“The mysterious woman,” I said to myself.
“Corinne Lyon was still alive then, but she was dying. There was no question of that. She was so old and she had lived so outrageously, riding every morning, working herself into a fury over the least little thing. Edward took me in, and I stayed in a room upstairs, hiding all day long. At night we would meet in the gardens and talk, plan. He said he would help me. Then Corinne Lyon died—”
“And you took her place,” I said.
“Yes. No one knew she had died besides Agatha Crandall. Edward made a deal with her. He told her what had happened and promised to give her part of the money the jewels would bring. He did not intend to give them back. He never intended to do that, but I didn’t know it then. His plan was—fantastic, so fantastic that I believed it would work. I had to hide. I knew the police would be looking for me, and so would Bart and Jerry. No one knew about my liason with Edward. There would be nothing at all to connect me with Lyon House.”
“So Corinne Lyon ‘recovered,’” I said.
“Edward buried her here in the gazebo. He’d hidden the jewels here earlier. The next morning I got up, making a remarkable recovery. The first thing I did was dismiss all the servants in a fit of temper. Corinne had hired and fired servants at a shocking rate, so there was nothing unusual about it. The new servants would be less likely to discover the hoax, as they had not been around the old woman before. I took down the portrait of Corinne Lyon that hung in the gallery, and I simply became her. I wore her clothes, her wig. I went riding every morning as she had done. I fooled everyone. Sometimes it seemed I really was Corinne Lyon, even to myself.
“Edward made a quick trip to London, leaving early in the morning and coming back that night. I thought he was going to return the jewels, but he wasn’t. He was making arrangements to sell them through a fence, a man named Herron. He’d had dealings with Herron before when he’d sold trinkets and various art objects that belonged to his aunt. When he came back that night, he told me what his real plans were. He was going to sell the jewels, and with the money from them we would leave the country together. I—I was in too deep by then, Julia. I had to go along with him. You must see that.”
“Of course,” I replied, my voice very low.
“My disguise was working beautifully. No one dreamed I wasn’t Corinne Lyon. Agatha knew, of course, but Agatha was being paid to keep quiet. We were afraid she might get drunk and tell everything. She was unpredictable when she’d been drinking—”
Maureen paused. We both knew what had happened at the top of the stairs last night. We both knew it had not been an accident. Agatha was pushed. I thought I knew who had done it, and I knew Maureen knew. I expected her to tell me about it, but that would come later on.
“Why was it necessary for me to come to Lyon House?” I asked.
“Bart and Jerry knew about you. They knew I had a sister, and they knew you worked in the music hall. I—I was afraid they would harm you in some way. I went back to London secretly—on one of Corinne’s ‘bad’ days, when she was supposedly resting in her room. I went to the boarding house. You were asleep in your room. I opened the door and looked in on you. I had to see you. I had to see that you were safe.”
“You whispered my name,” I said.
“You were awake?”
“I thought I was dreaming,” I said.
“You went down to the parlor, too. I overheard Mattie and Bill talking. I had the feeling that there was a third person in the room with them.”
“Yes,” she continued. “Mattie told me that Bart and Jerry were in the neighborhood, asking questions about you and your connections with me. They evidently hoped to trace me through you. Mattie told me that a strange man with a scar had been following you and coming to the music hall to see your act. I knew at once that it was Clinton’s son. I had met him only once, briefly, but I knew it had to be him. He must have found out about my relationship to you, too, and he, too, hoped to find me through you. None of them knew anything about me except that I had a sister. That was all they had to go on. You can see why it was necessary for you to leave.”
I nodded. “Did you stay in London and hide upstairs in the dressing rooms the night of the farewell party?” I asked.
“I left the next afternoon, before the party.”
“Someone was upstairs,” I said. “The dressing rooms were dark. I left the party to go see the puppets. As I left, someone came out from one of the vacant rooms—”
“Bart,” Maureen whispered, “or Jerry.”
I remembered the sense of danger I had felt that night as I saw the dark figure creeping down the hall towards me. I shuddered to think what might have happened had Laverne not come to fetch me at that moment.
“I came back to Lyon House in a private carriage,” Maureen said. “I left the carriage and walked along the drive, carrying my suitcase. For a moment I thought all was discovered. One of the maids was in the gardens with her boy friend. I thought she might have seen me.”
“She did,” I replied. “She thought it was Edward’s mistress slipping in to see him.”
“When you arrived at Lyon House, I thought everything would work out as Edward had planned. He was making arrangements with Herron, but it would take time before the jewels could be exchanged for money. You were safe, and everything was going smoothly. Then you went on the canoe ride and Edward saw Bart and Jerry sitting at a table at the Inn. I had described them to him, and he knew at once who they were. They had discovered your whereabouts—someone at the music hall must have let it slip out—and as you were the only link with me, they came here. Philip Mann came, too.”
“Why haven’t they done anything?” I asked.
“They watched—and they waited. They asked questions about Lyon House, about Corinne. They were satisfied I was not here, but they all believed I would come here to fetch you. Mann rented Dower House, and Bart and Jerry—pretending to be surveyors—holed up in an old deserted cottage down the river. They’ve been watching the house, waiting.”
“One of them chased me in the woods,” I said calmly.
“When?” she asked, her voice harsh.
“Two nights before the fair,” I replied.
“My God,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”
“Edward asked me not to tell you.”
“He knew it would have terrified me. Those animals! They probably meant to make you tell them when I would be coming to fetch you. Edward knew I would have given the whole thing up if I had known. I was already on edge because of Agatha’s visit to Mann—”
She cut herself short. She did not want to discuss Agatha. I knew the reason why. I would wait.
She laughed, and it was not a pleasant laugh. “I saw Bart and Jerry one morning as I was out riding. They were walking down the road with their surveyor tools, in sight of Lyon House. I galloped past them. I even tipped my hat to them. It was the proper, ironic gesture—”
“If they’re still around,” I said, “why are you dressed like this? Why aren’t you still in disguise?”
“It’s over,” she said. “Edward met Herron at the fair. They made the final arrangements. Edward took the jewels to London so they could be examined. Herron is going to meet us tonight at the station, and the final exchange will be made. Edward purchased two tickets for France. We are going directly to Marseille, and from there we will board a vessel bound for South America.”
“Did Edward return today?” I asked casually.
“No, last night—” she said, and she knew at once that she had made an error. She stared at me with those dark, lovely eyes, and they pleaded with me to say no more. The wind blew a thick ebony wave across her temple. She reached up to brush it aside, her hand moving like a fragile white bird.
“I see,” I said simply, and those two words clearly stated everything I knew and felt.
“He had to do it, Julia,” she whispered. “Agatha had gone to see Mann again last night. She was afraid, and she intended to
tell him everything. Edward was coming back to Lyon House when he saw her leaving Dower House. He intended to do it then, but your maid and her boy friend were walking down the road ahead. He—he waited, and then he slipped in through the French windows. You know the rest.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know the rest.”
“We pretended he hadn’t returned from London. He’s been in his room all day. No one knew, not even the servants. Julia, don’t look at me like that—like you despise me. I—I have to go with him.”
“You said you were not a criminal,” I replied. “What are you, Maureen? You helped him cover up a murder, and now you are leaving the country with him. That makes you as guilty as he.”
“I had to,” she protested. “I had to.”
“Why?” I demanded. “There can be no excuse—”
“I had to,” she said, her voice calmer now. “I wanted to back out. I wanted to go to the police with everything, but he wouldn’t let me. He told me that if I didn’t go along with it he would—kill you.”
These two words seemed to hang in the air in the silence that followed. The moon broke from behind a bank of clouds and its radiance flooded the scene, sharpening outlines, deepening shadows. I saw the gazebo with the weathered boards torn off its front, the gaping doorway and the mound of earth beyond, and I saw Maureen, so still and calm that she might have been a statue. The moonlight poured over her face, revealing the finely chiseled features and the dark, tragic eyes. She was a stranger to me, and her tragedy was one I could not completely comprehend.
“He meant it,” she said quietly.
“Indeed I did, and do,” Edward Lyon said.
He stepped out of the shadows. He wore a dark suit and a black cape lined with white satin. The cape fluttered from his shoulders in the wind, the silky whiteness of its lining shining in the darkness. He had been standing just beyond the clearing for a long time, listening. Now he moved towards us in long, casual strides, as though this was a garden party. His casual, debonair manner, the shifting shadows, the moonlight pouring over the haunted face of the gazebo all gave a touch of sheer horror to the scene.
“It’s a shame you could not have waited to tell your tale,” he told Maureen. He might have been making polite conversation from the tone of his voice. This tone made the words he spoke all the more terrifying. “Now I will have to kill her anyway, merely as a precaution. You’ve made it absolutely necessary. You can see that, of course?”
“No,” she whispered.
“But I must, my dear. Everything is arranged. The plan has worked beautifully. Corinne Lyon and her nephew will disappear, and no one will ever connect them with the Mann case. Everything is clean and neat. We can’t afford to be untidy now. Leaving Julia to talk would be untidy, to say the least.”
“I won’t let you do this,” Maureen said.
“I’m afraid you have no voice in the matter,” he replied in that soft, dulcet tone that chilled the air about us.
Maureen stared at him for a moment, a look of horror on her face, and then she flew towards him, claws unsheathed, with all the fury and violence of a magnificent lioness. The claws raked across his face only once before he managed to push her aside. She stumbled back against the gazebo and he stood hovering over her, the wind flapping his cape. He doubled up his fist and stared at it a second before hitting her across the jaw. It was a powerful blow. I heard its impact, and I winced as Maureen sank unconscious to the ground.
Edward Lyon turned to face me, very calm, still casual. His face was sculptured by moonlight, each line sharply defined. It was a face of strong virile beauty, even more handsome now that menace gave each feature a strength it had not possessed before. A thick lock of auburn hair had fallen across his forehead, and his lips were gently curled in a vague smile. He was enjoying himself. He was enjoying the power he played with as he terrorized women.
“How shall we do this?” he asked politely, as though genuinely consulting me. “Shall we be neat? That would be preferable, you must admit. We can be tidy and get it all over with as quickly as possible, or you can scream and fight and make the whole thing unpleasant. I can assure you that you will die in either case, Julia, so why not be sensible about the whole thing.”
“You’re insane,” I whispered hoarsely.
“Insane? Perhaps, if to have a dream is insanity. I had a dream, Julia, and I carried it out, calmly and logically, and if that is insanity, I must plead guilty.”
“You don’t really think you can get away with this?” I said, trying to still the trembling in my voice.
“Why not?” he asked, and he chuckled quietly. “Agatha had an accident—one you witnessed yourself—and my aunt died peacefully in her bed from old age.”
“You murdered Corinne Lyon, too?”
“She was a despicable old woman, and she never intended to turn me loose. She kept me here like a pet, her tame nephew, and it would have always been that way. I changed that. A few extra drops of laudanum in her milk—even if they had examined her body it would have looked as if she had taken an overdose through error. So you see, I do intend to get away with it, to use your words.”
“You’ve done all this—for money.”
“Not money, dear Julia, but the freedom and power it will give me. As soon as Maureen showed me the jewels, I knew what I would do. She intended to turn them over to the authorities, foolish woman. I had other plans. Those plans are about to be fulfilled, but first I must attend to you. We’ve wasted enough time in idle conversation—”
He seized my arm, his strong fingers closing about the flesh with an iron-like grip. It was useless for me to try and pull away. He merely tightened the grip with a forcefulness that caused me to grow faint. He led me away from the gazebo, forcing me to move ahead of him out of the clearing.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked.
“To the river. That would be an appropriate way, I should think graceful and Ophelia-like. And when, eventually, your body is recovered it will look like suicide—or a rather unfortunate accident. Yes, the river will suffice nicely.”
We were deep in the woods now moving towards the now menacing noise of the river as it washed along the bank. Trees and shrubs were thick on either side, only a few thin rays of moonlight sifting through the heavy canopy of limbs above. I could smell moist earth and damp bark and lichen. An owl hooted from a thicket, and the sound was sinister. Once I stumbled on a rock, and he jerked me up savagely.
There had been a vague, nightmare quality of unreality about everything that had happened in the clearing. It had all the dim, subdued nature of dream, images and movement divorced from real life. Now, as I felt the pain that shot through my arm, I awoke to the full terror of my situation. This man had murdered twice before, and he intended to murder me. My breath came in short gasps as he shoved me along the rock strewn path that led down to the boathouse and pier.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” Edward said. He bent his head close to my shoulder and his lips seemed to brush my ear. His voice was tender, almost apologetic.
“You’ve been meddlesome from the first,” he continued. “I didn’t want you brought here, but your sister insisted, and at that stage I had to indulge her. There will be no more of that. From now on she will do as I command. It will be a nice relationship. Women want to be mastered by their men, and Maureen is no exception.”
“She’ll never go with you now,” I said.
“Oh, yes—she will. Most assuredly. This will make her want me all the more, for she will believe I’ve done it all for her. Women are foolish that way.”
“She’ll hate you.”
“She hates me now, always has, and that hate drove her to me much more forcefully than love would have done. Love is a weak emotion, for the weak.”
I closed my eyes. I tried to close off the sound of his voice. He seemed to be amused, full of satisfaction. I sensed that he wanted me to beg and plead, to struggle and fight. It would have given him more opportunity to exerc
ise his perverted sense of mastery. I had to remain calm. I had to conserve all my energy. When the moment came, I had to be ready to fight him with all the strength I possessed.
We came out of the trees. A small slope led down to the river. The deserted old boathouse set on the edge of the water. The wood was rotten and the roof sagged. Barnacles clung to the slats in the water. A heavy coil of rope dangled from a nail near a window with broken panes. The pier reached out into the water, and it looked flimsy and dangerous. The river itself was a tumultuous black force, swollen by recent rains. It roared away in the night, shattering the silence.
“The water is quite deep at the end of the pier,” Edward said, his lips still close to my ear. “With those heavy skirts, you’ll sink almost at once. You couldn’t possibly swim in that torrent.”
What he said was true. It would have been impossible for anyone to swim in that dark, angry flood. To torment me, Edward broke a small branch from a tree and hurled it into the water. The branch twirled for a moment on the surface before the water engulfed it and carried it cascading downstream. Edward laughed softly and prodded me forward.
“You—you really mean to do this?” I whispered.
“Of course. I must admit that it would give me more pleasure to do it with my bare hands, but I must not be selfish. I will let the water do the work for me. I have to be careful, you see. When they find you, it must look as though you fell—or jumped. There can be no marks.”
“You have it all worked out, don’t you?”
“Come along,” he said. His voice was no longer the polite voice of the social dilettante. It was throaty and harsh, the voice of a man ready to kill.
We were at the pier now. The wooden planks of the platform reached out to a point almost halfway across the river. There were large cracks between each plank, and one of the planks had rotted in two, leaving a large gap. The odor of milkweed and moss was strong here on the river. A frog croaked angrily from its perch on a rock and plopped into the swirling waters with a soft splash. The pier gleamed, wet and evil. I could feel my heart pounding.
The Lady of Lyon House Page 20
