Mists of Moorhead Manor Page 17

  “There is no solution, Penny. For you and Exmere, possibly. For Vanessa and myself, no.”

  For a moment I was shaken by his reference to Robert, but I shut out his words and said, “You must go to America. Not the Canadas, but to the United States, where you may be judged on merit and not on birth.”

  We stood there not ten feet from the edge of the cliff, his dark eyes stabbing through me, flickering with a sudden wild mix of emotions. I knew I should be afraid, and yet I simply could not fear a man who had given up his life to look after the woman he had worshipped from afar. If only Robert cared for me a tenth as much . . .

  “You’re mad,” David declared. “How would Vanessa survive?”

  “She can only go if she recovers, and she knows it. Why do you think she is finally making the effort?”

  Sheer disbelief distorted David’s handsome features. “She would do that? She would leave here forever?”

  “For you, yes.” Though I said a swift and fervent prayer that Vanessa’s declarations of love were not frail will-o-the-wisps, dissolved as easily as the mists. For I had done it again—overstepped my bounds, meddled, possibly precipitating more heartbreak in a household already beset by tragedy.

  David shook his head, his servant’s mask firmly back in place. “She is privileged, selfish,” he said quietly. “A true child of the aristocracy. I find this difficult to believe.”

  I bit my lip as I acknowledged how clearly he saw reality. “She is spoiled,” I agreed, “and being an invalid has made her even more self-centered, yet I know she is trying. She has told me what is in her heart, and though I admit I cannot know if she will stand firm, I believe there is reason to hope.”

  A particularly shrill shriek from a gull interrupted this delicate moment. Once again, I could only wonder, Oh dear God, what have I done?”

  David turned and gazed out to sea, beyond the white caps to where the ocean churned blue-gray under a fitful sun. I fancied he was looking west toward a new world where rules were not so strict, where men and women were not totally bound by tradition. And then he surprised me, abruptly changing the subject.

  “You have been walking in the gardens, Penny, on days almost too dim to see your hand before your face. And taking a lantern. Have you found the old smugglers’ cave, I wonder?”

  I had heard the expression “my blood ran cold.” Now I knew what it meant.

  “Smugglers’ cave?” I asked while my stomach churned and my brain screamed, Run!

  “It hasn’t been used for many a year, but at one time it was safe storage for one of the most successful bands of smugglers on the coast. There is an entrance at the back of the hill, hidden by bushes,” David continued when I said nothing, “and easy access up the cliff next to a stream.”

  “Have you been inside it?” I managed through jaws that seemed frozen in place. “Recently?”

  “Not since I was a lad.” I fought to stifle my gasp of relief. “But all the boys played there at one time, though Hunt was a bit young and big-eyed about it all. The rest of us thought it the greatest place ever.”

  “All the boys?” The words, hoarse with disbelief, barely made it past my lips.

  “Oh aye. “Rob, Kenrick, Hunt, young Tom Ridgeway, my brother and me.”

  Stunned, the only thing I could think of to say was, “How do you know I’ve been walking in the walled garden?”

  “I saw you that day when you boxed Blythe’s ears. I don’t spend all my time in the house, you see, and there I was, hidden by the mist, when you entered the folly, with him soon dogging your heels. I was about to rush to your rescue when you settled the matter yourself. Since I didn’t want you to think I’d been spying on you, I took myself off. Least said, soonest mended.”

  “But now you speak of it.”

  “Aye.” He shifted his feet, flicked his gaze over the ocean, suddenly appearing more awkward and uncertain than when he had questioned my opinion of Vanessa’s feelings for him. “I wanted to say—though well I know it’s none of business—that if you’re meeting Rob—Lord Exmere—in the cave, it’s not . . . wise.” David gave his head a swift shake, gulped, and pressed on. I, naturally, was struck dumb. “You’re a fine woman, Penny. A friend to both Vanessa and me. I don’t want to see you come to harm.”

  I gasped, suddenly realizing my hands were so tightly clasped together, pain was shooting up my arms. I broke my hands apart, wiggling my fingers to restore circulation, all the time frantically searching for a response. “David,” I finally managed, “Though I am gratified that you are concerned for me, I am disappointed you think me that much of a fool. I assure you I would not indulge in an assignation with Lord Exmere anywhere, and most particularly not in some place as dark and secretive as a cave.” Making an effort to lighten the atmosphere, I added, “Good heavens, there are likely bats and spiders and goodness knows what.” I shivered dramatically.

  He eyed me askance but evidently decided there was no point in pursuing the matter. “Well, good then,” he declared. “My apologies. My only concern was that I did not wish to see you hurt. Exmere has a certain reputation, you see . . .” His voice trailed away.

  “It is my years with the army, is it not?” I mused. “You all think I cannot be anything but a doxie.”

  “Penny!” He appeared genuinely shocked. “If I thought that, I would not have bothered to warn you. And besides, with a murderer among us, you do not want to be caught wandering alone anywhere, even in the gardens. You must take more care.”

  “As I did when I came to the edge of the cliffs with you?” I left the challenge hanging.

  Slowly, he nodded. “We are all suspect, are we not?”

  I shook my head, letting my gaze drift over the edge of the precipice to the sandpipers, looking more like ants, treading a narrow crescent of beach far below. Had David truly not been in the cave since childhood? Or had he watched that day, seen me discover the opening, then satisfied a natural curiosity to visit an old haunt?

  Or did he not have to look because he knew what was there? And was relieved to hear I had not gone inside. At least that was how I hoped he had interpreted my words. But perhaps he had been watching when Exmere and I went there together . . . or when I finally found the entrance for myself . . .

  And he was the one who shut the door.

  I pulled up my hood, clutched my cloak around me, and set off toward the house, leaving David to catch up. Perhaps it was best if Lord Hycliffe and Exmere sealed the cave, burying the evidence of murder forever. And to the Devil with Right and Wrong. The problem would be over. Done with. Gone. As if it never existed.

  The wind chose that moment to come howling back, blowing us home at twice the pace we had set on the way out. Yet it did not keep me from wondering about David. Common sense dictated that he, a mere stripling at the time, had no reason to murder Lady Hycliffe and her lover. But the three dead girls . . . that was something else again.

  And then there was Robert, who had never indicated by so much as a jot that he had played in that cave as a boy.

  I should leave Moorhead Manor. That much was clear. But the Wetheringtons were all I had. My new family. Too much of my heart lay vested behind these forbidding stone walls. As we passed the statue of David adorning the courtyard, for the first time I made the connection with the tousled-hair David pacing me step by step.

  I blushed. Furiously. My mind, unbidden, making the leap to our own David naked. And then, inevitably, to Robert. Though his nakedness I reserved for my eyes only.

  I fairly galloped up the two flights of stairs, slammed the door of my room behind me, and cast myself on my bed, burying my face in my pillow. Terror, lust, embarrassment, relief at my escape—I had no idea which emotion dominated. I only knew I had finally found a situation beyond my ability to cope. The daughter of the regiment was at point non plus and had no idea where to turn.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The revelation didn’t strike me until much later when I was sitting on my windowseat a
nd gazing out at the moon shining down on a rare mist-free night. The agitated thoughts chasing through my head flitted past David’s mention of a second entrance to the cave, jerked to a stop, reversed, and focused on the surprising truth. I had not been trapped. I could have walked out at any time.

  No wonder the air in the cave seemed fresh.

  I should have realized . . . I should have remembered who I was, all I had learned about survival, instead of relying on Robert to find me. A decision that could have proved fatal.

  I should have . . .

  I sighed. One’s thoughts can be very dark in the wee hours of the morning. I had never felt so alone in my life, not even on the long stagecoach journey that had brought me to Moorhead Manor. Although my life was changing drastically, I had been looking forward to my new position, to living in England, to having a home. Now common sense said I must abandon it all, while my heart, for a hundred reasons, would not let me.

  Yet if I stayed, every time I heard the word Ridgeway—indeed, every time I looked at Alice, who had been Nell Ridgeway’s maid—I would feel guilty. Quenton Ridgeway’s bones lay in a cave behind Moorhead’s garden, and I was forbidden to inform the family. As for Vanessa and Huntley? My conscience twisted into a monstrous knot at the very thought of my deception about their mother’s death.

  But perhaps, just perhaps, Robert was right. Certain information was best buried forever.

  Robert . . .

  Was it possible he hadn’t known about the entrance in the garden, that he was genuinely surprised? He had not truly deceived me . . .

  Excuses! I was so besotted I was excusing him for concealing an act of murder.

  Liar. Deceiver. Betrayer. Every word out of Robert’s mouth was suspect. Every action. Every smile. Every kiss.

  I spent an hour wrestling with my conscience—even falling so low as to compare my intransigence to the Reverend Aylworth’s unbending self-righteous certainty that he knew what was best for all and sundry. That settled it. I could not abandon my new family. I would ride the situation out, wait and see what happened next.

  Yet in spite of all my philosophizing, I tossed and turned the whole night through. It seemed fitting that when dawn broke, the mists rolled in off the ocean, blanketing everything in white and concealing all our sins.

  No, I was wrong. The mists were our sins. Enveloping us in a miasma of evil we were powerless to fight. No matter how hard we struggled, the mists were ever elusive, shifting, taunting, vaporizing, only to return again thicker and more menacing than ever.

  And just as we thought Evil a will-o-the-wisp that could not harm us, it struck, leaving us terrified.

  And still powerless to fight back.

  The next afternoon, as soon as Vanessa was settled for her nap, now shortened to an hour, I insisted David show me the smuggler’s entrance to the cave. Ostensibly, he was once again accompanying me on a walk, but this time we headed down the moor path past the stables then cross-country on a route known only to those who had lived in the area all their lives. We picked our way over winter grass, around rocks, an occasional boulder, and impenetrable patches of gorse, moving ever closer to the sea and to a low hill on our right. I heard a gurgle of water, and there was a small stream, little more than a rivulet, winding its way along the base of the hill. It was enough, however, to produce a profusion of tall bushes along its banks.

  David examined the breadth of the hill, a distance of perhaps two hundred feet, with a critical eye. “It’s grown up a bit,” he said. “Not that the smugglers didn’t want to keep the entrance covered, but as lads we never had trouble going straight to it. Now . . .” He shook his head. “Give me a moment.” He stepped across the two-foot ribbon of crystal clear water and attempted to pull back the tangle of bushes. A few colorful mutters drifted to my ears as some of them proved to be prickly. On the third try, however, he had it. “Ah-hah!” David cried. “The lost is found.”

  I hastened forward, careful to keep both hems and half-boots out of the water, and peered over his shoulder. A dark portal, nearly David’s own height—which was considerable—loomed before me. No door. It was true. I could have walked out at any time. Or others walked in, if they’d a mind to do so. Had the killer waited on tenterhooks all these years, knowing his crime could be discovered at any moment? Had he expected it? Wanted it?

  Or did he sit secure, watching the shrubbery grow, confident that neglect, the passing of the halcyon days of boyhood would be his friend?

  “Oh, I say, that’s capital!” declared a voice directly behind us. “You’re showing Penny the old smuggler’s cave.”

  If only the rivulet were deep enough to swallow me up.

  David surprised me with some language I had thought known only to troopers. And in that moment I knew he had lied to me. He had indeed gone into the cave, seen the skeletal remains. He was as appalled by Huntley’s arrival as I was.

  “Huntley,” I said flatly, and found I had no idea what to say next. He was already beside me, peering over my shoulder, though David’s hands had gone slack, dropping the branches back into place.

  Huntley, undaunted, pulled the bushes aside himself and peered inside. “What grand times we had here. Odd, isn’t it, that one day we all grew up and stopped coming here. We must get up an exploration party, perhaps when Jocelyn and Daphne come back. The girls will shiver and need comforting. What fun!”

  I gulped. “Huntley . . . I don’t think Robert wants anyone to go into the cave.” Oh no, what a stupid thing to say. It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. I, who knew young men so well, should have known better.

  “No, really, Hunt,” David was saying, “it’s gone unused so long it’s probably dangerous. Leave it be. We shouldn’t have come. I was showing off, you see, telling Penny tales of our childhood, and suddenly here we were. Forget about it, won’t you? Take my word for it, as someone a few years older, the girls would complain of bats and spiders and creepy-crawlies, blame you for the slightest stumble or smudge of dirt. Bad idea.”

  “Then let’s go in now. For old time’s sake.”

  “No lantern,” I inserted hastily.

  “Oh.” Huntley frowned. “Well, I’m going to do it. I’ll get Rob and Ken and in we’ll go. You too, Davy. We should ask Tom and your brother too. We’ll have a fire and tell stories just as used to.”

  David and I exchanged a look. We had to put a stop to this, but how? Somehow I didn’t think anything we could say was going to stop Huntley from revisiting the site of boyhood revels.

  “Huntley,” I asked, “how did you happen to follow us?”

  A flush suffused his face, the kind a young man of nineteen has not had enough experience to avoid.

  “You were protecting Penny, weren’t you?” David said. “From me.”

  Huntley dropped his head, staring down at the clear blue water running to the sea. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just that I was in the stables and saw you turn off the path . . . With all that’s happened . . .”

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” I said. I am grateful for your thoughtfulness.”

  David clapped him on the back. “Your instincts are good, Hunt. Never doubt them. It so happens I’m not a murderer, but I could have been.” He stepped back across the stream. Turning, he held out his hand to me. “Shall we go home?”

  And there I had it, my excuse to speak to Robert again. Not an excuse. An imperative. Somehow Huntley had to be dissuaded from entering the cave.

  And when had I joined the ranks of the deceivers?”

  When we dined en famille, I was seated between Kenrick and Huntley, with Robert and Vanessa across from us, a position I usually enjoyed as it gave me an opportunity to feast my eyes on Robert while he conversed, cut his meat, sipped his wine . . .

  Hopeless! I was no better than a silly widgeon of sixteen indulging in a punishing bout of first infatuation.

  But tonight there was no question of languishing in a wallow of inward sighs. I had to attract Robert’s atten
tion. Yet no matter how many mental arrows I sent flying across the table, he never once looked in my direction. As far as he was concerned, I did not exist. I did, however, catch such a knowing look from Vanessa that I fixed my eyes on my plate and did not look up again until Lady Emmaline signaled it was time to leave the gentlemen to their port.

  Devil a bit! Robert had to have felt the urgent signals I was sending. But when the gentlemen joined us, he wandered to the fireplace, where he stood, hands behind his back, staring into the glowing coals. A veritable chasm of carpet and overly perceptive eyes lay between us.

  “No songs tonight, Penny?”

  And, suddenly, there he was, looking straight at me for the first time since I had accused him of shutting me into the cave. “I beg your pardon, my lord,” I said, “but I have not felt much like singing lately.”

  “Poor Penny,” Huntley offered. “A cursed business, these deaths.”

  “And not to be spoken of here,” Lord Hycliffe decreed in his most authoritarian tone. “There is enough melancholy without flaunting fear in our female’s faces.”

  “A tune, Kenrick,” Robert said, forestalling any protests. “Something light and airy. I swear the mists have made their way inside, muffling us all in sorrow.”

  With a wry tilt of his head, Kenrick obliged, pounding out a ditty that would have shocked Lady Emmaline to the core if he had sung the words that went with the tune. As Robert meandered behind me on his way to find a chair, a bit of folded paper dropped in my lap. I could only hope all eyes were on Kenrick because I know my relief, my joy, must have broken through the calm façade I struggled to keep in place.

  Keeping the tiny bit of paper hidden in the folds of my gown, I read: Bookroom, 11:00.

  He knew!

  Oh dear God, if I had been that obvious, everyone knew.