The Deception (Baron 3)

“No, Bassick, it wasn’t her heart. She didn’t have an easy passing.” She touched her fingers to the bruises. “Someone came in here and strangled her.”

Bassick felt the circular room reel around him. He shook his head back and forth. “No, that’s not possible. Not here, not at Chesleigh.” She said nothing.

Bassick studied the bruises on Mrs. Needle’s throat. He knew what he was looking at, but still it shocked him to his toes. He couldn’t accept it. “But why?” He felt helpless, beyond his ken, but he knew he had to act, do something to fix this dreadful situation. “Why?” he said again.

And Evangeline said, her voice dull and lifeless as the old woman crumpled on the floor beside her, “I don’t know, Bassick. I don’t know.”

Bassick pulled himself together. He rose. He offered Evangeline his hand and helped her to stand. “Listen to me, Madame. It’s best that we don’t touch her. I must call the magistrate. It is Baron Lindley, an old fool, but we really have no choice in the matter. Come with me. We will both drink a brandy to steady us for what will come.”

“Mrs. Needle didn’t hurt anyone,” Evangeline said as she let Bassick lead her from the room.

Baron Lindley, blessed with a thick head of white hair and stoop shouldered, whose gout was the only topic allowed in his household, arrived in the next hour. He found the young cousin of the duke, Madame de la Valette, unnaturally withdrawn. He thought it a shame that such a sensitive young lady should have been the one to find the old woman. After duly questioning all the Chesleigh servants, he returned to the drawing room and Madame de la Valette, for there was no one else to receive him. He wished heartily that the duke was in residence. He felt uncomfortable with his young cousin. His right foot hurt. He wanted to ask for a warm towel to wrap around it, but seeing the blank-faced young lady who looked so very alone, he didn’t ask. He doubted she’d even understand him. He wondered if she was half-witted. He cleared his throat. Bassick continued to stand beside the closed door. He cleared his throat two more times before the young lady finally looked up at him.

“I have determined that the man who strangled the old woman was someone to whom she gave a healing potion and it harmed either him or a loved one. I have determined that it was revenge. The man was in a rage and strangled her.”

“Revenge,” she said, the word flitting through her mind, giving no meaning, not really. Had the baron really determined that?

“Yes, revenge,” Baron Lindley continued. “She owned nothing of value. Indeed, nothing in her rooms was even disturbed. There was the strong smell of roses. I fancy the man who strangled her intensified the heat under the roses. Perhaps it was the favorite scent of the woman who Mrs. Needle harmed with her potion. It was probably a love potion. Yes, the fellow was maddened by his grief and killed her. I doubt we will be able to find out who he is. However, I will see that all local folk who have been given medicine by the old woman will be questioned. Now, I must return home. My foot pains me. I must elevate it while I drink a brandy. It is too much. Good-bye, Madame.”

Evangeline knew that no one would be found. She doubted that local folk would even be questioned. In any case, it would be a waste of time. She managed to rise when Baron Lindley left the drawing room, Bassick at his heels. Mrs. Needle’s death would remain a mystery, and soon everyone would forget. She wasn’t of sufficient importance for anyone to remember.

After Baron Lindley left, Evangeline said to Bassick, “You were quite right about the baron. Even if he weren’t a fool, little would be done. I must write to the duke and inform him of what has occurred.” She paused a moment. “Please, Bassick, check all the locks.”

Bassick saw the fear in her eyes. He didn’t blame her. He felt fear himself. Someone had come into the castle and murdered one of its occupants. “Of course, Madame. I will also post footmen at various entrances. Perhaps the man who did this thing will return. Yes, you must write to his grace. He will be much shocked. He has always been quite fond of Mrs. Needle. He’s known her all of his life, you know. He was always bringing her slips of plants he came across.”

“Yes, I know he was fond of her. He really brought her plants and such?”

“Oh, yes. Just last month a ship captain brought a variety of plants from India to give to the duke. He gave them to Mrs. Needle. His grace told her he wanted her to mix a potion to make him the best horseman in the land. As I recall, Mrs. Needle told his grace that since he was already the best lover in the land, it would spoil his character to give him more. She laughed greatly when she said that, his grace too.” Evangeline sat at the duke’s desk in the library, spread out a single piece of foolscap before her, and dipped her quill into the inkwell. How they had parted three weeks before was of no importance now. She needed to see him. But to say what? I killed your old nurse. No, I didn’t strangle her myself, but I told John Edgerton about her and he had it done. Oh, God, what was she to do, to write to him? She knew she had to see him, or she’d quite simply go mad with guilt.

“Your grace,” she wrote finally, “I’m sorry to have to tell you such tragic news. Mrs. Needle has died. The cause of her death was not natural.” Her quill remained poised above the paper before she forced out the words. “Someone came into the castle, went to the north tower, and killed her. Someone unknown. I beg you to come to Chesleigh. Your cousin—” She scratched her name and folded the sheet. She quite simply wanted to die.

Chapter 22

The duke arrived late the following morning, having driven from London in under six hours. He was tired, dirty, stunned at the manner of his old nurse’s death, and wild with worry for Evangeline.

“Thank God you’re home, your grace. Welcome, welcome.” Bassick was so relieved to see his master that he nearly hurled himself against the duke’s chest. As it was, he did trip over a chair in his rush to assist him out of his greatcoat.

“I came as quickly as I could, Bassick. Where is Madame?”

“She is with Lord Edmund, your grace. I fear she is very much affected by Mrs. Needle’s death. She has insisted on making the arrangements for Mrs. Needle’s funeral. I have the footmen keeping watch at strategic points around the castle. All the locks have either been changed or fortified. Oh, yes, we are so glad you have come so quickly.”

“She will do no more,” the duke said, and strode away, Bassick looking after him.

He opened the nursery door quietly and stepped inside. The large room was very warm, a fire blazing in the fireplace against the far wall. She was on a rug, leaning back against a settee, Edmund close to her. He was holding an English wooden soldier in his hand. He was saying, “I don’t know, Eve. You say you are just fine, but Bassick said I wasn’t to try to chase you down and shoot you today. He said you wouldn’t be enough sport for me.”

“No, probably not,” she said. “Forgive me, Edmund, but I truly wouldn’t be any sport at all. I wonder, does Bassick know everything?”

“He said that I wasn’t to say anything in a loud voice to you. He said I was to treat you the way I’d like to be treated if I had a bad tummy pain. He said a truce was in order.”

A truce, she thought. She turned, smiling, and gave him her hand. “A truce it is, Edmund. We will reco

mmence the fox and the goose tomorrow.”

Edmund looked up to see his father standing in the doorway.

“Papa!” He flew to his father, laughing, shrieking, and the duke caught him up in his arms and kissed him soundly. “Are you here to see Eve, Papa? She’s not at all herself. She’s sad. Mrs. Needle died, you know. I heard Mrs. Raleigh talking to all the servants about it. Bassick said I wasn’t to torment her.”

“I know, Edmund. Now, here is Bunyon standing right behind me. So quietly he walks. He’s going to take you for a ride, Edmund. I will see to your cousin Eve.”