The Lost Duchess of Greyden Castle

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  "Poor Vanessa,” he said. “Poor, stupid Vanessa. Shall I explain it all for you?"

  His eyes gleamed with a terrible madness. “Caroline was mine,” he cried. “She loved me." He laughed again, that horrid laugh. “Mine! I did not care how many men she used. I knew she was mine.

  "But then she said she was leaving.” For a moment he looked like a bewildered little boy. “Running away with some country lout. I could not let her do that. She was mine. She could not leave me.” He smiled again, and my blood ran cold. “I stopped her. She didn't get to go. Now she'll always be mine."

  He took a step toward me, his smile turning tender. “You could have been mine, too."

  "No!” The word burst from me in involuntary protest. To think that I had believed this man my friend, this man who had murdered my sister.

  "Yes,” he went on. “I offered myself to you. I would have loved you. Sarah, too, I would have made us into the family you wanted.” He frowned. “But you say she's Richard's child. So she'll have to die, too."

  Over his shoulder I glimpsed the door. It was shut, but I knew it could not be locked. If I could get to it, get down those stairs ... I made myself keep my eyes away from it. I must not let him suspect what I was planning. I must keep him talking.

  "Why?” I asked. “Why did you do those things to me?"

  He laughed again, but I controlled myself. I must not give in to my fear. If I panicked, I could not think. And to save myself—and the child—I had to be able to think, to plan. And to pray.

  "At first I wanted to frighten you off,” he said, still smiling that terrible smile. “I had everyone believing Richard guilty—until he brought you home. But if I could frighten you off, then he would look even guiltier."

  I gripped the back of the chair with trembling fingers. “But you were so kind to me."

  He continued to smile. “Of course. I learned early to keep my true feelings to myself. Mama taught me that, though she is not good at it herself. Oh, Vanessa, if you had come to me, as Caroline did, you could have become my duchess."

  I tried to think, to make sense of this nightmare. “But you are not the duke. Richard—"

  "Yes, Richard is the duke.” He nodded, his eyes gleaming. “And he's still alive. But you could have helped me. If he were convicted, it would all be mine."

  "All—"

  He smashed a fist down on the desk, making the candles jump. “I hate being second! I should have been born first. All my life I've suffered because of that stupid ten-minute difference."

  He smiled again. How could I have ever thought that smile friendly? It was pure evil. “But no matter,” he said. “That will soon be over."

  "It will?"

  "Of course. When Richard's second wife is found dead, strangled with a piece of her own petticoat, all the evidence will point to Richard. He will be sentenced to death.” He chuckled. “And Greyden will be mine. All mine."

  My heart threatened to choke me. Some part of me had known he meant to kill me, but to hear the words spoken aloud made it even more frightful. I prayed for strength. And wisdom. I had to make him change his mind.

  "Roland, please don't do this. Just because Richard tried to push you out of—"

  His laugh made cold chills slither down my spine. “Vanessa, you are such a fool. So gullible. Worse even than my father. Richard didn't push me. I pushed him. That time it didn't work, but this time it will. You will be found, and Cressadine Varish will be glad to spread the word of Richard's guilt."

  Keep him talking, I reminded myself. “Miss Varish? What has she to do with this?"

  He licked his lips. “The poor woman is laboring under a misapprehension. She believes that I am in love with her."

  That explained a great deal. But how could any sane woman have believed his lies?

  I caught my breath. I had believed him. I had thought him my loyal friend. Even though I had my husband's love, I had believed his twin, and Cressadine Varish was a woman alone—and unloved.

  Roland ran a hand up his coat sleeve in a caressing motion. “Women. Just give them a smile and they will do anything you ask."

  He took a step toward me. The chair was between us, but it offered little protection. I must do something to stop him. “Roland, think, surely you wouldn't kill an innocent child?"

  He shrugged. “I had some affection for Sarah, but that was because I thought her mine.” He frowned. “We shall see."

  "And Penrose. What of him?"

  "I had hopes for him. But lately he's been changing. You've ruined him with your goodness. Probably I shall have to dispose of him, too.” He rubbed his hands together. “Richard's shoulders are broad. He can take the blame for all."

  I wanted to scream out my anguish for those I loved, so soon to die at this madman's hands, but screaming would not help them. I had to keep my wits about me, keep him talking. I was the only one who could prevent this tragedy. “So then, Richard really did not suffer from rages?"

  "Of course not. He's disgustingly even-tempered. But that won't help him."

  "Did you—” I had to ask him. I must know. “Did you kill your father, too?"

  He looked amused. “No. And neither did Rosamund. I heard some of the things she babbled to Penrose, but she didn't kill our father. Wishing won't kill a person, you know, or I'd have been rid of Richard long ago."

  "You—you did all those things?"

  He nodded. “Yes. As I said. At first I meant only to frighten you, but later I thought perhaps you would die.” He frowned. “Why didn't you? It would have saved me so much trouble."

  His gaze went downward to where my hand had gone automatically to shelter my unborn babe. He chuckled. “So, it's that way, is it? Well, it won't do any good to plead Richard's brat to me. I'll be well rid of the lot of you."

  He was so evil. How had he hidden it for so long? “But—but aren't you afraid you'll get caught?"

  He shook his head. “Why should I be? I killed Caroline, and no one caught me. I did it with my bare hands.” He frowned again. “Around her neck. I just squeezed. Then I made it look like the stallion trampled her.” He took another step toward me. “You see, Vanessa, no one will suspect me. It's too bad you didn't come to me. That day you kissed me—that was good. I know we could have been happy."

  The man was mad. How could he think that I...? “But you killed my sister."

  He shrugged. “You didn't like her, and she hated you.” His eyes gleamed. “You should have heard some of the things she said about you. And anyway, you weren't supposed to know I killed her. I made every thing point to Richard."

  He had. And he had done a good job of it, too. Even I, who should have known better, had suspected my husband.

  Roland adjusted his coat sleeves. “I am very good at being friendly and kind. A second son needs ingratiating qualities, you know. He must survive in this cold hard world."

  I decided to try another tack. “Why didn't you ask me outright? I would have come to you.” I tried to make the lie convincing. “Even now, tell me what to do. We can still get rid of Richard."

  For the space of a second I thought he might believe me. Then he shook his head, his expression rueful. “It's too late for that, Vanessa. I know you love Richard. I'm sorry, but you must die."

  He sighed. “You are so beautiful. I could have loved you.” He reached out toward me, but I backed away, pulling the chair with me. “Do not struggle, my dear,” he said. “It will be much easier for you that way."

  "You will be damned!” I cried. “Murder is a terrible sin."

  Roland shrugged. “So they say. And if there is that hell that Rosamund was always talking about, I shall no doubt burn in it. But you see, one murder or six, it makes no difference. The sentence is still an eternity in flames. And anyway, I do not believe in hell."

  Now I was certain he was crazy. No sane person would thus defy his Maker.

  "So—” Roland took another step toward me.

  I backed away, still keeping the chair betwe
en us.

  "Vanessa, you must stop this silliness. There's no escaping me.” He sighed. “I hope you aren't going to be like Caroline. First she laughed. She didn't believe me, you see, but then she pleaded. She lied and lied."

  In the dimness his eyes were terrifying. “She lied to me and then I killed her. But after she laughed, she cried—and pleaded. I hope you won't do that. It's so tiresome."

  He took another step. Soon I would be backed against the wall, and he was much bigger and stronger than I. I had no doubt he could choke the life out of me.

  Oh, God, I thought. My babe, my poor babe. Help me save it.

  Roland stepped closer. What would Papa do? In desperation I lifted the lyre-backed chair and swung it sideways. I wanted to hit Roland in the head, but the blow fell short. The chair bounced harmlessly against his shoulder.

  Still, it threw him off balance, and he went down on one knee. I did not wait to see more, but flew to the door and yanked it open.

  The spiral stairs were dark. I could see very little, but I raced down them as fast as I could go. A broken neck from a fall would be better than death at Roland's hands. At least on the stairs I had a chance.

  I scraped my knuckles on the wall as I tried to guide myself, but that pain was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. Our unborn child, Richard. Sarah, Penrose. All their lives depended on my winning free of the madman behind me.

  Then something fell out of the blackness above me. It struck my temple a sharp glancing blow. I cried out and tried to go on, but a darkness that was not of the stairs threatened to swallow me.

  I sank down on the cold stone steps. Fighting, fighting the encroaching darkness, I struggled not to slip into unconsciousness.

  I tried to get back to my feet, to keep going, but before I could clear my head enough to get up, Roland was upon me. He grabbed me by my gown and jerked me upright. His face was close to mine, so close that even in the darkness I could see the whites of his eyes. Those eyes, peering into mine, were hideous in their evil.

  "This is even better,” he said, licking his lips as though he tasted something good. “Poor Richard's wife fell to her death on the tower stairs. In suspicious circumstances. No doubt he pushed her."

  I tried to press back against the wall, but he still had a grip on my gown. “You are mad,” I cried, hardly knowing what I was doing or saying. “You will be found out. You will be punished."

  He shook his head. “Oh, no, not me. And after your death, my dear Cressadine will spread the proper tales.” He frowned. “And this time the magistrate will be forced to act upon them. I'll see to that."

  I tried to wriggle free of his hold, but he was too strong. “Now,” he said. “Just a little push and it will all be over."

  He let go of my gown to grab my wrist, and I did the only thing I could think of. I shoved him with all my might.

  He lost his balance and fell. But just two steps. The curved wall kept him from going far. I watched as he lay still in the half darkness.

  My heart was pounding in my throat, my knees were weak and wobbly, but to get to safety I had to step over him. Move, I told myself. I peered at him. He must be unconscious. Gathering my skirts, I crept down one stair, then two. He did not stir.

  1 stood on the step above him. I just had to step over his body. Then I could run to safety.

  I lifted my foot. His hand shot out and closed around my ankle. My scream bounced off the wall as I went down.

  Then the darkness rose up to greet me, soft comforting darkness. I could sink into it and forget my troubles, but somewhere was the nagging thought that I must not sleep, that if I slept now I would never waken.

  I felt Roland's hands close around my throat. “Richard!” I cried, though no sound came out. Then I could no longer get my breath. My blood pounded in my ears like thudding footsteps. I fought. I kicked and I scratched, struggling desperately to save my life—and the life of my unborn babe.

  Try as I might the darkness grew heavier and heavier. I knew it would not be long before I faced my Maker. In those brief moments while my life flashed before my eyes, I regretted most of my suspicions of Richard, who had always been a good husband to me.

  Then, just as I thought my next breath would be my last, the constricting hands were gone. “Mama, Mama!"

  For a moment I thought myself already dead and the voice that of our child, dead, too, and welcoming me to heaven.

  Then Richard said, “Vanessa! Vanessa, darling! Can you hear me?"

  I pulled in great gulps of air and struggled to open my weighted eyelids. The staircase was flooded with light. I was lying on the cold stone steps, and staring down at me, their faces twisted in frowns of concern, were Richard, Sarah, and Penrose.

  Praise God, I was not dead. And my loved ones were there.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  "I—hear—you.” My throat was raw and painful, but I made myself speak. I had to protect them. “Roland!” I squeaked. “Where is he?"

  Richard frowned. “Don't worry, my love. We have him under guard."

  Sarah threw herself upon me. “Oh, Mama,” she cried again. The word was music to my ears.

  I found that my arms would move, and I put them around her. “It's all right, Sarah,” I soothed. “I will be all right."

  For a moment I considered my body, searching it inwardly for signs of harm. Though I was stiff and sore, all else seemed well. The babe was too little to be harmed by my fall.

  But consideration of my body brought to me the knowledge that I was lying on cold hard stone. I began to shiver.

  "Vanessa!” Richard's voice rose in alarm.

  "She's cold,” said Penrose. “We should get her warmed up."

  Richard peered down at me, his beloved face full of concern. “Are you injured anywhere?” he asked.

  "No. I think not.” I extended my hand. “Please help me get up."

  Sarah drew back to give them room, and everyone, including the servants who held aloft the candelabra, stood watching as Richard and Penrose helped me to my feet.

  I raised a hand to my head, which throbbed dreadfully. “He threw something. It hit my head.” My knees sagged, and I leaned against the wall.

  "We'll go down to the library. I'll send for the doctor.” Richard bent to pick me up.

  "I can walk,” I protested. “Your leg—"

  But Richard ignored that and swung me up into his arms. “You go first,” he said to the children. “Penrose, take Sarah by the hand. Sarah, you listen to Penrose."

  "Yes, Dada."

  My heart rose up in my throat, but Richard did not reprimand her. Perhaps, I thought, he had not heard. Or perhaps, because of the stress of the moment, he would not mention it to her.

  Penrose led Sarah down the spiral staircase, and Richard followed. I was concerned about his leg, but I was also glad to be carried. My limbs felt weak as jelly, and I doubted I could have taken more than three steps.

  Penrose and Sarah reached the library first. “Here,” Penrose cried as Sarah carried me in. “We fixed the divan in front of the fire."

  "Very good,” said Richard. He put me gently down, and Sarah brought pillows to prop me up, along with a cover to warm me. She tucked it around me like a little mother.

  Richard pushed back my disheveled hair and examined the bump on my head. “Good,” he said. “The skin is not broken. You'll have a big headache, but probably no more.” He took a chair nearby.

  I was beginning to feel a little steadier. My throat still hurt, but I knew it would heal. And, better yet, I knew we were finally safe. Then I remembered the diary. “Richard! I found Caroline's diary."

  To my surprise he merely shrugged. “Caroline is gone.” He looked at Sarah, and she ran and climbed into his lap. “We are a family,” he said, gazing at me with such tenderness in his eyes. “You are the mama. I am the dada. Sarah is daughter. And Penrose is son."

  My heart sang with joy at the wonderful news. Without thinking I said, “You have forgotten someone."
/>
  Richard looked puzzled. But Sarah giggled. “I know,” she said, looking up at her father. “It's the new baby."

  "New—” Richard began.

  "Yes,” I said. “I believe that next spring we will have a new baby."

  Sarah put her arms around his neck. “I get to help,” she said proudly. “Don't I, Mama?"

  "Yes, dear.” I smiled at her and then at the boy. “And Penrose will tell you both stories."

  "Oh, yes!” His eagerness told me the boy had been waiting for me to say something that included him. I smiled at my family. We were safe at last.

  "But tell me,” I said. “How did you find me?"

  "It was Sarah—” Penrose began.

  "It was Penrose—” Sarah began.

  Richard chuckled. Tears of happiness sprang to my eyes. It was so good to hear him laugh, so good to see us all together.

  Penrose pulled up a chair. “It was like this,” he said. “Sarah was looking for me."

  "To tell him about the present,” Sarah added.

  Penrose nodded. “She saw you and Uncle Roland pass and followed you. She is very good at following silently."

  "Very good,” Sarah repeated, obviously pleased with the compliment.

  "She followed you up the stairs to the tower room, and she heard you and Uncle Roland talking. She thought he was going to tell you about her present."

  Sarah's bottom lip quivered. “He was bad. He was going to hurt Nessie. He was going to hurt my mama."

  Richard hugged her close, and Penrose continued. “Sarah crept back down the stairs and ran to Gerson, but she was so frightened, she was crying about her mama."

  "You are my mama,” Sarah insisted.

  "Yes, dear, I am."

  Penrose went on. “Gerson thought she was crying about Caroline. Then I came along.” He paused.

  Richard smiled at him. “Thank goodness, Penrose understood her."

  "I knew she called you Mama to herself,” the boy said. “And she spoke of you that way to me. So I tried to make Gerson understand."