“I have. I looked into a matter for him about eighteen years ago,” Stallings replied.
James brightened. “You were the detective who found proof of my uncle’s innocence in the death of his fiancée.”
“I had that honor, yes.” Stallings leaned back and turned his attention to Anthony. “I bring news I think will interest you. I contacted the police department in New York. They remember the incident clearly and added some interesting facts.”
He settled deeper into the chair, making it creak. “It seems Edward Rasmussen, the man who purchased the collar and had it held at the museum, bragged to all and sundry he had acquired it through the black market. He told his wife the person who delivered the relic was a large man with a scar on his face. The same day the collar was stolen and Roger Griffin killed, Rasmussen was found in his home, a victim of foul play. Two of his servants saw a man answering to that description leaving the premises.”
Stallings turned to Clairece. “Mrs. Griffin, is there anything else, no matter how insignificant, you can remember about that day?”
Chapter 22
“Three men dead,” Clairece whispered, horrified.
Stallings glanced sharply at Anthony. “Three?”
“One of my footmen fell victim to the same man,” Anthony verified.
Clairece caught her lower lip between her teeth. “His wife must have been devastated.”
Stallings’s regard jumped to Clairece. “You knew him?”
“Mr. Rasmussen and my father corresponded frequently. It was he who requested the museum have my father authenticate the piece.” Fighting for calm, Clairece lowered her eyes and studied her hands. “I wondered why I never heard from him after the robbery and my husband’s death.”
Stallings withdrew a small book and pencil from an inside pocket. “Would you start from the beginning, Mrs. Griffin? I’m not clear as to the chain of events.”
She began slowly. “Mr. Rasmussen is . . . was a jeweler. He first heard of the collar for the gems it contained. He assumed the man who sold the relic had no idea what he truly possessed. Rasmussen was also an historian, which explains the connection to my father. He remembered the firsthand accounts of Queen Mary’s death, and believed he was holding the collar once worn by her dog. Its whereabouts has intrigued scholars for over three hundred years.”
She smoothed her hands over the soft velvet of her robe, remembering. “Rasmussen asked the museum to hold the piece for safekeeping until it could be authenticated. The gems alone were worth a fortune. However, if the collar was the missing artifact, the whole would be priceless. Rasmussen planned to return the piece to England where it would be better appreciated.”
“What would he gain from such a magnanimous gesture?” Stallings asked.
“He wished immortalization in history as the person who restored such a priceless article to England,” Anthony interjected. “As a collector and an Englishman, it’s what I would do.”
James shifted in his seat. “The tabloids were full of news surrounding the possible find, and plans were made with the British Museum to receive it. I never made the connection with the incident involving Roger and Ree.”
Stallings scribbled a few notes in his little black book. “Mrs. Griffin, what else can you remember?”
She thought back, seeing again the large, cavernous room in her mind. “The museum seemed uncommonly busy for a morning. There was a group of women on tour, a mother with two unruly children, and a cleaning lady mopping the floor where something had been spilled. I slipped on the wet tile and would have fallen, save for a man who caught my arm.”
Stallings’ head jerked up. “What did the man look like?”
Clairece tapped her lip with a finger. “He was tall. He kept his head down, but I did notice his hat and the little red feather in the band.”
“A style common to gentlemen here in England,” Anthony offered for Clairece’s edification.
Stallings leaned forward. “Did he say anything to you?”
“No . . . yes. He mumbled bloody hell. Roger came to stand beside me and the man turned away.”
“This man saw the two of you together?” Stallings asked.
“I would think so. Roger and I were led down a flight of stairs to the basement and the vault. The only other person I saw was the guard, and you know about him.”
“You left the vault and went upstairs?” Stallings’ hand, busily writing, paused.
“Yes, with the curator of the museum.” Suddenly chilled, she pulled the front of her dressing gown tighter and slumped against the back of the sofa.
Stallings tapped his pencil against the tablet. “Mrs. Griffin, are you up to answering one more question?”
“Of course.”
“I understand you initiated the first contact with your assailants by placing an ad in the Post Personals. What made you decide to use a London tabloid?” he queried.
She shrugged. “It was a fluke, one that paid off.”
Stallings held her gaze. “Why wait two years, Mrs. Griffin?”
“Now see here—” James glowered at Stallings, receiving a black glare in return.
Clairece seethed. “I didn’t wait. After I attended to Roger’s burial and some last business matters of his, I began asking questions of anyone with knowledge of antiquities, including the underground or black market. I placed ads in the local newspapers and magazines around New York, but nothing came of them. I extended the notices up the coast into Boston and around Philadelphia with the same results.”
Clairece leaned toward Stallings, irritation, anger, and hurt sweeping through her. “I met, and talked with, all sorts of people, from the honest to the most degenerate, and in places I had no idea even existed. I ventured into back alleys and tunnels under the city to meet with anyone who said they had information.”
The men gaped in horror, but she was too incensed to stop. “How dare you imply finding Roger’s killer wasn’t important to me?” She drew in a steadying breath. “I advertised in the London personals by happenchance. I was prepared to cover England, Scotland, and Wales, but then I received my first reliable lead.”
She released a short laugh and shook her head. “All that time and effort, and the person who responds wants me dead.” She threw out her arms. “Well, here I am, Chief Inspector, the perfect way to draw them in. Let’s get on with it, shall we, so poor Roger can finally rest in peace and I . . .” her voice broke.
Anthony surged to his feet, his face a mask of rage as he stared at Clairece. “What did you think to accomplish by placing yourself in such danger? Did you once stop and consider what could happen to you in those hellholes? You might have disappeared without a trace and sold into slavery to service any man with enough coin.”
Hands fisted at his sides, he paced the room. Clairece stared in shock at the anger she’d inadvertently unleashed.
“Damnation, Clairece. Do you think the only thing of value was the collar?” Anthony marched to the cheval glass over the mantle and yanked it from the wall. “Look in this mirror.” He held it in front of her face. “Do you see that woman? Do you have any idea what she would bring on the black market?”
James bounded to his feet to stand beside Stallings who had risen at Anthony’s tirade. “Tony, stop.”
“I can’t say I disagree with you, Harding, but you’ve made your point,” Stallings intervened.
Suddenly off kilter, Anthony clenched his teeth to stop the berating words. Clairece was a ray of light chipping away at the darkness. Because of her, he’d started to believe there could be more to life than the emptiness he so often felt. To have her risk it all was unthinkable.
“You’re leaving for Somerset today?” Stallings asked, changing direction.
Anthony struggled to steady his breathing. “We are to travel by
rail after dark tonight. For appearance’s sake, we are going as husband and wife.”
“I see.” Stallings’ expression remained even, but his eyes twinkled.
Devil take the man.
“Under the circumstances, it’s a good idea,” Stallings added helpfully. “They won’t be looking for a married couple.” He slipped the small tablet into his pocket. “If I need to reach you, may I send a message to your estate?”
“Certainly.”
“I’ll send word as soon as I have something. You do the same if anything else arises.” Stallings nodded to Clairece and James before turning to Anthony. “Show me to the door?”
Once downstairs, Stallings faced him. “We now have our answer as to why. I suspect the man with the hat was also involved. He obviously believes Mrs. Griffin can identify him and tie him to the missing relic. The fact he hadn’t recognized the collar as a royal artifact, might once have helped his case. But he took it again and hasn’t turned it over. If the man’s caught with the piece in his possession, it won’t go lightly for him. And he now has three deaths to his credit. Whether he did it himself or hired it done makes little difference.”
“Surely he realizes that,” Anthony pointed out.
“I’d say he most likely believes it’s his life or hers, and, in a sense, he’s right. He has nothing to lose, Harding. He’ll keep coming, killing anyone who gets in his way. Let’s hope the ships’ manifests give us a name before someone else dies.” He edged toward the door.
Anthony stayed him with a hand. “A warning, Stallings. If you ever challenge Clairece again, I will personally knock you on your arse.”
Chapter 23
Anthony watched the departing entourage through a narrow slit in the draperies until the last carriage and wagon had moved away. The commotion provided enough fanfare to insure news of the Earl’s departure was well noted.
For the first time since he’d purchased the large mansion, Inniswood sat almost deserted. The shutters were closed and locked, the heavy draperies pulled, and the knocker removed from the front door. Holland sheets covered the furniture in all but the servants’ quarters.
Anthony turned as Clairece entered the room. If he’d questioned his decision to travel by train, those doubts disappeared with the signs of pain etched clearly on her face. Her eyes narrowed on him as she approached. It didn’t take a scholar to comprehend she was angry.
“Am I now your property to rant and rave at and order about in front of others?” she snapped. “Well, Lord Harding, I belong to no man and—” Clairece broke off as he stepped up against her.
“You may berate as you will, but the answer to your question is yes. You are mine as assuredly as I am yours. We both know it, we both feel it, and dancing around the issue changes nothing. That connection gives me the right to become angry and frustrated when I hear you’ve risked your life in such a foolish manner. It is no longer just your life, it’s our life together.”
Clairece shook her head slowly. “Don’t say such things. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Want to or no, it’s there. Do you think not talking about how we feel changes anything?” He grasped her arm. “God, Clairece, quit running from what’s between us. Call it desire, lust, or making love, the emotion still binds us. But there’s more, and we both know it.”
He carefully released her. “You’re a brave woman, so why should caring for me, even just a little, be so damned frightening? Is the concept of being my wife so abhorrent, or is it just me?”
She cupped his cheek. “Caring for you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” She dropped her hand to her side. “I thought you understood what finding Roger’s murderer means to me. Avenging him is something I must do.”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear. Why must what we have and avenging Roger represent a choice? You asked me for help, but if helping you means I must go against what I perceive to be in your best interests, I cannot. I once asked you to trust me. Now, I’m asking you trust your own instincts. Don’t shut me out, Clairece.”
Her expression softened and she pressed into him, gently kissing his lips. He returned the caress, settling his mouth on hers. If this was all she was willing to accept from him at present, it would have to do. Moments later, he eased back. What he had to say next might well end their tenuous relationship.
“Come and rest before we leave.” He led her to the settee and settled next to her. “We need to discuss something.”
“What?” The fine skin on her forehead creased.
He took her hands in his. “As an experienced man, I must apologize.”
Her frown deepened. “I don’t understand.”
“On New Year’s Eve, the second time we made love, I did not use protection and I spent inside you. Even now, you may be carrying my child.”
Her face paled. “Oh, God.” She jerked her hands from his and tried to rise.
“No.” He held her beside him. “We must talk about this. I would guess you’re experiencing many different emotions.”
Her eyes held panic, something he’d not expected. “You cannot begin to comprehend.”
He plowed on. “If you’re pregnant with my child, we will wed. I would prefer it be your willing choice, but I would not see the shame of bastardy visited upon any child of mine.”
Clairece wrapped her arms around her belly and began to rock back and forth. A keening sound, so full of pain it shook Anthony to his core, came from deep within her.
He pulled her against his side. “Talk to me, Clairece.”
She swiveled to face him. “I am sorry, dearest. You have done everything you can for me, and now I’m to repay your kindness by trapping you into something you never bargained for.
“Years ago, I did find myself with child. I did not love the father but I grew to love the little babe I carried . . . for seven whole months.” She trembled. “I was told she was beautiful, but small. She never took her first breath. I wanted her so badly, I even imagined I heard her cry. Perhaps losing her was God’s punishment for how she was conceived, I don’t know, but when she died, a part of me died with her.”
Anthony closed his eyes.
“And now there may be another babe, the child of the man I adore. What if the same thing happens again . . . only this time, I hurt you as well?”
He tightened his embrace. Clairece had suffered in ways he’d never imagined and would never understand. In her eyes, he saw heartbreak and more. From her expression, she expected him to pronounce judgment and find her lacking. He never would. He tried to think of something to help ease her pain.
“You despise me.” She covered her face with her hands as wracking sobs shook her.
“Darling, no.” He held her until her tears subsided, then handed her his handkerchief. “You’re right, I can’t begin to fathom what you’re feeling. This I do know. Losing your child was not a form of punishment for something you did, or was done to you. God does not do that. Sometimes, there are simply no answers for why tragedies happen.”
Clairece searched his face as if testing the validity of his statement.
“As to my feeling trapped”—he kissed her palm—“nothing could be further from the truth. I wanted you from the moment I first saw you. I’m not saying I fell in love because I don’t understand the emotion, but I did want to see where our relationship might lead. I have never had those feelings for any woman.”
He lifted her chin. “It’s my turn to be honest with you. There are some things you should know about me.” Lord, please let there be no disgust in her eyes.
“The late Earl Harding was my legal father, but not by blood. I have been spared the label of bastard because my mother was married to him at the time of my birth. My biological father was Duncan McLaren, a Scottish Laird my mother met while visiting family in Scotland.
He laid his hand on her belly. “If my seed is growing inside you, I will care for and cherish you both. Never doubt that.”
She pressed her hand atop his. “Did you ever meet your real father?”
“Yes. Although he spent time with me, he never mentioned my existence to his wife or legitimate sons. As a child, it felt like another rejection, yet one I understood.”
Clairece tipped her head quizzically. “Do you have children?”
Anthony faltered. “There is a little girl, a sweet cherub named Sophie. You will meet her at Harding Hall.”
“And the mother?” Clairece asked quietly.
“Sophie’s mother left her with me six years ago. I’ve not heard from her since.”
The tall-case clock chimed.
“We must go.” Anthony rose and helped Clairece to her feet.
“Anthony, this discussion is far from over,” Clairece stated. “I did not agree to your demand.”
He hadn’t meant for it to be a demand, but there was no time now to discuss it further. “We’ll leave by the back door. A hackney should be at the gate in the mews. We don’t want to draw attention by making the conveyance wait.”
After helping her with her cape, they slipped quietly out the kitchen door. They stayed in the shadows until they reached the gate and the waiting black cab. Anthony opened the door and lifted Clairece in, following with the portmanteau.
The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) Page 13
