She observed the house one final time and once certain that there were no candles flickering in the windows that she could see, she ran towards the property.
She headed for the servants’ entrance, hoping that it was unlocked but her luck didn’t hold. She got a T-bar from her small tool bag then bent down to the lock. Unfortunately a cursory examination revealed that the key was still in the other side of the door, so she put her tools away and made her way around to the front of the house.
She tried the handle on the large front door but it too was locked; fortunately her tools revealed that the key hadn’t been left in this door.
She put the long bar of the T-bar into the lock, then carefully inserted the picking wire above it. It took her some time to align each lever as she was nervous, and she had to repeat lifting the first two levers twice. Finally she had them all lined up and held in place by the bar, so she gently turned it, relief washing through her as she felt the bolt being pulled back. Once done she took a deep breath, put her tools away, then stood up and turned the door handle as quietly as she could. It opened soundlessly and she slipped into the hallway, quickly closing the door behind her.
Her eyes were well adjusted to the dark by this time but she waited a few moments nonetheless, just to be certain that no one was around. Sure that she was alone, she went into the first door she saw, opening it a fraction. It was a parlour, so she quickly closed the door and moved onto the next. As she moved deeper into the building, she found a music room, a drawing room, the ballroom, two sets of servants’ stairs, the wife’s office, two other parlours, a breakfast room and a dining room.
As she came back into the front hallway, she was beginning to think that she would never find a library or study, when the second door that she opened on the opposite side revealed bookshelves. She opened the door wide in her haste and headed towards the desk. As she got close she could see her father’s handwriting on a pile of documents and reached for them.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Chapter Six
She froze, hand still outstretched towards the papers.
“There’s a pistol aimed at your head, so I wouldn’t get any clever ideas.”
She heard him take a step towards her.
“I saw you coming past the window and realised what you must be here for. Now tell me, who are you working for?”
She withdrew her hand but didn’t turn around, and he took another three steps in her direction.
“I think I’ve been very patient, waiting for you to find this room-”
She realised that he must have been waiting behind the door. If only she had been more circumspect. She wouldn’t make that mistake again and waited for her chance to escape.
“-but my patience won’t last forever. I suggest you turn around and start cooperating.”
She could tell from his voice that he was about four paces away from her so tucking her head in, she turned and barrelled at him, her head and shoulder hitting him in the chest and pushing him off balance.
She ran for the door, pulling at the doorknob so the door would close behind her, but he must already have been chasing her as she didn’t hear it slam. She flew through the hallway to the front door and turned the knob but as she opened the door, he grabbed the shoulder of her cloak. Having little other option, she threw herself through the door, falling down the steps but at least he let go of her cape.
She quickly got to her feet and ran towards the woods as if the hounds of Hell were at her heels, but she could hear him behind her. She wondered why, if he had a pistol, he didn’t shoot.
She made it perhaps fifty feet from the house, when something hit her waist and she tumbled to the ground. She managed to get onto her back and struck the man above her, trying to get free, but he was stronger than she and managed to pin her wrists.
She continued to struggle until he exclaimed, “Lady Wellesley!”
She knew then that the game was up and stopped fighting; even if she got free, he now knew who she was.
“Lord Copley,” she said, as if being tackled to the ground was an everyday occurrence, and this was just another greeting.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
“Retrieving my father’s papers.” She was breathing heavily from her exertion but although she was fit and quickly recovering, she still felt breathless, although she did her best to hide that fact.
“Why didn’t you ask?” The mixture of concern and puzzlement on his face might have been comical, if she hadn’t just been caught breaking into his home.
“Would you have given them to me?”
He hesitated for a moment before replying. “No, but I might have let you look through them.”
The proximity of this man was having an effect on her and although this situation was far from terrifying, she felt incredibly uneasy.
“I’m afraid that wasn’t good enough for me.”
He looked down into her eyes and as earlier that night, she felt unable to look away. She suddenly felt flushed and as a strand of hair was blown over her face, she realised that she had lost her hat in the pursuit.
The look in his eyes was slowly changing, from shock and horror to now something altogether different, almost a hunger.
Without warning he leaned down and kissed her and while her first thought was to try and push him away, as soon as she felt the warmth of his lips on hers, the instinct deserted her.
She felt as if her skin was alive with sensation and it sent a delicious thrill coursing through her body. She could feel the weight of his thighs as he straddled her hips, feel the buttons from his shirt pressing into her chest, feel the slight scratch of stubble on his chin.
Despite how alert she felt, she closed her eyes.
And then his lips were gone and he was staring down at her once again.
She tried to speak but her voice was shaky. “L- Lord Copley…” She didn’t even know what she wanted to say, having been quite struck dumb by his kiss.
Her words had an effect however and he blinked a few times, seemingly coming to his senses. He looked to where his hands still held her wrists pinned and quickly got off her, scrambling to his feet.
“I do apologise, I don’t know what came over me.”
Damaris felt much the same and accepted the hand he offered to help her up.
“Let’s talk about this inside,” he said, turning on his heel and heading for the house.
She looked from his retreating back to the woods, where her horse waited, but she knew that fleeing was pointless now so after a moment’s hesitation, she traipsed after him, albeit somewhat slower.
When she got into the large hallway, he wasn’t in sight so she closed the door after herself and made her way to the study, which was the only open door.
He was standing by a decanter in the corner and downing a healthy measure as she came in. He looked over to her, his expression almost pained.
“I don’t suppose you’d like a brandy?” He held the decanter up. “We have other beverages but I don’t know where to find them.”
“I think a brandy would be just the thing right now.”
Surprised by her reply, he poured her a measure, then a second for himself.
She took her cloak off and threw it over the desk chair as she made her way to the fire. Although there were no flames left, she took a seat and he joined her a moment later, handing her a glass as he sat. They sat in silence for a few long and awkward moments, neither sure how to begin. Damaris sipped her brandy, hoping that it would help soothe her frayed nerves.
“So, Lady Wellesley, what exactly do you mean by running about the countryside, dressed as some sort of highwayman?”
“How I dress is of no concern to you.”
“You broke into my house, I think that makes it my business.”
“Then charge me with a crime. I will insist on a trial and since nothing was stolen, I doubt I will be found guilty.”
“You still brok
e in.”
“I came in, I didn’t break in.”
“You picked the lock.”
“Prove it,” she smiled. “Prove that your butler didn’t just forget to lock it.”
He let out a long sigh. “I don’t want to fight with you, Lady Wellesley. I’m only trying to discover who killed your father.”
“You seem very interested in this investigation, Sir, when it is not a part of your duties.”
“You say that as if it is a bad thing.”
“Perhaps it is.”
“Oh?”
“It strikes me that the killer would also be very interested in the investigation, after all, how better to determine if he is close to being caught, and you yourself said that you wouldn’t return my father’s papers to me. Is there something incriminating in them, perhaps?”
He nodded slowly. “That is a fair assumption, except that I am a Justice of the Peace.”
“And your job is to appoint a constable to investigate crimes and bind the criminals over for trial, not to investigate them yourself.”
“As I think you already know, my constable is hardly… efficient and under such circumstances, can you blame me for wanting to see justice done? Besides, I might also make the same observation about your interest in the investigation.”
“But I’m a woman.”
“Yes, you are,” he replied, his smile saying that he appreciated that fact.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Women don’t murder,” she stated, as if she was talking to a child.
“Women also don’t study bones, at least in most peoples’ opinions, but I’m assuming that it was you who broke into Dr Worthington’s?”
“All right, if I am the killer, why am I trying to find out who did it?” she demanded.
“To throw suspicion off yourself, possibly even to frame someone else for your crime.”
He was looking remarkably smug, and she wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off his face.
“He was my father!”
“Come now, we both know that is no proof of innocence.”
“Then we seem to be at an impasse,” she stated.
“Indeed we do, so might I suggest a truce?”
“What kind of truce?”
“That without evidence, I will stop accusing you of murder, if you will stop accusing me.”
“Very well,” she agreed, although somewhat reluctantly. He looked altogether too pleased with himself.
“Thank you, Lady Wellesley.”
She favoured him with a genial smile, albeit a false one. “Please, Nathaniel, you just held me down as you straddled my waist and kissed me, I think we are past such formalities.”
She had been hoping to unnerve him, to make him feel as nonplussed as she felt right now but instead he chuckled. “I suppose you have a point there, Damaris, but I actually prefer my friends and family to call me Nate.”
“I didn’t realise I was either,” she answered, disconcerted by his easy reply.
“Well no but, I hope very much that you will come to consider me a friend in time, Damaris.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that and was surprised when she heard herself say, “Mari.”
“I’m sorry?”
She spoke again, this time trying to put more volume behind her words. “My friends call me Mari.”
“Not your family?”
“None that are living.” She disliked how mournful her voice sounded but it was true; only her father and husband had ever called her that.
“Well, it is very nice to make your acquaintance, Mari.”
She sipped her drink and kept quiet, growing more and more uneasy when he didn’t speak either, until she couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
“If you mean to call the constable, don’t worry, I’ll go easily. Or perhaps you have already sent someone for him and are simply delaying me.”
“I haven’t called him, nor do I intend to.”
She looked over to him trying to read his expression but she was unable to. Reading people had never been one of her talents.
“What do you intend to do?” she asked, a hint of fear creeping into her voice.
“Find out why you dislike me so, for a start. I cannot fathom why you don’t want to help me find your father’s killer.”
“Because I don’t trust you.”
“Have I proved myself untrustworthy?”
“I don’t trust your competence to find his killer,” she elaborated.
“Oh… well…” Finally it seemed that she had bewildered him for a change. “Is there a reason for you feeling that way?”
“Because you got his cause of death wrong. Anyone who could make such a grievous mistake about something so important, cannot be trusted to run an investigation.”
He frowned as he considered his words. “You asked me how he died when I came to see you,” he remembered. “I told you he had been struck on the head.”
“Indeed.”
“And that is the point at which you became hostile. It was a test.”
She didn’t reply but that was all the answer he needed.
“Then I must apologise, Mari. The examination of your father’s remains was not finished and the following day, Dr Worthington was able to complete a much more thorough examination of the bones. By looking under a powerful magnifying glass, he discovered that the blow to the head had healed very slightly, meaning that he lived for a few days after he received the blow. He also discovered that a small bone in his throat was broken-”
“The hyoid bone,” she corrected automatically.
“Quite; meaning that strangulation is what killed him.”
Despite herself, she was impressed.
“I shouldn’t have said anything until Dr Worthington had finished his examination, but it seemed so obvious that I couldn’t see the harm in telling you, and I hoped that answers might give you some sense of peace. I do apologise.”
“Answers will give me peace,” she assured him. “That’s why I intend to find out who killed my father and why.”
“Very well, but no more breaking into homes. You have been back here what, three days? And already you have singlehandedly created a crime spree.”
She couldn’t help but smile at his teasing; it was well meant.
“I hope I didn’t frighten Dr Worthington too much?”
“Not at all, but I think it probably best not to broadcast that you were his burglar.”
“As you wish.” She conceded the point graciously.
“And I’m afraid that I must insist you are appropriately attired at future meeting; that outfit really is rather scandalous.”
“I’m aware of that,” she agreed. “But you must admit, had you not caught me, you wouldn’t have thought to look for a woman.”
“True, but if there is any breaking into properties to do in the future, I shall do it.”
“And can you pick a lock?” she asked with some amusement.
“Well, no, not as such.” He looked upset that the flaw in his plan had been so easily discovered. “But let’s hope that now we are working together, further instances will not be necessary.”
She inclined her head, not really conceding the point but happy not to argue about it any longer.
“Before we leave that subject entirely however, how did you learn to pick locks?”
“I studied and practiced.”
“You studied and practiced? Isn’t that a rather odd subject for study, assuming that you aren’t criminally minded, of course?”
“Indeed, but I’ve studied a great many things over the years, Lord Copley, from anatomy and biology, to history, astronomy, and even baking.”
“Baking?” he asked, with even more incredulity than he showed over her lock-picking skills. While it was unusual for a wealthy lady to cook, she would have thought that her declarations of studying science would be less believable to him.
“Yes. My father used to enjoy a ginger cake and hav
ing a craving for it again, I wrote to Mrs Higgins and requested the family recipe. She sent it to me but it was not quite the same. I tracked our cook down with the intention of asking for her personal recipe but unfortunately, she had passed away. With little other option, I began experimenting. Finally I surmised that the missing ingredients were cinnamon, clove, orange zest and of all things, vanilla. It took quite a few attempts but finally I discovered the correct ratio for these additional ingredients.”
“And lock-picking?”
A flash of sadness showed on her face and she turned away. “When I learned of his death, I locked my husband’s rooms so that no one would disturb them, and I gave the key to Lilly to keep somewhere safe. It was so long before I could stand to go in there, that she was unable to recall where she had placed the key and no spare could be found. I disliked the idea of breaking the door down, it seemed disrespectful, so I studied locking mechanisms and consulted a locksmith. It took some practicing but I eventually managed my task.”
“Why not simply ask the smith to do it for you?”
“Because I enjoyed the task. Without constant occupation, the business of living proved rather… painful.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up sad memories for you.”
She tried her best to give him a reassuring smile.
“Well, it’s getting late, would you care to stay here for the night? We have guest bedrooms made up.”
“Thank you but Lilly doesn’t know that I’ve gone and it would worry her terribly if I wasn’t there when she awoke. Besides, what would I wear to breakfast?”
“I have a lovely grey suit that might look rather fetching on you.”
This time her smile was genuine. “I thank you but no, I really must return home.”
“Then come and stay tomorrow. You said yourself that the Higgins are just caretakers, while we have a full contingent of servants to cater to your every need. It would also make working together easier and if you are worried about propriety,” his look said that he doubted she was, “my mother, sister and brother still reside here, so your staying will not seem out of place or raise eyebrows.”
“I think it more likely, that you don’t trust me not to go gallivanting off on my own.”
Her Saving Grace Page 7