“Certainly…but it seems an unlikely coincidence.”
He turned to her angrily. “It sounds to me that you are the only one who has any idea about what’s going on here. I certainly do not. You simply cannot mind your own business, Charlotte.”
She was unused to being addressed so discourteously and her eyes brightened with anger of her own. “Perhaps. And perhaps I wouldn’t have done a thing about this letter if I didn’t know how desperate she was to get married. You certainly weren’t helping her.”
“And you think that you were? Did you reply to this note under her name?”
She blushed again. “I did…just once, to say that I— Kate, that is—would attend this meeting in the park. The sender requested that I leave my response under that large stone urn on Robert’s front steps.”
He shook his head with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. “Did it not occur to you that you were risking Kate’s reputation and safety by doing such a thing, Charlotte?”
She had the grace to look sheepish. “I wouldn’t have done it,” she admitted guiltily, “but, you see, Mary didn’t think her handwriting looked educated enough.”
He said nothing for a moment, trying to take all of this in. “It’s neither here nor there who wrote the note, Charlotte…you’re both guilty of this deception. Tell me bluntly, just what exactly did you hope to achieve by coming here today?”
She resumed her seat. “Mary thinks you were behind the abductions. I know, I know, it’s madness…but it’s also quite logical, you see, since your shipping interests would make her a particularly tempting package. Perhaps, Mary has speculated, you learned of her unusual inheritance through my husband. She thinks you married Kate for her money, and she thinks that you went out of your way to compromise her irreparably and that you succeeded.”
Ben was stunned. “You can’t possibly believe that.”
“I don’t believe a word of it, Ben, but the evidence is damning. Can you not explain yourself in some way?”
“I don’t have to explain anything. Ask my wife to explain it. She was bloody well there, too.”
“I suppose,” Charlotte said without conviction.
An awful thought occurred to him. Was this why Kate so distrusted him? “Mary hasn’t been feeding her this rubbish, has she? Kate’s prepared to believe just about anything about me at the moment and she doesn’t need that harridan’s encouragement.”
“I don’t think Mary has said a thing. She doesn’t know what the truth is—”
Ben snorted.
“—and she doesn’t want to say anything incorrect. She’s just being cautious.”
He didn’t want to hear any more. It was bloody well insulting. “Good day, Charlotte.”
She blinked, a bit stunned at being asked to leave so suddenly. But seeing that he meant it, that she’d seriously crossed the line and had tested his temper well beyond breaking point, she rose and walked to the door without saying anything. With a nod of goodbye, she left.
Ben returned to his chair and sank into it slowly, a headache coming on. He couldn’t believe it. What bloody nerve. He, accused of being a fortune hunter. It was simply preposterous…he had a fortune of his own and, well, what a sordid accusation it was to begin with. He could hardly even remember that day in the park…well, that wasn’t entirely true. He could remember very well how he’d felt when he’d seen her, now that he thought about it. He’d been longing to see her, in fact, and been wondering if he could visit her at her brother’s house without sending Robert into a rage. He had thought at the time that it was a blasted good stroke of luck to find her alone like that….
Of course, she hadn’t been alone.
He went very still as he remembered that fact. There had been someone else there, a man. He could recall him only very vaguely—a man who’d vanished the moment he’d appeared. A man he’d never seen before, but whom she’d thought she recognized.
So who was he? He must have written the note. Was he just some lovelorn chap who’d seen Kate at a ball and written to her out of pure besottedness…or had something more sinister been going on? A deep feeling of fear settled over him. What would have happened if he hadn’t come along that day? It was, as Charlotte had pointed out, quite a coincidence—had nothing but simple luck saved her from harm? It was a chilling thought, and he couldn’t depend on luck to save her again. She was still in danger; he felt this as truth and believed it completely.
He rose and walked to the door. It would take him several days to reach her, and he would leave immediately. He wouldn’t stop worrying until he knew she was safe.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kate had had an unsettled feeling all morning, although try as she might she couldn’t explain it. Perhaps it was merely the weather. The sun hadn’t broken through the clouds in several days, and the dull clink of slanting rain hitting her bedroom window had caused her to wake up early that morning, in total darkness. At first she hadn’t known where she was; she’d been having a series of nightmares all week. But after a minute her head had cleared, and she’d decided she might as well rise and get on with her day. She’d done enough moping about recently to last the rest of her life.
It wasn’t that she had a lot to occupy herself with these days, however. In fact, she had almost nothing to do other than entertain herself with mundane and insignificant tasks around the house. Alfred and Sons had been pretty dormant since Andrew Hilton had left, and that had been…well, about six months ago, hadn’t it? Oh, dear. It was horribly depressing to think how long it was. There were still enough back orders to keep her workers busy and satisfied enough not to ask questions—she was thankful for that—but as for starting any new projects…it simply hadn’t been possible.
She certainly hadn’t figured her life out in all that time, and she hadn’t heard a word from her husband, either—not that she’d been expecting him to communicate. Where did it all leave her? With no company and no husband, that was where. That certainly wasn’t how it was intended to work: the latter was supposed to make the former possible. If only she’d just been sensible and let her brother sell the company in the first place. If only she hadn’t insisted that Ben leave; if he’d stayed, then at least he’d be able to help her. Why did she have to be so proud? Why, oh why, did she always have to make her life more difficult than it needed to be?
Kate looked rather forlornly around the breakfast room, where she’d been for over an hour. The dark day provided the room with little sunlight, making her feel even duller. She’d been trying her hand at watercolors, and the rather murky seascape she’d been working on lay temporarily neglected on the table in front of her. Painting was a skill any young lady worth her salt had supposedly mastered by the age of ten. Charlotte, for example, was always producing pretty landscapes with sheep and children and rustic cottages. Kate’s ten thumbs weren’t taking to it naturally, but at least she could console herself with the fact that she was making some progress in other areas. She’d managed to embroider—adequately if not beautifully—a new set of linen napkins for the house. The maids had all professed great pleasure at the results, although Kate suspected their praise was generous rather than wholly sincere. Still, it was satisfying to know that they appreciated the Herculean effort it had required. Effort was important.
The window just behind her rattled, making her start and turn around quickly in her chair. She rose and crossed the short distance to the window, strangely alarmed. She parted the curtains but saw nothing but endless gray sky, rustling shrubbery and lanky, bowing trees. The noise was nothing but the wind—why was she so jumpy? If only she could relax.
Perhaps it was Mary’s fault her day had started on such an uneasy note. When she’d entered Kate’s bedroom that morning to open the curtains, she’d looked extremely preoccupied. It was only after several minutes of potent silence that she’d finally spoken. She hadn’t said “good morning” as a rational person would have done; instead, she’d turned to Kate and all but blurted out, “M
y lady, there’s something I must tell you. Something that’s been troubling me for many weeks now.”
Good God that sounds dire, Kate had thought to herself. She was still drowsy and in no mood to discuss anything troubling. She’d had a good idea what it was about, but asked anyway. “Is it about my husband?”
“It is, I’m afraid,” Mary replied, sitting down at the foot of her bed, still looking anxious.
“Then I don’t want to hear it,” Kate replied with finality, tempering her words with a rather wan smile. She thought about him most of the day, and she didn’t want to start talking about him, too. “You look lovely today, Mary. I do hope you’ll be taking the morning off?” She really did hope she would. Kate had had about enough of her well-meaning concern. Perhaps even Mary was beginning to go daft through inactivity.
Mary blushed. “I thought I’d walk into town, actually. It’s a rather nice day.”
Kate frowned. It was a nice day for ducks, perhaps, and Mary hated taking exercise. Very suspicious indeed. “A walk?”
“Yes…well, actually, I thought I might have a look once more for that Thatcher chap. I just don’t like the way he’s still here.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mary, don’t be silly. I’m certain you never even saw him.”
The window rattled again, bringing Kate back to the present. No wonder she was feeling so off when even sensible Mary was acting barmy. She returned her attention to the watercolors. The paints had begun to bleed together and the calm day at sea she’d been hoping for was officially beginning to take on hurricane conditions. She frowned.
She corrected her expression when she noticed that Tilly had entered the room and was clearing her throat discreetly at the door, waiting expectantly for her attention. Kate smiled in greeting and tried to shield her painting from view with her arm. How embarrassing. It looked like the work of a child. “Did you want something, Tilly?”
“There’s a man to see you, Lady Sinclair. A Mr. Wilson. He first asked to see Lord Sinclair, actually, but I told him that he was still in town. He agreed to see you instead.”
“Oh? Mr. Wilson, you say?” This was rather peculiar. She didn’t think she knew anyone by the name of Wilson. “Did he say what his business was about?”
“Yes…he says he has news from London.”
Kate rose, feeling worry begin to swell in her chest. Oh, God. What if something had happened to Ben? They’d parted under such difficult circumstances. Could this be the reason she’d felt so uneasy all day?
Tilly seemed to sense her concern and added, “It is family news, so he says, but by that I guess he must mean your brother or Lady Charlotte…not, I should think, Lord Sinclair, since he requested to see him here. I would have asked but didn’t think it really my place. Oh, I do hope everything is all right.”
Kate shrugged, trying to look calm. “I’m sure everything is fine, Tilly. Where is he?”
“The sitting room, my lady. He seems anxious and in a hurry. I can’t imagine what news would have caused him to come all this way.”
Kate really wished Tilly would conceal her anxiety a bit better—it certainly wasn’t helping her own nerves. “Well, I’d better hurry, then.” She rose and left the room, trying to move at a measured pace but wanting to run.
The hall was silent and empty; it actually felt a bit eerie, although Kate could attribute her discomfort to the threat of bad news that lurked inside the sitting room. She took a deep breath, smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress, and crossed the hall and opened the door.
The sitting room appeared, at first, to be empty.
“Hello?” she called out, but no one answered. How odd. Perhaps Tilly had meant to say drawing room instead, although generally only the most important guests were shown in there. She turned to leave the room, but the sound of footsteps made her spin around quickly.
She didn’t see Mr. Wilson. She didn’t think she did, anyway. The only person she saw was Josiah Thatcher, standing uneasily by the window, just in front of the long blue damask curtains.
“Mr. Thatcher?” she asked uncertainly. Perhaps Mary had seen him in town. She must have. But why would he…?
“Why are you here?” she asked, keeping her back to the door.
“I’m so sorry,” he answered, a good deal of fear in his eyes.
She walked forward, drawn by the awful thoughts that immediately filled her head. Why was he apologizing? What on earth was wrong? It could only be that something was wrong with her husband. “Sorry? But whatever for? Please, you must tell me—is everything all right?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t have answered if he’d wanted to. Before he had the chance another man stepped out from behind the curtain. He pressed a pistol into Josiah’s back and regarded her indifferently. There was something remote and inexpressive about his eyes.
Kate stopped walking, stopped breathing. This new man looked familiar, but at first she just couldn’t place him. He appeared to be about fifty years old, had light brown, graying hair, and was about the same height as she was. There was nothing remarkable about him physically—there was, in fact, something bland and unmemorable about his face. Yet she was certain that she’d seen him before, that she’d even met him….
Yes. She certainly had: twice. The first time had been several years ago, when he’d come to her home to have a meeting with her father. The other time had been far more recent. Just last spring, in the park, only she hadn’t remembered him at that time. But now she did.
“Mr. Manning?” she asked hesitantly, her gaze nervously flickering to the gun in his hand. Edward Manning was a London shipbuilder, and a successful one, although his company was not as profitable as hers. She hadn’t really thought of him in years; she had suggested him as a potential suspect to Ben, but even then she hadn’t been serious. What on earth was going on?
He smiled, but his smile was every bit as unemotional as his eyes. It made her shiver. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d remember me.”
“What…um, what are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d congratulate you on your marriage,” he said, beginning to walk forward slowly. Josiah edged along with him, having no other choice but to follow.
Instinctively, Kate took a step back, but she wasn’t fast enough. Before she could gain any real distance he’d grabbed her by the arm and jerked her forward. She tried to scream, but he quickly snaked his arm up around her head and clapped it over her mouth. She turned her head to the side and looked desperately at Josiah, but Manning caught the direction of her gaze. With a swift movement, he hit Josiah on the head with the butt of his pistol. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.
“Now,” Manning said, his breath hot in her ear. “Would you like the real answer to your question?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kate already knew the answer to her question, and congratulations had nothing to do with it. She shook her head.
“Then shall we sit? I wouldn’t recommend screaming,” Edward Manning advised, pressing the pistol into her side.
She nodded, wanting to cry but knowing she needed to appear strong and brave. He pushed her onto the striped sofa and seated himself in the armchair opposite, pulling it close. He crossed his legs and laid the gun nonchalantly but menacingly across his thigh, insurance that she wouldn’t call out for help or try to escape.
She took a deep breath. She needed to think, to remain calm. It wasn’t entirely obvious why he was there: she was married and therefore well-protected from any attempts he might make against her finances. But clearly he knew about her inheritance, and still thought he had something to achieve.
Bluntly, she asked, “How do you know?”
“Know about what? Your marriage?”
That wasn’t what she’d meant, but she suspected he was aware of that. She waited silently; she certainly wasn’t going to admit it to him.
Manning shrugged. “Ah. You mean how did I learn that you were such a wealthy young woman…and in such an enviable p
osition. At the head of a company—not many people are awarded such lucrative positions without having to earn it first. Certainly not too many girls.”
She raised her chin, trying to look defiant even if she didn’t exactly feel that way. Was it money he wanted?
He smiled, seeming to enjoy patronizing her. “I found out about your good fortune by lucky accident, my dear. One of my employees worked for your father many years ago, you see…and one day at the boatyard I overheard him complaining about the way your father allowed you to run free around here.”
“Yes, but that tells you nothing—”
“And when I heard that your father died, I wondered who would take over his company. I’d known your father had a son and heir living in London, but he was never announced as successor. When no one was announced after a few months I started to become suspicious…so I sent my man back to investigate. He figured out what had happened and he told me.”
She desperately tried to remember who this man could have been but came up with no answer. It was entirely conceivable that some man had worked there for just a short while and left suddenly without anyone paying much heed. Such an action would be hardly noteworthy; like any other business their employees sometimes came and went. What an awful thought, though, to think of someone spying on her…even worse, she’d been paying him to do it.
A quiet knock came at the door and Tilly entered unobtrusively. “Shall I serve you tea in here, my lady?” she asked.
Kate looked desperately around the room, her heart thumping. Josiah’s unconscious body had fallen to the floor on the other side of the sofa and was thus concealed from Tilly’s curious gaze. Manning had slid his pistol beneath his coat when she entered, and he looked, at that moment, like any other visitor. Tilly was her only obvious chance of rescue, but there was nothing really to alert her that anything was amiss. Kate wanted to scream, to tell Tilly to run and get help, but she could think only of the gun concealed in Manning’s coat.
Sarah Elliott Page 20