by Lara Temple
‘This way,’ he said calmly, directing her off the lane and into the forest.
‘No. Where is Adam?’ she demanded.
‘This way. In the old icehouse by the dower house. I doubt many remember it. It was already disused when I was a child, when old Delacort built the new icehouse up near the Hall. The old one is completely overgrown and a bit of a shambles, but it has been useful as a base for my activities these past weeks. I replaced the padlock and there is no way for anyone to hear you out here in the forest. Ah, here it is. Come along.’
Alyssa stared at the tangle of bushes that topped a small hillock at the end of the narrow trail they had followed off the main lane to the dower house. She knew icehouses were often built well outside the grounds of houses, to take advantage of the coolness of the forest or their proximity to a body of water so that ice could be carted there during the winter frosts, but she had forgotten this old structure. She could see nothing more than a furrow in the ground leading to a wooden door in the hillock, half-lost in a hairy mass of bushes and vines. There was an old mining lantern hanging there and he pulled back the black shade and a faint light illuminated several steps which led to a padlocked door. The thought that Adam was in there, in God knew what state, was unbearable.
Libbet unlocked the padlock and pulled the door open, keeping his pistol on her, and then stepped back.
‘You first, Miss Drake.’
It was pitch-black inside. A very short corridor opened suddenly on to a room and for a moment in the dim light which entered from the open door she saw a pile of wooden crates in a jumble against the far end of the small room. The space was a peculiar shape, almost like the inside of an egg. She stepped forward, scanning the space, searching for Adam, her mind prepared for the worst, but then suddenly the door shut behind her, plunging the room into darkness. She surged against the door, groping desperately for a handle. Libbet’s voice, calm but muffled, carried through the wood.
‘I will be back with him soon enough, Miss Drake. Please try to remain calm.’
And then she heard nothing. She slammed her hands against the surface, crying out his name in fury and frustration, but there was nothing. The thought that he had duped her, that she had walked into this trap like a fool, burned red-hot. She filled her lungs and screamed, furious and terrified. But when the last echoes of her voice were absorbed into the brick walls, she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the door and forced herself to think. She had been a fool, but she would not let this man win. Adam was smart; he had been in danger before and survived. Somehow, they would win. And she had to think.
Think! Think of where you are. What you saw. There must be some way to get out or at least to prepare for the madman’s return.
An icehouse. During the winters as a child she and her siblings had often come to watch as they had skimmed the small lake at Delacort for ice and hauled chunks into large crates, then dropped them through the broad hatchway at the top of the large Delacort icehouse behind the stables. Her mind froze on the memory and she looked up, even though she could see nothing in the dark. She thought of the narrow corridor and the long chunks of ice and the crates. There was no reason this icehouse would be substantially different, even if it was smaller.
The mound had been overgrown, but Libbet had said he’d had to provide a new padlock for the door, which might mean the hatchway, too, was unsecured, long forgotten. Even if it was overgrown she might be able to get through, if she could get up there. If she could somehow stack together those crates she had seen. And she had to, because she had to stop Libbet before he hurt Adam. Just as he had used her fear for Adam to lure her here, he would use Adam’s sense of responsibility to do the same to him. She had given Libbet the means and now she would have to find a way to prevent him from using them to hurt Adam.
She closed her eyes as she always did when she needed to imagine something, summoning the image she had seen for that brief moment before he closed the door. Then she inched forward, hands outstretched. Her foot encountered it first and she leaned down cautiously and found a crate. It was damp and she shivered involuntarily, drawing back as if from some slimy creature. She forced herself to reach out again, closing her hands on the lip of the crate, dragging it towards her and turning it over.
The crates were roughly made but sturdy and her arms were aching by the time she had managed to stack them in what she hoped was a kind of pyramid. At one point as she was tugging one of the crates towards her something fell to the earth with a loud clang and her eyes flew open. She realised, feeling quite ridiculous, that she had kept her eyes closed the whole time, as if it made the pitch-black less frightening. She groped along the floor for the source of the noise and found what felt like a rusted crowbar with a long curved end. She remembered from those winters the long metal hooks used to crack and snare pieces of ice from the lake and for the first time she felt a surge of hope pierce through her mindless focus.
She inched over to the makeshift stack of crates and began to crawl up the step-like structure. It groaned but held her weight until she reached the top crate. Balanced on one knee, she raised her hand cautiously and jerked back as she scraped her knuckles on a rough surface. She could have cried out in relief. She felt around and found the rim of the hatchway almost directly above her. It creaked as she gave it a sharp shove and a shower of dirt descended on her, but it did not rise. She steadied herself and raised the thin end of the rusty metal bar, sliding it between the hatchway and the ceiling. It entered a few inches and stuck and she paused. She had no idea if her little mountain of crates would hold if she made too sharp a movement. It could hardly be more than six or so feet to the ground, she told herself reassuringly. If she fell, she would just have to build it again.
She braced herself, then leaned all her weight against the crowbar, using it as a lever against the hatchway. Her pyramid groaned and wavered, but held as there was a ripping sound above her and a torrent of dirt and leaves came down upon her. The pitch-black separated into shades of darkness and she knew she had broken through. Her heart thudding, she reached up through the gap and into a tangle of roots and leaves and earth.
She braced herself once more on the crate and hauled herself through the narrow gap and up into the bushes. It was almost too narrow and as she pushed up on the hatchway with her back she felt her pyramid waver and the crates fall away under her as if she had been standing on water. But she was already halfway out, her hands clinging to the roots and branches of the bushes, and she managed to get one knee out, then brace herself and push through. She stayed there for a moment, kneeling on the mossy earth, caught in the piercing tangle of bushes, fighting back tears. Then she levered herself to her feet and stumbled through the bushes. She had to find Adam before Libbet hurt him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Adam looked up as the library door opened. He stood up slowly.
‘You showed yourself in, I see, Libbet,’ he said calmly as the valet closed the library door behind him.
‘I did, My Lord. I am still probably more familiar with the ins and outs of the Hall than you are. I see you have made a great many improvements here.’
‘Which you hope to appreciate, I gather?’
‘It is not a consideration with me, My Lord. Please step back from your desk. I know you probably keep a pistol in the drawer you opened and I really do not want to have to shoot you here. Nor do you want to shoot me here, I promise you.’
‘I don’t know about that. It might ruin the carpet, but that can be replaced.’
‘But Miss Drake cannot,’ Libbet said simply and Adam froze.
‘Leave her out of it. She has nothing to do with this.’
‘Too late for that, I am afraid. Oh, she is not dead. Yet. But I really had no choice. This morning when she looked at me with compassion I thought she might have guessed I was Percy’s father and from there it w
ould be short work to realise I was the one responsible for everything that had happened. Well, that was my mistake, but it cannot be helped now.’
He did not have time to react before Adam had him against the wall, his hand on Libbet’s throat and his other hand pinning the valet’s hand with the pistol to the wall. Libbet’s pale blue eyes widened in shock, but he did not try to resist.
‘It won’t do you any good,’ he whispered past the chokehold Adam had on him. ‘You kill me and she will die before you find her. And I might get what I want anyway if they hang you for my murder. Even you might find it hard to explain my throttled body in your library. It will be difficult to convince anyone that I am connected to any of the Delacort murders or recent attacks. And then my Percy will be Lord Delacort anyway. Your choice.’
Adam held him for a moment longer, fighting against the murderous, desperate rage, knowing he could not afford to feel anything yet. When Jacob had returned with the news that although Percy was in Turl Street, Libbet was nowhere to be found, he had prepared for something to happen that evening. But not this. He hoped Jem and Nicholas would continue to follow his cue.
‘You have the upper hand now,’ he said distinctly. ‘For the moment. But after this. When she is safe. I will kill you.’
He pushed away and Libbet remained leaning against the wall for a moment, breathing deeply. Then he adjusted his coat.
‘Where is she?’ Adam demanded.
‘Someplace secure. I don’t know how much air she has in there, so if you want to see her still before both of you die, I suggest we go now.’
‘When she is safe. I will kill you,’ Adam said again, crushing the need to carry through on his threat right there, but Libbet merely indicated the long doors leading out on to the veranda and Adam opened them and strode through into the night. Libbet followed, indicating the path leading down towards the lake and the dower house. Once they were clear of the hall, he spoke again, his cool, even voice carrying in the still evening.
‘I am prepared for that possibility. But as I pointed out, murdering me might serve my purpose as well, though I would obviously prefer to live to see my Percy claim the title. I have tried to avoid a direct confrontation, but it was you who forced my hand from the very beginning. You made no secret of the fact you never meant to stay here beyond a few weeks, which meant I had to act fast. I could not afford to bide my time as I had with Ivor…’
Adam only half-listened. He walked swiftly following the path towards the empty old dower house. This was one project he had not yet managed to get around to and he knew very little about the dilapidated old structure. He tried to remember anything about that house which could give him a clue as to where Libbet might be keeping Alyssa. From what he had seen of the cellars there they were in such a ramshackle state they would hardly be an effective prison, and certainly not someplace where the supply of air could be limited. Or had that just been a threat to make him obey?
He wished he could take the cur by the throat and choke the truth out of him, but he knew Libbet had spoken the truth when he’d said he held all the cards. Or the only card that mattered. Whatever this madman had planned, Adam would do whatever it took to get Alyssa to safety. If that meant putting himself in Libbet’s hands for now, then so be it. For the moment he needed the man occupied and distracted.
‘You have brewed your potion with a great deal of patience, Libbet. When did you start planning all this?’
‘But I didn’t plan it. Not at the beginning at least. It was just providence, you might say. It started with Master Timothy. That winter when everyone was ill. My Percy was, too, and all I wanted to do was to care for him. My darling Edith, his mother, had placed him in my care when she died trying to birth Somerton’s sickly brat. But Master Timothy’s own man was ill. I had to wait on the master and got nothing but abuse. For years I had had to watch Master Timothy and Master Ivor make game, or worse, of my Percy. Always threatening to put him out of the Hall. And that night when I feared for Percy’s life, Master Timothy kept me by him and wouldn’t let me go back to my boy. It wasn’t that hard, in the end, he was as weak as a kitten. I put the pillow over his face and held it there until he was quiet. And then I went and looked after my Percy.’
‘And Ivor?’
‘Master Ivor? He was as like old Somerton as peas in a pod. Horse mad but cow handed and always ready to strike out at those weaker than themselves. I was on my way back from Mowbray when I saw him fall and went to help. He lay there bellowing at me to help him back on his horse when it was obvious his leg was badly broken. I went to find a branch for a splint, but he kept cursing and then he said something about my Percy. I don’t recall what. I hit him with the branch and knocked him out. And then I knew I had no choice. That if I didn’t act he would have me sent away or worse and that it was nothing more than another moment of resolution that stood between my Percy and Delacort. So I finished it and left him and went away and waited.
‘The madness is that for a moment I had completely forgotten about you. That you stood between my Percy and Ivor in the succession. Everyone had become so accustomed to expecting to hear of your death I had almost come to believe you would never survive. I realised soon enough after I had done the deed that I had rejoiced precipitously, but I still hoped you would not make it back to Delacort. But once you did, I knew there was nothing for it but to go forward, especially when you cut my Percy off, forcing him to go and try his luck making up to that silly little chit, then that demi-monde widow. I knew Edith would never have approved of her.
‘The problem was that you made no secret of the fact you weren’t going to stay here long. I could not afford to wait for a provident situation. I had to create it. The rope was a good idea. If only you had fallen harder or if Miss Drake hadn’t come along and I could have finished the deed as I had with Master Ivor and then taken the rope away. The scaffolding was a sad failure. I was still close with all the servants at the Hall even though we had been forced to move out, and I knew you were going to inspect the work on the east wing that morning. I didn’t like the idea others might be hurt, but I was, I admit, becoming desperate. The closer we came to your departure the more I realised I could no longer indulge in the idea of an accident. And I did not want to attack you directly, not if I could do it by other means. I was well aware I would be no match for you directly.
‘So I watched you whenever I could. I know this land as well as anyone. Every moment my Percy did not require my services I was here, learning. I knew of your solitary walks and I was lucky enough to witness your argument with Moresby. I came that night with a knife and thought to have done with it, but I am no fool. And the idea came to me, complete and ready. I made sure Percy would be at the Duck and Dragon and then came to see that you had gone out walking as usual and would not be able to account for yourself. Then I ran to Moresby Hall to see what I could contrive. I thought my luck was truly with me when I saw Moresby coming out of the stables alone just as I approached. But striking the blow myself was harder than I had thought it would be and when he cried out I am ashamed to admit I ran. Still, I thought I had finished him and went quickly to clean up and write that note for Sir James. It is just a little bit further. This way.’
‘You must have been quite upset the next day at the White Hart,’ Adam commented.
‘I was. I could hardly credit it when she lied, but there was nothing I could do. It is a great pity, since I have always liked Miss Drake. It is a great sorrow for me to involve her in this, but I have no choice.’
‘Of course you do. You made your choice,’ Adam responded brutally, wishing he could kill the man now and have done with it. They had gone past the turn to the dower house and the path dwindled to a trail leading into the forest. Adam tensed, wondering where they could be going.
‘And she did serve me well, in a way,’ Libbet continued, as if there had been no interruption. ‘That night when I
came to shoot you. I should have suspected you had realised that it was not mere chance at play, but I did not suspect that you were out to trap me. It is a pity I cannot repay her the favour, but there is too much at stake… Ah, here we are.’
Adam stared at the hillock, the horrible image of her being buried there beating in his brain. Libbet waved him down an overgrown trail and he went, alert but terrified of what he might find.
‘Jerome…’ A faint, breathy whisper flowed out from the darkness of the forest and both men froze. Libbet kept the pistol extended in Adam’s direction, but his other hand had gone to his throat.
‘My Jerome…’ The sound was even fainter now, just a quiver of wind, but Libbet gave a strange keening cry.
‘Edith?’
The voice came again, muffled. ‘I let her out… She’s not in the icehouse… Come…’
The pistol wavered and lowered slightly and Adam did not wait. He forced Libbet down on the ground, shoving his pistol hand under his knee, keeping his own hand on the man’s throat even as he scanned the shadows.
‘Alyssa!’ he called out, praying she was all right.
Libbet’s eyes grew wide with shock and confusion and they did not waver from the sight of a pale figure moving swiftly through the shadows towards them. As the figure, in a torn and ragged dress, her hair down about her shoulders, resolved itself from the dark, the valet gave an odd despairing cry and closed his eyes. Alyssa stopped as two other figures moved out from behind the trees on the other side of the path. Nicholas and Jem rushed forward, both holding cocked pistols.
Adam wrenched the pistol from Libbet’s limp grasp and flew to his feet.
‘Hold him,’ he said to Jem and strode over to where Alyssa stood, staring at them all. She was holding a long metal bar in both hands, like a croquet mallet, and he took it from her gently and dropped it on the ground.
