Shades of the Past

by Sandra Heath

  “You—you’re hurting me!” she cried, wanting him to release her so that Blair could make a move, but he took no notice. Then she noticed one of the chairs had been moved. Blair must have done it, but why? Her thoughts were jolted as Miles shook her a little.

  “Show me the safe.”

  “Over there, behind that shelf of books.”

  He propelled her across the room. “Where, exactly?”

  “Let me go, please! You’re hurting me!”

  “Oh, no, my dear, I feel more secure with you in my grasp! Now, the safe, if you please!”

  It was almost as if he knew the plan, she thought as with trembling hands she pushed the books aside and then the false wall. Without relaxing his hold on her for a moment, he took out the key. “Unlock it.”

  She obeyed, and then showed him how it wouldn’t open.

  “Try a little harder.”

  Still the door refused to budge, and at last he seemed convinced she was telling the truth. To her relief he released her and put the pistol down in order to try the safe himself. She moved aside, expecting Blair to step out of hiding, but there was no sign of him. Dismayed, she looked around. The seconds ticked by, and a finger of alarm began to creep down her spine. Where was he? Why didn’t he make his move?”

  Miles’ efforts suddenly came to fruition, as by chance he did the very thing that was needed. The safe door swung open, and he gave a triumphant cry as he took out the case containing the necklace. The diamonds flashed as he held them up to look for the telltale mark, just as Blair had suspected. Satisfied, he thrust them into his pocket and extended a hand out for the paste copy.

  She handed it over and he rearranged them in the case and then locked the door. As he turned to face her again, he saw the disquiet in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, suspicion descending over him like a cloak.

  “Nothing.”

  “This is a trick after all, isn’t it?” he breathed, seizing her wrist and twisting it agonizingly behind her back. “I’m armed, and if you think I wouldn’t use it, you’re very much mistaken.” He thrust her roughly against the shelves, and the jolt sent the pistol scudding out of reach along the polished wooden shelf, but he didn’t seem to notice as he pressed his body to hers.

  “There’s nothing going on!” she cried. “We’re alone in the house except for Stephen.”

  Suddenly he noticed Celina’s portrait, and a strange look entered his eyes. He still held Laura too tightly for her to escape, but his attention was solely upon the portrait. “Oh, Celina, you were meant to be mine,” he breathed, as if the painting could hear.

  Laura was frightened. “Please let me go,” she begged.

  He didn’t hear, for in his mind he was alone with Celina.

  Laura cast desperately around for Blair. Where was he? Why didn’t he come out?

  Miles’ glazed eyes swung from the portrait to her. “You’re mine, Celina, not Deveril’s.”

  He’d called her Celina! Laura’s mouth ran dry, and she felt cold in spite of the warmth of the May afternoon. He’d begun to slip into the same delusion that tortured his wife.

  “You shouldn’t have left me at the altar, Celina.”

  “I—I’m not Celina,” she whispered.

  “You can’t fool me, my darling,” he breathed, pressing to her.

  It was Celina’s body he felt, Celina’s warmth that aroused him. He bent his head and forced his lips over hers. Laura froze with fear and loathing. His breath was hot on her face as he forced his tongue between her lips, but as his hand slid to enclose one of her breasts, a trembling female voice interrupted him.

  “Forget her, Miles, for I’m the one who wears your ring!”

  A curse jerked from him as he whirled about to face the black-clothed figure in the doorway, and his face turned to wax as he saw the little pearl-handled pistol she directed at his heart. “Sweet God above, Estelle,” he whispered, and then remembered his own pistol. His hand darted to where he’d left it, but it wasn’t there. His gaze flew back to Estelle. “How did you know I was here?” he asked, trying to divert her attention.

  She gave a brittle laugh. “I was in the woods this morning and heard you make this assignation with your whore!” The pistol moved toward Laura for a moment, and then back to him.

  He strove to placate her. “This isn’t an assignation, Estelle. I’m getting the diamond necklace for you, see?” He took the necklace from his pocket. “It’s yours now, my love, and should have been since the moment you became my bride.”

  “Since I became your victim,” she corrected, not even glancing at the superb diamonds. “Sir Blair Deveril has suffered as I suffered, because he’s the whore’s deceived husband, but I’ve made sure he doesn’t see her with you right here in his own house.” She pointed the pistol toward the shape beneath the dust sheet, and for the first time Laura noticed the bloodstained candlestick lying six feet away.

  Miles’ fingers clenched over the diamonds as he realized there’d been a trap after all. Laura didn’t even notice, she was too distraught about Blair. “What have you done to him? Is he dead?” she cried.

  The reply was full of scorn. “Don’t pretend you care, whore! Your husband doesn’t matter to you, you’re only interested in mine!” Estelle turned accusingly to Miles. “Why have you always betrayed me so cruelly? You break your vows every day with your lust, but God will punish you through me.”

  “Estelle—”

  “I’m the one you should have loved, not her. You lied when you said she was dead, but you won’t lie again. Ever.” She cocked the pistol, and the sinister sound fell into a sudden silence.

  Miles was terrified. “Estelle, I was only trifling with her a moment ago! I wouldn’t have gone further because you’re right, she is a whore!”

  “You’d have taken her right there, against that bookcase!” Her finger began to tighten on the trigger.

  “No!” he screamed, and the necklace slipped from his hand as he ducked with his arms over his head to run from the library, but she calmly leveled the pistol at his back, and shot him as he fled to the top of the staircase.

  Laura screamed as he staggered to a halt. Blood stained his shoulder, and there was puzzlement on his face as he turned to stare at his wife. “Estelle?”

  She showed no mercy, but calmly reloaded the pistol and squeezed the trigger again. The shot found its mark in his heart. He tottered for a moment, the necklace fell from his hand, and he collapsed by the topmost step.

  The ensuing silence seemed to echo. Laura could hear the distant clamor of the spaniels in the kitchen garden, excited by the shots, but here in the house it was absolutely still.

  She stared at Miles. His was the body Gulliver had seen. But were there two dead men? Was Blair dead too? Her wretched gaze was fixed upon the still shape beneath the dust-sheet shroud.

  Her dread thoughts broke off as suddenly Estelle put a third ball into the pistol and whirled about to face her. “It’s your turn now, Celina,” she breathed, bringing the weapon swiftly to bear.

  But before she could fire, another report rang out from somewhere on the landing. Estelle’s yes started, and the pistol slipped from her fingers as she turned to see who’d fired, but then her knees sagged and she crumpled to the floor. Black gauze fluttered and settled around her until she resembled little more than a heap of mourning cloth.

  Stephen dropped his weapon and limped hastily to Laura. “Are you all right?”

  Too shocked to speak, she managed to nod.

  “I came as soon as I heard the first shot. Where’s Blair?” he demanded.

  The question brought her to her wits, and she dashed to drag the dust sheet away. Blair lay like a corpse. His face was ashen and there was blood from the wound on his temple. She sank to her knees, too afraid to touch him in case his skin was cold.

  Marianna had crept past Miles’ body to the library door. She glanced at Estelle’s body for a moment, but then saw Blair and gave a cry of dismay. Her big brown eye
s filled with frightened tears as Stephen went to her.

  Laura at last stretched a hand to Blair’s cheek. Her fingertips brushed softly against him. His flesh was warm, and he stirred a little. Her breath caught on a sob as she lovingly smoothed the blood from his face. “He’s alive!”

  His eyes opened and he looked up at her. Realization swept over him, and he tried to struggle up, but she wouldn’t let him. “No, it’s all right, there’s no danger. I’m all right, so are Marianna and Stephen. It’s over, Blair. Miles is dead.”

  His lips parted. “Dead?” he repeated dully.

  “His wife did it.” She drew aside so he could see Estelle’s body. “She struck you with a candlestick, and then waited for him. She shot him when he tried to run away, and then again when he turned. Stephen put an end to her as she turned the pistol on me.”

  He stared at her, trying to assimilate all she said, then Stephen came over. “It really is all right,” he said reassuringly.

  Blair insisted on getting up and looking at Estelle’s body. “I remember turning and seeing her, then there was a blinding pain and I can’t recall anything more.” He turned to Stephen. “You saved Laura, and for that I gladly forgive everything else.”

  Laura gazed at Estelle’s body. “She really thought I was Celina, and in the end, Miles thought so too,” she said, remembering.

  Stephen looked curiously at her. “Are you saying he was as mad as his wife?”

  “I think he must have been.”

  Marianna shuddered. “I—I’m frightened...”

  Stephen pulled her close and glanced at Blair. “What shall we do about the, er...?” He nodded toward the bodies.

  Blair thought for a moment. “It won’t do for you to be implicated in any way. Where’s your pistol?”

  “I dropped it on the landing.”

  Blair went to place it in Miles’ hand. “There, now we can say he shot his wife. Poetic justice, don’t you think?” As an afterthought, he bent to make certain Miles was dead. “Better to be safe than sorry. Yes, he’s quite dead.”

  Stephen checked Estelle, and then looked at Blair. “So is she.”

  Suddenly Laura remembered the necklace. “Blair, he dropped the real diamonds and they’re there on the floor. The paste one is in the safe, and his pistol is over there on the shelf. I think that’s everything.”

  He gathered the necklace, and pushed it casually into the safe, which he then locked and concealed again. “I’ll put the pistol with my collection in the billiard room,” he said, then smiled at them. “Now, I think we’ll give ourselves a little time to recover before we notify the authorities in Cirencester.”

  “What, exactly, are we going to report?” Stephen asked. “Lady Lowestoft’s appearance has rather upset our original idea, and now our stories have to match.”

  “Simply that except for you in your sickbed, we were about to leave for the fair when Miles and his wife arrived demanding the return of the necklace. There was an argument between them over his infatuation for Celina, and when I tried to mediate, I was knocked on the head. The argument got out of hand completely, and ended with them both lying dead at each other’s hand. We can all agree on the finer details in a short while, but for the moment my head’s thumping like an anvil, and—

  Blair broke off as they all suddenly heard a man shouting from the bottom of the staircase. “Is anyone here? Sir Blair? Miss Marianna?”

  It was Harcourt. Laura remembered Gulliver had told her how the butler was returning with Dolly Frampton when they’d heard pistol shots from the house. In a second or so he’d come up and see Miles’ dead body!

  Stephen gave a nervous laugh. “It seems we weren’t a moment too soon with our evidence-tampering,” he murmured.

  Harcourt ascended the staircase, and then saw Miles. He was so shocked he stumbled backward a few steps, but managed to grab the handrail.

  Laura conquered an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. This was the moment that terrified Gulliver so much he found himself falling back in the tunnel to injure himself so badly he’d never walk properly again... She gazed at the butler. Was he Gulliver now? Surely he must be.

  Blair went out to him. “I’m afraid we’ve had some trouble here, Harcourt. Unwelcome visitors. This body is Sir Miles Lowestoft.”

  Relieved to see his master and three companions safe and sound, the butler recovered a little, but his face remained white as he came up the final steps. “We heard shots. Sir Blair. I—I have Mrs. Frampton outside in the pony trap,” he explained.

  Blair repeated the agreed story, and the butler’s eyes widened again as he looked at the sad heap of mourning clothes on the library floor. “Lady Lowestoft’s dead as well?”

  “Yes, I fear so.”

  Harcourt swallowed. “Lord above. I, er, suppose the authorities in Cirencester should be told? I can take Mrs. Frampton home and then drive back to Cirencester again, if that will do, sir?”

  “I’d be very grateful, Harcourt.”

  “Very well, sir.” But before hurrying back downstairs, Harcourt glanced directly at Laura, and in that split second she knew he was Gulliver. He went quickly down the stairs again, and a moment later they heard a whip crack and then the rattle of the pony trap.

  Stephen went to drape a dust sheet over Estelle, but as he brought one to cover Miles as well, Marianna turned anxiously to Blair. “We haven’t achieved all we wanted, have we? We still don’t have Stephen’s IOUs, and Laura’s family is still—

  Blair interrupted her. “All threat was removed the moment Miles expired,” he said quietly. “If the IOUs come to light now, I’ll settle them for Stephen. As for Laura’s family, I’ll approach the Lowestoft estate and offer to defray the Reynolds’ debts and purchase their property. I’m sure no difficulty will arise.”

  Marianna stared. “Is it really that simple?”

  “Why not? IOUs need only be met in full to eliminate them, and why should Lowestoft’s heir not accept a generous offer? But for the moment, mes enfants, I don’t know about you, but I’m gravely in need of a drink, and I don’t mean tea. Besides, this has all served to concentrate my mind. Everything’s perfectly clear to me now, and there are propositions I wish to put to you and Stephen concerning the future.”

  “Propositions?”

  “I thought that maybe when you and Stephen are married, you’d like to come to live at Castle Liscoole.” Smiling, he put his arm around his sister, and ushered her away toward the drawing room.

  He glanced back at Laura, but didn’t say anything, and suddenly she felt excluded. Stephen followed them and as they went into the drawing room she felt more shut out than ever. A sudden overwhelming sense of rejection descended over her. It came from nowhere, and without real reason. To use the modern phrase, she felt as if the rug had been swept from beneath her feet. Was it irrational reaction to the events leading to two deaths? Was it some stupid part of her that would always search for the dark side of everything? Or was it a moment of insight that reminded her that no matter how he loved her, to Blair she remained an actress. The nobility didn’t matter actresses, they took them as mistresses

  Oh, surely she was imagining it? She took a hesitant step after them, but then halted. He had excluded her. Why else had he looked back like that and said nothing? Tears sprang to her eyes. She was already overwrought, and now this. She gathered her skirts and fled up to her room on the floor above, where she flung herself on the bed to sob inconsolably into her pillow.

  But in the empty library, things were not quite as they seemed. Stephen’s examination of Estelle had been too cursory, for there was a slight movement beneath the dust sheet, and her thin hand crept out to claw the carpet for a moment.

  She wasn’t quite conscious, but soon she would be. And she had just enough strength left to take Celina and Deveril House itself into the hereafter with her.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  It seemed to Laura she’d lain there weeping for a long time, but in reality only a few minutes
had passed. Desolation gripped her as her fear and insecurity returned. Restoring her family’s property and defraying their debts was to be nothing more than payment for services rendered. The proverbial money on the dressing table!

  This was an outcome she hadn’t foreseen. She’d naively pictured either an idyllic existence at Blair’s side, or dreadful loneliness because of his death, but not the possibility of rejection.

  “Laura?”

  She gave a start, for he was outside the door.

  “Laura? Why don’t you answer me?”

  She sat up. “I—I have a headache, and need to rest a while, that’s all,” she replied, but couldn’t hide the break in her voice.

  He detected it, and came in immediately. “What is it, Laura? What’s wrong?”

  She gazed tearfully at him, taking in the dressing on the wound on his forehead.

  He came concernedly to her bedside. “You’ve been crying! What’s wrong?” he asked, stretching out a hand to touch her cheek.

  She pulled back. “Just a headache,” she said again, avoiding his eyes.

  “I don’t believe you. Is it the strain of today? It can’t have been easy for you, and for it to have ended with two violent deaths—”

  “It’s the truth, I do have a headache.” She hesitated then. “No, the truth is, I realize my presence is no longer required. I’ll leave as soon as the authorities are satisfied about today’s events.”

  There was a pause, but she couldn’t tell if it was one of surprise or relief. “If you wish to leave, there’s nothing I can do to prevent you,” he said then.

  “Nor anything you’d wish to do,” she murmured, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

  He exhaled slowly, and ran his hand through his hair. “Laura, I don’t profess to understand why you’ve changed, but I’ll respect your wish.”

  There seemed genuine bewilderment in his voice, but she remembered the backward glance in the library. He wasn’t bewildered at all; he knew exactly why she was going to leave. She got up from the bed. “Credit me with at least some intelligence, Blair. I know I’ve been gullible, but I understand fully now.”