by Rosen, Janey
“Believe me, Beth, we are taking this seriously or I wouldn’t be here today. I’d be fishing right now.” He spits tiny crumbs of biscuit as he talks.
“I’m sorry. I appreciate it, I really do. You said you had disturbing news. If it wasn’t the blood results, what was it?” His initial remark only now comes back to me.
Brushing crumbs from his lap and crossing his legs, he regards me as only a seasoned police officer having encountered every possible element of society can do—with professional detachment and trained composure. “What you have just told me adds a new dimension to the case, and we will be acting on the information you have shared. However, what I was more concerned about, Beth, were the findings of the local plods where she used to live, up in Rosthwaite.”
“What did they find?” My breath catches as I nervously tug at my watch.
“It’s taken a while to follow her trail. She changed her name, that’s why it’s been so difficult. Seems our Scarlett was in fact born Sarah Dorling. Parents, Emily and Frederick Dorling. Look at this.” From the yellow folder, he retrieves a piece of paper and hands it to me. Photocopied onto it is a newspaper cutting. “Read it, please.”
Police launched a murder investigation after a man and woman were found bludgeoned to death in Rosthwaite early this morning. The victims, in their mid 50s, were found in a house on Wick Road and pronounced dead at the scene. No formal identification has yet taken place. A post mortem is due to be held later today. Detective Inspector Trevor Morefield, of the murder squad, said: “We are eager to hear from anyone who was near Wick Road, which is close to the Holiday Inn on the South Circular Road, at around six in the morning on Saturday the twenty-seventh of November. It is possible someone may have seen or heard something suspicious but is unaware of its significance. Any information will be treated in the strictest confidence.”
The article concludes by listing the telephone numbers for the incident room and Crimestoppers. Handing the paper back to DI Chambers, I note his austere expression. He hands me another sheet of paper, a further newspaper article, and this time showing the smiling faces of a middle-aged couple. “That’s Frederick and Emily Dorling.” My hands tremble as I clutch the paper and read.
Police in Rosthwaite have today issued a statement in connection with the murder of a couple on Wick Road. The victims have been named as 52-year-old Frederick Dorling and his 51-year-old wife, Emily. The couple were found dead at their home on the twenty-seventh of November, having suffered blunt force trauma to their heads. Detective Inspector Trevor Morefield, of the murder squad, said: “We would like to appeal to the public for information on the whereabouts of Sarah Emily Dorling, aged 19. Miss Dorling is wanted in connection with the murders of her parents, Frederick and Emily. Anyone who knows where Sarah Dorling is, or who has seen her in the last seven days should call the incident room immediately. Miss Dorling is not to be approached by the public.”
A black and white image of a young woman with a plump face and close-cropped hair stares coldly from the paper. Goose bumps prickle my arms. Ice courses through my veins as I recognise Scarlett. “Oh my God.” My eyes meet those of the police inspector whose countenance is dour. He takes the paper from my shaking hands and slips it into the folder.
“Oh my God, indeed. It seems that Sarah Dorling has evaded capture for all this time. With a new name, place to live, sheltered life, it’s no wonder she wasn’t found.”
“But Sebastian would have seen the news, he must have recognised her.” My hand covers my mouth, my eyes widen. The officer watches my reaction.
“Lord De Montfort will be questioned later today. He’s currently helping police with their enquiries in Exeter.” Oh no. My poor darling…he couldn’t have known.
“Scarlett…?”
“Gone. Officers arrived at Penmorrow just after eight this morning but there was no sign of her. Seems she was planning to move on in any case. Officers found evidence of packing in her room but it seems she fled before she had the chance to take anything with her. Very mysterious. It’s almost as if she just vanished again.”
“Gone…” The officer nods. “Are the police searching for her?” This is all too much to take in. I want to be in Sebastian’s arms, to hear him whisper that all is well. Instead, my poor, dear love is at a police station. I need to go to him. Now.
“I have to ask you, Mrs. Dove, can you think of anything that his Lordship may have said, now or in the past, that may indicate that he knew about Miss Dorling’s past?”
“Nothing…no, absolutely not,” I reply without hesitation.
“Or anything he may have said to Scarlett—Miss Dorling—that has seemed at all unusual to you?”
My mind flicks through the plethora of conversations we have had about her. So many arguments, so much said. Then it comes back to me, the distant memory of something I overheard Sebastian say to Scarlett on the phone.
“Scarlett, you’ve done well. You’ll be rewarded when I return.” It was after the accident, at the house. Dora and Brian had just left and I remember wondering what he meant at the time but everything was such a blur back then. I wasn’t thinking straight. Could this mean he planned the accident with Scarlett? He wouldn’t. He loved Joe. Sebastian is not capable of such wickedness. I know him. I love him and need him. If I tell the police, what will happen to him, to Bella and me? I have to trust him. I will ask Sebastian about it and then decide what to do.
“No,” I say resolutely. “I can’t think of anything.” The officer stares at me, my face flushing a deep hot crimson.
“Are you sure about that, Mrs. Dove?” Why the formality? Why has he stopped calling me Beth? He can see through my lies.
“I’m sure.”
“Very good, if you’re certain. We’ll be in touch, but in the meantime, I suggest you take precautions with your safety until she’s found. We can’t rule out the risk to your wellbeing. If she has already tried to harm you, which would seem the case, then there is no guarantee she doesn’t present a continued risk to you.” Fear grips me. I hadn’t considered that she may come after me. Of course she will. I become aware of a shrill buzzing; DI Chambers retrieves a mobile phone from his trouser pocket and steps out of my office to take the call in private. He returns a few minutes later, his expression unreadable.
“There’s been a development. Shoes and a black uniform dress have been found on the beach. Lord De Montfort has identified them as belonging to his maid. Divers will be deployed there shortly but it would seem that Sarah Dorling may have taken her own life.”
Chapter 14
The drive to Cornwall seems endless. Ruth was supportive as ever, insisting I leave immediately with an assurance that she will take care of Bella. The sense of urgency leads me to drive too fast, to take risks where usually I would hold back. Finally I steer the car into the drive at Penmorrow, relieved at having arrived, nervous of how Sebastian will be with me. Scarlett is gone, and for the first time we will be alone together. The police divers continue to scour the coastline but have not found a body. DI Chambers has kept me abreast of the search; he has proven to be a considerate and invaluable confidant.
The front door is unlocked. Stepping into the vast hall at Penmorrow, I set down my overnight bag and inhale the ancient aroma of wood, dust, and family secrets that hang in the air. “Hello,” I call out. The only sound is the tick, tock, tick, tock of the grandfather clock. The setting sun casts shards of light through the stained glass windows, scattering rainbow coloured diamonds across the stone floor. “Sebastian?”
The silence, the aura is ethereal. He doesn’t know I’m coming. Wanting to keep my arrival a surprise, I didn’t call him. DI Chambers informed me of Sebastian’s release without charge. Just ‘helping with enquiries’ was all that had been required of him. Now, here I stand, alone in this great house. With Scarlett gone, the house feels markedly different, as though a serenity has settled on this grand old lady. The creaks and groans the house emits are sighs of relief now that the
cancer has been cut out. She can rest at last, holding those who live here close to her loving bosom.
I tread lightly to the kitchen. The fridge is well stocked. I’m loath to admit it, but Scarlett kept a well-run home. I heat up oil in a pan, and soon the chicken breasts sizzle, filling the kitchen with a delicious aroma. I realise I haven’t eaten since this morning’s toast. My tummy growls. The clock on the wall above the stove reads seven fifty-five. Where is Sebastian? He hasn’t answered my call nor replied to my text messages and anxiety is gnawing away at my gut. Where the hell are you? Are you okay?
The chicken pasta bake has been sitting on the table for almost an hour when I hear the heavy thud of the oak front door. Placing my near empty glass of red wine on the table, I pivot on the old wooden church pew and glance at the doorway. Sebastian leans against the door frame. He rakes a hand through his dishevelled hair and smiles. His eyes are encircled with dark grey rings, his stubble giving him an unkempt appearance. “Hi,” I say, not moving to stand.
“Hi.” He saunters toward me, his deportment belying his evident fatigue. He reaches out to me; he strokes my loose, tousled hair. “You came…and you cooked,” he observes, his lips forming a half smile.
“Yes. I thought you’d be hungry, and I needed to be with you.” My neck cranes as I look up at him, our eyes locking with shared misery.
He grasps my hair more firmly, using it as an anchor with which to tug my head against his firm stomach as he stands before me. I breathe in his masculine scent of sandalwood, while the buttons of his shirt press into my face. My arms encircle his waist, and I stroke his lower back. He shudders in my grasp. At first, I wonder if he is cold but the shudders become stronger. Dear God, he’s crying.
“My poor darling.” Standing abruptly, my body turning, I kneel on the pew, leaning over its back, and embrace my broken man. His body heaves as he sobs and all I can do is stroke his back and whisper my love for him. His tears soak my neck and break my heart. When his emotions are spent, he pulls back and rubs his eyes with his clenched fists.
“Sorry,” he croaks. “Just…fuck it, I loved that crazy fucking woman.”
“I know you did,” I whisper, his words cutting deep as a knife. “She loved you, too.”
“Not in the way you think.” He rakes his hand through his hair again, sniffing back the tears threatening to spill once more. “I was always her master, her friend, her protector. But, in the end, I didn’t protect her. Fuck, Elizabeth. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” His clenched fist thuds down on the table, causing the plates and cutlery to rattle and my body to tense.
“There was nothing you could do,” I soothe. “Where have you been? You were released hours ago.”
“On the beach. I’ve been walking up and down the beach, again and again, calling her, looking for her. She just walked out to sea, Elizabeth. Just walked out into the dark, cold ocean and let it claim her.”
“Have they found her, darling?” My hand rests on his arm, stroking, comforting.
“No. The police diver said the tide has probably washed her along the coast. They questioned me, Elizabeth. They seemed to think that she isn’t Scarlett. That she is someone else…Sarah someone. I’d have known. Wouldn’t I have known?” His question hangs in the air unanswered.
“Sebastian.” I have to ask him the question which has been eating at me since my earlier conversation with DI Chambers. He looks down at me but his eyes are hooded, glazed, as though he doesn’t see me. “I want you to listen to me and answer me truthfully. If you do that, then I am here with you one hundred percent…but only if you tell me the truth. No matter what the truth is. Okay?”
“The truth. Yes.” His voice is robotic, devoid of emotion.
“When Joe and Alan died, I overheard you on the phone with Scarlett. You said to her, ‘You’ve done well, you’ll be rewarded.’ What did you mean, Sebastian? I want the truth. What did you mean?”
He sighs and wipes a hand across his face. “Shit. Is that what’s important to you?” he asks incredulously, his eyes locked on mine. “Do you want to know what I was thanking her for? I was thanking her for arranging a fucking bouquet of flowers for you. Do you remember the lilies that arrived? Who the hell do you think ordered those, when I was supporting you through the hardest fucking time of your life? Fuck. What did you think I was thanking her for?” He backs away from me, his lip curled in a cruel sneer. I’m losing him.
“No.” The word emits as a shout that gets Sebastian’s attention. “I didn’t tell the police. I didn’t believe you were a party to the accident. I trusted you. I do trust you, and now you have to trust me.”
Moving quickly, I walk around to him and gather him in my arms, his body rigid against my embrace. “It’s over, Sebastian. Don’t you see? We’ve got each other. We love each other and, hell, they say love conquers all.” He relaxes into my arms, my fingers raking through his hair as he buries his face in my neck, sobbing once more.
“It’s okay,” I soothe. “I’m here and we’ll get through this together.” It breaks my heart to feel my strong man cry like a baby, to feel his hot tears, his loss, and his confusion. I rock him gently until his body is still. “Take me to bed.” Before he can answer, I take his hand and lead him from the kitchen. He follows, his eyes lowered, his dear face red and blotchy.
Closing the bedroom door I lead him to the bed where he sits compliantly, so unlike my dominant, confident lover. He watches by the fading light as my clothes slip to the floor forming a puddle at my feet. His eyes darken, his breathing quickens. Taking his hand once more, I pull him to standing using all my strength to raise his leaden body. Silently, I strip him. He allows me to do so, but offers no assistance. When we are both facing each other, naked, my hands gently caress his chest. Snaking about his neck, I bring his head down, his lips meeting mine in a bruising assault. He reaches a tentative hand to my hip as I step into him, his hardness pressing against my belly, grinding into him still further.
He grips my hip so painfully that I bite down on his bottom lip as his fingers dig into my flesh, sharp and unrelenting. The taste of blood—metallic and warm—flows onto my tongue as our kiss deepens, raw and carnal. His hands grasp my buttocks, pulling me against his erection, grinding it into me in a rhythmic motion. “Mine,” he growls into my mouth as a hand slides up to my throat, encircling my neck, the pressure enough to make me gasp. “You. Are. Fucking. Mine.”
“Yes, I’m yours, darling. Always yours.” He steps back a pace, his molten eyes drinking me in from head to toe. He swipes at his bleeding lip with the back of his hand, looks down at the blood and back at me, our eyes locking, mine reflecting his primal need. His mouth and hand smeared with his blood adds to our visceral desire. He shakes his head as he licks at his bleeding lip. I don’t see his hand lash out but feel the sting of his palm on my cheek as he slaps me. The pain feels good. I want him to do it again, feeling a warm gush between my legs as my core tightens. His hand withdraws and hovers near my face.
“Do it,” I goad. “Fucking do it!”
He hesitates, sucking on his wounded lip, his eyes hooded, his hand elevated beside my cheek. “What the fuck’s happened to us?” He drops his hand by his side and stands limp and lost. “When did we start abusing each other?”
“No,” I cry. “Not abuse. We have to get this out, we’ve both been through so much…it’s passion, not abuse.” I stroke his face; he flinches at my touch. “Don’t, Sebastian. Don’t shut me out.” He catches my hand and lifts it to his face, kissing my palm.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “What’s happened to me?” He pulls me into his strong embrace, the heat of his firm body heightening my arousal once more. “Come.” He turns me so that the backs of my legs are against the bed. With a firm but tender push, he has me on the bed, his weight pressing into me. His knee parts my legs, spreading me wide, his hands pinning my arms above my head. The silky head of his cock spears me; with one hard thrust he drives it in to its root filling me so completely that I scream
his name. His grip on my wrists tightens, his eyes never leaving mine as he drills me, withdrawing and thrusting into me over and over. My legs encircle his waist, heels digging into his back.
My core tightens around his hardness as the first tremors of pleasure build within. “You’re so fucking wet,” he hisses, releasing my wrists to trail his fingers to my dripping pussy. The rub of his thumb on my pulsating clitoris drives me over the edge as the first wave of orgasms crashes through my body. Screaming his name, my back arched, I am lost to him, aware only of the crescendo within myself. His assault on my bud continues until the pleasure becomes unbearable.
“Stop. No more,” I pant. “Please, no more.” His hand moves from my soaked folds, trailing my juices up my stomach, over a nipple and to my throat where he pinions me. His face a mask of torment, of dark abandon, he spits my name from his lips as he succumbs to his own climax. I can’t breathe, panic rising as I tug at his fingers about my neck, prying them from their unyielding grip, my body twisting and bucking under his weight. He snaps back, releasing my throat. I gasp for air, panic subsiding.
“Sorry. Oh God, I’m sorry.” He rolls off me, collapsing on his side and curling into a ball, his arms clutching his knees.
“What the hell happened? Sebastian?” He’s trembling uncontrollably. “Shit. It’s okay. I’m okay.” Tears roll down my cheeks at the sight of my broken, damaged love. Pulling the duvet up, I tuck it around him, sliding my body against his back, my arms enfolding him. Keeping him warm. Calming him. His body stills once more; his hand grips my arm and pulls me tightly to him.
“I don’t know what that was,” he whispers. “So sorry. Love you…so sorry.” I soothe and stroke him until his breathing grows more shallow. His limbs relax. Sebastian is asleep. Closing my eyes, I wait for sleep to claim me too, willing it to come.