Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy

CHAPTER 42

The next day, Eliza descended to an empty house. The grandfather clock chimed eight times as she went through the foyer to the morning room, her feet leaden with lack of sleep. A tea tray had been left on the sideboard, stacked with oatcakes and sweetmeats and tented with a folded note. Eliza opened it:

My lady,

His lordship was keen to take us to the station early this morning. Said you and he needed some time alone to sort your holidays out. Mr. Turner (Sam) is with me. We’ve kicked up a wee romance, he and I. We’re bound for Aberdeen to see my Maggie and her bairns. I thank you for your kindness and we shall see you when the year turns.

Cheers,

Shirley Duncan

She closed Shirley’s note and poured her tea, holding her wrist steady with her other hand. So she was alone then. Alone in a house full of spirits, at the mercy of a husband whose behavior was increasingly unpredictable. A man who was quite assuredly capable of murder. She remembered how often he’d demurred when she’d brought up Gabriel. How their rivalry was his chief memory. His contempt for his brother was palpable. Had Malcolm shot his father, then contrived the fire to eliminate Gabriel and the meddling Mrs. Galbraith? And if so, why hadn’t he killed Shirley and Turner as well? Had they helped? It would explain why they were so secretive. And was his mother still in this house, kept like a mistress as Una had implied? Someone had been in the south wing last night. A person of flesh and blood who had a fondness for Chopin. It all made sense. Una’s warnings. Even Eastleigh’s. There could be no more shameful secret in a family than incest. Who was the true monster? Malcolm or his mother?

Eliza moved to the breakfast room. Her place at the table had been set, a lone candle lit next to the silver charger. There, on her plate, tied neatly in a bow, was a scrap of lace from the nightgown she’d worn the night before.

It was a warning.

A threat.

Eliza went to her room and packed her valise. She hurriedly dressed in her worn dungarees and a blouse, then pulled a heavy fisherman’s sweater over her head. Her corsets had grown too small as her pregnancy progressed, and she needed to be able to move quickly. She needed to be able to run. As she was rummaging through her drawers for any jewelry she might pawn, her fingers brushed against the luckenbooth Malcolm had given her. She held it in her hands, feeling the weight of happier memories. Now you’ve the key to my own heart, mo chridhe.

Eliza wavered for a moment, then secreted the luckenbooth inside the pocket of her dungarees alongside the cigarette tin she’d found in the south wing, which she had yet to open. No time for that now. She laced up her riding boots and descended to the main floor. All was quiet and still.

She went out the servants’ door and hurried through the kitchen garden. The pumpkins and winter cabbage were fringed with frost, their broad leaves glittering in the pale sunlight. Like everything else in this horrible house, they were rotting on the vine. She slung her valise over her shoulder and pushed through the delivery gate, picking up her pace as she approached the thicket of trees surrounding the stables.

As she cut through the birchwood forest, veering off the gravel-paved leisure path, the sagging roof of the stables came into view, its eaves green with lichen. Eliza’s walk became a jog. She had no idea whether Malcolm had taken both Friesians to the station, but at least Star would be there, as he had been since Lydia’s departure. She’d ride to Sarah for help—practical Sarah would know what to do.

Eliza had nearly reached the paddock fence when her toe nudged something solid among the fallen leaves on the forest floor. She looked down. A metal disc, barely visible, poked through the yellow birch leaves directly in front of her right foot. She stood stock-still, her breath rasping through her lips.

It was the trigger to a snare. Likely a boar trap. If she moved too hastily, she would set it off, sending metal teeth into her ankle.

Malcolm had warned her about snares in the woods, hadn’t he? To keep wild dogs and badgers at bay, he claimed. To protect the crofters’ livestock. But now Eliza wondered if he’d set them for far more sinister reasons.

Eliza’s heartbeat clamored as she slowly shifted all of her weight onto her left leg. If she could scoot her foot away from the trigger plate without touching it, she might be able to escape without injury. She drew in a slow breath and let it out through pursed lips. She carefully inched her leg backward, tensing her thigh muscles until they screamed.

She was almost free.

Almost.

As she watched in horror, her valise suddenly shifted off her shoulder and slid from the crook of her elbow toward the jaws of the trap. On impulse, Eliza grabbed for it with her other hand. In an instant, she realized her mistake. A bone-wrenching snap echoed through the trees. Pain shot through Eliza’s leg like cold fire. A sob of rage tore free from her throat. “You bastard!” She collapsed to the ground, the trap tightening around her ankle. Blood began to pool on the yellow leaves beneath her boot.

Eliza clenched her teeth and strove to steady her breathing through the clouds of pain and dizziness. The trap was smaller than she’d expected it to be, but its grip was fierce. With what little she knew about traps, she wagered that the more she struggled, the tighter it would become. She gingerly felt along her shin and ankle, pressing with her fingertips. The way the mechanism was built, only two of the teeth had penetrated her boot on either side. It appeared as if nothing were broken—the thick leather and wool sock within her boot seemed to have protected her from the worst—but she wouldn’t know for sure until she could stand again.

She needed to get free. Before Malcolm found her.

Eliza combed the underbrush with her eyes, seeking a large stick or anything else at arm’s length she might use to pry the trap free. There was nothing. In desperation, she leaned forward and pushed at the leaf springs with the heels of her hands, trying to leverage all her strength to open the trap’s jaws. Her arms trembled with the effort. It was futile. She was only tiring herself and driving the rusty teeth deeper into her flesh.

It was suddenly so cold. Eliza shivered and pulled her cloak over her shoulders. Her child turned within her womb, light as a sparrow’s wing. She rubbed at her belly and lay back on the ground, blinking. The treetops spun above her. The world only stopped tilting when she closed her eyes.

Without realizing it, she descended into sleep.

When she woke, the sky had shifted from morning’s pale blue to a rosy purple. Her leg throbbed, sending spikes of pain up through her calf when she moved to sit. Fresh blood oozed from her punctured boot.

It would be dark soon. Doubtless, Malcolm had returned by now and discovered she was gone. Eliza could only imagine his anger. She dreaded what would happen when he found her.

As the moon crested the spindly tops of the birches, a rustling came from the underbrush. Eliza turned her head to look. A ghostly orb of light bobbed among the trees, just as the eerie lantern had months before when she’d spied it through her window. She stilled, her heart thudding. Please be one of the tenants.

But it wasn’t a tenant or a ghost. It was Malcolm, a grim frown drawing the edges of his mouth downward. His eyes landed on her and narrowed. The lantern light carved his cheekbones sharp as sabers. “Ah, there you are. Just as I thought.”

Eliza hugged herself beneath the chilling scrutiny of his gaze, silently swearing. How idiotic it was to think she could get away again without his knowing! She should have left the night before and used the time she’d had more wisely. But it was too late for that now. Now she’d have to face the consequences. Alone.

“I only wanted to go for a walk in the forest,” she stammered. “I tripped, that’s all.”

Malcolm calmly strode to her side, his boots kicking up a flurry of leaves. He knelt at her side and raised her face to meet his eyes. A nervous flutter went through her at the tenderness of his touch. “Is that all, darling?”

She nodded.

“It’s funny, you see. People don’t normally pack valises and leave their rooms in disarray when they go on a walk.”

“I . . . I . . .”

“Come now, Eliza. I’m no fool. You meant to leave me, didn’t you?”

She flinched. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Don’t lie to me. You’ve been deceiving me. We both know that.” Malcolm turned to her entrapped ankle and ran his long fingers gently over her boot. She winced. “I know all about your scheming. Your plotting and planning. Finding out all our little secrets, aren’t you?”

He withdrew something metallic from his greatcoat pocket. Despite the cold, sweat beaded at her temple and ran down her collar. Her heartbeat surged.

“I warned you,” Malcolm said, his voice crisp, each word enunciated. “About the traps.” He hinged her knee and placed her foot flat on the ground. She howled in pain. “There, there, darling. This might hurt a little. Do try to be still.”

Eliza began shaking uncontrollably.

And then there was Eliza, caught in a trap and murdered in the forest.

She could almost hear Galbraith’s wicked cackle on the wind.

Malcolm bent to his work. Eliza saw that the instrument he held wasn’t a weapon at all, but a simple carpenter’s C-clamp. He fastened the clamp around one of the trap’s springs and twisted its wing nut, sending it spiraling down the bolt. The pressure around her leg slowly began to diminish. After a few moments, Malcolm worked his hands between the loosened jaws of the trap and pulled it open with a snap. Blood rushed to Eliza’s head in relief. She nearly swooned. She was free. Alive.

She flexed her knee and tentatively circled her ankle. It rotated normally, but a jolt of ragged pain traveled up her leg, making her gasp.

“I’ll have to carry you,” Malcolm said. “It’s likely your ankle is broken.”

He scooped his arms beneath her and picked her up off the ground. Eliza wound her arms around his neck and allowed herself to be carried. She caught the scent of his camphor soap and felt the stubble sprouting from his chin against her cheek. A part of her wanted to nuzzle there and pretend that nothing between them had changed. That they were still the tender lovers they’d been before and he wasn’t gone to his madness.

As if reading her mind, he kissed the top of her head and chuckled warmly. “Ah, pet. You needn’t worry. All will be right again between us. Soon.”

Malcolm trudged through the gate and onto the tree-lined drive. The shadowed shoulders of the manor loomed ahead. Its yellow windows winked, as if they were amused by her misfortune. The house she’d once loved had become both curse and prison.

As Malcolm carried her over the threshold just as he had on their wedding day, Eliza knew with certainty she’d never see the outside of Havenwood Manor again.