by Jade Astor
Everyone moved back as the ambulance and a police car came roaring up the lawn in a dizzying blur of red and white lights. A cadre of first responders in a variety of different uniforms gathered around Ivy’s body Malcolm and Roark stayed in the garden, conferring with them and occasionally gesturing toward the blood-spattered bricks. Stephen averted his gaze, sickened by the sight of three paramedics working on Ivy’s mangled form. He answered a police officer’s routine questions in a monotone, asserting that he was only a houseguest and had seen nothing until the scream had roused him. The questions annoyed him, though secretly he was glad to have something else to focus on.
When he dared to look up again, he saw the paramedics loading Ivy onto a wheeled metal stretcher. They didn’t pull a sheet over her face. Did that mean she was still miraculously clinging to life?
Mrs. Mulgrave didn’t ask to ride along with Ivy. Instead, when the vehicle took off for the gate, sirens blaring, she clutched the front of her bathrobe shut and marched back inside the house. Leo still hadn’t come up from the gatehouse. He probably had no idea his sister had been seriously injured or perhaps even killed.
As he drifted inside after Mrs. Mulgrave, it occurred to Stephen that it could have been him and Justin lying on the grounds of the estate in a puddle of blood and gore. If they’d been going even a few miles faster when they hit the gate….
He heard Malcolm and Roark coming up the steps behind him. He slowed his pace across the terrace so he could hear what they were talking about. “Rotten turn of luck for Ivy,” Malcolm was saying. “You don’t think Leo might have been up on the roof with her? Or…you know.”
“I don’t know. I hope not, but I can’t imagine where Leo could be,” Roark told his cousin. “I banged and banged on the gatehouse door and he didn’t hear me. Or at least he pretended not to.”
“I wonder if you should order him to move back into the house. He lives by the gate so he can open it when you call him, no matter what time it is. If he can’t even do that much, you’ll have to hire someone who can. Leo can help his mother mop the floors and bus the dishes if that’s more to his liking.”
“Let’s not worry about him right now,” Roark said. He seemed to notice Stephen walking ahead of him for the first time. “I’m sorry, Stephen. Malcolm and I should have been more considerate. Come on. You didn’t need to see any of this.”
“You seem so calm. Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Of course it does. But you heard it for yourself—the paramedics ordered everyone to stand back. Nothing more we can do. It’s up to the doctors now, or whatever higher power Ivy chose to put her faith in.”
“Like Istharios, you mean?” Stephen asked as they stepped into the foyer.
Roark hesitated before answering. “What makes you ask that?”
“Just thinking out loud.”
While they talked, Mrs. Mulgrave appeared in the doorway to the hall. Her face seemed softer now, the lines around her eyelids and mouth more pronounced. The numbness was wearing off, maybe. In the space of a few minutes she seemed to have aged ten years. Apparently it had taken some time for the seriousness of her daughter’s injuries to sink in.
“I doubt any of us will get back to sleep tonight,” she said in a weak voice. “I’m making coffee, if any of you would like some.”
“Of course we would,” Roark answered. Slipping past Malcolm, Roark hurried over to put his arm around the housekeeper’s shoulders. “And you must join us, Mrs. Mulgrave. You shouldn’t be alone right now, even in the kitchen.”
“I couldn’t possibly,” Mrs. Mulgrave answered, disengaging from Roark’s embrace. “I’m not a member of the family. It just wouldn’t be right.”
She shuffled down the hall toward the kitchen. After flashing a worried look at Malcolm, Roark followed her.
“What did the paramedics say?” Stephen asked Malcolm.
“She’s hanging on, but I don’t have to tell you that things aren’t looking rosy for her. We’ll let Mrs. Mulgrave have a cup or two, just to get focused, and then I’ll drive her to the hospital. When I get back, Roark and I can figure out how to deal with this latest mess.”
‘Mess’, he’d said. Not ‘tragedy’ or even ‘accident.’ Ivy represented an inconvenience, and nothing more, to Malcolm and Roark. If Ivy didn’t make it, would they even bother with funeral arrangements, or would they just dig a hole in the back garden and roll her in? Probably the only thing stopping them was their fear of running afoul of the local law.
The image of a shovel slicing into the ground brought something else to mind. “What about Leo?” Stephen asked Malcolm. “Ivy is his sister. Don’t you think he should at least know what happened to her?”
“I doubt he would have anything useful to contribute in this instance,” Malcolm said. “Why don’t we wait and let his mother handle him? Besides, what if he gets upset and becomes violent? Then we’ll have to call the ambulance a third time. Eventually they’ll refuse to come.”
Truthfully, Stephen found Malcolm’s answer less than satisfactory, but let it slide. This wasn’t his house. He had no right to interfere in Fairbourne family matters.
Maybe it was time he stopped involving himself altogether. Suddenly his plan to leave first thing in the morning looked better than ever. Hopefully, since Leo didn’t seem to be around to close them, the gates would still be open so he could make his escape. He still wasn’t sure how he could include Justin in his plan, but more and more it was looking like Justin had made his own arrangements. He had to trust that somehow things would come together when the right moment arrived.
A few minutes later, Stephen and Roark sat in silence and sipped their coffee while Mrs. Mulgrave went off to dress for the trip into town. Malcolm, too, dashed upstairs to put on shoes and a button-down shirt. He returned looking presentable enough, except for his mussed hair and bleary-eyed look of exhaustion. The two of them together left for the hospital, though Leo failed to appear. Stephen still thought one of them ought to go to the gatehouse and check on him, but Roark didn’t seem willing and Stephen wasn’t especially eager to carry that sort of news to a virtual stranger.
“He’d only get in the way at the hospital,” Roark said. “He’ll turn up eventually, and then his mother can deal with him directly.”
“But he’s her brother,” Stephen protested. “He should be there to support his mother, at the very least.”
“She’s handling things fine on her own. Please, Stephen, let it be. Everything is under control. Please trust me on that.”
Stephen blinked. Granted, Mrs. Mulgrave didn’t seem in need of much support, but Roark’s attitude still struck him as callous. When would he stop being surprised at anything he said or did?
“Fine. If that’s the way you see it. I suppose they’re only servants to you, anyway.”
“Stephen—”
“No, really. I’ve had enough.” Stephen got up, taking his coffee with him. He didn’t think he could spend another moment with Roark. At the same time, he didn’t want to go to his room alone. Even if he could fall asleep, which he doubted, he feared the nightmares would burst over him like a dam after what he’d witnessed tonight. And he needed to be ready to make his move as soon as it was light out.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Roark called after him.
“Of course you meant it,” Stephen snapped. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go sit in the lounge for a while. No one has to keep me company. I’ll find a comfortable chair and wait for morning.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything about Ivy,” Roark promised as Stephen walked out, shaking his head at such blatant hypocrisy.
The lounge was dark, quiet, and oddly peaceful, even if it did overlook part of the garden. The spot where Ivy had landed wasn’t visible from this side of the house, at least. Best of all, the door had an inside lock. Stephen used it and shook the knob to be sure it had caught. Then, cradling his coffee mug against his chest, he settled into what he judg
ed to be the softest recliner and leaned his head back into the upholstery.
Outside the sliding glass door, ghostlike shadows shifted and rolled as lingering clouds, the last of the rain finally wrung from them, floated in front of the moon. The grounds of the estate lay still and silent. It seemed hard to believe the lawn had been so recently alive with the aftermath of tragedy. Only Leo had missed the spectacle unfolding right on the front steps.
Where was he, anyhow? How had he managed to sleep through all the sirens and commotion? Had he failed to hear the gate opening? Maybe Malcolm was right and his mental infirmities really did make him unqualified for even his relatively simple job.
Or maybe, like Justin, he had vanished on purpose. Could the two of them be together somewhere, either on the grounds of the estate or off it? Had Leo removed the items from Justin’s suitcase? If so, was he working alone, or had Justin asked him to do it?
The night dragged on in eerie silence. He didn’t hear the phone ring or Malcolm return. No one came to check on him. He assumed Roark had gone up to his bedroom. Apparently falling back asleep after seeing a girl’s mangled body didn’t present any problem for the Fairbournes.
Gradually, in spite of the coffee he’d drunk, Stephen felt a welcome grogginess creep over him. He set the cup on the floor beside the chair, curled into a ball, and drifted off into his own private darkness.
Some time later, he opened his eyes to find the windows veiled with a silvery-white mist that churned and tumbled like ocean waves. Dawn had arrived, though the weather still made it impossible for the sun to break through. Slowly he hauled himself to his feet and poked his head out of the lounge door.
A quick check of the foyer and dining room failed to turn up any members of either the Fairbourne or the Mulgrave family. Malcolm and Mrs. Mulgrave must have stayed at the hospital all night, though he couldn’t guess what that boded for Ivy’s condition. Then again, maybe they had tiptoed in and gone directly to their rooms.
There would never be a better time to go. The memory of Ivy’s broken body spurred him on as he hurried up the stairs and slipped into the guest room. Uncle Vernon would be upset with him for fleeing, he knew, but realistically, he doubted his uncle would want to return, either, once he heard what had been going on since his tumble down the ladder. At least, Stephen hoped not. If he timed things right, they would be halfway back to Uncle Vernon’s house before anyone in the house even knew he was going.
Moving cautiously, and keeping a lookout for anyone who might also be creeping around the house at dawn, he went back to the guest room and picked up the bag Roark had thoughtfully returned the night before. As far as he could tell, everything was still in it, including his keyring. On it were keys to Uncle Vernon’s house, store, and car. He just had to find it and get it through the gate, which was hopefully still open. If it wasn’t, Stephen would have to try to open it himself.
As he changed into jeans and a button-down shirt, he thought some more about Uncle Vernon’s supposed accident. He was now convinced someone had crept into the library, not expecting anyone to be there, and spotted Uncle Vernon on the top step of the ladder, probably absorbed in a book. Whoever it was couldn’t take a chance on being seen, and waiting for the book wasn’t an option. The intruder had simply pushed the whole contraption over, creating a distraction and eliminating a potential witness at the same time. The way Uncle Vernon had described the event, he’d been perfectly balanced, at least in his own opinion, and suddenly the floor had rushed up to meet him. He didn’t remember much after that. Had he missed a murky figure dashing across the room to grab a book from the table and then dashing back out again?
Or could there have been two figures? Roark and Ivy, maybe. Or possibly even Roark and Malcolm? All along, he’d assumed Roark and Ivy were pretending to despise each other because they were working together in secret. Now he wondered if Malcolm might actually be Roark’s confederate. Oddly, both of them almost seemed relieved that Ivy was no longer around. Was that because she had seen them both sneaking into the library and figured out what they had done? Had they worked together to silence her?
As he was about to put his cell phone in the bag, he noticed the message icon flashing. With everything that had been going on, he hadn’t thought to check it before falling asleep in the early hours of the morning. Just to be sure no one would hear him moving around, he stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain shut before he punched in the code to listen.
Geoffrey’s urgent voice vibrated against his ear. “Stephen, I’m here with your uncle right now. We’ve been talking about what happened to him at the house. He never told you what happened right before he climbed up on the ladder, did he? He said it was because no one bothered to ask until I did. So this is what you have to know, Stephen. Justin Fairbourne was in the library with him, looking through the books you’d stacked up on the table. He was asking Vernon about them and moving the pile around. Vernon told him not to disturb the order you had put them in. Justin promised he wouldn’t and left to help you with lunch. Because after Justin left, Vernon climbed up on the ladder. The next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes in the ambulance. And now he tells me some valuable book disappeared. I have a feeling you didn’t see Justin for a while after that, did you?”
“No,” Stephen said aloud, his heart sinking in his chest. “I didn’t.”
An icy sweat broke over his body as he switched off the phone and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. He grabbed his travel bag on his way out of the guestroom and headed for the stairs.
At the top of the landing, he froze.
Roark was on his way up, still fully dressed and alert, as though he hadn’t gone to bed at all the night before. Maybe he’d stayed up all night, waiting for Stephen to lead him to Justin and the book. Because Stephen was sure now that Justin had it. He had nearly killed Uncle Vernon in the process of stealing it from the library. And Stephen suspected that Roark was equally willing to kill for it.
When he spotted Stephen, his expression hardened and his hand clenched the banister with such force his knuckles turned white.
“Where are you going, Stephen?” His low tone, hard and rough as gravel, almost made Stephen stumble in fear. He struggled to stay calm and focused. “I looked in the lounge, but you weren’t there anymore. I figured you had gone to your room, but I didn’t think you’d be up this early.”
“I-I couldn’t get back to sleep,” he improvised, watching Roark’s face for signs of disbelief. “I thought I’d go outside for a walk.”
Roark eyed the travel bag in Stephen’s hand and smirked. “That isn’t a good idea. After what happened to Ivy….”
“Ivy was careless. I’m not. I’ll be all right, I’m sure.”
“No.” Roark pressed his lips together and shook his head slowly. “I don’t want you wandering around the estate. Right now I really think—”
His shoulders relaxed, just for a second, giving Stephen the opening he needed. Thrusting out both palms, he pushed Roark against the rail with every ounce of strength he could muster. Roark staggered and fell toward him, grabbing for Stephen’s ankle on his way down. Evading his hands, Stephen jumped over him and raced down the stairs.
“Stephen!” Roark’s voice followed him to the front door. “Come back here! I need to talk to you! Now!”
The outside air felt cool and damp as he sprinted across the lawn toward the cottage, where he hoped his uncle’s car still sat. Heavy mist still rose from the ground, wrapping around him like a vast and delicate spiderweb. Visibility was so low he didn’t see the car until he was only a few feet from it. On the plus side, he reasoned, Roark wouldn’t be able to see him either. Just to be on the safe side, he crouched low while he unlocked the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel. All he had to do now was get off the estate grounds and onto the road. As soon as he was away from the house, he would call his uncle at the hospital and tell him they were leaving today. Hopefully, Geoffrey would still be around to help co
nvince him.
His fingers were so sweaty that it took him a moment to fit the key into the ignition.
Just a short drive to the front gate, then through it and onto the road. He just had to hope Roark hadn’t found Leo and ordered him inside. But even if he had, Stephen reasoned, he had his phone and the ability to dial 911. As he’d reminded Uncle Vernon on the day they’d arrived, this wasn’t medieval Europe. The Fairbournes had no right to imprison people. If Stephen demanded to leave, they really had no choice but to let him.
Sucking in a calming breath, he pressed the brake and turned the key.
The car didn’t start.
Chapter 18
“This can’t be happening,” Stephen said, irrationally hoping that saying the words would make them true. He pumped the gas and tried again. The car made a hollow clicking sound and stopped. Going through the same sequence all over again did no good. Neither did pounding his fists on steering wheel or letting out a stream of some of the most creative curses known to man.
Now what? He looked down at his cell phone, resting on the passenger seat. Maybe he could call a tow truck. A cab? Why hadn’t he ever thought to sign up for a ride-sharing app before now? Would any of those places even respond this early? And if they did, there was no way they would reach Uncle Vernon’s car before Roark did.
For a few minutes he fought back a sense of his rising panic. A way out existed—Stephen was sure of that. He simply had to identify it.
The good news was that no one appeared to have followed him from the house. Of course, no sooner had he entertained that thought than he saw a silhouetted figure moving toward Uncle Vernon’s car. The broad-shouldered build and the outline of thick, shaggy hair told him that it wasn’t Roark. Leo, then, finally surfacing after missing an entire night full of adventures.
