The Prince in the Tower (8 page)

“Indeed?”  Kate replied icily. 
“And what has that to do with me?”

He almost tugged a forelock before he remembered he was a soldier.  “You might be in danger, miss--my lady, going about after dark.”  He debated telling this noble creature about the murder, and decided not to risk feminine hysterics that evening.  “Where have you been?”

“If it is any concern of yours, I was paying a visit to a sick tenant.”

“It's mighty cold tonight.  W
here might your coat be, your ladyship?” his words sounded suspicious to Kate’s ears, but his open face showed concern.  Kate unthawed a trifle.

“Charity, lieutenant, begins at home.”  Before he could unravel her mysterious sentiment, she nodded, dismissing him.  Slapping the reins on Diana’
s neck, she urged her to a canter.  At the Lady and the Scamp, she turned left down the post road.  The inn and the road itself were swarming with red-coated men, armed to the teeth.  She carefully pretended well-bred indifference as she rode past.  Indeed, it was terribly difficult not to stop and gaze back in horror at the spectacle, now illuminated with the light of a dozen lanterns, on the bank of the river.

It was only as she unsaddled Diana, discarding her cloak, breeches, and boots under the floorboards in the tack room and changed into her worn muslin gown that she began to tremble, not from cold, but from fear.

Kate entered the house silently through the kitchen as usual.  But this time when she knocked on the door of the butler’s quarters, it was rapid and staccato, like her heartbeat.

How was she going to tell Lucy? 

The thought reverberated in her mind over and over, like the echoes in the Grand Cavern, until the idea came to her.  She didn’t have to tell Lucy.  She wasn’t supposed to know Adam Weilmunster had been murdered with a single bullet to the head.  To tell Lucy would be tantamount to confessing her own sins.  Lucy didn’t need that misery on top of the rest.

Curtis’ door opened with the unprofessional jerk of a butler who has been Expecting The Worst.  His face spoke volumes, as did the disrepair of his dress.  Never, even the time her sainted
father played the joke with the cows, bringing the entire neighborhood down on their heads, had Kate seen the impassive Mr. Curtis so upset.  With his neckcloth tied haphazardly under his ear and his shirt outside his breeches, he looked as deranged as she felt.

“The
dragoons are out.  Adam Weilmunster was murdered,” she stated baldly.

Curtis schooled his face
into that of his usual butleresque imperturbability.

“Did they see you, Miss Kate?  Where there any witness?”

Kate shook her head.  “They came upon me before the robbery.  I had just found the--found Mr. Weilmunster.  The only one they saw was the Cavalier.  Diana and I circled away.  I disposed of the costume, most of it, under a log in the woods behind Malford House, then came back as myself.  To visit to a sick tenant.  That’s what I told the dragoon who stopped me in the village.”

“Which direction?”

“Coming west along Tinkum’s Lane.  He was suspicious that I didn’t have a coat.”

She could see in his eyes
unfocus as he rapidly weighed the information she’d given him. 

“Miss Timmons.
  She’s old, delights in imperfect health, and would as lief cut off her head than give information to a foreigner.”  He nodded briskly.  “I shall need your oldest cloak, your ladyship.”

Kate nodded.  “I’ll get it.”  She hesitated. 
“And Curtsy--about Adam Weilmunster--”

He shook his head decisively.  “Begging your pardon, Miss Kate, but seeing as to how you’ve been nursing Miss Timmons all night, I fail to see how you could know about Mr. Weilmunster’s tragic demise.”

Relieved that her own diagnosis matched his, she sagged slightly, but pulled herself up.  There was yet much to do this night.  She smiled at her fatherly, grandfatherly, soldierly butler and hurried up the stairs. 

It was only after she’d hurriedly grabbed her cloak from the wardrobe that a blinding flash of apprehension burst upon her consciousness wi
th the force of a bolt of lightning. 

The pistol.  The pistol she’d lost the night in the cavern.  So much had happened since she’d forgotten--put it out of her mind, arrogant enough not to give it the importance it now assumed.  She sank to the edge of the bed, clutching her cloak to her tightly.  But such was her faith in Curtis that the frisson o
f fear passed.  For a long time she’d been relying on her butler’s help and counsel.  He hadn’t failed her yet.  He wouldn’t fail her now.

Kate’s mind drifted to Edmund.  He had teased, yelled, blackmailed, playacted, thrown her
off a cliff, and eavesdropped on a fight with her sister.  He’d also saved her neck.  If anyone was the proper person to ask about the pistol it was he.  She took a deep breath and relaxed oh-so-slightly.  Between the two of them, she’d live to see another day. 

Then she felt ashamed. 
Adam Weilmunster, whom she’d disliked so intensely, lay dead.  Pompous and judgmental, yet in love with Lucy.  As was normal, his death put a glossy finish on his lesser qualities and made Kate feel guilty, but she shrugged it off deliberately.  Time for that later, for she was alive and owed it to her family to stay that way.  She’d deal with his tragedy when she could.

She quietly closed the door of her room, glancing down the hall.  Behind the closed doors her family lay sleeping.  Her heart constricted in love. 
Anything, anything was worth them.  This moment.  All the terror and close calls.  They were safe and warm and together.  That was all.  That was everything.

Kate lay down and drew the bedclothes up around her neck, though she knew sleep would not come soon that night.  But her desperate thoughts scattered
when the deep crash of the door knocker sounded throughout the house.  Her first thought was that a tenant really had fallen ill, but common sense told her that they wouldn’t have come to the front door or knocked with such ferocity.

Racing back down the hall, she
stopped at the landing, keeping to the shadows, overlooked by portraits of rapscallion ancestors by insignificant artists.  And she waited.

In the darkness in the marble foyer below, she saw a glimmer of light grow stronger, throwing weird, huge shadows over the ancient, carved sideboards.  Curtis appeared.  His neckcloth had been straightened, his shirt tucked in.  He looked as if he’s just stepped out of Kensington Palace.  The doorknocker
crashed again.  He paused, picked a speck of lint off his sleeve in a manner highly reminiscent of Mr. Dalrymple when he was in his high flights, and proceeded to the door, his demeanor that of outrage that some obviously vulgar person would commit the solecism of pounding so loudly at such an unseemly hour.

Kate stepped closer to the shadows.  It suddenly occurred to
her that she was covered in dirt, so she nipped back to her room, threw water on her face, scrubbing away the last of the sap, then hurried back to the landing.  She looked reasonably respectable, but her hair was such that tidy might be a forlorn hope.

The doorknocker boomed a fourth time before Curtis deliberately set down the candle, threw the bolts, and opened the door before the impatience of the visitor outside could succeed in breaking it down. 

There was a movement on the stairs.  Such was the tension that Kate jumped as Lucy appeared next to her, wrapped in a worn flannel dressing gown.  Her face was study of sleepy confusion.  She looked apprehensively at Kate, but her sister could do no more than shake her head slightly in mute warning, her attention focused on the open doorway.

She could hear men’s voices.  They seemed angry, but no matter how she strained, she could hear no words.

There were more light footsteps.  Caro joined them.  Lucy wasted as much as a second before she clapped a hand over her sister’s mouth.  Caro glared, pulling away, but one look at Kate and she became still.  Lucy took her hand away, and the three sisters stood on the landing, watching fate unfold below.

Even Kate gave a gasp when the door opened to admit the last person anyone who has been robbing coaches wants to see.
Her hand gripped the bannister so when Major Goodwillie stepped through the door on His Majesty’s official business she didn’t tumble down the stairs in shock.

The broad-shouldered, red-coated major was followed by two of his men, one of whom Kate recognized as the young man who had stopped her that evening.  Her heart flipped in her chest.  She went dizzy, then cold and hot at the same time.  Her insides shook, but she willed herself to outward calm.  Suddenly she could
see, almost as if outside her body, everything happening in almost slow motion. 

The major continued to talk to Curtis, the tone of his voice rising and falling.  Finally, with
a gesture of command, the he motioned for his dragoons as if for them to search the house.  Curtis looked up to Kate on the landing.  His face was ashen.

Serene
now that the worst was at hand, Kate turned to her sisters.  Hugging them as they stood there, unable to voice the love in her heart, the heart which was now breaking, she simply took them both in her arms at the same time.  It was the last time she would ever see them as a free woman, she realized, wishing the moment had never come, would never end, but would pass quickly, so bittersweet it was.

She conjured up a smile.  Lucy, obviously terrified, was crying
silently.  Caro had narrowed eyes, her jaw clenched at a pugnacious angle as she glared down at the men looking upwards at her sister.  Kate spoke quietly.

“No
matter what happens, do not come down.  Do not follow.  I don’t want you to see it.”

“Kate--” Lucy’s voice quavered.  Her tone asked the question which she could not yet voice, could not yet name.

Smiling again, Kate brushed back a lock of her sister’s hair.  “I’m so sorry, Lu.  Please know that whatever I did I thought it was for the best.”  She turned to Caro.  “Don’t do anything rash, my dear. That’s how I got in this mess in the first place.  Promise me.”

Caro opened her mouth to protest, but shut it.  She nodded, her hand gripping Kate’s painfully.

"This is very important.  Please don’t let Auntie Alice come down the stairs.  If anyone does anything untoward, who knows what the Major might do.  And I depend upon you all to look after the children.”

Th
e Major was taking impatient steps to the stairs.  Kate hurried on.  “There is money under the loose floorboard in the tack room.  Contact Uncle Richard immediately, if you can find him.  Try not to let him break the family up.”  She took one last glimpse of her sisters.  “I love you both very much.  Don’t tell Meg and Simon--just say that I went away on a visit or something.”

“Katie, what--”

“
Promise me
.”

The girls looked at each other. 
By silent communication, they reached an agreement.  Nodding to Kate, they stepped back.  Kate saw Lady Alice hurry down the hall.  Before her iron self-control had a chance to break, she smiled brightly at her aunt and headed down the stairs.  For once, she did not rush.  Her head was held at precisely the correct angle, her skirts at exactly the ladylike height so as not to show too much ankle.

She heard
Aunt Alice call her name, but the girls were good as their word and held her back.  Kate relaxed somewhat.  By keeping them away from the downstairs, it was as if she were keeping them safe from what lay before her.

At
the bottom of the stairs, Kate paused for a moment before advancing partway across the endless black and white marble hall.  Then she paused, eyebrows lifted in hauteur.

It was a child’s game of chicken, all the more tense now that so much was at stake.  The
major walked toward her.  They met in the center of the foyer.  High above soared the ceiling where cheerful cherubs danced on a cloud-filled sky.  The dance taking place between Kate and the Major was a great deal less cheerful, and a great deal more deadly than the innocent bows and arrows wielded by the mischievous winged urchins.  Kate had never been a good card player, but tonight she dared anyone to match her bravado.

Major Goodwillie bowed.  He creaked.  Kate’s eyes widened as she realized the pudgy major wore a corset.  But for once she didn’t have to stifle her laughter. This popinjay was wearing a corset while trying to ru
in her.  Instead she nodded coldly, extending her hand.  The major took it in his, bowing slightly once more.  The merest incline of his head, a studied insolence matched by the sneer on his full red lips.

      “Major Goodwillie, your ladyship,” announced Curtis. 
“And his men.”  The butler stalked majestically across the floor to the salon.  It was shabby and worn, but by God, this was the house of generations of earls, and no pipsqueak, corset-squeaking trumped up soldier in fancy dress could make him forget his family's station in life.

Mindful of the three silent witnesses on the landing, Kate led the way into the salon.  Under no circumstances did she want them to know what was going on until it was too late for Caro, es
pecially, to run off and do something mad.

In
the salon, she turned, her back to the fireplace in an unconscious stance of power.  She’d often seen her papa stand so when being called on the carpet by Mama for one of his escapades.  He’d never failed to bring her around his thumb.  Kate hoped the magic would rub off on her.