Somewhat Scandalous (Brambridge Novel 1) (35 page)

All was quiet in the storeroom. The door opened slowly. A sliver of light fell through the door. Nothing else moved.

“I know you are in here, little Agatha.” Agatha held her breath as Lady Guthrie slowly stepped into the small space, her gun held out steady in front of her. She held a taper in her other hand, which she held up to the small oil lamp to the right of the door. A soft yellow glow filled the room. “That was a nice piece of misdirection, but you know your lover is dead. There is nothing else to live for.”

Lady Guthrie grinned suddenly and, with a sweep of the gun, pulled the middle tier of instruments from their shelves. All that showed was blank wall behind. Agatha tensed as, with a muted roar of rage, Lady Guthrie one handedly pulled more cases from the shelves, instruments thudding to the floor around her.

Soon there were no more instruments left. The shelves lay bare and empty, the walls scuffed and marked behind them. Lady Guthrie laughed, her eyes staring from her head.

“This must be fate. You and I in here. Do you know that Charles and I made love in this room just before Anglethorpe caught you with him?”

So that was what Charles had been doing, and why Lady Guthrie had been so upset. Agatha bit her lip until it bled. Nothing was going to induce her to move from where she was.

Lady Guthrie looked around herself wildly, the gun swinging from side to side as she did so. Only the cello cases remained in their original positions, standing as upright as shoulders. One case lay to on its side, its clasps undone.

In her dark cramped position, Agatha brought her hands up to her face and lit a match. Slowly holding out her hand, she lit the rolled sheet of music she had found inside the cello case.

Lady Guthrie started towards the case with a smile on her face. Agatha took a sharp intake of breath. The sheet had not yet burnt fully.

“You once called me a mouse, Lady Guthrie.” Her voice echoed around the uncarpeted room, causing the instruments to thrum in response.

Lady Guthrie swung her head from side to side and took another half step forward towards the case. “Of course I called you a mouse, little Aggie, with your pathetic experiments. A mouse that I crushed again and again with my actions for five years.” She laughed harshly. “And now I will silence you forever, just like Anglethorpe.”

Agatha shook her head as Lady Guthrie reached the cello case and switched her gun to her left hand… just five seconds more was what she needed. “I am a mouse no longer,” she whispered, her voice getting louder and louder. “Hear… me… roar!”

With a wave of sound, the cello case exploded as the makeshift taper ignited Agatha’s last firecracker at the bottom of the case. The case lid flew open, knocking the gun from Lady Guthrie’s hand. In an instant, the wire strings of the disintegrating cello inside whipped through the air and lacerated Lady Guthrie’s face, as a shard of wood harpooned her in the hip.

“Aiiiieee….” Lady Guthrie screamed. Agatha didn’t wait for a pause—she shot out her arm from behind the bottom pile of instrument cases where she lay and drove the cello spike she had taken from the case through Lady Guthrie’s foot into the ground. Lady Guthrie’s scream rose higher as with the flat of her hand, Agatha drove her arm into her stomach. And then she was silent.

Wiggling and twisting from behind the instrument cases at the very bottom of the shelves, Agatha stood with a wince. Lady Guthrie was pinned into place on the floor. She couldn’t fall backwards or forwards, her pistol lying useless, feet away on the floor. Gazing at Agatha, her mouth agape, she sighed and passed out doubled up against the shelves.

Agatha leaned back. She had been lucky. Lady Guthrie’s haste had led her to overlook the bottom shelves behind the cellos. The falling instruments from the upper shelves had piled up in front of where Agatha had hidden. She had only just been able to get her hand out in time, armed with the cello spike, thanking the memory of the fallen Mr. Daventry as she had driven it into Lady Guthrie’s fragile ball slippers.

Sobbing, Agatha pushed the remaining cello cases out of the way and swept the pistol from the floor. Without a second look behind her, she hobbled gasping into the vestibule.

As the sickness roiled in her stomach, she stood over Monique, the useless gun in her hand outstretched. But she needn’t have bothered. The woman’s eyes remained open and unseeing, quite dead.

With leaden steps she crossed to Henry. Kneeling beside him in a sense of déjà vu, she turned his head towards her.

His eyes were closed, but his face was still warm.

She sobbed gently. “Henry, I love you. Please be alive.”

Henry lay still on the floor. Frantically she shook him, cradling his head in her lap, tears running down her face.

“Father.” Henry’s lips moved imperceptibly as he breathed the soft word.

Agatha lifted her head. “No… Henry… don’t go.”

“Dying without being loved,” he breathed again, his eyelids flickering. He opened his eyes slowly and stared into hers, his hand fumbling at his chest. “Agatha, promise me…” With a grimace of pain, he fell back unconscious. She gripped his hand tightly.

“Promise you what?” she cried. “Henry?” But there was no reply.

This time there was no one to stop her running outside. But the previously quiet street was now a hive of activity. Three coaches with sweating horses rumbled to a stop outside. With loud shouts, men jumped down from the coaches and rushed up the steps.

“Put the gun down, miss. We have you surrounded.”

Agatha looked round in bewilderment.

“Drop the gun,” someone said slowly.

She looked up into the eyes of Earl Harding. “I don’t think I can.”

“Hades, do something for her!” Victoria stepped out from the earl’s shadow and, unpinning her cloak, threw it around Agatha’s shoulders. “It’s alright,” she murmured, rubbing at Agatha’s shuddering arms. “We are here now.” She jerked her head at Earl Harding. “Hades, if you please?”

The earl reached forward and gently removed the gun from her hand.

“Cooee lads. Did you ever think we’d catch
Monsieur Herr
in her nightwear?” one of the coachmen hollered to the crowd.

“I’m not
Monsieur Herr
,” she whispered to Victoria. “And it’s not alright.” Her voice hitched as a sob rose through her throat. “Henry needs help. Gun shot. In the hallway.”

Earl Harding stepped forward sharply. “Did you shoot him?” He paused, the barrel of the gun pointing towards her in his hand.

“Lady Guthrie did it.” Agatha shivered again and swayed. “She’s
Monsieur Herr
. She’s in the instrument room.”

Victoria gasped as with a soft sigh, Agatha crumpled into her arms.

CHAPTER 42

Smoke and spice. That was all she could smell. She was surrounded by the comforting odor. Taking a deep breath, Agatha opened her eyes.

There was nothing but blue, everywhere she looked. Smoke and spice and blueness. She frowned; it didn’t make sense. Pulling at her arms, she winced as her shoulder strained. Strangely, her hands were clasped around a warm object. A breeze ruffled in her ear.

“Be still, baggage. I have you now.”

Agatha moaned as her body jolted. Around her waist, a hand tightened.

“Out of the way, Ames. I have her. You may always be late but this time you were better late than never.”

A soft fabric rubbed against her nose. Breathing in, Agatha inhaled the spice and smoke again. It was so
familiar
. With a hiccup, she pushed her face forward, into the softness. It could only be a dream. Henry was still laid out on the cold floor in Hanover Rooms shot by Lady Guthrie. He couldn’t have survived.

A warm hand stroked at her head and cradled her hair. “Shhh. I won’t let you go.”

Agatha sighed. It had to be a dream. No man had ever looked after her. Not since Henry had assured her he would deal with Charles. Not since he had come to rescue her.

“Look at me, Agatha.”

The voice was commanding.

“I don’t want to.” If she did, then the dream would break and she would still be outside Hanover State Rooms, shivering in the cold.

The low voice caressed at her senses. “If you don’t look at me, I can’t tell you what I want from you.”

Oh the devious man, cunning even in her dreams. “Tell me now,” she demanded into the soft fabric. “I can still hear.”

Strong hands stroked her on the nose, pulling her away from her nest.

“Look at me… dearheart… Agatha.”

Unwillingly Agatha looked upwards, into the deep blue eyes of the only man she had ever loved. “Henry,” she breathed. “Don’t… please don’t disappear.”

The rumble of his laugh pulsed through her. “I’m not the one that always disappears.”

“You’re not real. I saw Henry die with my own eyes…”

The deep blue of Henry’s eyes vanished as he blinked, then creased as he smiled. “Ever questioning, Agatha. That’s one of the reasons I want you… I love you. You and I, we are two of a kind, constantly searching for knowledge, truth.”

“You stopped me.”

Henry’s eyes disappeared as his chin pointed upwards. Agatha stared mesmerized at the strong jaw above her.

“I believed that it would make everyone happier,” he said quietly. “Avoid scandal. Only recently has it been pointed out to me that there are many ways to search for a type of truth. I thought I was searching for what my father was looking for when he died in order to give me answers about his death to put my sense of family back together again.” He looked down at her again. “But in reality I was looking in the wrong place.”

Agatha licked her lips, and, raising a finger on her hand where it lay wrapped around the back of Henry’s neck, stroked against his firm skin. Henry took in a deep breath and shuddered.

“What do I want from you, Agatha?” Henry lowered his head as his arms tightened around her. “I want you promise to love me, no matter what happens.”

“I… I can’t love a dead man.”

Henry stopped, his head only inches from hers. “I’m no dead man, Agatha. Does a dead man feel like this?” Slowly, tenderly, he captured her lips in his. Agatha moaned softly as his tongue flicked gently passed her parted lips and then withdrew.

“I saw her shoot you. I saw you fall.”

Henry’s laugh rumbled louder and louder. “I worried the effect my death might have upon any wife I took. Little did I realize that by finally allowing myself to pursue you would I prevent my own life from being taken.” Tightening his arm around her waist, he brought his hand up to her eye line.  In his hand lay a large lump of metal, deformed and gleaming, yet still in the unmistakable shape of a ring. “The Anglethorpe wedding ring. I’ve had it in my pocket ever since the house party. Ever since I was pushed into realizing that life is nothing without you. It stopped the bullet.”

A door shut behind them as footsteps shuffled closer. “Ahem.”

Henry sighed. “What is it, Ames?”

Turning her head, Agatha stared into the clear gaze of John Smith.

“You…” She turned back to Henry. “Nothing without me?”

Ames shuffled his feet behind her. “Excusing me, your lordship. Mrs. Noggin and err Lady Colchester wish to know if you’ve asked her yet?”

Agatha looked upwards. “Asked me what, Henry?”

She felt his chest heave, as he clutched her tighter. Bending over, he whispered in her ear. “Will you marry me, my love?”

Stunned, Agatha let her hands fall away from his neck, but still she did not tumble from his arms, as his embrace held her protected and steady.

“Bloody hell. Yes. Of course.”

After all. It was the only logical conclusion.

EPILOGUE

Lord James Stanton lurked at the edge of the dance floor and watched as the wedding guests swirled, avoiding his thunderous stare and formidable form with scurried steps as they swung to his end of the room. He paid no attention to them, his eyes tracking one couple in the midst of them who danced unheedingly on with broad smiles on their faces.

Damn Freddie Lassiter
. Once again he was partnered with the one woman that James wanted and now would never have. How he wished he could go back to Brambridge Manor and hide.

When he had arrived back in London, he had never thought the future could be more bleak than when he had left. Yet here he was, pushing on in his third decade of life, engaged to a beautiful woman, the owner of two magnificent estates. And he had never felt so depressed.

James tossed back the remainder of the champagne in his glass and took another from the waiting footman. As he glanced across the ballroom, his gaze caught on a man who smirked and raised his glass to him. James nodded and turned away. He took another sip of his champagne and continued observing the room.

The happy couple were nowhere in sight. This was their wedding after all. The highly anticipated Anglethorpe reception. After so much drama, one would have thought that they would at least put in an appearance. James snorted as the champagne bubbles filled his mouth. At least for one couple things had turned out alright. He shook his head. He couldn’t expect the same for himself. After all, trouble followed him everywhere, and had done so for as long as he could remember. No, he balled a fist and, turning, threw a look back across the ballroom. There
had
been a fairly carefree time when he was young, but there had always been his father and then… that last run on the
Rocket.
James shook his head and strode to the door. Placing his empty glass carefully on a waiting footman’s tray, he left the ballroom and slipped out into the night.

Upstairs in their Brambridge home the bride and groom danced slowly in the moonlight as the party continued. Berale House was lit and alive again for the first time since the fateful house party.

Cradling Agatha in his arms, Henry gently spun her round the room. “I didn’t think I could better the science laboratory my dear, but I have bought you an even more important present. An interest which I believe we’ll share.”