37. Chapter 37
Caroline stared at her empty valise, open on the bed, and tried to come up with a way to make Sterling see sense.
You will not go back to that terrible place, Annabelle had said—referring to the place where tragedy had struck Babette.
That terrible place was her familial home on Hanover Square. Sterling’s home. Soon to be Annabelle’s home. And Annabelle didn’t have a clue.
A soft, rapid knock sounded on Caroline’s door, pulling her from the dark musings.
“Come,” Caroline said.
She expected Annabelle to appear in the open doorway. Instead, Babette hovered over the threshold like a frightened bird.
Dear Babette who, since Caroline’s arrival, had been unceasingly polite, and had avoided her like the plague, almost as if she feared Caroline. It broke her heart.
“Babette. Don’t be shy. Come in.” I won’t hurt you, hung in the air, unsaid.
Babette heaved a visible sigh and entered, closing the door behind her. “Milady, I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“You are not disturbing me, Babette. In fact, it’s good to see you looking so well.”
A small smile played at her mouth. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Have you come to help me pack? It really isn’t necessary—especially as I can see my presence here these last several weeks has caused you distress.”
The maid’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, ma’am. It hasn’t. You haven't. It’s only…” she bit her lip. “I wondered at first if you came to take me back.”
Caroline nodded once. “I see. And you want to stay here, with the viscountess.”
She lowered her gaze to her feet. “Milady assures me I will.”
“Babette, you do know where you’ll be living when you return to London with Lord and Lady Randall? The same house as before.”
An unexpected grin tugged at Babette’s mouth. “I do, ma’am.” She glanced up at Caroline. “It was never about the house, ma’am. It’s Lady Randall. She needs me. To look after her.”
Caroline felt her insides lighten, seeing the evidence of Annabelle’s positive impact on Babette. She sounded almost like herself, again.
Although Babette’s ‘normal’ did not equate with the usual definition. No, Babette had always been special.
“So, it wasn’t the possibility of going with me, or returning to Hanover Square that bothered you so much as the idea of leaving Lady Randall?” Caroline asked.
Babette nodded.
She grinned. “Yes, I can see that she does need you. Well, again, if you’re here to assist me, I haven’t much to pack. I arrived with very few items of clothing, most of which I intend to leave here.” It seemed the gowns she had left here had been absconded with.
“No, ma’am. It’s not that at all. It’s milady. I’m worried something’s happened to her.”
Alarm flashed through her. “What do you mean?”
“She’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“I’m not certain. I happened to glimpse her outside some two hours ago. As she was heading toward the stables, I assumed she meant to take a ride. I asked Chip, though, who’d cleaned them earlier, and he said he saw neither hide nor hair of her.”
She could have come back inside. She could be back in her chambers, attempting to pen a note to her parents in private.
“I’ve searched the house, ma’am, top to bottom. She’s not here.”
Caroline crossed to her window and looked out. The sun was fast sinking in the western sky. It wasn’t yet dusk, but soon would be. “She didn’t mention anything to you about taking a stroll?”
“No, ma’am. Not a word.”
It did seem odd for her to go on a long walk, alone, without telling anyone—especially after Sterling’s admonition only yesterday.
“I have…ma’am, I have a very bad feeling.”
Caroline shot her a look. “Which way was she heading when you saw her?” She started toward her door, then out.
“Toward the kilns?”
She strode down the hall toward the stairwell, Babette on her heels. “Lady Randall undoubtedly went for a walk and lost track of time. I shall go look for her.”
“By yourself, milady? Shouldn’t one of us join you?”
“Easier if I go on my own, on horseback. It’s the fastest way to find her and bring her back.” Gripping the handrail, she trotted down the spiral staircase. “I must retrieve something from my brother’s office. Kindly have Chip saddle a horse for me and bring it to the forecourt.”
***
At least thirty minutes had passed since they entered the cave-like building.
It was nearing dusk and the waning sun’s light no longer reflected into the space from the kiln pot chambers. The only illumination came from two oil lamps that stank of cheap tallow and provided a weak golden glow.
Vane paced, hands linked behind him, his gaze never far from her.
She hugged her arms around herself. The temperature had dropped, leaving Annabelle chilled to the bone. Listening to the intermittent sounds of scraping and hammering from within one of the small chambers, she contemplated her next move.
She had no doubt Lord Vane did not intend to deliver her to the castle. But what did he intend?
Perhaps if she got him talking he might reveal something useful to her. “What is it your men are doing here, Lord Vane?”
“As it happens, I have a few things stored here, and as I will be leaving for the foreseeable future, I deemed it best if I took my possessions with me.”
“Let me guess,” Annabelle said. “You’ve been dealing in stolen merchandise—gemstones—and using the kilns as a storage facility.”
Vane gave her a long look, then shrugged. “No harm in admitting as much at this point, I suppose. You already overheard more than you should have. More than is safe.”
She smiled inwardly. She had glimpsed a diamond.
Then she replayed his words. He did not intend to let her go, period.
He ambled toward her. “It’s been a lucrative operation, or it was until Lord Randall decided to move here permanently.
You see, I needed funds to maintain the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed over the years.
Unfortunately, my property’s resources—limestone, mainly—have become decidedly less valuable.
I was approached by a certain Scottish money lender who offered me a chance to recoup my losses if I agreed to run his little venture through England.
” He shrugged. “As Holy Island is near my home in Beadnell, and a perfect location into which to unobtrusively offload certain goods, l decided to make it my home base. All I needed to do was come up with a reason for being here.”
“Hence your interest in the priory,” Annabelle surmised.
He sent her an admiring smile.
Using their conversation to distract him, Annabelle was slowly edging away from the kiln pot chambers toward one of the more narrow exit paths—but the open keyhole was a good ways off.
Still, she had to try something. Sterling was off the island, and no one knew where she’d gone. She was on her own.
“Things were going so well,” Vane went on, surprisingly forthcoming. “I found buyers, my men, here, enlisted a local guide to move the product off the island, and I began plotting an expansion into spirits, tobacco, what have you.
“Then Lord Randall showed up and set up camp. I’ve had neither access to my stones, nor a place to store my other products, since. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the idiot local guide my head man hired got greedy and added to my woes—by trying to rob the viscount’s snooty relative.”
She sniffed, understanding she was the snooty relative in the scenario. “Mr. Blackwell, I presume?”
He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Tell me, Lord Vane, was that you who played that nasty little trick on me the last time I was here?”
He eyed her. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know? I was exploring on my own.
I saw something in one of the kiln pot chambers, and thought to take a closer look.
The next thing I knew I was pinned inside by the rubble.
I thought the walls had spontaneously fallen.
It was Lord Randall who told me otherwise—that someone had shoved the sacks and stones before the small opening, effectively sealing me. ”
Vane pinched the bridge of his nose, and moved in close. So close, she backed into the wall to maintain distance between them. A mere foot now separated them.
“No, I did not know, Lady Woodville. I tell you, it is impossible to get good help in these parts.” As he spoke, a feral, predatory gleam shone in his eyes, making her skin crawl and her stomach flutter.
“Lady Randall,” she corrected.
He snorted, and his gaze drifted over her, hungry and assessing in the weak light. “My lady,” he amended, his voice low and suggestive, “had I discovered you here, alone, I would not have dreamed of locking you in—leastways not on your own.” An avaricious smile curved his mouth.
A shiver of revulsion went through her. She looked past him, hoping he’d take the hint and step back. “How much longer will we be here? I’m certain my husband will be missing me by now.”
His upper lip curled. “Let us dispense with the pretense. The men will be finished soon. And then…” He licked his lips, and his hot breath wafted over her.
“And then we shall have a bit of fun, you and I, here, on our own. I have enjoyed watching you attempt to sneak toward the exit, by the way. So much more fun this way.”
Fear skittered up her spine. “What on earth are you talking about? You know, never mind. Do not bother to reply. I really must be getting back.”
He chuckled and leaned one forearm against the wall to her right, bracketing her in on one side.
“My lord, we got the last of the containers.”
Lord Vane shifted to address his men as they emerged from the kiln pot chamber where they’d been tinkering. Dust covered their clothes. Evidently they’d stored their boxes within the walls themselves.
“Excellent. Leave those with me, and head down to the shore. Signal to the larger craft to come closer to collect us. I’ll join you presently.”
The man called Grogan glanced down at the wooden box in his hands as if reluctant to part with it, but eventually, he handed it to Vane, and then offered a word of advice.
“Sir, the viscount will be back soon. We need to leave.”