'Til Death Do Us Part (31 page)

Anna was transfixed by that information. “I gave him a necktie for his last birthday.”

“He said that he wears it every day because it makes him think of you.”

“You must be lying,” Anna said. But she was uncertain now. “Why would he appear to you but not to me?”

“He said that he wanted you to see him but that your troubled state of mind made it difficult. He appeared to me because he wanted me to give you a message.”

“What message?”

Calista took a chance. “He said to tell you that he loved you.”

“Now I know for certain that you're lying. Papa never really loved
me. He only pretended to love me. In truth he was frightened of me. That is why he sent me to Dr. Ashwell.”

The claim that her father had loved her had been a serious misstep, Calista thought. Frantically she tried to recover.

“No, he said you did not understand,” she said gently. “He was frightened
for
you. He was afraid of what would happen to you if you were not cured of your obsession. But you were his daughter. Of course he loved you. Ask him yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He's here, right behind you in the pantry doorway. He is trying to reach you through the veil. His hand is stretching out to touch you.”

“Yes,” Eudora said quickly. “I can see him, too. He is trying so hard to reach you. He is just inside the pantry.”

Anna turned quickly to face the open door of the pantry. “Papa? Are you really here? I have missed you so. Did you really love me?”

It was now or never, Calista thought. She looked at Eudora and motioned toward the long wooden table. Understanding sparked in Eudora's eyes.

They rushed toward the table. Each grabbed an end. Together they managed to overturn it. There was a thundering crash as it fell on its side.

The unconscious Mrs. Sykes slipped off her chair and toppled to the floor, landing next to her husband.

Anna swung back around, confusion and then fury coloring her pretty face. She raised the meat cleaver but her target was now on the floor. She started to bend down to slash Mrs. Sykes's throat.

“No,” Calista shouted.

She grabbed a heavy mixing bowl and hurled it at Anna, who reflexively put up a hand and tried to dodge.

The bowl caught her on the shoulder and smashed on the floor.
Eudora seized plates one by one from a sideboard and hurled them at Anna.

Calista grabbed a frying pan off a wall hook and sent it sailing across the overturned table.

Faced with a barrage of crockery, cookware, spice containers, tins of cocoa powder and oatmeal, Anna screamed and retreated through the nearest doorway—the entrance to the pantry. Her muffled footsteps could be heard as she rushed up the back stairs to the next floor.

Calista ran forward and slammed the stairwell door shut. She grabbed a wooden kitchen chair and wedged it under the knob.

“We can't chase her through the house,” Eudora said, breathless from the frantic battle. “It's too big. She could wait for us behind any door or inside one of the rooms, and what do we do if we catch her? She's still got that damned cleaver.”

Calista tried to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding. “We have to get out of here and summon a constable but I'm afraid to leave Mr. and Mrs. Sykes alone. What if that madwoman comes down the main staircase and returns to the kitchen?”

“We'll have to drag them outside into the gardens and then summon a constable.”

“Mrs. Sykes first.” Calista reached down and grasped one of the housekeeper's wrists. “We'll get her outside and then we'll come back for Mr. Sykes.”

“Right.” Eudora grabbed Mrs. Sykes's other wrist in both hands.

The housekeeper was not a large woman but in her unconscious state she was surprisingly heavy. Once they maneuvered her out into the uncarpeted hall, however, it proved easier to slide her across the polished floorboards.

They were almost to the library door with their burden when the sound of crashing glass and splintering wood startled them into dropping Mrs. Sykes's wrists.

“The library,” Calista said. “Someone's in there.”

Oliver loomed in the doorway. The blade gleamed in his hand. For a split second he paused to take in the scene in the hallway.

“Run,” Calista shouted to Eudora. “The garden door.”

But she knew that, hampered by their skirts and petticoats, neither of them could hope to outrun the big man. Only one of them stood a chance. She moved to step in front of the man with the knife.

“Oliver, listen to me. Anna needs you,” she said. “Can't you hear her? Your lady is calling to you. Hurry. You must go to her. She is upstairs. Listen.”

At that moment there came another thud and a scream of rage from the floor above.

Oliver looked up toward the ceiling, dazed.

“My lady,” he whispered.

Then he switched his burning gaze back to Calista. He raised the knife for a killing strike. She tried to retreat but she stumbled over Mrs. Sykes's prone body and went down.

Eudora screamed and tried to haul Calista out of reach.

Oliver moved out of the doorway and into the hall.

Calista saw an object fly out of the library. Light gleamed on metal. There came a sickening crunch as the missile struck Oliver's skull.

A nightmarish bell tolled, the dark notes echoing throughout the house.

Fresh blood sprayed from Oliver's bandaged head, splashing on Calista's skirts.

Oliver staggered under the force of the blow. He fell to his knees in front of Calista, still clutching the knife.

“My lady,” he whispered.

She caught a glimpse of the madness in his eyes, and then Eudora helped her scramble out of the way.

Oliver pitched forward and fell, facedown. The floorboards shuddered beneath the impact. His hand opened, releasing the blade.

The library doorway darkened. Calista looked up.

“Trent,” she whispered.

“Thank heavens,” Eudora said.

“We have to get out of here.” Trent kicked the knife out of the way and hauled Calista to her feet. “Where is Mr. Sykes?”

“Unconscious in the kitchen,” Calista said. “I think he's still alive.”

“I'll get him.” He went swiftly down the hall. “You two take Mrs. Sykes. Go out the front door. There's a constable on his way here.”

“Anna Kettering is still in the house,” Eudora called after him.

“I know.” Trent disappeared into the kitchen. He reappeared a moment later with Sykes draped across his shoulders. “She set fire to the place. Can't you smell the smoke?”

H
E
WAS
NOT
too late.

A crashing tide of relief swept through Trent. He followed Calista and Eudora through the front door and out into the night.

It had been a very near thing but Calista and Eudora were both unharmed. In that moment that was all that mattered.

Somewhere in the distance a fire bell clanged. The constable arrived, breathing hard, just as Calista and Eudora got Mrs. Sykes onto the front steps.

“'Ere, I'll take her,” the young man said.

He picked up Mrs. Sykes and carried her down the steps, into the garden.

“Get away from the house,” Trent said.

Calista and Eudora hoisted their skirts and hurried through the darkened gardens. He followed and set Sykes down on the grass. The constable put Mrs. Sykes next to her husband and looked at Trent.

“You said something about a madwoman and a man with a knife, sir?”

“They're both inside,” he said. “I'm quite sure the man with the knife
is in no condition to escape. But the woman may flee through the back entrance. If she escapes, there's no telling—”

A shrill, anguished scream—rage and grief and madness blended into a tormented, despairing cry—rose above the scene. Trent looked up. So did Calista and Eudora and the constable.

Flames poured out of the upstairs windows.

Anna appeared on one of the small, ornamental balconies. Her gown was ablaze.

She seemed to hover there for a few seconds. Trent was almost certain that she was glorying in the destruction she had created.

And then she jumped.

Her fiery skirts fluttered around her as she fell to earth, a desperate, dying moth in flames.

“Dear heaven,” Calista whispered.

She turned away from the firelit spectacle. Trent wrapped one arm around her and pulled her close.

“Andrew?” she asked, sounding as if she were skating on the thin ice of panic.

“I don't know,” Trent said.

“Do you think—?” She could not finish the question.

He steeled himself for the honest answer.

“I don't know,” he said again.

A hansom turned into the long drive. The horse was in full gallop.

“There he is,” Eudora said.

The hansom slowed to a halt and Andrew leaped out of the cab.

“Calista?” He came to a halt. “Are you all right?”

“I am now,” she said. “Everyone is all right.”

“Can't say the same for your lovely house,” Eudora said. “I'm afraid it will be gone by morning.”

Andrew exhaled deeply and turned to watch the blaze. “You know, I never did like the place.”

“Neither did I,” Calista admitted. “However, I would remind you that it is—was—our home. Everything we possess is inside that damned house. Not to mention my business. Oh, heavens, my files.”

“You need not worry,” Trent said. He tightened his arm around her. “You have friends.”

Eudora moved closer to Calista. “My brother is right.”

Calista smiled. In the fiery light Trent could see tears glittering on her cheeks.

“Yes,” she said. “We have friends. That is all we need.”

T
HE
FOLLO
WING
AFTERNOON
they gathered for tea at the house Trent and Eudora shared. Harry and Rebecca Hastings joined them. Eudora's housekeeper served tea with professional skill and efficiency.

Mr. and Mrs. Sykes were at the home of a nephew, recovering from the drugged coffee. Calista and Trent had called on them earlier in the day. They were talking about retiring to the village where their son and his wife lived.

Calista looked around the small group assembled in Trent's library, aware that, in spite of the nearly disastrous night, she was experiencing an unfamiliar sense of optimism.

They were all seated, except for Trent, who was propped against his desk, arms folded across his chest, and Andrew, who was inspecting the tray of sandwiches and tea cakes.

“You saved Florence Tapp,” Trent said. He acknowledged Andrew with an approving man-to-man look. “The medium would be dead if not for your quick action.”

Harry nodded. “Excellent work.”

Calista could have sworn that Andrew blushed. He was obviously pleased by the praise. He inserted a small sandwich into his mouth and brushed crumbs from his hands.

“I don't mind telling you, I've never been so terrified in my life,” he said around the mouthful of sandwich. He managed to swallow quickly. “I missed my shot, you see. Wasn't sure I'd get a second chance. I was relieved at first when the villain ran off but then I started to worry about where he would go and what he would do next. I headed for his address, fearing that you were still inside, sir. When I saw that you were gone, I didn't know what to think but at least there was no blood.”

“Always a good sign,” Trent said.

“Yes, but then I thought about Calista and Eudora and got a terrible premonition.”

“You were right to conclude that we were in jeopardy,” Eudora said.

“Overturning the kitchen table was brilliant,” Rebecca Hastings said. “You were dealing with a madwoman. Distraction was your best strategy.”

“It was all I could think of at the time,” Calista said. She shivered at the memory. “But it would have been for naught if Trent had not arrived when he did and dealt with that man with the knife.”

“That man with the knife now has a name.” Trent picked up the diary that he had found. “Oliver Saxby. And he was truly mad. He murdered his parents when he was just seventeen. Used a kitchen knife. An uncle was left to deal with the boy. Oliver was committed to an asylum. The killings were hushed up, of course.”

“No one wants rumors of a possible taint of madness in the bloodline,” Harry said. He shook his head. “That sort of thing can destroy a family, especially a high-ranking clan.”

“Yes,” Trent said. He flipped through some of the pages in the diary. “According to this, Saxby was given books to read because they kept him quiet. Evidently he treasured the legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. In his madness he came to believe that he inhabited a bizarre, fictional world. He perceived himself to be a knight-errant.”

“But the knights of old were said to be honorable, upright men who slew dragons and served their noble ladies,” Eudora pointed out.

“I doubt if Saxby slew any dragons, but he did find a lady to serve,” Trent said.

Calista had been about to take a sip of tea. She paused. “Anna Kettering.”

“Precisely.” Trent set the diary on the desk. “Anna was equally mad but quite brilliant in her own way. It's clear from Saxby's notes that she manipulated him to further her own ends. She convinced him that the reason he had been locked up was because he had committed a grave offense against the knightly code.”

Andrew lowered a half-eaten sandwich. “In other words, he had dishonored himself.”

“Anna offered him a way to remove the stain on his honor?” Harry asked, intrigued. “Yes, that would have worked, given what we know of Saxby's delusions.”

“She made him think that he could purify himself by murdering innocent women?” Eudora asked. “That makes no sense.”

“In his demented state of mind, they were not innocent,” Trent explained. He tapped the diary. “Anna convinced him that the women he killed were evil sorceresses. By the way, Saxby's diary answers one other question.”

“What?” Andrew asked.

“I have been wondering who wrote the notes that accompanied the
memento mori gifts and the coffin bells,” Trent said. “The handwriting matches that in Saxby's diary.”

“Anna sent him out to murder people she wanted to kill,” Calista said. “Those three governesses and, eventually, me—all women she believed had seduced her husband. Nestor Kettering evidently had affairs with the poor governesses. But I rejected him.”

“That didn't matter,” Trent said. “The problem was that Nestor appeared to want you. And for the second time.”

“She no doubt believed that her husband was more obsessed with you than with the others precisely because he couldn't have you,” Harry said.

“Anna spent nearly three years in an asylum run by a man who raped her on a regular basis,” Rebecca said. “She no doubt learned a great deal about the nature of obsession.”

“She told herself that she could cure her husband's obsession with other women by removing the objects of his obsession,” Calista said. “But first she tried to satisfy her own obsessive nature by punishing Nestor's paramours with the memento mori gifts. They were meant to induce fear. When the ritual was concluded, she sent her knight-errant to murder them.”

“And then she celebrated by providing her victims with an expensive funeral,” Harry concluded.

“But why did she kill her husband?” Andrew asked. “He was the object of her obsession.”

Harry pondered that briefly. “I'm speculating here because there is no way I can question the patient, herself. But I suspect that when Anna discovered that her husband was planning to have her committed, she finally realized she could never win his love. She killed him to save herself from an asylum but I think there was another reason, as well. In the end she tried to cure herself of her own obsession using
the same therapy she had employed to cure Nestor. She destroyed the object of her obsession.”

Eudora looked at Calista. “I've been meaning to ask you how you came up with the clever notion of holding a séance right there in your kitchen. Pretending to summon the spirit of Anna's father was brilliant.”

“I remembered what Trent said about séances being theater—just another way of telling a story,” Calista said. “He pointed out that, in the case of a séance, the medium has a huge advantage.”

“The audience wants, above all else, to believe,” Trent said.