Die I Will Not (13 page)

She gazed at him, eyes huge and tear-drenched, and spoke with as much dignity as she could muster. “I beg your pardon, sir.” Lifting the gown in her arms, she scrambled to her feet and laid it over the back of the chair. “I've spotted the silk,” she said dully. “Don't worry. I'll not disturb you again.”

“See that you don't.” Her tears made Chase uncomfortable, so he withdrew hastily to his room. In bed, he lay staring at the ceiling. She had been as good as her word. Silence had descended over the house. But, after a minute or two, Chase got up again, cursing. Moving to his small sideboard, he put his tinderbox in his pocket, poured some brandy in a glass, and lifted the coal bin in his other hand.

Returning to Miss Fakenham's room, he set down the bin and knocked briefly before entering. This time she stood by the window staring out at the rain, her head bent, her shoulders shaking. Chase did not speak. Approaching her, he lifted her hand to fold her fingers around the glass of brandy. Then he stepped to the grate and soon had a fire blazing away.

“Sit down,” he told her roughly. He removed the gown from the chair, tossing it on her bed, then pulled the chair closer to the fire. Without looking at him, she obeyed. After a few minutes her sobs subsided; her tremors stilled. But as her physical comfort increased, her embarrassment grew, a fiery blush mounting in her cheeks.

Chase, standing over her as she sipped the brandy, repeated his earlier question. “What is the matter with you?”

“My hands shake with the cold, and I make mistakes in my work. I try to move around to get my blood up, but that doesn't help much. Sometimes I talk aloud in order to keep myself from falling asleep. I
must
finish this gown by tomorrow morning, or I will lose my employment.”

Chase felt curiosity stir. Now that she wasn't crying or biting his head off, Miss Fakenham's voice was low and pleasant, her accent refined, and he found himself wanting to know what had brought an educated young woman to this shabby, little room where she must labor for every penny if she hoped to keep food in her belly and shelter over her head. But all he said was: “Finish your work if you must. I've built the fire to last. Goodnight, miss.”

She raised startled eyes to his face. “You've been very kind, sir.” She spoke as if kindness was an extreme rarity in her experience.

Chase murmured something noncommittal and got himself out of the room. When he had returned to his bed and was finally slipping into welcome oblivion, her words came back to him.
Kind?
She had called him so, but he was not accustomed to seeing himself thus. He was getting decidedly soft in his old age.

Chapter XII

A thunderous knocking roused Penelope from a deep slumber. At her side Jeremy cursed. He sat up in bed, threw back the covers, and jumped out, wincing as his bare feet encountered frigid floorboards. “Stay here. I'll see who it is.”

She heard rapid footsteps as one of the servants joined him, their voices fading as they descended to the lower part of the house. Penelope got up. After putting on her own dressing gown, she glided down the corridor to the nursery but found her daughter curled up, peacefully asleep. She eased the door shut and followed her husband down to the hall where Jeremy stood talking to Horatio Rex. Rex's tall form was enveloped in an evening cloak, beads of moisture sparkling in his gray-black hair. His cool composure appeared to have deserted him; he looked haggard. When he saw her, he cried, “Mrs. Wolfe! I must speak to you.”

Jeremy stood in hostile stance, arms folded, eyes narrowed. “Do you know what time it is? What business can you have with my wife at this hour?”

Rex ignored him. He came forward to meet Penelope, taking her hand in his gloved one. “Dismiss your servants, Mrs. Wolfe.”

Glancing up, she saw they had several interested auditors. Cook had not awakened apparently, but the other servants clustered on the landing, Maggie's red head among them. “Nothing to worry about,” Penelope called to them. “Go back to bed, please.” She led Rex down the passage to her sitting room. After fumbling for the tinderbox she kept on a shelf by the door, she soon had a candle lit. They faced each other.

“What is it, Mr. Rex?”

“Leach is dead. I meant to wait till morning, but I couldn't bear the thought of Mary being alone tonight. She wishes to speak to you.”

“What can Mrs. Leach want with my wife?” said Jeremy.

“I hardly know how to answer you, Wolfe.” He stretched out a hand to Penelope in supplication. “She is alone. Will you deny her in her need, ma'am?”

“No, of course I won't.”

“You'll go nowhere in the middle of the night. Whatever this is, I don't want you involved.”

Penelope was utterly taken aback, unable to recall the last time her husband had attempted to exert any authority over her. She touched his sleeve. “I
must
go, Jeremy. If Mrs. Leach needs comfort, I would not wish to desert her.”

Rex nodded. “That's just it. She has no one—no other lady in the house, I mean—just her maid and a mouse of a governess who can be of no use at all. Her husband is dead, and my Mary is sorely troubled in her mind. Your husband may accompany you if he does not wish to entrust your safety to me.”

“I will come,” Penelope said. “Do let us both get dressed, Jeremy, so that we may accompany Mr. Rex.”

Jeremy continued to argue as they went back up the stairs to their bedchamber. “I cannot like this. The woman has entangled herself in some nastiness that has nothing to do with us! Better to stay away, especially after what you told me about your father and the Collatinus letters. Why should we put ourselves at risk for a stranger?”

“She is not a stranger, and Mr. Rex is your friend. He has been your patron in helping you obtain clients and your host too many times to count. We must go; you know we must.” As Penelope spoke, she was dressing herself in a warm merino gown and hastily bundling her hair into a knot. She rummaged through her dressing table to find a bottle of smelling salts and a clean handkerchief, stowing them in her reticule.

“I cannot like it,” Jeremy repeated. “What business has the fellow to involve my wife in his private affairs? Have I been wrong, after all, to cultivate him?”

“But you did cultivate him. We must go, so let's not discuss the matter anymore.”

“Oh very well, but I won't leave you. The woman has clearly come unhinged.”

She did not answer him. How was she to explain? She chose not to believe Mary was dangerous, but Chase and Buckler would be horrified that she had agreed to Mr. Rex's request, even with Jeremy along for protection. But the truth about Collatinus might be revealed at long last. Besides, if she was right in her suspicions, Mary's agony of mind must be profound. She was a human creature in pain. Penelope could not turn away.

They were silent in the carriage, Rex absorbed in his thoughts, Jeremy sitting in the opposite corner, eyes shut, leaning his head against the cushion. But Rex seemed oddly nervous. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He kept glancing out the side-glass, and once, when they came to a stop, he opened it to gaze into the night.

“What is it?”

“We are being followed, Mrs. Wolfe. I saw that coach in Greek Street, and it is still with us.”

“What!” burst out Jeremy, his eyes flying open.

“Don't worry. The men won't bother us. They are only watching to see what we do. They seem to have been told to keep their distance.”

“That's comforting. Who are they?”

“I don't know, Wolfe,” Rex said heavily. “Home Office agents, I suspect. I've seen them lurking outside my house, and I suppose this means they are interested in your wife too. Something to do with those letters.”

“You and your daughter have drawn her into mischief. For God's sake, she was a little child when you and Sandford were up to your tricks. What can any of this have to do with her?”

Penelope grabbed Jeremy's hand and squeezed. “Leave it. We must first speak to Mary.”

Their journey through the empty streets was rapid, and soon they had arrived in the Adelphi Terrace. As they stepped out, Penelope risked a quick look behind her. Rex was right. A carriage had pulled up down the street, its lamps glimmering faintly in the darkness, though no one emerged from its interior. They went quickly into the house, and Leach's butler met them in the hall.

“How is everything, Isherwood?”

“All quiet, Mr. Rex. The mistress is upstairs with Mr. Leach.” The butler turned respectfully to Penelope and Jeremy. “Good evening, sir and madam.”

“Come with me,” said Rex, brushing aside the butler's attempt to relieve them of their outer garments. They went rapidly up the stairs to one of the principal bedchambers, and Rex knocked at a door. “Mary, I've brought Mrs. Wolfe to see you.”

When there was no reply, Rex knocked again, louder. “Mary? Open the door at once, I say. No time to waste. We must discuss the arrangements for your husband.”

Suddenly, a woman leaned over the banister from the landing above and then slipped down the steps to join them. A small, frail creature with a pinched face, she was clothed in a voluminous dressing gown, her hair drawn back from her face in a straggling plait that dangled over one shoulder. The governess, Penelope supposed. The woman said timidly, “You will wake the children, sir. They'll be frightened.”

Rex did not appear to have heard her. “We must get inside. I am afraid. I am afraid of what Mary has done.” He confronted the butler, who had joined them in the corridor. “The key, Isherwood?”

“Mrs. Leach has the only key. We had orders Mr. Leach was not to be disturbed on any account.”

“We must get in. Fetch an ax at once.”

The butler went rigid. “An ax?”

“Yes, you fool. Send one of the servants to the garden shed. Hurry!”

Penelope addressed the governess. “Go to the children and stay there with them. They mustn't be alone if they awaken.” The woman's eyes widened, and she withdrew, stumbling over her feet in her haste.

Rex went on calling Mary's name and pounding on the door. When the butler and two half-dressed footmen returned with the ax, Rex hefted it. “Stand back,” he commanded in a grim, determined voice.

With a grinding noise, the blade crashed into the wood around the lock, sending splinters flying. Wresting the ax free, Rex raised it again, but after the second strike, Jeremy took it from the older man, who was breathing heavily. Jeremy leveled a few more blows, the door shivering in its frame; finally, he was able to wedge the blade and part of the handle between the jamb and the door. As the footmen used their shoulders to increase the pressure, he pulled back with all his strength. There was a loud crack. The door burst open, hanging drunkenly on its hinges. Jeremy swiped a hand across his brow. “Wait here, Penelope.”

After a moment she heard Rex say blankly, “Mary isn't here. Where could she be?”

Penelope entered, careful not to catch her dress on the splinters from the doorframe. She found herself in a well-appointed bedchamber warmed by the remains of a fire in the grate and lit by a candelabrum with several guttering candles that left much of the room in shadow. Her eyes took in mahogany furnishings, a white marble mantelpiece, and fringed curtains of green damask at the windows. Her gaze then fell on a table, which held various accouterments of the sickroom: a basin, rolls of bandages and lint, medicine bottles, a dosage spoon, and a pastille burner to freshen the air. So ordinary, she marveled.

Rex swung back to the butler. “Have the house searched at once.”

As Isherwood hurried off to do his bidding, Penelope stepped closer to the large bed and looked down into the dead man's face. Dryden Leach lay under a green silk coverlet tucked neatly around his chin, its vivid color in stark contrast to the waxy eyelids that had closed out life forever.

***

When it became clear Mrs. Leach was not in the house, Penelope urged Rex to send a message to John Chase, but he refused angrily. Having assembled the servants in the hall, he rapped out a series of questions as they gaped at him. When had they last spoken to the mistress? Had anyone observed her departure? Was it possible they had all been
asleep
in her hour of need?

Isherwood winced visibly. “You gave us strict instructions to stay away, sir. Dora carried up some beef tea about six o'clock, but it wasn't wanted. Later Henry spoke to the mistress. That was about eleven o'clock after you'd been gone for some time. The master was then breathing his last.”

The housekeeper stepped forward. “You can be sure I will question everyone, sir. Could Mrs. Leach have stepped out to fetch the surgeon or seek some religious consolation?”

“At this hour?”

Penelope broke in. “Did Mrs. Leach allow the children to bid good-bye to their father?”

The housekeeper evaded her gaze. “No, madam. But Miss Elliot explained what was happening to them. They were terribly upset, as you can imagine.”

Both the housekeeper and the butler looked shaken too. The last few days—with the household thrust out of its normal routines and filled with such fear and suspicion—must have been enormously trying. They would have wanted to uphold their authority and the credit of their employers, yet it would have been obvious that something even graver than their master's illness was afoot. They must have been puzzled by Mrs. Leach's unaccountable behavior: her determined isolation, her refusal to accept any assistance, her secrecy.

Rex turned to address his daughter's personal maid, a young woman in an elegant dressing gown, probably a cast-off from her mistress. “When was the last time you saw my daughter?”

“I've hardly set eyes on her since Mr. Leach was brought home,” she replied in a colorless voice. “My services have not been required in this emergency.”

“Have you determined whether any of her garments are missing?”

“Her mourning cloak and bonnet, sir. A pair of boots along with the gown she was wearing.”

Henry, one of the footmen, said, “I went up to bring more coals and trim the lamps in the other rooms, Mr. Rex. The mistress opened the door to speak to me, and I heard the master's gasping breaths. It sounded quite like he was choking or drowning. It was horrible.” Embarrassed by his distress, he stared at his shoes.

Rex's glare raked down the line of faces watching him with varying displays of sleepiness, defiance, fear, and avid interest. “Someone must have seen her. Could you have allowed your mistress to go out alone without a word from any of you?”

Albert, the other footman, spoke up. “Mr. Isherwood had asked me to sit in the hall, sir, in case I was needed. Mrs. Leach did not leave the house by the front door.”

“How then?”

The butler said, “Out the kitchen perhaps, Mr. Rex. I found the door unlocked some time after midnight. Ordinarily, I would have made my rounds to secure the house earlier, but we've been in turmoil today. I fastened the bolts and thought no more of it. Mrs. Leach must have gone that way. Perhaps she intended to meet a friend? I own it seems strange she would wish to see anyone under the circumstances, but—”

Jeremy took a step toward the door. “No doubt she will soon return. Rex, I'll bring my wife back tomorrow when Mrs. Leach is ready to receive her.”

“No, no. I don't believe it. Something is wrong. She would not go out for more than a few minutes without a word to anyone. What reason could she have?”

“She received a letter,” faltered Albert.

“What's this, Albert?”

“The carrier rang the bell to give me a letter for the mistress late this afternoon, Mr. Isherwood.”

Rex's cheeks flushed with rage, and he moved closer to the footman, his fists clenched. “You didn't tell anyone until now? You didn't think it might be important?”

“She asked me not to, sir,” Albert said simply.

“Did you note the receiving house stamp?” asked Penelope.

“The letter came through the Westminster Office but where before that I can't say. Twopenny post, madam. London origin.”

Rex looked around wildly. “We are wasting time. We must search for her. Will you accompany me, Wolfe?”

“Of course, if you really think there's a problem. But in all likelihood, she's just gone out for some reason.” Observing his friend's distress, Jeremy seemed to soften. “Let's go then. Never fear, Rex. We'll soon settle this business.”

Taking torches and lanterns, Rex, Jeremy, and the footmen split up to search the neighboring streets—to no avail. When they returned an hour later, they brought the local watchman, who had come upon one of the searchers while making his rounds.