The Last Lady of Thornhill Manor

by Patricia Haverton

  The valet rose, bowed, and left the room. Reggie happened to be watching the dark assassin when the Duke spoke. He started at the name “Thomas”, then resumed his staring at the floor. “Thomas Booker,” Reggie barked.

  The man glanced up involuntarily, then back down. “You killed my horses,” Reggie snarled, lunging toward him, his fists clenched.

  Whether Thornhill signaled them somehow, Reggie had no idea, but three footmen blocked his way. Their hands pushed him back when he tried to go around them, but it was only when the Duke bellowed at him to stop did Reggie at last back off. He pointed his finger at Booker.

  “You will hang,” he gritted.

  “Reginald, cease this nonsense and sit down.”

  Reggie obeyed and sat with his elbows on his knees, his head down. When the Duke’s valet wordlessly handed him a shirt, Reggie yanked it on and buttoned it without looking at anyone. He heard the Duke muttering under his breath but did not try to understand what he said. Encased within a cage of his rage and terror, he tried not to visualize what Eastcairn might be doing to Amalia.

  “Reginald, I need you calm and thinking,” Thornhill said. “Please.”

  Dragging in deep gulps of air, Reggie lifted his head and nodded. “I am, Your Grace.”

  “Listen to me. The longer Amalia holds out, the better are our chances of finding her. Right?”

  Reggie scraped his hands down his face. “Right.”

  “We get every constable, every Bow Street Runner, at every church and chapel. Are you with me? They are to tell all priests, reverends, and vicars they are not to perform any weddings until further notice.”

  Reggie nodded. “What if he takes her out of the city?”

  Thornhill froze. “Let us pray he does not. If he believes I am dead, then he will not go far, as he will return here to claim his inheritance.”

  “Of course.”

  Reggie tried not to think of what would happen if Eastcairn actually married Amalia. I do not care. I will still marry her once the marriage is annulled and he is dead. I will make her my wife and love her until we are both dust. “He will not harm her,” he muttered as though it were a mantra to ward off evil.

  “She is a stubborn and willful woman, Reginald,” Thornhill said firmly. “Remember that.”

  Though Reggie did know that, he also knew of ways where one might coerce another through pain without causing serious damage. Eastcairn is a nobleman and would not harm her. He will not harm her. Despite reminding himself of that repeatedly, he did not believe it. Uneasily, he recalled the greed in Eastcairn’s blue eyes when he gazed at Amalia at the supper table.

  Under the physician’s ministrations, the Duke fell asleep as Reggie stared at Booker, who refused to speak or meet his eyes. The footmen in their nightclothes, stood at attention as though they were in full livery, ready to serve or pounce on Reggie if his murderous urges came on him again. Dawn lightened the sky outside, turning the sky from black to grey, and Mr. Bannock entered the Duke’s chambers.

  He glanced at the sleeping Thornhill, then beckoned for Reggie. Reggie followed him out of the Duke’s hearing, watching as the physicians conferred in low voices near the bed. “What did you find?”

  “Both the magistrate and the inspector are on their way here,” Mr. Bannock replied. “I gave a description of Eastcairn to the chief of constables as well as his family crest and drew a reasonable likeness of the Earl for him to show his men.”

  “Excellent. If Patrick is being blackmailed into helping him, they need to know what he looks like as well.”

  “Already done.”

  “His Grace suggested the constables and Runners forbid any church or chapel to marry anyone, can you see to that?”

  “Certainly. That bastard will not marry Her Ladyship while I am here to stop it.”

  “Now there are two more villains with them, but they are so ordinary as to be invisible. Any thoughts?”

  Mr. Bannock frowned. “If he no longer needs them, perhaps he dismissed them.”

  Reggie smiled but knew it held no humor. “I am also a target, as I am both a witness and a rival. He must kill me.”

  “Your guest rooms were not disturbed, My Lord.”

  “They went in and perhaps found me missing. Please send a footman to my own house and inform my steward and butler of my current state of health. Also, warn them to be wary of any deception regarding me.”

  Mr. Bannock bowed. “I will see to it.”

  After Mr. Bannock left, Reggie returned to his rooms to wash and change, painfully shrugging into a shirt, waistcoat, and coat. To his surprise, his stitches had not come loose in the struggle against Booker, yet the area around the wound was swollen and hot to the touch. Heading back toward the Duke’s rooms, he found the old butler in the hallway.

  “Perkins,” he said, catching the man’s attention and bow. “I need five footmen who have worked for the Duke for many years and are absolutely loyal, all the way to their bones.”

  “I heard about last night, My Lord,” Perkins replied. “I know just the men you require.”

  “Thank you.”

  Perkins scowled, the first expression Reggie had ever seen on the man’s face. “Bring Her Ladyship back to us, My Lord. Bring her back.”

  Reggie nodded grimly. “You have my word.”

  He had no sooner started toward the Duke’s apartments when Mr. Bannock trotted up the stairs and hailed him, “My Lord.”

  As Perkins went back down them to fetch the footmen, Reggie waited for the steward. “The inspector and the magistrate you sent for are here, My Lord,” Mr. Bannock said quickly. “They brought a small army of constables as well as the chief.”

  “Most excellent. I sent Perkins to find the most loyal footmen to stay with His Grace. Right now, they are not servants, but bodyguards. Until they arrive, will you remain with him? I am taking no more chances with his safety.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Bannock answered. “And Stephen and I are still sifting through possible assassins among them. We will find him soon enough.”

  “I know you will.” Reggie glanced toward the door to the Duke’s rooms. “Keep His Grace safe.”

  “You find our little girl. We love her, you know.”

  Reggie grinned tightly. “So do I.”

  He found Mr. Healey and Mr. Crowley in the foyer with a dozen constables in their uniforms and short capes, talking in low voices to each another who Reggie suspected might be the chief. They ceased their conversation and bowed as he approached.

  “Thank you for coming,” Reggie told them. “I trust you know what has happened?”

  The Duke was attacked in the night, and Her Ladyship taken,” Mr. Healey replied, his expression bleak.

  “Exactly. The man who tried to kill His Grace is upstairs in the Duke’s rooms, and I would appreciate it if he was hauled out of there and placed under arrest.”

  The tall man with the piercing eyes signaled to three constables, who rushed up the stairs. “I am Chief Robert Carson, My Lord. My men and I are at your disposal.”

  “We believe Lady Gallagher was taken captive by the Earl of Eastcairn,” Reggie told him. “He needs to marry her. Thus I would ask that you spread your men around the city to halt any potential marriage between them.”

  “I will give orders right now.”

  As he spoke to his men, Reggie turned to Mr. Crowley. “Did you find anything about Eastcairn that might enable us to find Lady Gallagher? He has to take her someplace out of sight of witnesses, then coerce her into signing a contract.”

  “That rules out hotels and inns,” Mr. Crowley replied with a frown. “I did discover he is not nearly as wealthy as one would think, My Lord. Through bad decisions, he has run his businesses into the ground and is all but broke. He is in deep debt to his creditors and is on the verge of selling his Scottish estates. He badly needs a good marriage to keep himself from going to debtors prison.”

  “There is his motive for needing to marry Her Ladyship and murde
ring the Duke.” Reggie scrubbed his face with his hand. “Does he have any property here in the city?”

  Mr. Crowley snapped his fingers, his green eyes brightening. “Yes. A small warehouse on the Thames.”

  Reggie caught the attention of a footman. “Have the grooms saddle six of the Duke’s horses,” he ordered.

  The man bowed and departed. “I trust you will go with us, Mr. Healey?” Reggie asked. “Having a magistrate there as a witness to Eastcairn’s deeds will go a long way in prosecuting him in the crown courts.”

  Mr. Healey bowed. “I would not miss it, My Lord.”

  “I will need you as well, Mr. Carson,” Reggie added, “and two of your constables.”

  Mr. Carson nodded. “I have sent the others on their way, and they will obtain the assistance of the Runners as well.”

  Before Reggie could speak again, the sound of heavy boots on the stairs drew his attention. The three constables, cudgels in their hands, escorted Thomas Booker down them. He scowled darkly as he saw Reggie watching him, but there was no mistaking the fear in his expression. He had been caught trying to murder a Duke as well as a Marquess, and he knew his fate.

  “He will hang,” Mr. Healey murmured as the constables took him through the door.

  “Yes.” Reggie glanced at him. “Now let us go catch the man who paid him.”

  Epilogue

  Her head aching, fear coursing through her in waves, Amalia glared her hatred and defiance at Eastcairn. “I will not sign that,” she snapped.

  “You will, Amalia,” Eastcairn replied easily, and gestured toward the man standing to her right. “My friend there knows a few techniques to ensure a person’s willing cooperation.”

  Though she had no memory of how she had gotten to this place, she heard the cry of gulls and smelled the stink of fish, and knew she was near the river. By the appearance of the wide space, she thought this was an old warehouse, though it was empty of anything save the three of them.

  “You know this is hardly legal,” Amalia retorted through her parched mouth.

  “It does not matter.” Eastcairn paced away from her. “Your father is dead, as is Lyonhall. I am your only protector and advocate.”

  Though she tried not to show it, horror and grief almost struck her down, and her legs felt as though they might crumble at any moment. Only the knowledge that Eastcairn would say anything to break her willpower held her upright. “You lie,” she hissed. Reggie is too smart to be killed so easily, and my father is protected. She held onto that hope even as Eastcairn leered down at her.

  The door at the far end opened, and Patrick stepped inside. “Patrick,” Amalia cried, hope rushing through her as she ran toward him. “Help me.”

  The man caught her before she managed four steps. “Patrick,” Amalia screamed.

  Her cousin grinned as he sauntered across the wooden planks of the warehouse. “Did she sign yet?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Eastcairn answered. “She will, though.”

  Amalia stared at Patrick, the realization dawning on her, as well as the rage at this terrible betrayal. “You are in league with him,” she whispered.

  Patrick, still grinning, leaned toward her, yet his eyes held no warmth nor humor. “Of course, cousin. We planned this together, Freddie and I.”

  “Why? Why would you do this?”

  Patrick’s grin faded to be replaced by annoyance. “Money, of course,” he snapped. “I should have been firstborn. When Marshall died, I started thinking. If the old man passes on, and you are married to my good friend here, I will have all the wealth I want.”

  Amalia glanced at the now grinning Eastcairn. “So, you think that by killing my father and marrying me, you gain wealth as well as titles?”

  “Are you only just now realizing that, Amalia?” he replied, his blue eyes glinting. “Patrick came up with the idea of the poison. Make it look like the Duke died of natural causes. Then you marry me, I give my friend here the money he craves, and I have your father’s wealth, titles, and estates to add to my own.”

  “When those infernal physicians started to heal him,” Patrick added, “I replaced their remedies with more poison. Dead easy, you know.”

  “I will tell everyone what you did,” Amalia snarled, her eyes flattened. “You will not marry me, and if you do, it will be annulled immediately.”

  Eastcairn sighed dramatically. “Not with you at my Scottish estates, bearing my children while in seclusion. Surely, Amalia, did you not believe we would think of that?”

  Patrick thrust the contract at her. “Sign it, cousin, and let us get this over with.”

  For an answer, Amalia spit in his face. Patrick recoiled, then he glared at her, lifting his hand as though he would strike her. “Your father is dead, and so is Reggie,” he gritted. “Sign it and spare yourself much pain.”

  “You were there last night,” she cried, “you kidnapped me. I remember your voice.”

  “Sign it, Amalia,” he yelled.

  “No.”

  Eastcairn raised his hand, gesturing, and the stranger stepped toward her, his expression oddly blank. Amalia watched him come, fear making her tremble. Determined not to show it, nor give in, she spun around to run to the door. Patrick must have expected it, for she slammed into his strong body, his hands gripping her arms.

  “I told you, sign it and spare yourself the pain,” he growled in her ear. “You will sign in the end.”

  “No,” Amalia screamed. “Stay away from me.”

  The warehouse door crashed open.

  Almost as surprised as Patrick and Eastcairn, Amalia felt his grip on her arms loosen a fraction. Wrenching herself free, she dodged to the side before Patrick could seize her again. Reggie, with three men at his back, charged in. “Reggie,” Amalia shrieked, spinning away from Patrick as he tried once more to grab her.

  The stranger bolted instantly for the river entrance behind them, yet before he could go far, it, too, burst open. A uniformed constable swung his cudgel and cracked the man across the head, dropping him to the floor. Eastcairn lunged for Amalia in the same instant and seized only a handful of her sleeve. It tore as she screamed, running toward Reggie, leaving only cloth in Eastcairn’s grip. Patrick, too, tried to run, to escape past the two constables at the rear door.

  “You bastard,” Reggie snarled, swinging his fist at Eastcairn’s face.

  Behind the protection of the men Reggie brought, Amalia watched in fear and hope as Eastcairn dodged Reggie’s blow, and struck back with a punch to Reggie’s gut. Though it clearly took Reggie’s wind, his upraised arm deflected yet another wild swing toward his face. Lunging forward, Reggie tackled Eastcairn to the floor.

  Reggie’s knee in the Earl’s midsection doubled him over, and his hard fist to his jaw snapped Eastcairn’s head back against the wooden planks, momentarily stunning him. “Shackles,” Reggie bellowed, striking Eastcairn again in the face, then pushed him over onto his belly.

  One of the men with her ran forward with clinking iron as Reggie forced Eastcairn’s arms behind his back. The Earl’s were securely fastened with steel cuffs and chains even as the two other constables pinned Patrick down and forced his arms behind him.

  “Let me go,” Patrick yelled. “He made me do this; I did not do anything wrong. Eastcairn made me do it.”

  One of the men turned to Amalia. “My Lady, I am Magistrate Healey. Is this true?”

  Amalia’s lips twisted. “No, it is not. He tried to poison my father—his own uncle. He told me himself. They both planned this together.”

  Reggie rose from Eastcairn, then helped the constable drag Eastcairn to his feet. Eastcairn still fought, cursing, his blue eyes wild, blood oozing from his smashed lip and nose. Patrick, too, was dragged forward, still protesting his innocence. “Amalia is lying!” he yelled. “Eastcairn forced me; it was all him!”

  The Earl tried to kick him. “Traitor,” he spat.

  “A wagon is on its way,” said one of the constables. He bowed to Amalia. �
��My Lady, I am Chief Robert Carson. These men are now arrested, and they will be charged with attempted murder and kidnapping, hangable offenses.”

  “My father,” she cried, frantic, staring at Reggie. “Is he alive?”

  Reggie grinned. “Very much so. And the man who tried to kill him will hang alongside these two. And we will soon find the third fellow who shot me on the road.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Amalia wanted to curl up on the floor and weep in relief. She controlled the urge to do that and stepped toward Eastcairn. Swinging her hand, she slapped him hard across his cheek. “Damn you,” she shrieked. “You deserve what you get.”

  His lip curled in hate and defiance. “Only luck saved both of them,” he snarled. “If they had died, I would have you and more wealth than I can spend in a lifetime.” Eastcairn glared at Reggie. “And your precious horses that you refused to sell me. I would have had them, too.”

  Reggie grinned into his face. “Now you face the rope, Eastcairn, and you will be buried in an unmarked grave, your name forgotten. I hope you find all your crimes worth it.”

  A constable entered the warehouse and saluted Chief Carson. “We came with the wagon, Chief.”

  “Good. Take these men and put them in it.”

  As Eastcairn and Patrick struggled, they were marched firmly out the door even as more men entered to assist. Amalia watched as the unconscious man was dragged unceremoniously out the door, his wrists also shackled behind him. Now free of Eastcairn, Reggie enfolded Amalia in his arms. “Thank God we found you,” he murmured, kissing her brow.

  “How did you find me?” she asked, muffled against his shoulder.

  Reggie chuckled and pushed her gently away to gesture toward a young man with red hair and bright green eyes. “This is Mr. Andrew Crowley,” Reggie explained. “He is an investigator, and I hired him to find out who is behind all this. He discovered this warehouse as belonging to Eastcairn and brought us to you.”

  Mr. Crowley bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, at last, My Lady.”

  “Simple thanks are hardly enough,” Mr. Crowley,” Amalia told him. “But I do thank you.”