Dominic could only wonder what Rupert had led Isobel to believe about him. After all, the staff at Willowbrook had been adamant that Isobel had been betrothed to Bertram DeLisle just prior to her disappearance. The thought made Dominic’s stomach churn with building rage.
It had been Kitty, a rather robust looking maid, who had bravely come forward. After a lot of reassurance, she had described Isobel’s flight from the Gosport Hall in the middle of the night, and her ultimate destination. Kitty had herself escaped the house having been found by one of Rupert’s staff and set free. As soon as Rupert had learnt of Isobel’s escape, he, along with his henchman, had left the house to search for her. This had given Kitty the time she needed to make her own escape. Having given all of her funds to Isobel, she had taken some money from the desk in the library and eventually found her way back to Willowbrook, whereupon she had resumed a rather nervous position among the house staff. Luckily, Rupert didn’t consider her useful enough to follow her.
Assuring Kitty of their eternal gratitude, both Dominic and Peter had promptly returned the funds Kitty had given to Isobel, and given her the position as companion to Aunt Elspeth. She was also going to receive a small cottage on the Willowbrook estate in appreciation for her diligent care of Isobel and her services to the family.
Having garnered as much information as they needed, Dominic and Peter, along with several of the remaining staff began an exhaustive search.
For days, they questioned locals in towns and villages, and combed fields, all to no avail. Slowly, they moved north but could find no sign of her, until Peter had overheard a chance conversation in the village pub just outside of Peterborough.
A beautiful young woman, a stranger to the area, was found dead on the outskirts of the town wearing nothing but a necklace. Careful questioning of the locals, and the farmer who had discovered the body, had led them to learn about her final resting place in this small, rural graveyard.
Having had no identification upon her, she hadn’t even given the dignity of being buried among any of her ancestors in the family crypt. Instead, she had been quickly buried in a simple pauper’s grave in a village she hadn’t even resided in, with nothing to mark her presence but a plain wooden cross. If it hadn’t been for the villager’s shock and sympathy for her plight, she wouldn’t even have had the cross.
Anger began to bloom inside the empty aching void that was Dominic’s heart. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pushed to his feet feeling considerably older than his four and thirty years.
“What I don’t understand is,” Dominic shifted against the cold that had begun to seep into his bones, “why didn’t she come to Havistock? I told her the day I left that if she needed anything, she was to contact Havistock Hall. My man of business was under strict instructions to assist her in every way should she approach him for help. He assures me he has never received any such communication from her.” He didn’t think he would ever be warm again.
“We know Rupert kept her locked in her room. The few remaining staff in residence were under strict instructions to keep her isolated, and had been paid highly for their services. Her only contact with the outside world was through Kitty, who herself was watched closely by Rupert’s men.” Peter cursed roundly and abruptly turned away from the graveside, as though he couldn’t stand to be there any longer.
“She wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to contact Havistock Hall. Even if she did write, Rupert would have ensured her letter didn’t go anywhere.”
Dominic sucked in a frustrated breath, and in a desperate bid to seek relief from the clawing pain that gripped him, focused on what they had learnt about Isobel’s final weeks.
“I know, but we also know that she left the house at some point and disappeared. We don’t know at the moment where she went, and where Rupert and his men finally caught up with her, but it must have been somewhere around here. Someone must know something!”
Peter paused and looked back toward the dark soil that entombed his sister’s final resting place, before turning toward his best friend. He had fought in hellish conditions with Dominic Cavendish by his side, and would trust the man with his life, certainly with his sister’s life. He knew Dominic well enough to appreciate just how deeply in love he was with Isobel. Grief had turned his handsome features grey, and with the deep lines that now married his classic features bore testament to how devastated he was by the news of her brutal murder.
“We know the Rector was contacted by the Magistrate, who having no idea of her identity ordered a pauper’s funeral,” Dominic’s warm breath fogged in the cold autumn air as mist settled around them, giving the graveyard a pervading sense of eerie gloom. “We also know that she was found by the track somewhere near here.” His voice quavered as the vivid image of his beautiful sister, cold and lifeless lying in the mud rose in his mind. Anger and grief surged through him, and he abruptly fell silent as he attempted to control his emotions.
Neither man could bring themselves to mention the word ‘murder’, but both knew they were thinking the same thing.
Any question as to the validity of her identity had been soundly quashed, when the farmer had described the only item found upon her body was a single necklace, the detailing of which was instantly recognisable to both men. A solitary small stone set in a star shaped mount, hanging from a thin chain had been given to her by her father upon her tenth and last birthday she had shared with him. Although the small item of jewellery was of little financial significance, it had held great sentimental value to her. After his death, Isobel had refused to remove it and worn it everywhere. Both men knew that she would never willingly have parted with it.
Both men turned at the sound of clopping hooves and watched a tall, gaunt man disembark from a small curricle, before carefully picking his way through the gravestones toward them.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” He eyed the slightly menacing men warily as he introduced himself with a small bow. “Sir Hubert Williams, Magistrate at your service.”
“Good evening,” Peter replied stiffly, making no attempt to adhere to social etiquette. He didn’t care if the Magistrate understood or not.
Dominic nodded brusquely.
“I understand you knew the woman?” The Magistrate appeared momentarily lost for a name, and made do with a small nod in the direction of the dark soil.
“Yes, she was my sister. I understand you found one item upon her body?” Peter’s voice was harsh in the silence of the heavy air. The Magistrate shivered warily at the underlying threat lurking in the husky timbre of his voice.
“Y-yes,” visibly shaken, he hastily produced the length of necklace that was given to him. “It was the only thing of worth that we found that could mean something,” he lapsed into silence as both men stared in horror at the necklace dangling from his clenched fist. “Do you recognise it?”
Dominic cursed the trembling in his hand as he reached out to touch
the shimmering chain of her beloved gift, and knew deep within his soul that he had lost her forever.
Abruptly, he turned away. The tight knot of emotion lodged in his throat threatened to choke him as he stumbled around the gravestones, slipping like a spectre into the growing mist.
“That’s Isobel’s.”
Dominic heard Peter’s husky response, but couldn’t bring himself to turn around.
“Lady Isobel Davenport, my sister,” Peter’s voice was devoid of emotion as it swirled around the graveyard. “She should be resting in the family crypt. With your assistance, I shall arrange for her to be relocated forthwith.”