She rang for Holly. As she washed and dressed, she felt confidence well. Not since Thomas died had she felt so positive, so eager to face the day. She felt as if, after a long night, the sun was finally rising once more on her world-and she had Gerrard to thank for it.
Her champion. She grinned, gave her curls a last tweak, then headed for the breakfast parlor.
Gerrard was already seated, along with Mitchel. Barnaby had arrived just ahead of her. He held the chair beside Gerrard for her, then sat alongside.
The three of them chatted, tossing ideas back and forth about the ball. Considering all that had to be done. Mitchel was subdued. After cleaning his plate, he rose and bid them a good day. Barnaby asked if he would be around later, in case they needed assistance with arrangements for the ball.
Mitchel shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I’ll be out for most of the day-we’ve the rotation of crops to organize.”
Nodding, Barnaby raised a hand in acknowledgment. Jacqueline smiled; Mitchel bowed and left.
She, Gerrard and Barnaby fell to organizing with a vengeance, expecting Millicent to join them any minute.
But Millicent didn’t appear.
Jacqueline had just registered that her aunt was unusually late when Millicent’s maid peeked into the parlor. Jacqueline saw her. “Gemma?” The maid looked shaken. Jacqueline pushed back her chair. “Is anything wrong?”
Gemma edged into the room, bobbing a curtsy. “It’s Miss Tregonning, miss. I don’t rightly know where she is.” Gemma’s eyes were wide. “Have you seen her?”
A chill touched Jacqueline’s heart, then spread. She rose. Chairs scraped as Gerrard and Barnaby rose, too.
It was Barnaby who spoke, calmly, evenly. “She must be somewhere. We’ll come and help look.”
It didn’t take long to find her.
Gemma and another maid had already searched upstairs. Gerrard asked Treadle to gather the footmen, then went with Jacqueline and Barnaby out onto the terrace, to look, and then to plan.
They walked to the main steps leading down to the gardens, searching the various areas they could see. Jacqueline called; Gerrard filled his lungs and shouted, “Millicent!” but there was no answering wave, no reply.
Beside Jacqueline, he halted at the top of the steps. Glancing down, he saw marks, dirt streaked across the pale marble.
There’d been a light shower during the night. He looked down the steps, confirming that the well-worn patch of path at the bottom was damp. There were similar, small, telltale streaks all the way up the steps.
“Barnaby.” He wasn’t sure if it was his artist’s imagination running amok, but…when Barnaby looked at him he pointed to the streaks.
Barnaby crouched down, with his eyes followed the trail up the steps, then swiveled and looked along the terrace. The faint streaks led on, smudged here and there, but then ended-where the balustrade overlooked the Garden of Night.
Gerrard felt his face harden; Barnaby’s was grim as he rose.
“What is it?” Jacqueline asked, looking from one to the other.
Gerrard pressed her arm. “Wait here.”
Quickly, he went down the steps, and turned into the Garden of Night. Barnaby was on his heels.
Jacqueline froze. In her head, a voice screamed,
Her gaze locked on the entrance to the Garden of Night, not the one Gerrard had painted, but the upper one. The entrance she’d stood at over a year ago, and seen her mother lying dead, flung like a broken bird, her legs trailing in the pool, her back broken on the stone coping.
The archway drew nearer. Nearer. Then she was standing in it, within the cool touch of the garden’s shadows.
Gerrard and Barnaby were bending over the body of her aunt. As with her mother, her aunt lay half across the coping. White as death. One hand trailed, fingers lax, on the gravel.
A choked sound escaped her. She wanted to scream, to call for help, but she couldn’t get her throat to work. Her lungs felt as if they were caving in.
Gerrard heard; he turned and saw her. He said something to Barnaby, then rose and swiftly came to her.
She pressed both hands to her lips. Couldn’t form the words to ask. Asked with her eyes instead.
“She’s alive.” Gerrard gathered her to him, hugged her reassuringly. “Unconscious, but alive.” He lifted his head, yelled, “Treadle!”
An instant later, the butler appeared at the top of the steps. “Sir? Miss? What…?”
“Send for the doctor, then send some footmen down here with a door.”
Alive. Millicent was alive. Jacqueline’s legs gave way.
Gerrard swore, and tightened his arms about her.
She rested her head against his chest, forced her lungs to work, dragged in a huge breath. Gulped. “I’m sorry.” She hauled in another breath, then locked her legs and lifted her head. “Go back and stay with her. She’s badly hurt. I’ll wait here.” She sensed his hesitation. “I’ll be all right. Truly. The best help you can give me is to help her-I can’t. I can’t go in there.”
He understood; she saw it in his eyes. He steadied her against the end of the balustrade. “Stay there-don’t move.”
She nodded. He turned and plunged back into the Garden of Night.
Millicent was carried up to her room and laid on her bed.
Lord Tregonning was informed; Sir Godfrey was summoned.
The doctor arrived. He was taken straight up to Millicent. When he entered the drawing room half an hour later, he looked grave.
“She’s unconscious, but she was lucky. A branch broke her fall. It broke off beneath her and prevented her spine or skull from cracking. Her arm’s broken, but will mend well enough. However, she did hit her head. How long she’ll be unconscious I can’t say.”
“But she’ll live?” Jacqueline leaned forward, hands clasped in her lap.
“God willing, I believe so. But we can’t take that for granted, I’m afraid. She’s still with us, but we’ll need to take one day at a time-she’s not young, and the fall was-”
“Horrific.” Lord Tregonning was pale, stunned; his knuckles showed white as he gripped his cane.
“I’ve made her as comfortable as I can. Mrs. Carpenter knows what to do. I’ll call again this afternoon to see if there’s any change, but it may well be a day or more before she regains consciousness.”
Barnaby shifted; he spoke in an undertone to Lord Tregonning. His lordship nodded, then focused on the doctor. “I’d appreciate it, Manning, if you kept this entire episode under your hat. At least until we know more.”
The doctor hesitated, then nodded; his gaze flicked to Jacqueline for the briefest of moments, then he bowed and left.
Barnaby stared, all but openmouthed, after him; the instant the door shut, he flatly stated, “I don’t believe it.”
Gerrard forced his hands to relax from the fists they’d curled into. “Believe it.” His growl sounded feral. “But this time, that’s not how things are going to be.”
He turned to Jacqueline; he didn’t like the empty look in her eyes. “When she regains consciousness, Millicent will tell us who flung her over the balustrade, but we can’t sit and wait until then.” He looked at Lord Tregonning. “The murderer thinks Millicent’s dead-if he realizes she isn’t, but is unconscious, he’ll be desperate to silence her. We need to keep her safe.”
Lord Tregonning’s eyes widened. He had Barnaby summon Treadle, and they quickly conferred. Footmen would guard Millicent night and day. Barnaby suggested and all agreed that the most useful way forward was to behave as if nothing untoward had occurred. Treadle assured them the staff would keep mum; he withdrew to ensure it.
“It’ll confuse the blackguard, and the portrait is bait enough.” Barnaby looked at Gerrard.
Who nodded. “Indeed. But nevertheless, we need to piece together what happened.”
