Carisbrooke Abbey (26 page)

‘But why trap him in the passage?’

‘Marcus is much larger than I am. An open attack would not succeed. But I knew he’d venture into the passage if he thought Esmerelda had escaped, and a few days without food and water will kill even the strongest man.’

So that would have been Marcus’s fate if they had not escaped. And hers.

‘I’m surprised you had the courage to do it yourself,’ said Hilary scathingly.

‘I must confess I thought of hiring someone, but underlings can be so unreliable. Besides, I enjoyed doing it myself. Or would have done, if you hadn’t escaped. Still, there’s more than one way to commit murder,’ he said. ‘You should have accepted my hand whilst you had the chance. I would have taken you to London and abandoned you there, but still, you would have been alive. Now you know too much.’

Reaching beneath his tailcoat he pulled out a knife.

Hilary felt her palms grow damp.

She was nearly at the bottom of the staircase, and once she had reached it she knew she would have to turn and run.

But just as she was about to edge down the last two stairs, she caught a sight of movement behind him. It was a ghostly figure, dressed all in white.

‘Esmerelda!’

‘Oh, no, you don’t distract me like that,’ he sneered. ‘Esmerelda’s playing with Caesar - poor hound! She’s been very useful, one way or another. Particularly when I gave her a knife and left her in the drawing-room to wait for you. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t manage to kill you. She certainly tried hard enough. And to think, at one time I tried to persuade Marcus to put her in an asylum! If I’d managed to convince him, then this whole plan would have been impossible. I could still have killed Marcus, of course, but I wouldn’t have had a ready made scapegoat to hand.’

‘So that’s why you freed her.’

‘Of course. I needed someone to blame, and who better than a madwoman? Even better, a dead madwoman - the dead tell no tales. She would have been in the river by now, like her father, but she ran off. Never mind, she can wait.’

He raised the knife - and then a plaintive cry stopped him in his tracks. ‘Laurence!’

Hilary saw his startled look, before he turned to face Esmerelda.

The mad young woman was walking towards him along the landing with a purposeful air.

‘Esmerelda.’ His voice wavered. ‘I thought you were playing with Caesar in the tapestry room.’

‘Caesar didn’t want to play,’ she said sulkily.

‘Never mind,’ said Mr Ulverstone, recovering from his shock and walking towards her along the landing, away from his precarious position at the top of the stairs. ‘Why don’t we go and find Marcus? I’m sure he’ll want to play.’

‘I don’t want to play with Marcus,’ she said. ‘I want to play with the knife.’

‘Now, Esmerelda,’ he said, his voice trembling, ‘this isn’t yours.’

Hilary watched in horror as Esmerelda closed on him and the two of them grappled for possession of the knife. It should have been an uneven contest, for he was a man and she was a woman, but she had the strength of the mad.

The struggle became more desperate. It carried them backwards and forwards and across the landing, to the wall, to the banister ....

Hilary stood frozen to the spot.

They were leaning over the banister now. Mr Ulverstone was being pressed further and further back, locked in a life-or-death struggle with Esmerelda, overbalancing, toppling, falling ....

‘No!’

The cry was torn from Hilary as the two combatants plunged from the landing. She froze as she watched them fall. They seemed to spend an  eternity in mid air before landing with a sickening series of cracks on the stone-flagged floor.

And then there was nothing.

Hilary stood in shocked silence, trying to take it all in. And then slowly, as her limbs came back under her control she went back down the stairs and across the hall. The two bodies, lying twisted on the floor, looked like broken dolls. She knelt down beside them.

Her heart was filled with pity as she felt for Esmerelda’s pulse and discovered that the beautiful, mad young woman was dead.

And Mr Ulverstone, the architect of the tragedy. He, too, was dead.

Hilary began to shiver.

She drew away from the bodies. She turned ... to see Marcus striding towards her across the hall. And then he was beside her, and she leant against him, feeling his strong arms close round her as she buried her face in his chest.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, when she had at last recovered herself and lifted her head.

‘Hush, my dearest. ‘It’s all right.’

‘It was your cousin ... ‘

‘I know. I was there.’

She looked at him questioningly.

‘I found Mrs Lund locked in the kitchen, and together we searched the basement. When we found nothing, she went to help Lund outside, slipping out of the kitchen door. I intended to continue my search for Esmerelda upstairs, and arrived in the hall in time to see everything.’

‘Then you know it all.’

‘Yes.’

‘I should have done something,’ said Hilary.

‘Hush, my love, there was nothing you could do. And if you had tried to intervene, matters might have been worse.  You might have fallen, too.’

Hilary nodded. She knew what he said was true.

‘Come. You’re shivering,’  he said. ‘This has been a terrible shock.’

He guided her through into the library and sat her in front of the fire, then sat down beside her. The embers of the fire were glowing and gave out some welcome heat.

‘So it was Laurence who was behind the attacks on you,’ he said. ‘And Laurence who freed Esmerelda. And, of course, it was Laurence who locked the Lunds in so that they could not worry about Esmerelda’s absence, or mine, and begin a search. I wonder if he meant to kill them, too?’

‘I don’t think he cared about them,’ sighed Hilary. ‘Whether they lived or died was unimportant to him. It was your death he cared about. I only hope he didn’t imprison the outdoor staff as well.’

‘I think it unlikely. They often go for days without seeing either myself or the Lunds, so they would not have been a threat to his plan. By the time they’d noticed my absence, I would have already been dead.’

He fell silent.

Hilary knew he was thinking of Esmerelda. He had loved her as a brother should, and had tried to protect her from the consequences of her own madness. He had kept her at the abbey, where she could be cared for kindly by people who loved her, and although she had caused him a great deal of anguish, Hilary knew he was devastated by her death.

‘And so it is over,’ said Marcus at last. We are both safe. But at what a cost.’

They held each other close, taking mutual comfort from their embrace.

‘And what of Caesar?’ asked Hilary, wondering how high the cost had been. ‘Did you see him when you searched the abbey, or ... ‘ She did not like to suggest an alternative. If Esmerelda had been
playing
with him, he might be injured, or dead.

But at the mention of his name there came a slight noise from behind the curtains and a minute later Caesar emerged.

‘He must have taken refuge in here when Esmerelda started teasing him!’ she said with a smile, as the hound padded over to them. After all the terrible events of the afternoon, it seemed a good omen to see him alive and in one piece.

He stretched and yawned, just as though nothing momentous had happened. The normality of his behaviour did much to restore Hilary’s spirits. It had been a terrifying afternoon, but at last it was over.

Caesar nudged her hand with his head.

She stroked his soft fur, and scratched him behind the ears. He wagged his tail appreciatively, then settled down at her feet.

Then Marcus roused himself. They had had a brief respite from horror, but now its consequences must be faced.

‘The next few weeks will not be pleasant ones, I’m afraid,’ he said, as he stood up.

‘I know,’ she assured him. ‘Two people are dead. There will inevitably be consequences.’

He took her hand. ‘I will send Lund for Sir Giles Routledge. He is the local magistrate.’

‘Are you not the magistrate?’ she asked in surprise.

He shook his head. ‘I never wanted that particular duty. It would have involved a lot of people coming and going at the abbey,’ he explained, ‘and with Esmerelda in a fragile state I did not want that to happen. But Sir Giles is a fair man. He will handle everything with discretion and tact.’ He stood up. ‘I must find the Lunds. I will return as soon as possible.’

Hilary nodded.

Once he had left the room, she fell to stroking Caesar again. Although she was not looking forward to the aftermath of that terrible afternoon she knew she could face it, because she would not be alone. She and Marcus would face it together.

A tragic accident
.

Hilary gave a sigh as she read the lettering on Esmerelda’s gravestone.

It was hard to believe it was now more than five years since that fateful day in 1810 when Esmerelda and Laurence had plunged to their deaths. Hilary’s thoughts were dark as she remembered it in all its terrible detail: the note she had received from Marcus, telling her to meet him at the abbey; their entrapment in the secret passage; their escape; and their discovery that Laurence had been the instrument of their captivity.

Her thoughts moved on, to the moment she had seen Laurence on the landing, and had seen Esmerelda behind him. She remembered the way he had struggled with the mad young woman, and the way they had plunged to the hall below.

Other memories were less clear. Lund going to fetch Sir Giles Routledge, and Sir Giles’s deduction that the deaths had been accidental: knowing that Esmerelda had been ill for some time, and assuming like everyone else in the neighbourhood that her sickness had been of the body and not the mind, he had listened to Lund’s garbled account of the tragedy on the way back to the abbey and by the time he had arrived he had decided that Esmerelda must have felt faint whilst on the landing; that Laurence had sprung to her assistance; and that in an attempt to prevent her from toppling over the banister he had overbalanced himself and the two of them had fallen to their deaths.

The knife, the one piece of evidence that might have suggested a different interpretation, had not been found by Sir Giles. It had been dropped by Esmerelda in the struggle, and had fallen behind one of the suits of armour beneath the stairs.

And so the matter had been officially regarded as a tragic accident and the case had been closed.

Then had come the aftermath: Esmerelda’s funeral; the winding up of Laurence’s affairs; and Laurence’s funeral in London, which had been generously arranged by Marcus.

And after the darkness, a chance for love.

Yes, love.

Hilary’s thoughts brightened as she arranged the flowers she had brought to the grave. She put them in the container and their gay colours showed up delightfully against the stone.

It was love that had saved them.

It had saved both her and Marcus during the dark days following Esmerelda’s death, and it had nourished and sustained them as they had come to terms with the tragedy. And then, as the memory of the horror had receded, that same love had grown and blossomed, becoming a source of great joy and fruitfulness.

The five years since then had been the most wonderful she had ever known. She had married Marcus in a quiet ceremony, attended only by his mother’s old nurse, Maud; her sister, Yvonne; and Mr and Mrs Lund. Then she and Marcus had gone to Bath. They had visited his mother’s friend, then spent a quiet month healing their bodies and their minds before returning to the abbey.

Through the long winter months that had followed they had jointly planned its restoration, and over the summer the work had begun. The venerable old building had come back to life, its smaller rooms being rescued from the dust sheets whilst the larger ones had been entirely refurbished.

She heard Marcus approaching.

‘Are you ready to go back to the abbey, my love?’ he asked.

‘I am.’

He slipped his arm around her waist and together they walked back to the venerable old building. The grounds had taken on a brighter aspect over the last few years. The shrubs had been neatly pruned, and an array of colourful summer flowers had been planted beneath them. The lawns had been tidied, the grass had been cut short and its edges neatened.

As they approached the abbey, the rich colours of the stained glass windows glowed like jewels in the sunshine, winking and shining from afar. Even the spires and points seemed to have lost their gauntness, and had taken on a new beauty in the summer sunshine.

Hilary and Marcus went inside. The hall now exuded cheerfulness. The tables flanking the fireplace were highly polished, and the fresh flowers arranged in ornate vases on top of them were filling the air with their delicious perfume.

The weapons had been removed from their place above the fireplace, and the suits of armour had gone. The hall had lost its warlike appearance, and was now bright and homely.

They went through in to the drawing-room. Hilary’s gaze swept over the brightly-polished windows, the damask drapes and newly-upholstered furniture, then came to rest on four-year-old Harry, who was playing with Caesar by the window. Beside him sat two-year old Elizabeth, and on the rug lay little Thomas.

‘Have the children been good?’ she asked Mrs Lund, who was sitting by the window sewing.

‘Very good,’ Mrs Lund smiled.

Hilary looked at her two older children fondly, then went over to the baby, who was kicking his pudgy legs in the air. She picked him up and carried him over to his father.

Marcus took the baby and cradled him in his arms.

‘Until you came here I used to think the abbey was cursed,’ he said, kissing the baby on top of his head.

Hilary’s eyes once more swept the peaceful scene, drinking in the sight of the children playing in a shaft of sunlight; Mrs Lund looking peaceful and serene; and the beautifully-restored drawing-room.

She rested her head on Marcus’s shoulder.

‘No, it isn’t cursed,’ she said, with a sigh of deep contentment. ‘It’s blessed.’