by Candace Camp
They went to the sideboard and dished up their meal, then sat and ate, chatting as they did so about the most mundane of subjects. It scarcely mattered to either of them what they said. All they wanted was to look at each other. Olivia wondered if he would come to her bed again that night, and even as she did so, she saw a light flicker in his eyes that assured her he would. She colored and looked down at her plate, smiling to herself.
Rafe came in after a time and joined them. He seemed to notice nothing unusual and made conversation in the same easy way he had the day before, inquiring politely how Olivia had slept. Olivia had to clamp her lips shut tightly to keep a giggle from escaping, but she managed to nod and return a polite reply.
They were, apparently, the last to come down to eat, for no one else joined them. After the meal, the three of them made their way through the great hall to the formal drawing room, where the footman had said Lady St. Leger was waiting for her guests.
They were somewhat surprised to find only Lady St. Leger in the room, and she explained that though she had breakfasted with Lord Moreland and Belinda, she had not seen them since.
“Lord Moreland, I believe, wanted to see the library,” she said, and Olivia chuckled.
“Yes. I am sure that he will spend most of his time there. My great-uncle is a dreadful guest, my lady, if you wish conversation—wonderful if what you desire is solitude,” Olivia told her.
“I find Lord Moreland quite charming, my dear,” Lady St. Leger said with a smile. “He is such a knowledgeable man. There is scarcely a topic about which he cannot talk.”
“And what of Belinda?” Stephen asked.
“She is, I hope, practicing her piano. She neglected it a good deal in London, I’m afraid.”
They continued to chat in this general way until they were interrupted by the sound of hurrying feet outside in the marble-tiled hall. As one, they turned curiously toward the door.
Irina Valenskaya rushed into the room, saying, “Mama?”
She stopped and glanced around the room, which clearly did not contain her mother. She turned to Lady St. Leger and asked abruptly, “Have you seen my mother this morning?”
“Why, no,” Lady St. Leger replied, looking puzzled. “What is wrong, child?”
“My mother!” Irina exclaimed, looking distraught. “She’s gone!”
14
“What?” Lady St. Leger’s hand flew to her throat, and she paled. “What do you mean?”
“She has vanished!” Irina cried.
“Vanished?” Stephen stood up, going over to the young woman. “Here. Sit down. Calm yourself, and tell us what happened.”
“I can’t sit down!” Irina cried. “Don’t you understand? Something has happened to her! She isn’t here!”
“Are you sure?” Lady St. Leger asked. “You know, it is a large house.”
“I looked in her room. She was not there when I went down to breakfast, and I was a little surprised, for we usually went together. I decided she must already be in the dining room, but when I got there, she was not. No one was there. I thought I must simply have missed her somehow, so after I ate, I came in here, but there was no one, so I went back upstairs and looked in her room again. It was still empty. I thought she might have gone to my bedchamber, but she was not there, either. I looked into Mr. Babington’s room, but the maid said she had not been in this morning. I waited in her room, thinking she would return, but she never did. So just now I returned to the dining room to ask the footman if Mama had said where she was going when she left breakfast. He said that she had not been in all morning!”
Madame Valenskaya’s absence at any meal was indeed odd, Olivia thought, but she did not say so. She crossed to Irina, saying in a calming voice, “I am sure Madame Valenskaya is all right. Perhaps she is in some other room, or she’s taken a walk in the garden.”
“Before she ate breakfast?” Irina shot her a disbelieving look. “That is not like Mama at all.”
“Oh, dear!” Lady St. Leger clasped her hands together, her brow knitting. “Surely nothing can have happened to her! There can’t have been another calamity!”
“No doubt she is perfectly fine, my lady,” Olivia reassured her.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Rafe said to Irina, “but are you sure she didn’t take off? She looked pretty green last night after that séance.”
“Mama would never leave without me!” Irina cried. “Certainly not without at least telling me.”
“Of course not,” Lady St. Leger agreed. “I am so afraid—I mean, with what happened to Mr. Babington, I fear that something has happened to her. I don’t understand why the séances have turned so—they are so different than they were at first.”
“Don’t worry,” Stephen told her. “We will search for her. Mother, you stay here, in case Madame Valenskaya should happen to seek you out. Rafe?”
It took only a look toward the man, and Rafe was by his side. “Where shall we start?”
“Why don’t you and Irina go through this side of the ground floor? The ballrooms, the conservatory, both dining rooms. Olivia and I will take the west side. I shall send a message to the stables, as well, and set a couple of footmen to searching the gardens.”
Rafe nodded and steered Irina out the door. St. Leger yanked at the bellpull, and when a footman appeared, gave him instructions to search the kitchens, the gardens and the stables for the missing medium. Then he and Olivia started down the hall. Their first stop was the library, empty of people except for Olivia’s great-uncle Bellard. When he heard of their quest, he was quick to join them. In the music room, they found Belinda, who was quite happy to leave her piano practice and help them search, as well. The small salon, near the rear of the house, and the smoking room, proved empty.
They returned to the base of the stairs as Rafe and Irina came in from the other side. In response to Stephen’s raised eyebrows, Rafe shook his head.
“We have been all through this side. You know, Steve, my lad, you have far too many rooms in this house,” Rafe told him. “There is no sign of her. I talked to the footman in the dining room again, and the fellow swore up and down that she hadn’t been in this morning.”
“Something has happened to her,” Irina insisted unhappily. “It must have.”
Stephen started up the stairs, with the rest of them following. Stephen sent Rafe and Irina down one side of the corridor, and Great-uncle Bellard and Belinda down the other. He took Olivia’s arm and headed to the end of the hallway where the medium’s room lay. They walked into Madame Valenskaya’s room, which was indeed empty of her person. However, the woman’s clothes were still there, many of them flung messily across the chair and dresser.
“At least she hasn’t packed a bag and taken off,” Stephen said. “That was my first thought when Miss Valenskaya said she was gone.”
“No, it doesn’t look like it. Although she did seem very shaken last night.”
They went next into Irina’s room, finding it empty, as well, and after that into Mr. Babington’s, thinking that perhaps she had come in to check on her friend. There was no one there except Babington, lying still and silent in his bed, his eyes closed. The maid who had been assigned to sit with him looked up and started to rise from her chair at their entrance, but Stephen waved her back down.
“How is he doing?” Stephen asked. He, like Olivia, had been in to check on Babington every day since his accident, but there had been no change in him.
There still was not. The maid shook her head, saying, “He’s the same as ever, my lord. The doctor should be here before long, if you want to speak to him.”
Stephen nodded, and he and Olivia left the room. They looked down the hallway, where the others were advancing toward them room by room, obviously finding them empty.
“What about the unused rooms?” Olivia asked, gesturing toward the smaller corridor that crossed the one in which they stood.
Around the corner, along the other hallway, lay several guest rooms, present
ly not in use. Stephen shrugged. “I suppose we must, to be thorough, and then we’ll start on the upper floors. I am beginning to think, though, that she might have wandered into the unused wing of the house and has gotten lost.”
“Yes, or perhaps it is part of some elaborate trick.”
Stephen glanced at her, a sardonic smile on his lips. “Why, Lady Olivia, do I detect a note of cynicism in your voice?”
“A veritable symphony, where Madame Valenskaya and her daughter are concerned.” Olivia replied.
His eyes were warm as they rested on her face. “I have a great desire to kiss you right now, my little cynic.”
Olivia’s face warmed under his regard, and she glanced away, murmuring, “You make me forget what we are supposed to be doing.”
“Sorry,” he replied in a voice that held little regret as he took her arm and started around the corner.
They looked into the nearest room, then the one across the hall from it. The other members of their search party were just coming around the corner to join them when Stephen opened the door of the chamber containing the secret room.
The door into the secret room stood open.
Stephen stepped inside, Olivia coming in after him, then turned and stuck his head out the door. “Rafe. Keep the others here.”
Rafe nodded as Stephen closed the door and turned. Outside they could hear the others’ voices rising in query and Rafe’s firm reply.
Stephen and Olivia looked at each other, then at the opening in the wall. The small room beyond was utterly silent. Stephen started quietly for the door, Olivia right behind him. There was a sick feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.
He stepped inside the room, and despite her dislike of the place, Olivia moved in after him, then drew in a sharp breath as she saw what lay inside.
The gold casket was not on its small table, but on the floor on its side, treasures spilling out of it, only inches from the outstretched hand of the still body beside it. The woman who lay there was obviously dead, but it was not the stocky form of Madame Valenskaya that lay on the floor, face contorted in the rictus of death.
It was the slender body of Pamela St. Leger.
“Good God.” For a long moment, Stephen simply stared at Pamela, not moving.
Then he crossed the few steps to her body and knelt down beside it. He reached over and curled his fingers around Pamela’s wrist, automatically searching for a pulse, although the coldness of her skin made it clear there would be none.
“She is dead,” he said quietly.
“Stephen…” Olivia went to him, sympathy overcoming the rising nausea in her stomach. This woman, so beautiful in life, now so pitifully dead, had been a woman he had loved madly. However much Pamela had hurt him, she knew regret and pain must be eating at him now.
“I am so sorry,” she told him, laying her hand on his shoulder.
“I never would have dreamed…” he said in a low voice.
Olivia forced herself to look down at the body. Her stomach lurched, but fortunately it did not revolt. Pamela’s face was contorted; it was no great stretch of imagination to say it was a mask of terror. She saw, though it scarcely registered, that there was no blood upon her anywhere, nor any blood upon the floor.
She shivered. The room was unbearably cold, and its heavy atmosphere lay on her like a weight.
Stephen stood up and slipped his arm around her shoulders, and they walked from the room. Olivia put her arm around his waist, and they stood that way for a moment outside the secret room.
“Do you think—how did she die?” Olivia asked.
“I’ve no idea. There are no marks upon her. No blood. No sign that she was strangled. But her face!”
“I know. She looked…”
“As if she were terrified. Poor greedy fool.”
“Do you think that Madame Valenskaya did that to her?”
Stephen sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, shoving his hands into his hair. “Since she is missing, she would seem to be the likely candidate.”
“But if Madame Valenskaya killed her for the money, why wouldn’t she have taken it?” Olivia wondered. “And why was Pamela here? Was she—” Olivia paused, trying to think of a delicate way to phrase her questions.
“Stealing the Martyrs’ treasure?” Stephen suggested bluntly. “I can think of no other reason for her to be there, with the casket lying beside her. She has complained more than once that her widow’s jointure was scarcely enough to live on. Roderick left her well provided for, but for a woman like Pamela, that was not enough. She was bitter that because she had not borne an heir, she no longer had any hold on the estate. She had proved often enough that she was mercenary, yet still it makes my mind reel to think she would stoop to this.”
“Perhaps it was Madame Valenskaya who was stealing it. Perhaps Pamela just happened upon her and—”
Stephen cast her a quizzical look. “There is no need to try to whiten her misdeeds. I know the sort of woman Pamela was better than anyone.”
“But how did she get into the room to get it? Either of them?”
“Perhaps Roderick told Pamela. He was besotted enough to have done anything she wanted, at least when they were first married. I don’t know if he came to realize her true nature before his death.”
“But if that were true, she could have taken it any time. Why choose now, with a houseful of people about?”
“She might have feared I would relent and give it to Madame Valenskaya’s ‘restless spirits.’ Or perhaps she just finally realized that she had no hope of seducing me into marrying her and regaining the money and estate she had lost by Roderick’s death.”
“Oh.” Olivia could think of nothing to say to that. She could not deny a spurt of elation at the knowledge that Stephen had not been tempted by Pamela, but it shamed her, too, that she could be thinking of such a thing when the woman lay dead only a few yards away from her.
Stephen clenched his jaw, then stood up, his face determined. “I think it’s time we got a few answers.”
He opened the door and beckoned for Rafe to come inside. “Thank God you are here,” he told him. “I’m going to need you.”
“What is it? The Valenskaya woman?”
“No. Pamela. And she is dead.”
“What?” Rafe stared at him blankly, and Stephen led him to the secret room. He stared for a moment, then turned back to Stephen. “What are you going to do?”
“Send for the constable, for one thing. The doctor will be here soon to look in on Mr. Babington, anyway. He is the coroner, too, so he can examine her. In the meantime, I intend to talk to Miss Valenskaya. I need you to stay here and guard the door, if you will.”
“I’ll make sure no one gets in,” Rafe assured him.
The three of them went back into the hall, Rafe closing the door after himself and positioning himself squarely across it. Irina moved forward tensely.
“What is it? Have you found my mother?”
“I need to talk to you,” Stephan said, avoiding her question. He glanced at his sister and Olivia’s great-uncle, who was also standing there. “Rafe will explain to you. Come, Miss Valenskaya.”
Stephen took her by the arm and almost forcibly led her away, taking her down the stairs and to the drawing room where his mother sat. Irina peppered him with questions as they went, which he did not answer. Irina grew more agitated by the moment, and Olivia felt a little sorry for her. It seemed cruel not to tell her that he had not found her mother dead, at least, but she felt sure that Stephen wanted to keep the woman’s nerves on edge in the hopes that she would be more likely to break down and tell them the truth.
By the time he ushered Irina into the formal drawing room, Irina’s fingers were dug into her skirt, and she was fairly shrieking, “Why won’t you tell me what happened?”
“Your mother was not there, Miss Valenskaya.”
“Then what—”
“Stephen, what on earth is going on?” Lady St. Leger asked, rising
from her seat.
He looked at her, and his face softened for a moment, “Mother, I—I am sorry to upset you, but I can no longer stand by and allow you to continue this nonsense. Someone is dead now, and—”
“Dead!” Lady St. Leger stared at him, her face paling, and Olivia moved quickly to her side. “You can’t—who? Madame Valenskaya?”
“No, it was not Madame Valenskaya.” He looked at Irina as he said, “It is Pamela.”
Olivia quickly took Lady St. Leger’s arm as she let out a gasp and swayed. Olivia tugged her down into the chair she had just recently vacated.
“But how—what happened to her?” Lady St. Leger asked faintly.
“I’m not sure. There wasn’t a mark on her. But I think it is safe to say that someone killed her.”
Stephen turned to Irina, his face implacable. She stared back at him, openmouthed, unable to move.
“I have said nothing about the absurd show you and your mother have been putting on—” he began.
“We have not—”
“Don’t bother!” Stephen snapped. “I haven’t time or patience for your games anymore. Pamela is dead now, and I will find out what happened. How did you come to latch on to my mother as the victim of your schemes?”
“I—I—” Irina opened and closed her mouth several times, looking at Stephen like a rabbit found in the open.
“Mother?” He swung around to Lady St. Leger. “How did you first meet Madame Valenskaya?”
Tears glittered in her eyes. “Stephen, how can you talk about such things at a time like this? Pamela is dead!”
Olivia took her ladyship’s hand in hers and squeezed it comfortingly. “I know it seems very hard, my lady, but Stephen is only trying to find out who hurt Pamela and why. He must.”
“But what does it have to do with Madame Valenskaya?”
“Surely you can see that it has everything to do with her,” Stephen told her. “Pamela was found with that treasure your medium kept harping about. I don’t think it was coincidence. Who introduced you to Madame Valenskaya?”
Tears flowed down Lady St. Leger’s cheeks, and she sniffled, wiping at them with her handkerchief. “I met her at Lady Entwhistle’s. It was just a small dinner party.”