I turned at the sound of a creak. Mary hummed in the adjoining bath, running the tub. A large armoire stood at the entrance just off the door we’d entered. Inside, upholstered in pink taffeta, hung a fawn-colored skirt, hunter green blouse and cardigan sweater woven in shades of greens and tans. On a chair sat underwear and a pair of woolen knee-socks. With a flit of the hand, I read the tags. They appeared to be my size, of course. Why was I surprised?
“Does it meet your liking, then?”
I nodded and entered the bathroom.
I whispered loud enough for only her to hear me over the gurgling water. “What are you doing here? Is this Andrew’s idea? Are you to rescue me?”
Mary didn’t say a word.
“Mary?”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Just do as they say, okay? Your bath is ready.”
“Right.” A whiff of rose milk drifted from the tub. Modesty aside, I shed the wet towel and clothes, and sunk into the hot water. I could get used to these English tubs—narrow and deep enough to slink down to your chin. In a wire basket laid rose-scented soap. A bottle of cold water sat on the edge. After two swigs, I held it up in a mock toast. “Thank you, Mary. This is wonderful.”
She gazed at my legs. “Do those knees need tending to?”
I raised one to my chest and winced. “Perhaps soap and water will be enough.”
She nodded. “I’ll get an ice pack for that lip. Shame on those oafs.”
My cheeks crimsoned. “Well, I did bite his hand.”
“Good girl,” she crowed. Then her gaze darted the room. “But I didn’t say that now, did I?” She tiptoed out, leaving the door cracked.
Her muffled footsteps sounded across the carpet. The door to the hall creaked open, then closed. The scrape of the bolt clicking shut echoed into the bathroom. My body jolted at the sound.
Oh, no. Locked. That wasn’t good. Well, maybe she did it for privacy’s sake. That goon probably still lurked outside.
Even so, I climbed out of the tub, and wrapped a plush white towel around me before I padded barefoot to the bedroom door. I jiggled the knob. A thud of footsteps sounded in the hall. The shadows of large shoes appeared under the crack at the threshold.
I clasped my towel tighter. “Nothing. Never mind.” I back-stepped into the bathroom, dried off and dressed. As I ran a brush through my dampened hair, my hands examined my lip in the mirror. It had swollen and turned purple at the corner. Oh, well. I doubted I was being detained to have an audience with the Queen.
More decently clothed and dry, my attention turned to finding my bearings. Below, outside the diamond-patterned glass of the windows, my room faced the front of the house, the curved driveway, and sculpted bushes forming a clover pattern. In each niche sat a statue, guarded by the watchful eyes of the pair of concrete lions on the brick stoop. I must be in a side wing. In the oval below lay an ornate fountain, its spray dormant. A shimmery scum on the top of the water indicated it had been sometime since it had been turned on. Rows of trees swayed in the breeze, lining the road like soldiers at attention. Two massive trunked trees sprawled their limbs over the lawn to the right, casting a dancing pattern of sunlight and shadows across the drive. Serene. It reminded me of a scene out of a Bronte sisters’ novel.
But that didn’t describe the feelings inside of me. Questions swirled in my head in a dervish.
Who was this man who wanted me bathed and dressed before I met him? Some British Mafia lord? Did England even have a mafia?
And where was Andrew? What role did he play in this? Did that mean Mary didn’t work in the bakery?
Did Glenda know that?
That gave my stomach a flutter.
Well, answers were not going to magically appear. I had to find a way out. I ran my hand along the walls. No hidden doors. Footsteps returned, growing louder. I dashed back into the bathroom as the key sounded in the lock.
“Ah, all through?” Mary entered with a tray of sandwiches, a small pot of tea, and an ice pack. She set it down on the oval coffee table. One of the bodyguards peeked in, hand on the door, and shut it again.
I traipsed over to the settee. “The bath felt good. Thank you, Mary.”
Her lips pursed into a tight smile. “Well, shall I play Mother, then?” She raised her eyebrow along with the tea pot.
I nodded. Earl Grey filled my nostrils. She asked if I wanted cream and sugar as she handed me the cup and saucer.
I sipped the steaming tea and let it slide down into my still uneasy stomach. Immediately, the warmth spread to my toes and back. Did this man know Earl Grey was my comfort tea, or did they always serve it in an English manor?
“The sandwiches are cream cheese and fresh chives.” She pointed to the tray.
“Aren’t you joining me?” I asked in between bites.
Mary laced her arms over her bosom and chuckled. “Don’t you beat all?” With a shake of her head, she went toward the bathroom. “I’ll tidy up a bit while you eat.” She stopped, hand on the door jamb. “Sorry, no Dr. Peppers here.”
I folded my legs under me, the knees complaining less now. “So, do you work at this manor as well as in the bakery? Are you an undercover agent like Andrew?”
She gave me a stern look, placed her finger to her lips, and returned to her duties. I shrugged my shoulders and bit into another sandwich. In a few minutes, a tap echoed at the door. She shuffled across the room and opened it. With a slight bob, she replied, “She’s ready, sir.”
“Good.”
I knew that voice. When he stepped over the threshold, I dropped the last bite of sandwich onto my lap. The rest of it shot back up into my esophagus. I rasped, “You!”
Andrew stood in the doorway. “So, we meet again, Niamh. Or do you prefer Jen?” He gave me a proper, swift British bow. “Welcome to my home, Greenwell Manor.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I crossed my arms. “I gather Mary isn’t your aunt, nor is your mother with you.”
His eyebrows scrunched into one for a moment, then widened. “Oh, yes, of course.” He strolled towards me. “No, the lady in the shop wasn’t my real mother. Played a good one though, didn’t she?” He edged into one of the Queen Anne chairs. “I paid her enough.”
“And Mary?” I watched as she exited to the hall and closed the door.
“Well, she does my bidding to keep employed here. She had been my nanny at one time, so calling her my aunt isn’t too much of a stretch, now is it?”
I sat forward. “If I ask any more questions, will you answer them?”
He crossed his legs, revealing buff-colored silken socks, matching his Oxford-style shirt. Dark gray pants with a beige pin stripe completed his ensemble. A true lord of the manor. I guess he lived in the wrong era for a quilted smoking jacket and pipe.
“Well, Jen, it all depends.” He flipped his wrist. “But, go ahead. Do try.”
“Does Glenda know...?”
“No.” He narrowed his eyes onto mine. “And, I would prefer it to stay that way. Not that you’ll be seeing her anytime soon.”
“So, you aren’t colleagues.”
He scoffed. “She thinks so, but no.”
I pressed my hand into my chin. “Not with British Intelligence?”
He uncrossed his leg and laughed. “Oxymoron, really, don’t you think?” He ran his palm over the arm of the chair. “But, no, let’s say I pretend to be so I can do my job better.”
“Which is…?”
He waggled his finger. “Sorry. You’ve exceeded your allotment for the day.”
With a wink, he rose to stroll out of the room in the same eased manner he’d entered. He stopped, with his hand on the knob. “You aren’t confined to quarters, per se. Just this wing and the rooms off the main hall of the manor house downstairs. Library, dining room, parlor, and the sunroom, known in England as the pavilion. Sorry, but there it is. Necessary, you understand.”
I did a slight flip with my hand. “But, of course.”
His mouth curled. “I’l
l leave this unbolted if you promise to be a good girl. There are guards in the hallway to prevent you from snooping about too much.”
“Do I get shoes?”
His scowl made me cringe. “No. That way you’ll not wander off the premises. Or, chance pneumonia trying.”
With a click of the door, he was gone.
Mary popped back in to take my tray. “Dinner’s at seven. I suggest a rest. There’s a small selection of books from the library over there on the shelf. His sister’s favorites at one time, I gather.”
I sat up. “Sister? Is she here as well?”
Mary bowed her head. “Dear me, no. She was killed in a motor accident a few years back.” She motioned towards a photograph in a slightly tarnished frame siting on the dressing table. It showed a young woman on horseback. “This was her room.”
I walked over and picked up the photograph. My eyes enlarged. The hair color, the style, her petite, slender body frame, her grayish-blue eyes. My spitting image. Wait. I’d seen this photograph before…in the WITSEC headquarters. Becky’s words played in my head. Make her look as much like this girl as possible.
“Oh, no. It can’t be.”
“Yes.” Mary’s voice croaked. “The resemblance is a bit uncanny. They called her Niamh as well.”
As Mary closed the door, my knees buckled. I slumped onto the bed. Becky told them to have my hair cut and dyed so I’d look like a dead girl? And the man at the agency made Niamh my new first name. Did that mean the consulting office in Gainesville wasn’t really a WITSEC branch? Come to think of it, I never noticed any marshals in uniform.
This was way too bizarre. What game had I been thrust into now?
Surely Glenda had been duped like me. Andrew said as much. But Becky had been instrumental in relocating me to this part of England as well as changing my appearance. Did she also help set up my kidnapping?
Cold prickles spread across my torso. No. Not my dear friend Becky. Did it mean she worked undercover for the same people Andrew and his goons worked for?
My heart sank to my stomach. I’d trusted her. Tom trusted her.
A second shock shot through me. Becky had led Tom to me. Surely Tom had been fooled, too. Oh, please. Tell me that much is true, Lord. I love him. I have to trust him.
What about the other Tom I loved? I’d given him to Becky. Where in heavens was Tom Cat? A sob bolted into my throat. Lord, please let him be alright. A tear trickled down my cheek.
I stared at the photograph one more time. My hands shook. Who were these people and what did they want with me?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I stared into the dressing table mirror across the room, and then to the photo in the frame. The woman it portrayed resembled me, but she wasn’t me. Then again, who was I? Jen? Sheila? Niamh? Lies, so tired of the lies.
The room closed in on me. I pulled my hair up off my collar to fan the nape of my neck. I needed fresh air. Perhaps the casements worked. With a quick scoot behind one of the winged chairs, I yanked on the crank handle. Frozen in place. I inched over to the other one and applied as much torque as my arms would allow. Nothing. The windows were sealed. Of course.
I peered out through the distorted leaded glass. Below on the circular carriageway, Andrew talked to two minders. They nodded and looked up at my window. I back-stepped out of view and returned to the bed. Once again I felt trapped, not in control. It reminded me of the dark basement days when Tom had first sequestered me to protect me from the cartel. No contact with the outside world. Pitch black, sparse, with concrete walls and floor. And the spider webs. I shudder away the memory.
Just as the spider silk had stuck to my arms in that room, the tickling web of deceit brushed against me in this suite where Andrew’s sister once slept. I rubbed my forceps. Get it off of me—now. I wearied of the twists and turns, the lies, and other people sculpting my life like Play-Doh.
Wasn’t there a Bible verse that said the truth will set you free? I wanted the truth once and for all—and I wanted to be free. Free from here, from Robert, from agents, everyone…except Tom.
There had to be a way out. I went to the door and creaked it open a millimeter at a time to keep the old hinges from revealing my presence. Two new goons leaned against the wall in the hallway, chatting in low tones. Though tall, muscular, and with blond hair, they differed from the others who had been on the grounds below. Plus, there were the ones who had brought me here via the Avon River. I counted on my fingers. At least six minders guarded me. Great.
How could I sneak past all of them? I had no training in this sort of stuff. I rubbed my temples. I wished this stress headache would vanish. It kept me from thinking clearly. Maybe if I rested a while. The firm mattress, stacked with downy pillows and a puffy duvet beckoned. I nestled into it as if warm arms held me. My lip quivered. I wanted Tom. He’d hold me. He’d know what to do.
With legs drawn up to my chest, the tears came in spurts, in between gulps and sniffles. I regressed to being a little girl again—alone and scared, like the time I played hide and seek and accidently became locked in my grandmother’s steamer trunk in the attic. My shaky voice whined into the fluffy bedding, “What’s going to happen to me?”
No answer came. My knight in shining armor didn’t burst through the door, sword of steel blazing. Somewhere in the corners of my mind a velvety voice whispered, “Rest, Jen. It’ll be okay.”
A sensation of eight thousand microscopic, icy ant feet spread from my chest into my arms. Had God talked to me or did my own imagination speak? Oh, how I wanted to believe everything would work out. I flipped over and pulled the folded-over bedcovers to my nose. Spent of emotion and confusion, I allowed a weary fogginess to envelop me. Deeper I sank into a numbed bliss…
My eyes shot open. Had the tea been drugged? So that’s why Andrew said he’d leave the door unlocked. A scoff huffed through my nose. Right. Thanks for the favor. I wouldn’t be in any condition to dash across the lawns even if I did slip the clutches of his goons.
I rolled over as I took in a lengthy sigh. I didn’t care. I’d been sedated into compliance before—three times actually. The best thing seemed to give in to it.
The soft, steady tick from the mantle clock soothed the worry from my thoughts. My head became heavy and dull. My eyelids slowly closed off the room, the day, and whatever else would happen when this stuff wore off.
* * *
A whiff of onions and beef filtered into my dreams. The smell of baking bread floated in as well. I rolled over as a hollow growl echoed in my stomach. Food. Exactly what I needed. When had I eaten last? Oh, yes. Breakfast on the barge. Later, I chomped half a sandwich with swigs of Earl Grey tea. But where? Right. Here. My plush prison in an English manor house.
My brain shook off the fogginess a bit more. Niamh’s locked suite now draped in shadows. It must be evening. A small sheet of light protruded from the gap between the bottom of the door and the threshold.
Dinner at seven, they’d said. That meant downstairs in the dining hall? The clock read six-thirty. I’d freshen up and follow the smells. If I sat politely while dining, maybe Andrew would answer a few pertinent questions rattling in my brain.
With two scoots, I slid off the bed—until my head spun. Easy, there. Walk slow. I inched my way into the adjoining bath as I grabbed edges of furniture en route. After a quick freshen-up with rosewater, a brief brush through my hair, and warm socks on my feet, my legs supported me more sturdily. I walked slowly, pressing my arches to the wooden floor until I reached the door which opened into the hallway.
One of the goons moved from his perch and bowed to me. “Have a good nap? Ready for dinner?” One arm stretched toward the staircase, pointing the way.
“Humph.” I nodded a semi-response and tried not to look him in the eye. As I brushed past him, I caught a slight sneer form on his mouth.
“Let’s go.” Clunky footsteps fell behind me, matching my pace.
His companion pushed off and began to walk ahead of me. I
expected someone to shout, “Hup, two, three, four” as we paraded down the stairs. Goon number one turned to the right through a small, mahogany-paneled hall, laced with more dark countryside scenes and a few sculptures. I followed, goon number two bringing up the rear. We turned into the dining room off the main hall.
Three candelabras, one on the table and two on the sideboard, gave a soft glow to the scene. Bunsen burners flickered a bluish glow under silver chafing dishes. The faint aroma of sterno mingled with the steaming roast beef, buttered potatoes, carrots and onions. In sterling woven baskets, maroon linen napkins cuddled the hot cloverleaf rolls. A feast indeed.
One of the minders pulled out a chair for me. Several feet shuffled in as Mary, Andrew, Michael and the goons I’d seen on the front lawn earlier entered the room. Behind them came the scuba team and Charles, the butler with his staff of servers.
“Ma’am?” The guard from the hallway still held my chair. I mouthed, “Oh, sorry.” With a slight bend of my knees in penance, I settled into the seat I’d obviously been assigned.
He responded with a muted grunt as he pushed mine to the table, and then took the one to my right. Mary settled into the one to my left. Andrew and the others found their designated places around and across from us. I noticed a vacant place setting at the head of the table.
Andrew cleared his throat. “He’ll be here shortly. Phone call. Told us not to wait.”
A stone flipped inside my chest. He? I gave Mary a wide-eyed glance, which she returned with a zip of a smile. “Well, let’s begin.”
Andrew rang the brass bell. Immediately two men in evening attire shuffled in and began to dish out the food onto plates at the sideboard, expertly judging portions by size, weight and sex. A young woman in a black dress and a crisp white, laced apron poured water and wine.
“Thank you, Jane.” Andrew motioned with a slight bob of his head.
She bobbed a half-curtsy in acknowledgement.
From inside the deep recess of my memory came my mother’s proper tone. “Hands in lap until everyone is served, dear. Use the fork to the outside and work in.” Right, Mom.
Legitimate Lies Page 10
