Lacybourne Manor

Chapter Twenty-Seven The Good Kind. And the Bad.

Sibyl woke in a bed that felt strange beneath her. It was feather-soft, had no firmness and the sheets were slightly scratchy.

Her eyes flew open and she realised she wasn’t in Colin’s bed, she wasn’t in any bed she’d ever seen before.

And Colin wasn’t there.

She jumped out of the bed thinking to see Bran or Mallory but neither was in sight. There was also no elegant furniture in the room, indeed, although the room was grand, it looked slightly rough and definitely strange.

She was someplace she’d never been.

Even though she knew, somehow, she was in Lacybourne.

Her hands went to her hair which she found was plaited in a thick braid down her back.

She flipped the braid around to the front and stared at it.

Colin’s hair, nearly dark as black.

She stared down at her nightgown and it was old-fashioned and prim.

She was in a different time.

She was in Royce’s time.

“Oh my goddess,” she murmured.

Her eyes frantically searched the room and she found a soft, blue wrapper thrown across the back of a chair. She grabbed it and shoved her arms into the sleeves as she ran from the room and down the hall toward Colin’s room which she prayed silently to the goddess had also been Royce’s room.

She threw open the door and startled a maid who was making the bed.

The maid’s eyes rounded in surprise and she stared.

“Miss Beatrice,” she breathed.

Sibyl didn’t know what to say. Goddess, she wished she’d listened to her father more closely. How did one talk medieval?

There was nothing for it, Sibyl would have to bluff it.

“Where’s your master?”

She must have said the right thing because the woman’s face melted knowingly. “He’s…” Her eyes dropped to Sibyl’s body. “But you’re not dressed.”

Sibyl looked down at herself knowing it was most likely not seemly that she was running around in her nightclothes but she didn’t care. Time was of the essence.

“I need to see, um… Sir Royce right away.”

She felt like an idiot but she didn’t care about that either. At any moment, she could wake up.

“But Miss Beatrice…”

“Where is he?” she cried desperately.

The woman jumped at her tone which was obviously something with which, coming from Beatrice, she was not familiar. Then she spoke. “He’s at his meal in the Hall.”

She said more but Sibyl didn’t hear her. She flew down the corridor like the very devil was at her heels and then bounded down the stairs. Finally, she skidded to a halt, seeing the used dishes on the table… but no Royce.

She stomped her foot.

“Blooming hell!” she said in more than mild exasperation.

“Beatrice?”

His deep, smooth, velvet voice came from her right and she whirled.

Royce, standing straight and beautiful in one of the two semi-circular windows, was watching her with obvious amusement. His hair shown gold and was breathtaking in the sun pouring in from the window and she wondered if her own looked like that when hit by the sun’s rays.

“Royce,” she whispered then she flew right to him and regardless of her relief at finding him, she stopped a foot away and exploded, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

He grinned down at her. Without giving any sign he noticed she’d just yelled in his face, he lifted a hand and traced his finger softly down her jaw.

“I see, no matter that we will be wed this day, you are still not capable of a pleasing morning humour.

Her eyes widened and her brows shot up. “We’re getting married today?”

His grin immediately turned teasing. “You forgot?”

“No, yes… I…” she stammered and his grin broadened into a knowing smile.

“I should not be surprised you would forget, you forget many things, my Beatrice, but our wedding day? You wound me,” he joked, taking his finger from her jaw to put his hand to his heart in mock injury.

This was just too weird and he was being too sweet. But Sibyl didn’t have time to process Royce’s effective teasing, she had things to say, things to do so she charged on. “We don’t have time for this, we have to…”

But she stopped speaking when he leaned forward unexpectedly and reached around her then she felt a soft, deft yank at the back of her head.

“I do not like this,” he muttered, his hand coming back around and he held a pale blue ribbon in front of her face. He dropped it and she had to swiftly throw up her hands to catch it as his reached back around and she felt him uncoiling her braid.

Good goddess, just like Colin.

Her knees went weak.

“Royce,” she whispered.

His eyes, which were looking over her shoulder, moved to hers and at the look in them she felt herself holding her breath. “Beatrice?”

She didn’t know what to do, what to say. Would he remember her from the future?

She couldn’t count on that.

She had to pretend to be Beatrice.

And she had to work fast.

As he arranged her heavy hair around her shoulders, he murmured, “Better,” as if to himself.

“We have to go upstairs,” she whispered because his eyes had warmed and she definitely knew what that meant and she thought it best to press her advantage while she had one.

His grin turned wicked but his hand dropped and took hers, lifting it to his mouth, he pressed a kiss against her fingers. And through this, never once did his eyes leave hers.

“You are very impatient, my sweet,” he murmured. “We can wait; it will only be a few…”

“No!” she cried. “We have to go now, upstairs, you and me, now. There isn’t much time.”

And she suddenly felt like bursting into tears. She had to make him go upstairs, she had to – she gulped – she had to cheat (essentially) on Colin in order to save Royce and Beatrice. Or, she hoped, get the ball rolling then wake up in her time and in this time Beatrice could take over. And hopefully Beatrice wouldn’t come back from wherever she went when Sibyl was in her body and not be too freaked out.

She didn’t care if it messed with time (although she really didn’t want Japan to fall into the sea). She felt, believed to the bottom of her heart, that she and Colin would find each other, even if she did save Beatrice and Royce.

And she was going to do it, if there was time.

She’d forgotten that Royce was a seasoned warrior and he knew the kind of fear he saw in her eyes. Therefore the warmth went out of his, his body stiffened and he stared at her with concern.

“Speak to me,” he demanded.

“Royce.” She stepped closer and his arms instantly moved around her, pulling her protectively, lovingly against his hard body. She nearly came undone at the strange, casual beauty of his light embrace. “We have to go upstairs, Royce, tonight it will be too late because tonight…”

Then it happened, she was slipping away, she could feel it. She was waking from her dream and Beatrice was coming back. She had to change tactics, there wasn’t enough time, she simply had to warn him that tonight they would be murdered even if he thought she (or Beatrice) was crazy.

“Tonight? Beatrice, what do you fear happens this night?”

“Royce.” She could have sworn she shouted his name but it came out less than a whisper.

And then he was gone or she was gone and instead she was on her side in Colin’s bed, Bran curled up in the warm space made by her belly and her bent legs. She felt a hand smooth over her shoulder and she turned her head to see Colin’s dark one descending to kiss the place where his hand had been.

She wanted to burst into tears.

Instead she hid her rampaging emotions with a sleepy, “Morning,” and she closed her eyes to hide her feelings from Colin.

She felt his finger run down her cheekbone. “Go back to sleep, darling.”

And then he was gone.

And when she knew he was, she finally allowed the tears to come.

For she knew somewhere in the bottom of her heart that was her last chance.

And she had failed.

First thing that morning, Mandy walked into Colin’s office with his coffee and whispered, “Mr. Fitzwilliam is here to see you.”

She was privy to who Mr. Fitzwilliam was and perhaps, considering she opened his mail and had access to his desk, what some of his reports contained.

She also was well aware of Colin’s impatience with any kind of lack of progress.

She took one look at the controlled fury on Colin’s face, set the cup down at the far, outer corner of his desk as if she feared for her very life if she came within close proximity to him.

Then she slid the newspaper cautiously beside his coffee. “And you might want to have a look at that…” she paused then finished warningly, “later.”

With that, she ran-walked out of the room.

Robert Fitzwilliam entered seconds after.

Colin did not rise. He sat back in his chair and watched as Robert came into the room, stopped at the other side of the desk and looked, Colin was further infuriated to see, not the least bit ill-at-ease.

Before Colin could say a word, Robert announced, “We caught the boy.”

“I beg your pardon?” Colin asked quietly.

“The boy whose arm you broke, we caught him,” Robert answered. “We have him. We’re holding him not far from here.”

Colin took in a breath, trying for patience.

Fitzwilliam continued, “He’s been talking. We expect to have the other one within the hour.”

Colin regarded him carefully and when he spoke his voice was dangerous. “At this point, I’m not certain how relevant that is. Considering, of course, that the socialite and apparent villainous mastermind who orchestrated this entire lark is now in jail. Brought low, I might add, by a bevy of OAPs.”

Finally, the investigator looked a touch ill-at-ease. “Mr. Morgan, if you would allow me to explain.”

“This,” Colin said, his tone reaching stratospheric levels of ominous, “had better be good.”

Fitzwilliam, quite bravely, since he was not invited to do so, took a seat.

Then he started. “We knew Tamara Adams was following you. I did not report this to you because there seemed to be matters of weightier concern and, quite honestly, I had enough on my hands that I didn’t have the time to write reports or make phone calls about a common stalker. You, sir, are a man who can protect himself.”

Colin’s lips tightened at what he considered empty and overly respectful cajolery.

“Might I remind you, Robert, that I wasn’t concerned about me.”

“Of course, I know that. But Miss Adams was not following Miss Godwin, she was always following you. More to the point, my men were seeing quite an alarming number of tails. You had yours and not just Miss Adams but these other tails seemed especially devoted to Miss Godwin. Yet, when my men would investigate, there was no one there. No one in the cars they saw following, no one in the bushes they’d seen rustling, the shadows they saw lurking at windows seemed to simply disappear, it was like whoever he was, he was invisible.”

Colin raised his brows and Robert went on speaking.

“Or at the very least slippery. We found this telling and went on high alert, obviously, because this was the work of a professional or several as these tails could be on both you and Miss Godwin at the same time. Not to mention, I had to set a man on each of your houses in case something was rigged while you were away. And, I’m afraid, as your home is open to National Trust visitors, I also had to have several men available on those days mingling with the tourists and watching for suspicious activity. Miss Godwin and her family are a highly active bunch. Shopping, walks, day trips, playing Frisbee out in the open on the seafront, they were everywhere and very exposed and being so made our task very difficult.”

“You were paid well to deliver on a difficult task,” Colin reminded him. “Furthermore, I’d like you to explain why now is the first time I’m hearing all of this.”

Robert raked a hand through his hair for the first time looking frustrated and he looked at the floor. “We didn’t have anything concrete. I didn’t want to alarm you or Miss Godwin if it turned out to be nothing. And every time we approached, it was exactly that, nothing.”

Colin said not a word and Robert shifted nervously in his chair.

Then Robert pulled himself together and continued, “We investigated Tamara Adams, of course. And the police have been talking to her. I know a few blokes with police and they tell me she admits to the vandalism of the house, asking a friend to make the threatening phone call and, of course, the tranquilliser darts. She does not and adamantly refuses to acknowledge any part in trying to run you and Miss Godwin down with a car. Further, outside of shooting you with a tranquilliser that night, she refuses any knowledge of what happened in Miss Godwin’s office at The Centre with the two boys and the knife.”

He held Colin’s eyes, eyes that were regarding him with disbelief.

Then Colin pointed out, “She would of course deny some of the more serious allegations. She loaded the tranquilliser dart with enough drug to kill Sibyl, she’s facing grievous bodily harm at the least –”

Colin didn’t finish, Robert cut in, “She swears she didn’t know that either. Just loaded it as the instructions she found on the internet told her. Unfortunately, the instructions were for a very large animal, not a person of Miss Godwin’s weight. Apparently, she used the same load on you but it didn’t all release. She’s using the excuse that it was a mistake.”

“Mistake or not, it could have killed Sibyl.” Colin bit out.

“Mr. Morgan, you are failing to hear what I’m trying to tell you,” Robert was losing his patience and Colin’s eyes narrowed but in his zeal to get his point across, the investigator didn’t notice. “Miss Adams is not our concern, not now and not ever. She, unfortunately, wasn’t harmless but only due to ineptitude. There were no large sums of money drawn from her account, her trust fund or her investment accounts. We’ve been searching but have not found any evidence that she sold anything of value or even several things or borrowed money from anyone to pay the boys who attacked Miss Godwin. And they were paid plenty, enough money that it couldn’t have been just laying around, she would have had to withdraw it or find it one way or the other. We’ve been talking to the boy all night and he says the woman’s voice on the phone was old, not young or posh as Miss Adams’s is. He tells us the voice was female, old and scratchy as if she had something wrong with her throat. They never met her. When she paid, she did a drop with the money.”

“Tamara might not have made the call,” Colin noted.

“We thought of that but we questioned him about the other events and he says he knows nothing of tranquilliser darts or vandalism and… well, the way we’ve been questioning him, he would have admitted it by now. And I believe he’s not lying because he’s has admitted that he was paid to kill you. He has also admitted to striking Marian Byrne on the head and dragging her body behind The Community Centre. He’s explained that the terms of the agreement were that he and his partner neutralise Mrs. Byrne, grab you both and slit both of your throats. Not stab you, shoot you, poison you, give you an overdose with a tranquilliser dart but quite clearly and emphatically slit your throats. And under no circumstances were they to do it while you were apart, but together, so you could both watch while it was happening.”

Colin entire body seized and his stomach felt like it had been kicked hard.

Tamara may have been angry at being jilted, angry enough to do something immensely stupid but Colin could not believe she was capable of that.

And the specific instructions that would make Sibyl and Colin’s nightmare come true with the addition of Mrs. Byrne being targeted for “neutralisation” in this heinous plot were chilling.

He made an instant decision and rose from his chair. “I’ll have a word with him.”

Robert flew out of his. “Mr. Morgan, there is no need.”

Colin rounded his desk but stopped by his investigator. “I said, I’ll have a word to him.”

When Robert hesitated Colin said one more word.

“Now.”

Robert Fitzwillams looked in his employer’s eyes and what he saw sent a shiver down his spine.

Then, without further delay, he led the way.

Colin learned nothing from the frighteningly young man whose arm he’d broken weeks before. Nor did he learn anything from his friend who was also frighteningly young but had a malevolent gleam in his eye that did not in any way match his age.

With a great deal of patience, he did try to get further information and he did so without harming either of them (unduly) as he promised Sibyl. He, however, allowed himself the satisfaction of watching the malevolent gleam in the eyes of the boy who held a knife to Sibyl’s throat turn to genuine fear.

Once he’d finished, he’d instructed Robert to turn them over to the police.

Without giving them a thought (as he had a great many other thoughts on his mind), he’d gone back to his office and walked by his harried secretary who was saying into the phone, “I already explained to you, Mr. Morgan has no comment.” Then she paused and said far more fiercely and disturbingly, “Neither does Miss Godwin, no matter what you heard.” Then she slammed down the phone.

Once inside his office, he picked up the newspaper that Mandy had put on his desk and opened it to the page to which she’d folded it back.

Cursed Reincarnated Lovers Stalked by Evil Socialite, read the headline.

He skimmed the article and his eyes narrowed on the words.

He didn’t bother to finish it and threw the newspaper in the rubbish bin.

He barely settled into his chair when Mandy positively stomped into his office.

“Mr. Morgan…” she said threateningly and he knew her resignation was nigh.

“Mandy,” he cut her off, again coming to an instant decision and putting it into action. “I need you to run an errand for me.”

“Mr. Morgan,” she said more forcefully, not wishing to be denied her moment.

He interrupted her again. “I want you to find the best jeweller in Bristol or Bath or Cheltenham, I don’t care where it is. Go to London if you need to. Take a company car and when you get wherever you’re going, chose an engagement ring for Miss Godwin.”

Mandy’s mouth snapped shut with an audible clatter of teeth and her eyes bugged out.

Colin carried on, “It has to be something… unique. I don’t want her to see her ring on someone else’s finger. It has to be quality but should not be ostentatious. However, I don’t care what it costs. Can you do that?”

His secretary stared at him and gone from her face and frame were the frustrated anger with which she’d stomped into his office.

“I… I’ve never met her,” she stammered. “How can I possibly choose a ring for her?”

Colin looked her directly in the eye. “It will be from me and for that reason I have every faith in you.”

Her eyes slid back into her head, no longer popping out in an alarming fashion and then they filled with tears. “Oh, Mr. Morgan. I would be delighted… honoured… thrilled.” Then her body jumped and she whirled. “I’ll go now,” she announced to the other side of the room and rushed across it then stopped and whirled around again. “The phone is ringing off the hook.”

“Let it, you’ve more important things to do than talk to reporters.”

She nodded in happy agreement and ran out of the room.

The minute the door clicked behind her, Colin wasted no time and picked up his phone and called Sibyl.

“Colin!” she cried out his name as greeting. “You would just not believe what’s happening here. Rick has barricaded us in the house. The reporters are storming the door as we speak!”

Colin mentally added something else to his to do list.

“Don’t talk to anyone,” he ordered.

“I can’t,” she told him. “Rick won’t let me, he’s been entirely obnoxious. He’s bossier than you. I thought, after yesterday, that he’d…”

Colin cut in to her tirade. “Let me talk to your mother.”

“Mags?”

Colin was silent for he needn’t answer, Mags was, indeed, her mother.

There was a pregnant pause and then, “What has she done now?” Sibyl’s voice was leery and more than slightly annoyed.

“Pass the phone to her,” Colin ordered.

Surprisingly without further comment, Sibyl did as she was told. He heard a rustle and then a quiet, “Mother, what have you done?”

Without answering her daughter, Mags came on the line. “Colin! It’s all adventure here. I must say, you live an exciting life.”

“Marguerite, have you been talking to the reporters?”

“Me? No siree. Especially not today, your beefcake bodyguard will only allow us out of the library for bathroom breaks and even then, he’s escorting us. I tried to shock him during my last one but he’s unshockable.”

Colin mentally added a rise to Rick’s salary to his to do list. He thought, vaguely, that this feminine trio was going to bankrupt him.

However, he’d heard Mags say something damning.

“What about yesterday?”

“Sorry?”

Colin prayed for patience. “Yesterday. Did you talk to the reporters yesterday?”

“Me?”

Colin’s prayers went unanswered.

“Yes, you.”

“No, no, er… not me. I didn’t talk to the reporters yesterday. They came to the Centre, after the police but I didn’t talk to them and I know Sibyl didn’t and… well it was all a big hustle and bustle about the carrier bags and…”

She’d left someone out.

And she was a worse liar than her daughter.

“Put my mother on the phone,” Colin ordered.

“Phoebe?”

He ground his teeth.

Then through them, he remarked, “Yes, Phoebe does happen to be my mother.”

“I can’t imagine why you’d want to talk to Phoebe,” she declared with sham innocence.

“Put her on the phone.”

“I think she needs a bathroom break,” Mags stalled.

“Put her on the phone.”

There was a pause and then a grumbled, “Oh, all right.”

Then there was another rustle and he heard, “It’s your son,” and then more in the background as the phone was passed, “You’re right, Billie, he is ruthless.”

Colin again gritted his teeth.

“Hello Colin,” his mother greeted him. “How’s your day?” Before he could answer, she nervously continued, “We’re in the library because Rick thinks one of the reporters could be a murderer in disguise. It’s like he wasn’t even there yesterday and doesn’t know we have the all clear. He’s instructed us not to stand by the windows and…”

He cut her off, his patience at an end, “Mum, did you talk to the reporters yesterday?”

“Why, yes. I do believe I had a word,” she said lightly, too lightly.

“Don’t do that again,” he commanded.

“Colin, you shouldn’t talk to your mother that way,” she courageously scolded, looking into the eye of the tiger and thinking he was a pussycat. “There is certainly no reason why your extraordinary story shouldn’t be told. It’s beautiful and I’m so happy for you, I want the world to know it. True love reigns…”

“We aren’t out of danger, the person who ordered the man to hold a knife to Sibyl’s throat is still out there. We don’t need to be goading them with stories of true love, exposing our defences or making them think our defences are down so they’ll act before we’ve caught them. I’m asking you, don’t do it again.”

She was silent.

Then she said a shaky, “Okay.”

“I don’t want Sibyl to know that she’s not out of danger.”

“You have to…”

“Don’t say a word. I’ll speak to her when I get home.”

She was again silent.

Then she let out a breathy, “Okay.”

“There will be someone there to clear the reporters within half an hour and they will remain there to watch the house. If Sibyl sees them, make something up but carry on as normal.”

“Oh…kay.” This was even shakier.

“Give the phone to Rick.”

She didn’t hand the phone to Rick. Instead she asked nonsensically, “Colin, are you, I mean, are they… and are you?”

But Colin understood her. “Nothing is going to happen to Sibyl or me,” and when he said this his voice was far quieter and definitely gentler.

Hers was no less tremulous. “Okay.”

“I’m asking her to marry me,” Colin found himself saying, simply for the sake of giving his mother a happy thought instead of leaving her with images of possible murder and despair.

There was silence again and then, “Okay,” and this time he heard tears in her voice.

“Don’t tell her that either.”

A sharp gasp then, “I wouldn’t dream of…”

“Put Rick on the phone.”

“Colin?”

“Yes?”

“I’m so proud of you, my darling. You’re a good man.”

He’d heard that before recently from Sibyl and he feared his carefully cultivated reputation as a ruthless bastard was soon to be in tatters.

She gave the phone to Rick and Colin related the current situation and gave him his instructions. Then Colin rang off, called Robert and ordered men to oust the reporters and watch the house.

Then the clock hands approaching noon, with an immense effort of will, he set all of his current situation aside and set about making back some of the money he was losing in this travesty.

At a quarter to four, Rick phoned and without preamble announced, “She’s having a barbeque.”

Colin couldn’t believe his ears. “What did you say?”

“I should have confiscated her mobile,” Rick muttered under his breath. “I thought she might need it in case of emergency. I should have –”

“Tell me what’s happening,” Colin demanded.

Rick didn’t delay. “Ten minutes ago, a minibus loaded with old people and kids drove up and unloaded. They all carried in a mass of grocery bags and even a charcoal grill and now they’re in your back garden preparing for a goddamned barbeque.”

“Is the team there?”

“Yes.”

Colin took in a steadying breath and ordered, “Just watch them.”

“Mr. Morgan, I know this’ll get me sacked but I got to tell you that your girlfriend is the most annoy…”

Colin felt Rick’s pain, acutely but he interrupted him before he said something Colin could not ignore. “I know.”

Then Colin again rang off from Rick and went back to work.

At ten to five, displaying an amazing swiftness he’d never have expected when a woman was shopping and had a great deal of money to spend, Mandy came back to his office.

She set a small, glossy, burgundy bag with expensively corded handles in the middle of his blotter and stood back with her hands clenched in front of her.

When he just stared at it, she jumped forward and grabbed the bag, upended it and then carefully, even reverently, placed a small, burgundy, velvet box in front of him. Then she resumed her position of hand clenching.

He opened the box. Then he stared at the ring.

And it was perfect.

He looked his secretary directly in the eyes. “Well done, Mandy. I knew you could do it.”

Mandy beamed.

And then Colin did something that he did not know and likely would never know (or even understand), assured his secretary’s employ for the next twenty years.

He snapped the case shut, stood and rounded the desk to her. He then wrapped his hand gently around the back of her head and, bending low (because she was quite petite), he kissed her forehead like a loving older brother.

And then he went back around his desk, grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair and he walked out of his office.

And Mandy thought, watching him go, that no matter what everyone else said, Colin Morgan really was a good man.

Nearly five hundred years earlier, at exactly ten to five in the evening, while Royce and Beatrice danced at their wedding feast, the dark soul sharpened the blade of a knife against a whetstone.

Meanwhile, Royce watched Beatrice’s smiling face as she beamed at her father and mother (then mock-scowled at her younger sister) as he whirled her in a dance.

She had done the change again this morning, turning into a different person, yet the same. He could not put his finger on how he knew she was not her, she just was not. She had done it before dozens of times but this time instead of being oddly not the same, she was both not the same and completely terrified. For him, for them and because of tonight.

One second she was so afraid, she was nearly in tears, the next second she was confused and blushing at standing before him in her dressing gown, having no idea how she got from her bed to the Hall, standing in his arms.

Something was amiss and, as usual when he felt something was amiss, Royce Morgan was on his guard.

It should be noted at this juncture, there was some pretty hefty magic flying back and forth across nearly five hundred years.

The good kind.

And the bad.