“I have the other bottle,” she gasped defiantly.
He brought his enraged face down on a level with hers, his huge shoulders hunched, holding her pinioned with both hands. “You know as well as I do that it can prove nothing! I ain’t been going my own way this long to be caught like that. Now tell me what’s behind all this!” He gave her another thud against the wall to emphasize his lack of patience.
“I would have won on Merry Day if it hadn’t been for you!”
“So that’s it!” He relaxed, giving an evil, mirthless grin. “It’s compensation you want. Well, threats ain’t the line to use with me. I told you the first night I was here that I could be generous when I had good reason to be. You weren’t ready then, but it seems you are now. What did you do? Take a gamble and place all you expected to get when your racing lodgers settled their bills on that unfortunate filly? I’m prepared to give you what you might have won, but at my odds and no lagging to the winning post.”
He gave a thrust of his thighs against her, his foul breath in her face, and nausea combined with near panic almost overcame her, so great was her revulsion, and she longed to scream and kick and wrench herself free, but all would be lost if she failed now.
“It’s not compensation for my loss on Merry Day that I want,” she retaliated, “but for you to receive retribution for fouling the Derby — and not for the first time, according to all I’ve heard — and also for what you ordered Silas to do to that poor colt at Redstead.”
His whole body stiffened, every muscle tensing as if a tornado of rage beyond measure was gathering in him and was about to burst free. “What fresh lie is this?”
She spoke through her teeth at him, her mind full of the picture of that race horse in its agony. “I have it in my power to rid the Turf of you and your crooked dealings once and for all. Silas managed to persuade the stewards that he’d had nothing to do with it, but after he left the racecourse a silk kerchief was found in the straw — one that he dropped by accident after the deed was done. One that I laundered for you during your stay here. One that I shall be able to identify.”
His rage vibrated down through his fingertips and his grip al-most crushed her shoulders. “A kerchief — like a brandy bottle — can belong to anybody!”
“Not in this case. In order not to muddle the many kerchiefs I took for washing from my guests, together with their shirts, cravats, and underwear, I made my own tiny laundry mark on them. A mark known only to me. A mark used by nobody else.”
His rage broke. He clamped one huge hand over her face, pinching her nostrils together with a vise-like hold between thumb and first finger, his vast, clammy palm completely covering her mouth. With brain-splitting terror she realized that he was going to smother her. Why hadn’t Brett come out of the box room? Where was Dominic?
She let her knees go deliberately, sagging like a rag doll. It loosened his hold and she gulped in air to emit a scream, but his hand was hard over her mouth and nose again and she was completely overpowered. In vain she fought and struggled, but he thwarted her attempts to kick him in the groin, and she was helpless, knowing as clearly as if he had told her that when life was snuffed out of her he intended to hurl her down the stairs, her silence made absolute, her death seemingly an accident.
“Let her go!” ordered Judith’s voice. “Or I’ll shoot you!”
In his murderous wrath he had forgotten all about the frail-looking girl whose limping form had never attracted him. He released the pressure on Tansy’s nose, but continued to keep his hand over her mouth. Judith faced him with a double-barrelled sporting gun used for shooting game, and Tansy recognized it instantly as their father’s last gift to Roger, which had been found in his saddlebags together with the dress materials brought for them, but it was not loaded and Judith had placed herself equally at Hedley’s mercy if he did but know it.
But Judith had loaded it, having seen her brother and father load such a gun often enough. It abhorred her to handle it and her hands were shaking violently. Her balance was also unsteady, for she had left her stick by the bedroom chair from which she had risen in fear when she had heard the smash of the brandy bottle. She had not been able to hear all that had passed between her sister and Hedley, but when the voices of Dominic and Brett failed to come forth her instinct told her that something had gone seriously wrong with the plan. A glimpse through a crack in the door had shown her that Tansy was being manhandled, and without hesitation she had opened the bedroom cupboard and taken down from an upper shelf Roger’s gun and box of ammunition. Thus armed she had moved silently and slowly toward the man, using the wall for support until she came to the balustrade.
“Put that gun down,” Hedley snarled, his mind racing as to how he could cope with this new and totally unexpected development.
“Take your hand away from Tansy’s mouth and let her go!” She moved along the balustrade, her hip sliding against it, and she reached the round-topped newel post.
Knowing he could do nothing while she pointed the gun at him and ever being in the habit of putting first things first, he lunged out with his free arm to jerk the gun by its barrel from her grasp. Judith’s finger, bent about the trigger, hooked as she wheeled backward down the rear stairs, thrust completely off balance, and the gun exploded its shot full in Hedleys’ face. The noise of it was the last sound she heard in life, Tansy’s scream forming piercing overtones, and then her head struck a stair and the next tumble snapped her slender neck.
Dominic, having relinquished his search for the vanished figure in the woods, heard the shot as he charged across the lawn, bent on discovering the cause of her flight from Rushmere.
Wrenching open the door he rushed in to find Tansy herself leaning over the slumped body of Judith at the curve in the stairs.
“Merciful God! What happened?” he demanded hoarsely.
Tansy raised her stunned face to him as he reached her and dropped to a knee at her side. “She’s dead.”
He felt for the girl’s pulse, although the lolling position of her head told him it was all in vain. Seeing no wound on her he looked toward the head of the flight and saw Hedley lying there.
Swiftly he mounted the stairs and at the sight of the remains of Hedley’s face he pulled out his own handkerchief and covered it. Turning to the box room he found the door difficult to open and had to push hard. Brett lay unconscious on a rumpled rug as if it might have been pulled from under him, but it was more likely that a blow at the back of the head had been added by an unseen assailant for good measure. Dominic ran to the window, which was unfastened, and threw it wide. Directly outside was the roof of the rooms adjoining the kitchen below. Anyone could have climbed up there and caught the watching and waiting Brett unawares.
Brett was stirring with a groan. Dominic went quickly to help him up into a sitting position on the bed. “Listen to me, Brett! Hedley is shot and Judith Marlow has a broken neck. I know none of the details, but I have to see that Edward Taylor is fetched right away. He’s the local magistrate. For God’s sake pull yourself together, man!”
“Ouch, my head!” Brett, still dazed, ran a hand gingerly over it. “I think I slipped on the rug or something. The last I remember is cracking my head against the door soon after Miss Marlow rapped on it.” He frowned, trying to concentrate. “Hedley’s dead, did you say?”
Dominic had already left him. Tansy, dry-eyed and white-lipped, was still leaning over Judith, holding one limp hand to her cheek. Gently Dominic lifted the dead girl up in his arms and carried her through to the long drawing room where he laid her on the couch.
Again Tansy sank down on her knees on the floor and this time she spread her arms over Judith, resting her head on the girl’s breast, shocked to a grief beyond tears.
Out in the hall Dominic unlocked the door and ran down the drive. At the gates he saw to his relief a dogcart approaching, its lamps like pale eyes. When it drew near he rushed to meet it, and the man with the reins was a farmer he knew well. A request to
go at once to the Manor to fetch the squire on urgent and tragic business to Rushmere sent the farmer whipping up his horse, with no time lost in useless questioning. Dominic, about to go back into the house, remembered Silas, who was most surely responsible for the attack on Brett, and he went through to the stableyard and up into the loft, expecting to find the man had flown. Instead Silas was in bed, apparently asleep and snoring, and when Dominic hurled the covers from him and yanked him to his feet he professed a bewildered innocence at having been disturbed. Dominic, anxious to return to Tansy, left him there, not bothering with what he was sure were unnecessary explanations, and turned the key on him to make sure he stayed there for questioning by Edward and himself later.
In the long drawing room Tansy was still in the same position as if life had drained from her as well, but when he stooped to put an arm about her shoulder she reached for his hand and held it hard, taking strength from his warm and sustaining grip.
Nina walked swiftly and angrily back along the path through Ashby Woods. Her ecstatic coming together with Adam again had been ruined by the quarrel that had taken place afterward. All because she had told him that at the end of the month she would be going to Paris for the choosing of her wedding gown. When he had heard that she would be absent for six weeks at least, he had said it was far too long and she must find an excuse to cut the time short. Then, when she had refused to consider the suggestion, he had threatened to travel to Paris himself in order that they should have a clandestine meeting somewhere. This risky proposition she had also turned down, and it was then that the squabbling had started, not to be mended on this occasion with renewed love-making, but ending with wounding words, and he had not come back along the path with her to see her into the lane for the first time since she had told him that she loved him.
Nearing Rushmere, she was gripped by alarm. The house was full of lights! She had not been overlong with Adam, no more than a couple of hours at the most, but it was long after midnight and by rights all should be in darkness. There was even a lamp alight in the stable loft and the door stood open. Was someone ill? Entering the grounds by the kitchen garden gate she made for the back door and slid through warily. Voices somewhere in the direction of the small drawing room! Quickly she removed the cloak she had about her shoulders and replaced it on its peg. Then she checked her appearance in a looking glass, redressed some disarranged tresses with a pocket comb, and after composing her face into a mask of innocence went through into the hall.
The double doors of the small drawing room stood open. Within she could see Dr. Westlake writing at a side table, the inkpot drawn up into easy reach of his scratching pen, and nearby Silas stood protesting that if he were guilty he would have done a bunk, wouldn’t he? Guilty of what, she wondered. Brett, seated in a chair, a hand to his head as if it ached, was listening to him, and also present was Dominic, whose back was toward her. That there was another man in the room out of her line of vision was revealed by his shadow pacing to and fro across the floor.
Silas launched into a fresh tirade, throwing his arms about. “No, I didn’t nip out and light the lamp in the stable loft when Miss Judith had a visitor; I did it when I went to bed after she told me she wanted to lock up. I wasn’t lurkin’ in the garden or climbin’ on the kitchen roof to do harm to Mr. Brett here. I allus kept an eye on my master, I admit, and made sure none meant him any harm, but on this occasion I went straight to sleep in the stable loft. As Heaven is my witness, I swear it!”
He is lying, Nina’s mind registered as she entered the room. A whole pack of lies, whatever it may all mean. Then she forgot Silas in her shock and dismay at seeing that the other man in the company was Edward. He swung about and glared at her, fury and relief at her return blended with sharp suspicion.
“Where the devil have you been?”
She did not answer him, her gaze travelling to the other men’s faces. Silas, thankful for a diversion, was chewing his lip nervously, and the other three looked terribly grave. Something dreadful must have happened, but what?
“Where is Tansy?” she demanded on a sharply rising note, a sick stab of fear in the pit of her stomach that was more deadly than Edward learning of her nocturnal wanderings, for she had long since concocted a tale for such an emergency. “Where is she?”
“She is in bed,” Dominic replied. “Dr. Westlake has given her a sleeping draught.”
“Why? For what reason? What has been taking place here?”
Edward and Dominic exchanged glances. Then Edward came and took Nina by the hand, putting his other arm about her waist to take her with him out of earshot into the dining room on the other side of the hall. After a few minutes there burst forth the sound of her sobbing, hysterical, grief-stricken, and shot through with remorse. Dominic, taking the two death certificates from the doctor, who had finished writing them out, wondered again what had possessed Nina to go wandering about at night. He had been able to tell by the look on Edward’s face that he intended to find out the reason why and would allow no more of it. Dominic groaned inwardly. If only her appearance had not misled him. Who would have thought that it would be she, in Tansy’s distinctive, dark green cloak?
13
In the early sunlight of an April morning Tansy sat on a low wall shading her eyes as she watched Young Oberon streak past her along the gallops, Roger in the saddle. How that colt could run! How that brother of hers could ride! Nearly a year had gone by since he had been tried out on other horses and now he shone like a rising star and was to ride Young Oberon in the forthcoming Derby, which was to be run on Wednesday, the twenty-third of May, in five weeks’ time.
Her hands lowered to her lap, her eyes becoming shadowy with sorrow as she remembered the tragic event that had followed in the wake of last year’s Derby. From the moment of Judith’s untimely death she had hated Rushmere, and never once since had she used that ill-fated rear staircase, always going up and down the main flight. Nina, too, avoided those stairs. It always seemed to Tansy that something of Judith’s sweet presence still lingered there, and with anguish she recalled how it had been Judith herself who had been struck by fear at the first sight of Rushmere and had said that it looked like a place that might harbour a ghost. But whatever it was of Judith that still touched the heart with a gentle warmth whenever one passed the foot of those stairs, her body lay at rest with her foster parents faraway in a Hampshire churchyard. Dominic had accompanied Tansy on that long, sad journey, Nina being prostrate in her bedroom at the Manor, her tumultuous and genuine grief making it impossible for either Edward or Sarah to leave her to attend the distant funeral, and thus her true relationship with Oliver Marlow remained a secret yet.
There was no denying that Nina had changed considerably since the tragedy, becoming highly nervous and emotional. For a time it had seemed she might suffer a breakdown, unable to bear Tansy out of her sight, needing her constant support and comfort, bowed down by some weight of guilt that was out of all proportion to her having borrowed a dark cloak instead of using her own light one to be less conspicuous on her nocturnal walks. “But you don’t understand,” she had cried over and over again. “I always borrowed your cloak so that if I was ever seen people would think I was you and no gossip would get back to Edward about my wandering about. I didn’t care if you were talked about. Don’t you see how wicked I’ve been? Now I’ve had my punishment. Oh, oh, oh!” She became lost in wailing again.
It was this obsession that she alone was responsible for Judith’s death that made the doctor fear for her sanity and advise both Tansy and Edward that she should be taken far from Rushmere on a long vacation that was a complete rest. When Nina refused to go without Tansy it was natural that Edward should implore Tansy to accompany them, which she did, taking Sarah’s place as chaperone, travelling with her white-faced, hollow-eyed sister and her betrothed, a retinue of servants in tow, to the South of France and a luxurious villa. A large sailing craft was hired and there were days spent in picturesque harbours or in idyll
ic drifting along the water within sight of the lush, bright-foliaged coast. Thus it was that Tansy was not at Goodwood with Dominic to see Roger ride Young Oberon to victory, the whole, vast crowd on its feet uttering thunderous cheers at the speed with which the colt passed the winning post, four lengths ahead of the rest of the field. Other triumphs followed. Tansy missed them all, but Dominic wrote her in great detail, and now and again a letter came from Roger, his writing less descriptive, but full of praise for Young Oberon and closing always with the hope expressed that Nina was feeling better.
When it became apparent that Nina was recovering Edward decided that the time had come to move on to Paris, and there, ensconced in the Hotel du Louvre, Nina came to life again, the nights a round of champagne, dancing, and every kind of social pleasure combined with ardent kisses from a happier Edward, who had brooded long over the discovery of her late night walks, disturbed that she had found it necessary — according to the little she would say on the matter — to be completely alone with the moon and the stars in order to contemplate how much his love had changed her existence and to ponder whether she had truly set his foot and hers on the right course by agreeing to marry him. That she should have been harbouring second thoughts about marrying him had given plausibility to such restless behaviour, but as soon as she was fully herself again he seized the first opportunity to question her closely.
“Those midnight walks of yours, my dear,” he began, watching her keenly under his lashes. They were having tea and pastries one afternoon after taking a ride in the Bois de Boulogne, Tansy having left them on their own for a little while. “Won’t you tell me more about them?”
Nina turned guileless eyes on him, dabbing a tiny flick of sugared cream from her luscious lips with a lace-trimmed afternoon napkin. “Of course, Edward dear. What can I tell you? You must remember that my illness has dulled my memory, and it all seems so long ago.”
The Marlows Page 28
