Laura went upstairs to her bedchamber. Barely aware of how she’d gotten there, she threw herself onto the bed. Her dream of a happy and free existence had evaporated like mist.
*
Brendan had questionedBeverley, but as he expected, it had been a waste of time. She knew nothing more than what her grandmother had told her. But her granny had been convinced Violet had died from grief and remorse for having failed those she’d served.
He couldn’t imagine what that might have entailed. Brendan entered the sitting room he refused to use because of the stark memories. The carpet and sofas had been replaced. He sat, resting his hands on his knees on a wide, tapestry-upholstered chair, and forced his mind back to that terrible time. Something he tried to avoid. Even now, his eyes grew moist, and his throat tightened. What had he heard before he’d entered the room? Two shots, one after the other, had set him running up the stairs. Somewhere a door had banged, which he’d assumed had been servants rushing to investigate. He stood to walk about the room. But which door? If a killer had escaped, it could not have been through his father’s suite. His valet had seen no one when he had rushed from the dressing room at the sound of gunshots, and his mother’s maid had been in her bedchamber. The other servants had seen nothing untoward as they’d crowded the corridors and the staircase.
He halted. What if Violet had admitted Gaylord into the house? That could certainly cause her anguish. But there would have been no way to bring him up here secretly, or usher him down again without being seen. It was impossible. And again, the reason Gaylord would have done such a vile thing stumped him. Brendan stood before a fine artwork of the landscaped gardens painted in the last century.
While he studied it, his gaze shifted to the gold-and-cream silk panels on the walls, which were original. The gilded timber edge on one panel had come away, lending the panel a slightly skewed appearance.
Brendan fingered the panel, wondering what might have damaged it. Suddenly, the whole panel slid back with a bang, revealing a doorway into cobwebbed darkness.
Heart beating hard, Brendan stood for several minutes, his mind working frantically. He knew what it was. One of the servants’ passages to service the kitchens, which his parents had believed to be boarded up years ago, along with the rest.
In those days, Brendan had seldom come into the sitting room, his parents’ private domain. But that day he’d had exciting news to tell them. He had taken Hercules over his first jump and impressed the groom employed to be his instructor.
Brendan lit a candle and stepped inside the narrow space. His deep breath dragged in the dank and musty smells as he brushed away the cobwebs floating in the draft. With a hand on the wall to steady himself, he felt his way down the wooden stairs. The feeble candlelight barely penetrated the darkness and was hardly enough to guide him safely to the bottom. He cautiously descended. But when he put his foot where he’d expected the next step to be, he found nothing but air. Righting himself at the last moment, he staggered backward, close to crashing down and most likely breaking his neck. With a curse, he continued on carefully, feeling his way. Rotted wood gave way in places, becoming a dangerous trap for the unwary.
With some relief, Brendan felt level ground beneath his feet and fumbled for a latch to open the door. He found it and tugged on it. The door slid open and, blinking into the light, he found himself in the passage beside the scullery, which was, fortunately, empty of servants.
Brendan shut the panel before someone came to investigate. By God, that was the noise he had heard as a young boy. The hidden door snapping shut. With Violet Walcott’s help, Gaylord must have used these steps to burst out into the sitting room and murder his mother and father. Afterward, he’d quickly made his escape. With the uproar, despite the blood on his clothes, it would not have been difficult for him to leave the house undetected, and keeping to the tall hedges, dart away through the gardens to the woods.
Sickened, Brendan walked outside among the vegetable beds, dragging in deep gasps of fresh air. How could Gaylord kill his own sister? Murderous fury tightened his gut. What reason would he have had to do this to them? Brendan’s fists tightened at his side. Since then, Gaylord must have enjoyed wandering the estate, considering himself safe. Well, he would not be safe for long. Brendan would discover the reason for his villainy, and he would be delighted to see his uncle thrown into Newgate to rot.
He raked his hands through his hair as the realization hit him. This meant his father hadn’t been mad. Neither would he himself ever become so. Brendan laughed shakily. Laura! Until he knew the entire story and had proof, he could not go to her, facing the possibility he could be too late. Fighting the impulse to confront Gaylord with a lack of sound evidence, which would only put him on his guard, Brendan returned to the library. He must think about what to do.
Chapter Twenty
“Aunt Gertrude hasagreed to take you in, Laura,” Robert said, having summoned Laura into his study after he’d returned from a visit to Aunt Gertrude’s home in Richmond. “It displeased her to learn you refused Edward. She thinks you made a poor decision and will no doubt tell you so.”
Laura bit her lip. “Aunt Gertrude is always forthright in her opinions.”
“She plans to return to Mayfair when the weather is cooler and intends to accept some invitations.” Robert glanced at her. “I am expecting Aurelia and her mother tomorrow with a decorator. He’ll take measurements of the baroness’s suite and some of the other chambers, with plans to refurbish them. Aurelia wishes her rooms to be completed before we return from our honeymoon.”
Laura sighed. Would the changes include her bedchamber? It was the largest and had the best aspect of the gardens. How did Robert feel about it? He gave nothing away. Was she unreasonable to consider the plans of unseemly haste? To be fair, Laura had to admit Aurelia, soon to be the new mistress of Longworth, had a perfect right to make the home her own.
“If you can manage without me, I shall go to Aunt Gertrude next week,” she said. “And I’ll take Tibby with me.”
Robert frowned, but after a moment, nodded his head.
Silly to think Robert would miss the cat more than her. Laura tried not to be hurt. She had brought this on herself. And despite everything, she knew instinctively that it was right for her. Somehow, she would make her future work.
On Friday morning, Laura departed from her childhood home as a resident for the last time. As sounds of banging came from the baroness’s suite, where the men had begun their work on her mother’s bedchamber, the servants came into the great hall to see her off, including a sorrowful Wagstaff and a red-eyed Mrs. Amery. She placated them with a promise to visit soon.
“Be happy, Lolly.” Robert hugged her before assisting her into the coach, along with Tibby in his basket. “I will see you in London at the wedding.”
In the afternoon, Laura sat with her aunt in her parlor drinking tea at her manor house overlooking the river in Richmond.
Aunt Gertrude was not about to let her off lightly. “You have been very foolish, Laura. You did not listen to my advice. And you may come to regret it as the years pass and you find yourself alone.”
“I am not afraid of that, Aunt.”
“You mean to bury yourself in novels, I suppose. Books are all very well. You aren’t entirely unlike me, girl. I enjoy a good story myself. But you will come to realize living through books is not enough.” Aunt Gertrude stroked the tiny, yappy black-and-white spaniel on her knee while Laura’s cat hissed from beneath her chair.
Hoping her aunt would someday tell her why she had never married, Laura bent down and picked up her cat, rigid with indignation. “I’ll take Tibby up to my bedchamber. We shall have to introduce these two more slowly.” She feared her cat would hurt the dog rather than the other way around.
“Laura?”
