A Mortal Likeness

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Tristan sinks to his knees. Head bowed, he clasps his hands together under his chin and silently prays. I watch, torn between relief that he hasn’t jumped in the water, fear that he will eventually, and puzzlement. He prays for at least half an hour. Then he clambers to his feet, picks up his lantern, and turns. I hide in the woods before he can spot me. He passes so close by me that I can clearly see his expression—so bleak with misery and different from his usual cold, haughty one that he seems a stranger.

  12

  Hugh and I meet in the dining room at seven o’clock the next morning, when the servants are setting out breakfast. We’re the first ones there. We intend to catch Tristan and Olivia Mariner before they can escape again.

  “What did Raphael DeQuincey do after he left the ballroom?” I ask quietly as I finish my toast.

  “He went straight to his room.” Hugh drains his teacup and rubs his sleepy eyes. “I loitered outside the door until I heard him snoring.”

  “I saw Tristan last night.”

  “Oh?” Hugh is suddenly wide awake.

  I describe the trip to the pond. “What do you suppose he was doing?”

  “Maybe it was a religious ritual.” Hugh’s voice is waspish. “There was no church handy, so he went out in nature to commune with God.” He looks up. “Speak of the devil.”

  Tristan enters the dining room and serves himself coffee. He wears riding breeches, boots, and jacket. When he sees us rise from our seats and approach him, he doesn’t look pleased.

  “Good morning,” Hugh says in the tone of a man challenging another to a duel.

  Tristan nods coldly in response.

  “Sarah and I missed you yesterday,” Hugh says. “We’d like to talk to you.”

  “Sorry. I’ve an engagement.” Tristan doesn’t sound sorry. He drinks his coffee standing up.

  Olivia joins us. “He’s going riding with me.” She’s in breeches and boots too, her curly hair tucked under a cap. Trim and slender-hipped, she would look like a boy if not for her full bosom. “Lord Hugh, why don’t you and Miss Bain come with us?”

  “I’m sure they have better things to do,” Tristan says.

  “The only item on our agenda is finding your little brother, Robin,” Hugh says. “I should think you’d be interested in helping us.”

  “I’ve no information that would be of any use to you.”

  Olivia grazes at the sideboard, nibbling a slice of bacon here, a sausage there. “Do come, Lord Hugh!” She bats her long eyelashes at him and licks the grease off her lips. “We can get to know each other better.”

  Tristan aims a warning glance at her. “Don’t be foolish, Olivia.”

  I think he’s afraid she’ll tell us something he doesn’t want us to learn.

  Olivia smiles like a mischievous child playing with fire. “I’ll ask Daddy if they can come. I’m sure he’ll give his permission.”

  Tristan slams down his empty cup, obviously exasperated because if he doesn’t take us along, Sir Gerald will learn that he’s refusing to cooperate with our investigation and be angry. He looks down his nose at us. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

  “I spent my childhood riding around the country estate,” Hugh says.

  “Miss Bain?”

  “No.” There’s no country estate in my past, and I’m leery of horses. I’ve spent my life avoiding being trampled, kicked, or bitten by those that pull carriages and cabs around London.

  “It’s so easy to learn,” Olivia says.

  Hugh glances at me, and I nod reluctantly. If I want to talk to Olivia and Tristan, I’ve no choice but to go. Hugh says, “We’d be delighted. Thank you. We’ll just fetch our coats.”

  I’m almost hoping to find Tristan and Olivia gone when we return, but they’re waiting for us in the foyer. Olivia takes Hugh’s arm and marches him outside. Tristan, his handsome face dark with displeasure, accompanies me. The morning is bright, fresh, and cool. Birds sing in the trees along the path down the hill to the stable. The stalls contain more horses than I’ve ever seen in one place. Breathing the rank smells of hay and manure, I wonder if I should change my mind.

  A groom brings a black horse for Tristan and a tan one for Olivia. While he helps Hugh select a horse, Olivia flits along the rows of stalls, opens a door, and says, “Old Jasper will do nicely for you, Miss Bain. He’s as steady as a rock.”

  The huge horse she brings me is dark brown with a black mane. When the groom puts a saddle and bridle on him, he stands tamely, but if eyes are mirrors of their owner’s soul, then Jasper’s soul is wild, alien, and unfathomable.

  One of Sir Gerald’s guards brings a long trunk. Tristan opens it to reveal four guns with long barrels. “We thought we’d do a bit of shooting on the heath. Have you ever fired a gun?”

  “Many times. Show me the side of a barn, and I’ll hit it smack-dab,” Hugh says.

  “No,” I say.

  “Shall I teach you, Miss Bain?” Olivia asks.

  The thought of going out on the heath with these two dangerous people while they’re armed with guns scares me. “No, thank you.” I doubt that I could manage a gun while riding a horse for the first time.

  Tristan, Hugh, and Olivia easily lift themselves onto their horses. Olivia sits astride like the men. They carry their guns in holsters. The groom helps me up. I feel awkward in the sidesaddle, as if I’m about to slip off. As we ride out of the stable, I clutch the reins. Olivia shows me how to turn Jasper and how to make him speed up, slow down, and stop. I’ve no confidence that I can control him. Fortunately, he follows Tristan and Hugh out the gate and down a path through the woods. Tristan and Hugh are such expert riders that they look like centaurs, while I bounce with Jasper’s every step.

  Olivia laughs. “You’ll be saddlesore tonight, Miss Bain.”

  She’s impetuous, inconsiderate, and rude, and I dislike her. “How kind of you to warn me, Miss Mariner.” I remind myself that personal feelings toward the suspects won’t make my job easier.

  “Here’s another warning.” Animosity flashes beneath Olivia’s merry humor. “Don’t make a fool of yourself over my father. Women are always throwing themselves at him, and he only picks the beautiful ones.”

  I’m hot with shame to think that she noticed my attraction to Sir Gerald, angry because she misinterpreted it as desire. “Here’s my warning for you,” I retort. “Your nasty, childish behavior is driving your father away. If you want him to love you, you’d better grow up.”

  We glare at each other like two girls having a spat. I’m even more ashamed at stooping to her level when I should have maintained my professional detachment. Why did I let her get under my skin?

  Olivia says primly, “My relationship with my father is none of your business. You’d better stick to finding Robin.”

  I seize the chance to do just that. “Where were you when Robin was kidnapped?”

  “I was in the game room, playing billiards with Tristan.”

  I’d like to know if Tristan would give the same answer, but he and Hugh are too far down the slope. “Where is the game room?”

  “In the north wing on the first floor. So we didn’t see or hear anything.”

  The path narrows and slopes down the hill. We have to ride single file, and as Jasper carries me ahead of Olivia, I think of the dance teacher she said she stabbed. The skin on my back prickles. This time, she has a gun instead of a nail file. Hugh and Tristan have disappeared around a curve in the path. Their voices drift back to me. When we emerge from the woods at the bottom of the hill, they’re waiting for us, their faces stiff with mutual hostility. Tristan leads the way along a road, then through a gap in a wooden fence to the sunlit moor. We ride four abreast. Clouds cast moving shadows on the tall grass and the blooming foxgloves and daffodils. The wind flutters loose strands of hair under my bonnet. The sweet scents of greenery and earth remind me of my childhood photography expeditions with my father. I remember us walking hand in hand through meadows. Then I recall meeting Sally an
d her mother and the horror of learning that my father had another family. I feel a thump in my heart, like a lid slamming shut on my small trove of happy childhood memories.

  Honking noises herald a flock of geese flying across the sky toward us. We stop, and Hugh says to Tristan, “If you don’t mind my asking, how is Sir Gerald’s estate divided in his will?”

  Tristan’s expression says he does mind, but he speaks in a deliberately calm voice. “His will makes adequate provision for Lady Alexandra, Olivia, and myself. There are bequests to other people, but the bulk of his fortune goes to Robin.”

  “Robin is the heir?” Hugh sounds surprised.

  Tristan gazes at the sky and aims his rifle. “That’s correct.”

  “You’re the elder son. Why aren’t you the heir?”

  “I was until Robin was born. Then my father changed his will. He doesn’t approve of my choice of profession. He expects Robin to take over the Mariner business someday.”

  “What happens if Robin dies?” Hugh asks.

  “I inherit his share of the fortune. Unless Father has another son.”

  If Robin isn’t found alive, Tristan stands to gain the most.

  “Going into the church hasn’t exactly stood you in good stead with your father,” Hugh says. “Did you really have a calling? Or did you become a priest because you knew you couldn’t outperform him in business?”

  Even after witnessing their clash at dinner, I’m shocked by his rudeness.

  Tristan barely glances at Hugh, but his cheeks redden; Hugh’s barb has pierced vulnerable flesh. “You’re a fine one to criticize another man’s relationship with his father. Yours has disowned you, hasn’t he? You’re not exactly a credit to your family.”

  Hugh flinches. He bites his lip, and his eyes brim with shame and anger because Tristan has hit him where it hurts most.

  A sudden blast shatters the air. Startled, I cry out. A goose plummets from the sky, feathers trailing, and plunges into the grass.

  “Ha!” Olivia triumphantly holds her gun aloft.

  “Good shot,” Hugh says politely.

  She laughs. “I had a good teacher.” She turns to Tristan. “Aren’t you proud of me?”

  Tristan smiles faintly. I think Olivia fired the gun to interrupt the conversation that put him in a bad light. I’m about to ask him what he was doing at the pond yesterday when Olivia says, “Lord Hugh, I’ll race you to the woods!”

  Galloping away, she looks over her shoulder and flashes a coy smile at Hugh. Jasper suddenly launches himself toward Olivia as she speeds across the moor. I’m so surprised that all I can do is cling to the reins, trying to keep my seat in the saddle while the horse’s hooves pound the grasses that blur away beneath me. I’m terrified because I’m moving faster than I’ve ever moved. But suddenly I stop bouncing, and I rise and fall with Jasper’s gait. My body has somehow found his rhythm. I feel like I’m riding Pegasus. The sensation of flying is exhilarating.

  Instead of stopping at the woods, Olivia disappears through a gap between the trees. Jasper rockets after her. The woods swallow us, and we barrel along a path like a leafy green tunnel. I don’t know where we’re going or what lies ahead. My fear resurges. The terrain is uneven; roots and stones jut up from the ground. Olivia has vanished. Then I hear hooves pounding toward us from my right. Olivia and her horse burst from the woods, and Jasper balks. It slows him down, but it jolts me off balance. I shout as I fly out of the saddle and the reins slip through my hands. My left foot catches in the stirrup as I fall. My ankle twists before it wrenches free. I land hard on my back, shaken and gasping.

  Astride her horse, Olivia looms over me. “Miss Bain, are you all right?” Mischief glints beneath the concern in her expression.

  I glare at her and push myself upright. “You did that on purpose.”

  “I honestly didn’t,” Olivia says, all wounded innocence. She springs from the saddle and reaches down to me. “Let me help you up.”

  I don’t believe her. I swat away her small gloved hand and push myself to my feet. My twisted ankle hurts. Olivia starts to walk back to her horse, but I grab her arm, and when she tries to pull free, I hold on. “You don’t care for Robin, do you?”

  Sudden fear shines in her huge brown eyes, although I can’t tell whether it’s because I’ve picked up on her dirty secret or because I’m bigger and stronger than she is, and I could hurt her before she could shoot me with her gun. “I love Robin. He’s my darling baby brother.” Her tone is honey laced with acid.

  “You must have been the darling baby once. But now your father can’t wait to get rid of you. Are you jealous of Robin?”

  There’s a disturbing commonality between Olivia and me. No matter that Sir Gerald is present and Benjamin Bain gone; both of our fathers replaced us with new children.

  Olivia’s expression turns petulant. “I’m not going to listen to this.”

  “Did you think that if Robin weren’t around, your father would love you again?” I tighten my grip on her arm. If Sally had never been born, would my father have come back to me? I’m just as jealous as Olivia is. “Is that why you kidnapped Robin? Where is he?”

  “That’s nonsense!” Olivia twists free of me. “I didn’t kidnap Robin. I’ve no idea where he is. If you don’t shut up, you can get back into the saddle by yourself or walk home.”

  It’s a long way back to Mariner House, and I doubt I could make it on my sore ankle. Shaken by my own insights, I let Olivia help me climb onto Jasper. As she rides ahead of me through the woods, a gunshot blares. I hear a man’s scream, filled with pain and terror.

  Alarm strikes my heart. “Hugh!”

  “Tristan!” Olivia cries.

  We gallop across the moor. I see their horses by a grove of trees, but not the men. Olivia reaches the grove first and jumps off her horse. I haul on the reins to stop Jasper, clamber down, land on my sore ankle, and teeter. Now I see Hugh sitting under a tree with Tristan standing beside him. Hugh’s right hand is clasped against his own left shoulder, his fingers wetly red with blood and his face pale and blank with shock.

  My heart sinks. Olivia cries, “What happened?”

  I see the gun on the ground beside Tristan. “You shot him!”

  Tristan doesn’t answer. His gaze is dark with turbulent emotion. Hugh gasps out, “It was an accident.”

  “An accident,” Tristan echoes.

  He sounds as if he doesn’t believe it himself. The atmosphere between him and Hugh vibrates with electric tension, but I’ve no time to get the truth out of them. I turn to Olivia. “Go fetch a doctor!”

  Standing motionless, Olivia turns her wide, confused eyes to Tristan, who also doesn’t move. Angered by their refusal to help, I kneel beside Hugh and unbutton his coat and shirt. When I ease them off his shoulder, he groans in pain. I dab the wound with my handkerchief, trembling with fear, wondering if what I think happened really happened. Did Tristan and Olivia just try to kill Hugh and me?

  Tristan glances at the wound. “It’s just a graze. The bullet didn’t go in. He’ll be all right.” He sounds as detached as if he’s talking about a broken machine. I look up at him. His face now wears an expression of studied indifference.

  “Let’s get him to the house.”

  13

  As Tristan helps Hugh climb onto the horse, his mouth twists as though touching Hugh is repugnant. Then he rides ahead, leaving Olivia to escort Hugh and me. Olivia is subdued, perhaps frightened by the shooting, perhaps thinking of what mischief to make next. When we arrive at the stable, Tristan is nowhere in sight. John Pierce slouches against the wall, hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket, an unpleasant smile on his sunburned, scarred face.

  “Tristan told me about the accident.” Pierce sounds glad rather than sorry it happened. “Are you able to walk back to the house?”

  “Certainly.” Hugh grimaces in pain as he dismounts. “How about you, Sarah?”

  When I slide off my horse, I stagger because my ankle hurts, but
I’m more concerned about Hugh. “He needs a doctor.”

  “Tristan said the wound is minor,” Pierce says. “Tabitha can fix him up. You too.”

  I don’t want us nursed by an amateur who’s a suspect in the crime we’re here to investigate. “I insist on a doctor. There must be one in town that you could send for.”

  “If Tabitha thinks the doctor is necessary, she’ll send for him,” Pierce says.

  “Where is Sir Gerald?”

  “At his bank.”

  We’re at the mercy of the suspects.

  At Mariner House, Pierce takes us to a room equipped as an infirmary with a hospital cot, glass-fronted cabinets that hold medical supplies, and an examining table. So many people live or work at the estate that it must need a place where they can receive first aid for injuries. Tabitha joins us, wearing a white apron over her brown frock. I think of her lovemaking with Raphael DeQuincey. Today her plain face is set in pensive, tired lines.

  As Pierce departs, he says to Hugh and me, “I told you to resign. You should have listened.”

  Tabitha addresses Hugh with quiet authority. “Sit on the table, please. Take off your coat and shirt.”

  When Hugh obeys, she doesn’t seem uncomfortable in the presence of a half-naked male stranger or flinch at the sight of his blood. I’ve seen so much blood that I’m not squeamish, and I’ve seen Hugh nude before, but the scars on his upper arm and breast—souvenirs from Jack the Ripper—are reminders of his vulnerability. I’m afraid that coming here was a terrible mistake.

  Tabitha dips a cloth in alcohol and cleans the bullet wound while Hugh looks away and clenches his jaw. She seems competent.

  “Where did you learn nursing?” I ask.