Accomplished In Murder (6 page)

Drucilla frowned. Hiding valuables made sense
but concealing a page from a book of poems seemed odd. Unless this
particular poem held special meaning to the sentimental natured
Celeste.

Just then, a door slammed somewhere down the
hall. Drucilla jumped guiltily and shoved the rumpled page into her
pocket to be studied later. As quickly as possible, she tidied the
desk and returned everything to its proper place.

Escaping the room, she pulled the door closed
behind her and breathed a sigh of relief. She had not been caught
snooping.

Then she turned and ran directly into Lord
Absalom.

Chapter Ten

“Miss Winterbourne, what a surprise,” he
said.

She froze for a moment, fumbling for an
explanation. “Yes, I’m sure you’re thinking I oughtn’t be
here—”

“I’m thinking nothing of the sort,” he
reassured her. “You are a guest and the entire house is open to
you. Naturally, you wanted to visit Celeste’s room. I should have
thought to show it to you myself.”

“Thank you for your understanding. It is only
that I felt this tremendous longing to see the place where she must
have spent so much of her last days.”

“Of course. It is an entirely natural desire.
I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting my duties as host and leaving you
to wander about the place on your own.”

“You have a great deal to occupy you during
this time.”

“Yes, but my wife would not have wanted a
guest in our home to be ignored. Such things were important to her.
She was always the perfect hostess. Please allow me to sooth my
conscience by showing you around the house.”

“I should enjoy that if you’re certain it
would not be too great an imposition on your time and…”

She hesitated, unwilling to use the word
“grief” now she knew how little affection he had truly felt for
Celeste.

She rushed on with, “Your brother has
actually already shown me a little of the grounds.”

“Southorn?”

“Yes, we strolled through the rose garden
this morning.”

Something in Lord Absalom’s demeanor changed.
His face took on a darker expression and it was only then Drucilla
realized he could bear the slightest resemblance to the other men
of his family after all.

“If I were you,” he said, “I would be on my
guard with Southorn.”

She blinked. “But he’s such a charming young
man.”

“He can be. But he has an unfortunate
penchant for playing little pranks at the expense of others. I
shouldn’t take too seriously anything he does. Or says.”

Was it her imagination or was there more to
his warning than was immediately clear? She thought of Southorn’s
hints at the discord between Lord Absalom and Celeste. Had Southorn
been exaggerating their unhappy situation for his own amusement? Or
was it Absalom who had reason to make his brother’s comments seem
less significant?

As if sensing her thoughts, her companion
changed the subject.

“Look at me. I’m boring you with details of
the family dynamics. Anyway, Southorn probably wouldn’t trouble
you. He generally reserves his mischief for tormenting the
servants. Now come, tell me what parts of the house you haven’t
seen.”

And so Drucilla spent a diverting hour in the
company of Lord Absalom, who gave her a thorough tour of Blackridge
House.

Only one chamber gave him pause, as if he was
reluctant to reveal its interior.

“No one goes in here much, aside from me.
It’s something of a workspace.”

“You mean a study?”

“Not quite. You’re welcome to come in and
have a look if you like but I’ll warn you it’s a bit of a
mess.”

“Now I’m intrigued. Do lead on.”

He threw open the door to reveal a cheerful
room lined by tall windows admitting golden sunlight.

The only furnishings here were a collection
of half finished chairs, tables, and other pieces of what Drucilla
could only describe as rubbish. The floor was dirty and heaped with
wood shavings, saws of various types, and carving tools.

“I told you it was my workroom,” Lord Absalom
said apologetically. “Wood carving and furniture making is a
pastime I took up some time ago. Father thinks it an absolute waste
of time and he’s probably right. He is about most things.”

He looked uncertain.

“Nonsense. I think your work is marvelous,”
Drucilla lied, running her hand over the rough back of an
unfinished chair. She immediately picked up a splinter.

Hiding the injured palm behind her skirt, she
said, “However, you’ve taken me completely by surprise Lord
Absalom. I should not have suspected you had the soul of an artist
in you.”

“Nor any sort of soul at all, I suppose.” His
smile was faintly sardonic.

When she did not hurry to correct him, he
said, “You must not confuse me with my father, Miss Winterbourne.
I’m aware Southorn has no doubt painted a black portrait of me. One
I at least partially deserve, I’ll not deny. But I remain quite
human, with all the feelings and weaknesses of any other such
creature.”

“Unlike the elder Lord Litchfield?” she
suggested.

“My father has his share of failings, make no
mistake. But whether or not he possesses any of the other foibles
of us mere mortals is a matter of debate.” He smiled then and she
thought he could appear attractive, when he was of a mind to.

“You do not get on with your father,” she
observed. She was aware she was being impolitely blunt but felt
unable to help herself. “I am surprised. I should have thought you
had much in common, both sharing a respect for artistic work.”

He shrugged. “My father may dabble with oil
and canvas from time to time but it is nothing to him but a method
of burning off excess energy. He has no real interest in anything
save the estate and no ‘respect’ as you put it, for anyone but
himself.” He spoke bitterly and she realized there was much more
animosity between father and son than she had first thought.

She must proceed cautiously, lest he realize
the depth of her interest. She certainly had no wish for him to
guess she had overhead the argument between them. “He restricts
your freedom I suppose?” she said casually. “No man can enjoy
that.”

“It goes much deeper than that, Miss
Winterbourne. The feelings between my father and myself are no
secret. As a boy, he drove me hard, seeking, I think, to mold me
into the image of himself. As you can see, he did not succeed. I
believe that was a bitter disappointment to him. Our tense
relations continued, even once I reached my majority. I would have
continued my studies at school. He brought me home early to train
me in my duties toward the estate. Later, I set my heart on seeing
something of the world and traveled to Madrid, among other places.
I felt free, happy while I was there. But my father interfered once
more and wrote to order me home. You can imagine how that affected
me.”

“Of course,” she said. “But then you met
Celeste. Your father did not stand in the way of your marriage at
least.” It was an attempt to bring the subject around to the
present situation. She was uncertain why she wished to press him on
the subject of her friend. What did she want? For him to admit to
her, as he had to his father, that he had married poor Celeste for
her wealth? She did not know. She only felt a certainty that she
must continue in this vein.

Absalom snorted. “Why should my father have
prevented my marriage? It was precisely what he wanted.”

She stepped nearer. “Why should that be so?”
she asked with raised brows.

Abruptly, he seemed to realize he had strayed
onto unsafe ground. “Well, isn’t it what all fathers want?” he
answered vaguely. “To see their children well married and
respectably settled down?”

He brought out his watch. “Ah, I see it is
growing late. Perhaps I’d better check in with Father. He wanted to
discuss some funeral arrangements with me. I trust you can find
your way back to your room?”

Drucilla knew it was his way of letting her
know he would not discuss Celeste further.

Chapter Eleven

Drucilla did not return to her room
immediately. After Absalom had left her, she drifted downstairs and
let herself out into the rose garden. In the privacy of the
outdoors, she drew out the rumpled page from the poetry book she
had discovered in Celeste’s room.

There, on a stone bench beneath the fading
light of day, she read the brief, haunting tale of a new bride
spurned by her husband and ruined in the worst way imaginable until
at last the only solution she could see was to run away.

By the time she had finished reading,
Drucilla had tears in her eyes and her hands were trembling with
rage. Because she knew, she
knew
at last, what had really
happened to poor Celeste and why this poem had meant so much to
her.

And now there was someone she must
confront.

***

“You are a married man, Lord Absalom,” she
stated bluntly.

Around the dinner table, faces looked up in
surprise, causing Drucilla to reflect that perhaps she had not
chosen the best moment for this battle.

Across the table, Lord Absalom looked
perplexed. “Yes, of course I am, Miss Winterbourne. Or was. But of
course my title has changed to that of ‘widower’ since the death of
Celeste.”

“I am not referring to your union with
Celeste, Lord Absalom, but to your marriage with your true wife.
Mrs. Portillo, as she calls herself.”

There was a moment’s silence and then Aunt
Bridget, who had made a full recovery from her morning illness,
burst out with, “Drucilla, don’t be absurd! This is a house of
mourning and no place for tasteless jests.”

The old lady appealed to Lord Litchfield at
the head of the table. “Please forgive my niece. As you can see,
Celeste’s death has affected her deeply.”

“It has,” Drucilla cut in. “But I assure you
I’m not speaking out of either ill-considered humor or hysterical
grief. I retain my senses. Which is more than can be said for Lord
Absalom when he first entered into his secret marriage.”

Lord Absalom’s laugh sounded forced. “Now I’m
sure this is a joke. Who put you up to this? Southorn? Do you know
what she’s talking about?”

But no one looked to Southorn. Drucilla
believed they were all absorbed, as she was, in watching the color
drain from Lord Absalom’s face. His long-fingered hands played
nervously with his table-knife.

Drucilla was relentless. “After your
imprudent match, you must have been very afraid of your father’s
displeasure. So you concealed it from everyone, conniving instead
to have the Spanish beauty you had married installed here as
housekeeper. You knew it would be suspected she was your mistress
but who would guess at the real truth which, to your family, would
be far more shocking? You realized your father would accept his
son’s foreign mistress of common origins much more easily than he
could accept the same woman as his daughter-in-law and future lady
of Blackridge.”

Lord Absalom’s cool façade was beginning to
crumble. “I never heard such rubbish in my life. Where would you
get such outlandish ideas?”

He looked bewildered.

She said, “I got the notion from no other
source than yourself, sir. First, when I overheard you and your
father discussing the intimate nature of your relationship with
another woman. And again this afternoon, when you mentioned how you
had been abroad in Madrid. It was not difficult to guess this was
where you formed your initial connection with ‘Mrs. Portillo.’
Questioning one of the servants confirmed the timeline of the new
housekeeper’s arrival coincided suspiciously with your return from
Spain. Still, I concede you were clever in your deceit. Even I
wouldn’t have guessed the truth.”

“But for what?” Lord Absalom asked, voice
strained. “What gave me away?”

Drucilla thought of the love poem, still
tucked inside her pocket. “A message from beyond the grave.”

He frowned. “What nonsense. You call that
proof?”

“No, alone it wouldn’t be. But considering
everyone at this table just heard you all but confess, I shouldn’t
think any stronger evidence needed.”

His face fell.

But if Lord Absalom was prepared to give up
his claim to honor with hardly a fight, his father was not so
inclined.

“Absalom,” Lord Litchfield demanded. “Tell
this young woman how wild and unfounded her accusations are.”

“No,” his son responded. “No, perhaps Miss
Winterbourne is right. Maybe the time for half-truths is at an
end.”

Drucilla leaned forward, eyes shining. She
had hoped for but hardly dared expect a full confession.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Lord Absalom said. “In
fact, I suppose I owe an apology to everyone at this table for my
deceit.”

“The one your actions have harmed most is not
present to give her forgiveness,” Drucilla murmured, thinking of
how poor Celeste had been fooled into loving this man.

He misunderstood. “You’re right, I fully mean
to beg forgiveness from Evita, er, ‘Mrs. Portillo’ as well. But the
truth is, I never meant the pretense to go so far. I was in love, I
acted on the impulse of the moment, and didn’t think of anything
else until after the marriage took place. Only then did I consider
what my family would say. What
everyone
would say. So I
concocted the scheme to bring Evita here, to have her near me, even
if no one could know what we were to one another. It didn’t seem
such a terrible thing to do at first. After all, who did it affect
but ourselves?”

“But then Celeste entered the scene,”
Drucilla prodded.

“Yes. I met Celeste and father began
pressuring me to court her. He threatened to cut off my allowance.
More importantly, he knew there was something between Evita and me
and he swore he’d throw her out of the house if I didn’t marry
where he chose.”