The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel)

by Sandra Lea Rice

  For such a man, having a bodyguard would be irksome, but Anthony had set in place rules he expected everyone to follow.

  “I will be riding with Lord Anthony.” Jason strolled into the front hall. “I took the liberty of having a horse saddled. This seems as good a time as any to see the property.”

  Anthony glanced briefly in her direction, placed his hat on his head, and stepped through the front door with Jason.

  Clairece waited until the muted sound of men’s voices and the clang of shod hooves on the cobblestone faded, then turned and trudged upstairs.

  Chapter 43

  Clairece swept into her room and retrieved a sheet of parchment from the small writing desk. Quickly, she perused her agenda. Before she met with Mrs. Stedman, she wanted to find Hodges and decide on an office space for herself. Later in the day, a planning luncheon was scheduled with Anthony’s aunts and Mrs. Dobbins. Folding the list, she slipped it into her pocket and exited the room.

  As she gained the entry hall, Hodges opened the front door to admit two men. She smiled a greeting at Philippe and turned to the other man. “Dr. Farris, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “Lady Harding, a pleasure to see you looking so well.” Farris bowed over her hand. “My apologies for dropping in unexpectedly. You left Town before I had a chance to make certain you were recovering well.”

  “You are most kind. Unfortunately, the attempts on my life continued until the move became urgent.”

  “Is Lord Anthony available?” Philippe handed his heavy cape and hat to a waiting footman.

  “He had an appointment. I’m not certain when to expect him,” Clairece replied.

  “Was he accompanied?”

  “Jason is with him.”

  Philippe offered a short bow to Benjamin Farris. “It has been a pleasure.”

  “Mine as well, Don Philippe.”

  As Philippe mounted the stairs, Clairece escorted Dr. Farris to the small sitting room, taking a seat near the fire. The doctor sat across from her.

  His gaze scanned her frame. “You mentioned more attempts. Were you injured in any way?”

  “No, but a footman was killed. Later, Anthony and I traveled by train and he was attacked with some kind of cudgel. He received a cut on the head and his arm and shoulder still show signs of bruising.”

  “Perhaps I should examine him while I’m here.”

  Tea arrived along with a tray of pastries and small sandwiches. Clairece poured, adding a splash of cream to each. “Do you take sugar?”

  “No, thank you.” Farris accepted the tea and added a chocolate pastry and a sandwich to his plate.

  “Do you treat women’s ailments, Doctor Farris?” she asked over the rim of her cup.

  “I do. A large number of my patients are female. In my profession, it’s wise to be proficient in as many areas as possible. Is there a specific reason for your question?”

  “I . . .” Doctor or no, what she wanted to discuss was personal.

  He set his cup aside. “Please don’t feel uncomfortable. You may discuss anything you wish and trust it will remain private. Doctor-patient privilege, and all that.”

  She nodded, grateful for his understanding. “I was with child some years ago. I lost the babe as a result of a fall and almost died. The doctor did his best for me but he didn’t know . . .”

  Farris’ expression softened and he patted her hand. “You want to know if you are able to carry a child.”

  She nodded and swallowed past the lump in her throat.

  “How far into your pregnancy did you miscarry?”

  “Seven months.” She blinked back tears.

  “I understand you were married for some time before your husband died. Did you conceive again during those years?”

  “My marriage was not . . . we didn’t—” She broke off, uncertain what to say without explaining more than she wanted.

  “May I assume your relationship with Lord Anthony is different?”

  Her cheeks heated at the question. “It is. I thought I might be with child but last night discovered I wasn’t.”

  “For some couples, it can take time to conceive. With the trauma to your body these last few weeks, I’d be surprised if you were increasing.”

  “I see.”

  Farris set his plate down. “Let’s take one thing at a time, shall we? I should be able to tell if there was significant damage, enough to prevent you carrying a child.”

  “How long can you stay?”

  “I’m due a small vacation. A week or so should not be a problem.” He leaned back and picked up his cup. “Do not worry needlessly in the meantime.”

  A thought suddenly occurred. “Doctor, how are you at working with an elderly lady who may require new spectacles?”

  Clairece followed Hodges up and down halls on the main floor, peeking into each and every room. The library was large enough to accommodate her needs, but she would have people strolling in and out at various times throughout the day.

  “All the rooms I’ve assessed appear to be in use. I’m reluctant to take one of those.” She tapped a finger on her bottom lip. “We could investigate possible locations upstairs, but I had hoped to stay conveniently located to the library.”

  She glanced at Hodges. “The other night, I came across a locked door just down there.” She pointed toward the end of the corridor. “If I’m correct, it would look out onto the back gardens and the lake.”

  “That space is not used.”

  Nettled, she stated firmly, “I would like to view the room. Will you show me, or must I call Mrs. Stedman?”

  Hodges’ chin rose. “As you wish, my lady.”

  More secrets, more ghosts she was certain still haunted her husband. Clairece followed Hodges to the door in question, and waited while he withdrew a skeleton key from his waistcoat pocket, disapproval evident in every movement.

  A musty, unused smell assailed her senses as the door opened. Hodges strode past her and pulled back the heavy draperies covering a set of French doors. Light flooded the room. Marks on the hardwood floor gave testament to where a desk once stood. She knew with a certainty what this room had been.

  Oak bookshelves, now devoid of all but a few large tomes, towered floor to ceiling on either side of the doors. Clairece stood before a set of mullioned windows and gazed out at the grounds. A wide windowsill, undoubtedly once used as a seat, spanned the entire length of the casement. Fingering the velvet material of the window hangings, her hand came away covered in dirt and dust.

  She ambled around the perimeter and imagined the terrors once inflicted on a young boy unable to protect himself. Those memories needed swept away and replaced with new and hopeful ones for the future. “Why is the door kept locked? This is a wonderful room.”

  “Lord Harding wishes it so.”

  “I know what happened in here. I will not relinquish my husband’s wellbeing to the past, or to a madman who should have cared for him but did not. My husband gave me permission to choose a space for my office. I choose this one.”

  Hodges drew himself up in silent protest.

  “You do not approve?”

  “No, my lady.”

  “How long have you been in Lord Anthony’s employ?”

  “Since he was a wee lad.”

  “So you knew the late earl.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll not ask you to break Lord Anthony’s confidences, Hodges, for I know you would not. He shared a great deal with me regarding his life as a child, and I’m not willing to let his past destroy his future. A future I hope to build with him.”

  Varying degrees of emotion flickered briefly in Hodges’ eyes.

  “I ask that you help me with this room,” she entreated softly. “I plan to replace my
husband’s every cruel memory with a happy one. It cannot be done with locked doors.”

  Chapter 44

  Anthony and Jason rode directly to the area they intended for sheep, traversing the bank of the estuary to view the damage done by the broken tiles.

  “It’s a grand location, Anthony. Once the drainage system is repaired, the flat area near the Severn could hold a factory and the wide beach at the base of the cliff, a dock and boathouse.”

  Anthony gazed at the expanse of land and water. “It has been years since I’ve ridden the entire parcel, but it hasn’t changed much. Wait until you see the Abbey.”

  “What are your plans for the manor house?” Jason walked his gelding around a deep rut.

  “I’m not certain. I will start by making any needed repairs.” Anthony turned his attention to the road ahead. “The lane leading to the Abbey is past the large yew on the left.”

  “Word has it, Gerald’s not allowed in any of the reputable gaming houses until he settles up, and perhaps not even then. The dens and hells also shun him,” Jason offered.

  “I’d best buy the Abbey before it goes to settle a debt, or Gerald loses it at the tables.”

  “If the rumor mills are accurate, I’d do it now.” Jason swung his mount alongside Anthony’s. “I’ll wait outside with the horses.”

  The sky appeared dark and foreboding. “I’d say the weather is worsening. I’ll make this quick and we’ll be on our way before the storm breaks.”

  Jason tugged up his collar. “Didn’t think it snowed here.”

  “It doesn’t, usually, at least not much more than a dusting. Heavy rain is another matter, and the clouds look ominous.” Anthony led the way to the door nearest the kitchens, one showing recent use. A horse stood tethered to an old rose arbor nearby.

  “Gerald’s here.” Anthony swung from Copernicus’ back and the stallion flattened his ears and bared his teeth at the unfamiliar animal.

  “Give him to me and I’ll walk him around.” Jason accepted the reins.

  “Should it start to rain, wait for me in the stable.” Anthony moved toward the open door where Gerald now stood.

  “Roxbury,” Jason gave a brief nod, one just short of an insult.

  “Rutledge.” Gerald barely acknowledged the other man before he spun and disappeared within.

  Anthony followed Gerald inside. The light from a small oil lamp kept him from tripping over debris littering the kitchen floor.

  “God, Gerald. Do you care nothing for your ancestral home?” Anthony stepped over a pile of broken crockery.

  “To me, this was a place I spent a number of tedious years, a prison of sorts, while you were away enjoying Eton and Oxford. You were the one who could sit and stare at this pile of stone as if it were the Taj Mahal, or some other place from one of your damned books.”

  “Yes, I was away at school, all the while wishing it was safe for me to return home. You know what it was like for me here. Why so much anger?”

  “I would have given anything to go with you, but my father would have none of it. Instead, he brought in tutors and instructors, whatever was needed to keep me here and under his thumb.”

  “Your father loved you and wanted the best for you.”

  “Love?” Gerald sneered. “He wanted to control me. He didn’t trust what I would do if he let me out of his sight.”

  “Why?” Anthony asked, perplexed.

  “Father listened to servants and others who told lies about me. He—” Gerald stopped abruptly and turned his back.

  Frustration had Anthony demanding, “I asked for you when my mother died. Why didn’t you come? You were my best friend, and I needed you.”

  Gerald swung around to stare at him. “You hadn’t needed me in a long time. You had all those other chaps for friends.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Besides, I was in London at the time.”

  “No one mentioned you were away,” Anthony stated, fighting for calm.

  “Well, I was.” Defensiveness colored Gerald’s tone.

  “I want to thank you for helping when the old earl died. The scandal suicide brings to a family is hard to overcome.” Anthony hesitated, despising himself for asking. “Did he say anything before he shot himself?”

  “He was blathering, and nothing he said made sense. Once I knew what he intended, I tried to stop him. He pulled the trigger before I could reach him.”

  Anthony nodded. He’d hoped to hear the old man had voiced some remorse for the way he’d treated the boy who had once looked to him as a father.

  “I had his body placed in the icehouse, the study locked, and instructed the staff to say nothing about the incident. I knew a doctor who, for the right amount of money, would swear Uncle Melville died of an apoplexy.” Gerald tugged at his collar. “My father was ailing. At the news of his brother’s death, he went into a decline. He passed not long afterward.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I cared for your father and . . . I loved you like a brother,” Anthony asserted.

  Gerald blinked at him a few times. “It was a long time ago. I asked you here to see if you were serious about buying Roxbury Abbey.”

  “I am. Have you thought this through carefully? You will be left with a title and no land.”

  “What do I care for a worthless piece of property and a meaningless title? It’s always been a means to gain entry to places which would otherwise have been closed to me,” Gerald snapped.

  Anthony winced, a cold chill running up his spine. “Name your price. I took the liberty of bringing a cheque with me.”

  The amount Gerald named was outrageous, and they both knew it. But it wasn’t about money, and they knew that, too.

  “Did you bring the deed?”

  Gerald withdrew a yellowed parchment from an inside pocket and quickly signed his name. Leaning against a heavy sideboard, he waited while Anthony filled out the bank draft.

  “So you married the chit. I’m surprised. You could’ve had her without going to such an extreme.”

  Anthony gritted his teeth. “I’ll overlook your remark this one time, Gerald. However, should you say anything of the sort again, I’ll thrash you. She is my wife, and as such, deserves respect.”

  Gerald held up his hand in a conciliatory gesture. “What’s going on, anyway? You leave London and turn Sanctuary into a bloody fortress.”

  “Someone believes Clairece can identify him in a crime which occurred a few years ago. Ironically, she cannot.”

  Gerald pushed away from the sideboard. “What?”

  “We identified a man with a scar on his cheek as one of the guards at the museum where the incident took place, and presumably, the one trying to harm Clairece.”

  “Presumably?”

  “We now feel there are two. It is only a matter of time before they are apprehended.”

  Gerald folded the cheque and stuffed it in his pocket. “There’s nothing here I want, so do with it what you will. I plan to buy a place in Town and furnish it to my own tastes.”

  “If you invest some of the money, it will see you comfortably settled for life.”

  “Always so practical, Cousin,” Gerald sneered.

  Anthony studied the man who’d been his best friend and confidant for the better part of his young life. “I will always look to you as more a brother than a cousin, Gerald, and wish you only the best.”

  Gerald stiffened. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  Rain beat against the window, and Anthony moved to peer out. “If this keeps up, the roads will soon be awash.” He glanced over his shoulder at Gerald. “You are always welcome in my home, I hope you know that.”

  “You are far too sentimental.”

  With a sigh, Anthony stepped through the door and pulled it sh
ut behind him. The closeness between them was lost many years ago, but he had always hoped it could be regained. Now, he knew for a certainty, it could not. A gaping hole existed where Gerald had once been.

  Jason appeared, leading Copernicus. Anthony swung up on the horse and tugged his hat lower on his forehead. “There’s a shortcut across the fields. We’ll be home a lot sooner if we take it.”

  “Lead the way.” Jason secured his own hat on his head. “I think you should know someone’s bedded down in the stable. I looked around and didn’t see anyone.”

  Anthony glanced at the stone building that once housed prime stock. “Not here. We’ll talk later.”

  Within minutes, the field had turned to a quagmire. Not willing to risk the horses, they slowed to a walk. Copernicus snorted and blew through his nostrils, the whites of his eyes showing as his hooves sank deeper into the sludge. Anthony patted the stallion’s neck, speaking softly to the terrified mount.

  He stood in the stirrups, shielding his eyes with his hand. “There’s a crossing this side of the line of trees. I haven’t utilized it for many years, but the structure was always sound.”

  “Pray it still is,” Jason shouted over the sound of rushing water.

  “There’s the bridge.” Anthony urged his mount forward.

  “Damnation, where’s all this water coming from?”

  “It’s runoff from higher ground. The drainage ditches have collapsed and there’s nothing to control the rush of water down to the estuary,” Anthony yelled.

  Reaching the stream, they found the water level with the banks, and the tributary now a raging torrent. Anthony dismounted and surveyed the crossing. “I’ll lead Copernicus over,” he called back to Jason. “I’d cover his eyes, but I doubt it’ll do any good. He’s wild with fear.”