The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) (12 page)

Chapter 21

Clairece woke to the sounds of footsteps rushing up and down the stairs and through the halls. She tossed back the quilt, lowered her feet to the chilled floor, and carefully slipped from the bed. She’d managed to pull her heavy robe over her shoulders before Daisy bustled in.

“What’s happening? It sounds as if the whole household is in an uproar,” Clairece queried.

“It is, rightly enough.” The maid scurried around the room pulling various items of clothing from drawers. “We’re to leave in a few hours for Somerset. His lordship asked me to see if you were up as he would like to have a word.”

“I’ll meet him in the small sitting room in a few minutes.” Clairece crossed to the bathing chamber where she performed her morning ablutions. After a quick glance at her reflection in the mirror, she grabbed a hairbrush and tugged it through her thick locks. Once completed, she felt more presentable, if one considered a dressing gown and hair down around one’s shoulders, presentable. She found Anthony waiting for her.

He came forward and took her hands. “Did you sleep well?”

“Too well.” She studied his expression. “Was there something other than brandy and warmed milk in the drink?”

His lips twitched. “You needed your rest.”

“Anything could have happened and I wouldn’t know.”

Anthony slipped her arm through his and walked her toward the settee. “Something did happen. Your scar-faced guard appeared and entered this house dressed as one of my footmen. He got away, but not before a man was killed.”

“My God.” Clairece sank onto the padded cushions, Anthony at her side.

“We’re leaving for Somerset today. I sent a maid and two footmen to gather your belongings and bring them here. The staff will leave this afternoon, but you and I will travel by rail after dark.”

“Why aren’t we making the journey with the others?”

“Even as well-sprung as my equipage is, it would be too hard a trip for you. This will be safer.”

“What of your servants if you suspect trouble?” She clasped her hands in her lap.

“I’m sending six outriders with the carriages and wagons. The sheer size of the entourage will require it to travel at a slower pace, but it should also deter anyone from trying something along the way. Any attempt would most likely occur at the posting inn, and they’ll be prepared.”

“And Caesar?” She glanced at the dog who had curled around her feet.

Anthony smiled. “Caesar will travel with them to Bath. He’s done it many times with me. In any case, it would cause too much of a stir and draw unwanted attention if we took him with us on the train.”

“Does James know?”

Anthony nodded. “We talked last night.”

“Is that what happened to your face and . . .” she considered his hands, “and knuckles? You and James didn’t—”

“No, nothing of the sort,” he smiled reassuringly. “Now, should anyone ask, I’m a wealthy merchant taking my wife on holiday. We’ll travel with only one portmanteau, so choose carefully. Some off-the-line items of clothing will arrive shortly for both of us. With any luck, a sleeping compartment will be available.

“Daisy will wear your cloak with the hood up since your hair is remarkable and will be hard to disguise. If no one looks closely, she will pass for you. Once you and I arrive in Bristol, we’ll take a room until my coachman arrives to take us to The Park.”

“It sounds like a good plan.” She eyed him consideringly.

“What?”

“So we’re to be alone for a few hours in a closed compartment, and again at a hotel?”

“Yes.” He nodded slowly.

She lowered her voice and, in an exaggerated drawl, said, “Are you deliberately trying to compromise me, sir?”

At first, Anthony thought she was flirting, until he caught the glitter in her eyes. “If, or when, I take you to wife, you will have done so willingly, or not at all. I’ve witnessed the devastation an unhappy union can bring upon two people. I will not inflict such a travesty on either of us.”

The smile left her face. “I apologize. I know you are not such a man.”

“I have something for you.” From an inside pocket, he withdrew a wide gold band. “If we’re to appear as husband and wife, you will need this.” Anthony lifted her left hand and slid the ring onto her finger.

She touched the intricately carved ring. “It’s lovely.” She turned toward him. “Do you think we’ll be watched?”

“Most likely, but also by Stallings’ men until we’re away.” He touched her cheek. “No amount of powder will completely cover this bruising.” He brushed a wisp of silver-blond hair behind her ear. “And you’ll need a hat to cover this glorious hair.”

“Pardon the interruption, my lord, but Lord Longhaven is here to see you,” Hodges intoned.

“Please, show him up.”

“If I might ask for your indulgence, my lord, I would like to ride in the second carriage with Caesar and Mr. Beetleworth. And, I would prefer to have the silver with me.”

Anthony gave a sharp nod. “I have no problem with whatever arrangements you make, Hodges.”

The butler retreated. Within moments, Anthony heard James’ footsteps on the landing.

As James entered the room, he reached inside his coat pocket for two printed strips of thick paper. “I was able to secure a private compartment without difficulty.” He bent and brushed a kiss on Clairece’s head. “How are you this morning?”

“Better, thank you.” Clairece frowned. “What happened to your face?”

James shot a glance in Anthony’s direction. “Just having a bit of fun.”

Clairece looked suspiciously from one to the other before saying, “Anthony informed me of the plans for today, and of the poor footman.”

“If you consider the penalty for murder is death by hanging,” James began, “and how the crown takes a dim view of those who would steal or otherwise misuse royal property as in the collar, it’s not difficult to understand why someone would go to such extremes to try and silence a witness to the crimes.”

“But I’m not a witness. I was upstairs at the time. Whoever killed Roger should be aware of that.”

“Nevertheless, you did see the guard and gave a good description of him. It stands to reason our assumption you witnessed something else might also be true,” James suggested.

Anthony glanced up as Hodges once again appeared at the door. “Yes?”

“Chief Stallings, my lord.”

Anthony rose and addressed Clairece. “He’s the Inspector from Scotland Yard. If you will excuse me, I need to speak with him.”

Clairece raised her hand to stay him. “I know it’s most improper for me to receive gentlemen dressed as I am, but I want to hear what he has to say.” She leaned forward. “Please, it is my right.”

He sighed. “Show the inspector up.” The thought of other men seeing her in garments intended solely for the bedchamber, sorely tried his patience.

Jeremy Stallings strode in. He scanned the occupants of the room, his gaze coming to rest briefly on Clairece before he came forward.

“James, this is Chief Inspector Jeremy Stallings from the CID at Scotland Yard. Chief, may I present James Ashley, Viscount Longhaven?” Anthony said.

Stallings gave a short bow. “My lord.”

“We greatly appreciate your help in this matter, Chief Stallings,” James responded.

Anthony extended his arm to include Clairece. “May I present Mrs. Griffin? She has asked to be included.”

Stallings took her hand and bent over it. If he was surprised to be introduced to a woman in her boudoir wearing a dressing gown, he gave no indication. His sharp gaze settled on her face, obviously taking in the abrasions and discoloration.

“Please.” Anthony indicated an armchair near the settee. Stallings settled his large frame onto the padded surface.

James rubbed his chin in concentration. “Have you ever met Lord Adrian Spencer, the Earl of Windsford?”

“I have. I looked into a matter for him about eighteen years ago,” Stallings replied.

James brightened. “You were the detective who found proof of my uncle’s innocence in the death of his fiancée.”

“I had that honor, yes.” Stallings leaned back and turned his attention to Anthony. “I bring news I think will interest you. I contacted the police department in New York. They remember the incident clearly and added some interesting facts.”

He settled deeper into the chair, making it creak. “It seems Edward Rasmussen, the man who purchased the collar and had it held at the museum, bragged to all and sundry he had acquired it through the black market. He told his wife the person who delivered the relic was a large man with a scar on his face. The same day the collar was stolen and Roger Griffin killed, Rasmussen was found in his home, a victim of foul play. Two of his servants saw a man answering to that description leaving the premises.”

Stallings turned to Clairece. “Mrs. Griffin, is there anything else, no matter how insignificant, you can remember about that day?”

Chapter 22

“Three men dead,” Clairece whispered, horrified.

Stallings glanced sharply at Anthony. “Three?”

“One of my footmen fell victim to the same man,” Anthony verified.

Clairece caught her lower lip between her teeth. “His wife must have been devastated.”

Stallings’s regard jumped to Clairece. “You knew him?”

“Mr. Rasmussen and my father corresponded frequently. It was he who requested the museum have my father authenticate the piece.” Fighting for calm, Clairece lowered her eyes and studied her hands. “I wondered why I never heard from him after the robbery and my husband’s death.”

Stallings withdrew a small book and pencil from an inside pocket. “Would you start from the beginning, Mrs. Griffin? I’m not clear as to the chain of events.”

She began slowly. “Mr. Rasmussen is . . .
was
a jeweler. He first heard of the collar for the gems it contained. He assumed the man who sold the relic had no idea what he truly possessed. Rasmussen was also an historian, which explains the connection to my father. He remembered the firsthand accounts of Queen Mary’s death, and believed he was holding the collar once worn by her dog. Its whereabouts has intrigued scholars for over three hundred years.”

She smoothed her hands over the soft velvet of her robe, remembering. “Rasmussen asked the museum to hold the piece for safekeeping until it could be authenticated. The gems alone were worth a fortune. However, if the collar was the missing artifact, the whole would be priceless. Rasmussen planned to return the piece to England where it would be better appreciated.”

“What would he gain from such a magnanimous gesture?” Stallings asked.

“He wished immortalization in history as the person who restored such a priceless article to England,” Anthony interjected. “As a collector and an Englishman, it’s what I would do.”

James shifted in his seat. “The tabloids were full of news surrounding the possible find, and plans were made with the British Museum to receive it. I never made the connection with the incident involving Roger and Ree.”

Stallings scribbled a few notes in his little black book. “Mrs. Griffin, what else can you remember?”

She thought back, seeing again the large, cavernous room in her mind. “The museum seemed uncommonly busy for a morning. There was a group of women on tour, a mother with two unruly children, and a cleaning lady mopping the floor where something had been spilled. I slipped on the wet tile and would have fallen, save for a man who caught my arm.”

Stallings’ head jerked up. “What did the man look like?”

Clairece tapped her lip with a finger. “He was tall. He kept his head down, but I did notice his hat and the little red feather in the band.”

“A style common to gentlemen here in England,” Anthony offered for Clairece’s edification.

Stallings leaned forward. “Did he say anything to you?”

“No . . . yes. He mumbled
bloody hell.
Roger came to stand beside me and the man turned away.”

“This man saw the two of you together?” Stallings asked.

“I would think so. Roger and I were led down a flight of stairs to the basement and the vault. The only other person I saw was the guard, and you know about him.”

“You left the vault and went upstairs?” Stallings’ hand, busily writing, paused.

“Yes, with the curator of the museum.” Suddenly chilled, she pulled the front of her dressing gown tighter and slumped against the back of the sofa.

Stallings tapped his pencil against the tablet. “Mrs. Griffin, are you up to answering one more question?”

“Of course.”

“I understand you initiated the first contact with your assailants by placing an ad in the
Post
Personals. What made you decide to use a London tabloid?” he queried.

She shrugged. “It was a fluke, one that paid off.”

Stallings held her gaze. “Why wait two years, Mrs. Griffin?”

“Now see here—” James glowered at Stallings, receiving a black glare in return.

Clairece seethed. “I didn’t wait. After I attended to Roger’s burial and some last business matters of his, I began asking questions of anyone with knowledge of antiquities, including the underground or black market. I placed ads in the local newspapers and magazines around New York, but nothing came of them. I extended the notices up the coast into Boston and around Philadelphia with the same results.”

Clairece leaned toward Stallings, irritation, anger, and hurt sweeping through her. “I met, and talked with, all sorts of people, from the honest to the most degenerate, and in places I had no idea even existed. I ventured into back alleys and tunnels under the city to meet with anyone who said they had information.”

The men gaped in horror, but she was too incensed to stop. “How dare you imply finding Roger’s killer wasn’t important to me?” She drew in a steadying breath. “I advertised in the London personals by happenchance. I was prepared to cover England, Scotland, and Wales, but then I received my first reliable lead.”

She released a short laugh and shook her head. “All that time and effort, and the person who responds wants me dead.” She threw out her arms. “Well, here I am, Chief Inspector, the perfect way to draw them in. Let’s get on with it, shall we, so poor Roger can finally rest in peace and I . . .” her voice broke.

Anthony surged to his feet, his face a mask of rage as he stared at Clairece. “What did you think to accomplish by placing yourself in such danger? Did you once stop and consider what could happen to you in those hellholes? You might have disappeared without a trace and sold into slavery to service any man with enough coin.”

Hands fisted at his sides, he paced the room. Clairece stared in shock at the anger she’d inadvertently unleashed.

“Damnation, Clairece. Do you think the only thing of value was the collar?” Anthony marched to the cheval glass over the mantle and yanked it from the wall. “Look in this mirror.” He held it in front of her face. “Do you see that woman? Do you have any idea what
she
would bring on the black market?”

James bounded to his feet to stand beside Stallings who had risen at Anthony’s tirade. “Tony, stop.”

“I can’t say I disagree with you, Harding, but you’ve made your point,” Stallings intervened.

Suddenly off kilter, Anthony clenched his teeth to stop the berating words. Clairece was a ray of light chipping away at the darkness. Because of her, he’d started to believe there could be more to life than the emptiness he so often felt. To have her risk it all was unthinkable.

“You’re leaving for Somerset today?” Stallings asked, changing direction.

Anthony struggled to steady his breathing. “We are to travel by rail after dark tonight. For appearance’s sake, we are going as husband and wife.”

“I see.” Stallings’ expression remained even, but his eyes twinkled.

Devil take the man.

“Under the circumstances, it’s a good idea,” Stallings added helpfully. “They won’t be looking for a married couple.” He slipped the small tablet into his pocket. “If I need to reach you, may I send a message to your estate?”

“Certainly.”

“I’ll send word as soon as I have something. You do the same if anything else arises.” Stallings nodded to Clairece and James before turning to Anthony. “Show me to the door?”

Once downstairs, Stallings faced him. “We now have our answer as to
why
. I suspect the man with the hat was also involved. He obviously believes Mrs. Griffin can identify him and tie him to the missing relic. The fact he hadn’t recognized the collar as a royal artifact, might once have helped his case. But he took it again and hasn’t turned it over. If the man’s caught with the piece in his possession, it won’t go lightly for him. And he now has three deaths to his credit. Whether he did it himself or hired it done makes little difference.”

“Surely he realizes that,” Anthony pointed out.

“I’d say he most likely believes it’s his life or hers, and, in a sense, he’s right. He has nothing to lose, Harding. He’ll keep coming, killing anyone who gets in his way. Let’s hope the ships’ manifests give us a name before someone else dies.” He edged toward the door.

Anthony stayed him with a hand. “A warning, Stallings. If you ever challenge Clairece again, I will personally knock you on your arse.”