Lacybourne Manor (Ghosts and Reincarnation #3)(27)
Author: Kristen Ashley

Before she could reply, Jemma ran in, her dark hair bouncing around on the crown of her head, her face panicked.

“I’ve got to call 999, Meg just fell out of the minibus.”

At these words Sibyl’s heart squeezed painfully and her stomach lurched.

Her friend grabbed the phone while both Kyle and Sibyl flew out of the office, through the Day Centre and out to the street.

Sibyl wanted to burst into tears at what she saw.

Instead, she ran forward and skidded to a halt next to the heavy, prone body of Meg.

“Meg, honey, are you okay?” Sibyl asked, dropping to her knees and grabbing the woman’s hand, a hand which closed around her own in a painful grip, expressing her acute discomfort.

“I think I’ve broken a hip,” Meg answered on a tortured whisper and Sibyl knew Meg was trying to be strong but at this pronouncement, her voice betrayed a steady whine of hurt.

“Jem is calling the medics, we’ll get you to hospital in no time at all,” Sibyl tried to reassure her.

“Don’t leave me, Sibyl,” Meg begged, her hand clutching Sibyl’s desperately and Sibyl nodded her head fervently. Then Meg pleaded, “Can someone please call my son?”

“I’ll call her son,” Tina was standing over them, wringing her apron in concern. She stopped wringing her hands and ran off awkwardly on mangled feet to do her task as Jemma rushed toward them.

“They’re on their way,” Jem announced when she was close.

Hours later, the doctors reported to Sibyl, Jemma and Meg’s son (who had left straight from work to see to his mother) that Meg had broken her hip.

Sibyl waited until she and Jemma were outside the doors of the hospital before she let her formidable temper explode.

“That bloody, bloody minibus driver. He knows Meg needs help with transfers. He knows Kyle or I have to be there when Meg gets out of the bus. How could he let her fall?”

“Her son is with her now, she’s a strong lady, she’ll be okay,” Jemma assured her, her chocolate eyes melting as she watched Sibyl in full, heartfelt, outrage.

“She’s my responsibility when she comes to that Centre, Jem,” Sibyl replied, her voice rising. “And she’s my friend! How am I going to face her after this?”

And as she spoke, Sibyl felt the same hated reminder that no matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried, things went very, very badly for people who mattered.

Jem got closer and put a reassuring hand on her friend’s arm, saying softly, “You can’t save everyone from every little hurt, Sibyl. You couldn’t have prevented what happened today.”

“I’m going to damn well try,” Sibyl snapped and Jemma shook her head gently.

“Oh Billie, mate,” Jem whispered, using Sibyl’s not-oft-used nickname in an effort to settle her. “You break my heart.”

“I’m going to break something and it isn’t your heart. It’s that minibus driver’s head!” Sibyl promised dramatically, hanging onto her anger in order not to feel her pain and definitely not to feel the nagging sense of guilt that she’d been the cause of today’s tragedy. Her and her big mouth.

Jemma laughed, giving Sibyl’s shoulder a friendly shove and breaking the intensity of the moment. She then hugged Sibyl, an uncommon action from her reserved friend.

“She’ll be okay,” Jem whispered in her ear.

Sibyl let out a shuddering sigh. “I hope so.”

But she didn’t hope so.

Sibyl would do everything she could to make it so.

The end was nigh for the likes of Meg and Annie’s anguish.

Sibyl would see to it.

* * * * *

Colin drove down the attractive lane that led to Sibyl’s cottage and as he did he saw dotted in the woods sprinkles of late-blooming snowdrops, crocuses and opening daffodils. As he approached the picturesque, rambling, sparkling white cottage, he saw Sibyl’s MG and a Ford Fiesta parked in the widened drive at the front. Without room to park out front, he drove around the house and found a parking spot by the side.

As he got out and walked to the front door, he noted that all the windows had window boxes and they’d already been planted with early spring flowers that tangled with dangling ivy.

Colin was there because of last week but mostly because of last night.

Last week, after sending Tamara away, Colin had ordered an investigation into the woman who called herself Sibyl Godwin.

“I’ll need to go to America if I’m going to find out everything about her,” his investigator, Robert Fitzwilliam, told him. “Obviously, that will significantly increase my expenses.”

“Do it,” was all Colin said. He was happy to pay to find out everything about Sibyl Godwin’s past and personally intended to find out who she was now.

Arriving home early, Colin had sent Tamara home Wednesday afternoon.

Things were very much finished with Tamara Adams, for a variety of reasons.

The idiot woman had attempted to seduce him while Sibyl and Mrs. Byrne were in the house. He could barely think with Beatrice Godwin’s double lying in a bed (stubbornly freezing herself to death) two doors down from his own room, much less bear another woman’s hands on him. Then she’d had the temerity to act affronted when he told her, in no uncertain terms, that he had no interest. Making matters worse, she’d flown into a jealous rage after Sibyl and Mrs. Byrne had both left the next day.

“I heard what you said to her!” Tamara ranted. “You were tempted by her. You said it, right in front of me!”

He’d simply stared at her beautiful face, not so beautiful as it was distorted with rage.

“How dare you!” she screeched when he’d made no response.

“It’s my house, my life, my bed, I choose who I take to it,” Colin replied calmly.

At this point, she’d flown at him in a fury.

That was a big mistake.

He’d pushed her off, ordered her out of his house and walked away.

That, he knew, was the end of Tamara Adams.

Colin would not put up with jealous rages and feminine pouts. With his usual ruthlessness, he made an instant decision. He didn’t care if it took years to find a suitable replacement, Tamara would never have his ring on her finger.

After dealing with Tamara, he started piecing it together what he knew of Sibyl.

The people at The National Trust told him that Mrs. Byrne had been volunteering at Lacybourne for seven years. She was retired, living on a meagre pension and spending some of her days in a lavish manor house. She’d undoubtedly encountered Sibyl somewhere along the line and noted her amazing resemblance to Beatrice Godwin. Doing so, she’d probably talked the younger woman either into a con or conned Sibyl into a meeting with Royce Morgan’s twin.