The Lady Fan Series: Books 1-3 (Sapere Books Boxset Editions)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  “Don’t forget, Cassie, that the whole thing is a concerted plot. Lady Francis meant for the village to know about the vision, which is why you must be safely ensconced at the Hall.”

  “But I had no vision, Aidan,” Cassie protested. “And if Bertha should die because of it —”

  “She will not die. We don’t know precisely what Lady Francis is planning, but you may be sure she will have taken this into account. There must be a solid reason why she used Bertha in particular.”

  Cassie looked round at him. The gig was proceeding at a sedate walk, the road to the Hall being pitted with holes since the storm. She could not help being glad of it, for it prolonged this precious time when they were for once alone, Tabitha having been sent, at Lady Fan’s request, to find Sam at the cottage and give him certain instructions.

  She regarded Aidan’s profile with a jerk at her heart and had spoken the thought in her mind before she could stop it.

  “You are the kindest of men, Aidan.”

  He looked round quickly, and Cassie saw a light in his eyes that made her breathless. He pulled up his horse, and the gig came to a halt. Cassie’s heart began to beat a little faster.

  “Forgive me if I am precipitate,” he said, “but I must speak.”

  Cassie was instantly gripped by conflicting emotions. She had no thought of visions or second sight at this moment, but she knew precisely what Aidan intended. While she longed for him to say the words, she dreaded to hear them. He would offer. And she must refuse him. The knowledge sent her spirits plummeting. No, she could not bear to hear it.

  “Don’t!” she cried, shifting back a little in the confined space. “Don’t say anything, Aidan. It cannot be. I cannot endure to hear the words, though I long to do so. It cannot be, Aidan.”

  He grasped her hand with his free one, the reins slack in the other. “Why, Cassie? My feelings are not unknown to you. And though I cannot pretend to your talents, I will not insult them and feign to be unaware that you are by no means indifferent to me.”

  Cassie tried to draw her hand away. “Indifferent? I only wish it were so, for I could be less distressed at the necessity to hurt you.”

  He would not release her. “But why must it be needful? You are a free woman —”

  Cassie felt as if her heart must burst. “Free? Yes, free to join a sisterhood you must despise, were it not for Aunt Ida’s generosity.”

  Perplexity showed in his eyes, and he let her go. “I don’t understand you.”

  She retreated as far as the gig’s seat would allow, covering her eyes so she need not see his confusion.

  “Are you talking of Lady Ferrensby?”

  Cassie dropped her hands and flung them into the air, her feelings threatening to consume her. “Yes, Lady Ferrensby. There, you know it now. She is my aunt.”

  Aidan’s bright blue gaze was fixed upon her, and Cassie could not avoid meeting it. “I wondered if you were in some sort related.”

  “Then you should also have wondered why she brought you here,” cried Cassie, despair engulfing her. “You were carefully chosen, Aidan. I knew it from the first. Oh, she cannot have thought it would come to pass as swiftly, but —”

  “Wait!”

  Such was Aidan’s tone of command that Cassie stopped midsentence. She eyed him, a little frightened by the look of frozen shock in his face. But his voice was even.

  “Is this true? She thought me a — what shall I say? — a desirable parti?”

  Cassie almost snorted. “A desirable sacrifice, Aidan. Oh, I wish you had taken me in dislike, if only to confound her.”

  For a moment he did not speak, and shame swept through Cassie. She could not have held her tongue had her life depended on it.

  “You say nothing. Can it be you suppose me to be a party to my aunt’s matchmaking scheme? I promise you, Aidan, I knew nothing of it. The moment I guessed, I tried to —”

  “Cassie, stop!” he cut in sharply, and there was hurt in the blue gaze. “Do you know me so little? We have been acquainted but a matter of days, Cassie, but I feel as if I have known you far longer. It is so for you as well, is it not?”

  She could not deny it. “Yes, but I could not blame you for thinking ill of me.”

  He smiled. A smile of such gentleness that Cassie’s heart turned over. “I could never think ill of you, Cassie. Don’t you know that?”

  For a moment the warmth blossomed in her chest. And then she remembered. With a passionate cry, she thrust her hands out, as if to ward him off.

  “But you will, Aidan, you will! You do not know the worst, and I could never cheat you. I would not cheat any man, but —”

  One of her flailing hands was caught in a strong grip. “Cassie, nothing you can say will change my feelings towards you. I knew my mind within two days of knowing you.”

  “Words! Just words, Aidan.”

  “You prefer deeds?”

  Before she could think what he meant, her lips were seized in a kiss so hard and strong that Cassie was shocked into silence. When Aidan released her, she could only stare at him, aware of nothing but the blankness in her head and the thumping in her own chest.

  The blue eyes were tender. “There now, Mrs. Dale. Tell me now that you don’t believe my words.”

  Tears sprang to Cassie’s eyes, but she ignored them. “I believe you. But you don’t know.” She drew a shuddering breath. “Aidan, I am not Mrs. Dale. There is no Mr. Dale. There never was. I am a fallen woman.”

  It was said. Sick with dread, Cassie waited for the inevitable reaction, the disgust in Aidan’s face. Instead she saw a rise of compassion there. She felt her hand taken and watched in fascination as he drew it to his lips.

  “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

  Cassie snatched her hand away. “Is this your answer? To preach at me?”

  He shook his head. “I am not without sin, Cassie. None of us are. It does not lower you in my eyes.” A little smile drew the corners of his mouth upwards. “Besides, I had already guessed as much.”

  Arrested, Cassie blinked at him. “How? How could you know?”

  “Well, not by the use of second sight.”

  Too bemused to laugh, Cassie stared at him. He let out a sigh.

  “I will be frank with you. Setting aside this witch business, your situation was strange. A widow, isolated from her family, who was clearly in some sort indebted to the proprietor of the village. And your retainers never addressed you as Mrs. Dale, but as Miss Cassie. I did not guess your relationship to Lady Ferrensby, although I supposed there must be a connection.”

  Disbelief wreathed Cassie’s mind. “But don’t you care? You do not know my sin.”

  “Nor do I wish to. I will not judge you, Cassie.”

  Her heart swelled, and she was only vaguely aware of the tears trickling down her cheeks. But she could not let this pass.

  “Do you think I could bear such generosity? No, you will hear me out.”

  He frowned. “I will do so if you wish it, but only when you have consented to be my wife.” A sterner tone than she yet had heard entered his voice. “I will not have you take it into your head that there is some sort of divine forgiveness in my offer. I love you, Cassie. You, the creature of passion and insight. You, with your loneliness and your tragic eyes. You, Cassie. I don’t care what you did, do you understand? I adore you. I want you.”

  To Cassie’s utter astonishment, a little of the darkness that had engulfed her for so long lifted. “Is it possible?”

  A very gentle look came into Aidan’s face. “Are your visions uniformly unhappy? Can you not foresee an image of sunshine?”

  She gave a laugh that cracked in the middle, and her heart was suddenly light.

  “I must learn, if you will teach me.”

  Then she could say nothing at all, for Aidan’s lips found hers again, gently this time, and all thought became suspended. Somewhere in the periphery of her mind she was aware of the uncompleted mystery still to be resolved,
but her heart softly echoed to fulfilment.

  The night was eerie. Despite the ban on any sort of conversation among those waiting in the shadows, Ottilia reflected, there was no such thing as absolute silence.

  She could hear breath going in and out, including her own. From nearby came ripplings of water from the ever-flowing brook, with now and then a faint splashing sound to go along with a slithering that perhaps signified the motions of some nocturnal animal searching for a drink.

  The moon was well up, casting a convenient gleam of silver to catch the bundle suspended from a rafter in the remains of the smithy roof. Even to Ottilia’s eyes, it looked horribly real. God send it would serve its purpose! Assuming the murderer came.

  A faint pitterpat disturbed her heartbeat on the thought. The trap was laid, but had the perpetrator taken the bait? Had Ottilia been too clever? Was it possible that devious mind could outthink her and refuse to play the game out to the finish? Or was the risk too great not to take advantage of the opportunity?

  Ottilia was banking on the fact that the murderer must be awaiting the chance to eliminate Bertha Duggleby. She could bear witness; therefore, she could not be left alive. But to escape detection, the circumstances had to point to Cassie Dale.

  If Ottilia had the measure of the creature, the plan must work. If not — no, she dared not think of failure. Not at this juncture.

  Francis, sturdy at her back and armed nevertheless, inclined to the belief the murderer would wait a day or so. He might be right, in which case, as she had said, they must lie in wait again tomorrow night.

  The thought of going through it all a second time made Ottilia’s heart sink. They had been obliged to take a circuitous route around the green to avoid being spotted. Ryde had been sent on ahead, concealing himself in Cassie Dale’s cottage with Sam Hawes, primed by his wife to bring an empty portmanteau for the necessary equipment. Anyone must suppose Sam was fetching and carrying for Mrs. Dale, known to be staying with Lady Ferrensby. Ryde and he had smuggled what was needed away. The two of them had done all that was required by the time Francis and Ottilia arrived at the smithy, having made their way around the back of Uddington’s shop and the Cock and Bottle, and crossed the stream downriver by way of an old wooden footbridge. It was then left to Francis to arrange the bundle suitably and tie it off on a convenient hook.

  Time dragged, and Ottilia tried not to fret. If it were all in vain, she dreaded the uncomfortable drop from tension. Not to mention the hideous realisation that she could have made a mistake.

  Then a whisper at her ear alerted her.

  “Listen!”

  Ottilia strained to hear beyond the sudden thumping in her own chest. A footfall? If so, it was stealthily taken. Like a cat slinking through the night.

  Ottilia shivered and felt Francis’s hand slide about her from behind.

  “Courage!”

  His breath caressed her ear as he murmured the word, and Ottilia willed her fast beating heart to silence.

  The footsteps were nearer at hand, abruptly sounding stronger on the gravel outside the front of the smithy. Ottilia listened as they padded lightly over the stone flags in the darkened part beyond the moonlit scene.

  They came to a stop. Ottilia held her breath. An audible gasp sounded, followed by a grunting curse. Then something fell to the floor with a loud clunk.

  “Now!” whispered Francis behind her.

  Ottilia stepped around the ruined smithy wall and walked quietly into the gloomy interior.

  A figure was standing just inside the roofless smithy, its shocked features, ghostly but visible in the rays of the moon, staring up at the improvised body hanging from the remains of the rafter, its full skirts half concealing a pair of legs — mere stuffed sacking — with shoes on their ends.

  Ottilia thrust down upon the wild beating at her heart and spoke as coolly as she could.

  “Good evening, Miss Beeleigh.”

  Chapter 18

  The woman jumped, and her head came down, sending her face back into shadow. For a moment she neither moved nor spoke, and Ottilia could only surmise that she was staring directly at her. She shifted a little farther into the smithy, the better to confront the creature.

  “You are too late, you know. Poor Bertha.”

  At that a snort escaped the other woman’s lips, and she walked quickly forward into the light, her glance flying up to the suspended figure.

  “Do you take me for a fool? You tricked me!”

  “Yes,” agreed Ottilia coolly. “It was the only way to catch you.”

  The almond eyes narrowed. “You think you have me? We’ll see about that!”

  Swiftly she turned and made to speed back the way she had come, but she had taken only two steps when Ryde moved into the aperture behind her, blocking her way. She stopped dead.

  “A pox on you!”

  Turning again, she looked past Ottilia, who realised at once that Francis had shown himself, his pistol held loosely in his hand.

  “A pox on you all!” uttered Miss Beeleigh fiercely. Once more she glanced up at the hanging figure. “What is that?”

  Ottilia went to the hook and untied the rope, letting the dummy fall. It crashed between them, and Miss Beeleigh gazed down at the stuffed sacking with its ludicrous legs and petticoats.

  “Where is Bertha, then?”

  “Safely in her home, with Sam Hawes to guard her. We could not be sure, you see, that you would not go there first. Although I expected you to make your preparations here before fetching her upon whatever excuse you had dreamed up.”

  “What has she brought with her, Ryde?” asked Francis, nodding towards the indistinguishable pile that had evidently fallen from Miss Beeleigh’s hands when she saw the body. He moved forward a few paces. “Don’t fear to leave your post. I have her covered.”

  Ryde glanced at the gleam of metal protruding from Francis’s hand and bent to examination, holding up the items as he identified them.

  “Rope, hammer, nails, cloth. Probably meant to cover her head once she’d delivered the killing blow.”

  “And then fulfil Cassie’s vision by hanging the poor woman’s body just as we made it appear,” finished Francis.

  “Just so,” said Ottilia, her gaze fixed on Miss Beeleigh.

  The woman’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “You can’t prove anything.”

  “Hence this subterfuge,” Ottilia agreed. “I hardly think it will take much to convince a jury. Besides, we do have some evidence.”

  “What evidence?” spat the woman.

  “Well, since you have failed to silence Bertha, we know for a start that you persuaded her to fetch Molly out of the Cock. You told her, did you not, that Molly had killed her husband? And that you planned to prove it.”

  Miss Beeleigh’s features remained frozen, and she did not speak. Ottilia sighed inwardly. The woman was not going to admit a single thing.

  “Bertha believed it to begin with. But after she had done the deed and went home, she started to think. She knew Molly very well, you see, their husbands being friends for so long. Belatedly, she began to disbelieve what you had said. Then she began to wonder why you, Miss Beeleigh, should take it into your head to play investigator when I was known to be looking into her husband’s death. Why had you not spoken to me of your suspicions? Bertha grew afraid. And in the morning, when she heard the news, she knew she had lured the poor woman to her death.”

  “Pah! A fairy tale,” snapped the other. “Why did she not carry this story to you?”

  “She was afraid. And with reason. She was an accessory to a murder, for one thing. For another, I don’t doubt she feared for her life. If you had slain Molly, you must also have slain Duggleby. What should stop you from killing her, too?”

  Miss Beeleigh drew in a sharp breath through her nose. “You’ve yet to prove I had any hand in either killing.”

  “It was not only the killings, Miss Beeleigh,” said Ottilia, unable to keep a note of reprimand from out of her vo
ice. “What of the work you put in to incite the villagers to turn against Cassie Dale? Once I had entered the picture, you saw it was insufficient to use the visions. You took care to breed violence in the Cock with your warnings, issued in such a way as to ensure rebellion. Just as you did when Will set up his stake and you saw an opportunity to drive me away.”

  “That was her fault, too?” uttered Francis on an edge of rage.

  “Oh yes. She had primed them well. Tabitha Hawes had the full story from Alice.”

  “You will pay for that,” Francis told the woman vengefully, and the gun in his hand lifted a trifle.

  Ottilia threw up a hand to enjoin his silence, for she had not finished. Miss Beeleigh’s commanding countenance gave nothing away, but a telltale muscle twitched briefly in her cheek, and the moon’s rays showed a glitter at those almond-shaped eyes.

  “When you found I had discovered Molly was not killed in the coffee room, you sought to make use of the accusations against Hannah. You took up her tray, did you not, whilst everyone was on the green, including Pilton?”

  “The devil!” Francis swore. “That was when she planted the knife in Hannah’s commode?”

  “The very knife she had used, yes, and perhaps wondered how best to dispose of it.” Ottilia drew a shaky breath. “It would not have mattered to you, would it, Miss Beeleigh, if poor Hannah had expired in that lock-up? Lord Henbury would have been satisfied of her guilt.”

  At last Miss Beeleigh spoke, thrusting up her chin in her peculiarly superior manner. “And how was it I got into the Blue Pig after Pakefield had locked up.”

  Ottilia was betrayed into a laugh. “Oh, come, Miss Beeleigh, do you take me for a simpleton? The back door key was missing. You gave yourself ample opportunity to slip it back, leaving it on the stair when you chose to supervise the kitchen staff in a brave show of help.”

  Miss Beeleigh snorted. “Highly inventive, Lady Francis. You have proved nothing to say I committed these deeds. Nor yet why I am held to have done so.”

  Ottilia tutted. “Dear me, Miss Beeleigh, you must think me remarkably naive. Pardon me if I speak with candour.”