Lucia had seen a psychiatrist. What was his name? Something about a bird … Dr.… Dr. Heron! She might have gone to him until the very end. And if so, he could hold the answer.
“I have to go,” I tell Carole breathlessly. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
As soon as I hang up, I race to my computer and Google “Dr. Heron, London psychiatrist.” I hold my breath as I dial the number that pops up on the screen.
“Dr. Heron’s office,” a woman’s voice answers briskly.
“Can I speak to him please?” I burst out. “It’s urgent. Seriously urgent.”
This time when she speaks, her voice takes on a slow and sweet “I’m talking to a mental patient” tone.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s Imogen Rockford.” Then, realizing I might need to call in the big guns, I add, “The Duchess of Wickersham.”
“Is that so?” she asks skeptically.
“I swear. You can call the listed number on the Rockford Manor website and someone on the staff will come get me, if you need proof.”
“That won’t be necessary … Your Grace,” she allows. “But I’m afraid Dr. Heron is with a patient now.”
I want to scream.
“Please, can’t you do something to—to get his attention? I’m telling you, it’s urgent. Surely you must have read about my cousin in the papers.”
“I did,” she says soberly. “I’m very sorry for your loss. But I’m under no circumstances allowed to interrupt the doctor during a session. He should be wrapping up in ten minutes, however, and I’ll do my best to see that he calls you back immediately.”
I spend the next fifteen minutes pacing back and forth, returning to my old nail-biting habit, until my cell phone rings with an unfamiliar UK number.
“Hello?” I practically yell into the phone.
“Is this Her Grace, Imogen Rockford?” a pleasant man’s voice responds.
“Yes! Are you Dr. Heron?”
“I am. How can I help you, Your Grace?”
There’s no smooth intro for a conversation like this. I have to just come right out with it.
“I know my cousin Lucia used to be a patient of yours. And now the police are saying she was murdered, which I—I just can’t wrap my head around. Please, can you tell me … everything you know? Did she have any secrets, any enemies?”
Dr. Heron clears his throat.
“Your cousin is protected by the doctor-patient confidentiality agreement. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about my sessions with her.”
“But—but—someone is being charged with murder!” I sputter. “Isn’t there a rule that you have to speak out when it comes to life and death?”
“If I knew anything, I assure you I would have called the police long ago,” Dr. Heron says. “But the fact is, I haven’t seen Lucia in seven years. I don’t think any information I have would be of any use at this point.”
I freeze.
“You stopped seeing her the year of the fire? Wasn’t that when she needed you the most?”
“I would agree with you on that point, Your Grace, but she chose to end her sessions after the fire. And without her parents to insist on her continuing treatment, there was no way to force her.”
“But what about my grandfather?” I ask, perplexed. “Wouldn’t he have encouraged her to keep seeing you?”
Dr. Heron sighs heavily.
“Your poor grandfather was overwhelmed by his own grief. He chose to ship Lucia off to boarding school in Switzerland.”
My jaw drops.
“He just abandoned her? After she lost her parents?”
“Not entirely. He sent the housekeeper with her as a chaperone, and the housekeeper’s daughter as a companion of some sort.” He pauses. “Shouldn’t you know all this?”
“I—we lost touch,” I murmur, my mind still reeling from his words. Our grandfather sent Lucia to Switzerland with the Mulgraves.… Why did no one ever mention this to me?
“Thank you, Dr. Heron,” I say shakily. “Please don’t hesitate to call if you think of anything.”
As soon as I hang up, I send Oscar a text.
Please instruct Mrs. Mulgrave and Maisie to meet me in the library in five minutes.
Five minutes pass and then ten, with no sign of Mrs. Mulgrave or Maisie. But as I stand to leave the library and hunt them down myself, the door opens. Mrs. Mulgrave and a stone-faced Maisie step inside.
“You wanted to see us?” Mrs. Mulgrave says, in a voice devoid of emotion.
“Yes. Please sit.” I wait till they’re both seated stiffly on the hard-backed sofa. “You heard the news about Sebastian.”
“Wretched business,” Maisie murmurs, lowering her eyes.
“The thing is, I don’t believe it. And if you knew Sebastian like I think you do, then you wouldn’t believe it either.”
“I saw the way he was cavorting with you last night,” Mrs. Mulgrave hisses. “Is that how a grieving boyfriend behaves?”
I’m momentarily stunned into silence.
“Please don’t forget that you’re working in my home,” I say when I find my voice, surprising myself with the sharp edge to my tone. “You have no right to speak about me or my friends in that way.”
“And what do you say to the evidence found at Stanhope Abbey?” Mrs. Mulgrave challenges, as if she didn’t hear me. “You can defend him after that?”
“Evidence can be faked and planted. Haven’t you ever seen Law and Order?”
Mrs. Mulgrave stares blankly at me.
“Anyway, I asked you here for two reasons. First, can you think of anyone who might have had it in for Lucia?” I look closely at Maisie. “Anyone she was close to who might have been dangerous?”
Maisie shakes her head.
“Only Sebastian Stanhope,” Mrs. Mulgrave says crisply.
I exhale in frustration.
“And what about the trip to Switzerland that you took with Lucia after the fire?”
Their reaction to my question is palpable; it catches me off guard. Mrs. Mulgrave’s face twists into an expression I’ve never seen before, vastly different from her usual haughty, controlled demeanor. She looks almost … afraid. And Maisie’s hand flies to the plain pendant around her neck, as if checking to make sure it’s still there.
“Well?” I persist. “Since when does a student bring a housekeeper and a companion to boarding school with her? You have to admit it’s unusual. And why did I never know about it?”
“Is this a trick?” Maisie blurts out, eyes darting to her mother.
“What do you mean, a trick?” I ask, bewildered.
Mrs. Mulgrave gives Maisie a sharp look and then takes a breath.
“There’s nothing to it, Your Grace,” she says regaining her smooth tone. “We simply accompanied Lady Lucia at her grandfather’s request, to help ease her loneliness after the deaths of her parents. And I’m sure you’ll recall that you were not a part of your cousin’s life after the fire. How could you expect to have been informed?”
“We hadn’t been apart that long when you guys left. She wanted me to stay at Rockford, to visit—she would have told me if she was going away,” I insist.
“Well, then I daresay you misunderstood her wishes,” Mrs. Mulgrave says curtly.
“What did you mean before, Maisie?” I ask, turning my attention to her. “Do you know something that could help me figure out what happened to Lucia?”
Maisie hesitates for the slightest second before shaking her head firmly.
“No, Your Grace.”
“Then that will be all.”
I watch the Mulgraves leave the room, drained from trying to pull answers out of them. My mind spins with the names of the suspects. Theo. Maisie. Mrs. Mulgrave … Sebastian.
I can’t keep wondering what Sebastian does or doesn’t know, what he did or didn’t do. I have to talk to him.
XIV
I keep my eyes trained on the ground, tucking my face into the col
lar of a trench coat, as I walk the long mile from Rockford Manor’s front door to its gates. I cringe every time my shoes crunch against the leaves or gravel, panicking that I’ll blow my cover and turn around to find Oscar—or worse, one of the Mulgraves—behind me, reminding me that I’m not allowed to go anywhere, not when the police are coming to collect my statement.
I try to shake the nagging thought that I’m doing something wrong. After all, it’s now or never. Once the protective Marinos arrive tomorrow, there’s no chance of my being able to slip off alone to the home of a presumed murderer.
Murderer. I shudder at the word. It can’t be Sebastian—it can’t. My stomach lurches as I try to imagine the confrontation ahead of me. Will he or Theo become violent when I reveal the letters? Will I be the next victim? But as quickly as I envision Sebastian’s hands closing around my neck and shutting out my breath, I remember the sigh of his lips against my cheek, the softness of his arms around mine. And I know that whatever he might have done … he won’t hurt me.
I haven’t been able to reach him on his cell, but the Telegraph website reported he was out on astronomically high bail and under house arrest until a pending court date. All I can do is hope the reporter is right—and that I’ll be able to see Sebastian today.
I give the cabdriver the address for one of the Stanhopes’ neighbors, then jog all the way up to the Stanhope Abbey gate. The footman who answers the door looks pale and weary, as if he got about as much sleep as I did last night.
“Your Grace,” he says dully. “I’m afraid Lords Sebastian and Theo are not allowed visitors at this time.”
“Please,” I beg. “Can’t you just … try? I’ve come all this way, and it’s urgent.”
“I’ll speak to her ladyship and see what I can do,” he says with a sigh.
I wait anxiously in the entrance hall for what feels like ages. The person who finally comes out to meet me is not Sebastian or Theo, but Lady Stanhope. I’ve never seen her look anything less than polished, and it sends a shiver through me to see her hunched over, eyes red-rimmed.
“Your Grace,” she murmurs, unable to make eye contact. “How can I help you?”
“I was hoping to see Sebastian and Theo.” I give her an imploring look. “I’m trying to help, honestly.”
“That’s very kind of you, dear, but our lawyer has instructed all of us not to speak with anyone.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry,” she says firmly. “Is your driver waiting, or would you like me to call you a car?”
There’s no arguing with her, I can see that much. I think quickly.
“No, I—he’s coming to get me. I’ll just wait outside.”
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “Goodbye, Lady Imogen.”
I head outside, racking my brain over what to do. I can’t just turn back and go home now. Slowly, I walk the perimeter in front of the house, staring up at the windows. And then I see his face against the glass, in one of the rooms on the second story. Sebastian is watching me through an opening in the curtains, his expression grim as he raises his hand in greeting.
I notice the tall beech tree hovering above his window—and I get a slightly crazy idea. I’ve never been the athletic, tree-climbing type, but maybe now with my Elemental power, I can do it?
With a deep breath, I sprint toward the tree and jump onto its lowest-hanging branch. It isn’t until I’m struggling to inch my way up the trunk that I realize my gift is likely only tied to the Rockford land. After all, I never had access to my powers in New York.
Sebastian throws open his window and reaches for me. In the most ungraceful maneuver imaginable, I flail toward him from my shaky perch on the tree branch and he grabs my waist, hoisting me through the window. I topple in straight on top of him.
“Ouch,” I groan as my forehead hits the wall. I glance down, and realize he is lying underneath me—which would be pretty hot if it weren’t for the multitude of fears swirling through my mind. I scramble to my feet. “I’m sorry. I just—I had to talk to you.”
“I can see that,” he says, trying to smile as he pulls himself up.
I look around. I am in Sebastian’s bedroom, which is surprisingly clean for a college guy. The furniture is all masculine dark wood, and his walls are adorned with a combination of modern art and framed polo memorabilia. I feel a wave of sadness. At any other time, I would have been thrilled to find myself in here. But everything is different now.
“Are you here to ask if I’m guilty?” he says quietly.
I glance at the door, wondering how much time we have before one of his parents comes in to check on him.
“I don’t even know where to begin. But last night I went looking in Lucia’s room for evidence, something that could prove your innocence. I found something, but I’m not sure if you already know about it. And if you don’t, I’m afraid you might not want to hear it.”
“What did you find, Ginny?” he asks urgently.
I pull the stack of letters out of my cross-body purse.
“Letters to Lucia from Theo. They were seeing each other behind your back. And from the tone of the letters, I—well, anyone could sense a motive.”
Sebastian grabs the letters. The color drains from his face as he rifles through them, and then he stops and stares numbly at the top missive.
“Sebastian? Please say something.”
“I already knew,” he says. “I’ve known for a long time. But you have to promise me you won’t ever say a word to anyone else.”
“What?” I yelp. “Your brother went behind your back with your girlfriend and maybe even killed her, and you’re going to take the fall for him?”
Sebastian stands as still as a statue, silent for what seems like forever.
“Everything I’m about to tell you stays between us,” he finally says.
“Okay …” I sit down on the bed, and he sits beside me.
“There were rumors, in the months before Lucia died, that she was cheating on me,” he begins. “I confronted her about it when I tried to break up with her, I asked her why she even wanted to stay together if she had someone else—but she always denied it, and I never had any proof. But I did know one person who was once infatuated with her. Someone who was hurt when she and I got together.”
“Theo?” I guess.
Sebastian nods.
“I didn’t take his feelings seriously enough. I figured she was just one of the many girls he was into. I didn’t realize until—until after she died, that he’d been in love with her. Or at least, he thought he was.”
“So what happened?”
Sebastian sighs heavily.
“The day Lucia died, she sent a text to me and Theo. She wrote that there was something she had to tell us both, and to meet her outside the Maze that night at nine. That’s when I knew that my own brother was the guy she was seeing on the side. I figured that night she was planning to make some sort of confession to me, and then tell us who she wanted to be with. By that point, we hadn’t been romantic in ages—our relationship was pretty much only for show—and I felt relieved at the thought of being free. To be honest, the only reason I bothered going to the Maze that night was for Theo—to support him, in case she hurt him in any way.”
“You mean you weren’t mad at him?” I gape at Sebastian. “Even if you were technically over Lucia, he didn’t know that, right? He still betrayed you.”
Sebastian shakes his head.
“You could say the same about me. I went out with the girl my little brother liked. I didn’t realize I was hurting him, but I was. And the truth is, Theo’s always gotten the short end of the stick in our family. Ever since he was born, he knew it was all about the heir. Me.” Sebastian grimaces. “And then the one thing I found that I loved to do, polo, brought even more attention to me, and less to Theo. I think it all just … messed him up. And I let it happen.”
I take his hand.
“It’s not your fault. None of this is.”
Se
bastian looks away.
“A huge storm broke that night, and it made driving miserable. I was late leaving Oxford, and when I made it to the Maze …” He shuts his eyes.
“What?” I urge him on. “What did you see?”
“I saw Lucia lying there, lifeless and covered in blood,” he whispers. “Theo was crying hysterically over her body. My polo mallet was next to him on the ground.”
I cover my mouth in horror. My heart breaks for Lucia—and for the brothers I always believed were the good guys.
“He—he planned to hurt her, then?” I ask, my voice shaking. “Why else would he have brought your polo stick?”
“No!” Sebastian says emphatically. “There’s no way Theo would have planned it. This was a retired polo stick that I’d signed and given to Lucia back in the beginning—in better times. Theo must have found it at Rockford Manor, and when he got angry … it became a weapon.”
“So—so he really killed her, then? What did he say? Why did he do it?”
“He didn’t say anything; he didn’t have to. It was obvious to me what happened. And I knew Lucia. She wasn’t the same kid you remember from before, Ginny. When she came back from boarding school, she had this darker side to her. She could sometimes say the sharpest, cruelest things,” Sebastian tells me. “I think Lucia said something to brutally hurt Theo—and he hit her without realizing what he was doing. My brother’s not a violent person. He was a complete wreck that night. All I could do was keep telling him it was okay, that it—it looked like an accident, and if anyone should find out it wasn’t, I would take the fall.” Sebastian’s voice lowers, and for a moment it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “He’s not a killer. This was a—a horrible fluke.”
“But how could you cover it up? Why didn’t you just explain to the police what happened right away? Then you wouldn’t be in this mess now.” I look at him helplessly.
“Because I love my brother,” Sebastian says simply. “I couldn’t let him go to jail. Not when it all could have been prevented if I’d only taken better care of him, and if I’d had nothing to do with Lucia in the first place.”
Suspicion Page 19
