The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel)

by Sandra Lea Rice

  Anthony raised a grief stricken face to her. “I loved her. We only had each other. Through those Godforsaken years, she was the only one who truly cared for me.”

  Silence loomed heavily, before she softly prompted, “You play beautifully.”

  Anthony glanced over his shoulder at the piano. “Mother taught me. She was magnificent. We had to practice when he wasn’t around. She feared if the old man found out, he would break my fingers for pursuing something he deemed unmanly.”

  Clairece shivered at the cruelty they’d suffered. “Your father was evil.”

  “He. Was. Not. My. Father. Don’t ever call him that,” Anthony snapped.

  “No one knew about the music?” she continued calmly.

  His shoulders heaved with an indrawn breath. “My apologies, Clairece. I shouldn’t have responded to you in such a way, but I detest hearing him referred to as my father.” He drew in another calming breath. “To answer your question, the servants, I suppose, but they never told him. On one occasion, the old earl instructed them to ignore me. I was devastated. No one would so much as acknowledge my presence. I walked around my home feeling as if I didn’t exist.” His brows drew together. “I understood they had no choice if they wanted to keep their positions.”

  Although Clairece chose not to comment, her anger at such injustice mounted.

  “After the first two days, a tray of food was left in my room.” Anthony came slowly to his feet and sat beside her on the bed, taking her hand in his. “I hated eating alone, I still do.”

  After the first two days, my God. Clairece squeezed his hand.

  “You must think me a poor excuse for a man.”

  “Because you cried?”

  “Men do not cry,” Anthony stated as if in rote.

  “More truths as seen through the eyes of that bastard? Men and women cry when the pain is more than they can bear. It’s normal, natural, and in no way takes away from a man’s masculinity.”

  He gave her a tired smile.

  Clairece glanced around. “This was your mother’s room?”

  He nodded. “She and I lived in this wing, as far away from the old tyrant as we could get.” He glanced around. “I rushed home when the news of her death reached me, but he’d had her buried and most of her belongings burned before I arrived.” He reached behind them and brought forth a charred wooden chest. “This jewelry box is all I could salvage from the rubble.”

  Clairece accepted the small coffer and laid it in her lap.

  “I never set foot in this house again until I got word of his death. By then, the old degenerate had all but plunged the Earldom into bankruptcy.”

  “He did the remodeling?”

  “God, no. There was no way I could countenance living here with his ghost meeting me at every turn, so I gutted a great deal of the mansion, added on, and decided to update during the renovation.”

  “May I?” Clairece indicated the wooden chest.

  “Of course. If I recall, it held only bits and pieces of things.”

  Clairece gently lifted the lid.

  And gasped. “Anthony . . .”

  Chapter 37

  Clairece’s heart raced. “Do you remember my description of the relic?”

  “Yes, but what does . . .” Anthony’s gaze fixed on the strip of woven leather she held in her hand. “The missing tie from the dog collar?” He leaned closer.

  “I need to examine this to be certain, but yes.”

  Anthony rose to his feet and helped Clairece to stand. “Come, the lighting is much better in your room.”

  Neither said anything as they hurried through the hallways to her chambers. Once inside, Anthony shut the door and turned to Clairece. “Empty the contents onto the desk while I get a lamp.”

  She moved the stationary and pens to the side of the escritoire and carefully emptied the items onto the wooden surface. There appeared to be just an odd assortment of bits and pieces; a single earring, a broken gold chain.

  Anthony stared at the scattered articles and frowned. “I know my mother had more jewels than this. Not counting the Harding diamonds which are in the safe, she received some exquisite pieces as a wedding gift.”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose, drawing her attention to the fine lines of weariness etched on his face.

  “My mother occasionally wore some of her jewels while we played the piano. I remember a set of pearls she wore often. Duncan gifted Mother with gems as well.”

  Clairece picked up the empty case, turning it in her hands. “The latch has been broken. Do you think someone stole her jewelry? Perhaps the late earl took her valuables for safe keeping.”

  “I went through every square inch of this mansion during the renovation, and saw nothing remotely resembling a strong box. If such were the case, why not place the entire container in the safe?”

  “Good point.” She held the braided leather strip nearer the light to examine the piece. She turned the length to study the other side and met his curious gaze. “Without a doubt, this is the missing tie. At some point, the collar was in this box.” Mindful of the value and age of the simple braided strip, she placed it carefully on the desk.

  Anthony shook his head. “How? How would my mother have come by it?”

  “You said your natural father was a Scottish Laird?”

  “Yes.” He dropped into a chair.

  “Most historians believe the artifact was likely held by one family for all of these three hundred plus years. Do you know much about your late father?”

  “Enough to know it could be possible. His lineage can be traced back much farther. I was too young to fathom all he tried to tell me.”

  Clairece leaned across the escritoire to touch his cheek, catching the sleeve of her robe on the edge of the box. The case made a splintering sound as it hit the floor. She bent and collected the charred coffer. “The underside is loose. Shall I have it repaired and cleaned?”

  He gave a slight nod but said nothing.

  Clairece turned the box over to fit the flat wooden tray back into place. “This is a false bottom.” She dipped her fingers into the hidden compartment and retrieved a small folded cloth.

  Anthony reached for the square of fabric. “This is my father’s tartan. Is there anything else?”

  “I think so.” She withdrew a thin letter opener from the desk drawer, and slid the tip under the edge of a faded scrap of paper. Lifting carefully, she held the parchment toward Anthony.

  He sat slumped in the chair, still fingering the piece of cloth. “What does it say?”

  To Clairece, Anthony looked more exhausted as the night progressed. Usually so vigorous and full of energy, he lacked all signs of vitality.

  She unfolded the aging bit of stationary. “This is a letter from your father to your mother. Do you still wish me to read it?” In response, he dipped his head.

  Clairece opened the page and began.

  My dearest love,

  As I’ve said so many times, would we had met sooner in life. Knowing and loving you has been my greatest happiness. Your precious gift of my son, Anthony, has filled my life with joy. When I look upon him, I see the two of us as it should have been. Each time he calls me Father, it delights me beyond measure. There is nothing I would not do for either of you.

  Although you are the partner of my heart, alas, you are not my legal wife. It has long been a concern of mine as to how to protect and provide for the two of you should matters become impossible for you there.

  For this reason, I give you a treasure which has been in the care and safekeeping of my family for generations. It is priceless, as are you. Take it and use it as you see fit.

  I remain forever, your loving Duncan.

  She glanced at Anthony. Sometime during the recitation, he
’d leaned forward in the chair, braced his elbows on his knees, and placed his head in his hands.

  “It seems we have our answer,” he said in a voice now devoid of all emotion.

  Clairece set the letter aside. “We can gain nothing more from this tonight. We’re both exhausted and need rest. I’m going to run a hot bath for you and tuck you into bed.”

  The smile he sent her was barely a flick of his lip. He came slowly to his feet and trailed along behind her, shedding articles of clothing as he went.

  She let the water flow while she gathered his robe and a few personal items Beetles had placed across the foot of his bed. She returned to find Anthony submerged up to his chest in the steaming water. Propped against the sloping back, eyes closed, he sighed wearily.

  She laid a towel near the edge of the bath, took a seat on the raised bench, and picked up a washcloth. She dipped the heavy flannel into the water and ran the fabric across a bar of soap. The scent of sandalwood filled the room. “Lean forward.”

  “I’ll do it,” Anthony held up his hand for the dripping cloth.

  “I have had the pleasure of your ministrations, now let me return the favor.”

  He leaned forward.

  Clairece gasped as she viewed the patchwork of scars crisscrossing his back.

  “Not a pretty sight, is it? I never show my back to anyone.”

  “Did your stepfather do this?” She ran the sodden cloth over his neck and shoulders.

  “Ahh, that feels so good.” His head fell forward. “And, yes, to your question. Just one of his many gifts to me. He would make me bend across his desk and take hold of the edge while he used a cane on me. At my refusal to cry, he beat me all the harder. I am still troubled by nightmares.”

  She pressed forward and gently kissed first one, and then another, ridge on his back, and felt him quake under her lips.

  “After he died, I was forced to return here. The first thing I did was take a hatchet to his desk and burn the pieces.” He rolled his head on his shoulders. “The responsibility for the title, lands, and people living here, fell to me. I knew nothing about the stewardship of an estate such as this. I had to learn by asking questions and reading anything I could find about land management.”

  She settled more comfortably on the bench to listen, and continued to run the cloth over his body as he mused, “I moved into the gatehouse and went to work refurbishing the Hall. My mother left me a small inheritance and I lived on it for a while. It wasn’t long before I realized the money would not last and I needed to do something quickly if I was to restore the Earldom to solvency.”

  Anthony splashed water on his face and quickly washed and rinsed his hair. “I rented a small flat in London, and invested the remaining currency in various enterprises. I bought my first factory with the profit from those ventures.”

  “You should be proud of all you’ve accomplished, and in a relatively short time.”

  “I suppose I am, but mainly I feel triumphant. The old man tried to destroy me, and I didn’t let him.”

  Clairece stood and picked up the towel. “Let’s get you into bed. It will be light soon.”

  After he dried off, she took him by the hand and led him to her room. Once he was settled in bed, she crawled in and wrapped her arms around him.

  Within moments, he was asleep.

  Chapter 38

  “Your coffee and mail, my lord.” Hodges entered the sunlit office where Anthony conducted estate business.

  He had spent the last couple of hours working his way through a stack of correspondence and other documents needing his attention. He frowned at the overflowing tray. “Where did all this come from?”

  “If I were to venture a guess, my lord, it appears the post held your mail until they collected a sufficient amount to send a courier.” Hodges set a cup of steaming brew to Anthony’s right.

  Anthony scowled. “What an asinine thing to do. Some of this”—he indicated the completed pile on the desk—“needed my immediate attention.”

  He added a splash of cream to his coffee. “Any word from Jason?” The time spent away from his businesses was proving far more difficult than he’d anticipated. Jason was needed in London to help oversee the running of the factories when Anthony was out of town. Consequently, Anthony had no way of knowing whether some of the items he’d painstakingly worked through had already been managed by his secretary.

  “Mr. Rutledge is expected within the hour, my lord.”

  Anthony nodded and started sorting through the new stack of correspondence. “Is my wife awake?”

  “Lady Harding has called for her maid and will join you shortly.”

  “Good.” He glanced up to find Hodges watching him, a knowing expression in the other man’s eyes. “What of Don Philippe?”

  “He just returned, my lord, and asked to speak with you.”

  “Please, show him in.”

  Within moments, the sound of boots echoed on the entry tiles. Philippe appeared at the door and Anthony indicated the chair across from his. The look on Philippe’s face gave him pause. Covered in dust, it was evident the other man had not slept. Anthony handed him a cup of coffee.

  “Gracias. I searched for the scar-faced man and found nothing. At the train station in Bristol, I questioned those who had worked through the night. No one remembers seeing a man of his description. A person such as he does not just vanish.”

  “Perhaps we should gather a search party and run him to ground. The region is dotted with abandoned crofter shacks and dilapidated structures.”

  “It is worth a try, but I hold no expectations we will find him.” Philippe sipped the hot liquid.

  “Do you believe he’s left the area?”

  “I do not. The man is determined to kill Clairece and will not stop until he accomplishes his task, or we stop him.” Philippe gulped down the rest of his coffee. “Such men are dogged in whatever pursuit their master sets before them.”

  Hodges appeared at the open door. “Please excuse the interruption, my lord, but Inspector Stallings is here to see you.”

  “Show him in.” Anthony glanced at Philippe. “This man is brilliant, and misses nothing.”

  Both men rose as Stallings entered. The Inspector’s regard centered on Philippe for a few comprehensive seconds, then shifted to Anthony.

  “Welcome to Sanctuary Park and Harding Hall, Inspector. May I introduce Don Philippe Montenegro? Don Philippe, Chief Inspector Stallings,” Anthony said.

  Stallings clasped Philippe’s outstretched hand. “A pleasure, Don Philippe. You are . . . related through Lady Windsford, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Respect flickered briefly in Philippe’s eyes. “Si. You are correct.”

  After the men were seated, Anthony addressed Stallings. “What news do you bring?”

  “The information is not good, Harding.” Stallings withdrew the ever-present notebook and gave the scrawled observations a cursory glance. “I understand a young woman was murdered.”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “With anything of this nature, a report is sent to my office in London. Constable Higgins telegraphed such an account. A detective assigned to work unsolved murders found the report this morning. He recognized some pertinent facts, and brought them to my attention. During the last few years, a significant number of women were murdered and no lead to the killer found.”

  “I would think such a thing occurs more often than anyone realizes,” Anthony mused.

  “It does, however, the ones I speak of were found with their hands tied and a cord wrapped around their necks. They’d all been savagely beaten and raped.”

  A cold dread rendered Anthony momentarily speechless. “Am I to understand you believe this incident is related?”

  “I do.”


  “Then, by inference, one of the men after Clairece is this depraved repeat killer?” Anthony kept his hands firmly on the desk to stop them from shaking.

  “That’s my belief.” Stallings slid the notebook into his pocket. “Our murderer finally made a mistake. Hopefully, one that will lead us to him.”

  “In what way?” Cold rage simmered in Philippe’s features.

  “No clues were ever found to indicate the killer’s identity. We’d about given up hope of finding any, but this,” Stallings patted his pocket, “narrows it down considerably.”

  “We have every reason to suspect it’s not the man with the scar but his master, who perpetrated the crime.” Anthony outlined what they’d discovered since the maid’s murder, withholding mention of his family’s connection to the collar until he could consider all of the ramifications. “Have you consulted the police in New York to see if a similar crime was committed during the time our man was there?”

  “The inquiry was sent this morning. I’ll have two extra men in Southampton by nightfall to help with the passenger manifests. The men we’re looking for most likely sailed from there.” Stallings flexed his shoulders. “Before it gets too late, I need to meet with Constable Higgins and view the body. I’ll secure a room at the inn, so send word should you need me.”

  “Why not stay here?” Anthony suggested. “You’ll be far more comfortable, and the communication between us, much simpler.”

  Stallings hesitated. “I’ll accept your kind offer if it won’t upset Mrs. Griffin. My tendency to be somewhat outspoken can be off-putting. I don’t wish to cause her any undue stress.”

  “Mrs. Griffin and I were married in Bristol so I feel confident I might speak for her. She would not want a little misunderstanding to impede the progress of this investigation.” Thinking of Clairece, he grinned. “If it happens again, I’m certain she will inform you of your transgression.”