THE SILENCE BESIDE THE river was broken by a shrill, mechanic beeping. Dominic sighed and rolled to his back, fishing a metal box from the chaos of their clothes as static filled the air. “Montserrat, are you there?” The voice at the other end was urgent. “There’s just been a call from Harcliffe. Richard Severance has been taken into custody for questioning, but he insists he will only talk to you.”
Dominic frowned. “To me?”
“That’s the word. Harcliffe wants you to get right off to London. He’s sent a car.”
Dominic sighed. “I’ll be there shortly.” He punched a button, silencing the receiver, then sat up.
“What does it mean, Dominic?”
“I’m not sure.” But in that moment Dominic had a flash of intuition that they, like the Titanic drifting in the foggy Atlantic night, were heading directly toward something from which they had no chance of escape.
IT TOOK DOMINIC ONLY minutes to pack a small bag. Then he turned and pulled Cathlin to him. “I’ll be back tomorrow. At least I hope I will. There are three men working the grounds in shifts and one will always be in the house with you.”
Cathlin brushed his cheek. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be fine. Just as long as it isn’t another two hundred years.”
“You’ve got my promise on that, Lady Ashton.”
Their fingers tightened. Their lips touched for long, aching moments. Then Dominic turned sharply and slid into the unmarked but very official car that James Harcliffe had sent to take him back to London.
“WERE THERE ANY MESSAGES for me, Mrs. Holt?” Joanna Harcliffe tipped her wet umbrella carefully into its ceramic container and hung up her raincoat neatly.
Her receptionist looked down at a stack of papers. “A half dozen, Dr. Harcliffe. The usual, all except for this one.” The woman held out a sheet of paper. As the older woman studied the message, a frown worked between her calm brown eyes.
“YES, MRS. HARCLIFFE—Dr. Harcliffe, I should say. Thank you for returning my call.” Cathlin was standing in the rose-filled study overlooking the abbey’s moat. Marston had finally tracked her down in the cellars to tell her that she had a call. But now Cathlin felt a strange reluctance to talk about the flood of memories and the chaos of feelings that were still painfully new.
“I expect you want to know why I called.” She straightened the beautiful Fabergé egg at the corner of Nicholas Draycott’s desk. “Actually it has to do with my memory. I—I think that it’s beginning to come back.”
“This is a very significant development, my dear. I’m sure you must find it a little shocking,” the woman said sympathetically. “When did this all begin?”
“Yesterday. Oh, it didn’t come all in one rush, but in bits and pieces.” Cathlin looked out at the silver waters of the moat, trying to explain. “But it’s not just about what happened fifteen years ago. This concerns another person—and another time.” She sighed. “I expect this sounds entirely mad.”
Joanna Harcliffe laughed softly. “You’d be surprised at the behavior I see in the course of my day, Lady Ashton. The majority of it is far stranger than what you’ve just described, and yet each of those people functions quite normally. To all intents and purposes they are quite, quite sane.”
Somehow this didn’t reassure Cathlin as much as it ought to. “But I’m coming face-to-face with memories of myself—as a woman who died two hundred years ago. And on top of that, the memories about my mother have begun returning.”
There was a moment of silence, then the sound of papers rustling. “I see.” The psychiatrist sighed. “I believe it’s finally begun.”
“Begun? I don’t understand.”
“You’ve finally begun to remember, my dear. Something has triggered the images that have been blocked inside you all these years. Don’t ask me why, because I can’t tell you. The human mind is still far from being well understood, no matter what experts like me would have you believe. And as for your memories of another person and time, all I can say is that many famous people have consciously experienced lives as other people, some as illustrious as Aristotle and Plato or Thomas Edison and General Patton.”
“But it’s all happening so suddenly.”
“I’m sure it must feel that way, but you really needn’t feel you have to take it in all at once. It reminds me of a rhyme I once heard. Let me see if I can get it right.
,!“There is a hawke at my father’s house,
By oak and ash and bonny deer.”
The woman’s voice became smooth and singsong as she continued.
,!“And though to me he sings full fair
No one else can hear, oh
No one else can hear.”
Cathlin frowned, struggling with a thread of memory. “I’ve heard that, I think.” Suddenly the next lines rushed into her mind.
,!“There is a dove on my mother’s hill,
By oak and ash and bonny doe;
And though to me she sings full sweet,
No one else can know, oh,
No one else can know.”
She rubbed at her forehead, wondering where that strange scrap of poetry had come from.
“I see you’ve heard it too.” Another pause. “A silly bit of verse I suppose, but it’s something I think of when I am faced with unanswerable questions. And I’m faced with them rather more often than I care to admit when dealing with the human mind. But my dear Lady Ashton, I could come to the abbey if you feel it is important.”
Cathlin frowned. “No, I’ll be fine. I—I’m sorry to have troubled you.’
After she hung up, Cathlin stood for a while, the sunlight on her shoulders entirely unnoticed. She thought about the call and about that odd bit of verse—and then she thought about nothing at all. It was long minutes later before she gave herself a shake and roused herself from her reverie.
JOANNA HARCLIFFE FROWNED at the receiver. The new Lady Ashton had been decisive enough in her assurances that she did not require any help, yet there had been something in her voice, a quiver, an edge of uncertainty that Joanna Harcliffe, experienced from years of professional practice, recognized as deep inner turmoil.
She sat back at her desk and looked at the framed diplomas that hid nearly every inch of the silk-covered walls. Steepling her fingers, she went over the conversation word by word. Outside a wave of automobiles screamed and snorted through Piccadilly Circus, but she barely heard.
A moment later she reached forward and pushed down the button for her receptionist. “Something has come up, Mrs. Holt. I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel the rest of my appointments for the day.”
CATHLIN FROWNED DOWN AT the dusty wine case. One of the precious bottles now stood on her worktable, where she had placed it after carefully freeing it from its case.
But as she stood in the cool shadows, the old glass bottle before her, Cathlin felt images surge, pressing at her consciousness with painful intensity. She rubbed her eyes, blinking. As she did, the bottle changed. No more was it dust-streaked and dirty, its cork brittle. Now its glass shone and its label was crisp.
As new as the day it was printed.
THEY ARRIVED AT THE ABBEYjust as night was falling. Roses filled the courtyard and climbed the weathered granite walls.
Geneva lost her heart instantly to this place of wrenching beauty. They would be safe here; she felt it clearly. Even Henry Devere’s madness could not reach Gabriel inside these moated walls.
For three days she explored every shadowed corner, every sunlit room. Even the cavernous wine cellars did not escape her curious eye. She marveled at the variety of the wines collected in those cool shadows and Gabriel encouraged her to choose a different bottle to sample every night with their dinner.
At last, Geneva saw some of the sadness eased from Gabriel’s silver eyes. Amused by her boundless curiosity, he followed her everywhere, sharing information from his earlier visits with Adrian. With unflagging energy Geneva dragged him through the imposing portraits in the long gallery while she fir
ed innumerable questions about the Draycott ancestors. When Gabriel could bear no more history lessons, he pulled her off to the moat, where Geneva dangled her toes and returned his teasing kisses.
But when night filled the valleys and stars shone in the shimmering moat, Gabriel fed a different kind of curiosity as he pulled Geneva against his hard body. Her breath caught when he carried her to the huge poster bed that overlooked the rose gardens, though neither noticed the view through the beautiful mullioned windows.
Their joy was in a different world, a place of endless discovery and boundless love where Gabriel taught Geneva pleasures beyond imagining.
And in their reckless joy, neither noticed the eyes that watched from the darkness.
“I COULD STAY ANOTHERday. I would just have time.” Gabriel stood exquisite in navy silk and crimson damask on Draycott’s gravel drive. Behind him a groom held the reins of his restive mount.
“No, you must go. We could have no peace, not while my sister’s life hangs in the balance. And though it breaks my heart, I must let you go for you are the only one who can save her. Otherwise, I would hold you here forever, my love.” Geneva straightened her shoulders and looked up at the man she loved. “But there will be time, endless time for us when you return from France.” With a little choked cry she flung herself against him, her hands thrown around his neck. “Be careful, my love. They know you now and will be watching for you. Be watchful also for Henry Devere. He may well be a greater threat than any of the French Tribunal.”
“No one will find me. I’ve put all my cleverness to use this time. I have every intention of returning, now that I know there’s an incorrigible hoyden with an unquenchable curiosity waiting in my bed.”
Caught in emotion, Geneva didn’t think to scold him for his plain speaking in front of the groom, who turned away, careful to look as if he had not heard.
She caught a ragged breath and then her chin rose. “Go now, my love. Go quickly and Godspeed. I’ll be waiting, waiting here in the shadow of the abbey’s roses. Remember that and come back safe to me.”
A dark, unnamed emotion crossed Gabriel’s face. As the wind sighed through the roses, he pulled Geneva close and pressed a hard, desperate kiss upon her lips. Then he flung himself up into the saddle and galloped south to the coast, where a sleek cutter was waiting to run before the tide to France.
CATHLIN STOOD IN THE half-light, feeling the memories burn through her hand where she touched the old, dusty bottle. They tore at her with aching force, until it seemed she was reliving every agonizing moment of the past.
And as she stood she heard the faint sound of a woman’s breathless sobbing.
GABRIEL DID NOT MAKEthe next county, nor even make the next valley. They caught him as the sun burned over the horizon, twenty men with muskets ready.
He fought them long and well, sweat on his brow as he cut down one after another. But in the end he was no match for this cutthroat crew hired from London’s cruelest slums.
As darkness fell, he was bound and gagged and shoved into a carriage bound for London. There Henry Devere waited in keenest expectation of his arrival, and of the look on Geneva Russell’s face when she saw her lover lying dead at her feet.
DOMINIC SHOWED A BADGE to the bored officer sitting behind the desk in the cavernous office building he hadn’t visited in years. “I’m looking for Richard Severance.”
“Then you found him. He’s right over there.”
The international jet-setter and financier was being held in a narrow room with a single desk and chair. Dark lines of strain bit into his face. Even a few hours of questioning could do that to the toughest people, Dominic knew. And something told him Richard Severance was far from tough.
Severance came to his feet immediately. “There you are, Montserrat. It took you long enough to get here.”
Dominic leaned back against the battered table. “What’s the idea of dragging me into this? It’s a simple enough case—attempted murder. We’ve found the company who delivered that wine to you before you added your poison. There’s no reason for me to be involved.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Severance turned and paced the narrow room. “She’s got the same hold over you, hasn’t she? I know how it works. I saw her, and from that minute on I couldn’t get her out of my mind either.” Severance laughed grimly. “I’ve seen that same hunger in your eyes.”
“So?”
“So I didn’t give in without a fight. I made it my business to find out everything I could about Cathlin O’Neill. I studied her father, I studied her mother, and I studied her past. Oddly enough there wasn’t that much to find, which made me curious. With the kind of access I have to people in high places, I’d expected to find more.”
“Get to the point, Severance.”
“I’m not certain what Cathlin has in her past.” Severance frowned and pulled a hand through his now disordered hair. “Oh, there were a few fragments about her mother’s murder at Draycott Abbey, but after that nothing. Stranger still, I found out that someone else had been along that same paper trail. Whoever it was made damn sure to sweep every detail clean after him.”
“Which only made you more curious.”
“You’re bloody right it made me curious.” Severance shrugged. “I won’t say I loved her. I won’t even say that I liked her all the time. But I couldn’t seem to get Cathlin O’Neill out of my mind. Especially her eyes. All I could think of was seeing them hot with passion, just for me.” He cursed softly. “Yes, I was damned curious. I’ve made a great deal of money by being curious, Officer Montserrat. Business is about information, after all. So I pushed and then I pushed some more and bit by bit the pieces of Cathlin’s past finally began to emerge.”
Dominic sat back, waiting to hear the rough outlines of the story Cathlin had already told him along with some of the details he had learned from Harcliffe’s file. “Go ahead, Severance, astound me.”
The other man studied Dominic. “Tough, aren’t you? But you weren’t so tough in Rome, not when those three teenagers died from your gun. And you weren’t so tough when it turned out that one of them was a girl.”
Dominic’s jaw hardened. Less than half a dozen people knew about that bloody episode. It had been carefully covered up, not out of concern for Dominic’s reputation but as a precaution in case other members of the royal family might be attacked. “Just how the hell do you know that, Severance? Not that I’m agreeing there’s any truth to it, of course.”
“I have access to the best sources, Montserrat. I’m not talking about receptionists or clerical staff here, but about highly placed cabinet-level contacts. These people owe me all kinds of favors. That’s how I began to fit the clues about Cathlin together.” He began to pace again, his expression growing more and more tense. “And finally those pieces began to make sense.”
“Why did you go to so much trouble? Certainly not just because of a pair of remarkable eyes?”
“At first that’s all it was. Then it changed. My instincts began screaming that there was more here than met the eye. Secrets are power, Montserrat, and power is what keeps me where I am.” Severance laughed grimly. “Or where I was.” He frowned at Dominic. “You still don’t believe me, do you? You think this is all a scheme to work my way out of the charges. But this is absolutely true. Someone else was going to a great deal of trouble to destroy the details of Cathlin’s past. Those psychological files of hers are not available even to fellow physicians. They’re considered national secrets, don’t you see? There’s only one reason that would happen.”
“Because Cathlin knew something important?”
“Exactly! Do you understand now? Somewhere in that jagged, tormented memory she holds a scrap of information that someone considers very, very deadly. That’s why they want her past erased.”
Dominic sat forward, his eyes narrowing. “Tell me who.”
CATHLIN STOOD IN THE WINE cellar, her hands locked at her chest, images of past and present flooding her
mind. Around her lay piles of rubble, remnants of the wall that had been Gabriel Ashton’s lonely tomb.
A wall that reminded her of the jagged hole in her own mind.
Fragments. Images. So much of the past she could never get away from. As Cathlin moved over the floor, something glinted from the shadows. Bending down, she sifted through the dust and picked up a small metal link, the kind that came from a piece of expensive jewelry.
Cathlin studied the piece of silver, turning it in the light. Something about it nagged at her memory, but she couldn’t decide what. After a moment she slipped the smooth link into her pocket, where her fingers continued to turn it over and over.
What had happened to Gabriel? And what had happened to this wistful amber-eyed woman that he’d left behind at the abbey?
Frowning, Cathlin touched the old bottle. The glass was cold, dust-streaked, heavy beneath her fingers, but now it held no answers, its secrets locked in the same tomb that had held Gabriel’s bones.
Behind her the new generator popped sharply. She heard a faint hiss. A moment later the cellar was plunged into utter darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“A NICE STORY, SEVERANCE, but you’re wasting my time. I need facts, not speculation.”
The rumpled financier gestured irritably. “Get me some coffee, for God’s sake. I’ve been cooped up in this place for six hours. The least you can do is get me something to drink.”
A stalling tactic? Dominic shrugged and moved to the door, spoke softly with the man outside, then returned. “I need something specific if you want my help. This kind of empty speculation won’t get you an extra blanket on your prison bed.”
“It’s far more than speculation, you fool! It’s about secrets, damn it. The kind of secrets that keep governments afloat—or shatter them.”
“I need a name or I can’t help you,” Dominic said flatly.
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