A Rose Before Dying (14 page)

How many times had Sir Edward choked over an
emotional admission that Charles was all he had left of his sister,
the dearest member of his family? Could a ruthless murderer be that
sentimental?

Of course he was also impatient and
irascible, and this early in the morning, nothing was clear.

Charles assisted Ariadne to step down from
the carriage and join him on the walkway, wishing he felt more
optimistic. He pulled her hand through the crook in his arm, and
they started off, heading for his uncle’s cottage, Marsh Rose. To
his relief, she set a rapid pace. Salt-laden breezes whipped around
them, flapping her long skirts against both their limbs as they
worked their way along the uneven walkway, head-down against the
chill wind.

In less than twenty minutes they reached the
half-timbered cottage. No lights were visible, but that was hardly
surprising given the hour. As they neared the walkway leading to
the front door, Ariadne’s pace slowed. Finally, she stopped a few
feet away.

“Perhaps he’s not here.” She peered at the
door as if fearing a madman would burst out at any moment.

“We’ll never know if we don’t go inside.”
When he moved to try the latch, she stayed his hand.

“You can’t just go inside.”

“Worried about the propriety of our
actions?”

She gave a rueful laugh. “There’s no need to
be callous. He may yet be innocent.”

“So you keep reminding me. However, I’m not
being as rude as you believe. I’ve been here before as a child. I
have a key.” He pulled the brass key out of his pocket and held it
up. “And I think it best for everyone if we simply take a look
around as quietly as possible.”

“Are you sure?” Her concerned gaze roved his
face.

“Yes.” He unlocked the door and swung it
open, although he was not nearly as confident as he sounded.

He couldn’t afford to give his uncle warning
if he had Miss Baxter inside. It would give him the opportunity to
harm her. It sickened Charles to consider the possibility, but he’d
be a fool to act otherwise.

Stepping into the entryway, there was the
hushed sense that someone had recently walked out of sight and
disappeared into the Stygian gloom around them. Charles went to the
right into the sitting room. One of the windows was open, letting
in the fresh air to ruffle the curtains. Moonlight silvered the
edges of the furniture, leaving swaths of shadows to hide the
details.

The room was exactly as he remembered it. A
sofa stood against the wall facing the windows, flanked by two
chairs and fronted by a low table piled high with books and
newspapers. Another chair and leather footstool were arranged near
the fireplace in the corner. A plaid lap rug was draped over the
back of the chair.

“Wait here. Let me check the bedrooms.” He
waited until Ariadne took a seat on one of the chairs. From that
vantage point, she could maintain a watch on the hallway.

“Very well. But hurry. Please.” Despite her
calm tone, her hands twisted in her lap.

“I’ll only be a moment.”

After climbing the stairs, he hesitated on
the landing, heart pounding. He examined first the master bedroom
door and then the second bedroom across from it. If Miss Baxter
were here, she’d most likely be in the second bedroom. And if she
were alive, he’d free her and send her back to the Mermaid with
Ariadne. Then he could confront his uncle.

God help them if she were already lying
somewhere in the marshes.

Moving as quietly as possible, he eased open
the door of the smaller bedroom. The first thing that met his gaze
was the narrow bed with its thick, dark blue quilt. Nothing marred
the smooth surface. It looked precisely as it did when he visited
his uncle as a child. Even the small chest of drawers and blocky
wardrobe were the same.

Nothing had changed except him.

With a sense of futility, he checked the
other bedrooms on the floor, including the empty master bedroom.
Due to his infirmity, Sir Edward had abandoned the room in favor of
a small back room on the ground floor, previously used by the
cook.

Charles slowly descended the stairs and made
his way to the back of the cottage, aware that the course he was
taking might result in irreparable damage to one of the most
important relationships he possessed.

There seemed little point in secrecy now,
however. He knocked on the door and then opened it. His uncle was
in bed, struggling to sit up.

“Wh-what? Who’s there?”

“It’s Charles, Uncle Edward.”

Sir Edward pounded and prodded his pillows
against the headboard so he could lean on them. “Hell and
damnation—what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to…talk to you.”

“Talk to me?” Sir Edward glanced at the dark
window. “What time is it?”

“A little after three, I’m afraid.”

“Three! In the morning? Has your mind gone
a-wandering? What do you mean by coming here and waking me up at
this time of night?” His voice rose. “I just got to sleep, blast
you!” He rubbed his leg, clearly incensed.

A flush of guilt heated Charles’s face. He
knew how difficult it was for his uncle to rest with the constant,
intolerable pain in his leg. And to awaken him when he was finally
getting the rest he needed seemed like the height of cruelty.

“I’m sorry, but it’s urgent. I must speak to
you.”

“Then speak.” Sir Edward fumbled with a
phosphorous box and finally got the candle beside his bed lit.

“Miss Baxter is missing. And we received
roses—two roses this time. The ‘Spineless Virgin’ and the ‘Marsh
Rose’.”

“And so you came here for enlightenment? Your
faith in me is touching.”

“I came to get your help—”

“You came because you believe I’m a
murderer.” His flat voice tore into Charles.

He felt like Judas. “I don’t want to believe
that.”

“Then don’t! For God’s sake, I’m your
uncle
! How can you believe such a thing?”

“Then help me find her before it’s too
late.”

His uncle rubbed his face, his palm rasping
over his gray whiskers. “It’s after three? Then you’re out of time,
lad.”

“What do you mean?”

“The river is nearby. Assuming you’re right,
it’s likely Miss Baxter is exposed in the Rother. Whoever it is
wants me to look guilty, and it’s the surest way. Mark my words,
she’s drowned, or near to it.”

“Then we must find her, now. Where will she
be?”

“How the devil should I know?”

The irritation and anger in his voice made
Charles smile with relief. He really
was
innocent—at least
in this instance. “You mentioned the Rother—where should I look?
Where would you hide her?”

“You mean where would I murder a woman to
ensure the blame falls on me? Since if I really were murdering all
of my acquaintances, I’d at least have the sense not to leave them
on my doorstep to trip over in the morning.”

“Where, then? Come—we’re wasting time.”

His uncle swung his feet out of the bed,
wincing when his right foot touched the icy wooden floor. “Give me
a few minutes to dress.”

“There’s no need. Just tell me where to
search.” He strode forward to steady his uncle when Sir Edward
nearly lost his balance, flailing for the cane that rested against
a chair in the corner.

If time truly were of the essence, his uncle
would only slow them down.

“And leave you to wander the marsh at night?
Saddle my horse. I can’t be sure where to search, but we’ll start
with the most likely locations near the Rother. Work our way along
the banks. I don’t know what else to do when time is so short. She
could be anywhere. If she’s further along toward the ocean, the
tides will be coming in, too.”

“She has to be close—close enough to
implicate you. There’s no need for you to go,” Charles repeated.
The more he considered it, the less he wanted his uncle with him
during the search. It made matters complex. If he led them to Miss
Baxter, one could argue it was because he knew where she was
because he’d put her there. And if they didn’t find her in time, it
might be due to his interference and desire to see her dead.

No matter which way he looked at it, his
uncle’s assistance complicated the situation.

“Let me take your horse,” Charles said.

“And let you drown her because you don’t know
where you’re going? You haven’t been here in ten years.” He pulled
on trousers and shoved his shirttails inside. “I’m coming, blast
you!” After shoving his good foot into his boot, he took some
strips of wool and bound his crippled ankle before encasing it in a
soft leather slipper. Even so, he still winced when he finally
limped toward the door.

“I can’t dissuade you?”

“I’m awake now. What difference will it make
if I sit here and brood or go with you? Come along.” He grabbed a
rough jacket from a hook next to the door. “Go on ahead. Saddle the
mare. She knows her way around.”

Charles hurried ahead, stopping in the
sitting room to find Ariadne. She sat with her elbow on the sofa
armrest and her chin propped up on her fisted hand. Her eyes were
closed and her deep, regular breathing indicated she was fast
asleep. He almost turned to leave her in peace, but in the end, he
didn’t want her to awaken in a strange place, not knowing where he
had gone.

“Ariadne.” He touched her shoulder.

Her head snapped up with a jolt. “What is it?
Did you find her?”

“Not yet—I wanted you to know, we’re going
out to search for her. Wait here. We’ll be back as soon as
possible.”

“No!” She leapt to her feet. “I’m coming with
you—that’s why I’m here! If you find her alive, she’ll need me. I’m
coming.”

Charles sighed, too tired to argue. If she
couldn’t keep up with them, or it became too dangerous, he’d send
her back to the cottage with his uncle. He might need the excuse
anyway, if Sir Edward slowed him down.

“Very well.”

“Miss Wellfleet!” His uncle glanced into the
sitting room in surprise as he stumbled down the hallway. “What are
you doing here?”

“Searching for Miss Baxter, of course.” Her
glance flashed from Charles to his uncle and back, her expression
clouded with doubt.

“I see.” He leaned heavily against the
wall.

“Why did you take her?” she blurted out,
staring at Sir Edward. “What did she ever do to make you so
cruel?”

“She did nothing—I had nothing to do with her
disappearance.” He shifted his weight and pressed a hand against
the wall for support. “I don’t imagine you’ll believe me any more
than my nephew.”

“I—I don’t know what to believe, except that
we must find Miss Baxter.”

“That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard
this wretched night. Have you saddled the horse, Charles?”

“Not yet—”

“Hadn’t you better do so? Every minute we
waste increases the danger to Miss Baxter—assuming you’re really
here to rescue her.” Sir Edward’s mouth twisted into a cynical
smile.

“Wait here.” Charles left the two in the
hallway.

Part of him suggested he saddle the horse and
ride off alone while the other part prayed the hallway would be
mysteriously empty when he returned. Then there was the tired
little voice that merely wanted to escort his uncle to the local
constable here-and-now and be done with the whole affair.

Sadly, he didn’t listen to any of those
eminently sensible voices in his head.

With gritty, tired eyes, Ariadne watched from
the door as Charles disappeared into the misty night air. After a
quick glance at Sir Edward, she pushed the door further open and
held it. To her dismay, his twisted smile broadened, but he made no
comment.

After an interminable time, Charles returned.
“Your horse awaits you, milord.” He swept an elaborate bow to his
uncle who snorted and shook his head.

“Idiot.” Sir Edward limped with difficulty
outside. “You’ll have to help me mount, you young fool.”

Charles went to his assistance and thrust his
shoulder under his arm to support him while he struggled to get his
left foot into a stirrup. After a great deal of soft grunting and
swearing, he finally swung his maimed leg over the saddle, although
he left it dangling next to the stirrup. As he seated himself,
Charles went back inside the cottage for a few minutes before
coming out with two brass lanterns. Only one was lit, however.

He handed the lit one to his uncle. “We’ll
save the second one until we need it.”

“Surely our search won’t take that long!”
Ariadne exclaimed, trying not to let the thought discourage her
further.

“It’s still several hours before dawn.”

“Should we try to get some help? From the
village?” Ariadne asked.

Charles hesitated. “Whoever did this, is
ahead of us by twelve hours or so. We can’t afford to waste any
more time. She may be lying by the river, exposed to the elements.
The sooner we find her, the better.”

“Well, I could be wrong. If we don’t find her
within the hour, I’ll ride back to Rye,” Sir Edward offered. “We
don’t want a lot of fools bumbling around in the dark, getting
lost. We’d have to gather more men to search for the searchers.” He
wheeled the horse around. “We’ll head for the Rother, first. Then
work our way along the banks. We’ve only got—”

“Don’t remind us. It doesn’t do any good and
will only distract us.” Charles patted the neck of the horse and
allowed it to pass him. Then he held out his arm to her.

“We’ll find her, won’t we?” Ariadne kept her
voice low, clinging to the smallest scrap of hope.

His hesitation told her more clearly than
words that he believed if they found anything, it would be Miss
Baxter’s lifeless body. But he had the charity to lie obliquely.
“Yes. We will.”

She tightened her grip on his arm, staring
around at the restless, whispering darkness. She never realized how
alive
the river was, like a large, dangerous animal
slumbering nearby. Waves shu-shushed ceaselessly, rolling in long
breaths, lapping the banks.