The Deception

by Catherine Coulter

  Bassick found Evangeline rocking back and forth over Mrs. Needle’s body, her face streaked with tears, her eyes blind, her body bowed with awful pain.

  “Madame,” he said quietly, dropping his hand to her shoulder. “You must come away now. I’m sorry her passing has caused you such grief. The shock of finding someone who has died can be very distressing.”

  Evangeline looked up at him. “She’s dead, Bassick. Don’t you understand? She’s dead.”

  He knelt beside her and carefully pressed the flat of his hand over Mrs. Needle’s heart. “Yes, I understand. Leave now and I will see to things. It was her heart. She was old, very old. It just stopped, yes, doubtless it simply stopped. It was an easy passing, Madame. I have sent for the doctor. He will arrive shortly. Go, Madame.”

  “No, Bassick, it wasn’t her heart. She didn’t have an easy passing.” She touched her fingers to the bruises. “Someone came in here and strangled her.”

  Bassick felt the circular room reel around him. He shook his head back and forth. “No, that’s not possible. Not here, not at Chesleigh.” She said nothing.

  Bassick studied the bruises on Mrs. Needle’s throat. He knew what he was looking at, but still it shocked him to his toes. He couldn’t accept it. “But why?” He felt helpless, beyond his ken, but he knew he had to act, do something to fix this dreadful situation. “Why?” he said again.

  And Evangeline said, her voice dull and lifeless as the old woman crumpled on the floor beside her, “I don’t know, Bassick. I don’t know.”

  Bassick pulled himself together. He rose. He offered Evangeline his hand and helped her to stand. “Listen to me, Madame. It’s best that we don’t touch her. I must call the magistrate. It is Baron Lindley, an old fool, but we really have no choice in the matter. Come with me. We will both drink a brandy to steady us for what will come.”

  “Mrs. Needle didn’t hurt anyone,” Evangeline said as she let Bassick lead her from the room.

  Baron Lindley, blessed with a thick head of white hair and stoop shouldered, whose gout was the only topic allowed in his household, arrived in the next hour. He found the young cousin of the duke, Madame de la Valette, unnaturally withdrawn. He thought it a shame that such a sensitive young lady should have been the one to find the old woman. After duly questioning all the Chesleigh servants, he returned to the drawing room and Madame de la Valette, for there was no one else to receive him. He wished heartily that the duke was in residence. He felt uncomfortable with his young cousin. His right foot hurt. He wanted to ask for a warm towel to wrap around it, but seeing the blank-faced young lady who looked so very alone, he didn’t ask. He doubted she’d even understand him. He wondered if she was half-witted. He cleared his throat. Bassick continued to stand beside the closed door. He cleared his throat two more times before the young lady finally looked up at him.

  “I have determined that the man who strangled the old woman was someone to whom she gave a healing potion and it harmed either him or a loved one. I have determined that it was revenge. The man was in a rage and strangled her.”

  “Revenge,” she said, the word flitting through her mind, giving no meaning, not really. Had the baron really determined that?

  “Yes, revenge,” Baron Lindley continued. “She owned nothing of value. Indeed, nothing in her rooms was even disturbed. There was the strong smell of roses. I fancy the man who strangled her intensified the heat under the roses. Perhaps it was the favorite scent of the woman who Mrs. Needle harmed with her potion. It was probably a love potion. Yes, the fellow was maddened by his grief and killed her. I doubt we will be able to find out who he is. However, I will see that all local folk who have been given medicine by the old woman will be questioned. Now, I must return home. My foot pains me. I must elevate it while I drink a brandy. It is too much. Good-bye, Madame.”

  Evangeline knew that no one would be found. She doubted that local folk would even be questioned. In any case, it would be a waste of time. She managed to rise when Baron Lindley left the drawing room, Bassick at his heels. Mrs. Needle’s death would remain a mystery, and soon everyone would forget. She wasn’t of sufficient importance for anyone to remember.

  After Baron Lindley left, Evangeline said to Bassick, “You were quite right about the baron. Even if he weren’t a fool, little would be done. I must write to the duke and inform him of what has occurred.” She paused a moment. “Please, Bassick, check all the locks.”

  Bassick saw the fear in her eyes. He didn’t blame her. He felt fear himself. Someone had come into the castle and murdered one of its occupants. “Of course, Madame. I will also post footmen at various entrances. Perhaps the man who did this thing will return. Yes, you must write to his grace. He will be much shocked. He has always been quite fond of Mrs. Needle. He’s known her all of his life, you know. He was always bringing her slips of plants he came across.”

  “Yes, I know he was fond of her. He really brought her plants and such?”

  “Oh, yes. Just last month a ship captain brought a variety of plants from India to give to the duke. He gave them to Mrs. Needle. His grace told her he wanted her to mix a potion to make him the best horseman in the land. As I recall, Mrs. Needle told his grace that since he was already the best lover in the land, it would spoil his character to give him more. She laughed greatly when she said that, his grace too.” Evangeline sat at the duke’s desk in the library, spread out a single piece of foolscap before her, and dipped her quill into the inkwell. How they had parted three weeks before was of no importance now. She needed to see him. But to say what? I killed your old nurse. No, I didn’t strangle her myself, but I told John Edgerton about her and he had it done. Oh, God, what was she to do, to write to him? She knew she had to see him, or she’d quite simply go mad with guilt.

  “Your grace,” she wrote finally, “I’m sorry to have to tell you such tragic news. Mrs. Needle has died. The cause of her death was not natural.” Her quill remained poised above the paper before she forced out the words. “Someone came into the castle, went to the north tower, and killed her. Someone unknown. I beg you to come to Chesleigh. Your cousin—” She scratched her name and folded the sheet. She quite simply wanted to die.

  Chapter 22

  The duke arrived late the following morning, having driven from London in under six hours. He was tired, dirty, stunned at the manner of his old nurse’s death, and wild with worry for Evangeline.

  “Thank God you’re home, your grace. Welcome, welcome.” Bassick was so relieved to see his master that he nearly hurled himself against the duke’s chest. As it was, he did trip over a chair in his rush to assist him out of his greatcoat.

  “I came as quickly as I could, Bassick. Where is Madame?”

  “She is with Lord Edmund, your grace. I fear she is very much affected by Mrs. Needle’s death. She has insisted on making the arrangements for Mrs. Needle’s funeral. I have the footmen keeping watch at strategic points around the castle. All the locks have either been changed or fortified. Oh, yes, we are so glad you have come so quickly.”

  “She will do no more,” the duke said, and strode away, Bassick looking after him.

  He opened the nursery door quietly and stepped inside. The large room was very warm, a fire blazing in the fireplace against the far wall. She was on a rug, leaning back against a settee, Edmund close to her. He was holding an English wooden soldier in his hand. He was saying, “I don’t know, Eve. You say you are just fine, but Bassick said I wasn’t to try to chase you down and shoot you today. He said you wouldn’t be enough sport for me.”

  “No, probably not,” she said. “Forgive me, Edmund, but I truly wouldn’t be any sport at all. I wonder, does Bassick know everything?”

  “He said that I wasn’t to say anything in a loud voice to you. He said I was to treat you the way I’d like to be treated if I had a bad tummy pain. He said a truce was in order.”

  A truce, she thought. She turned, smiling, and gave him her hand. “A truce it is, Edmund. We will reco
mmence the fox and the goose tomorrow.”

  Edmund looked up to see his father standing in the doorway.

  “Papa!” He flew to his father, laughing, shrieking, and the duke caught him up in his arms and kissed him soundly. “Are you here to see Eve, Papa? She’s not at all herself. She’s sad. Mrs. Needle died, you know. I heard Mrs. Raleigh talking to all the servants about it. Bassick said I wasn’t to torment her.”

  “I know, Edmund. Now, here is Bunyon standing right behind me. So quietly he walks. He’s going to take you for a ride, Edmund. I will see to your cousin Eve.”

  “You won’t chase her and shoot her, will you, Papa?” “Not at all.”

  “That’s good. Only I get to do that. Make her smile, Papa. I like to see her smile.”

  Evangeline heard Bunyon’s voice but didn’t see him. In an instant Edmund was gone, and she was alone with the duke. He didn’t move toward her, just stood there, looking at her. He closed the nursery door.

  “I came as quickly as I could,” he said. Then he held out his arms to her. “Come here.”

  And she did. She didn’t run to him as quickly as his son had, but she was in his arms in but an instant. “It’s all right now,” he said against her hair as he stroked her back. “I’m here now. It will be all right.” All the pain and guilt broke inside her. She sobbed against his neck, uncaring, out of control, but he said nothing, merely held her, stroked his large hands up and down her back, slowly, steadily, and she cried and cried. She clung to him like a limpet, her arms tightly hugging him to her.

  When her sobs became hiccups, he lightly kissed the top of her head. “It’s all over now, Evangeline. I promise you it will be all right.”

  “No,” she said, pulling back, “no, nothing is all right, nothing at all.” Had it not been for her, Mrs. Needle would be alive, but she couldn’t tell him that. Then Edmund would die. She struck his chest, wishing that she herself would be hurt. He ignored her blows and continued to hold her. When the Chesleigh servant had brought him her letter, the anger he was still trying to clutch to himself against her was lost in the shock of his old nurse’s death and Evangeline’s plea to him. He locked away his grief and set himself to comfort her.

  Finally, there was nothing left in her, no more tears, no more violence, just an emptiness that was destroying her. He loosened his hold and pressed a handkerchief to her hand. When she did nothing with it, he took it from her and wiped her face—a beloved face, he realized, and it shook him to his very core. But he knew that it was true. Her eyes were swollen, and she was so pale it frightened him. Odd that she had grown very fond of Mrs. Needle in such a short time. It didn’t matter. She was distraught.

  Evangeline whispered into his handkerchief, “I’m so sorry, your grace. I’m glad you have come. I haven’t known what to do.”

  “You’ve done more than you should. It is I who am sorry that you’ve borne all the burden.” For an instant he saw such suffering in her eyes and so many other emotions that he didn’t understand. He didn’t let her go. He wasn’t about to let her go. He pulled her closer. “We don’t have to speak about it now. I don’t wish to hurt you more.”

  She shook her head and got a hold on herself. She’d let her guard down, and it was dangerous. She had to keep her secrets to herself. “No,” she said finally, slowly pulling back from him. “No, you must know what happened so that you may act. Baron Lindley is as effective a magistrate as Edmund is a dragon slayer.”

  “Dragon slayer? I thought he only wanted to hunt down highwaymen.”

  “When I read him a story about a dragon slayer, he was excited. He’s just not certain that I’ll be able to breathe fire at him when he’s chasing me.” She laughed, then choked on that laughter, wanting to die.

  “It’s all right. Laughter makes you forget for a moment. It’s good.” He held a chair for her, and she sat down, smoothing her gown with long, pale fingers. He remained standing, his shoulders against the mantelpiece. He knew in that moment that he was seeing her with new eyes.

  She looked back up at him, the man who’d become the center of her thoughts, whose son was so dear to her now that she knew she’d simply lie down and die if something happened to him. What was she to do? The truth hovered, damning words that would forever make her his enemy, words that would earn his condemnation, his contempt. But the words remained unspoken, not because she was a coward. What held her again was the threat to Edmund. Now she had no doubt that John Edgerton would carry out his threat to kill the boy if she betrayed him. She had already brought death to his home. And lies, but lies were better than more death. “Baron Lindley believes the murderer was a man to whom Mrs. Needle gave a love potion. This potion evidently killed his sweetheart. It makes not a whit of sense to me, but the baron is quite pleased with himself. He has the gout. He came quickly upon this solution and quickly left to go home to a brandy and a cushion for his foot.”

  “Nothing was missing? Nothing stolen?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t immediately latch onto some poor tinker, the bane of Lindley’s existence. Thank you for dealing with him. I’ll see him again, for I must. Damn, I should be the magistrate, could easily have been some two years ago, but there were too many other things to occupy my time.” He shook his head, frowning, she thought, at what he thought was a failure in himself. “There’s no motive for this. Who would possibly want to kill Mrs. Needle?”

  Of course she knew. She knew everything. She looked away from him. There was pain at his loss in his dark eyes, and it killed her to see it and know that she could avenge the harmless old woman.

  “You’ve made all the arrangements. I thank you.” He eyed her, seeing her pallor, the strange hardness in her eyes that he didn’t understand. “You’re tired. Bunyon and I will take care of Edmund. I’ll see to whatever else has to be done.”

  She leaped to her feet. “No, please, I don’t want to be alone—that is, I don’t want to rest. Please let me stay with you.”

  He didn’t understand this either. “You don’t want to be alone?”

  She’d made a mistake. He seemed so attuned to her. It was disconcerting. “Perhaps,” she said, rising slowly, not looking at him.

  He laid his hand upon her shoulder. “You can stay with me if you wish it.” He added after a short pause, “Death is always a shock. I remember when I found out about Robbie’s death. I was bowed to my knees. It took a long time for me to even see the preciousness of my son, to enjoy laughter once again, to see the beauty of a woman and not feel the deadening rage and helplessness. It will pass, Evangeline, the shock, the grief. But you won’t forget, no, you’ll never forget and that is perhaps for the best.”

  But not the guilt, she thought, not the guilt. She merely bowed her head, saying nothing.

  The following afternoon Mrs. Needle was buried in the Chesleigh graveyard, the resting place of both family and servants for more than two centuries. Evangeline stared at the mound of fresh earth while the vicar lamented the cruelty of Mrs. Needle’s death, the duke’s gloved hand holding her steady. She raised her eyes to the castle, to the north wing where Mrs. Needle had lived. The thought of the duke returning to London and leaving her again at Chesleigh seemed too much to bear. She shivered. It was very cold today, as a February day should be. Over a quiet dinner after the funeral, as Evangeline wondered what she was going to do, he said slowly, “You need a change, Evangeline. This hasn’t been pleasant for you. Would you care to visit London for a while?”

  She looked at him, unspeaking, disbelieving that he would offer her this chance. She didn’t deserve it. She realized then that he expected her to deny him once again, but before she could speak, he said, “You and I haven’t always dealt well together. Perhaps we can remedy that away from Chesleigh. You have told me that you don’t want to go to London, that if I forced you, you would leave me. I don’t want that. But I want to take you away from Chesleigh for a short while. Edmund too, naturally.”

  Sh
e saw that this strong man, this man who knew his own worth, was afraid she would turn him down again. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and shout her gratitude to him, but she didn’t. She said simply, “Thank you, your grace. I would much appreciate going with you to London. It is very kind of you.”

  He hadn’t realized how much her acceptance would mean to him. He slowly let out his breath. He slowly raised his glass of port and said as he saluted her, “My mother will be very pleased. She wants to meet you as well as see her grandson.” He saw the relief in her expressive eyes and knew he would protect her with his life.

  He said, “I too am glad you have changed your mind.” He set down his wineglass and rose. “You’re exhausted, Evangeline. I would like to leave early in the morning. I suggest that you seek your bed. Do you wish some laudanum to make you sleep?”

  She stood to face him. There was such caring in him. She felt her guilt writhe and twist inside her. His kindness, his strength, his acceptance of her, only worsened it. She shook her head.

  He walked over to her and touched a finger to her pale cheek. Her skin was soft, so very soft. He wanted to bring her against him, just hold her, at least until she eased against him. He wanted to tell her that he would do his damnedest to lessen her pain at his old nurse’s death, just as having her with him would lessen his pain. He said nothing. He couldn’t find the words. He gently forced her head up. He saw tears in her eyes. He leaned down and lightly kissed her cheeks, and then her closed eyes, tasting her tears.

  He said, still kissing her eyelids. “I won’t leave you again.” And then he kissed her mouth and was shattered.

  And late that night, in a cold rain, Evangeline met another man down in a protected cove.

  Chapter 23

  “Grandmama, I’m here at last. I wanted John Coachman to go faster, but Papa wouldn’t allow it. Look, I even brought Eve with me.”

  Marianne Clothilde heard that beloved little voice, all the words tumbling over each other as they burst out of his mouth, dropped her embroidery, and was on her feet to catch Edmund in her arms when he leaped upward. She smiled as she hugged him. “It’s been too long, Edmund, far too long. I’m beginning to believe that London isn’t such a horrible place for little boys. Perhaps your grandfather was wrong, your papa as well. Perhaps it’s best for all of us if you stay right where we are so we can all be together. Goodness, let me put you down. You’ve grown into a young giant.”