Jocelyn turned over on her other side, attempting to find a more comfortable position. She’d waited for hours, expecting Leo to arrive. He hadn’t come, leaving her alone with her worries, her confusion. Fatigue weighted her eyelids. She had to try to sleep—for the sake of the babe.
At some stage she must have dozed off. Loud hammering on her chamber door woke her. She had no idea of the hour since the room still lay in darkness, the heavy curtains pulled to shut out the night.
“What is it?” she called, pushing to an upright position.
Tilly burst into her chamber. She gasped for breath before blurting. “She’s dead. I found her in her bed, her body as cold as ice.”
“Who is dead?”
“Elizabeth.”
“Mother? But how?” Jocelyn flung back the covers and grabbed her robe. A surge of nausea struck, and she held a hand to her stomach, gulping several times. Once she was certain she wouldn’t vomit, she hurried into the passage still fastening her robe.
Tilly trotted a few steps behind her, talking the entire time. “Elizabeth was fine when I left her last night. Happy even. She showed no sign of illness.”
The door was ajar when they entered, the room chilly with a stiff breeze pouring through an open window.
“Was the window open when you left Mother last night?”
“Why, I never noticed the open window. I was that shocked at seeing Elizabeth. I came to get you straightaway. I closed the window myself before I left her for the night. I locked the door as usual.”
“And the key?” Jocelyn slowed as she approached the bed. Her mother looked as if she were in one of her rages, face contorted, her mouth twisted into a grimace. With a trembling hand, Jocelyn checked her mother’s pulse.
“She doesn’t look peaceful,” Tilly said.
“No, she didn’t die easily.” This raised all sorts of questions. Jocelyn tugged her mother’s night gown away where it bunched around her neck.
At her side, Tilly gasped. They stared at each other wordlessly before turning back to view the livid marks around her mother’s throat.
“We’d better summon the constable,” Jocelyn said finally.
“Aye, ’tis murder right enough,” Tilly said in a grim voice. “And the sleeping draft I gave her last night would’ve made the murderer’s job easy.”
Jocelyn focused on her mother’s hand, part of her ashamed because her initial reaction had been relief. No one deserved this sort of death.
“I’d better speak to Woodley and question the staff. Maybe one of them heard or noticed something,” she said.
“Woodley and I didn’t hear a thing and our quarters are nearby.”
Jocelyn nodded but didn’t speak her mind. The truth was Tilly would have slept through a violent thunder storm without stirring. Her mother had interrupted several nights recently with her ceaseless screaming. The constant disturbances had made Jocelyn consider murder herself. It was the reason they’d upped the dose of sleeping draft—so all everyone received a good night of rest.
Captain Cartwright arrived, and the morning passed in a whirlwind of questions and investigation of the scene. He spoke to everyone from the scullery maid to Woodley and Mrs. Green, allowing Jocelyn to sit in on the interviews. Not one of them had seen or heard anything out of the ordinary.
“At least Leo can’t be blamed,” Jocelyn said.
When the constable hesitated, she shot him a sharp look.
“Leo was at the manor last night,” the man said.
“No.”
“We were together for part of the night until I told him he could visit you.”
They stared at each other, Jocelyn frightened to ask questions. Finally, she croaked, “I didn’t see him last night.” A chill marched down her spine, and she wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to get warm. “Do you think Leo…” She closed her eyes, the lump in her throat preventing further speech.
“I don’t know what to think,” Cartwright said. “I haven’t discussed the matter with Leo yet.”
Jocelyn shivered, still cold. “He doesn’t know?”
“I thought it was best if I discovered the lay of the land here. I told him I needed to attend to parish business.”
“No one heard anything unusual. The door was locked. My mother didn’t have a chance.” Tears prickled at her eyes again. Why would someone kill a defenseless woman?
“Tell me again,” Cartwright said, his manner intense, reminding her of a hound dog scenting a fox. “Who had keys to Elizabeth’s room?”
“Tilly has a key and I have one. Tilly said she unlocked the door this morning, which leaves the window as the only possible point of entry. It was wide open.”
“Could someone have taken one of the keys?”
Jocelyn shook her head. “I don’t see how.”
“I’ll go through the room again. But first, you’d better show me which window was open. Maybe we can discern something that way.”
“Of course.”
“Mrs. Sherbourne?”
Jocelyn halted and turned to face the constable. “Yes?”
“Are you sure you’re up to this? I understand you’re with child.”
“It’s better for me to keep busy. I…I don’t like to think about how my mother died.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and she had to concentrate on her shoes because she couldn’t hide her distress. “Do you know what my first reaction was on seeing my mother? It was relief. I was glad because all I did recently was worry about how I was going to look after her. She didn’t recognize me any longer. I…I worried about the future and about Leo sending us both away.”
“I’ve come to know your husband well, Mrs. Sherbourne. Despite what everyone thinks, he’s a good man.” Captain Cartwright patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “I don’t believe he’d send you away.”
After two deep breaths, she gathered her composure. With a choppy gesture of her hand, she indicated he should follow her. “This way. I’ll show you the window.” She escorted the constable to the wing her mother and Tilly used. Her mother’s room was empty now, the vacant bed stoking her guilt higher. She was a heartless daughter. By St. Bridget! Who was grateful for the death of a parent? “It was the window overlooking the gardens. Tilly is positive she shut the window before she retired for the evening. My mother often complained of the cold, so I doubt she opened the window.”
“Her companion indicated she’d given her a sleeping draft.” Captain Cartwright opened the window and leaned out, surveying the surroundings. “I wonder,” he mused out loud. “The creeper is strong enough to support the weight of a person.” He drew his head back inside the room. “Can you direct me to the garden? I wish to inspect the window from below.”
Captain Cartwright escorted her down the stairs and out the front door. They walked around the house, the loose gravel crunching beneath their footwear. The scent of flowers hit her the instant they turned the corner and entered the garden. Her stomach clenched, a hint of queasiness creeping into her consciousness. She swallowed rapidly and started breathing through her mouth.
Her footsteps hastened, and she was thankful once they’d passed the strongly perfumed carnations.
“This is the window. Hmm, no footprints, but it hasn’t rained for some time.”
“There’s a broken branch up there.” Jocelyn pointed out the withering branch of the creeper. The wiry creeper clung to the brick of the manor like a living green ladder. “Do you think it would bear the weight of an adult?”
“Only one way to find out.”
Before she could protest, Captain Cartwright shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the ground. He turned to the vine and grasped a section, testing it for strength. It made a cracking sound but held when he exerted his might.
“As I suspected,” the constable said. “It’s holding.”
“Be careful.” Jocelyn tried not to sound too anxious. He’d fall heavily if the vine tore from the brickwork.
Cautiously the constable made his way up the wall toward the window. Halfway up, he halted. “I’m going to come back down. I think I’ve proved it would be easy enough for a determined individual to climb up and enter the manor via this method.”
Jocelyn nodded mutely.
Minutes later, he stood at her side. “I’m certain this was the method of entry, Mrs. Sherbourne.”
“You’ve proved it’s possible to climb up, yes. But how did they obtain access? Tilly is adamant she closed each window before she left Mother.”
“Perhaps one of the locks is faulty.” The constable cocked his head, as if considering the mystery. “It’s even possible your mother opened the window for some reason.”
Jocelyn nodded, even though she held doubts. Her mother’s body was cold, which meant the death happened hours ago. She would’ve remained drowsy from the sleeping draught for some time. Jocelyn puzzled at the known information, twisting it this way and that, trying to make it fit before giving up. Her mother’s behavior had grown so unpredictable. Until this week she’d never suspected her mother would physically attack anyone.
“Do you require me for anything else? I need to write to my sisters. They’ll want to learn of the news.” Her sisters would likely dance on her mother’s grave in celebration—if ever they deigned to make an appearance.
Cartwright didn’t like to leave her alone. A crusty bachelor, he didn’t know how to help her. Mrs. Sherbourne’s face was snow-white, her freckles standing out in stark relief, and she wavered on her feet. His arm snapped out. He hesitated then curled it around her waist to keep her upright.
“Send word to your sisters later. A few hours won’t make much difference.”
“I suppose you’re right. I…I am tired.”
Cartwright escorted her to the parlor and gently guided her into the paneled room. “Have you eaten today?” He helped her sit on a Queen Anne chair near the window.
“No.”
“You should eat, Mrs. Sherbourne.” Glad of a course of action, Cartwright rang for a maid and issued concise instructions once she arrived. The maid scurried away to carry out his orders. “I need to leave to take care of other matters.”
“You’ll let me know if you learn anything further.”
“Of course.” Cartwright backed from the parlor, his heart heavy. Leo hadn’t been with him the entire night. Jocelyn said she hadn’t seen her husband since the previous day, so where the hell had Leo gone last night after they’d parted ways at the abbey?
“There’s a problem,” Cartwright said the minute he sighted Leo. During the ride back to his residence his thoughts had run wild. No matter which way he looked at the situation, the bodies were piling up. His own stepsister had given Leo an alibi for the time of his wife’s murder, but the others…
Leo walked over to the door, staring at Cartwright. Something in him shriveled on seeing the expression of the constable’s face. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“Elizabeth Townsend is dead. Someone strangled her last night.”
“How? What happened? Jocelyn?” Leo asked hoarsely.
“It appears someone climbed up the side of the building and gained access via a window.”
“Hell. Jocelyn?”
“Your wife is distressed but safe. Where were you last night?”
Leo’s mouth twisted. “Ah, you’ve discovered I wasn’t with Jocelyn.”
“Tell me where you were.”
“I went to Duxton and skulked around Sir James’s gardens. His visitors are still in residence.”
Cartwright’s shoulders lost their tense set. “Who did you see?”
“Sir James was at home. He has three male guests. He also had a carriage load of women arrive for entertainment.”
“They didn’t go to the abbey. I wonder why. Sir James told me the men were there for hunting and fishing. He told me their names without me prompting him.” Cartwright pulled out a notebook and flicked through the dog-eared pages. “Harry Weatherall, Adam Beacham and Jack Boynton.” He looked up. “Do you know any of them?”
“Boynton? Which one was he?”
“Tall. He wears a wig. Red face. A bit on the portly side.”
Leo frowned. “There’s a Boynton in Jocelyn’s past. She thought she saw him in Tavistock. She’s frightened of him.”
“Why? You think it’s the same one?” A scowl creased Cartwright’s brow, and Leo could see his brain ticking through the relevant information. A woman of good birth would never come into contact with a brute like Boynton—not unless she married him. After a while Cartwright asked, “Did any of the men leave Duxton?”
“No one left while I was there. I need to talk to Jocelyn. Make sure she’s all right.”
“Tonight,” Cartwright said. “All the players are in position, and we need to keep an eye on everyone. I need your help. Besides, I want to know where you are at all times. It’s starting to look as if someone is trying to frame you, although no one should blame you for Mrs. Townsend’s death.”
“I should be with Jocelyn. I can’t protect her if I’m in custody.” An unwelcome thought popped into his mind. Was Elizabeth’s murder something to do with him? Someone might have known he’d rescued Ella when he’d told everyone he’d found her wandering his land. He’d been careful, but there was always a chance someone other than Cartwright knew the truth. “I need to be with Jocelyn.”
“I’m sorry. We can’t even risk a note in case the wrong person intercepts it.”
Leo gave a curt nod. “If anything happens to Jocelyn I—”
“Nothing will happen to Jocelyn as long as she doesn’t wander off on her own.”
On edge for the rest of the day, Leo couldn’t relax until he saw his wife. After spending long hours reconnoitering with Cartwright, he finally headed to the manor and sneaked inside. Relief assailed him once he spied her tucked up in bed. He padded farther into her chamber.
“Jocelyn,” he whispered, not wanting to take her by surprise.
She stirred immediately, sitting up in bed. “Leo?” Her voice trembled.
“I heard about Elizabeth. Are you all right?”
“It’s my fault.” Her voice broke, and he heard a tiny whimper of pain.
He was at her side in an instant. He tugged her into his arms, and she started crying in earnest while he ran his hand up and down her back. Her floral scent surrounded him, and he luxuriated in her sweet smell after the musty, rough cell. He recalled Cartwright’s words about someone trying to frame him. That, he could understand, if he was still free, but Elizabeth’s murder didn’t make sense.
He kept stroking her back, mind busy, seeking answers to the puzzle.
When she stopped crying, he started to talk. “This isn’t your fault. You’ve done everything in your power to protect your mother. You’ve sacrificed much to secure her wellbeing, so please, don’t blame yourself or think you could have done more. I know it’s not true.”
“But I left her helpless, drugged in a locked room.”
“Jocelyn.” He spoke sternly this time, his tone indicating he wouldn’t stand for her blaming herself. Someone had wanted Elizabeth dead, and they’d successfully committed the crime. “What was Boynton’s Christian name?”
“Jack.” She stirred in his arms. “Why?”
“He’s staying at Duxton with Sir James.”
The air hissed through her teeth—a sign of alarm. “You think he murdered Mother?”
“No, he was at Duxton at the time. Is he capable of murder?”
“He’s more of a bully. He preys on those weaker who have no means of retaliation. He knows I’m here,” she said. “He’ll cause trouble and spread rumors about my past, if he hasn’t already.”
“Jocelyn. Listen to me.” Leo grasped her upper arms, forcing her to focus on him. “He can gossip as much as he likes. You’re my wife, and nothing he says will make me turn you away. Nothing,” he said in a fierce voice.
A shudder rippled through her. “You probably know my father gambled. He lost everything my grandfather built through clever trade, and when Father had nothing left to stake, he tossed me into the pot. My virginity. He lost, of course, and after informing me of my fate, he attended a cock fight. There was a carriage accident, and my father broke his neck.”
Weak fool. Leo wished he could break the man’s neck, but he merely waited for Jocelyn to continue.
“My older sisters distanced themselves. They didn’t wish to get caught in the gossip. Father lost our house and land. The man who won them wanted his property and gave us days to leave. We had nowhere to go, so when the man who won me arrived, I did the only thing I could. I negotiated a roof over our heads and a small stipend in return for my services.” A tremor racked her body, and Leo tightened his hold as he acknowledged the courage his wife had shown in a situation that would’ve broken most. She gave an audible swallow. “He soon lost interest, and I found someone else. Then there was Boynton. He…he forced me to commit acts with other men.”
“That is your past,” Leo said, running his hand down her back in a soothing motion. “I will not turn you away. I know you were utterly loyal to Melburn, and you’ve stood by me when other women might have faltered. I can hardly offer less in return.”
A cold squall blew across Merrivale Manor on the day of the funeral. The clouds sank down to meet the moors, reducing visibility to three or four feet, while rain lashed the landscape into a sodden mess.
Jocelyn stared out the window and prayed the rain would subside long enough to see her mother off. She hadn’t heard from her sisters, not that she’d expected them to change their stance, but it would have been decent of them to acknowledge her communication.
Leo strode into the parlor, his boots tapping loudly until he reached the square of Persian carpeting. “It’s time.”
Captain Cartwright followed him, a silent sentinel, his presence the condition for allowing Leo to attend her mother’s funeral.
“I’m ready.” She reached for a heavy shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders, covering her simple black gown. Leo took her arm, and she leaned into his warmth while she battled her queasy stomach. Merrivale seemed quiet now that her mother’s screams no longer echoed down the halls. Too quiet.
When they exited the manor, a closed carriage pulled up outside.
“I thought we were walking to the plot,” Jocelyn said.
“We are since it’s not far.”
A footman ran out into the rain and opened the door. Hannah and Peregrine exited, both dressed in elegant black.
“We came to offer our support,” Hannah said. “Leo, what are—oh. You have a guard.”
“Cartwright has given me leave to attend Elizabeth’s funeral.”
“Well done,” Peregrine said.
Touched by their support—a very nice gesture—quick tears formed in Jocelyn’s eyes. She sniffed. “Thank you for coming.”
The vicar and Mrs. Allenby arrived in the carriage Leo had sent for them, alighting and offering sober greetings. Woodley and Tilly joined the solemn party. The rain continued, and Jocelyn was glad of the umbrellas a second footman handed them. It was a small procession that walked to Leo’s family plot.
Jocelyn half listened to the vicar’s words. They vied with the guilt still stalking her. Despite her mother’s murder, the days since had been peaceful. Without drama. Her sense of relief warred with the feeling it was wrong to think this way. She kept telling herself this was for the best—not the murder, of course, but her mother’s passing. Yet her heart cried out for the vibrant person her mother had been before debt and her father’s death had changed everything.
A cough startled Jocelyn, her head jerking.
“Jocelyn,” Leo murmured, curling his arm around her waist. “Do you want to say something?”
She lifted her head to stare at the expectant vicar. “No. I-I can’t.”
Leo’s grip tightened momentarily before relaxing. “It’s all right,” he whispered against her hair, his warm breath a startling contrast to the chill in the air. “She knew how much you cared for her.”
Jocelyn sighed. If only that were true. Her mother—no! She couldn’t think these disloyal thoughts now. Her mother had loved her, despite her rejection toward the end.
The ceremony continued, and by the time the vicar finished, ice seeped deep into her bones. She shivered, despite her woolen shawl and Leo’s body heat. Finally, they walked away with the sound of clods of earth striking the coffin ringing in her ears. Jocelyn didn’t blame the gravediggers for their haste. No one with any sense would wish to linger on a day such as this.
Back at the manor, they peeled off their wet outerwear and entered the parlor to partake of tots of brandy for the men and hot, sweet tea for the ladies.
Jocelyn murmured a few words of thanks to the vicar before crossing the room to join Hannah. “Thank you for coming today.” It meant a lot to her when her own sisters hadn’t made an effort to attend. She had delayed the funeral for as long as possible, so they couldn’t make the length of the journey an excuse. Even Melburn had sent his regards and words of sympathy, but her two sisters remained silent.
Hannah shrugged, as if their presence was nothing, yet her cheek still bore the remnants of her mother’s attack. “We’re neighbors. This is what neighbors do in Dartmoor. I thought you had family in London. Could none of them attend today?”
“My sisters are both unable to travel at present,” Jocelyn said. “One is with child and the other has children who are unwell. They decided it was best not to attend the funeral.” More lies to hide her past. At least with her mother gone she could settle into something resembling a normal life—as long as her husband didn’t hang for murder.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Hannah frowned. “I understand the constable hasn’t discovered the person responsible for her death.”
“No.” Jocelyn still couldn’t understand how someone had gained entry without anyone hearing. “The constable has questioned everyone who was present that night.”
Peregrine joined them, wrinkling his nose when he caught the tail-end of the conversation. “Rumors are doing the rounds of the village. People are uneasy because they thought Leo—” He broke off in chagrin.
“I can imagine. I overheard stories about Leo possessing magical powers and being in league with the devil when I visited the bakery two days ago.” Jocelyn shook her head as she recalled the discussion, broken off abruptly when the ladies discovered her presence. “I don’t understand why people would think Leo responsible when he was locked in jail. It’s ludicrous.”
“The situation has brought back memories of Ursula’s passing,” Hannah said abruptly. “People are afraid. It’s understandable.”
Jocelyn felt the pain in her and patted Hannah’s arm in silent comfort. Losing a family member was difficult, no matter what the circumstances.
“People like to gossip,” Peregrine agreed. “I’m not sure Hannah and I should even visit you. Merrivale is obviously a dangerous place.” His grin flashed, indicating a joke, albeit in poor taste.
“Peregrine,” Hannah chided her brother.
Jocelyn didn’t find him funny, nor did she think the rumors and gossip amusing. Leo hadn’t murdered Elizabeth. She couldn’t believe it of him, despite what the constable had implied when he’d questioned her. Leo had no reason to murder her mother, yet she couldn’t help the way apprehension nipped at her heels and stalked her dreams during the middle of the night. The truth was she didn’t know what she thought, her mind going one way and then the other in indecision.
“I think we should take Cassie back to Hartscombe with us,” Hannah said.
Jocelyn blinked, registering the words a few seconds later. “Why?”
“She’s not safe here,” Hannah said. “What is to stop the murderer returning and repeating his crime?”
“That’s enough, Hannah,” Leo said. “Cassie is perfectly safe here at Merrivale. Jocelyn has increased security. No harm will fall on Cassie.”
“I’m only trying to help.” Hannah wrinkled her nose. “I would feel happier if you were here to oversee the security, but you’re not.”
“It’s obvious to anyone with a brain that I am not guilty of the crimes,” Leo snapped.
An uncomfortable silence fell, and Jocelyn could see the others were divided on the subject.
“Hannah, I want to thank you again for visiting today,” Jocelyn said, in an attempt to soothe ruffled feathers. “I appreciate you and Peregrine attending my mother’s funeral in this atrocious weather.”
“It’s nothing,” Hannah said, her sullenness falling away. “Peregrine, the rain has eased. Perhaps we should depart for home before our visitors arrive.”
“Of course you should be there to greet your guests.” Jocelyn forced a smile. “We’re running through the final details for the festival next week. Would you like to join us? We can always do with an extra pair of hands.”
“You’re not cancelling the event?” Peregrine asked.
“No, I felt that everyone has worked hard with the preparations. Mother was looking forward to the celebration, and I decided to continue with our plans.”
Hannah nodded slowly, pleasure suffusing her face. “Thank you. I’d like to help.”
Jocelyn gave both Hannah and Peregrine a swift hug. They said their goodbyes and departed in their carriage. It was the start of the exodus, and soon Leo and Jocelyn were alone with Cartwright.
“We need to leave too,” Cartwright said.
“Give us a few minutes?” Leo asked. “I’d like to escort Jocelyn to her chamber.”
“Five minutes,” Cartwright said after surveying his pocket watch. He slipped it in his pocket before walking over to the tray of refreshments. “I’ll wait here and sip on another glass of this fine brandy.”
Leo offered her his arm. “You need your rest. You look tired.”
“I am a little fatigued,” she confessed.
They walked up the stairs together. Leo halted at the door of her chamber. “I’m hopeful Cartwright will release me soon. Perhaps we’ll visit Melburn for a few days once this is over. Take some time away from Merrivale.”
“I’d like that.” If Leo wasn’t responsible for the murders, then someone else was. She chewed her lip, biting down hard to prevent the escalation of fear, for there was a murderer stalking the inhabitants of Merrivale. The only doubt in everyone’s minds was the murderer’s identity.