Blood for Ink (The Scarlet Plumiere Series #1) (29 page)

Livvy woke to chills racking her body. The chattering of her teeth was made impossible by the cloth in her mouth, but she was grateful for it. The last time she made a sound, she’d paid dearly for it.

The sack was whipped from her head and the cold air assaulting her face made her nearly wish for the stuffy thing back.

“So, The Scarlet Plumiere awakens.”

She turned her head and found the blond man leaning over her from his carriage seat. In the dim light, she realized she was lying on the floor, his boots just inches away from her sore middle. She moved her leg slightly, trying to discern if her papa’s blade was still strapped to her leg. There was no reaching it with her hands tied behind her, but it would give her hope.

“Looking for this, Scarlet?” He held up something that flashed in spite of the shadows. Her dagger. “Imagine my surprise at finding your pen was not your only weapon. I admit I rather enjoyed removing it.”

She closed her eyes and refused to imagine it.

“I will not be ignored, Scarlet.” He threw the sack at her face.

She winced and shook it away, then looked at him again.

“Surely we should be on intimate terms, after I’ve been beneath your skirts, as it were.” His smirk dropped away. “Your damned suitor has ruined my rather brilliant plan. I had hoped to leave your body at Lord Gordon’s tonight, so he could have the fame he deserves. It was all his doing, you know. He paid a great deal to have you murdered, the more fool he—I would have gladly done it on my own had he merely given me your name. But I believe he planned, all along, for me to hang for it. His thoughts are so easily read, and yet he believes the rest of us illiterate. He thinks I take him at his word, thinks the world will believe any tale he tells. And yet, it is he who is oblivious.

“I have imagined the look on his face when he discovers your body. He would be confused, of course. Then instead of believing anyone might betray him, he would tell himself that I made some mistake, that I misunderstood his instructions. We are all just idiots in his path.

“But Ashmoore has the place surrounded!” He pushed a curtain aside and looked out the window. “I can’t so much as drive past without being stopped, damn him.”

He dropped the curtain and dropped his eyes to hers. The hatred in them, combined with a slow grin, had her bracing for another blow, but it did not come.

“Don’t worry, Scarlet. I have the perfect location in mind. Tried and true, you might say.” He laughed. “You wanted to know what befell those maids of mine. Soon you will know.”

This is Marquardt?
Dear God, help me!

Darkness engulfed her, but it came with softness and warmth. He’d tossed his carriage blankets on the floor, and thus, onto her. By the time she worked the edge off her face, the carriage door was opening. Marquardt got out. A moment later, the hack rocked as someone climbed to the driver’s perch, and then the floor lurched beneath her. Perhaps her captor was also her driver. If so, he would not be back to do more violence as long as they were moving.

Her gag, her aches, the coldness of the floor meant nothing; she had a blanket. She would survive a bit longer. She would find a chance to fight her way free. And since her would-be heroes were watching Gordon and not searching for Marquardt, she would simply have to rescue herself, like any self-respecting Plumiere.

She only hoped it would be a nice long ride.

***

North found Lady Marquardt’s residence an hour west of London. It had been the family estate of her parents and so not part of the entailment lost to her son when he fled murder charges.

Ashmoore stayed at Telford’s. With so many eyes searching for Livvy, someone needed to stay in the city in case the woman was found elsewhere, or if Gordon made a move. So with Harcourt injured, it was just himself and Stanley who arrived on Lady Marquardt’s doorstep, only to drop their jaws on the snowy ground when the door was opened.

Hopkins stood in the doorway.

North’s mind reeled with the impossibility of the man arriving ahead of them, but when the butler lifted his nose in the air and acted as if they’d never met, he realized the Hopkins cousins might possibly be twins separated at birth. Same nose. Same bushy eyebrows. Perhaps a bit thinner in the face.

The country Hopkins was none too pleased to hear that Lord Marquardt had returned to England, but even less pleased to tell his mistress what business had brought two lords from London to her door. He took their cards, however, and begrudgingly allowed them to wait in the drawing room instead of the cold front steps.

“I like the other Hopkins better,” Stanley whispered as they waited for the footman to get the fire started on the grate.

North decided pacing would better serve to warm him and to keep him from tearing the house apart. If Marquardt had been staying there, the butler could not have been as surprised as he seemed. But the violence of breaking through a few doors would do North’s heart some good.

“She will not see you, my lords,” the country Hopkins announced, as if he’d warned them she would not. It rang a little familiar, since both Hopkins cousins seemed to also share the same voice. How he wished he was merely waiting for Livvy to come downstairs as when he’d last heard such an announcement.

He dropped himself into a chair and tried the direct approach.

“Then I have some questions for you, Hopkins. Your cousin assured us you were a trustworthy man who would be happy to help us rescue Lady Reynolds.” If this tack failed, North would begin dismantling the house, starting with Lady Marquardt’s boudoir.

The man’s face flushed red, only to blanch white again.

“Miss Olivia? Lord Marquardt has Miss Olivia? Why did you not say so straight away, my lord? What can I do to help?”

Northwick thanked God for loyal servants.

Hopkins eventually told of a small island on the lake and a small hunting lodge in the center that was rumored to be haunted. Lord Marquardt was the only one brave enough to go there. No one had crossed the causey since the man had left the country a year and a half ago.

Northwick and Stanley maneuvered across the snow-covered road to the island to check the small cottage but found nary a human footprint. The building itself was sound, but filthy. Dust blanketed every surface. Nothing had been disturbed. There was no reason to check the remainder of the island. No boats could reach it with the ice encircling it as it did.

An hour later, North and Stanley were headed back to London. Country Hopkins had assured them he and the staff had seen no sign of Lord Marquardt, but they would keep a horse and groom at the ready, to send word should the evil man show his face. They were very aware of Marquardt’s suspected crimes and feared the man might have disposed of his victims somewhere on the property, but no bodies had ever been found.

His mother would likely hide in the attic until the man left England again.

Riding quickly for the city, they were no closer to finding Livvy, and darkness was descending like a purple curtain before them. North prayed Marquardt had misplaced that blasted cane of his. Then, ignoring his own lack of soul, North prayed to God, promising all manner of improvements in his life, and in Livvy’s, if the woman could just be spared.

As they neared Telford’s home, North’s prayer turned a bit more general.

Please, let there be news.

When he imagined Livvy might, by some miracle, be waiting inside, he nearly flew up the stairs and into the house without touching a snowy step. But there was no laughter and joy to greet him, only the sound of men arguing—and one of them was Ashmoore. He followed the heated conversation to the kitchen and found his friend toe to toe with the original version of Hopkins. Something was terribly wrong.

“What has happened?” He almost hoped there was no news of Livvy, for only bad news could have caused such an argument.

Ashmoore turned to him and took his shoulders. “Did you not find her?”

North could only shake his head. Ashmoore’s grip tightened, but could not compare to the grip of fear on North’s heart. One more squeeze there and he wouldn’t survive it.

Stanley joined them. “They will be watching for Marquardt. The moment the man shows up, the other Hopkins will send a fast horse. I assume you have no news either?”

Ashmoore glared at Hopkins. “Oh, there is news, but not about Livvy.” He released North and sat back on the cook’s table. He hooked a leg over the corner and folded his arms. “Why don’t I let Hopkins tell you?”

Hopkins color rose, but he did not cower. “Lord Telford went to White’s this evening, my lords.”

“And?” North knew what was coming.

“And he insulted Lord Gordon. Lord Gordon then called him out. Lord Telford will duel the man in the morning.” The man cleared his throat, then waited.

“Like bloody hell, he will.” North turned to Ashmoore. Surely his friend was as outraged as he.

Ash nodded. “Just the discussion you interrupted.”

“I will serve as his second. I will go in his stead.” North’s chest expanded from the anticipation. He found it difficult to exhale.

“I already tried that. Telford will not have it. Hopkins here, is his second.”

Hopkins’ nose rose even higher in the air. The man might topple over backward if he was not careful.

North shook his head and wandered to the hearth where he found enough of a shelf to sit upon. “You said Gordon would never accept a challenge.”

Ash snorted. “If two old fools are to be his opponents, what can he possibly fear?”

“I see your point. No offense, Hopkins.”

The butler offered him a stiff bow. “None taken, my lord.”

Five minutes ticked by with a great deal of neck rubbing and frowning, but no suggestions materialized. North picked up the fire iron and swung it into the fire pit. It rang like a church bell. A white cloud of ash rolled out from the darkness. “How do we get the devil to leave his minions and come out in the open?”

“We can do nothing. He feels he is safe,”
said Stanley.

“So what would make him feel unsafe?” North began to pace. “No longer safe to sit by and wait.”

“If he believes Marquardt has failed? That would make him worry.” Ash began pacing in earnest.

“The only way to convince him that Marquardt has failed, is to produce Livvy,” North said.

Ash spun on his heel. “Then we produce her.”

Stanley shook his head. “I’ll not be the next one to don a frock, gentlemen.”

North smiled. “We should only need to produce the rumor of her. Let word spread that Livvy miraculously returned to her home. Gordon will be forced to look for himself, wherever he has hidden her. And naturally, he will not be taking witnesses along on the chance she may still be there.”

“A word to Lady Malbury should do it, and quickly. Then we need only follow Gordon,” Stanley said, his excitement growing.

North groaned. “But even if it only takes half a day, we cannot just sit and wait!”

Ash moved to his side and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Then when the sun rises, by all means, tear the city apart. Surely there is nothing more we can do tonight. Gordon’s house is surrounded. Milton and Everhardt have people searching the city, slice by slice. Get some sleep.” Ash turned and frowned at Hopkins. “And you!”

The old man’s stubborn face melted away like wax near a hot fire.

“If you care at all for Miss Reynolds,” said Ash, “you will march up those stairs, relieve Dr. Kingston of laudanum or something comparable...”

“Yes, my lord?”

“And you will drug Lord Telford’s tea.”

“Tonight, sir?”

“Tonight.”

“He is not himself, tonight, my lord. I fear the excitement of the day has taken its toll. I doubt the man will rise until noon tomorrow, and therefore miss his appointment with Lord Gordon at any rate.”

“Tonight, Hopkins. We will take no chances.”

After the butler groused from the kitchen, Stanley laughed. “You will have to drug Hopkins too. Or perhaps you could just tie him to that pink chair in Olivia’s room.”

North swallowed painfully. “And do not forget to wet the knots.”

Livvy took back her wish that the carriage ride might be a long one.

She’d rolled and scooted enough to get part of the thick blanket beneath her and thanked heaven she’d been able to do so. Without its slight cushion, she would be little more than a bag of bruised bones by now.

It must have been nearly an hour and one half since Marquardt had left her alone, but the past twenty minutes had been torture. Certainly no road could be as rough on a carriage, let alone a person lying against the violent floor. When the beating ceased, she took a moment to enjoy the stillness before allowing fear to take hold of her once again.

“Nearly there, Scarlet.” His voice accompanied a rush of cold air that filled the hack. He tugged the blanket from her and swung it like an actor’s cape, allowing it to settle upon his own shoulders. Even with the heavy covering, he shivered violently. She was merely glad to see he’d suffered in some way.

He grabbed her under the arms and pulled her to the door, then he loosened the tie around her head that held her gag in place. She spit the cloth from her mouth and awaited a chance to scream when it would not be so easy to replace the damp thing before she could empty her lungs. He slipped a scratchy rope around her neck and she realized how little real pain she’d suffered thus far. Achy joints were hardly a frightening burden to bear. The prickles of the rope digging into her skin could not be ignored, however, and they served to rouse her foggy mind to the horror of the night. Had the maids he murdered been trussed up in the same manner?

Leaving the rope to dangle, he hoisted her to her feet, then removed the ties from the back of her hands. Moving slowly, lest he feel the need to subdue her again with his cane, she lifted her shoulders and stretched her sore limbs.

They were in a forest. The trees allowed little snow to fall between their branches. How he’d driven a hack so deep into them, she could not guess.

“If you scream, I will pull the rope. But there really is no need. No one will hear your cries out here.”

“You mean to hang me then?” Her throat was dry, her voice little more than a whisper.

Marquardt laughed. “Hanging? Only if you insist. But I rather thought you would prefer to live until tomorrow. What say you, Scarlet? Do you wish to live to see tomorrow?”

She nodded emphatically, not wishing to be misunderstood in the dark.

“Good girl. You will need your hands to keep your balance, I think. And to swim, of course, if you should happen to fall into the lake. The winter has been mild. If the ice has not frozen a path to my little island, I give you my word as a gentleman to reconsider your suggestion of a hanging.”

He laughed again, adjusted the blanket on his back, then took up the end of the rope. He clicked his tongue as if encouraging a horse, then pointed down the hill. She walked ahead, feeling carefully for the ground as she placed each foot. There were few stars peeking through the storm clouds, but if she watched the falling snowflakes, they seemed to light her way a bit. The dark stripes before her were certainly trees, but she held out her hands to defend herself from what she might not see.

Her foot slipped and she went down on one knee. The rope jerked and tightened around her neck instantly. She jumped back to her feet to pull it loose again, to pull those tiny spikes out of her skin.

“Not my fault, Scarlet. I merely tried to help you remain on your feet.” He clicked his tongue again and she started moving again.

The slope ended at the shores of a lake. The snow fell into the water and disappeared as if they had never been. She wondered if her fate would be the same. He’d spoken of an island, but all she could see was darkness at the edge of the ice forming along the shore.

“Go ahead then.” He shoved at her back.

“You’re mad,” she whispered. “I will not walk into a lake.”

Suddenly the whites of his eyes and the slash of his teeth were before her. The light wood of his cane loomed just above his shoulder.

“I am not mad, Scarlet. Angry, yes. Not mad.” He moved to her side. “If you will but look, you will see the path of ice. Tread carefully. If the ice breaks beneath you, I promise to pull hard on the rope. If it breaks beneath me, I will do the same. Either way, your survival depends upon us both reaching the island. Do you understand?”

She nodded, though she had yet to see the path he spoke of. She edged forward and prayed the man had better vision than she. But once on this island, would he leave her there, to freeze to death?

A white line appeared on the surface of the water. A snow-covered tree or a path?

She stepped to her left, lining up with the image. Two steps forward and she understood how the ice had formed a bridge stretching out into the darkness. The center of it was wider than the span of her arms and she allowed a swallow of hope into her belly. The whiteness tapered away slowly. The entire expanse might be seven or eight feet wide!

She felt with her toe and found the path quite firm, so she took another step. Marquardt clicked his tongue again and flipped the rope. In defiance, she walked ahead quickly. Even when all slack was gone in her tether, she pressed forward. Marquardt only laughed, so she slowed. She’d not risk her life further just to amuse him.

They’d been walking so long she suspected there was no island at all, that he was urging out to the end of some iced-over pier and planned to push her into the sea. She’d even begun to brace herself for the imminent fall when she saw the shadows looming ahead, higher than the water. He had not lied about the island!

Her next step sounded far different from the ones before. She felt the ice give a little but kept her pace. Perhaps Marquardt’s greater weight would break through. She lifted her hands to her neck, sneaking her fingers beneath the rope as Marquardt stepped upon the weakened spot.

She heard the ice crack that time and whipped around to see how the man was faring at the same time he yanked on the rope. Her feet flew out from beneath her and she landed hard on her right shoulder. The impact crackled beneath her and it was her turn to laugh like a madman. She was going to die, but she would take the monster with her.

She inched back toward him, where he stood frozen on the weak spot. Leaning on his cane, out to one side, had likely saved him.

“Stay where you are, damn you. If anything happens to me, your father will die by Gordon’s hand.”

She stopped laughing, moving, breathing. The man had to be bluffing. As the other man had pushed her into the hack, at the theatre, he’d admitted he’d lied about her father. But she knew not what to believe. She simply needed to escape this man and find out for herself.

“You are bluffing,” she hissed.

“Am I?” He took a small step and the ice crackled again. “Move!”

She pulled her feet beneath her and leaned back, scooting until she felt the path was firmer again. Then she stood, hating the way he clung to the rope, staying just behind her, waiting for her to fall into the water so he might choke her while she fought to stay alive.

She stepped onto hard ground before she realized the water to either side had disappeared. She could have kissed the icy mud in spite of how it froze her feet. A moment later she was thanking God for the shelter she saw at the top of the hill.

Once inside, Marquardt tugged again on her tether.

“Let me remove your rope. Then I will help you remove your wet shoes.”

She stood still and waited. As the cane crashed against her head, she should not have been surprised.

***

When North had not a prayer left to pray, when he found himself repeating himself for the hundredth time, he settled his head back against the couch and rested his swollen eyes while he waited for morning. As soon as it was light, he was going to tear the city apart.

He had not intended to sleep. His dreams were muddled, desperate, unfocused. There were ghosts of Marquardt’s two murdered maids. The groom that never seemed to arrive at Telford’s house, despite his fast horse. There was a boat, trapped in the ice. And far too many Hopkins cousins.

He woke with terror in his belly. Dawn was breaking on the other side of the floral curtains. And somewhere, Livvy waited for him to come for her.

And thanks to his dream, he was afraid he knew just where to go.

His horse seemed to share that sense, for he barely gave the beast any prompting at all and still ended up on that road back to Lady Marquardt’s. A month before, he would have never trusted himself to go in search of the bastard on his own, but today he felt as capable as any of his friends. Perhaps their confession had affected him after all. But at least he was doing something. If he had to sit around all day waiting for Gordon to take the bait, he would end the day searching for a bed at an asylum.

Lady Marquardt’s staff might think him foolish for checking the property yet again, to be truly certain Livvy was not there, but even the thought of turning his horse made him sick to his stomach. What if Marquardt had arrived and taken his mother’s household in hand, what if he stopped any messenger from leaving the estate?

What if he was already there, on that damned island, and no one knew it? What if he, himself, had been so close yesterday and walked away?

He suddenly understood why his friends had kept their secret from him, how ashamed they’d felt for coming so close to finding him in France, and yet giving up. There would not have been nearly enough liquor in the whole of
the country to
help him forget, if he’d done the same. He only hoped that Livvy was found in time, just as he’d been.

His mount seemed to sense his urgency and increased its efforts without so much as the brush of his heels. He ignored the light morning drizzle and kept his horse to the turf beside the road instead of the thick mud in the center. Traveling the same stretch for the third time in less than a day, made the trip seem shorter and he thanked God for it. He came upon the entrance to the drive long before he’d expected it.

Instead of going to the manor, he turned to the left, toward the causey that led to the island, leaning to the side to study the ground. There were many more footprints in the day-old snow. But they only led up to the causey and no further. Hopkins was having the place watched then. Excellent.

He looked over his shoulder at the residence. A woman in a dark dress stood at one of the upper windows—either a maid or Lady Marquardt, it was impossible to tell which. But he’d been spotted. He lifted his fingers to the brim of his hat and bowed. A heartbeat later, the woman was gone.

Would Cousin Hopkins appear with footmen, with orders to toss him off the property?

He looked back at the island. The roofline of the small lodge was visible between the trees that crowded the center of the island as if they sought shelter from the ice encroaching upon the banks in frozen waves. If Hell were snow and ice, instead of fire and brimstone, it would appear the Devil had his sights on pulling the island to his bosom.

No smoke rose from the chimney.

North imagined there was fine fishing out so far. Even in winter, the fishing might prove brisk from the edge of the ice that collared the island like some spikey frill from Queen Bess’s time. The wind blowing down from the hills, as it was that morning, was likely what kept the ice from freezing all the way to the mainland. But on the lee side...

On the lee side, there would be no stirring wind! On the lee side of the island, the ice might span the entire distance, creating a natural causey across which a man might reach the shelter with no one from the residence any the wiser.

Surely there was someone in the house that knew—the gilly at least. But by the time he found the man who hunted for the estate, he could make it ‘round the lake to see for himself!

A glance proved there was no sure footing along the bank, but then he wouldn’t wish to have his intentions known by anyone hiding on the island. There had to be a road to the other side. Surely there was a road.

He was so agitated by his new realization, he was caught off guard by the approach of the groom.

“My lord? Lady Marquardt would like me to assist you in any way I can.”

He looked back at the window. The woman had returned. He brought his fingers to the brim of his hat once more.

***

Livvy woke sitting upright on the floor. Each of her arms was tied to the opposite ends of a bedframe. She was merely grateful to have awakened at all. Another day of living, then. An entire day, if she were lucky.

She remained as quiet as possible. Marquardt snored from the bed behind her. Her shoes and socks had been removed, but if he’d made a fire in the night, it had died out long ago. The large room was cold as stone. With the sunshine lighting the windows, it was difficult to believe the nightmare of the previous day, but she knew, as soon as the wicked man rose, anything was possible.

She wasted no time fretting, but turned instead to prayer. She needed a miracle. She needed strength to fight. She needed to work the stiffness from her arms without making a sound. If she was fortunate, a plan would come to her before the monster stirred.

That thick cane with which her head had become too familiar leaned next to the fire. Pity the thing hadn’t caught fire and burned to ashes. But there it stood, taunting her. Never out of her sight, but completely out of reach.