A Rose Before Dying (13 page)

“Then you are no friend to Sir Edward.”
Gaunt’s attitude aroused bitter frustration within him. “True
friends are those who support you during your most difficult
times.”

“We must keep our emotional attachments from
obscuring the clarity of our vision, my lord. And although it may
appear bleak, I hope we’ll prove him innocent.” Gaunt waited until
Charles nodded his dismissal before turning on his heel and walking
back into the sunshine.

“Beggin’ your pardon, my lord, were you
ready, then?” the coachman asked.

“Yes.” Charles gave brusque orders to drive
to Rosewell and climbed in.

Perhaps the real danger to his clarity of
vision wasn’t his relationship to his uncle, but his growing desire
to spend time with Miss Wellfleet. He moved restlessly and stared
out the window. She was hardly an appropriate female considering
his new position in Society, and yet she attracted him like no
other. Of course, he could just ignore Society altogether and do as
he wished.

He wouldn’t be the first earl to do so.

They no sooner stopped in the street outside
the elegant house when Mr. Abbott flung open the door. Miss
Wellfleet rushed out, dressed in a heavy, dark brown traveling
dress with a bandbox dangling by its ribbons from her wrist. She
moved so quickly that she was waiting by the carriage before he had
a chance to open the door and flip down the steps.

At a more sedate pace, an older woman
followed, swaddled in dark shawls. And then a veritable whirlwind
rushed through the door and flung itself at Miss Wellfleet’s
skirts.

“You can’t leave!” Rose wailed between
gasping sobs.

Miss Wellfleet glanced down in surprise. “I’m
not leaving—”

“Are, too!” She grabbed at the bandbox, but
at the last minute, Miss Wellfleet raised it above the little
girl’s head. Rose jumped several times, trying to snag it, while
her face grew alarmingly red. “Well, if you’re not—give me
that!”

“Rose!” She looped an arm around Rose’s
shoulders and held her. “I promise you, I’m only going for a
day—four days at most.”

A fat tear rolled down Rose’s flushed face
and she wiped her nose with the back of her wrist. “You’re
leavin’.”

“I’m not, truly!”

“Just like Mama. I shoulda knowed better. You
never wanted me here!”

“That’s not true, Rose! We all love you. Cook
will be here, and I won’t be gone that long. You’ll see—why I doubt
you’ll even realize I’m gone.”

“Then why’re you taking her with you?” She
pointed to the maid.

Miss Wellfleet glanced helplessly at the maid
and then Charles. “She’s going to help me.” She bent and hugged
Rose again before kissing her cheek. “Please, Rose. Don’t worry.
Now go find cook. I’m sure she’ll have something sweet for you. And
you can tell her I said you could have whatever you want.”

“You promise you’re coming back?”

“I promise.” She brushed the girl’s soft hair
back from her forehead and kissed her cheek before pushing her
gently toward the front door. “Remember, Mrs. Holdfirth is to give
you anything you want.”

Rose turned in the doorway. “A cuppa
chocolate?”

“If that’s what you want.”

After a brief nod, Rose studied them all, her
sad eyes too mature and knowing for her young face. Charles had the
uncomfortable notion that she never expected any of them to return,
regardless of Miss Wellfleet’s promise. The thought lay heavily on
him.

While he had no doubt that he’d restore Miss
Wellfleet safely to Rosewell, he didn’t know if Miss Baxter would
be with her. There was every likelihood that she was already
dead.

Finally, Rose disappeared into the house, and
the butler closed the door after her. Miss Wellfleet and her maid
clustered at the carriage steps, staring as if they had doubts
about going with him after all.

“Are you sure you should come?” He stood
aside and held his hand out to help Miss Wellfleet into the
carriage.

A firm expression compressed her mouth. “I
wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“Of course.” After the maid clambered in, he
followed the women into the carriage and settled opposite Miss
Wellfleet, facing the rear. “I was concerned about you.”

“There’s no need.” After a moment she forced
a small smile. “I do appreciate it, but it’s unnecessary. And I
hope you don’t mind, but I felt I should bring a maid. This is
Agnes.”

“Quite proper.” He nodded at the maid and
then fixed his attention on Miss Wellfleet. “I have to confess, I
considered trundling off without you. It seems cruel to expose you
to a potentially dangerous situation.”

This time, her mouth curved with real
amusement. It lit her hazel eyes with green and gold flecks. “I
anticipated that. In fact, I told Mr. Abbott that if you didn’t
arrive within the next ten minutes, I’d take our carriage to
Rye.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Then I’m glad
I didn’t let my base cowardice control my actions.”

“Is it far to Rye?” she asked after a few
moments.

“Slightly over fifty miles. I’m afraid we may
have to break our trip mid-way, though we shall certainly try to
travel as quickly as possible.”

“Can’t we continue through the night?”

“We’ve made no arrangements for horses.” He
considered matters. “I’ll see what we can hire along the way. If
we’re right, the quicker we can get there, the better.”

“Agreed.”

“Forgive me for prying, but is it possible
that Miss Baxter left for some other reason?”

“Other than being kidnapped, you mean?” She
paused. A small, sad smile edged over her mouth. “Or at least
kidnapped by someone who intends to harm her. You’re wondering if
she has a beau, perhaps? And ran away with him?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“She’d be flattered by your thought that
she’s not too old and dried up to attract the interest of a
man.”

“Is anyone ever too old for love?” he asked
lightly.

“Men seem to think so.”

“Not all men. There are certainly enough
autumn marriages to convince me, at any rate.”

“You sound as if you disapprove.”

“Not at all.” He looked at her in surprise.
“I’ve never really considered it.”

“Of course not.”

“Not all men are evil beasts.”

“No. Some are simply idiots.”

“Thank you. And into which category do I fit?
Evil beast or idiot?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I suppose we’ll find out if we manage to
locate Miss Baxter.”

“I’m sorry.” The smile faded from her face.
She reached across the gap between them and touched his clasped
hands with her gloved fingers. “I shouldn’t have teased you. And
truly, I don’t believe you’re an idiot.”

“That just leaves evil beast.”

“No, that just leaves me saying thoughtless
things to cover my nervousness.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find her in time.”

She shook her head and glanced out the
window, falling silent. He could sense her thoughts returning to
Miss Baxter and watched as her hands twisted in her lap. Although
he tried to distract her, she was too preoccupied with her own
concerns to do more than answer briefly. Finally, he had to admit
defeat. The quiet presence of Agnes, huddled in the corner, put a
damper on conversation, and they were all too distracted by worry
to overcome it.

They shared a few more desultory comments as
the carriage rattled through London and headed southeast,
eventually meeting with the Flimwell Turnpike flowing toward Rye.
Somehow, the silence only served to strengthen the sense of urgency
they shared. Four hours later, they stopped to change horses and
agreed to order meat pies and apples to take with them.

As the light dwindled, Charles could not help
but wonder if they were already too late. Miss Wellfleet might be
risking her reputation—Agnes not withstanding—for nothing. In fact,
she might end up facing a horror he should have shielded her from
if they were too late.

They were able to change horses again a few
hours later and when they boarded the carriage again, they decided
to continue as far into the night as possible. The atmosphere in
the carriage was thick with tension. They all just wanted to get to
Rye.

Charles had only been to his uncle’s cottage
as a boy, but he felt confident that he could find it again no
matter how late the hour of their arrival.

The more pressing problem was what he was
going to do once they did arrive. He was loathe to involved the
local constabulary, knowing the gossip that would ensue, but how
could he hope to find Miss Baxter without assistance?

As darkness swept down over the road, he
studied the monochromatic countryside and listened to the clacking
of the wheels. The moon was full. It provided sufficient light to
easily discern the pale gray ribbon of road unfurling behind them,
but inside the coach, blackness hid their strained faces.

“Do you believe Sir Edward is responsible?”
Charles asked, breaking the thick silence.

“Someone seems to want us to believe that,”
she answered hesitantly.

He stared at her, but her features were
blurred by shadows. “Did Miss Baxter know Sir Edward?”

“She must have known him. Unless this is all
a terrible mistake.”

“Or there was some other motive.”

“Indeed.” A note of relief lightened her
voice. “I hope so.”

“But he
is
the common link. Who else
knew Lady Banks and Mr. Nivelle well enough to desire their
deaths?”

Miss Wellfleet did not respond. Perhaps
because she did not want to agree.

“Why did you think the ‘Spineless Virgin’
rose referred to Miss Baxter?” The darkness hid his inability to
smile. “Did you ever hear anyone refer to Miss Baxter as
‘spineless’?”

“Not precisely. But there’s no denying that
she’s weak-willed and easily led. My father often commented on it.
In truth, he said he felt obliged to take her in because she needed
the guidance of a firm hand. That’s why, when I saw that rose, I
couldn’t help but think of her. Because she is, actually, quite
spineless, though it’s dreadful for me to say.”

“However, if she never spoke to Sir Edward, I
don’t understand how he’d be aware of her…delicate nature.”

“He was friends with my father. Father may
have mentioned it, or complained of being burdened with two women,
one spineless and the other spiteful.”

Charles forced a laugh. “You’d never be
considered spiteful. You’re one of the kindest women I’ve met.”

“You simply don’t know me well enough,
then.”

Even the heroically silent Agnes snorted at
this disclosure.

The thought of Miss Baxter as the next victim
continued to trouble him, however, like a loose tooth. If his uncle
was responsible, why had he decided to harm
her
? She had
nothing to do with his ex-lover, Lady Banks, or her newest
beau.

It made no sense.

Miss Wellfleet stirred, settling her shawl
more closely around her shoulders. “This is all so confusing. Why
does he taunt us with these flowers? And why, oh why, use roses for
this terrible purpose?”

“Because of their names, I assume.”

“Other plants have names—surely he could have
found some other flower to suit his purpose. Chrysanthemums, for
example. I detest them. They’d be perfect as a threat.”

“Perhaps he hates roses.”

“With nearly thirty varieties in his garden?
And those are just the ones I know about as they were from our
nursery. No. He loves roses. Or used to.”

“I don’t know, then. Perhaps he does love
them and that’s why he chose them.” There were no obvious answers.
He was just as puzzled as she was.

Once more, silence reigned and with the
rhythmic rocking of the carriage, both Charles and Miss Wellfleet
wedged themselves into their respective corners to get some
rest.

Just after three in the morning, Charles
awoke. A glance out the window showed a scattered fringe of
dark-windowed houses. They’d arrived at Rye. He looked at Miss
Wellfleet. She was breathing deeply in an exhausted sleep, with her
head resting against the squabs in the opposite corner of the
carriage.

“Miss Wellfleet!” He hated to awaken her, but
the clatter of the wheels over the cobbles roused even the maid.
“We’ve reached Rye.”

Miss Wellfleet sat up with a jerk. She stared
out the window before rubbing her face with the back of one hand.
“My name is Ariadne,” she announced abruptly. “I think, well,
perhaps we ought to say we’re brother and sister?”

“Agreed. Mine is Charles. We’ll use the last
name of Vance. I doubt anyone will remember me. Even if they do,
they wouldn’t know if I have a sister or not.” He leaned out the
window and ordered the coachman to take them to the Mermaid
inn.

“Is that wise? Shouldn’t we go directly to
your uncle’s cottage?”

“He’ll hear the carriage. I hate to suggest
it after such a long journey, but would you mind walking? It’s only
half a mile at most.”

“Of course.” She nodded before turning to her
maid. “Agnes, please obtain rooms for us. I trust in your
discretion. Tell them Mr. and Miss Vance will return shortly and
expect to stay two days.” She glanced at Charles for confirmation.
He gave her a sharp nod.

Anxious to find Miss Baxter despite their
exhaustion, they descended from the carriage, limbs cramped from
the close quarters. Charles rotated his shoulders, glad to be able
to take action at last. Sitting and thinking had done nothing but
make their mission seem hopeless. His gut told him his uncle was
innocent, but in the coldest hour of the night, doubt troubled him.
The circumstances and motives behind the killings all seemed to
point to Sir Edward.

But he’d known his uncle his entire life. He
trusted him. If Sir Edward were truly a murderer, then every thread
of loyalty, every family feeling he’d ever experienced was a lie.
How could he be so wrong about the man who was essentially a second
father to him, particularly after the death of Charles’s mother,
Sir Edward’s sister?