Seductive Lies

by Colleen Connally

  “Calm yourself, Harriet.” He spoke in a tone much as he would have to a small child. “Think. Think. Your mother left you more than twenty-four years ago. How could she be trapped? She isn’t here. Remember, you talked with your grandmother in London. Remember? Your mother is in America.”

  Remember. She searched her mind. Yes, she remembered. “Mrs. Tyndale said her daughter ran away to America and has never returned…never…because she is trapped, Arthur. She needs me. I feel it. I saw it.”

  Arthur released her and stood. “Send for the doctor.”

  “No, Arthur. We don’t have time for this,” Harriet cried, frantically looking over, pleading with Sadie. Sadie lowered her gaze.

  Arthur kissed the top of her head. “I will be back.” He said nothing more and left.

  Harriet sank back on the bed. Comprehension filled her. She did not need to be told what they thought…even Sadie, who professed to believe in her gift. She turned her back to her maid and pretended to be asleep.

  A fearful premonition possessed her. Time was running out. She had to get to Dartmouth Hall. She watched Sadie and waited only until her maid withdrew out of the chamber. She knew it would be for only a moment, but now…at this moment she was alone. She eased out of the bed and slipped into the pink room.

  She searched quickly for her cape and her boots. She dared not waste any more time. She rushed down the corridor and halted before the landing. She looked around and eyed the door. All clear. She heard a sound. Movement in the foyer. It would not be long before she would be discovered.

  Every instinct told her to go. Go now! She did. Scurrying down the stairs, she raced to the heavy panel mahogany door. Opening it wide, she wasted no time and walked out of the manor. A brisk wind greeted her, but the rain had ceased.

  She stood frozen for a moment. She hadn’t a plan other than she had to get to Dartmouth Hall. She turned on the pebbled lane, looking for the way. Then suddenly someone caught her arm and swung her around. She stood face to face with Arthur. For a moment, she refused to meet his gaze. She did not want to see the disappointment in his eyes.

  “Harriet, I would ask what is wrong with you, but I know the answer. Look at me,” Arthur demanded. “Look at me.”

  “Arthur, please,” she begged, blinking back her swelling tears. “Let me go. I have to go. You don’t understand. I know you believe I’ve gone crazed, but I’m no different than I have been...only I can’t ignore this…it’s pulling me.”

  He hesitated. Finally, he said, “If we go and find nothing, you must promise me that you will never mention any of your fanciful imaginations again.”

  Harriet’s heart leaped. She nodded. “You will go with me?”

  “I would not let you go alone, if that is what you are asking.”

  She choked back her emotions. She accepted his proposition. It didn’t matter he didn’t believed her. It was enough he was with her.

  Harriet sat upon her mount. Arthur wasn’t happy…far from it. He said hardly a word as they rode over to Dartmouth Hall, only to inform her that no one had been at Beebe Manor when he called. He had found no answers.

  This was folly in his eyes…this venture to Dartmouth Hall. Ironic, for there had been a time when riding over to Dartmouth Hall had been exciting and exhilarating because she had been rendezvousing with him…forbidden love that had to be hid from prying eyes.

  In the light of day, she recalled the thrill of riding up to the ruins. The look on his face at her arrival was etched always into her heart, but never once had they entered the remnant of grander days.

  Now in the dead of night, the mansion took on a different aura. It exuded evil. The shadows illuminated over the broken windows, boards, and the jungle of overgrown weeds and bushes the gardens had become.

  She prodded her horse to follow Arthur around the house to the back. A terrible foreboding gripped her at the sight…a fearful premonition. It was as she had seen. The doorway lay open. She tethered her horse alongside of Arthur.

  She watched Arthur motion to his men to alight. He looked over at her sharply. His eyes shone his irritation. She realized he had set aside his pride to appease her. She wished she could erase the look. She comprehended well he thought her irrational.

  “There is no one here, Harriet.”

  “She is inside.” Harriet said the words in almost a whisper.

  “Harriet, this is foolishness. Look around you. No one has been here in ages.”

  “My lord,” one of the men called to Arthur. He had walked up to the doorway, holding the lantern in front of him. “My lord,” he repeated in an unsure voice. “Someone has entered the house. There are footprints in the dust. Vines have been broken back. I cannot say when someone was here, but it was recent.”

  Immediately, Harriet dismounted. Arthur was a step ahead of her. He blocked her entrance.

  “Don’t, Arthur, keep me from entering. I have to. I told you. She is inside.”

  “Please listen to me. The men can stay while I take you back to the manor. I will return. I give you my word, we will search the whole of the house.”

  Harriet was aware of Arthur’s words, but suddenly a glow shone in the window. She shook her head. Before Arthur had a chance to stop her, she ran into the house. She knew the path. She ran through the corridor and down the black hall. She halted only before the broken door. She heard something.

  Behind her, Arthur and his men caught up with her.

  “Harriet!” he cried out, his voice echoing his anger.

  “Ssh! Arthur. Listen. Don’t you hear it?”

  She heard it again. Faint…ever so faint. It sounded like a small animal scratching on the door. It came again, loud. This time, though, there was more…a voice, a weakened voice.

  “Help. Help me.”

  Harriet’s heart edged up in her throat. She gripped Arthur’s arm. “You heard that. Tell me you heard that.”

  Arthur nodded. “Go. Lead the way,” he commanded the two men with the lanterns. His hand gripped Harriet’s. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to—”

  “I’m not leaving,” Harriet interrupted him.

  “My lord, it is empty.”

  Arthur edged down the stairs with Harriet behind him. It smelled dank and stale in the damp air. The scratching noise continued. Fear numbed her being, but the pull upon her would not let her relent. Her eyes caught sight of the wall.

  Frantically, she felt for the button she had seen in her vision. Suddenly something moved in the wall and the panel opened. Then a body fell onto the ground. Frightened beyond words, Harriet stood frozen until a sound emerged from the form.

  “Help me…help me.”

  Harriet knew that voice. “Bessie. Bessie, is that you? It’s me, Harriet.”

  “Harriet. Oh, Harriet!” Bessie’s voice was weak and frail.

  Harriet dropped beside her cousin and pulled her into her arms. Bessie’s face was obscured in the dim light, but Harriet felt Bessie’s hands grip her tightly, as if afraid she would disappear.

  “You are real, Harriet. You aren’t a dream.”

  “I’m real, dear cousin.”

  “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!” Bessie cried.

  Harriet rocked Bessie. Frightened out of her mind, her cousin seemed caught between awareness and unconsciousness. Harriet wasn’t certain what had happened, but she held her frightening speculation in her arms.

  Harriet didn’t move but sat in the dark cellar with Bessie in her arms while Arthur assessed the situation. Her back ached; her arms deadened with the weight she held. Bessie long had silenced by the time she felt Bessie being lifted from her.

  Then she found herself in her husband’s arms, safe and secure. He said nothing, but led her out of the darkness.

  Harriet stood at the window, peering out. Arthur had been gone for hours. After seeing to her welfare, he returned to Dartmouth Hall with a fresh group of his men. He had told her to get sleep, but there had been no rest…not with Bessie on the brink of dea
th.

  She kept thinking of Bessie as she had known her as a child. So eager to please, so naïve, so innocent. She glanced back at her cousin, sleeping quietly back in her bed at Ayercombe Manor. She lay so motionless, yet her face…her face grimaced. Harriet shuddered at the thought of what her cousin had endured and to what end?

  Her poor cousin had suffered. That was not in question. Her hands were bloodied. Her nails torn and ripped from scratching at the door that imprisoned her. Filthy and dirty, she reeked from the smell of being confined in a small space. Her gown stained and ripped, she had been weakened from the lack of water and food.

  The doctor said she would not have lasted much longer. He hadn’t promised she would survive the ordeal even now. Time would tell. So Harriet sat and waited. A note had been dispatched to both her uncle and Ewan.

  The question became what kind of monster had done this to Bessie. Who would have wanted to harm her…to have condemned her to such a merciless death? Harriet had heard stories about priest’s holes as a child, where they had been used to hide persecuted Catholic priests and sympathizers from capture, torture, and probable death. But to use it as a death trap…

  Harriet heard the door handle rattle. It opened slowly and Arthur walked into the somber room. She had difficultly restraining herself from throwing herself at him. Yet she did so. Though it had been less than a day, much had happened since they arrived at Ayercombe Manor.

  She had proved his grandfather right in his assessment she lacked the skills to be mistress of this grand mansion. She had caused a spectacle, rambling about her mother in the way she had. She had shamed the Hammett name in her belief in a spirit that guided her. He thought it lunacy.

  He stepped toward her. She saw it then…in his eyes. He was deeply moved. She felt her doubts dissipating. It had been her biggest fear—losing his love. He opened his arms. She hastily accepted the invitation.

  He embraced her, holding her tightly against him. He kissed her and whispered his love. “Forgive me for being harsh with you,” he uttered against her lips. “You must realize you scared me. You were so distracted…”

  “You thought me possessed. Oh, Arthur,” she cried. “I had no wish to disobey you…it was only I thought my mother called to me. It was all so strange. I’m so sorry, Arthur, if I disgraced you with my actions.”

  He hesitated for a moment. She saw him searching for words where there wasn’t an explanation. He shrugged slightly and said, “There is no disgrace. I am proud of you for so steadfastly holding to what you believed. I can’t explain what has happened. All I know is how can I fault you? You found Bessie, Harriet. If not for you, she would still be encased in that tomb.

  “Has she wakened? Has she said who did this to her?”

  “No.” Harriet shook her head. “I fear for her and the damage this has done. She was so scared, Arthur. Who could have done this?”

  “Do not worry yourself. I will find the culprit,” he said, withdrawing from their embrace. He stepped back. Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he pulled out an object he rolled in his hand. “There is more. Something I need to tell you.”

  He stared at his hand for what seemed an eternity. She became fearful.

  “What is it, Arthur? What is wrong?”

  “Harriet,” he said finally. “When we looked in the priest hole, we discovered that Bessie wasn’t the first to have been confined in the space. We found…another soul. The remains at least. There wasn’t much left except…well…there’s this ring…a wedding band.”

  He held it out for her.

  She looked back up at him. “You want me to…”

  He nodded. “Yes, if you can.”

  She accepted the ring. She had no need to slip it on her finger. It came—the vision. Stunned, she looked back up at Arthur. “It’s my mother. Oh, my God. It’s my mother.”

  * * * *

  Harriet dared not think. All she had believed as a child had been a lie. Her mother had never abandoned her. Georgiana Burke had been murdered. Her father ostracized for a duel that never should have been.

  Arthur had taken care of all the arrangements and notifications. Despite Arthur’s efforts to contain the discovery, the story spread rapidly. The manor had been inundated with guests and visitors.

  The body within the priest’s hole had been identified as her mother’s. The wedding band had been engraved with the initials GKB and the date of their marriage. Also, a locket she wore was found in the remains. It was without doubt Georgiana Burke.

  Bessie showed little sign of a full recovery. Her body breathed, but her mind…her mind, it seemed to have escaped into another realm. She would wake and scream out in fear and shake uncontrollably. The only one to soothe her was her sister. Clarissa came immediately upon receiving Harriet’s note and had not left Bessie’s side.

  Time. It was the only offer of hope the doctor gave to Ewan about Bessie’s recovery. To Ewan’s credit, he had returned to Ayercombe Manor. He had not left and searched alongside of Arthur for the person responsible for this horror, as had James.

  Arthur had become a man possessed, a man clearly bent on a mission. His determination had not waned over the week since that fateful night. The threat had been to his family, his wife, and his child. No, if Harriet knew anything in this life, the menace that had brought this havoc to all that Arthur loved would not be spared mercy.

  The hour grew late when Harriet left Bessie’s chamber. There had been no change.

  “Harriet, go and get some rest,” Clarissa urged. “You look exhausted. I am not leaving.”

  Harriet hadn’t argued with her cousin. She was exhausted. She had slept little. She found she slept only in her husband’s arms. Although Arthur had firmly established her in his chamber until all had been settled, he had been relentless in his search. He, too, had found little sleep in his quest.

  Harriet found all hard to believe. The pieces of the puzzle fell in place when Bessie was rescued. All the years of deceit…

  Suddenly, Harriet halted. She could see a light under the door of the pink room. Arthur had ordered the room closed until it could be refurbished. No one was supposed to enter. Had Sophia returned?

  Harriet strained her eyes. She could see movement…a shadow. Someone was in there. She had to know. Supposedly the room was locked, but she turned the door handle with ease and opened wide the door. She walked in.

  The door slammed shut behind her. She turned sharply and saw her. The one everyone had been searching for the last week. Harriet felt no fear. Somewhere within her, she realized this was inevitable…this meeting.

  “Harriet, I have been waiting.”

  “So have I, Aunt Constance…Constance,” Harriet said soundly. “So have I.”

  Harriet stared at the woman, a woman she had known all her life, yet suddenly it was a stranger who stood before her. Her appearance hadn’t altered. She looked at Harriet with a regal arrogance, tilting her chin upward. Dressed immaculately, her hair was pulled back with not a hair out of place. Though, her cold, dark eyes hid little of the animosity she held for her niece.

  “Why?” Harriet asked.

  Her aunt smiled, a thin stoic smile, and strolled around the room. Her eyes fixated on Harriet and did not waver. She walked around one of the highback chairs and swept her hand over the finely carved wood border.

  “Exquisite and elegant. Lady Sophia could not be faulted for her taste,” she said. She shifted her position and took a seat in the chair. “Come, my dear. Sit.”

  “I have no intention of sitting. We are not having tea,” Harriet retorted. She was silent for a long, drawn-out moment. “You murdered my mother. I have only one question—why?”

  “Ah, yes, you seek answers.”

  Their eyes met briefly. Her aunt gave Harriet a forced smile. Harriet wasn’t deceived. Behind the smile was a woman who held many secrets.

  “I seek the reason for your cruel actions.”

  “Justice,” she uttered in a low, harsh voice that sent chill
s through Harriet. A look of revulsion crossed her aunt’s face. “She deserved her fate. She was a hussy, you understand, but I suppose you wouldn’t, not with your own depraved behavior. Oh, I know. I know, Harriet, all about your affair with Arthur while he was married to Sophia.”

  Her aunt laughed an eerie laugh that echoed in the room. “You stand there in judgment, but it is not I who needs to be judged. It is you!” She rose. “You are no better than she. Thinking she was better than I. She had no right to Henry. She didn’t. She should have been shunned, but all had been kept hush-hush. Her father bought the silence. It did not matter what she had done before, the scandal that would have been created if all knew about her and Lord Carlisle.

  “She confessed it all to me. Poor, silly Georgiana. So beautiful, but not the brightest. She turned to me when he came to Beebe Manor. She turned to me! She thought I would help her. She did not turn to her friend, Lady Priscilla, up at Ayercombe Manor. Not her family. But me!”

  Her face set as grim as stone, she looked at Harriet in a scornful way. A pause settled over the room that seemed to last an eternity. Then her eyes narrowed with hatred oozing forth from her being.

  “Georgiana begged me to help her. Beautiful, pitiful Georgiana. She didn’t know what to do, where to turn. Her past had caught up with her. He had come for her…Lord Meriwether Carlisle in his high and mightiness had decided he could not live without her. She was so dreadfully afraid Henry would discover Lord Carlisle’s pursuit and do something rash. It was then she confessed to me of her digression.

  “She said she had made a dreadful mistake in her youth. She thought herself in love and fell under his charms, only to discover she was with child. Of course, one such as Lord Carlisle would not marry someone so beneath him. She had expected him to…a son of a duke marry a commoner! It did not happen. Instead, her child was taken from her, for her father refused for her to keep it. Lord Carlisle told her he took the child. That is what she wanted to know…if her child was well.”

  Harriet comprehended the woman was mad. Her aunt’s eyes widened where only the white could be seen. It was as if her aunt had been transported back in time. Reveling in her conquest, she wanted Harriet to know every sordid detail.