Diamonds and Dreams (37 page)

“Maybe I should go find her. Maybe she needs
me to—”

“No, Asa. You have an honest job at the
blacksmith’s now. You’ll lose it if you go to London. Surely you
want Goldie to come home and see you working. And what if she
should arrive and you aren’t here?”

Asa’s shoulders slumped. “You had to leave
her because of me. Because you both knew I needed someone to see to
me. Me, a grown man, needin’ a guardian, and Goldie, a young girl,
alone in London.” He held Goldie’s doll to his heart, huge tears
still coursing down his cheeks. “Maybe she ain’t in that boardin’
house no more. Maybe she got throwed out. Maybe she’s in the
streets, hungry. Cold. Wet. Maybe she’s scared, Big. God, I hope it
ain’t thunderin’ in London. She used to be so afraid of thunder,
and I—I never did let her sleep with me.”

“Asa—”

“Alone in that great big dangerous city,”
Asa sobbed. “With nobody to watch over her. Nobody to tell her how
purty and good she is. God Almighty, Big, with nobody to care about
her.”

Big remembered Saber and smiled. “With no
one to care about her? Well now, Asa, I wouldn’t say that. I
wouldn’t say that at all.”

* * *

Tyler Escott looked up from his notes and
glanced around Marion Tremayne’s study. He knew the time had come
to reveal his discoveries. But he hesitated and stared at the
gleaming surface of his client’s desk. It was his experience that
members of the aristocracy, high-strung as they were, did not
accept bad news well. More often than not they turned
hysterical.

Saber heard the clock strike half past
midnight, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Tyler, we’ve been
at this for hours already. You’ve shown me every bit of the
evidence that Hutchins and Doyle have been stealing from me, and
you’ve informed me that Doyle seems to have disappeared from the
face of the earth. But there’s much more you’ve yet to say, and I
really must insist that you do so now. Have you been able to read
the diaries, or haven’t you?”

“I have. I dampened the diary pages slightly
and carefully, held them up to a flame, and read them through a
magnifying glass. I still couldn’t make out everything, but many of
the words that were difficult to read before became clearer. What
I’m about to tell you is tangled at best, but it does give me
something to go on.”

Saber nodded.

Tyler felt confused at his client’s
composure. The man was almost aloof. “Very well.” Taking a deep
breath, he looked down at the papers he held. “Dane Hutchins and
Dora Mashburn are lovers, and have been for the past six years.
Hutchins has been living in your manor house. When Angelica arrived
at Ravenhurst, Hutchins remained in the mansion with her. He
treated her as though she were a queen, going out of his way to
please her in every way. He procured rose bushes, thanked her
profusely for planting them, and had Dora assist her. Dora ruined
several of them, causing Dane to fly into a rage. Angelica
expressed her desire to redecorate the master bedroom in green and
gold. Dora argued that crimson and white were more to her liking.
Delia and Angelica laughed at Dora’s impudence. Angelica and Dora
had a bitter quarrel concerning the ring. Angelica forbade Dora to
ever enter the mansion again. Angelica purchased paper and writing
utensils. William Doyle arrived. The villagers held a birthday
party. The traveler drowned. Angelica fell down the staircase.”

When Tyler finished he looked up at his
client, relieved when he saw no evidence of hysteria. “The mention
of the paper and writing utensils leads me to believe Angelica
might have tried to write to you. If she did, perhaps the letter
was intercepted. But as you can see, there are still many
unanswered questions, Your Grace. I can’t understand what happened
to the ring. The birthday party baffles me, as does the traveler
who drowned.”

Saber sat silently for many long moments.
“What questions
have
you answered?”

Reassured that his client was not going to
lose his wits over the matter, Tyler decided to give it to him
straight. He stood, placed his hands on the desk, and leaned
forward. “Bear in mind that many of the diary pages are lost to us
forever. But by going with what I have, I think Hutchins believes
he’s the duke. He—”

“The duke? What leads you to conclude
that?”

“He didn’t move out of your house when
Angelica arrived. And as if the grounds belonged to him, he
thanked
her for planting the roses. I really don’t believe
I’m wrong in saying he thinks he’s lord of the estate. I won’t say
he thinks he’s Lord Tremayne, though. Instinct tells me he
considers himself Lord Hutchins. If that’s true, then the man is
insane, and I don’t think I have to tell you how dangerous a madman
is. Especially an enraged one, which is what I believe Dane was
when Angelica spurned his attentions. In his twisted mind, I think
he saw her as
his
fiancée, though I am sure she showed him
the utmost disdain. She was in love with
you
, and I cannot
see her responding to your middle-aged and overconfident estate
manager in any way, shape, or form.

“Then there’s Dora Mashburn,” Tyler
continued. “Quite a cheeky little thing to actually argue with
Angelica, the future Duchess of Ravenhurst, about what colors to do
the bedroom in. Don’t you agree? Unless of course Dora herself
wanted to be the duchess. She—”

“That’s ridiculous. How could she have
thought such a thing possible?”

“You must remember she was sleeping with
Hutchins, who considers himself the duke. It’s possible that since
Dora shared his bed, she had high hopes that he would marry her.
She’s a naive, ignorant girl. Hutchins’ position of authority at
the estate would be bound to impress her. And when he began showing
amorous interest in her, surely it flattered her beyond words. She
was a mere maid from the village! So if Hutchins pretends to be a
duke, why wouldn’t she want to be his pretend duchess? Enter
Angelica, who was to be the
real
duchess. Dora sees how
attentive Hutchins is toward Angelica. Hutchins even became
infuriated with Dora when she spoiled Angelica’s roses. Dora was
more than likely livid with both anger and jealousy. And a jealous
woman is a dangerous one.

“And then there’s Doyle,” Tyler went on.
“It’s not clear exactly what day he arrived, but Delia’s writings
concerning him fall close to the day Angelica died. So let us
presume he got there the day of her death or very shortly before.
He arrives at Ravenhurst, sees Angelica, and knows she will reveal
his involvement with Hutchins to you as soon as she gets back to
London. Knowing you as well as he does, he doesn’t have to
wonder
what you will do to him upon learning of his
betrayal. He
knows
. He is terrified. And—”

“A man terrified for his own welfare is a
dangerous one,” Saber finished for him. “You are suggesting that
Angelica was murdered.”

Tyler was again taken aback by his client’s
control. “Dora, Hutchins, and Doyle all had sufficient motive.”
Resisting all emotion, Saber made a steeple of his fingers, his
chin resting upon it. He sat still, silent, and numb.

Tyler cleared his throat. “Your Grace,
there’s something I don’t understand about Angelica’s trip to
Ravenhurst. In one passage, Delia wrote that a woman accompanied
Angelica to the estate, and that the woman slept almost around the
clock. There was no further mention of her. Who was Angelica’s
companion?”

Saber came out from behind the desk, shaking
his head. “Mrs. Eliza Hatworth. Angelica’s parents died when she
was a little girl. She had no other family and was raised by her
nanny, Mrs. Hatworth, who was already elderly when Angelica was
born. When Angelica left for Ravenhurst, Mrs. Hatworth had to have
been close to seventy years old. Due to her age, she slept
constantly. I tried to induce Angelica to take a younger companion,
but she refused. Angelica—She was very stubborn.”

Tyler jotted down a few notes. “What did
Mrs. Hatworth have to tell you when she arrived in London with
Angelica’s body?”

Saber rubbed the back of his neck. “She
spoke highly of Hutchins, saying he’d taken full responsibility for
handling the transportation of Angelica’s body. I recall being more
than satisfied with her glowing reports of him.”

“She said nothing at all about Dora or
William Doyle? Nothing about the condition of the estate?”

“Nothing. I doubt very seriously she saw or
heard anything that would be of aid to us, Tyler. As you said, the
woman was rarely awake.”

“Perhaps I could speak to her.”

“She died two years ago.”

Sighing, Tyler rose. “I’m leaving for
Ravenhurst tomorrow with a few of my men. We’ll go disguised as
itinerant workers. I’m hopeful that Hutchins will hire us. But even
if he doesn’t, we’ll be staying in Hallensham, watching Hutchins
and Dora, and questioning the villagers.”

Saber nodded. “And Doyle?”

“The rest of my men will continue watching
for his return to London. They know where they can find me and will
inform me immediately if he arrives in my absence. I’ve every
detective I employ on this case, Your Grace, and I’m accepting no
other clients until it is solved.”

Saber escorted the detective to the front
door. Upon opening it, he saw rain pounding the porch, lightning
crisscrossing the sky. “Thank you for coming by.”

Tyler studied him intently. “Lord Tremayne,
are you all right? I must confess I was hesitant to tell you all
the information I’d discovered. I thought you would—Forgive me, but
I expected—”

“For me to become enraged?” Saber took a
gulp of the chilled, wet air. “She’s been gone for five years
already, Tyler. If indeed she was murdered, I want her killer
brought to justice, of course. But rage on my part won’t bring
about those ends. Nor will it bring her back to life.”

Tyler nodded, feeling the utmost respect for
Marion Tremayne. “Goodnight, Your Lordship.”

When the investigator was gone, Saber closed
the door, pressed his forehead against it, and shut his eyes.
Thoughts of Angelica filled his mind. “Angelica,” he whispered, his
fingertips moving upon the door. He waited for the familiar grief
to seize him. He’d resisted it earlier, but now felt the need to
release it. He knew exactly how it would feel when it came. It
would start in the deepest part of him, sending pain shooting
through his entire body. His chest would ache. His throat would
constrict. His head would begin to pound. He waited in morbid
apprehension for it all to begin.

But it didn’t. Suddenly he remembered
several other recent occasions when it hadn’t come. Curious over
this, he tried bringing Angelica’s beautiful image to his mind,
certain that would free his imprisoned agony. He recalled her thick
chestnut hair and the way it fell in long waves down her back. He
recollected her flawless ivory skin, her huge brandy eyes, her
generous mouth, and her tall, curvaceous form.

But try as he did, he couldn’t seem to put
those memories together. They remained separate from each other,
fragmented, refusing to merge into a whole likeness.

Determined to see her again, he concentrated
with all the power he possessed. His eyes still tightly closed, a
measure of relief came to him when a face drifted slowly to
mind.

But the girl he pictured had freckles
peppering her tiny, heart-shaped face. Her hair was not rich brown,
but the color of sunshine. It didn’t fell down her back in long
waves. Instead, it was a chaotic mass of thick curls. Her mouth was
small and pink, and her eyes were two golden orbs that dazzled him
with the way they danced for him.

“Goldie.” He opened his eyes, turned toward
the staircase, and felt a profound need to be with her tonight.
He’d been so involved with Tyler Escott lately that he couldn’t
even remember the last time he’d held Goldie in his arms.

Anticipation rolled through him. He knew
well what the sight of her would do for him. Her smile was like a
bright flame. When it flickered, all darkness went away. Her giggle
was the sound of happiness, wafting through heavy, dismal silence,
and her words, her stories... Their very outrageousness chased away
gloom.

Just thinking about her lifted his spirits,
and before he even realized what he was doing, he was bounding up
the steps, heading for her bedroom.

He didn’t bother to knock, but opened the
door and stepped inside. His need changed to a powerful desire when
he saw her.

Her only covering was the dim firelight that
blanketed her with its warm, burnished glow. The sight reminded him
of the day he’d found her swathed in lace. He was so enchanted with
the beautiful vision before him, so completely taken with her bare
loveliness, a long moment passed before he managed to make his legs
work well enough to take him to her bed.

“Goldie,” he whispered. Her nearness soothed
him instantly. Bending, he smoothed kisses down her arm. He turned
her hand over, pressing his lips gently to her inner wrist and
savoring the feel of her silken skin. “My little person—No, my
little
poppet
called Goldie.”

She awoke with a start. Disoriented, she
couldn’t understand where she was, who the man above her was, or
what he was doing to her. Thunder suddenly crashed through the
room, bringing back little-girl fears. “Uncle Asa!” she screamed,
tears appearing. “Uncle Asa, let me sleep with you! Please!
Uncle—”

“Goldie,” Saber cooed, reaching for her, and
enfolding her in his arms. He sat on her bed, holding her close to
his chest. “It’s only thunder, poppet. You’re safe. Safe with
me.”

And she would remain safe for as long as she
was with him, he vowed, smoothing her hair. He could do nothing at
all for Angelica, and knew in his heart he’d finally accepted her
death. Whether if had been accidental or plotted didn’t matter. She
was gone, and he’d buried her, just as he had his parents.