Читать книгу The Wicked Truth - Lyn Stone - Страница 10

Dead? Terry couldn’t be dead. He was alive and well at Havington House, planning to attend the races on Saturday.

As Lindy’s words began to register, Neil staggered a little and caught the back of a chair. Disjointed scenes flashed rapidly, one after another: little towheaded Terry bouncing along on a pony, sharing biscuits with his hound, wielding his first razor, graduating from Harrow. Arguing about his right to wed.

“God, no,” Neil whispered, fighting off the pain. It grabbed him like a vicious animal, shook him, sank its teeth to the bone.

“I’m sorry, Neil. So sorry to bring you this news.”

“He can’t be dead! I just saw him. You’ve made some mistake, Lindy. Surely!” Neil recognized his own reaction from the many he’d had to deal with as he’d delivered similar news to families of friends when he’d returned early from the war. And even from his own experience six months before, when he’d watched Jon breathe his last. Even then, with the evidence of death staring him in the face, there had been a moment when he’d refused to believe it. Denial, the mind’s refuge.

If there was the remotest chance of an error, Lindy would have qualified his news. Terry was dead.

Neil sat down and dropped his head on one hand, pressing his eyes with his fingers. Mustn’t weep. He would do that later, when he was alone. If he let go now, he might never stop. Lindy would be embarrassed, as would he.

“How?” he made himself ask. Painlessly, he prayed.

MacLinden laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard. “He was killed, Neil. Murdered.”

Fresh pain. Neil’s throat burned with a need to scream. Only a whisper emerged. “Ah, no!”

“Yes, and we know who did it. I want you to come back to town with me now. There’ll be an inquest, funeral arrangements and all that. I’ll help, of course. Goes without saying.”

Neil focused on fury—anything to lessen the godawful anguish. Murder was inconceivable. Everyone loved Terry.

Neil felt an urgent need to kill someone. A very specific someone. “Who, Lindy? What bastard did this thing?”

MacLinden sighed. “It was a woman. The woman he planned to marry, evidently.” He paused. “Lady Elizabeth Marleigh. Last evening, she shot him through the head.”

“No!” Neil shouted the word, realized he had and lowered his voice. “No, that’s impossible, she couldn’t have done it!”

“Well, she did. We found one of her father’s fancy dueling pistols beside the body. Her butler says the set has been in the family for years, a gift to the old earl. Even has the Marleigh crest on the grip. The woman’s run for it, but we’ll find her.”

“You don’t understand, Lindy. Elizabeth Marleigh couldn’t have killed Terry. I was with him until ten o’clock last night and went directly to her. She’s been with me ever since.”

MacLinden narrowed his eyes and worried his mustache with a forefinger. “Never out of your sight, you say?”

“Not once. I…followed her to an inn, brought her directly here, and we’ve not left.”

“Where is she now?”

Neil marched to the door as he answered, “In the study.”

“Wait,” MacLinden cautioned. “Wait a moment. Are you telling me you are involved with Lady Marleigh?”

Neil paused and thought about the answer. “Yes, in a way. I guess you might say that.”

Trent MacLinden battled with his professionalism. He prided himself on his objectivity, and his superiors at the Yard depended on it. That, plus his ability to ferret out culprits from seemingly nonexistent clues, was precisely why he’d been recently promoted to inspector.

Doc was his friend, one of his best friends—the man who had saved his right arm after a Hussar’s bullet smashed through it. Lindy couldn’t allow the authorities or anyone else to suspect that Neil Bronwyn had had a hand in his own nephew’s murder, not even by association.

In MacLinden’s experience with lawbreakers, brief as it was, he knew that a strong motive combined with opportunity usually equaled guilt in the eyes of the law. Neil Bronwyn clearly possessed both. That was an indisputable fact Lindy couldn’t hide. Lady Marleigh did as well. Everyone on the case had already established that fact and were searching everywhere for her. By giving her an ironclad alibi and declaring her innocence, Neil risked arrest himself, for complicity.

Allowing the lady’s arrest now was out of the question, of course, or Neil might hang with her. Lindy certainly couldn’t have that, not after all the man had done for him.

If not for Neil’s assistance in applying to Scotland Yard, Lindy would be dishing up meat pies alongside his father in the family inn in Charing Cross. And if not for Neil’s flagrant usurping of a senior medical officer’s surgery in Balaclava, he’d be dishing them up one-handed.

God, he still shivered when he thought about it. That saw biting into his skin. His own screams. Neil’s intervention.

Devil take the Yard! Lindy would do as he’d always done and go with his instincts. He wouldn’t let anyone so much as hint that Neil had killed his nephew or countenanced anyone else doing so. It was Lindy’s duty to ask the question, however. Just for form’s sake.

“Doc, forgive me, but this is necessary. Have you conspired in any way with this woman to help her or hide her guilt?”

He watched Neil immediately switch from grief to outrage. “Good God, man, how can you ask such a thing?”

“It is my job. That’s what they pay me for. Have I your word of honor you had nothing to do with the murder?”

Neil’s shoulders straightened and his gaze was direct. “By all that’s holy, Lindy, I do swear it. And I promise you Elizabeth Marleigh could not possibly have done this.”

“Let’s see what she has to say for herself, then. Perhaps she might know someone capable of the deed.” He brushed past Neil and headed for the study, not breaking stride as he entered the other room.

“Lady Marleigh?” He greeted her perfunctorily as she turned from the window. “How do you do? I am Inspector MacLinden, Scotland Yard, L Division.”

She looked pale and upset as her wide-eyed glance darted from him to Neil and back again. Putting people off balance was a technique that worked quite well. Helped him keep the upper hand, especially with the nobs. Pretty little nob she was, too, with those dark chocolate eyes and springy bronze curls. Younger than he’d have thought, from all that was said about her.

He cleared his throat and gave her a few seconds to wonder just why he was here. There was confusion in her eyes, and maybe a little relief? Interesting. He dropped the bombshell. “The earl of Havington is dead. Shot. With one of your pistols.”

Her mouth opened, worked as though she was searching for words. The eyes widened so that he could see white all around the darkest brown irises he’d ever seen. Then the heavily lashed lids dropped like a curtain, and she toppled to the floor in a tangle of skirts.

“Hang it, Lindy, that was coldly done! Get my medical bag, upstairs, second room.” Neil knelt by the woman as Mac-Linden went for the doctor’s satchel.

When he returned with it, Neil offered her a few sniffs of a bottled substance—something awful, by the way her nose twitched—and brought her around.

She woke still muddled, but her memory returned almost visibly. The lost look rapidly transformed into the same shocked expression of very real grief he’d seen earlier on Neil’s face.

The woman—by association with Neil—was innocent. Lindy was relieved he didn’t have to take her in now that he’d seen her. A pity that his own decision to declare her guiltless wouldn’t extend to his chief. Nope, MacLinden knew he wasn’t going to be able to handle this one by the book. And God help them all if he couldn’t turn up a killer. So much for professionalism.

MacLinden watched patiently as Neil did his doctor tricks. There didn’t seem to be quite enough intimacy in their words or touches for there to be a real affair. Yet. The attraction was there, though, at least on Neil’s part.

Unusual, that. In the four years they’d been friends Lindy had never seen Doc show any real interest in a woman beyond an infrequent tumble. Tumbles quietly accomplished and never bragged about… at least not by Neil. The women weren’t quite so noble, but then women did love to talk. The man was legendary and didn’t even know it. Hadn’t a bloody clue.

If Neil didn’t know about this girl, though, he ought to be warned before he got in over his head. An ass for an arm was a fair trade. Ought he to save Doc’s ass for him? Lindy wondered.

No sooner had the girl’s sobs ceased than MacLinden launched his questions. He found that insensitivity was the key to being a good investigator. “So, Lady Marleigh, do you shoot?”

“No, I do not,” she answered, visibly shoring up her composure. Her chin lifted and she took a deep breath.

“Were you in love with his lordship or not?”

On the last word, he glanced pointedly at Doc, who looked ready to kill him on the spot. Obviously didn’t care to have his ass saved. Hmm. “I repeat, were you in love with young Havington?”

She answered in a near whisper, “No, I was not.”

“You were to marry him?”

“No, I was not.” Her response was defensive.

“What was he to you then?”

She shuddered, expelled a long sigh and looked out the window, doubtless seeing little through her tears. “He was the only friend I had left.” Then, almost inaudibly, she added, “The only one.”

Doc stood it longer than MacLinden imagined he would. “See here, Lindy, you can do this later. You can see she’s overwrought. I’ll just take her to her room and give her something.” He reached for his medical bag.

“Not if you mean to sedate her. We must get to London tonight, and all the questions must be asked before then if I am to help you both.” It felt strange giving orders to a man he’d once thought was God in a uniform. Rather bracing, in fact.

“What do you mean, help us? I swear to you she had nothing to do with this. You don’t mean to arrest her anyway?”

“No, not if I can help it, but we’ll have to do some tricky dancing to avoid that until we find the real murderer. My position’s too new to carry that much influence with my superiors, and they’re absolutely convinced she’s guilty. You’ll both have to do exactly as I say.”

They nodded in unison. Power was a heady thing, Mac-Linden thought with an inward grin. He’d really have to watch that it didn’t puff him up. Doc and the woman had no choice but to trust him to get them out of this mess. At least it should prove a lot more interesting than simply hauling the girl in and going on with a new case. And Lindy would be able to discharge a portion of his debt to Neil Bronwyn, the man who had kept him whole when no one else would have. He rather looked forward to the whole thing.

Elizabeth tried to climb out of the numbness, but it persisted. Poor Terry. Gone in a flash of powder. She’d never see him again, never be touched again by his gentle optimism.

There was nothing to do now but sit by while the red-haired, freckled-faced Scot chewed on his pipe and decided her fate. Her father’s gun had done the deed—one of the gift set of dueling pistols, she supposed. Those were the only weapons she knew of except for his hunting guns, which were in Co-lin’s possession. One didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that she was the prime suspect.

“Lady Marleigh, do you know anyone who might have wished Terrence Bronwyn dead?” This question was kinder, as though the inspector were trying to placate Dr. Bronwyn. She sensed the camaraderie between them. Ah, they were friends, then. Good friends, apparently, for MacLinden to overlook the evidence of her guilt on the doctor’s word alone.

“No, everyone liked his lordship very well,” she said. “Since we’ve known each other, I only saw him cross once. That was at the theater just last week. We always came late and left early to…avoid crowds.” She looked from the inspector to the doctor and nodded when she saw they understood. Then she continued, “A man approached Terry’s box during the second act and called him into the corridor. I tried not to listen, until Terry’s voice became rather heated. That was so unlike him, you see.

“Terry said something to the effect, ‘Not one more bloody damn farthing until I have it all. Do you hear me?’ When he returned, I asked him about the matter. He laughed and said it was merely a small venture he was looking into that was proving more difficult than he had anticipated.”

Inspector MacLinden listened intently, writing all the while. “This person he spoke with was unknown to you?”

“Yes, but then I know very few people in the city. I had only a glimpse of the man. He was rather tall and slender, with long side-whiskers. About fifty I should say, with a distinctive voice.”

“You’d recognize him if you saw him again?”

“Very possibly. I’m certain I would know the voice. Rather deep and sonorous.” She began to get excited. “You think this man might have killed Terry, Inspector?”

MacLinden sighed. “Anything’s possible. He could very well be only a business acquaintance. Did his lordship speak of anyone else with whom he might have had recent dealings?”

She paused to think, toying with her rings. “No, we rarely spoke of his day-to-day affairs. We mostly talked of…my problems and his ideas for a solution to them.”

“Do you think there might be any connection between your relationship and his death?” MacLinden asked. “He did pro-pose marriage, according to his boasts at White’s.”

Elizabeth thought about it. Everyone would have hated the idea of Terry taking a wife like her. His uncle, Neil Bronwyn, certainly did. Such concern would hardly be a motive to kill the prospective bridegroom, though. More likely, someone would try to kill her.

In fact, someone had! She tensed as the possible connection dawned. Should she tell the inspector? Would he believe her or think she was simply trying to throw him off track?

“Something has occurred to you, my lady?” he asked.

“There have been three attempts on my life,” she said calmly. It wouldn’t do to shake and tremble as she’d been doing or the inspector might think her mad. Or even worse, guilty.

“How and when did these attempts take place?” Mac-Linden asked, his pen poised over his small notebook.

“The first, three months ago at our family estate in Kent,” she said. “I took the rowboat across Penny Lake to visit my old nurse, who has a cottage there. It’s a weekly trip, always on Tuesday, whenever I’m in the country.” She paused. “Someone tampered with the boat. I nearly drowned.”

“You swam out?” he asked, scribbling idly.

“I sank like a stone. Then I shed everything but my shift so I could swim to shore.” And be ogled by Colin’s guests, she thought, wincing. That part of the story was hardly a secret.

MacLinden nodded. “And the second attempt?” he prompted.

“That would be the knife, two weeks later. A bumping noise in my chamber woke me. I rose to light a lamp and a dark shape rushed at me. A long blade flashed in the moonlight coming in the window. I ran for my dressing room, which has a stout door that locks. There was a swishing sound when the intruder struck at me. I slammed the door and locked it.”

She brushed a hand over her face, hoping to wipe away the spine-prickling memory.

“And so you escaped. Are you certain it was a knife?”

She swallowed heavily, feeling sick. “It—it cut off my braid.” With nerveless fingers, she gripped the nape of her neck.

“Good God!” The doctor brushed a hand over her cropped curls. She recoiled automatically, noting his look of horror.

Eager to have done with the questions, she rushed on. “The third time took place a week ago. My maid, Maggie, sent my breakfast up with one of the kitchen girls. I allowed Ruby—that’s the girl’s name—to drink the chocolate. She began to act very strange afterwards, reeling about and clawing the air. She screamed nonsense about snakes and demons as though she were mad.”

“And then?” the inspector asked calmly.

“Colin rushed in with Thurston and Maggie. Before they could subdue Ruby, she ran to the balcony and dived off.”

“She’s dead?” MacLinden asked softly.

“Yes. Her—her neck was broken in the fall.”

“A poison?” the inspector asked, looking at the doctor.

“Hallucinatory agent, more likely,” the doctor said. His agitation was evident in the way he was crushing her fingers in his. “Have there been any further attempts?”

Elizabeth looked from one to the other. “None that I know.” She cleared her throat and pulled her hands away from Dr. Bronwyn’s. “Could I be excused for a few moments?” The effort of remaining calm had exhausted her.

“Yes, of course,” the inspector said. “However, we ought to be off within the hour if you could manage.”

She nodded. “May I ask where we’re going?”

“To Havington House in London,” MacLinden said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to reside there with our new Lord Havington until we straighten this out.”

Elizabeth took her leave of the men. There seemed no point in resisting. At least the inspector had a plan.

MacLinden remained silent until the woman closed the door. Then he turned to Neil. “Acquiring the title and the lady is going to look very suspicious, Doc.”

“Don’t be a fool! I’ve no interest in either one and you know it I only met the woman last night. I brought her here against her will to prevent an elopement, or so I thought. Terry was determined to marry her and it would have ruined him. You know what sort she is. You read the papers.”

“I read them, yes. I wondered whether you had,” Mac-Linden said thoughtfully, folding his notebook shut and stuffing it in his pocket. “Be that as it may, someone out there has snuffed out a peer of the realm—very probably the same person who tried to destroy Elizabeth Marleigh. Clearly, someone took the murder weapon from her town house specifically to implicate her,” he continued. “The matching pistol is also missing. None of the servants seem to know how long the guns have been gone. Without doubt, this is all somehow connected.”

“I agree. But who and why?” Neil asked.

MacLinden shifted in his chair, crossing his legs at the knee. “There’s the fellow Terry had words with at the theater, possibly a blackmailer, from the conversation overheard. Could be the maid who sent Lady Marleigh the tainted chocolate. It may be the lady’s cousin, Colin Marleigh, who inherited the earldom after her father died. Excellent motive there, eh?” He sighed and shrugged. “Then, of course, we mustn’t rule out the less obvious, a disgruntled employee, or the odd maniac with a grudge against the nobility. Lots of possibilities at this point and damned few clues. Some of the puzzle pieces may have roiled under the table. That’s very often the case.”

“We have to solve this, Lindy, before he harms Elizabeth.”

“Oh, we shall. Our success hinges on keeping the lady hidden, yet available to assist. She’ll have to remain the focus of a search, as though we at the Yard believe she’s guilty. Otherwise the killer will go to ground. I’ll need her near for questions, and she’s the only one who might recognize the man at the theater.”

Neil saw the plan’s worth. “So we’ll hide her in the least-obvious place—at the scene of the crime?”

“Just so,” MacLinden said, twisting his mustache.

“The servants probably know her. Given her, ah, relationship with Terry, I expect she’s been there before.” Neil’s frown darkened. He looked as if he wanted to say more on the matter, but held his tongue.

MacLinden nodded. “Have the staff leave the town house before she arrives. Then tough it out with her alone there if you can. She’ll need the freedom to come and go with you, but no one must guess her identity. That means a foolproof disguise.” MacLinden chewed somberly on his pipe stem, then brightened. “Wouldn’t she make an admirable valet!”

“Valet? Are you daft? She’s too obviously female to get her up like a man! Besides, I’ve never had a valet.”

MacLinden smirked. “Well then, my fine new earl, you won’t be so critical of her services, now will you?”