His Beautiful Wench (10 page)

“We’ll roll him inside it. Then we’ll take him outside. Get rid of him.” Madam looked at Amelia, her eyes bright, her cheeks sporting pink splotches.

“Oh Lord!” Amelia’s stomach rolled.

“We have no choice,” Madam said. “Unless you want Emmett hanged?”

The thought of it spurred Amelia into action. She positioned Crowe’s arms at his sides then gripped the edge of the rug. With the body secured inside, booted feet poking from one end, a thatch of oily blond hair from the other, Amelia released a long breath and stood. Madam rose and turned to face Emmett.

“Emmett Dray! You have stood and allowed myself and your woman to do your dirty work.” She slapped his face—hard. “Now help us!”

Emmett lifted his hand to his face. He stared down at the rug then from Madam to Amelia. “Christ! I’m so sorry… I—”

“Save your excuses,” Madam snapped. “Shock has no place here. We have things to do. Pick him up!”

Emmett grimaced but did as she bade, hoisting Crowe over his shoulder. He staggered then righted himself, hugging the carpeted corpse. “Where am I taking him?”

“Outside. Hurry!” Madam rolled her eyes. “Men!”

Emmett began his descent. Madam followed and Amelia took up the rear, her heart beating a painful cadence. Emmett almost dropped Crowe on the main stairs and Amelia’s stomach lurched.

“Careful, Dray!” Madam admonished, tsking her annoyance. “We must get this done fast and efficiently. And, of course, I don’t need to remind you both to keep your mouths shut.”

Dread siphoned all Amelia’s courage as she trailed Emmett and Madam through the parlor. What if they got caught? What if one of the whores waggled her tongue? What if…? She ousted such thoughts from her mind and the trio halted at the back door in the kitchen. Emmett stepped to the side, sweat dripping down his temples. Crowe’s blood had seeped through the rug and spread beneath Emmett’s arms and onto his hands. The copper stench of it stung Amelia’s nostrils and she bit back a retch. Madam unlocked the back door and opened it, holding up a finger.

“Let me check first,” she said, disappearing into the darkness.

Amelia’s pulse throbbed in her neck, in her ears, and she gripped the table edge to keep from falling into a faint. She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, bitterly regretting it as another waft of blood hit her.

“Oh God… I think I’m about to vomit!”

She staggered to the sideboard beneath the window and whipped open a door to retrieve a bowl. Sinking to her knees, the bowl in her lap, she emptied the contents of her stomach—nothing but bile.

“Oh Christ. What have I done to you?” Emmett whispered.

Amelia swiped the back of her hand across her mouth and stood, placing the bowl on the sideboard. She picked up a glass, unconcerned that it had already been used, and poured water from a pitcher. Guzzling it down, she waited for it to come back up. It didn’t. Her arms and legs shook and she set the glass beside the bowl and turned to Emmett.

“We’re in this together. You did nothing wrong in your dealings with the sculpture. As for the deaths…” She straightened her shoulders, resolving to get through this crisis as best she could. “You protected me both times. We must do as Madam says and get rid of him. Keep our mouths shut.”

Emmett’s face softened. “I’m sorry, my beautiful wench. I—”

“Time enough for sentimental claptrap later,” Madam said, filling the doorway. “No one is about. The men who call for my women aren’t due until tomorrow and the women won’t be back unless I tell them to come. We have hours to get this done, but I would like
some
sleep this night.” She stalked across to Amelia’s bowl and went back outside, returning the bowl to the sink minus its contents. She poured in water from the pitcher and left it to soak. “Come along.” She strode out to the patio and onto the expanse of grass, turning left. She stopped and faced them, her figure a silhouette. “Well? I
said
come along!”

Emmett grimaced and stepped outside. Amelia followed, closing the door behind her, and in silence the trio traipsed across the grass beside the track, trudging along the cliff edge for maybe two miles. Every so often Emmett grunted under the weight of the body. Amelia’s legs ached but she plodded on, her gaze going from the starlit sky to the ocean then back again. After some time, Madam veered to their left and approached the cliff edge at its highest point. She stopped and faced them, the moonlight behind her giving her a ghostly appearance.

“The ocean is deep along here,” she said. “No risk of his body being dragged up onto the rocks. There aren’t any. Toss him over.”

Though she knew why they had walked so far, knew what they would do, Amelia still gasped. Emmett dumped Crowe on the ground and kneeled, unrolling the corpse. He dragged him to the edge and positioned him parallel, then pushed his midsection with his booted foot. The body vanished over the edge and all three of them stood in silence, waiting. Several seconds passed, then a faint splash sounded. Amelia bit her bottom lip.

Dear God, please forgive us!

Without a word, Emmett rolled up the rug and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m sorry to have brought this upon you both.” He turned away from them, heading back the way they had come.

A strangled cry left Amelia and she glanced at Madam, who came toward her, arms outstretched.

“The guilt will pass,” she whispered, embracing Amelia. “Trust me.”

“How can you be so sure?” Amelia stepped back and held Madam’s hands, squeezing them. “How can we move on from something like this?”

Madam inhaled a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Because I’ve done this before.” She crooked her arm through Amelia’s and tugged. “Come. We must get back. We have a rug and an attic floor to clean.”

Chapter Four

Madam kept Amelia’s arm tucked around hers on their journey back to the cottage. They walked in silence for a while and Amelia thought about the time she’d met Madam two years past. After her parents had died, Amelia was evicted from her childhood home. With no money and nowhere to go, she had packed a small bag and headed into town. She’d wandered the high street, tears streaming down her face, and bumped into the redheaded woman. Full of apologies, Amelia had gabbled her recent woes before she could stop herself. Madam had led her to the saloon and ordered a large brandy, steering Amelia to a table in the far corner.

The alcohol had burned on its way to Amelia’s gut but also loosened her tongue further. She told of her upbringing, how she’d been cosseted and protected by her parents and didn’t know how to do anything by way of work. When the news had come that her parents had been killed in a horse and cart accident, her world had collapsed.

Madam had sighed and offered her a job at her cottage, but despite her plight, Amelia had refused. She couldn’t give herself to just anyone.

“But would you mind working here?” Madam asked, her hand encompassing the room. “Would you be comfortable with that?”

Amelia had looked around at the men, at the serving wenches, and resigned herself to the fact that she may not have any other choice. She needed a job and a place to stay immediately. People would think of her as one step lower than a whore, she knew that, but… “Does it come with lodgings?”

Madam shook her head. “No, but you may rent my attic. That is if you don’t mind what goes on below it.”

Amelia had agreed and Madam left the table. She approached a kindly looking man with a large belly and gray hair who was standing behind the bar, his extravagant mustache hiding his top lip. The man listened to Madam, nodded and briefly covered her hand with his. He stared at her for several seconds, eyes moist, then turned away and pushed through a door behind him. Madam’s shoulders rose and fell as though she’d sighed and she spun around and rejoined Amelia at the table.

Though her job as a serving wench had been difficult at first, Amelia had grown used to handling the men. The owner, Harry, had treated her with respect and kindness, but he sold the saloon to a bully of a man who left the running of it mainly to Sara. Amelia remained, and when Emmett had walked in a few months after she’d started, she had been more than grateful that she worked in the saloon. After all, if she didn’t, she may never have met him.

Amelia smiled now. How generous Madam was, how caring to risk helping Amelia and Emmett. She could have ordered them to leave, told the authorities of the shooting.

“Why did you help us tonight, Madam?”

Madam patted Amelia’s hand. “Because I’ve grown to love you. Because I know how frightening it is to have a dead body to deal with.” She swallowed. “Several years ago, I married a man who ruled me. He was generous with his fists, more so after he caught me in the forest with another man. A man I loved—one who treated me like a princess. If my husband hadn’t been so bullish I would never have taken a lover.” She smiled wistfully. “When my husband found us, he dragged me back home by my hair, and my God, it hurt. Not as much as him striking me though.” She sighed and hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It was like something inside me snapped that night.”

“What did you do?” Amelia dreaded the answer, yet at the same time was curious.

“I stabbed him.” Madam sniffed. “Stabbed him so many times in my fury and desperation that my arm ached.”

“And then?”

“I put him in our cart, hitched up the horses and took him where we took Crowe.”

Amelia thought of the cart and horses, wondering why Madam had told Emmett to carry the corpse all that way. “Why—”

“Why didn’t I offer the use of the cart tonight?” Madam finished, a small smile on her lips. “Selfish reasons. It would have opened up old wounds.” She sighed again. “It did anyway, but somehow this was different. If Emmett carried Crowe, it wouldn’t mirror my own crime. Wouldn’t remind me of what I had done. What I have so far got away with. What I have lost—my innocence, my lover… Of course,” she laughed quietly, “my idea didn’t work, because now I’ve told you all about it and now it’s swirling in my head as though it just happened all over again. I’m so foolish at times.”

A moment’s sorrow touched Amelia and she rested her free hand on Madam’s wrist. “If he wasn’t so cruel… If he hadn’t hit you, treated you badly…”

“I know. I would never have killed him. But he did treat me badly and I did kill him, but as I told you back there,” Madam jerked her head in the direction they had come from, “the guilt fades. Life must go on, and it will for you too. I would suggest you discuss it with Emmett one time only then forget it ever happened. It’s the only way to cope. I hope that your relationship can stand the secret. Mine did not.”

Amelia stared ahead at Emmett and wondered what he was thinking. She respected his need to be alone, understood it.
He’ll be blaming himself for putting me through this. I must tell him it doesn’t matter. His pain is my pain
. She switched off her thoughts and asked, “Did you discuss it with your lover?”

Madam nodded. “I did, and we saw one another for a while in secret. We had to meet in the forest, away from prying eyes. As far as the townsfolk knew, my husband had walked out on me. His body never surfaced. But sadly, we need money in order to survive and, like you, I had no skills so I…I set up my business, although I have never participated, you understand. I told my lover we must stop meeting. At the time I didn’t want what I had done tainting him, and with my cottage turned into a whorehouse… He deserved better than me.”

“Does he still live in town?”

“No. He left not long after you started working for him.”

Amelia gasped. “Harry?”

Madam’s smile widened and tears spilled down her face. “Yes, my darling Harry.”

Trying to imagine how Madam felt, how painful it must have been to set her lover free, Amelia asked, “Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t want to know. It’s better that way.” She pointed ahead then dropped her arm by her side. “Look at your man there, lost in a world of his own. I understand what he’s feeling. And he’ll curse himself later for thinking only of himself instead of holding your arm in his as we walk back. But don’t blame him for his selfishness, will you? Try to understand.”

Amelia nodded. “I do. I will. I have to—I can’t live without him.”

They finished their journey in silence and entered the kitchen. Emmett sat at the table, his head in his bloodied hands, shirtsleeves stiff and dark red. Amelia went to him and pulled him against her stomach, caressing his hair.

“I shouldn’t have left you back there. I should have—”

“Shh, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except us.” Amelia glanced at Madam, who nodded her approval and clapped her hands.

“Now then,” she said, her eyes overly bright, streaks of red hair sticking to her cheeks. “Our job isn’t done yet.” She placed large pans of water atop the stove.

Once the water had boiled, Emmett took a bucketful and went to scrub the attic floor. Madam helped Amelia clean the rug. Lighting several lanterns so as not to miss any blood, they laid the rug out on the patio and washed it. They worked without speaking, and when the rug was as clean as they could get it they each took two corners and hung it over the washing line.

Back in the kitchen, Madam locked the door and turned to Amelia.

“Go to him. Bring him down here and bathe him. Cleanse him of that blood.” She cupped Amelia’s cheek. “That’s the worst part you know, having blood on your hands. Good night, dear Amelia, and thank you.”