Strangers at Dawn (39 page)

He got up abruptly and stood with shoulders stooped, his back to Max, one hand supporting himself on the mantelpiece. “I didn’t kill William, but I wished for his death many times.” He turned to look at Max. “I hope he is dead.”

Max looked into that ravaged face and felt pity rise in him. He said quietly, “You must have suspected that Sara or Anne had murdered William?”

“I never suspected Anne. She doesn’t know how to hate.”

“But you suspected Sara?”

“Yes. At first. I knew there was only one place she could have hidden the body, and I waited
till
the constables were no longer swarming over the place before I checked on it. It was empty.”

Max said incredulously, “You knew about the secret chamber in the dower house?”

For the first time since he entered his house, Drew smiled. “Anne told me about it a long time ago, when we were children.”

“And,” said Max, eyes narrowing, “if you had found William’s body, what would you have done then?”

Drew’s smile vanished and he stiffened. “I wouldn’t have gone to the authorities, if that’s what you think. I would have got rid of it somehow. I would have taken it miles away from Stoneleigh and dropped it down one of those chalky holes in the downs. But I would have chosen a place where it could be found.”

Max had never liked Drew Primrose, but he suddenly found himself warming to the man. Anyone who helped Sara could always count on his goodwill.

“You wanted the body found,” said Max, “so that Anne would know she was a widow and was free to marry you.”

A bitter smile twisted Drew’s lips. “I wanted the body found to clear Sara’s name. If William’s remains were discovered miles away, it would have been impossible for her to get there and back. That’s all I was thinking about, clearing Sara’s name. Anne was already lost to me. She suspected me of murdering William, you see. She doesn’t believe I spent the whole time in Bristol, and, of course, she’s right. And I told her often enough that I would kill William if he ever hit her again. He beat her. She lost the baby. What else could she think?”

He sat down again and put his head in his hands. “I’ve never given up my search for William, just to prove to Anne that I didn’t murder him.” He looked up at Max. “I went to London and visited all the places he used to frequent. I kept up with his friends. William simply vanished into thin air.”

“Sara thinks he’s still alive.”

“I doubt it. A man like that needs a constant supply of money to feed his gambling habit. Sara was like a bottomless pit. William was bitter after her father changed his will. He felt that the money should have been his.” He shook his head. “Without Sara, where would he get money? His own father had disowned him. William had nowhere to go. He must be dead.”

Max’s shoulders slumped. When he’d arrived at Drew’s
house, he thought he had just about worked everything out. Now he was back at the beginning.

Drew said, “So what’s
all
this about notes and someone attacking Sara? Did you make that up to try and entrap me?”

Max showed him the note that had been left on Sara’s dressing table; he told him about the attack. When Drew got over his shock, he began to ask questions and speculate, and finally, he shook his head.

“If I had murdered William,” he said, “the last thing I’d want is to stir things up by sending Sara notes or jumping out at her in the dark. I’d let sleeping dogs lie. But I don’t like the sound of this.-Get her out of here. Take her away from Stoneleigh. William is still casting a shadow on
all
our lives.”

Soon after this, Max left. Drew’s parting words were turning over in his mind, and he quickened his steps. Things were beginning to click again, only in a new pattern, but there were still odd things that did not make sense.

Before he reached the house, he knew something was wrong. There was no light shining from Sara’s bedroom window and no light in Peter Fallon’s office. He broke into a run.

With candle in hand, he made for Peter’s office first. It was empty. Blood began to beat through his veins in slow, thick strokes. He took the stairs two at a time. Sara’s room was empty as well.

He went to Simon’s room next. Simon roused from sleep when he heard Max bellowing his name. “Good God, Max, do you know what time it is?”

“Where’s Sara?”

“Sara? I don’t know.”

“Get dressed. I want the whole house roused. I’ll get the servants. You get everyone on this floor. We’ll meet in the drawing room. And be quick about it.”

The tension in Max’s voice had communicated itself to
Simon. He was already reaching for his clothes. “What’s happened to Sara?”

“She’s missing.”

L
IGHTS SHONE FROM ALL THE WINDOWS IN THE
house as Max and every footman at Longfield spread out, each with a lantern in his hand. At Max’s order, they began a slow descent toward the dower house, like beaters going before the hunters to flush out game. Max had sent Simon to Stoneleigh to rouse the constable and Martin to get Drew Primrose and then the workers in the cottages.

He had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. Instinct told him that time was running out and if he didn’t find Sara soon, it would be too late. He was wound up so tight he wasn’t sure he was breathing.

They found Peter Fallon on the path, halfway between the dower house and the main house. There was a nasty gash on his head, but his injuries were not mortal. He was unconscious, but a mouthful of brandy from Max’s flask brought him round.

“Who did this?” asked Max.

“I didn’t see him. It was Sara he wanted. He took her, Max. I don’t know where.”

Drew Primrose came up at this point, asking questions that Max didn’t have time to answer. Max started barking out orders. Drew was to take over the search for Sara; two of the men were to carry Peter back to the house, then one of them could go and fetch the doctor.

He didn’t wait for the men who were bringing Peter back to the house. He hoped, prayed that Sara had been abducted and was not lying dead or dying under some bush. He had something to do, something he would have done long ago if Sara had not warned him to leave her family alone.

Constance and Anne were in the drawing room, both of
them staring out the window, following the progress of the searchers by their lanterns. They both turned at Max’s entrance. Anne had put on a dark, long-sleeved dress that buttoned to her throat. Constance was still in her nightclothes.

Anne’s hand curled around the back of a chair, and she seemed to stagger against it. “Tell me at once, Max. Is it bad news?”

“No. It’s no news.”

“Thank God!”

Constance put her hands over her face and began to weep.

Max said, “Where’s Lucy?” He was trying to keep his voice calm and steady so that he wouldn’t panic Anne and Constance as he was panicked.

Anne said, “I put her back to bed. She doesn’t know Sara is missing and I didn’t tell her. What is it, Max? Why are you here and not looking for Sara?”

“I think one of you knows where Sara is,” he said baldly.

“What?”
Constance’s hands dropped from her face and she stared at Max in mute astonishment.

Anne’s face had turned a paler shade of white, but her voice was strong. “How could we know, Max?”

“Think back,” said Max, “to the night I quarreled with Simon at the dinner table. He was angry because I’d taken Arrogance out. I believe that sometime after dinner, one of you slipped into Sara’s room and left a note that was meant to frighten her.”

“What was in the note?” asked Constance unsteadily.

Max’s impatience was beginning to show. “It doesn’t matter!” He tried to gentle his tone. “All that matters is that one of you left a note, and I want to know which one of you it was. Listen to me. This isn’t a game. I’m not saying you meant any harm to come to Sara. Maybe you didn’t know what was in the note. But one of you left it there, and if I don’t find Sara soon, it may be too late. So answer me! Now!”

Constance’s face twisted with fury. “How dare you suggest such a thing!”

Anne held up her hand, silencing Constance. “I didn’t leave a note, Max, I swear it.”

Constance shook her head. “No! I didn’t! I swear it!” She was beginning to look frightened, and Max knew he had found the weak link in the chain.

“But you know who may have left that note, don’t you, Constance?”

“No.” Her voice was quavering.

Max suddenly lashed out with his hand, bringing it down hard on a small table, and Constance retreated a step, then another. Max went after her. “Tell me, damn you, or if anything happens to Sara, I swear I’ll see you hang for murder.”

“I didn’t think …” Constance gulped back tears of sheer terror. “He wasn’t gone for more than a minute. He said he’d dropped a glove …”

“Who, damn you? Who?”

“Max, stop this.” Anne’s hand was at her throat. “Can’t you see you’re only frightening her? It must have been Beckett. He’s Lady Neville’s footman. You must have seen him at the fair. He goes everywhere with her.” She looked at Constance. “Are you going to tell him or shall I?”

Constance slumped against a chair. Her eyes were bulging and her mouth was working. “My God, what have I done?” she whispered.

Anne heaved a sigh. “Constance and Beckett are lovers,” she said. “I saw him in the corridor that night, and told Constance that if she ever again slept with one of her lovers under this roof, I’d tell Simon and let him deal with it.”

“It was only once,” Constance wailed, “only once.”

“Thank you,” said Max. “Now go downstairs and make yourselves useful. There’s an injured man coming in and I want him to have the best of care.” He turned to go. “And when the constable gets here, tell him I’ve gone to Sir Ivor
Neville’s place and he’d better get there soon or I’ll have his head.”

When he was gone, Constance sank down on a chair. Her face was lined with misery. “He said he loved me. He said he wanted to see where I slept. He said he wanted to make love to me in my own bed so that next time I slept in it, I would remember him.”

There was an uncharacteristic edge to Anne’s voice. “Will you stop thinking about yourself? You heard Max. We are to make ourselves useful. There are men out there looking for Sara. When they come in, they’ll want something to eat and drink. So get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

Constance nodded, rose and used the hem of her negligee to wipe away her tears. “You must hate me,” she said.

“No, Constance. I don’t hate you, Don’t you know that people who live in glasshouses don’t throw stones?”

Anne put her arm around Constance, and they left the room together.

Twenty-four

S
ARA HEARD THEIR VOICES AS IN A DREAM,
but she was too weak to call out for help. There was a blazing pain in her head, and her jaw felt as though it had been hit by a flatiron. Someone was holding her down and she didn’t have the strength to fight him off. She moaned and tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy.

To keep the nausea at bay, she breathed slowly and deeply, and as her wits came back to her, so did her memory. She’d been knocked senseless as she tried to help Peter Fallon when someone jumped out at them as they walked back to the main house. It was the same man who had attacked her before. She’d smelled the cologne on him; she’d felt the same powerful arms lift her off her feet as she’d sunk into oblivion.

With a gasping cry, she opened her eyes and tried to rise, then moaned as needles of pain shot through her head. Panic rose up in her when she realized she was bound at the wrists and ankles to a wooden chair. She pulled, she strained, she gritted her teeth and flexed her fingers in an effort to free herself. All she achieved was to drive the leather bonds deeper into her flesh.

She heard the voices again and moved her head cautiously to determine where they were coming from. There was a door to her right that was slightly ajar, and the voices, a man’s and a woman’s, were coming from the other side of that door.

Blind instinct took over and she froze like an ice sculpture. She didn’t want the people on the other side of that door to know she was awake, because she was terrified of what they would do to her next.

Calm, stay calm!
she told herself fiercely as she gulped air into her lungs.

She blinked to clear her vision and tried to make out where they were keeping her. There were candles at intervals on the walls, dappling the room in a ghostly light, and for one wild moment, she thought she was in the chapel at Longfield. The stone walls were circular and mellowed to gold with age; the small windows were set close to the ceiling; and at the far end of the room there was an altar with candles on it. But there were no pews in this chapel. There was only the altar, the chair she was strapped into, and one other chair with wheels. An invalid chair. And the moment she saw that chair, Sara knew where she was.

It made perfect sense to her now. The people who hated her most in the world were Sir Ivor and Lady Neville.

She choked back her fear. They wouldn’t go to these extraordinary lengths unless they were maddened by hate. They couldn’t afford to let her go. Abduction was a capital offense.