Chapter 11
James found Snypes in the parlor, his hand squeezing Jane’s jaw as he pushed her against the wall. “What the hell is going on here?” James’s voice carried boldly through the air, causing Snypes to release Jane as if she’d scorched him.
“Nothing, besides the fact that this woman seems to think she has the right to question my actions.”
“I confronted him about his reason for rifling through the library books this morning,” Jane said, “and I told him I’d mentioned the fact to you, which seemed to enrage him for some peculiar reason.”
The sarcasm would have made James laugh if he wasn’t so angry at what he’d just seen. He glared at Snypes and then pointed toward a chair. “Sit down.”
The man did as he was told so promptly, James might as well have pushed him. “Now, we will get to the whole library incident in a moment, but first, it has just come to my attention that you and Tatiana might have been involved.” Jane gasped enough to convey her surprise. “What do you have to say about that, Snypes?”
Snypes glowered to such a degree James imagined fume rising from the top of his head. “We left notes for each other to find. It was something of a game we shared.”
“So you do not deny that you and Tatiana were engaged in a relationship that went beyond the bounds of employer and employee?” James leaned over his servant. “Did it go beyond the bounds of friendship as well?”
Snypes tightened his jaw. “Promises were made.”
“What sort of promises?” James pressed.
When Snypes refused to answer, James raised his voice and repeated, “What sort of promises did you and my sister make to each other?”
“She said she wanted to know if I liked her, all right?” Snypes barked the words while his face turned red. “She asked me if I thought she was pretty.” His voice eased a little as he continued. “It was just one note at first, slipped under my bedchamber door. I passed it back, assuring her that I thought her the loveliest woman in the world. Which was true. I did.”
“And then what happened?” James forced the question past his lips while his brain battled over whether or not to continue this torture. Some things were perhaps best left alone. But then he reminded himself that perhaps the man who’d killed Tatiana was sitting before him right now, and this gave him resolve.
“It continued like this for a while. Very innocently, though I must confess my feelings for her began to evolve.” Snypes dropped his gaze to the carpet. “We started placing the notes in different locations around the house, turning our game into a treasure hunt of sorts. She seemed to enjoy that. And then…gradually, the messages became more…suggestive.”
“Camden.” Jane’s voice held a note of warning, but James chose to ignore it.
“How so?” he asked.
“She said she wished propriety did not prevent me from holding her hand, then from embracing, then from touching my lips to hers, then…she asked if I ever imagined running my hand up under her skirts, if I thought of her when I lay in bed at night.” He released a tortured breath. “I thought she wanted me. I thought she would appreciate my advances, but when I tried to kiss her one time, she drew away, insisting our romance could only exist as it did. On paper.”
“So then, when I found you looking through all the books in the library,” Jane prompted.
“I was trying to find the last note she’d written because I dreaded the thought of you ever coming across it, Camden, and discovering what your sister was truly like.”
This comment earned Snypes a hard punch in the face. James shook his fist and flexed his fingers, feeling his knuckles burn. Straightening, he glared down at the rapidly bruising jaw of the man he’d thought he could trust implicitly. “Did you kill her?”
“No! Of course not.” He shook his head, eyes wide and fearful. “I would never do such a thing!”
“You will forgive me if my trust in you has shriveled,” James snarled. “You had opportunity and motive.”
“No. I was with you when we heard the scream. Remember?”
“Yes. Except the scream we heard was not Tatiana’s. It belonged to a maid who saw her, which means she was already dead and that you could have gone to meet her, argued with her, and killed her before arriving in my study.”
Snypes gaped at James. “I swear to you, I did no such thing. Tatiana…God help me I could never harm her.” Tears broke past his eyes. “Do you not see that I was in love with her?”
“But she did not love you, did she? And when you realized this, the anger you felt, the momentary lapse in judgment, compelled you to rid the world of her, to destroy the woman who toyed with your heart.”
“No,” Snypes insisted.
“And when Betsy realized what you had done, you had no choice but to kill her as well. Is that not so?” James shouted the question while Snypes shook his head.
“No. I cared for her. I would never try to hurt her. Please!” He darted a look at Jane as if seeking help from her. “I have always been loyal, but she tempted me, my lord, she…she…” Words failed him as he dissolved into a sobbing mess.
Disgusted, James straightened himself and took a step back. “Ask Hendricks to join us,” he said to Jane. “I shall have Snypes confined to his chamber until I am certain he is telling the truth.”
Jane did as he bade, leaving James alone with Snypes for a few minutes. “If I find out you are lying and that you wielded the blade that night, there will be nowhere for you to hide on this earth. I shall hunt you down and gut you like the swine you are. Is that understood?”
Snypes nodded and sniveled while frantically searching for the handkerchief which he produced seconds later and put to good use just as Hendricks arrived. James issued instructions, and the butler escorted the suspect out of the room.
“James.” Jane’s voice broke through the ensuing silence.
He hung his head, his eyes on the tips of his shoes. “I cannot bear to think of her like that,” he muttered. “It breaks my heart and angers me at the same time.”
She moved toward him, and he suddenly felt her hand upon his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He turned slightly toward her, eager to feel the comfort of her warmth. “It seems my sister was a strumpet.”
“Perhaps she was simply lost and looking to find her way in all the wrong places.”
Sighing, he leaned into her embrace. “I suppose that is one way of looking at it.” Raising his head, he met her gaze, his heart unfurling in response to the kind compassion he found there. “Thank you for being my tether, Jane. I cannot imagine what it would have been like to go through this without you by my side.”
He kissed her then, long and slow and with all the love he felt for her. “Let me visit you tonight.” He kissed the corner of her mouth and she sighed. “I need you, Jane. I need this.”
“I need it too,” she said, the confession stirring his blood and heightening his anticipation.
Knowing they could not remain like this with the door wide open and a very real chance of discovery, he released her with regret and increased the distance between them. “I will count each second and wish they were passing by faster.”
She smiled at that, effectively knocking the air from his lungs. “As will I, my lord.” Upon which she offered a cheeky grin and departed, hips swaying in the most provocative way he’d ever seen.
God help him survive until tonight.
Jane knew James had obligations. His guests demanded it. And yet, she wished the two of them could simply close themselves away and tell the world to wait. Expelling a weary breath, she wondered what that meant. Was she losing her head over him? Had she already done so? She wasn’t the least bit sure. What she did know was that seeing him with Lady Elise made her want to scream or hit something.
Frustration was far too mild a description for how her body and mind were reacting. Her nerves were constantly on edge, her heart ready to explode every time those young, pretty eyes gazed up at James as if he was the
most delectable cake Lady Elise had ever seen. It was sickening to watch, even though Jane knew the situation was of her own making.
James had given her a chance, after all, to announce their engagement, but she had refused. Which meant she had no one but herself to blame for her present state of agony. Applying herself to a bit of ironing, simply because it allowed her to escape the company of others for a while, she pondered the riotous storm tearing through her.
She was clearly feeling possessive. The very idea of James so much as kissing Lady Elise’s hand was too much to bear. But did that suggest a deeper attachment to him on her part, or was it merely an instinctive need to lay claim to the man she’d bedded – a primitive urge to tell other women he now belonged to her?
She shook her head and proceeded to fold the shirt she’d been working on. She’d never felt so strongly about Geoffrey. Or about any of the other boyfriends she’d had over the years. So why did she feel this way about James? Unless… Blinking, she stared down at the fine linen garment still in her hands. Was it possible she’d never actually loved Geoffrey? That she’d only thought herself in love with him because she’d been too distracted by their daily routine? Could it be that what she was feeling now, this rollercoaster of sharp emotion which made her wonder if she was crazy, was what love really felt like?
She’d written about this over the years and had read other authors’ descriptions as well of racing hearts and clammy hands, weak knees and shortness of breath, all accompanied by hot embers pricking the skin and butterflies soaring around in the belly. And then, of course, there was that emptiness within when a hero or heroine had to suffer the absence of the person they loved, the way their heart ached and their soul cried out, followed by the completeness they experienced when they were together.
Oh my God!
Jane sucked in a breath and placed the neatly folded shirt on a nearby pile of clothing. She had been feeling all of the above for the past couple of days. And it had been vastly different from anything she’d ever felt for anyone else before. Her feelings for James weren’t built on stepping stones of excitement, like moving in together, celebrating birthdays, picking a house, and planning a wedding. Which was how, she realized, it had been with Geoffrey.
With James it was different. She admired him for his kindness and his generosity, for the fact that he cared about people and paid attention to them. She enjoyed simply chatting with him and missed him terribly when he wasn’t with her. Like now. And it occurred to her that all she looked forward to with James was sharing each day with him. She didn’t need to fill her calendar with things they had to do together or mark her timeline with goals for them to achieve. Just being together was enough.
But what about going home then, a pesky little voice asked.
She wasn’t sure she knew the answer to that, for although James had vowed to come with her instead, she knew she would never forgive herself for letting him sacrifice everything for her. She, at least, knew what she would be giving up, but he didn’t, and quite frankly, she couldn’t quite see him driving a car or using a cell phone or wearing a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and sneakers. It would be too weird and out of place.
So then what?
Was her love for him – for that was obviously what this was, so why deny it – so strong she’d be able to give up on going home and stay here with him forever? It seemed like an impossible question and an even more impossible decision.
A bell rang and she set the iron aside, hurrying to see where it came from. The parlor, apparently, according to the little plaque placed directly beneath the bell. Making her way through the now familiar hallways and up the servant staircase, she soon arrived in the room to find Mr. Thompson waiting. He was completely alone.
“You called?” She considered the young man who stood by one of the windows. His clothes were not as fine as James’s, but that did not distract from his appearance, which was on the high end of the attractiveness scale.
He smiled, the corners of his mouth dimpling in an utterly charming way. It was easy to see why Tatiana would have been drawn to him. Especially if she’d spent two years in his company. She made an inward groan. What on earth had her family been thinking?
“Would you be able to bring me some tea please?”
His question sounded so out of place, as if he half expected her to say no or insist he fetch it himself.
“Of course,” she said. “Just give me a moment and I shall be right back.”
He thanked her kindly, and she quickly departed, preparing a tray which also contained a small plate of biscuits, just in case he felt like a snack.
When she returned, he beamed at her. “You are a gem.” He tilted his head. “Forgive me, but it occurs to me I do not know your name.”
“It’s Jane, and you are Mr. Thompson,” she said, informing him she was well aware of his identity. She reached for the teapot and offered to pour. “You were Lady Tatiana’s tutor, I believe?”
She sensed his silence and glanced his way to find his eyes had dimmed and his smile faded. “I was,” he confirmed, “but that is already some time ago now. Five years, in fact, though I fail to believe it.”
“Her loss cannot be easy for you,” Jane said as she put the teapot aside. “Milk and sugar?”
He gave her a quizzical look, then blinked and crossed to the nearest chair. “Neither,” he said as he took a seat. “She was a lovely woman and…” He grew awfully quiet before saying, “What happened to her is unbearably tragic.”
Jane hesitated. She ought to leave it at that and depart so he could have his tea in peace. For a maid to remain in a room once her chores were complete was definitely frowned upon. But she knew how much he’d loved Tatiana and reckoned his coming here, to a place filled with memories of her and their time together, couldn’t be easy for him.
So rather than take her leave, she said, “I’m a really good listener, if you’d like to talk about it, that is.”
His eyes met hers, and he frowned, confirming she’d crossed a line. But just when she thought he was ready to dismiss her, he sighed and nodded. “I think I would like that. If you can spare a few minutes.”
As long as Mrs. Fontaine or Hendricks didn’t walk in and find her socializing with a guest, she’d be fine. But just in case, she refused Mr. Thompson’s suggestion to take a seat and remained standing, ready to pretend she’d been on the verge of leaving if anyone else arrived.
“She loved sunflowers,” Mr. Thompson began. Reaching for his teacup, he cradled it between his hands while sipping at the steaming brew. “And Byron.” He chuckled lightly. “She was mad for his poetry. And poetry in general, to be fair, but he was her favorite.”
“What did you teach her?”
“Mathematics, which she absolutely detested, and a bit of science and literature.” He set his cup aside and leaned back in his chair, his eyes taking on a cloudy expression, as if he was staring into nothing. “I fell in love with her, you know. It was not difficult to do so. She was so pleasant to be around, her disposition so positive, and her outlook on life so innocent, it captured my awareness and drew me in a way nothing else ever had. She…” He blinked and focused his eyes on Jane. They were filled with immeasurable sadness. “She was the light in my life, for a while, and the most remarkable part of it all was knowing she felt the same.”
“And later, after you left?”
He winced. “We kept in touch, against my better judgment.”
“You knew there would be no future for you,” Jane said. “She was destined to marry within her own class.”
Nodding, he passed the palm of his hand across his face before letting it drop to the armrest. “That is the world we live in, is it not?”
“I suppose it is.” She would not press him on this or reveal what she knew regarding the plans they’d had for their future. Instead she said, “It cannot have been easy, sending romantic letters back and forth with none the wiser."
“We had help.” He picked up his tea
cup again and took another sip. “Mr. Goodard became a good friend of mine while I was here. He happily obliged, posting her letters and passing the ones from me on to her. It was not as difficult as you might think.”
“Indeed.” Jane thought of the footman who kept to himself. He was quiet and private, so she could see why Mr. Thompson and Tatiana would have trusted him.
“When word of Tatiana’s death reached me, it crushed my soul. I have not felt the same since and wonder if I ever shall.” His eyes took on a suspicious shimmer. “She was the love of my life, the most precious part of it, and with her now gone I…I do not know what I will do.”
Jane chose not to comment, because the opinion she’d begun forming of Tatiana was of a woman who toyed with men’s emotions, leading them on for her own selfish gain. Which might very well be what had gotten her killed. A sudden thought – a possibility – gave her pause.
She looked at Mr. Thompson. “I am so sorry for your loss. The heartache you feel will never truly go away,” she said, speaking of the pain she still felt when she thought of her parents, “but it will get easier over time as you begin to think of it less often.”
He nodded. “Thank you for taking the time to hear me out.”
“If you ever wish to talk some more, just ring the bell-pull.” She bobbed a curtsey and quit the room, intent on finding James, because what if Tatiana had also tempted Mr. Goodard? What if she’d gotten him to help her by flirting with him until she drove him mad with desire?
He didn’t seem like the sort to commit cold-blooded murder, but neither did a lot of the people she’d seen on the news over the years, their neighbors declaring they couldn’t believe they were capable of such a crime. And yet they were. Perhaps everyone was, given the right set of circumstances.
The point was, they had to consider every possible angle.
The Girl Who Stepped Into The Past Page 15
