As soon as events in Norfolk had been tied up and both men free to leave, they had immediately set out for Willowbrook, only to find Elspeth in great distress and the house staff in terrified confusion. Some weeks earlier, Isobel had been removed from their aunt’s care by her Uncle Rupert, who had claimed the guardianship by issuing threats and insults. Aunt Elspeth hadn’t been certain about their destination, but had been subjected to having her objections soundly squashed by a condescending Rupert, who had threatened her with outright violence should she take steps to block Isobel’s removal from the house.
The last Elspeth had seen of Isobel had been a brief tearful good-bye before Isobel had been bundled into an unmarked carriage and quickly driven off. Nobody has heard anything from her since then. Elspeth’s clear distress had been heightened by the arrival of Peter, whom Elspeth had believed to have been murdered by the lawless smugglers he had gone to help capture. Shock had quickly turned to outrage at Rupert’s callous duplicity, and the weight of lies he had clearly told everyone to secure her compliance in her own kidnap.
Dominic could only wonder what Rupert had led Isobel to believe about him. After all, the staff at Willowbrook had been adamant that Isobel had been betrothed to Bertram DeLisle just prior to her disappearance. The thought made Dominic’s stomach churn with building rage.
It had been Kitty, a rather robust looking maid, who had bravely come forward. After a lot of reassurance, she had described Isobel’s flight from the Gosport Hall in the middle of the night, and her ultimate destination. Kitty had herself escaped the house having been found by one of Rupert’s staff and set free. As soon as Rupert had learnt of Isobel’s escape, he, along with his henchman, had left the house to search for her. This had given Kitty the time she needed to make her own escape. Having given all of her funds to Isobel, she had taken some money from the desk in the library and eventually found her way back to Willowbrook, whereupon she had resumed a rather nervous position among the house staff. Luckily, Rupert didn’t consider her useful enough to follow her.
Assuring Kitty of their eternal gratitude, both Dominic and Peter had promptly returned the funds Kitty had given to Isobel, and given her the position as companion to Aunt Elspeth. She was also going to receive a small cottage on the Willowbrook estate in appreciation for her diligent care of Isobel and her services to the family.
Having garnered as much information as they needed, Dominic and Peter, along with several of the remaining staff began an exhaustive search.
For days, they questioned locals in towns and villages, and combed fields, all to no avail. Slowly, they moved north but could find no sign of her, until Peter had overheard a chance conversation in the village pub just outside of Peterborough.
A beautiful young woman, a stranger to the area, was found dead on the outskirts of the town wearing nothing but a necklace. Careful questioning of the locals, and the farmer who had discovered the body, had led them to learn about her final resting place in this small, rural graveyard.
Having had no identification upon her, she hadn’t even given the dignity of being buried among any of her ancestors in the family crypt. Instead, she had been quickly buried in a simple pauper’s grave in a village she hadn’t even resided in, with nothing to mark her presence but a plain wooden cross. If it hadn’t been for the villager’s shock and sympathy for her plight, she wouldn’t even have had the cross.
Anger began to bloom inside the empty aching void that was Dominic’s heart. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pushed to his feet feeling considerably older than his four and thirty years.
“What I don’t understand is,” Dominic shifted against the cold that had begun to seep into his bones, “why didn’t she come to Havistock? I told her the day I left that if she needed anything, she was to contact Havistock Hall. My man of business was under strict instructions to assist her in every way should she approach him for help. He assures me he has never received any such communication from her.” He didn’t think he would ever be warm again.
“We know Rupert kept her locked in her room. The few remaining staff in residence were under strict instructions to keep her isolated, and had been paid highly for their services. Her only contact with the outside world was through Kitty, who herself was watched closely by Rupert’s men.” Peter cursed roundly and abruptly turned away from the graveside, as though he couldn’t stand to be there any longer.
“She wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to contact Havistock Hall. Even if she did write, Rupert would have ensured her letter didn’t go anywhere.”
Dominic sucked in a frustrated breath, and in a desperate bid to seek relief from the clawing pain that gripped him, focused on what they had learnt about Isobel’s final weeks.
“I know, but we also know that she left the house at some point and disappeared. We don’t know at the moment where she went, and where Rupert and his men finally caught up with her, but it must have been somewhere around here. Someone must know something!”
Peter paused and looked back toward the dark soil that entombed his sister’s final resting place, before turning toward his best friend. He had fought in hellish conditions with Dominic Cavendish by his side, and would trust the man with his life, certainly with his sister’s life. He knew Dominic well enough to appreciate just how deeply in love he was with Isobel. Grief had turned his handsome features grey, and with the deep lines that now married his classic features bore testament to how devastated he was by the news of her brutal murder.
“We know the Rector was contacted by the Magistrate, who having no idea of her identity ordered a pauper’s funeral,” Dominic’s warm breath fogged in the cold autumn air as mist settled around them, giving the graveyard a pervading sense of eerie gloom. “We also know that she was found by the track somewhere near here.” His voice quavered as the vivid image of his beautiful sister, cold and lifeless lying in the mud rose in his mind. Anger and grief surged through him, and he abruptly fell silent as he attempted to control his emotions.
Neither man could bring themselves to mention the word ‘murder’, but both knew they were thinking the same thing.
Any question as to the validity of her identity had been soundly quashed, when the farmer had described the only item found upon her body was a single necklace, the detailing of which was instantly recognisable to both men. A solitary small stone set in a star shaped mount, hanging from a thin chain had been given to her by her father upon her tenth and last birthday she had shared with him. Although the small item of jewellery was of little financial significance, it had held great sentimental value to her. After his death, Isobel had refused to remove it and worn it everywhere. Both men knew that she would never willingly have parted with it.
Both men turned at the sound of clopping hooves and watched a tall, gaunt man disembark from a small curricle, before carefully picking his way through the gravestones toward them.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” He eyed the slightly menacing men warily as he introduced himself with a small bow. “Sir Hubert Williams, Magistrate at your service.”
“Good evening,” Peter replied stiffly, making no attempt to adhere to social etiquette. He didn’t care if the Magistrate understood or not.
Dominic nodded brusquely.
“I understand you knew the woman?” The Magistrate appeared momentarily lost for a name, and made do with a small nod in the direction of the dark soil.
“Yes, she was my sister. I understand you found one item upon her body?” Peter’s voice was harsh in the silence of the heavy air. The Magistrate shivered warily at the underlying threat lurking in the husky timbre of his voice.
“Y-yes,” visibly shaken, he hastily produced the length of necklace that was given to him. “It was the only thing of worth that we found that could mean something,” he lapsed into silence as both men stared in horror at the necklace dangling from his clenched fist. “Do you recognise it?”
Dominic cursed the trembling in his hand as he reached out to touch
the shimmering chain of her beloved gift, and knew deep within his soul that he had lost her forever.
Abruptly, he turned away. The tight knot of emotion lodged in his throat threatened to choke him as he stumbled around the gravestones, slipping like a spectre into the growing mist.
“That’s Isobel’s.”
Dominic heard Peter’s husky response, but couldn’t bring himself to turn around.
“Lady Isobel Davenport, my sister,” Peter’s voice was devoid of emotion as it swirled around the graveyard. “She should be resting in the family crypt. With your assistance, I shall arrange for her to be relocated forthwith.”
Dominic fought the urge to punch something; or rather someone. He took a deep breath and with every ounce of willpower he possessed, attempted to keep his voice calm and impassive as he slowly returned to them.
“What do you know about the circumstances of her death?” Although his voice was quiet, the intonation was deadly. The Magistrate knew instinctively that should he not give the man the answers he needed, he would certainly become a ruthless adversary.
The Magistrate shivered. “Nothing much I am afraid. Nobody seems to know anything. I have extensively questioned the farmer who found her. She wasn’t there the afternoon before, but sometime between dusk and dawn, she -” He paused not wanting to incur the taller man’s wrath.
“They dumped her,” Dominic finished for him, studying the shorter man closely. Something warned him that the man wasn’t being entirely truthful, and they weren’t getting all of the facts.
“There were no tracks at all? Nothing? No strangers in the village or the pub either before or afterwards?” Dominic didn’t try to keep the disbelief out of his voice. He wanted the man to know that he sensed something was amiss.
Warily, the small man shook his head. “Nothing I’m afraid, Sir.”
Dominic wanted to push him further, but held the words back when Peter shifted uncomfortably beside him. He frowned slightly at Peter’s warning look, and lapsed into sullen silence. Clearly Peter considered the man wasn’t entirely being dishonest, but wasn’t being completely forthright with them either. Frustration clawed and burned in his stomach.
Dominic couldn’t bear to hear any more, and when the men began to discuss the movement of the body, he took several steps away from them, disappearing into the encroaching gloom for a few private moments to compose himself.
His abrupt departure made the Magistrate to jump in shock, as he scanned the swirling mists around them warily. Like a ghost, the big man simply vanished without a sound.
With a shiver, he turned to the somewhat reassuring bulk of the man beside him. “I will give you my direction. Should you need any further assistance please do not hesitate.”
At the other man’s abrupt nod, he quickly took his leave and with a curt bow, spun on his heel and made for his curricle as fast as his heels could carry him.
Several minutes later, with a final lingering look at the grave site, Peter and Dominic turned and made their own way carefully around the assembled gravestones surrounding the old Norman church.
“Do you think she was trying to get to get to Melton when Rupert caught up with her?” Dominic was unable to keep the whisper of hope from his voice.
Knowing his friend well, Peter heard the unspoken question. “I think she may have been, but we know she didn’t get there. God why, Dominic? Why kill her?” Pain and anger laced his voice as Peter raged. “Wasn’t it bad enough that Rupert had already tried to sell her to that bloody scoundrel DeLisle? Why kill her?”
Images and thoughts of her final moments swirled around in his head, many too hideous to contemplate. What had they done to her that they needed to hide?
Isobel was undoubtedly beautiful and clever. He also knew from the long hours he had spent listening to Peter recount their childhood, that she had a wild and slightly reckless side that once revealed, was difficult to contain. He too had encountered her wilful streak that at the time had unmanned him, and strengthened his desire to make her his wife as soon as possible. Was it this wild side Rupert had been unable to vanquish? Had her own stubborn refusal to bow down to him led her to her death?
Solidarity and silence settled between the two men as they rode through the night. Tall and proud, and clearly of military bearing, their presence was so blatantly menacing that even the gang of ruthless highwaymen lurking in the bushes watched them pass without a murmur.
The Magistrate also watched both men slowly disappear into the swirling fog shrouding the evening air. Shaking his head, he puffed out a deep sigh of relief as they finally disappeared into the gloom. His collar felt uncomfortably tight as he considered the events of the evening, and the possible disaster narrowly averted.
“That was close,” he muttered quietly to himself. “Very close.” He frowned as he clambered aboard his curricle. He could only hope that both men would soon depart from the area, and life could return to normal. He needed them out of the area, before they discovered the truth.
Easing his curricle onto the rutted track, he turned his horse, thankfully, in the opposite direction towards home. He had a strange sense of foreboding that tonight wasn’t the last he would see of them. Shaking off the pervading sense of doom, he carefully shot their retreating backs one last worried glance, before clicking his horse into a faster walk.
He had made a promise to a friend a long time ago, that he would take whatever action necessary if he was called upon, and indeed, he had. He could only hope that the actions he had taken today had been the right ones. As he trotted along, doubts began to creep in and his involvement in events a month ago suddenly didn’t seem so sound. Well intended or not. Their distress upon confirming the identity of the gently bred woman had been a true and honest reaction, so why had he been asked to secure the outcome he had?
Wishing he had insisted on details of the current whereabouts, he pondered the questions lurking in the back of his mind, and the growing sense of unease about the entire situation, before he considered the wisdom of revealing the truth.
As he passed, he glanced towards the small cross in the far corner of the darkening graveyard, and the empty grave it marked.
“I don’t believe he has told us everything, do you?” Dominic asked raising a querying brow at Peter as they rode through the darkness, toward the soft glow of lights within the small village.
“No, I don’t. He is withholding something,” Peter absently considered the thickening fog around them.
“Do you think he is an associate of Rupert’s? We know that Rupert was in the area at the same time. All the trails we have followed so far lead him here at the right time.” Considering what could have happened to her was, at the moment, keeping Dominic sane. He had to do something, or he might just go quietly mad. “We also know that he has not been seen since. He hasn’t been back to any of his old haunts since the middle of last month.”
“When Isobel was kidnapped,” Peter’s breath fogged out before him. “Someone got to him, I am sure of it, but until we get more information on Sir Hubert Williams and his associates, we need to be very careful.”
“I won’t give up on this Peter,” Dominic warned. “If he is involved in any of this, Magistrate or not, he is as duplicitous as your uncle.” The underlying threat in his voice made the other man shiver. “Both will pay for their crimes.”
CHAPTER THREE
He had forgotten it was market day. Cursing fluidly beneath his breath, he nodded brusquely at the familiar faces who called to him as he rode through the milling throng along the main street of Melton Mowbray, one of Leicestershire’s largest market towns.
Dominic eased his horse, Brutus, amid the cacophony of quacking ducks, squealing pigs and market traders shouting their wares. He was oblivious to the stench of manure, straw and unwashed bodies as he meandered listlessly through the milling crowds. He didn’t really want to be there at all. He’d only returned home briefly to deal with several pressing estate matters, before he was depa
rting for Willowbrook to witness the Isobel’s internment into the family crypt.
Sucking in a deep breath, he fought the wave of bitter regret that surged through him when the image of her beautiful face swam in front of him. God, he missed her. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, until the physical pain became so acute that he wasn’t sure he could continue home.
In a desperate attempt to divert his wayward thoughts away from his gloomy emotions, he studied the milling crowds. Farmer’s wives dressed simply in coarse cotton dresses, and starched white aprons, herded the gaggle of laughing children as they chased an assortment of noisy animals through the bustling crowd. People milled around simply chatting, while others darted in and out of the many tiny shops lining the busy street.
Suddenly he blinked as a surge of disbelief swept through him. His heart froze in his chest as he studied the spectre before him.
There!
Was grief playing tricks upon his mind?
Reigning Brutus to a stop, he sat perfectly still, his eyes locked so fixatedly on the cloaked figure approaching the bakery. The colours and sounds of the street around him disappeared into a numbing buzz.
He struggled to absorb what, or rather whom, he was actually seeing.
Heart thumping crazily in his chest, and he ignored the curious stares of the locals to leaned forward in his saddle to get a better look. His watched closely as the cloaked figure moved hesitantly through the crowd. He knew it couldn’t be the person he wanted it to be. All logic defied the possibility, but his heart screamed it had to be; it simply had to be!
“Sweet Jesus!” he declared softly, tipping his head sideways to try to see more of the face. The hood of the over-long cloak was tugged upwards, shielding the face from all but the most intense scrutiny. He had still managed to catch sight of the haunting blue eyes that had plagued his dreams for the past few months.
If You Were Mine Page 3