The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel)

by Sandra Lea Rice

  “We’re the lucky ones, and don’t we know it. Ain’t a thing none of us wouldn’t do for him.”

  Philippe vaulted into the saddle. “In which direction might I find Roxbury Abbey?”

  “Follow the road to the left until you find a sign markin’ the lane. Might have to look hard, ‘cause it’s overgrown with rose hedge by now.”

  “Gracias.” Philippe nodded. After trotting his horse from the barn, he urged the animal into a canter. He swung left at the thoroughfare, allowing his horse a gallop.

  The sign appeared suddenly, the name barely discernible behind the bramble. Philippe reined in his steed, and started down the unkempt lane at a sedate pace. The dwelling should be uninhabited but he’d long ago stopped leaving things to chance. An abandoned residence would make an excellent place to hide.

  The Abbey rose in front of him, majestic even in its neglected state. The ancient structure appeared fastened to the earth by branches of ivy the size of his wrist, while overgrown hedgerow nearly obscured the lower windows. Better and better if you did not wish to be seen.

  Philippe swung his cloak aside and eased the pistol from its holster, resting it across his thighs.

  Piles of dirt and leaves blocked the front threshold, offering proof the door had not been used in some time. He scanned the front of the three-story edifice. Nothing seemed amiss. Not one window with curtains pulled back, no pane where dirt and smudge had been rubbed clean.

  Philippe urged his mount around to the side of the Abbey and stopped at the sight of fresh horse droppings. At best, the manure couldn’t be more than a few hours old. A tingling started beneath his skin.

  The door swung open.

  Adrenalin pumped through Philippe’s already taut muscles. He lifted the pistol and aimed.

  “Oh, I say.” A man raised his hands over his head.

  “Who are you?” Philippe demanded.

  “Sir Gerald Wade, Baronet Roxbury. And who might you be?”

  Philippe slowly lowered the pistol. “I am Don Philippe Montenegro,” he responded, not taking his eyes from the man before him. “I was told the Abbey was unoccupied.”

  “I recently returned and wanted to check on my estate. Why are you here?”

  “I am visiting Lord Harding and thought to explore the perimeter of his property.” From the expression on Roxbury’s face he didn’t believe a word of it. Nor should he.

  “I see,” Roxbury said. “Do you usually visit unoccupied homes?”

  Philippe smiled. “If the residence adjoins The Sanctuary and a member of my family is threatened, I do.”

  Roxbury’s eyes widened. “You must be referring to that woman Tony has been seeing. I’d heard there’d been an accident of some sort.”

  “That woman,” Philippe growled, is now Lady Harding. I suggest you show her the respect she deserves.”

  Roxbury rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “He married the chit?”

  Philippe gave a curt nod, not trusting himself to speak. This fool kept digging the hole deeper, and did not seem to realize it.

  “Tell my cousin I’ll come ‘round to see him in the next couple of days. A matter of business,” Roxbury said. “I’m staying in the village, should he wish to reach me.”

  “I will give him your message.” Philippe slid the pistol back into its holder, swung his mount, and headed away from the Abbey.

  After four days in bed, ostensibly to recuperate, Clairece’s patience had worn thin. She threw back the covers and rang for her maid. Within moments, Daisy entered the room.

  “Milady?”

  “I wish to get up. I cannot abide another day of idleness.”

  Daisy wrung her hands and shot a glance at the connecting doors. “His lordship said he wanted you to rest for a few more days. He’s going to be ever so upset to find you up.”

  “Be that as it may, I would like to wash my hair and take a nice bath. You may lay out my striped silk with the matching shawl.” Clairece studied her arms and the yellow and green tinged marks. “I plan to join the others for dinner this evening.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Daisy sent her a doubtful glance, but hurried to do as she was bid.

  Dressed in the silk gown, her hair coiffed in a combination of intricate braids and curls, Clairece felt somewhat better about her appearance. She dabbed a touch of her favorite scent behind her ears and added powder to her face in an attempt to conceal the damage.

  Opening the door to her chamber, she gave a little shriek. Mrs. Stedman stood, hand raised, on the other side.

  “I am sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the housekeeper gasped.

  “Or I you,” Clairece managed on a shaky laugh.

  Mrs. Stedman extended a silver tray. “A letter arrived for you. I thought you might wish to have it.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Clairece recognized the elegant handwriting as belonging to her mother, and quickly tore the envelope open to read the short message. No matter how old she became, nor how mature she thought herself, she missed her mother’s arms around her when troubled or upset.

  “It’s from Mother. She’s decided to join my father and Uncle Adrian.”

  “Does she say when we might expect your family?” Mrs. Stedman questioned.

  Clairece scanned the letter. “They plan to stop in Philadelphia and will proceed from there.” She checked the date at the top of the missive. “This is dated over a week ago. I would think we could expect them in a fortnight. She’s to send word from London.”

  The housekeeper nodded. “We have time to get rooms ready before their arrival.”

  “Will there be enough? They will travel with at least one maid and my uncle’s valet.” At the housekeeper’s amused look, Clairece hurried on. “Please excuse my ignorance, but I’ve seen nothing of Harding Hall other than the grand entrance and this suite of rooms since I arrived.”

  “I would be happy to show you around, my lady.”

  “Thank you, I would appreciate it. I’m afraid I’ve neglected my responsibilities. Perhaps we might also discuss menus and anything else of importance?”

  “Certainly, my lady. Perhaps you would like to meet with Cook? The kitchens are her domain, and I don’t wish to infringe upon her duties.”

  Clairece flushed. “Of course.” The extent of her lack of knowledge loomed dauntingly. She brushed her hands down the front of her skirt and squared her shoulders. She had responsibilities now, not the least of which was the overwhelming task of not disappointing Anthony.

  “My lady,” Mrs. Stedman began. “I would be more than happy to assist you in any way I can. I know this”—she waved an outstretched arm—“might seem a gargantuan task, but Harding Hall runs smoothly.”

  “May I ask a personal question?” At Mrs. Stedman’s stiff nod, Clairece continued. “How did you come to be here? I would expect a head housekeeper to be much older.” Noting the frown crossing the other woman’s visage, Clairece quickly added, “In America we’re used to speaking our minds. Please, don’t feel you must answer.”

  “It’s not a secret, at least not any longer. Most of us who live and work here have one thing in common. We had no place to go and no one to care for us save Lord Harding.”

  Clairece registered the hurt on the woman’s face before she continued. “My parents were merchants. Though not wealthy, we were comfortable. They made certain I was well educated and expected I would make a good marriage.

  “The Squire near the small village where I lived had a son, a most detestable young man. A match was made without consulting me. During a trip to purchase my trousseau, I met a young military officer. Joseph was scheduled to leave within a fortnight. We fell in love and I couldn’t imagine my life without him.” Her voice caught. “We married and I followed him. Other wives had done the same, but I
had no idea how difficult a life it would be.

  “There was a small battle in a nearby town and later, as the men returned, I knew.” She twisted the apron in her hands.

  “I am so sorry,” Clairece offered.

  “There are no provisions made for widows of military men, and my parents had disowned me, my letters returned unopened. I came to London thinking to find employment as a nanny or governess, but nothing seemed to present itself.

  “One afternoon, while returning to my accommodations, I was accosted by two men. They pulled me into an alley. I refused to . . . to service them. One hit me in the face”—she touched her nose—“and knocked me down, tore at my clothing. Then held me while the other . . .” Her expression filled with remembered anguish. “Afterward, they cut my face, saying perhaps I wouldn’t be so uppity in the future. I huddled against a wall in that filthy alley, wondering if I would survive the day, when a man approached. Obviously an aristocrat, I thought he would turn from me in disgust. He didn’t.”

  Through warm brown eyes, she stared at Clairece. “Lord Harding carried me to his coach without consideration for his fine clothes. He saw I was cared for, and never once demanded anything in return. He asked if I would consider taking a position managing his residence in Somerset.”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He sent me here, to Sanctuary—four years ago.”

  Chapter 34

  As Clairece descended the wide staircase, women’s chatter drifted up to meet her. She circled the carved newel post and followed the voices.

  “May I help you, my lady?” Hodges queried from the servants’ hall.

  “Why wasn’t I informed we had guests?”

  “Guests, my lady?” Hodges glanced in the direction of the feminine babble. “Those are the ladies, Pearl, Opal, and Ruby, Lord Harding’s aunts.”

  “His aunts?”

  “Yes, my lady. Shall I announce you?”

  “No thank you. I’ll introduce myself.” She glanced at the butler. “Are there any other relatives I should know about? An odd uncle or two?”

  Hodges’ lips quirked. “No, my lady.”

  Clairece swept into the rose salon and all conversation ceased. “I apologize for the intrusion, but—”

  “Nonsense, my dear,” one of the elderly ladies asserted. “We’d just decided if you didn’t appear soon, we would go to you.”

  “That’s right,” another chimed in. “Philomena has been kind enough to keep us informed of your progress, but it’s not the same as observing for ourselves.” She peered at Clairece from behind a pair of pince-nez perched on the end of her nose.

  A third aunt set her knitting aside and smiled up at Clairece. “We wanted to visit right after you arrived, but Anthony forbade it.” She cocked her head. “Well, that’s not exactly accurate. The dear boy never refuses us anything, but he made it excessively clear you were to rest.”

  Clairece eyed Mrs. Dobbins, Philomena it would seem, and raised a brow.

  “Lord Anthony made me give my word I would do nothing to disrupt your recovery. He said if you knew his aunts were here, you would leave your bed too soon.”

  “And apparently I was right,” a deep voice said from the doorway. Anthony strolled toward her.

  Clairece lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’d decided to join you for dinner this evening and, to my surprise, found we had guests.”

  “Oh, not guests, dear. We live here,” one little lady advised, her head bent over her tatting.

  “Forgive my ignorance.” Clairece turned her ire on Anthony.

  He cleared his throat. “I thought—”

  Clairece placed her hand on his chest and patted while she leaned toward him and whispered. “It’s clear what you thought. I can, and do, appreciate your consideration, and realize you did what you deemed best, but didn’t you listen to anything I told you about my past . . . about me?”

  Dammit. Of course he’d listened. He’d listened to every word Clairece had said, and understood how much she disliked others making decisions for her. But he was a man accustomed to taking responsibility for those he considered in his care.

  Clairece was his most treasured possession, and the cornerstone of his fledgling family. She was the foundation of his future, the woman who would give him children. The one thing he could not lose.

  Anthony raised her hand and kissed first her fingers, then the inside of her wrist. Her mouth snapped shut at his open display of affection.

  He cradled her face and peered down at her. “You must forgive me if I seem overly concerned, but since you were nearly killed by a coach and four, I feel somewhat justified. Come.” He slipped her arm through his and led her toward the waiting group.

  “Aunts, it gives me great pleasure to introduce my wife, Lady Clairece Wade, Countess Harding. Clairece, these are my precious jewels, Mrs. Pearl Meriwether, her sister, Miss Opal Cunningham-Smyth, and their cousin, Miss Ruby Antiriot Jones.”

  Aunt Pearl beamed. “We were so happy to learn of our dear Anthony’s nuptials. A man needs a good woman to keep him on the straight and narrow,” she stated, the only one of the three to ever marry. “And with all those scheming women in London just waiting to get their hooks into him, we’ve despaired of—”

  “Yes, we’ve been quite concerned,” Opal picked up the conversation. “He is such a remarkable man, one who could easily—”

  Ruby waded in, “fall prey to a pair of large . . .” She held her hands in front of her bosom.

  “Aunts,” Anthony choked. They were outrageous with their unconstrained conversations—and he loved them dearly. Three sets of brown eyes gazed up at him, while the woman on his arm gave an unladylike snort behind her hand.

  “It is indeed a pleasure,” Clairece smiled.

  Philippe entered the room, his lips curving as he spied Clairece. “Ah, I see you have joined us.” As she embraced Philippe, he chuckled. “Niña, you are as beautiful as ever. Would you care for a stroll in the garden tomorrow instead of our chess game? The fresh air will be good for you.”

  “I would love a walk,” Clairece exclaimed.

  “Dinner is served, my lord,” Hodges intoned.

  “We sit casually and do not stand on formality. Ladies?” Anthony offered his arm to Clairece and gestured for the other women to precede them.

  Lively chatter heralded their advance as they filed into the smaller of the two dining rooms. Anthony took his place at the head of the table and waited until an array of footmen seated the women. Philippe sat next to Clairece.

  The first course of light soup was set before them, and Anthony smiled with satisfaction to see Clairece sample the consommé. A dish of poached fish followed. He hid a grin as she studied the helping placed before her. After taking a few tentative bites, she laid her fork down.

  A footman came forward to remove her plate, while another held a platter of guinea fowl for Clairece to make a selection. At her hesitation, Anthony nodded for the servant to place a small amount on her plate. Roast venison followed, along with a variety of cooked vegetables.

  Throughout the meal, his aunts and Mrs. Dobbins flirted outrageously with Philippe who, occasionally, added a comment or a look guaranteed to send the ladies into peals of laughter and vigorously waved fans. Aunt Pearl, seated to Philippe’s right, tapped him playfully on the arm with her fan after one such comment.

  Anthony smiled at the sound of Clairece’s light, musical laugh as she watched the exchange.

  Hodges entered the room and moved briskly to his side. At the unusual occurrence, a prickling of alarm skated over Anthony’s skin. “The local constable wishes to speak to you on a matter of some urgency. I’ve taken the liberty of showing him into the small salon.”

  Anthony nodded and rose to his feet, finding and holding Philippe’s gaze long enough for the othe
r man to gain his feet. “Ladies, please continue.” He glanced at Clairece. “We won’t be long.”

  Anthony and Philippe strode to the front hall. “Did the constable indicate what the problem was?” Anthony asked his butler.

  Before Hodges could respond, a figure stepped from the salon. “If I might have a moment, Lord Harding?”

  Anthony turned to face the man he knew to be the local magistrate. “By all means. May I introduce Don Philippe Montenegro, a family member? Whatever you have to say, you may do so in his presence.”

  The other man turned his hat slowly in his hands. “My lord, there has been a murder.”

  Chapter 35

  Murder.

  Anthony ushered the constable into the parlor, his heart pounding in his chest.

  Philippe followed, closing the door behind them.

  “Who?” Anthony managed past a tight throat.

  “I’m afraid it’s one of your maids, my lord. A young woman by the name of Lucy.”

  Anthony gripped the back of a chair and waited for the red haze to lift.

  “What happened?” Philippe asked.

  “Apparently, your maid walks to the village to visit her family on Wednesdays, her regular day off. She didn’t show so her brother went looking for her. He came across her body in the woods while on his way here to ask about her.” The constable took a deep breath. “Her hands were bound and she’d been beaten, raped, and strangled.”

  “My God.” Anthony groaned, still clutching the chair for support.

  “Was the body left untouched?” Philippe inquired.

  “No, sir. Her brother carried her back to town. Couldn’t rightly leave her there.”

  Philippe dipped his head in acknowledgement.

  “There’s one more thing.” Constable Higgins fished around in his pocket. “She had this clutched in her hand.”