by Music Box
“I don’t know, sweetheart.” Bryce fell silent, looking strained and pensive.
“Bryce, please.” Gaby jerked to an upright position, her desire to master her own destiny overshadowing her fear. “Don’t protect me the way you did with the guardianship. I won’t have it. This is my life we’re discussing. What is it you’re pondering? I need to know.”
He nodded, making no further attempts to conceal his suspicions. “I’m wondering if it’s possible you endured an even greater trauma than we all realized. I’m wondering if you actually listened as two men you knew died.”
Chapter 13
“HIS GRACE HAS ARRIVED, my lady,” Chaunce announced from the drawing room doorway.
“Thank you, Chaunce,” Hermione replied absently, her worried gaze fixed on Bryce. “Please show him in.”
She and Chaunce exchanged concerned glances before the butler nodded, disappearing into the hallway.
“Bryce, what is it?” Hermione ventured, watching her nephew stare broodingly into his coffee—as he had been doing since Ruth served it ten minutes ago. “You’ve scarcely spoken a word since breakfast, and even then you were obviously keeping up a cheery front for the children. I realize how distressed you are by Mr. Delmore’s death; at first I attributed your somber mood to that and to lack of sleep. But I’m beginning to suspect it’s something more.” She leaned forward anxiously. “Is it Gaby? Was there another sleepwalking episode last night? And if so, why didn’t you mention it to me?”
Bryce lifted his head—a colossal effort given how much it ached from fatigue and tension. How odd that he should feel so distraught in some ways and so utterly at peace in others. Tired? Yes, he was tired. He’d spent the hours preceding dawn perched in the armchair in Gaby’s chambers—the only way he could be sure she would get a few hours of unbroken rest. Following their discussion, she’d been far too upset to go back to sleep—a reality that was totally unacceptable given that, after more than a week of these tormented nights, she was on the verge of physical and emotional collapse. So he’d stayed with her, vowing not to leave, murmuring quiet, soothing words until finally exhaustion won out and her eyelids closed.
He’d spent the duration of the night watching her, worrying about her, simultaneously delving inside himself as he pondered the host of issues plaguing his mind, assailing his heart.
The ultimate resolution had come along with the first rays of dawn.
“Bryce?” Hermione’s voice broke into his thoughts—and Bryce could hear the panic lacing her tone. “You’re frightening me. What is it?”
“Yes, there was another sleepwalking episode last night,” he replied, shoving aside his cup. “A bad one. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it immediately. I have a great deal on my mind this morning.”
“Tell me what—”
“Good morning. Here I am, as promised.” Thane strolled into the room, halting at once as he sensed the crackling tension around him, realized he’d interrupted something. “Forgive me,” he apologized, looking from Bryce to Hermione. “Chaunce suggested I come straight in. If you’d like, I can wait—”
“No.” Bryce rose, rubbing his jaw and gesturing for his brother to enter. “Come in. Close the door behind you. Hermione and I are discussing something that concerns you, too.”
“Very well.” Thane complied, shutting the door and leaning back against it. “Has something more happened?”
“Not with regard to Delmore, no. With regard to Gaby.” Bryce began pacing about the room. “She had a bad sleepwalking episode last night. When she tried to leave the room, I stopped her, awakened her. But instead of simply settling her back in, hoping she’d nod off, and praying the whole episode wouldn’t repeat itself an hour later, I insisted we talk immediately, while the memories were still fresh. We did. And what Gaby said disturbed me greatly.” Bryce paused, then relayed the entire conversation to Hermione and Thane. “In my opinion,” he concluded, “there’s every possibility that Gaby heard those two men die—their cries for help, their pain, Lord knows what else.”
“Dear God,” Hermione whispered.
“Thane, how many people died in that fire?” Bryce asked his brother.
“Dozens.” Thane had gone pale listening to Bryce’s theory. “The fire destroyed the entire service wing—all the structures from what was then the coach house to Whitshire’s rear entrance—all but the stables.” He swallowed. “Worst of all were the losses in the servants’ quarters. Nearly the whole staff was asleep. They hadn’t even time to react, much less escape.”
“Where was the storage shed located with respect to the servants’ quarters?”
Thane dismissed that notion with a shake of his head. “Not adjacent to it. The only room that abutted the storage shed was the coal room. On the other side of the shed were the servants’ entrance and dining hall. Their quarters followed that.”
“So the voices Gaby heard couldn’t have been coming from the staff’s quarters.” Bryce raked a hand through his hair. “Could there have been people in the coal room?”
“I suppose so. The voices could also have been coming from the staff’s dining hall. But if you’re asking if it’s possible that Gabrielle overheard lives being lost, the answer is yes. I was away at Oxford at the time, but I came home as soon as I got word of what happened. It was a tragedy—one in which dozens of people died a horrible death. And for a five-year-old to be subjected to that …” Thane paused. “It’s no wonder she can’t forget.”
“This is still purely speculation,” Bryce reminded him. “But frankly I’m worried sick about it. Because if what I’m suggesting did occur, Gaby has an enormous hurdle to overcome. Not to mention that it’s going to be extremely difficult to test my theory. You weren’t at Whitshire on the night of the fire, which leaves only the surviving servants—those who were employed by your father at the time—to tell us what they recall. And that’s assuming all of them have either stayed on these thirteen years or left forwarding addresses where they can be reached.”
“Do you really think we should bring this entire tragedy to light again?” Hermione managed, her hands trembling with emotion. “Will dredging up all this pain do Gaby any good?”
“Keeping it buried somewhere inside is destroying her,” Bryce returned quietly. “And I won’t allow that to happen. You and I both know Gaby is strong, Hermione. Once she fully understands what’s gnawing away at her, she’ll come to grips with it. I’ll help her; we’ll all help her. But she can’t fight what she doesn’t recall. So we’ve got to get at the truth.”
“I’ll talk to my staff immediately,” Thane promised. “To my knowledge, all those who survived the fire have remained on these thirteen years, so locating them won’t be necessary. I’ll summon each and every one of them and ask if they knew of anyone who was in the coal room, the dining hall, even the woodshed when the fire struck. Maybe they’ll have some answers for us.”
“Thank you,” Bryce said. He turned to Hermione. “Speaking of Gaby’s ability to cope with difficulty, there’s something else you should know: Gaby is aware of your plans with regard to my potential guardianship. I inadvertently let it slip. I hope you’re not upset.”
That revelation seemed to divert Hermione’s worry—and to interest her rather than upset her. “How did she react?”
“Badly at first.” Bryce cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully, so as not to divulge the circumstances surrounding this particular conversation. “But I explained your reasons and eventually she understood.”
“What guardianship?” Thane interrupted.
Again Bryce cleared his throat. “Hermione asked me to act as Gabrielle’s guardian, in the event I’m needed.”
A dry chuckle escaped Thane’s lips. “That’s one situation that will never come to pass.”
“I agree,” Bryce replied. “Hermione is more than capable of filling that role for as long as Gaby needs her.”
“Which won’t be for long,” Thane added.
Br
yce’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “What does that mean?”
Thane crossed over and poured himself some coffee. “That means,” he answered with a grin, “that Gabrielle will never become your ward, but not because of Hermione’s stamina, although I fully believe our aunt will live forever. Gabrielle won’t become your ward because you’re so bloody in love with her, you can’t see straight.”
Bryce’s jaw dropped and he stared at Thane, only vaguely aware of Hermione’s soft peal of laughter in the background. “What did you say?”
A lingering sip of coffee. “I think you heard me.”
“How can you make a statement like that? How on earth would you know?”
“Apparently everyone knows, Bryce,” Hermione put in gently. “Everyone but you.” Her amusement faded, and she studied Bryce for a long, astute moment. “I stand corrected. I believe you’ve finally joined the ranks.”
Bryce walked back to the settee and sank down heavily. “I’ve spent three or four days at Nevon Manor and three or four hours at Whitshire. How is it that, in so short a time, everyone around me perceived something of such great magnitude, something I myself clearly missed?”
“Seeing you and Gabrielle together, it wasn’t hard.” Thane sat as well, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “You scarcely take your eyes off her, you worry over her incessantly, and there’s an astounding chemistry between the two of you; one can actually feel it. In addition, you’re always fleeing either to her or from her.” A twinkle. “Yesterday you nearly knocked me down in your haste to ride to Nevon Manor and check on her well-being, while last week you nearly bolted from Nevon Manor in your haste to return to London and forget her. I’m a man. I recognize the signs. Shall I continue?”
“No.” Bryce shook his head. “You’ve made your point.”
“Have you made yours?” Hermione asked eagerly. “Have you told Gaby—”
“Hermione, please.” Bryce cut her off with a firm wave of his hand. “This conversation has gone far enough. I know you keep a scrapbook of my life, and evidently Thane has inherited your fine insight, but I’m not accustomed to openly discussing my private life. I refuse to be interrogated about my actions and intentions toward Gabrielle.”
“Whatever you say, dear.” Looking not the least bit perturbed, Hermione serenely resumed sipping her coffee.
Thane gave a discreet cough, “If I overstepped my bounds, I apologize.”
“Don’t. I asked.” Bryce brought the conversation to an abrupt halt by introducing an equally pressing, though infinitely less sensitive subject. “Let’s get to the reason for our meeting: Delmore. Thane, I told Hermione about our talk with the police yesterday. Like you, she knows nothing about your father owning, much less selling, a yacht. In fact, according to her, he loathed sailing. So why would he have commissioned a boat to be built?”
“For investment purposes, perhaps?” Thane suggested.
“I considered that, but the modest sum he was asking from Delmore certainly wouldn’t generate any real profit.”
“I’m sure Father originally intended to ask a far more substantial price. But, as you yourself pointed out, he probably modified his expectations once he became ill, decided to forgo his profit in order to sell the boat as quickly as possible.”
“That was what I initially assumed, but since then I’ve had time to think. And I have to wonder why your father felt it necessary to make that sacrifice. What was his urgency to sell? After all, he could have turned the entire matter over to you, asked you to negotiate the highest price, whether or not he was still alive when the deal was consummated. You’re a fine businessman. You would have secured a large profit.” Bryce shot Thane a dark look. “And please don’t tell me he did it to spare you the burden of disposing of the yacht. It’s hardly a complicated transaction, and Richard Rowland was hardly a selfless man.”
“I wasn’t going to suggest that,” Thane assured him. “Your reservations are valid, Bryce. In fact, everything you just said makes a world of sense. The problem is, I have no answers for you. I don’t profess to have understood my father’s thoughts or his motives.”
“Here’s another question: where is the title to this yacht? There has to be one. I assume, since you knew nothing of the yacht’s existence, that the title wasn’t among your father’s papers.”
“Definitely not. I’ve gone through every legal document Father possessed. No such title is there.” Thane tapped his leg thoughtfully. “Could he have forwarded it to Delmore when they struck a verbal agreement and Delmore began preparing the contracts?”
“That’s a distinct possibility.” Bryce nodded. “Let’s get back to Delmore’s murder, and the highwayman who supposedly killed him.”
“ ‘Supposedly’?” Thane repeated. “I take it you don’t believe a thief did this.”
“Let’s say I have my doubts—strong doubts. Think about it. Delmore’s body was discovered some distance from his carriage, concealed in a cluster of trees. Highwaymen don’t linger at the scene of a crime long enough to hide a body. They simply shoot their victim right where he sits, seize whatever they can, then gallop off as swiftly as possible.”
“Perhaps the thief lured Mr. Delmore out of his carriage before shooting him,” Hermione speculated.
“Using what as bait?” Bryce asked. “Delmore’s life? Very well, then—why? Simply so he could conceal the body? What benefit would there be to that? To buy himself more time before someone realized a man had been murdered? The risk of discovery would far outweigh whatever gain that would afford, especially since it was broad daylight and the thief could have been spotted at any moment. No, the wisest course would have been to shoot Delmore, then flee like the wind.”
“Your reasoning is sound,” Thane concurred. “So let’s assume for the moment that the police are wrong, that a highwayman didn’t commit this crime. Where do we go from there?”
“To a motive other than burglary,” Bryce supplied. “There was no sign of a struggle. In my opinion, that means one of two things. Either Delmore was shot in his carriage, then tossed into the trees—a possibility we can easily check into by asking the police if there were any bloodstains on the carriage seat.”
“Or …?”
“Or Delmore left his carriage willingly and alive, and the murderer shot him after they reached the roadside.”
“Why would Delmore willingly leave his carriage, knowing he’d be shot?”
“He wouldn’t. He would willingly leave his carriage only if he was unaware of the murderer’s intentions.”
Thane sucked in his breath. “You’re suggesting Delmore knew his assailant.”
“I think it’s something we must consider.”
“But Delmore was on a private road leading to Whitshire. Who would he know—” Thane broke off, all the color draining from his face. “Oh, no.”
Hermione gasped. “Bryce, are you implying that one of Whitshire’s residents killed Mr. Delmore?”
“I’m not implying anything, at least not at this point. I’m merely considering all the possibilities. We have no evidence to support my theory—or any other, for that matter. But has it occurred to me that someone from Whitshire might have killed Delmore? Yes. It has.” Bryce rubbed his palms together. “Either that or someone knew he was headed to Whitshire and followed him there. That, too, is a distinct possibility. The point is, we have a puzzling robbery and an equally puzzling legal transaction, both of which involved the same man. I think that coincidence bears looking into.”
“So do I.” Thane set down his cup. “I take it you have a plan?”
“Not a plan, a step. Two, actually. First, I want to ask the police about the condition of Delmore’s carriage. Next, I want to visit Banks. I want your permission to examine any or all documents pertaining to the construction or sale of that yacht, including the original title, if it’s in Banks’s possession. Perhaps those documents will shed some light on this mystery.”
“You don’t need my per
mission, Bryce,” Thane reminded him quietly. “Richard Rowland was your father, too,”
“But nobody knows that.” Bryce’s jaw set. “And I don’t intend to change that fact, as I’ve already told you.”
“All right.” Thane accepted Bryce’s decision without further protest. “I’ll pen you a letter right now. You can take it to London, give it to Banks.”
“Does that mean you’re leaving again?” Hermione jolted upright, lines of distress tightening her mouth.
“Only for a day or two,” Bryce replied. “Hermione, I must. Given the circumstances, I have no choice.” He hesitated. “And there are other reasons for my trip—reasons I’m not ready to discuss. You’re going to have to trust me.”
The lines on her face softened. “You know my answer to that.”
“Good. I intend to leave as soon as possible—before noon today. I’ll talk with the police, visit Banks, then take care of the other matters I need to address. I’ll ride back to Nevon Manor the instant I can—tomorrow, I hope. By that time Thane will have spoken to his staff about the fire, and perhaps we’ll be better equipped to help Gaby.” A scowl. “I won’t be here to keep vigil outside her door tonight.”
“Chaunce and I will manage,” Hermione assured him. “We had a good, unbroken night’s sleep, thanks to you; certainly we can withstand resuming our post for one more night, especially knowing how soon you’ll be back.”
“Thank you. Also, I want you to promise me that no one will leave Nevon Manor. As Thane pointed out yesterday, the roads aren’t safe. So please don’t use them.”
“We won’t.” Hermione attempted a smile. “Goodsmith will be delighted to abandon his driving duties and give his full attention to Marion and their upcoming wedding.” A sudden worried look crossed her face, and she turned to Thane. “Speaking of safety, what if Bryce’s theory has merit? What if there’s a murderer living at Whitshire? You could be in danger.”