Pendragon

  “No, ma’am. It isn’t Jeremy. He’s quite in love with his wife.”

  Thomas felt positively mellow at that.

  “Aunt Libby,” Thomas said, “why do you think someone is trying to kill Meggie?”

  “Madeleine is the one,” Libby said with a voice filled with spite, “but she’s torn about it. She doesn’t want to be replaced, particularly by a little twit like Meggie, who’s always laughing, and is young and beautiful. However, she also wants you to have an heir. She is betwixt and between. Perhaps Meggie is still alive because Madeleine is uncertain about what she really wants.”

  “You witch!” Madeleine yelled, leaping up from her chair. “You betraying cow! I want you to leave Pendragon this very instant, your murdering son with you! You called me a pernicious tart, and now this! Out, out, I say!”

  “Actually,” Libby said, “I called you a pernicious old tart.”

  “This,” Thomas said to his wife, an eyebrow elevated upward a good inch, “isn’t turning out to be quite what I expected.”

  Tysen Sherbrooke held up a beautiful hand and said in his deep compelling vicar’s voice that brought immediate silence, all eyes now on him, “I think it could be very helpful, Thomas. I would like as well to hear what everyone has to say. Lord Kipper, why do you think someone is trying to kill my daughter?”

  Lord Kipper walked to the fireplace, where he leaned his shoulders against the mantel. He looked immaculate in his riding clothes, those black riding boots of his so shiny he could see his face. He looked as calm as the sea at dawn, and utterly beautiful. He said, “I believe it to be someone who perhaps despises Thomas, someone who wishes him ill, someone who knows that if he kills Thomas, he will be discovered, thus he is trying to kill Thomas’s wife, in order to have Thomas blamed for it. That is the most likely. Perhaps it is revenge this man wants. Even though he is very young, Thomas has certainly made enemies, inevitable since he is ruthless and successful, particularly in his shipping endeavors.”

  Tysen said, “Can you think of anyone in your business dealings who would wish you ill, Thomas? Who would hurt my daughter rather than you? As punishment or revenge?”

  “No,” Thomas said.

  Tysen turned to William, who was standing still as a stick of furniture against the far wall, obviously wanting to go unnoticed. He said, “What do you think, William?”

  “I don’t know, sir. But I do believe that it must have something to do with Jenny’s disappearance. Don’t you think?”

  “It seems likely,” Tysen said slowly, “since everything is happening at the same time.”

  “Perhaps this someone,” William said, more forcefully now, the worry plain on his face, “didn’t want Thomas to marry, but since he did, now he’s trying to get rid of Meggie. In my case, he doesn’t want me to marry either, thus he’s taken Jenny away. But who would want both Thomas and me not to be married?”

  “That,” Thomas said, giving his half-brother a look of respect, “is a very good question.”

  “I agree with William,” Meggie said, and that set both Madeleine and Libby off. “Someone wants two unmarried men in the house. But why?”

  “Perhaps the two mothers,” William said, and took three more steps away from his own mother. Predictably, voices went up, tempers rose and tangled, a teacup smashed to the floor.

  Once again Tysen said in a voice of honey and iron, “That is quite enough. Thomas has given us a lot to consider. I suggest we do just that.” He paused a moment, looked briefly at his son-in-law, and said, “One of the persons in this room is very deeply involved in this. I wonder which one of you it is.”

  There were dark mutterings.

  The party broke up quickly after that.

  34

  THAT NIGHT MEGGIE’S shoulder hurt, to be expected Dr. Pritchart had assured her, but still Thomas was worried. But he didn’t say anything, simply poured a tincture of laudanum in some barley water and handed it to her. He didn’t move until she’d emptied the glass.

  He held her until she eased into sleep.

  It was very late, dark clouds obscuring the quarter moon that cast a watery light through the window when the cloth slammed down over his mouth. It took him only an instant to realize that it wasn’t a dream. He lurched up, ready to fight, but something struck him hard on the head and he slumped back. The cloth was back, covering his nose and mouth. He was aware, on some level, that he was breathing in a sickeningly sweet odor that seemed to fill his lungs, that snaked to his belly, and that odor, even more than the blow, sent him deeper and deeper until he knew no more.

  Meggie felt heavy, as if her body weighed more than one of the boulders on the Pendragon beach and someone was sitting on top of it. She didn’t think she could move. She wanted to move. She managed to lift a hand, moan, and then her eyes flew open.

  She felt light-headed and dizzy, a bitter taste in her mouth. At first she thought she was simply waking up in her own bed. She quickly realized she was wrong.

  She didn’t want to open her eyes, but she did, finally, and looked up into a man’s face. At first she didn’t recognize him. Then she said slowly, “The last time I saw you, you were lying on your kitchen floor, blood on your head and flour all over your apron.”

  “Ye’re right smart, yer ladyship. Aye, the Grakers got me, now didn’t they?”

  “You’re Bernard Leach of the Hangman’s Noose at St. Agnes.”

  “Good memory in yer smart head. I remember thinking how purty ye were, and all fresh and innocent since ye’d been married jest the day before.”

  “We were going to stay at your inn. But it was deserted, just one lit candle in a front room. Thomas and I discovered your wife murdered, hanged. There was no one else there, just you, lying unconscious on the kitchen floor. It was the Grakers who did it, you said, then and you said it again. Then the next day you disappeared and so did the stable lad. Thomas and I remained with Squire Billings, but we couldn’t find out anything more. Why are you here? Where are we?”

  “Aye, it was the Grakers what brought ye here,” Bernard said, and laughed, deep in his throat, and that laugh led quickly to a cough, a nasty watery cough that made Maggie’s insides crawl.

  “Them Grakers—bothersome little pixies, the lot of them. Don’t they travel a lot, eh?” And he laughed some more. He started to cough again, stopped his laughter fast.

  He looked even skinnier than he had before, his gray hair even more tufted and grizzled, so dirty and lank with oil it was matted to his head. He wasn’t wearing a huge white apron now, but rough homespun that bagged on him. He wiped his hand over his mouth, trying to catch his breath, and Meggie saw a streak of blood on his palm. She said, “You’re sick, Mr. Leach.”

  “Aye, that’s as may be, but at least I’m not dead, not like ye will be, my little lady. It shouldn’t o’ been high tide, but it was. Then ye should o’ broke yer back when ye hit the water. Bloody hell, that bullet should have laid ye out, but it didn’t, now did it? Yer too lucky by far, ye are. Funny how I never considered high tide. A mistake, sure enough. Aye, I should have shot ye right through yer heart, but I didn’t manage it. Nothing went right. Nothing seems to be going right for me these days. It’s a right puzzle.”

  “My husband has known you all his life. Why would you wish to harm him by killing me?”

  “Well, ye see, it’s like this—”

  “Do be quiet, Bernard.”

  Meggie looked beyond Bernard Leach’s right shoulder to see Lord Kipper standing just inside the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, wearing riding clothes, holding a single lit candle in one hand.

  “Eh, she woke up, milord.”

  “Yes, I see that she did. You may go keep watch, Bernard. Oh, by the way, did you kill Thomas?”

  Bernard Leach grunted, not looking at Lord Kipper.

  “Did you, Bernard? While he was sleeping? While it was so easy since he was helpless, at your mercy?”

  Bernard Leach darted a look at Lord Kipper, then his eye
s slid away again. He was shaking his head, back and forth. “Oh no, my lord, I jest couldn’t do that. Known him all his life, little Thomas. A fine boy, an excellent man. Only her, my lord, only her, and here she is. Not Thomas, I’ll never kill Thomas. I’ll jest not do it.”

  Lord Kipper sighed deeply. “We will speak of this later, Bernard. Go keep guard.”

  Thomas was alive. Meggie was so relieved, so very grateful to Bernard Leach that she would have given him everything she owned. Because he’d refused to kill Thomas even though Lord Kipper had ordered him to.

  Bernard Leach nodded and took himself out of the room. It was a single room, rude, bare boards forming the walls and ceiling. A cottage of some sort, likely abandoned given the filth she now saw. It was dawn and gray light was seeping through the dirty windows. Years upon years of dirt.

  “Where is this place?”

  “Actually, you are in a storeroom just behind my stables. No, don’t think you’ll be rescued. No one ever comes here, particularly the men searching for Jenny MacGraff. Why would they? I am Lord Kipper, you know.”

  “Why do you want both Thomas and me dead?”

  Lord Kipper shrugged. “I realized yesterday when Thomas and your father went around to ask each of us why we believed someone was trying to kill you that everything was collapsing about me. Someone, sooner now rather than later, would realize it had to be me.”

  “Someone?”

  “Yes, Libby, of course. Even though I have her in my bed again, I knew I couldn’t completely trust her to keep quiet if she did realize what I was doing. She’s got an odd streak of honor. It only shows itself on rare occasion, but I really couldn’t take the chance.”

  “I don’t understand. Why did you think Libby in particular would realize the truth?”

  He only smiled at her. “It’s been a very long night, a night that has kept me quite on edge. I’m really not used to that. But the night is over and soon all this will be as well.”

  Meggie heard a noise. It was a soft moan, just a soft whisper really, the sound of someone barely conscious, moving around just a bit. Meggie tried to sit up, but her shoulder hurt very badly and she fell back. The dizziness hit her again, hard, made her feel as if she were floating for a moment. When the dizziness finally eased, when she saw him clearly again, Lord Kipper no longer looked remotely beautiful. His eyes looked dark and flat, he looked a bit mad. Lord Kipper, the person responsible for all this misery. At least it wasn’t either of the mothers, thank God.

  She licked her dry lips. “Who was that?”

  “That was Jenny MacGraff.”

  Thank God was all she could think, Thank God. Jenny was still alive. “Why did you take her? Why is she here? Did Jenny discover what you were doing and you were afraid she would tell everyone?”

  Lord Kipper laughed. He pinched out the candle because the room was filled with the dirty light filtered through the filthy windows. “Jenny MacGraff is incapable of finding out anything, as you mean it. No, she is merely a simple merchant’s daughter. She knows nothing, she is nothing. Nothing at all. Well, she is reasonably pretty and clean, her brain not too dulled by her breeding, and that does surprise me. No, she didn’t discover anything. I merely wished to kill both of you together, when all the damned searching was finally over. I even plan to bury you together. I think that is quite fitting.”

  No, she wouldn’t let his words freeze her, terrify her into madness, she wouldn’t, but the paralyzing fear was there, deep inside her, taking hold, growing, getting stronger. Thomas knew she was missing. He would figure it out. She just had to stay alive. She had to use her wits. What were wits anyway? She had to try. Meggie drew a deep breath, said, “I don’t understand, Lord Kipper. Why the two of us? Was William right? For some reason, you don’t want either of the men of the house to be married?”

  “William was close enough, actually too close, which surprised me, and perhaps, even remotely worried me. Yes, it was just a matter of time until the truth was out. But now, your time, my dear, has finally come to an end. As has Jenny MacGraff’s.”

  Thomas wanted to kill the man who was shaking him so hard he knew his brains would fly right out of his head. He knew it was a man; the bastard had big hands and he was strong. Nausea rose in his throat, momentarily choking him. His belly was on fire. And then there was the damned voice that nearly sent him back into oblivion—too loud, too loud, that voice.

  “Thomas, dammit, wake up! Someone struck you. Oh please, Thomas, open your eyes!”

  Finally, giving it up, Thomas managed to open his eyes. He stared up at William.

  “Stop pounding me or I will kill you.”

  “I have to pound you. Wake up. You must wake up, Thomas. Now.”

  Reason seeped back into his brain. He said, his voice raw, his words slurred, “What’s wrong?” What the devil had happened to him?

  “You’re what’s wrong, dammit. There’s blood on your head. There’s this cloth on the floor that smells like something vile and sweet—some sort of drug. No, Thomas, get yourself together. Meggie’s gone. Do you want me to get Reverend Sherbrooke?”

  “Yes. No. Just a moment. Help me sit up. Oh God, Meggie. She’s gone? How is that possible?”

  “It’s the truth. She’s gone, I just told you that.”

  His head ached like the very devil, but now who cared? Nothing mattered but Meggie. Gone? Someone had come into the White Room, struck him, and taken her? Then he knew, of course. It was because of yesterday at tea, because he’d scared the person responsible into acting immediately.

  “Damnation. What time is it?”

  “It’s just past dawn. I was awake, just couldn’t go back to sleep. I’ve been thinking and thinking about all this, and I wanted to see if you were awake so we could discuss it. God, Thomas, and here you were unconscious and bloody and Meggie was gone. What shall we do?”

  “I’m going to dress. Get Meggie’s father. Quickly, William.”

  William was out the door on a dead run, slamming it behind him. Thomas managed to pull himself out of the bed. He stood there a moment, realized he had blood on his head and face, and walked to the commode. He gingerly washed the wound with the cold water in the basin. At least now the blood was clotted and wouldn’t run down his face anymore.

  He closed his eyes a moment, Meggie’s laughing face in his mind’s eye. Oh God—she’d been taken, right out of their bed, and it was his fault that it happened. He hadn’t been vigilant, taking not a single precaution, even though he’d known he’d stirred the viper’s nest. Maybe she was already dead, maybe shot again, hurled over the cliffs. No, no, dammit. He had to stop it. She was alive, he knew it to his soul.

  Why hadn’t the person killed or taken him as well? Had the person who’d struck him believed him dead and just left him be in the bed? Why take Meggie?

  Thank God William had come.

  A few moments later the door burst open and Tysen Sherbrooke ran into the room, Mary Rose and William at his heels. Thomas had just fastened his breeches. He sat down to pull on his boots. He said, cold, calm, in control now, “I was struck down while I was sleeping. Meggie was taken. During our afternoon tea yesterday, someone said something that was close enough to the truth, so that person was forced to act immediately. Now, I think I know who it was and why he’s doing this. I think William does, too. Let’s go see my mother and Aunt Libby.”

  “No, Thomas, I don’t know, not really.”

  “I think someplace deep inside you, William, you know. It’s simply too painful to admit it. Everything is going to come clear soon enough.” He took his half-brother’s hand. “It will be all right. No matter what the truth is, I won’t let you stand alone. Trust me.”

  William looked pale as death; slowly he nodded.

  Tysen awakened Jeremy, helped Mary Rose fasten her gown, then herded the three of them to the dining room. Barnacle, Cook, and Mrs. Black were there as well, lined up like troops ready to be deployed.

  Thomas said without preamble,
“Aunt Libby, who is William’s father?”

  “His father was the earl of Lancaster, Thomas. He is a Malcombe, just as you are a Malcombe. The only pity here is that he is the younger, not you. He could have been the earl, not you, but Madeleine came along too quickly. That was an impertinent question. You will apologize.”

  “Mother, it’s too late now,” William said quietly and laid his hand on her shoulder. He was ready to face it now, had to be ready. He added, his voice thick, “Mother, please, it’s time for the truth. If for no one else, then for me.”

  “My dear boy, Thomas is lying. Your father is the earl of Lancaster.”

  “Aunt Libby,” Thomas said patiently, “you know that neither William nor I in any way resemble the earl of Lancaster. Both of us look more like our mothers than anyone else. It is up to you, ma’am. Who is William’s father, Aunt Libby? Tell us now. Tell William now. There’s really not much time. Meggie’s gone and we must find her before it is too late.”

  She stubbornly shook her head.

  “Madam,” Tysen said, rising from his chair. “My daughter is in grave danger. You will tell us the truth now or I will do something I will probably regret. Now, madam, the truth, if you please.”

  William said very quietly, pain and dread mixed in his voice, “It is Lord Kipper, isn’t it, Mother?”

  She turned utterly white, froze in her place, her eyes fastened on her folded hands.

  “Lord Kipper,” Tysen repeated slowly.

  “Yes, William,” Thomas said, “I believe he is your father and that explains everything, now doesn’t it?”

  Madeleine said, “But William is not beautiful like Lord Kipper is. What a wretched thing. How very unfair.”

  “But, Thomas,” William said, ignoring her, “I was with him, I swear it to you, when Jenny was taken. That’s why I believed I must be wrong. You see, I was beginning to wonder why he gave me so much attention, wonder why he always inquired so closely into what I wanted to do, how I felt about things. He was acting like—a man who was related to me, like a man who wanted to claim me somehow, to teach me, to guide me.”