She sank back to the floor. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait until her jailer came and let her out. Gardner, she supposed. He had not gone back to Williamsburg. He had only ridden out of sight and had returned when he saw Ryne gone. But how had he gotten Emma and Trudy to help him if that was how it had happened? She tried to remember those last moments in the drawing room. Trudy had poured the sherry.
A dreadful thought crept into Amanda’s mind. If Trudy had drugged her, she would have done it for Ryne, not Gardner. Ryne, Ryne, Ryne. His name came swirling through her brain and she heard herself saying in a faint, faint voice, “Please don’t let it be Ryne.”
She must have sat there another hour slumped against the wall, thinking that someone would come at any moment. By the end of that time her alarm had overcome all the assurances she could make, and she conceded it was possible no one would come. A crushing fear twisted around her heart. There was no end to it, no end to the fear that she had been left to die. But she would not. She would escape. She must not let the horrible darkness make her a docile caged animal who sat awaiting doom.
Cautiously at first, and then with a frantic urgency, she felt her way around the stone walls, searching them with her hands for an opening or a step that might lead out. She counted the corners of the room as she felt the joining of the stones that formed each one. The room was not nearly so large as she had imagined. It was square, or closely so, and the fourth corner she came to confirmed her fear that the door through which she must have been carried was made of the same stone as the walls and impossible to distinguish in the hostile darkness.
It was also in that corner that she found the bones, the small skull, and what must have been the powdery remnants of a dress. She knew it was Evelyn Wicklow because the heart pendant was there and even in the darkness she could recognize the shape. Evelyn Wicklow had died in this dungeon, and Amanda Fairfax would too.
Convulsive sobs shook her body as she clawed at the rough wall. Tears streamed hot and burning down her cheeks. The foul odor, the stickiness of the floor, the darkness like a wet black cloth smothering the air from her lungs seemed to surge and grow and consume her. She screamed and screamed until her voice died away in faint agony. This room was her tomb, her coffin. She would never be found. She would die here beside Evelyn Wicklow’s bones, not even knowing with certainty who had decided her death.
The echo of her screams ceased but the silence did not return. Above her she could hear the flapping of wings and the shrill animal shrieks of bats disturbed by her voice. One swooped close to her face in the darkness and she shrank down to the floor to avoid it. Were they carnivores? Would they eat her flesh when she was dead? Amanda sobbed anew at the horror of it. There must be dozens of them up there clinging to the ceiling, and each cry she made stirred them to flight.
But suddenly her fear turned to faint hope. She was driving the bats out, and that meant that somewhere above was an opening through which they came and went.
She shouted once and then listened for the sound of the shrieks and flapping wings as the bats took flight. After several more shouts she was able to tell by the sounds the direction of their flight. The opening was not far from where she stood, but high above her reach. She did not lose another moment searching for a foothold on the rough stone. She might never leave this room, certainly not alive, unless she could reach that opening.
It was a treacherous gamble, and she fell more than once, each time starting over until her hands were scraped raw from the ordeal. But at last she was above the wall of stone and could feel the opening. It was at that point that she first realized she was deep underground, imprisoned in a shored-up cave that might have become her grave.
Half an hour later she had squirmed and struggled through the narrow tunnel and could see ahead a little golden leaf of light that meant freedom. If only Evelyn Wicklow could have climbed up, she might have gotten out too.
That last part of the tunnel was the narrowest, and it was only by willing herself through that she was able to squeeze out of what was little more than a slit in the rocks. Amanda collapsed there, struggling for breath, dirty, her gown torn and covered with filth, her face smeared with sweat and soil, shoes lost, and hands swollen and bleeding.
The sun was setting, and had she been a few minutes later in her escape there would have been no ray of light to let her know she was nearing the end of that dreadful tunnel. Amanda looked around to get her bearings. The Wicklow cemetery was not far away. She could see the rising tombstones silhouetted against the blood-red sky. Among them was a sinister figure of a man wielding a shovel and digging beneath Jubal Wicklow’s stone.
Her horror was no less than when she had found herself imprisoned beneath the earth. That man could be no other than her captor, and though she could not tell who he was with the light fast fading away, she knew that she was still in great danger if he should see her. She shrank back to the rocks and crawled away. Her hope was to reach the stables and saddle a horse without being seen. Only if she could reach Williamsburg and tell her story to the authorities could she hope to be safe.
Amanda paused at the stable door, afraid now of everyone. For who could be harmless if you did not know your enemy? From within she heard the nicker of a horse and the sound of harness being hooked up.
A voice she knew and had hoped to hear was speaking.
“Go, man. Go to Gardner. You know what to say. Do not lose a minute. Time is short. Now, go. Go!” he shouted.
“Aye, sir,” Groom’s voice came back. “You can depend on me.”
Amanda ran for the cover of the trees beside the stable and then slipped into the hedge garden behind Wicklow. A moment later the door was thrust open and the wagon rattled out. Groom snapping his whip over the horses’ heads and Gussie beside him holding tightly to the seat. The horses threw up a cloud of dust as they gained speed and clattered down the lane.
Amanda ran into the darkness and a few minutes later found herself inside Wicklow, almost without knowing it. They were all involved, all intent on her death. She was conscious of a chill that ran along her spine. What a diabolical plan they had set against her. With a sudden whimpering cry she ran to the stairs, not knowing where she went or why. But a groan from the drawing room stopped her abruptly. She turned back, and with sickening terror gripping her, peered inside.
“Emma!” she shouted. The woman was bound and gagged and tied to a chair pushed into a corner of the room. “Who did this?” she asked as she hurried to Emma’s side. Hastily Amanda pulled the gag from the struggling woman’s mouth.
“Untie my hands,” Emma croaked. “Hurry.”
Amanda fought with those knots, but her sore hands were slow to loosen the tight bonds. She was just pulling the last of them free when a heavy step sounded behind her and Ryne’s voice came in a growl.
“Stop!” he demanded. He had a pistol leveled at the women and the hammer already pulled back in a threat of death.
Emma screamed and cowered behind the chair. The look on Ryne’s face was pure black rage.
“No, Ryne, don’t!” Amanda cried as stark, glittering fear shone in her eyes.
“My God.” His livid face paled as he saw that the dirty, ragged creature before him was Amanda. “You look like you’ve been buried alive.” The pistol dropped to his side. A snarl issued from Emma Jones’s teeth as she suddenly hurled her weight into Amanda. The unexpected blow sent Amanda crashing into Ryne and sent him reeling backward. The pistol he held fired and the bullet buried itself in a table behind Amanda.
The moment was all the leeway Emma Jones needed to dart past him. An instant later the heavy front door slammed behind her.
“Emma, come back!” Amanda cried desperately.
“Let her go,” came Ryne’s caressing voice. He moved to Amanda where she lay on the floor. His arms closed gently around her. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Amanda fell against him, holding, clinging, loving as she gave way to exhaustion. She was only just begin
ning to understand a little of what had happened. It didn’t matter much. Nothing did but that her world had come back alive and Ryne was here where he ought always to be, locked in her arms.
She awoke before daylight. The rose bedroom was lit with a dozen candles. Ryne had not wanted her to wake up in darkness. He was there beside her where he had waited all through the night. Gussie was in the room too, fussing around and cleaning, but she waited until Amanda’s eyes were fully open to start her grumbling.
“Never liked the woman,” she mumbled. “Neither one of them. Should have kept a closer eye. You too.” She pointed an accusing finger at Ryne.
He nodded but his eyes never left Amanda’s face. A loving glow had settled in them and Amanda hoped never to see it leave. A smile trembled over her lips as she reached for his hands.
“It was . . .”
“Cecil Baldwin. He wanted the gold and Wicklow. Most of all he wanted this.” Ryne held the ruby pendant so that the candlelight caught and glowed in the facets. The beauty of the stone was breathtaking. Amanda could almost understand why Cecil had acted as he did. But how could he have known the Heart of Happiness was still at Wicklow?
“Why? He was wealthy.”
“Wealthy yes, but obsessed. He told us his history. The name given him at his birth in England was John Cecil Mott. Later he took his mother’s name and came to Virginia.”
“John,” Amanda said. “Jubal wrote of a man named John. He wanted to kill him but Evelyn would not allow it.”
“A pity she did not let him. John Mott, Cecil’s father, was the man who killed Jubal, and he was probably responsible for Evelyn’s death too. Cecil was only a lad when his father came here to challenge Jubal Wicklow. John and Jubal had quarreled over who owned the ruby. Later there was more bad blood between them when Jubal eloped with John’s fiancée—Evelyn.”
“So it was jealousy and greed which cost their lives?”
“So it seems. But before John Mott left his son he instilled the same degree of hatred and vengeance in him. For years John apparently hired people to spy on the couple and send him reports. John never returned and in time Cecil concluded he was dead, probably at Jubal’s hand. Cecil knew his father had not gotten away with the ruby or the gold or he would have come back. He spent years finding a way to have Wicklow. He knew Mother had left the house to you and believed it would be easy to convince you to sell. I am not certain now he had no hand in Mother’s and Sarah’s death. He had proposed to Mother once and been refused. He might have been in England at the time they died.”
Amanda shivered. “And then I thwarted his plan.”
“Yes. So he tried to frighten you away. And then, when he was no closer to getting what he wanted and it appeared I would have a claim to Wicklow as well, he became desperate—no, mad. There is truly no explanation but that he was mad, just as John Mott must have been.”
“It is horrible what John Mott did to Evelyn and Jubal. They were deeply in love.”
“And horrible what Cecil would have done to you.” He paused. “You would be proud of Gardner,” he added. “He broke into Cecil Baldwin’s office and uncovered the documents that proved his guilt. It seems John Mott kept a journal and had a set of plans to Wicklow. He left both with his son. They must have fanned Cecil’s hatred all these years.”
Amanda dropped her eyes in shame. “I blamed Gardner. He was so nervous and strange that last night here. I was convinced he was guilty.”
Ryne laughed. “He was nervous. He had just learned he was to be a father. He and Ariel are to be wed. You can be glad you did not accept his proposal, my sweet. And don’t forget, I warned you my brother was no more a gentleman than I. And remember too that you blamed me before him. You thought me the devil’s agent.”
She laughed. “I am not sure I was wrong.”
“Careful, sweet,” he warned. “I may want to prove you right.”
Amanda blushed even though they were speaking below Gussie’s level of hearing. She quickly switched to another topic.
“Why did Emma run and where is Trudy?” she asked.
He smiled. “You must have guessed they were working with Cecil. I had suspected them for some time. I think we will find they were responsible for the disappearance of the jewelry and many of the frightening things that happened to you. The blood, putting the pillow over your face, attacking you in Evelyn’s sitting room—there is a secret passage from there.” He shook his head. “Cecil killed Ezra. He heard the parrot repeat something he had said to Emma and feared the bird would give him away. He was in the hall before you came and stepped out to knock as if he were just arriving.”
“It is too horrible,” Amanda said sadly.
“Yes. And today Emma wanted to warn Cecil that I knew about him. She let me ride away and then drugged you. He was nearby, I believe.”
“In the graveyard,” she said quickly. “I saw a man there digging.”
Ryne sighed. “I suppose he couldn’t wait until things were quieted down to start searching for the ruby. We caught him on the road. I have had a long talk with him while you slept. The old fool.”
“But Trudy . . .” She frowned. “I suppose you are going to tell me you courted Trudy because you were suspicious of her.”
Ryne laughed heartily. “You do not doubt that, do you, love? She did let slip, in fact, that she expected to come into a fortune soon. I believe she hoped it would make her more attractive to me.”
“She was such an innocent,” Amanda said sadly. “She must have become frightened and run away when Emma drugged me.”
Ryne scowled. “Trudy, my dear, donned a wig and your riding habit and had Emma order your horse saddled after you were locked away. Groom watched her ride off, thinking it was you. Cecil would have claimed you had decided to go back to London and leave Wicklow in his care. Eventually I suppose he would have claimed to have bought the house from you.”
“Then it was Trudy who impersonated me in Williamsburg and claimed the emeralds.” A melancholy frown furrowed her brow. “I wonder if we will ever recover them.”
“There was no sign of them in Cecil’s house. I think he must have sold them right away. He’d have done it for spite. He had been taking valuables from Wicklow, the chess set among them, and selling them since my mother died. But when I came to stay after my lodge burned, he had to stop. He could have waited a little while until I left, but when you came to stay his scheme was ruined.” He took Amanda’s hand and held it gently. “I think at first he only meant to frighten you into selling. But when Emma learned you and I were to be wed, she decided something had to be done immediately.”
“She acted quickly, to be sure. She must have been listening when you proposed. She had it all planned when I came in.” Amanda shook her head woodenly. “How wicked she was.”
“And when I came back she told me you were gone. Gave me a note from you saying it was all a mistake, that you were going back to London.”
“You didn’t believe it,” she whispered, bringing his hand to her lips and kissing it softly.
“I had talked to Gardner and the story he told was not the same as you related to me. Besides that, I knew you loved me.”
“I do, Ryne. I do. With all the love that is in me.”
Later they would learn Trudy had returned to Williamsburg and confessed her part in the crime. She could not, she said, live with the thought of Amanda imprisoned in that dark dungeon and she did not believe Cecil Baldwin’s promise that Amanda would be let go once she had signed the deed to Wicklow over to him. All three had been jailed in Williamsburg and would be held there until their case came to trial. A long imprisonment afterwards was a certainty.
The greatest shock, perhaps, would be learning that Trudy was Cecil’s illegitimate daughter and had been forced into her part in the scheme by the threatened loss of her livelihood.
From his father’s records Cecil knew of the secret rooms in the cellars at Wicklow and of a tunnel from the river, one Amanda and Ryne had expl
ored.
“I believe John Mott must have locked Evelyn Wicklow in the cellar after he shot Jubal. He meant to come back for her or he would not have left the ruby,” Amanda suggested to Ryne.
He nodded. “You are likely right. Cecil found his father’s bones in one of the tunnels. John must have died of his wound while looking for the gold. And Evelyn—”
“Waited. Waited for someone to find her.”
“And Cecil would have made history repeat. But he would not have found the ruby. He did not know it was in the room he meant to be your tomb.” Ryne swore. “Bloody fool! He’d never have found the gold either. I don’t believe it was ever here. It was probably spent long ago.”
She gazed at him thoughtfully. The sun was rising over Wicklow and she watched the bright beads of light filter in the window. Some power—Ryne, his love for her—had chased the oppressive night out of Wicklow and she would never again be frightened inside its walls. He was her guardian just as that gigantic wooden statue had been Jubal Wicklow’s.
Suddenly she sat up in the bed. “There is gold1” she cried. “There is! I know the place.”
Amanda donned a robe as quickly as possible and led Ryne to the landing beside the Turkish King. Gussie followed, protesting that Amanda had no business being out of bed.
“You must watch it,” Amanda said, pointing to the pattern of stars the sunlight made on the slate floor as it spilled in through the grille pattern of the round windows. “Scattered stars flee the sun. Behold the secret of the mystic one,” she repeated the lines of the poem softly.
Gussie shook her head in bewilderment but Ryne stood patiently with his arm around her, watching as the spattered circles joined and climbed to shine brightly on the king’s face.
Whispers at Midnight Page 31