The Deception (22 page)

“Evangeline,” he said, his voice low and deep. His mother, suddenly enlightened, nearly lost her bearings. But she didn’t. She wanted to know so much, but she wasn’t stupid. The duke had stepped behind a barrier even she couldn’t breach.

She said merely, “What a lovely name.” Then she rose from her chair and shook out her skirts. She was a tall woman, still possessed of a graceful, willowy figure despite her fifty years. She walked to her son, lightly kissed his cheek, and said, “I have thought so many times that you are quite the most handsome gentleman of my acquaintance.”

“I look like you, Mother, so you’re merely showing your own conceit.”

“Oh, not entirely. Your father was also a splendid-looking gentleman.” She knew that her son, just as his father had been before him, was continually plagued by hopeful young ladies, as well as by married ladies, and ladies who were not ladies at all. She wondered if he hadn’t fallen in love because women had so eagerly thrown themselves into his arms and into his bed since he’d reached the age of sixteen. Perhaps even younger, she thought. Her husband had been inordinately proud of his son’s sexual prowess. He’d loved his son more than he loved his wife, she suspected. He would curse his son’s wildness one moment, and preen like the proud papa he was the next. Ah, and then the son had bowed to his father’s wishes, married, presented the world with an heir, lost his wife, and now conducted his life in a more discreet fashion. And he was bitterly unhappy.

She said in the most indifferent voice in her repertoire, “You’ve told me that Evangeline is half English.”

“Yes,” he said, and that was all. He couldn’t begin to imagine what his mother would say if he added that he felt more lust for her than any woman he’d ever met in his life and he also wanted to strangle her, and perhaps hold her tightly against him when they slept together.

“I believe,” Marianne Clothilde said, smoothing down her lovely pale blue muslin skirts, “it’s time for Monsieur Possette to arrive. He arranges my hair most charmingly.” With that, she walked from the drawing room. She paused at the door and said in an airy voice, “Who knows? Perhaps Evangeline will come to London soon. Perhaps I will invite her myself. What do you think of that?”

He looked hunted. What was she to make of that? “Don’t, Mother,” he said. “Don’t.”

In that moment, as he stood alone as the devil staring out into the rain, he saw her arching her back against his arm as he caressed her with his mouth. “Damn you, Evangeline,” he said to no one at all.

He thought of his mistress, Morgana, but oddly, although he missed her cutting wit, her awesome skills, he didn’t want her. He only wanted one woman, curse her.

He felt violent. He thought of Bunyon and rubbed his hands together. This afternoon they’d go to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon. Every punch would make him feel better, despite which one of them was hit.

E
vangeline was surprised to see Mrs. Raleigh very nearly running down the long corridor toward the north wing, her household keys jangling madly at her waist.

“What’s wrong, Mrs. Raleigh?” she called out as she closed her bedchamber door behind her. “May I help?”

“Oh, Madame. Good morning.” She stopped and turned to face Evangeline, her face pink from her exertion. “I’ll tell you, Madame, I’m worried about Mrs. Needle. She always eats her porridge in the servants’ hall precisely at seven o’clock in the morning. No one has seen her. It’s after eight. Something’s wrong, I know it. She is so very old, you know. I must go see.”

“I’ll come with you,” Evangeline said, falling into step beside the housekeeper. “She probably lost track of the time while making up some new potion.”

When they reached the turret room, Evangeline rapped on the door and called, “Mrs. Needle, it’s Madame de la Valette and Mrs. Raleigh. Are you all right?”

There was no answer. Evangeline called out again. Still nothing.

“I knew it,” Mrs. Raleigh said, “something is wrong. She’s ill, I know it.”

“Perhaps she’s in the home wood gathering mushrooms,” Evangeline said even as she turned the large brass doorknob. She didn’t believe that, though. She didn’t want to go into the tower room.

The smell of drying roses was strong in the air. “Mrs. Needle?”

Evangeline walked slowly about the room, Mrs. Raleigh close on her heels. She drew in her breath sharply. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Oh, dear.”

Evangeline ran to the other side of the screen, into the small alcove that was Mrs. Needle’s sleeping area. The old woman lay crumpled on her side. Evangeline knew that she was dead even before she knelt down beside her and closed her fingers over her veined wrist. There was no pulse, and her body was stiff. Mrs. Needle had been dead for many hours.

“She was an old woman,” Mrs. Raleigh said. “But still it is distressing. It must have been her heart. I pray it was quick. She never allowed any of us to remain long with her. Oh, goodness, I’m so very sorry that her time came when she was alone.”

Evangeline sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. Unbidden, the peaceful face of her mother rose in her mind, her pale lips quirked in a smile, her sightless blue eyes staring until the doctor gently lowered her lids. She had felt only shock at first at her mother’s death; the stiff figure that had been her mother had seemed alien to her. Grief had come later. “Yes,” Evangeline said finally, looking up at Mrs. Raleigh. “She was an old woman, a very old woman. Fetch Bassick. He will know what is to be done.” Mrs. Raleigh nodded and hurried from the room,
the keys at her waist making light clanging noises as she ran down the stone steps.

Evangeline looked down into Mrs. Needle’s face. All the ancient lines seemed to have been smoothed out. She didn’t look as old in death. She reached down and rested her palm for a brief moment against Mrs. Needle’s cold cheek. The poor old woman. She’d died alone, with no one to share her passing. Her eyes fell to the open neck of Mrs. Needle’s old wool gown, and she saw in the hollow of her wrinkled throat two violet bruises, each the size of a man’s thumb. She sat back on her heels, closing her eyes. Oh no, oh God no. She forced herself to look again, more closely. No, those horrible thumb marks were still there, deep, deadly. Mrs. Needle hadn’t died alone—someone had strangled her.

She covered her face with her hands. It was all her fault. She’d told John Edgerton about Mrs. Needle. She’d probably even mentioned her name, but she didn’t remember if she had or not. She’d told him that the old woman suspected that something wasn’t right with her. She’d mentioned her only because—a sob tore from her throat, and she covered her face in her hands. The truth was that she’d told Edgerton hoping to use the poor old woman to frighten him into calling a halt to his madness. But instead he’d simply removed her, as if she’d been nothing more than a flick of lint from a jacket sleeve. He’d ordered her murder. And she was the one responsible. Mrs. Needle was dead because Evangeline had come to Chesleigh castle. There was no excuse for her, none at all.

Bassick found Evangeline rocking back and forth over Mrs. Needle’s body, her face streaked with tears, her eyes blind, her body bowed with awful pain.

“Madame,” he said quietly, dropping his hand to
her shoulder. “You must come away now. I’m sorry her passing has caused you such grief. The shock of finding someone who has died can be very distressing.”

Evangeline looked up at him. “She’s dead, Bassick. Don’t you understand? She’s dead.”

He knelt beside her and carefully pressed the flat of his hand over Mrs. Needle’s heart. “Yes, I understand. Leave now and I will see to things. It was her heart. She was old, very old. It just stopped, yes, doubtless it simply stopped. It was an easy passing, Madame. I have sent for the doctor. He will arrive shortly. Go, Madame.”

“No, Bassick, it wasn’t her heart. She didn’t have an easy passing.” She touched her fingers to the bruises. “Someone came in here and strangled her.”

Bassick felt the circular room reel around him. He shook his head back and forth. “No, that’s not possible. Not here, not at Chesleigh.” She said nothing.

Bassick studied the bruises on Mrs. Needle’s throat. He knew what he was looking at, but still it shocked him to his toes. He couldn’t accept it. “But why?” He felt helpless, beyond his ken, but he knew he had to act, do something to fix this dreadful situation. “Why?” he said again.

And Evangeline said, her voice dull and lifeless as the old woman crumpled on the floor beside her, “I don’t know, Bassick. I don’t know.”

Bassick pulled himself together. He rose. He offered Evangeline his hand and helped her to stand. “Listen to me, Madame. It’s best that we don’t touch her. I must call the magistrate. It is Baron Lindley, an old fool, but we really have no choice in the matter. Come
with me. We will both drink a brandy to steady us for what will come.”

“Mrs. Needle didn’t hurt anyone,” Evangeline said as she let Bassick lead her from the room.

Baron Lindley, blessed with a thick head of white hair and stoop shouldered, whose gout was the only topic allowed in his household, arrived in the next hour. He found the young cousin of the duke, Madame de la Valette, unnaturally withdrawn. He thought it a shame that such a sensitive young lady should have been the one to find the old woman. After duly questioning all the Chesleigh servants, he returned to the drawing room and Madame de la Valette, for there was no one else to receive him. He wished heartily that the duke was in residence. He felt uncomfortable with his young cousin. His right foot hurt. He wanted to ask for a warm towel to wrap around it, but seeing the blank-faced young lady who looked so very alone, he didn’t ask. He doubted she’d even understand him. He wondered if she was half-witted. He cleared his throat. Bassick continued to stand beside the closed door. He cleared his throat two more times before the young lady finally looked up at him.

“I have determined that the man who strangled the old woman was someone to whom she gave a healing potion and it harmed either him or a loved one. I have determined that it was revenge. The man was in a rage and strangled her.”

“Revenge,” she said, the word flitting through her mind, giving no meaning, not really. Had the baron really determined that?

“Yes, revenge,” Baron Lindley continued. “She owned nothing of value. Indeed, nothing in her rooms
was even disturbed. There was the strong smell of roses. I fancy the man who strangled her intensified the heat under the roses. Perhaps it was the favorite scent of the woman who Mrs. Needle harmed with her potion. It was probably a love potion. Yes, the fellow was maddened by his grief and killed her. I doubt we will be able to find out who he is. However, I will see that all local folk who have been given medicine by the old woman will be questioned. Now, I must return home. My foot pains me. I must elevate it while I drink a brandy. It is too much. Good-bye, Madame.”

Evangeline knew that no one would be found. She doubted that local folk would even be questioned. In any case, it would be a waste of time. She managed to rise when Baron Lindley left the drawing room, Bassick at his heels. Mrs. Needle’s death would remain a mystery, and soon everyone would forget. She wasn’t of sufficient importance for anyone to remember.

After Baron Lindley left, Evangeline said to Bassick, “You were quite right about the baron. Even if he weren’t a fool, little would be done. I must write to the duke and inform him of what has occurred.” She paused a moment. “Please, Bassick, check all the locks.”

Bassick saw the fear in her eyes. He didn’t blame her. He felt fear himself. Someone had come into the castle and murdered one of its occupants. “Of course, Madame. I will also post footmen at various entrances. Perhaps the man who did this thing will return. Yes, you must write to his grace. He will be much shocked. He has always been quite fond of Mrs. Needle. He’s known her all of his life, you know. He was always bringing her slips of plants he came across.”

“Yes, I know he was fond of her. He really brought her plants and such?”

“Oh, yes. Just last month a ship captain brought a variety of plants from India to give to the duke. He gave them to Mrs. Needle. His grace told her he wanted her to mix a potion to make him the best horseman in the land. As I recall, Mrs. Needle told his grace that since he was already the best lover in the land, it would spoil his character to give him more. She laughed greatly when she said that, his grace too.” Evangeline sat at the duke’s desk in the library, spread out a single piece of foolscap before her, and dipped her quill into the inkwell. How they had parted three weeks before was of no importance now. She needed to see him. But to say what? I killed your old nurse. No, I didn’t strangle her myself, but I told John Edgerton about her and he had it done. Oh, God, what was she to do, to write to him? She knew she had to see him, or she’d quite simply go mad with guilt.

“Your grace,” she wrote finally, “I’m sorry to have to tell you such tragic news. Mrs. Needle has died. The cause of her death was not natural.” Her quill remained poised above the paper before she forced out the words. “Someone came into the castle, went to the north tower, and killed her. Someone unknown. I beg you to come to Chesleigh. Your cousin—” She scratched her name and folded the sheet. She quite simply wanted to die.

T
he duke arrived late the following morning, having driven from London in under six hours. He was tired, dirty, stunned at the manner of his old nurse’s death, and wild with worry for Evangeline.

“Thank God you’re home, your grace. Welcome, welcome.” Bassick was so relieved to see his master that he nearly hurled himself against the duke’s chest. As it was, he did trip over a chair in his rush to assist him out of his greatcoat.

“I came as quickly as I could, Bassick. Where is Madame?”

“She is with Lord Edmund, your grace. I fear she is very much affected by Mrs. Needle’s death. She has insisted on making the arrangements for Mrs. Needle’s funeral. I have the footmen keeping watch at strategic points around the castle. All the locks have either been changed or fortified. Oh, yes, we are so glad you have come so quickly.”