Love Is Blind by Lynsay Sands

  "I did not want to," Adrian assured him quickly, "but as you say, Hadley pointed out that it had to be someone who was both in the city and here, and .. . well, I preferred to think it was Lydia, but she has been proven innocent, and that left--"

  "Me," Reginald interrupted dryly. "Well, thank you very much. After all I did to try to help you two get together--not to mention all the years you and I have known each other. You have now decided I am some mad killer?"

  "Not mad," Adrian said quickly--but knew at once it was the wrong thing to say.

  "Why on earth would I want to kill Clarissa?" Reginald asked. "Did this Hadley even consider that I do not have a motive?"

  "Well, actually," Adrian admitted, "he supplied a motive."

  Reginald blinked. In disbelief he asked, "What? What possible motive could I have to kill your wife?"

  "It would appear he got hold of some rumors that vou may be in dire financial straits."

  Reginald snorted. "That is all it is, rumor. And one I started myself. Besides, that would be a motive to kill vou, not your wife."

  "You would not inherit if Clarissa were alive."

  "No, but I could always marry Clarissa. In truth, if I were to enact such a wretched plan, I would be more likely to kill you and marry her. She is a lovely little bundle, which I noticed from the first, and absolutely charming. If only I had taken the time to get to know her better, and to realize that she was not refusing to wear her spectacles out of vanity, I might be the one married to her instead of you. Unfortunately, I could not get away from her quickly enough after she burned my piffle."

  Adrian scowled at the suggestion of his cousin and Clarissa married, then asked, 'You said the rumor of your financial difficulties is one you started yourself. Why?"

  Reginald grimaced, and now he was the one finding it difficult to meet his cousin's gaze. He finally sighed and admitted, "I am interested in a certain lady who has come out this season. However, I have had it suggested to me that she is a fortune hunter. So I have dropped a word here and there suggesting that I am in dire straits in order to test her out."

  "Really?" Adrian asked with surprise. He was

  amazed to see his cousin flushing in embarrassment. This seemed to suggest that Reginald was seriously interested in the woman in question. "Who is she?"

  His cousin scowled. "Never mind that. Let us get back to the topic of Clarissa and her would-be killer."

  Adrian sighed and nodded; he could ask about his cousin's love life later.

  "If it is not Lydia, and it is not me--and I assure you, it is not me . . ." Reginald paused to glare at him coldly, then added, "You may ask Thoroughgood about that, by the wav. He can tell you I was nowhere near the Crambrays' when the fire started. And you have my permission to ask my man of accounts about my true financial status as well."

  "That will not be necessary," Adrian said, embarrassed even to have accused his cousin. He should have followed his instincts. Reginald was not a murderer.

  "Hmmph," Reg muttered in disgust. "It would seem it is necessary, or you would not have come here looking to see if I was a killer."

  "Look," Adrian said, "I am sorry about that. I did not really think you were, but I had to know for sure. Someone is trying to kill Clarissa, and I--"

  Reginald waved him to silence. "Let us just stick to the topic of who it could be."

  Adrian closed his mouth, exhaling a sigh through his nostrils. Reginald continued.

  "Anyway, as I was saying, if you are sure it is not Lydia, and I know it is not me, whom does that leave?"

  Adrian rubbed his forehead. "That just leaves the servants--or someone we are not even aware of."

  Reginald pursed his lips. "The servants, you say?"

  "Yes." Adrian frowned. "But none of them has a motive."

  "Well, neither did I, but you thought I did it," Reginald snapped.

  "Don't get angry at me about that. You are the idiot going around claiming to be broke, not I."

  Reginald huffed again, then said, "Back to the servants."

  Adrian shook his head. "As I said, there is no reason that I can think of for any of my staff to wish my wife dead. Besides, I have one staff here in the country and another in the city. None of them would have been able to attempt anything at both places, except for Keighley and Joan."

  "Keighley and Joan? Joan is Clarissa's maid, is she not?" Reginald frowned.

  Adrian peered at him closely. "What? I recognize that expression, Reg. Something has occurred to you. What are you thinking?"

  His cousin shook his head, uncertainty filling his face. "It is probably nothing. I am probably mistaken."

  "About what, Reginald?" he asked impatiendy. "Anything you know, or think you know, may be of some help here. Just tell me, no matter how foolish it seems."

  Reginald grimaced. "It is just... the night of the Crambray ball, when I went back inside .. . ?"

  Adrian nodded.

  "Well, as I told you, it took me several moments to find Jeevers."

  Adrian nodded again. 'Yes, yes. And?"

  "By the time I found him and explained that I was leaving early, then finally made my way out to the hall, Clarissa and her maid were coming down the stairs, returning to the ball." He hesitated again, then sighed and said, "Her maid reminded me of someone, is all-- but it could not be her."

  "Could not be whom? Whom did she remind you of?" Adrian asked.

  "An actress I saw several times onstage," Reginald said finally. "But it could not be her. I heard she died in a fire."

  "In a fire?" Adrian felt a tingling along the back of his neck, some memory in his mind being activated. "What was this actress's name?"

  "Molly Fielding," Reginald said.

  Adrian's hand slammed down on the armrest of his chair, and in the next moment he was on his feet and hurrving for the door.

  "Hey!" Reginald rushed after him. "Where are you going?"

  "Do you not recall the name of the man who kidnapped Clarissa and tricked her into marriage when she was child?" Adrian asked as he strode quickly up the hall to the foyer. His voice was as hard as his heart had suddenly turned.

  "Yes. That was Captain Fielding," Reg said. He followed Adrian out of the house and to the stables.

  "And according to the tale, it was Captain Fielding and his sister who met her at the inn and traveled with her all over the place, and finally to Gretna Green."

  "It could be a coincidence," Reginald warned. "I said the maid looks like Molly Fielding--besides, Molly died in a fire. That is why she was no longer onstage."

  "Hadley said Captain Fielding's sister died in a fire. Molly Fielding has to be the sister," Adrian insisted. He began to walk the length of stalls in search of his horse.

  "Okay," Reginald allowed. His cousin had stopped at the second stall and was opening it to let a horse out. Adrian recognized the roan as Reginald's mount.

  "But you just said she died in a fire. How can Clarissa's maid, Joan, be Molly?"

  "I do not know, but it all fits." Adrian finally found his own horse. He led the animal out beside Reginald's, and began to saddle him. "She was both in London and here. She had access to Clarissa's room, and easily could have left the piece of pie. And she is the one who called Clarissa away from the ball to receive die letter supposedly from me."

  "But you said yourself at the time that she of all people would know that Clarissa could not read a letter. Why send her one?"

  "I do not know," Adrian admitted. "Possibly for that very reason. She knows Clarissa cannot read without spectacles, and no one would think she would send a letter as a trap when Clarissa cannot read it. Which was a success. That was one of the reasons I did not suspect her," he pointed out. "Besides, if Joan is behind it all, and she arranged for that letter to be delivered, she could also have arranged for the time it was to be delivered--so that she could be nearby when the boy arrived. And, oh, how helpful she looked through it all," he added dryly.

  "Why would Clarissa not recognize her?" R
eginald asked with a frown.

  "She cannot see without her spectacles," Adrian said. "And I do not think Joan has been with her long. Clarissa mentioned something about a maid, Violet, in the country. That woman served her mother before her, and was too old to be bouncing to the city and back. She retired when Clarissa left for London." He shook his head. "Clarissa has probably never seen Molly while wearing her spectacles. She . . ."

  "What?" Reginald asked when he paused abrupdy.

  "Lydia sent for Clarissa's spectacles before the wedding. They apparendy arrived the day before, and Joan rushed them upstairs, but Clarissa said she accidentally knocked them from the woman's hand with her blankets. I wonder now if Clarissa really did knock them, or if Joan just said she did and threw them to ensure that they broke and she could not see and recognize her."

  "Hmm. That seems possible," Reg murmured. He frowned, "But why would Joan--er, Molly, if she is Molly--why would she even want Clarissa dead?"

  "Fielding died in prison," Adrian reminded him, as they led their now saddled horses out of the stable. "Perhaps she blames Clarissa for his death. He was imprisoned for what he did to Clarissa, after all."

  "Damn," Reginald muttered as they mounted. "I say it over and over again; it is so hard to find good help nowadays. It's bad enough when they are robbing you blind, but now we have to worry about them trying to kill us?"

  Adrian grunted in response, then put his heels to his horse, urging the beast into a run as he headed for home. He was glad his cousin had forgiven him enough to come; he was so angry at the moment that he could kill the maid with his bare hands. Of course if she'd harmed a single hair on Clarissa's head while he was gone, he would do just that. Even Reginald would not be able to stop him.

  Chapter Twenty

  "Do not hover in the doorway, Joan. Come in," Clarissa murmured, glancing up from the book she'd been trying to read. The effort had been wasted; her mind was too preoccupied with thoughts, most of hem about the woman presendy crossing the library toward her.

  Joan and Keighley were the only people besides Adrian, Lydia, and Reginald who had been in the city and were now here at Mowbray or in the vicinity. Clarissa did not believe either Lydia or Reginald could be the culprit behind her rash of accidents, and she certainly knew it was not Adrian. That left Joan and Keighley.

  Joan was the more likely suspect. Keighley was an old man. Clarissa simply could not see him breaking into the London house in the dead of night to set a fire in the hall outside her door. Nor could she see

  him climbing the back gate, as Adrian had done, to creep about the footpaths and knock her unconscious.

  Joan, on the other hand, wouldn't have had to break in. She'd always been present, and had been privy to information about Clarissa's location and whom she would be with. Joan was really the only viable suspect.

  Clarissa's problem now was that she could not think of a motive for the woman to do these things. That, and the fact that she liked the girl, she acknowledged with a sigh.

  Closing her book and setting it aside, Clarissa peered up at Joan as the maid paused in front of her desk. Her eyes immediately narrowed. She'd never seen the maid from this angle. Not while wearing spectacles. It allowed her to see the small raised beauty mark under the woman's chin. Clarissa had seen a beauty mark like it before, and in the exact same place. Ten years ago.

  She stared briefly, then raised her eyes to Joan's face, looking her over more carefully before saying, "What is it, Molly?"

  "I just wondered if you would like a cup of cocoa or tea while you are reading," the maid asked.

  Clarissa's mouth tightened. Joan had not even noticed the name change. That and the beauty mark were proof enough for Clarissa. "Not if it will be poisoned like the pie . .. Molly," she said again.

  The maid stiffened, her expression closing and her eyes suddenly wary as those of a cornered cat. "You know."

  "I know who you are," Clarissa allowed. "But not why you have been trying to kill me."

  Molly Fielding's hands clenched into fists at her sides. "My brother."

  "Jeremy," Clarissa murmured, recalling the man. He'd cut a dashing figure in his uniform. At least, she'd thought so when she was young. He couldn't hold a candle to Adrian.

  "And my mother," Molly added.

  "I never even met your mother," Clarissa said with amazement.

  "And me," Molly continued. She added bitterly, "When Jeremy was charged and sent to prison, we lost our support. I had to take to the stage to put food on the table. I'd led a sheltered life up until then. It was an eye-opening experience."

  "I am sorry you had to do that to support yourself and your mother--," Clarissa began, but Molly wasn't finished.

  "And it was all for nothing, really," the woman said. "I did it for Mother, but she died of a broken heart after the scandal hit and Jeremy was convicted. And then he died . . ." She lifted angry eyes to Clarissa, and rage made her words a growl. 'You killed them both."

  "And I promised myself then that someday I would make you pay."

  Clarissa sighed, gazing on Molly with pity. "And you have waited all this time to have your revenge."

  "In truth, I did not expect ever to have the chance to get it," Molly admitted, picking up the letter opener off the desk and absently toying with it. "But then, at the beginning of the season, you and Lydia and her cronies showed up at a play I was in."

  Clarissa blinked in surprise. She said, "A play? I have

  only ever been to one play in my life. It was one of Shakespeare's tales, when we first arrived here for the season." She frowned, unable to remember the tide. She hadn't been able to see anything without her spectacles, and had fallen asleep listening. Giving up on the title, she asked, "You were in that play? As an actress?"

  Molly nodded. "My character died in the first act. It was as I lay, supposedly dead, that I saw you up in one of the boxes. During intermission I slipped out to the lounge to get a closer look and to be sure it was you. I overheard Lydia saying that you needed a lady's maid, that your maid from home was too old to come to the city with you. I was standing right behind you, and you suddenly turned and glanced around. You looked right at me, and there was no recognition on your face at all. And then I realized you weren't wearing your spectacles."

  "Lydia had already taken them away," Clarissa said quiedy.

  Molly nodded. "I am not sure I would have done anything even then if fate had not lent a hand. I went home that night exhausted and angry, and woke up in the middle of the night to the smell of smoke. Our row was on fire. I managed to slip out a window, but I hadn't had a chance to grab any clothes. I had to steal some. I lost everything in that fire. It wasn't until sunrise that I saw what I had stolen. I looked like a maid." She gave a short laugh. "It seemed almost providential. I did not contact anyone I knew from my life before. I let them all think I had died in the fire, and decided to apply for the position as your maid."

  "Were you not afraid of being recognized?"

  Clarissa asked curiously. "If not by me, then by someone else? Surely, as an actress, your face would be known."

  "Not really. No one ever notices servants," Molly said with a shrug. She added, "I was more worried about whether I would be able to get the position. I knew nothing about being a lady's maid. But I guess my acting stood me in good stead. By that afternoon, I was your maid."

  "And tiien the accidents began," Clarissa said. "I take it I have you to thank for falling down the stairs?"

  "The item you tripped over was my shoe. I put it back on and rushed down to see if you were all right after you fell."

  "And in front of that carriage?"

  Molly shook her head. "That was just an accident. I had nothing to do with it."

  "The poisoned pie?"

  "I gather I did not use enough poison."

  "Hitting my head and falling into the fountain?"

  Molly's mouth tightened with remembered anger. "I hired the father of the boy who brought the message. He was only s
upposed to hit you over the head and knock you out. I was supposed to finish you off, but he got overexcited and tried to do it himself. He was trying to impress me," she said dryly.

  Clarissa considered that, then asked, "The fire?"

  Molly nodded. "I locked your door and started it in the hall, then slipped back to bed so that I could be startled awake when it was discovered."

  Clarissa sighed and shook her head. "I am sorry about your mother, Molly. I lost my own, and know how hard that can be. But you have been blaming the

  wrong person. The scandal--all of it, really--was your brother's doing. .And he died in prison. His death had nothing to do with me," she pointed out quietly.

  "Nothing to do with you?" Molly echoed in disbelief, then pointed the letter opener at her and said, "He died in prison . .. where you put him. He never should have gone to prison. He was a good man; kind and sweet and--"

  "I am sorry, Molly," Clarissa interrupted with amazement. "But you seem to forget your brother kidnapped me and tricked me into marrying him to get at my inheritance. I would hardly call that a good, kind, and sweet man."

  "He loved you."

  "He loved my inheritance, and devised a plan to get it," Clarissa corrected impatiently. "And--as all bad plans do--this one went awry. He was caught and forced to pay the price."

  "There would have been no price to pay had he consummated the marriage."

  Clarissa couldn't argue with that. Had Captain Fielding forced consummation on her, the marriage would have been irreversible. She would even now be stuck in a loveless match with someone interested only in her inheritance.

  "Thanks to his kindness, he let you rest that night-- and that kindness killed him," Molly said bitterly, tears glazing her eyes.

  "Kindness, my arse!" Clarissa snapped irritably, recalling in stark detail that night and all its humiliation. She'd not told Adrian everything about her first wedding night; she'd not told anyone. Captain Fielding hadn't really asked if she was too tired when he broached the subject; he'd stated that she was and then

  left her alone. She was grateful now, but it had been a humiliating rejection for her at the time.

  "Your brother did not consummate the marriage because he could not be bothered," Clarissa informed Molly grimly. "He did not find me attractive. My bosoms were not large enough, and the tavern maid at the inn was more to his taste."