“Sebastian!” Lillian screamed, and lunged at Tabitha. From somewhere up the slope a pistol shot rang out, and there came the sounds of a dog taking down prey.
As Lillian grabbed for Tabitha, Inspector Michaels shot out of the door of the sheepfold, intercepting Billy Bob as he tried to capture Lillian. Tabitha’s horse, spooked by the commotion, jerked up his head, yanking his reins out of Tabitha’s hands and knocking her off balance.
Lillian took advantage of her sister’s momentary upset to drive her shoulder into Tabitha’s chest. The momentum knocked Tabitha over into the snow. Lillian, still weakened from her illness, fell on top of her. The sisters rolled around in the snow, pulling hair, pinching, biting, and screaming at each other.
Inspector Michaels had no chance to come to Lillian’s aid because he had his hands full with Billy Bob. The ruffian pulled a wicked-looking curved knife from his belt and had gotten into a fighter’s stance. Inspector Michaels whipped off the belt to his greatcoat, his coattails flapping free. He used the belt like a whip, snapping it at the knife.
Lillian and Tabitha rolled over and over. Lillian yelped when Tabitha bit her on the shoulder, an irritating habit she had developed when they were children. Lillian responded by punching Tabitha in the jaw, a skill she had not possessed when they were girls. Tabitha let go her hold, but punched Lillian in the stomach.
That knocked the wind out of Lillian, but she did not let go of her sister. Instead, she curled against the pain, bringing them into an even tighter embrace. This caused Tabitha to hit her head on a rock embedded in the ground, and she went limp, but they did not stop rolling. In fact, it seemed as if they were going faster and faster, until they fetched up against a tree.
In the distance, Lillian could hear the sound of fighting. There was a cry of pain, followed by a triumphant shout. “Got you,” Inspector Michaels yelled.
“Don’t move, Miss Doyle! Hold fast!” someone shouted.
Lillian held onto her sister and panted, her hip grinding into a gnarled root.
“I’ve got ye, I’ve got ye,” came the cooper’s voice. “You can let go a her, we got ‘er.”
Lillian tried to shift her sister in her arms so she could sit up. “Easy now, easy, you’ll have all three of us over the cliff.”
Lillian managed to make her arms unclench from around her sister and someone gently lifted her away. The cooper then put an arm around Lillian. “Begging yer pardon for the familiarity, Miss,” he said. “But I need to haul you back upslope.” It was only then that Lillian realized that he was holding onto a rope, and that someone was hauling them across the slippery snow. Above them, a horse steadily backed toward the sheepfold.
“Garn, that were close!” the blacksmith, Tink Littlesmith, said, helping Lillian and the cooper to their feet.
Lillian turned and looked back toward where they had rolled and realized that the three of them stood on the brink of a cliff. She then did something she had never done in her life. She fainted dead away.
Chapter 42
Before Sebastian could react in any way to the sound, Bessie leaped from where she crouched and caught the gun-hand in her teeth. The gun went off, but the shot went wide of its mark. Growling ferociously, she yanked Constable John Michaels to the ground.
As she did so, Tim Rowe grabbed the gun and Ben Rowe flung himself across the fellow’s legs. Sebastian picked up the dog leashes from where they had fallen, and they used them to truss up their assailant.
“He’s a rather large man,” Sebastian said. “How are we going to get him down from here?”
“He don’ weigh no more’n a stag, Yer Grace. We’ll just take him down on a pole. Then we can tie him over a horse. But we might need to bind up that hand so ‘e don’ bleed out. Bessie done ‘im good.”
Just as they were getting the erstwhile constable slung from a pole, a group of villagers, headed by the parson clambered up to them.
“How did you get here so fast?” Sebastian asked.
“Night came on, Mr. Evans an’ Mrs. Banchard got uneasy. Sent us to track you. Ran into the Parson on the same errand.”
Sebastian began to laugh. “I used to say that I couldn’t wiggle without those two knowing what I was up to. Never thought I would be glad of it.”
“Indeed, Your Grace, it is a blessing that we came up when we did. Let us go down to the sheepfold. I think you are wanted there.”
“Lillian!” Sebastian cried. He scrambled down the side of the slope into the clearing as fast as he could.
As he approached the group in front of the sheepfold, Lillian was just sitting up, and the blacksmith was offering her a flask to drink from.
Lillian staggered to her feet and took a wobbling step toward him as Sebastian rushed to her.
“Sebastian,” she sobbed. “I thought they had killed you.”
“Bessie got him before he could.”
“Oh, Sebastian. You will hate me forever.”
“Why is that, my love?”
“I am wanted for murder.”
“Clearly, a murder you did not commit.”
“What?” Lillian pulled back and looked up at him.
“We were on the little hill up there when your sister announced all her reasons for wanting you dead. That was quite a recital.”
“Oh.” Lillian leaned against him. “But my name and my family’s name are smirched.”
“Lillian, dear, sweet, brave, foolish Lillian, why didn’t you tell me what had happened when you first arrived?”
“Because you would have sent me away immediately. How could you have not? Someone wanted for murder? You would never have let me become the boys’ governess.”
“That is a point. I might have not, but I would not have sent you back to London before I investigated the circumstance.”
“You investigated?”
“Because I wasn’t sure what was going on. I thought you could be trusted, but I wanted to be certain, so I sent a letter to my lawyer in London. He sent word back that a woman named Lillian had been accused of murdering her husband, but that there were unusual circumstances and that there was reasonable doubt.”
Lillian leaned her head against the lapel of his rough work coat. “Oh, Sebastian, what a mess.”
As they talked, a cavalcade of tall horses and uniformed men wearing peaked caps came up the slope. “Captain Lewis!” Marcus Michaels called out.
“Inspector Michaels. Have you apprehended the erstwhile Constable Michaels?”
“I have, indeed, sir. Or rather, His Grace’s men apprehended him.”
“Well enough. Is that him hanging from that pole?” This was said as the Rowe brothers came into the clearing with their burden.
“I believe so.” Inspector Michaels said.
Sebastian added, “He showed up at the castle on Boxing Day, asking questions and nosing about. He wanted to speak with Miss Doyle, my brothers’ governess, but she was incommunicado due to having measles.”
“Measles?” the captain seemed to be taken aback.
“Yes, measles. We’ve had quite an epidemic here.”
“Dear me. I had hoped to ask for lodging and a meal or two. Can you spare it?”
“We’ll find a place somewhere,” Sebastian said. “Let’s bind up that fellow’s hand and go back to the castle where it is a bit warmer and we can avail ourselves of more comfortable surroundings.”
“Your Grace,” the parson said, diffidently.
“Yes, Parson Jamison?”
“Your Grace, the cook was preparing a feast to go with the bonfire at midnight.
“Aye, we brought in that nice bit o’ venison just before we headed out. An’ I know for a fact that the shepherds drew lot as to who would provide a sheep.”
Sebastian laughed, gave Lillian a hug, and said, “I can hear the tenor of everyone’s thoughts. Very well, I have a nice wine cellar with a stout door and bars on the windows that should do well enough as a temporary cell. Let us go lock up this band of conspirators, and carr
y on with the celebrations.”
With very little further ado, they packed Tabitha, Billy Bob, John Michaels, and their henchmen onto the horses, and Sebastian led the crowd back over the pass and down to Parkforton.
The chapel bell tower was just ringing the eleven o’clock hour as they all entered the wide courtyard. A great bonfire had been set up, with all the greenery and paper decorations piled on it. Throughout the village and the castle, all the fires had been put out, and only a few coals of the Yule log were retained. These were placed in a special iron container that had been lined with ashes to keep them protected as the finishing touches were placed on the great fire.
Parson Jamison stopped off at the chapel long enough to change into his vestments. A contingent of the castle guard took the prisoners away to deal with them.
Chapter 43
All of the able-bodied villagers and the castle staff not on duty, as well as Sebastian, his brothers, and Lillian took their place in the rough pews that were set up at a safe distance from the bonfire. Someone had thoughtfully placed warmed bricks in front of each of the seats and strewn them with furs, blankets and comforters.
Lillian had taken advantage of the few moments while the parson went for his vestments to freshen up, and so had Sebastian. Sebastian’s brothers sat between them on the rude benches, well bundled in blankets and furs. Parson Jamison took his place at the pulpit. Ceremoniously, two young men, dressed in white, took away the greenery which had decorated it and placed it on the huge pile of drying evergreen boughs, smoke stained paper decorations, and ends of firewood that had not completely burned through before time to sweep the fireplaces clean.
The castle, the chapel and all the village houses and stores now stood cooling in the night air. All were strewn with fresh rushes, wood and tinder was laid for new fires.
Parson Jamison stood before them, with his Bible open on the lectern. “Lord Sebastian, Miss Doyle, young masters Luke and Nicholas, shop keepers, farmers, tradesmen, keepers of the peace, and military men, good people from all walks of life we are gathered here tonight to see out the last days of Christmas and to welcome in a new year. Although this is a ceremony reaching back into history’s darkest past, even before Christianity came to these islands, still it is a good time to remember why the greens were hung and all the fires were dimmed in this season. And why a great bonfire was lit on this most auspicious day. Even in pre-history, those who watched the heavens would have scratched the marks for the days and they would have measured the length of the shadows cast on the sundials, and they would know that the days were slowly growing longer.”
The Parson paused, took a sip from a cup that stood beside the Bible, and continued. “This has been a most difficult year. It has been one to test us. A summer where few crops grew, a winter severe and cold. That which gives us strength is our ability to help one another and to have Faith that we are not forgotten or abandoned. This lighting of the bonfire symbolizes burning away angers, fears, hatred and all the other things that might have marred the year that has gone from us. But more than that, it symbolizes our hope for the return of the sun, and our prayers that this year it will break through the fearsome clouds that have obscured it, bringing light and warmth to the world.” The young men in their white robes touched torches to the edges of the bonfire. The flames began to crackle up through it, illuminating the courtyard.
Parson Jamison folded his hands, and bowed his head. “Let us pray,” he intoned.
A shrill scream cut through the night. Everyone looked up. A woman was falling from the battlements, her blood curdling cries rent the air. “Tabitha!” Lillian gasped. She pushed her way past the servants seated next to her, and ran down the rough steps of the bleacher seats. Sebastian, Luke and Nicholas were not far behind her.
Lillian reached the body where it lay on the flagstones before anyone else. The captain and inspector hurried after them.
Blood was spreading from the crushed form, and the smashed face was pulverized almost beyond recognition, but Lillian had no doubt of who it was who lay there. She knelt sobbing, not in the pretty way the ladies of the ton were taught to weep to have their own way, but great, harsh gulping sobs of terrible grief that tore through her small frame. Her face twisted and she gasped for air. Blood soaked into the skirts of her dress and got on her hands as she reached for her sister.
“Keep the boys back,” Sebastian barked. Mr. Stableman and Mr. Gardener herded the boys back, while the Captain and the Inspector hurried toward the corpse. Sebastian was only moments behind them, and he gently lifted Lillian away from the crumpled remains.
Parson Jamison, who had opened his eyes when the screaming began, now turned to the assembled people, who were beginning to mill about in confusion and fear. “Ladies! Gentlemen!” he called out, his voice rose over the crowd, thanks to years of practice addressing large groups, “Sit down. Everyone please sit down. Remain where you are. More people moving about will only cause greater confusion.”
Used to obeying their spiritual leader, the villagers settled back down. “Now, more than ever my friends and neighbors, prayer is needed. A troubled soul has passed from us in this hour.” With a sense of the dramatic statement needed to keep the villagers from panicking, Parson Jamison spread wide his arms and began to pray, “Oh, Lord, we beseech thee . . .”
Sebastian held Lillian in his arms, turning her face from the bleeding mess on the flagstones. “Come away, Lillian, come away now. There is nothing you can do here. Evans will be lighting the fires inside. Come away, and let the Captain and the Inspector do their work.”
Weeping inconsolably, Lillian allowed herself to be drawn away from the pitiful figure that had been her sister. The two footmen who always had charge of Sebastian’s brothers hurried them inside.
Mrs. Blanchard and Mr. Evans met them at the door. Mrs. Blanchard quickly took charge of Lillian. “I’ll take her upstairs to her rooms, Your Grace. Come, Miss Doyle, let us get you cleaned up. What a terrible experience you have had.”
Reluctantly, Sebastian allowed Mrs. Blanchard to lead Lillian away. Even though he hated to be parted from her, his duty was clear. He would need to deal with giving directions for the body, and he needed to discover how it was that Tabitha had been able to run for the battlements. Once there, had she jumped? Or had she been pushed?
Chapter 44
Lillian allowed herself to be drawn away from the pile of blood and bones that only an hour before had been a living human being. The horror of it ran through her and came out in great, racking sobs that forced her ribs against her corset and cold shudders through her body. She felt Sebastian’s arms around her, but she was too numb to respond.
Blood and death. Death and blood. Why? Why was this happening? Oh, Tabitha! No way to forgive, no way to say goodbye, Tabitha, Why?
Mrs. Blanchard gently put an arm around her as they entered the castle, and then guided her up the stair to her old room. Martha Louisa came hurrying in behind them, casting her cloak at one of the footmen.
Between them, the two were able to settle Lillian enough to clean the blood off her hands and to get her out of her blood-stained skirts.
In just a few minutes, Dr. Gavril came puffing up the stairs. Lillian heard his distinctive heavy tread, but he was only a shadow against the pain of loss, sorrow, and shock. Lillian wrapped her arms around herself and held tight, trying to keep from flying apart into a million pieces.
She rocked and sobbed, her mind a tangle of colliding thoughts. Memories of their childhood. Rolling toward the edge of the cliff. The anger and hate in Tabitha’s voice as she laid out the plans she had made. When had Tabitha come to hate her so much? Why would she kill herself? Oh, Tabitha, Tabitha, why?”
“She’s had quite a shock,” Dr. Gavril said. “Do either of you know who the woman was who fell off the battlements?”
“Her sister, I think,” Mrs. Blanchard said. “I am not sure I have the right of it. But the Duke had directed that she and the others be sent to
the wine cellar and locked up there until the constables could see to them. Only, I think one of the people to be locked away was the constable. Or at least that was what he said he was.”
Dr. Gavril raised his eyebrows. “Well, well! That is quite a tale. No doubt His Grace will have the right of it. I do not think Miss Doyle is in any state to communicate with us.”
Lillian pulled herself together. “I can tell you. Oh, God in Heaven, why? Why would she do these things?” Then she fell to sobbing again.
Mrs. Blanchard offered her a handkerchief. Lillian mopped her face with it. “On second thought, could you ask the Duke? He heard it all. He knows all of it. I just do not think I can bear it.” And she began crying again, a little more quietly now.
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