Chapter 18 #2
Jane exhaled shakily, reluctant but weary. Crossing to the bed, she hesitated. With a pounding heart, she bent down to glance beneath the frame, half-expecting to find another shadow lurking there.
But the space was empty.
She drew in a breath that shook more than she wished it would, then climbed into bed. The mattress dipped beneath her, and she pulled the covers up to her chin, cocooning herself as though the blankets might shield her from her memories.
Still, she could not silence the thought that somewhere out there in the dark, Jules Leclerc was waiting, plotting his next move.
Alistair startled awake, his back stiff from sleeping upright in the chair outside Lady Cosima’s bedchamber. He blinked several times until his sister’s face came into focus—Charlotte stood over him, arms crossed, her brow knit with disapproval.
“Why are you sitting outside of Lady Cosima’s bedchamber?” she asked, her tone sharp with suspicion.
He rubbed the weariness from his eyes, forcing his voice into calmness. “I am ensuring they are safe.”
“But you were sleeping,” she pointed out.
Alistair straightened in the chair. “I only just drifted off. Do not lecture me, Charlotte.”
Her gaze narrowed. “What happened to the guard that was stationed here?”
“I sent him away.”
“Why?”
Alistair stood, stretching out the stiffness in his shoulders. “Why must you interrogate me so early in the morning?”
“Because I find it strange, that is all,” Charlotte said, folding her arms tighter across her chest. “You have never liked Lady Cosima, and now here you are, playing the gallant knight outside her door?”
His jaw tightened. “I do like Lady Cosima,” he corrected. “She, however, does not care for me.”
“Ah,” Charlotte smirked. “That sounds far more plausible.”
Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, he pulled out his pocket watch. “And why aren’t you at breakfast?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Before either could continue, the door opened. Lady Cosima and Jane stepped into the corridor. His gaze instantly sought Jane’s, and the moment their eyes met, his heart gave a traitorous lurch.
“Good morning,” he said, softening his tone for her alone.
Her lips curved in the faintest smile, her cheeks blooming pink. “Good morning.”
Lady Cosima briskly waved a hand. “We should go down to breakfast. I am famished,” she declared, casting Alistair a glance. “Will you be joining us, my lord?”
“I will,” he replied at once.
“Very good.” She swept forward down the hall.
Alistair fell into step beside Jane and Charlotte.
His sister, never one to hold her tongue, turned knowing eyes on Jane. “Did you sleep with your aunt last night?”
Jane nodded. “I did.”
“Was something wrong with your bedchamber?”
Jane bit her lip, and Alistair felt his chest tighten. He wanted to spare her the words, but she spoke them herself. “Someone climbed through my window last night and tried to kill me.”
Charlotte stopped abruptly, her voice rising. “What? And I slept through such a commotion?”
“You are a dead sleeper, Sister,” Alistair said dryly, attempting to minimize the danger.
“Not that dead,” Charlotte huffed. “Surely the guard outside your chamber came to your rescue?”
Jane shook her head. “He left his post.”
Charlotte’s eyes flashed with confusion. “Why would he abandon it?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Jane murmured. “But fortunately, I was saved—”
Alistair cut in. “By me. I saved her.”
Jane glanced at him curiously, but she did not contradict his words. Relief flickered through him because the truth was far more complicated, and he could not even explain it to himself.
“Well, I hope that guard was dismissed from his position for abandoning Jane,” Charlotte stated.
“He would have been,” Alistair said grimly. “But he has gone missing.”
Charlotte’s brow creased. “Missing? How can a servant simply vanish?”
Alistair’s shoulders tensed. “We will find him. But we suspect he was the one who left Jane’s window open and betrayed us.”
“The servants always see more than they admit. Have you spoken to them yet?” Charlotte asked.
“I have not,” Alistair admitted.
They reached the dining room and he pulled out chairs for the ladies. Then he sat at the head of the table. He had only just lifted his fork when Malone appeared in the doorway.
“A word, my lord.”
Alistair arched a brow. “What is it?”
“Privately, if you don’t mind.”
The butler never asked for such things. Alistair set down his utensils and rose. “Very well. Continue without me,” he told the others.
Once in the corridor, Alistair lowered his voice. “What has happened?”
The butler’s mouth pulled into a tight line. “We located the guard who was assigned to Lady Jane.”
Alistair grew impatient. “Well, where is he?”
The pause was too long. “He was found amongst the ice, my lord.”
“Pardon?”
“His body was shoved into the ice storage. The delivery this morning revealed him.”
Alistair resisted the urge to slam his fist against the wall. Another body. Another betrayal. “Have you sent for the constable?”
“Not yet. We wished to inform you first.”
Charlotte suddenly appeared in the corridor, quick as ever to insert herself. “Who was the last person seen with the deceased?”
The butler looked apologetic. “I do not know, my lady. But I can ask.”
Charlotte waved a hand. “I shall see to it.” And off she swept towards the servants’ staircase.
Alistair exhaled sharply. “Wake Lord Rupert and tell him the guard is dead. Inform me the moment the constable arrives.”
“Yes, my lord.”
When Alistair reentered the dining room, he nearly collided with Lady Cosima. She staggered, and he instinctively steadied her.
“Were you eavesdropping?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
She lifted her chin, entirely unrepentant. “How else am I to learn what goes on under your roof?”
“I could always tell you,” he drawled, though he doubted she’d believe him.
“Well, now Jane and I are aware of the situation,” she said. “That saves us all time.”
Back at the table, Jane’s voice trembled. “Does this mean the guard wasn’t the traitor?”
“Not necessarily,” Alistair answered. “He could have been silenced by his allies. It is too early to know.”
Lady Cosima sniffed. “I don’t like this. Too many have died in your household already. Do you know how many people have died in mine? None.”
Alistair ground his teeth. “This is not a common occurrence.”
“Where did Charlotte go?” Jane asked.
“To question the servants,” he replied. “She hopes someone saw the guard before he disappeared.”
Jane’s brow furrowed. “And if no one did?”
“Then we piece together what we can and follow it back to Jules.” He tried to sound more confident than he felt.
Jane toyed with her chocolate cup, her voice quiet. “Do you believe the guard was working with someone here… in your household?”
The thought made his stomach turn. “Anything is possible.”
Before he could say more, Charlotte swept back in, triumph in her stride. “I spoke to Sally, who spoke to Deborah, who then spoke to Bridget—”
Alistair cut her off with a sigh. “Charlotte, the point?”
Her expression grew solemn. “The last person seen with Luke—the guard who was killed—was Marie.”
Jane gasped. “Marie? My maid?”
“Yes. Bridget saw them kissing by the ice storage.”
Jane’s voice shook. “Marie would never… no. That is impossible.”
Alistair pushed his napkin aside and rose. His instincts were screaming now. “We shall find out at once.”
Jane stood, too, her eyes full of worry. “I know Marie. She wouldn’t kill anyone.”
“Perhaps,” Alistair said. “But she may very well be the last person who saw him alive. And I will have answers.”
“May I come?” Jane asked.
He hesitated. “Yes. But you must allow me to ask the questions.”
“I can do that.”
He gestured towards the door. “Shall we?”
Together they climbed to Jane’s chamber, where they found Marie stripping the bed. She startled at their arrival, her arms full of linens.
“My lady, I didn’t think you would return to this chamber,” she stammered.
“No, you were right,” Jane said, her eyes darting to the blood spot that still resided on the carpet even though the body of her attacker was gone.
Alistair stepped closer, his gaze narrowing on the scratches marring Marie’s face. “Where did you get those?”
Marie gave a strained smile. “I must have scratched myself in my sleep.”
His eyes dropped to her hands—blood under the nails. He caught her wrists before she could hide them in the laundry. “And this?”
Her lips pressed together. “From scratching myself.”
“Convenient,” Alistair muttered, before rolling back her sleeve. A large bruise marred her arm. “And how did you come by this?”
“I fell,” she blurted, yanking free. “On my morning walk.”
“You fell,” Alistair repeated in disbelief.
“Yes. And I do not appreciate this interrogation. I have done nothing wrong,” Marie said, taking a step back.
“Other than kissing Luke,” Alistair countered sharply. “The man who was killed last night.”
Marie’s eyes widened in shock. “Luke is dead? How?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Alistair said.
Looking unconcerned, Marie asked, “How would I know? My only crime was being too familiar with him last night. Nothing more.”
At that moment, Rupert appeared in the doorway. He leaned a shoulder against the jamb, utterly casual, though his eyes told another story.
“I suspected it might be you,” Rupert said, his eyes fixed on Marie. “When I learned the guard had died, it seemed altogether too convenient that you had unlimited access to your mistress and her bedchamber. So I took it upon myself to search your belongings.”
Marie’s eyes blazed with fury. “You had no right,” she spat, clutching the bundle of sheets to her chest as if it might shield her.
Rupert’s mouth curved in a humorless smile. “If I was wrong, I would have apologized. But as it happens…” His tone darkened. “I found a stocking filled with gold coins.”
A prickle of foreboding skittered down Alistair’s spine. He knew where this was going before Rupert spoke the words.
“And didn’t Jane’s attacker say the one who betrayed us was paid in gold coins?” Rupert finished.
Marie’s mouth dropped open, her face growing increasingly pale. “I have been saving my pennies, my lord. That is my savings.”
“That,” Rupert started, “is more money than you would make in a lifetime of servitude. Far more likely, you opened the window in Jane’s chamber, lured the guard away with promises of indiscretion, and killed him.”
Marie’s hands trembled, and her voice cracked with outrage. “That is absurd! Pure speculation!”
Rupert pushed off the doorframe, standing straighter now. “You are a terrible liar. Your legs are shaking. Your voice is unsteady. Your breathing shallow. Even if we were stupid enough to believe you, there is one thing you cannot explain.”
“And what is that?” Marie asked, her voice faltering.
Rupert’s lips twitched, but there was no amusement in the gesture. “The knife you used to kill Luke. It was shoved into the straw of your mattress. You didn’t even bother to wash the blood off.”
Marie swayed where she stood, the sheets slipping from her hands. “That knife… it is… uh…” Her frantic eyes swung to Jane. “You believe me, my lady? Don’t you?”
Jane’s face crumpled with sorrow. “No. I don’t.”
Marie’s shoulders collapsed. Her lips trembled as she whispered, “I had no choice. I was threatened. It was either him or me.”
Alistair stepped forward, his voice a low growl. “Spare me your reasonings. You endangered Jane.”
Rupert didn’t even look away from the maid. His eyes were flat, unreadable. “Give me five minutes with Marie,” he said, his tone deceptively mild. “Alone.”
Alistair gave a slow nod. “Do what you must.”
“I always do,” Rupert replied, his words carrying a weight Alistair had learned never to question.
Placing a steadying arm at Jane’s back, Alistair guided her towards the door.
“Why are you leaving Lord Rupert alone with Marie?” she asked.
Once they were in the corridor, Alistair closed the door firmly behind them. “Rupert is very good at gathering information.”
Jane’s wide eyes flicked to the door. “But… how does he do that?”
Alistair held her gaze, wishing he could give her comfort. Instead, he offered only the truth he could afford. “It is best that you don’t know.”
And he hoped she never would.