Almost a Princess (26 page)

Suddenly, the whole building shook. Windows cracked. Plaster fell down from the ceiling. Outside, it sounded as though artillery shells were exploding all over the grounds. Case breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was going to plan. The infirmary, with all his father’s precious old wrecks, had just been blown to smithereens. He was sure, if he looked at his father, he would see tears in his eyes.

The few moments of shocked silence turned into a panic.

“Leave the building,” Case shouted. “Get out through the conservatory.”

Turner had been well briefed. At a signal from him, footmen hurried to open the doors to the conservatory and gentlemen streamed through them. There was no panic now. These were Etonians. Many of them were veterans of the Spanish Campaign. They had a reputation to maintain. The exodus became quite orderly.

This is it,
thought Case. Piers or one of his henchmen would get to him in the conservatory. Beyond that he didn’t care to speculate.

He stood riveted when another explosion went off. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He sprinted through the conservatory, elbowing everyone out of the way, and burst onto the terrace. On the west wing of the house, the rotunda was in flames.

What else had they missed?

Waldo could hardly get his breath when he came up to him. “Turner can’t find your father,” he said. “He lost him in the conservatory.”

“You take the rotunda,” Case said, “and I’ll check the infirmary.”

Waldo went off at once, but Case stood there, undecided. His Grace wouldn’t wander off on his own. He knew what was at stake. Piers must have got to him.

He heard the step at his back but he didn’t flinch. It took every ounce of willpower not to fight back. Pain exploded through his head and he slumped to the ground.

There were no porters at the gates when their carriage rolled to a stop just inside the grounds of Twickenham House. Jane and Harper descended the steps with Lance at their heels and stared in horror. Flames licked around one end of the house and smoke and particles of ash billowed everywhere. But the main house wasn’t on fire. Lights blazed from the downstairs windows and people were milling around outside in the fog of smoke.

“Why is there so much smoke?” asked Jane.

“That’ll be the infirmary,” replied Harper. “Poor Romsey.”

The infirmary.
That was reassuring. There wouldn’t be people in the infirmary. Only some broken-down coaches.

“And that’s the rotunda,” said Harper. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. But no harm done. It’s not attached to the rest of the building.”

Jane didn’t have time for chitchat. Nor did she share Harper’s confidence that the earl knew what he was doing. It seemed to her that Gideon Piers was always one step ahead of them.

“Let’s go,” she said, and made for the coach.

Harper had other ideas. He ordered the coachmen to man the gates. No one was to get in or out without his say-so. And they were to stay at their posts come what may.

“We walks,” he told Jane. “Have you got your pistol?”

“Right here.” It was in her hand.

They didn’t walk. They ran. That terrible sense of urgency was like a clamp around Jane’s throat. Her breathing was shallow, her heart beating so fast she felt as though her chest might burst. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Piers. She trusted him to be true to form: vicious, capricious, and wily. It was Case she didn’t trust. Whatever he said, she couldn’t suppress the picture of two gladiators in a Roman arena. A fight to the death.

There was so much noise, people shouting across each other, that she could hardly make herself heard. All she wanted to know was if anyone had seen Lord Castleton, or the duke. No one had, but she was the only one who seemed disturbed by that fact.

Harper said, “I’m going into the house. Mr. Bowman is in charge of this operation. Maybe he’ll know.”

Jane’s gaze was flitting from one knot of people to another. She was the only female present. Her gaze moved on, then returned as recognition belatedly registered.

She clutched Harper’s arm. “Harper,” she said, “I recognize those two men over there. They’re the men who said they were Special Branch agents and took me to Vauxhall Gardens.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Harper began to idle his way toward them. One saw him coming, tapped his companion on the shoulder, and they began to walk away.

“Halt!” shouted Harper. “Halt, I say!”

The men took off like hares with Harper in pursuit.

“Lance, help him,” said Jane. “Lance?”

Lance had disappeared. What more could go wrong? “Lance!” she called. “Lance!”

He came out of the shadows, whining, and brushed against her legs. His coat was wet. Then he was off again, going toward the river. Jane followed. He stopped at the water’s edge.

“What have you found?” Jane asked.

He took a few steps into the water and was soon submerged. Then he swam back to the bank, pulled himself up, and shook himself off.

“You want me to cross the river?” said Jane.

Lance whined.

“But what—” She stopped. Of course. She knew what was across the river. Letty had told her. The poorhouse. It was from there that Gideon had watched the comings and goings of the Deveres and where his envy and hatred had taken root.

Had Lance picked up Case’s scent?

She walked along the bank, but of course it was too dark to see anything. Why was it you could never find a groundsman when you needed him? She supposed, like the porters at the gates, they had run to the house when it came under attack.

Maybe it was just as well that she couldn’t find a groundsman. He could turn out to be one of Piers’s men and she wouldn’t know the difference.

She had to get help. “Lance,” she said, and pointed back to the house. “Fetch Harper!” He was the one person she knew she could trust.

Lance whined, but balked.

Jane crouched down and held his face between her hands. “Now you listen to me!” she said fiercely. “I think Piers has Case. I think he’s taken him to the poorhouse across the river.” She didn’t want to think farther than that. “I can’t rescue him by myself. I need help.”

She straightened and pointed back to the house again. “Lance, fetch Harper!”

Lance bounded away.

She walked farther along the riverbank till she came to the boathouse. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, she could pick out shapes and identify them. There was an upturned boat lying on the ground. She perched against it and tried to contain her impatience for Lance’s return.

Then she saw it, across the river, a light flickering through the trees. It wasn’t moving. There must be a house there, though all she could see was the beacon of light.

The poorhouse.

She jumped up and took a few steps back the way she’d come. “Lance!” she shouted. “Harper!”

Ears straining, she listened. No response. Heart pounding, she returned to the boat. It was just like the little rowing boats the salmon fishermen used on the river Dee.

She was going to get that boat in the water if she strained every muscle in her body.

It wasn’t as hard as she expected. She hauled it up with both hands, put her shoulder to it, and toppled it over right side up. Then she fell over something on the ground, something warm to the touch. It was a man’s body.

“Case,” she sobbed. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t make out his face. But she could tell by touch that this man wasn’t Case.

A slow burning anger ignited deep inside and spread through her veins. This was Gideon Piers’s handiwork. She could sympathize with the hard life he’d endured in the poorhouse, but she couldn’t condone this. He was like a dog that had gone rabid. Someone had to put him down.

After putting her pistol on the bottom of the boat, she threw a pair of oars in, then dragged the boat into the river, waded knee deep into the water, and jumped in.

Chapter 23

Case woke to find himself tied to a chair, his chin sunk on his chest. He didn’t lift his head; he didn’t stir. In spite of a blazing headache, he took a few minutes to come to himself and get his bearings. The last thing he remembered was being hit on the head at the edge of the terrace. He also remembered sending Waldo to the rotunda to look for the duke. Not a good strategy when Waldo’s job was to keep him in sight at all times.

He lifted his head and stretched his muscles. Piers, or the man he presumed was he, was standing at a window, looking out. He turned and smiled. “So, you’re awake,” he said.

“What is this place?” asked Case.

“The poorhouse, or it used to be. Now it’s just a derelict building.”

And none too safe by the look of it. Not that Case could see much in that gloomy interior with only a lantern on the table to give them light. But he could see the ceiling, and the huge dip in the center of it. It wouldn’t take much to bring it down on their heads.

His gaze shifted to Piers. He had always pictured Piers as larger than life, someone who would stride into a room and become the cynosure of all eyes. But he was just as Waldo had described him: medium height and build, and nothing in that pleasant face that distinguished him from half the gentlemen at the reunion tonight.

Maybe that was the secret of his success. He was un-memorable.

Case said, “Why have you brought me here?”

Piers came to stand in front of him. “This used to be my home,” he said. “I don’t suppose you knew it was here. The poorhouse? Across the river from Twickenham House?”

“I knew of it. It was one of my father’s benevolences.”

“Benevolences!” Piers sucked air through his teeth. “A sop to his conscience! He never visited, never saw the conditions here, how the children were separated from their parents and put into the hands of jailors—the whippings, the beatings. You all lived like princes on the other side of the river. I watched you, oh yes, I watched you: your magnificent parties, your well-fed, well-groomed friends. Well, just watch. Any moment now, you’re going to hear Twickenham House and all it stands for come tumbling down like a house of cards.”

He went back to the window and looked out.

Case was at a complete loss. He’d expected to be harangued, but not about Twickenham House. His focus had been on Spain and the barbarous battle that had ended Piers’s career. He’d expected Piers to gloat about his triumphs and his final revenge. This was revenge, all right, but revenge for what?

He said carefully, “You’ve hated me all these years, just because you envied me?”

“I hated you,” Piers roared, “because you were the favored son, and our father, yes,
our
father, left me to rot in this hell.”

There was a moment of paralyzing silence, as Case tried to feel his way out of this maze. Finally, he said slowly, “So this is not about Spain, not about the slaughter that took place in St. Michel?”

Piers laughed. “I cared nothing for the Brothers. You did me a favor when you slaughtered them. Now I can keep all that English gold to myself.”

Case had difficulty changing his focus. “Then . . . you’re taking your revenge because you think we Deveres owe you something.”

“You could never repay me what you owe me.”

“You think you’re my brother.”

“I know it.”

“You fool! You know nothing about the Deveres if you think that. If you were my father’s son, he would never have abandoned you. He would have provided for you. That’s our way. I don’t know who told you this lie—”

“My mother told me!” Piers screamed. “On her deathbed. Here, at the poorhouse. She was in service at Twickenham House. Your father got her with child then cast her out.”

In the grip of strong emotion, that unremarkable person was beginning to look and sound as though he had just escaped from a lunatic asylum.

“You will never convince me of it,” said Case. “My father would never have dishonored one of my mother’s maids.” He stopped. Something clicked inside his head. He looked at Piers. He judged him to be a few years older than himself.

“How old are you, Piers?”

“Older than you. What does it matter?”

“It matters, because if you’re older than I am, your mother could not have been in service at Twickenham House. It would have been a bachelor establishment and the Deveres have a tradition of keeping only male servants when there is no mistress of the house.”

“Lies! Lies! Lies!”

Piers picked up a chair and smashed it against the window.

“When my sister married,” said Case, “all the female servants went with her to Woodlands.”

“If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll gag you.”

“You were at Twickenham tonight, weren’t you? Did you see any female servants? I know you didn’t, because it’s a bachelor establishment.”

“You would say anything to save your father,
our
father.”

A cold dread uncurled in the pit of Case’s stomach. When he’d awakened to find that his father was not with him, he’d assumed, hoped that His Grace was still at Twickenham. “What have you done with my father?”

Piers giggled. “He’s in the punishment room. Appropriate, don’t you think? Tied to a chair, just like you. But under
his
chair, there’s a keg of gunpowder. Oh, he won’t escape. Joseph is guarding him. When I leave here tonight, I’m going to light the bonfire and then—bang! No more duke, no more favored son, no more poorhouse.”

He put a hand on either side of Case’s chair and leaned toward him menacingly. “Then I’ll rebuild. Yes. Right here on the foundations of the poorhouse. I’m a very rich man, Castleton. The house I build is going to be far more opulent than Twickenham. I’ll join all the best clubs in town, and rent a suite at the Clarendon, for convenience. Then I’ll find me a blue-blooded wife and have me some blue-blooded children and live happily ever after. I hope that sticks in your craw.”

He went back to the window, but he’d smashed it and couldn’t see out, so he took the chair and knocked it out. Cold air blew in, and with it the stench of burning.

“Do you smell that?” Piers asked. “Breathe deeply, Castleton. Let that be the last memory of your life of privilege and power.”

Jane could hear the voices when she came out on the landing. It had been a nightmarish ascent, three floors up, her only guide a lantern at the top of the stairs. She’d had to cling to the banister all the way up because some of the steps were missing. This was supposed to be the poorhouse. It had the feel of a prison.

She trod on a loose board and it cracked. Hand covering her panicked heart, she pressed herself flat against the wall. A door opened along the corridor and a beam of light spilled out.

“Joseph!” She recognized the voice. “Joseph!” yelled Gideon Piers. “What are you doing down there?”

“Answering nature’s call.”

The sullen reply came from the floor below. Jane edged forward a little and through the slats of the banister saw what appeared to be a footman in Devere livery—powdered wig and a blue velvet jacket with gold frogging. Oh, God. She had only one pistol and one shot. How many of them were there?

“Get back to the duke!”

“
Dios!
He’s not going anywhere.”

“I said get back.”

There was some mumbling in Spanish, then a door banged.

Jane took a deep breath. Inch by inch, she crept along the corridor to the room where she could hear the voices. The door was ajar. Painstakingly, every muscle tensing, she eased it open. Her pistol was leveled, ready to blast anyone who challenged her.

The room must have run the whole length of the house. It was immense.
A dormitory,
she thought,
a
dormitory for the inmates
. The poor were not allowed privacy or their own possessions. Letty had told her that. At the far end of the room were two men, one standing, one tied down on a chair.

She flitted into the room unseen and keeping as much to the shadows as possible, began to traverse the room’s length.

Piers said, “I want you to see this. I’m going to cut you from the chair, but you’ll still be bound, so don’t try anything. One false move and you’re a dead man.”

When Case was cut from the chair, he stood up. He’d managed to loosen the bonds tying his wrists together, but not enough to free himself. “Twickenham is only a building, Piers,” he said. “By the way, shouldn’t my father be here to see it? I would think he’s the one you want to impress.”

“Unfortunately,” said Piers pleasantly, “His Grace put up quite a fight when Joseph tried to abduct him. My man had to subdue him with more force than I would have wished. But, as I said, the duke will pay for his sins against me. A little fire, just like Guy Fawkes night, then . . . boom.”

He was at the window again, fretting. Case choked back his rage and said laconically, “It’s not going to happen, Piers. Twickenham House is not going to blow up. We found the gunpowder. My father’s workshop and the rotunda? That’s all we were willing to give you.”

“You lie!”

Case chuckled. “You’ve forgotten your history. Don’t you remember, Guy Fawkes’s plot was foiled and he was hanged for his crimes?”

With a roar of rage, Piers backhanded Case across the face, splitting his lip. It was now or never. Jane stepped out of the shadows. “Piers,” she said. Her finger, steady and sure, tightened on the trigger.

She was quick, but somebody else was quicker. With a speed and precision that shocked her, Piers’s gun was blasted out of his hand. She looked across the width of the room. It was the man who was dressed in the Devere livery. Joseph. How had he managed to creep up on her?

“Don’t kill him, Miss Mayberry! We want to take him alive!”

Not Joseph, but Ruggles. Her hand shook and her pistol wavered between Piers and Ruggles. What was going on?

“Keep your pistol trained on Piers!” Case yelled. He was working frantically to free himself from his bonds. Ruggles started forward.

“Stay where you are!” Jane cried.

Piers lunged for her. She pulled the trigger, but the upward thrust of his arm sent the bullet into the ceiling, and the impact of his shoulder on her chest sent her sprawling. She was trying to catch her breath when chunks of plaster and a torrent of dust swept down on them. Her eyes stung, breathing was difficult, and the lone lantern flickered and went out.

Someone made a run for it and hared down the length of the dormitory. It had to be Piers. She knew Case wouldn’t run away. Then two other figures were up and running. At least nobody had a loaded gun. She was feeling on the floor for Piers’s gun when a shot went off. Her heart leaped to her throat. One of the pursuers went down.

She was on her feet in a heartbeat and sprinting down that long dormitory. “Case?”

“No, miss. It’s Ruggles.” He grabbed his silver wig and threw it away.

She said crossly, though really, she was close to weeping, “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re one of us?”

“Afraid so, miss. I was hoping to get the duke away unseen, when you passed me on the staircase. I couldn’t let you face Piers on your own.”

“I think I might have managed him. Oh, Ruggles, you should have saved the duke.”

From below, there came a great crash, a whoosh, and within seconds, the staircase was glowing from a fire that had burst into life in one of the rooms off the hall.

Ruggles said, “Piers has lit the bonfire.” Then more urgently, “We have to get out of here. Give me your arm, miss, and help me up. The bullet nicked my leg. Don’t worry, it’s only a scratch.”

When he was on his feet, he said, “Now get out of here, as fast as you can. I’ll be right behind you.”

She was torn. She wanted to help Case, but she couldn’t leave an injured man. The decision was taken out of her hands. Case appeared in the hall. His shoulders were heaving, and one arm was propped against the door frame.

“Jane,” he roared. “Ruggles. Get down here.”

When they were outside, in the cool night air, Case said, “Ruggles, where is my father?”

“Two floors up, sir. Right below where you were held. He’s in a bad way. You’ll need help getting him out. I’ll come with you.”

“Let’s not waste time! You’re to take Miss Mayberry in one of the boats and row like hell. Get her away from here. Now!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there another way in?”

“Staircase in the back, sir.”

“Case,” said Jane. Tears were streaming down her face. “I can help. We’ll go together.”

He took her face between his hands. “You’re the most precious thing in the world to me,” he said, and kissed her. “I’m not giving you up. I’ll come back to you. I promise.”

Then he left her. Just like that, he left her. There were so many things she’d never told him, how a smile from him could make her heart turn over; how he brought out the best in her; how much she admired and loved him.

And what a liar he was! How could he promise to come back to her when he took the most appalling risks?

“Get in the boat, Miss Mayberry.”

“Ruggles,” she began, “couldn’t we—”

“I said get in the boat!”

He didn’t sound like the nice Ruggles she knew. He sounded like a soldier who was used to giving orders.

“Watch your step!”

She drew back, then flinched away. Piers was there beside the boat, facedown in the water.

“Ruggles,” she said, “I found a body on the other side of the river. Whose was it?”

“Joseph’s, Miss. I had to kill him. It was either him or me.”

“I’m glad he’s dead,” she said fiercely. “I’m glad they’re both dead!” Her head lifted. “What was that?”

“Ahoy!” shouted Harper from the prow of a rowing boat. “Ahoy!”

It was hopeless, Case thought. There was so much smoke, he was choking on it, though he’d tied his neckcloth around his nose and mouth to spare him the worst. He couldn’t get his bearings. He knew he was on the right floor, but that was all he knew. “Father!” he yelled. “Father!”

Something brushed against him. “Lance?” he said. “Is it you?”

Lance barked.

Then Harper was there, wheezing and coughing. “Up here, Mr. Bowman,” he shouted, and Waldo came abreast of them.