Alone now, Yancey strode purposefully through Stonebridge manor. She regretted having to lie to Sam, but it couldn’t be helped. Hang the kitchen staff was her opinion. And the rest of the staff, too. Let them all stay where they are. Though confined to their rooms, they were also safe and, more importantly, not in her way. She hadn’t thought it a necessary step to begin with, sending them to their rooms … at least, not so far as isolating a suspect went.
After all, no one was guarding them upstairs in their rooms. So, if any of them were guilty, he or she could easily enough have slipped away. But not a one of them would feel the need … because not a one of them was guilty. Yancey thought she knew who was, though. And that was the one she sought. If this went well, then the master of Stonebridge and his staff would not miss their noonday meal. She hoped only that she would be among the living at that time and could join them at the table.
Yancey moved as silently as possible in and out of each room on the first floor. The conservatory. No. The front parlor. No. Looking, always looking. No need to check the study. She and Sam had just been in there, so her prey wouldn’t be. And she wasn’t in the dining room, either. Yancey stood there, thinking and staring at the ornate centerpiece in the middle of the impossibly long table. Where next?
The drawing room. She exited the dining room and went back down the hall toward what was, with the exception of Sam’s bedroom, perhaps her favorite room in the manor. As she walked, though alert for any sudden noise or movement, she smiled a diabolical smile. Wasn’t it interesting that she knew where every single person inside the manor house was … except one?
Sam, his nana, and her nurse, Mrs. Convers, were with the dowager duchess, as were the mourning woman’s army of personal maids. The dowager had vouched for each of them and had insisted that they remain with her. Yancey wanted no trouble from Sam’s indomitable and distraught mother and had quickly consented to that arrangement—as long as they stayed in her suite. But the remainder of the staff, including Robin now, was sequestered. And Scotty, soon freed by Sam, would lumber slowly up the interminable stairs, up to the highest reaches of the house, a sort of fourth floor under the manor’s eaves, to retrieve for Yancey some hapless soul for her ostensibly to question.
By her best estimate, she had about thirty minutes before Scotty got back with a servant in tow. He’d find the dining room empty and would—no doubt, still holding the arm of the poor wretch he’d brought with him, if she knew her man—go find Sam and alert him that she was missing. She didn’t want it to go that far, so she had to move quickly.
Mrs. Edgars couldn’t have disappeared into thin air. And although Yancey was exercising every precaution, she didn’t really believe the woman was actually hiding. What good would that do her? She couldn’t stay crouched behind a door or piece of furniture forever. Ridiculous notion. In truth, and well Yancey knew it, all the housekeeper had to do was go about her business and say nothing—and she would get away with murder. The biggest mistake most murderers made was they told someone and left themselves vulnerable. In her employment as a Pinkerton, Yancey had had to figure out whom the suspected robber or murderer might have told of their crime, then disguise herself and go question them.
Simple but effective. However, in this case that wasn’t possible. The murderess already knew Yancey was a Pinkerton. The murderess probably also figured that Yancey knew she’d killed Roderick. And the murderess also knew she had an eyewitness—Her Grace Nana. A very unstable situation, at best—one that caused Yancey great distress.
Still, because her search of the rooms was proving fruitless, Yancey supposed the woman could have guiltily slipped away, now that Scotty wasn’t dogging her every step. In fact, Yancey had given the housekeeper free run of the manor to see if she would leave. But she hadn’t. Not that she was innocent. It was more likely that the woman knew she might escape the house, but given that the manor sat up on a hill, she would have been visible from any window. But if she did escape everyone’s notice, she wouldn’t have got far on foot. She would need a horse or a carriage and team to make good her escape.
Yancey was willing to bet that the housekeeper didn’t have the authority to order one herself. And even if she did, the men were busy preparing the coach and carriages for the dowager and her entourage. Yancey found it hard to believe they would abandon those efforts to take orders from the housekeeper. At the very least, the stablemen would have questioned her or sent word to the manor for verification that her request was approved.
So, essentially, though the woman had freedom to move about the manor, the scene of the crime, she was also held prisoner here by her very secondary social status. She wouldn’t leave. She couldn’t. But she would make Yancey seek her out. So this was a game of cat and mouse. Right now, though, not knowing where the woman was, Yancey felt more like the mouse than the cat. Or the fox, she quickly reminded herself.
Yancey had her gun in her hand and her arm down at her side. She wasn’t nearly as concerned for herself, or even Sam—a strong, capable man—as she was for Her Grace Nana. Yancey worried that, despite her warning to Sam to keep his nana with him, the old dear would slip away from the emotional crowd gathered there. That could be tragic because Her Grace Nana was the most vulnerable one of them all. She had seen Mrs. Edgars kill Roderick, Yancey was certain of it. Though the ancient woman didn’t recall it at the moment, it was only a matter of time before her fog cleared—and well Mrs. Edgars would know that, too. Yancey couldn’t bear the thought of Her Grace Nana being attacked by the knife-wielding housekeeper.
Just the thought of such a scene halted Yancey and left her weak. She held on to the wall a moment and concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths. She had to remind herself that it wasn’t going to happen, not if she had anything to do with it. And she did. She had everything to do with it. There. Yancey let go of the wall and stood under her own power. She tested her legs and her resolve. Steady as a rock. Smiling grimly, she set off again for the drawing room, which was just ahead.
Thinking of Mrs. Edgars, Yancey wondered what could possibly be driving the woman to kill Sam’s family. Yancey realized she didn’t know enough about her to even hazard a guess. But she sincerely hoped she didn’t have to kill the housekeeper. All she wanted was answers from her. Then she would have her locked away somewhere until Sam could get the authorities here to take her away. England had an excellent court system. As far as Yancey was concerned, it was up to them to try her and punish her.
It sounded all neat and orderly to her, but the reality was, and well Yancey knew it, that the woman most likely would not want to be captured, knowing the fate that awaited her. Yancey sighed. That meant a life-or-death struggle. Yancey pulled a face. Not another one. For her, the two deaths already on her soul were weighty enough. But still, she didn’t rule out violence. She hated it, but never pretended that the potential for it didn’t exist. To do so could only get her killed. And when it came to killing or being killed … well, she’d twice over proven that her will to live was firmly intact.
At this point in her thinking, she stealthily approached the drawing room. Curious that the doors would be open. They weren’t normally. But there could be any number of innocent reasons for that. Or guilty ones. From the safety of the doorway, Yancey began quietly looking around. Her trained gaze considered each piece of furniture and every corner. Any nook or cranny that could hide a person the size of Mrs. Edgars warranted Yancey’s attention. But nothing she saw gave her alarm. Too bad the woman couldn’t have been simply sitting in here, perhaps with tea prepared, and waiting for Yancey so they could have a nice chat about what had happened.
Wouldn’t that be lovely? Yes, but not likely. Yancey entered the room, thinking, Drat. Did the woman mean to make her search the second floor for her? Yancey didn’t relish that prospect one bit. She thought of the long, mirrored ballroom, the many dressing rooms for the ladies, the billiards room for the gentlemen, and shook her head. All manner of rooms unfamiliar to her. Less certain ground. But the next places she had to look.
As she turned to leave, her gaze fell on the French doors leading out onto the terrace. They too were open. Of course, she’d seen that the instant she’d walked into the room. But the very fact of their being open hadn’t struck her as important until now. Standing there, frowning, she concentrated on what she could see of the out-of-doors. A beautiful May day. Sunshine. A warm breeze. Birds chirping. A butterfly flitting hither and yon over the many flower pots. A perfectly innocent day, by all accounts.
Why would these doors be open if no one was in here to enjoy the air? Was this a trap? Or was it a trail, a clue, provided by her quarry? A way of directing her steps? Yancey suddenly felt certain of it. With each step she took toward the open doors, her heart rate picked up. This, then, was her old, familiar instinct kicking in. It happened every time she got close to the villain or the answers. Instead of scaring her, it reassured her that the end was near.
Yancey stepped out onto the terrace and looked around. Of course, no gardeners swarmed over the place today. Her orders. She’d wanted nothing and no one between her and her quarry. No one to be used as a shield or to inadvertently stop a bullet not meant for him. So where was she supposed to go from here? No obvious clues presented themselves. Yancey worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she narrowed her eyes.
Her gaze lit on the high hedges that formed the maze. No. Not even if she saw Mrs. Edgars dart in there would she follow. Logic told her that wouldn’t be necessary or even smart because all she would have to do, in that eventuality, was wait. The woman would have to exit at some point.
But again, no Mrs. Edgars. Yancey tensed her hand around her gun and took a slow, considering walk of the sun-dappled terrace’s entire perimeter while she kept her gaze trained on the grounds. Nothing was amiss. No darting movements. No black-clad woman standing out in a field, waving a hanky and calling out to her. Yancey grunted her amusement at her own dark humor. If only something so obvious would happen. But the only movement she saw was that of birds and butterflies and breeze-fanned tops of the trees. Concluding her stroll on the right side of the terrace, Yancey turned back around and thought to look up.
Her heart all but stopped. “Good Lord!” She put a hand to her heart and realized her mouth had dropped open. “I should have known,” she said aloud but quietly. “The tower.”
There she was. Mrs. Edgars, dressed all in black. She was sitting in the high, high window of the room at the top of the ancient tower. She wasn’t waving at Yancey, though. Instead, as if nothing were amiss, her hands were in her lap and her feet dangled outside in the air. From this distance, Yancey couldn’t see the housekeeper’s expression, but the woman’s head was angled in such a way that Yancey knew her prey had spotted her.
The woman meant to jump. She meant to kill herself. Sudden and unaccustomed panic seized Yancey. She couldn’t think what to do or how to stop the woman. She feared that if she called out to her or even so much as looked away, Mrs. Edgars would jump. Fear for the woman, and fear for herself for having to witness such a scene, held Yancey riveted to the spot, staring up at the housekeeper. Should she get Sam? Was there time to seek help? Or … should she just let the murdering woman jump? No. Yancey quickly dismissed that. Such a cold, hard thought. She refused to allow such a notion to claim her heart. She had to do something.
Suddenly the seconds seemed to be flying by, faster and faster. But then Yancey realized something else—something disturbing. Maybe Mrs. Edgars didn’t mean to jump at all. Couldn’t this be a ruse to have Yancey running up the narrow, winding stairwell, thinking only to stop her from jumping? After all, how hard would it be for Mrs. Edgars to wait until she heard Yancey on the stairs and then simply climb back inside and attack her the moment she entered the room?
Not hard at all. In fact, brilliant. But what the woman hadn’t counted on was Yancey’s realizing all that. Mrs. Edgars had underestimated the craftiness of the Fox. So it was professional pride and the thought of a fight with a worthy opponent that freed Yancey from her moment’s panic and spurred her into decisive action. More than anything, she wanted her opponent to see exactly what she was doing and to know that she was coming.
Yancey leaned over the terrace’s low railing. The drop to the soft ground was negligible. That decided, she tucked her gun into her waistband, hiked up her skirt, sat down atop the wide railing, swung her legs over, and pushed off.
* * *
Sam had accomplished quite a bit in a very short amount of time. He’d left his study and gone immediately in search of Scotty. Finding him in the butler’s pantry, Sam had given him his orders. But they weren’t the ones Yancey had wanted him to relay. No, they were instead Sam’s own for the man. He’d told him to go the dowager’s rooms and keep her and Nana and every single maid from leaving it. Scotty had merely nodded, turned around, and headed for the servants’ stairs. But Sam knew he understood and would be effective.
Effective? Sam snorted a chuckle. Why, Scotty would corral that entire room full of women into one corner, if he had to, and stand in front of them glowering and with his arms crossed. And there they’d stay until Sam came to tell him otherwise. No amount of arguing or complaining on the part of the women would sway the silent butler, either. The wonderful thing about Scotty’s granitelike state of mind was he wasn’t the least bit impressed or intimidated by anyone. Sam knew that not even his mother would be able to move the man—and that was exactly what Sam was counting on.
For him to be effective in what he intended to do, he needed first to be certain that his loved ones were safe. At least those two loved ones would be. The other one—namely, a little hellion named Yancey—wasn’t. But Sam was about to rectify that, too.
Fussing silently to himself as he left the pantry off the dining room and came around the corner, which put him at one end of the long hallway that ran the width of the central building of the manor, Sam spotted Yancey at the other end and stopped cold. Her back was to him and she appeared intent on making a search of the downstairs. Sam arched an eyebrow. So he was right. The Pinkerton agent had her gun, but no writing materials in her hand. And if she meant to make her way to the dining room, then she should be facing him … which she wasn’t.
Feeling smug because he’d correctly guessed her intentions, Sam stood with his feet apart and his arms crossed over his chest. He watched her turn to her left and face the open doors of the drawing room. He could just see her profile, no more than the back of her head and skirt, as she evidently looked around that room. He wondered if he should make himself known to her and then confront her. He thought not. All that would do was start an argument he probably wouldn’t win. And from where he was standing, she didn’t appear to be in any danger. But if he heard any signs of a struggle, he could be in the room in a matter of seconds.
Satisfied, he told himself he could wait … at least until she came out of the drawing room. And then he would allow her to see him and to explain herself.
A man faints one time and then docilely takes orders from a woman one-third his size, Sam fumed, and she thinks him both weak and mentally dull. Had it been anyone else, he would have been angry and insulted. But this was Yancey and he loved her and found her wanting to protect him at all costs endearing—not to mention infuriating and hair-raising. Certainly, his male pride had taken a trouncing today, but that didn’t mean he intended to compound his inadequacies any further by being stupid.
In a nutshell, he hadn’t been taken in—not in the least—by Yancey’s pretty little speech about needing writing materials to make a log or by her benign plan to question his entire staff. She meant to send him on his merry little way, none the wiser, and then go after Mrs. Edgars herself. Did she think he hadn’t realized that she suspected his housekeeper—no, actually his brother’s housekeeper? He’d seen clearly enough the look that had passed between the two women.
That was exactly the moment when he’d known what she intended to do. And that was when he had come up with his plan to stop her. And now here he was, about to outfox a professional Pinkerton agent and reclaim his pride. Once he’d had it out with her, he’d turn her over to Scotty and go on his own to confront Mrs. Edgars. This was his fight.
So all he had to do was wait for Yancey to exit the drawing room. He stood there, grinning. Waiting. After a few seconds, his grin faded. It became a frown. Then he became impatient and, finally, curious. What the devil is she doing? Why is she taking so long to look around in there? He considered the size of the room and her curiosity and concluded that maybe it hadn’t been all that long. He’d wait a bit more.
Then he wondered if it would make a bigger point with her if he went to stand in the room’s doorway and startled her when she turned around. Wouldn’t that prove to her that she wasn’t infallible—that she could be surprised? Then he remembered that gun in her hand and that she was on the trail of a villain. In that frame of mind, she was more likely to shoot him than fuss at him, should he surprise her.
So Sam stayed where he was. He uncrossed his arms and planted his hands at his waist. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He looked behind him in the hallway. Empty, of course. With the lawn and formal gardens off to his right, he faced forward again and watched the drawing room doors. No sign of Yancey. Not a sound, either. No raised voices. No crashing noises. Was the woman napping? Perplexed, Sam scratched at his head, wondering what he should do.
Then he wondered if maybe Yancey had spotted him out of the corner of her eye and was smugly waiting for him to enter the drawing room so she could show him that he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. That could be. But would she play such games with him, given that they were in dire straits? Sam’s conscience was quick to point out to him that he was doing exactly what he’d just accused Yancey of. He was standing here, playing a game, much like Nana and Scotty’s hide-and-seek.
Well, that did it. Stung again, Sam set himself in motion. This was nonsense. A straightforward approach was called for here. He would confront the woman and tell her that if there was any sleuthing to be done in his home, then he would, by God, be in on it. And he would not listen to any arguments from her. If he had to, he would again fire her. Sam turned into the drawing room, a pointing, accusing finger already raised and his argument already forming on his lips. But, to his great shock, the room was empty. “What the devil—?”
He looked all around, not knowing what to think. “Yancey?” No answer. His patience with her evaporated. “Yancey? Where are you? I find it hard to believe that, at a time like this, you are actually hiding behind the furniture. Come out this instant.”
She didn’t. Angry and frowning mightily to prove it, Sam stalked around the room, looking for her. He stopped, standing in the middle of the room, thinking and rubbing his hand over his stubbled jaw. This made no sense. He’d seen her come into this very room. And he hadn’t looked away long enough for her to have escaped his notice.
A bird chirped loudly.
Startled, Sam whipped around, seeing it take wing from the balustrade. Was she out there? He sprinted out onto the terrace and quickly looked around. Nothing. She was nowhere. Gone. Vanished into thin air. Ridiculous. That did not happen. Looking this way and that, searching, hoping, he caught a movement from the corner of his eye, off to his left—and his heart came close to stopping. Dear God, there she is.
She was entering the door to the tower.
“Now, why the devil is she going in there?” Another movement fluttered at the edge of his vision … Sam looked up and gasped. Shock stiffened his knees and left him staring helplessly. “No.”
He could hardly believe what he was seeing. There at the very top, and seated on the ledge of the high window, acting for all the world as if nothing were amiss, was Mrs. Edgars.
Sam took only a few precious seconds to put it all together. Yancey had done the same thing he’d just done, he reasoned. Entered this room, looked around, found it empty, stepped outside onto the terrace, again looked around, and then had caught sight of the woman sitting on the ledge. And now she meant to go up there and confront the housekeeper before the woman could jump.
If she meant to jump. Sam’s next thought was this could be a trap on Mrs. Edgars’s part. Then he knew in his heart: if he’d thought of that, so had Yancey. She was purposely, and foolishly, placing herself in great danger.
That was all he needed to realize. Sam leaped up on the railing, vaulted over it, hit the ground, and ran after Yancey. His heart pounded with his fear that she would get to the top of the narrow, winding stairs before he could catch her. He’d never forgive himself if he were too late.