The Third heiress

by Brenda Joyce

  "How big is the estate?" Jill asked as the Land Rover dipped precariously on the rutted and, at times, unpaved road.

  "About one thousand acres. It used to be larger, but a good two-thirds of it was sold off years ago," Alex said cheerfully.

  Jill smiled at him, then saw, through his window, a sight that made her heart slam to a stop. "Oh, God!" she cried, seizing his arm so abruptly that the Land Rover briefly swerved to her side of the road.

  "Jill!"

  But Jill was staring at what she could see of a tower, a monument of black-gray stone, piercing the rain-filled sky. She began to tremble. "Stop the car. We have to get out." This could not be happening.

  "What the hell is wrong? You look as if you have just seen a ghost," Alex said, pulling over as far to the left as he could on the narrow road. There was hardly space to do so, but the road was deserted anyway. They had not seen another vehicle in at least twenty minutes.

  "Maybe I have seen a ghost," Jill said, shuddering and filled with unease. "That tower." She could not tear her gaze away. "I want to get closer. I want to go see it."

  He stared at her, and Jill finally returned his gaze. "I dreamed about that tower last night," she .said hoarsely. Instantly her eyes veered back to the tower. // was exactly the same as the tower of her dreams.

  He continued to stare. "Okay. Care to elaborate?" He

  flicked on the highest speed of his wipers as it had now begun to pour.

  Jill folded her arms protectively around herself, aware of the alarming pace at which her heart raced. "I had this terrible dream," she said, low. "About Kate. And I saw this tower in my dream."

  "I'm happy to take you there, Jill," Alex said after a pause. "But need I remind you just how many towers there are in Britain?"

  She blinked at him.

  "There must be hundreds, maybe thousands—just like this one."

  Was he right? "Let's get out," Jill said, reaching for the door.

  "Honey, I can't leave the Rover here on the road—like a sitting duck." He shifted into gear and eased forward. Jill was aware of continuing to hug herself. She craned her neck to stare over her shoulder at the tower ... it seemed exactly the same as the one in her dream. There was no mistake about it.

  A small sign on their left indicated "Coke's Way." Alex turned onto the narrow path, leaving the road behind. As they bumped over the rutted path, beneath a canopy of leafy trees, a small stone cottage came into view. It was two stories high, with a tall pitched roof and two stone chimneys. All the windows that Jill could see were boarded up.

  The tower was less than a hundred yards behind it, looming up abruptly against a backdrop of wiry, twisted trees, through which glimpses of a steel gray, frothing sea could be seen. It was a ruin, but it was exactly what Jill had seen in her dream. Jill had not a doubt.

  "I thought we'd gone inland," she managed through teeth that chattered. She was feeling odd, almost ill. Her emotions were so jumbled and ragged, even raw, that it was hard to pinpoint what she was feeling. She did know that she was upset, uneasy, dismayed.

  "We did, but there's a small bay here. Are you cold?" Alex asked with evident concern as he halted the Land Rover in front of the cottage.

  "It's no big deal," Jill murmured, already pushing open her door. Behind her, as she started forward, not toward the cottage but toward the tower, she heard the engine die. She was wearing an anorak and a baseball cap, and she did not pull up her hood. The rain continued to fall. The going was rough underfoot. Stones cropped up through the wild overgrown grass everywhere. Bushes also appeared haphazardly, which she had to slap at or detour around. Alex fell into step beside her.

  "Jill," he said as they trudged toward the stone ruin, "undoubtedly you've seen towers like this before. What you are suggesting is alrhost impossible."

  Jill didn't bother to argue with him. She was positive that she had dreamed of this tower before she had ever seen it. She had to call KC the moment she got back to the house.

  Jill's trembling increased when they finally paused in front of the structure, which was four or five stories high. The tower had no roof, she realized, and from the very low stone formations around it, she realized it had once been part of a larger building.

  "There was a keep here, one I believe dating back to Norman times," Alex said. "I'd like to glamorize the situation and tell you it got bombed during World War Two, but it just fell apart over the years. As a kid, I played here with my cousins. Nothing's changed."

  Jill was aware that he kept glancing at her the entire time they crossed the field behind the cottage. Now she looked at him. "Are we still on Collinsworth property?"

  "Yeah. This manor belongs to the estate."

  Jill nodded, swallowing, her mouth dry. She did not feel surprised by that bit of information. She walked over a pile of stones and around the side of the tower. All four walls were intact. The windows were arrow slits. But the space where there had once been a door was a gaping hole.

  Jill walked inside. Instantly the too-sweet smell of the earthen floor assailed her. The air changed. It was oddly airr less inside, and it was also very damp and very cold. Breathless, her pulse pounding uncomfortably, Jill touched a hard slab of stone. It was rough and unhewn beneath her palm.

  She stared at it. The feeling of deja vu was acute. She had dreamed of this moment last night, but in her dream, there had been terror and desperation... and there had been Kate.

  "What are you doing?"

  Alex's voice sounded far away. Jill could see Kate again, her face strained and white, her dark eyes black and huge, and then she could hear her ... So much at stake ...

  Jill inhaled, closing her eyes, feeling dizzy. She wanted to throw up.

  Instantly Alex gripped her arm from behind, supporting her. She leaned gratefully against him. "Are you sick?"

  She could not answer. When the dizziness had passed, Kate's face remained vividly etched on her mind, and now it was apparent that her eyes were begging Jill for help. She could almost hear her again, Help me. Help me, please . . . But Jill thought she was now imagining her voice—and maybe she was imagining everything.

  The stone walls of the keep suddenly seemed to move. They leaned inward, looming over her, as if closing in upon her.

  Jill shook her head to clear her vision. She was hallucinating because the dream had upset her so terribly and she was severely exhausted.

  Jill pulled free of Alex's grasp, not even aware of his presence, and she squatted, touching the wet earthen floor. The earth was coarse and grainy and it filled her palms. She had felt this same wet, pebbly earth before—last night. Abruptly Jill stood. She was afraid to look down and open her hands, terribly afraid, but she did.

  There was no blood.

  She stared at her dirty hands, waiting for blood to cover them.

  Instead, she saw Kate, panting, panic-stricken, covered with dirt and blood, her long hair wild and snarled, falling around her shoulders and down her back. And then she had screamed . . .

  "I can't breathe," Jill suddenly cried, and before Alex could react, she had rushed past him, out into the clean air and the pounding rain.

  She stood outside, her face uplifted to the rain, holding her hands out, letting the rain wash them clean, shivering uncontrollably.

  What was happening? It had only been a wacky dream!

  But her heart was telling her otherwise. Something terrible had happened to Kate. And maybe it had happened right here.

  Jill realized that tears had fallen down her cheeks, mingling with the rain.

  And suddenly KC's haunting words came to mind. And Kate became you . . .

  It was a flash of insight, like a premonition. Kate hadn't just disappeared, a terrible tragedy had befallen her—and the same terrible tragedy was waiting to happen to Jill.

  "Jill?" His hand closed firmly on her upper arm.

  Jill flinched at his touch. She faced him without seeing him. In front of her was Kate, dirty, bloody, haggard, desperate. It was Ka
te gripping her arm. It was Kate who was so afraid, Kate who was in jeopardy . ..

  "Jill." His tone was like the lash of a whip.

  Only a dream, Jill chanted silently, but she was still sick to her stomach. She became aware of Alex shaking her. She inhaled deeply. Thank God he could not see that she had started to cry. She finally looked at him and recoiled, because he was staring at her with such purposeful scrutiny. She did not want to share this with him, not yet, and maybe not ever.

  She pulled free of his grip, still breathing deeply. Her trembling had finally lessened, she could breathe again, and looking at the walls of the tower, they appeared rock solid and absolutely motionless.

  "Hey. What happened in there?"

  She hadn't heard him come up behind her, and his voice was incredibly gentle and kind. Jill's heart turned over with a deep, deep need, and she realized she was exhausted and very, very vulnerable right now. She faced him slowly. What would he do, she wondered, if she walked up to him and leaned against him, laying her head on his shoulder? "I can't talk about it just yet."

  "Okay." He hesitated, his penetrating gaze on hers. "Let's get out of the rain."

  Jill nodded and followed him back toward the car.

  "You know, I've read about people having bizarre and very strong reactions to places they've never been to before—like you've just had."

  Jill stumbled. "What?" Her unease grew.

  "You turned so white in there I thought you were going to faint." He was regarding her closely as they came abreast of the side of the cottage. "You seemed to be in a trance. Where were you, Jill?"

  She shook her head. But she had been in a trance—or some kind of altered state.

  "I was talking to you. You didn't even hear me." He stared. "You were far away. God only knows where."

  Jill thought about her answer. "The tower made me feel ill," she confessed. "And it also frightened me. I told you, I dreamed about it last night." She hesitated. "I did hear you." She slowly lifted her gaze to his. Their gazes locked. "But your voice sounded far away."

  A long moment seemed to pass. "Maybe we should let our hunt for Kate go for a bit. You've been through a lot recently. You'll make yourself sick—"

  "No!" Her cry was sharp and loud. Even though she was afraid now, of what might happen next, of what she might find, she could not abandon her search for the truth now. Something terrible had happened to Kate. Jill felt honor-bound to expose what that something was. She realized, with a start, that she wanted justice. Kate deserved no less.

  "All right. If you won't quit, you've still got my support. Want to go? It's a bit early for lunch, but we can drive around some more."

  Jill didn't move. They were out of the rain now, standing on the porch behind the cottage. She looked around, at the house. He had called Coke's Way a manor. "Who used to live here, Alex?" she asked slowly.

  "No one's lived here since I first came to Yorkshire when I was seven or eight. I don't know if anyone's been here since the last war."

  "Didn't you call this a manor a few minutes ago?"

  "It was a manor house, but you'd have to ask Thomas or

  Lauren the details. Or maybe they'd know more in the village." He studied her. "What are you getting at?"

  Jill was staring at the boarded-up windows on the back side of the house where they stood. Her gaze drifted upward. The windows were not all boarded up on the second floor.

  "Now what's going on in that creative mind of yours?" he pressed.

  She turned and realized he was smiling. "Kate stayed in a manor not far from Robin Hood Bay. Didn't we just pass a sign for Robin Hood Bay a few minutes ago?"

  He was silent. "We did. It's less than three miles from here, directly to the east. There are two other old manors around here," he added. Then he sighed. "You want to go inside." It was not a question.

  Jill nodded but she did not smile. Kate and Edward had been lovers. She did not have proof, only an old lady's faint recollections based on hearsay, but she believed it with all of her heart. Where better for Edward to stash his pregnant mistress than in some secluded cottage on his own property?

  They walked around to the front of the cottage. While Alex went to the Land Rover to get tools to pry off the two boards nailed in an X across the door, Jill tried to peer into a window. She could make out nothing but furniture covered in cloths and shadows. She walked around the side of the house.

  She discovered a door, undoubtedly leading to the kitchen, and it wasn't boarded up. But a padlock was on the door, hanging there with a thick, rusty chain. Jill grabbed the chain and tugged. It was not going to break apart in her hands.

  Jill suddenly stopped what she was doing, chills sweeping over her. She could hear Alex in front of the house, prying the plywood off of the front door. The hairs on her nape felt as if they were prickling. She almost felt as if she were being watched.

  Jill dropped the padlock, stepping away from the side door. She glanced around, at the overgrown lawn, the few trees in the yard, the stone wall that abutted the road. She did not see anyone, but the odd feeling remained.

  If anything, it grew stronger.

  As if someone were spying upon them—upon her.

  Jill decided to return to the front of the house, where Alex was. She began to move away, hurrying now, glancing over her shoulder, when she tripped.

  She looked down. It was only the trapdoor of a root cellar, so overgrown with grass and weeds that it was hardly visible.

  Almost running, she rushed around the house as Alex pulled the last piece of plywood from the front door. "Just in time," he said merrily. Then he stared. "What's wrong now?"

  "Nothing." She forced a smile, breathless, her pulse pounding. She was not going to tell Alex she had felt a presence lurking about, in the yard, perhaps, or the woods. He already questioned her judgment, he would think her a certifiable nut.

  Jill told herself that if she had not been imagining things, it had probably just been a village teenager with nothing better to do than loiter and eavesdrop.

  Alex twisted the heavy brass knob. It turned readily and the door swung open. Jill hurried over, peering past him.

  A small parlor greeted her view, the fumislidngs covered in faded sheets, as she had seen before from the window. There was a stone hearth in the parlor as well. They entered, almost cautiously. The floors were dark oak. A stairwell led to the upstairs directly in front of them.

  Alex sniffed the air. "Odd," he said.

  Jill did not releix. She was far more tense now than before. Maybe coming to Coke's Way, maybe exploring the tower, had been a mistake. "What's odd?" she asked. She did not smell anything unusual.

  "Nothing," he said with a shake of his head.

  Jill walked cautiously past him, into the parlor. Only the couch and chairs had been covered. A long, not particularly exciting side table was against one wall. It was empty except for a very outdated lamp that might have been gas-lit and some old, faded hardcover books. No letters were even visible on their fabric bindings.

  Alex walked past her, to the table. He picked up a book.

  turning it over, opening it. "A Henry James novel," he mused. ''Washington Square.'' He flipped to a front page. "It's a first edition."

  Jill was seized with excitement. She hurried to him. "I wonder if Kate read that book? Is there an inscription? Any-thingr'

  "No." He handed it to her. His gaze was piercing. "Don't jump ahead of the game."

  She decided not to offer a rebuttal. Kate had stayed here. Either that, or she had stayed in the tower.

  Jill had never been more certain of anything.

  Alex walked past her into a small kitchen. Jill was now inspecting the other book, which was by Thomas Melville. Then she heard Alex exclaim from the kitchen. "Christ!"

  She rushed to the doorway and found him standing in the center of the poorly illuminated room, with stone floors, wooden rafters, and a large brick fireplace at one end. Then she realized why he had cried out.


  There was a box of Kellogg's Com Flakes on the wooden counter. Beside it was a container of instant coffee. Some plates and silverware were in a rubber drying rack beside the sink.

  Alex faced her. "This place didn't smell as if it had been closed up for years and years. Look at this! Someone was here—recently." He picked up the cereal box and dumped some cereal into his hand. "But not that recently. This cereal's past its prime."

  "Maybe it was a homeless person," Jill suggested, quite certain it was not.

  "How did he get in?" Alex returned, looking under the sink. Jill realized he was inspecting the garbage—but it had been emptied.

  "There's a side door, but it's padlocked," Jill told him. "Maybe someone has the key."

  "Or a homeless person could have used one of the windows. We'll check when we leave."

  Jill thought about the upstairs windows on the second floor of the left side of the house—which were not boarded up. "Let's go upstairs."

  They left the kitchen, traversed the parlor, Alex pausing to glance at the hearth. "Charred kindling," he announced. "And ashes." He rose to his full height. "Someone made themselves right at home. I'll check to see if we leased this place out to some oddball recently."

  They walked upstairs in silence, Jill preceding Alex now. She did not pause, going to the end of the corridor. "Do you know something that I don't know?" Alex asked from behind her.

  "Didn't you notice the windows on this side of the house?" Jill returned. The last door was open. The other two doors they had just passed had been closed.

  Uncertain of what to expect, Jill paused on the bedroom's threshold. A single bed with four low posters was in the center of the room. A blue quilt had been pulled up over white cotton sheets. An electric lamp was on the bedside table. A glass ashtray was beside the lamp and there was an electric heater on the floor.

  Jill's glance swung around. There was a bureau on the facing wall with a mirror on top of it. While the bureau and mirror, like the bed, dated back perhaps a century, if not more, the items on top of the bureau, like the sheets and quilt and heater, did not.