by Anne O'Brien
‘Would he tell the truth?’
‘I know not.’ His brow furrowed in frustration as he released her hands to pace the floor. ‘But the letter has been sent. We must now await to detect its content.’
‘There is something I should tell you.’ Kate lifted anxious eyes to the Viscount. ‘Richard was here a little time ago. And left suddenly.’
‘Why so?’
‘Master Verzons had just informed me, in Richard’s presence, that he had sent the box of documents on to Widemarsh for me, to Mistress Gilliver.’
‘I see. And he told you when Richard was present. Did you tell Richard what was in the box?’
‘Apart from family papers, no. I made no mention of a will.’
Marlbrooke glanced searchingly at her. ‘Kate …’
‘What are you thinking?’ The anxiety now wrenched at her heart with sharp claws.
‘Apart from yourself—’ he chose his words carefully ‘—who would be interested in the discovery of your father’s will? Who might benefit if the courts could be persuaded to grant the Priory back to the Harleys?’
‘No! I won’t think it.’ She stepped back, away from him.
‘Kate! Don’t pull away from me. Think! Was marriage ever suggested between you and Richard? Was there ever an understanding between you?’
‘Not an understanding exactly, but …’
‘You must tell me. There could be a danger here.’
‘My uncle. Not Sir Henry—he believed the political allegiance of the Hothams was too dangerous to attempt a closer alliance. He would not consider it. But Simon Hotham would have pursued a marriage. Indeed, I know that he tried to persuade Sir Henry to agree with him. Marriage to me would unite the families and strengthen Richard’s own claim to the property through his mother.’
‘So the Hotham interest in the Priory has always been an issue.’
‘Yes. And I too—’ She stopped, gripped by sudden embarrassment and looked away.
‘I wondered. Tell me, Kate.’ His voice was gentle, full of compassion, which encouraged her to speak from her heart.
‘I believed I was in love with Richard. Before I came here, I thought that …’
‘And are you?’ He had already noted the tense she had deliberately chosen to use in her confession.
‘No. I liked him. I knew he cared for me. But I did not love him. I did not know what love was until …’
‘Until? Look at me, Kate. I think now is the time for truth between us.’
Obediently she raised her eyes and said simply, ‘Until I knew you, my lord.’
He remained motionless for one long moment, suspended in the clear, unmistakable emotion that shone in her eyes. The relief that swept through him melted the sharp crystals of doubt which had plagued him for weeks. He had been right all along. She had come to love him. In spite of the urgent matters of the moment he could not prevent the intense joy warming the chill grey of his eyes or curving his lips into a tender smile. Marlbrooke raised the fingers in his clasp to his mouth in a quick salute.
‘Kate—I could kiss you for that, and promise that I will—but there is too much urgency here. What do you presume Richard intended when he left here?’
Her cheeks flushed and her eyes remained fixed on his, stark fear in their depths. ‘I know what you are suggesting, but I cannot believe it. Surely …’
‘Think, Kate.’ He curled his fingers around her wrist in a harsh bracelet. ‘Why did Richard leave so quickly? What could be of such interest to Simon? If a will exists, the Hothams would be concerned to discover its content. Have you ever considered that, in the difficult circumstances of war, your father might have willed the property to a male line—to Simon Hotham, in fact?’
‘I think …’ The blood drained from her cheeks and she swallowed painfully as she accepted the terrible conclusion of her thoughts. ‘I think that I need to go to Widemarsh now. I need to see Gilliver.’ Her hand covered his, not in protest at his grip, but in a need for unity with him. ‘Marcus, I feel a terrible premonition.’
‘I am coming with you. We will see Gilliver together. Go and fetch a cloak.’
As good as his word, Marlbrooke lingered only to cover her mouth with his own in one hard, heart-stopping caress before collecting gloves and hat once more and returning to the stables.
They rode fast, side by side, their horses fresh and eating up the ground under impatient hooves. No words were spoken between them, but there was none of the exhilaration, the sheer joy of living of their previous ride together. The fear in their hearts was very evident. It was deep dusk now, the shadows echoing their dark concern, which grew with every second, with every hoofbeat.
At Widemarsh Manor Kate would have pushed open the door and entered, but Marlbrooke, close on her heels, held her back.
‘It might be better if I go first.’
‘What do you fear?’
He merely shrugged, unwilling to voice his concerns. The house was gloomy, with a closed-up feel. There were no lights to welcome them, no barking of dogs, no shadowy Mason to emerge and watch. Marlbrooke pushed open the door to the parlour. ‘Mistress Gilliver?’
And stopped in the entrance. For there was Mason, standing by the table with one candle in her hand. There was no other light in the room for the fire had not been tended. No sound came from her, but tears streamed down her ravaged cheeks, her whole body shaking so that the candle flame flickered widely to cast grotesque shadows on the plastered walls. Wax fell unheeded on to her hand and cuff, spattering on her skirts.
‘Mason?’ The lady did not respond. And then Kate focused on the dark shadows at her feet.
‘Aunt Gilliver?’
She lay face down, the glitter of her gems obscured. Around her, documents were spread in untidy profusion as if thrown there by a careless hand. On the table a familiar wooden box with its tarnished silver plate stood open, and empty.
And around Gilliver’s head spread a dark pool of thickening blood.
* * *
Kate fell to her knees beside Gilliver’s still form, heart thudding in her chest, unable to take in the evidence of extreme violence before her. In her sheltered life, she had never witnessed violent death before and her mind refused to accept it. She swallowed hard against the rising sensation of nausea and breathed deep to calm her stomach as she took in the amount of blood that had spilt from so small a body.
‘Gilliver!’ she whispered.
She laid a hand on the elderly lady’s cheek, shocked at the blue-tinged pallor and ice of her skin. Marlbrooke came to stand behind her and, on seeing the extent of the injury, gently pushed Kate aside.
‘Let me lift her.’ He held the woman who had attacked him with actions and words, with dogs, and had called him her enemy, and turned her over with the utmost care. And then crouched beside Kate. The injury was now clearly visible. The blood congealing round it had seeped from a heavy blow to the side of her head, which had crushed her skull like fragile glass. Without doubt Gilliver was dead. Marlbrooke laid her back again.
Kate buried her face in her hands, not wanting to see the terrible destruction of the old lady who had been her great-aunt and had shown her some kindness and been willing to take her into her home, whatever the underlying motive.
‘I am so sorry, Kate.’ Marlbrooke lifted her to her feet, hands continuing to support her when her legs threatened to give way. ‘There is nothing we can do.’
‘I know.’ Kate’s eyes were dry and raw with harsh grief. Later she would cry for this vindictive old woman, but not yet: now was not the time. Her throat was choked by the horror of it.
She looked down at the face, once so bright, so alive, so full of both mischievous and malicious possibilities, now wiped clean of everything but the remnant of great pain and terror.
‘But look at her,’ Kate murmured, her fingers grasping Marlbrooke’s sleeve. ‘This was not a robbery, was it?’
‘No.’ For Gilliver, in death, still carried a treasure house of precious sto
nes. The diamonds still winked wickedly on her breast, the pearls gleamed amidst the folds of the dusty black bodice of her gown, the clasp in her hair still picked up the glitter of light from the candle, through the mask of blood.
‘Who would do this?’ Their eyes met. There was no need to put their shared suspicions into words.
Marlbrooke pushed Kate into a chair and turned to Mason, who still stood, a silent witness to the scene. When he would have approached her she flinched from him, scurrying like a small frightened animal with bared teeth to put the width of the table between them. But she never once took her eyes from the lifeless form of her mistress.
Kate instinctively stood and moved to stand beside her, reaching out to take her hand. Mason flinched, but allowed it. It seemed to Kate that her flesh was as cold as Gilliver’s. Meanwhile Marlbrooke left the room, sword drawn, to ensure the murderer was not still in the house.
‘Mason.’ The sound of Kate’s soft voice did not register in Mason’s eyes but Kate persisted. ‘Mason. Who did this? Did you see?’
Mason simply stood, as if she did not hear. Instead a high keening began in her throat, a thin inhuman sound that set the hairs on Kate’s neck on end.
‘Did you see, Mason? Did you see who struck Gilliver? Were you here when it happened?’
Nothing, other than the eerie sound of extreme distress.
Kate looked helplessly at Marlbrooke, who had returned with a quick shake of his head and had taken a shawl from the back of a chair to place it over the figure at their feet, covering the face with its staring eyes. Gilliver had not died easily.
‘What do we do?’
The sound of wheels on the drive and the hurried beat of horses’ hooves caused them to stop and listen. Their eyes locked as the approaching carriage drew nearer and came to a halt outside.
‘Who?’
‘I wager we know the answer.’ Marlbrooke’s voice was cold and grim. ‘I believe that we are about to receive a call from Mr Simon Hotham. How very convenient that we found Gilliver’s body first.’ Kate drew in her breath to steady her nerves as he went himself to open the door for the travellers. She remained where she was beside Mason, listening to the voices, trying to regain her composure.
The voices grew closer. Marlbrooke re-entered the parlour, his expression giving nothing away, followed by Richard. And then came Simon Hotham, slowly, painfully, back bent, using two sticks held in claw-like hands. Without ceremony, without a word to Kate, he dragged himself to a chair and collapsed on to it, drawing in his breath through his teeth.
‘Uncle! I did not expect to see you here.’ Kate could not disguise her surprise at this unlooked-for visit, or her sense of foreboding. Whatever the content of the letter, she had not expected him to make so difficult a journey and with such speed.
‘Perhaps not. In fact, I am sure you did not! But it seems that I arrive at an opportune moment. I trust you are well, Katherine, in spite of your precipitate and unwise flight from Downham Hall—what can you have been thinking of? And you are Marlbrooke, I take it?’
‘Mr Hotham.’ The Viscount acknowledged him with a curt inclination of the head and nothing more.
But he surveyed the man before him with interest. Once tall, well muscled, imposing, a soldier in both bearing and training, now bent and wasted, fair hair thinning to show the gleam of his scalp, face hollow-cheeked and lined. He was a mere shadow of the man who had earned a name for puritanical zeal and military prowess in the service of Parliament. But his eyes were still keenly intelligent and alive as he took in the scene. His body might suffer the ravages of ill health, but his mind retained its purpose and instinct for command.
‘What has happened here?’ Simon demanded.
‘As you see, Mistress Gilliver has been attacked.’
‘Robbers? She should not have been living here alone, but she never would listen to reason. She is dead, I take it?’ He stared with little obvious sympathy at the pathetic shrouded body on the floor.
‘Yes, she is dead,’ the Viscount confirmed in measured tones. ‘But no, her jewellery is still in place. She was not robbed. Perhaps I might ask the reason for your presence here at Widemarsh Manor, Mr Hotham?’
‘Gilliver asked me to come.’ He shrugged as well as he was able and fixed Marlbrooke with a hard stare. ‘A matter of family business, I presume—she did not make it clear.’
‘Aunt Gilliver asked you to come?’ Kate’s eyes flew to Marlbrooke’s face to find it bland and shuttered. She turned back to her uncle. ‘It must have been a serious matter to bring you here, Uncle. I know that you rarely travel such distances now.’
‘Very true,’ he agreed, with a sharp glance at his niece, dropping his sticks with a clatter on to the floor beside him. ‘A glass of wine would be more than acceptable, Katherine.’
Richard had uttered no word since his entrance into the parlour. He took up a position behind his father’s chair, tall, powerful, in stark contrast with his infirm parent, his gaze moving critically between Kate and Marlbrooke, perhaps the faintest of smiles on his lips. Kate noted it and raised her brows in surprise.
‘Did you not see Mistress Gilliver after you left me at the Priory, Richard? Was she not still alive?’
‘With hindsight I regret that I did not come back here.’ Richard shook his head sadly, leaving Kate uncertain of her previous impression. ‘Obviously, now I wish I had. But I was expecting my father to arrive and so rode across the Common to meet him.’
‘You did not say Uncle Simon was expected!’
‘There was no reason to do so.’ Richard was unconcerned. ‘Did no one see who killed Gilliver? Had she no visitors today?’
‘Mason was here, but if she saw anything she is not saying.’
‘Then I may never know what she wanted from me.’ Simon struggled to his feet. ‘Perhaps I should look through her papers—there may be some clue. I don’t suppose I shall get much of good sense from Mason unless she has changed since we last met.’ He bent awkwardly to pick up one of the documents near his foot, to give it a cursory glance, and then cast a frowning stare on Kate. ‘I shall stay here tonight. We must have some conversation about these matters, Katherine.’
Kate merely nodded, anticipating an uncomfortable interview.
‘I shall take Kate back to the Priory with me,’ Marlbrooke spoke quietly, interrupting Simon’s immediate plans. ‘You are free to stay here, sir, but this is not the place for Katherine to be tonight.’
‘There is no need, my lord. She would be perfectly safe here under my protection.’
‘She goes with me.’ There was no arguing with that tone of voice or the glacial chill in the Viscount’s eyes. He did not concern himself to ask Kate’s wishes or even look at Simon for his acquiescence. ‘I will send some of my people to care for Mistress Gilliver and make arrangements for her burial.’
With brisk efficiency the Viscount collected up the documents from the floor, shuffled them into an untidy pile and handed them to Kate. They might only be personal letters and the sorry tale of Isolde, but instinct directed him and he had no intention of leaving them in the possession of Simon Hotham.
‘Those documents should remain here,’ Simon objected. ‘They may include the reason for Gilliver’s summons. Give them to Richard, if you please, Katherine.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, holding the papers tightly. ‘They belong to me. They are not pertinent to Gilliver’s affairs.’
‘I still think …’
‘The documents belong to Mistress Harley. They can have no possible bearing on your business with Mistress Gilliver since the lady was unaware of their existence before this afternoon.’ Marlbrooke’s voice was again quiet but implacable. After the briefest of hesitations Simon Hotham merely nodded in acceptance.
‘Mason, will you come with me?’ Throughout the conversation the lady had remained silent, withdrawn into the shadows by the fireplace, her gaze fixed on her mistress’s lifeless body. Kate now touched her gently on the shoulder. ‘I
t would be better for you to be with me at the Priory than to stay here tonight. You can not help Mistress Gilliver now.’
Mason stepped back, startled, focusing on Kate’s face for perhaps the first time since she had arrived, and then ran from the room with her strange graceless gait.
Kate shrugged, looking helplessly at Marlbrooke, and prepared to leave. But Mason returned almost immediately, carrying a cloth-covered package. She shuffled to stand in front of Kate, ignoring the other occupants of the room, looking up at her with wild eyes as her mouth twisted in an agony of grief. Her tortured gaze searched Kate’s face carefully, seemed satisfied with what it found there and then allowed the covering to slip from the package on to the floor to reveal a small cedarwood box, highly carved. More a jewel casket than a document box. She pushed it into Kate’s hands and fled once more into the dark regions of the house.
Kate left with Marlbrooke, a brief farewell curtsy for her uncle and cousin, carrying the box and the documents with her.
It was late when they returned to the Priory and Verzons waited on them in the entrance hall. He relieved them of their cloaks and took the documents and casket from Kate with calm efficiency and care for their comfort. Nothing disturbed his composure.
‘Lady Elizabeth has retired, my lord. Will you have wine? I will arrange for it to be sent to the library, if it is your wish,’ he added, aware of Marlbrooke’s habits.
‘Thank you, Verzons. Before you go—’ as the steward turned to leave ‘—do you know anything of a letter that was sent from here last night?’
‘A letter, my lord?’
‘To Staunton Court. To Mr Simon Hotham.’
‘I have no knowledge of such a letter, my lord. I will enquire for you.’ His reply was everything Marlbrooke could expect from a loyal and trustworthy steward.
‘If you become aware of any knowledge, I would be grateful if you would inform me. It has become a matter of some importance.’
