“You’re a daredevil, at the least. And I’m not,” he told her.
“I tell you, it can work.”
“What about your husband?”
“I admit he might have a little difficulty with the plan at first. And he will have a lot of difficulty with the fact I came to see you first. But…I hope he will see it can work, as well.”
“And if he doesn’t? I am not a handsome sight with both my eyes blackened,” Thane assured her.
“Mark is a reasonable man,” she reassured him, hoping she was right.
He gazed at her skeptically, but she knew that she had him hooked. She said, trying not to sound nervous, “I have to get back.”
“My God, I must return, as well. And convince my editor I have been in pursuit of the story of the year.”
“You have been,” she assured him.
They walked back to the newspaper offices together; then Ally hurried on, anxious to catch the streetcar. She chafed as she had to wait. She had gotten one so easily that morning! The day was gone, darkness already upon them. She tried to tell herself it was most likely Mark would not return until very late. And yet, because she might well be caught slipping in—which would surely enrage him and ruin any chance of speaking rationally—she felt as if the minutes she waited were interminable.
At last the conveyance came. She realized it was not nearly as full as she had expected, that it had grown late indeed, and industrious bankers and other workers in busy central London had already reached their homes.
She disembarked down the long block from the Kensington house and started walking briskly. She glanced up at the elegant homes of merchants, gentry and nobility. Drapes were drawn. Soft light emanated from windows, illuminating the lives of those within.
A man passed her on the street, tipping his hat in acknowledgment. She smiled in return. The block seemed amazingly long.
She paused suddenly, certain she was being followed.
She spun quickly, then felt like a fool as a couple politely acknowledged her and swept past.
Her heart was thundering. She watched as the couple entered a home.
She took a breath, feeling a ridiculous sense of relief.
Again she heard footsteps.
She paused and looked back.
Nothing.
She chided herself, reminding herself that she was going to have to do one of two things: either walk blithely past Bertram or slip through the neighbor’s yard again, up the tree and back inside.
There was no way Bertram would refrain from telling Mark that she had been out. And she didn’t want him to know. Not until she told him. The tree it was.
Once again she thought she heard footfalls coming from behind her. She spun around without missing a beat.
There was nothing there, just shadows falling on the walk between the streetlamps.
A dog barked, and she jumped.
She felt a shiver. The street was rich with foliage. Handsome bushes adorned the small yards fronting many of the houses.
Anyone could be hiding there.
She turned again, determined to hurry.
It was then she realized that a carriage had rounded the street corner behind her. She heard the clip-clop of hooves and turned to look. A handsome pair of perfectly matched black horses drew the vehicle. The coachman wore a low black hat and cape.
The carriage slowed.
She started to walk again, knowing it was drawing nearer, slowing at a rate that would bring it to a stop when it came up beside her.
She started to run.
MARK HAD CALLED THE town house from the lodge.
After several tries—the operator had connected him first to a tailor and then to a millinery shop—he had reached Jeeter, who assured him that Lady Alexandra was upstairs and had seemed to be enjoying a leisurely day.
He had decided not to bother her but had spent some time telling his father all he knew and all he had surmised. He was gratified when Joseph listened somberly, then sadly agreed that they might well be looking at a man they had previously accepted as a friend as a murderer. A monster.
“An ordinary man would not have the resources this killer seems able to call upon easily,” Joseph had told him. “Eleanor Brandon is guarded in her hospital bed?”
“Of course.”
“And Lord Lionel Wittburg is an innocent man.”
“Yes, but he is still being watched. His mind remains somewhat unhinged.”
“Perhaps you and Ally should see him together.”
“Perhaps,” Mark agreed. “We’ll move into my town house this week, Father, and give your home back.”
Joseph grinned. “I like the lodge. Take your time. I don’t like to intrude on newlyweds, but should duty call me back to town, I would simply ask you to forgive me and return home.”
After the call, Mark had ridden Galloway back into the city, slowing his pace by the time he reached the outskirts, not wanting to cripple his favorite horse. The closer he got to home, though, the more eager he was to reach Ally.
At last he reached his father’s street.
There was a carriage in the road ahead of him. A large, fine carriage, one he didn’t believe he had seen before.
There was a woman walking—no, running—on the sidewalk.
As he watched, he saw a man leap from the carriage, carrying something in his hand.
Something that glinted in the moonlight.
Like a knife.
ALLY LOOKED BACK as she ran.
A man had emerged from the carriage. In the shadows, she could see nothing about him.
Except that he was carrying something.
Something that glinted in the glow of the streetlamps.
Wicked images flickered through her mind.
Eleanor Brandon ranting, raving, in black widow’s weeds. Eleanor Brandon acting the part of the bereaved widow, cursing her.
Eleanor Brandon as she must be now, supine in her hospital bed, stitches closing the fine crimson line that slashed her throat….
She ran hard.
“Stop!”
Ally heard the thunder of the command, knew someone else was on the street. Mark. She recognized his voice. She half turned, trying to see.
As she turned, the figure that had descended from the carriage plowed into her. They fell to the ground together, the man sprawled on top of her.
She twisted, screaming in panic.
She had a chance to see the face of the man just as Mark ripped him from atop her.
“Thane!” she cried out.
“Let me go!” he shouted to Mark. “What is the matter with you people?” he demanded.
His eyes were bulging in fear, but since Mark had him in a hammerlock around the throat, that was understandable.
“Where’s the knife?” Mark demanded harshly.
“What knife?” Thane asked when Mark eased the pressure on his windpipe.
“It glinted in the light. I saw it.”
But even as Mark spoke, Ally saw what Thane had carried. It was an office envelope, and what had been glinting was the small steel clasp that had held it shut. She picked it up off the ground and held it out toward Mark in explanation.
The coachman had leapt down by now, but he was keeping his distance. “Mr. Grier?” he called nervously. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, fine,” Thane called. “I am fine, am I not?” he asked Mark tentatively. When Mark didn’t release him, he begged, “Please, I am unarmed.”
Mark slowly allowed him to straighten. “Start explaining.”
Thane tried to adjust his severely rumpled clothing. “I was merely trying to bring some additional clippings to Ally,” he said indignantly. He glared at her.
The glare said, Help!
“Thane, thank you,” she murmured, looking past him to Mark, who was not any less suspicious. The glance he gave her shot daggers. She looked at Thane again. “You told me you didn’t have a carriage,” she said.
“I don’t.�
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“Then…”
“It belongs to my editor,” he said indignantly. “It’s on loan, because he believes that I’m on to the story of the century.”
“And are you?” Mark asked.
“Well…” Thane said, and he looked at Ally.
“We…we need to have a discussion,” she murmured.
Mark stared at her, then pulled open Thane’s jacket, patted his ribs and down to his calves.
“Don’t move,” Mark warned. He turned toward the carriage. The nervous coachman stepped away.
Mark disappeared into the carriage.
“Has he lost his mind?” Thane whispered to Ally.
She shook her head. A moment later, Mark reappeared.
“Perhaps we should go inside?” Ally suggested. She could see that a curtain had been drawn back in the window of the house nearest where they were standing.
“All right,” Mark said. He lifted a hand, his eyes still filled with suspicion as he stared at Thane Grier.
Thane nodded. “Pull up over there, please. In front of Lord Farrow’s,” he called to the coachman.
Ally hadn’t realized until then just how Mark had arrived. He gave a whistle, and Galloway came trotting up. She wondered why she felt a moment’s resentment for the fact that even the horse was so obedient.
Mark started toward the house. Bertram had realized by then that something was going on down the street. He appeared in front of the house, and his eyes widened when he saw Ally.
“My…” He fell silent, his eyes on Mark. “I swear, sir, I was watching the house all the while.”
“Don’t worry, Bertram. I did not ask you to make sure my wife didn’t skim over the back wall,” he said. “That is how you left, isn’t it, my love?”
“You climbed a wall to leave?” Thane asked her, and she knew he was amused and a bit admiring all in one. Then Mark looked at him, and his small smile faded instantly.
Mark glared at Ally.
“I’m sorry, Bertram,” she murmured, and hurried past him toward the door. Thane and Mark followed.
Jeeter appeared when he heard the door. He, too, stared at Ally, stunned. “I…”
“Never mind, Jeeter,” Mark said. “Shall we sit in the library?” He indicated the door to the handsomely appointed den, where the shelves were lined with books and the huge chairs were bound in soft brown leather.
Ally preceded them. She heard Jeeter ask, “Shall I bring tea?”
“Do you have whiskey?” Thane asked.
“Of course,” Jeeter said.
“I think I’ll be needing one,” Thane said. “If that’s all right?”
“Yes, me, too,” Ally said.
Mark glowered but said nothing. Jeeter went off to prepare drinks.
Mark perched on the edge of a large desk. Ally nervously took one of the chairs facing it, while Thane sat in the other.
“Well?” Mark said.
“I went to the newspaper office,” Ally told him.
“I believe I expressly suggested that you both stay home and avoid Mr. Grier.”
“I never said I wouldn’t leave,” Ally reminded him. She cleared her throat uneasily. “You made a point of telling me I’m not a prisoner.”
“Does your cohort know someone tried to break into the cottage when you were still living with your aunts?” he asked.
Thane stared at her. “No!” he said. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” Ally murmured, then stood. “Mark, this is ridiculous.”
A tap at the door informed them that Jeeter had arrived with the drinks. Ally hated whiskey, but she swallowed the alcohol down in a single toss. She knew Mark was watching her closely.
Jeeter had barely delivered the other glasses. “Would you like another, my lady?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ally said.
“No,” Mark told him firmly.
She stared at him, frowning. Jeeter might be willing to bend over backward to make her happy, but not when it meant going against Mark. Stone-faced, the butler left, closing the door behind him once again.
Mark folded his arms across his chest.
Thane Grier was staring at him. “You thought I was the killer!” he said.
“You were chasing my wife down a dark street.”
Thane shook his head. “You thought I could be capable of…”
“Someone has been capable.”
“Why me?”
“You had opportunity. You knew all the players involved. You wrote about various anti-monarchy gatherings.”
“That’s my job,” Thane said. He stared at Mark, totally disheartened. “I swear to you…I could never…never…”
“Ally?” Mark said.
She sighed, looking down. “Mark.” She managed his name, but then she had to take another deep breath. “I wrote another essay.”
She could see how the mere arching of his brow could be quelling. She couldn’t look at him. She chose to pace before the shelves of books.
“A. Anonymous has made an impact,” she said firmly. She paused and stared at him. “And I’m proud of my essays,” she added softly. “But…I never sought to do what I have ended up doing. I intend to keep writing, but my dream is to write fiction,” she said, trying to keep her voice from faltering. “But we’re going to let word slip out that A. Anonymous is Thane Grier.”
Mark frowned. His eyes left hers and were riveted on Thane.
Thane gulped. “It was Ally’s idea.”
“It’s a likely death sentence,” Mark informed Thane.
“Not if you’re watching him to see what happens after the word gets out,” Ally said.
“I’m willing to do it,” Thane said quietly.
“Even knowing the killer will most probably come after you?”
“That’s what we’re hoping,” Thane said.
Mark stared at Ally.
“We can set something up to capture him,” she said.
“I know how to arrange a trap,” Mark said irritably.
“Good, because I’m not at all sure,” Ally murmured.
“Tell me, what will tomorrow’s essay suggest?” Mark asked.
“It begins with the way people are all too ready to jump to conclusions and see whatever they want to see in a situation,” she said. She took a breath and looked at Thane. “Then it moves on to the fact that far too often, our lives are masquerades. That we all wear masks. It delves into the lives of Jack and Elizabeth Prine, and it was simple greed, along with her desire to be with her lover, that led to such tragedy.” She hesitated. “Then it suggests that the author knows more than is being written, and that someone’s position in society should never preclude taking a long look when they fall suspect to heinous deeds.”
Mark stared at Ally, then turned to Thane. “You’re really willing to be the sacrificial goat in all this? Any man who has been knighted, any noble in the country, will be ready to hang you.”
Thane went a shade paler but nodded.
Mark turned to Ally again. “I’m sorry, I haven’t read this essay word for word, but I remain lost. How is this going to trap anyone?” He gazed sharply at Thane. “And how does this promote your career?”
“When it’s all over, Thane will have the story. And it will be revealed that the essay was written to draw the killer out,” Ally said.
“All right. That explains the man’s foolishness in going along with such a scheme. But what makes you think you can get the killer to strike at a time and place where he can be caught—before Thane’s throat is slit?” he added pleasantly.
Again Thane paled.
“There’s still one problem involved, as I see it,” Ally said. “Letting the suggestion slip that Thane is A. Anonymous.”
“Easy enough,” Mark murmured, and she was surprised and pleased that he seemed to be going along with her plan. “I have lunch at the club. Perhaps play tennis with someone. Maybe even confide in Angus and Andrew. Separately, of course.”
She hesitated. “While yo
u’re confiding that information, you can also tell them that Thane intends to interview me. At the cottage. It will make a lovely story, my growing up with the aunts, then marrying a future earl. The road is where you expected to catch the killer, right?”
Mark was staring at her. “You won’t be at the cottage,” he said quietly.
“I’ll have to be there. It will have to be just as it’s supposed to be. I don’t believe Thane will be assaulted on the way to the cottage, because he’ll be expected. His absence would be too quickly noted.”
“It might work,” Mark said. “I could drive out with the two of you, then leave you to talk.”
“An excellent solution,” Thane said. “And, I am grateful to say, a safe one.”
“But we’re not doing it,” Mark said.
“Right. Bad idea,” Thane agreed.
“Why?” Ally demanded.
“Because I don’t want you involved in this.”
“What?”
“Ally, it was a long shot, after all,” Thane said.
But Ally seemed not to hear him. Tight-lipped and tense, she was staring at Mark. “Excuse me?”
“You’re expecting me to arrive with the two of you and then ride away. When Thane leaves, I’m to follow him at a distance, which would leave you alone in the cottage.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I can walk into the newspaper offices tomorrow and proudly announce that I’m A. Anonymous.”
Mark slid off the desk. “Not if you’re tied up in the bedroom,” he assured her.
“I really think I should leave,” Thane said. “I have to get the carriage back within the hour.”
Ally stood in front of Mark, her arms crossed over her chest, in the same rigid stance he had adopted where he stood just inches from her. “That story is going out tomorrow,” she told him softly.
“Looks like you will be tied up all day.”
“Will you chain me down forever?”
“If I have to.”
“Mark, please.”
“Time is ticking by here,” Thane murmured.
“What about the aunts?” Mark demanded. “Have you lost all concern for them?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll see they’re safely at Castle Carlyle.”
Mark shook his head with a sigh. “You’re forgetting one thing.”
“What?” Ally demanded.
“Sir Angus Cunningham is the sheriff.”
Beguiled Page 29
