Punish Me With Roses - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  She looked over his shoulder, knowing what those words meant for her, but wondered what relevance they could have for him. "But we can't stay here, can we?"

  He tilted his head to one side, looking at her with what she then felt was affection. "You know that we cannot. We live in a world where dragons must be slain in the open."

  And would he slay those dragons? Her heart leapt with joy because based on his response, she thought it sounded as though he would. "I need you, Alex," she gasped.

  "Oh, Victoria!" He pulled her against him once again, crushing her breasts against his hard chest.

  She sighed with mingled pleasure and relief. "I wish we could stay like this forever," she said.

  "It's too bad that we can't. In fact, it's probably time we got you home. Your uncle might get worried."

  If her eyes betrayed any of her emotions, she hoped her steady gaze was a temptation to stay awhile. Though she knew as well as he that her uncle would be wondering where she was.

  He began to get up. "To get us out of any more trouble, I must be the strong one."

  The rest of their time together that evening was short. Victoria lived through it all in a daze. The time was actually spent walking back to her uncle's house arm-in-arm coming up with a poor excuse for being so late, and being hustled into dry clothing and a warm foot bath. In her mind, however, she was getting married to Alex, giving birth to a healthy son, and having the kind of home she'd always dreamed of. One that was not only loving, but also stable and permanent.

  Transient lives seemed to be all too common within her family, and she was determined that the trend stop with her.

  Chapter 11

  "Victoria, darling?"

  She knew it was Alex's voice that she heard through her post-slumber haze, but she couldn't understand why. Did he come to wake her up for the day? Why would he do such a thing?

  She would investigate, if only the concept of opening her eyes didn't seem so exhausting. "Alex, what are you doing here?" she asked in a husky voice.

  "Waiting for you to wake up." His voice was soothing, comforting.

  "But, why? What time is it?"

  "You've been in bed with a fever for two days now."

  She forced her eyes open. Seeing him sitting beside her bed was certainly a way to heal her soul, if not her body as well. "Oh, Alex, the dreams I've had!"

  "Some of those things you dreamed of happening probably actually did."

  "Then how do I know the difference?"

  He came to sit beside her on the bed. "Anything after the time we spent in the fort is probably a dream."

  She smiled.

  "I have to ask you something, but if you're too tired to talk about it, that's all right. We'll have to do it some other time."

  She sat up in bed. "Since I'm feeling somewhat refreshed, ask me now." She marveled at the new feeling of openness between them. Never had she thought such a thing could be possible.

  "I'd like you to tell me exactly what happened on the night your cousin died."

  "Why?"

  "It's possible that it wasn't completely your fault. Maybe not at all."

  She told him the entire story from start to finish. Throughout it all, he paid her the utmost attention, only stopping to clarify and repeat her words to ensure he understood. Finally, she was done.

  "Now that I know the full story, I have even less reason to believe you were the true villain."

  "That's so wonderful to hear," she said, and it was. Even if her heart found it hard to believe.

  "It's time to figure out who is the culprit."

  It was an impossible dream. "You'd go to such trouble for me?"

  “I care about you more than anyone." He caressed her cheek with his hand, smiling with a soothing expression unique to him.

  A feeling of incompleteness rose in her chest, but she squashed it down. What else could she want? She knew that the worse thing she could do would be to let her insecurities reign supreme over her common sense.

  "You already know that Mark was my cousin and that we knew about the murders from the very beginning. We also knew you were a prime suspect, but you probably don't know why."

  "No, but I assumed you had some sort of inside information."

  He nodded. "I had these letters to learn from." He pulled a sheaf of papers from his pocket. "Mark talks about you in them."

  She sat upright, practically grabbing for the papers. "I didn't even know Mark. He wrote about me?"

  Alex was visibly taken aback by her statement. "Really? You didn't know him?" He put his hand on her shoulder and leaned forward. "We have to be completely honest with each other if we want to find out who really was to blame. Arsenic was only found in Mark's body; therefore you couldn't have poisoned Hugh."

  She nodded. "I agree that we should reveal all. I did not know Mark. We barely spoke to one another."

  "Did he witness many of the goings on of the house?"

  She shrugged. "I can't be sure, but I wouldn't say so. He would have had to be hiding himself while he was watching."

  "How strange."

  "What kinds of things did he say about me in the letters?"

  He took them back from her and quickly scanned through them. "He spoke of a lot of violent fights between you and your cousin."

  She laughed. "Violent fights? I hardly think so."

  "No?"

  She shook her head. "My cousin and I may have disliked each other, but we were hardly the type to have violent quarrels."

  "How strange."

  "You already said that." She smiled. "Really, it's not strange at all. There's a simple answer to it all: your cousin was a liar."

  He nodded.

  She looked down at her lap then, noticing his lack of response. "I'm sorry, Alex. I guess that's not a nice thing to say, especially about the deceased."

  "Oh no, Victoria! I'm not upset. I want you to say everything that comes into your mind. We both have to, if we ever want to figure out the meaning of all of this. If you feel there's no way Mark could have possibly misunderstood, then you're right. He must be a liar. I need to know that." He sighed. "My father took these letters as absolute evidence. How foolish we've been!"

  "No. You did what you could with the information you had."

  "That's very generous of you considering the way I harassed you."

  She smiled. "In retrospect, it wasn't so terrible. I got to be with you more, didn't I?"

  He returned the smile and she realized that she was happier than she'd been since before her parent's died.

  Then she realized something else. "Wait...the roses. I didn't like that at all." She gasped. "Were you in Blackmoore?"

  He pulled at his jacket collar with his hand. "Ah yes, that is another thing."

  "So you saw I put the roses on their graves, then looked for the same kind to leave around for me to find... and that note? That was a cruel message, Alex. Very cruel." She looked down again.

  "Roses? And what note?"

  "Surely you remember."

  "I would remember if I had actually done it."

  They'd agreed upon being honest and she didn't believe he would lie to her at such a time. "Then who did?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe if you tell me exactly what happened?"

  "The first time, you were there. It was that first time you visited me at my uncle's house. There was a rose tucked under your saddle."

  "Yes, yes. You got frightened and ran back into the house. I thought it was a strange reaction to a rose."

  "You have to understand where I was coming from." She shuddered, remembering the second instance. "I'm sure you'll agree that the next rose was much worse. It happened the day you were talking to the tenant and I came home alone."

  "I knew I shouldn't have let you go!"

  "But it probably would have been there regardless. It was another rose, nailed to the front door along with a note."

  "What did the note say?"

  She shivered. "As red as the blood that
you've spilled."

  His eyes widened. "I can tell you immediately that I was not the culprit. Do you believe me?"

  "Yes, of course."

  He pounded the bed with his fist. "We must find out who was responsible for that. It might lead us to the real killer."

  "Unless the real killer is me."

  "But I told you, Victoria. Only one of the men was poisoned with arsenic. So there had to have been some additional foul play."

  "What if they just didn't find arsenic in the other man's body?"

  "Then we'll have to deal with that. But that's not what I expect to discover." He moved his hands in front of his chest in excitement. "Someone is trying to upset you with those roses. That means that someone knows exactly who you are and what happened in Blackmoore. They must have a reason for not revealing themselves outright...something to do with the murders, perhaps."

  It was the feeling of uneasiness that had remained with her throughout the conversation that made her ask, "But answer me, Alex, what happens if your theory is wrong?"

  "Then I'll find a new one."

  But what worried Victoria was what would happen when all the theories were used up?

  * * *

  Alex made Victoria stay in bed until it was definite that she was completely healthy. Therefore, he was there, keeping her company, when she had a visitor.

  "Mary!" she cried as soon as the woman walked in. "How wonderful it is to see you."

  Alex just stared.

  Mary didn't seem to know what to say or do either when she saw Alex sitting there. She licked her lips nervously and looked at Victoria. Finally, she asked, "What are you doing here, Alex?"

  "Spending time with our mutual friend it seems."

  Mary nodded, still with that "caught" look in her eyes.

  He continued, "What I don't understand is how the two of you are friends."

  Victoria cleared her throat. "I assume you know each other?" She laughed. "If that's not the biggest understatement of the century."

  Alex smiled in spite of himself, in spite of the confused jumble of emotions that filled his head. "Mary is my sister."

  "Your sister!" She sat upright in bed. "You told me she was dead."

  The sad woman he'd once known fell into the nearest chair, dejection painted across her brow. "That's wonderful to hear."

  "Mary, I didn't say you were dead." He approached her hesitatingly. "That's a simple misunderstanding. What I said was that I'd lost both you and my mother."

  "But only one of us was by choice."

  He looked at Victoria and she looked away. Her usual vocal personality was replaced by a courteous silence. Respectful, but also frightening. He was completely on his own. "It was not by choice."

  "It was."

  "Your choice perhaps."

  She stood up and slammed her foot against the wood floor. "I only chose to follow my heart, albeit unwisely. You were the one who chose to disown me...just like father." She swayed precariously, her voice weak and pained. "Michael is the only one who has come to see me these past two years. Can you possibly understand how lonely I've been?"

  "Yes, I--"

  "No, you don't!" She sat down again, staring blankly ahead. "Do you think any single, young woman wants to be friends with an unwed mother? They want to marry an eligible bachelor, not turn out like me."

  He nodded, feeling worse by the minute.

  "I practically thanked Victoria on my knees when she became my friend, even though she knew what kind of a woman I was." She looked at her then, smiling through her tears. "I knew that no matter what she'd done, she couldn't be the conniving shrew Michael had made her out to be."

  "You knew too?"

  "Yes. That's part of the reason I came."

  Alex could barely comprehend that he was finally with his sister, after they'd been apart so long. He couldn't describe how he'd missed her...there'd been a hole in his heart only a sister could fill. So it was understandable--he thought--that he only caught half of what she was saying. But one sentiment stood out as confusing. Caught him as contradictory. "How did you meet Victoria, Mary? And how has Michael been able to visit you?"

  "I live just around the corner, brother, practically in your backyard."

  "That can't be!"

  "Surprise, surprise."

  Now he was angry. "How could it be? I was told that you were sent away...that you wanted to be as far from Coverack as you could get."

  "All lies that your esteemed father has told you." She left the chair and approached the bed. "I think it's time to find out who we can trust."

  "But, Mary," he said, sitting beside her on the large bed, "I'm so sorry."

  She looked down at the mattress.

  "I would have visited you too had I known."

  Mary met his gaze with more strength than he could find in himself. "Would you really?" She shook her head. "You were just as upset with me as father was when it had happened. 'Jack is just a stable hand,' you'd constantly remind me, as though I'd forgotten it in some sort of springtime madness. I think it's wonderful that you would want to lead a moral life, but being human is about making mistakes. Even if you've been fortunate enough to live error free, please don't force that perfection onto everyone else. What happiness comes from never being able to forgive?"

  He could no longer look into her eyes. "I've really made a mess of my life. What a fool I am!"

  Victoria touched his knee. "But you've changed." She looked at his sister than back at him. "No friendship is beyond repair."

  "And we're more than friends," he said. "We're family."

  His sister looked away. "Let's speak about this crime you've been accused of..."

  "You don't have to change the subject, Mary. I can see that you're uncomfortable."

  "With good reason for it," she bickered. "I can't forgive two years' worth of injuries at a moment's notice."

  "I don't expect you to. But will you promise to give me chance to resurrect our relationship?"

  She put her head on one side, saying, "Words are cheap, promises cheaper."

  But words were the only tool he had at his disposal at that time and her response harshly crushed his good intentions. "Fine then. What is it that you wanted to tell us?"

  "Why? Did I say I wanted to tell you something?" Her tone was bitter and pointed. She looked back at Victoria. "I have some information that you might find of importance."

  "Please, tell me."

  "My father and brother, Michael that is, definitely have something to do with the murder."

  "You mean what happened at Blackmoore?" Victoria shook her head. "I can assure you that I was the only one there."

  "Which makes it hard to prove that the blame should fall on someone else." She looked away briefly and cleared her throat. "But much as I hate to admit it, my family has too much of an interest in the matter."

  "I thought Mr. Freely was your cousin?"

  "A cousin that we hardly knew! None of us could recognize him in a crowd of all the distant family members we claim. My father is extremely angry over the matter, as though his own son had been killed. It just doesn't add up."

  "Maybe it was his son," he said. "I wouldn't put it past him."

  Mary glowered at him. "I don't think that's the answer."

  "How do you know all of this?" Victoria asked.

  "I know this because Michael visits me, but I don't have any proof of what I believe to be true." She sighed. "My brother is smarter than he looks. While he's made a lot of curious statements on the subject, he's never confessed to anything."

  Alex began to pace, not believing what he was hearing. What his heart almost knew, but didn't want to accept. "What kinds of things has he said?"

  "He's made a lot of mention of roses tripping Victoria up and reminding her of her conscience. But as I said, he speaks of the instances, knowing full well that they happened, yet not claiming to be the culprit."

  "What else?"

  She thought, drawing circles on the bedspre
ad with her index finger. "He knew that Hugh had left Mark the fortune. There's a motive for you."

  Looking pensive and beautiful, Victoria asked, "But if the money was to go to Mr. Freely, isn't that just a motive for him?"

  "Not necessarily." She nodded, as though agreeing with herself. "You don't know my father. If he knew someone related to him was to inherit a fortune, nothing could stop him from figuring out a way to make it his."

  "I can't believe you're helping me like this," Victoria said, touching Mary's arm with tentative fingers. "I want you to know that I realize the difficulty of betraying a family member, no matter how strained the relationship. Thank you, Mary."

  "It is really you who helped yourself. The moment you accepted me, you made an ally," she replied with a wide smile. "I hope I'll be a formidable one."

  He wondered if everyone who'd ever encountered Victoria was eager to make a friend of her. He certainly had been, but he'd made her more than that. Looking at her slightly wan complexion, he felt the uncomfortable pang at the pit of his stomach again. If anything were to happen to her...

  "We need to get everyone together, in the same room," he announced suddenly, realizing that he wouldn't allow anyone--especially not his family--to ruin the future of a good woman. "I'm going to bring everything out into the open. It might answer a lot of questions."

  Victoria looked at him with her familiar scared doe expression, but Mary was cynical. "Do you really think our father is just going to confess to you?"

  "Of course not! But he can try to explain why he is so intent on getting his revenge. Just let him try to lie to my face that he cared about a poor relation he'd met once!" He'd stopped pacing, wondering if he was grasping at straws or if he was really onto something. "And our dear father may not confess, but he will answer every one of my direct questions. Then I'll know if the bastard's lying to me."

  "What makes you so sure?"

  "Because I have to be." He looked at Victoria. "I have a lot more riding on this than you know." He ran out of the room.

  * * *

  It rained intermittently all night long, and in the morning the weather wasn't any better.

  This time Victoria didn't venture outside. By the time it became dark though, she was thoroughly bored of her own company. There were only so many times that the game of patience could be played before one entirely lost hers.