Chapter Twenty #2
As soon as Irene and Surton stepped outside, Francesca came forward. “Irene! Are you all right? Is something amiss? Where are the others?”
“I fear I must cut your outing short,” the duke said, striding out of the cave after them. “Lady Irene is fine, though a trifle tired. Lady Haughston, if I may speak with you?”
Irene watched as the duke took her friend aside, bending over to talk to her earnestly.
Irene saw Francesca raise her hand to her throat in distress, and Rochford reached out as though to touch her arm, then hastily drew his hand back.
He bowed to Francesca instead, and turned, going back into the cave.
Francesca hurried over to Irene. “Oh, my, such a…well, I do not even know what to call it. Are you all right, my dear?”
Irene nodded. “Yes, but we need to get everyone back to the house and then find a way to occupy all the others, so that you and I can explain what has transpired to Gideon’s family.”
“I shall think of something, never fear.”
Francesca swept everyone along, flattering Mr. Surton’s helpfulness and fluttering over Irene’s wretchedly disordered nerves. They would, she promised, find some other treat for the guests for the rest of the afternoon—perhaps croquet on the wide front lawn?
This idea seemed to please everyone well enough, and they set a good pace back to the house.
There was not really much of the afternoon left to arrange for croquet, much less play it, but Francesca set everyone to it anyway, further playing on Mr. Surton’s pride by putting him in charge of the whole affair.
Then, with a quick word to the butler, Francesca and Irene went into the library to await the women of the family.
Lady Odelia and her sister came in a few moments later, looking puzzled, followed by Lady Teresa, who seemed merely disgruntled.
“Francesca?” Lady Odelia began. “What is the meaning of this? Why did you send Horroughs to fetch us?” Her expression changed. “Did something happen to Gideon?”
“No, Lord Radbourne is fine,” Francesca hastened to assure the others, and cast a glance at Irene.
Irene nodded. “The thing is, we found something in the caves today. It is—Forgive me, Lady Radbourne,” she said to Pansy. “I can think of no easy way to put this. Your son, Lord Jasper, identified it as the body of Lady Selene.”
Even Lady Odelia had no words to offer after that statement. After a stunned moment, the women began to ask questions, but Irene was unable to answer them. So they waited, an anxious, quiet little group, for the men to return with the body.
Irene jumped up when at last there was the clatter of riding boots in the hallway outside. A moment later the door opened, and Jasper, Rochford and Gideon strode inside. Irene looked to Gideon. His face was set, his eyes shadowed, and he carried something wrapped in cloth in his hand.
“Jasper?” Pansy rose, looking every bit her age. Her hands trembled, and she clasped them together to stop the shaking. “Is it—is it really Selene?”
Her son nodded grimly. “Yes. I am certain. There was a pin that she often wore, and her wedding ring.”
“What happened?” Pansy wailed, looking lost. “How can this be?”
“Did she wander off?” Lady Odelia asked, grasping at straws. “Did she fall or—”
Gideon cut her off harshly. “She was murdered.” He looked at his grandmother. “My father killed her.”
Lady Pansy sat down as if her legs had given out from under her. “No! That cannot be! Someone must have—have taken her. Stolen her from her room and dragged her there.”
“She was killed here,” Gideon replied flatly. “We found this tucked into a corner of the cave.”
He held out the object in his hand, peeling back the cloth.
Jasper turned away as if he could not bear the sight.
Irene stared at what lay in Gideon’s hand: an ormolu clock with a white marble base.
It was smallish for a clock, only four inches wide and twice as tall.
And it was mottled with a brown stain, a stain that was also smeared over the cloth that had been wrapped around it.
Gideon’s grandmother let out a little shriek at the sight of the clock, and she flung her hands up to her face. “No! No! It can’t be.”
“It is her clock, is it not?” Gideon asked. “The one that her maid told us had belonged to her mother? The one that Lady Selene kept on her dresser? It was used to smash in her head.”
Pansy cried out again and began to sob into her hands.
“Stop,” Jasper said, turning back to Gideon, still avoiding the object in his nephew’s hand. “It is Selene’s clock. I already told you. Leave Mother alone. She knows nothing about what happened.”
“Of course not!” Lady Odelia exclaimed, looking shaken. “None of us do. Some—some madman obviously must have broken in here and—”
“Enough!” Gideon grated out. “There has been enough lying, enough deception. My father killed her. And I am going to find out exactly what happened!”
Then he turned and strode rapidly out of the room.
* * *
THE OTHERS STARED AFTER HIM, the silence broken only by Lady Radbourne’s sobs.
“Now, where the devil is he going?” Rochford asked of no one in particular.
“To Owenby’s,” Jasper replied. “I will go after him.” He started to follow.
“No, stay here with your mother,” the duke commanded, taking Jasper’s arm and pulling him to a stop. He nodded toward where the two elderly women were huddled together for comfort. “I will go after him.”
“You don’t know where to go,” Jasper protested.
“I do,” Irene said, already striding toward the door. “I will show you.”
At Rochford’s command, the grooms sprang into action, saddling a pair of horses in remarkable time, and Rochford and Irene set out.
Gideon had a good head start on them, for he had taken the horse he had just ridden in on, which had not yet been unsaddled.
However, Gideon, as his great-aunt had once said, was not at ease on horse, whereas Irene had ridden all her life, and the duke rode as if he might have been born on horseback.
Moreover, their horses were fresh, and they took the more difficult but much faster course across fields and meadows, jumping fences and hedges, and coming out just east of the town.
They came galloping up the lane just in time to see Gideon dismount from his horse and storm into the valet’s cottage. Rochford and Irene flung themselves off their own horses and, after tying them hastily to the fence, hurried toward the house.
Just as they were about to step inside, the maid came running out, shrieking. When she saw Rochford, she grabbed at his sleeve jacket, jabbering, “Stop him! Stop him, please! He’s going to kill him!”
Rochford shook off the girl’s hand and continued through the door, as unruffled as ever. Even the crash they heard deep inside the house did not rattle him; he merely strode forward, heading straight toward the noise.
They found Gideon in the kitchen, where apparently he had chased down his father’s former valet.
Owenby must have fled for the back door, but Gideon had cut him off.
Owenby huddled against the far wall, looking terrified and trapped.
Gideon, a fireplace poker in his hand, stood in the center of the kitchen, easily able to move to block the other man’s path whether he ran for the back door or the rest of the house.
“Don’t deny it!” Gideon roared as Rochford and Irene entered the kitchen, and he brought the poker down on the table with a crash, gouging out a chunk of wood, and causing Owenby to jump and look wildly around, as if he were considering climbing straight up the wall.
“I know he killed her. You or him! Which was it?”
“I—I—” Owenby’s hands fluttered nervously from his waist to his throat to the wall behind him.
“Tell me!” Gideon smashed the weapon down again.
“Gideon! Stop,” Irene said crisply. “He can’t answer, because you are scaring the wits out of him.”
Gideon whirled around in surprise. “Irene! Rochford! What the devil are you doing here?”
“Did you think I was going to allow you to kill your father’s valet in a fit of anger?” Irene retorted. “I have no intention of spending our wedding night visiting you in gaol.”
“Don’t be daft. I am not going to kill him.”
“Of course not,” Rochford agreed, going forward and wrapping his hand around the poker, easing it from Gideon’s hand.
Gideon cast him a disgusted look and turned back to the cowering man. “I can still choke you to death,” he told Owenby. “And, trust me, I will not hesitate to do so unless you start talking. And quickly. I was not raised as a gentleman.”
“I am sure that—Owenby, is it?—will be quite happy to tell us what happened to your mother,” Rochford said mildly. “Won’t you, Owenby?”
“I didn’t do nothing,” Owenby wailed, his speech slipping a bit in his distress. “I didn’t kill Lady Radbourne. I swear it!”
“I did not think you did,” Gideon told him grimly. “My father killed her, I am sure. What I want is for you to tell me why. Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know,” Owenby told him, looking sullen.
When Gideon clenched his fists and took a step forward, the valet cried out, “I don’t!
It’s the God’s truth! I wasn’t there when it happened.
He just—Lord Cecil told me—well, I heard the crash.
I was waiting in his room to help him get dressed for bed. And I heard them arguing.”
“About what?” Irene asked.
“I don’t know. It’s the truth. I could hear the voices, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying.
Except once, he shouted something about having her letters.
And when I went in later, there were papers on the fire, burning.
I think his lordship threw the letters in there.
I think maybe she had tried to take the letters out of the fire, because the poker was lying there, and there was some ash and a coal on the hearth. ”
“What happened? Did you go in when you heard the crash?” Gideon asked.