Hannah Wilkes never raised her voice, but she didn’t move, either. “My lord, I have known Mary for ten years, and your brother equally as long. I beg you will not insult my intelligence by asking me to believe that the person in this room wearing Mary’s clothes is truly your servant. Now go, both of you, and leave me to tend to Lady Arabella’s needs.”
William could see that it was useless to waste time in further protestations. “Very well, Mistress Wilkes, the plain, unvarnished truth is that the tide turns in less than two hours. My brother and I should leave now if he is to be out of England by tonight.”
“Then do not waste time talking, my lord, but make haste and be gone,” Hannah said.
Zachary retired behind a screen and emerged five minutes later, bewigged, hatted, and wearing the clothing of a merchant, typical enough to be inconspicuous in a city dedicated to international trade. He bowed to Hannah, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “Since the Battle of Culloden, my life has been saved by the sacrifices of many people,” he said. “I appreciate your kindness, Mistress Wilkes, and I want you to know that the second half of my life will be dedicated to more useful purposes than the first.”
“In that case, I have double reason to wish you Godspeed,” Hannah said quietly. “My prayers will be with you, Sir.”
Zachary bowed, then came swiftly to kneel at Robyn’s side. “Bella, I thank you for all that you have done. Without your quick wit, I would at best be pacing my prison inside the walls of Starke. At worst, I would be dead at the hands of Captain Bretton. I have always believed that my brother deserved the best wife in the world, and now I can rejoice in the knowledge that he has found her.”
Robyn smiled. “I have been told you were always a consummate flatterer, Zachary. It seems that rumor scarcely does you justice.” She touched her hand briefly to his cheek, feeling her eyes blur with tears. “Go with God,” she said. “May you live long and happily.”
William strode across the room. “Mistress Wilkes... Hannah... I ought to insist on sending you to the safety of your uncle’s house. Instead, I offer you my most heartfelt thanks for your help. The house of Bowleigh will be eternally in your debt.”
Hannah blushed. “Nonsense, my lord. It is my pleasure to be of assistance.”
“If we had more time, I would wait to argue the point. Instead, I merely renew my expressions of gratitude.” William raised her hand and kissed it. Robyn, despite her continuing nausea, couldn’t help but notice the hot color that flared in Hannah’s cheeks. William saw nothing amiss, probably because he turned away almost at once and crossed hastily to the fire, bending down to kiss Robyn on the cheek.
“I will return as soon as the boat has sailed,” he said. “You can expect to see me in less than two hours.”
Robyn didn’t—couldn’t reply.
Hannah Wilkes bowed her head. “God willing,” she said.
Chapter 22
Zach knew. He knew who had faked the antiques sold through the Gallery, and he knew the truth about his grandfather’s wartime fling. Zach had tried to hide his knowledge, but Gerry had seen it in his eyes. Somehow Zach had discovered that Gerry Taunton was Bill Bowleigh’s bastard son.
Gerry walked along Park Avenue toward his apartment, sweating despite the cold. His plans to throw Zach off the scent by setting up Robyn Delaney as the villain behind the fake antiques hadn’t worked. Zach—damn him—had refused to believe in Robyn’s guilt. So he had kept on poking about, delving into secrets that shouldn’t have concerned him. Gerry couldn’t understand how the truth about Bill Bowleigh’s wartime fling had come to light, but the precise mechanism didn’t matter much right now. The game was up. Gerry accepted that it was time to make his getaway, but he wasn’t willing to cut and run without one last attempt to punish Zach. Goddammit! What had Zach ever done to deserve the golden ease of his life? Why shouldn’t he suffer as Gerry had suffered from the moment he was born?
Gerry unlocked the door to his apartment and strode into the vestibule. Gloria heard his key turn in the lock and came out of the kitchen, hands twisting nervously in her apron. These days, ever since her precipitous arrival from England two weeks earlier, she seemed to live in a perpetual fog of nervous agitation.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Why are you home so early?”
Gerry was beginning to find his sister’s constant fear irritating. He brushed past her into the living room. “I’m home because Zach Bowleigh has discovered that his late, unlamented grandfather couldn’t keep his fly zippered.”
“What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I mean he knows Bill Bowleigh is my father, and he knows Robyn Delaney wasn’t responsible for faking any antiques.”
Gloria’s hand went to her throat. “Are you sure? What else does he know? Has he guessed that we shot Robyn Delaney?”
“We didn’t shoot Robyn,” Gerry said. “You did. And yes, I think Zach suspects we were involved.”
Gloria was gray with fright. “But how could he? Why would he link either of us to a random shooting in England?”
Gerry shrugged. “Easily. The police found that damn gun of yours. What more would he need?”
Gloria darted toward the guest room. “I’m going to start packing. We have to get out of here while we can.” Her voice was thin with panic. “We can start again in Brazil, like we’ve talked about. Say you’ll come, Gerry. Today. Tonight. The police can’t touch us there.”
“I don’t want to live in a damn jungle,” Gerry said bitterly.
“Rio is a civilized city. Or we could try Buenos Aires. We could lead a good life there—”
“Good life or not, we don’t have any other choice,” Gerry interrupted, his anger at his sister intensifying. “Once that gun of yours was stolen, it was only a matter of time before the police got onto us—”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep nagging about the gun,” Gloria said. “I’ve told you I’m sorry.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Life won’t be so bad. We can have servants, nice clothes... You made enough money selling those fake antiques for both of us to live in luxury for the rest of our lives.”
Gerry shook off her hand. “But Zach Bowleigh still has the Gallery, damn him. Despite everything, despite all our fancy plans, we didn’t bring him down.”
Gloria wrapped her arms around her waist and rocked back and forth. “Why can’t you forget your obsession with Zach Bowleigh, for heaven’s sake?”
“Because he’s too happy,” Gerry snarled. “I worked my ass off building up the reputation of the Gallery, and how does my father reward me? He hands over control of the business to Zach—a thirty-year-old know-nothing, fresh out of grad school!”
“Well, Zach wasn’t exactly a know-nothing, was he? He had a doctoral degree in fine arts, and he spent all those summers in Paris, studying with the curator at the Louvre—”
“Good God, are you apologizing for Bill Bowleigh’s failure to acknowledge me? For his decision to cut me out of my share of the Gallery? I was his son, dammit!”
“No, of course not. Of course he should have made you a partner in the Gallery. But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You’ve had your revenge. Zach hasn’t had an easy time of it these past two years since Bill Bowleigh died.”
Gerry shook his head angrily. “The bottom line is that the Gallery is going to survive the scandal we created.”
“But Zach has still suffered. He wanted to marry Robyn Delaney. He was desperately in love with her, and we took care of that.”
Gerry’s face hardened into bitterness. “Robyn isn’t dead, and while there’s life, Zach can always hope she’ll get better. We can’t even be sure that she won’t regain her wits and say something that incriminates both of us.”
Gloria rubbed one chilled hand against the other. “God, I wish she’d died like she was supposed to. We’re neither of us safe with her around.”
Gerry’s mood began to lighten. “Perhaps it’s time for us to take care of Robyn once and f
or all,” he murmured.
“How? We can’t just walk into her parents’ house and shoot her.”
“You have a simplistic mind, my love. Guns aren’t always the answer. There are better ways to take care of Robyn than that.” Gerry chuckled, feeling more cheerful by the moment. “You know, I do believe that poor deluded Robyn has just decided to commit suicide.”
Gloria’s head jerked up, her eyes gleaming with sudden interest. “How can you make her do that?”
“With planning,” Gerry said. “Are you willing to help?”
Gloria hesitated for less than a second. She had always followed where her handsome, clever brother chose to lead. “Yes,” she said. “I’m willing to help. Let’s kill Robyn Delaney.”
“There’s a sentence that has a nice ring to it,” Gerry murmured. “Yes, let’s kill her. And this time, I’ll be in charge, so we’ll do it right.”
* * *
Until Zach Bowleigh called, Thursday had been one of those days when Muriel Delaney felt really low. Her husband was out of town for a reunion with his navy buddies, and Robyn seemed to be sinking into ever deeper depression. Therapy had produced no improvement in her grip on reality; she had spent all last night pleading to be taken to see William and her children and begging for reassurance that “the true Zachary” was safely in France. Her delusion that she was a wife and mother had been so compelling that if William Bowleigh had happened to live in Virginia rather than California, Muriel thought she might have been tempted to drive over and pay him a visit. As it was, she had simply sat up half the night, comforting Robyn as best she could, and praying disjointed prayers for God to make everything come right again with her daughter.
When Zach called, as he did at least twice a week, Muriel embarrassed herself no end by bursting into tears. Between sobs, she assured him that she was fine, and that she would soon snap out of her doldrums, but when Zach heard about the rough night she’d had, and the fact that Al was out of town, he’d insisted that he would catch the noon shuttle to Washington, D.C., and pay her a quick visit. Muriel protested that it was the middle of the week, and he didn’t have time to come visiting, but her protests were less vehement than they might have been, and she was secretly grateful when Zach ignored them all and said that he was looking forward to spending a couple of hours in her company. He was a charming liar, but Muriel felt a lot more cheerful when she hung up the phone.
And then, just an hour ago, Gerry Taunton had phoned from National Airport to say that he was touring Washington with his sister from England, and they would both love to stop by and visit. He was in such a rush that he gave her no time to explain that Zach Bowleigh was also going to be there.
Well, no harm done, Muriel thought. She always loved to entertain company and Zach and Gerry were good friends. They wouldn’t mind spending an unexpected hour together.
She put her coffee mug in the dishwasher and watched Robyn, who was making a complete hash of dropping cookie dough onto a baking tray. Muriel took her daughter’s hand and helped her to score the top of each cookie with the tines of a fork. Robyn actually smiled as she saw the row of lines appear in the soft dough. Muriel smiled back. She knew baking cookies wouldn’t chase away all of Robyn’s demons, but nothing else seemed to be working, so maybe baking was as successful as any other form of therapy.
“Set the timer on the oven, dear.” Muriel helped Robyn to twist the dials, then gave her a hug when the task was done. “Now we have to wait ten minutes for the cookies to bake,” she said. “Oops, there’s the doorbell. I expect that’s Gerry.”
“Gerry Taunton?” Robyn asked.
“Yes, dear, I’m so pleased you remembered him.” Muriel beamed as she walked to the front door. This day was turning out a whole lot better than she had dared to hope when dawn broke and Robyn had been sobbing in her arms.
“Gerry’s bringing his sister for a visit. Her name is Gloria. You’ll like meeting her, won’t you?”
Robyn didn’t seem interested in Gerry’s sister. “Mr. Taunton is a most handsome gentleman,” she said, patting her hair and adjusting the collar of her sweater.
“He is good-looking, isn’t he?” Muriel was still smiling as she flung open the door. “Gerry,” she said. “Come in, and Gloria, too. We’ve been looking forward so much to seeing you.”
Muriel Delaney was delighted to have them pay Robyn a visit. The poor woman was such a nice old bird, Gerry could almost find it in his heart to be sorry for her. He quickly smothered his inconvenient twinge of guilt. Hell, Robyn’s brains were so scrambled he was doing the old trout a favor by putting her daughter peacefully to rest. Much better for the Delaneys to mourn a child sleeping in the graveyard than to have to cope with her crazy fits and starts on a daily basis.
He was looking at Gloria, signaling to her to get ready to put the first stage of their plan into action, when Muriel obliged them both by jumping to her feet and giving a little agitated murmur. “Oh, heavens, the cookies! They’ll be baked to a crisp if I don’t rescue them right away. Excuse me, please.”
“Certainly.” Gerry rose to his feet and pulled back Muriel’s chair. He’d learned as a teenager that nothing earned a young boy more rewards than perfect manners. As an adult, he’d developed courtesy and deprecating British charm into the perfect cover for villainy. He turned to his sister, warning her with a glance to get her ass in gear. “Gloria, luvvy, perhaps you could help Muriel while I have a chat with Robyn.”
“Yes, I’d like that,” Gloria said, reaching into her bag to extract the present they’d chosen together. “We brought you a canister of Earl Grey tea, Mrs. Delaney. Perhaps I could brew a pot, English style, to go with your American cookies.”
“That would be very nice, my dear, but you must call me Muriel.”
Their voices faded as they hurried into the kitchen. Gloria knew better than to let Muriel out again for the next ten minutes, but Gerry didn’t waste a second. He immediately reached for the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the flask of ethylene glycol, otherwise known as antifreeze. The New York Times had very helpfully printed an article only a couple of weeks earlier pointing out that more children poisoned themselves with sweet-smelling, sweet-tasting antifreeze than any other substance. He’d poured it into a flask with a special lip, so that it would be easy to squirt into Robyn’s throat even if she resisted. But she was such a dumb-ass these days, he wasn’t expecting her to protest.
Gerry was particularly pleased with himself for thinking of this way to finish her off. He knew Robyn had already tried to eat a plastic foam cup, and once she’d drunken laundry detergent. Nobody had been quite sure whether she’d been trying to kill herself, or whether she no longer understood that some things in bottles were poisonous. Gerry planned to pass this incident off as suicide, and he had the scenario all worked out. He just needed to be damn sure Robyn was too far gone for a stomach pump to work when he yelled for help and they rushed her to the hospital.
Robyn was waiting to show him her embroidery. “Will you come and sit beside me, Mr. Taunton?” She patted the sofa, and the smile she gave him was damn near flirtatious.
Gerry palmed the flask of ethylene glycol and answered her smile. “With pleasure, my dear.” He sat down next to her, thigh pressed against thigh. She made no attempt to move away. “What a pretty sweater you’re wearing,” Gerry murmured.
She touched the collar. “You call this brown knitted garment a sweater? Does it please you?”
He put his arm around her shoulders, clamping her arms to her sides. “Yes, my dear. That brown knitted garment pleases me.” Jesus, he thought, what a fruitcake she’s become.
“I have brought you a special cordial to drink,” he said, holding up the flask of antifreeze. “You’ll really like it.”
“It is a most pleasing color,” she said. “Most bright and strange.”
He leaned across her, capturing her chin in his left hand and uncapping the flask with his right. She lifted her chin willingly, and her
eyelids fluttered closed. Gerry frowned. She was offering even less resistance than he’d expected. God Almighty, she surely didn’t think he wanted to kiss her?
It seemed that she did. Grimacing in distaste, he obliged with a quick brush of his lips over her mouth. She opened her eyes and giggled. “Mr. Taunton, pray remember that I am a married woman.”
“Right, luvvy. If you say so.” He held up the flask. “Open wide,” he said. “Take a nice big swallow, luvvy.”
She obeyed without question. Still smiling, he tipped the warm, sweet liquid between her teeth. She began to swallow, but after only a couple of sips, she unexpectedly resisted, grimacing with distaste.
Gerry shook her impatiently. “Come on, Robyn, luvvy, this is very good for you. It’s medicine to make you feel all better.” He poured the deadly sweet drink into her mouth in an unrelenting trickle, forcing her to swallow. She shook her head forward, gagging, and bright fluorescent green liquid spouted onto her lap. She tried to twist away out of Gerry’s grasp, but he dived forward, holding her captive against the scratchy tweed cushions of the living-room sofa.
He had never expected to encounter this much resistance. He tipped up the bottle again and thrust it between her lips. “Come on!” he said. “Drink up, damn you! What’s your problem, don’t you like this nice new cordial I brought for you?”
A bell chimed, and Gerry recognized the sound of the front doorbell. He cursed as voices sounded in the corridor. A woman and a man. Muriel’s voice. And Zach’s voice, damn him to hell.
With a throttled yelp of rage, Gerry stopped trying to ram the bottle into Robyn’s mouth and pressed it into her hand instead. “Get in here quickly!” he yelled. “Muriel, for God’s sake help! Robyn’s trying to kill herself!”
“Oh, my God!” That was Muriel, and then Zach’s voice came, harsh with the urgency of his command. “Get away from her, Gerry. Move away from her right now, or I swear I’ll kill you myself.”
Timeless (A Time Travel Romance) Page 40