Page 8
Chapter Eight
The room was filled with his scent—rich like exotic spices, warm like the earthy notes of cedarwood, and something unique Elsa could never identify.
Even with her eyes closed, she always knew when Daniel entered her bedchamber. His footsteps carried the unease of a man crippled with guilt. His cologne masked the smell of herbs from the poultice. The smoky aroma of alcohol lingered on the bandage, and on his breath when he leaned over to kiss her forehead.
Countless times, she’d tried to open her eyes but failed. Now, the heavy fog clouding her mind had lifted. Her body no longer felt anchored to the mattress, although her left arm was a dead weight.
She wiggled her fingers, pleased the pain was bearable.
“The sky is so blue today it feels endless.” He spoke in the soothing voice one adopted with the sick. “The grass has never looked so green.”
The scrape of the chair legs on the floorboards was a familiar sound. He had spent every hour by her bedside yesterday, except when Clara insisted that he come downstairs to eat.
What if she never woke up? What if it were just the two of them, alone like this every day—no problems, no lies, no desperate clamber for the truth? Just him holding her hand and reading from her beloved book of Greek myths.
The soft rustle of turning pages preceded him saying, “Orestes, the son of Agamemnon and?—”
“Daniel,” she murmured through parched lips.
He sat forward, closing the book. “Elsa? Can you hear me?”
With effort, she raised her heavy lids, her blurry gaze settling on his handsome features as they came into focus: the swathe of sable hair, the tawny brown eyes that shifted from gold to black depending on the light, the deep cleft in his chin that made him look dangerous. “Yes. I can hear you.”
“Thank the Lord.” He was on his feet, testing the temperature of her forehead with the back of his hand. “You had us all worried. Clara even slept beside you last night.”
She glanced at the connecting door separating their bedchambers. Why had he not slept beside her? Did he think it too presumptuous? Had he tried but couldn’t shake torturous thoughts of Mr Carver from his mind?
“How long have I been in bed?”
She remembered him giving her laudanum and flushing the wound with brandy while Lord Rothley extracted the lead ball. Her tormented scream as the forceps dug into her torn flesh, the pain excruciating, her sweat-soaked undergarments clinging to her body.
“You’ve slept for three days. Do you remember me helping you to drink or Clara washing you and changing your nightclothes? ”
“No. These last few days have been a blur.”
“Days? It feels like months.”
“And months can feel like years,” she said, having lived with endless questions and no answers in sight. “I should know.”
His gaze lingered on her, heavy with regret. “I’m sorry for leaving you in Henley, but after what happened in the mews, I believe I made the right decision. Elsa, you could have died here, and our sacrifices would have been for nothing.”
Perhaps he was right. What was more tragic: months of separation or dying without ever knowing her husband’s touch?
“But I didn’t die.”
“Only by God’s good grace. Thankfully, there was no damage to the nerves or bone. We sent for Dr Rotherham. I told him we suspected a poacher had accidentally shot you and the scoundrel escaped.”
“Did one of the hired thugs pull the trigger?”
“We didn’t give chase. Saving you was all that mattered.” He perched on the edge of the bed, the brief press of his thigh against hers sending her heart into a frantic stutter. “I visited The Speckled Hen, ready to confront the louts, but no one has seen them since the shooting.”
She winced in pain as she shuffled to sit up.
Daniel helped her, his hand brushing her breast as he slipped his arm under her shoulder, gently easing her upright before adjusting the pillows.
“Who knew you would have to play nursemaid so early in our marriage?” she teased. “While it felt like I was lost in a dream, I was aware of you reading to me.”
“You always loved when I read to you during our secret picnics in the meadow.” His eyes softened as he spoke. “As I recall, you found every word enthralling.”
The words hadn’t held her spellbound. The rich cadence of his voice was like a sensual caress. And she’d stopped breathing when he leaned closer on the blanket and twirled a buttercup under her chin.
“Who wouldn’t be transfixed by the story of Narcissus,” she said, “forever pining for that unreachable love?”
“Perhaps someone who prays true love isn’t hopeless.”
She held his gaze. The space between them often felt as vast as an ocean; now, it felt impossibly small.
“Surely love begins with the truth—no illusions, no false promises, just the honesty of what it is and what it could be.”
He regarded her. Guilt was ever-present in his eyes except when he kissed her. Then, she saw the power of lust in all its blazing glory.
“Let’s begin with what we both know to be true,” he said, his deep, raspy tone a perfect prelude to his proposal. “I want to sleep in your bed, Elsa. I believe you want that, too.”
The rapid beat of her heart echoed in her ears. “Just sleep?”
His grin was a mix of boyish charm and a scoundrel’s sinful smirk. “We could share a kiss or two. The first truth we must admit is that lust burns like wildfire between us.”
Oh, she wanted him.
There was no doubt.
The memory of their passionate kiss lingered in her mind and on her lips. The thought of sharing more intimate moments caused a delicious tightening in her belly.
“Lust is the foundation of many relationships.” Would it wane? Would they tire of each other and part ways? She had to know. “I’ll leave the connecting door open tonight. ”
Triumph flickered in his eyes. “As to that, if you can travel, we must return to London. While you’ve been recuperating, there have been developments in our investigation.”
Knowing his desire for answers, he hadn’t sat idle.
“What did you discover?”
One thing bothered her: the thugs’ insistence that the owner of Edenberry had hired them to protect the estate. Was Magnus their employer? If so, why hadn’t he informed Daniel?
“Rutland found Tanner, the retired runner I hired. He’s recovering after being attacked at Edenberry. He managed to climb onto his horse and escape with his life.”
“Thank heavens.” She couldn’t bear the thought of someone else dying to protect her father’s secrets. “Were you able to learn anything from him?”
“Tanner stumbled upon a vagrant sleeping in the stables—but the man was a mercenary, waiting for him to make his usual rounds.”
Was it the same vagrant caught trespassing at The Grange?
“What happened?”
“He stabbed Tanner in the abdomen. Tanner has lodgings in Biddestone and made it home before collapsing outside St Nicholas’ Church. Dr Rotherham stitched the wound.”
The news confirmed how narrowly she’d escaped death. Had Finnegan not intercepted the vagrant at The Grange, he might have used his blade on her and Clara.
“There was a struggle with the knife,” Daniel continued. “Tanner cut the blackguard’s face deep enough to leave a scar. It may help us identify him.”
“Then should we not remain in the area?” she said, feeling exhausted before she had even climbed out of bed .
“Are you strong enough to dress and come downstairs? I can send Clara to help you. We found your father’s damning notes hidden behind the bookplates in your mother’s novels.”
“You have?” She wasn’t sure whether to clap her hands in glee or bury herself beneath the coverlet, afraid of what the notes might reveal. “So, you have a list of suspects?”
“Yes.” The slight tremor in his voice said he was hiding something. “He mentions Mr Charmers. I believe his father and yours were friends.”
Mr Charmers? The name was misleading, given that he possessed all the charm of a wet dog in a drawing room. “Yes, he visited Edenberry many times. He went to Eton and Oxford with Magnus. Surely he’s not a suspect.”
“We believe he convinced your father to make a bad investment. Shall I fetch the evidence, or will you come downstairs? Dr Rotherham advised exercise, though your arm must remain in a sling for a week.”
Her arm throbbed, but the need for the truth burned hotter than the pain. “Send for Clara, and I’ll be down in half an hour. Perhaps then you’ll tell me why you look so troubled.”
He nodded, indicating he had something important to say in private. “I suggest you wear warm clothes. There’s something else we need to do before leaving for London.”
His gaze rose above the neckline of her nightgown to rest on her bare shoulder. Were they to relive old memories: a ride across open fields together on horseback or an intimate lunch on a blanket in the meadow?
“Where are you taking me?” she teased.
Upon hearing the excitement in her voice, he winced. “We can’t stay outside for too long, but I must take you to the woods, Elsa. To retrace your steps before we visit Carver’s cottage. ”
“Visit the cottage?” Her blood ran cold. “No, Daniel. After what you told me, I cannot go back there. Please don’t ask that of me. It’s pointless. My mind is a black void.”
He cupped her cheek, though it did little to ease her growing fear. “I’m sorry to ask, but as you reminded me when we inspected the hothouse, the smallest detail might help explain what happened.”
Yes, but he hadn’t found her naked with a dead man in the hothouse.
“If we want peace, we must explore all avenues,” he added. “I’ll be with you. I won’t leave your side.”
That’s what worried her, though she found herself nodding. The problem wasn’t what she remembered, but the images haunting his mind. Would they ever be able to sleep together in bed without one of them thinking about that devil Mr Carver?
Daniel looked up from his desk as Elsa entered the study with Clara, who had decided not to wear a pretty eyepatch today. While Rothley asked about Elsa’s health, Rutland’s gaze lingered on Clara’s injured eye, his concern barely concealed.
There were countless reasons why they needed to return to London without delay. The house reminded Clara of her nightmare—waking to raised voices and the sharp crack of the whip that had left her blind in one eye.
For him, having Elsa at Thorncroft provided some stability, a tether to the present that kept the ghosts of the past at bay. But he’d rather die than spend another night in his father’s old chamber. The man’s stench tainted everything, seeping into the furnishings and polluting the air. It was so unbearable Daniel chose the hard floor over the grand canopy bed, refusing to rest where his father had lain.
He beckoned Elsa forward, pulling out the leather chair. “Come and sit at the desk. In three of your mother’s books, we found information hidden beneath the ex-libris.”
She looked pale and shaky on her feet as she approached. He’d be in Bedlam if he considered how close he’d come to losing her. And so he forced a smile when, in truth, he was on the verge of breaking.
“Only in three? I wonder why my father listed ten.” She sat cradling her left arm despite the support of a linen sling.
Daniel leaned over her shoulder, the scent of violets in her hair teasing his senses, unsettling his composure as he pointed to the first open book. “Rutland managed to separate the plates from the boards with a sharp blade. Beneath the ex-libris in The Monk , your father mentions Mr Charmers. The writing is small, but you can read it with a magnifying glass.”
Elsa picked up the magnifying glass and studied the script. “So, Mr Charmers convinced my father to invest a large sum in Britannia Shipping, boasting of high returns due to an emerging trade route.”
“Had your father spoken to me, I would have told him my shipping company won the bid for new trade routes through Europe.”
Elsa glanced at him before continuing to read the next line. “He says he was shown shipping logs and financial reports. They must have been fake because he never received the promised returns.”
“He also names a solicitor in London who holds the original documents. Unbeknown to Carver, those he lost were copies. ”
She gasped. “Lost? Do you suppose he was working with Mr Charmers to embezzle money from my father?”
“Undoubtedly,” Rothley said, directing her attention to a different book. “Mr Hines is a land agent who convinced your father to purchase a plot south of Greenwich. A plot unfit for development. Carver overlooked the flaws in the contract, which is also missing unless Magnus took it to Geneva.”
Daniel sensed Elsa’s growing concern. Charmers and Hines had a motive for keeping this information hidden.
“Your father also lists his dealings with Lord Grafton and the purchase of bonds from a banking consortium. It was another fraudulent scheme, and Grafton disappeared with the money.”
Elsa sank back in the chair. “No wonder Magnus left for Geneva. Have you checked the accounts? I fear the Edenberry estate is close to bankruptcy.”
“Your family home is safe,” he assured her. “I purchased fifty acres from your brother, increasing the size of Thorncroft. Magnus used the money to pay his creditors.”
“You did?” Elsa studied him, a proud smile softening her features. “Magnus is fortunate to have a friend as loyal as you.”
This newfound understanding helped to heal the rift created by all the lies. Yet Elsa still failed to grasp his motivation. He had bought the land for her, not Magnus.
“Speaking of loyalty,” he began, knowing he couldn’t spare her feelings and be honest, “one of your parents underscored a passage in The Monk .”
A passage he went on to recite.
“I have lived long enough to know the weakness of human nature, and the treachery of those who should be our nearest and dearest.”
Elsa’s gaze flicked to his. Perhaps she was thinking about the months she’d spent at The Grange—an abandoned wife, forsaken but never forgotten.
“I pray my parents were referring to Mr Carver,” she said. “It’s clear his incompetence or deception added to their financial struggles, but what if they’re speaking about … about?—”
“Magnus,” he offered.
“Yes. One must question my father’s need for secrecy. He devised methods to hide the information instead of confiding in Magnus. What if we hadn’t pieced the clues together?”
He had spent three days wrestling with the same question. It felt as if her father had left everything to chance. Then again, he hadn’t known one of his corrupt associates would murder Mr Carver.
“It’s why we must return to town,” Rutland said. “With our connections, we should find answers within the week. However, proving which one of these men murdered Carver won’t be an easy task.”
Rothley sniggered. “You’d be surprised what a man will tell you when you confront him in a dark alley. The glint of a blade in the blackness would make any of those fops wet their trousers.”
No one doubted Rothley’s ability to appear terrifying. Still, Daniel had the uneasy sense they were missing crucial parts of the story.
Elsa reached for one of the closed books stacked on the desk. “So there was nothing of interest in these volumes?”
“Nothing but a few underscored words and random dots,” he replied. They had scoured every page until their eyes ached.
“We’ll take them with us. It will give Clara and me something to do on the long journey.”
“All you need to do on the journey is rest,” he said, wondering if insisting she visit Carver’s cottage was wise. Emotional distress might hinder her recovery. And what if the shooter had followed her to Thorncroft?
Was she the intended target?
Or was the blackguard a poor shot?
“What about questioning the servants?” Elsa said. “Two maids live in Marshfield. They might know something.”
“Rothley went to Marshfield. Rutland visited Bath and Trowbridge. Those questioned found Mr Carver friendly and charming. None suspected he had any involvement in your father’s poor business decisions. I’ve asked the servants to return to work. Mrs McGregor will supervise both houses until usual order is restored.”
Elsa frowned. “What about Mrs Melville? Can she not return to manage Edenberry?”
“She’s visiting her sister in London. I have the address. Maybe we’ll call on her tomorrow if you feel able.”
Elsa nodded and pursed her lips, a trace of hesitation in her eyes. “Then, other than visiting The Grange and questioning the staff, there’s only one thing left to do.”
“Examine the cottage,” he said, dread coursing through his veins like poison. What if she remembered something so terrifying she would never sleep peacefully again?
“We should go now.” She gripped the desk and stood, her body tense. “Before courage abandons me.”
Rothley straightened. “I’ll accompany you to the woods, but I’ll leave once we’ve confirmed the thugs aren’t camped in Carver’s cottage.”
Daniel heard Elsa’s stomach growl, a quiet reminder she hadn’t eaten in days. He crossed the room and took a platter of cold meat and bread from the trestle table. “We’ll visit the cottage once you’ve broken your fast.”
She accepted the food without protest, eating a piece of cheese, a slice of apple, and a cut of ham. Only then did she retrieve her cloak.
They walked through the sunlit garden in comfortable silence. Poppies and cornflowers lined the banks of the narrow footpath that meandered through the field, leading to the dense canopy of trees just ahead.
Her steps faltered at the edge of the woods. She stared at the looming branches like she would rather leave the truth buried beneath the boughs.
“Mind your step,” he said, holding her right hand and drawing her from the light into the dense shadow of trees.
Rothley marched ahead, his steps soft on the mossy ground. Periodically, he stopped to listen, alerted by the rustle of leaves or the creak of a swaying tree, before striding towards Edenberry.
“This is where I fell,” Elsa said after they had been walking for twenty minutes. She stopped at a spot where the roots of an old oak tree sprawled across the path like gnarled fingers. “I might have slipped on damp moss before catching my toe.”
There was nothing to see, no clue to explain why Carver was there, which led to only one conclusion. “Someone followed you. Whether it was Carver remains to be seen.”
“If they did, they never made a sound.”
Who was it ?
Had they planned to hurt her?
Did they know she held the clues to finding her father’s journal? Did they know a solicitor held copies of documents proving fraud and hoped to blackmail Magnus, not realising he was clueless?
Dread settled heavily in his gut as they neared the cottage, a small stone building tucked away on the edge of the grounds. Weeds littered the gravel track, sprouting around the doorframe and stone walls. If only they had grown into an impenetrable jungle to block their way.
Rothley forced the swollen door open. He searched every room before taking up a position outside, standing guard like a soldier on duty.
With tentative steps, Elsa entered the house, moving through the sitting room as though the floor might give way beneath her. She ran her palm over the dusty sideboard, her touch lingering as if searching for something she’d lost.
“Have you been here before?” he asked, watching her closely. The thought of her alone with Carver made his skin crawl.
“No, never. Not even as a child when Mr Carver’s predecessor lived here.” She glanced around the small sitting room, moving to pick up the book on the desk and checking it didn’t belong to her mother. “Nothing here is familiar.”
The remark relaxed his tense shoulders. He could manage his own harrowing thoughts, but he prayed her memories remained a blur.
“We should move to the bedroom,” he said, reluctantly leading the way. “I can leave you alone if you’d prefer.”
“I’ve spent enough time alone. We will tackle this together. As we should have done in the beginning. ”
He felt the sting of her reproach. “You know why I left you in Henley.”
“You should have told me the truth before we exchanged vows. A lady deserves to know why a man is marrying her.”
“You know why I married you.”
“Yes, to save me from the noose.”
“And because I had driven myself mad, dreaming about having you. These last six months have been torturous.”
Her head snapped towards him, her gaze lingering on his mouth as it had that night in the hothouse. “Never keep secrets like that from me again. There’s something strangely arousing about your candid confessions.”
He managed a smile. “That was tame.”
“So you’re still telling me half-truths?”
“The next time we kiss, I’ll make sure I vocalise every thought.”
Elsa smiled too, her lips so plump and rosy he could kiss her now. But the light in her eyes dimmed when they reached Carver’s open bedchamber door.
Everything was as Daniel had left it the night they buried Carver’s body. A clean blue quilt covered the bed, the mattress beneath it new. Not a trace of blood remained on the boards where Magnus had wrapped the body in sheets.
Elsa closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, asking the Lord for strength. She pressed her hand to her chest, as close to her heart as the sling would allow.
Strained seconds passed.
“It’s as if that day never happened,” she said, her voice so fragile it broke. “Why can’t I remember? Why does it feel like it happened to someone else?”
He stepped into the room, the vision of her naked with Carver like a blade to his heart. “Perhaps you don’t want to remember.”
“I’m afraid to remember.”
“I shouldn’t have brought you here.” Not wanting to add to her trauma, he focused on the case. “We searched high and low that night and found no clues to the murderer’s identity. Can you think of anything that might prove useful?”
She stood frozen to the spot, staring at the sparse room. “No. I’m sorry. My mind is empty. Were there no clues amongst his personal effects?”
“Other than clothes and grooming items, we found nothing else here. Someone emptied his desk and took the leather folio he used for work.”
“What did you do with his clothes?”
“Magnus disposed of them, along with his shaving implements.”
“You should have sent for the coroner.”
“You know why we didn’t.” Even if a jury believed she was innocent of the crime, she would be ruined in the eyes of society.
“Are you sure none of the servants saw you?”
“We used the woods and burnt the blood-stained bedding at Thorncroft. We sprinkled Carver’s cologne on the new soft furnishings to disguise the metallic tang of blood and make it seem like he’d slept beneath the new blankets.”
Elsa jerked to attention. “Mr Carver didn’t wear cologne. He had an aversion to strong smells. He told me he used Castile soap because perfumes caused a rash.”
“We found a full bottle on the chest of drawers. There was a handwritten card beside it from James & F. Green detailing the blend, with an address for a hotel in London scrawled on the back. ”
“Then it must have been a gift from someone.”
Daniel frowned. Magnus said nothing about Carver not wearing cologne. “Was Carver’s aversion common knowledge?”
Elsa shrugged. “He told me because he couldn’t stop sneezing.” She glanced at the chest of drawers. “What happened to the bottle?”
“Magnus took it.”
A heavy weight of suspicion settled in his chest. Did Magnus know more than he had divulged? Was he on his own mission to find the culprit? Had he killed Carver after finding Elsa in the cottage and used Daniel to help him hide the crime?
“I’m beginning to question your brother’s motives in asking for my help,” he confessed, having sworn not to lie to her again.
Elsa didn’t defend her kin. “I don’t blame you for having suspicions. There’s far more to this than meets the eye. I’m just sorry I can’t recall anything useful.”
“We have found one clue.” If Carver didn’t purchase the cologne, who did? “I kept the card and have the name of the perfumer. Perhaps the killer bought Mr Carver a gift.”