped and ended up on my knees, but I forced myself to keep calm; panic would get me nowhere at all.

  It seemed I had been walking for hours, but I knew it was in reality only a few minutes since I had entered the passage. It must go somewhere, I reasoned to myself, and if I continued to walk I would find a way out eventually. That is, if Uncle Tom didn’t find me first.

  I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but then when I blinked and looked again I could see plainly that a bobbing light was coming toward me.

  I crouched against the wall, wondering in a moment of sheer panic what to do. If I started running in the opposite direction, there was no doubt that my uncle would catch me, or at least get within firing distance. No! the best idea would be to keep perfectly still until I could rush him and hope the surprise attack would catch him off guard.

  The light came nearer, and I almost stopped breathing, bracing myself for action.

  ‘Charlotte, where are you?’

  I stiffened in sudden shock; the voice calling my name was a woman’s! As she drew nearer, I could see the dark dress and the long black hair swinging back from thin shoulders. I pressed myself against the cold wall, unable to move as she came nearer still, holding the swinging lantern high over her hollow face.

  She halted only a few feet away from me, and I struggled to stop the scream that rose to my throat. She reached out a bony hand, and my heart stopped beating.

  ‘Charlotte,’ she said, and gripped my arm.

  I wished I could fall senseless so that the terror would be over, but although I closed my eyes and opened them slowly, the horrible apparition was still there.

  ‘Miss Charlotte, are you ill?’ I was stunned into stillness. This was no ghostly figure – come to think of it, ghosts needed no lanterns to see the way!

  ‘Wenna?’ I asked fearfully, and clasped my fingers over hers.

  ‘Yes, miss, it’s me. Come along this way. You’ll be all right.’

  She turned and led the way back down the passage, and with a sigh of relief, I followed her.

  ‘Uncle Tom is a murderer,’ I said, and my voice echoed strangely down the flat stone wall.

  She turned and put her finger to her lips. ‘Don’t let him hear you. He doesn’t know I’m still at the Plas. He sent me away, you see.’

  She didn’t give any further explanation, and I kept silent, though there were a hundred questions I wanted to ask. Right now she was my key out of that place, and for the moment that was my main concern.

  Presently the passage broadened out into what seemed to be a dead end. Wenna went to the wall and flicked her hand over something; the wall separated, and an entrance opened up before my eyes.

  ‘You just look in there, my dear child. All the money and jewels you could ever want.’

  I followed her through the door and shivered at the sudden dank coldness that wrapped itself round me like a blanket.

  There were two stone vaults dominating the cave-like room. Wenna touched an engraving on one of the lids, and it slid across sideways, with a sort of groaning noise. Inside was jewellery which sparkled and gleamed in the light from the lantern. There were several wooden chests with the lids forced open to reveal exquisite plate and ornaments wrought in silver and gold.

  ‘But this doesn’t belong to the Plas, Wenna. Surely it belongs to the families hereabouts?’

&nbs
p; She shook her head. ‘Your mother was killed for it, just as you almost were. I had no proof, you see, so what could I do but help you the only way I knew how?’

  There was a lump in my throat as I squeezed Wenna’s hand.

  ‘Here are some documents,’ she said after a moment. ‘I don’t read English, but they were your mother’s, so I kept them for you.’

  Quickly I looked through them; one was a marriage certificate.

  ‘Wenna, look at this! I’m not illegitimate after all! My mother was married, and no doubt Uncle Tom knew it all the time.’

  Wenna’s eyes grew vague. ‘He tricked me,’ she said. ‘I knew there was a wedding, but he said I was mad.’ Her eyes, too bright in her pale face, met mine. ‘It was after the death of your mother, you see; the shock was too great for me.’ She held her hand to her heart as if she could still feel the pain. ‘I even agreed to give you a drug your uncle left me. He said it would help you sleep. He promised me that was all it was.’

  ‘It’s all right, Wenna,’ I said soothingly. ‘You aren’t to blame for anything.’

  ‘Very touching indeed!’

  We both jumped violently as Uncle Tom appeared in the doorway, brandishing his gun. I was taken completely by surprise. Wenna leaped toward him and pushed him outside, and the door swung gently until it had closed entirely.

  I rushed toward it and beat helplessly against it with my fists.

  ‘Wenna, let me out. I can help you!’

  There was the sound of a shot, and then for a moment an agonising silence. A shower of dust fell down from the roof, making me cough. From outside I heard a movement, and then Uncle Tom’s voice, muffled by the thickness of the rock.

  ‘Wenna’s dead. You might as well open up. You are a prisoner in there, and all the gold and jewels in the world won’t do you any good.’

  I sat still, staring at the lantern, wondering how long the flame would burn.

  ‘All right. I’ll leave you for a while, and see how you feel when you’ve been in there alone for a few hours.’