Susan Carroll (36 page)

"Don't!" She wrenched away from him. "It is
vile of you to make such jests."

"I'm not jesting! You know what manner of a
prying woman Hester was. I won't even pretend to grieve for her. It
is a wonder someone didn't fling her off the roof a long time ago.
My only concern is to make sure you're not next."

"It is bad enough for you to imply that
Armande killed Hester, but to say that he would ever hurt me-"

"He's a man with too many secrets. We both
know that. I think he'd destroy anyone who seemed a threat to him."
Gilly heaved an exasperated sigh. "Though the Lord alone knows how
Madam Pester ever managed to find out anything about de LeCroix. He
might be as innocent as my grandfather for all there is to be found
in his room."

"Then you were there," Phaedra cried. "You
did search, even after I begged you not to."

"Aye, for all the good it did. Even that
locked box of his which looked so promising yielded nothing."

"You pried into Armande's wooden chest?"

"You needn't look at me as if I stole
something of value from the man. All I found in the box was this."
Gilly fumbled for something tucked in his inner pocket.

Phaedra blanched with horror. "Gilly, you
shouldn't have taken anything from his room! Whatever it is, you
must put it back before Armande finds it missing."

"Not until you've seen it. It is nothing to
make such a great fuss about, unless you can see more significance
in a pretty bit of porcelain than I do."

"Porcelain?" Phaedra repeated. Her brow
furrowed in puzzlement until she focused on the delicate object
Gilly balanced in his hand. It was a shepherd boy with curling dark
hair and blue eyes. There might have been a dozen such ornaments to
be found upon the shelves in London's great houses, but the style
of this particular one had a flair all its own. Phaedra knew
immediately whose hand had wrought that delicate statue.

She stared at it until the entire room
blurred. As from a great distance, she heard Gilly's voice calling
to her. "Fae? Phaedra! It is only china, not a blasted ghost."

But Gilly was utterly wrong. That was exactly
what he clutched between his fingers, a ghost from seven years
past. Its phantom twin was buried upstairs in her dressing table
drawer.

The light from the small candle in Gilly's
hand provided feeble illumination, hardly enough to hold at bay the
engulfing darkness of her bedchamber. Yet it was sufficient for her
task. The taper's soft glow flickered across 'the two sculptures
Phaedra set side by side atop her dressing table-the winsome
shepherd lass with her melancholy smile reunited at last with her
mate, the sad-eyed shepherd boy playing upon his pipes in a pose so
lifelike Phaedra half-expected the haunting melody to fill her
room. Works of art, both of them, fitting gifts to have delighted
the monarch Franz Joseph and his sister, the lovely Marie
Antoinette.

Instead the figurines served as a memorial to
another brother and sister, James and Julianna Lethington. Phaedra
told Gilly all she knew of the Lethington tragedy, from Julianna's
hopeless love for Ewan which had led to her destruction, to James's
own death upon the gallows.

When she had finished, Gilly touched the head
of the porcelain shepherdess almost as though he caressed a living
thing, his green eyes bright with compassion. "And now," he said,
"you know what became of the younger brother."

Phaedra's gaze flew to the shadowy outline of
the door leading to Armande's chamber. She still wanted to deny
that Armande was Jason Lethington, but there was too much evidence
against him.

Besides his cherishing the shepherd figurine,
there was his extraordinary knowledge of the processes that went
into making china, and the flash of pain in his eyes that long-ago
day when he had recognized the dove-gray cloak belonging to
Julianna. Phaedra realized with anguished clarity what torment she
had put Armande through when she had had him arrested and carted
off to Newgate. The prison's grim interior had reminded him, he had
said, of the death of a friend. Not a friend, but his own brother,
James.

"Forgive me, my love," she murmured. She had
been privileged this summer for an all-too-brief time, to glimpse
the young man that Jason Lethington must have been, the blue eyes
formed for laughter, the sensitive mouth for tenderness. Now that
she understood the bitter sorrow that had made it possible for him
to transform himself into the icy marquis, she grieved for him.
Aye, and feared for him at the same time.

"Hester likely found the shepherd," Gilly
mused aloud. "After seeing the piece you had, she must have guessed
the significance of it, threatened Armande with exposure, and
he-"

Her cousin broke off, his hand clamping down
over hers, giving it a fierce squeeze. Gilly’s face bore no trace
of his former belligerence, only a sadness that matched her
own.

"I understand what you're feeling for the
man, Fae. The poor devil. He's endured more than enough grief to
drive any man to madness. And Madam Pester only got what she’s long
deserved.”

Gilly stroked the back of his fingers along
the curve of her cheek. "But no matter what pity I might feel, I
can't take the chance that he might hurt you. If he realizes that
you also know his secret-"

"He would never harm me," she said. "Just
because of what his brother did, you talk as if murder runs in his
blood. After some of the things I have done to him, Armande had
cause and more to--I mean Jason had ... " She halted in confusion,
raking her fingers through her hair, not knowing what to call the
man. She took refuge in the one fact she was sure of, saying
fiercely, "He loves me, Gilly."

"Mayhap he does. But even if he does not seek
to silence you, he could harm you in other ways."

She shook her head, wanting to convince her
cousin he was wrong. But she couldn't. Too oft had she received
similar warnings from Armande himself. How hard had he struggled to
put distance between them because of his fear of hurting her.

"You've not thought this through, Fae," Gilly
persisted. "What do you imagine Jason Lethington is doing here in
your grandfather's house, pretending to be some French
marquis?"

"I don't know," she said softly.

"He could only have one motive-revenge
against those that destroyed his family. With Ewan dead, that
leaves only one man Lethington might yet hold accountable, the old
gaffer."

Gilly's suggestion chilled her. "My
grandfather? Don't be ridiculous. He was not involved in the feud
between the Granthams and Lethingtons. All he did was arrange my
marriage to Ewan."

"For a man bent on vengeance, that might be
enough."

"But he saved my grandfather's life."
Phaedra's argument faltered as she remembered Armande's strange
behavior that night. He had refused to be thanked for his deed, and
even then she had marked in him a shade of regret that amounted
almost to self-disgust. She recalled his cryptic words-that he had
come to London with but one purpose in mind, and he feared that she
would hate him when he had done.

"It doesn't make sense," she said. "If
Armande has come to the Heath to harm my grandfather, why hasn't he
done so? He's had plenty of opportunities."

"There still may be much we don't understand.
Hester's ramblings about the Lethingtons and this-“ Gilly picked up
the shepherd, "doesn’t offer proof of Jason's identity. We have to
attempt to turn back time, by about seven years."

"How are we supposed to do that?" Phaedra
asked.

"By going back to where the Lethingtons
lived, I reckon. Jason would have to have left some traces of
himself behind, something to link him more definitely to the man we
know as Armande de LeCroix."

"And when we have the proof that he is Jason,
what then?"

Gilly didn't answer her, but he didn't have
to. Phaedra's eyes locked with his and saw her own misery reflected
there. She wanted to frame one last plea, beg Gilly to give up the
pursuit. But she no longer could do so. For Armande's sake as well,
the truth had to be revealed.

She couldn't believe that her Armande had cut
down Hester Searle. But if her lover kept on down the dark road he
now traveled, she feared it could lead to madness, the loss of his
very soul.

Phaedra bowed her head, silently giving
assent to Gilly's proposal, all the while struggling with her own
despair and fear. Seven years ago, Ewan's vile father Lord Carleton
had begun the destruction of the Lethington family. She prayed with
all her heart she would not be the one who finished it.

The cottage stood alone, far removed from the
other buildings that nestled together in the small village of
Hampstead. A thick blanket of ivy crept up the walls, all but
obscuring the whitewashed stone, giving the isolated structure the
appearance of some outcast seeking to hide misery and shame beneath
a heavy veil.

The house appeared deserted in the gathering
dusk, the mullioned windows glinting like dark, unwelcoming eyes.
Drawing deeper into the folds of her cloak, Phaedra shrank closer
to Gilly. The soles of her feet felt worn to the bone after so long
a day. They had slipped from the Heath at dawn's first light, and
now it was evening. She had taken great care to avoid Armande,
knowing one glimpse of her eyes would reveal to him that she was
once more working against him.

She had carried away with her a burden of
guilt, weighting her heart with the despairing reluctance of a
woman being dragged to the dock to bear witness against her own
lover. Trudging along in Gilly's wake, she had listened while he
made inquiries about Jason Lethington, starting at the trinket shop
in Oxford Street where Phaedra had spied the candlesticks fashioned
by Julianna and had first heard the Lethingtons' tragic story. The
little shopkeeper had been as eager as ever to sell Phaedra
something "wonderful charming." Although disappointed to discover
that information was all she and Gilly wanted, the merchant had
willingly obliged. He had furnished them with the address at which
the Lethington manufactory had once stood.

Traveling to that part of London, she and
Gilly had discovered the Lethington shop taken over by a
confectioner; the chambers where Julianna had once done her
designing were now occupied by the confectioner's burgeoning
family. None of these good folk had ever heard of Lethingtons nor
showed the slightest interest in their fate. Phaedra had been more
than willing to abandon the search at that point, but Gilly had
insisted on making enquiries amongst the neighboring shops. They
had at last discovered a milliner who was able to help them.

Aye, indeed, she did remember the
Lethingtons, the elderly woman had said with a sigh. Such a
tragedy. No, she had no idea what had become of Mrs. Lethington or
Jason after James's execution, but she recommended that Phaedra and
Gilly visit Hampstead. An old doctor lived there who had been a
close friend of the family, having none of his own. If anyone knew
where Jason Lethington might be found, it would surely be Dr.
Glencoe.

Thus their weary search had brought them at
last to the outskirts of Hampstead by this lonely dwelling place.
But as Phaedra studied the cottage's heavy oak door and
gloom-enshrouded walls, she shook her head.

"Gilly, this cannot be the right place." She
glanced anxiously up at her cousin. Gilly's mouth was pulled down
at the corners with weariness.

"It has to be, Fae. The vicar was most
specific in his directions."

Aye, she thought, when the impatient young
man had been able to spare them a few moments from his Bible and
quill pen. Upon entering Hampstead, they had stopped at the
vicarage as the most likely place to gain directions to Dr.
Glencoe's dwelling. Although the clergyman had made quite clear his
opinion of being disturbed by visitors in the midst of his
sermon-writing, he had, in the end, grudgingly pointed out the
way.

But despite the irritated vicar's
information, Phaedra continued to look askance at the cottage. As
Gilly took her by the elbow, steering her forward, she attempted to
hang back.

"I cannot believe anyone lives here," she
said. "Not even an elderly doctor. The cottage looks utterly
abandoned."

But as if to belie her words, a shadowy
figure moved behind one of the curtains and set a candle in the
window. Phaedra had to swallow her objections and continue on. The
light provided no welcoming beacon but only added to the house's
aura of melancholy.

With each step she took, the more of an
interloper she felt.

When Gilly raised his fist to knock, she made
one last effort to stay his hand.

"Gilly, I am so tired. Maybe we could come
back tomorrow. The doctor is likely to be at his supper and as
displeased as the vicar was to have strangers come calling."

Gilly's arm encircled her shoulders. “I am
weary as you, Fae. But this is the first good information we've had
all day. If Dr. Glencoe was such an intimate friend of the
Lethington family, he will be the one most likely to have the proof
we seek to link Armande with Jason Lethington."

The proof she was seeking, yet hoping not to
find. No more questions, she had promised Armande, that magic
sunlit day by the pond, wanting him both to love and trust her. But
it was a promise she had already betrayed past all hope of
forgiveness.

She made no further demur, allowing Gilly to
hammer upon the oak portal. "What are we going to say to this
doctor?" she asked, fidgeting nervously with the clasp of her
cloak.

"You just leave that to me," Gilly said.

The door inched open, allowing a streak of
light to escape. She caught a glimpse of gray curls tumbled from
beneath a lacy cap, but no more gray than the eyes that peered out
at them.