The Sinister Spinster

by Joan Overfield

  "And if it is?" he asked, deciding he'd had enough. He was the one who'd first thought of making Miss Martingale the object of tattle, he reminded himself. Mayhap it was time he was taking charge of things, instead of playing the obedient lapdog.

  "Then I take leave to tell you I do not take well to threats."

  Now that he'd worked up his courage, Charles wasn't about to surrender his hard-won position. "I don't care if you take to them or not!" he sneered. "I'll tell, do you hear me? I'll tell them all about you."

  "I hear you."

  Charles turned his back at the quiet words, gazing out at the moonlit garden. "Then mind you believe me," he said, a feeling of raw power surging through him. To the devil with that damned prince and Falconer, he thought smugly. They'd just see who was the one to be reckoned with.

  "Oh, I believe you, Charles," the figure purred, moving behind him. "I believe you." And slid the stiletto into Charles's back without a moment's hesitation.

  Eight

  "Will there be anything else, Miss Mattingale?" The footman hovered attentively at Elizabeth's elbow, the silver coffeepot clutched in his hand. "Some eggs, perhaps, or some ham?"

  Despite her exhaustion, Elizabeth scraped up a smile for his benefit. "No, thank you, Thomas," she managed, her stomach rolling at the thought of food. "I fear I'm not very hungry this morning."

  The footman's face flushed a dull red, and he ducked his head. "No, miss," he said, looking down. "I don't reckon you are." He stepped over to the sideboard, busying his hands for several moments before clearing his throat.

  "Miss Mattingale?"

  Elizabeth's fingers tightened about her cup. "Yes, Thomas?" she asked, steeling herself for his words of reproach. She'd spent most of last evening sitting in stoic silence while the other guests poked and jabbed at her. She supposed she would have to do the same while the servants let their opinion of her be known. Heaven knew it couldn't be any worse than what she'd already heard.

  "I just wanted to say, miss, we—t'other servants n' me—we none of us think you done like they say," he said, his words tumbling over each other in a heartfelt rush. " 'Tis nonsense, and we know it. You're a lady."

  The awkward words brought the sting of tears to Elizabeth's eyes. Dealing with kindness, she discovered, was much harder than dealing with animosity. With animosity one had but to construct barricades strong enough to keep out the pain, but there was no such defense against those who cared about you.

  "Thank you, Thomas," she said, struggling not to cry. "That means a great deal to me. Please tell the others I am most grateful for their faith in me."

  "Yes, miss," he said, and then, as if fearing he'd said more than was proper, he picked up the coffeepot and fled the room.

  When she was certain she was alone Elizabeth indulged in a brief bout of tears, giving in to the fear and despair she'd refused to acknowledge, even to herself. Yesterday had been the most horrific day in her life, and she knew that had it not been for Adam and Alexi standing so solidly at her side, it would have been worse. Only their presence, she was certain, kept her from being clapped in gaol. As it was, she might as well be locked away, for all the freedom she would have.

  "The fact that we failed to discover the missing papers in your possession changes nothing, Miss Mattingale," the earl had informed her during their private interview. "You are still suspect, and you may be very sure your every movement will be scrutinized.

  "Naturally," he'd added, his eyes sparkling with malevolent glee, "you may not leave the grounds until this matter has been resolved. His grace's orders, you understand."

  The idea of the powerful duke thinking her guilty was terrifying, and she wondered if even the support of her two knights-errant would be enough to protect her. If he thought she was guilty, that is, she brooded, dabbing at her cheeks. He'd been unfailingly kind to her last evening, and his daughter hadn't left her side for more than a few minutes. Surely he wouldn't allow Lady Elinore to consort with her if he suspected her of treason?

  She was puzzling over the matter when she suddenly sensed she was no longer alone. Glancing up, she was annoyed to see the earl's younger son standing in the doorway. When he saw she'd finally noticed him, Mr. Carling nervously cleared his throat.

  "Good morning, Miss Mattingale," he said, tugging at his cravat. "Might I join you? I'd like to speak with you, if I may."

  Suspecting a trap, she inclined her head with wary graciousness. "Certainly, Mr. Carling. What is it?"

  He shuffled into the room, his actions reminding her of a guilty pupil about to confess some heinous crime to his tutor.

  "I—dashed awkward business, this," he muttered, taking his seat at the table and looking everywhere but at her.

  "Awkward for me most certainly," she replied coolly, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. She'd noticed him watching her several times last evening, a look she couldn't describe on his unprepossessing features. He was up to something, she was certain, and her heart began hammering with a cautious sense of fury as she considered what that something might be.

  He bobbed his head, his fleshy cheeks turning a bright pink. "To be sure," he agreed, picking up a knife, studying it, and setting it down carefully again. "I just wanted to apologize for my parents," he began, addressing his remarks to the table. "Mama's mama, don't you know, and the pater has always been a bit of a rasher of wind. Still, it will all turn out right in the end."

  "Will it?" Elizabeth concentrated on keeping her voice from betraying her anger. Why hadn't she thought of this before? she wondered, annoyed she'd allowed her fear to block her reason. The missing papers smacked of nothing more than a schoolboy's prank, and the lout sitting across from her and his doltish friends were three of the biggest schoolboys in the vicinity.

  "Bound to, eh?" Mr. Carling raised his eyes to hers and quickly lowered them again. "Those papers are only mislaid; I am sure of it. Once they are found, all will be forgotten."

  "One may only hope, Mr. Carling," she said, seeing no reason why she shouldn't make him experience a little of what she had endured. "Since I am like to hang if they should not be found."

  He grew even redder, the tips of his ears fairly glowing. "Oh, they will be found," he said, the panicked edge in his voice confirming her suspicions. "In fact, I—I think we had ought to look for them. That ought to be fun, eh? Like a—a treasure hunt."

  Elizabeth refrained from pointing out that there'd been no trace of the papers found last evening, despite the fact that more man half of the guests' rooms had been meticulously searched. Still, if the search revealed the missing papers, who was she to argue with the results?

  "That might be just the thing," she agreed cautiously. "Where should we start the search, do you think?"

  Mr. Carling's head came up, the expression of relief on his face obvious. "I'll just ask Charles!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "He knows—that is," he corrected hastily, "he will know where to start looking. He's a dashed clever fellow, you know."

  Elizabeth's lips thinned in a bitter smile. "Oh, yes, I know."

  "I'll just go find him, then," he said, hurrying to the door. "You've not seen him this morning, have you? We was to ride out earlier this morning, but he never came."

  Thinking it was just as well she hadn't seen the wretch, Elizabeth shook her head. "No, I have not."

  Mr. Carling frowned. "Not like him to miss a gallop," he said, looking vaguely concerned. "Especially since he knew I was most anxious to speak with him."

  "Perhaps he is merely still abed?" Elizabeth suggested. "He's prone to late hours, I take it."

  "But his bed wasn't slept in," Mr. Carling said, and then blushed again as he realized the inappropriateness of his remark. "That is, I am sure that must be it. I'll just have his man take another look. Good morning, Miss Mattingale, and—and I am sorry for all this. I am truly sorry." And he bolted before she could think of the words to stop him.

  Elizabeth scarce had time to draw a breath before a scowling Alexi storm
ed into the room.

  "What was that sabaka doing in here?" he demanded, blue eyes stormy. "If he has upset you—"

  "No, he hasn't upset me," Elizabeth retorted, gesturing at the chair opposite her. "Stop growling, Alexi, and sit down. I'm too tired to put up with your nonsense this morning."

  Looking highly aggrieved, Alexi did as she ordered. "To protect a sister is not nonsense," he muttered. "And you would not be so tired if these English were not so thick in their heads. It is all the pudding they eat, yes? It makes them slow and stupid."

  The return of Thomas and another of the footmen bearing fresh coffee and rolls prevented Elizabeth from responding. She waited until Alexi had been served his usual mountain of food before sending them away with a murmur of thanks.

  "Now, little queen," Alexi began, before Elizabeth could speak, "enough of this dallying. You will tell me, then, why that dog was here. But I warn you," he added, pointing his fork at her, "if I learn he has made the bother, it will go very bad with him."

  The confession she'd been about to make withered on Elizabeth's lips. "He wanted to apologize," she said, thinking it might make better sense to share her suspicions with the marquess first. He was much less volatile than Alexi, if no less dangerous.

  "Oh," she added, as if in afterthought, "he also wanted to know if I'd seen Mr. Colburt. It seems he missed his riding appointment."

  Alexi shrugged his shoulders and reached for another roll. "Shake out the beds of the maids and the lady guests. He is bound to come tumbling out of one of them."

  "Alexi!"

  "What?" He glanced up indignantly. "Is truth, is it not? Colburt forever chases the ladies. I hear them laughing about it, when he is not there to hear. Or at least some of them laugh. Others make face. Like this." And he screwed up his face in a parody of feminine disgust.

  Elizabeth enjoyed her first laugh in what seemed like days. She'd seen that very expression on the faces of several of the more discerning guests. "Well, wherever he may have spent the night, poor Mr. Carling seemed quite concerned," she said, and then paused as a sudden suspicion dawned.

  "Alexi"—she fixed him with a stern look—"you didn't do anything to Mr. Colburt, did you?"

  "Me?" Alexi was outraged, "What would I do to that one?"

  "Any number of things," she retorted, her head reeling at the possibilities. "All of them unpleasant and certain to cause a scandal."

  Another shrug. "What do I care for scandal?" he asked coolly, buttering his roll. "If I wanted to harm that pig I would do it, so"—he made a twisting gesture with the knife—"where everyone could see me. If you think he has come to harm, it is your Breetanskee lord you should be scolding, and not Alexi. He had Colburt by the throat the other evening and shook him like the rodent he is. But you do not lecture his lordship, I see. Only me do you treat so."

  Elizabeth ignored the stab of guilt. "Lord Falconer has not appointed himself my brother," she informed Alexi coolly. "And speaking of his lordship, I want you to promise you'll stop insulting everyone in Russian and asking me to translate. He is already suspicious, and things are sticky enough as it is without your adding even more fuel to the fire."

  He went on eating as if she hadn't spoken. "I will think about it," he agreed in an off-handed manner that had her glaring.

  "I mean it, Alexi," she scolded. "You take too many chances. Sooner or later you are going to be found out."

  "And if I am? I am a prince; what can they do to me? Besides"—he sent her a wink—"it is the chance of discovery that makes the game worth the playing. But for your sake, I will do as you ask. I would not risk you for anything."

  "Alexi—"

  "Good morning, Miss Mattingale, your highness." Lord Falconer strode into the room, looking handsome and more remote than ever in his somber jacket of dovegray Superfine, his black hair brushed back from the sharp bones of his lean face.

  "Ah, Falconer, you are welcome to join us," Alexi greeted him with a wide smile and a grand sweep of his hand. "Come, be seated, and tell us how you are this fine morning."

  "I am well, sir," came the clipped reply as the marquess took his seat. "And you, Miss Mattingale?" he asked coolly, his deep voice edged with frost as he studied her.

  "I am also well," she replied, wondering what was ailing him. She wanted to believe his coolness was nothing more than ill temper, but a glance at his face put paid to that faint hope.

  His jaw was clenched so tight, she marveled it didn't shatter, and the firm, sensual mouth she'd taken to studying was set in lines as hard and grim as a statue's. But it was his eyes that betrayed him most, their brilliant golden color as sharp and deadly as the blade of a knife. His lordship was coldly furious about something, and her instincts warned her that that something had to do with her.

  "You just missed our host's foolish son," Alexi said, seemingly oblivious to the tension stretching like a taut line between she and Adam. "He was here looking for his friend. Did you see him?"

  "Carling? I passed him in the hall," Adam returned, keeping the full weight of his unblinking stare trained on Elizabeth.

  "Not Carling." Alexi gave a genial chuckle, helping himself to more eggs. "The other; Colburt. He is missing, it would seem."

  That caught Adam's notice, and his gaze cut to Alexi. "Missing? What do you mean?"

  "I mean he is not where he should be," Alexi replied, his brows gathering in a frown. "Elizabeth said Carling told her that his bed had not been slept in, and he was worried."

  Adam was on his feet. "He has been missing all night?" he demanded, his anger giving way to the keen awareness Elizabeth had seen in him before.

  "Perhaps, but not so long as that, I think," Alexi replied, setting down his knife and fork and scowling up at Adam. "The man is like a stag in rut where women are concerned. Doubtless he found some woman foolish enough to welcome his advances and—"

  "Murder! Murder!"

  The high, keening scream erupted in the hall behind them, followed by raised voices and the sound of running feet. Adam and Alexi reached the door first, but when Elizabeth would have followed them into the hall, she found her way blocked by Adam.

  "Where do you think you are going?" he demanded, his expression fierce as he glared down at her.

  "With you, of course!" she snapped, too overset by the wails and screams echoing through the halls to care about the niceties. A pair of footmen went tearing past the door, one of them carrying what looked to be a battle-ax from the Hall's armory. She tried slipping under Adam's arm, only to have him deftly countering the move. He scooped her up in his arms and presented her to Alexi.

  "Guard her," he ordered, meeting Alexi's gaze over the top of her head. "For God's sake, whatever you do, don't leave her alone!" And with that he was gone, ignoring her furious cries to come back and face her like a man.

  Adam followed the screams to the conservatory, where a considerable crowd was already gathering. Shoving his way past the other guests, he saw an obviously shaken Lord Derring kneeling over Charles Colburt. Although he'd not seen as much death as his friend, Lord St. Jerome, Adam had seen enough to know Charles wouldn't be making any further mischief in this life.

  "Murdered," Derring said, raising stunned eyes to Adam. "A guest. Murdered in my home."

  Adam knelt beside the earl, ignoring the shrieks and oaths behind him as he studied Charles's body. He was laying on his back, staring up at them with wide, unseeing eyes, his features frozen in a look of shock and mild outrage. The black, sticky pool of blood spreading out from beneath him made it plain that the cries of "Murder!" had not been without some foundation.

  "Who discovered the body?" he asked, his gaze never leaving the pathetic figure sprawled on the floor. Death had been kinder to Colburt than perhaps he deserved, and instead of seeing a malicious, self-satisfied dandy intent only upon his own shallow pleasures, Adam saw only a young man who had died much too soon and much too hard.

  "William," Derring replied, rubbing a hand over his face and looking as an
cient as the hall itself. "He—he has been looking for Charles all morning."

  "It would seem he found him," Adam replied, appalled he could make a joke at such a time. He also wished he had a better idea of what was to be done. It was a pity Creshton had already left for London. He could have done with the older man's cagey intellect. Then he remembered the agent the duke had brought with him, and glanced up at the group of footmen huddled at the entrance to the conservatory.

  "Which of you is in the Duke of Creshton's employ?" he asked, his sharp gaze scanning them for a likely candidate.

  "That would be Henry, my lord," one of the footmen Adam had seen several times took a hesitant step forward. "He went into the village with Lady Elinore."

  Adam swallowed an impatient curse. He desperately wanted to speak with the other man, but he didn't want to do anything that might bring him to the attention of the thief who'd graphically demonstrated his willingness to kill. A glance at the earl showed he was in a state of shock, and Adam realized he'd just been handed the perfect excuse to take command of the situation.

  "Take two footmen and fetch the magistrate and the militia," he said, getting to his feet and addressing his remarks to the footman who had spoken first. "Then ride into the village and bring Lady Elinore back to the Hall. Until we have more of an idea of what is going on, I don't want anyone wandering off by himself."

  "Yes, my lord!"

  Several of the footmen went tearing off, and those who remained glanced at Adam, clearly awaiting instructions. He didn't disappoint them.

  "See this room is cleared," he ordered, his eyes hard. "Then set up a guard. No one is to enter unless I have given permission."

  "Yes, Lord Falconer!" they said, and hurried over to where the subdued guests were gathered. They began shepherding everyone from the room, and although there were a few mutters of protest, most seemed content to do as ordered. When he was content his instructions were being carried out, Adam turned to Derring.

  The earl had risen to his feet and was standing over Colburt's body, his expression dazed. Realizing he was as much in need of direction as his servants, Adam walked over to join him.