Mistress of Merrivale (27 page)

Of course. Tilly was right. Jocelyn hurried to the bell and rang it stridently. Thankfully, Woodley arrived seconds later. Between him and Tilly, they dragged her mother away from Hannah.

“Let me kill her!” Elizabeth screamed, wriggling and kicking at Woodley and Tilly. Thankfully, they were able to keep her restrained.

“You’d better lock her in her room,” Jocelyn said in a worried voice. “I’ll take care of Hannah.”

“She belongs in Bedlam,” Hannah spat, probing the wound on her cheek with her fingers. “I didn’t even look sideways at her. She attacked me without provocation.”

Hannah had every reason to be furious. Jocelyn’s gaze followed the path of blood oozing from the scratches her mother had inflicted. She swallowed, both stunned and worried.

“Let me treat your face.” Jocelyn crossed the room to summon a servant. On her return to Hannah’s side, she urged her to a seat so she could inspect the wound. Jocelyn pressed a clean handkerchief against the scratch in an attempt to halt the bleeding. Scratches were nasty and often became infected.
St. Bridget’s nose!
What on earth had come over her mother? Hannah had done nothing to inflame the situation. She hadn’t been rude and didn’t deserve the treatment her mother had meted out.

After holding the handkerchief to Hannah’s face for a minute, Jocelyn lifted it to inspect the damage. She grimaced.

“Is it that bad?”

“I’m afraid so,” Jocelyn admitted, heartsick. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand why my mother attacked you.”

“She should be locked up.”

At this point Jocelyn couldn’t dispute the fact.

A maid arrived, and Jocelyn issued instructions. Soon the maid returned with the requisite supplies and a bowl of warm water. Jocelyn set about cleaning the wound, her mind replaying the moment of the attack. No, she didn’t understand. Her mother had been entirely at fault, her behavior like an unpredictable beast. And if she could attack both Tilly and Hannah, what would happen if her mother took a sudden dislike to Cassie?

With the bleeding slowing, it was easy to see the tracks of gouged flesh. It would take time to heal. Jocelyn hoped it wouldn’t leave a scar. She’d never forgive herself.

“I have some ointment I’ve used with great success. It seems to keep infection at bay and speeds healing.” As she spoke, Jocelyn carefully rubbed the herbal scented salve into the wound.

“Will it scar?” Hannah asked.

Jocelyn bit her lip. “I don’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“What if she’d attacked Cassie?” Hannah demanded.

“I’m sorry,” Jocelyn repeated. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“How?”

“I…” Jocelyn trailed off because saying more would mean admitting the truth. Her mother was out of control, and she needed to be locked away for everyone’s safety.

“Jocelyn, I understand you’re reluctant to secure Elizabeth, but what if she hurts someone else? One of the servants or Cassie?” Leo’s arms tightened around her in the darkness of her chamber. The warmth emanating from him went some way to pierce the chill filling her body. “What if she hurts you?”

Jocelyn scowled against his shoulder. Knowing he spoke the truth didn’t make it any more palatable. “She doesn’t recognize me any longer.”

“That must hurt after all the sacrifices you’ve made for her.”

Her eyes stung, and she blinked to clear them. “I wouldn’t do anything different.”

Leo pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his understanding and the lack of accusation helping her to think more clearly. She knew he was right.

“I want one of the footmen present when you spend time with your mother.”

“But strangers seem to set her off. She becomes even more disorientated.”

“I won’t compromise on your safety.” His tone told her he meant every word. “The footman won’t need to enter the room. He can wait outside. Frank would be a good choice. He’s a sensible lad and is big for his age. Speak to him tomorrow.”

“Very well.” Jocelyn didn’t think her mother would hurt her, but she’d blame herself if Elizabeth injured Tilly or Cassie.

True to her word, she spoke with Frank the next morning, warned him of her mother’s behavior and took him to meet Elizabeth. She’d decided to spin her mother a tale, but the falsehoods weren’t required in the end. Her mother took a liking to Frank, which meant he could sit inside the room and keep a close eye on proceedings.

Preparations for the festival continued. Jocelyn and Cassie walked in the garden and watched the gardeners haul huge logs to fuel a bonfire. One of the under-gardeners clipped the grass on a flat field near the river in readiness for running races.

“What sort of games will we play?” Cassie skipped along beside Jocelyn, her inquisitive gaze darting this way and that while she took in the different activities.

“We’ll have races. There will be a treasure hunt and people can explore the maze.”

“I like the maze. Father took me inside. It’s dark in there.” She shivered theatrically. “Hannah says there are ghosts.”

“I suspect it can be scary if you get lost and take a wrong turning,” Jocelyn said. “But I don’t think Hannah is right about the ghosts.”

“Is the festival tomorrow?”

“No, not tomorrow. Ten more days. One day for each of your fingers and thumbs.” Jocelyn held up her hands to demonstrate.

“Hannah is bringing a friend. She told me.”

“Yes, she is.” Jocelyn couldn’t help her wince. Hannah’s face looked terrible, the scratches swollen and angry. Jocelyn and Cassie had visited the castle earlier in the day to deliver more salve. She bit her lip as she recalled the wound marring Hannah’s cheek. She hoped Hannah’s friend wasn’t put off by the disfigurement.

A yawn struck Jocelyn without warning. “Oh, dear. I think I need a nap.”

“I’m too old for naps,” Cassie said.

“A person is never too old for naps,” a masculine voice said.

Jocelyn let out an
eep
of shock, grabbed Cassie and placing her behind her as she whirled around to face the newcomer. “Peregrine,” she said weakly when she recognized the man standing on the path.

“Sorry to startle you. I wanted to see how your mother is today.”

He hoisted Cassie on his shoulders, laughing at his niece’s cry of delight.

“I can see the whole sky,” Cassie said. “And the trees.”

“Can you see the maze? And the fruit trees in the orchard?” Peregrine asked.

Jocelyn forced a smile while she listened to their chatter. Gut instinct said Peregrine hadn’t just come for a visit.

“Will you go back to London? After Leo…” He trailed off uncomfortably, but Jocelyn had no difficulty understanding him.

“Leo says he’s innocent.”

“Then why is he locked up?” Peregrine demanded. “Maybe it’s because he’s guilty.”

Chapter Fourteen

Jocelyn turned over on her other side, attempting to find a more comfortable position. She’d waited for hours, expecting Leo to arrive. He hadn’t come, leaving her alone with her worries, her confusion. Fatigue weighted down her eyelids. She had to try to sleep—for the sake of the babe.

At some stage she must have dozed off. Loud hammering on her chamber door woke her. She had no idea of the hour since the room still lay in darkness, the heavy curtains pulled to shut out the night.

“What is it?” she called, pushing to an upright position.

Tilly burst into her chamber. She gasped for breath before blurting. “She’s dead. I found her in her bed, her body as cold as ice.”

“Who is dead?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Mother? But how?” Jocelyn flung back the covers and grabbed her robe. A surge of nausea struck, and she held a hand to her stomach, gulping several times. Once she was certain she wouldn’t vomit, she hurried into the passage while still fastening her robe.

Tilly trotted a few steps behind her, talking the entire time. “Elizabeth was fine when I left her last night. Happy even. She showed no sign of illness.”

The door was ajar when they entered, the room chilly with a stiff breeze pouring through an open window.

“Was the window open when you left Mother last night?”

“Why, I never noticed the open window. I was that shocked at seeing Elizabeth. I came to get you straightaway. I closed the window myself before I left her for the night. I locked the door as usual.”

“And the key?” Jocelyn slowed as she approached the bed. Her mother looked as if she were in one of her rages, face contorted, her mouth twisted into a grimace. With a trembling hand, Jocelyn checked her mother’s pulse.

“She doesn’t look peaceful,” Tilly said.

“No, she didn’t die easily.” This raised all sorts of questions. Jocelyn tugged her mother’s night gown away where it bunched around her neck.

At her side, Tilly gasped. They stared at each other wordlessly before turning back to view the livid marks around her mother’s throat.

“We’d better summon the constable,” Jocelyn said finally.

“Aye, ’tis murder right enough,” Tilly said in a grim voice. “And the sleeping draft I gave her last night would have made the murderer’s job easy.”

Jocelyn focused on her mother’s hand, part of her ashamed because her initial reaction had been relief. No one deserved this sort of death.

“I’d better speak to Woodley and question the staff. Maybe one of them heard or noticed something,” she said.

“Woodley and I didn’t hear a thing and our quarters are nearby.”

Jocelyn nodded but didn’t speak her mind. The truth was Tilly would have slept through a violent thunder storm without stirring. Her mother had interrupted several nights recently with her ceaseless screaming. The constant disturbances had made Jocelyn consider murder herself. It was the reason they’d upped the dose of sleeping draft—so all of them received a good night of rest.

Captain Cartwright arrived, and the morning passed in a whirlwind of questions and investigation of the scene. He spoke to everyone from the scullery maid to Woodley and Mrs. Green, allowing Jocelyn to sit in on the interviews. Not one of them had seen or heard anything out of the ordinary.

“At least Leo can’t be blamed,” Jocelyn said.

When the constable hesitated, she shot him a sharp look.

“Leo was at the manor last night,” the man said.

“No.”

“We were together for part of the night until I told him he could visit you.”

They stared at each other, Jocelyn frightened to ask questions. Finally, she croaked, “I didn’t see him last night.” A chill marched down her spine, and she wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to get warm. “Do you think Leo…” She closed her eyes, the lump in her throat preventing further speech.

“I don’t know what to think,” Cartwright said. “I haven’t discussed the matter with Leo yet.”

Jocelyn shivered, still cold. “He doesn’t know?”

“I thought it was best if I discovered the lay of the land here. I told him I needed to attend to some parish business.”

“No one heard anything unusual. The door was locked. My mother didn’t have a chance.” Tears prickled at her eyes again. Why would someone kill a defenseless woman?

“Tell me again,” Cartwright said, his manner intense, reminding her of a hound dog scenting a fox. “Who had keys to Elizabeth’s room?”

“Tilly has a key and I have one. Tilly said she unlocked the door this morning, which leaves the window as the only possible point of entry. It was wide open.”

“Could someone have taken one of the keys?”

Jocelyn shook her head. “I don’t see how.”

“I’ll go through the room again. But first, you’d better show me which window was open. Maybe we can discern something that way.”

“Of course.”

“Mrs. Sherbourne?”

Jocelyn halted and turned to face the constable. “Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re up to this? I understand you’re with child.”

“It’s better for me to keep busy. I…I don’t like to think about how my mother died.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and she had to concentrate on her shoes because she couldn’t hide her distress. “Do you know what my first reaction was on seeing my mother? It was relief. I was glad because all I did recently was worry about how I was going to look after her. She didn’t recognize me any longer. I…I worried about the future and about Leo sending us both away.”

“I’ve come to know your husband well, Mrs. Sherbourne. Despite what everyone thinks, he’s a good man.” Captain Cartwright patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “I don’t believe he’d send you away.”

After two deep breaths, she gathered her composure. With a choppy gesture of her hand, she indicated he should follow her. “This way. I’ll show you the window.” She escorted the constable to the wing her mother and Tilly used. Her mother’s room was empty now, the vacant bed stoking her guilt higher. She was a heartless daughter.
By St. Bridget!
Who was grateful for the death of a parent? “It was the window overlooking the gardens. Tilly is positive she shut the window before she retired for the evening. My mother often complained of the cold, so I doubt she opened the window.”