“You should ask Miss Finella when that other one ain’t around,” Dorcas offered. “That lady loves to chatter. The only time she’s not nattering on is when she’s stuffin’ her gob.”
It was probably the only time in her life that Finella had been referred to as having a ‘gob’. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Larissa eyed Dorcas worriedly. “I think we need to work on your speech, Dorcas. If you’re going to be a companion to those in higher society, you must make an attempt to emulate their patterns of speech. More listening and less talking, hmmm?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dorcas said primly, though there was a wicked gleam in her eye before she turned and pranced off.
The maid scurried along the hall. She paused several times to glance over her shoulder fearfully. There was no one about. The other servants were gathered below stairs for their evening meal. It was her own guilty conscience that plagued her. As she reached the end of the corridor and opened the narrow door that led up to the attics and the servants’ quarters, a bony hand reached out from a darkened alcove and grasped her wrist.
She didn’t scream, but a pained, stifled moan escaped her lips as she stared up at the shadowy figure. “I did as ye requested” she whispered.
“You gave him too much! The object was to drive him mad enough to take his own life. If he murders someone else and winds up in gaol it will all be for naught!”
“Ye said but a few drops, so I put three into his cup!” Tears rolled freely down the girl’s face and her entire body shook with fear.
“Three drops is for the entire pot, you stupid fool!”
“I didna know! I swear! He didn’t want to drink it! I was afraid he wouldna get enough of it elseways!” The maid trembled violently. Her fear had overtaken her conscience easily enough.
“Did anyone see you?”
The girl shook her head violently from side to side. “No! No one saw, I promise! Please, I beg of ye! I’ll do better next time.”
“Come with me.”
The girl rose to her feet and followed obediently. The wooden panel in the wall opened with a soft snick and they stepped together into the darkened corridor beyond. It was narrow, forcing them to walk single file toward the stairs. The girl followed behind, the sound of her sniveling grated on the nerves of her companion.
“Where is it yer taking me?” the girl asked.
“I have something else for you to do for me. No more questions.”
At the bottom of the stairs, the heavy wooden door opened with a reluctant groan. It was clear that no one had been in that part of the castle for some time. “Go in first so I can lock the door behind us.”
“Why must it be locked?” The girl asked, her voice quaking with fear.
“Because the last thing I need is for us to be discovered together down here. You’d be sacked and my little secret would be out.”
The answer must have satisfied the maid for she stepped aside. It was a struggle to close the heavy door, but at last the task was done. After the door was locked, the heavy key was removed and tucked safely into a pocket.
“There’s something I need to show you.”
The maid nodded again, and followed obediently through the maze of barrels and casks. The room had been used for storage many years earlier and the remnants of it all remained though anything of value had long since been destroyed by mice and other vermin. There were no windows in the room, and they were at least two floors below everyone else with walls of thick heavy stone between them.
The maid was so nervous that she was shaking. She’d sworn no one had seen her, but thanks to the upstart and her companion everyone was aware that someone had served tea to the earl in his study. It would only be a matter of time before all the servants were questioned. It had become rather obvious that the maid was a poor excuse for an accomplice. “Open that door… the one just ahead of you.”
“Where does it lead?” the maid asked nervously as she lifted the heavy bar that held it in place.
“It leads outside.” Moving behind the maid, waiting patiently, the tension grew so thick it was unbearable. When at last the bar lifted and the maid pulled the door inward, the wood groaned as it was raked over the stone. It was time. Without warning, fists flew up, centered in the back of the young maid and violently shoved forward. The girl tumbled beyond the doorway, down into the dark pit beyond. She screamed but it ended abruptly when she landed on the floor with a harsh thud. The fall might not have killed her, but no one would know where to look for her. She would die alone in the hole as the enemies of Kinraven had in the past.
The threat was eliminated. The girl would tell no tales, secrets would remain safe for a while longer. The complication of unexpected houseguests would be dealt with soon enough.
Leaving the chamber, another shadowy figure waited in the hall. Meeting the knowing gaze, a look of understanding passed between them.
“It’s done. She’s been taken care of.”
“We need to move faster. We can’t wait for him to go mad enough to take his own life. We’ll give him another dose to keep his behavior erratic, but we’ll need to use laudanum as well. Perhaps if we can get him into a stupor, we can simply toss him from the battlements.”
A change of plans at this stage was both nerve-wracking and dangerous. Deviation could very well lead to discovery. “It’s too risky. We might be seen. Best to just let the drug work. He’s been sick enough, and too many people here in the house have seen enough to not ask questions if his heart were to just give out.”
“I don’t like it. That little miss from London will likely make a hash of it. Even with the charms and possets hidden in her room to dull her abilities, she’s making things difficult.”
That was true enough. Miss Larissa Walters was making a nuisance of herself in every way possible. “Perhaps she’ll be so distraught over her lover’s demise that she’ll end her own life? Easy enough to subdue her in her chamber and pour a healthy dose of that same poison down her throat.”
“Fine. You see to it. You may come and go more freely in that part of the house than I can.”
It was unfair to be the only one with bloody hands. “And what are you going to do in the meantime? We’re supposed to be in this together! Kinraven is to be ours!”
“It will be. I’ve other matters to tend to for now… stay focused and above all, do not allow yourself to be discovered!” The last instruction was tossed over an exiting shoulder.
“You’re leaving already?” There was a plaintive note in the question that illustrated more than anything else could who had the power in their relationship.
“Why would I stay?”
“Because you missed me!” The coy response was more suited to a couple flirting in a ballroom than murderers conspiring in dungeons.
“I’ll miss you more if we both hang. There’s no time for games now. We’re almost at the end. Stay focused and be careful!”
The door closed then with a loud bang, but deep in the bowels of the house, there was no one to overhear. Alone. Always alone. Muttering a curse and thinking of the tasks ahead, a moment of doubt crept in. Murdering the maid had been easy enough, but she’d been unimportant, an unknown who’d hardly be missed. What lay ahead was far trickier and the risks were so much greater … as are the rewards. That was enough to assuage any twinge of guilt, conscience or doubt.
Lord Richard Moreland surveyed the letter that had arrived. Some bedraggled Scottish boy had showed up on his doorstep, fresh off the mail coach and dirtier for it. He’d sent the boy off with a smack rather than the coin he’d desired, but it was more than the whelp deserved. He read the letter again. Whoever Miss Katherine DeWarre might be, it was clear she despised Larissa Walters as much as he did. Of course, that wouldn’t stop him from marrying the chit. It would goad Briarleigh every time he settled funds on the girl, but the man was too much of a white knight to let his wretched little sister-in-law starve.
The direction on the backing of the letter meant little to
him. He had no idea where Kinraven was, but he’d find out soon enough. They didn’t have the money to travel but they couldn’t afford not to go after her.
Glancing across the bottle strewn carpet, he eyed the drunken and slovenly heap of George Stydham with distaste. His slack-jawed snoring and unappealing tendency to drool made the man a poor choice for a drinking partner but in the present state of their finances there was little to be done about it. They had drunk themselves into a stupor the previous evening as they bemoaned their lack of success in locating and flushing out the scared, little rabbit that was Larissa. Now they’d been gifted with her direction and come hell or high water, he’d have her.
He needed the girl. If he could get his hands on her, and more importantly, get his ring on her finger, then all would be restored. Exile had left him all but penniless, thanks to the Duke of Briarleigh. The eldest chit had snared him by landing the duke in a compromising position. It had been a stroke of genius on her part, but it was damned inconvenient for him.
Briarleigh had taken his familial responsibility far more seriously than was convenient and had removed the younger sister from his grasp. Of course, he’d had her by then. Stydham had dropped her at his townhouse when she was barely out of the school room in lieu of payment of his gambling debt. It had hardly been worth it, with all her crying and sniveling. Had he known about her unique gifts, he’d have helped himself to far more than just her virginity. Her uncanny ability to predict future events and to intuit the emotional state of others was far more valuable than a simple tumble.
Another glance at Stydham with his wet chin and florid complexion prompted a moue of disgust. He kicked the man’s gouty foot and Stydham awoke with a howl.
“What the devil was that for?” Stydham demanded, wiping those disturbingly moist lips with the back of his hand.
“Get up! We need funds to get to Scotland!”
Stydham’s face purpled with rage and Moreland wondered that the man didn’t die of an apoplectic fit right there on the spot. “Why the devil would we go to that barbaric place?”
“Because that is where your stepdaughter has gone. To Kinraven, wherever that may be! The question is why?”
“I’d hardly know the answer to that would I? Not like I’m blood to have their strange abilities!” Stydham fired back as he massaged his calf, his face distorted in a painful grimace.
“Yes, but you must have some idea! I need her, George. I’ve no desire to go before the House of Lords and explain why I cannot pay my debts, especially since most of them are owed to other members!” Moreland snapped.
“You knew better than to gamble with that Spaniard,” Stydham groused. “It was obvious he was cheating!”
“So were we,” Moreland replied succinctly, as he poured himself a brandy, a generous description of the bottled swill in his hand. “He just happened to be better at it. I need the girl, Stydham. Pay your charming wife a visit and find out what you can!”
Stydham shook his head. “Briarleigh threatened to see me dead if I ever stepped foot in that house again… my own house!”
“I will see you dead if you don’t,” Moreland shot back. “Go to your bloody wife and wheedle some more money out of her! Else we’ll be walking to Scotland!”
Stydham rose and attempted to tug the ill-fitting waistcoat over his bloated abdomen. It was an exercise in futility. His wig, which he still favored to hide his balding pate, was askew and his clothing was horribly rumpled, but then Stydham always looked as if he’d just rolled out of his cups. “She’ll not just give me money.”
“Then take it. She’s your wife, after all. Your property!”
Moreland watched the lumbering ox exit the room and shook his head in dismay. It was a sad state of affairs when he had to count such a sorry creature as his only friend in London. Briarleigh had closed many doors to him, Ellersleigh and Wolverstone had done as well. The three of them had tried to ruin him, and they would all pay for it, one way or another.
“I’ll have the girl,” he said. “And when her fate is tied to mine, she’ll be only too happy to cooperate. No woman wishes to remain penniless!”
It was near midnight when Spencer awoke. Hours were missing. The last thing he recalled was sitting in his study an hour or so before dinner. Everything in between was simply gone. That alone told him the truth. He’d had an “episode”, as Forrester liked to call them. For a short time, he’d gone stark raving mad. He could only pray he hadn’t done anything horrific while he was out of his mind.
The thirst was unbearable. Rising from his bed, dressed only in breeches and his shirt, he had no recollection of how he’d come to be there. That, in itself, was telling. Needing sustenance and something to quench the insatiable thirst that always seemed to accompany his fits of lunacy, Spencer opened his bedchamber door and stepped out into the hallway. Mrs. Agatha stood just across the hall, her rail thin frame like the single picket of a fence.
“You must send her away, my lord,” the housekeeper said. “I have no authority to make her go, and after what nearly happened this afternoon, surely you must see how much danger you pose to her.”
Filled with a mixture of fear, fury and guilt, Spencer faced the woman. “What I see, Mrs. Agatha, is that you are overstepping your bounds. If I choose to send Miss Walters away, it will be precisely that… my choice. You forget yourself and your place here.”
“I’ve been loyal to every rightful Kinraven that has called this cursed place his home.” Her voice quavered with righteous indignation as she drew herself up to her full height and put her bony shoulders back. “The stain of murder on this house will never go away and if she stays here, she will die at your hands, my lord. I can admit it, even if you cannot.”
“You are dismissed for the evening, Mrs. Agatha. Watch your tongue or you will be dismissed permanently,” he replied.
The woman said nothing further but her rigid posture was telling as she turned and marched down the hallway. Perhaps it was the relatively short life span that most of the previous earls had suffered, but the servants had clearly been left to their own devices entirely too much. It made them bold and impertinent.
Running his fingers through his hair, Spencer attempted to shake off his frustration. The truth of the matter was that the housekeeper was only speaking the truth. He had said as much to Larissa himself, but it rankled to hear it from someone else. Of course, it was a moot point until the snow melted. If it melted. Winters in the west of Scotland, particularly so far north, were notoriously unpredictable.
Still seething at being taken to task by his own housekeeper, Spencer made his way down the stairs. It was his intent to raid the larder, but the dim glow of light beneath the library door halted his progress. Opening the door, he found Larissa seated at the desk. Collapsed was a more accurate description. Her head was laid on the desk, her hands folded beneath her face. A faint snore escaped her and prompted a smile from him.
On the desk beside her was a tray laden with bread and cheese. He would not have to seek the kitchen and risk the cook’s ire, after all. With his feet bare, he hardly made a sound as he approached the desk and helped himself to her evening snack.
“’Tis a good thing you are not a mouse and that is not a trap,” she said softly. Her eyes remained closed but her lips curved upward in a slight smile.
“I thought you were sleeping.” He made no apologies for the theft.
“It is difficult to sneak up on someone when your stomach growls like a caged beast,” she said, sitting up. She stretched, her hands coming up to rub at her neck and shoulders.
His eyes were drawn to the swells of her breasts, thrust forward as she stretched. But then his gaze traveled upward. The angry red marks at her throat were an effective antidote to his lustful thoughts.
“I see that I did far more than simply talk to shadows and ramble incoherently this evening,” he said stiffly. “Are you badly injured?”
“No. But I feared you might be. Your servants are poisonin
g you.”
“Is that the cause of my madness then?”
She shook her head sadly. “I fear it is a contributing factor, but not the root cause. I have been researching all that I can find about local herbs and plants that might account for your symptoms… What do you know of this curse everyone speaks of?”
Spencer broke off another hunk of the bread and cheese before he seated himself across from her. “I have yet to get a straight answer from anyone. Every misfortune that befalls those residing at Kinraven is blamed on it… from failed crops and sickly livestock to my somewhat erratic malady.”
“Clearly you have not asked the right person.”
“Apparently.” Spencer took a bite of the cheese and then reached for the bottle of brandy that was on the desk. Larissa reached out, closing her hand over it first. “I have no intention of getting foxed. I would merely like a drink.”
“Then I will make you tea,” she insisted. “Your servants were adding ginger to your food because they believed it would ward off evil. What if that isn’t the only additive?”
“What do you mean?”
She rose from the desk and walked to the window where she stared out into the darkness. He could see her face reflected in the glass, pale and lovely, her expression pensive.
“Your servants do not use herbs simply for seasoning or for medicinal purposes. They were not using ginger in your tea to calm you, but to ward off evil. Spencer, someone has instructed them in the use of herbs for mystical purposes. Whoever has passed that information on to them; that is who I believe is responsible for whatever is happening to you here.”
It took him a moment to process what she was saying, mostly because he’d been distracted by the movement of her lips. It was something that happened often when he was in her presence. “You’re speaking of witchcraft. Do you really think that is what is at play here? Witches? Clearly, I am not the only one who is mad!”
The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set Page 59