The Bachelor Trap (32 page)

She had no idea how much time passed, or whether she or Clarice heard it first. A dog was whining, then barking. They slowly raised themselves and peered over the edge of the pulpit. Lights were floating in the air, moving toward them, and a ghostly sound followed, as though some spirit was calling to the dog.

That's when Clarice bolted.

Marion remembered sinking down and shutting her eyes. She was frozen in terror. The ghost of the abbot was coming to get her, and not only the abbot, but his dog as well.

What happened next?

She remembered the dog licking her face. He'd found her in the pulpit. She could have wept with relief. Not the abbot's dog, then, but Scruff, Hannah's dog. That meant there were no ghosts. It was only Hannah, looking for her dog. Scruff was a wanderer, always getting lost.

So she left the pulpit and ran toward the lights, calling Hannah's name. Scruff started to whine, and Hannah didn't answer. Frightened now, she retreated a step, then she turned and fled. Scruff did not follow her.

What did she see?

Two lights. Two people. But Hannah was not there, or she would have answered Marion.

She opened her eyes. From her perch in the pulpit, she had an unimpeded view of the herb garden. She gazed at it for a long time, then shifted her gaze to where the abbot's house once stood, and the breath rushed out of her lungs. She had a good idea of what had happened to Hannah all those years ago, and knew, without a doubt, where she had found an unholy resting place.

Descending the steps of the pulpit was much harder than going up them. She felt a wave of dizziness, and gripped the stone ledge as she eased herself down. She frowned when she saw that Miss Cutter was waiting for her, but another wave of dizziness made her glad that someone was there to help her.

“I wondered what had happened to you,” said Miss Cutter, “so I thought I'd come and find out.”

“I feel faint,” said Marion. “It's all been too much for me.”

“Take my arm, my dear,” said Miss Cutter, then she laughed, a soft, intimate laugh that, oddly enough, brought a shiver to Marion's spine. “That's right, lean on me, and I'll take care of you. I'm not as feeble as I look.”

Brand saw the magistrate off the premises and returned to the library, where Robert and Andrew were drinking coffee. He'd taken them both into his confidence, telling them as much as he knew about Hannah and Edwina's letter, and felt lighter in his own mind for sharing the burden. Robert looked a little brighter after a night's sleep, and more like himself now that he was wearing his own clothes. Andrew had fetched them from the Priory earlier, but there were no messages from Theodora.

“I think that went rather well,” said Andrew.

Robert gave a short laugh. “If you can call a broad hint not to leave the neighborhood going ‘rather well.'” A pensive look came over his face.

“Look on the bright side,” said Brand. “Sir Basil doesn't know anything about ancient history. He doesn't know about Hannah and your involvement…” A look from Robert made him amend what he was about to say. “…your troubles with her.”

“You're right, of course,” said Robert, and gulped a mouthful of coffee. “I wasn't thinking of Sir Basil, though, I was thinking of…”

“Theo?” supplied Andrew when Robert hesitated.

“No. My mother.”

“Grandmama?” Andrew looked puzzled.

Robert took another gulp of coffee. “I always wondered if she knew about Hannah. I think she must have done. I think she believed that I was having an affair with her.” He gave a helpless shrug. “I can't put my finger on it, but I sometimes catch a look on my mother's face that makes me feel conscience-stricken.” There was a troubled look in his eyes. “Could she possibly think that I had something to do with Hannah's disappearance?”

“No,” said Andrew firmly. “But you should feel conscience-stricken. Grandmama worries about you and wishes you would pull yourself together. We all worry about you.”

Robert gave him one of his sweet smiles.

Brand's thoughts took a sharp turn. He was remembering his first day back in Longbury, when he visited the Priory. He'd been asking questions about Hannah, and his grandmother had seemed ill at ease. Oh, yes, he thought. The dowager had known about the bogus affair and had her suspicions, too. She wouldn't want old history to be revived or suspicion to fall on Robert. How she must have suffered all these years.

Brand sat down, but a moment later he was on his feet again.

After watching him prowl for a moment or two, Robert said, “You're very restless. What's the matter?”

“Nothing. I've been cooped up in here too long.”

He sat down again, crossed one leg over the other, then changed position.

“You're worse than restless,” said Robert. “What is it, Brand?”

Brand shrugged. “Small things keep nagging at me, and I don't know whether they mean anything or not.”

“What, for instance?”

“I was thinking of the dog.” Brand thought for a moment. “When you told me that you met Hannah that night, you didn't mention a dog.”

“Theo's dog,” said Robert, and nodded. “Not that he cared who he belonged to. His name should have been Casanova. He was always off exploring, and would attach himself to any pretty lady who took his fancy. That's how Hannah got hold of him in the first place. And I didn't mention him because he wasn't there. Is it important?”

“I don't know. Clarice said that she heard some poor animal whining, and Marion thinks she heard a dog barking. I don't like loose ends, that's all.”

“That's easily explained. After I returned to the house, the dog got out. I was in no mood to go after him. But he was back the next day.”

“Who found him, Theodora?”

“No. Miss Cutter.”

“When? How?”

Robert shrugged. “I have no idea. He was forever sniffing around her herb garden, digging up her precious plants. Maybe that's where she found him.”

Brand's mind was working like lightning. “What happened to the dog?” he asked.

“What? Oh, the poor beast ingested rat poison that we believe the gardeners had put out for rodents. They denied it, of course. They're not allowed to leave poison where any stray child can get to it. Don't forget, there are always hordes of children at the fête.”

Brand got up. “I think,” he said, “I'll go for a walk.”

He was at the door before a thought struck him. “How soon after Hannah's disappearance did this happen?”

“You mean when did the dog die? Just before Christmas. That would make it six months or so. I remember because Miss Cutter wanted to give Theo a puppy for Christmas, but I had to tell her that it wasn't a good idea. Theo never wanted another dog after that.”

“Thank you.” Brand left the room.

Andrew said, “What was that all about?”

“I think,” said Robert musingly, “Brand knows who the killer is.”

They were on the path, going toward Yew Cottage.

“Why are we going to the cottage?”

Miss Cutter made a clucking sound. “Because it's downhill. I don't think I can get you up the incline to the Priory. And there's bound to be someone there. We'll send for the doctor.”

Marion doubted that there would be anyone at the cottage. Since their move to the Priory had become permanent, more or less, they hadn't required the services of Mrs. Ludlow or watchmen to guard the place. She wasn't sure what the arrangements were, nor did she care. She was coming down with something—influenza, a cold? All she wanted to do was sleep. But she had something important to tell Miss Cutter. What was it?

She blinked to focus her thoughts. “I remember. I know where Hannah is buried. She's in your herb garden, Miss Cutter. That's where John Forrest buried her. He moved the sculpture of the abbot, and…and…” Her speech was becoming slurred, and she made an effort to master her tongue. “He must have been afraid that you or one of the gardeners would find her remains if ever you turned the earth over.”

“Watch your step now. We don't want you scraping your knees.”

“Did you hear me, Miss Cutter?”

“Yes, dear. You mentioned the abbot, I believe.”

Miss Cutter was not taking her seriously, and that made her cross. If only Emily had been there when she descended the pulpit steps, she would have believed her and sent at once for the constable. This poor, confused woman was no help at all.

“We must send for the constable at once! Don't you see, Lord Robert and Mr. Forrest were in this together. If they let Lord Robert go, who knows what he'll do next?”

It was a different Miss Cutter who turned on her. “That's a wicked thing to say! Mr. Forrest, yes, but not Lord Robert. He is Her Grace's son. Have you no loyalty to the family?”

There flashed into Marion's mind that long-ago chant.

 

Man-eating spiders.

Foxes as big as horses.

And cats with teeth like a shark's.

 

That was Miss Cutter for a split second, then she smiled, but that gentle, vacant smile could not erase the impression in Marion's mind.

Her eyelids were drooping. Her limbs were becoming heavy. Her brain wanted to go to sleep. Marion wouldn't allow it.
Wake up, Marion! Think! What's happening to you? You were fine when you came downstairs this morning. All you
had for breakfast was a slice of toast and the cup of tea Miss Cutter poured for you.

The tea. Miss Cutter had poured her a cup of tea. Was there something in it? It didn't seem possible. Miss Cutter was an inoffensive old lady who was sinking into senility. I like her, thought Marion. No. I feel sorry for her. But now she felt afraid.

She'd taken only two mouthfuls of that tea before she'd got rid of it. It didn't seem possible that two mouthfuls of tea could make her feel so miserable.

Miss Cutter's singsong voice interrupted her thoughts. “Here we are. Edwina's cottage. This will only take a moment.”

Marion staggered a little when Miss Cutter left her side. She didn't think she had the strength to move. It couldn't be influenza that was making her feel like this. She didn't have the sniffles or aches and pains. She'd been given something, and the only person who could have given it to her was the person who was standing in front of her with a vacant smile.

“Here it is.” Miss Cutter had returned with a key in her hand. “Right where Edwina always kept it.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “This is better than my herb garden. It's more private.”

A chill ran up Marion's spine. Why would Miss Cutter want to be private with her?

She shuddered when they entered the cottage and stopped at the foot of the stairs. This was where Edwina's body was found.

Miss Cutter smiled into her eyes. “You look exhausted, my dear. I have only one question for you, then I'll let you go to sleep. Where are the letters that Lord Robert wrote to Hannah?”

This was the last thing Marion expected to hear, and she looked at Miss Cutter blankly.

Miss Cutter stopped smiling. “I asked you a question, Marion. Where are the letters Lord Robert wrote to Hannah? Please answer me.”

“There aren't any.”

“Don't lie to me! Hannah told me that Robert had written her love letters. I didn't believe her at the time, but at the fête, I overheard Phoebe telling Flora that Lord Robert's letters belonged to you and that
you
would decide what to do with them. Did you really think that I would allow you to expose him?”

It was the last remark that seemed odd to Marion. “Expose him? To whom?”

“To the world! In your family history! If it ever became known that he had an affair with Hannah, think what a stir it would cause. They'd start asking questions. They might start looking for Hannah's remains. John and I couldn't allow that to happen. Just tell me where the letters are and I'll let you go.”

Marion put her hand on the newel post as she began to sway. “Is that what Mr. Forrest was looking for when he shot Brand?”

“That was bad luck. He didn't mean to hurt anyone. You were supposed to be at the Priory, not at the cottage.” Miss Cutter's voice softened, became coaxing. “I've searched everywhere you were likely to hide them, and all I found was a box belonging to Hannah with keepsakes of Robert in it. You removed the letters, didn't you? Where did you hide them?”

Miss Cutter had been through her things. The thought was revolting. Bristling now, Marion said, “I told you. There are no letters.”

The blow took her completely off guard. Miss Cutter's hand lashed out and struck her across the face. Marion cowered away. This wasn't the Miss Cutter she knew. She was supposed to be a feeble old woman. Then she remembered that Miss Cutter went for long walks every day. She worked in the herb garden. She was always running and fetching for the dowager. And she was always in a flutter.

She wasn't in a flutter now. She was terrifying. Miss Cutter and her herb garden! Why hadn't she made the connection before she'd allowed this demented old woman to lead her to the cottage? If she didn't get a hold of herself, she could find herself sharing Hannah's fate. She was afraid, but her anger was stronger, and it was anger that gave her the will to beat this old woman at her own game.

Let her think she was on the point of collapse, then she'd catch her off guard and…and…Think! She had to
think.
She
was
on the point of collapse.

She gave a little whimper. “I'll tell you where the letters are if you tell me what happened the night Hannah disappeared.”

“You're trying to fight it, aren't you? The sedative, I mean. I can see it in your eyes. It's quite mild, you know. You would be no good to me if you could not be wakened.”

“I think,” said Marion, “you misjudged the dose. I feel as though you've given me enough sedative to put a horse to sleep.”

“All the more reason to tell me where the letters are.”

Marion sniffed. “Not until you tell me what happened to Hannah.”

It was all so childish, so sickeningly childish, thought Marion.

Miss Cutter sighed. “I think you know what happened. I killed Hannah, and John helped me bury her body in my herb garden. I couldn't leave her there for someone to find. The constable would start asking questions. He might learn that Hannah and Robert were having an affair. Robert would be the prime suspect. Think how Her Grace would feel.”

“Did Edwina know about the affair?”

“Not at first. She believed that Hannah had eloped with some young man, and I was happy to promote that story. So you see, everything worked out for the best. You were right about the abbot's sculpture. John always feared that the gardeners might turn over the soil and uncover Hannah's body, so I arranged to have the statue moved to my garden.”

She was waiting for Marion to tell her where the letters were, and Marion was delaying the moment when she would have to tell Miss Cutter that she had no idea.

She was becoming confused. There weren't any letters. There was no affair. She should be thinking of a way of escape. All she needed was a little time to fight the effects of the sedative she'd ingested.

She said slowly, “Is that where you killed Hannah? In the herb garden?”

Miss Cutter shook her head, smiling as though they were coconspirators. “People think I'm a nobody, poor Miss Cutter in a flutter. Oh, yes, I know what you all think of me. But it's a mistake to underestimate me, as Hannah learned to her cost.” She laughed with a horrible kind of glee. “I knew about the affair, and when I saw Robert go out that night, I followed him. He met Hannah at the conservatory. I couldn't get close enough to hear what they were saying, but I could tell that they were having a lovers' tiff. When he went back to the house, Theodora's dog got out and ran straight to Hannah. I pretended I had come to fetch it back to explain my presence there. I asked her to leave Robert alone. She laughed at me. She said that she and Robert were going to elope as soon as he screwed up his courage to tell his wife. And if he didn't tell Theodora, Hannah would show her the love letters Robert had written her. It suddenly occurred to me that if she was out of the way, she wouldn't cause any more trouble. This wicked young woman was not going to break Her Grace's heart. So I slipped into the gardener's shed beside the conservatory and found—a hammer, I think it was, then crept up behind her and whacked her on the head.”

A look of revulsion crossed Marion's face and Miss Cutter said gently, “She wasn't a nice girl, Marion. Not like you. Your father knew what she was like; he said that he would never return to Yew Cottage as long as Hannah was here. And he never did, no, not even after Hannah was no longer a problem. I don't think Edwina ever forgave him for being right about Hannah.”

Marion's jaw was slack. “How can you possibly know all this?”

The same gleeful laugh erupted from Miss Cutter's lips. “I read your mother's letters that Edwina had left lying around. I'm a very curious person, you know.”

She was also a very voluble person, and Marion wondered if Miss Cutter was killing time until the sedative took effect and made her more pliable.

Killing time!
What a horrible thought! But two could play at that game.

“Where was John? You said he helped you.”

“Oh, I had to go to his cottage and ask for his help. He was just as glad to see the back of Hannah as I was.”

Marion said slowly, “For Theodora's sake.”

“Yes. John thought the world of Theodora. He would have done anything for her. He knew that Robert would be suspected of murdering Hannah if her body was ever found, and that Theodora would be devastated. That's why I knew he would help me. I, of course, thought only of Her Grace. My one regret is that I had to poison poor little Snowball. Such a nice little dog. But he knew where Hannah was buried. He kept trying to dig her up, you see. I knew the gardeners would start to notice, and it might get back to the magistrate, so I did what I had to do.”

Marion felt sick to her stomach. Had she been poisoned, too?

Miss Cutter peered into Marion's face. “How do you feel now?”

So she'd been right! thought Marion. Miss Cutter was filling in the time until the sedative took effect.

She gave a huge yawn, and looked blankly into the older woman's narrowed eyes. “What did you say?” she asked in a sleepy voice.

Miss Cutter smiled. “Tell me where the letters are, Marion.”

There was no point in trying to persuade Miss Cutter that the letters did not exist. She wouldn't believe it. And, thought Marion belatedly, it might not be in her best interest anyway. What did Miss Cutter intend to do with her once she had the letters? She had a good idea.

That thought cleared some of the mist from her brain. “They're upstairs in one of the closets.”

“I've already been through all the closets, Marion, and found nothing. You'll have to do better than that.”

Clever Miss Cutter. “There's a loose board on the floor in my bedroom closet. Try there.”

“Fine,” said Miss Cutter. “We'll go together.”

Marion was dismayed. She'd hoped that Miss Cutter would go upstairs and then she could creep away. “I don't think I can manage the stairs.”

“I'll help you.”

No use arguing. Miss Cutter's smile was as feline as her eyes. As they slowly mounted the stairs, Marion said, “What did you put in my tea, Miss Cutter?”

“Oh, two of the powders Dr. Hardcastle prescribes to calm my nerves. I don't like them because they dull my mind, but if I don't take them, I get overexcited. I forget things or I say things out of turn that make people look at me oddly. If only I'd taken my powder that day…”

When the older woman's voice trailed away, Marion said, “Hannah would still be alive?”