23

Lord Graverly Checks In

Hearing the back door of the private quarters slam, I went to the kitchen and spotted Lady Graverly through the window, walking briskly down the path in a mink coat and matching hat. She was carrying a light garment bag and pulling a small suitcase. Where was she going? I opened the door and called out to her, but she rounded the corner of the garage without looking back. Unwilling to allow her to get away before she had explained how Lord Graverly’s name got on the contract, I pulled on my shoes and coat and hastened after her.

As I reached the back alley, I was almost run down by the black Cadillac as it backed out of the garage. “Elinor!” I called out, waving my arms. The car lurched forward and charged up the alley, its tires spraying me with mud.

I ran to where my car was parked on Haro Street and sped after her.

I caught up with the Cadillac at the intersection of Denman and Haro streets, where it had stopped for a red light. Lady Graverly’s diminutive frame barely cleared the dashboard of the big car; she looked like a little girl who had commandeered her mother’s clothing and vehicle. Fearing she would spot me in the rearview mirror, I slid down in the seat. The light turned green, and she turned left.

I followed her down Denman Street to Robson and left on Hornby Street. I was surprised to see Christmas lights and decorations along the way; in the manor, I had forgotten it was a festive time of year. She drove slowly, and I had to brake frequently to keep a safe distance. As she reached Pender Street she accelerated, swerving right onto Howe Street and cutting off a cluster of pedestrians as they started to cross the intersection. I slammed on my brakes to avoid them, tapping at my steering wheel impatiently as they detoured my car. A young woman pushing a baby carriage cast a hostile look in my direction. The moment the way was clear, I gunned it.

The Cadillac had disappeared up the street. Lady Graverly had gone almost full circle—was she trying to lose me? When I reached Dunsmuir Street, I spotted the Cadillac up ahead turning left into a driveway.

The Four Seasons Hotel.

As I steered up the ramp, I saw Lady Graverly climbing out of her car. She handed her keys to the doorman, along with what appeared to be a small coin for a tip, and disappeared through the front door while the doorman retrieved her bags.

I idled out front, debating whether to follow. When it all becomes too much I take a suite at the Four Seasons, if only for a few hours. There I can be myself. Considering all the recent turmoil in the manor, I couldn’t blame her for needing a break. To follow her would be to invade the privacy she held so dear. Yet by lying to me and misleading me, she had lost the right to privacy. I couldn’t afford to wait for an explanation, not when she intended to leave town tomorrow. Besides, I was certain she was up to something, and I was curious to know what.

A car honked behind me. I pulled over and climbed out, handing my keys to the doorman, along with a five-dollar tip to compensate for hers.

When I entered the lower lobby of the hotel, Lady Graverly was nowhere to be seen. I rode the escalator to the upper lobby and there she was at the front desk, speaking to a tall male employee. In the luxurious surroundings of the hotel, she looked very much at home. I circled the escalator and loitered near the Park Ballroom, where I could observe her in private. The lobby was busy with meeting attendees in business attire, elegantly dressed foreign guests, and a group of holiday revelers enjoying a late Christmas lunch. I realized how much I missed this environment—what an exhilarating contrast to the hushed environment of the manor.

“May I help you, sir?”

An employee in a banquet uniform smiled at me, hands clasped at his chest as though in prayer.

“No, thank you,” I said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

His eyes flashed with recognition. “Don’t I know you?”

There is no such thing as anonymity in the hotel business. I glanced at him and recalled his perspiring upper lip from the Park Harbour years ago, when he was a banquet houseperson and I was director of rooms.

“I don’t believe so,” I replied politely, turning away. This was not the time for catching up with an old colleague. As he walked off, I searched the lobby for Lady Graverly, catching sight of her as she disappeared inside an elevator. Damn.

I hurried over to the front desk. The tall gentleman had been replaced by a pretty young girl with a mane of thick, dark hair tied in a ponytail.

“Excuse me, Megan, hi,” I said, reading her nametag and smiling ingratiatingly. “My aunt just checked in, and I need her room number, please.”

“Certainly, sir. May I have her name?”

“Yes, it’s Elinor Graverly.” While she tapped at the keyboard, I admired her dewy complexion and thought of Nancy Swinton as a duty manager at the Universe, so sweet and good-natured on the outside yet possessing such inner strength and determination. Clarissa couldn’t look more different with her blackened eyes and mussed hair. Why had she lied to me and deserted me? I thought we had made a connection.

“I have a Mr. Andrew Graverly registered,” said Megan, lifting her eyes. “Lord Andrew Graverly, I should say. Could that be it?”

I was thunderstruck. Lord Graverly was here, in the flesh? Had Lady Graverly’s blind faith paid off at last? Then it occurred to me that it might not be a joyous reunion. Lord Andrew could be dangerous, a murderer, and might to do anything to protect his inheritance. Could Lady Graverly be in danger?

“Sir?”

“Yes, that’s it. The room number, please?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t disclose the room number, but I can dial the room for you, if you wish. Or you can use the house phone.”

“Gee, I was hoping to surprise her. Can’t you just give me her room number?”

Megan furrowed her brow, reluctant to break the rules. “May I ask your name?”

“Yes, of course. It’s Alexander Graverly. Lord Alexander Graverly.”

“Oh, you have the same last name. I’m sure we can make an exception, then. I’ll just need some identification.”

I padded my coat. “Darn, I left my wallet in the car.”

She gave a slight grimace. “Not to worry. Let me check with the manager to see if there’s anything we can do.”

Damn her for being well trained. “No! I’m in a real hurry,” I said, raising my voice. “Can’t you just give me a key? I’m her nephew, for goodness sake! I don’t understand why you’re making this so difficult.” I was being the aggressive, unreasonable hotel guest employees loathed, pushing her to break the rules by threatening to create a scene. I was going to hell.

Megan surveyed me, looking unsure about what to do. Something drew her attention to my lapel. Looking down, I saw a spray of mud, courtesy of the Cadillac’s tires. My hand moved to my face, and I felt a layer of grime.

A door opened behind her and out walked a tall, blond-haired gentleman—Frank Parsons, the hotel’s general manager. I quickly turned away.

Too late. “Trevor Lambert!” his voice boomed, coming around the desk and breaking into a toothy grin. “What brings you here?”

Feeling the heat of Megan’s stare, I placed my hand on Frank’s shoulder and steered him into the lobby. “I’m visiting a friend,” I told him. As a fellow hotelier, I knew he would trust me and probably give me the room number, even the key, if I had a good reason. But what excuse could I give him? My mind raced.

“I was just thinking about you, in fact,” Frank said, glancing around and then lowering his voice. “It hasn’t been announced yet, but I’m being transferred to our property in Taipei. I’d like to put your name forward for my position.”

“Really?” I said excitedly. “That would be incredible.”

“I think you’d be perfect for the job.”

My spirits sank as I remembered the manor. “Unfortunately, I’m already committed.”

“Don’t tell me you took that job at the Harbourside?”

I shook my head. “I’m buying a bed-and-breakfast.”

“Really? Where?”

“Have you heard of Graverly Manor?”

“That haunted place?”

My jaw hardened. “It’s not haunted, Frank,” I said, forcing a laugh. “It’s got a bit of a troubled past, but nothing a little TLC won’t fix. The potential is enormous.”

He smoothed his jaw, looking apprehensive. “I don’t know, Trevor. B&Bs are twice the work with none of the perks. Do you want to be schlepping bags and making toast the rest of your life? A former colleague opened a guesthouse in Cape Cod a few years back and died of a heart attack a year later.” He leaned closer. “The crazy old bird who owns that manor takes a room here from time to time. She arrives dressed to the nines, like she’s going to a ball or something, and is charming and gracious with staff, then turns into a completely different person. She—my god, she’s right there.” He nodded discreetly toward the elevator.

I lowered my head. “I can’t let her see me.”

He chuckled. “You playing hooky or something?”

“No, I … um … I’m here to surprise her. It’s her birthday. What’s she doing?”

“She’s looking for someone. Oh, looks like she found him. They’re heading into the restaurant.”

It took all my self-control not to look. “An old guy?”

“No, probably in his early thirties. He’s in a suit, carrying a briefcase. Looks like a lawyer to me. The hostess is taking them to a table. Looks like an older guy is joining them now. Okay, coast is clear.”

I slowly turned around. She was out of eyesight. “Can I ask you a favor, Frank? I have something I’d like to put in her room, a little birthday surprise. Could I get a key?”

He frowned, glancing down at my soiled jacket. “Well, it’s not really allowed …” He broke into a grin. “But it’s not like I can’t trust a fellow hotelier, right?”

I grinned back. “You bet.”

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

I cringed as I watched him head directly to Megan at the front desk. How would I explain that I had lied about my name? I considered hurrying off to avoid an uncomfortable confrontation.

But he was already back. “You should have told me she was your aunt,” he said, looking sheepish. “I’m sure you’ll make the house a huge success.” He slipped the key into my hand and whispered the suite number. “Don’t tell anyone I gave it to you, promise?”

“I promise.”

I headed over to the restrooms to clean up, and then hastened to the elevators.

On the twenty-sixth floor, I knocked on the door of the suite and waited. If Lord Graverly answered, I would introduce myself as the hotel manager and inform him there was a leak on the floor above. As soon as he let me in, I would tell him who I was and threaten to call the police unless he told me the true story behind his disappearance. But there was no answer. Deciding he was downstairs in the restaurant with Lady Graverly and the lawyer, probably reviewing their strategy for claiming the estate, I counted to ten, checked over both shoulders, and slipped inside.

The suite was spacious and beautifully furnished, reminiscent of Graverly Manor in its traditional décor, although in far better condition. To the immediate right was a bathroom, and directly ahead a living room, with French doors leading to a bedroom and en suite bathroom. Lady Graverly’s suitcase was sitting on a luggage rack next to the bed. I had no idea what I hoped to find, but I decided the suitcase was a good place to start.

As I crossed the living room, the sound of a key in the door made me freeze. In a panic, I opened the door of a large armoire to my right. It was divided into two compartments, one occupied by shelving containing a mini-bar and safe and the other by an empty clothing rack. I squeezed under the clothing rack and pulled the door closed behind me just as the front door opened.

My heart pounded. I heard footsteps on the carpet. Was it Lord Graverly or Lady Graverly—or a maid? Remembering the mini-bar in the next compartment, I prayed whoever it was wasn’t thirsty. Someone picked up a telephone on the desk next the armoire. I heard dialing.

“Nigel, it’s Lord Andrew Graverly calling.”

Lord Graverly—only inches away! I held my breath. His voice sounded gruff like a smoker’s, and he had a regal British accent almost identical to Lady Graverly’s. It was all I could do to not open the door and gawk at him.

“I just met with your associate,” said Lord Graverly. “The papers are signed. Everything appears to be in good order … Right, I’ll see you at the inquiry on Saturday, then. Very good. Cheerio.”

I heard him set the receiver in its cradle. My left foot was cramping. I was afraid to budge, fearing the armoire would shift or creak. I prayed he would leave the suite so I could make my escape. What would I say if he opened the door and discovered me? If he called the manager, I would have some serious explaining to do. In the distance, I heard the sound of a bath running. Which bathroom was he in? I couldn’t recall seeing a bathtub in the main bathroom. If he was in the en suite bathroom, I could probably escape without being spotted. It was now or never. I gently pushed the door, cringing as it squeaked, and peered out.

There was a knock at the front door.

I quickly retreated.

I heard the sound of footsteps, followed by a door opening.

A male voice with a heavy Filipino accent said, “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

Ma’am? Was Lady Graverly here too?

“What is it?” came Lady Graverly’s voice. “You’ve disturbed me.”

The bathtub was still running. I started to panic. How would I escape with both of them in the suite?

“I here to check mini-bar.”

The mini-bar! My heart raced. I shrank further into the armoire, willing myself to disappear. Lady Graverly would be apoplectic if she caught me here.

“I’ve barely had time to remove my coat, much less drain the mini-bar,” said Lady Graverly with a chortle. “Though I dare say it’s on my list of priorities.”

“I make sure everything in stock for you. Take one minute only.”

My mind raced. Would it be better to leap out and make a run for the door or subject myself to the humiliation of being discovered? Should I walk out with my head high? After all, if it hadn’t been for Lady Graverly’s deceit, I wouldn’t have been obliged to enter under false pretenses.

“I’d really rather you came at another time,” said Lady Graverly. “I’m about to take a nap.”

“Okay, no problem, I come back.”

The front door closed. I breathed a sigh of relief. If Lady Graverly lay down for a nap while Lord Graverly took a bath, I might be able to escape the suite undetected.

I waited.

Pushing the door open an inch at a time, I dared to stick my head out. The living room was empty. I pushed further and stepped out. Glancing toward the bedroom, I saw Lady Graverly’s red silk dress and mink coat in a pile on the floor. The little tart.

I fled across the room and out the door.

When I arrived at the manor, I found Shanna vacuuming the Henry VIII suite. When she saw me, she shut off the vacuum and parked it against the wall.

“How’s my mother?” I asked.

“Quite remarkable under the circumstances. Is something wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’ll fill you in later. Why don’t you let me finish up here? Go back to the hotel and relax for a while.”

“I prefer to keep busy,” she said, picking up a duster and applying it to a porcelain figurine. Looking down, I was surprised to see her wearing flat slippers instead of the usual high heels. “Why don’t you drive out to visit your mother?” she suggested. “There’s plenty of time before dinner.”

“I can’t. I have to wait for Lady Graverly to return. We’re going to have a little talk.”

“Oh?” She stopped dusting and turned to me. “Tell me you’ve finally come to your senses, and you’re going to tell the old harridan where to go.”

“I haven’t changed my mind, Shanna. I just need some answers.”

She frowned and handed me the duster. “Fine, then. I’ll be back at five to start dinner.” She pecked me on the cheek and left.

By late afternoon, Lady Graverly had not yet returned. I grew worried about Alexander. The door to the quarters was unlocked, and I found him dozing in bed, seemingly content. Opting to let him sleep, I returned to the parlor to wait for Lady Graverly. I was now certain she was colluding with her husband to claim the family estate. How long since they had reestablished contact—had today been the first time, or had they been in contact for months—or years? Perhaps they had always kept in touch. In the suite, they had behaved like an old married couple, sharing the bathroom and barely speaking to one another.

The back door slammed, making me jump. I waited for the sound of Lady Graverly’s footsteps but heard nothing. Who else would enter the quarters through the back entrance? The nurse had been fired. Lincoln was gone.

Lord Graverly?

I heard the door to the quarters creak open. I envisioned Lord Graverly creeping across the foyer, the rusty anchor lodged in his jaw, the missing axe in his hands. My eyes darted to the stoking iron next to the fireplace.

Silence.

A noise in the foyer made me turn. Through the glass, I could see a figure on the other side of the parlor door. The door handle began to turn. I reached for the stoking iron.

The door burst open. “Why, Mr. Lambert, you are here! How wonderful!”

Lady Graverly bustled in, still wearing the red silk dress, and reached down to pat my cheek. “I was thinking about an early martini. It’s been such a stressful day. How splendid that you’re here to join me.” She lowered herself into the chair across from me, giving me an expectant look.

“Help yourself,” I said. “I won’t be partaking.”

Her eyes fluttered. “Why, I believe I will,” she said, rising from the chair and going to the bar, a trace of irritation in her face.

I watched her gazing at the contents of the bar, looking lost. After a moment she reached for a bottle of gin, grappled on the shelf for a rock glass, and slopped gin into the glass. She carried it back to her chair and sat down.

“You won’t join me? I do hate to drink alone.”

“Nope.”

She sipped her drink. “Lovely! How pleasant this is, just the two of us. I’m so happy you’re here.” Her time with Lord Graverly had worked wonders for her mood. “A fire would be cozy, don’t you think? Be a dear and fetch some wood.”

“There’s no axe, Elinor. It vanished. Just like Lord Graverly and Sarah Kilpatrick.”

She blinked, and her smile faded. “How very peculiar.”

“What?”

“You’ll recall Alexander was babbling about seeing a man in my bedroom with Agnes. He kept saying the word ‘ack.’ Only now do I realize he must have been saying ‘axe.’”

A chill ran through me. “Sounds like Alexander has an active imagination.”

“Quite.” She gulped her drink and set it down. “Is something the matter, dear boy? You don’t seem yourself. Did Miss Crocker come by with the contract?”

“She did.” I pulled the contract from my pocket and tossed it at her. “Maybe you can explain why Lord Graverly’s signature is on it.”

She held her gaze. “Why, the title of the manor is in Lord Graverly’s name, of course.”

“Oh, really? Why, Elinor? If you haven’t seen him in fifty years, why haven’t you declared him dead and transferred the title to your name?”

Her lips tightened. “The contract is valid. That’s all you need to know.”

“Did you forge his signature?”

“Mr. Lambert, please. There’s no need for such a belligerent tone.”

Sir Fester padded in and nestled at her feet. “Scram, vile rodent!” she cried, sending him flying across the room with a swift kick.

Shocked, I watched Sir Fester scamper out of the room and almost felt sorry for him. I turned back to Lady Graverly. She was fluttering her eyes, deep in thought. “Elinor, I have no intention of signing this contract before you’ve explained how Lord Graverly’s signature got on it.”

“Have you not seen the price?” she cried, rising to thrust the contract into my hands.

I looked down and scanned it. My head shot up. “One dollar?”

“Now do you understand?”

“What—why?”

“It is time you knew the truth. Lord Graverly and I were never married.”

“Never married? How could that be?”

“We had planned to marry in England, but when my mother fell ill we decided to put it off until I could join him in Canada. By the time I arrived, well, you know the story—Sarah was pregnant with Lord Graverly’s child. When he left me, he left everything: his son, the house, and all its contents. But none of it is in my name. Had I claimed him as dead, I would have lost everything. It’s been in my interest all these years to keep up appearances that he might still be alive. I have no entitlement to Graverly Manor, no claim to the title Lady Andrew Graverly, and no legal guardianship to Alexander. I am a mere caretaker in this house, of no more importance than a housemaid or nurse. For five decades, I have been an imposter.”

“Wouldn’t you and Lord Graverly be considered common-law spouses in the eyes of the law? That would give you the same rights as a married couple.”

She closed her eyes. “I never lived with Lord Graverly.”

Astonished, I considered her affected air, her lady-of-the-manor deportment, her prattle about noblesse oblige, destiny, and entitlement. It was all a charade. At the core, she was as common as me. It was laughable and heartbreaking at the same time.

“Gertrude Fishburne was right, then,” I said, glancing down at the contract I was clutching in my hand. “Graverly Manor isn’t yours to sell.”

She scowled. “You mustn’t believe everything that woman says. It wasn’t enough to steal Graverly Castle from my grasp—now she is trying to take away Alexander’s only home. She may try to tell you I do not exist at all.”

“Why did you visit Lord Graverly at the Four Seasons today?”

“So that was you in my suite. I thought as much. I heard someone run out and called the manager immediately. He said my nephew had asked for a key. Tell me, what did you hope to learn by breaking into my hotel room?”

“Have you reunited with Lord Graverly?” I asked, refusing to allow her to evade my questions.

“Certainly not.”

“What were you doing with him, then?”

“Did you see him?”

“No.”

“Precisely. I told you I like to take a suite there on occasion. I could not bear to be under the same roof as that Fishburne woman.” She gulped at her drink with trembling hands and clutched it against her chest.

“You’re lying, Elinor. He was there. I heard his voice. The room was registered under his name.”

“Are you not listening? Everything is under his name. The credit cards, the bank accounts, the bills—the manor. I have nothing.”

“The man Alexander saw in your bedroom. It was Lord Graverly, wasn’t it? Did he do something to Agnes?”

“It was not Lord Graverly.”

“Who was it, then?”

She regarded me squarely. “Alexander said it was you.”

“Me? That’s impossible. I didn’t set foot in your bedroom until after Agnes left. Elinor, what happened to Agnes?”

“Perhaps you should tell me.”

“How should I know?”

She pursed her lips but said nothing.

“You’re colluding with Lord Graverly to claim the estate, aren’t you?” I said, rising from my chair.

She shrank back. “No!”

“Admit it!”

“No! He doesn’t want me!” Her glass tipped, spilling gin onto her dress. Her expression grew wretched, and she looked like she might cry.

I softened my voice. “Is he after Alexander?”

“He has no interest in the boy, either. He simply wants his rightful title and estate.”

I was quiet for a moment, processing the information. “I don’t know how I fit into this mess, Elinor. At first you make it seem like you’ve chosen me for some higher purpose—to be your heir. Then I discover you already have a son. I began to wonder if you thought of me as a potential husband, someone who could keep the Graverly peerage alive, and then I find out Lord Graverly is alive. What do you want from me?”

“What do you mean, a potential husband?” she exclaimed. “You thought you could become the Marquess of Middlesex?”

“Well, I wondered. I—”

“How on earth could you think that?”

“What about your talk of destiny and entitlement?”

“You fool! I was talking about my destiny, my entitlement! I considered you someone I could trust, someone who could manage this manor while I settled my affairs and would protect its legacy after I departed. Perhaps for a brief time I wondered if you might be suitable to manage Graverly Castle. And yes, I grew very fond of you. But now I understand what you’ve been up to. Your behavior has been audacious. You are as greedy and self-serving as Agnes Kilpatrick and Gertrude Fishburne. You have no entitlement to the estate!”

“Nor do you,” I said quietly.

She jerked her head to the side as though I had slapped her, but quickly recovered. “For heaven’s sake, child. How far will you go to reach your lofty ambitions?”

“All I want is this manor, Elinor.”

“Well, you have it now.”

I waved the contract in her face. “You’re trying to buy my silence!”

“No.”

“Then why sell it for a dollar when you claim to be broke?”

“Because … because I hope you will take care of Alexander after I’m gone.”

“Why were you hiding him from me, then?”

“I didn’t want to frighten you away, and I wanted to be certain you were the one.”

“Me? Why me?”

“There is no one else. You’re so tender and compassionate with him, and yet firm. He adores you. Only you have the youth and experience and fortitude to look after the manor and Alexander. If you will not care for him, he will be institutionalized. I have lived in this house without cost for fifty years as his caretaker. Now it is your turn. It is your duty.”

“I owe you nothing, and him even less!”

“But you’ve already said he could stay.”

“How could you ask such a thing?” I said. “I couldn’t—I’m not qualified. I—.” I stopped. She was distracting me again. “What happened to Clarissa? Her roommate said she didn’t go back to Kentucky.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“And Agnes? Lord Graverly did something to her, didn’t he?”

“Why would he hurt Agnes?”

“How come Sarah Kilpatrick’s locket was in your bureau?”

“I kept it for Alexander, for something to know his mother by.”

I stood over her, gripping the armrests of her chair and searching her eyes. “Sarah didn’t die in childbirth, did she? Lord Graverly murdered her. And you’re covering up for him. Admit it!”

“No!”

“Tell me the truth, Elinor!”

“Stupid boy, how could you know anything about events that took place fifty years ago?”

“I found Sarah’s diary.”

She gasped. “Her diary? Where?”

Agnes’s words came back to me: He wanted to lie with her. He promised to marry her and make her a titled lady. If Lord Graverly wasn’t married to Elinor, he could have married Sarah. Suddenly, it all made sense.

“Lord Graverly seduced Sarah with the promise of marriage and the title marchioness. He got her pregnant, but she learned to despise him and refused to marry him, threatening to leave with the baby. He killed her to stop her and stole the baby, didn’t he?”

Lady Graverly leapt to her feet. “I want that diary!” she bellowed. “Where is it? Give it to me now!”

“I’m calling the police,” I said, marching to the door.

“Don’t you dare!” she cried, chasing after me and grabbing my arms, pulling me back. “Please, I beg of you!” She fell to her knees and collapsed over, convulsing with sobs. “I wanted a child so very much.”

I looked down at her, stunned. “He killed her so you could have her baby?”

“No!” she cried, lifting her head. “Lord Graverly is innocent! It was me, all me! I murdered Sarah Kilpatrick and stole her baby!”