The Marriage Trap (33 page)

He took the stairs two at a time. Caro rose when he entered. Robbie was sitting up, propped against the pillows, looking none too pleased with himself.

To Jack, he said, “I'm not eating that pap, not even if you pay me to. I want a tray like everyone else.”

Caro said, “Dr. Blackwell told Ellie that Robbie wasn't to eat solid food for another day. I made him some thin gruel.” She held up a bowl and spoon.

As with Wigan, Jack couldn't be bothered with this. “Caro,” he said, “I want a word in private with Robbie. Would you mind?”

He held the door for her. A look of alarm crossed her face, but she obeyed him just the same. He closed the door firmly at her back.

Robbie seemed puzzled. “What is it, Jack? What's happened?”

Jack took the chair Caro had vacated. He'd made up his mind to question Milton, not Robbie, but he saw no reason to stick to that plan. He felt a sense of urgency. Moreover, Robbie was here and Milton was not.

“How are you feeling?” he asked solicitously.

“I . . . Fine.”

“No headaches? Fever?”

“No. Just this pain in my side when I move or cough.”

“Good,” said Jack, “then I need not treat you as an invalid.” His gentleness vanished and he went on harshly, “I learned from Cardvale today that Louise's dresser—you remember the dresser? She was suspected of the murder—well, the dresser is no longer a suspect in the case. If Sir Charles doesn't know it yet, he soon will. You see what this means? We're back where we started. You're the prime suspect, and I don't know where to begin to clear you.”

Robbie said nothing. He stared at Jack with eyes bright with alarm.

“Yes,” said Jack, “you would do well to be worried.” His voice dropped to a confiding whisper. “What is it, Robbie? You can trust me. What is it you know about Louise's murder that you haven't told me?”

Eyes fixed on Jack's, Robbie shook his head.

“Don't lie to me! I know you're hiding something, and I don't care if I have to beat you to get it out of you.”

Robbie said quickly, “Why should I hide anything?”

“You would if you had done it and Milton was covering up for you.”

Robbie shook his head. “No. She was dead when I entered that room.”

Jack moved suddenly and grabbed Robbie by the shoulders. “Don't you understand anything?” he roared. “Someone tried to kill you last night! Someone tried to kill you when you found Louise in her dressing room. If you won't think of yourself, think of Ellie. He was lying in wait for her, too; yes, and might have killed her had I not been with her.”

“I didn't know. She didn't tell me!”

“Well, you know now. You and your sister will be in mortal danger until we unmask this villain.”

“It's only a little thing,” Robbie got out. “And now that the dresser is cleared, it doesn't matter.”

Jack's clasp relaxed and he let Robbie go. “I thought so.” He sank into his chair. “So, you have been keeping something back. Go on. I'm waiting.”

Robbie swallowed. “I told you that when I was attacked, I struggled with my assailant. Well, what I didn't tell you was that he dropped something before he ran off. It was Louise's key. Her name was engraved on it. I had it in my hand when I stumbled down the stairs and collapsed in Milton's arms.”

Jack frowned. “The key to what?”

“It didn't open anything. It was a commemorative key. She kept it on top of her dresser. Someone gave it to her when she got her first leading role at the Théatre Français.”

Jack turned the thought over in his mind.

“Why would the murderer take that key?” asked Robbie.

“As a trophy,” said Jack savagely, “a souvenir to remind the murderer of his victim. Why didn't you tell me this before?”

Robbie shrugged. “Because it didn't seem relevant. Because I'd run off with the key and couldn't put it back. I thought it made me look as if I'd stolen the key, that it made me look guilty. But when I heard the dresser was suspected of the murder, because some of Louise's things were missing, I wanted to tell you that she hadn't taken the key.”

“Where is the key now?”

“I gave it to Milton. He threw it in the Seine.”

Jack was about to stretch his weary muscles. Instead, his jaw snapped shut. He looked at Robbie as though he were seeing beyond him.

“Jack?” said Robbie, when some moments had passed.

Jack focused on Robbie. “You gave the key to Milton and he threw it in the Seine. Did you see him do it?”

“No. I still don't know what you're getting at.”

There was a moment of silence, then Jack said, “Did Milton want you to tell me that the dresser hadn't taken the key?”

“No. He said that it would convince the authorities that I was guilty.” His voice turned bitter. “So I did nothing.”

“I'm missing something.” Jack was staring into space. “Correct me if I'm wrong. You and Milton went to the theater together—”

“Yes,” said Robbie. “But we met at the Café de Foy. I was there first; Milton was late. As soon as he arrived, we went to the theater.”

Jack was talking more to himself than to Robbie. “All this time, it's been staring me in the face. Why didn't I see it? Milton wasn't covering up for Robbie but for himself.”

Robbie's jaw went slack. “What are you saying? That Milton murdered Louise? What motive did he have? She was hardly aware of him.”

Jack ignored Robbie's questions. “Where can I find Milton?” he asked abruptly.

“He was here, not long ago. I think he went for a walk.”

Jack's head snapped back. “He was
here
?”

“Yes.”

“And where is Ellie?”

The urgency in Jack's voice made Robbie stare.

“Ellie!” Jack yelled. “Where is she?”

“I don't know. She went off with Coates.”

Jack was at the door in two strides. “Coates!” he roared.
“Coates!”

She pounded down the length of that corridor expecting at any moment to feel herself dragged back. There was no light to guide her, except for the odd glow of lamplight that came through the small basement windows from outside, but that wasn't light. It was merely a lighter shade of darkness.

She welcomed the darkness. It meant his candle had gone out, too. She couldn't see him, but he couldn't see her, either. If worse came to worst, she could hide herself in the warren of rooms that seemed to go off in every direction. She was wishing now that she'd spent more time in the servants' quarters getting to know the lie of the land. Some rooms led into others, but if she hid in one that did not, she would be trapped.

Her dash down the corridor left her gasping for breath. There was a stitch in her side. All that was forgotten when she threw herself against the back door. There was no key in the lock. Sobbing, she tried to think. Where, oh, where would they keep the key? Her panic subsided when she remembered that at the vicarage, the key was always attached to a hook on the doorframe.

She felt around the door lintel and found it, but in her haste, she knocked it off its hook and it went clattering to the floor, then slid into the laundry room.

She went after it, dropped to her knees and with fingers splayed wide, groped to find it. It was impossible to see where it had fallen. As she became more desperate, her movements became less cautious.

When she heard sounds in the corridor, she went perfectly still. He was coming her way, opening doors as he advanced.

“I know you're here, Ellie,” he said, his voice pleasant and faintly amused. “If you'd left by the back door, I would have felt the draft.”

She cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle the whimper of sheer animal terror that bubbled up. This couldn't be happening! She was in a house full of people. There were over twenty servants. She was mistress here. She shouldn't even be in the kitchens. And a boy she would have trusted with her life was trying to kill her.

He'd succeed if she didn't get a grip on herself.

She needed a weapon to defend herself. A poker would do, a plank of wood, a knife. The only weapons at hand were laundry supplies and the lamp on the table.

She stifled another bubble of panic and rose soundlessly to her feet. He was approaching the door to the laundry room. There was no time to sniff at bottles for acid or lye or something to throw in his eyes to blind him. She found a bar of gooey soap, but that didn't inspire her confidence. She was feeling her way toward the lamp when she heard flint on stone and a watery light glowed from a small room on the other side of the corridor. He'd managed to light his candle.

Then she saw it. The key to the back door glinted at her from under the table. There was no thought of concealment now. If she didn't get the key, she would never escape.

She grasped it in her hand, darted to the door, and inserted it in the lock. Her fingers had never worked faster to turn that key. She heard the
click
as the lock turned. Her sigh of relief turned to a gasp of terror as his booted foot slammed into the door, closing it tight. She whirled to face him and in the next instant he lashed out, catching her a blow to the face, and she went reeling into the laundry room.

If she had not caught herself on the wooden tubs, she would have fallen to the floor. Her jaw was aching, her head was swimming, she tasted blood in her mouth. She watched in a daze as he set his candle in a holder on the table, then put down the knife beside it.

He
click
ed his tongue. “Why do you insist on defying me? I don't want to hurt you. See, I've put my knife down. Give me the key and I'll let you go.”

At that point, she would have done anything to prolong her life except give him the key. She still didn't understand its significance, but she knew that once he had it, he would have no use for her.

She pointed with her finger. “It's over there.” Her voice cracked with fear. “In that box.”

He smiled. “Why don't you show me?”

She had to straighten her knees before she could move. He followed her to the shelf where she'd left the box of keys. He took it from her and, for one unguarded moment, turned his back on her as he walked to the table to examine the contents by the light of the candle.

That was all she needed, one unguarded moment. She reached behind her, grabbed a flatiron, and slammed it into his back. He went down on his knees, doubled over, retching as he tried to get his breath.

She could have used the flatiron again, to crack his skull. Thankfully, she was not put to the test. There was the sound of shattering wood and a moment later, light streamed into the basement from the door to the upstairs.

“Ellie! Ellie! Where are you?”

Jack's voice!

She dropped the flatiron and hared down the corridor to that welcome sound. She wanted to lose herself in the comfort of Jack's arms, but he thrust her away from him.

“Where is he?” His voice was like steel.

“In the laundry room.”

That was all Jack needed to hear. He started down the corridor at a run. He hadn't got far when the back door swung open and Milton disappeared into the night.

Jack's run became a sprint.

“Be careful!” Ellie cried out. “He has a knife.”

Servants were streaming in, silent except for a few whispers. Candles and lamps were lit. Coates tried to get her to go upstairs. She hardly heard him. After a moment's hesitation, she went sprinting after Jack.

It had stopped snowing, but even though she scanned the darkness, there was little to see but the outline of bushes and trees, the houses next door and . . .

Footprints in the snow going round the side of the house toward the street. She picked up her skirts and ran to catch up with them.

Park Street was well lit. She had no trouble finding the figures she wanted. They were running up the pavement toward Piccadilly. Jack was gaining on Milton.

Milton looked over his shoulder, saw his danger, and darted across the street toward the park. Ellie watched in horror. He was panicked. He would never make it. A coach and four bore down on him. The driver called out a warning and tried to rein in his team, but it was too late. Milton was swept away in a brutal tangle of horses and wheels.

A week later found Jack meeting with Ash and Brand in the coffee shop in Pall Mall. Brand had just returned from Bristol where he was covering the trial of a man accused of a particularly vicious murder and he had missed the gory conclusion to their own investigation. What irked him was that he could not print a word of it in his newspaper.

“I'm afraid not,” said Jack. “There's no proof of anything except that key, and it wouldn't be enough to prove our case. Besides, Ellie and Robbie are quite happy to let the world think that Milton died accidentally. They want to spare his family's feelings, you see.”

“What annoys me,” said Ash, adding lumpy sugar to his coffee, “is that the villain receives a blameless, Christian burial while Louise Daudet gets nothing, not even an exoneration of her character. There was no rich protector waiting in the wings, only a heartsick half brother.”

“Now that,” said Brand, “is where I may get my story if Cardvale is willing to cooperate. He need not be flowery or emotional, just give a plain statement of fact, admitting that Louise Daudet was his half sister and that she was leaving France to take up residence in Hampstead. As for the rest, I won't mention any names, but there's nothing to stop me saying that both English and French authorities believe that the perpetrator of the crime killed himself when they were close to making an arrest. What do you think, Jack? Will Cardvale help me?”

Jack looked doubtful. “He may if he thinks it will clear Louise's good name.”

Ash made a derisory sound. “Lady Cardvale might have something to say about that!”

“No,” said Jack. “She won't be a problem. The Cardvales have decided to separate.”

“What?”
Ash and Brand spoke in unison.

Jack answered dryly, “He made it worth her while. The house in Cavendish Square becomes hers, plus an income to cover the style of life to which she has become accustomed.”

“And what does Cardvale get out of it?” asked Ash.

“Peace of mind,” replied Jack crisply.

He didn't elaborate, but he was thinking of Cardvale as he'd last see him, when he'd called on Ellie to tell her about the separation. Though Cardvale had tried to sound grave, they couldn't help seeing the change in him. It wasn't so much that he was happy, but content. His eyes were brighter, his voice was firmer, and he looked as though he'd shed ten years.

They'd shown him Louise's commemorative key and, as they suspected, it was he who had given it to Louise when she'd landed a leading role in the Théatre Français. He was grateful for its return. They thought it might make him sad, but it did the opposite. He spoke at length about the sister who had brought him so much happiness.

After he left, Ellie became lost in thought. Finally, she said, “He's like the cousin I once knew. I'm not sorry he is leaving his wife. He is far too fragile to be married to someone like her. I don't know what my father would say, but I'm sure my mother would agree with me.”

And that was that.

“What about the diamonds?” Brand asked. “How did Milton know about them?”

“We all knew about them,” Ash pointed out. “Lady Cardvale made damn sure everybody knew how priceless they were. I used to wonder if she wore them to bed.”

Jack smiled at this. “I think Brand means how did Milton know where to locate them. Ellie blames herself for that. She told Milton that when the Cardvales had arrived at the hotel, Dorothea had kicked up a fuss when she discovered she was assigned room 13. It couldn't be changed because the hotel was full. Milton had stayed at the hotel on a previous visit. He must have known about the staff staircase and the door into the dressing room.”

“He must have had nerves of steel,” said Ash.

“What he had,” replied Jack, “was an arrogance that defies description.”

“How did you find the diamonds?” asked Brand.

“Robbie told me that Milton stored his valuables in a wooden box that was made to look like a Greek lexicon. It was in his room at Oxford.” He shook his head. “No one doubts that he was brilliant, but he wasn't very bright. I gave them to Cardvale along with other pieces Milton stole. Whether he returns them to Lady Cardvale remains to be seen.”

“So you see,” Ash added, exasperated, “Milton is still considered blameless.”

The Bath buns arrived for Ash and Brand, plain scones with no raisins in them for Jack, and the next few minutes were taken up pleasurably in drinking coffee and buttering buns.

But Brand wasn't finished yet. Still chewing on a mouthful of bun, he said, “What gave him away? What made you realize he was the murderer?”

Jack gave a sheepish grin. “A lack of suspects. Paul Derby didn't really come into my calculations, not seriously, because he wasn't in Paris at the crucial time. I thought that if he was acting for anyone, it would be Cardvale. As it turns out, he was working for Lady Cardvale.” He smiled grimly. “He and I had a short conversation and he told me everything. Dorothea wanted him to get her diamonds back, but they thought Robbie must have them, not Ellie. It was Derby who searched Robbie's room in Oxford.”

“How many black eyes is he sporting?” asked Brand.

Jack didn't bother to respond. “So what it came down to was that I had one last clue to follow up—you know what I mean, Brand. You kept hammering home the point that my attorney thought Robbie's and Milton's statements were too pat and that they might be concealing something.”

“Yes. But I suspected Robbie. I thought Milton was supporting his story because he was his friend.”

“Deep down,” said Jack soberly, “I was thinking along the same lines, though I wouldn't acknowledge it, not even to myself. It bothered me, though, that the killer hadn't finished Robbie off. It wouldn't be the first time someone had turned a knife on himself to establish his innocence.”

“But surely,” said Ash, “after Robbie was shot in the park, you were convinced of his innocence?”

“True enough. But I knew that he was hiding something and I was afraid that he might be attacked again.” He gave a short laugh. “Robbie is a loyal friend, but that loyalty damn near cost him his life. He'd promised Milton he wouldn't say anything, and I had to browbeat him into telling me about the key.

“I was electrified. For the first time I began to think of Milton as a suspect. Then when Robbie told me they'd met at the Café de Foy before going to the theater, I could see how it was done. The café is only a few doors down. Milton could have murdered Louise while Robbie was waiting for him in the café.” His voice hardened. “Then he came for Robbie, to lead him to the slaughter.”

Ash shivered. “What I can't understand,” he said, “is why Milton took the key in the first place. And why go back for it when he discovered that he'd lost it in the struggle? He could have got clean away.”

“It's not uncommon,” said Brand, “for murderers to want a keepsake of their crimes. I come across it all the time in the cases I cover for my newspapers. It's something to gloat over in their private moments. What I find interesting is the object itself. The key had Louise's name on it. I'm sure every time Milton looked at it, he would have remembered that Robbie wanted Louise and he'd taken her away from him.” He looked at Jack. “I think he must have hated Robbie intensely.”

Jack nodded. “Ellie thinks Milton was jealous of Robbie. Oh, he was a brilliant scholar, but Robbie was popular. Milton felt slighted. People never seemed to look up to him or take to him. Then they came to Paris, and Louise favored Robbie, too.”

After a long silence, Ash said, “Then if Louise's key meant so much to him, why did he use it to fool Ellie? Why part with it? Why not use a key that could not be traced back to him?”

“We shall never know now,” said Brand, “but in my experience, murderers never foresee that things may go awry or that they may make a mistake. If only there had not been a riot at the Palais Royal! If only Ellie had stayed where she was supposed to stay! If only he had used another key! It was sheer arrogance on his part, in my opinion, that made him take such risks. Even at the end, he took an appalling risk and paid for it with his life. At least his family is spared the knowledge that he was a murderer.”

Ash said, “I would rather have seen him hanged. His death was too easy.”

Brand smiled faintly. “What about you, Jack? How do you feel?”

“Oh,” said Jack pleasantly, “I would rather have seen him hanged, drawn and quartered. You see, where my wife is concerned, I'm barely civilized.”

Twenty minutes later, he arrived home and was met in the hall by Wigan, who informed him that her ladyship wished to speak to him.

“She's in the yellow parlor, my lord.”

Was that a smile that flickered briefly on Wigan's thin lips? If so, it was an encouraging sign. This had been a house of gloom in the last week, largely because Ellie seemed despondent, and the servants took their cue from their mistress.

They all did—Grandmamma, Caro, and Robbie. He couldn't say about Frances, because she rarely left her room. Ellie did whatever was needful, but she was subdued and uncommunicative. She wouldn't share her feelings, not even with
him.
She rarely went out. She'd even lost interest in Robbie's progress in Greek, and that was more telling than anything.

No. The most telling sign that something was wrong was her lack of interest in their marital bed.

He entered Ellie's parlor to find her pacing and her fine brows drawn together in a ferocious frown. Oddly enough, this made him want to laugh out loud. The ice sculpture that Ellie had turned into was melting from the inside out.

“Ellie,” he said softly.

At the sound of his voice, she turned and straightened her shoulders. That small gesture was another telling sign. When Ellie straightened her shoulders, she had something on her mind she had to get out.

She took a quick breath. “I have some bad news for you, Jack. Well, it's not all bad. There's good news, too.”

He crossed to her and took her hands in a firm clasp. “Tell me!” he commanded.

“Frances has left us.”

There was a challenge in her eyes that made him want to kiss her. He had his old Ellie back. “Go on,” he said.

“While you were out, she packed her boxes, ordered the carriage round, and went off to be with her friend Mrs. Tuttle in Kensington.”

He kissed her hand. “Is that all? Now tell me the bad news.”

She missed his little joke. “Did you hear me? She says that nothing will induce her to return, that she intends to set up her own establishment in town and—”

“She can afford it!”

“—and mix with civilized society!”

So, Frances was responsible for bringing his wife out of the doldrums. He must remember to thank her.

“What brought this on?” he asked calmly.

The temper in her eyes cooled considerably. “That's the good news I was coming to. Alice's young man came back for her. Can you believe it? I feel so ashamed now for ever doubting him. But she never doubted him, not for one moment. He came in person to tell me that they're to be married, very quietly, tomorrow, then they leave the day after for Carlisle, where he has found work.

“Married tomorrow? They'll need a Special License and that costs money.” And he was quite prepared to pay it.

She made a small sound of impatience. “They
have
money. Don't you remember that I won it for Alice when I played cards with Ash and his friends at the Clarendon?”

“Ah yes,
that
money. You're very farsighted.”

The more he smiled, the more she frowned. “And,” she went on, “we've been invited to the ceremony.”

“I wouldn't miss it,” he promptly replied. He knew there was more to come, so he waited patiently.

She rushed her next words. “I took it upon myself,” she said, “to offer to hold the wedding breakfast in our home. Well, the servants will want to be there, too. What better place to have it?”

“I agree. Ah, I see. But Frances didn't. Is that it?”

“She called it the last straw. Thankfully, Alice's young man had left before I told Frances about the wedding breakfast. Grandmamma and Caro thought it was a wonderful idea, but Frances raged like a deranged woman. The things she said about Alice do not bear repeating.”