“A year ago, when the refurbishment of Wyrdhurst Hall commenced, someone started a campaign designed to make you and your husband feel unwelcome in the village of Blackhope and uncomfortable in your new home.…”
Guy quickly recapitulated the information he’d passed on to me beside the church in Blackhope. He described the flowers left before Clive Aynsworth’s memorial, the building of the Guy Fawkes Day bonfire within sight of Wyrdhurst’s towers, the revived rumors of the schoolteacher’s murder, and the resurrection of the Wyrdhurst ghost.
“Someone even went so far as to re-create the ghost,” he told Nicole. “The noises you heard at night, Mrs. Hollander, were quite real.”
“I know.” Nicole’s head bobbed eagerly. “Lori thinks they were made by burglars.”
“I’m afraid we’re dealing with something far more serious than burglary,” said Guy. “Those noises were, like the rumors, part of a plot to force you to abandon your home.”
Nicole looked perplexed. “Why would anyone want me to leave Wyrdhurst?”
“You were in the way.” Guy took a careful breath and eased his arm into a more comfortable position on the pillow before dropping a bomb every bit as unexpected as the explosions that had shattered the windows. “For the past three years, Mrs. Hollander, Wyrdhurst has been used as a weapons cache by a band of terrorists bent on assaulting and destroying the Scottish Parliament.”
Nicole’s mouth fell open and a long moment passed.
“Terrorists?” I croaked.
“I rather think I preferred ghosts,” Nicole said weakly.
“Forgive me,” said Guy. “I know how upsetting this must be for you.”
Nicole lifted her chin. “It’s far less upsetting than not knowing the truth. Do go on.”
Guy bowed to her wishes. “Three years ago Wyrdhurst was, to all intents and purposes, an abandoned ruin. Its isolation and its proximity to the Scottish border made it an ideal place to store the weapons and high explosives the group was slowly acquiring.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” Nicole broke in, “that my husband and I have been living in a house filled with high explosives?”
“I’m afraid so,” Guy said.
Nicole gave a hiccuping giggle, cleared her throat, and told Guy to continue.
“Wyrdhurst’s proximity to the artillery range was also an advantage.” He turned to me. “The strange rock formation you and Chase discovered on the moors is, in fact, a full-scale mockup of the floor plan of the Scottish Parliament building in Edinburgh. Those involved in the plot used it to practice and time their takeover maneuvers.”
“Good grief,” I muttered, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. The army didn’t fire on the quadrant nearest Wyrdhurst, and the range as a whole was barred to civilians. As long as they stayed near Wyrdhurst, the terrorists wouldn’t have to worry about being bombarded by the army or interrupted by casual hikers.
Guy paused for a sip of coffee before continuing. “The hall’s refurbishment took them by surprise,” he said. “None of the locals knew what was happening until the first work crews arrived on site.”
Nicole flushed. “It was a rather sudden decision on my uncle’s part,” she confessed. “I asked him to give me Wyrdhurst as a wedding present.”
The flicker of pain in Guy’s eyes had nothing to do with his arm, but he masked it with another sip of coffee.
I gave him a moment before asking, “Why didn’t Dickie’s workmen find the weapons?”
“Most of the weapons were cached in the dungeons,” he explained.
“Which have yet to be cleared of rubbish,” Nicole said, sighing.
“Correct.” Guy drained his cup and returned it to the table at his elbow. “Once the refurbishment began, the presence of so many work crews, working round the clock, made it impossible for the miscreants to retrieve their materiel. Afterwards, Mr. Hollander’s excellent security system foiled their attempts.”
Nicole studiously avoided Guy’s gaze as she refilled his cup, but she couldn’t avoid what was coming next.
Guy pulled no punches. “It took the men very little time to discover that, during your husband’s absences, Mrs. Hollander, you failed to utilize the security system properly. You made it easy for them to come in through the terrace door. Once inside, they made their way to the dungeons via a circuitous but secure route, which they’d discovered before the hall was occupied.”
“The secret staircase?” I hazarded.
Guy confirmed my guess. The intruders had used the staircase to reach Jared’s conveniently unoccupied bedroom. From there, they’d gone down the servants’ stairs to the dungeons.
“They went to the third floor as well,” Nicole reminded Guy. “They tromped around up there repeatedly, for the sole purpose of frightening me.”
Guy tugged on an earlobe. “They deny doing so more than once,” he said. “But it’s early days yet. I expect further interrogation to elicit further details. By the way,” he added, “the laughter you heard, Lori, was made by a recording device installed by one of the group.”
I found it interesting that Guy had so far avoided referring to the terrorists by name. Was it because the names would mean nothing to us, I wondered, or because one name would mean too much? If Jared was involved in or even aware of the plot, Guy would find himself in an extremely awkward position. How did one tell the woman one loved that her husband was a criminal?
“Guy,” I said, with a sidelong glance at Nicole, “you mentioned interrogations. Have you caught the thugs?”
“We caught them last night,” he said. “Your accident, in fact, led directly to their capture.”
“The gate.” I made a wry face as the penny dropped. “They opened the gate to the military track, and forgot to close it.”
“A small but significant mistake,” Guy observed. “It was the gate that drew my attention to the plot.”
Guy had known from the start that none of his men would have left the gate open, and he’d set out to prove it. He’d lifted the imprint of a tire from the muddy track, and used it to identify a nonmilitary vehicle. It had taken him two days to identify the vehicle’s current owner.
“Tell us his name,” Nicole demanded.
I held my breath.
“Bart Little,” Guy replied.
“The publican?” I exclaimed.
“Mr. Little asked me to apologize to you, Lori.” The merest hint of irony crept into Guy’s voice. “He thinks it unsporting to harm women.”
“What about the women in Parliament?” Nicole asked.
“Consistency is not a trait one usually associates with fanatics.” Guy gingerly crossed his legs. “I didn’t know it at the time, but the landlord of Her Majesty’s pub is also a rabid ultranationalist. He and a small band of followers believe that Britain’s greatness has been vitiated by the devolution of power to Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. Mr. Little considers himself a patriot. Hence his respect for the military.”
In my mind’s eye, I saw the Union Jack hanging above Her Majesty’s bar, along with the color portraits of the queen and the heirs apparent. Recalling our red-carpet treatment, I murmured, “Lunch is on the house, Captain Manning.”
Guy allowed himself a brief, humorless smile. “It was the perfect cover,” he conceded. “A publican is very like an intelligence officer, keeping abreast of local happenings that might affect his operations.”
Guy told us that Bart Little had placed the call to Adam’s publisher, hoping to glean information about the mysterious stranger who’d rented the fishing hut. While Mr. Little gathered information on the ground, his son James scoured the Net for weapons suppliers. James had also rigged the tape recorder that had given me such a scare.
“The boy is adept at electronics,” Guy noted. “He regarded the device as something of a joke.”
No one in the room was laughing. Nicole looked stunned, the captain disgusted. I felt a strange mixture of relief and self-reproach. In light of wha
t Guy had just told us, my suspicions about Jared seemed childish. I was glad I’d never shared them with Nicole, and ashamed of myself for suspecting him in the first place. Nicole’s husband might be a pompous prig, but he wasn’t evil.
“Before I could question Mr. Little about the gate,” Guy said, “my men spotted him coming up the military track in a small van—the same van whose imprint I’d taken. I ordered them to keep out of sight.”
Guy wanted to find out what was going on. He followed Bart and three of his men from the military track all the way to Wyrdhurst’s dungeons, where he watched them retrieve three wooden crates. When they’d gone, he opened the few that remained.
“They contained automatic weapons,” Guy informed us. “We learned subsequently that the explosives had already been removed.”
“Thank heavens,” Nicole said fervently.
“I’d just alerted my men,” Guy continued, “when your call came through, Mrs. Hollander, telling me that Lori had spotted an intruder.”
“Adam must have spotted them first,” I said. “That’s why he went to the mauso—”
“Did they hide weapons in the mausoleum?” Nicole interrupted, her voice quivering with outrage.
“They won’t admit to it,” Guy acknowledged, “but as I said, it’s early days.”
I turned to Nicole. “I’ll bet Adam came downstairs to reread Edward’s letters, saw men who appeared to be carrying boxes away from the mausoleum, and tried to stop them.”
“It was a damned silly thing to do,” Guy said brusquely. “He could have been killed. You both could have been killed, and it would have been left to me to notify your next of kin.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, head bowed and heart clenching.
“Can’t we allow Adam and Lori a little bravery?” Nicole coaxed. “I think they were trying to protect me.”
“We were all—” Guy’s voice broke. He took a long draft of coffee before adding gruffly, “We were all concerned for your well-being, Mrs. Hollander.”
Nicole’s large eyes grew solemn. “What happened on the moors last night, Captain Manning?”
“War.” Guy’s mouth tightened, and the lines around his eyes deepened. “I don’t know what else to call it. My men were lying in wait, ready to take Mr. Little into custody for the illegal possession of firearms. We intended to do so peacefully, but he and his men fired upon us, and somehow set off the explosive devices in the van. The van’s driver was killed—a Mr. Garnett.”
“The mechanic.” I put a hand to my mouth, aghast. “He tried to keep Adam away from Wyrdhurst by telling him about the ghost.”
“He also put the flowers in front of Mr. Aynsworth’s memorial and proposed moving the bonfire to its old site,” Guy said. “He was the only other villager involved in the plot, though I dare say a few knew that something untoward was going on.”
“And your men?” Nicole asked gently. “Was anyone else wounded, besides you?”
“Fortunately not,” said Guy. “But the moors have soaked up another dead man’s blood. I truly regret it.”
Guy fell silent, gazing past us through the windows, as if he could still see fire in the sky. For a moment I forgot his rank and was aware only of a very young man burdened with awful responsibilities, a man not much older than Edward had been when he’d gone to war.
“Is it the first time you’ve been wounded?” I asked.
Guy’s smile was heart-wrenching. “I’ve never been shot at before. I’ve never been in combat. I never imagined that my enemy would also be my countryman.” He ran his tongue along his lips, as though his mouth had suddenly gone dry. “As he took aim at me, he called me a traitor.”
“How dare—” Nicole’s heated protest ended abruptly when the study doors flew open and Dickie Byrd burst into the room.
“What the devil is going on?” Dickie was red-faced and bristling, a bantam rooster itching for a fight. “Nickie, love, are you okay?”
“Uncle Dickie?” she said, blinking in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard that all hell had broken loose up here.” Dickie caught sight of the boarded windows and rounded on Guy. “If you’re to blame for this shambles, my lad, I’ll have something to say to your commanding officer.”
Nicole jumped to her feet and boldly interposed herself between Guy and her pugnacious uncle. “How dare you, Uncle Dickie! I’ll have you know that Captain Guy Manning is the kindest, bravest, most courageous, best, and most admirable man who ever lived. What’s more, he’s punctual!”
Dickie Byrd listened thoughtfully to his niece’s furious tirade, then looked past her at Guy. “You married, young man?”
“No, sir,” Guy replied with amazing self-possession. “But your niece is.”
“That’s about to change.” Dickie gripped Nicole’s shoulders and looked her square in the face. “Wait till you hear what your worthless lump of a husband has been up to in Newcastle.” He turned toward the study doors and bellowed, “Jared! Get your bum in here!”
CHAPTER
Jared Hollander slunk into the room like a dog caught digging up a flower bed. He was dressed as beautifully as ever, but his bluff manner and arrogant posturing had vanished. He walked head-down, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the room except for Dickie, whom he eyed nervously.
Dickie placed a straight-backed wooden chair before the hearth, pointed to it, and barked, “Sit.”
Jared sat.
Dickie then took the floor, strutting between the hearth and the oak table like a prosecuting attorney presenting a summation.
“I’ve never liked you, Jared,” he began. “I liked you even less after you began your little trips to Newcastle. What kind of man leaves his wife alone in the back end of nowhere, less than three months into his marriage? That’s what I asked myself, and that’s why I hired a private detective—to get some answers.”
Jared sank lower in his chair.
“You thought you could treat Nicole like a child,” Dickie continued. “You could teach her, scold her, mold her, but you couldn’t really love her, could you, Jared?” He placed his face three inches from Jared’s and repeated sharply, “Could you?”
“No,” Jared whispered.
Nicole’s eyelashes fluttered in confusion and Dickie came to stand before her.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said, “but I swore on your father’s grave that I’d look after you, and that’s what I’m doing.” He glared at Jared. “Do you want to tell her what my detective discovered, or shall I?”
“Please,” said Jared. “Allow me. I owe her that much.”
“You owe her a damned sight—” Dickie began, but Nicole silenced him with a touch.
“Let Jared speak,” she said. She looked imploringly at her husband. “Is it true, Jared? Is it true that you never loved me?”
“There are all kinds of love,” Jared answered. “You and I share a love of beautiful things, Nicole, and I greatly admire your gentleness. It’s rare to find a woman so lovely and yet so untouched by the world. In you, I knew I’d found a pearl of great price.”
For the first time, I caught a glimpse of what Nicole saw in her husband. Jared’s declaration held a softness and sincerity I’d never imagined him to possess. Guy, for his part, had eyes for no one but Nicole. He slid the pillow from his lap and watched her almost without blinking, as if poised to come to her defense.
Jared stared down at his hands. “I hoped that one day I might come to love you as you deserve to be loved, but it was no good. It was never any good.” He took a deep breath. “The truth is, Nicole, I’m in love with someone else.”
Nicole’s lower lip trembled. “I see.”
“No, Nickie, you don’t see,” Dickie insisted. “Ask him who he’s in love with.”
“Jared?” Nicole prompted.
Jared twisted his hands in his lap. “His name is Karl. He teaches art therapy at Newcastle General. I met him shortly after you and I became engaged. I didn’t mean to fall in
love with him, but…” One shoulder rose in a minute gesture of resignation.
“Karl…” Nicole tilted her head to one side and gazed abstractedly into the middle distance. “His name is Karl. His name is Karl. I see. I truly do see now. That’s why we never…Oh, yes, I do see your predicament.” She favored him with a pitying smile. “Poor Jared.”
“Poor Jared?” Dickie thundered.
Jared stiffened and some of his pomposity returned. “Thank you for understanding, Nicole. Your uncle, alas, is somewhat homophobic.”
“I don’t care if you snog parrots!” Dick retorted. “But you don’t get to lie about it, my lad. You don’t get to pretend you’re someone you’re not. And you sure as hell don’t get to marry my niece!”
Jared withered under the onslaught. “You’re quite right, Mr. Byrd. My behavior toward Nicole has been reprehensible. If there was any way I could make it up to her, I would.”
Nicole got to her feet. There was something regal in her bearing as she walked slowly to her husband, placed her hand under his chin, and lifted it until she could look into his eyes.
“You will leave Wyrdhurst,” she said evenly. “I’ll see to it that your things are sent on, and Uncle Dickie will take care of the annulment.” She let her hand drop and took a backward step, as if making way for his departure. “Please give Karl my best. I hope the two of you will be very happy.”
Jared rose, tweaked the waxed tips of his mustache, and left the room. Hatch, no doubt under Dickie’s orders, met him at the study doors to escort him from the premises.
The moment Hatch closed the doors Nicole covered her face with her hands and began to sob. Guy leapt to his feet and gathered her to him, encircling her with his good arm while she buried her face in his sling.
Dickie started toward them, but I grabbed his elbow and hauled him toward the hidden stairs.
“Don’t you know when to make an exit?” I scolded, reaching for my flashlight. “Come with me. I’ve got books to show you.”
It’s not every day that a mother, wife, and part-time bibliographer gets to captivate a corporate titan, but not many mothers, wives, or bibliographers are blessed with such riveting material.
Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil Page 17
