"How many more do you suppose there are?" Mary hesitated about broaching the subject of Slaytor. Even Familiar, who'd followed them out of the passage, gave William a questioning look.
William signaled her to keep her voice low. "There could be at least two or three more. I don't really know. I'm going to ask Erick if there are any old drawings of Mayfair. We might be able to figure it out."
"I doubt anyone would include a secret passage on a floor plan," Mary noted.
"You're right. And Erick didn't grow up in Mayfair. He's always lived in the village with his family. I doubt he'd know as much about the castle's past as I do." William sat down on the edge of his bed. "My head is pounding."
"Let's take a closer look," Mary said, stepping forward and turning on the bedside lamp. The gash was hidden in William's thick hair. After cleaning it, Mary decided it wasn't worthy of stitches, but the knot that was forming indicated that William had been struck with a great deal of force.
"Who do you think hit you?" she finally asked, dropping the antiseptic-soaked cotton into the trash.
"I don't know. He was bigger than me."
"There's no one at Mayfair bigger than you. Both Erick and Kevin are shorter, though Kevin is sturdy and Erick is strong."
"This man was big. Maybe two inches taller."
"Six-four?"
"At least." William looked directly at her. "Exactly as big as Slaytor was said to be. He was a giant for those days."
"Then it was no one from Mayfair. Could Madame Sianna have brought a sidekick?" Mary quickly filled William in on what she'd discovered about the medium's necklace and her penchant for hypnotizing her clients.
"It could be. But you've heard that voice before tonight."
"Yes." Mary had thought about that.
"And what would Madame Sianna have to gain by trying to drive me out of Mayfair?"
"That I don't know. Unless she's working for Clarissa. She'd love to get her hands on Mayfair. Is that a pipe dream, or could she afford it?"
William considered that question. "Possibly. She came into considerable money when her husband died. And her parents also left her an inheritance, and Darren, as well. Mayfair would be a feather in her cap, sort of a vindication of history, returning the original property and all."
"Would Darren go along with her?"
"Possibly. Not because he wanted to, but because he hasn't the backbone to deny Clarissa anything she demands from him. As a boy she dominated him, and now that he's an adult, she'll ruin the rest of his life for him."
"It's a pity."
"It is. And a man can take only so much twisting and mauling before he snaps."
Mary looked up, catching the pain on William's face. "You think it's Darren, don't you? You think he's behind this."
"It would please his mother to get Mayfair back. Perhaps it would please her enough to leave him alone. You know, Darren will never marry unless his mother dies. She can't find anyone good enough for him. But if he could divert her attention, he might be able to grab a little bit of life for himself. Or it's possible he'd want Mayfair for himself. To thwart her."
"How horrible to have to live like that."
"He isn't the same boy I knew growing up. I've met him several times, when I was out checking the estate. There's no spark, Mary. He had no interest in the things we once found so important. I believe Clarissa has stomped it out of him with her demands and nagging and ridicule." He paused, thinking. "He's taller than me, a little. But he was in the room, seated at the table. It couldn't have been him in the hallway."
"Yes, he was in the room." She thought for several seconds. "He could have left his mother, you know."
"Aye, he could have made that choice. I did. But Darren was never like me. He tried to please her, where I was determined never to please my father." William laughed. "I could have lived abroad and been happy. Darren could not."
Mary patted the side of the bed for Familiar to jump up. The black cat was sitting not three feet away, taking in everything that was being said.
"By the way, Familiar found you."
"That cat must be part dog."
"Meow." There was an indignant tone in Familiar's voice.
"I don't think Familiar appreciates that comparison," Mary said. She cleared her throat. Now that she knew William was neither injured nor deluded, she had to broach the subject of the heir— and she had to tell him about the ring.
"What is it, Mary?" William sensed her difficulty. He watched as she bent her head and stroked Familiar's back.
Mary looked up at him. In her book, the omission of such a crucial bit of information was a lie. And she didn't want to bind herself to a liar. How was she to tell him that?
"William, I— "
Familiar sprang from the bed with such suddenness that Mary jumped. The black feline pulled open the door to the hall, which had been left slightly ajar. The sound of running footsteps came back into the room.
"It may be him," William said as he dashed after the cat.
It took Mary a few seconds longer to get to her feet, but she was right on William's heels as they tore into the hallway where the footsteps echoed louder.
"Hold!" William called after a fleeing figure. The man was running down the hallway toward the stairs. "Hold!" William didn't break his stride as he yelled.
"You there! Stop!" The fleeing man yelled, also, and he kept running.
"You! Stop!" William was gaining on the man as he made it to the stairs and ran down them, boots clattering. As the running figure passed a light mounted on the staircase, William caught a glimpse of a familiar profile. "Erick!" He called his cousin's name. "Erick."
Turning to confront William, Erick finally stopped halfway down the stairs. "William, he's getting away! We have to catch him." He looked down the stairs, the desire to pursue obvious on his features. "Damn!" He struck the stone wall with his fist. "He had too big a lead."
"Who?" William asked, slowing to a jog as he caught up with the manager of the estate.
"I didn't get a look at him, but he was standing outside your doorway. I'd come up to bring Miss Sophie her gloves. She'd left them down in the barn while talking with Kevin." He held out the gloves to Mary as she caught up with them. "When I knocked on her door, she didn't answer, so I was going up to the office. But when I turned the corner, there he was, listening at your door."
"What did he look like?" William's voice was eager.
"Tall. Very tall. A big man." Erick stared down the empty stairway as if he could make the intruder materialize. "For a split second, I thought he was going to stand his ground and fight, but when he ran, he had the speed of a stag. I've never seen a big man move so swiftly."
"I didn't hear any other footsteps," Mary said. She held Sophie's gloves just as Erick had given them to her.
"He was wearing those athletic shoes," Erick said. "He was quiet. Sneaking around outside your door, eavesdropping."
"Erick, why didn't Kevin return Sophie's gloves?" Mary stared at the black gloves as if they held some strange fascination.
Erick shrugged. "The truth is, Abby called me in town and told me about the troubles this evening. I was using the gloves as an excuse to look around the castle." Erick looked at his cousin. "There's strange business brewing here at Mayfair. I was worried about you, William. Abby said you'd taken off and that Mary was looking for you."
"As you can see, I'm fine. How's your friend's daughter?"
"Anna is fine. Asthma. It gave us quite a scare." Erick's smile was half apologetic. "We were sorry to miss the dinner, but there was little else we could do. She's a clever child, and she's dying to visit Mayfair. If you don't mind, I might ask Kevin to give her a riding lesson or two."
"That's a fine thing for a young child." William smiled. "I'm glad she's okay."
"And I'm glad you are," Erick said, clapping his cousin on the shoulder. "I'm going to talk to the staff. I want them to be on the alert for any strangers who might be on the estate." He frowned.
"We'll catch this fellow. He has no right to be snooping about. For the moment, I'm going to check the garage and the barn. He might be hiding on the premises."
"I'll help you," William said.
"Take care, the two of you," Mary said as she watched them start down the stairs.
She'd lost her chance to speak with William, but she would find the time. Later. When she'd prepared what she was going to say. When she was certain she could face the consequences.
* * *
MARY SAT on the side of the bed and watched William as he slept. It was early morning, not yet six o'clock. He'd come in from the search, tired and distressed that they'd found no clue. She'd waited for him, wanting the comfort of his arms as much as she wanted to comfort him. After making love, they'd gone to sleep, tangled together. But something had awakened her, and she felt a compulsion to return to her own room. Familiar had left hours before, to forage in the kitchen, no doubt. That cat could eat twenty-four hours a day. It seemed all he did was eat and sleep, yet whenever there was a crisis, he always showed up to help. He was some kind of cat.
And William was some kind of man. She watched the way his fingers curled softly in his sleep, a gentle motion. He looked younger at rest, the tension gone from his face. Somehow vulnerable. At that thought she felt a fierce desire to protect him, as she knew he would protect her. "You're not the only Scot with a heritage of loyal blood," she whispered. Leaning over to kiss him, she was careful not to awaken him. Deep sleeps had been few and far between for him, and she wanted him to rest as much as possible. There was much to be done.
Now that she knew Slaytor MacEachern was an intruder, she intended to come up with some foolproof plan to capture him, and that would require all of her resources.
Too restless to stay still, Mary rose and picked up her jeans from the floor. There was the tinkle of something on the stone. Groping in the darkness next to the bed, she found the necklace and the ring. Damn! Didn't she have her own secrets to tell? And she would, as soon as William awakened. But the ring brought up another train of thought.
Who would know enough to find and leave the MacEachern wedding ring, if it wasn't William? Where had they found it? Goose bumps soldiered over her arms. William had not mentioned the ring, was completely unaware that she had it. She slipped the chain around her neck.
Mary padded down to her room. The stone floor was freezing, and she couldn't suppress a shudder as she hurried into her room and to the thick pile carpet beside the bed. The old castle had modern heating, but nothing could really remove the chill in the enormous corridors or in the rooms once the fires had burned out.
The idea of a fire appealed to Mary, but it occurred to her that now would be a perfect time to snoop around the pantry. Abby was certainly asleep and could take no offense at Mary's nosiness. She might not have another chance.
Another thought followed closely on the heels of her plan— in the confusion following the séance, she'd forgotten to give Dr. Sloan the portion of port she'd wanted tested. For the safety of everyone, she needed to remove the glass from the bar. Even though it was tucked out of the way, it could be poured out or inadvertently drunk.
After pulling on thick socks, she laced her shoes, added a turtleneck under her sweater and tiptoed downstairs.
Mayfair slumbered around her, all except for a black cat. Familiar was perched on the kitchen table, a testimony to the fact that cats can open doors.
Mary patted his head. She thought of a cup of tea, but coffee was what she wanted. A pot of it while she went through the extensive pantry. She set up the coffeemaker, turned it on and decided that it wouldn't hurt matters to turn the oven on and open the door for a little heat. The kitchen was always warm and toasty whenever Abby was around, but the predawn hours were chilly.
Although tea was easily found, the coffee was another matter. It wasn't often consumed at Mayfair. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Mary opened cabinets and began pushing cans, tins, jars and bags, all filled with the wonderful ingredients Abby used to cook, out of her way.
The pestle and mortar caught her by surprise. It was such an ancient-looking piece of crockery that she pulled it out of the back corner of the third shelf and bent to examine it. It reeked of antiquity— another of Mayfair's priceless heirlooms that was used or displayed with little thought by the people who knew them so well. Never before had Mary lived where history was so revered, yet so much a part of day-to-day life.
A tiny residue of yellowish powder remained in the container. She sniffed it curiously, interested in the lack of odor. Or maybe there wasn't enough of the substance left to smell. "It isn't curry. What could it be?" she asked the black cat who'd come up on the counter to investigate what she was doing.
Familiar bristled. A tiny bit of foamy saliva collected at his lips as he glared at the container and then at Mary. A loud hiss, like a nest of thoroughly angry snakes, erupted from his throat.
"Familiar!" Mary backed away from him. The transformation had been so complete, so total, and without any warning. He was acting exactly as he had the night he'd attacked William.
Familiar circled the pestle, the hair on his back rising to stand straight on end. Ignoring Mary, he hissed at the container.
The implication of what the cat was doing struck Mary with a force that made her sit down abruptly in the kitchen chair. She looked at the cat, who now sat on the counter staring amiably back at her.
"It's poison, isn't it?" she asked.
"Meow."
"You got the same thing in your food that someone has been grinding up and putting in William's food."
"Meow." Familiar waited.
"I'm going to take this up to William," Mary said. She approached the counter and gingerly stuck out her hand to pick up the pestle. Familiar, purring, brushed against her hand and allowed her to take it.
"Let's go, cat. We've finally unraveled what's going on. Or at least, a portion of it."
* * *
IT'S ABOUT TIME I got some assistance from the tall, vertical people around here. There was no way I could get into that shelf, even if I could have somehow sensed that bitter stuff was up there. Truth be told, I hadn't a clue it was there. Once Mary brought down that old container, I recognized it. It was that little tang I remembered when I woke up at the vet's office. Bitter, but not really. Undetectable, except as an aftertaste, and then it's too late. That's why it blended so perfectly into the egg custard. Same color. No taste, no smell— except to my highly developed feline olfactory system. It was almost a perfect crime. Bold even, with the implements of destruction left hidden in the kitchen cabinets. Maybe too bold, or at least that's what my feline intuition tells me. We'll see what William makes of it. And, oh, yes, Pixie lady, while you're hauling poison up to the love nest, don't forget that glass of port in the parlor. Methinks that will be the final coup.
* * *
"OKAY, OKAY," Mary said as she allowed Familiar to edge her into the parlor. "I'll get it." As she started across the room, she noticed the first pink light of dawn. Mayfair would be awakening within the next half hour. It was a place where daylight ruled the comings and goings of all, even William, to a great extent. Since the economy centered around farming and the land, the sun was the best of friends or the worst of foes. No matter what part it was playing at the time, it was always the starring role. As winter drew nigh and the days shortened, the moments of daylight were even more precious.
The glass of port was just where she'd left it, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she lifted it in her right hand. Her left held the pestle with the yellowish residue.
"If this isn't what I think it is, we're going to feel awfully stupid," she said to the cat. "You'll take your fair share of the blame, believe me, Familiar. Though folks will think I'm a half-wit if I try to convince them I was led down this path of logic by a cat."
Her rubber-soled hiking boots made little noise as she ascended the stairs. Her heart was racing with the thrill of her discovery when she heard somet
hing that made her stop. She was outside Sophie's door, which was open a tiny crack. It was the sound of voices raised in anger that had caught her ear.
"I will not have it, Kevin." Sophie's normally timid voice was full of emotion.
"I thought I could rely on you." Kevin's voice was flat. "I should have known you'd stick with her. I thought…I thought there was something between us."
"I thought you were the kind of man who stood up for his beliefs." Anger sharpened Sophie's tone.
Mary clutched the glass of port. She'd never heard such passion in Sophie's voice.
"I have my beliefs, but I have no rights. I'm just a horse trainer."
"Feeling sorry for yourself won't solve anything, Kevin. If you don't tell William the truth, you have no right to complain." Sophie's voice was completely unsympathetic.
"Exactly my point. I have no rights." The anger had dissipated from Kevin's voice. "Except what I take."
"Why don't you just come out with it and state your demands, Kevin? Why lurk in the shadows? You've no reason to be ashamed of your birthright. You had nothing to do with it. But if you are William's half-brother, you should tell him. You both have a right to that information."
Mary thought her heart would burst.
"Aye, William's rights. That's my concern now. And thanks for your support. I'll be getting back to my job at the barn." Kevin's voice was filled with pain. "I can see I'm going to have to take care of this situation on my own."
Mary bolted away from the door and into her own room. She'd barely had time to close her door when she heard Kevin's footsteps. His stride was long and angry as he disappeared down the stairs.
"Sophie." Mary spoke the name to herself. She held the pestle to her chest with one arm and she could feel her heart beating against the hard, marblelike substance. The one question that popped into her head was when had Kevin and Sophie become close enough to be confidants? They'd only really begun to speak to one another with any kind of interest in the last day or so. In twenty-four hours or less, Kevin had revealed to Sophie that he was possibly William's half-brother? That was preposterous. Kevin wasn't loose with his lips. So how had they become so close so fast? Or had they been hiding it?
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