The Murder at Mandeville Hall: The Casebook of Barnaby Adair: Volume 7

  Jaw setting, Alaric reached the main stairs. His heart a stone lump in his chest, he took the steps three at a time.

  He hit the first floor at a run, making for the ladies’ wing. As he passed the mouth of the corridor leading down the west wing, he caught a glimpse of something out of place and turned his head and looked.

  The door to Percy’s room was wide open. Judging by the state of the runner, there’d been a struggle in the corridor before the door.

  Alaric skidded to a halt, changed directions, and charged down the west wing. He barreled straight into Percy’s room. The antechamber was empty. He rushed into the bedroom and wildly looked around, but it was empty—devoid of life—too.

  Everything appeared undisturbed…except for the top right-hand drawer of the tallboy, which was hanging open.

  Percy and Monty had piled into the room in Alaric’s wake.

  Like Alaric, they both looked around, then Monty pointed to a spot on the floor. “What’s that?”

  Alaric stalked over, bent, and swiped up a gold chain with a ring hanging from it.

  Percy gave a cry. “That’s the ring I gave Glynis.”

  Alaric dropped chain and ring into Percy’s reaching hands. Panic was a drumbeat in his blood. Where was Constance?

  All rational and irrational thoughts insisted Edward had her, yet…

  Alaric stalked back into the anteroom and headed for the corridor. He should check her room just in case his instincts had it wrong.

  He stepped out of Percy’s door—and instantly saw the beaded reticule lying beneath a side table. Even more telling, the rucking of the runner was more extensive than he’d thought. The struggle had gone around the corner and all the way down the family wing to the rarely used west stairs.

  He swore as Percy and Monty joined him. He pointed at the runner. “Edward seized Constance, and he’s taken her that way.”

  He broke into a run, heading for the stairs.

  He’d taken three strides when Monty called, “There they are!”

  Alaric pulled up, swung around, and saw Monty staring out of a window. Alaric rushed to a closer window and looked out.

  Edward was heaving and wrestling Constance along, pushing her before him onto one of the many paths that led into the surrounding woods. Seeing Edward manhandle Constance sent a surge of fury through Alaric, an emotion more intense than he’d experienced in decades.

  Possibly ever.

  Percy and Monty hurried up to look out of the same window.

  “What the devil does he think he’s doing?” Monty demanded.

  Neither Percy nor Alaric answered. Alaric’s mind was racing, thinking, considering… He glanced at Percy. “Does Edward know the woods?”

  Grim faced, Percy nodded. “Not as well as you or I, but he’s been visiting since he was a child.”

  Alaric looked back at the struggling figures. “She’s slowing him down.” Constance was no lightweight, and Alaric thanked God for it.

  He hauled in a breath and fought to batten down his impulses. He had to think—quickly and clearly. He had to rescue Constance—yes!—but he also had to approach Edward and his captive in the right way; he couldn’t—wouldn’t—fail Constance, and rushing after the pair with no plan would risk doing precisely that.

  The driving thud of his heart in his ears made it difficult to think, but… “Edward won’t risk killing her too close to the house.”

  “Killing her?” Monty paled. “Good God!”

  Alaric made up his mind. He swung to Percy and Monty. “Percy—I’ll need you with me. Monty—go and send a groom hell for leather to the inn to fetch Stokes and the Adairs back. Whatever happens, we’ll need them.”

  Monty boggled for a second, but then nodded and dashed off. He rounded the corner, and his footsteps were swallowed by the thunder of heavy feet determinedly marching closer.

  Henry Wynne swung into sight; he was followed by Walker, Fletcher, Collins, and Viscount Hammond—all the unmarried gentlemen. In the lead, Wynne said, “We left the others to watch over the ladies. What’s afoot?”

  Alaric wanted to race after Constance, but there were lots of paths through the woods. It was possible he might lose Edward and Constance; he couldn’t afford not to accept any and all help.

  Impatience yanked at him; ruthlessly, he held it back. “Edward Mandeville is the murderer, and he’s seized Miss Whittaker and dragged her into the woods. Obviously, we have to go after him—Percy and I know these woods like the backs of our hands, so we’ll take point. It would help if you lot could follow as quickly and as quietly as you can. Unless we spook him, Edward won’t kill Miss Whittaker too close to the house—he’ll be thinking to ensure her body isn’t quickly found so he can get away tomorrow. Once Percy and I figure out where he’s heading—where he thinks to hide her body—we’ll need the rest of you to fan out and then close in. Stopping Edward from killing Miss Whittaker…the only way might be through persuading him there’s no longer any point to it.”

  Henry Wynne grimly nodded. “Understood. You go—we’ll follow.”

  Alaric didn’t wait a moment longer; he turned and raced for the stairs at the end of the wing. He plunged down, leaping down four steps at a time, Percy at his heels, just as when they’d been children.

  There was nothing childish about what drove him now. Fear, urgency, and something much more powerful compelled him. He pushed through the half-open door at the bottom of the stairs and burst onto the lawn. He put his head down and raced, flat out, for the opening to the path along which Edward and Constance had gone.

  * * *

  The shadows of the wood closed around her, and still, Edward forced her on. She didn’t make it easy for him but fought and made him battle for every step, ignoring the obscenities he hissed in her ear.

  Despite the fear that clogged her throat, she vowed she would not give up—not in any way. She wouldn’t be dead until she was; she could give up then. Right now, she had far too much to live for—to fight for.

  Avenging Glynis.

  Seeing her grandfather and her aunts again.

  Alaric. And the possibility she’d sensed between them, the easy camaraderie, the gentle light in his eyes.

  She’d never had a man look at her as he did. He saw not just the large physique but the mind and soul her body sheathed.

  From the first moment of meeting his eyes, she’d felt a connection, a link that had allowed her to be herself unrestrainedly, unreservedly.

  Like now; she used her height and her weight and, for once, rejoiced in both. The combination made it impossible for Edward to easily manage her, not that any man ever had.

  She doubted screaming now would do much good, so she didn’t care that Edward still had his hand clamped over her lips. Forcing him to leave it there meant she could keep him, if not off balance, then without the purchase and leverage he would otherwise have had.

  Indeed, from his mutterings, he seemed to have realized that killing her was going to be significantly more difficult than killing Glynis and Rosa had been. Apparently, the risk that she might break free and escape had led him to conclude he needed to take her farther away than he’d first intended… She hoped that would work in her favor, allowing Alaric and the others time to catch up with them.

  She continued to hold panic and even fear at bay by concentrating on slowing their progress along the woodland paths. Edward seemed to know where he was going, but as he turned onto less-frequented ways, the uneven surfaces made it even easier for her to gain traction with her feet and deny him the next step—and make him grunt and heave to force her on, just for one step.

  He remained determined, but so was she.

  At one point, a tiny niggle of doubt found a gap in her armor and slipped into her mind, raising the question of why Alaric would race to rescue her. Somewhat to her surprise—in reality, she had no call on Alaric’s protection—her inner self remained adamantly steadfast in believing that he would come. That he would follow them and seize her ba
ck. That he would rescue her from death at the hands of a madman—she who had never in her life needed rescuing by anyone, much less that anyone had offered.

  Somewhere buried deep inside her lay the conviction that she could rely on Alaric Radleigh. That all the shared looks of complete comprehension and the apparently idle brushes of their hands over the past days had, indeed, meant something. Something both of them had set to one side to deal with Glynis’s and then Rosa’s murder.

  Because ultimately, murder threatened them all, just as it threatened her now.

  What she felt about Alaric burned strong and true inside her. She drew strength from the certainty, placed her trust in him, and continued to force Edward to fight for every foot of path.

  She hoped she could keep him sufficiently busy wrestling with her that he didn’t glance back and notice the trail he and she were leaving.

  Chapter 11

  Alaric and Percy raced along the woodland paths. In the deepening twilight, they slipped and slid, but didn’t slow. Courtesy of the scuffing left by both Constance’s and Edward’s shoes, the pair was easy to track.

  Then the path veered onto rockier ground, and the trail became less certain.

  His lungs working like bellows, Alaric forced himself to slow, to search for broken twigs and crushed leaves to make certain of the way. These woods were riddled with paths, intersecting and connecting in a complex web; he couldn’t afford—Constance couldn’t afford for him—to lose the trail.

  Percy helped, wordlessly pointing the way if Alaric hadn’t already picked it out. They passed through countless intersections, leaving twigs and rocks as markers for those following as they pressed deeper and deeper into the old woods.

  Alaric fought to block out the thought of how far Edward would go—how long he would wait—before closing his hands about Constance’s throat and choking the life from her. The image the thought conjured… If he allowed it to gain purchase in his mind, it would bring him to his knees.

  How, exactly, he was going to seize Constance back, he didn’t know—he only knew that he would. He had no idea what the price might be; he only knew he was ready to pay it.

  “He’s definitely heading somewhere,” Percy panted from behind Alaric.

  “Yes, but where?” That was the question. If they could guess, they might be able to skirt around and get there first… Alaric’s jaw set. “He might know these woods, but he doesn’t know we’re in pursuit. He doesn’t even know we know he’s taken Constance.” He was speaking as much for himself as for Percy. “He’ll think he has time to stage Constance’s death and concoct some believable tale to cover his absence and allow him to drive away tomorrow.”

  Twenty paces later, they came to a point where the path they were following split into three. The intersection lay on a rocky shelf worn smooth by the years; they searched in the waning light, but this time, they found nothing to say which way Edward and Constance had gone.

  Alaric and Percy turned in slow circles, listening for all they were worth, but no sound—of birds startling into flight or annoyed by intruders—came to show them the way.

  Eventually, with panic pricking beneath his skin, Alaric looked at Percy. They were on Mandeville land, and Percy knew it better than anyone. They were both breathing rapidly, both nursing stitches in their sides. Alaric bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. Percy dropped into a crouch opposite.

  Alaric caught Percy’s gaze. “We have to think like Edward.” He paused, then went on, “He’s displayed remarkable sangfroid throughout—he hasn’t panicked prior to this, and I doubt he’s panicking now. Instead, he’s focused on his goal. He’s obviously got some place in mind, some place where no one lives and that no one normally visits. And possibly where no one will think to look for a missing lady’s body.”

  Percy nodded. “Edward’s cold and calculating—he always has been.”

  “All right. So he’s come this far.” Alaric waved a hand to indicate the woods around them. “Think. What hidden-away place is he making for, one where considerable time will elapse before Constance’s body is found?”

  Alaric stared at Percy.

  Percy looked back, then bit his lip. His expression said he’d thought of somewhere that fitted Edward’s bill, but was too frightened to say—to take the responsibility.

  Between them, Alaric had always been the leader and Percy the follower. This time, Alaric had to make Percy understand that he trusted Percy’s judgment, that in this instance, Percy’s judgment was better than his own.

  “Percy—we have to get this right. It’ll be dark soon. Regardless, we’re not going to have time to come back and try a different path.” Alaric waved at the three paths before them. “You know these woods better than anyone, and I trust you in this. Which way do you think he’s gone?”

  His gaze meeting Alaric’s, Percy hesitated for a moment more, then quietly said, “I think he’s making for the old woodcutter’s cottage—not the one they use now but the one from my grandfather’s day. Do you remember it?”

  Alaric blinked, dredging memories from early childhood. “Vaguely…and yes!” He straightened. “I think you’re right.” With renewed certainty and burgeoning vigor, Alaric swung to face the right-hand path. “It’s this way, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Percy rose from his crouch. “It’s about a hundred, maybe two hundred yards on. The place is rickety and partly overgrown.”

  Perfect for Edward’s purpose.

  “Come on—and keep quiet.” Paying attention to his own admonition, Alaric hurried on.

  Resolve filled him; determination buoyed him.

  At last, they were close. All he had to do now was reach the old cottage in time—before Edward succeeded in ripping from this world a treasure Alaric had only just found.

  * * *

  Despite Alaric’s renewed hope, fear increasingly got the upper hand as he pounded along the path. The light was failing. Even though his lungs were burning, he pushed himself to go faster.

  Instinct pricked like spurs, insisting he had to get there— now!—or risk losing Constance.

  She wasn’t even his, but he didn’t care; she now stood in his mind as too precious to lose.

  People loved her.

  So did he.

  Then ahead, the dark shadows fell away, revealing a clearing bathed in the last light of the dying day.

  Fifty yards ahead, he saw Edward and Constance, stationary but still struggling.

  A modicum of relief swept over Alaric; Constance still lived and breathed—and was still fighting.

  She and Edward stood face to face in the clearing of beaten earth before the ruins of the tumbled-down cottage. Edward gripped Constance’s wrists, one in each hand, while Constance was using her arms and Edward’s hold on her wrists to fend him off.

  Alaric’s gaze had locked on the wrestling pair.

  He saw Edward’s jaw clench, then he exerted ferocious strength and overwhelmed Constance’s spirited defense; a snarl curling his lips, Edward pushed close, released her wrists—and clamped his hands about her throat.

  Alaric burst full tilt into the clearing.

  Edward jerked back, head swinging toward the intrusion. He saw Alaric. Edward’s jaw dropped, his features registering utter shock.

  Relishing Edward’s incredulous stare, Alaric, his gaze flicking only briefly to Constance, slowed to a halt.

  Constance seized Edward’s momentary distraction and wrenched free. Gasping, one hand rising to her throat, she staggered to the side, then stumbled and sank to the ground.

  Free and out of Edward’s reach—free of immediate danger; Alaric tracked her in his peripheral vision and deemed her safe where she was. He kept his eyes on Edward.

  His hands now empty, Edward lowered his arms. His expression stated he was stunned to have been found, let alone caught in the act.

  His own expression the definition of implacable, Alaric started forward again, his gait a predatory stalk.

  Evidently reading his
fate in Alaric’s eyes, Edward snapped his jaw shut, took one step back, reached into his coat pocket, and whipped out a pistol.

  Alaric halted—truly surprised—as Edward trained the barrel on his chest.

  For an instant, absolute silence reigned.

  “Don’t take another step,” Edward ordered. His aim was steady; even now, he wasn’t panicking.

  To Alaric’s right, Constance scrambled to her feet. “Don’t be a fool.”

  Edward swung the pistol her way. “Stay back!” Immediately, he retrained the barrel on Alaric.

  “What are you going to do?” Constance’s tone dripped contempt. “You can’t kill both of us with a one-shot pistol.”

  Alaric inwardly groaned; he wished she’d refrained from pointing that out.

  Edward’s gaze flicked to her, then returned to Alaric. “I’ve discovered I’m rather good at improvising.”

  Alaric knew Percy had been behind him on the path, yet Edward hadn’t even glanced toward the path’s opening. Without shifting his gaze, using only his peripheral sight, Alaric scanned the edges of the clearing—and saw a bush to the left quiver. A few seconds later, branches farther around the clearing shifted, then stilled.

  He hoped it was Percy creeping around to come up behind Edward and not just a curious deer. Alaric wasn’t sure what his old friend might be planning, but it would obviously be wise to keep Edward’s attention fixed on him.

  Locking his gaze more definitely with Edward’s, Alaric took one deliberate step closer.

  Edward’s eyes darkened. His grip on the pistol tightened. “Not one more step,” he rapped out. He was starting to sound a tad tense.

  Given Constance had already mentioned it… Alaric arched his brows. “So which of us are you going to shoot?”

  The answer was obvious. Edward’s eyes shifted from Alaric to Constance, then back again. Despite his masklike expression, Edward was clearly starting to work out a plan.