Wicked Christmas (Blackhaven Brides Book 10) Read online

  Lampton, who had just discovered a small but interesting hole in the bodice of the woman’s gown, turned to stare at the innkeeper.

  “She was here?” Winslow asked in astonishment. “She was staying here?”

  “Oh yes, sir, that’s why I had them bring her back here. Thought her family would rather it.”

  Lampton took his knife and cut through layers of gown and stays and chemise, parting them to reveal what lay under. A small neat hole between her breasts. It could barely have bled. The sea had taken care of whatever blood there had been.

  “She was stabbed through the heart,” Lampton said grimly. “By some very precise weapon, wielded by someone who was either damned lucky or knew what he was doing. She was already dead when she went in the sea.”

  “You know her family?” Winslow demanded of the innkeeper.

  “No, sir, but she’s bound to have some, isn’t she? Being who she is.”

  “For God’s sake man,” Winslow exclaimed. “Who is she?”

  The innkeeper raised his brows. “Didn’t I tell you? She’s foreign royalty. The Princess of Rheinwald.”

  Lampton jerked around, staring at him.

  The innkeeper’s alarmed gaze flew from Winslow to the doctor and back again. “What?”

  “If she is the Princess of Rheinwald,” Winslow said slowly. “Then who the devil is staying at the Blackhaven Hotel?”

  *

  Mr. Winslow had the body loaded into the carriage with them. Wrapped in several blankets, the poor woman was totally covered. The bundle barely looked human any more. Winslow and Lampton climbed up and sat on the seat opposite.

  Only when the carriage began to move did the magistrate say what they were both thinking. “Which of them is the princess?”

  “The lady in Blackhaven has the servants and the possessions,” Lampton said. He didn’t want to speak of her. “And the child.”

  “Does the Princess of Rheinwald actually have a child?”

  “I don’t know, but there must be a way to find out. If she doesn’t, why would they need a governess? The dead lady could be the missing governess.”

  “Or the Blackhaven princess could actually be the real governess,” Winslow mused. “Or maybe neither of them is a governess. Maybe the lady in Blackhaven and the servants stole everything from the princess and abandoned her.”

  “And then waited in Blackhaven to be discovered?” Lampton said is disbelief.

  Winslow shrugged. “Or stabbed her to keep her quiet.”

  There could have been a struggle. The princess—his princess—was wounded. That was an old wound, but a fight could have reopened it. That seemed a likelier cause than merely dancing.

  “Perhaps neither is the princess,” Lampton said shortly.

  “Then what is the point of the Blackhaven charade? Or this poor soul’s?”

  “I have no idea,” Lampton admitted.

  Winslow flapped one hand at the bundle on the opposite seat. “According to the innkeeper, this princess spoke with a faint foreign accent.”

  “So does the Blackhaven princess.”

  “Who nevertheless also speaks excellent English. An accent is easily adopted.” Winslow sighed. “By either party. Who would actually know the real Princess of Rheinwald?”

  Lampton frowned. “She—the Blackhaven princess—gave Lord Tamar a message from his sister. Unless they had actually met, surely she would be unlikely to know that Lady Lewis was in Vienna?”

  “But is she in Vienna?” Winslow pounced. “And if she is, there is no guarantee that the Blackhaven princess either knows her or carried a genuine message.”

  “We…” Lampton corrected himself. “You could speak to Lord Tamar.”

  Winslow nodded. “And in the meantime, we could see if our Blackhaven princess can identify the dead one.” He cast Lampton a rueful look. “It’s not great work for Christmas Eve, is it?”

  “It’s not Christmas Eve until tomorrow,” Lampton pointed out, though for some reason his heart was heavy and more troubled than he’d known it for many months—since he had first accepted that Mary would die and their child with her. He shifted in his seat. “With luck, you will have it all sorted out by then.”

  Chapter Four

  Elizabeth woke to the sound of Andreas’s chatter in her bedchamber and smiled. Her previous awakening had been in darkness, in a shroud of weird dreams and exhaustion. But now, in daylight, she felt rested and strong.

  She yawned and peered across the room. “Andreas?”

  Gretchen was shooing him out of the room. “Sorry to disturb your—”

  “You’re not disturbing me,” she interrupted, while Andreas managed to pull free of Gretchen and run to her.

  “Gentle now!” Gretchen warned. “Remember what the doctor said.”

  Certainly, Andreas’s hug was less brutal than usual.

  “What did the doctor say?” Elizabeth asked over his head.

  “That you’re to rest in bed and not disturb the wound. And that you’re to wear only loose clothes and absolutely no stays. And you’re not to lift Andreas or let him pull you about.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t quite sure how she felt about any of this. Although she trusted in Dr. Lampton’s discretion, she hadn’t wanted him as her doctor. He had seen her naked body, had sewn together her ugly wound. Respectable ladies of whatever rank did not go about with gunshot wounds. And now she was his patient, which was incomprehensibly depressing on one level that she would not think about. On another, she no longer seemed to doubt that she would recover and be able to look after her son.

  Dr. Lampton, the man, was nothing, she told herself. His skill was everything.

  “What shall we do today?” she asked Andreas.

  “Stay in bed,” Lise said from the doorway. “The doctor was very clear. And he will be back this morning to check.”

  “Will he?” For no reason, her spirits rose farther. “Then you had better help me wash and change.”

  On Elizabeth’s instructions, Lise dressed her only in a loose, embroidered peignoir and brushed her hair until it shone before pinning it up in a simple but elegant Grecian style that left a thick, waving lock to fall to her shoulder. Elizabeth thought it rather fetching when she looked in the glass.

  Of course, she should not care what she looked like for the visit of a mere physician. But there was something about Dr. Lampton… Perhaps it was just that he so clearly did not regard himself as inferior to anyone else. In return, everyone here in Blackhaven seemed to regard him as their equal or even superior, even earls and marquises. And princesses.

  He eventually called while Andreas was out with Gretchen. At the first sound of his voice in the outer room, Elizabeth’s heart began to beat so hard that her wound, which she had barely noticed in the last hour, began to throb. What was the matter with her? Why was she so eager for a mere doctor to admire her courage…and her person?

  He walked into her chamber as briskly as ever and dropped his bag on the floor beside the bed. A faint frown tugged down his brow. His grey eyes were cool, almost distracted.

  “How are you?” he asked, searching her face.

  She had always imagined he was an intimidating man, more by sheer force of character than physical stature. But as he loomed over, it came to her that he was tall and large and stern, and for no obvious reason, she felt vulnerable.

  “Well,” she replied. “That is, better.”

  “May I look?” he said, crouching on the floor and folding back the covers before she gave her permission.

  His manner gave her an odd jolt of disappointment. If she had imagined some friendship, some affinity between them, she had clearly been wrong. It was quite obvious he believed he had better places to be than here. Still, his hands were gentle and sure as he unwrapped the bandage and inspected his handiwork. Without a word, he rose to take the bowl of clean water from Lise and washed the wound before patting it dry.

  “Good,” he pronounced. Before he applied a clean dressing, he
smeared some nasty looking, muddy ointment over the seam, then bandaged it as efficiently as before. “Have you been out of bed?”

  “I walked around the room once. I refrained from dancing.”

  “Good,” he said again. “Any dizziness? Pain?” He finished covering her and stood once more, his gaze wintry rather than compassionate.

  It shouldn’t have hurt. What on earth had she been imagining? “No.”

  He nodded. “Then I have a favor to ask you.”

  “Will it be discounted from my bill?”

  “Perhaps,” he said without humor.

  “Then ask,” she invited, deliberately careless.

  “Would you step across the hall with me to the rooms opposite?”

  She blinked. “Why?”

  “There is someone I would like you to meet. Don’t worry. Mr. Winslow is there, too, and you may bring your maid.”

  “I thought I was to stay in bed,” she said perversely.

  “It is not far. Providing you still refrain from dancing, I shall permit it.”

  She regarded him, as though considering his request. But the outcome was never in doubt. Curiosity saw to that. “Very well. Lise, my slippers.”

  He took her arm, easing her out of bed and helping her to straighten without pulling at her side. While Lise shook out the skirt of the light muslin peignoir, the doctor placed her hand in his arm. She could not fault his care as he walked her slowly out of the bedchamber, across the sitting room, and out into the passage.

  “She won’t be long,” he told Lise, who stood by the door as they crossed the passage to the half-open door on the other side. Mr. Winslow opened it wide.

  “Ah, there you are, ma’am. So sorry to see you laid low, but you are in the best of hands. Thank you for making this effort.”

  “No effort, I assure you,” Elizabeth drawled. “I am quite agog.”

  Mr. Winslow bowed her into the room, which was a sitting room much like her own. All the curtains were open allowing in the winter daylight. On the sofa facing the door, lay a long bundle wrapped in blankets. Dr. Lampton led her toward it while Mr. Winslow strode past them, took one corner of the blanket and whipped it back to reveal a human face.

  A dead human face. Elizabeth stopped moving. The blood drained away to her feet, for she knew the face, knew the dead person well. Involuntarily, her fingers grasped tightly onto the doctor’s sleeve.

  “Miss Hale,” she whispered.

  “Miss who?” Mr. Winslow asked politely.

  “Harriet Hale. My—Andreas’s—governess. She should be here. She should… Oh, dear God, what happened to her?”

  “She was stabbed through the heart,” Dr. Lampton said callously. “After which she either fell or was pushed into the sea—which threw her ashore again on last night’s tide. You are quite sure she is the governess?”

  Something in his manner penetrated her shock. She let her gaze focus on him. “Why? Who else would she be?”

  “Well, according to the innkeeper in Whalen, she is the Princess of Rheinwald.”

  “Oh, for—” She broke off, gasping as the full force, the full implications of Miss Hale’s death hit her. “Lise!” she cried. “Lise!” She spun around so fast that had the doctor not been holding her up, she would have fallen.

  “Madame!” Lise ran into the room, her eyes wild with fury for whoever had upset Elizabeth.

  “Lise, bring them back!” she commanded. “Bring Andreas back now! They’re here!”

  “Who is here?” Dr. Lampton asked as Lise fled to do her bidding without question.

  But Elizabeth knew exactly what Lampton had done, understood fully the deliberate cruelty of exposing her to Miss Hale’s corpse without any warning. Most of all, she grasped why he had done it, and even through her fear for Andreas, the betrayal cut like a knife.

  She dropped his arm as though it burned her, and when he caught her wrist, she stood perfectly still. “Take your hands off me, now.”

  He obeyed, although slowly.

  Mr. Winslow said, “Forgive me, madam, there are questions I need to ask you.”

  “I will answer any questions you like. But first, oblige me and look for my son. He is with his nurse and it is vital, vital that he come here immediately.” She knew he exchanged looks with Dr. Lampton. She didn’t care. Without aid, she walked swiftly out of the room and across the passage to her own.

  There, she walked to the window, looking down onto the street below for any sign of Andreas and Gretchen. It had begun to snow. Andreas would want to play in it. They’d have the devil of a job getting him back home. Last winter, Miss Hale had played with him and taught him to make snowballs and built a snowman… A lump formed in her throat. But there would be time to weep for the governess when her son was safe.

  She swung around to go to her bedchamber and found Dr. Lampton in the middle of the room.

  “Please return to bed,” he said.

  She didn’t even pause, merely brushed past him. “In my own time.”

  “You mustn’t go out looking for Andreas,” he warned.

  “Your opinion, like your presence, is immaterial to me.”

  “What use will you be to him if you open your wound again?”

  “What use will I be to him if he is dead?” she retorted.

  And suddenly, he stood in front of her, blocking her access to the bedchamber. “Dead?” he repeated. “Why should you imagine he is dead?”

  “Miss Hale is dead. As you were at such pains to point out.”

  His gaze did not fall before the outrage in hers, though there may have been a hint of shame there. No doubt, more imagination on her part.

  “I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “We had to know who she was.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Cry, Dear God, I am undone! The princess is dead and it is all my fault?”

  “Only if it was true.”

  She laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “You still think I am the governess,” she taunted. “No wonder your manner was so brusque this morning. Only princesses appear to be worthy of your courtesy.”

  His eyebrows flew up. “You told me I was rude to the princess.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “I’m rude to everyone,” he confessed. “It’s a failing. Come, let me help you back into bed.”

  “I am not going back to bed.” Another wave of panic surged through her and she swung away to the window. “I can’t. Not yet.” Her voice shook as she scanned the street in vain once more.

  “Why are you so afraid for him?” Dr. Lampton asked curiously. “What do you imagine could happen to him in broad daylight with his nurse in attendance, and your maid looking for him along with Winslow and his man?”

  She laughed derisively and touched her side. “This! Do you really not understand? Someone managed to shoot me in broad daylight. But they were aiming for him, for my son. And now Miss Hale is dead.”

  Again, she brushed past him, determined to dress and find Andreas herself. But he caught her wrist, halting her, and staring down into her face.

  “They’ll find him,” he said gently. “And bring him back to you. You would help him more by sitting and talking to me. Tell me what happened to you, why you are afraid for Andreas, how it is connected to…the dead woman.”

  “You won’t say her name,” Elizabeth said derisively, “You don’t believe she is Miss Hale.”

  She didn’t remember walking across the room with him, but already he was handing her onto the sofa, easing her down by the arm so that she put no strain on her side. Then he pulled up a high-backed chair and set it down opposite her.

  “Unless you paid her extraordinarily well, her dress is much finer than that of any governess I have ever encountered. The pearls at her throat probably cost a lifetime’s salary.”

  Elizabeth frowned. She hadn’t registered those things at the time, but in a flash of unpleasant memory, she saw the peals around the white, dead throat, and the water-damaged gown only half-hidden by the blankets.


  She blinked, bringing Lampton’s face back into focus. “They’re mine,” she blurted. “The gown is mine. The pearls are mine. I didn’t even notice they were gone, which says too much about my worldly goods. She must have taken them when she left for Yorkshire…Why would she do that? She is not a thief. Why would she pretend to be me? She was visiting her family.”

  “Perhaps she wished to impress her family with the fine clothes. People do.”

  “Perhaps,” she agreed doubtfully.

  “Did you like her?” he asked. “Were you friends?”

  She blinked. “Friends? No. She was the governess…” She met his gaze with defiance. “I liked how she was with Andreas. She could manage him because there was something childish about her, too. She loved him and I trusted her for that reason. But we were not close. To be frank, I found her a rather silly person. We had little to do with each other beyond daily discussions about Andreas’s needs.” She swallowed. “But I am sorry she is dead. So sorry…”

  She frowned, her wayward mind taking her back to a previous point. “She was coming back to us, surely, if she got as far as Whalen. Perhaps she just wanted a spell of luxury, of being treated like a princess.” She sighed. “And she was. We were both attacked, although she paid the ultimate price.”

  “You think she was killed in your place? Why?”

  “To get to Andreas.”

  Lampton leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees “Who would want to hurt a child?” he said intensely. “Who would follow you here from Vienna just to murder your son?”

  She took a deep breath. “Rheinwald is a small principality, but it is wealthy and uniquely untouched by the late war. My father-in-law and my husband saw to that by changing sides whenever required. It will be given to one bigger country or another as spoils or compensation and our independence will be gone. But not our wealth. The title of prince is an old one; it was not bestowed by Bonaparte, and so Andreas will probably keep that along with considerable personal wealth. If he lives.” A shudder shook her. She strained her ears for sounds of his high, childish voice, his running footsteps in the passage outside.

  She met Lampton’s gaze. “I went to the emperor’s hunting party with Alfred, my brother-in-law, on his advice, in order to bring my son to the notice of those who make those large decisions. Little countries like ours, or even larger ones, have no say in the peace congress that will affect us all. I needed the backing of the great powers to maintain Andreas’s patrimony in some form. By then we had given up on maintaining an independent principality, but he could still be a wealthy nobleman.”