Tasha Alexander - A Crimson Warning

“This is horrible,” Ivy said. “And I feel like it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault in the least,” I said. “She should have restrained herself, and her husband should have had the sense to keep away from Lady Glover.”

“We knew she might be violent,” Ivy said.

“I think he’ll recover fully,” Colin said. “They haven’t even had to take him to the hospital.”

“It sounds like the old boy deserved a good whack,” Jeremy said. “He should never have left such incriminating things sitting around the house.”

“Quite,” Colin said, then frowned and looked at his watch. “I want to get over there right away and don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Let’s hope that by the time I return, this is all settled.”

“What about Lady Glover?” Ivy asked after Colin had gone. “What if Winifred’s hurt her, too?”

“I don’t think she would have,” I said. “Not after what we told her today.”

Seeing how upset Ivy was, Jeremy excused himself briefly from the room, imploring us to alert him as soon as we learned anything new. Not a quarter of an hour after he’d gone, we heard someone banging on the front door of the house. Banging on the door and screaming.

“Lady Glover!” I’d rushed into the corridor, Ivy and Jeremy right behind me. Lady Glover was soaked. Her turquoise dress, with its golden crystal beads, which had once been elegant and stylish, was covered with dirt and missing one sleeve—the one that had been found in the park. Her hair was coming down around her shoulders, twigs and leaves sticking out from it. Mud streaked her face. Despite all this, she looked almost like a much-put-upon romantic heroine.

“Emily … I didn’t know where else—” She started to step forward, but collapsed on the floor in a delicate heap.

Davis, always the master of efficiency, had her upstairs in no time. A maid drew a bath and assisted her in getting cleaned up and into one of my cotton nightgowns. I tried to persuade Lady Glover to lie down, but she refused. Instead, she wanted a wrap to throw over her shoulders and insisted on coming down to the library.

“I’ve heard too much about your port not to have some,” she said. “You must indulge me, Lady Emily. I’ve been through so much.”

I knew enough of her to understand arguing would be fruitless, so I ceded to her demands. She draped herself across a settee, accepted a glass, and asked for a cigarette.

“I don’t have one,” I said. “Tell us what happened.”

“You haven’t summoned the police yet, have you?” she asked.

“Only my husband,” I said. “He’s in the midst of investigating another matter.”

“What?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Ivy said.

“It’s not to do with my kidnapper, vicious man, that he is?” she asked.

“No, it’s not,” I said. “But do you think you could identify him?”

“I will never forget that face,” she said. “Beady eyes and thin little mouth. But I don’t know his name, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Where was he holding you?” I asked.

“In the lodge where you saw me. I cannot tell you how it bolstered my spirits to see you coming to save me!”

“I didn’t realize you could see us,” I said. “I’m only sorry it didn’t work.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest I’d actually seen you,” she said. “But he mentioned you and the duke by name when he told me we had to move.”

“Did he hurt you?” Ivy asked.

“He was terrible,” Lady Glover said, lowering her voice. “You can’t imagine.”

“We must contact your husband at once,” Ivy said.

“No.” Lady Glover sat up. “I’m angry at him. He took so long paying the ransom.”

“So far as I know, the kidnapper hadn’t sent instructions,” I said. “Did he say anything about the money when he released you?”

“No. You misunderstand. I assumed the ransom had been paid,” she said. “I took a little nap this afternoon—being held prisoner is frightfully tedious—and when I woke up, there was no sign of either of my usual guards. On a whim, I tried the door and found it open.”

“So you just walked out, unscathed?” Ivy asked.

“Oh, no! It wasn’t so easy,” she said. “At first I thought that’s how it would be. I crept down the stairs—”

“Where were you?” I asked again.

“In another lodge in Hyde Park. A much nicer one this time. That’s due to you, Emily. If you hadn’t forced him to move me, I would have been stuck in that awful place the whole time.”

“But you did have trouble escaping?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Only one of the guards was there, and he’d gone outside. I don’t know why. So I ran out the other door and didn’t look back until I was out of the park. Actually, I didn’t look back then, either.”

“Was he following you?” Ivy asked. “Could you hear him?”

“Not that I noticed,” she said. “But one does have to make reasonable assumptions in these situations.”

“So when did the actual trouble occur?” I asked.

“I suppose it was more theoretical than actual,” Lady Glover said. “But I was terrified.”

It was clear she didn’t need a doctor; she’d risen from her faint with indecent speed. And nothing about her story rang true.

“I don’t believe you, Lady Glover,” I said.

“What can you possibly mean? How could I have been anything but terrified?” she asked.

“None of this makes sense—it hasn’t from the beginning. And look at you now: you’re not even upset.”

“I’m in shock. Once I’ve had a chance to react thoroughly I’m likely to be hysterical. How can you accuse me of—”

“Don’t,” I said, raising my hand. “I don’t believe any of this.”

She sat, silent, for some minutes, then let out a long sigh. “Was it that obvious?”

“No,” Ivy said. “I bought it entirely and it is I who is in a state of shock. Did you really make it up?”

“I am a master of intrigue, you know,” Lady Glover said.

“I feel a complete fool,” Ivy said. “I never doubted you. You are quite an actress.” There was a twinge of admiration in her voice.

“How did you arrange it?” I asked.

“I hired actors. We staged the kidnapping—it was rather exciting, I must say—and holed up in a lodge I knew to be vacant. A few days of that, though, and I started to get bored. My husband wasn’t responding to any of the ransom instructions—”

“I don’t think he received any,” I said.

“He did. My spies saw him read them. He just didn’t want to deal with me.” Tears flashed in her eyes. Part of me felt sorry for her, but the rest knew she was probably acting. “I tried to increase the stakes by having my men drop my sleeve in the park, but that didn’t light a fire under him, either. The whole experience was thoroughly depressing. In the end, I got tired of it and decided to go home. After making a stop here, first.”

“Why would you do such a thing?” Ivy asked. “I, for one, have been worried sick about you.”

“I guess I can’t get the stage fully out of my blood,” she said.

“That’s not a valid reason,” I said.

“My husband used to dote on me,” she said. “But lately I’d come to realize he didn’t care anymore. I wanted to know if that was the truth. And I found out, didn’t I?”

“What about the letters?” I asked. “Did you invent those as well?”

“No, I swear to you I didn’t,” she said. “And I got one more before my abduction.” She pulled it out of her décolletage and handed it to me:

I am whipp’d and scourg’d with rods,

Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear