What a Lady Needs

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“No,” Valentine said, extracting a large black key from a pocket in his hacking jacket, “you two can manage well enough on your own this morning without me, I’m sure. It may be time to broaden the search from the house to the grounds, anyway. Now let’s get this over with, not that there can be much of anything to see.”

Kate looked to the heavy iron doors, suddenly not so anxious to go inside the family tomb as she had been the moment she’d heard about the theft of her father’s body. She’d never been inside the mausoleum, not in all of her life. No Redgraves had died in her lifetime except her parents, and Trixie was adamant about leaving the dead in peace, even going so far as to say she’d probably haunt anyone who dared disturb her rest with weeping or the cloying smell of too many flowers.

Now Kate found herself wondering if her grandmother feared death, and deliberately avoided any reminders Redgraves weren’t immortal. It certainly couldn’t be just any mausoleum that bothered her; she’d just tripped merrily off to a pair of funerals. Or was it that she couldn’t face evidence of her only son’s death in particular?

“Kate, are you coming?” Valentine called to her. “This was your idea, remember?”

“I remember,” she said, allowing Simon to take her hand as he stood on the marble steps, to assist her. “You can let go now,” she reluctantly whispered as they followed Valentine into the high-ceilinged, dome-top crypt. It was both cold and dim inside, the only light provided by the leaded glass panes in the ceiling and two small stained-glass windows, one definitely a recent replacement, as its many-colored panes were grime-free. Clearly even Mrs. Justis and her small army of maids considered the mausoleum out of bounds between interments.

That explained why it had taken nearly twenty years and a fallen tree branch for anyone to discover her father’s body had gone missing. It didn’t explain Trixie’s avoidance of the final resting places of both her son and husband.

Or was Kate now looking at everything she believed with new eyes?

“You won’t see much if you don’t open your eyes,” Simon told her softly, leaning in close to her as if he knew she was all but shaking in her boots. “Stacked to the dome on three sides. Extremely impressive. There must be more than a hundred tombs in here.”

Kate kept her chin lowered and peered upward through her lashes, not really wanting to see. Simon was right. Everything was excruciatingly neat, almost mathematically so; row upon row of long cubicles, each fronted with marble and inscribed with a name and two dates. They’d started at the top, and descended from there, row by row, as if the tombs were a linear depiction of the Redgrave family tree.

The family must have dug up any ancestors who had been planted elsewhere and brought them here when this enormous mausoleum was built. And wasn’t that...disturbing.

On the right wall there were still four rows of empty shelves. Twenty more bodies and the mausoleum would be filled. They looked like dark, empty maws, awaiting their prey.

Kate looked away, feeling ashamed. She’d never considered herself fanciful, but she could swear all these generations of Redgraves were calling to her; pleading fix this, don’t allow us all to be shamed by the actions of a few.

“Here it is, Kate,” Valentine said, directing her attention to the last opening on the fifth shelf. “Gideon thinks they chiseled out the stone and then carefully put it back, but with inferior mortar. That’s what happens when supposed gentlemen are forced to put their hands to real work. The stone was found on the floor, cracked in two, and Barry’s coffin gone. You can see bits of mortar sticking to the iron shelving and the stone, as well. Now can we get the hell out of here?”

“In a moment,” Simon said, still holding Kate’s hand as he approached the violated tomb, but then passed by it to the next one. “‘Charles Barry Redgrave, Sixteenth Earl of Saltwood.’” He rubbed his hand across the stone. “It looks as if something was affixed here, just below the dates, and then removed. See the holes, and the damage to the stone? As if someone went at it with a chisel, and rather angrily at that.” He leaned in closer. “A coat of arms, perhaps?”

Valentine repeated Simon’s action, and then began examining other stones, walking around the room, stopping here and there. “Well spotted, Simon. It looks as if each earl sports a replica of the Redgrave coat of arms, all done up out of silver and colored enamels. I suppose we need to replace my grandfather’s, and Barry’s, as well, if we can find it. You’re certain it didn’t just loosen and fall out?”

Now Kate took her turn in front of the stone, running her gloved fingers over it, still able to feel the small chinks in the otherwise flat surface. “But wouldn’t both have been found on the floor when Gideon came to inspect it after the servants’ report about the crypt being empty? Do you think they were stolen?”

“They’re silver, Kate, so it’s possible. But why steal only two when you can take them all? Besides, Dearborn actually keeps the only key inside a locked box, and that key with his ring of butler keys that never leaves him. Nobody comes in here unless they’ve got his permission. Any other suggestions? A ghostie wielding a hammer and chisel, perhaps?”

Kate pulled a face at her brother and turned to leave the mausoleum. She didn’t know what she’d hoped to find, or feel, or learn here. She’d just known she’d had to come. Now all she wanted was to be gone, flying across the fields of the West Run with Daisy, the chill of the stone tomb and the stench of stale air replaced by the warmth of sunlight and a clean, fresh breeze. She needed to take herself as far from death as she could get.

“Here, I’ll boost you up,” Simon said from behind her, even as his hands clamped about her waist and she was lifted high, then settled into the sidesaddle with such ease it was embarrassing.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she told him, adjusting the military shako hat that had slipped down over her eyes. “I could have managed. My brothers never believed in coddling me, and I actually much prefer it that way. I often ride alone on the estate, and they felt I should know how to remount if I fell off—which I never have.”

“That very nearly makes sense, except for the part about you riding out without a groom in tow, which is bloody stupid.” He handed her the reins. “Very well, remind me to do you no more favors.”

Rough and tumble. That’s what he’d said was how his father had described his younger son. And for all Simon’s outward polish, clearly something about her allowed him to speak and act as his real self. She believed she could be either flattered or insulted, and immediately decided on flattered. Especially since it allowed her to be herself.

“I have reminded you, repeatedly. I’m not helpless, and don’t care to be made to feel that way.” She raised her voice so Valentine, who was still locking the doors, could hear her. “I’m heading for the West Run. You can follow or not.”

“And the breeze will dry those tears you don’t want anyone to see,” Simon said quietly, shaking his head. “You’re the prickliest woman I’ve ever met. Have you ever wondered what you’re trying to prove?”

Kate opened her mouth to say something scathing, but then realized she had no answer for the man. He’d bested her. She tugged on the reins with more force than care, so that a confused Daisy actually turned her head as if to be sure who was atop her before setting off toward the fields of the West Run.

Maybe somewhere along the way, Kate thought, she might discover why she felt it so important to keep Simon Ravenbill at arm’s length. She’d already thought up and discarded several reasons, from his hair color, to his and Valentine’s attempted deception, to her family pride. But did she really want him gone? Even her foolish plan to keep him away had hinged on deliberately drawing him closer.

Was she afraid of Simon Ravenbill? Or was she afraid of how Simon Ravenbill made her feel? He made her feel like a woman, and she wasn’t certain she was comfortable with that.

CHAPTER FIVE

SIMON WATCHED AS Kate rode off, her spine ramrod straight, wondering if he looked long enough whether he’d see smoke emanating from her ears. She was the most interesting, maddening, not romantically inclined, exotically beautiful woman he’d ever encountered, and the more she pushed him away the more he longed to know her better.

He might consider her actions to be a ploy meant to draw him closer. But, no, not Kate. He was more than certain she said what she meant. Or what she thought she meant...

So. Did he now tag along after her like some lovesick swain hoping for crumbs—or possibly a rousing argument—or did he ride back to the Manor with Valentine to tell him what he was beginning to suspect?

If he told Valentine without including Kate in the telling, he would be at least figuratively putting his life in her hands.

Then again, chasing after her could pretty much guarantee the same result.

Simon laughed softly as he considered his dilemma.

But, if he was going to be hanged, it might as well be for a sheep rather than a lamb.

“She says you allow her to ride unaccompanied,” he said, watching Valentine mount.

Valentine settled into the saddle. “Oh, she did, did she? At least she almost got it right. It’s more that we’d rather she do it openly than sneak behind our backs. Either way, she rides when she wants to ride. Did you see the bell nailed to the stable wall?”

“No, I haven’t yet visited the stables. But doesn’t the bell go on the cat?”

Valentine laughed, acknowledging the joke. “Whenever Kate rides out alone one of the grooms rings the bell, an action repeated across the estate by those who hear it. Rather a heads-up to be on the lookout for her, you understand. If she’s off to the West Run, we know it by the bells. Toward the village, we know that, as well. Et cetera. She’s not as alone as she thinks, everyone watches for her. When she returns, the groom rings the all-clear. It sounds convoluted, I know, but believe me, it’s much simpler than trying to keep Kate to the rules.”

“And she doesn’t realize this?”

“Of course she does, unless she thinks some bloody angels are ringing mystical cowbells as they greet her along the way. She doesn’t acknowledge it, which to my sister’s mind is rather as if it isn’t happening. I suppose you could say she’s being accommodating. She may even think she’s won. You never know with Kate.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to see that. No cowbells needed today, I’ll go after her. In a moment. What did that hen-witted twit say to you?”

Valentine brushed at the sleeve of his riding jacket, as if attempting to remove a smut of something unpleasant that had got stuck there. “Nothing worth committing to memory, I assure you. He’s as ready to go as any young lad of his age, but with twice the brass because he’s been convinced he’s entitled. He’s a parrot for his father’s teachings, you understand. What randy young pup doesn’t want to hear women have been placed on this earth to please him? Men rule the world and are, again, entitled to anything they want. Oh, although we can thank our lucky stars Turner Collier hadn’t gotten so far in Adam’s lessons to actually show him how men gain strength and power by bedding as many women as possible, most notably during their supposed ceremonies. So everyone can observe and join in, perhaps applaud, you understand. The mind fairly boggles, doesn’t it?”

“It’s disgusting,” Simon said, fighting back a mental image he could feel forming in the back of his brain.

“Despicable, I agree. But useful for keeping members in line and blackmailing their carefully selected guests—the journals, remember? Gideon remarked that it comes down to a simple strategy of play tonight my good fellow, to the top of your bent, unaware you’ll pay tomorrow. You’ve had your every sexual whim provided for, and will so again—we just ask you to first do us this one small favor.”

Simon nodded. “Such as the recent attempt to divert supplies meant for the troops massing on the Peninsula. Not traitors, not primarily, but weak-minded men who don’t want their pleasures taken away.”

“As far as it goes, yes. You’re forgetting the implied or else. Lord only knows the forms the threats might take. We think the first favor is fairly innocuous, but then they’ve really got the man on their hook. After that, they own him pretty much body and soul, and the favors turn to outright crime, even treason, poor bastards. Didn’t Gideon share all of this with you in Perceval’s office?”