Andrea Kane

by Music Box

  “I have them,” Banks responded. “They were retrieved by the police, along with William’s personal effects—” His voice cracked, and he looked away, damp-eyed.

  “Would you object if I took those papers to Thane?” Bryce pressed. “I give you my word that I will place them directly in his hands without opening them.”

  “We intend to do that, Mr. Lyndley,” the younger police officer inserted. “I’m as interested as you in hearing what the duke has to say about those documents.”

  Bryce’s head whipped about, and he regarded the two policemen intently. “I’m sure you are,” he conceded, recognizing that a different tactic was needed. “Let me ask you this—would you object to my accompanying you to Whitshire? Given that I’m well acquainted with both the duke and Mr. Delmore, I might be able to help you determine if there is a connection between Mr. Delmore’s death and whatever business he meant to conduct with His Grace.”

  The younger fellow glanced at his partner.

  The older man shrugged. “It’s fine with me, although I personally think, it’s a waste of your time. With the missing pocket watch and money, this looks like a clear case of theft. Still, it can’t hurt to investigate every angle. The only problem is, your schedule might not make it possible for you to leave London on such short notice; we mean to be on our way to Hertford within the hour. We have a few more questions for Mr. Banks and his clerk, after which we’ll be heading for the railroad station.”

  “I have an idea,” Bryce interjected quickly. “I’ll cancel my appointments, pack a few things, and be back here in an hour. I had plans to visit Whitshire and Nevon Manor for several days at week’s end; I’ll simply rearrange those plans and leave today. This way I can escort you to Whitshire in my carriage and you’ll only have to take the railroad one way.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Fine.” Bryce glanced at Banks. “You’ll give those papers to these officers?”

  “Of course.” Banks clasped Bryce’s hand, his unfocused gaze a clear indication he was still in shock. “Thank you, Bryce. I don’t seem to be able to think straight.” An unsteady pause. “William and I have been partners for over twenty-five years, and I just can’t believe …” His voice trailed off.

  “I understand.” Bryce felt pretty shaken himself. “I’ll do everything I can to help.”

  He went back to his office just long enough to dispatch messages canceling his next two days’ appointments—and to send a brief note of explanation to Lucinda. He told her only that Delmore had been murdered and that, as a result of this sudden and unexpected tragedy, Lady Nevon required his counsel, as did her nephew.

  As he sealed the note, Bryce’s lips twisted into a wry grin. He wasn’t worried about Lucinda’s reaction. Nothing, he mused, would heighten her satisfaction over the fact that he’d been retained by Lady Hermione Nevon more than the prospect of his being retained by the Duke of Whitshire. Consequently any inconvenience spawned by this unexpected trip to Hertford would be viewed by Lucinda as being well worth the nuisance.

  Making a brief stop at his residence, Bryce tossed a few things into a bag—including the two pages of answers he’d provided to Peter’s questions—scooped up Sunburst, and left.

  Fifty minutes later, he arrived back at Delmore & Banks, and ten minutes after that, he, the officers, and the documents were on their way to Hertford.

  Couling’s eyes widened when he opened Whitshire’s front door late that afternoon to find two uniformed police officers on the threshold, flanking Bryce.

  Quickly the butler recovered himself, admitting the three gentlemen. “Mr. Lyndley, is His Grace expecting you?”

  “No, Couling, he isn’t.” Bryce indicated his companions. “But this is a matter of some urgency, so would you please advise the duke that we’re here?”

  “Certainly.” Without another word, Couling turned on his heel and complied.

  Not three minutes later Thane himself came striding down the hall. “Bryce,” His greeting was strained, his ashen expression suggesting that he had indeed heard the news about Delmore. “Come in.” His gaze shifted to the police, his question terse and to the point. “Is this about the murder of Mr. Delmore?”

  “Yes, Your Grace, it is.” The older man cleared his throat.

  “Thane, this is Officer Dawes,” Bryce said, offering the names he had learned en route to Whitshire. “And this is Officer Webster. They’re investigating Delmore’s death. I had an appointment with Banks earlier this afternoon. That’s how I learned what had happened—and who Delmore was en route to see when he was killed. I took the liberty of accompanying Dawes and Webster to Whitshire. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? I’m relieved.” Thane looked visibly so. “Gentlemen, we can talk in my study.” He led the way, closing the door firmly behind them. “Can I offer you anything?”

  “No, sir.” Dawes shook his head and extracted his notebook. “We apologize for bothering you. From what we can see, this was a clear case of robbery. Still, we have to make sure, so would you mind telling us what Delmore wanted to see you about?”

  Thane frowned. “I’m not sure I can help you much on that score. All Delmore’s note said was that it concerned a business transaction my father had initiated before his death and that my signature was needed on some papers.”

  “Then these must be those papers.” Dawes produced the sealed envelope. Again he shifted uncomfortably. “Would you object to our remaining while you opened them?”

  “Of course not.” Thane tore open the seal and slid out the papers. He scanned them, his expression growing more and more puzzled as he read. “According to these documents, Father was in the process of selling a yacht he commissioned years ago. Mr. Delmore needed my signature to finalize the sale.”

  “And does that disturb you?”

  “Disturb me? No. Frankly, I didn’t even know Father owned a yacht; but then again, I didn’t know the half of what my father possessed.” His gaze flickered over Bryce. “I’m only now learning just how vast his assets were. But if you’re asking me if the papers look out of order—no, I don’t think so. Bryce?” He offered the pages to his brother.

  Bryce pored over the document. “This appears to be a standard sales contract. The late duke had clearly decided to dispose of his yacht—due to illness, I would guess, judging from the recent date on these papers. His asking price seems more than reasonable—generous, in fact—as do his terms. Delmore himself was the buyer, whether as a personal purchase or a temporary holding, these documents don’t specify. The point is that at this time no other party was involved.”

  Handing the papers back to Thane, Bryce shrugged. “This is hardly a transaction involving enormous sums of money. If I had to speculate, I’d say that Delmore wanted to hold this meeting today as much for you as for himself. He probably assumed you’d want to tie up all the loose ends of your father’s estate as soon as possible. So he waited a respectable period of time following the late duke’s death, then contacted you about the completion of this deal.”

  “So you see nothing that would link today’s murder to that document?” Dawes asked.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, that’s that,” Dawes pronounced, shutting his notebook and shoving it into his coat pocket. “Mr. Delmore’s visit here was evidently a routine and unrelated event, making his murder an unfortunate case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He gestured to his partner. “Let’s be on our way, Webster. We’ve troubled the duke long enough.” A quick glance at Bryce. “You’ll be staying here, Mr. Lyndley?”

  “Yes.” Bryce was reexamining the papers, verifying that he’d missed nothing unusual.

  If there was something questionable here, he sure as hell couldn’t detect it.

  Then why did his instincts scream otherwise?

  “I’ll have my driver take you both to the railroad station,” Thane told the policemen.

  “Thank you, sir,” Webster replied. “We’d apprecia
te that.”

  Thane summoned Couling, who had the carriage brought around immediately.

  Minutes later Dawes and Webster took their leave, shutting the study door in their wake.

  “I can’t thank you enough for coming,” Thane told Bryce the instant they were alone. He crossed over to the sideboard, poured two goblets of brandy, and handed one to his brother.

  “I’m pleased you feel that way.” Bryce gave up his scrutiny before lowering himself into a chair and taking a healthy swallow of brandy. “I was a bit concerned you’d think I was intruding. But when I heard Delmore was on his way to Whitshire, my thoughts went immediately to you. And to Hermione, as well. Does she know about the murder?”

  “Yes.” Thane rubbed the back of his neck, sinking wearily onto the sofa. “I notified her as soon as I heard. As you’d expect, she was distraught. But I had to tell her. The roads are clearly unsafe for travel.”

  “Fortunately, the residents of Nevon Manor seldom leave the estate,” Bryce reasoned aloud.

  “Seldom, yes.” Thane scowled. “The frightening and ironic thing is that yesterday was a major exception to that rule.”

  “How so?”

  “Hermione and Gabrielle rode to Whitshire yesterday afternoon.”

  That brought Bryce up short. “Did you say Gabrielle was here?”

  “Yes.” Thane rolled his goblet between his palms, gazing steadily at his brother. “I realize how surprising that sounds, given how violently she reacted after her last visit.” Assessing Bryce’s startled expression, he added, “I know about the sleepwalking incidents—as well as the fact that you rescued Gabrielle from harm on two occasions. Hermione told me.” With that, Thane explained Dr. Briers’s suggestion and Gabrielle’s decision to give it a try. “She was very courageous,” he concluded. “When she arrived at Whitshire, her nerves were clearly frayed. Yet she pressed on anyway.”

  “How did the visit go?” Bryce demanded, moving to the edge of his seat.

  “Very well, from what I could determine. The staff worked hard to make Gabrielle’s day a happy one. Not that it was a difficult thing to do, nor that they objected to doing it. Clearly they all adored Gabrielle as a child. Their stories made me wish I’d been here to see that little imp constantly causing trouble, treading underfoot, hiding in countless unknown places.” A chuckle. “In any case, the staff’s efforts seemed to pay off. Gabrielle was relaxed, smiling—not to the extent that she is when she’s at Nevon Manor, of course, but close.” A flicker of worry crossed Thane’s face. “Until the sun began to set. Then she seemed to tense up a bit. Hermione sensed it at once and whisked her off.”

  “I have to make sure she’s all right,” Bryce decided, coming to his feet. “Between yesterday’s visit to Whitshire and, on its heels, this appalling murder, I’m sure Gabrielle is extremely unnerved.” He set down his glass. “Hermione, too, for that matter.” He shot Thane a quizzical look. “Would you object if I rode there now? I could come back as soon as I made sure …”

  Thane was waving Bryce’s offer away, standing up and crossing the room as he did so. “No. Don’t come back. Stay at Nevon Manor. From what I hear, you have an uncanny way of soothing the residents there. And Lord knows they’ll need soothing, given what’s happened. Besides, I have a stack of papers to go through. I’ll spend the evening clearing my desk, then ride to Nevon Manor first thing in the morning. How would that be?”

  “Excellent. At that time we can continue this discussion about your father’s yacht.”

  “Something about that deal is bothering you, isn’t it?” Thane was reaching into his desk drawer as he spoke.

  “Yes. The problem is, I’m not sure what. Other than the fact that you didn’t know of the boat’s existence.”

  Thane stood, a dark object in his hand. “As we’re both aware, there are a great many things about my father I didn’t know.” He extended his arm, offering Bryce the pistol he held. “Take this with you. None of us should travel unarmed until that highwayman is caught.”

  “Agreed.” Bryce accepted the weapon. “That highwayman—or whoever it was who committed this crime.”

  Chaunce abandoned his post the instant he saw the long-awaited carriage round the drive. Hurrying down the hall, he flung open the door to the sitting room where Gaby and Hermione were taking their tea.

  “Yes, Chaunce?” Hermione started, her pallor intensifying as she assessed Chaunce’s uncustomary lack of composure. Given this morning’s distressing news—which she’d shared only with Chaunce—his atypical behavior struck an ominous chord in her heart. “Has something else happened?” Hermione cast an anxious glance at Gaby, who’d been kept uninformed about the murder because she’d had such a distressing, sleepless night. Her drawn expression and lack of color supported that decision twofold.

  “No, madam.” Instantly, Chaunce read Hermione’s mind and reassured her, emphasizing the positive nature of his intrusion by recovering his composure and clasping his hands behind his back. “Or rather, yes, something has happened, but certainly nothing upsetting. Quite the contrary, in fact. I wanted you to know that—”

  “He’s here!” Peter interrupted to announce. Rushing past the sitting room, his limp nearly indiscernible, he poked his head in, eyes shining as he elaborated on his announcement “I just saw his carriage coming up the drive! He’s back!”

  With that, he disappeared, his footsteps echoing toward the entranceway door, along with his repeated calls of, “He’s here! He’s back!”

  Doors slammed throughout the manor. Hurried footsteps echoed from every direction, converging in the hall that led to the entranceway door.

  Hermione rose, staring at Chaunce with wide, hopeful eyes.

  “Yes, my lady,” the butler confirmed with a smile. “It is indeed Mr. Lyndley. I saw his approaching carriage myself.”

  “Thank heavens,” Hermione murmured, nearly sagging with relief, then recovering herself and moving purposefully toward the door. “He’s earlier than expected, but given the circumstances I can understand why he would alter his schedule and—” She halted, turning to cast another anxious glance in Gaby’s direction.

  She needn’t have worried. It was obvious Gaby had paid no attention to her aunt’s words, if in fact she had even heard them. Gone was the vague, anxious look in her eyes, the ashen cast to her skin. Abruptly, her cheeks were flushed with color, her eyes aglow with anticipation. She came to her feet, meeting Hermione’s gaze, excitement clearly singing through her like a beautiful melody.

  With a dazzling smile she hurried toward the doorway.

  “Slowly, love,” Hermione suggested, her lips twitching as she held up a detaining palm. “Give everyone else a chance to greet him. Save the best for last.”

  Gaby paused, her expression quizzical. “You think I should stay inside?”

  “Definitely not. I think you should race outside—eventually. For now I think you should walk only as far as the vestibule near the entranceway. Then count to one hundred. At that point I suspect you’ll see the perfect opportunity to go out and greet Bryce in exactly the way your heart tells you to.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me, Gaby,” Hermione said, caressing her niece’s cheek. “Do as I say.”

  With that, she turned, giving Chaunce a triumphant nod, then hurrying forward as he held the door open for her to pass.

  She had work to do—namely to provide Bryce with a proper welcome.

  And to arrange the proper order in which that welcome would occur.

  Bryce had scarcely climbed down from his carriage when the front door of the manor was flung wide and Peter emerged, leading Jane, Lily, Henry, and Charles on a wild rush toward him amid a chorus of “Mr. Lyndley! Mr. Lyndley!”

  Close behind were Cook and Mrs. Gordon, both beaming as they hastened down the stairs and waved their hellos—Mrs. Gordon so excited she forgot herself, trod directly through the patch of dirt alongside the drive, and when she realized what she’d done, shrugged it off w
ith a total lack of interest.

  After that, the entranceway door seemed to explode from its hinges as the entire staff of Nevon Manor spilled out, shouting their greetings and waving. Wilson emerged from the garden, wiping mud from his face as he strained to see what was happening. Realization struck, and he abandoned his work and sprinted toward the drive at a dead run, nearly colliding with Goodsmith, who’d charged from the carriage house, determinedly trying to fit the buttons of his uniform into the correct casings as he dashed forward.

  Bryce was speechless as he watched the scene unfolding before him. Too overcome for words, he merely stared from one welcoming face to another, absorbing their genuine pleasure at his return and for the first time admitting to himself just how much he’d missed the wonderful residents of Nevon Manor.

  Gaby was right, he perceived in a flash of insight. It wasn’t just they who needed him. He needed them as well.

  “You brought Sunburst!” It was Lily who shattered his introspection, exclaiming aloud as Sunburst poked his head out of the carriage, curious about the cause of the commotion.

  “I did indeed,” Bryce affirmed. “He couldn’t wait to see you.”

  As if to refute Bryce’s statement, the kitten cringed at the sight of the growing crowd and, reconsidering his original intentions, desperately tried to retreat into the quiet safety of the carriage. But before he could hide, the girls snatched him up, hugging him and promising him a reunion with his brothers and sisters. Evidently the combination of affection and promises worked, because in no time Sunburst was purring contentedly in Lily’s arms.

  “Mr. Lyndley!” Flushed with exertion, Peter pushed his way forward. “I’ve taken really good care of your books. And I’ve even tried to read some of them.”

  “Excellent.” Bryce laid a palm on the boy’s shoulder. “You and I will have to find time for a legal discussion. A long one, I suspect, given that I’ve written out all the answers to your questions on the Elementary Education Act.”

  “Really?” Peter beamed. “Can we do it this evening?”