The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel)

by Sandra Lea Rice

  “I shall be on my best behavior,” Stallings quipped. “Congratulations, Harding. She’s a fine woman.”

  “I consider myself fortunate.” Anthony glanced toward the door where Hodges waited. “Please see Chief Stallings is given a fresh horse and inform the staff we have another guest.”

  “Certainly, my lord.” Hodges bowed.

  As the sound of footsteps faded, Anthony shut the door. He resumed his seat behind the desk and sighed at the set expression on Philippe’s face. “Until these men are apprehended, no one from this estate goes anywhere alone, not even the men. I won’t curtail the staff’s days, or half-days, off, but I want male escorts with the women any time they leave this house.”

  “If you wish, I will set these instructions in place,” Philippe offered.

  Anthony nodded. “Why Lucy? If the man’s appetites are perverse, why not just choose one of the prostitutes from the local brothel? The Golden Goose might not house many women, but from what I hear, they do a thriving business and are willing to accommodate . . . certain tastes.”

  “A different female would not affect you the same. In his choice of your housemaid, he sends the message he can still reach inside these walls.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch.”

  “We now recognize what he is, and what he is capable of. Such knowledge brings us closer to capturing him.” Philippe leaned forward in his chair. “Set a man to watch this . . . Golden Goose and the tavern, and yet another at the green grocers and bakery. These men must be able to fight but still control their bloodlust. It does no good to cut off the tail of the snake when we must take the head.”

  “Most of my men already patrol the grounds around Harding Hall. We have only a few left for such an endeavor. Perhaps I should send word to James to bring others with him.” Anthony raked his fingers through his hair. “For God’s sake, what does it take to capture two men?”

  “How hard is it to stop the wolf as he preys on sheep in the pasture?” Philippe’s eyes narrowed. “We require men accustomed to searching for wolves. How many can you house?”

  “There’s a renovated wing not in use, and a loft in the stable which, if filled with bunks, can accommodate at least ten.” Anthony studied the other man. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I will send for men who are skilled at the hunt. You mentioned a loft?”

  “It’s an upper floor which hasn’t been used in some time, but can easily be made ready. It is warm, and dry, and has a small cook-stove for heat and preparing small foodstuffs. The kitchen staff could prepare enough food for the main meals.”

  “Good. I shall telegraph Rafael Cordova. He will know what is needed.”

  “How long will it take for them to arrive?”

  “They travel quickly,” Philippe responded. “They will not blend in with those from around here but will, by their very presence, communicate our intent to stop those responsible.”

  “I’m thankful for the help.”

  “A good shepherd senses when his flock is threatened, and knows to bring in the wolfhounds.”

  Anthony grinned at the simile.

  “I met Roxbury while checking his estate,” Philippe said.

  “Gerald is here in Somerset?”

  “Si. He wishes to speak with you. He is your cousin?”

  “Yes. We grew up together.”

  “I do not trust this Gerald.”

  “At one time, I would have trusted him with my life, but I cannot say that is true any longer. He’s changed, and I’m not certain I know the man he’s become.” Anthony made a decision. “There is something else you should know.”

  Chapter 39

  Clairece approached Philippe in the front hall. Dusty and disheveled, he’d likely been out all night searching for those responsible for the young maid’s death. From his expression, he’d not been successful.

  “I must excuse myself from our walk, niña. Urgent business demands I return to Bristol.”

  “Will I see you tonight?”

  “Tomorrow. Stay safe, and take no chances.” Philippe pressed a kiss to her cheek and climbed the stairs.

  In the study, she found Anthony bent over some papers. He smiled and came to his feet to take her in his arms.

  “Did you get some rest?” he asked.

  “I did, though the bed felt unaccountably empty after you left. I passed Philippe. He said he was going to Bristol on business.”

  Anthony seated her before resettling in his own. “He mentioned notifying a Don Rafael to send more men.”

  “Don Rafael Cordova?” She stared, realizing the significance. “The men you speak of are caballeros from the Cordova and Montenegro estates in Spain. They are highly trained horsemen. More than mere vaquero. These men would rival the finest cavalry anywhere.”

  “You sound familiar with them.”

  “I am.” Clairece toed her shoes off and drew her feet up under her. “They are magnificent to behold. They ride as if part of the horse and, at times, use only their legs to guide their mounts, leaving their hands free. They are all excellent marksmen.”

  “They sound intimidating, which is what we need.” Anthony leaned back in his chair. She sensed there was more he wanted to say and, whatever the more was, it distressed him.

  “Chief Stallings is here and will be staying with us for a few days. He hasn’t yet discovered a name but did bring other news.” He told her of the women found slain in London and their comparison with Lucy.

  At the realization her stalker was far more deranged than she’d thought, Clairece shivered.

  Anthony pressed forward. “We will stop them, darling. I promise. Nothing will happen to you, or anyone else.”

  “I didn’t think this situation could get worse, yet it has.”

  At a soft clearing of a throat, they both looked up.

  “Ah, just the man I wanted to see.” Anthony came to his feet. “Clairece, this is Mr. Jason Rutledge. Jason, may I present my wife, Lady Clairece Wade, Countess Harding.”

  Jason bowed, smiling broadly. “A pleasure, my lady.”

  “Jason is my man-of-business-cum-secretary, and friend,” Anthony clarified.

  “Mr. Rutledge.” She quickly lowered her feet, searching for her discarded shoes. “As such, you must call me Clairece.”

  “And I am Jason.” He held out his hand to help her to her feet.

  “I shall leave you gentlemen to your business. There is much to do before our other quests arrive.” Clairece slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.

  Jason laid a stack of papers on the desk and settled into a chair. “Before I forget, Lord Willoughby stopped by on his way out of town. He said to tell you if you needed him, he’d be at his country estate with his wife.” Jason grinned. “So, when did you decide to marry?”

  “It was a sudden decision. God, Jason, this lunatic is worse than we ever imagined.” Anthony quickly caught Jason up on the happenings, including Jeremy Stallings’ suspicions regarding the murders in London.

  “Let’s see. We have the Chief Inspector,” Jason raised one finger, “and a Don Philippe,” second finger, “with numerous others on their way.” He gestured with both hands. “Is this man so formidable?”

  “Consider what he is capable of—and all those who rely on us for protection—and yes, he is.”

  “Still no leads from Stallings?”

  “He has men in Southampton and Portsmouth looking through the manifests. It’s only a matter of time.” Anthony thumbed the stack of papers. “They tried to kill me on the way here.” At Jason’s muttered curse, he continued. “In the event they’re successful, some things need to be set in place.”

  “I will attend to it, but nothing will happen to you.” Jason’s brow furrowed. “I stopped in at the pub in Bristol for
a quick pint and to rest my arse. There was talk of a murdered girl. Of course, I had no way of knowing she was one of your servants.”

  “Was anything said regarding who might be responsible?”

  “Most thought it was a gentleman, perhaps even a nobleman, but someone said it was a scar-faced man.”

  “Did this person say where he’d heard the rumor?”

  “No, and I didn’t ask. Do you think it was our mysterious gentleman?” Jason queried.

  “I’m not certain. Still, I’ll send a message to Don Philippe once he arrives at the Bristol Hotel and inform him of the happenings at the pub.”

  For the next few hours, Anthony signed documents, evaluated prospective investments, and covered anything of importance regarding the needs of the children’s home. Thanks to Jason and the new supervisors at the factories, everything now ran smoothly.

  “Sir Gerald came around shortly after you left,” Jason said.

  “What did he want?”

  “He mentioned you offered to purchase Roxbury Abbey and the land it sets on.”

  “Ah, yes, so I did.”

  “Does he stay at the Abbey?” Jason asked.

  “No. Gerald closed the mansion a few years back without leaving even a small staff to maintain the property. As near as I know, nothing has been done since then.”

  Jason studied him for a moment. “Is it your wish to buy this, or is it a means to help Sir Gerald?”

  “Roxbury Abbey is a beautiful piece of architecture dating back to the middle fifteenth century. Although the land is fertile, the acreage sits barren. There is a section too rocky for crops, but if we ran sheep, we could market the wool to the weaving houses.”

  “Or . . .” Jason leaned forward, his eyes bright with excitement. “We might investigate opening a small factory here and employ some of the villagers to do the shearing, carding, and spindle work. If we don’t wish to compete with the Scottish weavers, we’ll sell the yarn.”

  Anthony grinned. “Can you remain for a couple of days? We obviously have much to discuss before you return to London. Ride out with me and have a look at the property. Either way, I want the Abbey returned to Sanctuary.”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  Anthony thought for a moment. “Jason, how are you with a firearm?”

  Chapter 40

  Philippe tucked the missive from Anthony into an inside pocket of his coat. He’d penned a response before sending the messenger on his way back to the Park.

  He took the back stairs and strode off to find the pub, entering the hostelry through a side door and heading down a narrow hall. As he neared the end of the corridor, the cacophony of raucous laughter and voices grew louder. Under the din of noise and subdued light, Philippe slid into a booth where he could watch the room.

  Exhausted, and feeling less alert than he liked, Philippe called a serving girl over and ordered the special, a simple venison stew and thick bread. He sipped strong coffee and settled back to wait and listen.

  At nearly thirty-six hours without sleep, Philippe’s eyes burned and a constant thump had taken up residence inside his skull. He would wait two hours, no longer, before seeking his bed and some much needed sleep.

  Twenty minutes later, he pushed the empty dish away. The barmaid appeared at his side.

  “I like a man with a healthy appetite. Is there anything else I can bring you, something sweet to finish off your meal?” She leaned forward to clear the remains of his supper and presented Philippe with an amazing view of white bosom.

  He withdrew a few coins from his pocket and laid two shining disks on the table, more than enough to pay for the food. Two more joined the first.

  Her attempt at refined speech vanished. “I don’t do no rough stuff, if that’s what yer after.”

  “What I require is information, nothing more.” Her brows rose. “If you can tell me what I wish to know, I will add two more coins.”

  She licked her lips. “I ain’t sayin’ I can, but it don’t hurt to ask.”

  “Was there a gentleman, or someone appearing to be one, here last night? Someone sitting at this booth?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”

  Philippe scooped up the coins.

  “Wait.” She glanced around before settling onto the bench across from him.

  He held his hand open, palm up, the coins visible. “I will wait, but not long.”

  “There was someone, but he sat over there.” She indicated a small table positioned in a corner. “A right smart gentry cove he were, too.”

  Philippe eyed the well-lit booth. “It is my understanding the table was dark.”

  “‘Twas. Henry Wickem just got ‘round to fixin’ the light this morning.”

  “This man, can you describe him?”

  “He stayed to hisself, didn’t say much until the talk turned to the murder of some housemaid. Mind you, it seemed strange to me since he started the talk in the first place.”

  “His description?”

  “Kept a hat on but I could see his hair was brown. Couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, though, ‘cause he wouldn’t look at me. His hands was nice, not workin’ hands.” She bit on her lip and thought a moment. “Spoke like a nob.”

  The bell over the entrance jangled and she glanced up. “That’s him,” she hissed.

  “Go to the back, señorita, and wait. Give me a few moments, then return to the table.” Philippe added two more coins to the pile and placed them in her hand.

  The barmaid slipped from the booth and scurried to the kitchens. Once she was out of sight, Philippe swiveled to watch the man who’d just entered. In a black frock coat and derby, the stranger perused the pub for a seat.

  The full pub aided Philippe’s cause. He waited for the man to glance his way and gave a quick nod. The stranger strolled casually toward him.

  “Buenos noches, señor,” Philippe said above the din.

  “My apologies, but have we met before?”

  “I do not believe so. This cantina is full and, as you can see, there is more than enough room at this table.”

  “I thank you.” The man slid into the booth across from Philippe and removed his derby, laying the hat on the bench beside him.

  Philippe added, “The food is prepared surprisingly well. I can recommend the venison stew.”

  “I left London early and must admit to being ravenous.”

  “You just arrived?”

  “Yes. I came in by train. Although a quick trip, it leaves one on foot at the end. Still, it’s better than risking a curricle and livestock with the roads and weather so uncertain.”

  The taproom maid appeared, her gaze scanning the newcomer’s face. “Same as last night, sir?”

  The man’s smile flashed. “Well . . .” he raised a brow and waited.

  “Molly. My name’s Molly,” she cooed.

  “Well, Molly, since I’ve just arrived, you may have to enlighten me as to what my doppelganger had.” He laid a hand on the table.

  Philippe surveyed the long fingers with their well-manicured nails. He could imagine how Molly would consider them nice. He caught the glint of a small ring on the man’s little finger. Unless he was much mistaken, it was a signet ring.

  “The special will be fine, Molly, and a tankard of ale while I wait.” The man glanced at Philippe. “May I buy you a pint?”

  “Gracias.”

  Molly flicked her gaze to Philippe and gave a little shrug. Either she wasn’t certain, or the man’s charm had won the maid over. Either way, he needed to learn more.

  The man leaned back. “Do you mind telling me what this is all about?”

  “Not at all, señor. I am looking for someone and thought you might be he.”

  “My name
is Doctor Benjamin Farris. I’m here on business.”

  “And you arrived this evening?”

  The man reached inside his coat pocket and stilled at the telltale ‘click’ of a gun hammer.

  “Be careful, señor.”

  Farris slowly withdrew a narrow cardstock and shoved it across the table toward Philippe. “Check the date and time. You will see it’s stamped for today.”

  Philippe viewed the ticket and passed it back to Farris, releasing the hammer on the pistol as he did.

  Farris’ eyes narrowed. “The next time you draw on me, you’d better have a damn good reason. I ask again, what is this about?”

  “My name is Don Philippe Montenegro. I am here at the request of my family.”

  “And they are . . .”

  “Lord Anthony Wade, Earl of Harding, but most specifically, his wife.”

  “Do you mean Mrs. Clairece Griffin?”

  “Si.”

  Farris smiled. “Well, well, well. She’s the reason for my trip to Somerset. Since I arrived late, I decided to stay at the hotel and travel to Sanctuary in the morning.” He frowned. “You say family?”

  Philippe nodded in assent. “Are you aware of—”

  “The attempts on her life? Yes. This last time, they almost succeeded. Lord Anthony departed London with . . . his wife before I could see her again. Knowing Harding, there must have been a good reason.”

  “There was. The attempts have not stopped.”

  “Damn.” Farris tapped a finger. “And you thought I might be the one responsible? Why?”

  Molly arrived with the meal and tankards of ale and the men quit speaking. After setting the food out on the table, she studied Farris again.