The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel)

by Sandra Lea Rice

  Clairece sniffled softly.

  “You and I have two dear little girls to care for and love. Let love be what guides us.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “Lord willing, there will be more children, however, we will count ourselves blessed should it remain just these two.”

  Clairece’s chin wobbled, then her body shook with wracking sobs. He held her, cradled tightly in his arms, and let her cry out her misery. As the tears subsided, he withdrew a linen handkerchief and passed it to her. “Beetles will fall into a decline at the demise of his intricate work with my neckcloth,” Anthony teased.

  She fingered the soggy linen. “Oh my.”

  “Believe me, my valet has seen worse. Besides, it will give him something to fuss about and a reason to order more. Farris refuses to let Beetles so much as touch his neckcloths, and threatened the poor man with dire consequences should the good doctor find them starched beyond bending.”

  Clairece giggled and straightened, dabbing at her cheeks with his handkerchief.

  Anthony accepted the crumpled piece of cloth. “At the rate we’re going through handkerchiefs, I’d best have Beetles order a few dozen more.” He sobered. “Do we know why Roger chose to do what he did?”

  “It’s all in that book.” Clairece gestured toward the ledger. “I haven’t had the chance to read it.”

  The bell gonged in the lower regions of the Hall, signaling one hour until luncheon.

  “Shall I make your excuses?” Anthony rose to his feet, bringing Clairece with him.

  “Please do. Until I read Roger’s journal, I won’t be able to think of anything else.”

  Chapter 50

  Stallings strolled into the kitchen. He’d learned early on his large frame, coupled with the fact he worked for Scotland Yard, tended to intimidate most people, especially women. To appear less threatening, he took a chair on the far side of the heavy worktable.

  A woman in a white uniform glanced up. “Sir?”

  “I love the way a kitchen smells.” Stallings inhaled appreciatively. “My mum always had something sweet tucked away when I came in from school. She would say, ‘growing lads are forever hungry.’”

  “She had the right of it, but grown men are no different.” The woman set a plate of raspberry tarts in front of him. “Some coffee to wash ‘em down?”

  “Please.” Stallings accepted a pastry and took a bite. “These are excellent, Mrs. . . .”

  “It’s Lewis, but most folks call me Mildred.”

  A woman, of approximately the same age and girth, pushed through the storeroom door carrying a large tub of carrots. Before he could rise, she deposited the vegetables in the sink.

  “This here’s Ethel, Ethel Grimsby,” Mildred offered.

  Ethel nodded and began to scrub the vegetables. A pile of already pared potatoes waited for the evening meal.

  Stallings swallowed another bite of pastry. “Well, ladies, my name is—”

  “We know who you are, Chief Stallings. Not much goes on around here we don’t know.”

  I’m counting on it. Stallings popped the rest of his pastry into his mouth.

  “You’re here about Lucy, I’d guess.” Mildred placed a cup of steaming liquid before him.

  “Among other things. I would imagine you know of the attempts on Lady Harding’s life?” He sipped his coffee.

  “Oh, aye. We were all told about it when the others arrived from London. ‘Tis the only way to help protect Lord Anthony’s lady.”

  “You’re right about that.” He glanced from one woman to the other. “Have you known each other long?”

  “Oh, my, yes. We’re cousins. Grew up together, we did.” Mildred dusted a spot on the table with a handful of flour and lifted a mound of rising dough from a bowl. “I’ve worked in this house since I was a young girl, my mum before me. Ethel was at the Abbey until Sir Gerald up and closed it without so much as a by-your-leave.” Mildred gave the pile a vicious punch, sending a puff of white into the air.

  “A shock to all of us as lived there,” Ethel added. “The old baronet would never have done such a thing, but his son is cut from a different cloth.”

  “How so?” Stallings asked.

  “Mean. Behind that smile ‘o his is somethin’ evil.” Ethel gave a little shiver.

  Mildred pummeled the dough a few more times before placing it back in the bowl. She covered the mixture with a towel, and set the container near the stove to rise. “Young Master Anthony and Gerald were together all the time, until Master Anthony was sent away to Eton. ‘Twas a blessing for him, but not for the rest of us.”

  Stallings had to bite his tongue to keep from asking why.

  “It was a sad time for Sir Gerald, too, not bein’ able to follow along, and all. But his father was a firm believer in home tutors for the lad. I overheard him say as how the boy was easily swayed, not like Master Anthony, and Sir Roxbury feared his son would become a . . . a rep . . .” Ethel’s forehead creased.

  “A reprobate,” Stallings suggested.

  “Yes, that’s it.” Ethel beamed at him. “More coffee?”

  “Thank you.” He eased his cup forward. “About the maid.”

  “Terrible thing, all this killin’. Makes a body wonder, now don’t it?” Mildred wiped her hands on her apron and sat down across from him. “Been years since we seen the like.”

  Stallings felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. “It’s happened before?”

  “Once. Lilly was a . . . workin’ girl, you know, and had a small place down by the jetty in the village.”

  “When was this?” Stallings’ pulse raced.

  “Well, let’s see,” Mildred’s brow puckered. “The old earl was still alive at the time. His lady wife had just fallen down the stairs. Broke her neck, she did.” Mildred twisted the dishtowel in her hands.

  Stallings rolled the cup between his palms. “Sad business to lose one’s mother, especially that way.”

  “It was hard on all of us, but we feared it would destroy the young master.” Mildred lowered her voice and leaned toward him. “It’s not right to speak ill of the dead, but the late earl was a beast. Wicked, he was. He had my lady buried as fast as could be, and all her belongings piled out on the lawn and burned before the lad could get home. Most believe it was to hurt the young master. No other reason for it.

  “Master Anthony stood at his mother’s graveside for hours and wouldn’t let any of us near him. We thought Gerald would come, close as they were and all.”

  “He didn’t?” Stallings queried.

  “No. Ethel told me he was holed up in his room. Stayed there until after Master Anthony went back to school, he did.”

  “That seems odd.” Stallings gulped a fortifying swallow of his coffee.

  “We all thought so. He’d been acting right peculiar, even for Gerald, but with all that was goin’ on, we just let it be.”

  Stallings set his mug down. “Was this around the time Lilly was murdered?”

  “Yes. We was all ponderin’ on how bad it would get. Things come in threes, ya know,” Mildred pronounced.

  “So I’ve heard. Do you remember how long ago that was?”

  “About eleven years now. Master Anthony went back to school, Oxford it was, and didn’t return until the old Earl . . . died.”

  There it is again, that small hesitation. “When was this?”

  “‘Bout four years later. I remember because Master Anthony was due to leave Oxford, with honors too, and we was all hoping he’d come home.” Mildred lifted the coffee pot, one brow rising in question.

  “No thank you, Mildred. I won’t keep you any longer.” Stallings placed both palms on the table. “The fruit tarts are the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  Mildred beamed at him. “You’re welcome in my kitc
hen anytime.”

  Stallings rose from his chair, plucked the last pastry from the plate, and strolled from the room. He was forming a hypothesis, one he wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

  As he entered the foyer, Hodges approached carrying a silver salver.

  “For you, sir. The messenger said it was urgent.”

  “From my office?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve taken the liberty of sending him around to the kitchen for some refreshment.”

  “Thank you, Hodges.” Stallings retrieved the envelope from the tray and stepped out onto the front porch. Breaking the wax seal, he scanned the missive and flicked the edges of the paper with the back of his fingers. “We’ve got you now, you whoreson.”

  The scent of burning tobacco reached Stallings’ nostrils. He spun to find Adrian Spencer leaning against a pillar.

  “Dammit. You scared the life out of me.” Stallings flexed his shoulders.

  “Unusual for you, I should think.” Adrian flipped the stub of the cigarillo into a puddle. His eyes flicked to the dispatch in an unvoiced demand to know its contents. He crossed his arms and waited.

  Stallings sized up Windsford. The man had changed little in the last eighteen years, though older, and with a few lines etched around his eyes. If anything, he had become more forceful through the years.

  Adrian shifted. “If that has to do with my niece, I would like to know.”

  “In a way, it does. It ties our repeat killer conclusively with this case. Around the time of the theft at the museum in America, two murders of young women occurred in New York. The incidents meet the criteria of those committed both here in the village, and in London.”

  Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “We’d best tell the others.”

  “Go on ahead. I want to speak to my man.” Stallings would send his officer to Southampton to help speed the search. They were closing in on their man and he would not let the bastard slip away this time.

  Stallings nearly collided with a footman in the front hall who rushed to a stop before Hodges.

  “What is this about, Johnson? We do not rush through doors or burst into rooms in such a manner,” Hodges reprimanded. “And, we do not run over our guests.”

  “There’s a bunch ‘o men ridin’ toward us.”

  Anthony listened intently as Adrian shared the information the courier had delivered to Stallings. Bile rose in his throat at the confirmation this maniac was the same one who pursued Clairece.

  “My lord?” Hodges stood in the open doorway.

  Anthony’s attention swung to his butler. “Yes Hodges, what is it?”

  “More guests have arrived.”

  Anthony straightened. “How many?”

  “Close to ten, I would say.”

  Anthony glanced at Philippe. “Cordova?”

  “That would be my guess,” Philippe replied as he strode with Anthony through the door. The others filed out behind them.

  In the front entry, a dozen footmen lined one wall. Not an unusual sight if one discounted the fact they were all armed.

  Anthony and Philippe proceeded outside to wait for the approaching riders. “Vaquero?” Anthony voiced as the intimidating group advanced on them.

  “Soldados. Soldiers. They are part of an elite company of fighting men from Hacienda de Cordova.” Philippe strode forward to meet the man who led the procession.

  “Mi amigo. Thank you for coming.” Philippe reached up and clasped the other man’s hand. “I did not expect you to come as well, but I am most grateful.”

  White teeth flashed. “How could I not? Your message sounded dire.” The leader dismounted and signaled for his men to do the same. The Spaniard faced them, his almost-lavender gaze scanning the group.

  Philippe laid his hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “Rafael, may I present Lord Anthony Wade, the Earl of Harding. Lord Anthony, this is Don Rafael Cordova.”

  Good Lord. So this is Don Rafael, the undisputed head of the powerful Cordova family. The gaze meeting Anthony’s was direct, and not particularly friendly.

  “Am I correct in assuming you are the man who married our niña? It was sudden, was it not?” Although Rafael’s voice was quietly modulated, Anthony couldn’t miss the steel behind the question.

  Anthony felt his facial muscles tighten. “I am that man. As to whether it was expeditious or not, remains to be seen.”

  Philippe cleared his throat. “There is much to discuss, Rafael, but I imagine both you and your men are tired.”

  “They could use the rest, however, I would prefer to hear all the details and decide how best to utilize my men,” Rafael said, managing to stay just this side of a command.

  Hodges crossed to stand behind Anthony.

  “Please see these men are shown to their accommodations, and ale and sandwiches provided.”

  Hodges bowed and signaled to three footmen. After a few brief words, he turned to Anthony. “Should I send refreshments to your study, my lord?”

  “The library would be better.” Anthony motioned toward the front door. “Please accept the hospitality of my home. I am most grateful for your help, Don Rafael.”

  Rafael glanced past Anthony at the men gathering on the steps. “I see other family members have also arrived.” He clasped Adrian’s hand in both of his, and moved on to squeeze James’ shoulder in a familial greeting. “And Phillip Michael, already a man.”

  A slight flush stained the young man’s cheeks, drawing a chuckle from Rafael.

  Anthony glanced at the sky. “We should go inside. The weather grows colder, and there is much to discuss.” He led the procession up the grand staircase. As they reached the upper landing, a bevy of silks and satins converged on them. His aunts, resembling nothing short of a small group of agitated bantam hens, surrounded him.

  “Anthony, dear boy, what’s this we hear about more company?” Pearl began.

  “Tsk,” Opal admonished. Thwack. Opal’s fan landed across his wrist.

  “Ouch.” Anthony rubbed his abused appendage.

  “You neglected to enlighten us to the fact others were invited. How are we to prepare properly if we aren’t informed?” Opal continued.

  “Indeed, dear, such a lapse is so unlike you. You do want us to make a good impression, do you not?” Ruby asked in her gentle fashion.

  Whack. Opal’s fan again. The damned thing was lethal. Anthony quickly encompassed Opal’s small hand in his to stay the next attack, and lifted it to his lips. Behind him, he heard muffled guffaws and snorts from the male onlookers.

  “Aunts, I do apologize. I believe you’ve met our guests from this morning?” Three grey heads bobbed in unison. “Let me introduce our newest visitor.”

  Rafael stepped forward. Though his expression was composed, an unmistakable glint of laughter filled his eyes.

  “I would like to present my aunts, the Misses Pearl and Ruby Meriwether, and Mrs. Opal Cunningham-Smyth. Ladies, may I introduce Don Rafael Cordova. He is—”

  Before Anthony could finish the introductions, two of his ‘precious jewels’ lost all sense of decorum and rushed forward, approaching Don Rafael in a flurry of ribbons, waving fans, and lavender scented handkerchiefs.

  The cacophony of female voices stopped the instant Ruby raised a slender hand and uttered a gentle, “Ladies.”

  Ruby turned her attention to Don Rafael and curtsied. “Please accept our apologies for the scene you just witnessed. It was unseemly. As Lord Anthony’s aunts, we welcome you to Sanctuary Park, and our home.”

  Rafael bowed politely.

  “Life here is usually . . . uneventful. The arrival of so many guests is an exciting happening for us.” Ruby smiled. “We may be getting on in years but I assure you, we miss little of what occurs around us. We are aware of the sad events necessitating a
ll of your visits, and wish only to relieve some of the stress such monstrous actions by others have created.”

  Even as Anthony’s heart swelled with affection for the diminutive lady who gallantly offered their assistance, he noticed Stallings’ attention fix on Ruby.

  Rafael clasped Ruby’s hand. “The company of such lovely ladies is enough to alleviate the tension, but I regret this ugliness has touched you.”

  “My dear man, though we may appear to have lived a sheltered existence, the reality of our circumstances is quite different. We have each witnessed happenings we considered most unpleasant, but unless one wishes to withdraw from life due to its occasional atrocities, we must go on.” Ruby patted the large hand still engulfing hers.

  Rafael smiled. “I have indeed underestimated you, Señorita Ruby. I stand corrected.”

  “No need, young man.” Ruby’s gaze swung to Anthony. “We won’t keep you, dear. We understand you have a lot to discuss.” She slipped her arm through Opal’s. “Come along, ladies.” The three women disappeared around the corner.

  “Life would be most dreary without our women to enliven it,” Rafael announced with a grin.

  Chapter 51

  In the pages of Roger’s diary, Clairece discovered an unimagined truth. In his misguided attempt to save her further heartache, he made a tragic decision, one casting him into years of self-imposed hell.

  She followed the slow progression from rationalization to wretchedness, to the realization he had deceived her in the most heinous of ways. The deception evolved into a nightmare for both of them; hers of loss, his of betrayal.

  Convinced the child would not live, Roger handed the baby to a waiting nurse to take from the room. But she had lived. His fabrication had led him to place a gravestone under the tree in the garden.