That Would Be a Fairy Tale

by Amanda Grange

  ‘I did.’ His eyes hardened. ‘Until she played me for a fool, and nearly put me in prison. Whereupon I intended to extract my revenge. I sneaked into the house - not difficult, as you were all out and only a handful of old servants were left behind - and found the young lady’s room, intending to pay her back for what she had tried to do to me. It wasn’t hard to tell which one was hers. It had a lot of pretty clothes in the wardrobe, the sort a young lady would wear - only at the time I didn’t realize there were two young ladies in the house.

  ‘Until you walked into the room. And then, in a blinding flash, I saw the whole thing. That you were behind it, and Miss Lessing was just doing what she was told. I should have seen it coming. Miss Lessing had no reason to trap me. She didn’t even know me. But you did. You were there at the Manor, and you knew who was really behind the theft of the necklace. So you decided to set a trap.’

  ‘You deserved it,’ said Cicely recklessly. ‘You caused an innocent young girl to be accused of your crime.’

  He made a derogatory exclamation. ‘Innocent young girl? She was a maid. What did it matter? You of all people should know that servants don’t count.’

  ‘They count every bit as much as you and I,’ said Cicely hotly, realizing that Alex had had some reason to take against the landed classes. Goss was everything that was corrupt and disgraceful.

  He sneered. ‘Every bit as much as you, perhaps,’ he said, flexing the scarf between his hands again. ‘But no one matters as much as me.’

  He took a step towards her and Cicely shrank back. Her hand went instinctively to her neck.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said with an evil sneer. ‘It won’t hurt - much.’

  He lunged towards her and she held up the hat in a useless gesture of defence . . . and then saw the candlelight gleaming on the head of the hat pin. She was saved! If only she could pull it out in time . . .

  He closed the distance between them, throwing the scarf round her neck and pulling it tight. She fought down an impulse to raise her hands to her throat and instead focused all her energies on drawing the wicked long pin out of the hat. It flashed momentarily in the candlelight as she pulled it free, and then she brought it down with all the strength she could muster, driving it into his hand.

  He let out an exclamation of pain and she felt the pressure go from her neck as he dropped the scarf and clutched his injured hand, which was dripping with blood.

  ‘You little . . . !’ he shouted.

  Eyes watering, coughing and wheezing as she gasped in lungfuls of air, Cicely nevertheless braced herself for a renewed attack. She held the hat pin aloft, ready to defend herself.

  Martin looked at the wicked pin and then at Cicely’s determined face. His eyes went beyond her, over her shoulder to the door.

  For one moment, Cicely was tempted to step out of the way. If his route to the door was clear she felt he would make his escape. She nearly moved aside. But then she remembered that Sophie and Mrs Lessing were in the villa. If Goss should come upon them, there was no telling what he would do. She raised the pin still higher and stood her ground.

  His eyes blazed with rage. Then, darting suddenly over to the window he threw it open and climbed out.

  Cicely willed herself to follow him but she felt dizzy and weak, and knew she would never be able to climb out of the window in her present condition. She was still not breathing properly, her throat being bruised and sore, and without proper lungfuls of air she could do no more than collapse onto the bed.

  But at least he had been foiled. He had not managed to harm her. Nor would he be able to harm Sophie or her aunt. She must content herself with that thought, she realized, as the pin dropped out of her nerveless fingers and fell to the floor.

  Outside in the drive, Alex was finishing his cigar. He had not smoked inside as he knew Mrs Lessing did not like it, but he had lit a cigar on leaving the villa. He was making it last as long as possible because he was loth to go. He did not want to leave Cicely. He wanted to stride back into the villa, take the stairs three at a time to her room, throw open her door and demand that she give up the idea of marrying Lord Chuffington.

  His cigar finished, he threw the butt down onto the drive and ground it beneath his foot, as he wanted to grind anyone who threatened to take Cicely away from him.

  The strength of his feelings took him by surprise. He had never felt so strongly about anyone before, but Cicely provoked in him all manner of new emotions. She was the most surprising, perplexing yet adorable woman he had ever met, and she drove him to distraction.

  If only he could go back into the villa . . . But he knew he could not. Even though his cigar was now finished, he could not bring himself to leave. He walked round to the side of the villa, looking up at the windows.

  He was behaving like a lovesick boy, he thought uncomfortably. And yet he could not help himself.

  He wondered which room was hers.

  A moment later he had his answer, as he could see her graceful figure silhouetted against the blind at the last window. Her hand was raised. She must be about to unpin her hair. How long was it? he wondered. Strands of her hair had come loose on several occasions, and he had revelled in the sensuous feel of them beneath his hand as he had pushed them back into place, but he did not know exactly how long her tresses were. Would they fall to her shoulders when her hair was unpinned? he wondered longingly. Halfway down her back? Or to her waist?

  But no. She was not unpinning her hair, he realized with a frown. What, then, was she doing? She was standing in a most unnatural attitude, leaning backwards as though she were in fear of being attacked. He was immediately alert. Something was wrong. His instinct was confirmed a moment later when he saw a second figure outlined at the window, the figure of a man.

  He began to run towards the window, covering the ground with long strides. Then the window was thrown open and the man, whoever he was, climbed out.

  Alex froze for a second as he recognised the gleaming blond hair of Martin Goss in the moonlight.

  Goss? Here? But how?

  There was no time for further thought. In one fluid movement he moved to intercept him, tackling him as he dropped to the ground. There was a scuffle, and then Alex ended it with a well-placed blow.

  As he did so, the two detectives came running up.

  ‘What is going on?’ demanded Alex furiously as he handed Goss over to them.

  ‘He gave us the slip,’ said the first man, shifting his feet, whilst the second one looked sheepish.

  ‘Your excuses will have to wait. I haven’t got time for this now,’ he said, knowing Cicely was in the villa, possibly frightened or hurt. ‘Later,’ he said commandingly before rushing into the villa.

  Pushing aside the startled butler who opened the door, he was about to climb the stairs to Cicely’s room when he saw her coming down. She was white and shaken but appeared to be unhurt.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he demanded. His body flooded with relief at the sight of her, for he had feared the worst.

  ‘Goss.’ The word came out as a hoarse whisper.

  ‘It’s all right. He won’t bother you any more. He’s outside now, in the charge of the detectives. They won’t let him escape again.’ He was about to go on, but she had by now reached the bottom of the stairs and he could see by the glare of the gaslight that she was far from well. ‘What is it?’ he asked in concern. Then saw the bruises which were beginning to rise round her neck and throat, showing up darkly against the high neck of her dress. ‘In here.’ He lifted her from her feet, one arm under her knees and the other one round her shoulders, and carried her into the drawing-room, where he set her down gently on the sofa.

  She lay back, relieved that she could give in to her weakness now that Alex was there. She had struggled against it, but she had to admit defeat. Her throat and neck were sore, and she wanted nothing more than to rest until she should have regained her strength.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked in concern.

  ‘G
oss -’ The word, again, was no more than a hoarse whisper.

  ‘Don’t speak,’ he said. ‘I can guess. From the look of it he tried to strangle you.’

  He felt his rage rising as he said it. It was a good thing that Goss was not there, but was safely in the custody of the detectives, otherwise he would not have been responsible for his actions.

  Gently he began to undo the top few buttons of her dress, which had a high neck reaching to her ears. As he pushed the black fabric aside he saw the full extent of her injuries. Then heard an outraged cry from the doorway.

  ‘Take your hands from my niece.’

  He looked up to see Mrs Lessing framed in the doorway.

  ‘I thought better of you,’ she said, eyes flaring. ‘I thought you were a gentleman.’

  ‘Cicely’s been attacked,’ he said shortly. ‘Goss gave the detectives the slip and ended up at the villa. He must have been waiting for her in her room - though how he knew she was here, I don’t know. But that’s beside the point. She has been strangled. Her neck and throat are badly bruised. She needs a doctor at once.’

  Quickly grasping the situation Mrs Lessing’s anger towards Alex subsided, for she could see by Cicely’s swollen and discoloured neck that what he said was true. She left the room for a minute and then returned, saying, ‘I have sent one of the servants for Dr Ott, and told them not to come back without him.’

  ‘He’s a good man?’ demanded Alex.

  ‘The best. Doctor Ott attends the King,’ said Mrs Lessing.

  Alex nodded. ‘Good.’

  ‘Gracious, Cicely,’ said Sophie’s voice from the doorway. The commotion had reached her bedroom and she had come downstairs to see what was going on. ‘What happened to you?

  Cicely tried to speak again, but her throat was too sore and she sank back onto the sofa, exhausted.

  ‘Not another word,’ said her aunt. ‘Sophie, you sit with Cicely. I will go and speak to the servants, they are beginning to wonder what is going on. And you,’ she said to Alex, ‘had better go with those detectives of yours and make sure they don’t let Goss escape again.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere until I know Cicely’s going to be all right,’ he growled.

  ‘If you think I am going to let you remain in the room whilst the doctor examines my niece you are very much mistaken,’ she said with asperity.

  ‘I will be . . . all right.’ Cicely’s words came out as a croak, but they were comprehensible. She put her hand on Alex’s arm reassuringly.

  Reluctantly he rose from her side. Realising that she would be well looked after by her aunt and cousin, and knowing he could do no more to help her at present, Alex gave a curt nod. There was something in what Mrs Lessing said. He would be wise to make sure that the detectives did their job properly this time. After what had just occurred, he would not rest easily until Goss was under lock and key.

  ‘Very well. But I will return first thing in the morning,’ he said.

  With a last look at Cicely, as if to reassure himself that she would indeed be all right, he departed, and Cicely gave herself over to the ministrations of her cousin and her aunt.

  ‘What a shocking to-do,’ said Mrs Lessing. ‘Imagine that odious man escaping and attacking you, here in the villa, of all places. I would very much like to know how it came about.’ She waved her hand as Cicely tried to speak. ‘No, not now. It can wait until you are well again, my dear.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  It was the following morning and Sophie, eager to find out how Cicely was, had brought her breakfast in bed.

  ‘Much better, thank you,’ said Cicely.

  Her ordeal of the night before now seemed like a dream, and if not for her painful throat she would have thought it had been simply that. But the livid marks round her neck bore witness to the fact that it had been real.

  ‘Mr Evington has been here asking after you,’ said Sophie, as she poured Cicely a cup of coffee. ‘Mother told him you were asleep and that you could not be disturbed.’

  Cicely’s heart sank. Though her aunt’s actions had been well-intentioned, she would have liked to see Alex.

  ‘She told him the same the next time he called as well,’ said Sophie, handing Cicely the coffee.

  ‘He has been twice?’ asked Cicely.

  ‘Three times. You’ve slept late,’ she explained, seeing Cicely’s expression. ‘He won’t be calling again, though.’

  Cicely felt her hand beginning to tremble, and put the cup down with a clatter.

  ‘Is it too hot? I thought it might be. Let me put some more milk in for you.’

  Cicely allowed Sophie to make the coffee cooler, although that had not been the reason for her almost dropping the cup.

  ‘He won’t be calling again, did you say?’ asked Cicely with studied nonchalance, for she found that she was longing to see him.

  Her brush with death had made her see how precarious life was, and she could not let ignorance come between them. She knew she must talk to him, telling him that she was not engaged, so that he could come to know her better. And she must somehow ascertain his feelings for Eugenie.

  ‘He has had to go back to England. But I dare say you will see him there when you return,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Yes. I dare say,’ she said in a dispirited voice.

  She was not so sure she would see him in England, for she knew that he had bought the manor so that he could catch the thief, and now that the thief was caught, then what was there to keep him in the countryside? Unless his feelings for her were strong enough to induce him to remain.

  Sometimes she thought they were, and sometimes she thought they weren’t. She knew there was an electrical charge between them, but his deeper feelings were unclear.

  How she longed to talk to him! But in her present condition it was impossible.

  ‘You won’t be well enough to travel for a while,’ said Sophie, echoing her own thoughts. ‘I know mother wants to keep you with us for as long as possible. And so do I.’

  Cicely’s sojourn in Austria lasted another week, but then she felt she could impose on her aunt and cousin no longer. Sophie and Mrs Lessing had a long-standing arrangement to visit Paris, and although they pressed her to join them she declined, saying it was time for her to return to the Lodge.

  Her return journey was more sombre than her outward journey had been, and she was glad to reach England. So much had happened since she had gone away, and she was looking forward to the peace and quiet of home. And hoping against hope that Alex was still in the neighbourhood.

  ‘It is good to have you back, miss,’ said Gibson as he welcomed her at the door. ‘I trust you had an enjoyable time?’

  Gibson had known nothing of Cicely’s real reason for going to Marienbad, and had accepted at face value her story of going to pay a visit to her aunt, so she remarked simply, ‘Yes, thank you, Gibson. It was most . . . satisfactory.’

  Gibson departed, and Cicely strolled round the sitting room, refamiliarising herself with it, before going out into the garden. It looked much the same as it had looked when she had left. It was hard to believe that she had only been gone for such a short space of time. So much had happened.

  She went back into the house and regarded herself in the mirror. She was fortunate that high necks were fashionable, as her lace-trimmed blouse covered up the remains of her bruises, and she would not have to explain them to her friends.

  She took off her gloves and hat. Hardly had she done so when Alice bounded into the house.