by Janni Nell
“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration, Ms. Fairweather.”
“Listen, buddy, I’m not playing the drama queen for fun, okay?”
He raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, as though I had committed some horrible social faux pas.
“Go home,” he said, “or wherever you call home while you’re living in our country. Lady Justina cannot see you tonight.”
I stared at Phillips in exasperation. “You have to let me see her.”
“I am not preventing it,” he said snootily. “Lady Justina herself has expressed a wish that she is not to be disturbed this evening.”
“If she’s with Sir Alastair—” and wasn’t that where she was every night? “—I’m sure she’ll speak to me for a moment.”
Phillips drew himself up to his full height and tried to look down at me. “Although you have no right to know this, I assure you Lady Justina is not with Sir Alastair. She wants to spend the evening alone.”
Was he lying or telling the truth? I sensed he was telling the truth. There was only one reason Justina would ask to be left alone tonight.
No! I couldn’t let her die.
“Out of my way,” I said. Taking Phillips by surprise, I barged into the hall.
His habitually scornful expression dissolved into alarm. Recovering quickly, he grabbed my arm and tried to steer me out the door.
“You’re trespassing, Ms. Fairweather. You have to leave.”
I tried to shake off his arm. “I’m not leaving here until I—”
Sir Alastair appeared from the drawing room. He’d probably been listening to everything we’d said.
“Let her go, Phillips. The least we can do is give her a drink before we send her out into the night.”
Then, with a reptilian smile, he beckoned me into the drawing room.
We sat, just Sir Alastair and me. He unstoppered a decanter of port and filled two glasses.
I said, “I have to speak with Lady Justina. It’s important.”
“I have no doubt it is,” he said as he handed me a glass. I waited for him to drink first. It had nothing to do with courtesy and everything to do with survival. Both drinks had been poured from the same decanter. If one was poisoned or drugged, they both were.
Sir Alastair took a large mouthful. I watched him swallow. Then, barely wetting my lips, I took a sip of my own drink.
“Can I speak with Lady Justina?”
Sir Alastair got to his feet and paced the room. He ran a hand through his hair as though he had recently suffered a catastrophic loss. I felt sick at the thought. Had Justina been unable to endure another night of his attentions?
He turned to face me. “This is very distressing, Allegra.” He took another large swallow of scotch. “My wife has gone.” His voice cracked. “I don’t know where she is.”
I met his eyes. Immediately I knew he was lying. Playing the deserted husband didn’t suit him. He was too proud of his young wife to make it real. He knew where she was. But was she dead or alive?
I wanted to rattle him, so I asked bluntly, “Is she dead?”
He choked on his scotch. “Are you suggesting I killed her? Good God—after what I went through to win that creature, that’s the last thing I’d do. I want her with me always.”
“Sir Alastair,” I asked coldly, “has Justina committed suicide?”
His face paled. Obviously he had never considered the possibility, which meant he hadn’t found her body. A wave of relief swept through me. She might still be alive. But where was she?
Coolly Sir Alastair offered to top up my drink. I waved him away.
Pouring another large measure for himself, he confessed, “My wife has disappeared. She most certainly did not commit suicide.”
“How can you be sure if you don’t know where she is? She might have gone into the wood and jumped off Wilson’s Creag.”
He regarded me with eyes like blue ice. Slowly he got to his feet.
“I’ve offered you my hospitality at a very distressing time. You’ve responded with nothing but rudeness by suggesting my lovely wife would rather die than remain with me.”
Actually I hadn’t suggested that. Not out loud anyway. All I’d done was ask whether she’d committed suicide. Sir Alastair had assumed the rest.
“It’s time you left,” he said. “Please allow me to grieve in peace.”
“Grieve? I thought you said Lady Justina wasn’t dead.”
“She isn’t,” he paused to dab his eye with a monogrammed handkerchief. “I’m sure you’ll allow me to feel a little grief over her disappearance.”
His performance was so over the top I wanted to puke. Did he really think I’d fall for it?
“Cheer up,” I said. “I’m sure Lady Justina will be found safe and well.”
He didn’t look happy at the prospect. “It’s time for you to go, Allegra.” He gestured toward the door. “I’ll show you out.”
There wasn’t much to be achieved by remaining, so I moved out of the drawing room and down the hall to the front door. Maybe I could hang around the grounds. There was always a chance I’d see Justina in one of the upstairs rooms.
“Thank you for your time,” I said to Sir Alastair.
“My pleasure.” His words were as automatic and insincere as mine.
He opened the front door letting in a blast of cold air. I wondered where Phillips was. Opening the front door was his job. The butlers’ union wouldn’t be pleased.
I was half way out the front door when I heard the scream.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was a woman’s scream. Justina’s.
Sir Alastair pretended he hadn’t heard it and tried to usher me through the door. I knocked away his hand. Pushing him aside, I stormed back into the hall.
As far as I could tell, the scream had come from somewhere toward the back of the house. Upstairs? Downstairs? I couldn’t be sure. I strained my ears hoping to hear something that would help me find her, but I was disappointed. Whatever had made Justina scream, the situation no longer existed. Or did it? Perhaps even now, as I stood impotently in the hall, she was being dragged to some secret location.
After taking a moment to turn back and punch Sir Alastair firmly in the stomach—he doubled over with a satisfyingly painful grunt—I ran down the hall. Taking the stairs two at a time, I headed upstairs to Justina’s bedroom.
I was unsurprised to find it empty, but there was evidence that she had been here recently. Her hairbrush was lying on the floor and a bottle of perfume had been knocked over, making a puddle on a lace doily. Holding my breath against the fragrant deluge, I righted the bottle and replaced the cap.
I went through the motions of checking under her bed, in the closet, in her bathroom, and even behind the drapes. There was no sign of her. In desperation I ran out of the room and along the hall, flinging open doors as I went.
Sir Alastair’s room was empty. So were the rooms Casper and I had occupied during our sleepover. Even the attic was empty. I lingered a moment, hoping my big toe would itch.
Nothing. Bugger.
I ran downstairs. Sir Alastair had straightened up and was moving down the hall toward me. Behind him the open front door let in a blast of cold air. I grabbed his shirt collar, got up real close and personal.
“Where is she?”
“Lady Justina has disappeared. I’ve told you that.” His voice was ice. He pointed to the open door. “Get out of my home.”
“I’m not leaving without her.”
Still clutching his stomach, he called for Phillips. The butler loomed out of the shadows.
Sir Alastair said, “Show Ms. Fairweather out.”
Phillips was about my height, but he wasn’t very agile. When he tried to grab me, I dodged out of his grasp and swung my fist. He tried to defend himself but he had no chance. I hit him with a left hook, not even full strength, and he went down.
He was unconscious for maybe two seconds before he opened his eyes. He stared groggily at the spots of
blood on his white shirt.
“It’s just a split lip,” I said. “You’ll live.” Then I added, “As long as you tell me where she is.”
“Lady Justina,” he said, echoing Sir Alastair, “has disappeared.”
I hauled him up by his shirt collar and drew back my fist. “Do I look like I was born yesterday, Phillips? Tell me where she is or I’ll—”
His eyes were full of fear. Good. Talk, buddy. He opened his mouth. Then a subtle change came over him, replacing his fear with confidence. At the same moment a sledge hammer hit my head and knocked me to the ground.
As I struggled to my hands and knees, I realized, firstly, that it couldn’t have been a sledge hammer—I was still alive—and secondly, that the blow had come from Francois. Who knew martial arts was in the job description of a chef?
Francois stood over me ready to strike again if I fought back. His stance screamed black belt.
I touched my cheek. The same one Leith had backhanded. Luckily it didn’t feel broken, but it was going to bruise like a champion, which meant Francois hadn’t used full strength. If he had, I’d be unconscious or worse.
Francois said politely, “It’s time to leave, Ms. Fairweather.”
I had two options. Either I could fight and, let’s face it, probably die. Or I could find out the truth of the saying, She who fights and runs away lives to fight another day. It was a no-brainer.
I swallowed my pride. “I’m going.” Wearing my humiliation like a badge of honor, I walked toward the front door. As I passed Sir Alastair, I couldn’t resist a parting shot. “I’ll return her to the loch if it’s the last thing I do.”
“I’m sure it will be,” he answered politely.
I stepped out into the darkness and the door closed behind me. The lock turned loudly. I used every swear word I could think of. Then I kicked the wall of Maitland House. Solid stone. Ouch.
More swearing.
“Settle down, Allegra.”
“Casper.” I whirled to face him. “Why didn’t you help me in there? What kind of guardian angel are you?”
“A sensible one.”
“Yeah, well, thanks for nothing.”
“If you’d been in real trouble I’d have helped out.”
“You think this isn’t real?” I pointed to my face. Then I realized he couldn’t see it in the darkness. “I think my cheek’s broken.” Exaggeration never hurt anyone, and if it made Casper feel bad…
Well, good.
“Which cheek?” he asked. “Left or right?”
“Right.”
He ran his fingers over my cheek. I flinched. Sore. His fingers became feather light, gossamer wings, angel hair. I closed my eyes. I was heading straight for Cloud 9. I swear my feet left the ground. Then he withdrew his hand.
“It’s not broken,” he said confidently.
“How can you be sure?”
“I’m an angel. I know these things.”
“What about my jaw? It’s really sore. Right here.” I pointed, stopping short of grabbing his hand and pressing it against my skin. If I did that he might feel obliged to recuse himself from being my guardian angel.
“You’re fine, Allegra.”
Accepting his verdict, I asked, “So if you didn’t come here to protect me, what’re you doing here?”
“I did come here to protect you,” he replied, “but you looked as though you we doing okay by yourself, so I stayed out of it.”
“Just for future reference,” I said, “even if I look like I’m doing okay, feel free to step in.” Before he could answer, I stabbed a finger at the forbidding walls of Maitland House. “They’ve got Justina in there. If I don’t get to her by midnight she’ll kill herself.”
“You’ll get to her in time,” he said. “I have every confidence in you, Allegra.”
“I wish I shared your confidence.” For a moment I sagged against the cold stone of Maitland House.
“What do we do now?” asked Casper.
I answered him with a question. “Are you planning on hanging around?”
“Until the case is closed.”
“I see. Then I guess we will go back to Mac’s.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” he said. “Will you buy me dinner?”
“Casper! I’m trying to save a woman’s—a selkie’s—life.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to be insensitive. It’s just that I look at death from a different perspective. It’s not half as bad as mortals think.”
I didn’t feel like debating the pros and cons of death.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll buy you dinner.”
We walked down the hill in silence. The lights of the village seemed far away but I didn’t really give them much thought. I was too busy working out where Sir Alastair might have taken Justina. Putting myself in his place, I tried to work out the sequence of events.
Before I arrived at Maitland House this evening, he might not have realized that Jenny Clark had seen him digging near Leith’s Cairn. But that had changed when I appeared and demanded to see Justina.
Immediately he must have realized that I knew where her skin was hidden. It was imperative he stop me reuniting her with the skin. If he’d had more time he might have found a secret place to imprison her, but he hadn’t had time. He’d been forced to improvise.
I guessed that while Phillips had been trying to prevent me entering Maitland House, Sir Alastair had been making arrangements, probably with Francois, to hide Justina. Because it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, there had been no time to drug her which explained the scream. It also meant they had to lock her up somewhere close by. Somewhere in Maitland House.
They hadn’t hidden her upstairs. I had already searched the bedrooms and the attic. So where was she? Downstairs? Possibly, but I thought they’d choose somewhere more out of the way. Somewhere no one would look. Like a garden shed. I tried to remember whether I had seen one in the grounds. There had to be something and it had to be large enough to house a riding lawn mower, but a garden shed was too easily accessible for a hiding place. Sir Alastair would choose the most secure place he could find, which would be somewhere inside the house. But where?
Still trying to work out how he would think, I remembered the way he had looked as I faced him across the drawing room.
He had worn elegant slacks, navy blue, with a fine cashmere sweater. His grey hair had been neatly combed, not a hair out of place. His long-fingered hands with their perfectly clipped nails had curled possessively around a port glass. A port glass. I could see the bottle, half full of garnet red liquid. A place like Maitland House would have a wine cellar.
“Casper,” I said. “I’m going back to Maitland House.”
I thought I heard him groan, but I was already running back the way we had come.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Maitland House was in darkness when I arrived. I wasn’t sure whether Casper had followed me, but if he had, he was keeping out of sight. I crept around the back and made my way cautiously across the patio to the French doors.
I wasn’t sure how I’d get in, but I had learned a few things during previous visits to Maitland House. Firstly, there was no alarm—Maitland House was too far off the beaten track to make it worthwhile—but to compensate, the windows and doors were securely locked. Secondly, there were a lot of windows and doors. Ensuring they were all locked would be a mammoth task. I hoped Phillips wouldn’t be up to it.
I approached the French doors and turned one of the knobs. It was unlocked. No, it couldn’t be that easy. I wondered whether it was a trap. Was someone waiting inside in the darkness, ready to pounce?
Oh well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I started to push open the door. A nanosecond later I heard a noise inside. Then the room was flooded with light. I caught a glimpse of Phillips before I jumped away.
Heart hammering, I pressed myself flat against the wall beside the French doors. Had he seen me? I held my breath. I was ready to run if he came out but I hop
ed it wouldn’t come to that. Probably he hadn’t seen me. It was dark outside. My heart rate slowed. I began to relax. Then I heard movement near the doors.
There was a rattle, as though he was turning the knob. I pressed myself flatter against the wall and balled my fist. Another knob rattled. There was a sound like bolts being slid home, then the swish of drapes being drawn. The light dimmed. A moment later it went out completely. I exhaled and sagged against the wall.
After allowing several minutes for Phillips to leave the room, I left my hiding place and tried the knobs again. I didn’t expect the doors to open but I had to be sure. When I had confirmed that they were locked tight I searched for another way in.
Moving around the house, I tried all the windows and doors. Some of the windows were too high to reach but everything else was locked tight. By the time I had once again reached the patio, the task of breaking into Maitland House seemed impossible.
That was the moment Casper chose to appear.
I glared at him. “So you haven’t deserted me.”
“You know I wouldn’t do that,” he said, ignoring my snippy tone.
“Well it doesn’t matter anyway, because I won’t be getting into Maitland House tonight. Everything is locked tight. I wish you could…”
I stopped. I couldn’t use the H word. What was the point? Casper wouldn’t help me by disappearing, reappearing inside, and unlocking the door. Even though he could do it really easily.
“What I need,” I murmured to myself, “is something to cut the glass with so I can reach in and unlock the door.” I wondered whether there were any glass-cutting tools in Furness.
Casper leaned against the wall. I couldn’t see his expression clearly but when he spoke, the tone of his voice was casual. “Sir Alastair has some beautiful paintings. I wouldn’t mind taking a closer look at them.”
“What the—? This is no time for fun, Casper.”
“There’s always time for fun.” He disappeared.
Throwing up my hands in disgust, I turned away from Maitland House. I wasn’t going to be here when Casper reappeared.
