Before she completely dozed off, Royce appeared, offering her yet more tea. “A sip of brandy would warm you more quickly. But I thought it unwise if you have been drugged.”
The sensation of his steady regard, intense and probing, unsettled her, but, thankful to be safe with him, she accepted his scrutiny in silence. She still couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye.
His gaze never wavered when he added, “The tea will do much to restore you, even without brandy. It’ll steady your nerves and warm you.”
When he lifted the cup towards her, she peeked at him though her lashes. “I’m near to sloshing now.”
Mrs. Tackler halted her brushing. “Trust, Lord Rivton. Plenty of tea will speed your recovery. Before long, you shall be between sheets with nothing better to do than sleep.”
Bethany’s fingers trembled when she raised the delicate cup to her lips.
“You see. That didn’t hurt at all.” Royce deposited his cup on the mantel and picked up the pair of tongs resting by the fireplace. He bent down and added coal to the low embers glowing in the grate. When he straightened, he paced in front of the hearth.
With a grim expression, he turned to face her. “Who do you suppose helped you into the lake?”
Fresh tears formed in Bethany’s eyes, and her voice trembled. The time to tell him of the man digging the grave had arrived. “I don’t know. Perhaps the killer is after me.”
He heaved an exasperated sigh and threw up one hand. “The killer. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Bethany glanced at him and quickly lowered her lashes. Her answer hadn’t been well received, and his annoyance didn’t add to her confidence. He isn’t going to believe me.
“Did you see anyone?”
She shook her head. “Not this time.”
“What do you mean, not this time?”
“A few days ago, I saw a man in the woods digging a grave. He must be the same killer.”
“Are you trying to tell me you saw a murder being committed?”
What else had she expected besides his doubt? “No. I didn’t see a murder.”
“Only a man digging,” Royce interrupted and rolled his eyes very slightly, his voice drenched in skepticism. “Perhaps you thought it was a grave and your imagination did the rest.”
She tightened her lips. Obviously, he gave some credence to Uncle Arthur’s tales of her vivid, often lame imagination. She exhaled a long, shuddering sigh.
He grumbled in a low voice. “Let’s return to the subject at hand, shall we. Who do you think may wish you harm?”
She tried to erase every ounce of fear from her expression. “I don’t know. Most everyone hates me.”
For one long moment, emerald-green eyes assessed her expression. “Explain that remark.” He viewed her from the other side of the fireplace, his hands still in his pockets.
“I know my uncle loathes me. Aunt Gertrude harbors not one kind feeling for me.” She glanced at him with a certain amount of apprehension. “Eleanor is totally indifferent. And you . . .”
“Go on.” He compressed his lips in a tight line. “What do you imagine I think of you?”
She quickly lowered her lashes when his eyes flashed. “Contempt. Disdain.” Daring a glance at his face, she noted his heavy scowl. “I don’t know if you hate me enough to kill me.” She shrugged one shoulder in the suffocating silence that followed.
He clenched his jaw. “I don’t hate you.” Heaving a deep sigh, he straightened his shoulders. “We’ll discuss that later. Other matters must take precedence. You say Arthur hates you. Why?”
“I overheard Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Arthur quarreling one day. She berated him for holding onto the past. She blames me because my uncle loved my mother, and he blames me because my mother chose another.” She gathered a deep breath. “Ever since that day, he held animosity against both my mother and my father. I am the constant cause of his revenge against them, and his hatred runs deep. That I do know. Perhaps my uncle threw me in the lake.” Anything seemed possible.
Royce lowered himself in a chair directly facing her. He filled his teacup, laced it liberally with brandy, and sat the bottle on the table at his elbow.
His penetrating stare seemed to search for even a tiny flaw or weakness. “Let’s go over the whole thing again. Start with the very last thing you remember before you woke up in the lake.”
“I told you,” she wailed. She didn’t know what to think anymore. Wrecked, and at the bottom of her physical strength, she felt helpless to resist his stronger will.
“Perhaps tomorrow would be best, when she is more rested,” Mrs. Tackler offered from behind Bethany.
He raked his hand through his hair. “When she’s forgotten everything? No, indeed. I apologize, but I must insist we continue tonight.”
Bethany drew a deep breath, hesitated, and then reluctantly began. “It was late when I finished with the accounts. Although he left for London, Uncle Arthur insisted I had to complete the work before I could retire for the night. I remember being extremely tired.”
He interrupted, “You keep the accounts? For the household, I presume.”
“No. For the entire estate.” She sniffed.
“Ah.” He leveled another direct gaze at her. “So, you’re the power behind the throne.”
“Certainly not.” He had a completely false impression of her. No wonder he looked at her with scorn. “If Uncle Arthur had a son, the accounts would never have fallen to me. He thought it wise for a lady to know something of the business end of running a household for Eleanor’s sake. Lessons were easier with me included. I did well. Thus, I gradually became responsible for the accounts. What has that to say to anything?”
While her eyes brimmed with tears, she covered her mouth with her fingers.
“I need a clear picture of your life so I can find who is responsible for tonight’s attack on you.”
“There is nothing more I can tell you. I didn’t see anyone tonight. I told you that.” Mentioning the killer to Royce had done little good. He merely made a sarcastic remark. What else could she tell him? So far, he paid little attention to her explanations. Exhausted, it was beyond her to convince him, especially tonight. She pondered the thought for a long, agonizing minute. “Someone wants me dead.”
Royce grimaced. “I don’t understand why. What have you done or know that would motivate someone to silence you permanently?”
She shrugged and edged deeper into her chair. “Do you mean besides witnessing a man digging a grave?” Had the killer discovered her identity and where to find her? Could the killer actually be after her? The killer or her uncle striving for her death—either terrified her.
“I thought we agreed to discuss this incident, not a vague happening, unless you recognized the man doing the digging.” He hesitated and raised his brows. “Perhaps I could discover what he was actually doing in such an isolated spot.”
“I don’t want to think about that.” She shivered in alarm. There was nothing new in her word being considered untrustworthy.
“Someone certainly seems to want you dead.” Impatience practically oozed from his voice when he stood, reaching for the tongs to add more coal to the embers in the grate. The glow from the flames reflected on his face, depicting his stern expression, his clenched jaw and the frown pleating his brows. He seated himself again and casually settled against the back of the chair. “Let’s go over the actual facts once more.”
Despair tightened the muscles in her throat. Since her efforts to explain about the killer had proven fruitless, she would stick to the facts he wanted to hear. Her gaze landed on her hands gripped together in her lap.
“What did you do when you finished for the night?”
“I ate a light meal and headed straight to my room.”
“Did you see anyone or talk to anyone?”
“No.” She met his direct stare, wanting to scream her answer, but she managed to control her voice. “No one.”
“Drink the rest of your tea.” He motioned towards her cup.
He added another measure of tea to his cup and hers. “It was late. Were the rest of your family retired for the night?” He lifted his brow with a skeptical expression. “The servants? Anyone?”
“Uncle Arthur had business in London. He’s not expected back until the end of next week. The others were abed.”
“Where were the servants?”
“There aren’t any live-in servants besides the butler, Hobs.” She took another sip from her china cup and met his gaze over the rim. The tea had certainly warmed her and the trembling stopped. “He was in his quarters, I suppose.”
His stare seemed to penetrate to her very soul. “You heard nothing? Not one little sound?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head, making it swim, before steadying down again. A haze floated around Royce.
“Then what occurred?”
“I climbed into bed and the next thing I knew, I couldn’t breathe.” Fright gripped her again. Her lips trembled and tears pooled behind her lashes once more. She fought for every shallow breath and gasped out, “I panicked. I was under the water. Everything was so dark—and silent.”
He removed her cup from trembling fingers and took her hand between both of his. “You’re safe now.”
He gently squeezed her fingers before letting her hand fall to her lap again. Allowing a moment to pass, he stated, “You were thrashing about in the water when I rode up. You weren’t even moving toward the bank. Why?”
She hesitated, trying to make sense of what she intended to say. He wasn’t going to believe her again. “I felt something evil out in the woods.”
“Explain.” He ran one finger around the rim of his cup.
She shrugged. “I felt it coming in waves and washing over me like the water. I can’t explain it any better.”
“Did you hear something?”
To make her point, she emphasized her words with a slash of her hand. “No, nothing. It was something I felt. An impression.”
“You babbled something about evil when I grabbed you. Did you associate the evil with me?”
“No. It left, or lifted or whatever when you came.” Her shallow breaths calmed. I’m safe. Nothing could happen with him around. He said everything would be all right.
“That’s every single thing you can remember?” he probed, leaning towards her.
She winced. “Yes. Everything.” When would his ever-lasting questions stop?
“I’ll check for your evil tomorrow when it’s light.”
She glanced longingly at the closed door and placed her cup on the table beside her. Yawning behind her hand, she allowed her lids to flutter down.
She heard him call her name, but she couldn’t respond.
“Bethany.”
A gentle shaking brought her eyes open. His face wavered in front of her.
“I know you’re exhausted. Just a little more and you can snuggle into a nice, warm bed.”
“What else?” she wailed and twisted her fists together in her lap.
“What did you eat before you went to bed?”
She frowned and a soft sigh escaped. “I don’t remember. That can’t be important.”
“Humor me.”
“A hunk of bread, some cheese. I think that’s all.”
“Nothing to drink?” he cross-examined with a lifted brow.
“I forgot the chocolate. Cook left a kettle on the hob. I drank some and carried the rest to my chamber.” Leaning her head against the back of the chair, she let her eyes drift shut again, floating away from the badgering questions.
“Bethany. Wake up.”
She slowly allowed her lashes to sweep up. “Did someone try to kill me or not?”
He gave a curt nod. “Most likely.”
After a swift survey, his lips curl in a smile. “We’ll finish this in the morning. It’s time you were in bed.”
She gazed at him with a stricken expression and pushed to her feet. “That’s all I know,” she cried and collapsed.
Royce hastened to her side with the housekeeper on his heels. Mrs. Tackler cast a look filled with reproach at him.
He grimaced and lifted Bethany in his arms. “I freely admit, I’m a brute, but the threats on her life unsettle me. I must find answers. Her very life seems to depend on it.”
Carrying her up the stairs, he followed the housekeeper into a bedchamber and laid her on the bed. “I want to discuss all that passed this night with my cousin. I need his opinion.”
Mrs. Tackler asserted, “Go along with you. I’ll see to her.”
“Certainly.” He said and exited the chamber.
Chapter 19
The distant sound of a softly shutting door, footfalls, and the faint stirrings of the household rousing for the day pulled Bethany from a deep sleep. Tempted to cuddle down once more in the warmth of the bed, she opened her eyes and gazed at the ceiling. The smells of preparations for the early morning meal wafted to the upper levels of the house. Her stomach rumbled in answer.
Only then did the happenings of last night hit her. She sat bolt upright in the bed, glancing at the unfamiliar chamber. The walls, covered in ivory wallpaper, added light to the room where rather heavy oak furniture over-filled the space. I’m not at the manor. I’m at the hall.
She grimaced and threw back the covers. Her heart tripped, and she drew a shaky breath. Nearly drowning must have addled her brain. Someone wanted to kill her. She covered her mouth with her fingers, and her heart stroked even harder. It must be someone with access to the manor.
Someone she knew. Panic grabbed her, but she forced the sensation away. She must think. Royce didn’t believe her—the clod. She straightened her fingers to avoid her nails biting into her palms. She never wanted to witness that sarcastic smirk on his face again. For several minutes, she twisted a lock of her hair around her fingers.
A light scratch sounded at the door. She cleared her throat and called, “Come.”
A young maid carried a tray containing a chocolate pot and a lovely cup decorated with roses. “Morning, Ma’am. Tis a lovely day.” She smiled and placed the tray on the table beside the bed before pulling the drapes aside. “I was in here earlier, but you was dead to the world. I brought fresh clothing just as Mrs. Carrington told me. Here on the chair.” She raised her brows. “I’m here to help you with your morning toilette.”
Bethany scrambled out of bed and plucked the garments up to inspect the gown. “If you will be so kind, I shall need help with the ties.”
She allowed the maid to lace the bodice before she smoothed the skirts and adjusted the sleeves. “There. That will be all. Thank you for your assistance.” Before the maid could leave, Bethany whirled around. “Is Mrs. Carrington available this morning?”
“She’s been away. When she arrived this morning, she went straight to her chamber.
She hardly ever is below stairs until well after eleven o’clock.”
“After she stirs, I have a message I wish delivered to her.” Bethany penned a quick note and folded it. “Make certain she receives this the moment she’s about.”
The maid curtsied, took the paper with a smile, and left the chamber.
Bethany poured a cup of the hot liquid, sipping a swallow while she sank into a chair. Taking up the thread of her thoughts again, she considered her next course of action. She must return to the manor this morning. She swallowed. At least, I’m aware the killer is after me. I must search him out before he does away with me. Shivering with a chill of foreboding, she set her chocolate aside. When she could identify him, she woul
d make Royce listen to her. He’d believe her if she had a face to add to the tale. She quietly tiptoed down the back stairs and ducked out the rear door.
Royce strolled into the parlor. Lifting one brow, he observed John and Sara sipping tea. “Where is everyone?”
John placed his cup on the side table. “The men are out and about their duties.” He averted his gaze when he added, “Bethany left shortly after you did.”
“Blister it.” Royce allowed his accusing stare to land on John, then Sara. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
Sara held up her hands. “I only returned this morning, shortly before she left. Don’t expect such from me that early in the morning.”
John snapped, “On what grounds? I couldn’t detain her, after all.”
Royce shut his eyes for a second and turned away in exasperation. “Someone, or more than one person, has Bethany in their sights. For her to return to the manor and the danger there is foolish. She should have waited. I told her I would protect her.”
In a reasonable tone, Sara proffered, “What was the poor girl to do? You could hardly offer her a home in your bachelor establishment.”
Royce ignored her statement, scowled in her direction, and continued, “This morning I circled the grounds surrounding the lake. There is no doubt someone lurked in the protection of the woods, watching every move last night. Someone drugged Bethany, brought her to the lake, and dumped her in the water. She drank some chocolate. That was probably the source of the drug.”
A Lady's Vanishing Choices Page 15
