Beguiled (32 page)

 

M
ARK RODE UP IN FRONT OF
the house and dismounted instantly. His heart sank. The front door was standing wide open.

He rushed toward it, noticing that the bushes at the front entry had been flattened. Ducking down to the step, he found a drop of blood.

Bertram was behind him.

“Someone was here,” Mark said.

“No one's here now,” Bertram said.

A man in a cap, a nightshirt and slippers was on the road. Mark vaguely recognized him as one of the neighbors. “I heard screaming, pounding! I came down as fast as I could but…There was a carriage, but he drove away.”

“Which way?” Mark demanded.

The man pointed, but Mark was suddenly certain he knew which way the carriage was headed.

“Sir,” he told the befuddled man in the nightcap, “my father's valet is in the house. Alive or dead, I don't know. Please find him and get him help. Bertram, call my father's lodge. Get him out on the road with any help he can find. Tell Ian's officers to follow as quickly as they can.”

With that, he leapt back into the saddle and headed in pursuit.

 

A
LLY WAS STARTLED TO AWAKEN
, finding herself still alive, even though she felt so sick that she almost wished she had stayed unconscious. She could feel the terrible swaying and jolting of the carriage, moving far too quickly through the night. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious or why she was still alive. She was aware that she was half on a seat and half on the floor—and she was slamming against a set of legs on one side and a body on the other. She very carefully opened her eyes a fraction.

It was Thane's body on one side.

And on the other side…

“Bloody bitch! She's blinded me,” she heard.

It was the deep voice of a man she had known for years.

The sheriff, Sir Angus Cunningham.

She suddenly realized what she would have discovered had she studied the articles—and the sketches—longer.

There were two killers.

For some reason they had all assumed that the coachman was a servant of the murderer, not his true partner in crime. They had been wrong.

She shrieked aloud as fingers tore into her hair, wrenching her head up.

She expected the slash of the knife then and there, but he had just wanted to see her face.

She was pleased to realize she had half blinded him. His left eye was a closed slit, surrounded by swollen flesh. He was scratched and bruised.

“How does it feel? I should put
your
eye out!” he thundered.

She did her best to stare at him with scorn instead of fear, but the truth was that she was filled with total terror.

But he hadn't killed her yet. He was holding off. It must be part of his plan. He must think he could still hide what he was doing.

“What did you do to Thane? And where are you taking us—and why?” she asked, playing for time. The longer she kept him talking, the longer she stayed alive. And the longer she stayed alive, the more time Mark would have to come after her, to save her.

“To the cottage in the woods, of course.”

Something far beyond the sense of panic that had already seized her settled in.
The aunts!

“Who would have thought,” he murmured, “that the charming child who grew up in the woods could become such a deadly and wretched enemy.
A. Anonymous.
” He practically spat the name.

“You followed me,” she said.

“From the fund-raiser. You were oblivious to everything around you. I even read the envelope. I'll bet not even your oh-so-clever husband understands the meaning of the name Olivia Cottage.” He snorted. “‘I live in a cottage.'”

“I suppose it's clever if it affords you so much amusement. I couldn't think of anything else.”

“It doesn't matter now how clever you thought you were.”

“Well,
you're
extremely clever. It took me forever to realize it wasn't you
or
Sir Andrew but both of you.”

“But, my dear, it's
neither
of us, don't you see?” He smiled grotesquely. “It's the handsome young newspaperman who will slit your throat at the cottage. He's in love with you, you see, but you're married and can never be his, so you must die. But the pathetic young man did love you, and your death will send him over the edge. He'll shoot himself in remorse. Your husband will arrive, of course. He'll despise himself for having trusted the reporter. Who knows? He may complete the evening and shoot himself, as well.”

He still held her hair in a death grip, and she had no choice but to keep staring up at him. “Mark Farrow will never kill himself. And you're a fool. He knows it's you—and Sir Andrew.”

Sir Angus shook his head. “If he knew,” he said softly, “I'd be under arrest now.”

“You will be by tomorrow,” she promised.

He shook his head, studying her, at last easing his hold, then finally releasing her and sitting back calmly. From the way he acted, they might have been carrying on an ordinary conversation.

“You know, Ally, despite what you've done to me, I'm sorry. You were always the most beautiful, inquisitive, fascinating child.” He laughed dryly. “Always destined for something good. Beloved by Lord Stirling. Secretly engaged to Mark Farrow. Did you think I could be so close and not learn the truth about you?” he asked.

She felt a new whisper of fear tease her spine.

“What truth are you talking about?” she responded.

“Even before you became such an ungodly nuisance, I was afraid that I might have to…take care of you, my dear.”

“You might have to take care of me?”

“I never had proof, of course, but I studied the situation up and down. I knew all about Maggie's work in the East End and how close she came to being a victim of the man I
know
they believe was the Ripper. So your sick, addled father was innocent. And then you had to be hidden from the monarchy. Much better that you should die before the truth about you could come out.”

She felt ill, but she forced herself to shrug. “
If
that is the truth, your logic is flawed. If I were being hidden
from
the monarchy, it wouldn't make much sense to hide me under the protection of Lord Stirling.”

He shook his head, seeming confused, on the defensive. She wondered if he was perhaps feeling the beginnings of a trap closing in and was now fighting simply for self-preservation.

“Save my life and you may not hang,” she said.

“I'm sorry, really I am—or I would be if you hadn't maimed me—but I'm afraid you simply must die,” he returned.

“If you and Andrew hadn't killed the women, you might have gotten away with it,” she said. “Poor Lord Wittburg would have gone to trial.”

“Yes, I know. You might even have been spared, since, quite frankly, you were like an ace in the hole. Quite opportune, Lord Wittburg going a bit crazy the way he did. What was he so desperate to tell you? Did he know about your birth, as well? I wasn't there to hear. Andrew was the one to think of that bit of genius, stuffing the bloody cloak into the old man's carriage. He must have moved like wildfire to get it done without being noticed.”

“What was that?” Ally asked.

“What?” He looked around frantically. She saw the bottle of medicinal ether beside him on the seat. She needed to distract him so she could get hold of it. Though even if she could knock him out, she would still have to deal with the driver.

Andrew.

“Listen,” Ally said.

“I hear nothing,” he said, but he was listening.

“Hoofbeats,” she said.

To her astonishment, she realized that there really were hoofbeats. She had lied at first, but now…yes!

Someone was coming.

 

H
E HAD NEVER RACED A HORSE
so fast in his life, but Mark was heedless of what he was doing to Galloway, mindless of the low hanging branches that sometimes caught his face. He could only pray that the murderers thought they could make it to their destination before they were caught. His heart thundered as he wondered how long they had thought he would be fooled by their ruse to get him out of the house. Did they really think he would believe that Thane Grier had killed the driver, then gone back for Ally?

He rode at such speed, it was amazing time could go so slowly….

And then, at last, he saw it.

It was still a fair distance ahead of him. He spurred Galloway to an even greater burst of speed. Amazingly, the horse seemed to share his reserves of desperate energy.

As they came nearer their quarry, Sir Andrew, driving in his black cape and low brimmed hat, looked back. He slapped the reins on the lathered flanks of the carriage horses with a vengeance, then reached for his sidearm.

Mark was forced to pull back for a minute; Sir Andrew was a crack shot.

But he had almost caught up to the carriage.

Gunfire exploded. The bullet barely missed him. He felt the wind of it, passing his cheek.

He spurred Galloway around to the other side of the careening vehicle. This time, he was ready. At the speed they were going, even he might miss with a pistol.

There was greater leeway for error with a whip.

He snaked it out with an expert crack. The lash fastened around Sir Andrew's neck. He gave a garbled cry as Mark jerked and pulled him from the driver's bench to the ground.

Mark couldn't afford the time to discover if the man was alive or dead. The horses were still racing at a breakneck pace. He forced Galloway closer, at last capturing one of the flying reins. Determined not to give himself away, he kept from crying “Whoa!” to the madly galloping animals.

He needed to get inside the carriage.

At last it began to slow and he saw his chance.

He threw himself from Galloway to the carriage, managing to grasp the upper rim of the coach itself.

For a moment his legs dangled precariously, and he thought his arms would snap.

Then he gained a foothold.

 

“W
HAT IN
G
OD
'
S NAME
?” Sir Angus thundered suddenly.

Something was thumping against the carriage.

He drew his gun and fired wildly. Then he aimed again.

Desperately, Ally grabbed for the bottle of ether.

He cried out, losing aim, grabbing for her.

Her fingers just barely twined around the bottle. She felt her hair being wrenched hard. She fought the pain, managing to twist the bottle top.

The scent of chloroform instantly made her dizzy. She had only seconds, she knew….

She threw the contents into Sir Angus's face.

His gun went off, the shot wild again. She could only pray it hadn't hit Mark.

If it was Mark…

She knew it was Mark.

She knew it….

Even when the drug splashed back into her own face and the world went black.

 

A
SHOT CRACKED
,
SO CLOSE
that the bullet sliced by his sleeve. Another shot shattered through the roof of the coach.

The horses had slowed further, and he was able to get the door open. His heart leapt into his throat.

There were three of them.

Thane Grier.

Sir Angus, his powerful bulk blocking the door.

And Ally, slumped beside him on the floor.

He could smell the sweet, sickening scent of ether. He held his breath as the first wave of dizziness seized him. The carriage was still rolling. He threw Sir Angus's body from it, still trying not to breathe as he reached for Ally. He picked her up and leapt out of the carriage, which rolled onward for another thirty feet. One of the terrified horses whinnied as the animals came to a halt at last.

He set Ally carefully on the side of the road. As he did, he realized he heard the sounds of other hoofbeats, approaching from ahead.

The first rider to reach him was his father, with Brian Stirling at his side.

“The carriage! Get Thane Grier out. The thing is full of ether.”

Brian dismounted and ran to do as asked. His father knelt by his side.

“Son…?”

“She's breathing,” Mark said. “She has a pulse.”

Brian Stirling returned, carrying Thane Grier's limp body. “The castle is the closest place to take them,” he said.

By then Bertram, with several mounted officers, had reached them. Brian handed Grier up to one of them and gave orders to ride for the castle. Forgetting everything else, Mark tenderly cradled Ally in his arms and returned to the sweating, panting Galloway.

“One more ride, boy. One more fast ride.”

Again it seemed that no matter how fast they ran, it could not be fast enough. And yet finally they reached the castle.

Shelby had the gate open. Camille was waiting on the steps. The aunts were behind her, anxious, yet calm when the men burst into the grand entry, carrying their burdens. “Bring Ally to her room, and…Mr. Grier, is it?…to the one beside it. Do you know what has caused this?” Shelby asked.

“Ether,” Mark said briefly.

“Then they will come out of it,” Camille said.

He heard a soft sob. Merry. He forced himself to ignore the aunts as he headed for the stairs, anxious to set Ally down and assess the damage himself.

“She
will
come out of it,” Camille said firmly, and she called to Molly the maid, begging her to see to Mr. Grier while they waited for the doctor, who had already been called.

Mark burst into Ally's room and set her down on the bed. He checked her pulse again, and it was strong. He laid his ear close to her chest, and felt the rise and fall of her breath. He looked anxiously up at Camille, his heart in his throat. She offered a smile.

He realized that the three aunts had followed them in, silent, clinging to one another.

It was Merry who stepped forward. “She will live. Our Ally is a precious princess, and she will live.”