Chapter 27

27

Dougald's arm felt slightly numb and his fingertips throbbed, although he thought the problem with his fingertips was more of a desire to grab Hannah and steal her away than any reaction to his wound. "Don't be ridiculous," he stated flatly.

She argued with him. Of course. "Why ridiculous? Don't you remember what Alfred said before he fell out of the window? ‘She's goin' t' kill me.' He was more afraid of her than that fall."

As they descended the tower stairway, Dougald kept his good arm firmly locked with Hannah's. She was, after all, still limping, and after the scuffle in the tower, she moved with deliberate care and leaned against the handrail. "I agree it might be a she who gave him his orders," he said.

"Also, why close the trapdoor and lock us in? Once we noticed that, we had time to work on our strategy."

"We?" He loved that she took credit for his planning. "I was decorating with a table."

Disgruntled, she frowned at him. "Are you through being superior, my lord Peacock?"

"Watch your step," he advised. "The handrail is shaky here." He cast a glance below. The spiral stairway hid much of the floor from view. Someone could be lurking below in the late-afternoon shadows, although he had neither seen nor heard anything.

He noted, also, that the door to the tower had been closed. Had Alfred done so when he came up? Or had someone else with the intention of shooting them when they came through?

If Hannah was aware of the danger, she hid her concern with the fiery desire to convince him she was right. In her most persuasive tone, she said, "If it was a woman who followed us up the stairs, then she would have shut the trapdoor and fetched her conspirator to kill us."

"Why? A pistol functions as well in the hand of a woman."

"That wouldn't have worked with her plan."

"How do you know her plan?"

Hannah shrugged. "Because I would do the same."

He never meant anything so much as when he said, "Hannah, sometimes you frighten me."

Stopping, she looked at him. "As you frighten me. But after the scene above, I no longer wonder if you are going to kill me."

"Not today."

She smiled and started down again. "That woman was going to make it look as if ours was one of the cursed noble Raeburn marriages. Alfred was going to shoot you first. Then he was going to throw me out the window."

"He couldn't throw you out the window. He was not a young man. He would have used that second pistol on you."

"No, that was for a spare. Which he needed, I might add. And he was large enough to take me on and win."

Dougald recalled Alfred's build. Broad and tall.

Alfred's involvement had surprised Dougald. He hadn't thought the shiftless yeoman with his rheumy eyes and shaking hands could be part of an ongoing plot to kill the lords of Raeburn Castle. Yet the prospect that Alfred might have got his hands on Hannah made Dougald shudder.

Hannah didn't seem to expect a response. She just clung more tightly to him. "After he'd shot you and thrown me out, he was going to put the pistol in your hand. When it was discovered who I was, everyone would say you tossed me out and shot yourself."

Dougald was appalled. "Hannah, you have a criminal mind."

She seemed to ponder that. "I suppose. I prefer to think of it as analytical."

"What about the fact that Seaton handed me the note that sent me to the top of the tower? That is proof that he instigated the plan to rid Raeburn Castle of us."

Hannah did not accept his skepticism with any amount of grace. "Well, Charles gave me the note, so ha!" She stuck out her tongue at him.

He wanted to retaliate by taking her tongue in his mouth, but the woman insisted they behave with logical caution and seek out the true assassin. She wanted to be involved in the search, which proved he was right in keeping the truth from her as long as possible.

But damn, the matter had waited this long. It could wait a little longer while he took Hannah up to his bedchamber and indulged in all the fantasies he'd been unable to fulfill these last days.

"Charles must be a dupe." If he was not, then Dougald had been a bigger one. "We'll find him and ask the name of the maid who gave him the note."

"And find Seaton and ask who gave him the note," Hannah retorted.

"If we must."

"I don't know how you could have ever thought it was Seaton."

"He is the heir."

"He doesn't want the title." She shook her head at Dougald's lack of perception. "He's a fribble. He wants to gossip and play. He doesn't want the responsibility that comes with the legacy."

Dougald didn't answer because he didn't want to tell her that, for the most part, all evidence agreed. The three gentleman detectives had followed Seaton on his visits. His only suspicious activity had been that he "found" Mrs. Grizzle's lost necklace between the cushions of a sofa and been hailed as a hero.

Dougald and Hannah reached the floor without incident, and he examined the area for hiding places and weapons. There was nothing; no place to hide and nothing for him to take for defense. Easing his arm from around Hannah, he quietly instructed, "Stay here," and moved toward the door.

She mumbled something; he couldn't hear what.

Just as quietly, he came back to her and shook his finger in her face. "You are not to try and help me. You are not to get shot."

"I didn't get shot," she said in a fierce whisper.

"I saved you," he answered. He waited until the mulish expression had settled on her face, then shook his finger at her again.

She gave a short, grudging nod, then murmured, "She's not there. What could she do to us in the corridors of the castle? She hopes to wait and try another day."

"You may be right." He pressed a brief, hard kiss on her lips. "But let me take precautions anyway."

Taking the handle, he jerked the door open—and the empty corridor of the east wing stretched before him. Doors opened off into vacant rooms, but Dougald surmised that Hannah was right.

After all, why should Hannah's suspect put herself in jeopardy by killing them in full daylight in the castle? She had no idea she had betrayed herself to Hannah.

With that thought, Dougald realized Hannah had convinced him. "You're right," he said. "Mrs. Trenchard is the killer."

"Yes," Hannah said, seemingly unaware of the munificence of his concession, "and I've been thinking. The evidence is in the chapel."

"In the chapel? Why in the chapel?"

"I had the headache to prove the whole plot centers around the chapel."

With a start, Dougald recalled what Charles had said. Hannah had been struck down in the chapel. "Of course."

"Besides, if I'm correct in my sad theory, where else could the evidence be?"

He remembered how protective Mrs. Trenchard had been of the chapel, doing all the cleaning herself, and how she had spoken to him of his renovations. She had been interested in his plans. Very interested.

"I have a plan," Hannah said.

Taking her arm, he led her down the corridor. "Tell me."

By the time she had finished, he was shaking his head. "No. There has to be a better way."

"Perhaps so, but I can't think of one right now, and we haven't a lot of time before the Queen's visit. It would show a decided lack of etiquette if one of us was killed before her arrival."

"I can't argue with that, but I must tell you I still doubt your deductions. I've observed that Mrs. Trenchard is quite fond of Seaton."

"Most women are."

Dougald didn't like that one bit. "Why? He's nothing but the runt of the litter."

"He's charming, he always has the best gossip and he likes women."

"I like women."

"And you used to be charming. Perhaps you can cultivate that trait again." She gave him a saucy smile. "But a gossip? I think not. You can glower, or you can gossip, and in the past nine years, you have perfected the glower."

He glowered. "I liked you better when you worried I would kill you."

Her smile disappeared. "I still worry, but about something entirely different."

About what? He wanted to ask what put that pensive expression on her face, but not now. Not until they'd settled this other matter.

"So you think Mrs. Trenchard targeted the lords to get the title for Seaton," Hannah said.

"Yes."

"Is a crime of property and possession more likely than a crime of honor and loyalty?"

"It's more logical."

In a mocking tone, she said, "Because you can see land and money, and honor and loyalty are ephemeral."

He knew she was about to spring a trap, but he couldn't quite see where the teeth would bite. "Such honor and loyalty are rare."

"Yet for honor and loyalty you stepped in front of a bullet."

And for love. He ought to say it. Make his confession and let her laugh or weep or whatever she wished. But he couldn't. The realization was too new. The time wasn't right. There were too many half-truths and past hurts between them. And perhaps, just perhaps, she would not laugh or weep, but she would be embarrassed for him. After all, she had loved him once. How pitiful to try and revive an old tenderness. So he said only, "You're my wife."

"Honor and loyalty," she said triumphantly.

"And vows which I respect," he couldn't resist saying.

With that she got very quiet.

She hadn't forgiven him for accusing her of abandoning him. Just as he hadn't forgiven her for doing it.

He glanced sideways at her. With strands of her fair hair falling around her face and those slanted brown eyes solemn, she still looked magnificent. He loved her height. He loved that she looked him in the eye even when he was in a rage. He loved her sarcasm. He loved her kindness to the aunts. He loved her breasts, especially the cleavage she showed right now. He loved her so much, and unmindful of past hurts and a bleak future, he had to save her.

He, who had taught himself confidence and iron determination—he was afraid he might fail. He had made mistakes, intolerable errors of character-reading and motivation.

As they approached the broad stairway that descended to the main level, Hannah said softly, "There. There is our quarry."

"Seaton," Dougald breathed. He could scarcely stand to look at Seaton in his blue plaid trousers, matching waistcoat, and stolen diamond collar pin.

Seaton spotted them, too, for he cried out, "I see you found each other." He observed the way Dougald held Hannah's arm and bathed them in a fond smile. "There's quite a bit of blather about you two turtle-doves in the district."

With slow, bitter emphasis, Dougald said, "I know where the blather came from."

Still wary from their midnight encounter, Seaton skittered sideways. "I'm not the only newsmonger to be invited to a party, you know!"

Hannah petted Dougald's arm as if he was a dog to be tamed. "Of course you're not, Seaton. But you're the best."

Seaton looked sideways at Dougald and murmured, "Well…yes."

Hannah continued, "Lord Raeburn was wondering—who gave you the note I wrote him?"

"One of the maids," Seaton answered.

"Where did she get it?"

Seaton's eyes widened. "From you, I would suppose."

Dougald took up the interrogation. "Why didn't the maid give it to me?"

"She said Mrs. Trenchard wanted her to work inside, and you were outside…"

"You were willing to carry it for a chance to read it," Dougald bluntly interpolated.

Seaton wasn't the slightest bit offended. "A man has to learn what's going on about him."

Dougald hated to do this, but he had no plan other than this. Seaton had produced a cue, and Dougald would respond. He had to find the killer before Queen Victoria arrived on the morrow.

In his roughest, most disgruntled voice, he said, "You want to know what's going on? I'll tell you what's going on. I'm not satisfied with the way Mrs. Trenchard has prepared the chapel."

"Oh, Dougald." Hannah squeezed his arm.

"The…chapel?" Seaton wagged his head.

"Yes, the chapel," Dougald repeated. "It has to be perfect for Her Majesty's visit tomorrow."

"As you know, Sir Onslow, I personally know Her Majesty." This time Hannah was definitely bragging, but with a purpose. "Queen Victoria will want to say a prayer, and we mustn't be embarrassed by our house of worship."

"Dear, dear." Seaton tsked sadly. "I feared old Trenchard was failing. You know she has those spells."

"Has she suffered from them long?" Hannah asked.

"Years, but they're getting worse." Seaton tapped his chest. "Heart, I suspect, but she won't slow down. Except that she no longer tends the aunts." He lavished a smile on Hannah. "She must be so grateful to you, Miss Setterington."

"I've never had gratitude expressed in quite such a manner," Hannah replied.

Dougald hurried into speech. "Mrs. Trenchard has done all the cleaning herself, but first thing tomorrow morning I am ordering the workmen in to replace the rotting wall panels. Then all the maids and footmen will polish every pew, every step, every sconce." Dougald gave Hannah a gentle push to start her toward the aunts' workroom. "But Seaton, I depend on your discretion. Don't let Mrs. Trenchard know what I have planned."

"I wouldn't dream of it!"

Dougald and Hannah watched as Seaton tripped off down the stairway.

"I wonder how long it will take him to find her," Hannah mused.

"If I were a wagering man, I would say within the hour."

For over an hour, they sat in the darkness waiting. Dougald and Hannah. The aunts. Charles. And Seaton, who had heard about the discovery of Alfred's body at the foot of the tower and, when he came to confront Dougald, realized he had the front-row seat to the greatest scandal since the marquess of Bersham discovered his wife was a bigamist.

Dougald allowed him to come—he was afraid of what Seaton might do if left on his own—but Dougald had also threatened Seaton with dismemberment if he so much as peeped.

Everyone sat on the far right of the chapel, away from the wall with the stained-glass windows. The pew was hard beneath Dougald's behind, and although his wound had been bandaged, his shoulder stung like the blazes. Hannah moved restlessly beside him. He wondered what the aunts thought of Hannah's request that they remain here without speaking until something—she wouldn't tell them what—happened.

He also wondered why he had let Hannah talk him into inviting the aunts. He would rather have done this alone, but she seemed adamant that the old ladies accompany them. The whole arrangement reeked of calamity, but he had taken the precaution of arming Charles.

Dougald himself remained alert, a motionless warrior waiting for battle. "What do you think we're going to find?" he murmured close to Hannah's ear.

She answered him just as quietly. "Papers of some kind. Keepsakes. Possibly even a marriage certificate."

Perhaps she was right. After all, he had no other answers.

Eventually Hannah dozed, her head on his shoulder. One of the aunts snored softly.

The clock in the great hall had struck nine. The servants' curfew was in effect when Dougald saw the faint light of a single candle and heard a woman's faltering footsteps.

He shook Hannah awake. Someone must have done the same with the snorer, for she ceased with a snuffle.

Mrs. Trenchard entered. The single flame lit her face, and Dougald realized gauntness painted the formerly plump hollows of her cheeks. She wore a black gown and an apron, and she moved like a woman with a mission, a woman who knew the chapel in both daytime and darkness.

With a shock, Dougald realized his wife must be right. Mrs. Trenchard had come to remove the evidence. But what? What paper or keepsake could be so important that she would kill so many of her lords?

Everyone remained perfectly still. The lone candle did little to lighten the gloom. Mrs. Trenchard didn't seem to notice the onlookers at all. All her attention was focused on a single location, on the left wall close to the altar. The place where Hannah had been struck down.

Mrs. Trenchard knelt. She placed the candlestick on the floor beside her knees. Taking a small pry bar from one pocket, she worked it under the deteriorating panel of wood and lifted it free. Raising the candle, she shined it into the recesses of the wall, and inside Dougald spied a small wooden box.

He had seen enough. The woman must be insane. It was time to capture the criminal and end the series of murders which had so shadowed Raeburn Castle.

Standing, he said in a slow, patient voice, "Mrs. Trenchard, what are you doing?"

The woman gasped, then turned so quickly Dougald blinked in astonishment. She held her candle high. In her other hand, she held a pistol. She aimed it at him—and Hannah.

Seaton dived for cover.

The aunts gasped.

Hannah tried to step between Dougald and the barrel.

He pushed her behind him.

And in a quavering voice, Aunt Spring asked, "Judy, is that where you buried my baby?"