The Scarlet Wench (9 page)

Chapter Fourteen

“This is a small village, you know, and gossip would be most undesirable.”

Ruth: Act
II
, Scene 2

1:46 PM

Fiona Church brushed her dark hair into place. She leaned into the mirror in her bathroom, inspecting the shadows under her eyes. After the late night in the A&E waiting for Grayson and Gemma, she shouldn’t be surprised. It didn’t take much for lack of proper sleep to show itself on her face these days. She and Simon Ramsey had settled Gray in bed with his arm elevated on a pillow as his cast finished drying. He was sleepy, filled with pain pills. She’d fallen exhausted into bed once Gemma, thinking as usual only of herself, had gone into her own room without a backward glance after a mumbled “thanks for the ride” to Simon.

  Simon Ramsey had turned out to be quite nice, not as snobby as she’d thought. They’d sat together in the waiting room as Grayson and Gemma had been treated. At first, she’d flipped silently through a few tattered magazines, but then he’d returned from the canteen with tea for both of them, and they’d started talking about his art. It had become obvious to Fiona that running Ramsey Lodge with his sister was a means to an end for Simon. He’d explained it had been their parents’ business and they’d kept it going after their deaths, and that his sister had once been a set designer for London shows. He had become animated when he talked about his landscape paintings that were sold in an Oxford gallery, and he clearly enjoyed the diversion of the illustrations he did for Nora’s children’s books.

  He’d been a good listener, too, asking Fiona about what drew her to acting in the first place.

  “I always loved theatre and movies. I grew up in a big family, and my grandparents were big fans of classical theatre. They thought it part of our education to expose us to the classics and took us all twice a year. I went to movies with girlfriends, too. I’d sit there in the dark and imagine what it would be like to take on a new personality.”

  “It must be thrilling to transport yourself into someone entirely different from how you see yourself.” Simon had smiled in understanding.

  Then Gemma had been released and had ruined the mood, complaining about her neck, her head, losing precious sleep and about the state of Grayson’s car.

  “The whole front is absolutely ruined,” she’d whined.

  “Really smashed up.” Fiona’s cheerful agreement had earned her Gemma’s narrowed frown.

  “I’m sure it was very upsetting to see that brick wall coming at you.” Simon had tried to placate troubled waters between the two women.

  “Absolutely petrified! I was completely freaked out!” Gemma’s blonde curls had bobbed as she agreed.

  “Surprised you didn’t wet yourself,” Fiona had muttered.

  Gemma had whirled on her with a nasty retort when Grayson had appeared in a wheelchair, and Gemma had rushed over to him instead.

  Fiona had thought Gemma could certainly act when she wanted to, fussing over Gray as they’d helped him into the car, insisting she sit in the back with him to keep his cast in place. Yet once they had arrived back at Ramsey Lodge, it had been clear that the director didn’t need three people to help him to bed, and Gemma had slid away to her own room.

  Fiona patted on a touch of concealer under each eye, carefully blending, wishing life’s cruelties could be erased as easily.

  She didn’t know why she’d been so shocked at Gemma’s outburst about Grayson’s relationship with Fiona right after the accident. It was typical of the bitch’s behavior. Everyone in theatre circles knew about Fiona’s past with Gray, although these people in the Lake District might not have—until Gemma had opened her mouth.

  At the time of Fiona and Grayson’s breakup, she’d given her friends the impression she’d been the one to end their affair. “Elephantine ego without the equipment to match,” she’d sniggered to girlfriends, hiding the truth that it had been her own inability to receive pleasure that had put Grayson off.

  In the beginning, she’d faked her way; easy enough to do and she was, after all, a skilled actress. She’d had no difficulties gratifying him. But Gray had seen through it and then had tried all the tricks in his book to give her pleasure.

  “You’re a tough nut to crack,” he’d told her, and for a while it had seemed like a game and she’d loved him for trying. She
wanted
to feel pleasure, to fall off the cliff as described in the books she read. She tried everything she could to relax, but as she neared the precipice, she only got more and more anxious. Her lack of responsiveness to Grayson’s efforts had exasperated him.

  She’d kept him in the relationship for a while out of guilt, pouring out her childhood woes. She was lost as the second youngest of a large family, five noisy siblings all vying to be heard. She wasn’t the baby, fussed over and doted on. Any opinion she had on a topic had been immediately quashed by an older brother or sister. Fiona felt defeated constantly by her own family, who called her willful and became hostile when she tried to insist she had a valid point of view. At times, she thought she’d been adopted, but with all those mouths to feed, why would they have adopted her and then gone on to have another? The ray of sunshine had been those twice-yearly theatre outings with her mother’s parents, yet she’d been the only one to fall under the influence of the footlights.

  “All I want is to feel safe,” she’d pleaded to Gray, and the man had softened for a brief while.

  But her clingy need for affection without the sexual attention he prided himself on had led to the demise of their relationship. “Go and suffer in silence, you frigid cow,” he’d yelled at the height of their worst argument.

  After that, by tacit agreement, she’d moved out without complaint or recrimination. Soon after, he’d taken up with Gemma. But his failure with her, or perhaps his easy abandonment of her, must have pricked his conscience because he’d kept her employed in his theatre troupe.

  And she was whore enough in that aspect to have let him. She only felt alive when she wore another’s clothes and spoke words written by someone else. It occurred to Fiona at that moment that Gray must think she still loved him. It would fit his ego. The thought brought a wicked smile to her face.

  She washed her hands and wiped them on a clean hand towel. One thing about Simon and this place: They didn’t stint on fresh towels and comfortable beds, and the food was quite good. She’d have to tell her new friend Simon Ramsey how she felt about his hospitality.

  Fiona left her room and hurried around the hall to get to rehearsal. She didn’t want to be late again and give Gemma fodder for comments. She ran for the stairs.

*

1:55 PM

Simon sat at the registration desk, checking online registrations. Every time the landline rang, he hoped it wasn’t Kate. When she’d called from Paris, she’d told him he should text any important messages or questions. Surely, with Declan’s help, this mess at the lodge would be sorted out soon enough and he wouldn’t have to contact her. This was one time in her life she deserved not to worry about Ramsey Lodge.

  He could hear desultory murmurs from the cast coming from the drawing room. Grayson hadn’t emerged yet from his room where he’d skipped lunch to have a nap. Declan and Nora still sat at their table, playing with Sean and a stack of blocks. That little romance seemed to be chugging along well. Simon gave Declan full points for accepting the baby as part of Nora’s life. With Callie helping Agnes prepare dinner, he took a deep breath. He gave a thought to Maeve coming over and realized how much he looked forward to being alone with her.

  His neck stiffened when a female cried out; then he heard bumping at the head of the stairs. He ran from the desk and found Fiona sitting in the middle of the stairway, one hand clasping the rail tightly, face white with fear. Declan ran in from the dining room and helped Simon check Fiona over before helping her to her feet.

  “What happened to the light?” Simon noticed the head of the stairs was in shadow.

  Fiona rubbed her lower leg. “I was in a rush and didn’t notice. Then I felt something and tripped.”

  By now Poppy, Bert, Helen and the Dentons were clustered in the hall at the bottom of the stairs. Agnes and Callie poked their heads out of the kitchen. Nora called up, “You need a first aid kit or a doctor?”

  “Let me see your leg, please.” Declan’s firm voice made Fiona thrust her leg out.

  He raised her slacks and examined her leg and ankle, then took out his mobile and shot a few pictures of what even Simon could see was a very fine red line along the front of Fiona’s leg.

  “Best get this documented before it fades.” Declan pulled down Fiona’s pants leg. “No kit needed.” He asked Fiona directly, “Do you want to be seen by a doctor?”

  She shook her head. “Absolutely not. We know who put that light out.” She glared down at Gemma.

  Gemma yelled, “Bitch!”

  Grayson Lange appeared at the head of the stairs, cradling his arm. “Can’t a person get a nap in this place?”

  “Stay right there.” Declan’s authoritative voice stopped Grayson in his tracks. “And the rest of you, quiet please.” He ran up the rest of the stairs and stopped near the top, kneeling down to examine the first step.

  Simon had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not another accident, and on the lodge’s premises this time. He could see the future of Ramsey Lodge disappearing before his eyes. What if Fiona had fallen all the way down? She could have been killed.

  “Nora, get me a bag, please,” Declan called down. “Any kind will do.” He snapped photos of the stairs.

  The group at the bottom of the stairs was anything but silent, asking questions of Fiona all at once.

  “Is the lass all right?” asked Bert.

  “Did you get hurt, dear?” from the Dentons.

  “Probably too much private sipping in her room after lunch.” Gemma laughed.

  “Spoken like a true trollop.” Fiona stood and tried bearing weight on her sore leg.

  Gemma opened her mouth to yell again, but Helen grabbed an arm to silence her.

  Nora returned with a clean garbage bag and the same roll of tape Simon had given Declan for the dead bunny. She passed them to Simon, who handed them up to Declan.

  By now, Grayson Lange’s patience had worn thin. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on here?”

  “One moment.” Declan reached down and drew out a handkerchief. Simon saw him wiggle something out of one side of the woodwork; then he appeared to wind it around in a circle. He dropped the handkerchief-wrapped bundle into the bag and used the tape to seal the bag. He wrote across the tape and stood up. He had everyone’s attention. “You can go down now, Grayson.”

  “Who put you in charge?” Gemma demanded from the hallway as Grayson started down the stairs, holding onto the railing.

  Simon dreaded what he knew would be the end to Declan’s anonymity. He helped Fiona work her way gingerly down the stairs, aided by Nora. Grayson followed behind them.

  Declan waited until everyone safely reached the hall. “I’m here on holiday, but in Oxford I’m a detective inspector.”

  “A bloody copper in our midst!” Gemma shouted.

  “Shut up, you idiot.” Poppy punched Gemma in the arm. “He’s got a right to go away same as anyone else.”

  “The point is—” Declan’s voice rose above them all. “—it appears fishing line has been deliberately strung across the top step from a nail set low, then wound around the newel post.”

  There were gasps from below, but it was Helen’s voice that spoke out. “Just like in the play—cut brake cables and a fall downstairs.”

*

2:12 PM

Nora trooped after Declan and Simon into Simon’s kitchen.

  Nora knew Helen saw it, too. Someone was using the play to orchestrate these events. She ought to feel vindicated, but instead all she felt was a clammy fear.

  “Declan, I have to tell you something important. The Dentons had a daughter who committed suicide two years ago after appearing in a play that Grayson directed.”

  Declan stowed the bundle in the freezer next to the stiff corpse of the dead bunny. His face was grim. “I’ll put in a call to Kendal right now.” His comment addressed Simon.

  Nora tugged at his sleeve as he took out his mobile. “Did you hear me? These incidents are all tied into this play and to Grayson Lange. In the play, there are falls and a car accident that kills Ruth from cut brakes and—”

  “Who’s Ruth?” Simon filled a plastic bag with ice for Fiona’s leg.

  “Damn, no coverage now,” Declan said.

  “Ruth is Condomine’s current wife, whom Fiona plays, but that’s not what matters.”

  “None of it matters, Nora.” Declan’s face was suffused with anger. “First, you’re meddling in the guests’ rooms, and now you’re seeing connections from old history where none exist.”

  “You were snooping in their rooms?” Simon’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “I thought we had a clear understanding—”

  “And I thought I was dealing with two men with brains in their heads instead of in another part of their anatomy.” She rushed from the room and into her own before she said something ruder. Shaking with anger, she gathered Sean from his cot, where she had unceremoniously dumped him to be safe when Fiona had fallen.

  He mewed when he saw her, on the verge of tears, and she picked him up.

  “Shush, lovey,” she soothed. “Couldn’t leave you alone in your high chair, you silly goose. You’re fine,” she explained as she changed his nappy. But was everything fine? What kind of monster had been set loose on Ramsey Lodge?