Death at Knytte
Page 13
She shook her head. ‘I know what you’re trying to say, Jonah, and I’m sorry but it’s no use. Lady Pickhurst has made my position very clear. We could never be friends.’ She glanced back towards the house. It was almost dark now, and she should be with the children.
‘I have to go. Dear Jonah, I’m glad you’re talking to me again. I’ll hate to see you leave, but I think it’s the only way.’ Phoebe stood on tiptoe so she could reach to pull his head down and give him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. ‘Lady Pickhurst won’t be the only one to lose a friend, but you must do what’s best.’
Torn between relief and sadness, she ran round to the back entrance of the house. She passed the bevy of servants preparing for dinner with her cheeks flaming and the stain of tears still on her face, but she held her head high, not caring what they thought.
‘Tell me, are Mrs Stoppens’s rubies truly as beautiful as they say?’
Mortleigh jerked round, his hand still upon the cuff he was unfastening. ‘What?’ He stared at Lucille, then at the open door behind her. ‘My man will be here—’
She shook her head and pushed the door shut. ‘I sent him on an errand, we have ten minutes. You didn’t answer my question.’
‘What would I know of Mrs Stoppens’s jewellery?’ He had command of himself again. ‘You’re likely to have seen more of it than I.’
‘Oh yes, on top of her horrid dyed hair.’ She tossed her own, aware of its beauty and knowing he was watching her in the mirror. ‘I never held those emeralds in my hand. Not like you.’
‘Are you mad?’ he turned his attention back to his cuffs. ‘How would I come to handle the jewellery of an old and ugly woman? I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’
Her lips lifted in her cat-like smile. ‘Are you telling me I’m wrong about the reason for your visit to Dunsby Court on Saturday? Perhaps my first suspicion was right, and you were courting sweet little Agatha. She’s prettier than her mother, and they say she’s worth a fortune, but I would have thought you might prefer a wife with half a brain.’
Mortleigh faced her. ‘I was in London on Saturday.’
‘So you say. And yet I saw you mount your horse in the little copse at the back of Dunsby Court and ride away. Rather strange, isn’t it? If I’d chosen to tell my story to Sir Martin Haylmer instead of waiting to talk to you, perhaps he would have thought I was hallucinating. Or perhaps not.’ She began to walk around the room. ‘On the whole, I think I would prefer to know you for a common thief, rather than the kind of fool who’d marry Agatha Stoppen for her money, particularly as that would involve rejecting me. And Knytte, of course,’ she added, as if it were an afterthought.
‘I’d never thought of you as an inventor of fiction, Lady Pickhurst,’ he said. ‘This has been an interesting venture into fantasy, but I don’t think your ladyship should be found dallying in a man’s room at this hour. Perhaps you’d better go now.’
‘You wouldn’t believe how angry the idea of your rejection made me,’ she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘I imagined you planning your strategies even as you visited my bed. I’ll share no man’s affections.’ She came to a halt, standing close behind him, and lifted a hand to run a fingernail gently down the back of his neck. ‘No, I much prefer to think of you as a daring renegade, risking his life by robbing the rich to help the poor, which in this case means yourself, of course.’
‘You saw some man riding a horse that resembled mine, and concluded that I’m a thief?’ his back was still turned to her; he sounded amused.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him to face her with extraordinary strength. ‘I’m not a fool,’ she said. ‘I know you. I saw you. Poor Mortleigh, I’ve found you out. But you needn’t worry, I’ve no intention of giving you away. In fact, you’re exactly the man I need.’
‘You say so. And yet you’ve been meeting your rustic knight in the summer house again. You see, my dear Lucille, you’re not the only one who knows how to discover secrets.’ His hands captured her arms, holding them tight, his fingers digging into her flesh. ‘It must be very convenient, having spy holes to watch and listen through. I have a somewhat less obvious system.’ His lips were upon hers, hard, demanding, his tongue probing deep. Her back bent under his weight and he let go of one arm to grope beneath her skirts. ‘You witch. Let it be you and me, then. A match made in heaven, or maybe in hell.’
With some difficulty she thrust him away. ‘An hour,’ she said huskily. ‘Come to me in an hour.’
He cocked an enquiring eyebrow at her. ‘In the garden, my sweet? Among the spiders, like your bucolic sweetheart?’
She scowled at him, then laughed, low and inviting. ‘Not this time. Don’t worry, his lordship will be sleeping sound, I’ll see to that. He’ll be waiting for me even now, all agog, for I’ve promised him a rare treat. He’ll only have my body a little longer,’ she added, seeing his look. ‘My heart’s already yours.’
‘And what of your hulking Romeo?’ His face was suddenly ugly and he tugged viciously at her hair. ‘You want me to yourself, you’re jealous of an empty-headed chit of a girl, but you expect me to share you with that ignorant peasant.’
‘Come in an hour. I’ll prove how little Jonah means to me.’ She pulled him to her, and sank her teeth into his neck, biting hard. ‘Don’t be late.’
They lay curled together on her bed, sated at last. Beyond a locked door Lord Pickhurst was deep in a drugged sleep. Mortleigh stroked the soft flesh beneath his hand, and felt her instant response. He smiled, and desisted. ‘I never knew a woman with such an appetite,’ he whispered. ‘Tell me, you can’t have discovered my secret simply by seeing me at Dunsby Court? What else do you know?’
‘Your exploits are notorious. I read the newspapers and checked on the dates. The night we first – shall I say, met?’ She gave a languorous laugh. ‘There are so many impolite ways of putting it. You left me, remember. At first I couldn’t see how you came and went so freely from Knytte without detection, but of course there was your man, so quick and quiet on his feet.’
Mortleigh nodded. ‘A good man, Tomms. Discreet and reliable.’
‘Nobody thought it strange when he was sent to fetch your horses from the inn the next day. The newspaper report told me about the trap that was set at the Gallows crossroads. Two villains supposedly escaped unharmed, but that wasn’t quite true, was it? Shots were fired, and one of them found a mark. How is poor Laidlaw?’
He curved a hand around her neck, his fingers soft and yet somehow threatening. ‘What do you care? He only got in your way.’
Even as his fingers tightened she wouldn’t be cowed; she knew her man, she was sure of him now. ‘I don’t care, I’m merely interested. You refused to fetch him a physician while he was at Knytte. What happened when you took him back to London?’
‘He died.’ Mortleigh said simply. ‘So much the best solution, don’t you think? As I told Lord Pickhurst, he’s better in every way.’
She laughed. ‘Well, he was a terrible bore.’
There was a brief silence before she spoke again. ‘And when you came to Knytte, was it with the intention of robbing me? My husband likes to see me decked in his wealth. I have a string of pearls that would make your mouth water.’
‘I had it in mind,’ he said, relaxing his hold on her neck and beginning to caress her bare shoulder instead, ‘but once I met you again there was nothing else at Knytte I wanted. Not that I wouldn’t be tempted by the thought of owning some trinket that once lay against this white neck. Or better, perhaps a ring from this pretty hand.’ He took her little finger into his mouth, sucking at it gently before nipping it with his teeth.
Lucille felt as if her flesh was melting. She moaned softly. ‘Not yet. We have to talk. I’ll not spend any longer than I must, married to that old goat.’
‘You want him dead,’ Mortleigh said baldly. ‘Do you realize how difficult that will be? There must never be any cause for suspicion if you truly intend us to be together. I’m not averse
to getting rid of a man if necessary, but I’ll not swing from the gallows, even for you, my sweet.’
‘I don’t ask you to. I have a plan. My husband can be safely despatched. A week or two later, a month at most, we shall be together. What could be more natural than a grieving widow finding comfort in the company of her poor dead husband’s friend?’
‘You sound very sure of success, but accidents aren’t easy to arrange.’
She draped herself sinuously on top of his body and lowered her lips to his ear. ‘Let me tell you how it’s to be done,’ she whispered. ‘I trust you don’t find this too distracting.’
‘I have a great ability to control myself,’ he said smoothly. ‘Unlike you.’
She laughed, and began to speak softly in his ear.
‘We’re no further forward.’ Sir Martin Haylmer scowled across his desk at Docket. ‘So much for the London detective. He did us no good at all.’
‘To be fair, he got his hands on some of the stolen items,’ Docket reminded him.
‘Yes, and went and lost the damn things again. Tremayle has all but given up. One more robbery and I think he’ll resign. I shall be a laughing stock. Please, tell me you have some small idea as to how we might proceed.’
‘There’s this,’ Docket said, taking something small and glittering from his pocket.
‘A ring from a dead man?’ his lordship shook his head wearily. ‘What do you think that might tell us?’
‘I examined it through a glass. There are marks upon it, the sort a silversmith might be able to identify. Suppose we could find out where and when it was made?’
‘The guilds keep their secrets to themselves,’ Sir Martin was disparaging.
‘Yes, but some men are less honest than others. With your permission I might take the thing to Hagstock and make some enquiries.’
‘Very well, do what you can.’ Sir Martin thrust himself suddenly up from his chair. ‘I’m sick of the whole business, Docket. I need a change of air. If anyone asks I’m too busy to be disturbed. I’ll be joining my son on Clow Top. He’s gone off after rabbits, which sounds a lot more pleasant than chasing thoughts around my head. You’ll see I’m left in peace for a couple of hours, if you value your skinny hide.’
Chapter Fourteen
There could be no denying the approach of autumn; the trees in Knytte’s gardens and park were a riot of red and gold, although the colours were muted by the heavy morning mist that drifted from the lake. Phoebe stared out at the pearly brightness, seeing Jonah Jackman on his way to work. She felt for him; these days he wore his despondency like a huge weight on his wide shoulders. Her cousin had sworn to leave Knytte and she guessed it would be soon. As far as Phoebe could tell there had been no more night-time trysts at the summer house.
Unlike her cousin, Phoebe felt more settled now, for things had changed. There had been no more talk of finding schools for the Pengoar children. Lord and Lady Pickhurst occasionally summoned the youngsters to their presence; for half an hour Eliza would read to her ladyship, or play at cards with her, while his lordship talked to his nephew, their heads together over old maps and documents concerning the estate.
During her most benevolent moments, Phoebe thought perhaps she had misjudged her mistress, but the previous day, when she fetched the children from the salon, Phoebe caught an unguarded glance darted at Rodney from Lady Pickhurst’s narrowed catlike eyes, and saw the hatred in them.
Shaking herself from her reverie, Phoebe opened the door that linked her room to the nursery; the children might already be awake.
A scream tore through the house, a sound of such horror that it seemed to stop her heart. It was not the cry of some hysterical young maid, but that of a man, full-throated and raw. As Phoebe stood frozen, Eliza came rushing from her bed, flushed of face and wide-eyed. She flung herself at the governess, sobbing wildly.
Rodney was only a pace behind the little girl. ‘What’s happened?’ the boy demanded, as his sister hid her face in Phoebe’s skirts. ‘What was that noise?’
‘I don’t know. I can only imagine one of the pigs must have escaped from the home farm and got into the garden,’ Phoebe said. ‘It’s amazing what an awful screech they can make.’ She clasped her hands together to stop their shaking. ‘Anyway, there’s no call for you to be parading about in your night attire. Rodney, you are old enough to see to yourself, since Annie isn’t here yet. I shall help your sister. Come along now, hurry.’
With her ears at full stretch Phoebe soothed the little girl and helped her dress; she could make out the scurry of running feet, followed by the muttering of voices. The focus of activity was somewhere below the nursery, perhaps in the old library. It was strange, for none of those rooms were in use.
As she was brushing Eliza’s hair she heard the sound of horses being ridden at speed down the drive. Glancing out of the window, Phoebe saw men mounted on two of Lord Pickhurst’s fastest hunters, one taking the direct route across country that would take him to Trembury, while the other was heading for the main road.
Resisting the temptation to open the door and listen, or go seeking for information, Phoebe concentrated on the children. She would not add to whatever chaos reigned in the great house at that moment; if her help was needed it would be asked for. Annie had still not appeared, and Phoebe could imagine the servant’s hall buzzing like a wasp’s nest stirred by a stick.
Rodney went to open the door but she called him back. ‘You are not to leave the nursery this morning without my express permission,’ Phoebe said.
The boy looked mutinous, and she shook her head severely at him. ‘You will behave as a gentleman should, Master Pengoar. Please remember who you are, and show your sister a good example. Ring the bell,’ she added. ‘No matter what has taken place, Annie should be here and tending to her duties.’
‘But,’ he began, tugging hard at the bell pull, ‘suppose—’
‘We shall suppose nothing,’ Phoebe said firmly. ‘I have heard no shout of “fire”, and I know of no other reason for us to leave the nursery until you have performed your morning task and eaten your breakfast. We shall—’
The door burst open and Annie ran in, her hair escaping untidily from its cap, her apron askew and her cheeks flushed. ‘Oh, Miss Drake, of all things! you’ll never guess—’
‘Hush!’ Phoebe cut across the torrent of words, stepping past the girl to close the door. ‘Look at the state of you. You should be ashamed to appear looking so unkempt, no matter what’s happened. Straighten your cap, and calm down.’
‘But it’s his lordship.’ Annie wasn’t to be silenced, even as she pushed her hair out of sight. ‘They just found him.’
‘I asked you to be silent, you silly girl,’ Phoebe said, taking the maid by the shoulder and giving her a little shake. ‘Remember the children. Think before you speak.’
Her words fell on deaf ears. The maid was in a state of almost hysterical excitement.
‘But we could all be murdered in our beds,’ she shrieked. ‘His lordship’s dead!’
Two miles away, at the Dower House, the household was preparing to welcome its new master for the first time. Tomms stood looking from a window high in the roof. Given carte blanche by his indulgent employer, he had chosen the largest of the attics for himself; from here he could see across the park and make out the chimneys of Knytte in one direction, and the main road running north and south in the other.
Being apparently tired of waiting for the alterations to be completed, and claiming that he didn’t wish to outstay his welcome at Knytte, his master was spending two days with an acquaintance near Hagstock. Mr Mortleigh was expected to arrive in time for luncheon. Tomms moved from one window to another, standing in silence and listening to the sounds of the household down below; he was satisfied that all was as it should be.
Two horses were being led from the stables for their morning exercise. In the garden an old man was raking fallen leaves from the lawns. Tomms lifted his gaze to the distance. Far off, gl
impsed through the trees, he saw movement; a man was riding fast towards the Trembury Road. Moments later another horseman became visible, this time heading straight across the park to take the shortest route to Hagstock.
Tomms gave an abrupt nod, although his expression didn’t change. Turning from the window, he dusted an imaginary speck of dirt from his immaculate sleeve. He started downstairs, the picture of the perfect manservant, who, in his master’s absence, had nothing on his mind but his breakfast.
Far across the moors, a slow procession was winding its way through the boggy wilderness. It had left a wayside inn at dawn with none to see but a yawning potboy. Two men led the way on foot, their clothes and demeanour marking them as miners. Behind came a blood horse ridden by a slender young man, alongside a cob bearing a larger man who rode one handed, his left arm held in a discreet black sling. A small wagon followed the riders, with a youth at the head of the rough-coated pony between the shafts. In the bed of the wagon lay a long narrow burden covered by a heap of sacking, topped with two spades and a short ladder.
Mist shifted around the feet of men and beasts, masking the faint path; sometimes it rose to above head-height to completely obscure their vision. The going was slow even when the mist cleared, for the track had barely been used since the mine at its end was abandoned some thirty years before. The cortege moved in silence. When the jagged top of a ruined chimney came into view the slender young man exclaimed and pointed, but his companion said nothing, merely nodding assent. Coming within fifty yards of their objective the wagon was halted; the pony at once dropped its head to graze on the rough greenery, while the two horses were handed into the care of the boy.