by Claudy Conn
“I do,” the viscount said.
“Aye, as do I, strangely enough,” his friend agreed.
“The wonder is, I never ran into the vixen during my London days last year.”
“As to that, you were…er, floating in rather dubious circles, gaming in the worst of hells, and avoiding Almack’s at all costs.”
“Aye, so I did.” The viscount sighed.
The door opened and Matty appeared with a tray laden with food. The aroma made him rub his hands together and throw her a kiss as she set the tray on the small table at his knees.
He and his friend discussed a few ideas he had on how to put together evidence of his innocence while he wolfed down his food.
“Stay the night, Bret. Have a bath. I’ll help you draw one, and get a decent night’s sleep. Leave before daylight.”
This was too good to turn down, and with the Naughty Lady Ness holding his fate in her hands, he was as safe at Parks’ Place as he was at his cave.
Chapter Eleven
Gloomy shadows indistinct figures, hooded all, waving dark pendants and beckoning to her. Vanessa felt herself slipping into their circumference. Blood-red eyes glared wrathfully and called out, “Witch!”
She groaned and yelled, “No.” She protested their onslaught, for they were reaching for her, touching her with cold bony fingers. She was repelled by their ugly words, ugly facial expressions, and then everyone went still as they turned to look up and a voice took command.
A strangely familiar, not unwelcome, voice, and the features of Montlaine glistened above the crowd. “Move aside!” he told them. “She is Lucifer’s prize!”
Vanessa awoke with a jerk of her head and sat bolt upright in her bed. A dream, just a dream. She shook off the remains of her sleep, and the nightmare after nightmare she had been having all centered on Montlaine. Guilty or not?
She hadn’t thought him guilty of the heinous crime of which he had been accused, not when she looked at his face, into the warmth behind his dark eyes, but now? Now she wasn’t so sure. She had promised not to divulge her secret and she was a woman of her word.
He could be a guilty man looking for a way out—saying he suffered the ‘cave’ living conditions in order to prove himself innocent? Somehow, she didn’t think so.
He seemed an arrogant man, strong-willed, and he seemed to have a dangerous edge. She had sensed that during their odd conversation and in the manner he had taken hold of her shoulders.
He had been none too gentle, as though to claim power over her, but then he had been quick to release her, knowing she could be the one who was lying—knowing that she could turn him in.
He had instilled her with excitement. She was aware that his touch had thrilled her…no, more than that. She had experienced something greater than a physical reaction. Was she being fanciful? She was given to a strong imagination. Was she a romantic allowing her mind whimsical notions? Was that what was behind all of this?
Oh, and then what a scene her brother had nearly caused.
She rode as fast as the night allowed down the main road and found him charging towards her, alone and very angry. He had ranted for a full two minutes before he heard her out.
She had calmly told him that she had gotten off Shadow to chase after her scarf, which had blown over the moors, and that Shadow had wandered off. She then got turned around in the dark and went back towards Montlaine by mistake and had nearly reached the estate when she realized her error and turned back.
Only slightly mollified, he had snapped, “That is why you should have left the scarf, as I asked, Ness. I had to leave Sheila and Randy at Penrod to come back for you, and no doubt he is turning her up sweet even as we speak. He will have cut me out with her by now.”
She couldn’t help it, she laughed out loud and said, “What a good thing that would be, though I don’t want him caught up in her snares either.”
Rick regarded her thoughtfully. “There is that. I am much more up to snuff with the ladies than he is…and I did note that her mother, at least, is most anxious to…see one of us become seriously interested in her daughter.”
“I can’t blame a mother for that, you two are each quite the catch, but I don’t care for the Echworths…not any of them,” Ness answered.
“Hmm, you are not out on that score. I didn’t care much for them either, but Sheila…is quite lovely…”
“And completely shallow and insincere. But have fun, and since you are the more experienced between you two, keep a watch that Randy doesn’t get ensnared.”
“Yes, you are quite right,” her brother returned staunchly.
Ness had breathed a sigh of relief that she had given him something other than her latest offense to think about.
Later, when she was able to speak with Lady Penrod without being overheard by Sheila, she leaned in and asked, “Guss, tell me do, what you think about all these strange doings in Cornwall?”
“Ness, dearest, I don’t feel comfortable speaking about this. A young woman, a child really, has been drawn into this scandal and her future is at stake.”
“Why?”
“Ness, the late viscount and I were friends. I knew his parents. I watched him as a youth and he was wild and restless, perhaps even discontent, and in that state, went off to fight the French in Spain. They survived…he and his man, Epps, but when they came back last year at the end of 1814, Bret found himself restless all over again. Some of his time was spent in the gaming hells of London, some in far worse establishments. He gained a reputation and only came back here when Mary was home for the holidays. By then, tenants were complaining that the lands needed management. Within a short span of time, he found the outlet for his energy and began to work wonders for his tenants, who thrived while their neighbors did not. There was a practical reason, but I can’t remember that now. At any rate, a rumor was started, somehow, that he was using magic to help only his own tenants to prosper. He did not try and ease the suspicions but laughed at them. Within days of their complaints, their sheep fell ill and the rumor grew.”
“This is preposterous. You are telling me…” Ness started.
“No,” her ladyship interrupted. “I am not telling you anything but the series of events that led to that awful night. Another oddity occurred during that time. Some of the village merchants and farmers’ daughters began going out late at night dressed in black hooded robes. Where they went, who they met with, no one knows. Montlaine was suspected.”
“Why?”
“Ah, of course, you have never seen him.” Her ladyship sighed. “He is quite…strikingly attractive. At any rate, many of these girls were seen flirting with him when he was in the village, so it was a natural conclusion I suppose.”
“The Echworths said the poor girl was found clutching a pendant?”
“I begged him to take the blasted thing off. He said it had sentimental meaning for him. It had been given to him in Spain by a professor of sorts—a gentleman he held dear.”
“What is it about the pendant that made the villagers think it was connected to the devil?”
“It was emblazoned with Lucifer’s mark, at least, the vicar had remarked that it was. Montlaine laughed at that, too, and said it was no such thing.”
“I see…but what of Mary? Why is she in danger from the villagers?”
“They were in a frenzy, I am told. They thought the women and his sister were a part of his witch’s coven. It still isn’t known who all the girls were. Personally,” Guss grimaced, “I think Mary is more in danger of being taken advantage of by the Echworths, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep them at bay.”
“Who stood to gain by the viscount’s destruction?”
“You say destruction…not death?” Lady Penrod eyed her curiously.
“If someone planned, schemed, and came up with this bizarre framework to trap the viscount, they couldn’t be certain…have known in advance he would be killed, but he would be destroyed,” Ness said gravely.
“The only man who stood to gain by his death was Duncan Echworth, and he was in London during this entire episode…and I believe for at least a month before.”
“A loving mother might go to great lengths to see her sons advanced. A woman could start gossip…tell a lie…have access to the viscount’s pendant?” Ness suggested.
Guss considered this. “Indeed, Mrs. Echworth is, in her own way, quite cunning. However, we must not forget there was a man meeting those women on the moors.”
“Was there? How do we know?” Ness pursued.
“Because Melony…the young woman that was murdered, was pregnant, and I am assuming she was that man’s lover. It stands to reason.”
“It could be an entirely separate thing—that she had a lover,” Ness said thoughtfully.
“Also, the vicar said that he saw a hooded figure that could only have been a man,” Guss said.
“The vicar?”
“Indeed, Vicar Poole. He observed the cult in the distance, he says on two different occasions.”
“Never say so!” Ness was surprised. “Just what did he witness?”
“Not very much, I am afraid…although, he also was the one who discovered Melony’s involvement with the coven and then shortly afterwards, she was killed.”
“How did he discover her involvement?” Ness became excited. She felt she was onto something, though she couldn’t say what.
“Now, Ness…dearest. It is not all that interesting. You need not concern yourself, for I did promise your parents…”
“I shall explode!” Ness exclaimed. “Guss, do tell me at once. How did the vicar discover Melony? How did he know one of the coven members was a man? Just from his dark shape?”
“I have only word of mouth, for I did not speak to the vicar directly on the subject. However, I did hear tell that he chased after the coven, whereupon they dispersed and he caught Melony Fry before she could get away. And why I am telling you all this…” Guss put a hand to her forehead.
“Because you want me to know the truth, not the gossip. Tell me the truth, Guss. In your opinion—did Montlaine kill this girl?”
“In my opinion, he would have died to save her, not harm her for any reason. Bret is a hero in every sense…driven, but not wicked.”
Sheila chose that moment to leave her two admirers and stroll across the room to their side and their conversation was cut short.
Thus, Ness was left with a muddle to sort through and decided that was the cause of all her nightmarish dreams.
She moved to her open window and stretched her limbs. The scent of Penrod roses wafted into her nostrils and along with that scent, a sudden idea!
The road to solving this problem of Montlaine lay ahead—the only obstacle was in finding that road!
Chapter Twelve
The aroma of sweet rolls and hot coffee filled the dining parlor. A bright sun reflected the promise of a pleasant summer’s day. However, neither of these two advantages seemed to honey the tempers of young Lord Richard of Grey and his cousin, Randall of Southvale.
They eyed one another across the breakfast table, waited only for the lackey to leave them to themselves before once again picking up the argument they had started the evening before.
“Don’t think that because you choose to look the tulip in that waistcoat that Miss Echworth will pay you any more mind than she did last night,” Rick grunted. He was seriously worried that Randy was becoming too enamored with the lady. He meant to steal her interests away, and thus, put an end to his cousin’s involvement, but couldn’t help teasing him as well.
Randall pushed his plate away and stood up. “Tulip? Me? A tulip?” He was nearly foaming at the mouth as he took to pacing before rounding on his cousin to snap, “I don’t know why you want to draw me out…” He put up his fists. “But draw me out you have!”
Ricky laughed. “Sit down, ‘ole boy. I was only funning. Of course you are not a tulip.”
Randy’s eyes narrowed. “I say, Rick, I’ll tell you what. I’d rather look a tulip in a stylish waistcoat, which you very well know is all the crack, than appear a coxcomb in a cravat whose style went out with the diamond heelpiece!”
“What?” Rick jumped to his feet. “Damn, but you’ve lost your senses, boy!” His cravat was perfect. Brummell himself had remarked upon his skill with a neckcloth.
Randall’s face took on an expression of disdain.
Rick took exception and gave his cousin a hefty shove.
Randall put up his fives.
The door opened and as Lady Penrod glided inside, Randall dropped his fists, and both young men jumped guiltily apart.
“Ah, you haven’t started eating yet. How nice.” She took up a seat at the table and motioned them with her eyes to attend her.
Ricky had the distinct impression that she had heard their raised voices before she entered and knew just what she was about. In spite of his irritation, a slow smile dimpled his handsome face as he sat. “My lady, how lovely you look.”
His cousin shot him a glare, but sat as well, and their manners forced them into polite conversation with her ladyship.
“Wherever has Ness got herself this morning?” Lady Penrod asked after a few moments.
“What?” Ness’s brother reacted with dismay. “Is she not about?”
“No, why do you look like that? She can’t be far. No doubt taking a walk about the grounds. She loves her exercise and we have quite extensive trails here at Penrod.”
“Blast,” Randall said.
“Indeed?” Lady Penrod’s amused glance came to rest on him.
Randall blushed. “I was hoping she would want to accompany us when we call on Miss Echworth this morning.”
Rick noted that Lady Penrod’s lips quivered and hid a smile.
“Ah, I see. There is no reason that I can think of why the two of you couldn’t pay a morning call on Miss Echworth yourselves.”
Rick offered, “I, for one, don’t want to appear too forward. After all, they are still in mourning.”
“Yes, it would be less…pointed if Ness were with us,” Randall agreed.
“Then put it off ‘til tomorrow,” Lady Penrod said softly, exchanging an amused glance with Rick.
“No, well then, no sense in that. As you say, no reason Rick and I can’t pay our respects without Ness being with us.” He lit up, and apparently forgot his earlier dispute with his cousin. “Rick, we could take Miss Echworth for a drive?”
“No, I don’t think so, not without Ness to lend some propriety,” Rick answered with a shake of his head.
“Where the devil can she have gone off to?” Randall said as he gulped down the rest of his coffee. “Well, we had better be off then.”
Rick and Lady Penrod exchanged glances. “My lady,” Rick said as he rose, an amused smile on his lips.
A moment later, they were headed for the stables, once again in festive spirits.
* * *
“Ho there, Shadow,” Ness called after a short canter to loosen her horse up. Her mare was fired up and snorting over the exhilarating run they had enjoyed over the open meadow.
She reined in, and under her gentle hands, her mare calmed and stood for her. Ness leaned back and adjusted the lovely green skirt of her riding habit. She was, once again, breaking the rules, she knew, by not allowing a groom to follow her discreetly.
No doubt, the vicar would raise an eyebrow and think her most hoydenish. No matter. Following rules was dull sport and besides, why should women be hampered with such things when men were not?
Protection? Ah, but she had a horse pistol in her holster, and along with her brother, she had learned how to shoot, and often did so with her father and Rick.
Thus, her reasoning, as ever, excused her wayward behavior and she made her way over the rolling downs to a neatly laid out grey stone set of buildings ahead.
No flower beds, no shapely yews or flowering trees ornamented the bleak, rough construction of the place. There was life about in the dirt courtyard
, for she could see a young maid scurry across, dragging along a milk bucket from a modest barnyard.
All at once, Ness wondered what she was doing there. Instinctively, she knew this vicar would be stern and rigid. He would not approve of her and would look upon her visit with displeasure. Nevertheless, she steeled herself and gently urged her horse to take the narrow path at a decorous pace toward her objective.
* * *
Vicar Poole sat in his upholstered winged chair near the fire. The last log was burning to a close, and the embers were bright with a final fierce glow. He brought his faded hazel eyes up from the contemplation of an essay by Alexander Pope, and studied the dying fire sadly.
None of his parishioners would have guessed that Pope was a favorite of his, but then, no one had ever really taken the trouble to know him, he thought bitterly.
He grimaced. Life had, in many ways, passed him by. He had never found the right woman to share his home, give him children…
“S’cuse me, Vicar.” It was Tilly, his housekeeper. She was plump and mature, he thought perhaps in her late fifties. She ran the household tightly and was the only servant whose respect for the vicar did not border on fear. He rather liked her.
“Yes, Tilly?”
“There be someone to see ye. Lord bless me, a young woman…Lady Vanessa Grey she says and she is waiting in the hall.”
The vicar’s finely shaped brow went up with interest. “Really? I had heard that Lady Vanessa was visiting up at Penrod. Whatever can she want here?” He stood up, and before the housekeeper could comment, he waved her off saying, “Very well, show her in.”
When the housekeeper hesitated, he hurried her with another wave of his hand. “Go on, go on.”
Tilly nodded and hands folded into one another at her waist, she hurried off to do his bidding.
A moment later, Lady Vanessa was shown into his study.
He felt a gasp form in his throat as his eyes rested on her beautiful face. He had never seen such a classically lovely countenance and when she smiled, he was nearly bowled over.
