Lie by Moonlight Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Lie By Moonlight

  A G.P. Putnam's Book / published by arrangement with the author

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2005 by Jayne Ann Krentz

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

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  The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

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  ISBN: 0-7865-5603-X

  A G.P. PUTNAM’S BOOK®

  G.P. Putnam’s Books first published by The G.P. Putnam's Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  G.P. PUTNAM’S and the “P” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

  Electronic edition: June, 2005

  BY JAYNE ANN KRENTZ WRITING AS AMANDA QUICK

  Wait Until Midnight

  The Paid Companion

  Late for the Wedding

  Don’t Look Back

  Slightly Shady

  Wicked Widow

  I Thee Wed

  With This Ring

  Affair

  Mischief

  Mystique

  Mistress

  Deception

  Desire

  Dangerous

  Reckless

  Ravished

  Rendezvous

  Scandal Surrender Seduction

  OTHER TITLES BY JAYNE ANN KRENTZ

  Falling Awake

  Truth or Dare

  Light in Shadow

  Summer in Eclipse Bay

  Smoke in Mirrors

  Dawn in Eclipse Bay

  Lost & Found

  Eclipse Bay

  Soft Focus

  Eye of the Beholder

  Flash

  Sharp Edges

  Deep Water

  Absolutely, Positively

  Trust Me

  Grand Passion

  Hidden Talents

  Wildest Hearts

  Family Man

  Perfect Partners

  Sweet Fortune

  Silver Linings

  The Golden Chance

  BY JAYNE ANN KRENTZ WRITING AS JAYNE CASTLE

  After Glow

  Harmony

  After Dark

  Amaryllis

  Zinnia

  Orchid

  This one is for dedicated teachers everywhere. You change the future every time you walk into a classroom.

  1

  LATE IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN VICTORIA . . .

  Midnight in a fog-shrouded graveyard. There could be no darker place on the face of the earth, Annie Petrie thought.

  She shivered and clutched her cloak more tightly at her throat. She had never been more frightened in her life. But the rumors regarding the man she was here to meet were very plain. An appointment with him was conducted at the time and place of his choosing or not at all.

  She had changed her mind a thousand times that day about whether to come here tonight. Her nerves had nearly failed her altogether that morning when she had awakened to discover the note on her bedside table.

  She had picked up the piece of paper with shaking fingers, stunned by the realization that he had entered her lodgings in the middle of the night. Somehow he had gotten past her locked doors and shuttered windows. She had never heard so much as a whisper of sound, never sensed his presence. It was as if she had been visited by a ghost.

  When she finally calmed down enough to read the brief message, she discovered that it contained a simple list of instructions. In the end, knowing that she would never be able to rest soundly again until she had some answers, she obeyed each item on the list with great care.

  The directions had included turning down the lantern when she came through the gates of the cemetery. Now the lamp cast only a weak glare that reflected off the eerie fog. The dark shapes of the stones, crypts and monuments loomed in the vapor-laced shadows.

  It took every ounce of will that she possessed to keep moving forward. She had come this far, she told herself. She would not give up now. It was the least she could do for poor Nellie.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Petrie.”

  The voice was as dark and ominous as the graveyard. It emanated from the doorway of a nearby crypt. She froze, too terrified to scream, let alone flee.

  A gentleman’s voice, she thought. Somehow that knowledge only made her all the more anxious. She managed to turn slowly, straining to make him out in the shadows. But the limited light of the lantern did not spill into the cold darkness that marked the doorway of the old stone crypt.

  “I did everything on the list,” she said, aware that her own voice was quivering uncontrollably.

  “Excellent. Would it surprise you to know that some who make an appointment with me never keep it?”

  “No, sir, it wouldn’t astonish me in the least to learn that.” She was startled to discover that she had a bit of nerve left, after all. “There’s not many who would fancy meeting a stranger with your reputation at this hour in a place like this and that’s a fact.”

  “True.” He sounded amused. “But I find that such odd times and locations help to eliminate those who are not entirely determined upon their course of action.” He paused. “I only work for clients who are resolved to obtain answers, no matter what the cost, you see.”

  “I’ve made up my mind, sir.”

  “I believe you. Now then, why don’t we get down to business? I assume this concerns your sister’s death two days ago?”

  That comment rattled her. “You know about Nellie?”

  “When I got word that you wished to meet with me I was naturally curious about your purpose. I made a few inquiries and learned that you had recently lost your sister in a tragic accident.”

  “That’s just it, sir, it weren’t no accident,” she rasped. “I know that’s what the police said, but it’s not true.”

  “Nellie Taylor was found floating facedown in a cold plunge in Doncaster Baths. All the evidence indicated that she slipped on the tiles at the edge of the pool, struck her head, fell into the water and drowned.”

  The cool, emotionless recitation of the facts ignited the anger and frustration that had been simmering in her since Nellie’s death.

  “I don’t believe it, sir,” she said stoutly. “My sister worked in those baths for over ten years, ever since she turned thirteen. Started back in the days when Dr. Doncaster was still giving folks the water cure there. She knew her way around and she was always careful about the wet tiles.”

  “Accidents do happen, Mrs. Petrie.”

  “Nellie didn’t suffer an accident, I tell you.” She clenched the handle of the lantern in her fist. “Someone killed her.”

  “What makes you so certain of that?”

  He sounded politely curious.

  “Like I said, sir, I don’t have any evidence.” She swallowed hard and braced her shoulders. “I want you to find the answers for me. Isn’t that what you do?”

  There was a long silence.

  “Yes, Mrs. Petrie, that’s what I do,” he said. “Tell me more about your sister.”

  She took another steadying breath and reminded herself to be careful about
what she said next. “Nellie worked on the women’s side of the baths.”

  “Her body was found in the cold plunge on the men’s side.”

  “Yes, sir, I know. That’s one of the things that makes me suspicious, you see.”

  “Did she ever have occasion to work in the men’s section?”

  “Well, yes, once in a while.” This was the uncomfortable part, she thought—the part she had hoped to avoid. “Some of the gentlemen will pay extra for a female attendant who will wash their hair or give them a rubdown in a private room.”

  “I’m aware that such services are available,” he said neutrally.

  Her stomach chilled with dread. If he believed that Nellie had been a prostitute, he would likely conclude the case was not worth his time.

  “It wasn’t what you’re thinking, sir. Nellie was a respectable, hardworking woman. She was no whore.”

  “Forgive me. I did not mean to imply that she was.”

  So polite, she thought, bewildered now. He actually sounded sincere. There weren’t many men of his class who would bother to apologize to a shopkeeper such as herself.

  “I’m not entirely certain what took place in those private rooms on the gentlemen’s side of the baths,” she admitted. “All I know is that Nellie worked there occasionally. She said some of the customers asked for her and tipped handsomely for her services.”

  The man in the doorway of the crypt was silent for so long she began to wonder if he was still there. An unnatural stillness gripped the graveyard.

  The gossip that had come to her ears claimed that he could materialize and vanish at will. When she had first heard the stories, she dismissed them as the wildest sort of nonsense. Nevertheless, standing here in a fog-draped cemetery in the middle of the night, it was all too easy to wonder if she had been conversing with a spirit from the Other Side.

  Perhaps by day he slept in a coffin inside that very crypt where he had been standing a moment ago.

  A thrill of horror electrified her nerves at that thought.

  “Do you think that one of Nellie’s special gentlemen customers murdered her?” he asked.

  “It is the only thing that makes sense to me, sir.”

  There was another dreadful silence. The fog seemed to be growing heavier, blotting up what little moonlight remained. She could no longer see the outline of the crypt.

  “Very well, I will make inquiries for you,” he said. “If you’re truly certain that you want answers to your questions, that is.”

  “What do you mean, sir? Why wouldn’t I want them?”

  “It is not uncommon in affairs of this nature for clients to learn things that they would have preferred not to know about the deceased.”

  She hesitated. “I understand what you’re saying, sir. But Nellie was my sister. Like the rest of us, she only did what she had to do to get by. In her heart, she was a good person. I will not be able to face myself in the mirror if I do not at least try to find out who did that terrible wrong to her.”

  “I understand, Mrs. Petrie. I will contact you when I have some answers.”

  “Thank you, sir. I am grateful to you.” She cleared her throat. “I hear tell that you charge for your services.”

  “There is always a fee, Mrs. Petrie.”

  That sent another shudder through her but she held her ground. “Yes, well, I expect that we had best discuss what I will be expected to pay. I make a fair living selling my parasols, but I am not a wealthy woman.”

  “I do not charge money for my services, Mrs. Petrie. My fees are more in the nature of favors.”

  Dread lanced through her. “Begging your pardon, sir, I’m not sure I take your meaning.”

  “There may come a time when I will have need of a parasol or two. Should that occur, I will send word to you. Do you agree to those terms?”

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered, baffled. “But I cannot imagine that you’d ever find yourself needing a lady’s parasol, sir.”

  “One never knows. The important thing is that our bargain has been struck. Tell no one that you met with me tonight.”

  “No, sir, I won’t. I promise.”

  “Good night, Mrs. Petrie.”

  “Good night, sir.” She was not sure what to do next. “Thank you.”

  She turned and went swiftly back toward the gates. When she reached the entrance of the cemetery, she turned up the lantern and hurried toward the familiar comfort of her snug rooms above the parasol shop.

  She had done what she could. The whispers she had heard assured her that, whatever else might be true about the stranger back there in the cemetery, one thing was certain: He could be trusted to keep his word.

  2

  The second explosion reverberated through the ancient stone walls that enclosed the secret staircase. The lantern Concordia Glade clutched in one hand swung gently in response. The low, glary light splashed wildly into the chilling darkness that surrounded her and the four young women behind her on the stairs.

  Everyone, including Concordia, flinched and caught their breaths.

  “What if this stairwell collapses before we reach the bottom?” Hannah Radburn’s voice edged precariously toward hysteria. “We’ll be buried alive in here.”

  “The walls will not collapse,” Concordia said with a good deal more conviction than she felt. She steadied the lantern and pushed her eyeglasses more firmly into place on her nose. “You will recall that we studied the history of the construction of Aldwick Castle quite thoroughly before we decided where we would place the incendiary devices. This section has stood for several hundred years. It is the oldest and strongest part of the structure, built to withstand catapults. It will not fall apart tonight.”

  At least, I pray that it won’t, she added silently.

  The truth of the matter was that the force of the two muffled explosions had greatly exceeded her expectations, to say the least. The first one had taken out the windows in the new wing close to the chamber in which the two men from London had been enjoying their cigars and port after dinner. From her vantage point in the schoolroom in the old section she had seen flames spring up with startling speed and violence.

  The second device, timed to burst into flames a few minutes after the first, sounded as if it had done even greater damage.

  “That last one was quite loud, wasn’t it, Miss Glade?” Phoebe Leyland said uneasily. “I wonder if there was some mistake in the formula we found in that old book.”

  “The instructions for the mixing of the chemicals were quite clear,” Concordia said. “We followed them precisely. It is just that the devices were never meant to be ignited inside a closed room. Naturally they are creating a startling effect. That is precisely what we hoped to achieve.”

  She kept her tone firm and reassuring. It could be fatal for all of them if she revealed even a hint of the fear that was pounding through her. The lives of the four girls behind her on the staircase were in her hands. If they were to survive and make good their escape, they must remain calm and follow her orders. Hysteria and panic would give rise to certain disaster.

  She could hear muffled shouts of alarm from the courtyard. The castle’s small staff was responding to the fire. With luck the flames would keep everyone busy long enough for her and the girls to get to the stables.

  They had to get out tonight or all was lost. The conversation she had overheard when she eavesdropped on the two men from London this evening had convinced her of that. But secrecy was paramount. She did not doubt for a moment that the coarse, sinister-looking guards who masqueraded as gardeners and workmen on the castle grounds wouldn’t hesitate to slit a throat or shoot an innocent at the command of either of the two well-dressed villains from the city.

  “It is very dark in here,” Hannah said in a small, thin whisper.

  Concordia held the lamp a little higher. The stairwell was not only dark, it was narrow and cramped. The descent had not been easy for any of them, but Hannah had a special dread of close, dark spaces.
>
  “We are almost at the bottom of the steps, Hannah,” she said reassuringly.

  “I smell smoke,” sixteen-year-old Theodora Cooper announced.

  Her twin sister, Edwina, gasped. “Maybe this wing is on fire, too.”

  The faint but unmistakable scent drifted ominously up the staircase. Another jolt of fear rattled Concordia’s nerves, but she made herself speak with what she thought of as her classroom voice.

  “This section of the castle is quite safe,” she said. “The only reason we can smell the smoke is because the wind is blowing in this direction tonight. Some of the vapors are seeping in under the door.”

  “Perhaps we should go back, Miss Glade,” Edwina whimpered.

  “Don’t be silly, Edwina,” Phoebe said flatly. “You know very well that there’s no going back now. Not unless you want to be taken away by those dreadful men.”

  Edwina fell silent. So did the others.

  Concordia glanced back over her shoulder and smiled at Phoebe. Like her, the girl wore a pair of spectacles. Behind the lenses of the eyeglasses, her remarkably intelligent blue eyes were filled with a resolve that seemed far too mature for her fifteen years.

  During the month that she had been at Aldwick Castle, Concordia had seen similar flashes of a disturbingly adult comprehension of the realities of the world in her students. One moment a girl would be caught up in the innocent pleasures and enthusiasms appropriate to a young lady hovering on the brink of womanhood. In the next instant a flicker of fear or melancholia would settle on her, stealing the glow of youth and anticipation from her eyes.

  The deep, abiding anxieties that afflicted her students were well founded, Concordia thought. All had been orphaned at some point in the past few months, cast adrift into the merciless seas of life without the support of family or financial resources. Their experience with devastating loss and the fear of an uncertain future gnawed ceaselessly at their valiant young spirits.

  Concordia understood. She had lost her parents, and the unconventional community that had been her entire world, the year she turned sixteen. That had been a decade ago. The grief and the fear returned frequently to haunt her dreams.