“Why do you think she did it? She never fit into the village life, did she?”
He shook his head.
“She wanted to rise above; she wanted to join that class.” He snapped a look at me. “Your class.”
“Yes, my class, and maybe it’s a good thing my coming here at such a time.” I leaned over to whisper in his ear. “I can get inside Padthaway. I can find your sister’s murderer and bring him, her, or them to justice.”
He liked the sound of it, and I questioned the wisdom of my rash words. Connan didn’t sneer at the suggestion, for he knew, as I did, that those of the upper class eluded justice too often.
“What did you think of Mr. Brown? Dashing, ain’t he!”
I did not share Ewe’s enthusiasm. “I found him arrogant.”
“Well, he found you quite charming, for I saw him this very morning. He comes down to visit his uncle, another charming man though a bit of a recluse. I invite him all the time to my luncheons and one day, he’ll accept.”
We sat down to our simple evening meal, a meat and vegetable stew Ewe had been brewing all day.
“Didn’t know if ye’d be stayin’ up at the big house. Have the Londoners gone yet?”
“Nearly all of them. Lianne and I spent the day with Jenny Pollock. She’s lovely. Do you remember much about her?”
Ewe stretched back her memory. “Saw her once or twice. Pretty thing, she were, Jenny. Did you see Lady Hartley? Or Lord David?”
“No, but I suspect I may see them on Wednesday. I’ve been invited for lunch.”
“Oh, have you?”
I blushed at the inference in Ewe’s tone, and quickly changed the subject.
“You know Bastion is not Connan and Victoria’s real name. It is not kind to be deprived of your own identity.”
“And now the funeral is over, real life can start again,” Ewe finished.
But what kind of life, I wondered. Despite the ongoing investigation, Lord David had planned to marry, to become a husband and a father. Victoria was soon to become mistress of the house, much to Lady Hartley’s chagrin.
Thinking on the latter, I observed Lady Hartley closely at the Wednesday luncheon in the Green Salon. She’d since put back the photograph of David and Victoria together, the happily engaged couple, and I couldn’t resist viewing it before Lord David arrived.
It had been taken in the conservatory, Victoria poised in a chair with David standing behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder. She wore a slim- fitting white dress, a string of lavender beads at her neck, her beauty emphasized by the simplicity of her attire. Her fingers touched David’s hand where it rested on her shoulder, her engagement ring large and sparkling. I shuddered, remembering where I’d last seen the ring— on her dead finger.
“It’s so nice to have one’s house back to oneself,” Lady Hartley announced, dripping with jewelry, and certainly not fitting the image of a grieving mother- in- law and grandmother- to- be. As she relaxed there, proudly viewing her paintings, Lady Hartley’s eerie calm behind her mask of royal hauteur chilled me. She looked like an adoring mother when David walked in, his cursory glance locating the returned photograph.
Lunch commenced and passed tolerably well, Lianne pleased to have me in attendance. Avoiding anything related to the funeral or the investigation, we spoke of trivialities, holidays we’d been on, plays and shows we’d seen, ordinary obligatory comments that were safe under the circumstances. By the end of it, I felt exhausted and dreaded that Lady Hartley would ask me to take tea.
Instead, Lianne suggested we go to the library. I loved nothing more than dwelling amongst books and couldn’t wait to indulge myself with the splendid collection.
An hour passed easily before Lianne became bored and demanded we do something else. I said I had no wish to do anything else and would stay with the books unless she wished me to leave. Cautious not to trouble our friendship, she shrugged good-naturedly, leaving me alone to explore at my leisure.
I started with one section of the library, slowly progressing to the next section when I noticed that Lord David had entered the room.
I admired his obvious ritual, poised halfway up the ladder, immersed in a book and completely unaware that anyone else occupied the room.
“Hello.”
Startled by my interruption, the book went flying and so did Lord David. Retrieving his balance, he made a rapid descent, displaying a graceful, athletic prowess.
“Forgive me,” I grinned, “you probably had the same idea as me and here I am blundering into your private retreat.”
I turned on my heel.
“Don’t go.”
My hand was resting on the door, but I had no intention of leaving. “Yes?”
“Please stay.”
Brushing down his jacket, he collected the book from the floor. “I give you special license to blunder, Daphne du Maurier.”
An almost remorseful smile accompanied this comment and a heated gulp dislodged its way down my throat. Steeling myself against the encased masterful masculinity adorning one of my favorite backdrops, a room full of books, I gestured to the book hidden behind his back.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, hastily shoving it under papers on his desk.
Did I imagine it or did a flush of color show in the planes of his face? What kind of flush, one of embarrassment perhaps, or guilt? Why hide a book?
Immediately curious, I meandered about the room, inspecting the odd title here and there, loving the wealth and breadth of choice. “It’s a fine selection . . .”
He nodded, lifting a curious brow of his own. “I thought you ladies like to take a nap before dinner?”
“I rarely nap before dinner,” I replied, “but I have been known to daydream a great deal. I am often guilty of the crime, especially at inconvenient times, or so my mother tells me.”
An amused chuckle left his lips and he relaxed, smiling. “Then you’re not alone, for I am guilty of the same crime. Daydreaming is a remarkable escape, is it not?”
The book I’d selected slipped through my fingers. I bent down to retrieve it as did Lord David, our hands colliding over the spine.
His hand failed to move from mine. Breathless, I raised my eyes up to his smiling face.
“It’s a good book . . .”
“Is it?”
I didn’t even recognize the sound of my own voice. He was so very near, too near, his hand poised there across the tips of my fingers, firming its hold as he swept me to my feet.
The book dropped between us. Laughing, we both ducked again to pick it up, and this time, to my intense mortification, our foreheads touched. David’s arms reached out to steady me and I swallowed, unsettled and yet excited by our proximity.
Neither of us bothered about the book. I found myself slowly drawn into the circle of his arms, half- afraid and half- elated, and totally unable to stop the pressure of his lips on mine, gentle at first, then deepening, proving he was a man of great passion and strength.
Warning myself I must be wary of this man, I slowly pulled back, my heated face silent confirmation of the success of his kiss.
To put space between us, I stepped away to find a book, any book.
“Forgive me,” he said. “A momentary lapse.”
“No, it’s nothing,” I whispered, desperately looking for a book.
Sensing the sudden awkwardness between us, he gestured to the back wall. “You might find something of interest there.”
He had guessed correctly. Selecting one on the Viking age from the historical section, I flicked through it, willing the beating of my heart to slow. My relationships with men had been few, some stolen kisses with my cousin Geoffrey among others, but this kiss alarmed me with its intensity.
“You might like to flick through these, too.”
Collecting a few titles about the room, he handed me the stack, his eyes searching mine.
I failed to even glance at the titles. “Thank you,” I whispered. “You are very kind.”
“Kind,” he echoed, glancing away. “I’ve been called many things of late, but not kind. Thank you, Daphne. You make me believe in life.”
I gazed up at him, the tortured, lost hero, unsure of how to cope with life in the aftermath of this tragedy.
Escaping to my own corner of the room, I tried to concentrate on the history book, the Viking men in their helmets blurring before my eyes. Why, why had he kissed me? Why was he trying to hide the book he’d shoved under the papers earlier? Is that why he’d kissed me, hoping to divert my attention?
I refused to leave the room until I discovered his secret. I kept my focus on the Vikings until my grand opportunity presented itself in the form of Mrs. Trehearn.
“My lord.” She stepped back in astonishment when she saw me. “Your lady mother wishes a word.”
“She usually does” was the irritated reply.
Lord David left directly, reluctantly, but since Mrs. Trehearn stood there holding the door open, he walked through without a backward glance. After sending me one pointed look that said “What are you doing here?” Mrs. Trehearn shut the door.
Acute relief washed over me. Now alone, I quickly hunted through Lord David’s desk, looking for that book he’d hidden, sifting through his papers, suppressing any shame for going through his personal items.
And then I found it.
A letter . . . hidden inside a book on poetry and the letter began with:
My darling David . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY- SIX
My darling David,
How can you say those beastly things to me? I will
always be yours. I know what they say about me . . .
please don’t believe it. It’s not true, I tell you. I love
you.
It’s curious how one’s past catches up with one.
We all have secrets, and I’m no exception. Someday,
I’ll confess all, but know now that my heart belongs
only to you and you alone are the father of my child.
I know we had a terrible row earlier but I can’t
wait for Saturday. I shall walk proud on your arm,
the new Mrs. David Hartley.
Your devoted,
Victoria
Like a naughty child, I glanced up furtively; frantic Mrs. Trehearn might have bowled through the door and caught me in the act. I felt like a criminal, stealing someone’s private letter, but why should Lord David hide it there? Did he think the servants searched his desk? Worse, did he suspect Lianne or his own mother would search through his private affairs? From what I knew of the both of them, I, too, would have hidden the private letter inside a book and placed it high on the shelves.
Rereading the words, I wondered if David had kept the letter because he loved her or because he felt guilty for murdering her. I saw nothing in the letter but a protestation of Victoria’s love for her man, and the assurance that he was the father of her child. She said she couldn’t wait to walk proud on his arm, the new Mrs. David Hartley. Her words definitely ruled out suicide, for they were the words of a woman who intended to live, to marry, and to have her child, regardless of rumors, prejudice, and even family opposition.
“Not suicide, then,” I murmured aloud. “Unless something occurred between the writing of this letter and the night she died.”
Returning the letter to its safe home, I went in search of Lianne. She’d be angry with me for spending too long reading after inviting me here as her particular friend.
Looking around for Betsy or Annie to guide me, for I refused to seek out Mrs. Trehearn and ask her, I wandered around the house wondering where Victoria’s room was located. I began down the corridor leading to the sea and was heading toward the forbidden west wing when Lianne found me.
She wasn’t alone. Her brother stood by her and both of them eyed me with an intense curiosity I found disturbing.
“We thought we’d lost you, didn’t we, Davie?”
Lord David’s quizzing eyes remained focused upon me.
“What time do you have to be back?” Lianne skipped to me.
I consulted my wristwatch. “In time for dinner.”
“Then there is time for a tour of the dungeons, if you so wish,” Lord David smiled. “Unless you’ve further important reading to do?”
I cringed. He not only suspected, he knew I’d read the letter. “A tour of the dungeons would be lovely,” I said.
“Excellent.”
A faint grin drifted on his lips. Removing a flashlight from his inner pocket, his smile deepened and I looked away.
“They were working dungeons once,” Lianne rambled excitedly, skipping on ahead, “and used for torture. I wonder if any were used on the monk in the tower. There’re still chains down there, you know, and more than likely skeletons, though I haven’t found any yet.”
“You sound annoyed,” I said, wondering about her fascination with death. She had a peculiar penchant for torturous instruments and death. Had this something to do with her father shooting himself? Had the child witnessed the event?
I felt innately sorry for David and Lianne. On the night of their father’s suicide, their lives were irrevocably changed. David, a sixteen- year- old boy, was thrust into a man’s position earlier than anticipated, while Lianne, a six- year- old child, was abandoned to the care of her nanny.
As we entered the west wing, the breezy sea air rustled the hairs on my skin and I experienced a queer nervous sensation. Who but this house knew what secrets lay within its ancient folds? Pausing outside the Moorish doors, David knocked, opening the door for us. “The way to the dungeons is through here.”
“Will your mother mind the intrusion?”
“At this time of day, my mother usually takes her tea in the courtyard.”
I noted the clipped tone he used when referring to his mother. Lianne also used it and I thought what a strained, odd kind of relationship existed between the three of them. Had there ever been gaiety and happiness in this house hold?
The magnificent room caught at me once more, its haunting beauty stoking the fires of my imagination. Such a room demanded a beautiful heroine, a brooding hero, and a dark, rich mystery.
The door to the dungeons loomed at the end of the antechamber. As we explored the labyrinth of cobwebs and dust, a dark, eerie passage gleamed ahead, just visible by David’s flashlight.
“In the old days, the smugglers dodged the coast guard by using the caves,” David said. “But one captain refused to give up. Tracking the criminals, he speared the crew before going after the organizer, my great- great- great- grandfather, Lord Aiden. However, Lord Aiden employed his aristocratic privilege and thus evaded punishment, which in those days was hanging.”
As he spoke, I realized that like the previous owner, Lord David might escape punishment, too, using “aristocratic privilege.”
“It doesn’t end there.” Lianne’s grin looked eerie in the darkness.
“No,” David continued, “for Captain Saunders refused to give up. His reputation insulted, he infiltrated the house one night and speared Lord Aiden in his sleep. Nobody ever saw Saunders again, but he left his saber as a grim reminder. The saber now graces the gallery beside the portrait of its victim.”
I nodded, and cautiously rounded the rocks forming the road out to sea. Lianne marched ahead out toward the sea, fearless. “She’s never afraid, your sister.”
“Are you afraid, Daphne?”
The elusive murmur drifted by my ears. “Afraid of what?” I gulped.
“I know you read the letter.”
I didn’t know where to look. Lianne was waving at me so I dumbly waved back at her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“But you do. You’re curious, which is natural. I also know you went to the Bastion cottage. That was kind of you. To offer your services.”
Now I felt truly afraid.
“I don’t mind,” he laughed, and turned me to face him. “I’m only jesting with you, and if you read tha
t letter, that letter I’m keeping from everyone else . . .”
“But why? Do the police know?”
“No,” he said softly. “Perhaps I should have shown it to them, but you must understand, I wanted something of ours to remain private. Can you imagine what it’s done to me, as a man, as her future husband, to know that I couldn’t protect her when it counted? Can you realize, just for a moment, how this tortures me day after day?”
Examining every line of his face, I read the trueness of his declaration. “I can’t imagine how I’d feel in the same situation,” I whispered. “I think it would drive me mad.”
“As it does me.” Raking a hand through his hair, he stepped out to help Lianne across the rocks.
I gazed out to the sea, loving the roar of it in our ears and following Lianne’s steps out to the treacherous rocky view. “How splendid. I shall never forget this place.”
“Beware the tides of a moonless night,” Lianne shouted. “Where death awaits those deserving it.”
“Captain Saunder’s cryptic message,” David interpreted, directing us both back to safety. “He left it on a note speared to Lord Aiden’s chest.”
“Lovely,” I smiled, shivering inside. Something about this place gave one the chills. Death and danger somehow cloaked the house, its past, present, and future inescapably linked.
Would I, too, suffer its dismal fate?
David offered to drive me home.
I accepted to as far as the village, as I wanted to make a late-afternoon telephone call to my father. The call also served as my excuse, for after the dungeon visit, I wanted to get away as soon as possible to think.
David, a man suspected of killing his own bride, had kissed me.
“Yes, poison,” I said to my father. “Ricin, have you heard of it?”
“I have, and Daphne, darling, I do think it’s time for you to come home. Your mother’s frantic. She’s read the papers.”
“Oh, please. Not yet, not when I’m so close.”
“Close to what? Your part is over. You discovered the body and reported it. I don’t want you mixed up in any more of this case. It’s dangerous. I’m not sure of this Lord David fellow. He might be innocent as you say, but who’s to know? How’s the investigation going?”
Murder on the Cliffs Page 17