Mistress of Merrivale (28 page)

“Her companion indicated she’d given her a sleeping draft.” Captain Cartwright opened the window and leaned out, surveying the surroundings. “I wonder,” he mused out loud. “The creeper is strong enough to support the weight of a person.” He drew his head back inside the room and stood back to shut the window. “Can you direct me to the garden? I wish to inspect the window from below.”

Captain Cartwright escorted her down the stairs and out the front door. They walked around the house, the loose gravel crunching beneath their footwear. The scent of flowers hit her the instant they turned the corner and entered the garden. Her stomach clenched, a hint of queasiness creeping into her consciousness. She swallowed rapidly and started breathing through her mouth.

Her footsteps hastened, and she was thankful when they’d passed the strongly perfumed carnations.

“This is the window. Hmm, no footprints, but it hasn’t rained for some time.”

“There’s a broken branch up there.” Jocelyn pointed out the withering branch of the creeper. The wiry creeper clung to the brick of the manor like a living green ladder. “Do you think it would bear the weight of an adult?”

“Only one way to find out,” the constable said.

Before she could protest, Captain Cartwright shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the ground. He turned to the vine and grasped a section, testing it for strength. It made a cracking sound but held when he exerted his might.

“As I suspected,” the constable said. “It’s holding.”

“Be careful,” Jocelyn said, trying not to sound too anxious. He’d fall heavily if the vine tore from the brickwork.

Carefully the constable made his way up the wall toward the window. Halfway up, he halted. “I’m going to come back down. I think I’ve proved it would be easy enough for a determined individual to climb up and enter the manor via this method.”

Jocelyn nodded mutely.

Minutes later, he stood at her side. “I’m certain this was the method of entry, Mrs. Sherbourne.”

“You’ve proved it’s possible to climb up to the window, yes. But how did they obtain access? Tilly is adamant she closed each window before she left Mother.”

“Perhaps one of the locks is faulty.” The constable cocked his head, as if considering the mystery. “It’s even possible your mother opened the window for some reason.”

Jocelyn nodded, even though she had her doubts. Her mother’s body was cold, which meant the death happened hours ago. She would’ve remained drowsy from the sleeping draught for some time. Jocelyn puzzled at the known information, twisting it this way and that, trying to make it fit before giving up. Her mother’s behavior had grown so unpredictable. Until this week she’d never suspected her mother would physically attack anyone.

“Do you require me for anything else? I need to write to my sisters. They’ll want to learn of the news.” Her sisters would likely dance on her mother’s grave in celebration—if ever they deigned to make an appearance.

Cartwright didn’t like to leave her alone. A crusty bachelor, he didn’t know how to help her. Mrs. Sherbourne’s face was snow-white, her freckles standing out in stark relief, and she wavered on her feet. His arm snapped out. He hesitated then curled it around her waist to keep her upright.

“Send word to your sisters later. A few hours won’t make much difference.”

“I suppose you’re right. I…I am tired.”

Cartwright escorted her to the parlor and gently guided her into the paneled room. “Have you eaten today?” He helped her sit on a Queen Anne chair near the window.

“No.”

“You should eat, Mrs. Sherbourne.” Glad of a course of action, Cartwright rang for a maid and issued concise instructions once she arrived. The maid hurried away to carry out his orders. “I need to leave to take care of other matters.”

“You’ll let me know if you learn anything further.”

“Of course.” Cartwright backed out of the parlor, his heart heavy. Leo hadn’t been with him the entire night. Jocelyn said she hadn’t seen her husband since the previous day, so where the hell had Leo gone last night after they’d parted ways at the abbey?

“There’s a problem,” Cartwright said the minute he sighted Leo. During the ride back to his residence his thoughts had run wild. No matter which way he looked at the situation, the bodies were piling up. His own stepsister had given Leo an alibi for the time of his wife’s murder, but the others…

Leo walked over to the door, staring at Cartwright. Something in him shriveled on seeing the expression of the constable’s face. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Elizabeth Townsend is dead. Someone strangled her last night.”

“How? What happened? Jocelyn?” Leo asked hoarsely.

“It appears someone climbed up the side of the building and gained access via a window.”

“Hell. Jocelyn?”

“Your wife is distressed but safe. Where were you last night?”

Leo’s mouth twisted. “Ah, you’ve discovered I wasn’t with Jocelyn.”

“Tell me where you were.”

“I went to Duxton and skulked around Sir James’s gardens. His visitors are still in residence.”

Cartwright’s shoulders lost their tense set. “Who did you see?”

“Sir James was at home. He has three male guests. He also had a carriage load of women arrive for entertainment.”

“They didn’t go to the abbey. I wonder why. Sir James told me the men were there for hunting and fishing. He told me their names without me prompting him.” Cartwright pulled out a notebook and flicked through the dog-eared pages. “Harry Weatherall, Adam Beacham and Jack Boynton.” He looked up. “Do you know any of them?”

“Boynton? Which one was he?”

“Tall. He wears a wig. Red face. A bit on the portly side.”

Leo frowned. “There’s a Boynton in Jocelyn’s past. She thought she saw him in Tavistock. She’s frightened of him.”

“Why? You think it’s the same one?” A scowl creased Cartwright’s brow, and Leo could see his brain ticking through the relevant information. A woman of good birth would never come into contact with a brute like Boynton—not unless she married him. After a while Cartwright asked, “Did any of the men leave Duxton?”

“No one left while I was there. I need to talk to Jocelyn. Make sure she’s all right.”

“Tonight,” Cartwright said. “All the players are in position, and we need to keep an eye on everyone. I need your help. Besides, I want to know where you are at all times. It’s starting to look as if someone is trying to frame you, although no one should blame you for Mrs. Townsend’s death.”

“I should be with Jocelyn. I can’t protect her if I’m in custody.” An unwelcome thought popped into his mind. Was Elizabeth’s murder something to do with him? Someone might have known he’d rescued Ella when he’d told everyone he’d found her wandering his land. He’d been careful, but there was always a chance someone other than Cartwright knew the truth. “I need to be with Jocelyn.”

“I’m sorry. We can’t even risk a note in case the wrong person intercepts it.”

Leo gave a curt nod. “If anything happens to Jocelyn I—”

“Nothing will happen to Jocelyn as long as she doesn’t wander off on her own.”

On edge for the rest of the day, Leo couldn’t relax until he saw his wife. After spending long hours reconnoitering with Cartwright, he finally headed to the manor and sneaked inside. Relief assailed him once he spied her tucked up in bed. He padded farther into her chamber.

“Jocelyn,” he whispered, not wanting to take her by surprise.

She stirred immediately, sitting up in bed. “Leo?” Her voice trembled.

“I heard about Elizabeth. Are you all right?”

“It’s my fault.” Her voice broke, and he heard a tiny whimper of pain.

He was at her side in an instant. He tugged her into his arms, and she started crying in earnest while he ran his hand up and down her back. Her floral scent surrounded him, and he luxuriated in her sweet smell after the musty, rough cell. He recalled Cartwright’s words about someone trying to frame him. That, he could understand, if he was still free, but Elizabeth’s murder didn’t make sense.

He kept stroking her back, mind busy, seeking answers to the puzzle.

When she stopped crying, he started to talk. “This isn’t your fault. You’ve done everything in your power to protect your mother. You’ve sacrificed everything to secure her wellbeing, so please, don’t blame yourself or think you could have done more. I know it’s not true.”

“But I left her helpless, drugged in a locked room.”

“Jocelyn.” He spoke sternly this time, indicating by his tone that he wouldn’t stand for her blaming herself. Someone had wanted Elizabeth dead, and they’d gone about committing the crime. “What was Boynton’s Christian name?”

“Jack.” She stirred in his arms. “Why?”

“He’s staying at Duxton with Sir James.”

The air hissed through her teeth—a sign of alarm. “You think he murdered Mother?”

“No, he was at Duxton at the time. Is he capable of murder?”

“He’s more of a bully. He preys on those who are weaker and don’t have any means of retaliation. He knows I’m here,” she said. “He’ll cause trouble and spread rumors about my past, if he hasn’t already.”

“Jocelyn. Listen to me.” Leo grasped her upper arms, forcing her to focus on him. “He can gossip as much as he likes. You’re my wife, and nothing he says will make me turn you away. Nothing,” he said in a fierce voice.

A shudder rippled through her. “You probably know my father gambled. He lost everything my grandfather built through clever trade, and when Father had nothing left to stake, he tossed me into the pot. My virginity. He lost, of course, and after informing me of my fate, he attended a cock fight. There was a carriage accident, and my father broke his neck.”

Weak fool. Leo wished
he
could break the man’s neck, but he merely waited for Jocelyn to continue.

“My older sisters distanced themselves. They didn’t wish to get caught in the gossip. Father lost our house and land. The man who won them wanted his property and gave us days to leave. We had nowhere to go, so when the man who won me arrived, I did the only thing I could. I negotiated a roof over our heads and a small stipend in return for my services.” A tremor racked her body, and Leo tightened his hold as he acknowledged the courage his wife had shown in a situation that would have broken most. She gave an audible swallow. “He soon lost interest, and I found someone else. Then there was Boynton. He…he forced me to commit acts with other men.”

“That is your past,” Leo said, running his hand down her back in a soothing motion. “I will
not
turn you away. I know you were utterly loyal to Melburn, and you’ve stood by me when other women would have faltered. I can hardly offer less in return.”

A cold squall blew across Merrivale Manor on the day of the funeral. The clouds sank down to meet the moors, reducing visibility to three or four feet, while the rain lashed the landscape into a sodden mess.

Jocelyn stared out the window and prayed the rain would subside long enough to see her mother off. She hadn’t heard from her sisters, not that she’d expected them to change their stance, but it would have been nice of them to acknowledge her communication.

Leo strode into the parlor, his boots tapping loudly until he reached the square of Persian carpeting. “It’s time.”

Captain Cartwright followed him, a silent sentinel, his presence the condition for allowing Leo to attend her mother’s funeral.

“I’m ready.” She reached for a heavy shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders, covering her simple black gown. Leo took her arm, and she leaned into his warmth while she battled with her queasy stomach. Merrivale seemed quiet now that her mother’s screams no longer echoed down the halls. Too quiet.

When they exited the manor, a closed carriage pulled up outside.

“I thought we were walking to the plot,” Jocelyn said.

“We are since it’s not far.”

A footman ran out into the rain and opened the door. Hannah and Peregrine exited, both dressed in elegant black.

“We came to offer our support,” Hannah said. “Leo, what are—oh. You have a guard.”

“Cartwright has given me leave to attend Elizabeth’s funeral.”

“Well done,” Peregrine said.

Touched by their support—a very nice gesture—quick tears formed in Jocelyn’s eyes. She sniffed. “Thank you for coming.”

The vicar and Mrs. Allenby arrived in the carriage Leo had sent for them, alighting and offering sober greetings. Woodley and Tilly joined the solemn party. The rain continued, and Jocelyn was glad of the umbrellas a second footman handed them. It was a small procession that walked to Leo’s family plot.

Jocelyn half listened to the vicar’s words. They vied with the guilt still stalking her. Despite her mother’s murder, the days since had been peaceful. Without drama. Her sense of relief warred with the feeling it was wrong to think this way. She kept telling herself this was for the best—not the murder, of course, but her mother’s passing. Yet her heart cried out for the vibrant person her mother had been before debt and her father’s death had changed everything.