36. Chapter 36 #2
“But, no. It got worse. That imbecile guide—the one Grogan assured me could be trusted to help move the merchandise—decides to murder Randall’s whore’s companion instead of cutting her in.
Not that I fault that decision—a conniving wench like that could have led the authorities back here.
But he dumped her body in such a way that it washed up on shore. ”
“That was unfortunate,” Mr. Jasper agreed.
“Unfortunate? Try inept, the extent of which is truly mind boggling.”
Annabelle did not know what offended her more. The fact that Lucy had tried to capitalize on what happened—and after she had compensated the maid for their little adventure, and furnished her with a very fine gown. Lucy had, of course, paid with her life. Annabelle still felt terrible about that.
And then there was Lord Vane’s casual reference to her—her—as a whore. The audacity of the man. It was all she could do not to charge out of this shed and confront him for his insults.
But, then, despite his title, he was clearly no gentleman. Who knew what he was capable of doing?
“And after all that,” Vane went on, “When I charge Grogan with cleaning up his mess, what does he do? He stores the man’s body in an easily discovered area, should its owner happen to have a hound—which it did—and lo and behold, Blackwell’s body gets discovered months before it should.”
Mr. Blackwell’s body? The guide was dead? A queasy feeling rolled through her. If she understood Vane’s inference, and she very much feared she did, this Grogan had been tasked with the job of murdering him—by Vane.
“With the magistrate once again investigating, it’s only a matter of time before Blackwell’s death is linked to Grogan, and eventually me.
” Vane cursed. “The bottom line is this entire affair, commencing with the arrival of Randall’s guest,” he sneered, “has cost me countless time and resources, all of which can be laid directly at Grogan’s feet, not to mention Viscount Stoneford’s. ” He spat, as if in emphasis.
“Lord Randall should have been nothing more than a temporary annoyance. Him, I could have waited out. He has to return to London eventually, and then I’d have unlimited access to this strip of shore and the kilns. Now that’s out of the question.”
Pounding horse hoofs revealed the approach of yet another rider. It was too much to hope Sterling had come looking for her.
“Finally, Mr. Grogan has decided to grace us with his presence. Well, then, Mr. Jasper?” Vane demanded. “What have you to say? Quick, man.”
A pause ensued. “I…er…see what you mean, sir?”
Vane gave a grunt of exasperation. “The point is, once we’re settled, I plan to regroup. Sell off some merchandise, repay my friends, and possibly expand. But I need help I can trust not to boggle things. Are you interested in a promotion? You, at least, appear able to follow instructions.”
“Aye, sir. But Grogan—”
“Leave him to me—and say nothing of this conversation.”
Seconds later, the sound of a horse reining in told her the newcomer, Mr. Grogan, had arrived.
She still had no clear idea what they were doing here. Vane had referenced merchandise. Had she been right along? Was Vane storing stolen stones inside the kilns?
Whatever their motivation, she had no intention of sticking around to find out. She sent up a fervent prayer the men did not enter the shed or check the stalls.
But if they did, she was a sitting duck.
She would need to make a run for it the moment the men entered the kilns.
She scooted forward, toward the edge of the stall, then peered past the divider and inwardly cursed. She could see nothing but the side wall. Her heart in her throat, she dashed across to the outer wall and pressed her eye to a slit between the planks.
She spotted Vane at once, and two large men, though Vane’s body blocked her view, giving her only a partial glimpse of one of them. Still, based on Lord Vane’s rant, she was almost positive the men here and the two who’d held her at gunpoint were one and the same.
“Grogan, good of you to join us,” Vane greeted the man.
“You summoned us; I came. Do you mind telling me why we’re here?”
Though Vane stiffened, he answered the insubordinate query.
“I should think that much is obvious,” he snapped.
“Now that the guide’s been discovered, it’s only a matter of time before they come looking for you—and eventually, me.
There’s no waiting this one out, Grogan—and I’ve got our Scottish friends on my back looking to be repaid—something which can’t happen if I don’t have access to my inventory.
So get in there and dig out the stones.”
A low murmur which she interpreted as grudging acquiescence followed Vane’s command, after which the two men went to the cart, gathering tools.
She held her breath. Her chance for escape was moments away—assuming Vane joined his men inside the kilns.
A gust of wind swirled into the structure, sending up a spray of dust to temporarily blind her. On reflex, she covered her eyes with her hands.
And released the letter.
Though she grabbed for it in less time than it took to blink, the wind caught the parchment sending it soaring out of the work shed. She flinched, hunching into a tight ball, and waited.
None of the men said a word. Maybe they hadn’t seen the parchment on the wind. Maybe they’d entered the kilns. She drew a shuddering breath, daring to hope.
“What was that?” Vane asked crisply.
“It appeared to be a letter,” came a gravelly reply.
Gooseflesh sprouted over her. That voice. She knew that voice. It belonged to the man who had aimed a pistol at her. A man she now knew for certain was a killer.
The crunch of boots sounded as someone stalked toward the shed. Resigned, she straightened.
Lord Vane stepped into view. “Who have we here? Why…it’s Lady Woodville.”
With as much haughty aplomb as she could muster, she stared the man down. “Lord Vane. What brings you here?”
He did not respond to her query, and instead, posed one of his own. “Madam, have you lost something?”
“I…er…yes,” she said. “A letter.”
A coy smile split his face. “I saw that. I’m afraid it’s long gone.” His gaze slanted up toward the heavens, then arced in the direction of the castle.
“Well. I suppose that’s that,” she said. Dusting her gloves, she stepped out of the shed.
Vane’s eyes crinkled at the corner in what looked like genuine delight. Without glancing toward the two watching men, he gestured, a silent command for them to head into the kiln.
From the periphery of her vision, she saw them move toward the opening.
Renewed hope lifted her spirits. Perhaps she could still talk her way out of this.“Well, then,” she murmured. “I’d best be after that letter and get back to Stoneford Castle before my husband, Lord Randall, comes looking for me.”
Vane huffed out a laugh. “Oh, he’s your husband now, is he? Is that what you’re calling it?”
She lifted her chin, ignoring the barb. “We married a week ago.”
“Indeed? Funny. You neglected to mention anything of the sort when I saw you yesterday.”
She cursed her split-second decision not to tell him when she and Lady Caroline’s paths had crossed his.
Regarding him now, she concluded he either did not believe her, or did not care. What that portended for her she could not predict.
“Did I not? An oversight. Good day, sir.” She managed one forward stride before Vane sidled into her path.
“A moment, if you please, madam.”
“Sir, I really must insist you let me pass. My husband is expecting me.”
“Indeed? And yet, I’m told he boarded a vessel bound for the mainland over an hour ago.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken.”
“Be that as it may, dear lady, I must ask you to wait with me while my employees perform a small task. Afterward, I shall escort you to the castle myself.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself home,” she insisted, even as a sinking surety filled her. He had no intention of letting her go.
“But haven’t you heard? There’s a killer on the loose. Why, one woman, your…chaperone? Turned up strangled.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “There’s also talk of a man whose head was bashed in.”
She swallowed.
“Come,” he said, reaching for her arm, and propelling her toward the open keyhole. “Join me in the kilns.”
“Whatever for?” She attempted to dig in her heels, to no avail.
“I must check on the progress of my men, and can hardly leave you out here. What would the viscount say if I allowed any harm to come to his cousin’s widow?”
“His wife,” she bit out. “And I have no wish to enter the kilns.” Though she hated to resort to an outright struggle, panic surged at the thought of venturing inside.
With no warning, Lord Vane reached his free hand into his pocket to withdraw what looked to be a small ladies’ pistol. He trained the weapon on her.
“Lord Vane? Whatever are you about? My husband will be very displeased.”
His genial smile vanished, replaced by one reeking of malevolence. “I’m counting on that. It will be a small recompense considering all the trouble he’s caused me. Now, move.”