The Third heiress

by Brenda Joyce

  Kate stepped backward. "Anne, I did not come here to humiliate you. In spite of everything, we are still friends, I do love you .. ."

  "Then why did you come? To congratulate me because of my engagement to your lover?"

  Kate flinched.

  "Get out," Anne gritted, gloved fists clenched. "Get out and do not think to ever come back!"

  Kate felt as if a stake had been stabbed through her heart. How could this be happening? How could Anne despise her so? For one moment Kate hesitated, seeking desperately the words that might mend an ancient friendship and end a bitter new rivalry, but no words came to her mind. Anne's angry, hostile gaze did not relent. Kate gave up. She lifted her skirts and rushed past Anne. She could not retreat fast enough.

  As Jill ran out of the back door of the chapel, it began to rain. From the comer of her eye, she glimpsed the Land Rover sitting in the drive. Damn it! Vicar Hewitt could lie for her but PAt would know she was there anyway. A tight, frantic feeling seized her, interfering with her breathing, as she raced across the lawn behind the chapel.

  She thought she heard him coming, behind her.

  Jill had reached the stone wall that ran parallel to the road. She did not hesitate, but launched herself onto it, scrabbling over it, and jumping off of it to land on her hands and knees on the other side. Stones and the roots of trees dug into her hands. She thrust herself to her feet. She could not get enough air and she was covered with sweat.

  Jill dared one quick glance over her shoulder, but it was pouring now, and she could not make out any sign of Alex approaching.

  It didn't matter. She knew he was there. She could feel him coming after her.

  Was this the way it had been for Kate? Had she run like this from Edward?

  Suddenly Jill thought she heard the engine of a car. ,

  She rushed to the side of the road, strained to hear, and at first heard only her thundering heartbeat and her raspy, tor-

  tured breathing. Then she heard it—louder now—there was no mistake about it. A car was driving in from the north— from the direction she herself had just come.

  Jill turned abruptly, but didn't see Alex. Shaking like a leaf, she waited, until she saw the headlights piercing the gloom. She began waving her arms frantically, not daring to cry out. A small hatchback approached. Jill debated jumping in front of the car, but it was coming on at a good clip and she was afraid that, in the downpour, she might get run over. She jumped up and down, waving at it desperately, tears streaming down her face, praying that the car would stop, the driver would let her in, and take her to safety. The hatchback zoomed past her.

  God! Jill didn't think twice. She raced across the road, her footsteps sounding' terribly loud on the pavement, climbed the opposite stone wall, and found herself in the cemetery.

  Coke's Way. She could hide there—it wasn't far.

  Jill ran through the maze of headstones, through the fog steaming up from the ground, stumbling on the sodden earth and grass, dodging the shadows that were misshapen trees and bushes, flinging glances repeatedly over her shoulder. And then she heard him.

  Jill turned, frozen, but now heard only the rain and the wind. She whirled, running—and the ground disappeared beneath her feet.

  Jill fell.

  Hard, into a wide hole in the ground.

  She landed on her buttocks and her hands, and for one moment was stunned and out of breath. She had fallen into a deep pit or cavern. In the next instant, wet earth squishing through her fingers, a series of chills swept over her entire body. Realization struck. She had fallen into a grave.

  Jill jumped to her feet, breathing harshly, loudly, afraid Alex would catch her now—and then what would he do? Fortunately, her eyes were level with the top of the grave—it wasn't as deep as she had feared. Fear and adrenaline gave Jill the kind of strength she'd never had before. She managed

  to hoist herself out of the grave while scrabbling up the dirt walls with her feet.

  Once on solid ground, Jill lay flat on her stomach, panting and fighting for air. But she did not have time to lose. She got up—only to realize that she had been lying in the freshly overturned earth. Her gaze fell on the tiny, barely discernible headstone at the head of the grave.

  She stared, for one moment stunned motionless. A second later she was on her knees, bending over the tiny, almost nonexistent slab of stone that marked Kate's grave.

  Jill was paralyzed. Kate's grave had been dug up.

  Someone had desecrated Kate's grave.

  Or had it been desecration?

  "Jill!"

  Jill inhaled at the sound of Alex's shout.

  "Jill! Jill! Where are you?!"

  He was some distance away. Farther than she had thought—maybe across the road. But he was big and strong—he could cut the distance down between them to nothing within seconds.

  "Jill!"

  Jill ran. She left the cemetery, the manor with its two chimneys a dark, looming shadow ahead of her. Thunder boomed overhead. Jill faltered, finally collapsing against a gnarled tree, the rain beating down on her. She could hear Alex calling her again.

  She started to cry. Had he been the one to destroy the grave? And why? Was it for more DNA? Or to find out the truth about how Kate had died?

  Lightning split the sky, out in the sea.

  She froze, realizing the way the lightning had lit up the dark sky. It had lit up the entire landscape—and she had practically been standing out in the open. Had Alex been able to see her? Suddenly Jill wished he would call her again—so she could discern where he was. But no shouts rang out now from the vicinity of the cemetery and the road. There was only the rumble of distant thunder, the drumbeat of rain, the howl of wind.

  Lightning pierced the night sky again, thunder cracking directly overhead.

  Jill saw him. An unmoving solid shape among the swaying, misshapen trees that marked the boundary between the manor and the cemetery. Jill turned and ran.

  Like a sprinter, clods of dirt and mud flying up beneath her feet, finally reaching the overgrown grounds surrounding the manor and then the side of the house itself.

  The house looked ruined, vacant, brooding. Jill debated hiding somewhere inside—but she was afraid of being trapped. Besides, wouldn't it be the first place Alex would look for her?

  "Jill! It's me, Alex! Jill! Wait!"

  Jill could not believe her ears, because it sounded as if Alex were only yards away from her, and whereas before he had been behind her, and to her left, now he sounded as if he were in front of her, and to her right. But that was impossible.

  No one could circle around her so quickly.

  Jill didn't think twice. She ran past the house. Ahead was the dark, jagged outline of the tower.

  "Jill! Stop!"

  She could hide in the tower—or she could try to scramble down the cliffs to the beach.

  There was no safe hiding place. Alex had seen her—he was going to catch up to her at any moment.

  And Jill ran directly to the tower. Frantic, she bent, and within seconds, her hand closed over a huge, sharp rock. Jill straightened.

  "Jill," Alex said, and he stepped through the gaping stone walls to face her.

  October 18,1908

  It was almost three o'clock. Kate paced the foyer of her home, wringing her hands, trying to tell herself that everything was all right, trying not to be afraid. But her temples throbbed with astounding pain—and nothing was right. Edward had not come home last night, which meant he

  had stayed very late at the birthday party, and that morning Kate had received a letter from Anne.

  Pain stabbed through her head with such intensity that Kate cried out, seeking a chair. And when the pain had passed, she pulled the folded letter from the pocket of her cloak with shaking hands and reread it for the fourth time.

  Dear Kate,

  I owe you a tremendous apology. I have never behaved in such a manner before, as I did last night, and I am filled with regret. I can only say in my s
elf-defense that my passions ran away with me, given the unusual circumstances which we find ourselves in.

  Kate, I have spent the entire evening thinking about this terrible twist of fate. I believe that we must meet to discuss what we must do. Surely, as we are both reasonable women, an3 good friends, we can find a solution to our dilemma that is acceptable to all involved. I wish to pick you up at 3 o'clock. Please, meet with me, so we may lay this matter to rest once and for all.

  Sincerely, Your Friend, Always, Anne

  Kate stared at the neatly scripted letter. Something was very odd. But she could not say, precisely, what.

  Her pulse raced. There was a noise behind her and she leaped to her feet, whirling, but no one was there. Kate licked her lips, which were dry. She could not understand her fears or herself. She no longer felt safe, not even in her own house. She had tried to tell herself that she was distraught, overtired, and that her imagination was running wild, that nothing was so vastly wrong, that no harm could come to her in her own home. But she could not soothe herself.

  Kate paced, replacing the letter in her pocket, glancing nervously at the clock standing on the marble table. It was ten to three. Maybe what was so disturbing was that Anne not only wished to meet, but that she wished to pick her up as

  well. That made no sense. Where did Anne wish to go? Why not speak frankly in the privacy of Kate's home?

  And the tone of the letter was at such odds with Anne's hateful words last night.

  What if it was a trap?

  Kate cut off her own cry with one of her gloved hands. She was becoming mad, to suspect a trap, and what kind of trap could it possibly be? Perhaps Anne had been up all night, as she herself had been, regretting everything. Perhaps she truly wished to find a solution to their dilemma. Kate had to believe that.

  Kate wanted, desperately, to believe that.

  "Madame." Peter's nurse came forward, the bundled-up baby in her arms. "We are ready." She failed to smile as she usually did. The Frenchwoman's eyes reflected concern and worry as they met Kate's.

  "Let me hold him," Kate whispered, overcome with grief. It was overwhelming, as if she would never see her son again. But that was absurd. She would go out with Anne and be back by suppertime.

  Tears interfering with her vision, Kate held Peter to her breast. She rocked him, watching his angelic face as he slept. Already she could see signs that he would look like his father. How happy that made her.

  Kate finally gave the baby back to Madeline.

  "Madame. How long shall we stay at the countess's?"

  Kate looked at her. Was she doing the right thing in sending Peter to the countess? The urge had struck her almost violently, shortly after receiving Anne's letter. Peter would be safe in the Collins worth home, in the countess's care. Of that, Kate had not a doubt. "Until I return," Kate swallowed. "I expect to be back at supper."

  Kate really didn't know why she felt compelled to send Peter to his grandmother. She told herself that the countess would fall in love with him and change her mind about Kate and Edward's marriage. Perhaps the countess was their very last hope.

  "Good day, then," Madeline said.

  Impulsively Kate kissed her cheek, then did.the same with

  1

  Peter. He woke up and smiled sleepily at her. His eyes were brilliantly blue.

  Kate felt a surge of panic. But she waved them out, then stood in the doorway and watched their small carriage departing. Tears streamed down her face.

  Kate found, it hard to breathe as she faced the street, waiting for Anne. She heard the coach first. The Bensonhurst carriage rolled down the street, pausing before Kate's house. Kate inhaled, motionless, her heart careening inside her chest, wanting to turn tail and run the other way now that Anne had come. But she sunmioned up her courage, telling herself that she was a silly fool, and hurried from the house. They would solve this, then, once and for all.

  A servant opened the carriage door for her. Kate faltered because Lady Bensonhurst was seated in the backseat beside Anne.

  Kate hesitated, filled with dread.

  "Do come in, Kate," Anne said, her voice odd and high and filled with shrill tension.

  Kate almost refused; she almost turned and fled back to the safety of her own house. But she could not continue to live this way, made ill by panic and fear and frightened of her own shadow. Kate stepped up into the coach.

  The door was closed.

  Kate faced Anne's mother as the coach rolled away, expecting a severe, hateful tongue-lashing. To her surprise, Anne's mother was pale, sitting rigidly on the forward-facing backseat, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. She seemed anxious. She seemed afraid. She seemed to wish to be anywhere but there, in the carriage with Kate. And she avoided Kate's eyes.

  "Very well." Anne's jaw flexed. She produced a small pistol from her handbag and pointed it at Kate.

  Kate's heart stopped. In that moment, her entire life sped before her eyes—every single happy, bitter moment. "Anne!"

  Anne did not smile. "Don't worry. I am not going to shoot you. Mother, tie her hands."

  Kate was disbeheving as Lady Bensonhurst produced a

  cord from behind her back. "Anne! You are mad! What do you think you are doing?" Kate cried.

  "Do be quiet," Anne said. "I am abducting you, Kate. You see, you are now about to disappear, from my life, from Edward's life, forever."

  Twenty-Five

  October 20, 1908

  I

  N SPITE OF BEING TRUSSED UP LIKE A FELON, HER HANDS AND

  ankles bound so tightly that they had lost sensation, becoming numb, Kate had finally fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion. She was awoken by the sound of her locked carriage door being opened. A dismal twilight greeted her—followed by Anne's and Lady Bensonhurst's severe, strained expressions.

  Kate stiffened, her gaze locking with Anne's. "Where are we?" They had been traveling since yesterday afternoon without a single stop—except to dismiss the coachman at a wayside inn. From that point on, Anne had driven the coach, and Lady Bensonhurst had chosen to sit with her. Kate had only been able to discern, before the window shades were drawn, that they were traveling north.

  Anne smiled slightly. "Get out."

  Kate's tension increased. She did not like Anne's superior smile. And the light in her eyes was so brilliant that it was unsetthng. Her friend had become insane—there was no other explanation for her behavior. "Anne, I wish to talk to you," she began.

  Anne raised the pistol. "Mother, untie her ankles so she can walk."

  Lady Bensonhurst succeeded in doing what Kate had spent all night trying to do, without success; with one stroke of a small knife she cut through the cords that had left Kate's

  fingers bloody and in shreds. Immediately the circulation began to return to Kate's feet The effect was painful, causing her to cry out.

  Anne pulled the trigger on the gun. '*I said get out, Kate."

  Kate froze, biting her lip. "Surely our friendship must mean something to you," she implored.

  Anne's face became set in a manner that was frightening. There was no mistaking her resolve or the depth of her anger.

  Kate did not hesitate. She somehow stood, reeling, unable to use her hands to prevent herself from falling. Anne gripped her elbow and pulled her roughly down from the coach. Anne pushed her forward.

  And Kate gasped. They were at Coke's Way. But the manor house that belonged to the Collinsworth family was locked up. There was no tenant there now. Edward had told her, fondly, that he would never let the place again. "What are we doing here?" Kate cried.

  Anne pushed her another time. Her strength was inhuman now. "How stupid do you think I am, Kate? Do you think you could tell me about the child and that I would fail to leam every detail of your life from that point on?" Her laughter was low, brief. "Recently I discovered that Edward sent you here to have Peter. It is ironic, is it not? You shall disappear here, under his very nose—in a place he will never think to look for you
. I have spent days deciding where to hide you!"

  Kate refused to move forward, facing Anne. "I won't do this. Anne, can you not see that this is not the way for you to build a future with Edward? You cannot build a life with someone based on lies and even murder!" Kate began to tremble. She did not believe Anne intended for her to die. She refused to believe it. Anne would make her disappear, and dear God, Edward might think shfe had run away, but after Anne married Edward, she would let her go. Wouldn't she?

  Kate knew there were ramifications to that scenario that she was not considering. But she could not consider theuL They were far too terrifying.

  "Lady Bensonhurst," Kate cried. Anne's mother stood by the coach, not looking at either of them—as if that might prevent her from seeing what was actually unfolding before her

  very eyes. "Please stop your daughter from committing what we all know to be a grave and dastardly crime!"

  Lady Bensonhurst regarded Kate. She was as white as a sheet. Her features were pinched, her eyes wide, dark circles underneath. Kate wanted to see moral fortitude. What she saw was resignation.

  "Go," Anne gritted, pushing Kate forward—but not toward the manor house. ^ Ahead was the tower. E Kate froze.

  H She had always hated the tower. She had never once gone inside. Edward had teased her about it. He had told her it was quaint and charming, all the guests at Coke's Way thought so. Kate began to shake—convulsively. "Please don't do ^ this," she whispered, her teeth beginning to chatter. if Anne pushed her forward roughly again. The heavy wood door was open. Kate halted. She was not going to go inside—she could not. The tower, she knew, would be the death of her.

  "Go in," Anne said, shoving her inside. |r Inside, the tower was cold, damp, and airless. Kate could not see at first—her eyes had to adjust to the darkness. The roof was missing in places, and high up, far too high for her to reach or climb, sections of stone were also missing. Had those sections been lower, Kate realized desperately, she would be able to squeeze through and crawl out to freedom.