My Lord Murderer (12 page)

“Didn’t you notice that the rain was turning to ice last night? It has covered the entire countryside. Too bad you can’t see it from the bed—it is a magnificent sight.”

“Then I’m going to get up and take a look. Is there anything resembling a dressing-gown lying about?”

“Yes, right here. But do you think you should? Mr. Farr said that you must be kept in bed for a few days at least.”

“I think my constitution can stand a stroll across the room,” Drew assured her. “You would not ask me to miss the magnificent sight, would you?”

Gwen smiled. “Then you must let me help you,” she said, and brought over the dressing gown. He stood up carefully, surprised to find himself quite unsteady, but with her support he managed to reach the window without tottering. The scene before them, if not quite the fairy-tale setting it had been by moonlight, was nevertheless a remarkable sight. The sun sparkled dazzlingly on a world which seemed to have been miraculously transformed—as if a divinely gifted sorcerer had waved his wand and changed all matter into crystal. Drew and Gwen stood at the window and stared at the splendor before them. They held their breaths as a gust of wind swept by, filling the air with an unfamiliar, magically tinkling sound. Gwen looked up at Drew and smiled at his look of rapt pleasure. As if he felt her eyes, he turned and looked at her, their eyes holding for a silent moment. “I do love you so,” he said softly.

She shut her eyes in pain and held up her hand as if to ward him off. “Drew, don’t,” she said. “You gave your word.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a bit weak today,” he said. She glanced up at him worriedly, to find him smiling down at her. “I’ll be stronger tomorrow, I promise. There will be no more lapses.”

“Then I’ll leave you until tomorrow,” she said firmly.

“Perhaps you’d better. I’m finding it an overpowering struggle to keep from taking you in my arms.”

She gasped, and with one quick, embarrassed glance, she flew from the room.

For the next few days, Drew proved himself to be a very difficult patient indeed. He felt quite well enough to get out of bed, but neither Selby nor Hetty nor Wys, all of whom kept him almost constant company either singly or in a group, would hear of it. It was only by giving his promise to remain in bed when they were gone that he had any time alone. Gwen did not visit his room for two days. Instead, he was visited by her brother. The boy tapped on his door early on the second day of his recovery. Drew called “Come in,” and Tom put his tousled head in the door.

“I’m Gwen’s brother. May I come in?” he asked shyly.

“Of course. I’m glad to see a new face. I’m getting deucedly bored with my sister, my brother-in-law, and that other fellow who calls himself my friend. Their solicitude has been quite depressing.”

Tom smiled and came to Drew’s bedside. He put out his hand awkwardly. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Jamison,” he said, awestruck.

Drew shook the proffered hand. “My friends call me Drew. You’re Tom, I collect, aren’t you? Sit down, and tell me about yourself.”

Tom took a chair beside the bed and looked admiringly at the man who was the idol of all his friends. “Nothing to tell about me, my lord. I’ve heard a great deal about you, though. Been wanting to meet you for a long time.”

“Have you? I can’t imagine why.”

“
Why?
Ever since I came to London, I’ve heard the fellows talk about you. That you beat Onslow in a bruising race, that you’re a crack shot, that you stood up with Jackson and have a punishing right—”

“Enough. You’ll put me to the blush. You young fellows make too much of these sporting pursuits. Tell me, what has a young sporting buck like you been doing with himself here in Suffolk?”

“It’s been a dashed bore, I can tell you. Rained almost every day. And now the ice. If it hadn’t been for the billiard room, I’d have been blue-deviled beyond belief.” He gave Drew a quick, shy glance. “That’s why I couldn’t wait ’til
you
got here. I’ve been hoping you’d have time to teach me to shoot.”

Drew raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Were you
expecting
me?”

Tom gave him a startled look and stiffened. “Well, what I meant was … that is … not exactly,” he stammered awkwardly.

“No need to poker up. You didn’t spill the beans. I’ve known for days that my sister was up to her neck in a plot.” He looked at Tom speculatively. “I just don’t see what
your
part was in all this.”

Tom let out his breath in relief. “You’ve known about it? I’m glad, truly I am. You mustn’t be angry at Aunt Hazel, though. She did it with the best of motives, I assure you.”

“Aunt Hazel? You don’t mean
Lady Hazel Rowle?
”

Tom winced. “Oh, lord, I’ve spilled the beans again! Hang it all, I’m a regular babble-mouth!”

Drew grinned at him. “You certainly are. So Lady Hazel has something to do with this, has she? How did Hetty draw
her
into this bumble-broth?”

“I’ve already prattled too much, I suppose, but since you seem to know most of it, you might as well hear the rest—or at least as much as I know about it. From what Hazel told me, I think it was
her
idea, not Lady Selby’s. Aunt Hazel was worried about Gwen’s burying herself away, and she thought you’d be the one who could pull Gwen out of herself. So Hazel went to Lady Selby, and together they cooked up the plan.”

“Well, well, think of that! Lady Hazel! I must buy her some flowers as soon as we return to London.”

“Buy her flowers? I thought you’d be angry…”

“At Lady Hazel? Not at all. I’m delighted to know she holds no bitterness toward me. But I
am
angry at Hetty.”

“But why, if you’re not at Hazel?”

Drew stared at the boy thoughtfully. “That’s a good question. Why, indeed? I shall have to give the answer some thought. But you have not explained how you were drawn into all this.”

“Well, you see,” said Tom, drawing himself up importantly, “
I
had the cough.”

“The cough?” asked Drew, completely perplexed.

Tom grinned. “Yes. I coughed a few times at the breakfast table, and my sister was convinced that I was suffering from an inflammation of the lungs. Lady Hazel encouraged her fears and suggested that country air might be the best way to cure me. So, when Hetty arrived at the propitious moment and offered to take us to the country—”

“Ah, I begin to see. How could a devoted sister refuse such an offer? I had no idea that Lady Hazel could be so deliciously devious. I shall buy her a
very large
bouquet and deliver it in person.”

“I think Aunt Hazel will like that. She didn’t enjoy having to trick you, you know.”

“But Lady Selby did, I’ll be bound. Tell me, did our lovely country air cure your inflammation?”

Tom laughed. “Completely. I no longer cough at all.”

Drew grinned at the boy warmly. “How miraculous! I should have thought the air would have drowned you … or frozen you!”

“Or both!” Tom added, laughing heartily. But soon his expression sobered. “I suppose we’ll have to leave now,” he said, a shade regretfully.

“I hope not,” Drew responded promptly. “I thought you wanted to do a bit of shooting.”

Tom brightened. “Oh, do you think we could? It would be famous to be able to tell the fellows that I’d been taught to shoot by Sure-shot Jamison! But Gwen will want to leave, I think.”

“Then we must do what we can to see to it that she stays,” Drew said decisively.

By the fourth morning, Drew had had enough of convalescence, and he got out of bed and shaved. By the time he heard the first knock at the door, he had put on his shirt and breeches and was standing before a mirror tying his cravat. “Come in, Hetty,” he called.

But it was not Hetty. “Good morning,” said Gwen cheerily. “Oh,” she said, pausing in the doorway, “you are getting up!”

“I
am
up,” he said firmly, putting on his coat. “But do come in. How kind of you to come see me at last. Did you think I needed all this time to become strong enough to behave with—what did you call it?—polite friendliness?”

The color rose in Gwen’s cheeks. “I did think something of the sort,” she admitted.

“Well, you need not feel troubled any more on that score. I am now strong enough for anything.”

“I’m glad of that,” she said softly, her head lowered. There was a long moment of embarrassed silence. At last she lifted her head and said, “I’ve come this morning to thank you for your kindness to my brother. He has spoken of no one but Drew ever since he saw you.”

“I gave him no kindness. He is a delightful boy, and I was thankful for his company. I had no
other
visitor I wanted to see.”

Gwen blushed and lowered her eyes again. Drew came close to her and lifted her chin. “I waited for you for three long days,” he said, his eyes looking down at her with their disconcerting warmth.

“Drew,” she said pleadingly, “you must not—”

“Oh. Sorry. I have passed the bounds.” He took his hand from her chin and stepped back.

Gwen crossed the room to the window and stood looking out. “I … I’d like to talk to you about Tom,” she said hesitantly. “He says that … that you agreed to teach him to shoot.”

“Yes, I did. Do you object to it?”

She turned slowly and faced him. “Very much,” she said defensively. “Does that surprise you?”

“I suppose it should not,” Drew said, his voice suddenly bitter. “Is
that
why you’ve come to see me this morning?”

Gwen glanced at his face and realized that she had hurt him. “Drew,” she said, trying to explain herself, “you can understand my concern, can’t you? You, of all people, should understand that I prefer that no one in my family handle firearms.”

“I understand perfectly,” Drew said coldly. “You are afraid I’ll turn
him
into a murderer, too.”

“That was unfair,” Gwen said in a low voice, suddenly finding herself on the verge of tears.

“If it was, I apologize.” He turned away from her. “It is difficult to behave with
polite friendliness
to someone who can see me only as a killer.”

“I
knew
no good would come of these encounters,” Gwen said in a choked voice. She came up behind Drew and put her hand on his arm. “Is there no way we can abide by our truce?” she asked gently.

“Not if I’m the only one of us who must make a sacrifice for it.”

“What sacrifice would you have
me
make?”

He turned to her. “Can’t you, for a little while at least, forget that cursed duel?”

“Forget—?” Gwen’s eyes flew to his face in fear. “You mustn’t ask! Oh, Drew, if I forgot the duel I would be—!” She covered her mouth with a trembling hand and stared up at him.

He grasped her shoulders and shook her roughly. “Would be
what? Say
it!”

“Lost,” she whispered, not quite realizing the extent to which that simple word revealed the state of her emotions, emotions she had taken such trouble to hide. “I’d be lost.”

He understood fully what she had admitted by those words. He expelled a long breath and pulled her into his arms. So instinctive and natural was the gesture that the tensions between them seemed to relax. She lay against him, sobbing into his shoulder, unaware that her arms had encircled him tightly. He put his face into her hair murmuring, “My darling, my darling,” not realizing that he was saying anything at all. They remained locked in each other’s arms until the emotions of the moment had spent themselves. Then Gwen lifted her head, looked up at him strangely, and freed herself from his embrace. “But there
was
a duel,” she said in an emotionless voice.

“Yes,” he said with a feeling of alarm.

“And Edward was shot…”

“Yes.”

“By you…”

There was no way around it. “Yes.”

She made a sound like a moan. “I must go. Now. Today. And I must not see you, ever again. Do you understand, Drew? Not ever.”

“Gwen!” He took a step toward her.

“Don’t come near me.” She moved backward to the door, her eyes watching him warily. “Edward is dead by your hand,” she said in that strange, emotionless voice. “It may be the only cruel thing you ever did. I
can
believe that. But it is the one thing I must never forget. It’s a wall between us, more real than a wall of stone.” She opened the door. “Forget me, Drew. There’s no future for us.” And she closed the door behind her.

Drew remained motionless for a moment, then walked slowly to the window. Outside the almost-bare branches of the tall oak brushed against his window in the wind. The ice, which had been slowly melting away in three days of wintry sunshine, was still dripping in little rivulets down the windowpane. The fairyland of ice had almost completely disappeared.

He was still standing at the window an hour later when Wys scratched at his door. “Come in,” he said absently, not moving.

Wys came in and closed the door carefully behind him. He watched his friend for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat. “She’s asked me to take her home,” he said hesitantly.

Drew merely nodded.

“Drew, I … I don’t know what passed between you, but it must have been … er … painful. I’m sorry.”

Drew sighed and turned. “Actually, it was something I should have expected. She merely told me she can never forget that I killed her husband.”

“I see,” said Wys, his face mirroring his sincere sympathy. “Drew, I certainly don’t mean to interfere ever again. God knows how much I regret this whole episode. But I’d like to say one thing more, if I may.”

“You’re my friend, Wys. Say anything you like.”

“Don’t you think it’s time you told her the
truth
about the duel? Do you think it sensible to let a
scruple
destroy the happiness you both might share?”

“I’ve thought of that, Wys. I’ve thought it over very carefully. Do you think it is egotistical of me to expect the girl I love to love me enough to believe,
without being told
, that I am
not
a man who would kill a frightened boy like her husband?”

“No, not egotistical, but…”

“But what?”

“Perhaps you are expecting too much.”

“Am I? Answer a question for me, Wys. As truthfully as you can. If someone—a magistrate, perhaps; a reputable and honest magistrate—told you I had murdered someone, what would you say?”