Betrayal at Blackcrest (21 page)

Honora had made her entrance with perfect control, creating exactly the reactions she had hoped for, but the victory was short-lived. Derek Hawke had gotten over his first uneasiness and he was now in command of the situation. He made casual remarks, apparently relaxed and at ease, and seemed to be enjoying the situation. Andrea was still in her fog, only looking up from her plate occasionally to cast bewildered looks at her nephew. The strain was beginning to show on Honora's face, and she was fast losing that first remarkable poise.

Derek Hawke made no references to this afternoon's drama. He talked about the approaching storm, about Andrea's memoirs, about a political meeting to be held in Hawkestown. He did not seem to be at all perturbed that no one replied to any of his comments. A smile flickered on his lips, and his eyes never left Honora. I could see what he was trying to do. He intended to break her down, to shatter her poise and make her react accordingly. Then he could handle her. Then he would have the upper hand again.

I toyed with the fillet in my plate, pushing bits of fish around in the butter sauce. I wondered how long this could go on. I was ready to scream myself, and I knew that Honora could not hold up much longer. She was, after all, only seventeen, and remarkable transformations at that age are of short duration.

“So,” he said, “that about covers it. Are you interested in politics, Miss Lane?”

It was a direct question. I had to answer.

“Not passionately,” I said.

“Most women aren't. They're only interested in the private little worlds they've fabricated for themselves after reading too many novels and watching too many soap operas on television. Most of them are incapable of seeing life in its true perspective—particularly those who are extremely young.”

He paused dramatically and stared at Honora. She raised her eyes to meet his stare. Her lower lip quivered slightly.

“I think I'll ask to be excused,” she said.

“Oh? Aren't you feeling well?”

“You're a complete bastard, Derek.”

He was delighted with the insult. “Is that one of the words your friend taught you? Apparently I was right about his bad influence. What else did he teach you?”

“Derek,” Andrea warned, coming out of her daze. “This has gone far enough. Honora, dear, he didn't mean—”

Honora ignored her guardian and spoke directly to Hawke.

“I'm not going to talk about Neil with you. You'd love to see me cry, wouldn't you? You'd love to see me beg you to bring him back. I'm not going to give you that satisfaction.”

“Just what
do
you intend to do?” he asked casually.

“You'll find out soon enough,” she whispered.

She stood up abruptly. She flung her hand out and knocked over a glass of dark red wine. Threads of the liquid splattered over her skirt, looking like streaks of blood. Honora looked at me, and there was something imploring in her eyes. She hurried from the room. I laid my napkin on the table, excused myself, and went after her.

She was standing at the foot of the staircase, waiting for me. Her face was pale, and her blue eyes looked enormous. Now that she was away from Derek, she no longer had to pretend. She was breathing heavily. Her hand trembled as she brushed at the red stains on her skirt, succeeding only in smearing them worse.

“I—I hoped you'd come,” she said. Her voice sounded frantic.

“I thought you might need me.”

“There is something I must tell you—”

Her words broke off as a loud clap of thunder sounded outside. It was like a mine explosion, and the very foundations of the house seemed to shake. The lights overhead flickered, dimmed. Honora started. She seized my hand.

“He's a monster,” she said. “I—I'm not afraid of him any longer. I won't let him get away with this. I won't keep quiet. I have to tell someone. You'll listen, won't you? You'll—”

The thunder sounded again. The lights grew even dimmer. Honora's face was in shadow.

“The cellars …” she whispered hoarsely. “Six weeks ago. We were planning to meet there. It was cold, too cold for the gardens. I got there early …”

She looked over my shoulder. Her hand tightened on mine. “Tonight in my room,” she said quickly. “After everyone is asleep. I'll wait—you must come—”

She released my hand and rushed up the stairs. I turned around to see Derek Hawke approaching. His face was grim. I wondered how much he had heard. I was trembling. I wanted to rush after the girl. I stood in place, watching him, knowing I couldn't take much more. If he so much as spoke to me I would fly apart, lose complete control.

The thunder rumbled. The window frames rattled. The lights flickered out, and there was a moment of complete darkness before the dim yellow glow spread again. Derek Hawke stood directly in front of me. His face was inches from mine. He seized my arms.

“What nonsense has she been saying?” he demanded. “Tell me!”

“You're foul—” I whispered. “Let me go!”

“Take hold of yourself! You've got to understand. I know it seems monstrous, but you must see—”

I tried to break free, but his hands merely tightened their grip. I shook my head, refusing to look into his eyes. I knew I was hysterical. I knew all my carefully planned composure was shot to hell, but I could not control myself. In another moment I would be screaming. He swung me around into his arms. His lips bore down on mine, and there was nothing but sensation, sharp, violent sensation that crushed me under its merciless impact.

Derek Hawke released me abruptly. He stood back. A dark lock of hair had fallen across his forehead, and he shook it back. His eyes spoke volubly, but his wide lips remained stretched in a single tight line. He stood looking at me while crashes of thunder deafened both of us. I was panting, and my eyes were filled with smarting tears. Derek Hawke turned around and walked back down the hall, leaving me standing there alone, a victim of my own raging emotions.

16

The clock in my room had stopped. I had no idea what time it was. I did not know how long I had stayed there on the bed, fighting to control the conflicting emotions that shattered me. Miraculously enough, I had fallen asleep. I sat up now, rubbing my eyes. The dress Betty had ironed so skillfully was now a mass of wrinkles, and I could see by looking into the mirror that my face was flushed, my hair tangled. I took my brush and began to work on the long russet waves. The motion was soothing. I brushed vigorously, listening to the rain pounding outside. The storm was at full force now.

I felt better. My head still throbbed a little, but I was in control of my emotions once again. Perhaps hysteria had been good for me. I had given way. I had unleashed all those feelings that had been banked down for so long, and now, purged, I was, if anything, clearer and more determined than ever. I put the brush aside and tried to smooth out some of the wrinkles in my skirt. Honora would be waiting for me. I had to handle her with care, and I did not want to go to her looking like a wraith.

I needed to apply just a touch of lipstick. It was in my bag. The bag was not on my dresser. I looked about the room. I had been trembling when I came in, and I wondered where I had tossed the bag in my distress. It wasn't on the nightstand. It wasn't on the chair. I stopped cold. I remembered setting it on a table in the drawing room. I had not picked it up when I left. It must still be there, that telling bulge showing to anyone who might glance at it.

My Lord, I thought, what if he's already seen it? What if he's already opened it and discovered the gun? I had to get it immediately. I couldn't let it sit there all night. I cursed myself for my carelessness. Alex had been right. I wasn't suited for this at all. There was nothing I could do now but go down after the bag and hope no one had already discovered it, hope that no one would see me as I went down to retrieve it.

I stood in the middle of the room for a moment, debating. Alex had mockingly compared me to one of his heroines, and he had mentioned wandering down dark corridors and hiding in closets. I had no intentions of hiding in closets, but I would have to move stealthily down several dark corridors, just like one of those dim-witted creatures he spoke so disparagingly of. How he would laugh if he could see me now. Well, to hell with it, I thought. He needn't know. I would simply go down and get the bag and keep quiet about my own foolishness.

The clock had stopped at nine. That was lovely. I didn't know if it was ten in the evening or three in the morning. I didn't think I had slept for long, but I couldn't be sure. Everyone might be asleep, or the servants might still be up, checking on the windows and seeing that the storm did no damage. If I went along the maze of corridors and down the main staircase, I would surely run into someone. It would be safer to go down the tower stairs, through the basement, and along the side corridor with all the windows. That would bring me close to the drawing room and I would be much less likely to meet anyone. I might have been insane enough to forget the bag, but at least I was shrewd enough now to think out the best way of getting it back without being seen.

It was chilly on the landing. The rain was pounding furiously outside, and great waves of it lashed against the walls as I made my way down the winding staircase. There was complete darkness, but I had used these stairs enough to be familiar with them. I moved slowly, feeling my way along the wall. The steps were narrow, treacherous, and they were damp now. Rain came in through cracks in the wall, and it pounded with such force I felt sure the bricks would cave in. I heaved a sigh of relief as my feet touched the basement floor.

I felt along the wall for the light switch. It was perhaps foolish to risk turning on the light, but one could carry caution just so far. The chances were few that anyone would see it at this hour of the night, and even I was not brave enough to walk down that basement hall in pitch-black darkness. I found the switch. The light blazed for a moment, then settled to a murky yellow glow. The cats were restless in their room. I could hear them stirring around, purring loudly. They scratched on the door, no doubt aware of my presence and already disturbed by the storm. I hurried toward the wooden staircase that led upstairs. My footsteps sounded like staccato explosions on the concrete floor. I stooped down to remove my shoes.

I moved up the wooden staircase. Each step had its own individual squeak, a piercing wooden shriek, a dull groan. There was no banister, just as there was none on the tower stairs, and I had to lean against the wall for support. I walked quickly down the narrow little hall, my stockinged feet making no noise at all. I turned the corner and started to go down the side corridor. I stopped dead still. I had forgotten about the broken windowpanes.

One side of the corridor was solid with heavy oak paneling, but the other was entirely composed of curtainless windows that looked out over the gardens. The rain pounded against the glass with incredible velocity, as though it would smash and shatter. Several of the panes were already broken, I remembered, and the rain splashing through them now reminded me sharply of that fact. Pools of water stood along the floor, and it was as though someone had turned on an indoor sprinkling system. It would be impossible to pass down the corridor without getting soaking wet. Violent flashes of lightning illuminated the scene and pointed out the folly of such a course.

I hesitated for several minutes. I contemplated going back the way I had come, using the other door in my room and going downstairs by way of the main staircase. It would take too much time. Honora was waiting for me. She probably wondered what on earth had happened to me. I took a deep breath and ran down the corridor, moving haphazardly and entirely without grace. I slid in a puddle of water and almost fell down. A sudden gust of rain struck me directly in the face. I dropped one of my shoes and had to waste seconds retrieving it. When I reached the end of the corridor I looked as though I had been tossed into the briny sea and pulled out just short of drowning.

I shivered and wiped damp tendrils of hair away from my temples. I wanted to cry like a child, but I had brought all this on myself by being so careless, and doubtless deserved every bit of it. If I caught cold, it would serve me right, I told myself, and even as I scolded I knew that it was a form of whistling in the dark. I was scared spitless and had just enough sense left to keep from giving in to it. I shook my skirt, smoothed my hair back. I tried to remember the way Andrea and I had come that morning when she had first shown me the tower room. Did I turn to my left or to my right?

I walked down a dark hall. A lamp was burning in a room ahead, and it gave just enough illumination for me to find my way without going into a wall. I pushed open a door and stepped into a small study. It had the smell of man—leather, tobacco, sweat—and there was a desk cluttered with papers. I passed through it and into a small hallway that I knew would bring me out just below the staircase.

A lamp was burning in the main hall, near the front door, but there were no signs that anyone was up. Within, the house was still, while outside the storm raged furiously. That beating and pounding only intensified the solemn quiet that reigned here. I peered around the corner. A large potted plant blocked my line of vision. This part of the hall was a nest of shadows, and there was a curious noise that I hadn't noticed before. Then I realized that it was the ticking of the ornate clock that stood directly across from me.

It was after twelve-thirty. Honora must have given me up. I must get the purse and get back up to her quickly. In the state of mind she was in, there was no telling what she might do if she thought I wasn't going to come. I crept behind the plant and looked around the waxy green leaves. There was no one in sight, but I had the strange impression that someone had just been here. The air seemed to retain the impressions made by recent movement through it. A clap of thunder exploded, and the front windows rattled as though someone were trying to break in.