Maggie MacKeever (19 page)

In perfect accord, the two gentlemen set out to make their plans, leaving Jem to stand guard over their prisoner. Jasper had donated cord to bind the villain, and Averil produced a drug to insure his continued insensibility. Jem did not care to think how his host had come to have such an opiate.

Jem was in a quandary.  He longed for the peaceful isolation of his father’s estate. Life at the castle did not suit him as well as he first thought it might, for he was not accustomed to idleness. Then, too, the serving girls pursued him relentlessly. As for the way things were resolving themselves, Jem wasn’t sure he cared for that either. He was glad that events worked out so well for Dillian, and greatly relieved that she bore no relation to Averil and Isolda, but he saw his own chances dimming in the possibility of her acknowledgement by Charles Elcock’s family,

“Jem? I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing in here?” Dillian’s eyes widened at the sight of the trussed-up Theo. “Oh.”

Jem explained Theo’s presence, and his own, in a few short sentences. Dillian was struck by the cleverness of the scheme.

“The very thing! He’ll be cross as crabs!” Jem decided that he was over scrupulous.

Dillian tilted her head to study him.  “Why have you been avoiding me? Have I done something to offend you?”

“No, of course not.” Dillian waited patiently, and Jem cleared his throat. “Dillian, you must see that our positions have changed.”

“Why?” Dillian inquired bluntly.

“It’s plain as a pikestaff!”

“You mean,” said Dillian, “that your sentiments have altered? You’ll have no more to do with me, now that my father’s identity is known? Or is it the money that troubles you? I can refuse to take it, though I doubt that he plans to settle a fortune on me.”

Jem groaned. “Don’t get onto your high ropes. It’s not that. Dillian, I have no prospects! You’ll be going to balls and such, and racketing around London; you’ll soon have far more eligible suitors than I can ever hope to be.”

“Gammon!” retorted his love. “I think you must have windmills in your head.”

“Dillian!”

“Do you pretend not to know that your father has signed over all his properties to Loveday? And that she in turn plans to bestow the family home upon you?”

“But it’ll be years before the estate can support itself! It was all I could do to keep my father from selling it long ago.”

“So?” asked Dillian. “I doubt if we are permitted to marry immediately; when we do, any money Charles may settle on me will be of great assistance until your lands show a profit. Unless you find the idea of an alliance with me abhorrent? I am sure I would not wish to force you into something distasteful to you.”

“Don’t be a goosecap! I’ve told you I wish to marry you, but the circumstances have altered since then.”

“And so,” cried Dillian, in high dudgeon, “you have dared to play fast and loose with me! It quite decides me
not
to marry you, sir, even though you have taken my fancy to an alarming degree.”

“Don’t sham it so,” Jem groaned.

Dillian ignored him. “I shan’t wear the willow for you,” she sniffled, “even though you have offered me false coin. No one shall know that my hopes have been dashed. I shall present a brave face to the world. Perhaps I still may form an eligible connection, once I have recovered from the abominable treatment you have shown me.”

“Moonshine!” interjected the object of this harangue.

Dillian smiled bravely. “What a sad fix to be in! It utterly sinks my spirits. Perhaps if I do not contract a suitable marriage, I could go upon the boards. Would I not make a dandy actress?”

Jem interrupted with a roar. “Of all the crackbrained notions! You
will
give me a disgust of you if you don’t stop talking such fustian.”

Dillian, however, had not done. “I thought it best to drop a hint or two. I take it you don’t think I’d make a monstrous fine opera dancer?”

Loveday could have warned her friend that Jem was possessed of the Fairchild temper, but Loveday was absent. “I think I know you a little too well to stand upon ceremony with you,” Jem said politely, and promptly turned Dillian over his knee.

Dillian made no sound, though she alternately suffered shock and amusement. It had been quite some time since anyone had dared to administer such extreme punishment.

“There,” said Jem, with no small satisfaction, “we begin to understand each other, I think.”

Dillian chuckled, and Jem was startled when two slender arms wound themselves around his neck. “I daresay you will think me shockingly forward,” Dillian murmured and kissed him, inexpertly but with great enthusiasm.

“Yes,” he agreed, quite some time later. “Bold as a brass-faced monkey. I suppose I’m to be awarded the guardianship of that cursed cat?”

Dillian smiled. “Jem,” she asked, “will you marry me?”

Jem abandoned his scruples. “With the greatest pleasure on earth, ma’am,” he replied.

* * * *

“I warn you,” Charmain hissed, “that I will tolerate no interference!”

Loveday stared at her blankly. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Averil, of course! Don’t put on airs with me, for I know better. No green girl could have captured Jasper Assheton. Don’t make the mistake of casting out lures to Averil, for I’ll see that you deeply regret it.” And Lady Laurent strode indignantly away.

Loveday touched the amulet at her throat, and turned her horse toward the castle. If she’d not been so tired, Charmain’s histrionics might have been amusing. Loveday was unaware of inviting Averil’s attentions; he seemed to have little to do with her of late, and she had no idea why Charmain had accosted her. Loveday, too, would be glad to regain the relative security of London.

It was reckless of her to ride alone, but Loveday was heartily tired of being forever chaperoned. She’d needed a few things from the village, so she’d simply slipped away. No doubt there would be a furor on her return.

She was mistaken; no one had even noticed her absence. Grateful for this unusual lack of interest, she went in search of Dillian. Her hunt led her to the tower room.

Dillian had said that this was once a chapel, and Loveday, looking around her with curiosity, found it easy to believe. As best she knew, she had never visited the tower before, for surely she could not have forgotten such an atmosphere of overwhelming beauty and sadness. But Dillian was not there.

Loveday had never really believed in Dillian’s ghost, but she met a strange woman ascending the stair, a pale and lovely lady with great mournful eyes, clad in a black gown of some bygone era. Loveday instinctively shrank against the wall. The woman held out a thin hand in a gesture of protest.

“Do not trouble yourself,” she said. “I do not require much room nowadays.” The woman passed by her, and Loveday experienced an unearthly cold.

Strangely, she experienced no fear. Loveday turned as the wraith ascended the stair, and the woman also turned toward her.

“You must not—” she began, then broke off and shook her head. “I cannot interfere.”

“Wait!” Loveday whispered. “What’s your name?”

It almost seemed the phantom smiled. “Camilla.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” A foolish question to ask a ghost, perhaps, but Loveday was sincere.

“No, nothing can be done, but I thank you.” She was gone then, and Loveday made her way to the kitchens, somewhat shaken by her first encounter with a shade.

The kitchens were deserted, though sounds of an altercation elsewhere in the house was clearly audible. Loveday had little interest in the latest emergency, if such it was; Ballerfast was the most ill-managed establishment she had ever visited, and she didn’t care to be called to help solve the latest crisis.

An open door caught her attention and she moved closer to investigate. It appeared to lead to the cellars, and Loveday decided to explore. Perhaps she would even find Tarbath in his hiding place, which would be a diverting discovery. It might even be possible to appropriate a bottle of brandy for her personal use. Aided by a candle’s light, Loveday descended into the gloom.

She made her way as far as the wine cellar before her candle flickered out. One glimpse had been enough to show her that Tarbath was not there. While musing over the man’s uncanny ability to be always other than where he was needed, she began to try to retrace her steps. It wasn’t long before she realized that such a task would be impossible. She was on unknown ground.

They’ll soon start to look for me, she reassured herself, feeling her way along a wall. Her hand brushed something movable, and a loud crash split the air. Loveday jumped, then thought she heard the sound of another person. She cursed herself for being so paperskulled as to forget even momentarily the danger that constantly surrounded her in this castle.

“Loveday!” came a weird, disembodied voice. “Are you there?” It certainly didn’t sound like a killer’s voice, nor did it sound like anyone she knew. Noises echoed strangely in the cellars.

“Here!” she cried, and waited with some trepidation as the faint light of a candle became brighter.

“Where?”

“Here,” repeated Loveday, but she had become distracted by the sound of a cat yowling only a few feet away. She followed the sound, sure that such indignant protests could only rise from Verdelet’s lusty throat. To her dismay, the sounds seemed to issue from a solid wall.

“Bring the light closer,” she demanded, her hands busy on the stone. “There must be an entrance here somewhere!” She had forgotten the danger to herself. Instead of drawing nearer, the light abruptly vanished.

Loveday quickly spun around, and a pair of strong hands fastened themselves on her throat. She had no intention of resigning herself to so ignominious a fate, and struck out in a manner that would have done Verdelet justice. Loveday experienced hearty satisfaction when her foot made solid contact with her assailant’s shin. Her gratification was not long-lived; a hand struck her face with such force that her head hit the stone wall with an audible thwack.

When she awoke, with a painfully throbbing head, she found herself lying in an extremely awkward position, surrounded by inky darkness. Terror overcame her, so that she had to struggle desperately to retain her self-control. Loveday had a fear of confinement in dark spaces, an unreasoning mania that resulted from being locked in a stifling, airless closet by an impatient governess.

She forced her mind into other channels of thought. Someone obviously thought her death to be much desired. Loveday had accepted that fact some time past. But who?  She could read nothing but affection and concern in the people around her, search as she might for some hint, some clue as to the identity of her assailant.

Loveday cursed her reluctant memory, for she no longer doubted that these attempts were staged by the same person responsible for the deaths of the Black Duke and his son. Nor could she doubt that the events had been well planned. The falling rock, the rifle shot, even the snake in her bed could have been mere coincidence; but the wax doll, the knife wound inflicted by Timothy’s dagger, and now her current imprisonment, could not be blamed on chance. Events were taking an ominous turn.

The killer was being extremely cautious, and Loveday was grateful. He, or she, apparently wished to hazard no chance of discovery. Loveday’s fingers stole to the gamahe. She clutched it and thought that soon her superstition would match Dillian’s own. It seemed foolish to credit a simple piece of amber with magical powers, yet the fact remained that Loveday was alive despite the various “accidents” that had befallen her.

Had there been a light, and food, Loveday might have considered staying where she was for a space. If her assailant thought her dead, she might be able to obtain some greatly needed rest. But it was dark and damp, and Loveday supposed she’d be wise to make some effort to determine her surroundings. She shifted positions, and discovered a purring weight on one hip.

“Yes, and I’m glad to see you, too.” She gave Verdelet a perfunctory pat. “But how in heaven are we going to get out of here?”

Verdelet yawned. Loveday tried to lift him, and experienced an excruciating pain. “Hell and the devil confound it!” she cried, and the cat shot straight into the air. He landed on Loveday’s shoulder, all claws extended.

“We can’t have this,” she protested grimly. “We’re going to have to put up with each other’s company for a while.” Verdelet relaxed. Loveday didn’t feel at all strange, sitting in the dark with a damaged arm, and talking to a cat. “I hope your mistress knows your haunts, Verdelet. Else we’ll find ourselves truly in the basket.” A horrid thought visited her.

“Unless this isn’t one of your haunts, and someone wants to dispose of you, too.” Loveday had been told that cats, unlike their canine counterparts, had no compunction about dining on their human companions, providing of course that the human was dead and the cat hungry. She sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“Do you think,” she asked politely, “that I might get up?” With her good arm, she lifted the cat down onto the cold floor. “Perhaps we might even discover a way out of here.”

She was not destined to search just then, for her gaze encountered a pair of small, reddish eyes. With no misgivings whatsoever, she grabbed Verdelet by the scruff of his neck and hurled him at the rat. A battle royal ensued, with Loveday adding loud encouragement to the general melee. She couldn’t see who was emerging victorious, but she hoped fervently that Verdelet would live up to the glorious reputation of his forebears.

Verdelet did not disgrace the feline family; he laid his vanquished foe across Loveday’s shoe and purred loudly. She sighed and, gently disengaging her foot, began to investigate their surroundings.

It did not take long to ascertain that she was in some form of oubliette. No wonder, then, she was so stiff and sore; if she’d fallen from the top, she could well have broken her neck. On second thought, it seemed unlikely that she had survived such a tumble. There was probably another entrance some distance down; she last remembered being in the cellars, after all.

Loveday found something else while moving slowly around the dank, foul cell: a skeleton rested against one wall. It was not an encouraging discovery. Loveday screamed.