Dreamspinner (44 page)

“Let’s talk to Augusta,” she said. “Perhaps her response will give us a stronger clue.”

His obsidian eyes bored into hers; then his expression went as blank as a closed book. Slipping the pouch into his pocket, he escorted her down the long corridor.

In the Laguerre drawing room, Augusta sat near a window. Her capable hands glided a needle in and out of the fine lawn of a baby’s gown. Lolling beside the empty hearth, Punjab scrambled up and uttered a shrill yap.

“Hush, darling. Do behave, else you shan’t have your tea.”

With a complaining wheeze, the Pekingese settled onto his cushion.

Turning in her chair, Augusta said, “Good afternoon.”

“I trust we haven’t kept you waiting,” Kent said.

“Time is never wasted when I have my sewing.”

Juliet walked closer to see the miniature garment. “That looks too small for Hannah’s brother, Tom. Is there another new baby in the district?”

“Of course. The coming heir will need a proper layette.”

Touched, Juliet reflected that she hadn’t yet had time to appreciate expecting the baby, to ready a nursery, to look forward to future happiness. Instead, suspicion tainted her joy. “You’re very kind to think of my baby.”

“It’s my duty,” Augusta said gruffly. “Unless you’d prefer to order a layette from London.”

“Of course not.”

She set aside her needlework. “I shall ring for tea straightaway. Fleetwood can be terribly slow.”

She clumped to the corner to tug on the bell cord. Juliet looked at her husband; he observed Augusta while collecting the fibers and wires he’d knocked from the desk earlier while constructing his fishing flies. A breeze rustled the curtains and eddied the freshness of summer into the musty room. With Kent tidying his fishing flies and Augusta resuming her sewing, the scene appeared tranquil and domestic.

Yet someone in the castle plotted death.

Augusta? Then why would she be stitching garments for the baby? Unless her action was the calculated ruse of a madwoman.

Determined to unearth the truth, Juliet sank shakily to the settee. “I’ve written to my mother and asked her advice on a physician for Hannah.”

“Humph,” said Augusta. “You needn’t bother a society lady with our rural tragedies. She’s likely too engaged with her recitals and soirees.”

“You don’t know her. Mama takes great interest in aiding people in need. The moment we have the funds available, I want Hannah to have the chance to walk normally.”

A spasm of pain and affection twisted Augusta’s features. “You’re generous to consider the girl. I’d have used my own dowry to help her, but the funds were squandered long ago on this castle and William’s follies.” With ill-concealed anger, she stabbed her needle into the fine lawn.

“When I take Hannah to London, perhaps you’d care to come along. She would feel more at ease in your company.”

Augusta looked up in surprise. “I should be happy to do so, Your Grace.”

“I must add a note to Mama’s letter, then.” Watching her closely, Juliet went on, “I’ll inquire if we can all stay in my father’s house.”

“Nonsense,” she said with an unladylike snort. “Emmett Carleton might unbend long enough to let his daughter come to visit... even a darling waif like Hannah. But he shan’t welcome someone who’s been a Deverell as long as
I.”

The words sounded more matter-of-fact than malicious. Could she bear Papa a hidden grudge?

“Perhaps he’s changed,” Kent said. Standing by the desk, he held the tiny bluebottle fly to the sunlight. “Perhaps his daughter’s marriage has softened Emmett.”

“Poppycock. He’s as deranged by the feud as William was.”

“How do you know that?” Juliet asked.

“He duped William into buying that tea estate. He’s cut from the same cloth as William—too proud for his own good.”

“Yet I’ve changed,” Kent said, “so why not Emmett?” Tossing down the hookfly, he withdrew the jewel pouch from his pocket. “You might as well know, Augusta. As a token of my willingness to end the feud, I’m planning to sell Dreamspinner.”

Her jaw dropped. The ruddy color vanished from her cheeks, leaving the mole prominent against her whitened skin.
“Sell?”
she said, her voice faint. “Why would you do that?”

“We’ve no need for it. You said so yourself at dinner the other night.” He tossed the bag from hand to hand; the jewels clanked dully. “Didn’t you?”

Eyes following the bag, she sat still, the needle and thread poised over the little gown. Her mouth hung open in astonishment... and with palpable alarm, Juliet thought.

Silence hung as thickly as the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. Lowering her eyes, the older woman resumed sewing, her movements jerky. “I never thought you would take my words so seriously, Your Grace. Especially now.”

“Now?” Juliet prompted.

“With your dowry coming. We hardly need the extra money, so it makes no sense to rush out and find a buyer. Better to put the jewels away as a nest egg for your children. God knows William left us with little enough.”

“I think not,” said Kent. “Dreamspinner is a symbol of hatred that we’re well rid of. I’m dispatching Ravi to London with the necklace very soon.”

Augusta plied the needle with quick, mechanical strokes. Blood suddenly welled from her fingertip. Vacantly she watched a red droplet drip onto the white linen.

“You’ve pricked yourself,” Juliet said. “Shall I fetch you some sticking plaster?”

“No, it wouldn’t help.” Augusta lurched to her feet. The sewing basket overturned, spilling threads and thimbles and pins. “Do pardon me. I must put this to soak before the stain sets.” Clutching the tiny gown, she scurried from the drawing room.

The Pekingese started to pad after his mistress. He paused to look hungrily at the empty tea table, then returned to his cushion.

“How oddly she acted,” Juliet mused, absently observing the dog. She lifted her eyes to Kent. “Something isn’t right. First Gordon and Rose want you to keep the necklace. Now even Augusta is opposed to selling it.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.” He tossed the bag into the air, then deftly caught it and aimed a glower at the green velvet. “She’s hiding something.”

“Yet she doesn’t hate Papa.”

“Unless that’s another lie.”

Fear slithered down her spine. “Kent, perhaps we’re mistaken to think Emily’s murder—and the attempt on me—had anything to do with the feud. Perhaps...”

“Go on. What?”

Shuddering, she shook her head. “I can’t say... it’s too horrible.”

“Tell me, Juliet. We can’t keep casting into a stream and failing to catch any fish.”

She drew an aching breath. “Perhaps the
baby
sparked the murder attempts. Augusta admitted to miscarrying several times. Perhaps she was madly jealous of Emily’s pregnancy. Now she may have turned that jealousy on me.”

Shadows lurked in the dark depths of his eyes. “Dreamspinner doesn’t work into your theory.”

“Her dowry went to repair the castle and to pay William’s debts. She might view the jewels as rightfully hers.”

“It’s possible,” he said slowly. “But she’s so devoted to children. My God, she’s even been sewing for our baby.”

“The greenhouse incident happened the very day I learned I was carrying your child.”

He stood silent and somber. Weeping inwardly, Juliet felt his desperation as her own. He, too, wanted to exonerate the people here, the family he loved.
Abruptly he slammed the pouch onto the desk so hard that she caught her breath.

“This damned necklace,” he said through gritted teeth. “The sooner we’re rid of it, the better.”

The explosion of violence stunned her. Even as she stared at Kent, Fleetwood entered, bearing a large silver tray in his white-gloved hands.

Punjab waddled forward and nearly entangled himself in the servant’s feet. China clinked and spoons rattled. Unperturbed, Fleetwood shuffled across the antique rug and deposited the tray on the table.

Thin as a silver birch, the old retainer straightened. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. I’ve brought the tea Madam ordered.”

Kent gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”

As the butler began to leave, Juliet jumped up, fingers twisting her turquoise skirt. “Fleetwood?”

“Your Grace.”

“What would you say if the duke were to sell the necklace, Dreamspinner?”

Astonishment creased his ancient brow. “What would
I
say?”

“Yes.”

“Er... I would say... er ...” He glanced uncertainly at Kent.
“I
would say best wishes, Your Grace.”

No furtiveness marred that puzzled countenance. She smiled. “Thank you, Fleetwood. That will be all.”

He hesitated by the door. “The Lady Maud Peabody questioned me about the necklace earlier today. It isn’t missing, I trust?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“After the dinner party, Mrs. Fleetwood found the necklace on the night table. I’m certain she gave it to Ravi for safekeeping—”

“Nothing’s happened to Dreamspinner,” Kent said,
gesturing at the pouch. “As a matter of fact, it’s right ere on the desk.”

The butler’s expression cleared. “Ah, so it is.” Bowing, he departed. Kent focused a frown at her. “You don’t really consider
him
a suspect.” Her skirt rustled as she walked to the tea table.

“Probably not. But I’ve seen him on the north parapet.”

“Looking for a red-breasted snipe, no doubt.”

“Perhaps,” she said, spooning tea leaves into the steaming water. “Yet someone pushed Emily from that very battlement.”

Hands planted on his hips, he watched her. “And that same someone threw a boulder at you.”

By the starkness of his expression, she knew he regretted plunging her into peril. She fortified her heart against a treacherous weakening. He
should
suffer. Unwitting or not, he had set off this dreadful chain of events by embroiling her in his scheme for vengeance.

Punjab loosed an earsplitting series of yaps. Eyeing the tray, he sat up, tail wagging. Juliet filled a saucer with weak tea, added a generous dollop of rich dark cream, and placed the dish on the floor. The Pekingese lapped noisily at the liquid.

Mrs. Fleetwood had outdone herself today. An array of sandwiches crowded a chipped porcelain platter. Chunks of Stilton cheese and stalks of celery lay beside thick slices of apple cake. Realizing the hours since luncheon, Juliet gazed longingly at the feast.

“I wonder what’s keeping Augusta. I never knew a baby could make one so nauseated in the morning and so hungry the rest of the day.”

Striding to her side, Kent pressed a plate into her hand. “Don’t wait, love. Your health is more important than etiquette.”

His gentle tone and unexpected closeness unnerved her. She lowered her gaze to the open collar of his shirt. Her appetite drowned under a surge of bittersweet yearning.

The echo of a girl’s foolish fancies, she told herself.

Setting down the plate, she raised cool eyes to his face. “I’ll eat in a moment. May I pour you a cup of tea?”

He made an impatient gesture. “Never mind the damned tea. I’m more concerned about your welfare.”

“Let’s catch the murderer then. What shall we do next?”

‘“That’s the frustrating part. We’ll need to find another approach. The necklace raised more questions than it answered.”

Harsh lines of worry bracketed his mouth. Pouring herself a cup of tea, she wondered how far he would go to protect her. “You could sell Dreamspinner to my father.”

His eyes went as black as night. A muscle clenched in his jaw. “I fail to see what that would accomplish.”

“Perhaps it might enrage the killer, force his... or her hand.”

“With you the focus of that fury?” He shook his head decisively. “I think not.”

For all her outer indifference, she felt a spasm of pain grip her chest. She added cream to her tea and slowly stirred. “Are you certain that my well being is all that’s stopping you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps you wouldn’t sell Dreamspinner to my father under any circumstances. You’ve made it plain that you care more for the feud than for your own wife.”

Wariness haunted his eyes. “Now isn’t the time to discuss my feelings for you, Juliet. I’m already breaking a vow by selling the necklace. Must I also betray my father’s memory by giving it to his enemy?”

“His enemy... or yours?” Raising the steaming cup, she studied him over the rim. “Could you in all honesty shake Papa’s hand in forgiveness?”

He stared. She sensed the turmoil raging inside him, though his face remained barren. He lifted a hand to cradle her cheek. At the touch of his warm, callused palm, she felt helpless, mesmerized. Her heartbeat accelerated under an absurd rush of hope.

“Juliet, if it meant—”

“What’s the matter with Punjab?”

Augusta’s horrified voice shattered the moment. Brown skirt swishing, she dashed into the room.

Juliet spun around to see the dog staggering toward his cushion. He stopped, swaying. Stiffening, he collapsed onto the hearth rug, his body quivering and stretching. Foam flecked his mouth.

“What the devil—” Kent muttered. He snatched the teacup away from Juliet and set it down. “Christ! Don’t drink or eat anything.”

Augusta dropped to her knees beside the Pekingese. She ran her hands over the furry form. “Oh, dear sweet heaven! Punjab, Punjab! What’s wrong with you, darling?”

His face grim, Kent knelt to examine the animal. “He was fine a moment ago.”

“I’ll ring for help,” Juliet said.

She ran to tug on the bell cord, then hastened back. Fingers worrying the silk of her skirt, she watched Augusta and Kent try to rouse the dog.

Their efforts proved fruitless. Suddenly his small body gave a fierce convulsive shudder and went still.

“No!” Augusta whispered. She frantically rubbed Punjab’s chest in an attempt to revive him. The animal lay unmoving. With a finger that trembled visibly, she lifted his eyelid and peered into his face.

“Dear God!” she gasped. “He’s been poisoned.”

Chapter 22

Juliet clutched the back of a chair. Horror swept her in sickening waves. Her mind chased in confused circles, trying to find the sense in such a shocking development.