When she had first arrived, Lucy had devoted some thought to considering the degree of Mr Kingsley’s wealth, but she had soon given it up, for his generosity fluctuated wildly. She had concluded that he was openhanded wherever his own comfort was concerned, so there was never a shortage of good meat and wine for the table, and he kept a good stable. He had given Augusta some wonderful jewellery, too. But he was remarkably uncomprehending of female concerns, so that his wife and daughters regularly had to beg for funds to buy new clothes. Lucy was amused to see that Deirdre wore a sprig muslin gown that could not have been under three years old, judging by the set of the sleeves. Lucy’s own gowns, unpretentious as they were, yet were far more fashionable.
“Oh, look, the Extons,” Deirdre said. “I shall go and join them, I think. Lucy dear, you may wander about on your own for a while if you wish, for I shall be quite safe with Mrs Exton, you know.”
“I shall take you to them,” Lucy said. “Then I might do a little shopping, I believe. There is a stall selling toys, so I might find something for Rosamund’s boys.”
Leaving Deirdre with Mrs Exton, Lucy made her purchase of a pair of splendid wooden soldiers, and then looked around for a Romany tent. She asked a passerby, who directed her to an unobtrusive tent set on the very edge of the field, hard by the woods which separated it from the furthest extent of Priory land. She had almost attained her object, when she caught a flash of sprig muslin leaving the glebe by the gate and entering the woods.
Astonished, she stopped dead. The figure was swallowed by the trees at once and lost to view, but Lucy had no doubt that it was Deirdre. No one else had a dress in quite that colour or style. Yet what was she doing leaving the field, and all alone? There was a path, Lucy knew, that led through the woods to a side gate into the gardens of Longmere Priory, for the servants who lived in town regularly used it as a short cut, but Lucy had never done so. Mrs Kingsley had told her when she first arrived always to use the lane, and so she had done. But she did not hesitate. Whatever Deirdre was about — an assignation, perhaps — Lucy must save her from any hint of scandal by finding her at once.
She passed through the gate and plunged into the woods. The air was cool, with a hint of dampness and the slightly mouldy smell of woodland in the mushroom season. From time to time, she caught a glimpse of Deirdre ahead of her, but some distance away. She seemed to be hurrying.
When Lucy came to the side gate of the Priory, she found it wide open, as if Deirdre had been in such a hurry that she had had no time to close it. Through the gate, Lucy found herself in a quandary. She was deep in the shrubbery, but there were paths to left and right, and also straight on — which way had Deirdre gone? Impossible to tell. But she knew that if she took the middle path, she would soon come to the main lawn and, if Deirdre had gone that way, she would be clearly visible. If not, she would have to return to the gate and strike out a different way.
She was in luck, for there in the distance was Deirdre’s pale form, hurrying across the lawn towards the old house. Lucy followed as fast as she could, although she was rather out of breath now. Deirdre was soon lost to view, but Lucy knew where she was going and entered the house by the side door. The ground floor of this wing contained the old kitchens, now used only for the grandest occasions, and store rooms and offices, which would most likely be deserted at this hour. At the far end of the inner passageway, however, was the narrows servants’ stair that led to the upper floor, which housed the lying-in suite, the Miss Hardcastles’ room and Deirdre’s rooms. Up the stairs, therefore, Lucy went, and directly to Deirdre’s rooms.
The door was closed. Knocking brought no answer, but Lucy entered anyway. The sitting room was empty, and further exploration revealed that the bedroom and dressing room were likewise deserted. There was no sign of her bonnet or parasol. Where could Deirdre be?
Lucy returned uncertainly to the corridor. There was no sign of Deirdre, and the house slept in unaccustomed silence, with most of the occupants either at the fair or out shooting, she supposed. There was no keeping the gentlemen from their shooting at this time of year.
For a moment, Lucy toyed with the idea of giving it up. Deirdre should not have left the fair by herself, but she had come to no harm, and clearly there was no assignation involved. She was safe at home now, and had no need of a chaperon. Lucy could go back to the fair and have her palm read.
Then she remembered that Augusta and the baby were enjoying their afternoon nap together. She could look in on them, and see if Augusta were awake and in need of company. She would not be happy if she were left alone all afternoon, while everyone else was enjoying the delights of the fair. If she still slept, Lucy could creep away and go back to the fair, but if not, she could show her the wooden soldiers she had bought. Through the house she went, therefore, into the new building and up the stairs to the nursery.
The door stood open, which was unusual. Frowning, Lucy went in. Augusta was stretched out on the chaise longue, fast asleep, looking younger and prettier in repose. The baby was in his crib, wide awake, his tiny arms waving. And there bending over him was Deirdre.
“Oh, there you are!” Lucy said. “Why ever did you—?”
Then she saw the pillow in Deirdre’s hands.
“No…” she whispered. “No, Deirdre. Not you.”
“Yes, me,” she hissed. “Did you think I would let him take my inheritance? Never!”
“Your inheritance?” Lucy said, feeling stupid. “I do not understand.”
“Never mind.” She tossed away the pillow, and fumbled in her reticule. “I am glad you are here, Lucy, for now I can take care of you at the same time.”
She pulled out a small, bejewelled dagger. It looked familiar — was it the one from the armoury?
Lucy had no idea why Deirdre wanted to kill her, or the baby either, but it was unimportant. All that mattered was to keep her away from the baby. She did not hesitate. With all her strength, she hurled the package containing the toy soldiers across the crib at Deirdre’s head. Then, as Deirdre dodged the projectile, Lucy raced around the end of the crib and set about Deirdre with her parasol.
Deirdre yelped, and raised one arm against the blows. But then she snarled and lifted the other arm, the one holding the dagger, its jewels sparkling with a beauty incongruous in so deadly a weapon. Lucy hesitated only for a moment, before launching herself onto Deirdre. They went down in a tumble of muslin mingled with the flash of the dagger. In seconds Lucy found herself rolled onto her back, the weight of Deirdre pinning her to the ground. Above her, Deirdre held the weapon aloft, a cry of triumph on her lips.
“Now you die!” she yelled.
The weapon flashed. Lucy screamed and closed her eyes.
Then, incomprehensibly, it was Deirdre who was screaming and the air was filled with male voices, shouting. Deirdre’s weight vanished, and Lucy was lifted up in strong arms.
She dared to open her eyes. The room was full of men, arms waving, yelling orders, the air ringing with their authoritative commands. Then, she was carried away from the mêlée into somewhere quiet and almost dark, as if most of the shutters were closed.
“You are quite safe now.”
Leo. Her heart lurched. Twisting her head to look up at him, she saw his face inches from her own, grim and unsmiling.
“Leo?” she murmured.
And he smiled, all the warmth and affection she had missed for so long, those vivid eyes gazing into hers with the brightness of fire. She burst into tears.
He rocked her gently, murmuring reassuring nothings into her ear. They were in the night nursery, she guessed, and all those men, all those now ominously silent men, had been hiding here, as if they had guessed what would happen, as if they had been waiting for Deirdre to come and attack the baby.
“How did you know?” Lucy said, when her sobs had abated enough for her to find her voice. “Everyone believed it was Winifred’s doing, but you must have suspected Deirdre.”
He shifted her a little — s
he was sitting on his knee, his arms tight around her and very comfortable it was too. “Mr Willerton-Forbes and Captain Edgerton suspected her all along. Deirdre always seemed so sweet and good-natured, but there was a harder side to her that became visible occasionally.”
“But why? Why would she do such a thing.” Lucy suddenly remembered her words. “She said something about an inheritance. But the estate is entailed, is it not? The arrival of a son made no difference, surely?”
“The estate is entailed on the eldest son, but failing that it falls to the eldest daughter alone, an unusual arrangement, but it meant that Deirdre stood to lose everything to a brother. That is why she could not allow a male child to live. Once Kingsley revealed that aspect of the entail, it became clear. Then, when she arranged for all the servants to be out of the house, we knew what she planned to do. She put laudanum in Gussie’s tonic so she would sleep, and she planned to kill the baby, knowing that Gussie would take the blame again, and Kingsley would have to have her locked away. Then there could be no more sons to supplant Deirdre.”
“How horrible,” Lucy said.
“You were not supposed to be here,” Leo said, smiling down at her in a way that made her tremble. “I have to say, you are very adept with a parasol, Mrs Price.”
“I have had some practice,” she said, laughing up at him.
Somehow, she could not quite say how, for she was certain she did not intend it, her hand was reaching up towards him, stroking his hair, pulling him towards her. And he came to her, unresisting. As his lips settled on hers, this time there was no hesitation in her. She pressed herself against him with an ardour that took her by surprise. She wanted his kiss, needed it, in a way that she could not understand but nor could she fight it. Even if her rational mind had objected, her desire drowned out everything but Leo, his warmth, his hunger, his love. And she responded with her own love…
No.
When she surfaced, his passion still fizzing inside her, it took all her willpower to push him away.
“I beg your pardon.” Her voice sounded slurred, as if she were drunk. “I should not have done that. Please forgive me.” She scrambled off his knee, but somehow she ended up on the floor. Quickly, she clambered to her feet.
“I am so sorry,” she said miserably, as the tears started again.
“Lucy… Marry me, Lucy, please.”
“No! Impossible!”
He looked as shocked as if she had slapped him. Bewildered. Hurt.
With a deep, gulping breath, he said unsteadily, “Do not tell me that meant nothing to you! You are not indifferent to me.”
“Yes… no… it scarcely matters. It is out of the question. You must forget about me.”
But still he gazed at her with such misery on his face that she could only turn and flee the room. She ran through the house to her own room, then hurled herself onto the bed and wept and wept until she was as dry and empty as a seed husk. If only he would go away and not tempt her. If only he were less mesmerising. If only she loved him less.
27: Consequences
Later that afternoon, Lucy was summoned to the library. She straightened her gown and hair, and washed her face as best she could, but there was no disguising the puffy eyes from hours of distraught weeping.
She was surprised to find Uncle Arthur in the library with Mr Kingsley.
“Do sit down, my dear,” Mr Kingsley said. “You look very pale, and that is no surprise, after such a dreadful experience. No one expected you to have any part to play in the events of today. Tilford, pour some brandy for Lucy, will you?”
“I saw her leave the glebe,” Lucy said. “She was alone, and so I thought… She should not have been alone in the woods. I suspected an assignation with a young man. I never dreamt—”
“Of course, how could you?” Mr Kingsley said. Lucy had never seen him so solicitous, and yet there was a weariness in his manner, as if all the bluster had been knocked out of him. What a terrible time he had had! First he had thought his wife a murderer, then his younger daughter and now his elder daughter. “But Lucy, I must ask your advice, for you are the only person apart from myself who knows what is concealed at West End House. I must decide what to do about Deirdre, and it does not seem to me that anyone would be helped by seeing her taken by the constables and perhaps hanged. But nor do I wish to commit her to a regular asylum, which would be deeply unpleasant for her. Yet she must be locked away, for the sake of her brother and all of us. What think you to the idea of keeping her at West End House?”
Lucy sipped her brandy. “You do not think, then, that she should be brought before a court to have her crimes judged? With Winifred, there was no evidence to show, but Deirdre was caught in the act of violence. It was witnessed, and cannot be disputed. Should she not be dealt with as any other person would be, by the law?”
Mr Kingsley and Uncle Arthur exchanged glances. “Of course, it should be so,” Uncle Arthur said. “That would be the correct course of action. But consider this, Lucy — what if she is found not guilty? Deirdre is very plausible, and appears so sweet-natured. She will cry and protest her innocence, and any jury would be sympathetic to a young lady unjustly accused. And besides… there is your presence to explain.”
“My presence?” Lucy said. “I followed Deirdre from the fair.”
“But why were you in the nursery?” Uncle Arthur said. “Why did you attack Deirdre with your parasol? Already she is claiming that you produced the dagger from your reticule, that you attacked her, that she was protecting the baby from you.”
“That is ridiculous!” Lucy cried. “There are several who can vouch for me. Mr Audley…”
“Who is hardly an impartial observer,” Mr Kingsley said. “Mr Willerton-Forbes and Captain Edgerton and I were also hiding in the night nursery, but we could not see much, and no one heard what was said, until the last words. ‘Now you die.’ Those were the words. Deirdre is claiming that you spoke them, and there is no one who can say otherwise.”
“And Augusta was asleep,” Lucy said slowly. “I see.”
“You understand the problem, I am sure,” Mr Kingsley said. “I would not risk putting Deirdre before a jury, and perhaps dragging you and the whole family through the mire of scandal. Better by far to lock her away. And she must be locked away, of that there is no doubt. None of us would ever know a moment’s peace if she remains free. There only question is where to send her. Tilford is willing to have her, but—”
“Shut her up in that small house with a woman who attacks strangers, who has already caused grievous injuries to her own sisters?” Lucy cried. “It is bad enough that Uncle Arthur keeps Caroline there, so close to his own children. Do not compound the problem by sending Deirdre there.”
“Then, where?” Mr Kingsley said. “Where can we send her that will be secure?”
“Perhaps we do not need a gaol so much as a gaoler,” Lucy said thoughtfully. “You will have to provide some explanation to the Extons, for Mr Exton is as good as betrothed to Deirdre. It may be that, if he is told the truth, he will still want to marry her.”
“What, and have her living not two miles away?” Mr Kingsley said in horror. “That is unthinkable!”
“Indeed. But perhaps Mr Exton may be inclined to take his bride to live amongst his American cousins? That might be far enough away for safety.”
Uncle Arthur stayed for dinner, which was, not surprisingly, a subdued affair. Augusta ate from a tray in the nursery, unwilling to leave the baby’s side once she had learnt all that had happened while she was asleep. Deirdre was asleep in her room, having been given a draught by the physician. As a result, Lucy was the only lady present in the dining room. When she withdrew, she was surprised to find that Uncle Arthur followed soon after.
“You don’t like the arrangements made for Laurel’s sisters, I gather, Lucy,” he said without preamble.
She was startled by so abrupt an approach, and had to take a moment to compose her thoughts. “In many ways, it is very sensib
le,” she said at length. “For the ladies themselves, it is perhaps a good option. But what about your children? And the need for secrecy must be onerous for all of you.”
“We are used to it,” he said gruffly. “We don’t mix in the best society, never have. Laurel has never wanted to, and I have my own friends who ask no questions. As for the children, the eldest girls know some of it, and know to keep to themselves.”
“But they cannot keep to themselves for ever. When they come out—”
“We will cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said firmly. “I will not send Caroline or Maria away, and that’s an end to it. Besides…” He looked sideways at Lucy, and she thought he detected guilt in his expression. “I can’t afford to send them away. What’s left of their dowries keeps me afloat… keeps us all afloat. One hundred thousand pounds… it seemed like unimaginable wealth, but it has been gradually whittled away and whittled away. Oh, the principal remains intact, but I have borrowed against it until my income is barely enough to keep us in coal and candles, and the dice have not been with me lately.”
“Then you should ask Mr Audley for assistance,” Lucy said firmly. “He has more money than he well knows what to do with, and what better use could he find for it than to help family?”
“But then I should have to tell him everything!” Uncle Arthur said, aghast. “He wouldn’t understand! He’d want to… interfere.”
The Chaperon (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 2) Page 26
