“Patrick was the only person who ever gave you any notice, any true kindness,” I said, gazing at her with something dangerously close to pity. I couldn’t hurt someone I pitied. “Because he does notice those who have nothing, particularly in the company of those who have lots.”
And so she’d built her delusion, imagined they would be together, probably that he would marry her when he was master of Haggard Hall. She’d killed and frightened without compunction for him, and he had no earthly idea.
Or had he? Surely that was him I could sense, closer now? Had he found the passage, followed Miss Salton down here? Or was I just thinking about him too much, bringing him closer in my imagination?
My jangling nerves interfered with my usual senses. I was hoping too much for another presence, lots of other presences, so that I wouldn’t have to act alone against Miss Salton. I wished she was just a threatening spirit I could ignore, like those who’d given up trying to seep inside me. Surely, surely those were distant voices?
Praying I was right, I thought briefly about shouting. But I had no idea if I would be heard, and I didn’t want to provoke another attack before I was ready. So, hastily, I sought to distract her instead.
“So you pushed Rose out of the window? But why kill again exactly where she died? Why do something that could cast more doubt on Patrick himself?” Even as I asked, I knew the answer. “To isolate him from his family, so he would turn to you. Only he never did.”
“He did,” Miss Salton said intensely. “He did once. After Rose died, he talked to me. He did.”
Then Patrick’s voice spoke clearly out of the darkness. “I said one sentence to you in a moment of weakness.”
Although my heart lifted, galloping, his voice echoed eerily around the cellar walls so that I’d no idea of its direction. As Miss Salton spun around, raising her candle high, searching through the darkness for him, I rose quietly to my feet.
“Mr. Haggard,” she said, in quite different tones from those she’d been using to me. Now she was breathless, feminine, a perfect damsel in distress. “Patrick! I’m so glad you found me. We must get away now. They think you’re responsible for Barbara Darke’s disappearance—”
“Because you wrote the note,” I said, finally understanding, “and signed it with his initial. You knew the suspicions being flung around the house by the Cartwrights. You knew I’d tell someone where I was going and with whom. And you knew I’d go to my room for my cloak and bonnet.”
“You sound well, Mrs. Darke,” Patrick said conversationally. No one could have guessed from his voice the anxiety eating at him. Even I had difficulty because he had himself so tightly under control, like a rope stretched as taut as it could possibly go.
“So do you,” I returned. I still couldn’t tell his direction, but I thought I discerned a faint light far to my left.
Miss Salton’s voice hissed, much closer to me. She’d been edging towards me while she gazed all around. “He’s disappointed. You were merely a passing distraction, but now he wants you dead. You’re an inquisitive inconvenience, no more, no less. We are true allies, he and I.”
She swung towards me, lowering the candle, and I saw it was scissors she carried in her other hand. She froze in shock when she realized we were face-to-face, giving me an instant to respond to the scissors before she plunged them desperately at my chest. I slammed my forearm upward into hers, and the scissors flew up, dangling from one finger before they dropped. At the same time, I grabbed her other arm, and twisted it so high up her back that she screamed. I held my letter opener to her throat.
And then light flooded the scene.
Well, it felt like a flood. In fact, the pinprick I’d discerned grew into a shaft of daylight that touched us only barely while the wavering light of a lantern swept through the dark towards us. Patrick, running at full tilt, his lips thinned with determination, his whole face tight with anxiety.
“Don’t,” he said grimly.
“She’s going to kill me,” Miss Salton squeaked. “She’s done terrible things to me! Oh, Patrick.”
“I know,” Patrick said. He barely spared me a glance. His attention was all on Miss Salton and the letter knife I held to her neck. “Let her go, Barbara.”
I stared at him. If I let her go, God knew what she’d do in her ever-increasing madness. Just for an instant, I let his command, his care of her, hurt me. But before I could even entertain the incredible suspicion that Miss Salton had been telling the truth about their alliance, I recognized that his desperate concern flowed to me, not her. Warmth crept into my aching, confused bones.
But Miss Salton, as though given a new lease of life by his concern, took her chance with my distraction, slammed her elbow into my chest and launched herself at him. While I crossed my arms over my breast, gasping for breath, Patrick’s arms closed around Miss Salton, holding her not like a lover, but like a straightjacket she never even noticed. A blissful smile formed on her face, warming the seething chill of her previous anger.
Over her head, Patrick stared at me. “There’s blood all over your face,” he said shakily. “Soaking your dress.”
“She whacked me with a plank of wood,” I said. “But I’m better now.”
“We always knew about this place,” Miss Salton said into his shoulder, with just a hint of uncertainty. “We found it together.”
“I’ve been searching the library for days,” Patrick said intensely, “for the plans my uncle mentioned. I’ve been looking for them since the night we pursued your ghostly noises. I’ve only just found them. They do show closed passages between the walls of every addition made to the house over the centuries, including entrances. This cellar leads up to the summerhouse, which is where I came in. Everyone’s looking for you.”
“Kill her, and we’ll go,” Miss Salton urged.
“How can she be so insane,” Patrick said, “and none of us notice?”
Miss Salton’s smile began to fade. She went very still in his hold.
“She hid it well,” I said. “But she’s been getting worse. Everything she did, every success and failure, must have toppled her further over the edge.”
“God, Barbara, if I’d lost you—”
I wanted to touch him, hold him, but he held our prisoner between us, the murderer of his wife and his cousin and a stable lad, the would-be murderer of another, much more beloved cousin. Besides, Rose hovered close by, still, watchful, visible. And all those other spirits who’d quietened during my talk with Miss Salton were driving and pushing at me again, threatening to overwhelm me with sheer numbers. Nevertheless, although they slowed me, dulled my senses, I still caught the change in Miss Salton’s rising fury.
And Patrick had no idea how strong the frail little governess was.
“Patrick, watch her!” I warned, but before his name was over my lips, she’d thrown up her arms, breaking his hold, and backed away from him.
“Her? Her?” she uttered with terrible scorn. “She’s a whore just like the other, and yet still, still you… Good God, what I’ve done for you, Patrick… Can’t you see that you need me?”
Patrick started after her, his gaze flickering to me with clear concern while he advanced on the governess, one hand outstretched. “Miss Salton, let’s go back up to the house together,” he said calmly, while I tried to circle behind her.
But she moved away from us both, rapidly, because she knew the cellar as neither of us did.
“Betrayed,” she moaned. “Oh no, oh not that!” And then she simply vanished.
Chapter Sixteen
Patrick muttered, “What the…?”
“I had her,” I said in frustration, starting forward to where we last saw her. Several of the spirits seemed to have vanished with her, including Rose, but the others still hung around me like importunate beggars. “Why did you tell me to let her go?”
His arm came around
my waist, unknowingly scattering the spirits I’d been too distracted to bother with. He touched my face with a tenderness that seized my breath. “I didn’t want you to be the one who had to kill her, by accident or design. It’s the devil to live with. We need to get back to the house, fetch the doctor to you.”
As he spoke, he began to walk inexorably back the way he’d come, pausing only to swipe up the lantern on his way. Stupidly enchanted by his care, and caught by the fact he still believed he was responsible for Rose’s death, it took a moment for me to pull back.
“There’s an entrance to the house that way,” I exclaimed, pointing to where we’d last glimpsed Miss Salton. “That’s how she came down here, how she disappeared. Who’s with Arthur?”
“Lots of people,” Patrick said, forcing me on. “But since I ‘betrayed’ her by caring for you, I suspect he’s safe now.”
“I don’t think anyone’s safe now!” I protested. “We need to find her!”
“I know. And trust me, we’ll be quicker going the way we know than searching for more secret entrances.”
“How does she know about all the passages, when even you and Arthur didn’t until now?”
Patrick shrugged. “She first came here just before my uncle died. He could have mentioned it to her, even shown her the book with the plans—which Emily found in her room, by the way, along with her diary. She’s seriously disturbed.” He stopped suddenly. “Just one before we go back. I won’t hurt…” Before he even formed the “you”, his mouth found mine in the almost darkness, and all my pain and anxiety seemed to fly away with my stomach. I had never encountered such a mix of gentleness and hunger in a kiss. It was no wonder my arm crept up around his neck, and when our lips parted, I reached for his again before sense intervened.
“We have to stop her,” I whispered.
His lips brushed mine again. “I know.” He drew me on. Slightly dazed, either by my injury or his kiss—or both—I was surprised by how quickly we reached a rough stone staircase. His shout brought about a shaft of daylight and the anxious voices of servants.
“Have you got her, sir?”
“I’ve found Mrs. Darke. Miss Salton’s gone back into the passages. She could be anywhere in the house. Run back and join the search there, but be careful. She’s a lot stronger than she looks.”
The servants—a groom and a footman—ran ahead, while Patrick restored the trap door covering the entrance. It was cleverly disguised in the pattern of the wooden floor covering.
“I can’t believe we never found this as children,” he said, taking my arm once more.
“I expect when you played outside, you went as far away from the house as you were allowed,” I said shrewdly, still shielding my eyes from the painful daylight.
But I saw the smile flicker across his face and vanish. “Farther.”
Most improperly, he kept his arm around me as we walked through the formal garden to the house. I was physically glad of the support and weak enough to derive pleasure from it. My injury was an excuse.
Although I didn’t expect anyone but Emily to care, my return caused a wave of excitement in the Hall. The remaining guests seemed to have left, including Sir Neil and Lady Jordan, for which I was sorry. I was whisked away from Patrick and sat in the small drawing room surrounded by Emily, Susan, Mrs. Grant, Mr. Faversham, and an array of servants. Susan herself bathed my face with something approaching pity. I saw why when Emily brought me a hand mirror.
One side of my face was cut, swollen, and bruised.
“Oh dear,” I said. Over the unkind mirror, my gaze somehow met Patrick’s as he hovered by the door. He wasn’t a man who set much store by appearance, and yet it was mine which had inspired his lust at my mother’s séance.
From nowhere, another thought interrupted my personal reminiscence. “Who’s with Arthur?” I demanded.
“Bela,” Emily soothed. “And Jackson, the valet.”
I relaxed as Susan set aside her ointment and thanked her, just as Rose’s ghost skidded through the wall next to Patrick, barely noticing him, it seemed, in her search for me. Her fear hit me a bare instant before her spirit crashed into me, diving deep and controlling. I opened my mouth to object, but she took control of it as she spoke to my mind and to anyone else who listened.
“She’s in the attic, and she has Irene!”
And then, while everyone gawped at me, stunned, Rose swept out of me again, rising upward this time towards the ceiling. Halfway through, she paused and beckoned urgently.
I forced myself to my feet.
Emily said uneasily, “Barbara, what in God’s name was that?”
“Miss Salton,” I said, pushing past her. “She’s taken Irene to the attic.”
Susan sprang to her feet with a cry. Patrick, white-faced, had already opened the door. Curtly, he ordered Mr. Faversham to stay with the ladies. But I, immune to commands at the best of times, simply followed him as fast as I could.
“Get a mattress, blankets, anything to break a fall,” he yelled to the butler, who stood baffled at the foot of the stairs. “Get them under the old attic window, where my wife and Martin died. There are to be no more deaths here!”
He didn’t speak to me, didn’t touch me as we charged upstairs, yet confused, anguished fury mixed with his anxiety for Irene, and I understood why. He’d recognized Rose’s voice in mine. I think in those moments I understood too that he would have to hear it again, to free both himself and Rose from their torment, and that this would mean the end of whatever relationship he and I had begun. There was pain in that, unexpectedly sharp and intense, but I had no time to deal with that now. I suspected there would never be time to deal with it. It would just stay with me, like grief for Gideon.
When we burst into the attic, panting from the exertion of rushing up all those stairs, Miss Salton, her hair wild, had a baffled Irene by the elbow. The child looked as if she was just beginning to be frightened. Clearly, no one had yet told her that her governess was an insane murderess. I began to fear for whichever servant had been guarding Irene. Why in God’s name hadn’t she been with her mother? Because this wasn’t time she’d assigned to the child? If I had a daughter like Irene, if I had any child…
But I didn’t, and I never would now.
A quick glance around showed me a gaping hole in the wall where a panel had drawn back to reveal the secret passage which clearly came all the way up here. I began to understand how Miss Salton had come and gone from here so easily, before and after her crimes. She’d already freed one side of the plank of wood which had been roughly nailed across the window while Arthur awaited the making of an ornate wrought iron grill to take its place. The plank now hung down at one side of the open window, in front of which stood Miss Salton and Irene, while Rose, barely visible at all in the daylight, danced around them, flapping and blowing.
Irene gave us a half smile of what looked like relief. Miss Salton glared, the downward curve of her lips grim and ugly in her misery.
“Don’t take Irene,” I said, as lightly as I could manage. “She’s such a good girl, and you’ve always cared for her. She’s a credit to you.”
“Yes, she is,” Miss Salton snapped. “But don’t pretend you believe so. I won’t leave her here for you to contaminate.”
“Oh, I’ll never be Irene’s governess,” I said. “I’ll be leaving Haggard Hall very soon now. Don’t you have recommendations for the continuation of your work?”
The frown flickering on her harsh brow told me I’d struck her weak point. She did care for the child and for her education. I’d distracted her for long enough to let Patrick edge closer, but her sudden quick glance showed she was on to that. The tragedy of her lost fantasy pulled down her mouth once more.
It was now or never.
Almost at the same moment, all three of us lunged: Miss Salton backwards at the open window, dragging Irene wit
h her; Patrick forward at Miss Salton, aiming himself between her and the open window; and myself, throwing both arms around Irene and holding on against the powerful pull of the governess.
Irene squeaked with sudden pain and belated fear, and the drag vanished so suddenly that we both fell. I jerked my head up to see that Miss Salton dangled out of the window, held only by the grip of Patrick’s big hand on her wrist.
He knelt on the floor, his knees braced against the narrow windowsill. My heart twisted afresh at the thought she could still pull him over with her. I crawled nearer, keeping Irene behind me, saw the governess dangling in midair. Beneath, as Patrick had ordered, a pile of old mattresses lay on the ground. Four servants climbed over it, holding the corners of a blanket to catch whoever fell. Would it be enough to save Patrick?
“Give me your other hand,” Patrick ordered, reaching down with his.
“Irene, run downstairs to your mother,” I murmured. “She’ll be waiting for you.”
I felt the girl’s hesitation, brief and anxious, and then, to my relief, she fled. I got behind Patrick and held on to his waist. I might be able to slow him up if he started to slide over.
His body shuddered in my grip, but I’d closed myself off from unbearable emotion, so I didn’t know why. Slowly, actually smiling, the dangling Miss Salton finally threw up her free hand, but not to take Patrick’s. As his swiped only at air, hers grasped his fingers on the wrist he already held and pulled.
He cried out, though she didn’t. She plummeted like a stone, catching the edge of the blanket and the mattresses below.
“Wrap her up tight and hold her,” Patrick yelled. “Even if she can move, don’t let her! Is the constable here yet? The doctor?”
“On their way,” the reply drifted back.
For an instant, I let my eyes close, let my forehead rest against his back.
This was all I would have. But I could give him peace, and that was so much better for both of us.
I released him as he turned, and drew back.
The Dead of Haggard Hall Page 21
