Chapter 21

The next morning, still pleasurably sore and rather buoyant from the prior night’s exertions, Bridey studied the two-story-high ground floor hall where Carstairs might have been beheaded had the ax fallen lower.

Pascoe had left her bed in the early hours of dawn, leaving her to sleep late while he went after the twins. He’d made her feel more like a woman than she had ever known possible. She was feeling invincible this morning—and determined to solve Carstairs’ problems so she might move on with her life.

She’d dragged Fin into the hall with her. He’d come reluctantly, but now that the laborers had shut the mines, he had little better to do.

“If you did not try to behead Carstairs, then we must discover who did,” she insisted. “I don’t suppose you were behind the falling frames and suits of armor as well?”

“That’s child’s play,” he said, disgruntled. “Why would I bother? Oscar had his Irish laborers do the earl’s bidding. Any one of them could have deliberately set up falling frames, or just lacked the competence to do it correctly. I may have set the tureen on fire, but I had help from a disgruntled kitchen maid. It’s all of a piece.”

Bridey frowned. “I understand shooting at Oscar, but why would anyone try to kill the earl?”

Fin shrugged. “The workers all know they’re being robbed. But they’re more likely to try to spook the pair back where they came from. I don’t think murder was ever intended.”

“I thought the banshee was your idea? Are you joining them for the same reason?”

“I resurrected the banshee because Jack needed occupation, and the hole in the chimney was already there. Noise doesn’t cause harm, just irritation. So, yes, I suppose I had some vague hope it would drive Carstairs away.”

“Jack?” She pounced on the one unknown in this equation, the boy in the attic Pascoe had described.

Fin shrugged and studied the distant ceiling. “He found me in Edinburgh, said he had family here. But after I brought him to Northbridge, he didn’t seem to have anyone minding him. He was always hanging around the manor or following me about, so I found things to keep him out of trouble.”

Bridey almost laughed. “Banshees are your idea of keeping him out of trouble? How did he acquire that particularly piercing wail?”

“Flute, at first. Then he found a ratty bagpipe, one of the small sorts grandda used to play. That racket amplified through the chimney was classic disharmony.” Fin actually allowed himself a grin at the memory.

“A musical protégé. I’d like to meet him. Does he have a name besides Jack?”

“Not that he’s told me. He looks vaguely familiar, so I’m guessing he doesn’t want us to know his family in case he gets into trouble. I’m thinking there’s more than me who would like to see the earl and his brother gone, so his family may be encouraging him. Playing at ghosts is harmless revenge.” Fin splayed his hand along the wall, looking for whatever made axes fall, Bridey assumed.

“What happened to Carstairs was not harmless, and spirits exist,” she reminded him. “And I wish they would go inhabit Darrow instead of me,” she added meanly.

Fin shrugged. “Darrow prefers hiding at the mine or in the dower house. Otherwise, he’d have been pushed down a mine shaft or staircase long ago.”

“I trust you are not so murderous as to suggest that to anyone.” She studied the new assortment of ugly weapons on the wall, scattered among oils of equally ugly Darrow ancestors. There had once been lovely paintings of flowers and landscapes along here.

“The men mutter it without need of my instigation, so it’s good he’ll be on his way to London. Have you any notion of who you channeled yesterday?”

“Not a one,” she admitted. “I’ve never seen her aura before. Perhaps Darrow has strangled some maid and no one has missed her. Or she may have attached herself to a family member, as the twins’ mother does to them.”

He grimaced. “I have to believe you, but I’d rather deal with live humans and physical evidence. Do you think Mr. Pascoe has any chance of changing anything? If not, I may have to take you up on that offer to go to the Americas. I cannot remain idle forever.” He lifted a heavy painting to check its fastening.

Bridey felt the familiar stab of anguish at the notion of parting with the last of her family, but she would sacrifice her heart for the good of her brother, if necessary. He would be as alone in the world as she if he left, so she’d rather avoid the necessity.

“Lord Ashford might be able to use you in some of his enterprises, if you wish to stay in England. But if you are intent on burying yourself in rural obscurity, I would not give up on Mr. Pascoe just yet.”

That was the first note of hope she’d been able to issue since events had gone out of hand. Bridey held her lamp higher, trying to see through the dark shadows of the high ceiling.

“I am known here,” Fin said with a shrug. “And I know the men who can help me. I am more interested in machinery than fame or fortune. I’ve drawn up plans to make the blast furnace even more productive, should Mr. Pascoe find a way to eliminate Darrow.”

“I cannot see how he will, but he seems to think it’s possible.”

Fin shot her a quick look. “Not too long ago, you would never have agreed that I might stay in Northbridge. Are you saying you trust Mr. Pascoe to make things right?”

Apparently, she was. But she was not ready to admit aloud that a man might have his uses. “I admit nothing,” she said vaguely. “But until we know more, I’d feel much better if we could keep Carstairs alive. I just cannot fathom anyone bringing that ax down on his head without anyone seeing them do so.”

“Barker says he saw nothing, and he was closest.” Fin glanced into the study where the butler had been. “But if he was clearing off the tray on the desk, it would be impossible for him to see behind him.”

Bridey continued down to the billiard parlor, counting steps. “The two gentlemen in here vouch for each other, so they would have had to act in tandem to be guilty. Who else was nearby?”

“Most everyone was in the salon.” Fin gestured to the front of the house. “Guests might come and go without anyone paying notice, but they couldn’t have seen Carstairs emerge from his study in time to attack him. Someone would have had to have been lying in wait, and there really are no good hiding places, unless one hung from the ceiling.” With a frown, he turned his attention upward.

“Pascoe says he was at the front door. He didn’t notice anyone leaving the salon, although I suppose servants may have been running up and down a bit.” She had hired most of the house servants. She hated thinking ill of them.

“When was that timber installed?” Fin held his lamp higher.

Bridey bent her head back to examine the rough-hewn wood far above her head. “That’s new. Are they trying to build a minstrel’s gallery or some such folly up there? There seem to be faint lines that might be a door to allow access.”

Fin walked backward down the hall until he could see what she did. “They’ve had carpenters in here for months but cleared them out before the guests arrived. It does appear to be an unfinished balcony of sorts.”

“The same carpenters who did such a fine job removing hundred-year-old paintings from the wainscoting?” Bridey asked dryly. “How do we reach that door?”

“I doubt that it’s safe. If that is supposed to be a balcony, there are no braces to hold it up, and no rail to prevent falls. The idiot has hired idiots.” Fin studied the location of the wall and loped toward the stairs. “Stay here. I think I know where the door should be.”

Bridey lingered in the back corridor, taking in all the changes that had been made to the once-gracious home. It had never really been hers. George hadn’t liked change, so she’d only been able to add a few inexpensive watercolors here and there, a brighter drapery or wallpaper if the old had faded. She’d quit studying the lovely architecture after her first few years of marriage. She felt as if she were in a stranger’s home now.

Lady Neville, Lady Belinda’s mother, emerged from a doorway that connected to the breakfast room. Seeing Bridey, she nodded greeting. “Good morning, my lady. Are you admiring the gallery Carstairs intends to build for my daughter? She does enjoy music. It is quite a clever idea to build one up there as if this were a medieval hall, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, clever indeed,” Bridey said with a trace of dryness. “But you might ask him to hire an architect before he allows even so much as a lute player to actually stand on it.” Remembering the guilt she’d seen in the lady’s aura, she studied her closely. “Carstairs has not told me of the happy occasion yet. Have the banns been called?”

Lady Neville waved her rounded hand. “The solicitors are arguing at this stage, so no announcements are being made. We are hoping for an autumn wedding.” Without showing any visible sign of nervousness, she glanced up at the timber that was the only evidence of the gallery from this angle. “The platform is not stable?”

Fin chose that moment to open the nearly imperceptible door in the wall above. Instead of stepping out, he ran his hand over the wall to either side, then got down on his knees to examine the platform. Returning to his feet, he glanced down at Bridey. Seeing Lady Neville, he waved, then disappeared back into whatever room he’d invaded, closing the door behind him.

Lady Neville frowned a little. “Your brother is not a very talkative young man.”

But he was a sight smarter than Carlisle, Bridey refrained from saying. “We’re all different in different ways,” she said without inflection. “I congratulate Lady Belinda on her upcoming nuptials. I think she’ll be a splendid addition to the household. Carstairs needs her.”

Lady Neville beamed. “Thank you, I shall tell her you said so. She was a trifle intimidated by you at first, so it’s good to know that you approve. I have never believed in ghosts until you settled the banshee yesterday. Latin prayer was a true stroke of genius.”

“Yes, well, one learns such things living in these parts,” Bridey said vaguely, wondering how she would get rid of the woman so Fin could tell her what he’d found.

“I heard Mr. Darrow has rode off to see the king,” Lady Neville confided in a whisper. “I had not realized until recently that Carstairs is His Majesty’s godson!”

Bridey tried not to do a happy jig at this confirmation of Darrow’s removal. “His Majesty will be most concerned to hear about the earl’s injury. It is imperative that we find who is behind these acts. May we count on you and Lady Belinda to aid us in our inquiries, if necessary?”

“I had thought them accidents,” she said in confusion. “The ax did not just fall from the wall?”

Fin arrived in time to prevent Bridey from thumping the woman on the head to see if there was anything inside her brain pan. He bowed and said nothing, obviously waiting for Lady Neville to depart. The woman tittered a little, then excused herself to rush upstairs and no doubt spread the word that Carstairs hadn’t stuck an ax in the back of his own head for fun.

“Carstairs is building the gallery for his lady love,” Bridey said. “What did you find?”

“It needs only a good sound blow to send it tumbling.” Fin crossed his arms and studied the timber. “There is also a bolt with a piece of wire attached in the wood.”

He made that sound significant. Bridey tried to picture the use of a bolt, as if she had any notion what one was. “I give up. What is a bolt?”

“It is used to hold things in place, like the paintings to the wall. But this bolt is in the floor of that death trap up there. Someone attached a wire to it, possibly a picture-hanging wire. And then when Carstairs walked beneath, they cut it.”

He sounded grim. Bridey thought she was understanding, but she could not imagine how it would work. “They hung the ax on the end of the wire?” she asked incredulously.

“That would be my surmise. Wrapped around the handle, just below the ax head. Someone hiding in the closet above could wait for Carstairs to emerge from his study, cut the wire, and let the ax fall. If all worked well, it would look as if it had been swung downward. If it didn’t work,” he shrugged, “then it’s just one more mishap among the others. The chance of it being fatal was small.”

“As we suspected, someone is attempting to drive him from his own home,” Bridey concluded.

“And pin it on ghosts or shoddy workmanship. That gallery, though, if hit with a heavy weight, could potentially kill someone from either above or below.”

“And Pascoe is bringing his children here!” Bridey stared at the timber in alarm. “That door must be sealed off!”

“The door is in the back of a cupboard from which shelves have been removed, just the sort of place children might like to hide. I’ll lock the hinges, then screw in a few strategic bars so the door can’t open.”

“Shall I ask Mrs. Mayes if she wants the shelves returned? That would be her linen cupboard, if I’m guessing the location correctly. She keeps a key to it.”

Fin nodded, still looking grim. “Fill it up, lock it, and I’ll add a latch on top so the children can’t reach it.”

“I don’t like this, Fin,” Bridey whispered, laying her hand on his arm.

“Neither do I. They’ll be blaming me and my men next.” He stalked off.

And she’d already allowed them to believe the Irish laborers were to blame, because she’d been feeling spiteful for the rumors they’d spread about her.

She shivered, wondering who in the household had such a devious mind—besides her brother.

When the carriage stopped in front of the manor, Pascoe dismounted and gave his reins to the stable hand. He waited for the footman to open the carriage door, then lifted his docile, curious brats down. The footman handed out Bridey’s maid and one of the Marys who had accompanied them. The children gawked at the grand manor as if they’d never seen a house before. Well, possibly, they hadn’t. They never went farther than the park in the city, and townhouses didn’t involve this level of space.

As if she’d been watching for them, Bridey flew down the front steps, with Fin’s deerhounds on her heels. Her presence was worth every minute of effort Pascoe had brought to this moment—which was considerable. Aster had not wanted any of them to leave and had insisted that Bridey be returned at once. Theo had almost locked him up. Pascoe had never thought he’d have to use diplomacy on his own damned family.

And now—Bridey didn’t look happy to see him. That was one more unhelpful attitude than he needed right now. He strode up to meet her, wishing he had the right to take her in his arms and hug her until she smiled again.

“I was wrong to bring them here,” she whispered, casting a worried glance to the children. “You should take them to Fin’s house. This place is littered with dangerous traps.”

“So you brought in the hounds to sniff them out?” he asked dubiously, unable to keep his hand from straying to the auburn strands flying about her flushed cheeks.

Even if he didn’t believe Aster’s predictions from the stars, he had to listen to Bridey’s fears.

“Fin is training the dogs to sniff for strangers. I’m sorry. I should never have. . .”

Pascoe touched a finger to her nose. “Don’t. We’ll work this out together.”

The hounds surrounded Pascoe, sniffing and yipping, then rushed off to greet the carriage occupants. He turned to verify that Emma had a firm hold on their new pet. Finally recovering from awe, Edward tried to stroke the tail-wagging hounds while Emma clung to the kitten. The maids busied themselves with ordering the luggage and footmen about.

At Pascoe’s call, his children hastened to make their bow and curtsy. They never talked excitedly, but Emma held up her kitty, and Edward showed Bridey the makeshift pap they used to feed her.

Bridey smiled in delight and crouched down to examine the kitten and exclaim over the feeding device. The children beamed as if they’d been handed the sun and the moon. And Pascoe knew he was in deeper trouble than all his diplomatic experience could resolve.

“I’ve told Mrs. MacTavish that you’ll be coming,” Bridey said, standing up again. “She’s ready for you. I’m so sorry. . .” She signaled the footmen to stop the unloading.

Pascoe frowned. “We won’t go without you,” he said, fixing his gaze on her. He saw no remnant of the frost queen he’d first encountered. Her eyes were ablaze with life. Beneath his gaze, her cheeks colored a lovely rose.

And the stubborn set of her plush lips said he would never be able to command her.

“I can’t leave Fin here alone. Whoever is setting these traps might intend to blame him or the Irish or the miners or any number of innocent people. We need eyes in the back of our heads at every minute.”

“Then tell Fin to leave. Neither of you is responsible for whatever happens—Carstairs is. He is the one who needs to set guards, hire people to hunt down the traps, do whatever is necessary to make the place safe for his guests. If Darrow is gone, I will appropriate the estate books and carry them to your place. We don’t need to stay here.”

Her eyes widened. He could see the protest clearly rising, and he crossed his arms, daring her to speak it.

“There aren’t enough beds,” she finally murmured. “I’d have to put you in the infirmary. The twins slept in Fin’s room last time. We’d need beds for the servants. . . I’ve not lived in that house for over a decade. It’s a bit primitive.”

“Primitive suits the brats.” He caught Edward’s collar before the boy could wander off to follow a butterfly. “Mary can have a cot with the twins. Fin will have to sleep on the sofa in the study. I would sleep with you and leave your maid to the infirmary, but that’s your choice.”

She colored even more, then straightened. “This is not London. I cannot scandalize the village, or even Mrs. MacTavish. I will stay here. Your duty is to your children.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “My duty is also to the king. You are telling me I must choose.”

She crossed her arms and glared back. “The king does not care about your children. Who else will? You cannot risk bringing them in here, and there’s an end on it.”

He wanted to rip out his hair. He’d brought the brats here so he could spend more time in her company. And now she was telling him she wouldn’t share his bed again?

That notion nearly ripped him apart along invisible seams. Without a thought to what he was saying, he nearly growled at her. “Fine then. We’ll ride across the border and say vows before an iron monger. Is that what it takes to settle your conscience and the gossips?”

He was as appalled as she looked as the words registered.

She recovered faster. Donning her icy cloak, she took the hands of the twins away from him. “I would never marry another man who put his concerns above mine and his children. I’ll take the twins. You can stay here and do your duty.”

The children eagerly followed her back to the carriage.

Pascoe was the one left standing there, feeling an icy wind blow through him as if he were no more substantial than a specter.