The Bachelor Trap (30 page)

When she began to tremble, he said, “You shouldn't be alone. Let me take you back to the house to the others.”

Her smile was bleak. “That's when I feel most alone,” she said. “When I'm with the others.”

Though no one was allowed to leave the house, the magistrate and constable were in no hurry to question them. All the servants, gardeners, and stable hands had been assembled in the Great Hall. Their statements were to be taken first while the family assembled in the library to await their turn. Meanwhile, Mrs. Ludlow had been sent for, and she was supervising Phoebe and Flora.

Dinner was delayed because there was no Cook to make it. She had still to be questioned. Oswald was amused.

“I'm of the opinion,” he said, “that Sir Basil can't conceive of a FitzAlan committing a crime, no, nor anyone of his own class. It must be one of the servants. That's why this is taking so long.”

No one shared his amusement. No one responded. They sat there in sphinxlike silence, the picture of gloom and doom. The dowager in particular, in Marion's opinion, seemed dazed by it all. Brand had procured a glass of wine for her, and he nudged her arm gently, encouraging her to take a sip now and then.

A collective sigh went up when a footman entered and told them that the magistrate was ready to see them now. Their relief was short-lived, however, when the footman said that they were to be called in order, beginning with the gentlemen who had found the body.

After fifteen minutes, only Emily, Clarice, and Marion were left, so it was obvious that their interviews with the magistrate would not take long.

Emily said, “Why has no one returned to tell us what's going on?”

“I expect,” responded Clarice, “Sir Basil wants to make sure that our alibis stand up without help from our friends and relations.”

“Well, my alibi will stand up.” There was an edge of irritation in Emily's voice. “And so will Andrew's. We spent the morning at the seaside with Ginny Matthews and…oh…there must have been half a dozen of us—having a picnic. We'd only just got back and were admiring the conservatory flowers when the gardener ran in and told Andrew about Mr. Forrest.”

Marion said, “Yes, dear, but we don't know for certain when Mr. Forrest was…attacked. Brand thinks it was during the night.”

She was thinking of something else Brand had told her. He'd been to John Forrest's cottage and found the coat that the button had been torn from. There was no doubt in Brand's mind that Forrest was behind the attacks on her, not only in Longbury but in London as well .

She couldn't get her mind around it. He'd seemed so gentlemanly and reserved. And who would have wanted to kill him, and why?

There was a cold-blooded killer loose, said Brand, and until they unmasked him, she should trust no one.

Emily was called away at that moment, and Marion gave Clarice her handkerchief to wipe away her tears.

Between sniffs, Clarice got out, “I hate this place. It has a bad odor. I was never happy here, not even as a child.” She patted Marion's knee. “You were the only friend I ever had, and that was only for a few weeks one summer.”

Marion hardly knew what to say. She'd never seen Clarice like this. She had to say something. “But you and Oswald are happy together. Anyone can tell that you're in love.”

Clarice smiled through her tears. “He saw something in me that no one else did. I was a lump of a girl…well…hardly a girl. I was twenty-five when he came into the area to look for Saxon relics. He found another relic he decided to collect: me. And the last two years have been the happiest of my life.”

After a moment or two of silence, Marion said, “If you hate this place so much, why don't you leave it? You and Oswald could live somewhere else.”

Clarice shrugged. “Who would look after my grandmother? Not Miss Cutter. And they're both too old to set down roots somewhere else. You saw my grandmother tonight, how frail she is becoming.” Clarice stopped to blow her nose. “I don't let her know that she's all that keeps me here. She would be the first to tell me to go.”

A long silence went by as Marion digested this. Finally, she said, “What about Lord Robert and Theodora? They're here. They could look after Her Grace.”

Clarice's lips flattened. “Theodora is too taken with herself to spare a thought for anyone else. One has only to see the care she expends on Flora to know what she values. Only herself. You would never know that she was that poor child's aunt. Robert shows the girl more affection than Theo does. He has more time for her—”

She bit down on her lip, and gave Marion a shamefaced look. “I shouldn't be talking like this. Theodora has sorrows to bear that would crush most women. That's what Oswald says.” She brightened considerably. “He's a dear, isn't he?”

Marion smiled. “I believe he is.”

Clarice said, “I shouldn't complain. I'm not so lonely with your family close by. And when you're married to Brand and a member of the family, it will be even better. Your children and my children will be cousins.”

This was an avenue Marion did not want to go down. What could she say? That she was afraid to marry Brand if he won a seat in Parliament? That she was delaying until she was quite sure she would not turn out to be a millstone around his neck? And when would that be?

Everything was in such a muddle. She did not know whether she was coming or going. And Brand was no help. He would not press her, he said; he would not push her. The decision must be hers and hers alone.

Clarice said, “Flora and Phoebe are as close as sisters, not unlike we were at their age.”

“Only not quite as adventurous. Leastways, I hope not.”

Clarice smiled. “I can't believe what we got up to, and so young, too. We were lucky we were never found out.”

A thought flashed into Marion's head, and before debating the wisdom of what she was doing, she rushed into speech. “We
were
found out. Not long before that dreadful accident that took my aunt's life, someone told her that I was out that night. It upset her very much.”

“Slow down,” said Clarice. Her brow was puckered. “Who told your aunt that you were out? And what night do you mean?”

Marion took a long, slow breath. “I don't know who told her, but it was the night we lay in wait for the Priory ghost. Someone saw me and told my aunt, quite recently. That was the same night that my other aunt, Hannah, eloped. Edwina thought that I might have been the last person to speak to Hannah. You see, she never heard from Hannah again, and she always regretted that they'd parted after a quarrel. It was all in a letter she wrote.”

“That's sad,” said Clarice, “but not unusual. Oswald had an aunt who eloped, and her family cut her off. No one was allowed to mention her name. She might as well have been dead, Oswald said.”

“Yes, but Edwina wasn't like that. She wanted to find out where Hannah was. Think carefully, Clarice. Did you see Hannah? Or anything that looked out of place? Did you see anyone else? Someone else was there. I wish I knew who it was.”

Clarice was shaking her head. “It must have been whoever we mistook for the ghost. I saw no one else, and the only odd thing I can recall was the dog whining and barking.”

“What dog?”

“I told you before. When I heard that animal moaning, I thought it was a ghostly dog. Isn't that what made us panic?”

“You didn't say it was a dog.”

“What else could it have been? Theodora's dog was always running wild. She had no control over it. I think, now, that it must have been Snowball.”

The door opened and a footman entered. “Lady Clarice,” he intoned, “Sir Basil will see you now.”

When Clarice got up, Marion restrained her with a hand on her wrist. “We'll talk about this later, Clarice, but don't mention this conversation to anyone else, all right?”

Her warning seemed to startle Clarice, but she nodded before she followed the footman out.

Marion got up and went to one of the windows. The light was beginning to fade, making her gloomy thoughts all the more gloomy. For the first time, as she and Clarice talked, it came to her that the witness had not mentioned that Clarice was out that night, too, or her aunt would have mentioned it in her letter to Brand.

Who saw her, and where were they hiding when she passed by? She knew what she ought to do. She should go to the stone pulpit and reenact what happened that night, just as the locals re-enacted the battle between Roundheads and Cavaliers every year.

Just thinking about it made her spirits plummet. What was it Clarice had said?
This place has a bad odor.
She'd felt it herself. Since coming to Longbury, she'd only once taken the shortcut past the refectory pulpit to Yew Cottage, and that was the night of the fête, the night she'd been attacked by John Forrest. And that night, as she'd made her way down hill in the half-light, she'd felt her skin begin to prickle.

Something hovered at the edge of her mind, but she couldn't bring it into focus, something she saw or didn't see as she ran down that hill. What was it?

She turned when the door opened, expecting to see the footman, but it was Clarice who entered. “Yes,” said Clarice, “the magistrate is ready to see you now. And you need not worry. He's not asking questions so much as taking statements. I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to relieve Mrs. Ludlow and take care of the girls, and Cook and her helpers are serving sandwiches and cold meats in the breakfast room.”

“Where are the others?” asked Marion.

“Brand and Andrew have gone out looking for Robert.” Her face crumpled. “It's Robert we are all worried about. He hasn't been home for the last two nights, and Sir Basil is acting as though Robert is his prime suspect.”

They didn't take horses, since Longbury was a small town and Brand knew they would need to hire some sort of vehicle to take Robert home, supposing they found him. As they trooped from one tavern to the next, Brand cursed all the while, complaining about the proliferation of taverns in a small place like Longbury.

“What's the matter with the people here?” he demanded. “Why do they need a tavern on every corner? Are they all drunkards?”

Brand knew why he was so cantankerous. Fear was at the bottom of it. On just such a night as this, he'd gone looking for his father when he'd been missing from the Priory for several days. Robert had roused him from his grandfather's house, and they had searched together. They'd found his father, but he'd drunk himself insensate and choked to death on his own vomit.

They found Robert in the White Horse, a hostelry on the western edge of the town. There were a few vehicles in the stable yard, but the inn was hardly bustling. Evidently it had seen better days. The furnishings were shabby, as were its few patrons and the landlord. He directed them to a room one floor up and they quickly mounted the stairs.

Brand entered first.

Robert was lying on the bed in a state of complete disarray. It wasn't the smell of brandy that sent a jolt through Brand but the stench of vomit. He was at Robert's side in two strides.

“Quick, he's choking to death.”

His urgent words froze Andrew to the spot. “What?”

“He's trying to clear the vomit from his lungs. Move, Andrew! Help me!”

They turned Robert facedown over the bed, and the movement must have dislodged the vomit because a stream of vile-smelling bile spouted from Robert's mouth onto the floor, and he lay gasping for air. His lips were blue, his eyes were closed, but he was breathing.

“Oh, Robert!” said Brand despairingly. “What are you doing to yourself ?”

Those blue lips lifted a little, and Robert looked up at Brand through half-closed lids. “Rest easy, Brand,” he said hoarsely. “I'm not nearly as drunk as I look. I won't die on you like your father did. I could have managed on my own.”

Brand turned to Andrew. “Coffee,” he said, “and lots of it.”

Andrew was rooted to the spot. “What did he mean, he won't die on you like our father did?”

“Just what you think he meant! Now make yourself useful and get that coffee.”

An hour later found them in Brand's chamber in his grandfather's house. Brand wanted to avoid the Priory, suspecting that there would be an officer of the law waiting there for his uncle to return, and he wanted to spare Robert the indignity of being seen in the state he was in. He was also impatient to put his own questions to Robert, not to entrap him, but to get to the truth about Hannah. When that became known, then they would be closer to finding Forrest's murderer and Marion would be safe.

Manley was given the task of letting the family know, discreetly, where they were and that they'd found Robert none the worse for wear, but not a word was Manley to let slip to the authorities.

“What's this about?” asked Robert wearily. “Why have you brought me here? I know something is up, Brand. What is it?”

Having bathed, he was wearing one of Brand's nightshirts and a woolen dressing robe. His hair was combed, but he was still white-faced and blue about the lips. The fire had been lit because he'd begun to shiver, and he was sitting in a huge horsehair chair pulled close to the blaze.

Brand cast a swift glance at Andrew. He'd refused to return to the Priory with Manley, and was sitting off to one side, with strict instructions not to say a word. Brand admired this new steel in Andrew but, at the same time, he found it unsettling. His brother was only eighteen. He knew nothing of the seamier side of life.

Brand sighed. It seemed that his protection was no longer wanted or necessary.

He pulled his chair closer to Robert's. “Last night, John Forrest was brutally murdered,” he began baldly.

Robert seemed genuinely shocked, though not grief-stricken. He fired off a barrage of questions, and Brand told him as much as he knew.

He ended with, “No one knows where you have been these last two nights.”

Robert smiled. “Ah. Do I have an alibi is what you mean. I've been visiting all the watering holes in Longbury, tipsy for the most part. I'm not sure if that will serve as an alibi. I suppose I could have slipped away at some point and done the dread deed, but why would I?”

Without preamble, Brand said coolly, “To cover another murder, one that took place almost twenty years ago. You know whose murder I mean. Hannah Gunn's.”

Brand had wanted to shock his uncle and he could see that he'd succeeded. Robert's hands clenched. The little color that was in his face drained out of it. He shook his head.

His voice was barely audible. “Have they found Hannah's remains, then?”

Brand steeled himself not to be moved by his uncle's distress. He'd been circumspect until now and it had got him nowhere. It was time for a different approach.

“Did you murder Hannah? Did you kill her in a jealous rage because she refused to elope with you?”

Robert stared then gave a mirthless laugh. “You've got that backwards. Hannah Gunn was a troubled young woman who hunted me as any predator hunts its prey. It's because of her that my marriage failed. She told my wife that we were going away together and that she had letters from me that proved I loved her. In fact, it was the other way round. She wrote me letters that I burned as soon as I read them. They were the ravings of a demented woman.”

This came as no surprise to Brand. Hannah wasn't normal. It also explained Forrest's involvement. These were surely the letters he'd been after. If they had come to light, Robert would have been suspected of murdering Hannah. Forrest wasn't loyal to Robert, but to Theodora. He would do anything to save her embarrassment or pain.

Robert passed a hand over his eyes. “What does any of this have to do with John Forrest?”

Brand leaned forward, hands loosely clasped. “I think—no, I have proof—that Forrest was the man who broke into Marion's cottage. Everyone knows of the attack. What they don't know is that he held a gun to Marion's head and demanded that she hand over Hannah's letters. I think he wanted the letters he believed you had sent her.”

“But there were no letters!”

“I believe you, but how long do you think it will be before the authorities make the connection between you and Forrest and the letters he was desperate to get hold of ? They'll think you put him up to it to protect yourself, then you had a falling-out. They will want to know what happened to Hannah all those years ago.” He paused, then went on in a more moderate tone, “
I
want to know what happened to Hannah. Her disappearance has cast a long shadow and it's time to exorcise it.”

A silence fell. The coals in the grate hissed and flared. Somewhere in the house, a clock struck the hour.

“Robert?” prompted Brand gently.

His uncle blinked and focused his gaze on Brand.

Brand said, “Tell me about Hannah. She told Theo you had written her passionate love letters. Did she show Theo the letters?”

“No. How could she? There were none.”

“Go on. You said that your marriage failed. There must have been more to it than the letters. What else did Hannah do?”

Robert shrugged. “I told you. She stalked me like a hunter. I could never turn around but I was falling over her. At first, it was amusing, then irritating. But when she stole Theo's dog and swore that I had given it to her as a gift, I came to see that she was dangerous.”

There was only one dog: Theo's dog. Brand had suspected as much, but it raised a question in his mind. “Did Hannah return the dog?”

“No. She wouldn't admit that it was Theo's dog.” A faintly cynical smile touched Robert's lips. “The dog was the last straw as far as Theo was concerned. You see, she believed Hannah, not me. I think you know why, Brand.”

When Brand nodded briefly, Robert said, “Yes, your father and I were both wild young men in our time, with nothing on our minds but pleasure. All that changed when we met the women of our dreams. For your father, it was your mother. For me, it was Theo. I was luckier than your father, or so I thought. It took a great deal of persuasion, but Theo finally agreed to marry me. We were happy for a time, but she never completely trusted me.” His voice changed color, became bitter. “You can imagine the damage Hannah did. Theo never forgave me.”

He shrugged. “I suppose we might have reconciled in time, but I would not confess to infidelity or change my story. And that was that. I took up my old ways, just like your father before me. Drinking, whoring. One good thing came of it: I had a daughter. But I think you know that.”

“Flora,” murmured Brand.

A strangled sound came from Andrew's direction. Brand ignored it. Robert did not seem to hear. He was staring at the coals in the fire, lost in his memories. Brand doubted that his uncle remembered why they were having this conversation.

Finally, Robert stirred. “I miss my brother.” He looked at Brand. “He was eight years older than I, but we were always close. He understood me as no one else did.”

This time, Andrew would not be silenced. He stood up. “Why do you do this to yourself?” He made a slashing motion with one hand. “Why did my father? You're drinking yourself to death.”

“Melancholy,” Robert replied simply. “Or boredom. I haven't made up my mind which it is.”

“Andrew,” began Brand, but Andrew would not be silenced.

“You have a daughter! Doesn't that mean something?”

“She doesn't know I'm her father.”

“Surely Theo would forgive you if you told her about the child—”

Robert waved him to silence. “My dear boy, Theo knows that Flora is my daughter. It is she who suggested that the child spend half the year with us after her mother died. I'd hoped…well, it doesn't matter what I hoped. Flora was better off with her aunt—I mean her mother's sister. Theo ignores the child, and I am in no state to take charge of anyone. Just look at me. What good would I be to my daughter?”

Brand's voice cut across Andrew's next words. “Andrew, I'd be obliged if you would ask one of the servants to make up sandwiches for us, and a bowl of thin gruel for Robert.”

“But we had sandwiches when we arrived.”

“I'm still hungry.”

Andrew made a fulminating sound, but the look in his brother's eye brooked no debate, and he quietly left the room.

When the door closed, Brand turned back to his uncle. In fact, he felt much as Andrew did. Robert was throwing his life away for no good reason. Brand did not consider Theo a good reason. He held his tongue because he was older and wiser than Andrew. He'd learned that people changed when they had a powerful reason to change, and not before.

Robert was eyeing him with interest. “Tell me something, Brand,” he said. “I promise I won't take offence. Do you like me? I mean, in spite of my faults?”

Liking was too tepid a word. Love was too womanish. “I'm very fond of you, Robert, as I'm sure you know.”

Robert nodded. “And I of you. But it has always puzzled me why you judge your father so harshly. There is not much to choose between him and me.”

Brand had no ready answer to this profound statement, so he brushed it off. “We were talking about Hannah,” he said. “What did you do to make her stop pestering you?”

Robert breathed out a sigh. After a considering silence, he said, “I arranged to meet Hannah at the conservatory late one night when everyone was in bed. Naturally, I didn't want Theo to see us, or to hear from someone else that I'd met Hannah alone. You might say that I read Hannah the riot act, told her that if she set foot in the Priory grounds again, I would have her arrested and charged with trespassing. She…” He drew in a long breath. “She went to pieces, begged me not to break it off. She couldn't seem to get it through her head that there was nothing to break off. Then she tried a little blackmail. She had nowhere to go, she said. She'd quarreled with her sisters and told them she was having an affair with a married man and she was going away with him. She couldn't go back now. I didn't believe her. God help me, I was so angry, I turned and left her. And that's the last time I saw her.”