Family Scandals (36 page)

The door to the dining room opened. “A Mr. Wiggins from Scotland Yard is here, Your Grace. I put him in the library.”

“Thank you, Wharton,” Brand replied as all three rose in concert and headed in that direction.

Inspector Timothy Wiggins was a small, wiry man with a shock of brown hair and keen black eyes on either side of a pug nose. A long, thin scar ran across one cheek, disappearing into a thick mustache overhanging his upper lip.

“I brought two men with me as well, Your Grace,” he said as he greeted Brand. “They’re waiting outside.”

Brand nodded and launched into a recitation of the facts as they knew them, including a description of Corinna and the hackney, and finally handing him the note.

“Hmm. Looks like a woman’s hand,” Wiggins commented.

“That’s what I thought,” Felicia said, “which is why I think Lady Barber wrote it.”

The Inspector pursed his lips and nodded. “Possibly, possibly,” was all he said. “D’you mind if I call in my men?” he asked Brand.

“Please do,” he answered.

Marcus, now standing near the fireplace, had yet to say anything. The tension was killing him. Restless, he had paced the room as they spoke.

Wiggins returned with two younger men, one of whom immediately spoke up. “I know that hackney.” Marcus looked up. “The driver is Old Dobbin. He won the horse in a card game with some toff a few years back.”

“Can you find him?” the Inspector asked.

“I think so. He usually hangs around the gentlemen’s clubs at this time of the evening,” the young man answered. “I’ll go right now. Shall I report back here?”

“Yes,” the Inspector answered curtly and the young man hurried from the room.

Marcus wanted to go with him, but he suspected the young man would fare better without him. Right now he wanted to smash something, so thin was the veneer on his temper. Exploding, however, would do no one any good, especially Corinna, so he restrained himself, but it cost him dearly.

Chapter Eighteen

You are stronger than you think and someday you will be surprised at what you can do.

Douglas Camden in a letter to his sister, Corinna, on the occasion of her 16th birthday.

Corinna did not want to know how she came to be on a straw pallet on the dirt floor of a darkened hut. She did not want to know why Julianna had obviously drugged her. She didn’t even want to know why her hands and feet had been tied together. Moreover, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know who was responsible, since she was convinced Julianna hadn’t a mean bone in her body. Knowing who was responsible might answer the next question of why, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know that either.

What she really wanted to know was whether she had been left alone for good, and whether, if she escaped, she could get back to London—and Marcus. She was about to move to try to loosen her bonds, when a voice stilled her movements.

“I don’t know why you didn’t just kill her,” a woman’s muffled voice came from outside.

“Let’s just say that Corinna and I have some unfinished business between us,” came an equally muffled male voice.

There was silence for a few moments and Corinna evaluated her options, trying to discover how she’d been tied. Reaching down toward her feet, she was thankful whoever had tied her hands had tied them in front of her.

“Are you sure your wife didn’t do the deed for us?” came the woman’s voice again. “It’s been hours.”

Corinna found the rope wrapped around her ankles.

“With that silly little twit, anything’s possible,” was the disgusted answer. “But it doesn’t matter. She’s not going anywhere, so why don’t you just go home.”

“No,” was the determined answer. “I agreed to help. Besides, I have a score to settle with her too.”

The crack of humorless laughter stopped Corinna for a moment just as she found the knot.

“If Julianna’s already done the deed for us, we could just leave her here to rot.”

Corinna didn’t want to hear anything else. Working frantically on the rope around her ankles, she was thankful she had learned as a child to escape from almost anywhere. Of course, this was not child’s play. Whoever was outside the cottage planned to kill her.

The rope fell away from her legs and she was able to push herself into a sitting position. Unfortunately, she could not reach the knot in the rope binding her wrists, so she had no choice but to stand as best she could.

“It would have been easier if you hadn’t involved your wife.” The two must have moved because the woman’s voice was suddenly clearer and Corinna went cold. She recognized that voice. “I would have come up with a way to get her here on my own.”

Moving slowly so as not to make any sound, she looked up at a small window in the wall above the pallet. Night had fallen and she could see stars through the opening. It was too high for her to look directly out of, but was also, she noted, too small for her, or anyone else, to squeeze through. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“You?”The male voice sounded incredulous, and Corinna recognized it as well. For a moment she was frozen in shock, then the voice she was sure belonged to Vincent said, “Not a chance. She would never have accepted any type of invitation from you.” She took a deep breath to calm herself then began to feel her way along the wall toward what she hoped was the front of the cottage and the door.

“Perhaps.”

Vincent’s laugh sent chills down Corinna’s spine. “After speaking to your brother, I doubt she would have even received anything from you. The staff at Waring House probably have orders to burn anything from any member of your family. Me, however, I made certain she never knew who I was.” There was a short silence, then Vincent casually asked, “Or did you
want
to hang for murder?”

Diana snorted. “Not likely.”

Vincent laughed. “You are even more naïve than she is. Everyone knows how much you hate her. It’s not normal.”

Corinna continued feeling her way along the wall. Reaching a corner, she leaned back against the wall for a moment and closed her eyes. Vincent was Julianna’s husband? No wonder she had never made his acquaintance. That explained his attire when she had encountered him in Hatchard’s. Did he think that she would denounce him for an imposter? Was that why he wanted her dead? Was he?

Opening her eyes again, she tried to make out the contents of the small space before her. There was a dark shape in the wall opposite the pallet she had been left on, and she alternated between hope and fear it was another window. If it was, it was larger than the other. In the center of the room she could just make out the shape of a table and bench. At the far end of the room was a dark shadow she hoped was a fireplace and not another entrance.

“It’s time to check on our little bird,” Vincent’s bored voice interrupted her perusal of the cottage.

Panic nearly immobilized her. She had been so busy listening to their conversation, she hadn’t found the door and possible freedom. Moving quickly, she felt her way along the wall and found the door. To her relief, there was a crossbar built into it. She lowered the bar as slowly as possible, trying to ease it into the slot. It still made a thumping noise as it fit.

Continuing along the front wall, she made her way to the dark shape across from her pallet. It was, indeed, a window. But it was covered by an oilcloth tacked securely to the wall all the way around. With her hands still bound together, Corinna knew it would be impossible to get out of the window quick enough once Vincent and Diana discovered the door barred. The fastness with which the oilcloth was fixed might deter them from getting in momentarily, but not long enough for Corinna’s peace of mind.

Glancing around the room, she tried desperately to find some sort of weapon. Crossing the room to the other shadow, she was relieved to find that it was, indeed, a fireplace. She found plenty of firewood, but only a small, but thick, stick. It wouldn’t do much damage, but it might be useful somehow.

There was a scraping against the door, then an oath from Vincent. “It won’t budge,” he said.

“Here, let me,” Diana said. “Wha—”

Corinna heard a thump against the door. Then another.

“Damn!” Vincent swore. “She must have awakened while we were out here and has barred the door from the inside.”

“Amy!” If she hadn’t been sure it was Diana outside before, she was sure now. Only a member of her family would know that name.

She heard movement outside and, listening closely, tracked the footsteps as they moved around the small structure.

“There’s a window on this side,” she heard Diana say.

Moments later she could see the oilcloth move inward as pressure was put on it from the outside. It wouldn’t take much to make it give way. What would she do then? There was a tearing sound as the cloth began to yield under the pressure. She shuddered, even as she looked around for a place to hide.

Moving quickly into a corner, she pressed herself into the shadows, glad she was wearing a dark-colored gown. Something pressed into her back and turning, she ran her hands along the wall, discovering a walking staff leaning in the corner. Grasping it with both hands, she breathed a sigh of relief. This might fend off an attacker.

“When I get inside, I’ll make her pay for this,” Vincent snarled.

“Save yourself the trouble,” Diana suggested. There was a long silence as the activity outside the window ceased. “You could make it look like an accident, and as long as your wife says nothing, no one will ever know.”

“How?” Vincent’s voice contained mild interest.

“A little smoke and she’ll come running out fast enough. But even if she doesn’t…” Diana’s voice trailed off.

Corinna’s eyes snapped to the low ceiling of the hut. It was made of thatch and, suddenly, she knew exactly what Diana was thinking. Closing her eyes, she was seven years old again.

She and her mother had been going through trunks in the attics and found some old ball gowns. She had been so excited, her mother had a footman bring one of the smaller trunks down to the first-floor drawing room. When Diana entered the room a short time later, she was wearing a gown of blue velvet over her own dress and was trying to figure out how to fasten on the stomacher. With her mother present, she had no fear of her twelve-year-old sister, so had paid scant attention to her except to note that Diana threw herself into a chair near the fire and watched the two of them with a sullen look on her face.

“There,” her mother had said, “I think that’s how that fastens. Let me look at you.”

She giggled as her mother pronounced it a little big, but she would grow into it one day and could wear it to her coming-out ball. Parading around the room in her over-sized finery, holding up the front of the gown and being careful not to trip over the train, she approached Diana’s chair as the housekeeper entered the room to ask her mother a question.

“Do you want to try something on?” she asked.“There’s lots of stuff in here.”

Diana sneered back that she had better things to do than play around in musty old clothes. Corinna hadn’t been put off, but turned back to the trunk to find something she thought Diana might like. Moments later she had felt extremely warm and a burning pain on the back of her legs. Whipping around, she heard her mother scream and pandemonium erupted. By then, she had begun to scream as well as the dress she was wearing erupted in flames. She only barely registered Diana’s laugh over the commotion.

Vincent’s harsh laugh brought her back to the present, causing the hair to rise on the back of her neck. Then the oilcloth began to move and tear again.

Raising the stick, she moved closer to the window, thankful her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Moments later a hand appeared and she brought the stick down as hard as she could on it.

“Owww!” Vincent’s bellow of pain as the hand disappeared gave her a moment’s satisfaction.

“What happened?”

“The bitch hit me with something,” he replied. “I think my wrist is broken.”

Diana giggled. “I told you what to do. You won’t get inside through the window without a lot of bruises. I grew up with the hellion and she knows every trick there is.”

Corinna’s calm was beginning to assert itself, but it was short-lived.

“Fine then,” Vincent’s voice came again, “it doesn’t matter to me how she dies.” Corinna breathed another quick sigh of relief.

Moving closer to the window, she wondered if she could pull the cloth far enough away to climb out.

“I should never have told your brother about her,” Vincent growled as they moved away.

She heard Diana laugh, then angry voices. “Then just leave it to me,” she argued, menace in her voice. “I’ll make sure she’s gone forever.”

Vincent replied in a low voice. Although she couldn’t hear what he said, the tone sent chills down her spine.

Diana’s shrill voice split the night. “You wouldn’t dare!” Then her voice lowered to a whisper and a heated exchange ensued.

A shot rang out. Corinna tensed, straining to hear what was happening.

“Bitch,” Vincent spat. “Dead people don’t talk to anyone. At least, Julianna would never think of crossing me.” Then his footsteps receded and Corinna’s blood turned to ice.