It’s done. Or I am. The bitch stabbed me. As you feared. I will do my best to rid you of them, but I fear that even the doctor can’t do anything. I’ve got the keys and a theory where the stones are—in the old codger’s house, but I don’t know if I’ll manage it.
Hopefully, the luck of the devil will continue to bless me, and if not, know I died your loving son—Francis Nettley
Flora,who had come to stand next to him, read the letter and gasped at the contents. It fit with what they’d read from their cousin Margot about a man called Francis Nettley, trying to break into the duke’s townhouse, and dying in the grounds. They had been lodging the woman who had murdered Kit’s uncle. She had been waiting like a spider for the perfect time to strike.
“When was that dated? The letter from Margot?” Kit scrambled forward, snatching up the most recent from the pile of letters they had designated as belonging to his cousin. Her neat feminine hand laid out much of the drama in London, whilst clearly growing increasingly keen to hear from her younger sister, or indeed from the duke himself. “Just two days.” He turned it over in his hand as he re-read Margot’s words about the dead man. Mrs. Clarke’s son. The housekeeper must have seen it, afterall the envelope was torn and the letter stuffed in here. She had her motivation for revenge. And it seemed like she had set her targets on Elsie.
The letter was crushed in his hand as hopelessness rode through him, any lingering idea of rescuing her started to crumble. After all, Mrs. Clarke had planned everything out. She was an adversary worthy of that name, and none of his family had even been away from her before this point.
Looking around the chamber, Kit got to his feet. “I want you to take both Lady Flora and Samson to Exeter.” He drew out his wallet, handing his sister several notes and then one to Clary and Samson each. “You will all be safer away from here. Find the magistrate and inform him of what’s happened. Once that is done, I want you to get to London. Promise me you won’t wait. You will just go.”
“What about you?” Flora looked uncertain. “Wouldn’t we be more useful looking for Elsie too?”
“I don’t want you in harm’s way.”
Flora nodded, and the four of them hurried through the manor, heading towards the stable. Dusk had fallen and the spring evening was upon them. distantly as they headed down the stairs, Kit glanced up, his eye caught by a faint light outside. He froze, following the movement in the forest. It was moving, not towards the manor house, but out as if intending to go through the forest, out towards the bay.
“Go,” he whispered and broke away from the others, tearing through the house after the faintest of lights.
CHAPTER 23
At first Elsie had been frightened, chilled to the very bone by Mrs. Clarke, convinced by the woman’s sadistic vow to kill her. To murder Kit and Flora. How she ranted as she moved through the little cottage, promising a bloody retribution against the Ashmore estate and all the Fitzsimmons who still lived. The murdering of Peterson for Elsie’s abduction showed what she was capable of. The cottage did not seem wide or deep enough to encompass how much Mrs. Clarke loathed Kit’s family.
As she watched the housekeeper, Elsie became aware of a new problem. Mrs. Clarke, who had seemed so certain and so arrogant when she’d entered the cottage, when she’d killed the butler and when she’d threatened Elsie, did not seem focused. She was more preoccupied with her ranting and raving than actually having a plan. Perhaps Elsie told herself she should take comfort from the fact that Mrs. Clarke was now rambling, mumbling, and waving her pistol about when she wasn’t focused on scribbling something down on several pages.
That the armed woman was unhinged, brought a sense of bittersweet relief—it would be unlikely she would manage tomurder all three of them without anyone suspecting a thing, and yet the very lack of clarity meant she might simply force Elsie out of the cottage and into the surrounding sea. Whilst she could claim to be a strong swimmer, having grown up by the coastline, Elsie did not know what the currents were like down here…
“Stop watching me,” Mrs. Clarke said, and Elsie angled her face away quickly.
The housekeeper had moved them both into the main room of the cottage, which served as the front room. She had tied Elsie next to the fireplace, with a piece of rope that was not especially strong. After that Mrs. Clarke had lit the fire, which Elsie was grateful for. As she was still in her chemise, which offered very little in the way of warmth. The grisly disadvantage was of course, that Peterson lay dead in the far corner of the room, his body discarded with a viciousness that Elsie marvelled at. His corpse was a constant and unpleasant reminder of what Mrs. Clarke was capable of.
With her face turned away, Elsie tried to fathom what the older woman might be intending to do with her next. Dusk had fallen and yet Mrs. Clarke still scribbled away, a low murmur slipping out of her half-opened lips as she whispered away to herself. To Elsie’s mind, she had to be planning her next steps, but what good would that do Elsie and how she might rescue herself, remained elusive.
Darkness had fallen, the day of their planned departure now ticking by, as presumably Kit searched for her. would he think of the little cottage, down in the cove which had so attracted her attention when Elsie had first arrived?
There were dozens of places, far more logical to look first… or had Kit decided it was better to save his sister and himself, rather than wonder where his enemy might have taken her? After all, he had never said he loved her. She might be his fiancée, might have the promise of his title and position on offer as his wife, but neither of them had let the words of love, affection, devotion slip past their lips… She had been a coward, Elsie realised now, begging or even uttering them herself. If she closed her eyes, Elsie could picture Kit’s dear face, and let herself imagine that she had told him the secrets of her heart, without the normal fear that rattled through her.
The noise of Mrs. Clarke’s chair being dragged across the floor alerted Elsie and pulled her out of the daze she was currently enjoying. Whatever matters had so preoccupied Mrs. Clarke, she now seemed at peace with them as her inscrutable eyes fixed on Elsie. She placed the chair down in front of Elsie and sank into it, calculation dominating her expression.
“You won’t be the first he’ll use and abandon,” Mrs. Clarke said, her words taunting and provocative. She wanted to see the sadness and tears spoil Elsie’s face.
A momentary flash of relief warmed Elsie. She had not mentioned the engagement, and the housekeeper had no knowledge of it. So that meant it could be kept as a prize which might bring her silent comfort, or perhaps be used to barter with if needs be.
Adjusting her arms so she could look Mrs. Clarke in the face, Elsie shrugged, fully throwing herself into the role of the naïve victim in the hopes it might elicit the housekeeper’s sympathy. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Course you do—men like the duke make a habit of using women like us. Women in their employ. Something to be fucked and dismissed. We are nothing more than chuff to the mill, disposable once they’ve had their fill of us.” The bitterness of her words made Elsie shift closer. The housekeeper was the one drawing Elsie’s sympathies despite her compromised position and the danger the older woman posed. It was hard to hear of a woman suffering and not feel empathy for such a deserted creature.
“What happened to render you so?” Unable to resist asking Mrs. Clarke what had caused such fury to fester within her. Itmust have been a torment that had lasted years, and Elsie could understand why the housekeeper would let herself be destroyed.
“I was just like you, hopelessly besotted so much so I believed what my lover told me. That he would wed me, and I would be a lady. Free from the burdens of my class, free to give my child an honest name, his father’s name.”
“But he left you?”
The housekeeper nodded as with her foot she nudged another piece of wood into the fire. “Not before I heard him discussing what his family had.” A malicious smile curved her lips as she warmed her hands. “The Ashmoreton Diamonds. That might make them some of the wealthiest amongst theton. But nothing could be spared for me. Oh, how Barnabas liked to talk about them, the family heirlooms, destined to the firstborn child…” The memories claimed her as Elsie watched her.
She knew that one of Kit’s uncles had been called Barnabas, so it was not hard to realise that it had been Kit’s own family who had betrayed Mrs. Clarke and left her pregnant and alone. Just as Elsie’s mother was abandoned when she was pregnant with Margot. It seemed the Fitzsimmons men had a pattern of behaviour, and what was to say that Kit would honour his proposal? He might abandon her, after all he had made no mention of love. Would she be doomed to repeat the cycle her mother and Mrs. Clarke had endured, with a similar broken heart and ruined reputation as her only rewards?
The small room filled with such thoughts, and the sparks from the fire, as well as a little ash, swirled around Elsie, enfolding her in fear until she doubted her release.
