The Black Orchid (A Lady Jane Mystery Book 2)

by Annis Bell

  “Where is Miss Molan?”

  “Sir Frederick just told me that Miss Molan had to excuse herself because of a pressing family matter. Something about her sister. She had to go to Allenton but will be back later.” Cribb looked at her curiously.

  “Miss Molan left? Just like that? What about the children?”

  “Gladys is with them right now. It’s only for a few hours, and I can also help look after Cedric . . . who is coming along nicely, by the way.”

  Was the governess trying to fly the coop? “Did Miss Molan take any bags with her?”

  “Why would she? It is only a short trip to Allenton. What is this, my lady? Do you suspect Miss Molan? She is Sir Frederick’s mainstay right now,” Cribb declared with some indignation.

  So that’s how it was, thought Jane. “I’m simply a bit surprised, to be honest. She is usually so self-sacrificing, but I guess it’s understandable when it comes to her own family. How is Charlotte?”

  “She’s asleep. The last attack was devastating. I can only hope that she comes through it unharmed.”

  “Unharmed?”

  “That is to say, I have seen patients who have suffered such hysterical attacks frequently. At some point, the brain suffers irreparable damage.”

  Horror-struck, Jane stared at him. She had to do something. One more attack and Charlotte would certainly be lost. “Thank you, Doctor, for being so open with me about this.”

  Dr. Cribb nodded. “I do everything in my power, my lady, but even I have my limits.”

  The door to the guest wing flew open. Mrs. Potts called, “Doctor, it’s almost time!”

  Jane let the doctor go ahead and wondered what she ought to do. Alison would understand if she wasn’t there. She had asked Jane to come north in the first place because she was worried about her cousin. Jane ran downstairs and spotted Draycroft leaving the library.

  “Mr. Draycroft,” she said, as softly as she could.

  The butler strode over to her immediately. “My lady?”

  “I need your discreet assistance. It is a matter of life and death: Lady Charlotte’s, to be more precise.” Jane knew it was no lie. “I need a coach, and I need Mr. O’Connor to go with me, as quickly as possible.”

  “Yes, my lady. But Sir Frederick let Miss Molan take the closed carriage. All we have is the open carriage.”

  “That will do. If Miss Molan returns in my absence and wants to see Lady Charlotte, you have to stop her from doing so. Do whatever it takes!”

  Draycroft inhaled sharply. “You can count on me, my lady.”

  “Where is Sir Frederick?” Jane asked cautiously.

  “In the library, but he will go out to the greenhouse soon. He is expecting an important guest.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Then I have to hurry!” Jane lifted her skirts and ran back upstairs.

  First, she hurried to Alison’s room, but there was not yet the level of excitement in the room that an imminent birth would spark. Dr. Cribb was discussing something with the midwife, and Jane crouched by her friend.

  “Oh Jane, you’re back!”

  “Ally, listen to me. I have to leave you alone for a while. I can’t explain why, but if I’m to save Charlotte, this is my only chance. You’re in good hands here, and I’ll hurry, I promise.” She kissed her friend on the cheek.

  Alison squeezed her hand. “Go, go! When you come back, I’ll show you my beautiful child.”

  Jane stood and pulled Hettie with her out of the room. “Dress warm, we’re going for a drive.”

  In her room, Jane rummaged inside her muff.

  “What should I take?” Hettie gathered coats and boots for both of them.

  “Bring your knife along. And where the devil is my pistol?”

  A short time later, they snuck down to the entrance hall undetected. Draycroft awaited them there. “O’Connor will meet you along the way. Good luck, my lady.”

  Seated in the open carriage with Miles driving the horses, Jane sighed and said, “I hope we’re doing the right thing!”

  “You don’t really think that Miss Molan is visiting her sister in Allenton, do you? Today of all days.”

  “No. It is simply too improbable. She’s meeting her lover or her accomplice or whomever else, and she’s using her plot against Charlotte to gain something for herself. Oh, I’ve been so stupid! If Miss Molan can handle henna so well, then she probably knows exactly what plants can spark a seizure or cause hallucinations.”

  “But no one would suspect that, ma’am,” said Hettie as the coach rumbled along the frozen drive.

  O’Connor was waiting for them on his horse at the edge of the forest. The coach pulled up, and Jane spoke briefly to the gamekeeper.

  “My lady. Where do you want to go?”

  “To the Trout Inn in Allenton, unless there’s another place around there for a rendezvous?”

  “There’s the hunter’s hut on the moor, but that would be rather uncomfortable at this time of year.”

  “And hardly possible to get there with a coach, unless I’m mistaken.”

  “No. The path is narrow, and no coachman in his right mind would even think about driving there now.”

  “Then we go to Allenton!”

  The icy wind and the darkness made the drive to Allenton seem endless, and Jane’s worries made the drive feel even longer. If her suspicions were wrong, she would look ridiculous, and if she was right, then she had no idea what awaited her when she confronted the probable poisoner. She knew for certain, however, that if she wasn’t able to stop Miss Molan that night, then one way or another it would mean the end for Charlotte.

  “God help us,” she murmured, and she reached for Hettie’s hand.

  Miles finally drew the horses up, then turned to the two women. “Here we are, my lady. I’ll stay with the horses, though if you need help, I will gladly come along.”

  O’Connor had already dismounted and now helped Jane out of the carriage. Two lamps hanging on the carriage offered meager light. The village lay mostly in darkness, with only the outline of the church still visible, although a fire burned yet in the local smithy, casting its glow over the village street. The blacksmith’s hammer beat a rhythm on his anvil; somewhere a dog howled; and distant laughter sounded from one of the houses. Inside the Trout Inn, a celebration seemed to be taking place. Jane heard the sound of a fiddle from inside the tavern, and a woman’s clear voice sang:

  As I was a-walking one morning in May, I spied a young couple a-making of hay. Oh, one was a fair maid and her beauty shone clear. The other was a soldier, a bold grenadier.

  “Do you have a plan, my lady?” asked O’Connor, unbuttoning his jacket and peeling off his gloves, which he tucked under his belt.

  “If Miss Molan is here, I hope we have the element of surprise on our side,” said Jane, and she glanced up at where she knew the guest rooms to be. “I suspect she’s meeting someone there.”

  “Who would that be?” O’Connor peered up at the windows doubtfully. Two were lit, but the curtains were drawn.

  “I suspect that she is acquainted with the orchid hunter, Tomkins, and that they have been hatching some kind of plot that involves the Halstons.”

  “If Tomkins is really up there, then he’s dangerous. Let me go ahead, my lady.” O’Connor placed a hand on the fence surrounding the inn. “I can’t believe it. Miss Molan seems like such a proper person. So eager.” He paused, thinking. “Probably too perfect, and more concerned with Sir Frederick than is proper. Some women are like that. All right. Shall we?”

  A moment later, Jane and Hettie followed O’Connor into the barroom. The few tables inside were full. In a back corner stood a woman and a dark-haired man with a fiddle. The woman’s almond-shaped eyes were lined with black, and golden armbands clinked with every movement she made. It was none other than Zenada, who stood there swaying and singing the ballad.

  Was it a coincidence that she would encounter the murdered girl’s m
other there that very evening? Zenada sang on, paying no mind to the newcomers, although her eyes flashed when she recognized Jane.

  “What is it with all you people today?” The proprietress entered with a tray full of beer glasses, and she set it loudly on one of the tables. “Lady, you were here once before, weren’t you? We ain’t got a table free, ’less you want to sit with these nice gents here.” Gertrude clapped one of the seated men on the shoulder.

  “Behave yourself, Gertrude. We’re looking for a young woman, the Halstons’ governess,” said O’Connor.

  Gertrude let out a laugh. “Did she get away from you again, gamekeeper? She was here after the funeral. She likes to live it up, don’t she? Miss Hoity Toity.”

  “Is she here?” asked Jane, offering the woman a coin that she promptly pressed into her cleavage.

  “Upstairs. Second door on the right.”

  Jane walked past Zenada to the stairs, feeling the Roma woman’s eyes on her back.

  “Hettie, you wait down here. If we need help, go get Miles, understood?”

  Hettie pouted. “But I could—”

  O’Connor, who was already at the top of the stairs, sharply raised a hand, and Hettie fell silent. Now Jane also heard the sound of agitated voices coming from a room.

  “No, Derek!” Melissa Molan cried. “Listen to me! It isn’t the right time, not yet. She’ll be out of the way soon enough.”

  The man’s voice was clearer. “I’ve waited long enough, and you promised me. I can’t stay in England. Someone will find out the truth about Mungo’s death, and then I’ll have to pay. And so will you! Or do you think you can hide forever behind fake brown hair?”

  Jane climbed the stairs carefully, trying not to make them creak. O’Connor looked at her as if to ask, Now?

  “Not yet,” she whispered.

  They were both standing outside the door. Apart from some rustling and the scraping of a piece of furniture, there were no other sounds from inside. Then something thumped onto the floor, and the man moaned. Jane wanted to move away, but O’Connor stopped her. “My lady, that is not the sound of lovemaking . . .”

  He raised his pistol, cocked the hammer, and kicked open the door of the room. Miss Molan let out a shrill cry, and something crashed and broke, but no shot was fired. Jane pushed her way through the half-open door and saw Miss Molan facing O’Connor, a knife in her hands and her face cold and expressionless.

  “What are you waiting for? Shoot me and you’ll hang. I haven’t done anything!” She lifted her arm high and tried to stab O’Connor, but he grabbed her by the wrist and twisted her arm until she screamed and dropped the knife. Then he forced her onto a chair.

  “See to the man, my lady!” the gamekeeper ordered.

  On the floor were the remains of a shattered wineglass, and the adventurer’s head lay in a pool of red wine. Derek Tomkins’s eyes were wide open, his pupils dilated and wandering, unfocused. The man seemed to be in extreme pain and groaned while his body convulsed uncontrollably. Jane kneeled beside him and tried to cradle his head, but he reached for his throat, gasping for air, then his body suddenly went limp.

  “What did you give him?” Jane shouted at Miss Molan. Looking around, Jane spotted an empty wine bottle and a pitcher of water on top of a low cupboard. Flames flickered in the fireplace, a small sack at its center.

  But rather than answer Jane, Melissa Molan only stared in fascination at the dying man. O’Connor twisted her arm again until she cried out.

  “He’s beyond help. It was belladonna,” she said, exultant. As Jane knew, in high concentrations, deadly nightshade was lethal.

  “In the wine?” Jane reached for the bottle.

  “He would have tasted it in the water.”

  Jane took a blanket from the narrow bed, rolled it up, and pushed it under Tomkins’s head. The man’s breathing was barely perceptible, and his skin was red and felt hot to the touch. “Hold on!”

  Hettie rushed into the room. “Ma’am, are you all right?”

  “Get Miles and another strong man. We have to get Tomkins to Winton Park.”

  Hettie looked at the orchid hunter curiously. Despite his deep tan, his face had taken on an unhealthy color. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “She poisoned him. Go, run, every minute counts!”

  “My lady, pass me that scarf there, please,” said O’Connor.

  Taking the thin scarf from the bed, Jane passed it to the gamekeeper, who used it to tie Miss Molan’s hands behind her back. The governess sat stiffly on the chair and did not struggle. “There is no antidote. He’ll die, just like Lady Charlotte will.”

  Jane crossed the room and slapped Miss Molan’s face hard. “You monster!”

  Hettie finally returned with the men, who laid the unconscious Tomkins on a sheet and carried him down to the carriage. They went out through a back door to avoid causing an uproar, and Jane paid Gertrude off for her silence. When Tomkins was safely in the carriage, O’Connor came downstairs with Miss Molan.

  “Get your hands off me!” she snarled, trying to bite O’Connor, but he gripped her even tighter.

  Zenada was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs. The grieving mother had wrapped a dark cloth around her head. When her gold armband flashed, Jane at first thought the glinting metal was a knife. But Zenada merely raised her hand to Miss Molan’s forehead and briefly murmured a few Roma words. To Jane, she said, “That is my daughter’s murderer. She will die a slow, agonizing death and burn in hell until the end of days.”

  “What rubbish is that you speak, woman? They’ll hang me, and I am laughing about it already!” Miss Molan mocked, but her voice was trembling.

  “Zenada, we have to return to Winton Park. Come with us,” said Jane, but the Roma woman simply turned and walked away.

  Jane sat in the closed coach with Hettie while Miles drove Miss Molan—her hands still bound—in the open carriage, followed closely by O’Connor. The coachman drove the horses as best he could, but the darkness and a driving snowstorm slowed their progress.

  Lightly patting the cheeks of the unconscious Tomkins, Jane lifted his arms in an effort to pump air into his chest, but the man lay sprawled across the upholstery, completely still. “I fear the worst, Hettie.”

  “Ma’am, this isn’t your fault.”

  “I should have seen the truth earlier. I should have seen how corrupt and false she was.”

  “Evil wears many faces, ma’am,” said Hettie. Moments later the coach pulled up in front of Winton Park.

  29.

  The open carriage stopped in the snow-covered courtyard just behind them. O’Connor jumped from his horse and called for Draycroft, who was already waiting for them.

  The gamekeeper yanked open the door of the closed carriage and turned Tomkins’s head to check his condition. Tomkins was still unconscious. “Get someone to help you carry this man, and send for Dr. Cribb, fast!” he ordered Draycroft. “If it isn’t already too late,” he murmured, training his angry gaze on Miss Molan, who was resisting Miles’s help in getting down from the open coach.

  Jane and Hettie climbed out of their carriage and into the frigid night air. “How is Lady Alison?”

  The butler smiled. “She has a healthy little boy, my lady.” He then waved to a servant, who came running down the steps of the house followed by Dr. Cribb and Sir Frederick.

  “What the deuce is going on here? Lady Allen! Are you responsible for this commotion?” Sir Frederick thundered, pushing his way through to the carriage. “Tomkins! My God, say something, man! Cribb, don’t just stand there, help get him into the house.”

  While the men attended to Tomkins, Sir Frederick looked around. Enough light came from the windows of Winton Park to illuminate the area around the front entrance. The sweating horses steamed in the cold air, stamping their feet restlessly in the snow. Flurries of servants came to see what all the excitement was about, but Mrs. Gubbins soon put a stop to the ogling and shooed them back inside.

  “W
hy is Miss Molan bound? What do you think you’re doing getting mixed up in the affairs of my house?” Sir Frederick bellowed at Jane. “Untie her at once!”

  Miles looked uncertainly at Jane. In a fury, Sir Frederick snatched the whip from the driver’s box on the coach and advanced on Miles, but Jane pushed between them.

  “No! Listen to me! This woman tried to kill Charlotte. She is the one behind Rachel’s death and is responsible for Tomkins’s condition,” she said, loudly and without flinching.

  Sir Frederick turned pale, and the hand holding the whip dropped to his side. He stared at Miss Molan in incomprehension.

  “She is a murderer,” Jane continued. “She poisoned her husband in India years ago and found her way into your house under a false name.”

  “That can’t be true! Miss Molan, I entrusted my children to your care. Defend yourself!” In shock, he stared at the governess, but she simply raised her chin defiantly and turned away.

  “Take her into the house,” Sir Frederick ordered.

  Jane reached for his arm. “Charlotte is in danger.”

  “O’Connor, deal with Miss Molan. Lock her up somewhere. Mrs. Gubbins, see to the rest and . . .” He looked around helplessly, then finally stumbled up the stairs beside Jane.

  Dr. Cribb came out of the servants’ wing, where they had carried Tomkins. His expression was somber. “There was nothing I could do.”

  “Then help Charlotte!” Jane called as she hurried upstairs.

  She heard Mrs. Gubbins bringing the unnerved servants to order, and she followed Dr. Cribb into the bedroom that had become Charlotte’s prison cell. Sir Frederick followed them.

  “Charlotte! We’re here to help you,” Jane said as she entered, then pressed her hand to her mouth to keep herself from crying.

  Since she had last seen her, Charlotte seemed to have grown thinner and was now only a shadow of herself. Her gaunt body appeared lifeless beneath the too-heavy blankets, but her eyelids fluttered slightly, and her cracked lips moved.

  After examining her medicine bottles, Dr. Cribb leaned over Charlotte and lifted her eyelids. “Her pupils are dilated and just as wide as Tomkins’s.”