Echoes in Stone (40 page)

“They had a plan,” she said. “Her and Mr. Evers. She’d hidden away money. Some jewelry. She planned to run away, to go to London, to begin a new life under a different name. Winston would follow her. But he didn’t know—didn’t see the evil of her true nature. Neither of us did.”

Mrs. Penrose choked back a sob, then closed her eyes. “We didn’t know she’d kidnapped Katie Cardell, held her, drugged, in a crofter’s hut. The night she pretended to run away with the coachman, she’d secreted Katie in the carriage. Mr. Evers got it out of her—later. Lady Tremayne had strung a rope across the road, to force the carriage accident. She wanted to make sure you didn’t come after her—drag her back here. The only way to stop you was to fake her own death. When they were near that bend in the road, she bashed poor Bobby Pengelly in the head, then jumped clear of the carriage. She said— She laughed when she told us. About hiding in the woods and watching the carriage burn. About watching you frantically searching for her. She said poor Katie’s screams were like music to her, an anthem that set her free from you.” Sobs shook Mrs. Penrose. “I swear to you, your lordship, Mr. Evers never knew how mad she was. Not until then. Not until she laughed so.”

Jessa rose, wrapped her arm around the woman, and led her to a chair, before returning to the sofa. Beside her, Dash quivered, but kept silent. “I know this is hard,” Jessa said. “Just get through the rest quickly. Then it will be over.”

The housekeeper dabbed at her tears, then nodded. “Mr. Evers was crazed at first. He thought, as everyone else did, that Lady Tremayne was dead. Then one night, a week later, she stumbles into his rooms. Babbling, wild, beyond anyone’s help. He thought I’d have something, some drug— That’s when—when she told us—” Mrs. Penrose swallowed another sob. “What else could he do, your lordship? When he loved her so? She was broken and mad and still, he kept right on loving her.” Mrs. Penrose shook her head, then sighed.

“We kept her in that abandoned crofter’s hut for awhile,” she said. “But she kept coming here, late at night, wandering—we were terrified you’d see her, Captain. Afraid for Holly—”

Dash growled, nearly leaping from his seat, but Jessa’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Go on, Mrs. Penrose,” he said. “My patience grows thin. I’m sick of Lily. Sick of—”

“Hush, Dash,” Jessa said. “Let her finish.”

“‘Twas her who set fire to the hut, sir,” Mrs. Penrose said. “After that, we put her in one of the unused rooms in the west wing. My tisanes kept her calm enough most times, but now and then she’d escape us. She slashed up her portrait in the gallery.”

Jessa gasped. Lily had done that. Not Dash. One nagging worry slipped away.

“We found her playing with Miss Holly once or twice.”

“You let a madwoman near my daughter and didn’t think fit to tell me?” Dash surged to his feet, shaking off Jessa’s hand tugging on his. “She could have been—”

“I know, sir.” Mrs. Penrose sobbed. “I’m sorry. But Mr. Evers—he said he’d deal with it. Keep both Lady Tremayne and Miss Holly safe. Then Miss Palmer came. We didn’t know—I don’t know how she sent that letter. She got away from us—sometimes for days. We usually found her in the east tower, where—where—”

“Where she held my daughter prisoner and damn near killed everyone in the house.”

Jessa tugged his hand again, more forcefully. “Sit down. Stop bellowing. Holly’s fine.” She waved around the room. Luther and Uncle Stan sat quietly, not moving. “We’re all—”

“Winston’s not fine. He’s upstairs—dying—because you—because he—”

“He tried to get you to leave, sir. To take Miss Holly and Miss Palmer. To go away until we could figure out what to do with her. Mr. Evers was trying to protect you. Even when she fought him. Hit him. God help him, he loved her. Loves you. He was her victim, Captain, as much as you were.”

“Is that all, Mrs. Penrose?” Dash settled back on the sofa beside Jessa.

Mrs. Penrose straightened. “Only one more thing. ‘Twas Lady Tremayne who murdered your fiancée. She lured her out for a stroll one evening, then pushed her into the river. Evil, sir. I’m sorry, but Lady Tremayne was pure evil. And now sir,” she said, rising from her chair and moving to the door, “I know you’ll be asking for my resignation, but until you do, Mr. Evers needs my care. Enough people have already died because of that woman. I won’t let her claim him as well.”

51.

All that we did, we did for love of you…

NIGHTFALL FOUND DASH and Jessa, Luther and Stan, gathered together again in the study, at the end of another long, sorrowful day. Lily had been laid to rest, at peace at last, in the family crypt. They had done it hastily, in quiet, before the servants returned. Stan, the warrior accustomed to hurried battlefield burials, had commended her poor tortured soul to God when no one else could speak.

Luther planned to take Marguerite’s body back to London with him.

Jessa curled up by Dash’s side on the sofa in the study she’d come to love. Stan and Luther sat across from them, sipping whiskey.

“Luther,” Dash said. “What did Marguerite mean there at the end, when she said Jessa would need you, in your
rightful role
? I can’t help but think there was more to your relationship than that of servant and mistress.”

The older man looked at Dash for a long moment, then drew a deep breath. He turned to Jessa, who looked at him through eyes wide with curiosity.

“My dear child, when you gnaw your lip that way, I always know you’re worried. You’ve done it since you were a child. Such a beautiful child you were—the light and joy of our lives. You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman.” Luther smiled at Dash. “I believe you’ve stolen the heart right out of that man next to you. Just as you stole all our hearts. But Dash is right. There’s more you should know. But this isn’t my story alone to tell.”

Luther turned to the man beside him.

Uncle Stan sighed, but nodded his head to Luther. “Go ahead. Tell her. I’m an old man now, and not ashamed of my feelings. I loved Jack Palmer just the way you loved Marguerite. They’re both gone. There’s none to be harmed by the tale now.”

Stan turned a threatening glare in Jessa’s direction. “But you listen close, my little godchild, and don’t be hasty in passing judgment. All that we did, we did for love of you. Luther would rip out his heart, lay it in your two small hands if you asked it of him.” Uncle Stan sat back in his chair, took a pull on his pipe, then blew smoke out.

Jessa looked from one to the other, more puzzled than ever.

Dash pulled her hand into his, then touched her cheek, turning her face to look at him.

“I believe you’re about to hear, Jessa mine, that Luther is your father. Don’t be too hard on him about it, all right?”

“Drat it, man!” Luther sputtered. “Can’t a man declare his fatherhood in his own way, without some young sprig interrupting him and spoiling it?”

“Luther?” Jessa’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. “What’s Dash talking about? What—”

“It’s simple, Jessa,” Luther said. “Happens all the time. That man of yours has the right of it. I loved your mother from the time she was a young girl. I worked in her father’s house. Her station was far above mine, but still, I loved her. She had no eyes for me back then, but we became friends. When she took up with that Wilkerson fellow, I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen. Not then. Lily got her stubbornness from Marguerite.” Luther smiled. “So did you.”

He took a sip of whiskey. “When she married, I went with her as her majordomo. I was there to pick up the pieces when Wilkerson ran off with Lily. I was by her side, all those days and nights. The inevitable happened. Then we found you were on the way.”

A look of sorrow crossed Luther’s face. He took a deep breath. “Marguerite—like Lily—couldn’t see herself married to a servant. By that time, Jack Palmer was already a successful merchant, a man of some consequence. In the normal course of events, he’d be expected to take a wife. Raise a few heirs. But I knew something no one else did. Jack Palmer was already in love. With his boon companion, Stan Coffman.”

Luther turned to Stan, who took up the story. “It’s true, what he says. Jack and I loved each other as much as any two people could. But we knew what society would say. One confirmed bachelor could be explained away. But two such men, constantly in the company of one another? No. Sooner or later, folks were bound to get the lay of the land. There’d be hell to pay. Didn’t matter to me, since I’d inherited my estate, but Jack was a businessman. His livelihood could be destroyed. So when Luther came to us with his offer, it seemed a gift from heaven somehow.”

Uncle Stan smiled at the woman he called his niece, revealing the dimples in his cheeks. “And you were a gift. He may not have fathered you, but you had Jack Palmer wrapped around your wee pinky from the first. Me, too. You were the child we’d never have. You’ll find out when the time comes. Jack’s not the only one who’s made you his heir.”

Jessa, shocked, opened her mouth to speak, but Uncle Stan waved her into silence. “Pish tosh, ‘tis nothing gel. A bit of land and some money. Nothing so much as half when compared to the joy you brought into our lives. Our only grief, in fact, was for Luther here. There he was, your rightful father, and never could acknowledge it. And him in love with Marguerite. But he walked her down the aisle just the same and handed her off to take another man’s name.”

Luther smiled at Stan, then turned back to Dash and Jessa. “It wasn’t a hardship. I knew where Marguerite slept at night, and it wasn’t in Jack’s arms.”

Jessa’s cheeks heated, as she stifled a giggle. Who knew that proper, correct Luther could ever be so frank? So jovial?

“As for what you called me, and who you called
papa
, it made no difference. I was there every day of your life. I changed your nappies.”

Jessa blushed, bursting into an embarrassed laugh.

“Go ahead and laugh if you will. Your mother, for all that I loved her—and I did love her Jessa—your mother was not good with children.” Sorrow deepened the lines in his face. “She never got over losing Lily. Before then, she was willful, beautiful, just like Lily. But after— going off that way to have you, never telling anyone—I lived in fear, worried some harm would come to you. You were never out of my sight. I slept beside your crib. ‘Twas me who gave you your bottle. Fed you your pabulum. Taught you to walk. It didn’t matter you called me ‘Luther’ and some other man ‘papa’. I knew who I was. Who I am. Your father, Jessa. I’m your father.”

Jessa leapt from the sofa, throwing herself into the old man’s arms. “Oh Luther—Father.”

They held one another, tears streaming down their cheeks. Jessa knelt, taking his hands in her own. She smiled up at him. Green eyes, eyes that matched her own, looked back at her. “Don’t take Marguerite to London, Father. Bury her here, beside Lily. Let her keep watch over her daughters, to protect us. Stay here with me. Please, Father. I’m going to need you very much.”

Luther looked down at her. “I don’t know child—”

“I certainly can’t have my father-in-law working for me,” Dash said, “but as it happens, I am temporarily without a majordomo. I know Winston will recover, but it will take time. Until then, I need a man who knows how to run a household. One who doesn’t lose his head in a crisis. A man who knows his way around nappies and pabulum.”

Dash rose, drawing Jessa to her feet, into his arms. “I intend there to be a great deal of nappies and pabulum in our futures, and my wife is going to be entirely too busy entertaining her husband to be able to manage a household.”

He looked to Luther, who grinned up at him. “Think you’re up to the job?”

Jessa looked up into Dash’s eyes. “Wife? Dash?”

“Yes, Jessa. Please. I can’t live without you. I’m asking you this time. Will you marry me Jessamine? I love you. I trust you with my heart, my daughter, all my future happiness. Please. Marry me.”

Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks. Jessa nodded. “Yes Dash.”

So this was passion. Not something to be feared, but something joyous. Life-giving. Dash’s love didn’t destroy her; it lifted her. It gave her wings. Her heart took flight. “Yes Dash. Oh yes!” She flung herself into his arms.

She drew back, laughing, before turning back to the two older men in front of her. So much love shone back at her. “Uncle Stan, if you should find yourself rattling around that empty estate all by yourself, I want you to come here straightaway and plan on staying,” she said. She looked up at Dash, giving him a cheeky grin. “I expect my father will have more grandchildren than he has knees and will be able to use your help dandling one or two of them.”

Uncle Stan rose to his feet, raising his glass in a toast. “To dandling grandchildren on one’s knees,” he said.

Luther used his cane to push himself to his feet. He raised his glass in another toast. “To the joy of being able to say, at long last,
my daughter
.”

Joy overwhelmed Jessa. Dash pulled her into his arms, laying her cheek against his chest. His heart beat in her ear, strong, solid. She’d come to love this sound.

A heart beating inside a house of stone. Impossible. But true. Dash—scarred—possessive—fierce, Dash would protect her and Holly and all the children the future would bring.

She took the glass from Luther’s hand, raising it in a toast of her own.

“To the men in my life. You gave me life. You kept me safe. You gave me the greatest gift of all. Your love.” Jessa took a sip of the fiery liquid. She turned her face up to Dash. The heat of the whiskey was no match for the fire burning in his eyes.

The past was dead at last. Together, their love would banish the darkness from Tremayne Hall. It would become again what it once was—a place of light and laughter. A home where the very stones would echo with love.