Chapter Twenty-Three
Little was said in the tense silence. Strathairn constantly searched ahead as the phaeton swayed along the country road. If he lost Sibella, he wasn’t sure he could endure it.
Maria held on to her hat which threatened to fly off in the gusty breeze. “Wouldn’t we have met them by now if they came this way?”
“Not necessarily. The storm would have delayed them.” He was surprised at how calm he sounded when the sense of urgency made his blood pound through his veins.
She gave him a grateful glance.
They rounded a corner and Maria cried out. “There’s Sibella!”
The breeze ruffled Sibella’s torn skirt and bared her thigh. When she turned to them, her face was blank with shock.
Strathairn drew the phaeton to a stop. He leapt down, horrified at the scene before him.
*
Sibella looked up as Strathairn strode toward her, pulling off his coat, Maria behind him.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” he murmured as he slipped his coat around her shoulders.
“I am now.” She drew in a grateful breath of Strathairn’s male scent and pulled his coat across her chest.
Held safe within Strathairn’s arms, Sibella stared down at Coombe whose body lay sprawled on the road, surrounded by barrels. Blood seeped from his head. “Is he dead?” she whispered.
Strathairn gently turned her face away. “Don’t look.”
“As dead as a mullet in the fishmonger’s window,” the drayman observed, having steadied his nervous horse and climbed down. He removed his hat and scratched his head. “What the devil was goin’ on here?” He eyed Sibella’s torn skirt and tattered petticoat, the quality of her garments unmistakable, and raised his eyes to hers with a flush of embarrassment. “Beg pardon, miss. Was the blighter attempting to abduct you?”
“It’s a family matter,” Strathairn said in a tone which brooked no further discussion. “I am Lord Strathairn. Tell me your name, then I would like you to alert the constable at Chiddingston before you go about your business. I will ensure the authorities are made aware of the full story and that you are not to blame for the accident.”
“Right you are, milord. Me name’s Popperwell.” He looked around at his barrels strewn over the road. “I’ll clear the road. We don’t want no vehicles coming helter-skelter around the corner and running into us, do we?”
“I’m sorry to have caused you such trouble,” Sibella murmured. She sagged, relieved to have Strathairn take over, for her mind had gone completely blank, her throat tinder-dry.
“Maria, take your sister over to that log and sit her down. She’s badly shocked.” Strathairn rolled a barrel toward the wagon.
“Come dearest.” Maria, her face strained, placed an arm around her and urged her forward.
Sibella sniffed back tears which hurt her throat. “I have to get the rest of the letters.”
“We will get them, Sib, but rest for a while.”
Unable to watch, Sibella wrapped herself in his coat and leaned against Maria. When she raised her head, Strathairn had moved Coombe’s mangled body to the side of the road. The drayman was busy setting the last barrel in place on his wagon. He climbed onto the seat, touched his hat, and drove away.
Sibella tried to rouse herself to pull her gaze from the body.
“Let’s get those letters.” Strathairn took her hand in his big reassuring one and they made their way back to Coombe’s curricle. The letters drifted over the ground like white butterflies, the horse still tethered to the vehicle, grazing on grass.
“I’ll secure the horse to the phaeton, and one of the duke’s grooms can return it. The curricle can wait.” He placed a hand on Sibella’s arm. “Maria will gather up the letters, sweetheart.”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll help.” It gave her something to do and she must have the evidence to show how Mary Jane suffered and met her terrible end. She bent to collect a page fluttering on the ground and held it out to Strathairn.
“You must take good care of these,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “They are proof that poor Mary Jane’s death was not an accident. Coombe killed her. He admitted as much to me.”
He gently pried the papers from her stiff fingers. “I’ll take very good care of them.” He glanced at the letters and shoved them into his pocket. “Did he hurt you?”
Sibella shook her head.
She shivered as the cool breeze touched her leg, suddenly aware that her skirt had been ripped almost to the waist and her petticoat was shredded, revealing her thigh up to her garter.
Strathairn tied the horse and helped Sibella and Maria into the carriage. Squashed into the phaeton which was only meant for two, Maria slipped an arm around her shoulders while Strathairn took up the reins.
“Lean against me,” he said. “We’ll have you home soon and get you warm.”
Comforted by his solid, calm presence, she began to talk haltingly. Her voice died away after relating the horrifying account of how Coombe had admitted to killing his wife.
Marie gasped.
“Don’t cry, Maria,” Sibella said. “I’m all right. He can’t hurt me now.”
“No more now,” Strathairn said. “You need a warm drink laced with spirits to counteract the shock. Then I must talk to the Chiddingston magistrate.”
Sibella was ushered inside Lamplugh Abbey with Strathairn’s strong arm around her. An hour later, the frozen knot still lodged in her chest despite the hot tea and fresh clothing.
She’d lost all sense of time. Was it an hour since Strathairn, Harry, and his father shut themselves in the library or a mere ten minutes? At some point, the duchess declared she needed to rest and left Maria alone with Sibella in the salon.
When Strathairn’s tall figure appeared at the salon door, she’d wanted to launch herself at his chest and sob into his waistcoat. He had taken control of everything so easily it was tempting to lean on him, but she was determined not to.
Maria tactfully excused herself and left the room.
Without commenting on her appearance, Strathairn took a chair. His eyes had darkened like smoke. She could feel the anger coming off him in waves. “You won’t be too hard on Chaloner, will you?”
He leaned forward and took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Coombe is the only one I wanted to kill, and I’m frustrated not to have been able to do it.”
Strathairn would have sent Coombe swiftly to Hades, Sibella had no doubt. She chewed her lip. His intent and unwavering gaze would unnerve most people, but only served to warm her. He made her feel safe. And in a few minutes, he would be gone again. She wished she could go with him. When she poured cups for them both, she spilled some in the saucer. She mopped it up with a napkin annoyed that her hand wouldn’t stop shaking.
“Thank you.” He took the teacup and saucer from her with a worried look. As he held the cup in his big hand and sipped the drink, she remembered how he hated tea.
She grimaced at the unpleasant taste of whiskey in the tea and replaced her cup in its saucer with a clatter of china.
He searched her face, his eyes filled with concern. “The duke and I examined the letters. The man was a monster.”
“Yes, a monster,” she repeated faintly as another shiver passed through her. The cup rattled in its saucer.
She leaned back on the sofa cushions and allowed herself to watch his deft movements as he stirred more sugar into hers. “Try it now. Sugar is helpful after a shock.”
She took another sip and nodded. “Better, thank you.”
“Lady Coombe’s relatives will have to be informed.”
She put a shaky hand to her throat. “The letters must be sent to them. Mary Jane deserves to have her story heard.”
“Yes, she does.”
Maria appeared at the door. She came to sit beside Sibella. “Are you all right, Sib?” Maria asked, stroking her arm.
“I will be soon. I just want to go home.”
He returned his cup to its saucer. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll drive you, if you wish.”
“Yes, do go, Sib,” Maria said. “Harry will take me back later.”
“Thank you.” Her whole body ached with exhaustion. She would lean on him. Just for a moment until she was herself again. “Will you explain what happened to the family? I don’t think I can speak of it again.”
He made as if to move toward her, then abandoned the idea and sat back. “I’ll take care of everything. You mustn’t worry.”
Maria stood. “I’ll go and ask Harry.”
“I’m proud of you,” he said when they were alone again. “You were brave, Sibella. And mighty resourceful.” He left the wing chair and dropped down beside her. “Sibella, I’ve been a fool…”
“Please don’t.” She dropped her gaze from his eyes filled with life, pain, and unquenchable warmth. She could not let him rescue her.
He stood. “Very well.”
The door opened and Maria returned on Harry’s arm. “Would you like to change for dinner, Sib?”
“Yes, of course.” She was sure she would be dreadful company and could not eat a bite.
“Will you stay to dine with us, Strathairn?” Harry asked.
“Thank you, but no,” Strathairn said. “I must get this matter dealt with at Chiddingston. I’ll return in the morning to take Sibella home.”