Chapter One #3
She could not afford to miss it. Added to her big, all-encompassing worry was the added problem of that nasty bastard showing up and taking her by surprise…
The clock upstairs had struck half past ten before she finally found her escape by carrying a basketful of table linen, aprons, and cloths into the laundry room. Deliberately, she let the door fall shut behind her while she sorted the contents into the already half-full tubs.
The laundry room had a door to the drying court, and from there she could reach the orangery from the outside. If it was locked, he could let her in. And protect her from whatever wrath Mr. Kemp or Mrs. Thornfield the housekeeper tried to visit upon her.
In moments, she was outside in the darkness.
It wasn’t really dark, of course, for it was a fine, moonlit night, and she easily found the door in the wall that led into the big, walled garden and the glass-covered orangery that seemed to reflect the stars. She had never seen it like this before. It looked almost ghostly, a fairy palace…
Idiot. It’s fantasies like these got you into this mess in the first place. Feet on the ground, Dinah, girl, and play the hand you have. Just play it well…
Some faint sound, surely the rolling of a kicked pebble on the path, made her jump and sprint for cover behind the plain tree. From there, her heart hammering, she peered around the garden.
No one was there, neither the man she sought nor any other. Why was she so jumpy? It wasn’t like her. Probably the baby playing on her nerves. She vaguely recalled a neighbor from childhood who had always been on a short fuse, temper-wise and crying-wise, whenever a babe was on the way.
Deriding her own silly fears, Dinah stepped out of her hiding place, this time determined to go straight to the orangery before he got fed up and left.
Only something didn’t feel right. Something was wrong. She felt breath stir the hairs of her neck and half spun around to prove it was only the wind.
But she never got the chance to see. Someone seized her from behind, and a gloved hand clamped hard over her mouth and nose. Another hand groped over her body—Oh damnation, not him again!—and then something slid into her chest.
It went in so easily that it seemed the least of her worries.
Only then she couldn’t move. And she saw the dagger hilt sticking out of her chest, glinting prettily in the moonlight.
For an instant, that fascinated her before the pain hit her and she couldn’t breathe.
Everything faded and she slid down into nothingness.
*
Kate was in the drawing room, sitting with Lady Chadbon and Mrs. Otteridge, when she became aware of the disturbance in the house. She got to her feet in alarm, even before the drawing room door opened and a white-faced footman gasped, “My lord, please come!”
Chadbon strode past the women like a man half his years, although his expression was irritated rather than worried. On impulse, Kate followed him, and after an instant, so did Lady Chadbon, although she closed the drawing room door behind them.
“What the devil’s going on, Lewis?” Chadbon was growling at the footman as they all but flew downstairs. “Where’s Kemp?”
“Outside, my lord. Just beyond the orangery…”
Kate’s stomach jolted at mention of that word. She hadn’t seen Rupert leave, but presumably he had. It must have been a quarter before eleven by now… Surely he hadn’t been caught and mistaken for an intruder?
He is the curate as well as a guest here! Surely everyone must know him?
Several maids were huddled in the hallway, clutching each other while Mrs. Thornfield the housekeeper stood between them and the glass-paned orangery doors like a guard.
Lewis the footman threw open the doors, releasing a cool breeze. The outside doors were open too. Chadbon strode through the orangery, but when his wife made to follow, Mrs. Thornfield clutched her arm.
“My lady, don’t. You should not see…”
Kate, her stomach twisting, slipped through the doors unnoticed.
Someone had lit a lamp inside, so it was easier now to navigate her way through. She followed Chadbon across the glass room and out of the open doors.
Several yards away, on the left side of the pleasant walled garden, the glow of a lantern’s light showed her two men kneeling in the grass on either side of a maid in cap and apron who appeared to be asleep.
She looked curiously peaceful. Until one noticed the obscene thing sticking upward from her chest.
It was easy to recognize the face of the bold, pretty maid Kate had already noticed. On the girl’s far side, Kemp straightened to something less than his usual dignity.
“She’s dead, my lord,” he said in a shaking voice. “I’ve sent a stable boy for Dr. Paxton, but it won’t do any good.”
“We’ll need him anyway,” Chadbon said, visibly pulling himself together. “Best send to Mr. Remington, too. He’s the magistrate.” He blinked suddenly at the other still-kneeling man, who finally looked up and met his gaze, his expression impossible to read.
Kate’s breath vanished.
“Grande?” Chadbon said in astonishment. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“Praying,” said the curate.