“Amateurish!” Adrian snapped. “Attend me. The other attempts were made to look like accidents. That at least shows a modicum of foresight and planning. But this business with the opium! I think, yes, I really do believe, that that was just an impulse of panic, sheer Opportunism.”
“It nearly succeeded.”
“It didn’t come close. Remember, always, murder is an affair that should be approached dispassionately. Desperation is the enemy of precision.”
Melissa was amazed at how easily and calmly the two men chatted, as if they were discussing ordinary business transactions, not the attempted murder of a young boy.
“You make this study an art, Adrian. I don’t feel that way. This is a special and important instance to me,” Giles replied.
“You are, so to speak, right in the heart of things, Giles. You can’t be expected to see clearly. Emotion clouds the intellect. Why else did you call me in to solve this little difficulty for you? Let the expert do his work,” Adrian directed. “Your estimable aunt will see that the boy is watched over day and night until he recovers. It looks as if nothing can be attempted in the schoolroom. You agree?”
“Yes.”
“Naturally we’ll check the kitchen to see if any avenues exist through his food. Some modification of the laudanum plot might yet be attempted, I believe. Still, it appears we’ve a little time for dealing with the loose ends. For instance, you’re sure your aunt doesn’t suspect?”
“Yes,” Giles said dispassionately. “She’s hardly taciturn. I’d be the first to hear any suspicions in that quarter.”
“And your, oh, so charming cousin Anna?” Sir Adrian offered. “She’s really quite bright in some ways. And she’s hand in glove with Harold. Of all people, we must avoid alarming friend Harold.”
“Most certainly. If I could find another relation to take her off my hands, I’d send her away. But she’s still living down some minor notoriety involving a dancing master in Bath.”
“We will cope. So finally we come to the ever admirable Miss Rivenwood. Lovely Miss Rivenwood ... can we safely assume that she is also without suspicion?”
“Devil a bit, we can’t. Damn it. She had some nebulous notion that the robbery attempt was fishy. Then Robbie must needs drag out that blasted key to the schoolroom and show it to her after I’d ordered him not to.”
“Someday Robbie will obey an order and the sun will stand still at noontime. Hmm. A key argues a locked door during the fire. That must have been an embarrassing encounter. How did you explain it away?”
“Some tale of servants trysting in the nursery. As if there weren’t empty bedrooms aplenty in this barracks of a house. You see it throws an unsavory light on my claim that the door was only jammed shut.”
“It does indeed.”
“Worst of all, tonight she saw the bottle of laudanum before I pocketed it. Only a matter of time before she realizes half the bottle was gone. I was maladroit.”
“Pity.” Chairs scraped again, and Melissa heard the sound of footsteps on carpet. She could imagine Adrian striding up and down on the red rug in the library while Giles sat at the desk, grave as a judge, with templed fingers. Sir Adrian’s voice faded, then came more clearly. She heard him say, “Still, we all make mistakes. You filled the bottle up again?”
“And put it back. Whether it will fool her, I don’t know.”
“Couldn’t you send her away? The woman’s much too acute for comfort. We don’t want any well-intentioned interference or any awkward questions about all this ... afterward.”
“There will be none, Adrian. I intend to settle with Miss Rivenwood once and for all. Do you imagine any lesser business than Robbie’s murder would make me delay in securing a prize like Melissa? Not with a plausible rogue like you about.”
“Esteemed rival, anyone under your protection is to me as an aged spinster aunt. Do you think me utterly without morals?”
“Yes.”
“I’m flattered, of course. But even I have had moments of weakness, lapses into conventionality. I have even done good deeds.”
“I must remind you to tell me about them someday.”
“When I have a few minutes free. Your plans for Melissa.. .you realize there may be objections?”
“I’m in the habit of getting what I want. I don’t give a damn what people think.”
“I congratulate you on your choice, a spirited, intelligent lady and a delight to the eye. But she possesses some inconvenient knowledge.”
There was the sound of movement and the tinkling of glasses on a silver tray. “I’ll deal with my lady when the time comes. For now, Robbie claims precedence. Have you any plan?”
“Only the germ of one. Deuced awkward, its being your family and all. You must have some feelings about it.”
“None at all, strangely. I just want to dispose of him in the most expeditious way. Any ideas?”
Adrian sighed. “Ah, skullduggery, skullduggery ... where are you now that I need you? I must be subtle. There’ll be a hell of a scandal if any of this comes out.”
“I have great faith in your inherent craftiness. You’ll come about in time.”
“Is our field clear? Besides Melissa, does anyone else suspect?”
Giles’s voice was indifferent. “Only Robbie. His knowledge can neither make nor mar the situation. Look how easily he fell into the trap on the bridge.”
“You know, this is a hell of a way for a gentleman to make a living, helping folk dispose of troublesome relatives. I believe after this I’ll retire to the country and grow turnips. Really, I will.”
“When have I heard that before?”
“After a bottle or two I’ll even tell you all about sheep. Handy things, sheep. Another bottle and ... though not, perhaps, this particular bottle.”
“You’re right. This is vile stuff. Can’t imagine why I’m drinking it.”
“True. I hadn’t wished to say anything, courtesy to the host’s brandy and all that, noblesse oblige something or other. But one could almost believe someone had paid duty on this lot.”
“Must be my old cousin’s choice. My brother never laid this sheep dip down, nor my father. Well, I won’t ring for Bedford. Keep our plotting secret, I think. Will you join me in a little trek to the cellar, Adrian? I believe I know just what we want. Unless things have altered drastically since my boyhood, I know just where the butler hides it, too.”
“I’m game if you are.” There was the shifting of chairs, and their voices grew fainter as they proceeded across the library, away from the corner window and the housekeeper’s room where Melissa shivered and listened. “This bloody ancestral mansion of yours is dark at night, isn’t it?” Adrian was saying plaintively.
Melissa heard the library door close. Very slowly she clasped the casement window and pulled it firmly closed. Deliberately she locked it. Then she slumped on the window seat in the dim room and buried her head in her hands. No tears came. Instead, she stared wide-eyed into the little cup of darkness she’d created. So that was what evil was like. It was a man who could kiss his nephew good night and then, an hour or two later, turn him over to a professional killer. It was a man who could laugh and stroke her cheek and promise to make no more improper proposals one day and the next ... what was it he had said? That he would ... secure her? That was it. What kind of man was he?
Was he so certain he could make her his mistress? How could he be so sure she would never trouble him with any awkward questions? The heavy curtains were soaking wet, and they hung leadenly across her shoulders. Melissa shuddered with more than cold.
She whispered aloud, “What in the world am I going to do?” Her first impulse, a strong one, was to pack her bags and run into the night, to get away from whatever Giles and that monster Sir Adrian were planning. She’d go to the nearest magistrate. There was one in Minbrite, she thought.
But that was impossible. It was only a cowardly desire to save herself. There wasn’t the remotest chance she’d be believed. Who would
take her at her bare word when she arrived, dripping and incoherent, out of the night? And worse still, who would protect Robbie?
Melissa raked her nails through her tumbled, damp hair and pulled hard. Get a grip on yourself, she berated herself mentally. Of course, you can’t run away. You have to tell Lady Dorothy. She’ll put a stop to this. Whether Lady Dorothy believed her or not didn’t matter. Giles would never dare harm Robbie if Lady Dorothy were watching and suspicious.
Melissa seized the candle. She was at the door with her hand on the knob when she stopped. Lady Dorothy’s heart condition wasn’t the fancy of some elderly hypochondriac; it was real. If she went to the old lady and told her that her favorite nephew was a killer ... Melissa’s hand dropped helplessly to her side.
There’s always an answer, she told herself. Always. All you have to do is find it.
Tell the servants? Could mere rumor protect Robbie? Or would Giles simply move Robbie to another place? They couldn’t watch him night and day. They couldn’t remove him from his guardian’s grasp.
Riddle? The lawyer. He must be a—what do you call them?—a trustee. But the little lawyer was far away in London. And even if she reached him, she could picture the scene. No, she thought, he’d listen very sympathetically for ten minutes and then go tell Giles.
As soon as she told anyone she would be done for. She would be the one in need of protection. Miss Coburn had spoken, and she was dead. There was still a great silent ocean right on the doorstep.
Melissa sat down again on the hard bench in the housekeeper’s room. She wrapped her arms around her knees for comfort as much as for warmth and rocked back and forth. If only her head didn’t feel so heavy and fuzzy. If only she weren’t so tired. She couldn’t think straight at all.
At last she settled reluctantly on Harold. Poor Harold. He was a far cry from the splendid champion she needed. But Giles, at least, had seemed to fear him. “Harold,” he’d said, “mustn’t know,” or something like that.
She was certain of Harold’s sympathy and almost certain that he’d believe her. Whether he could help her or not was another thing. Tenuous as his relation to the boy was, he must have some rights. Or better yet, he’d know whom to go to. There must be some other Tarsin cousin somewhere who could take the boy.
The time to act was now. Secretly. They mustn’t be given time to plot. She’d go to Harold’s room. Melissa blew out the candle. She opened the door and crept into the dark hall. If only she could make Harold appreciate the seriousness of the situation. He had to be made to understand that sympathy was not enough in this case; he would have to do something.
The absolute darkness in the hall disoriented her a little. She fumbled forward. No, she wasn’t going correctly. That was a wall. Melissa ran her fingertips lightly along the wall to guide her.
She went a few steps. Then the carpeting changed abruptly, and Melissa stumbled. She fell forward against a pedestal. Some fool had put a glass ornament on it. In the endless moment after she knew it was too late she had time to feel the smooth, cold glass figurine slip through her fingers. It crashed to the floor with a noise louder than all the church bells in London.
Where was she? Where else? Directly in front of the library. Most definitely her guardian angel was not on duty tonight.
Her last hope vanished as the door of the library opened. Giles and Sir Adrian had returned from the cellars unheard and in record time. She was trapped in the shaft of light, there amid the ruins of some ridiculous broken clown figure and the overturned pedestal. Silhouetted by the firelight, in the doorway, stood the two of them, huge, shadowy figures staring out at her. She stood paralyzed, fatalistically ready to accept whatever happened to her. There was no point in trying to run.
Sir Adrian spoke first. It was probably not the first time he’d been confronted by young ladies in their nightdress creeping along the halls after dark. “Miss Rivenwood,” he said gently, “whatever are you doing here at this hour?”
What lie to tell? Never had Melissa’s mind responded so sluggishly. And never had she needed her wits about her more.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. That would buy her time. It had the merit of being true, even obvious. “I ... I had the headache.” That also was true. Her head, if not aching, certainly felt odd, as if it were stuffed with cotton wool. There she stopped, invention failing her.
“So you came down for medicine,” Sir Adrian finished for her smoothly. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Oh, God. He knew. She met his sinister dark eyes and had no doubt of it. He knew she’d come down to check the laudanum bottle. But she had to remember. She’d found it full. She had no suspicions that hadn’t been lulled. That was the way to play it, a woman feeling a little foolish. Yes. And shy at being found in her nightclothes.
She pulled her robe over her breasts more securely. She couldn’t know how pale her face was or how her hands betrayed her by trembling. “I couldn’t sleep,” she repeated. “I thought … I was so tired, you see. I made a mistake.” She didn’t have to pretend to be stumbling over her words. She couldn’t help it. “But it wasn’t so. I feel so stupid.”
“And your candle?” Sir Adrian prompted gently, making whatever he would out of her disjointed words.
Candle. Yes, why was she in the dark without a candle?
“It blew out in a draft,” she improvised. “I couldn’t find a light. The fire was too low.” She had never been any great hand at lying, she agonized fleetingly.
“You’re pale as a ghost,” Giles said with concern, coming toward her. She didn’t flinch away from him, but it took all her self-control. He lifted one of her reluctant hands. “And your hands are like ice. Whatever possessed you to come wandering through the halls in that flimsy outfit? And nothing on your feet.” He touched her shoulder. “Ye gods, you’re drenched through to the skin again. You must be mad. Come over here to the fire.”
Melissa was shakingly afraid of them. But with one on either side, urging her into the room, she was unable to escape. She fought down the panicked impulse to fight loose and run. That would be disaster. She had to bluff her way through. “Please, no,” she pleaded as she was borne into the library. “I’ll just go up to my own room. I’ll be quite all right.”
“Nonsense,” Sir Adrian objected. “You look as though you’re about to faint.”
Melissa felt that way, too.
“Sit,” Giles ordered. He reached for the brandy decanter on the tray and poured her a healthy jot into a bowl-shaped glass. He put it into her hand. “This will fix you right up,” he promised. “Something in the way of being special.” He watched her closely.
What sort of betrayal was he looking for in her face? “I don’t want it,” Melissa argued. “Really. I don’t care for brandy. It would be wasted on me.”
“Stop making a fuss, Miss Rivenwood,” Giles ordered. “This is no time for these airs. You’re rattling with shivers. After you drink that, I’ll take you upstairs. We’ve got to get you into bed before you come down with something.”
“Quite,” Sir Adrian agreed. He was leaning against the table, smiling down at her like a cat.
Melissa, with the promise of escape from these monsters held out in front of her, made the best work she could of choking down the liquor. It tasted like something with which to clean boots, but then, good or bad, it always did. Maybe it wasn’t poisoned after all. When she attempted to push the glass away half finished, she was prevented by Giles. So, willy-nilly, she finished the whole. It was the easiest way out. Besides, when her eyes were on the glass, she could look away from Giles. She didn’t have to see that look of warmth and caring on his face, knowing it was all false. The enormity of his duplicity made her senses reel.
By the time she’d downed all the brandy her senses were reeling in truth. The drink had hit her empty stomach like a cannon shell. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes for a minute. It was an exceedingly soft chair, but it showed an alarming tendency to spin a
round. She caught hold of it with one hand that felt curiously numb and distant. After a while Giles removed the glass from her other hand. He turned her face gently toward the candles to study it, then let it fall back to the cushion.
“She’s out like a light,” he said wonderingly. “Must be exhausted.”
“Or feverish?” Sir Adrian asked. Could it have been worry in his voice? “Better get her upstairs.”
“Doesn’t feel feverish. Little idiot. Her hair’s still damp.” Giles laid his hand on her forehead. “How the devil did she get soaked through again?” Melissa heard their voices as if from a long way off. “And why’s she gone like this? I didn’t give her that much.”
“It’s that damn brandy, Giles. First that wretched reputable stuff and now liquid thunder. Believe I’ll have another myself.”
“It certainly argues she’s led a sober existence, doesn’t it? No head for alcohol, that’s certain.”
“Assuredly.” Adrian lifted one of her hands and let it flop nervelessly back to the chair. “It’s real,” he said matter-of-factly. “You know, old chap, I’ve always wondered about the secret of your success with women. Now I know. You must send me a bottle of it. Tally-ho then. Let’s get the young lady up to bed. Must say, unusual experience for me, bringing a girl upstairs unconscious. How you do widen my horizons, Giles.”
“Will you shut your mouth, Adrian?”
Melissa scarcely noticed when Giles lifted her carefully up into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. Her mind, confused by the brandy and even more by the potent ingredients of the cook’s tisane, knew only that her fear and anxiety were gone. She felt heavenly, warm and secure. It was certainly not with her sane, rational mind that she snuggled contentedly into Giles’s arms, her cheek moving caressingly along his sleeve. Had she known, she would have been horrified. She would have been shocked when he slipped off her robe and laid her down on the bed, then toweled her hair gently dry. But she was lost in a dream. In her sleep she smiled, and when, at last, he pulled the covers over her and left her, she fell down, down into dreamless darkness and knew nothing at all further that night.
Her Ladyship's Companion Page 17