"Don't worry, I'll find him." His voice rose dramatically when he addressed the footman. "Get my wife a brandy. And lock the door when I'm gone. On no account are you to leave my wife alone."

"Max, please, go!" Sara cried out.

He nodded and left.

After the footman had locked the door, he brought Sara a gla.s.s of brandy. She was shivering so hard that when she tried to drink it, she spilled drops down the front of her coat. She must be getting hysterical, she thought, because when the footman took up his position by the door, just as though everything were normal and she was paying an afternoon call, she began to giggle.

Now that she was out of danger, she couldn't seem to get a grip on herself. When her spasmodic giggles turned into hiccups, she put the gla.s.s to her mouth and took a long, hard swallow. Then she coughed and sputtered, and tears started to her eyes, but those tears weren't all caused by the brandy she had swallowed.

She was cold, so terribly cold.

She turned to the footman and adopted Max's imperious tone. "I want the fire lit," she said.

This was soon done, and she changed chairs to get closer to the warmth. It was a big fireplace, twice as big as any at Longfield, and in no time at all, she felt toasty warm. She took another swallow of brandy, sank back in her chair, and watched the flames lick around the kindling and logs. Footsteps and voices sounded in the corridor, but she paid no attention. She was staring at the fireplace, but she was seeing the fireplace in the dower house.

For three years, she'd suffered torments not knowing whether she or Anne had murdered William. And when the notes had started to come, she'd begun to believe that William was still alive. But if Lady Neville had written the notes, then William must surely be dead.

Then where had he gone that night, after he left the dower house?

He would go to someone who had the means to pay off his gambling debts. That's why he'd come to her. Gambling debts had to be paid at once. It was deplorable, but there was some sort of unwritten code amongst gentlemen that d.a.m.ned a man if he reneged on gaming vowels but forgave him if he neglected to pay his bills to his tailor or bootmaker or even to his servants and dependents.

Lady Neville said that William had had an appointment with her that night, but he hadn't turned up. She always gave him whatever she could spare. But that wouldn't have been enough for William, not nearly enough. And Sir Ivor wouldn't help his son. They hadn't spoken to each other in years.

She sipped her brandy absently and came at the problem from a different angle. Who had the motive and opportunity to kill William? That was the question that had led to her own arrest and trial. Her thoughts drifted and she began to recall tonight's events, especially the last hour in Lady Neville's private apartments. Something struck an odd note. Little Jenny. Something about little Jenny. She dwelled on that thought, and before she had time to weigh anything, her mind began to make fantastic connections.

It couldn't be true.

She started over and slowly, piece by piece, put the puzzle together until a picture began to emerge.

It was too fanciful. And even if it were true, she could never prove it. She didn't know how she'd got started on this bizarre train of thought. One minute, she'd been sipping brandy, staring at the fireplace, and the next she'd been transported to the dower house and the last time she'd seen William.

She put down her gla.s.s and got up. She felt as though a charge of electricity had just pa.s.sed through her. It was only a theory, but it made sense. And there was one sure way of proving it.

Just as she began to move, someone knocked on the door. Sir Ivor's voice barked out an order, and when the footman unlocked the door, Sir Ivor strode in. Right behind him was Max.

It didn't surprise Sara to see that Sir Ivor was fully dressed. He wouldn't lower himself by appearing in public in a nightshirt and a dressing gown. He was as immaculately turned out as always-beige breeches, dark blue coat, pristine white shirt. Max looked as though he had thrown on his clothes when his house caught fire.

The first thing Sir Ivor did was to send his footman to the front door to await the arrival of the constable. Max crossed to Sara.

"The footman? Beckett?" he said. "He was trying to make a run for it. He didn't get very far. He left a trail of blood. But he's all right. He's locked up and guarded and once the constable arrives, he'll be questioned. Meanwhile, he's not saying anything."

"And Lady Neville?" she asked.

Sir Ivor's voice lashed out. "She will be joining us presently, once her maid dresses her." He was very angry and red veins stood out on his nose and cheeks. He approached Sara. "I'm sure she knows nothing, and, I might add, I don't for one minute believe this trumped-up story of abduction. If anything, I think you and Beckett are in this together, but what you hope to gain is beyond me."

Max spoke through his teeth. "My man was struck down tonight as he escorted my wife home. He might have been killed. Let Lady Neville and her footman try to explain their way out of that."

Sara said quickly, "You said Mr. Fallon was all right."

Max did not break eye contact with Sir Ivor. "He suffered a concussion, that's all. But it could have been worse."

Sir Ivor swore violently, turned away and stalked to the sideboard with its tray of decanters. He spoke over his shoulder as he poured himself a drink. "I'm warning you, I'm pressing charges. This is nothing less than break and enter. And if Beckett maintains his innocence, then the charge will be attempted murder."

"Don't worry." Max patted Sara's hand. "They won't get away with it. We know you were abducted. Peter was able to tell us that much. And we have witnesses who will testify that Beckett was in the house the night you received that note."

"Hah!" Sir Ivor turned, a hard, scornful smile on his face. "If Beckett was in your house, who let him in? My G.o.d, Lord Maxwell, you, of all people, should know that this woman has no morals. She was carrying on an affair with Beckett under your very nose."

"Why you-"

Sara's hand on Max's arm prevented him from springing at the older man. "No, Max! No more violence! Please!"

Max's eyes searched her face, and his expression softened. "You look," he said, "as though you're ready to collapse. I should take you home, and I will as soon as we talk to the constable. Can you wait that long?"

"If I have anything to do with it," said Sir Ivor, bolting his drink, "she'll be accompanying the constable to the toll-booth. She hasn't changed. This is just like the last time."

Max said something soothing to Sara, but she didn't hear him. She was thinking that Sir Ivor was right. It was so similar to the last time that chills were running up and down her spine. She would be arrested and imprisoned in Winchester until her trial. The gossip would start up again and everyone would have a salacious story to tell about Sara Carstairs.

It was similar, but it wasn't the same, because this time she could speak up. She didn't have a sister to worry about. She didn't have to fear that if she told the truth she'd be sending Anne to the gallows.

"You hypocrite!" Her eyes were like ice and fixed on Sir Ivor's face. She took a step toward him, then another. "You liar! You coward! You saved your own skin last time by making me your scapegoat. And maybe I helped you because I kept my silence. But it isn't going to happen this time around."

Both men were looking at her as though she'd gone mad.

"Sara-" said Max, frowning.

"No, listen to me! He murdered William. He murdered his own son. I know how it happened and I know why."

"I think," said Sir Ivor, "your wife has lost her senses. But do go on. This is highly entertaining. At least it will pa.s.s the time until the constable arrives."

Max looked worried. "I'll get you a gla.s.s of brandy," he said.

Sir Ivor sauntered over to his desk and took the chair behind it. He looked amused, and that put a dent in Sara's confidence. She automatically accepted the gla.s.s Max gave her and put it to her lips. Then she saw that one of Sir Ivor's hands was balled into a tight fist. It was a trick she had used at her trial. Her face would be serene, but all her fears and tension would be focused on the tight fist she concealed in the folds of her gown.

"William," she said, looking at Max, "wanted money that night. He was in desperate straits and he came to me first. I couldn't help him even if I wanted to. The lawyers had drawn up my marriage settlements. You know we fought, and you know that afterwards, William left the dower house. Where would he go, Max? Who would have the kind of money to cover his gaming debts? Think about it. There were only two people in Stoneleigh with that kind of money, myself and his father."

"He wouldn't come to me," Sir Ivor burst out. "I had disowned him when he married your sister."

"No," said Sara. "Your quarrel with William took place long before he married Anne. And you didn't disown him. He disowned you."

"You're mad!"

Sara turned to Max. "I told you that William got very angry with me once when I taxed him about a rumor I'd heard."

Max nodded. "He'd fathered a child on a local girl, then deserted her."

Sir Ivor sighed. "If you must know, that's why I disowned him, that and his wildness and gaming."

Sara's voice was shaking. "But it wasn't a local girl. It was your own daughter. I don't believe she died of a lung fever. I don't believe you took her to London to see the best physicians. You took her there to get an abortion. She was sixteen years old and she died! How could you do it?"

Sir Ivor's face was starkly white. "Who told you these lies?"

"Beckett," said Sara, shamelessly lying. "He knows all about you, Sir Ivor. He told me."

He stared at her without blinking, then turning to Max, he said hoa.r.s.ely, "It was necessary to protect our family name. William and his own sister! How could I let that get out? You're a man of the world.

You would do as much to protect your own family's name."

"You're mistaken," Max said, his lips stiff, his nostrils flaring. "My only concern would be for the girl."

Sir Ivor gave Max back stare for stare. "I'm not apologizing for anything." He looked at Sara. "If I'd wanted to kill William for what he'd done to my daughter, why would I wait so long? Why not kill him at once? She died the year before he married your sister."

"That's what puzzled me," she said, "until I realized William had nothing to do with it. You were the father of your daughter's child. I think Caroline told William and you paid him off to keep his mouth shut. But when he'd spent the money you'd given him, he came back for more." She appealed to Max. "That's how William worked. He blackmailed me, and when the money ran out, he always came back for more. He did the same with his father. And that night, I think Sir Ivor came to the end of his tether and killed William. Isn't that what happened to me? I wanted to kill William, too, but I would never have let someone else take the blame for it."

Sir Ivor was breathing hard. "I refuse to listen to any more of these disgusting lies."

Even Max was shaking his head. "Sara, these are serious accusations."

She ignored this interruption. Eyes on Sir Ivor, she asked harshly, "How old is Jenny? You know Jenny, don't you, Sir Ivor? Little Jenny? She works for you. She's a maid. Beckett said that you would be with her tonight. Is she twelve? Thirteen?" Then on a broken whisper, "My own sister, Lucy, said that you made her skin crawl. I should have questioned her, but it never occurred to me that you would molest her. Even your own wife knows that you like little girls. Is that why she has never grown up? How many little girls have you molested, Sir Ivor? Do you think you can keep it a secret? I'll find out. I promise you. I'll find out."

"Lies!" roared Sir Ivor. "The ravings of a lunatic! You can prove nothing!"

Sara breathed out slowly. "Oh, but I can. You killed William that night, in this very room, then you hid his body in the secret chamber beneath the fireplace. Max, look at the fireplace. I know it doesn't have inglenooks, but it's almost a replica of the fireplace in the dower house. Look at the decorative bricks. This fireplace was built by the same builder who built the fireplace in the dower house."

"Congreve." said Max. "Peter told me about him." He moved to the fireplace wall and examined it carefully. "My G.o.d, Sara, you're right."

"There will be a sequence-"

She broke off when Sir Ivor suddenly grabbed her from behind, with one arm across her chest, locking her in a vise-like grip. He had moved with the speed and silence of a panther. There was a pistol in his hand and when he c.o.c.ked it, Max spun round.

"Don't make any sudden moves," said Sir Ivor, "or the girl dies." He put the pistol to Sara's head.

"I didn't believe half of what Sara said," said Max.

"Neither did I," said Sara. "And to tell the truth, most of it was guessing. Max, I love you."

"I'm taking her with me." Sir Ivor began to drag Sara toward the door. "If you try to interfere, I swear I won't think twice about putting a bullet in her head."

Max spread his arms wide. "You'd best put the bullet in me." He advanced slowly, cautiously. "Because, if you harm a hair of her head, I swear I'll track you down and kill you with my bare hands." He looked over Sir Ivor's shoulder. "Ah, Constable. You've arrived just in the nick of time."

"What the h.e.l.l!" exclaimed Constable Evans, a big beefy man who stood framed in the doorway.

When Sir Ivor took his eyes off Max, Max leaped for him.

He lashed out with his booted foot, like an athlete executing a high jump, and Sir Ivor's pistol went spinning out of his hand. Sara dragged herself free and Max landed a wicked right hook on Sir Ivor's jaw. With a gasp of pain, Sir Ivor sank down on his knees. Defeated, head bowed, he made no protest as the constable manacled his hands behind his back, then dragged him to his feet.

"And now," said the constable, "would you mind telling me what in Hades in going on here?"

The constable was in no hurry to look for secret rooms where bodies might be hidden. After it had dawned on him that he had just arrested the most powerful man in West Hampshire, he had become much more cautious. He was wishing now that young Streatham had gone to Magistrate Orr's house instead of to his own. There would be h.e.l.l to pay if he overstepped himself in this affair. He had six children to feed, and if he were dismissed from his position, he didn't know how he would put bread on the table. That's why he had sent Streatham back to Stoneleigh to get the magistrate. Orr was gentry himself. He would know how to handle this little lot.

He really hated it when he was called out to deal with the upper cla.s.ses. They were all the same. They thought they had only to tell you something and there could be no questioning it. That was the problem. They were all telling him different stories.

And his position was made more awkward because one of Sir Ivor's accusers was Sara Carstairs, the woman he'd arrested three years before for young Neville's murder. She was married now to a man of some importance, and he didn't know whether to call her Lady Worthe or Lady Maxwell, so he wasn't calling her anything. He wished Orr would get here and take charge.

There were four of them now, because shortly after he arrived, Lady Neville had been wheeled in in her invalid chair. Of them all, she was giving him the most trouble. She kept squawking about dire consequences for him because he'd arrested the wrong person. The others were quieter as they waited for Magistrate Orr to arrive. In fact, Sir Ivor sat there like a block of stone and had hardly opened his mouth. Sara Carstairs's eyes were closed, and her husband kept urging her to take another sip from the gla.s.s of brandy he was holding to her lips.

The constable looked at Max. "What was that, sir?"

Max's patience was just about at an end. He'd soon come to see that the constable was slow and plodding, but this was the limit. The man must be a dolt if he couldn't tell that Sir Ivor was guilty of something.

"Look," he said, trying to be patient, "you caught Sir Ivor with a pistol to my wife's head. He knew we'd discovered where his son's body is hidden, and if you would only give me a few minutes to find the mechanism to open the trapdoor, I'll prove it to you."

"Not," said Constable Evans, "before Magistrate Orr gets here, sir. He's the only one with the authority to search Sir Ivor's house." He wasn't sure if that was the truth, but he was taking no chances.

Lady Neville's childish face showed both fear and anger. "This is an outrage! Of course William isn't here. Only Sara Carstairs knows where he is. Don't you understand anything, Constable? I brought her home for that very purpose, to lead me to William's body. And if you hadn't interfered, that's exactly what she would have done."

For the first time in a long while, Sir Ivor stirred. "What are you saying, Jessica? How could you have brought that woman home?"

"I sent her letters in William's handwriting. Oh, Ivor, why do you think I joined the ladies' guild at the church? Why do you think I made friends with that impossible woman, Constance Carstairs, yes, and promised to help launch her daughter in society? It was only to discover Sara Carstairs's address so that I could send notes to her in William's hand. To bring her home, you see. To make her wonder whether William still lived."

She looked around and saw that everyone was watching her, and like a precocious child, she played up to them. "No one knows what Sir Ivor and I have suffered not knowing what happened to our son. Just to give him a Christian burial would give us so much comfort. How can you doubt that Sir Ivor loved William? He offered a reward to anyone who could discover William's whereabouts. You shouldn't be badgering my husband with questions. You won't find William here." She pointed a trembling finger at Sara. "His body is hidden on the downs. She was taking Beckett there when Lord Maxwell arrived. Ask her." Her voice cracked. "Make her show you where she has hidden my son's body."

Sir Ivor was sitting on the edge of his chair, his hands still manacled behind his back. "You brought that woman home to Stoneleigh? Without a word to me?"

Lady Neville blinked at her husband's harsh tone. Her thin eyebrows rose. "Beckett wanted the reward, Ivor. He said you might not give it to him if you knew. It was the only way I could get him to help me. And he thought you might not approve of our methods." She clenched and unclenched her hands as it came to her that Sir Ivor was livid. "I did it for you, Ivor. When you kept increasing the reward, I knew how much finding William's remains meant to you. I knew, then, that you loved William, and I wanted to help you find him."

With a savage oath, Sir Ivor jumped to his feet. "You stupid cow!" he roared. "You have sent me to the gallows!"

When Sir Ivor started toward Lady Neville, Max quickly intervened and dragged him back. "Stupid cow!" Sir Ivor yelled, struggling against Max's hold. "Can't you see what you've done? She was the one person I feared. I didn't want her to come back here, asking questions, stirring things up. I was safe just as long as she stayed away."

There was an appalled silence.

Sir Ivor came to himself with a start. He was appalled, too. He was frozen, his face haggard. After a moment, he shook his head and let out a long breath.

Lady Neville's voice verged on the hysterical. "Why are you saying these things, Ivor? That woman killed William. Sara Carstairs. Everyone knows it. No one will ever make me believe that she didn't do it."

Sir Ivor looked at the constable. "My son's body is exactly where Lord Maxwell says it is, right under our feet. If you depress the first brick on the left, then the fourth brick from it, a trapdoor will open behind that basket of logs. I confess to the murder of my son. He was a wastrel and a ne'er-do-well. We quarreled. I hit him. And that's all I'm going to say. Now get me out of here before I'm forced to listen to another word from that stupid cow."

"You're giving me permission to search your house?" asked the constable.

"Yes! Get on with it! Just get me out of here!"

Constable Evens called in two men whom he'd brought with him and told them to take Sir Ivor outside and wait.

Lady Neville had covered her face with her hands and was weeping copiously. "It's not true," she sobbed. "Sir Ivor loved William. It's that woman's fault. She must have bewitched him. He's taking the blame for her, don't you see?"

She was still rambling in this vein when the constable emerged from the priest's hole under the hearth. "He's there," he said, "or what's left of him. I found this watch. It's engraved on the back with the name 'William Neville.' "

"Let's go home," said Max, and he held out his hand to Sara.