The Marriage Trap (30 page)

“I'm not banishing you to your room,” he said over her protests. “The maid made up the trundle bed for you in the dressing room. We'll leave the door open if you like.”

She gave in, but reluctantly. “I'll just lie on top of the bed and pull the coverlet over me. If there's a change in Robbie, you will waken me?”

“I'll waken you.”

He went back to Robbie's room, leaving the dressing-room door open. Following Ellie's example, he felt Robbie's brow, fed him some water, and checked the dressing.

All was well. He was young. When he wakened, he would feel the bite of his wound. But he was in good hands. He would soon heal.

He returned to Ellie. She was already asleep, the coverlet pushed back to her waist. On impulse, he spread his hand over her breast, not in a lover's caress, but to feel her life pulse in its slow, steady rhythm.

Some emotion he was reluctant to name tightened his throat.

He pulled the coverlet up to her chin.

Jack was rarely away from the sickroom while they waited for the doctor to arrive. The patient was in some pain, but slept intermittently. Ellie had the burden of looking after her brother, and would not have had it any other way, but Jack was pleased to see that Caro tried to do her part.

She couldn't change dressings or do any serious nursing, she said, but she could make sure the bricks to keep Robbie warm were changed when they cooled; she could run and fetch and make herself useful. She could also sit with Robbie to relieve Ellie, should she want to go for a walk or rest.

Jack thought Ellie's response was apt. “Thank you,” she said. “Coates and Miss Webster have been extremely kind and efficient, but they must get their rest, too. Besides, I can't confide in them, and I could do with some female companionship.” She looked at Jack. “I'll be fine now that Caro is here. Go away, Jack. I know there are things you wish to do.”

He tried not to smile. Caro looked as though a millstone had just been removed from around her neck. It was only now that he was beginning to understand how much Ellie might have had to forgive.

In spite of Ellie's permission, he waited till the doctor had examined his patient. By this time, Robbie was awake and lucid, but in a great deal of pain now that the effects of the dose of laudanum Ellie had given him had worn off. This was not the time to question him in detail. All he could recall of the shooting was that he'd been letting off fireworks when he'd felt as though a red-hot wire had become embedded in his side. He'd dropped to his knees. People had crowded around him until Milton ordered them back. He'd seen nothing and heard nothing but the fireworks going off.

“No infection and no fever,” said Blackwell after examining the wound. “You'll be up and around in another day or two.”

Jack did not wait to hear more. After a quiet word with Ellie, telling her where she could find him if anything untoward occurred, he left the house.

The sky was overcast, threatening snow, and the bite of the chill winds from the North Sea made Jack hug his coat close to his body. This bitter turn in the weather, had it come a day earlier, would surely have dissuaded Robbie and his friends from their jaunt in the park. This made him wonder about Robbie's assailant. If he was not a footpad, then he was a clever opportunist.

It was only a short walk to Knightsbridge where the Cardvales had rented a house and he took the shortest route, which was the route through the park. He did not delay or scout out the lie of the land where Robbie had been shot. He'd already done that earlier that morning with Ash and Brand. There were no clues—no abandoned pistol, nothing to point them in any one person's direction.

Lord Cardvale was not at home, the butler told Jack, then, when a look of determination crossed Jack's features, added hastily that his lordship was at his club.

At White's he learned that his lordship had put in a brief appearance, then gone off to inspect some property in Hampstead that he owned. This had Jack's ears pricking. This must be the house Cardvale had offered Ellie. Unfortunately, no one knew where in Hampstead the house was located. Jack debated whether he should return to Knightsbridge and question Cardvale's servants. Maybe Cardvale's coachmen could tell him what he wanted to know. On the other hand, he didn't want to rouse Lady Cardvale's suspicions, supposing she did not know about the house in Hampstead. In the end, he decided to take a hackney to the village and inquire of the locals whether they knew where the house was.

Dusk was gathering when he arrived. He was in luck. At the first place he tried, a hostelry on the edge of the village, the landlord, a hearty, portly gentleman, gave him directions.

His expression grew grave when he heard Cardvale's name. “Always kindly and polite, he is,” said the landlord. “He's well thought of in these parts. You can't miss the cottage. It overlooks the heath, right by Kenwood House. Such a pity that his sister won't be joining him.”

“Oh?” said Jack, trying not to show how interested he was. “What happened there?”

“He hasn't said, but we can all see the difference in him.”

Jack was still mulling over the landlord's words when his hackney pulled up in front of a modest building that looked out on the heath. Kenwood House was a fair distance away, but there were no other houses close by. This had to be Cardvale's property.

He alighted and told the driver to wait.

This was no estate worker's cottage, but a two-storied building in prime condition that a city gentleman of means might well turn to as a rural retreat. There would be no hunting on the heath, but a nature lover would find much to interest him, and there were many fine walks.

Jack was beginning to have second thoughts. He could picture Cardvale here, but not the celebrated star of the Théatre Français, not Louise Daudet.

The door was answered by a servant who looked as though he'd come from the woodshed, a pleasant country fellow with no grandiose airs to intimidate callers. He ushered Jack into an oak-paneled hallway with a fine oak staircase branching off and told him to wait. He returned almost at once and led the way to the parlor.

Cardvale was there, on his feet, nursing a glass of brandy. “Lord Raleigh,” he said, “don't tell me something has happened to Robbie!”

He seemed genuinely alarmed. “On the contrary,” Jack quickly assured him, “he is on the mend. The doctor expects him to be on his feet in a matter of days.”

Cardvale clutched the back of a chair for support. “Thank God for that.” He took a moment to come to himself. “Then . . . how can I help you?”

Jack spoke slowly and distinctly. “Your name has come up in connection with Louise Daudet's murder, and the British ambassador to France has asked me to investigate, as a personal friend.”

“Yes,” said Cardvale. “I expected that someone would come to see me eventually. Shall we sit down?”

This mild acceptance of what was tantamount to an accusation of murder set Jack back on his heels. It was a moment before he moved to accept Cardvale's invitation.

When they were seated, Cardvale said, “Now, where shall I begin?”

“You can begin,” said Jack, “by telling me about
Cardvale's punch,
and how Ellie's mother came to know Jeanne Daudet.”

The manservant had added logs to the fire and they crackled merrily as Cardvale embarked on his tale. Jack had refused the offer of brandy. He had not wished to accept a man's hospitality when he had all but accused him of murder.

“Jeanne,” Cardvale said, “called it
Cardvale's punch
after I came into the title. Before that, it was
George's punch.
I loved the stuff, you see. But my story begins before that. As you may know, I was an only child, born to parents who could not stand the sight of each other. I loved my father, but was deathly afraid of my mother. It was only when I was older that I came to see that my father feared my mother, too—her ferocious temper, her unceasing demands, the scenes . . .” He looked up with a feeble smile. “You may wonder that I married Dorothea, but when I met her, she seemed a sweet-tempered girl. And I would never have married Dorothea had I not wanted to make a home for Ellie and Robbie, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

“I was a lonely child, but there was one bright spot. Ellie's parents, my Aunt and Uncle Brans-Hill. I spent weeks at a time with them during school holidays, when my mother had taken to her bed with her nerves.”

“Ellie never mentioned this to me,” said Jack.

“She wouldn't remember. She was only an infant when my visits ceased.” He took a sip of brandy before going on. “I had another home to go to in the holidays, as well—my Aunt Jeanne and her daughter, Louise Daudet.”

Cardvale allowed himself a small smile. “That, of course, was a polite fiction. Jeanne was my father's mistress and Louise was their daughter.”

Jack was too shocked to say anything, and he reached for a glass of brandy that was not there.

“Mistress,”
said Cardvale. “What an ugly word. Aunt Jeanne was like a mother to me. This was her house. The heath was our playground, Louise's and mine. She was my little cousin, so I thought, three years younger than I, and I was her champion.”

“She was your half sister,” said Jack.

“I didn't know it then, not until after my father's death. I was only fourteen when I inherited the title. That's when my mother found out about Jeanne and Louise and the house in Hampstead. I'd never told her about my visits here because I feared she would put a stop to them. That's how she punished me as a boy. She would deprive me of whatever I loved.”

He laughed, a hollow sound that filled Jack with pity. He knew what was coming next.

“Of course, my mother acted like the woman scorned when she found out. She wanted Jeanne and Louise to be thrown out in the street. I didn't know what to do. My guardian had control of my money and thought as my mother did. My father had made no provision for Jeanne and his daughter. He was taken so suddenly, and he was still young. I know he would have provided for them if he'd known his death was so near at hand.”

It wasn't an uncommon story. Men thought they would live forever and gave no thought to providing for their dependents until it was too late. Jack had no patience with such fools.

After a long silence, Jack said, “How does Ellie's mother come into this?”

Cardvale blinked and focused on Jack as if he'd forgotten he was there. “I was desperate,” he said. “My mother and guardian wouldn't listen, wouldn't lift a finger to help Jeanne or Louise. So I turned to the only people I knew would not let me down.”

“Ellie's parents.”

“My Aunt and Uncle Brans-Hill. And, of course, they were generosity itself. They opened their home to Jeanne and Louise.”

“That doesn't surprise me,” said Jack, remembering his own dismay at never knowing who would be sitting down to dinner at the Brans-Hills' table.

“And they provided enough money for Jeanne and Louise to return to France, where Jeanne had relatives. There's not much more to tell. I tried to keep up with them, but the war intervened. When I came into my majority, I sent money, but again the war intervened. I was there, in Paris, during the Peace of Amiens. By that time, Jeanne had died and Louise was making a name for herself as an actress. It was as though we had never been parted.”

He smiled faintly, sadly, but there was pleasure there, too. “Louise was everything I was not—gregarious, fun-loving, and confident of who she was and where she was going. No one was too low to be beneath her notice. No one was too high. She never forgot a name or a face. If someone was in trouble, she was there to help. And she was fiercely independent. No one could tell her what to think or how to behave.” He added with a chuckle, “But not always easy to live with.”

He rolled his head on the back of the chair to look at Jack. “Ellie reminds me of her.”

This was exactly what Jack was thinking.

“It's not surprising,” Cardvale said musingly. “They were distant cousins, in the same degree as Ellie and I.”

“‘Cousins'!”

Cardvale looked surprised. “Didn't I make that clear? Ellie's great-great-grandfather and mine was the first earl of Cardvale. She is related to me on her mother's side of the family. That's why Louise was so taken with Robbie. He was her cousin, too.”

“I see,” said Jack, his mind working like lightning. Now he could understand why the Brans-Hills were so generous to complete strangers. They were not strangers at all.

Suddenly, Cardvale's voice turned savage. “Had it not been for that damnable war, I could have done so much more for Louise and her mother. When the war was finally over and I was in a position to help, it was too late.”

Jack waited, then prompted gently, “I heard that she was retiring from the stage and coming to live in this house. Is it true?”

“Yes, it's true.”

“But . . . why?”

Cardvale said heavily, “She was diagnosed with consumption of the lungs. The disease was in its early stages, but there is no cure. She wanted to spend whatever time remained to her in this house, where she had spent the happiest days of her life. She wanted to come home to die.”