Part 31 (1/2)
Harry took out his knife. Dragging a chair over beneath the corpse, he climbed up and cut the rope. Janie slumped, suddenly freed from her self-imposed punishment. He caught the body and gently lowered her to the ground. As he did so, he felt something small and hard fall out of Janie's pocket. He bent to look and saw one of his own carvings: a duck. Quickly, he palmed the little bird. Had Janie been placing his carvings at the poisonings all along? Why? Had she meant to set him against Granville? Perhaps she'd seen Harry as her instrument of revenge. Harry darted a glance at d.i.c.k, but the older man was simply staring into the face of his dead sister. It would only grieve d.i.c.k further to tell him Janie had meant for Harry to take the blame for her crimes. Harry pocketed the duck.
”Ta, Harry,” d.i.c.k said. He took off his ap.r.o.n and covered his sister's distorted face.
”I'm sorry.” Harry laid his hand on the other man's shoulder.
d.i.c.k nodded, grief overtaking him again.
Harry turned to join Bennet. The last sight he had of d.i.c.k Crumb was the big man bending, a mountain of sorrow, over the slight form of his sister's body.
Behind them, the water hemlocks danced gracefully.
”THERE CERTAINLY HAS BEEN a lot of traveling of late,” Euphie murmured, smiling benignly around the carriage. ”Back and forth between Yorks.h.i.+re and London. Why, it seems that everyone barely draws breath before they rush off again. I don't believe I remember so much coming and going since, well, since ever.”
Violet sighed, shook her head slightly, and gazed out the window. Tiggle, sitting with Violet, looked puzzled. And George, scrunched next to Euphie on the same seat, closed her eyes and gripped the tin basin she'd brought along just in case. I will not cast up. I will not cast up. I will not cast up.The carriage lurched around the corner, jostling her against the rain-streaked window. She decided abruptly that her stomach was better with her eyes open.
”This is ridiculous,” Violet huffed, and folded her arms. ”If you're going to marry, anyway, I simply do not see what is wrong with Mr. Pye. He likes you, after all. I'm sure we can help him if he has trouble with his Hs.”
His Hs? ”You were the one who thought he was a sheep murderer.” She was getting tired of the almost universal disapproval aimed at her head.
One would think Harry a veritable saint from the shocked reaction of her servants at her decampment. Even Greaves had stood on the Woldsly steps, the rain trickling off his long nose, staring mournfully at her as she climbed into the carriage.
”That was before,” Violet said with unarguable logic. ”I haven't thought him the poisoner for at least three weeks.”
”Oh, Lord.”
”My lady,” Euphie exclaimed. ”We should, as gentlewomen, never take the good Lord's name in vain. I am sure it was a mistake on your part.”
Violet stared at Euphie in exaggerated astonishment while beside her Tiggle rolled her eyes. George sighed and rested her head on the cus.h.i.+ons.
”And besides, Mr. Pye is quite handsome.” Violet wasn't going to let go of this argument. Ever. ”For a land steward. You aren't likely to find a nicer one.”
”Land steward or husband?” George asked nastily.
”Are you contemplating marriage, my lady?” Euphie inquired. Her eyes opened wide, like an interested pigeon.
”No!” George said.
Which was almost drowned out by Violet's ”Yes!”
Euphie blinked rapidly. ”Marriage is a hallowed state, becoming to even the most respectable of ladies. Of course, I myself have never experienced that heavenly communion with a gentleman, but that is not to say that I do not wholeheartedly endorse its rites.”
”You're going to have to marry someone,” Violet said. She gestured cra.s.sly toward George's abdomen. ”Unless you intend to take a protracted tour of the continent.”
”Broadening the mind by travel-” Euphie started.
”I have no intention of touring the continent.” George cut Euphie off before she could gather wind and babble about traveling until they reached London. ”Perhaps I could marry Cecil Barclay.”
”Cecil!” Violet gaped at her sister as if she'd announced her intention of wedding a codfish. One would think Violet would be a little more sympathetic, considering her own near predicament. ”Have you gone raving mad? You'll trample Cecil as if he were a fluffy bunny rabbit.”
”What do you mean?” George swallowed and pressed her hand to her belly. ”You make me sound like a harpy.”
”Well, now that you mention it . . .”
George narrowed her eyes.
”Mr. Pye is quiet, but at least he never backed down from you.” Violet's eyes widened. ”Have you considered what he'll do when he finds out you've run away from him? It's the silent ones who have the worst tempers, you know.”
”I don't know where you get these melodramatic ideas. And besides, I haven't run away.” George ignored her sister, pointedly glancing around the carriage, which was presently b.u.mping out of Yorks.h.i.+re. ”And I don't think he will do anything.” Her stomach rolled at the thought of Harry finding her gone.
Violet looked doubtful. ”Mr. Pye didn't strike me as the kind of man to just sit back and let his woman find another man to marry.”
”I am not Mr. Pye's woman.”
”I'm not sure what else you would call it-”
”Violet!” George clutched the tin basin under her chin. I will not cast up. I will not cast up. I will no- ”Are you feeling quite the thing, my lady?” Euphie piped. ”Why, you look almost green. Do you know, your mother bore that exact same face when she was”-the companion leaned forward and hissed as if a gentleman might somehow hear her inside the moving carriage-”increas-ing with Lady Violet.” Euphie sat back and blushed a bright pink. ”But of course that can't be your problem.”
Violet stared at Euphie as if mesmerized.
Tiggle buried her face in her hands.
And George groaned. She was going to die before she made it to London.
”WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE'S GONE?” Harry tried to keep his voice even. He stood in the front hall of Woldsly. He'd come here to see his lady, only to have the butler tell him that she'd left over an hour ago.
Greaves backed up a step. ”Exactly that, Mr. Pye.” The butler cleared his throat. ”Lady Georgina accompanied by Lady Violet and Miss Hope left quite early this morning for London.””The h.e.l.l you say.” Had she received urgent news about a relative, maybe one of her brothers?
”Mr. Pye.” The butler drew himself up in offense.
”I've had a very hard night, Mr. Greaves.” And a harder morning. Harry pa.s.sed a hand over his aching forehead. ”Was a letter brought to my lady? Or a rider? Did a rider come bearing some kind of news?”
”No. Not that it is any concern of yours, Mr. Pye.” Greaves stared down his thin nose. ”Now, if I may show you the door?”
Harry took two quick steps and grabbed the butler by the s.h.i.+rtfront. One step more and he slammed the man against the wall, cracking the plaster. ”As it happens, what my lady does is my concern.” Harry leaned close enough to smell the powder on Greaves's wig. ”She's carrying my child and will soon be my wife. Is that understood?”
The butler nodded, sending a fine dusting of powder onto his shoulders.
”Good.” Harry released the other man.
What would make her leave so suddenly? Frowning, he took the curving main stairs two at a time and headed down the long hall to his lady's room. Had he missed something? Said the wrong thing? The problem with women was that it could be d.a.m.n near anything.
Harry threw open the bedroom door, scaring a maid cleaning out the hearth. He strode to Lady Georgina's vanity table. The top had been cleared. He opened drawers and flung them shut just as fast. They were empty save for a few hairpins and a forgotten handkerchief. The maid scurried from the room. Harry straightened from the vanity and surveyed the room. The wardrobe doors stood ajar and empty. A lone candlestick sat on the table by her bed. The bed itself had already been stripped. There wasn't anything to indicate where she'd gone.
He quit the room and ran back down the stairs, knowing the servants were aware of his movements. He knew he must seem a madman, racing about the manor and claiming the daughter of an earl as his bride. Well, d.a.m.n them all to h.e.l.l. He wasn't backing down. She was the one who had brought it this far. She'd laid down the gauntlet and then run for it. This time around he wasn't going to wait for her to come to her senses. Who knew how long it would take her to get over whatever snit she'd gotten herself into? He might be a commoner, he might be poor, but by G.o.d, he was going to be Lady Georgina's husband, and his wife needed to learn that she couldn't just light out every time she got a bee in her bonnet.
Harry mounted the poor mare, already half asleep, and turned her in the direction of his own little cottage. He'd pack the barest essentials. If he was fast, he might catch her before Lincoln.
Five minutes later, he opened the door to his cottage, thinking about what to bring, but all thought stopped when he saw the table. The leopard stood on it. Harry picked up the carved animal. It was exactly the same as the last time he'd seen it in her palm. Except that it was no longer in a cage.
She'd set the leopard free.