The Bachelor Trap (33 page)

“Heavens no, child!” Miss Cutter shook her head. “I was a younger woman then. I had no need of Dr. Hardcastle's powders. Hannah got just what she deserved. I was thinking of Edwina.”

“You murdered Edwina!”

“Yes, I'm afraid she left me no choice.”

A flash passed through Marion's brain. “You were the witness. You told Edwina that I was out the night Hannah disappeared.”

“Yes. To my everlasting regret. I let something slip, something about Robert and Hannah. She kept asking me questions and in my confusion I told her to ask you about it, that you were there that night. If only she had left it alone, but she started asking other people questions. I had to do something, so I spread the rumor that she was becoming senile.” She sounded cross, as though Edwina were to blame for what happened next. “Before that, she was so sure that Hannah had eloped that night. Now she thought that Robert might have murdered her. I had to do something, don't you see? When she went out for a walk one day, I entered the house. She always left the doors unlocked during the day. I waited upstairs, steeling myself to do the deed. I didn't want to do it. I really liked Edwina. But what choice did I have?”

Marion was leaning heavily on the older woman now, trying to convince her that she was practically helpless. It was an effort to keep up the pretense. She felt sickened by what Miss Cutter had told her and could hardly bear to touch her.

“One step more,” said Miss Cutter, “and we're there. You know, Marion, I think confession must be good for the soul, because I feel so much better talking to you. It's as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”

Marion couldn't help giving in to her temper. “I'm not a priest, so don't look to me for absolution. Think of your victims—Hannah, Edwina, John Forrest. Mr. Forrest was your accomplice. He helped you, didn't he? First with Hannah, then with…with me. At Vauxhall? At the theater? Or was it you who pushed me down those stairs?”

“Of course I didn't push you! I couldn't get away from Longbury. What excuse would I give Her Grace? But John was frequently away from home. It was easy for him to slip away and find you.” She shook her head. “After your chaise came to grief at the ford and Brand turned up, John was too afraid to try again.”

Marion was startled. “My chaise foundered by accident!”

“No, dear. John fixed it so that it would look like an accident. We weren't going to kill you, Marion. We were hoping to frighten you off, you know, in case you recognized us again. You did see us burying Hannah, didn't you?”

“I saw two ghosts, or what I thought were ghosts. Nothing more.”

“Yes, but we didn't know that. And I found a letter Edwina was writing to you. For all I knew, she had already written to you. She wanted you to remember the events of that night, you see, and I couldn't allow that.”

Marion shook her head. Either this woman was delusional—in her own way, not unlike Hannah—or she was truly wicked.

“Why John Forrest?” she asked, and her weariness wasn't all feigned. “What was his sin?”

Miss Cutter's expression turned lethal. “He said that he was worried about me, but I knew he was thinking of having me locked away. At the ball for you and Brand, I saw him talking to Dr. Hardcastle. And he gave me such a look.” She shivered. “I was afraid of him, afraid that he saw me as a threat. I knew too much and I was becoming forgetful. So I killed him before he had me locked away. I told him that I had something of grave importance to say to him and that I'd meet him in the gardener's shed. When he arrived, I followed him in, and the rest you know.”

She whacked him on the head.
Marion flinched.

Miss Cutter peered into Marion's face. “Yes. Dr. Hardcastle's powders are taking effect. Why don't you lie down and have a little rest?”

She maneuvered Marion into the nearest room, which happened to be Emily's room, and helped her to the bed.

Marion didn't want to close her eyes, but her body seemed to have a will of its own. Her head sank into the pillow, her eyelids drooped, her limbs went lax. Her brain, however, had a will of its own as well.
Hannah, Edwina, John Forrest,
it told her,
and now you. And when she doesn't find the letters, maybe Phoebe will be added to the list.

Her eyes flew open. Miss Cutter was watching her. Marion raised her head. “I'm cold,” she said. “Do you think you could light the fire?”

Miss Cutter sighed. “Don't fight it, dear. Let yourself fall asleep, and the end will be quite painless. But yes, I will light the fire if it makes you happy.”

The end?
Marion gulped. Was she going to be whacked on the head, too? Not if she had anything to do with it.

Miss Cutter walked to the fireplace, got a spark going in the tinderbox, and set it to the kindling in the grate.

Marion was amazed that Miss Cutter had agreed to her suggestion. It wasn't an innocent one. Didn't the woman realize that someone might see the smoke from the chimney? A gardener? Manley? The constable? They would know that the house was supposed to be empty. They might come and investigate. Then she'd be saved.

She sank back on the pillow and let out a sigh. This seemed to satisfy Miss Cutter, for she left the room. As soon as she was alone, Marion dragged herself from the bed and stumbled to the fireplace. Like the good housekeeper she was, Mrs. Ludlow had set the fire, ready to be lit, before she'd left Yew Cottage. The kindling was already ablaze, but it would take much longer for the coal to catch. This did not suit Marion. She wanted flames and smoke, especially smoke. Lots of it. The kindling box was right there, against the fireplace wall. She scooped some out and threw it on the fire. Sparks shot up the chimney as the kindling ignited.

She heard a step in the corridor. It was too late to get back to bed, so she collapsed into the nearest chair. A moment later, Miss Cutter entered and crossed to Marion.

Assuming a languid tone, Marion said, “I was cold in the bed. It's warmer by the fire.”

Miss Cutter brought her face close to Marion's. “Are you trying to set the house on fire?” She didn't wait for an answer, but went on viciously, “There are no loose floorboards in the closets in your chamber. I'll give you one last chance. Tell me where Robert's letters are, or I swear I
will
set the house on fire, with you in it!”

She meant it.
Hannah. Edwina. Forrest. And now me. If only I wasn't sitting down but standing up, I might have a chance.

“Try the linen closet,” Marion said. “There's a loose board there.” She pressed a hand to her brow. “My head aches.”

Miss Cutter's eyes went wide. She twittered like a bird and hurried away.

She wasn't recovering from the sedative. She was becoming more groggy. And her head was aching. She was supposed to do something. What was it?

A shriek of outrage made Marion blink. Miss Cutter had found the cupboard bare. Marion slowly levered herself to her feet. At the same moment, a door downstairs crashed open.

“Marion!” Brand's voice. “Where are you?”

Her heart leaped to her throat. Tears of joy sprang to her eyes. She tried to shout the words but they sounded more like a ghostly whisper. “I'm upstairs.”

He couldn't have heard her. She could hear his steps as he made for the kitchen.

Steadying herself with one hand on the fireplace, she picked up the poker with some idea of smashing a window to let Brand know where she was, but Miss Cutter charged into the room, eyes bulging, face twisted with fury, and Marion knew she would need that poker to defend herself.

“You'll never live to tell the tale.” Miss Cutter was sucking air through her teeth. “I'll make you regret that you ever came back to Longbury.”

She charged and they came together, swaying back and forth, each struggling for possession of the poker. When Miss Cutter wrested the poker out of her grasp and held it high above her head, ready to strike, Marion acted instinctively. She shoved the other woman with all her strength and sent her reeling back into the fireplace.

Miss Cutter lay there with the breath knocked out of her. In the wink of an eye, flames from the kindling licked around the folds of her gown. In another moment, she was like a fiery torch.

Screaming, shrieking, she got up and stumbled from the room. Swaying on her feet, Marion went after her.

Brand heard those bloodcurdling shrieks and his heart almost stopped beating. He raced from the scullery, through the kitchen, and into the hall. “Marion!” he yelled. “Marion!”

He stopped short, riveted by what he saw. At the top of the staircase, a small figure, engulfed in flames, paused before taking a step down. She was waving her hands, frantically trying to beat out the flames, shrieking at the top of her lungs. Brand started forward, removing his jacket as he came. Before his horrified eyes, she missed the next step and tumbled down the stairs like a Catherine wheel.

Brand used his jacket to smother the flames. Miss Cutter, her face barely recognizable, gave a rattling cough and lay still.

“Brand?”

He looked up. Marion was at the top of the stairs, and none too steady on her feet. He took the stairs two at a time and gathered her in his arms. Eyes shut tightly, he clung to her and whispered her name over and over.

After a moment, she pushed out of his arms. “Miss Cutter?”

“She's dead, I'm afraid.”

She shook her head. “Don't ask me to be sorry for her, not today and not tomorrow. Maybe never.”

“I won't,” he soothed.

“I have something important to tell you.”

“What is it, my love?”

Her face crumpled. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

Twenty minutes later, she was in her chamber at the Priory, but Brand wouldn't allow her to go to bed. He forced her to drink cup after cup of bitter coffee, and when she wasn't drinking coffee, he supported her with his arm and made her walk around the room. It was only when Dr. Hardcastle arrived that she was finally allowed to lie down on the bed. She heard the two men conferring and learned that the effects of the sedative would have been much worse, though by no means fatal, if she hadn't brought up her meager breakfast after that frightful scene at the cottage.

She was restless in sleep, but every time she wakened, Brand was there, bathing her brow with a cool cloth, telling her everything would be all right. When she finally fought clear of sleep, it was to find that Brand was stretched out on the bed beside her. He looked worse than she felt.

“It's been a god-awful night,” he murmured, “and an even worse start to the day. I'm glad you're awake, because we have to talk. We have to decide what we're going to tell the magistrate.”

She felt as weak as a baby. Tears started to her eyes. “No one will believe how wicked Miss Cutter was,” she said.

He smoothed back tendrils of hair that were stuck to her face. “Dr. Hardcastle would, only he doesn't call Miss Cutter wicked. He says that she suffered from some sort of mental disorder that he thought they were controlling with a mild sedative. He tells me you're going to be fine.”

She shuddered and snuggled closer. “Did they find Hannah's remains?”

He nodded. “Beneath the statue of the abbot, just as you said.”

“We have to tell the magistrate the truth, that Miss Cutter was the killer. There's no need to mention Edwina's letter or Lord Robert. All we need say is that Miss Cutter was mad.” She sniffed back tears. “But really, it's Hannah who was at the bottom of it all. She started everything. Even with my own father. That's what the estrangement between Edwina and my parents was about, and I never knew until Miss Cutter told me.”

“Hush, now,” he said. “I don't think you can blame Hannah for everything. Miss Cutter and Forrest had some part in this. There is nothing wrong with loyalty, but
blind
loyalty is a curse. It was that that led them astray.”

They talked back and forth, each relating what had happened and what they'd learned in the hours they'd been apart. She wanted to know why he'd thought to look in Yew Cottage, and beamed at his answer.

“I saw the smoke from the chimney,” he said. “I knew, in my bones, that you were telling me where you were.”

There was a knock at the door and Emily poked her head in. “Is it all right if we see Marion now? Marion, the girls are beside themselves with fear and grief, worrying about you.”

Brand rolled off the bed. Marion tidied her hair and sat up. “Of course they can see me. I'm perfectly fine. Where are they?”

The door opened wide and Phoebe and Flora hastened to the bed. Emily followed after them. The tears were flowing freely. Only Marion was dry-eyed.

“Poor Miss Cutter,” she said, “we must pity her.”

Brand retreated a few steps and bumped into Andrew.

“Grandmother would like to see you,” said Andrew, looking at Brand.