“Because...?” Daisy asked, hoping if she pretended to go along with his nonsense he’d at last say
something
that made sense about why
he
was here. Right now, all he was succeeding in doing was alternately frightening and confounding her.
“You know damn well
because,
and I’ll be damned if I’ll be put to the blush explaining the obvious. We warned them, but clearly they only half believed us, otherwise they wouldn’t have put a woman within ten miles of this place. They told you something, as you’ve already disguised yourself, not that any but a fool would be deceived, so you’d have to at least be able to guess at what could happen to you if—”
He stopped, blinked and whispered something under his breath. From the look on his face, she was glad she couldn’t hear what he said.
Her heart was pounding now, whether in dread or confirmation of her worst fears, she couldn’t be sure. One thing was certain, she couldn’t allow him to stop now. “Yes? What could happen to me if—?”
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe those idiots didn’t warn you.”
This conversation was going nowhere, and she was finished being his audience. Clearly he was convinced she was someone she was not. She would give him one more chance to untwist his tongue, but only because she didn’t seem to have a choice.
Daisy jammed her fists against her hips. “That’s because there are no id— There is no
they.
There’s no
he
or
him,
either
.
Can’t you please endeavor to get that through your thick skull? I’m here because I’m employed here. I’m a governess, and I dress as I dress because a governess does not seek out the attentions of husbands and sons or the wrath of wives and mothers, not if she wishes warm food in her belly and a dry roof over her head for more than a fortnight. Please let me know when you want to stop speaking in circles, and perhaps we can meet again. Otherwise, this conversation is
over,
Mr. Redgrave. And if you have not only lately escaped a strait-waistcoat and a cell in Bedlam, then I suggest you consider being measured for both.”
“All right, we’ll play it your way, mostly because I’m beginning to believe I’ve made a horrible mistake, God help me. You’re nothing more than a vicar’s innocent orphaned daughter, making her way in the world as best she can. Not here to spy on his lordship, not here to spy, God forbid, on any of us Redgraves who might have shown up. Whatever’s true, whatever I’m beginning to believe, you’d better believe this. Gloves off, Miss Marchant—you’ve fallen into a den of monsters that gather here monthly to play their terrible games. A hellfire club, Miss Marchant, if you’ve ever heard the term. Devil horns, hideous costumes, sacrificial altars, the entire gambit of debauchery. They rape women like you for sport, pass them about among them—and that may be the least of it. You have to leave. Now.”
This was worse than she’d thought, worse than anything she could have ever imagined. Daisy staggered where she stood, nearly lost her balance. “What?” She couldn’t locate the strength to speak above a strangled whisper. “
What
did you just say to me?”
“At last, your full attention. You heard me. Take women, use them, perhaps then kill in their excitement or simply to cover their crimes, something I’ve just recently begun to suspect of the imbecilic but dangerous Lord Mailer.
They,
whoever they are over and above Mailer, consider it their right to use and abuse women in pursuit of their own pleasures, among other things. If that isn’t enough to convince you, take a good long look at your mistress. She lives in terror, doesn’t she? How long have you been here?”
“Still, if one has to, at least he’s...”
At least he’s clean.
Daisy heard Lady Caroline’s words whispered again in her ear.
She wanted to scream, to run. But she had to stand her ground, hear the rest of it. She had to know, truly, why Valentine Redgrave had come here. Was he really here in the role of rescuing prince? No, of course not. He was here on some sort of mission of his own, not on orders from the Crown. He certainly hadn’t come here to help
her.
“How...how long have I been here? You asked that, didn’t you? A few—” Daisy had to pause, attempt to catch her breath, for she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.
Rose. Ah, God...Rose. Maybe I’m finally getting closer.
“Near...nearly three months.”
“Then at least two full moons. Good. Since you’re not deaf and blind, Miss Marchant, you must have seen something during that time, must suspect something odd going on. Think a moment.”
He knew about the full moon? How could he know that? It was only by keeping her diary that she had eventually realized how different things were at Fernwood leading up to the first night of the full moon. Just as they were now, with another full moon in the offing. Six months ago, Rose had left London, just before a full moon.
“I don’t know what you mean by that. I haven’t— Oh, all right, all right. Don’t look at me that way. Yes. Yes, I’ve noticed things. People. Mostly gentlemen, but some of their wives, as well. They stay for a week or less. Coming and going at strange hours while they’re here, sometimes gone all night. But what you’re saying is so utterly preposterous that I—”
“All right, that could be useful. Did you happen to hear any names? It would be an immense help to me, Miss Marchant, if you remember any names. There’s much more to this than men indulging their fantasies.”
“Downing Street,” Daisy breathed, a tight fist squeezing her heart as her supposition was confirmed. “You teased me with Downing Street. You...you thought I was some...some sort of
spy
for the government? Spying on Lord Mailer? On
you,
for pity’s sake?” She clapped her hands to her chest. “A spy?
Me?
”
“Presumptive, assuming fool that I am, yes, I did. God’s teeth, everything you’ve said is the truth, I can see it clearly now. You’re a governess and I’m...I am who I am, let’s say that, shall we—an interested party. But let’s buck up and get past all that, shall we?”
“Buck up? After what you’ve just said? You ask a lot, Mr. Redgrave. But you do believe me. Finally.
Why?
”
“Like one of my dogs with a marrow bone. All right, but quickly. I believe you because no one could feign the pure shock and horror I just saw in your eyes, not even me. Forgive me for frightening you needlessly, but in my defense, you did refuse to listen. And forgive me yet again for now begging that we meet once more, tonight, to give you time to prepare a list of any names you might recall. Don’t ask Lady Caro or any of the servants—that would be needlessly dangerous—but rely only on your own memory.”
“I...I’ve been keeping a journal.”
Valentine sighed audibly. “Many do. I hope you keep it well hidden. I’ll have already arranged transport for you to London, or wherever you wish to go. Do you have adequate funds?” He shook his head at that. “No, of course she doesn’t, and she certainly can’t apply to Mailer for her quarterly wages. I’ll provide that, as well. She can’t even risk emptying her cupboard, carrying a traveling bag. But we’ll manage it.”
Daisy was rapidly getting her feet back under her. “I’m standing right here, Mr. Redgrave. Please cease in referring to me as
she.
”
At last he smiled. “My apologies. I often think out loud.”
“An unfortunate habit you should do your utmost to curb.”
“Yes, definitely a governess. I don’t know how I could have mistaken you for anything else. Just believe this. Things are about to get messy, Miss Prunes and Prisms, so you leave here tonight, do you understand? If you’ve nowhere else to go, I suppose I can turn you over to my sister at Redgrave Manor until this is settled. Can’t have you just roaming about, not once they realize you may know too much. Plus, frankly, you’re very much in my way and I need to devote my full attention on keeping my own self safe.”
Daisy’s senses were whirling and she struggled to hang on, not fall into hysterics. Banish her, toss her away? Just when she was at last making some progress? “But—but what about the children? Lady Caroline? If even half of what you’ve said is true, they’re in danger, aren’t they?”
“No more than they were in before your arrival. Besides, I’m here now.”
Now she fought a sneer. “Oh, yes,
you’re
here now. Why didn’t I realize that at once? I’m in the way, but it’s nothing at all for you to protect Lady Caroline and two fairly unruly children. The brave Prince of Mud Pies. I see your point. Everything will be so much better now.”
“I’ll ignore the insult, and assume you aren’t overjoyed by my plan for you. I suppose I should be grateful you aren’t in strong hysterics, actually.”
“I considered them, but discarded the idea in favor of marveling at your arrogance.”
“Ouch. And may I say, if Kate had had you as governess Redgrave Manor would have been even more interesting. You ruffle, Miss Marchant, but your powers of recovery are astounding.”
He couldn’t know how she had long ago learned to guard her emotions; being set loose on her own into an uncaring world at the age of seventeen had taught her to hide her feelings behind an ironclad facade. Tears were a waste of time and aided nothing, and appearing vulnerable was dangerous. She was a survivor, and she would survive this most horrible truth; but she would not leave this place until she had somehow located her sister. Oh, God, what remained of her sister...
“You refuse to leave, don’t you?”
“My congratulations, Mr. Redgrave, that’s the first correct assumption you’ve arrived at since you first stepped out of the traveling coach yesterday, that wretched insult on your lips. No, I’m not leaving.”
He looked at her for a long moment and she felt as if he’d just stripped her naked, all the way to her soul.
“But not in any misguided idea of protecting the children or her ladyship, although that may play some part in it now that you’re here. Women take ridiculous ideas like that into their heads all the time.”
“Are you thinking out loud again, Mr. Redgrave, or just being insulting?”
“I’m sorry, but truth is truth. If you’d been there to see my idiot sister when Simon slipped into the— Never mind. You came to Fernwood for reasons of your own. I was right as far as I went. I merely went too far, including Downing Street in my theory. Perceval meant it when he said he wasn’t all that interested in what we Redgraves uncovered. But then why? Why are you here, why do you stay where you’re clearly unhappy?”
She had no quick answers for him. At the moment, what she wanted most was to be alone. To think about Rose, come to grips with what she’d suspected since her very first weeks at Fernwood. Valentine Redgrave had given her more answers than he could possibly know, but there were still so many questions. “Children! It’s time to go!”
Lydia came scampering back down the pathway, clutching a small bouquet of roses she promptly thrust at Valentine. “Here, my prince. Tobias snipped off all the thorns for me.”
Lydia’s girlish lovesickness was palpable. Daisy rolled her eyes. This was why, throughout history, men retained such swollen heads: women persisted in foolishly adoring them for no good reason.
Just like poor, poor Rose. I have to get away from this man. I have to think. I don’t want to think...
Daisy turned to the child in near desperation. “Where’s William, Lydia?”
“His mud pies aren’t dry, and Tobias says they’ll fall to pieces if they aren’t allowed to dry. They’re very nice. Tobias showed him how to push colored pebbles in them to make faces, and tiny leaves for hair.” She looked up at Valentine. “Not that
I
would enjoy doing anything so young and silly.” She then quickly hid her hands, caked with drying mud, behind her back.
“I’ll come back for them later,” Daisy promised, shooing the girl ahead of her.
“Farewell, dear prince!” Lydia called back to Valentine, who once again demonstrated his finesse with a courtly bow—young, handsome, carefree—just as if words like
rape
and
hellfire club
had never passed his lips.
Then he turned about, to depart the greenhouse, without setting a time or place for them to meet again. He’d probably just pop up like some jack-in-the-box when she least expected him. She watched as he took up a cane he must have rested against one of the other potting tables, gave it a twirl or two before tucking it beneath his arm.
Truly, the man was insufferable. Yet she felt safer knowing he was here. Safer, but oh, so very much sadder. And even more determined to confront Charles Mailer, now that she knew what to ask him. Not
where did you imprison my sister?
but
what did you do with her body?
Because there was no more room for hope now, was there? She’d known that from the beginning....
Willing her hands not to shake or her voice to waver, Daisy proceeded along the center pathway determined, and dry-eyed, to make an appreciative fuss over William’s mud pies.
CHAPTER FOUR
V
ALENTINE
TOSSED
THE
bouquet on a table and the cane onto the bed before lightly hoisting himself up onto the high mattress and flinging himself down on his back to glare at the light summer canopy above his head.
“Pouting, sir?” Piffkin said blandly, retrieving the cane and putting it, it would seem to the casual observer, out of harm’s way. “Lovely flowers, though. Shall I order you a sweet to help boost you out of the doldrums?”
“You could fashion me a gag and then tie it tightly while you’re at it,” Valentine muttered, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankle. “Piffkin? Why have you never told me I talk too much?”
“Couldn’t get a word in edgewise, I suppose,” the valet said, shaking his head. “You’ve drying mud caked on the soles of your boots. I’ll have them, please.”
Grumbling under his breath, Val pushed himself upright and turned so that his legs hung over the edge of the bed. “Before you rail at me, there’s also a smudge on my left knee, rightly earned as I rescued a young princess.”
“Huzzah. And may I add it is an honor to be in your employ,” Piffkin commented as, with Valentine’s foot in his back to assist him, the boots were removed. “I’ll have the buckskins now, sir.”
Valentine complied, and was handed a dark blue silk banyan in return, tying it tightly about his waist. He did all of this without conscious thought. He’d been taking orders from Piffkin since he was in short coats, and some things shouldn’t change or else the entire world order could be turned upside-down. “Don’t you want to know why I was pouting?”
“You’re done, then? Good. I would imagine, since you were heading out to confront the suspicious governess, that you were met with failure and, worse, may have given yourself away in the process. Should I be packing, sir, or do you wish to dispatch Lord Mailer to his dark reward before we go? Your stiletto, sir,” he ended, handing over the blade that had been secured in a special sleeve inside the right boot. “I suggest a swift, straight cut across the windpipe, but from behind, please, as bloodstains are the very devil in the laundry.”
Valentine rewarded the valet with a lopsided grin. “You speak as if I go about routinely killing people.”
“No, sir. I speak as if certain you will be forced to dispatch at least one someone before this week is out. I doubt you’ll have a choice.”
“Peeking at my correspondence again? Because that’s pretty much what Simon told me I’d have to do. Rest assured, Piffkin, if that does prove to be the case, I won’t spend weeks agonizing over the deed. This is war.”
“More than war, Master Valentine. Hellfire.”
Valentine deposited his long body on what he hoped would prove a comfortable chair, and then raised his stockinged feet up onto the low table. “Is there anything you don’t know, Piffkin?”
“Yes, sir. It would appear I remain at a loss to know why Miss Marchant has so upset you.”
“I suppose I could quote Lord Mailer and say it’s because I suspect she may be smart. Because that’s certainly true. Smart. Too smart not to have noticed something strange is going on here, and too smart to attempt to deny she has some suspicions. On the other hand, she may also have some names for me, which would be an immense help.”
“How gratifying. However, I believe we’re still missing the bits that contributed to your pout, sir,” Piffkin said, taking a brush to the dried mud on his master’s buckskins.
“I’m getting to them, if you’ll allow me to first say I believe I shall never enter another greenhouse. The strangest things seem to happen in them.”
“You’re not dirty enough to have fallen into a pit.”
“There are pits and then there are pits. In this case I suppose you’d say a human pit.”
“You’re in danger of falling into Miss Marchant? That hardly seems proper, Master Valentine.”
“You’re such a wit, Piffkin,” Valentine said dully. “Consider her more of an enigma. I don’t think she just happened to find herself employed here. From what I deduced from Mailer, I’m not inclined to think there was an advertisement placed in the local or London newspapers. I believe she sought out a position here in particular. I think she’s come here with some motive of her own, showing up unbidden to worm her way in as governess to a pair of infants who have as much use for a governess as you have need of a comb.”
The valet raised a hand to the sleek, polished pate above his bushy brows. “I am experimenting with a new wax. However, it does, sadly, cost you one pound six per pot. Not an extremely large pot.”
“But worth every groat, I’m sure. I could probably read by the glow from your head in a full moon. Speaking of which—our Miss Marchant has confirmed my information that the Society have been gathering here during the full moon. She’s seen them, at least the ones who stay here at Fernwood. But I was forced to tell her more than I wished in my attempts to get what I thought was the truth from her, and now she refuses to leave, even after I handed her some rather unlovely information that would have had any reasonable woman hot-footedly racing for the nearest posting inn. I never should have said a word to her, not a single word.”
“You do at times reveal a penchant for needlessly complicating matters, Master Valentine.”
“Putting my foot in it, you mean. As I told her, it was the disguise, mostly, that steered me in the wrong direction, if I’m to have any excuse at all. She was shocked to hear what I had to say, genuinely shocked. But her reaction fell far short of what I would have expected. She already knew, or at least suspected something havey-cavey going on beneath that inquisitive little nose of hers. Now it’s left to me to learn why she’s here. Then I should be able to convince her to leave.”
“Would you go if someone asked you to leave, especially after you’d taken such pains to get here in the first place? You know, the way you have done?”
Valentine spared a moment to recall the warm, silky softness of Daisy’s ringlets against his hand. “She’s in the way, Piffkin.”
“Females are always in the way, it’s their nature. It’s more than that. You’re intrigued.”
“I don’t have the luxury to be intrigued, for God’s sake, or the possibility of being distracted while making certain she doesn’t get herself into trouble. As you so brilliantly pointed out, there could be bears.”
“So she goes.”
Valentine got to his feet. “So she goes, if I have to tie her up and personally toss her in the coach. I’ll have her taken to the Manor, where Kate and Simon can watch over her.”
“Until you have the leisure to be distracted,” Piffkin said, neatly catching the banyan Valentine tossed at him.
“Until the Society is exposed and destroyed. No matter why she’s here, her abrupt departure will be suspect and she could be marked for elimination.”
“Yes, of course. While I am already charged with removing her ladyship and the kiddies to the hideaway inn Twitchill and the others have adjourned to whenever you think it appropriate. Thus burdened, I couldn’t possibly take Miss Marchant along with us. Shame on me for thinking anything else.”
“Miss Marchant is quite concerned about her ladyship. Remember, I caught her out last evening, departing the woman’s chambers. Hardly the action of a governess. I believe Lady Caroline indulges in laudanum, or perhaps hides in it. Lord knows she doesn’t eat. She spent the entire meal yesterday variously staring at me or the wall.”
The wall. Just the one, when there were four to choose from, not to mention two gaudy chandeliers.
Valentine closed his eyes, attempting to mentally reconstruct the Mailer dining room: sideboard, footman, door, bank of windows, footman, one of those depressing paintings of dead game, door, another sideboard, more windows, fireplace, painting above the fireplace.
Ah, yes, now he had it. The painting above the fireplace. Lady Caroline hadn’t been just idly staring, she had been attempting to send him a message. But why would she do that, if she believed he was about to become a member of the Society, either happily or as a result of some sort of blackmail, as Simon’s brother had been, to his damnation? Had she been trying to warn him away, or draw his attention? It would be a hell of a thing if she had seen through him when her husband had not.
“A young woman forced to seek the solace of opium. How very sad. Would you care for your breeches back now, sir? I’ve managed to banish the smut, and it will only be the work of a moment to brush up your boots so that you can partake of an afternoon ride, and perhaps a luncheon at the new inn, where you can surreptitiously have some sort of contact with our men. A reconnoiter of the area is in order, isn’t it?”
Valentine pulled himself away from his thoughts. “Always a prudent move, yes, and thank you for once again anticipating my next step. Mailer boasts of his stable, so it would be mean of me not to take advantage of his offer of the best he has should I care for a ride. Frankly, anything would be preferable to spending the afternoon looking at his face. I nearly had to stuff his neckcloth down his gullet twice on the way here yesterday in the coach.”
Valentine heard Mailer’s voice again in his head, their conversation of just a few hours ago. Something about some of the parties being
here,
while others were held
there.
Could the so-called satanic rites of the Society take place
here,
and the treasonous conversations
there?
Or were there several meeting places, with Mailer’s property only one, perhaps simply the one closest to London? Anything was possible
.
Not every arrangement could be as extensive as his grandfather and father had accomplished at Redgrave Manor. This incarnation of the Society might simply have to make do the best they could. Lord knew they were
making-do
to have a buffoon like Charles Mailer as one of their members.
“You’re smiling, sir. Is that a good thing?”
“Possibly. I do believe a few more pieces of the puzzle may just have fallen into place inside my thick brain. Tell me, Piffkin, if you were to host some satanic rite, where would you do it? Indoors or out? Remember—not to influence your answer—the weather is fairly warm, and it would seem a full moon is mandatory.”
“And perhaps a convenient church ruin somewhere close by, in order to take full advantage of that moon?”
“Perhaps. Convenient or specially constructed, just as many of our more romantical citizens have ordered ruins built on their estates. Coincidently, there’s a large oil painting of the ruins of a stone circle holding place of honor in Mailer’s dining room, so such things may intrigue him.”
“It sounds as if this particular painting intrigues you, as well.”
“Possibly, possibly. A ruined stone circle mimicking Stonehenge or Avebury or any of the others would hardly be remarked on, and even if truly ancient, stories about bloodthirsty Druids and such would be enough to keep the local population from seeking it out during a full moon. However, it wouldn’t appear out of the ordinary for a guest new to Fernwood to stop to admire the thing in the daytime, walk about a bit, kick a few of the stones. If there is one, that is.”
“Try not to scuff your boots.” Piffkin rescued the discarded bouquet and snatched up a vase as he headed for the water pitcher. “There may even be posies, and benches for the ladies to sit and paint watercolors.”
“Before you paint too rosy a picture, remember, we’re only being wishful here right now.”
“And where would this sorry world be, without wishes.” The gold tooth shone for a moment in the sunlight streaming into the bedchamber. “Enjoy your ride, Master Valentine.”
Valentine considered a dismissive
hrummph
at the man’s hopeful words, but only said, “Thank you, Piffkin.” After all,
he
hadn’t been raised by wolves.
* * *
D
AISY
SAT
CURLED
up in the window embrasure in her small attic room, alternately looking out through the dusty window and turning pages in her diary, reading snippets here and there.
The children were with their nurse, partaking of their luncheon and, after pleading the headache thanks to the bright sun this morning, Daisy had escaped the schoolroom. She would not be needed again until Lady Caroline summoned her for what had become a regular late-afternoon chat. The meetings were outwardly so that Daisy could report on the children’s “progress” under her tutelage, but the children were rarely mentioned. At times Daisy wondered if the woman even remembered their ages.
No, Lady Caroline would talk about her childhood home, her deceased parents, her older sister, who now resided in Canada with her soldier husband.
Sometimes, she simply asked Daisy to kneel with her and pray.
She dreaded meeting with the woman today, could not imagine how she could even look at her without hugging her, telling her how sorry she was...and then grilling her about a small, blonde woman with a beauty mark just at the top outside corner of her mouth.
Unlike herself, especially in her drab brown governess trappings and glasses, Rose had favored their mother and was—had been—an angel, and hardly forgettable. If Lady Caroline had seen her, she would remember her.
If only Charles Mailer had never seen her...
Daisy turned another page in her diary, beginning to read at the place where it had all begun. And ended.
...Rose has written that she has met a gentleman in the street. An inauspicious meeting, for he’d nearly knocked her down with his umbrella while racing to avoid the rain, but his apology and offer to allow her under his brolly as he walked her back to the ribbon shop had made up for this. She seems taken with the gentleman, which both cheers and worries me, as they were not formally introduced. Papa would not have approved, but Papa is gone. If she is to find happiness again after Walter’s death, my heart can only remain hopeful.
...I think it may be time I leave here and travel to London. Increasingly, Rose’s letters are filled only with this man, Chas, as she calls him. I know she is lonely, and that she frets at her straitened circumstances as she attempts to survive on Walter’s small army pension, but those same circumstances could be coloring her judgment. My own purse grows increasingly thin as I await my last quarter’s wages, having had to augment my wardrobe with the purchase of materials for a new gown. A horrible expense, but not to be avoided, as I’d already turned the collar and cuffs twice on the old one. One must look genteel, not shabby, according to Mrs. Beckwith, who is suspicious of me at any rate, certain I’m casting sheep’s eyes at her pudgy husband.