by Jenna Kernan
Lena headed for the door, when her mother called out.
“Wait. You must marry.”
Her mother rose from her chair, hands clasped tight about the napkin, wrinkling the carefully pressed linen.
She read the fear in her mother’s voice and like her mother’s daughter she paused to pounce. “Why?”
Her mother wrung her hands. “I cannot say.”
“Then we are done.”
“Wait. All right. The truth then.” Her mother sank into a chair looking suddenly small, defeated. “I only meant to give you what was best.”
Lena took a step closer. “This is not best.”
Her mother fussed with her long string of pearls, running them through her fingers like a rosary. Rarely did Eleanor see even this small a break in her mother’s air of aloof confidence.
“You must marry abroad, so I can accompany you to England.”
Suddenly, Eleanor was afraid. Her mother cast a glance toward the door and then reached for her brooch. With trembling fingers she unfastened the clip and then the row of shell buttons. Ivory fingers drew back the high linen collar to reveal a ghastly purple bruise encircling her neck.
Eleanor stared at the obvious thumbprints in horror as her hand lifted to her own throat.
“He beats me,” said her mother.
Eleanor’s breath came in jagged little gasps.
“Never where the marks might be seen. On more than one occasion I thought he would kill me.”
Denial sprung to Eleanor’s lips and then she remembered her mother’s limping and the days she took to her bed. She recalled how infrequently her parents were together and how often her mother visited her sister in Boston.
“You see now why I must get away from him. Eleanor, if you marry, I will have a valid reason to leave. I will see to your wedding and then your children. God willing, he will never lay a hand upon me again.”
Faced with this revelation, Eleanor faltered. “I—I must speak with Troy. You must come with us.”
Her mother refastened her buttons. “And do what? Live in a teepee in the woods? I am the daughter of Merriweather Pace Barrington. I deserve better.”
“Then you must divorce him.”
Her mother stood with rigid outrage. “I will do no such thing. He shall not send me packing like some upstairs maid. I deserve better for what I have endured. I shall outlive him— I’ll not be denied that pleasure.”
“But you said he would kill you.”
“No scandal will touch this family while I am mistress here.”
Eleanor heard the click of his boot heels as the man in question strode in their direction across polished oak. She glanced up at her father.
From the red of his face and the twisted expression on his lips, it was evident he had heard enough of their conversation to discover his wife’s betrayal.
His voice growled between gritted teeth as he stalked Charlotte. “Divorce? I’ll see you dead first.”
She staggered backward as her face paled. She placed herself behind the solid mahogany chair, giving that small measure of distance between them as her husband loomed, fists balled at his sides.
Her father snatched the chair from before his wife. She shrieked and darted away as he hurled the chair at her with all his might. Charlotte threw herself to the hand-hooked carpet as the gilded frame sailed over her head, smashing through the huge, hung windows. Glass exploded in all directions, raining down upon the polished oak flooring.
Charlotte crawled upon the jagged shards. Blood streaked the flooring as her husband lifted a silver serving platter of sausages and hurled them at his wife. The tray clanged off her temple as links scattered upon the glass.
Eleanor tugged at her father’s arm in a vain effort to stop him. He lifted a hand and pushed her. She fell backwards over her chair, landing hard upon the carpet.
Two maids ran in from the kitchen and stopped, transfixed at the unfolding scene. A footman appeared and tried to assist Charlotte to her feet only to be punched in the face by her husband.
“Out!” He bellowed, sending maids and footmen scurrying.
He grasped his wife’s arm and dragged her to her feet, beginning a violent shaking which sent Charlotte flailing like a rag doll.
Eleanor reached him again, clasping her father’s arm with both of hers. He released one hand from his wife and slapped his daughter across the cheek, sending her reeling. Her ears rang as she fell upon the carpet.
He towered over Eleanor, his wife momentarily forgotten.
She scrambled beneath the huge mahogany table, but not so far as to avoid a boot to her hindquarters that sent her sprawling across the center beam. She turned to watch him descend upon his wife, taking time to push his sleeves up from his balled fists.
Eleanor emerged from the other side of the table by the fireplace as the sickening thud of fists striking flesh reached her. Lifting the cold metal of the cast-iron poker, she raced to her mother’s defense and swung the weapon. The blow landed across his broad shoulders.
He cried out and staggered aside, but did not fall. His murderous eye turned on Eleanor. Behind her, Charlotte cowered, clutching a bloody cheek.
Eleanor raised the poker before her in a position of defense. Her father paused and then turned to the serving table to select his weapons. As he glanced away, Eleanor tried unsuccessfully to drag her mother to her feet as seconds ticked by and their chance of flight vanished.
Eleanor raised the poker, shielding her mother, and stood to face him. He came holding a carving knife in one hand and a meat fork in the other as if he meant to slice her like a ham.
“I’ll cut off your head, Charlotte.”
She turned to her husband. “If you kill me, they will hang you, John.”
He slashed with the knife and Eleanor’s throat went dry. She stared at the spitting madman her father had become.
He slashed again. She lifted the poker and the blade struck, shocking her at the numbing vibration transmitted through her hand and up her arm at the ringing contact.
Her mother found her voice and shouted, “Murder! Help us!”
A crashing sound brought all eyes toward the windows. What Eleanor saw made her heart leap with hope.
Chapter 26
The wooden remains of the window sashing splintered as Troy dove through the gap, rolling to his feet like a crouching cat preparing to spring.
Her father faced this new threat with a roar of recognition.
“You!”
Troy smiled, preparing for battle.
John charged like a wounded bull, stabbing with the vicious carving knife. Troy sidestepped and tipped a platter of poached eggs upon the man as he fell. The slimy mixture spattered John’s black coat as he slid on the broken glass. He caught himself on the serving table, releasing the carving fork to regain his equilibrium.
Troy sprang forward as her father threw the large silver carafe. Scalding coffee spewed through the air. Troy shielded his face as the hot liquid struck his head and arms. In that instant, John lunged.
“Troy!” cried Eleanor.
Somehow Troy managed to grasp his foe’s wrist as the two swung around in the sweeping dance of battle.
The knife disappeared between them as John lunged and Troy jerked. The men stood, locked in each other’s deadly embrace, as Eleanor bit her lip and tasted blood. She rushed forward as Troy stepped back, gripping the wrist holding the knife. With a twist of his arm, her father released the blade. The shining steel stuck, point first, in the polished wood floor vibrating wildly. Eleanor scooped up the blade.
John swung at Troy with his free arm. Troy easily dodged the blow, still gripping his opponent’s wrist, then landed one of his own to her father’s jaw. The sickening crack made Eleanor wince.
Her father collapsed to the carpet.
Silence. Lena heard the ticking of the clock above the mantel and the pounding of her own heart. Next came a whimper from her mother.
Troy faced the herd of servants
now huddled in the swinging door.
Eleanor scrambled to her mother. “Get our physician.”
A woman ran from the room. The others stood as wide-eyed as owls.
Troy stepped over his bested opponent and knelt before Charlotte.
“Mother, this is Troy.”
Charlotte held her palm pressed to the side of her face as she stared out at them in a daze.
Troy touched her wrist. “Let’s have a look.”
Her mother moved her hand, revealing her right eye completely swollen shut, the tissue an angry violet.
“I can’t see,” she whispered.
“Help me get her to the drawing room,” said Eleanor.
Troy stooped, sliding a hand behind Charlotte’s back, gently lifted her mother into his arms. Lena led the way to the chaise lounge where Troy laid her mother.
“I’ll be back,” he said, leaving her with a wide-eyed parlor maid.
Eleanor turned to the woman.
“Fetch some chipped ice, Nelly.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and darted away.
Charlotte groaned and pressed her hand over her swelling eye. Troy returned a moment later.
“Tied him to that table the size of a keelboat.”
“My father?” she asked.
He nodded. “Still out cold.”
Charlotte’s voice shook with emotion. “He meant to kill us both. You see now why I never told you.”
Eleanor brushed back a strand of her mother’s fading blond hair. Her insides pitched like a ship in rough seas. The bedrock upon which her world stood now seemed as insubstantial as sand. She was the daughter of opulent wealth and perfect breeding. Her father was a powerful man and one of the richest men in the country. Her mother was the picture of the social elite. The best of New York society yearned for an invitation from Charlotte Hart.
All a lie.
Here was her real mother, battered and broken, while her father used his power to bully and bruise.
“You should have told me.”
A tear trickled from Charlotte’s undamaged eye. “I wanted to, so often. But I was so ashamed.”
Troy sat silent in a chair beside the settee. Eleanor met his gaze.
“Can she come with us?” she asked.
Without the slightest hesitation, he nodded.
Eleanor gripped her mother’s shoulders. “Come away with us. I’ll see he never touches you again.”
“Where could I go that he could not follow?”
“You shall get a divorce.”
Her mother gasped. “Don’t speak of that again. I will never do no such thing.”
Nelly returned with the ice wrapped in a clean towel. Charlotte winced as she placed the cloth upon her battered face.
“The patrolmen are here at your request, mistress,” she said.
Charlotte looked horrified.
“Thank you, Nelly. Ask them to wait in the entrance for us,” said Eleanor.
Charlotte waited until Nelly left the room.
“What shall I do? I can’t have them see me like this and John is—well, indisposed.”
“Got here mighty quick,” said Troy.
Eleanor confirmed his obvious suspicion. “They were called to arrest you.”
He nodded. “Should have figured.”
“Mother, I am leaving with Troy. Before I go I will tell the patrolmen that father attacked me and seek his arrest. You should do the same.”
Her mother set her mouth in a stubborn line.
“He’ll kill you the next time,” said Eleanor.
“The scandal,” she whispered.
“Mother, you are a strong woman with wealth of your own. Leave him.”
Her mother cried.
“Mother, please.”
“I’m afraid.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “Of Father or of the scandal?”
“Scandal,” whispered Charlotte.
“Mother, you set the standard for all New York society. If you get a divorce, others will, too.”
Some of her mother’s confidence returned. She was considering it. Then her shoulders slumped and she fell back to the couch. “John would never agree. He will fight me tooth and nail.”
“Not if you have him arrested. A good attorney and the threat of a long and scandalous court trial should rather give you the upper hand.”
Her mother bit her lower lip.
“Eleanor, I have taught you a thing or two, haven’t I?”
She smiled as her stomach twisted at the sight of her mother’s bruised face.
“You must press charges. Otherwise you lose your advantage.”
Charlotte lifted a hand to her mouth. “Great heavens, what a conundrum. I need my solicitor. Call Mrs. Beardsley and have her send for Kingsley.”
Before Eleanor could tug the velvet cord, a knock came at the door. Mrs. Beardsley barely had the doors open when two patrolmen rushed, each clutching a raised baton.
“That’s him,” cried the younger officer, pointing his club at Troy.
The older patrolman brandished his stick. “You’re under arrest for attacking John Hart. Hands behind your back, now.”
Troy curled, preparing to defend himself.
Charlotte swung her legs to the floor, regaining her confidence with her authority.
“Just one moment. This man saved my life.”
The young patrolman paid her no mind as he circled Troy, who rose like a grizzly to face his attacker.
The second constable turned to Mrs. Hart.
“Your husband says this scoundrel’s a burglar who attacked the three of you while you were at breakfast.”
“He did not!” cried Eleanor.
John charged into the room, red-faced, his swollen nose now a shocking purple. He panted like a dog through his wide pink mouth. “That’s him! What are you waiting for?”
“Mother,” cried Eleanor, “tell them what happened.”
Charlotte hesitated.
“I’ve already told them,” growled Hart.
The older officer seemed uncertain as he looked from father to daughter. “See here,” he said.
The younger man made a lunge with his baton. Troy grasped the weapon and pulled, sending the patrolman sprawling on the carpet empty-handed. Now Troy gripped the club.
The second man charged and Eleanor stuck out her foot, sending him to the carpet as well.
“Arrest him,” shouted Hart.
Her father seemed content to bark orders and did not approach Troy himself.
“Mother?” said Eleanor. When she said nothing, Eleanor turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Beardsley, you saw what happened.”
The housekeeper reddened. “Not all. I can’t say for certain what happened.”
The woman was a terrible liar, looking to the ceiling as she spoke, and then to her master, who nodded.
Eleanor understood.
“Did he threaten your position if you told the truth?”
One patrolman regained his feet and drew his revolver, leveling the weapon at Troy’s heart.
“He didn’t do it,” insisted Eleanor.
Hart took a menacing step in her direction and she darted behind the second patrolman.
Her father pointed at her mother. “Look at my wife’s face.”
The man did, scowling at the damning evidence.
“And my nose. Look at my nose! The man could have killed us all.” Seeing Troy seemingly subdued by the revolver, Hart took a step in his direction. “You’ll hang for this, Price.”
Eleanor knelt beside her mother resting a hand upon her knee. “Mother. I am leaving with Troy. You shall be alone with him when these men leave.”
Charlotte’s uninjured eye widened and she winced.
Her husband came to stand beside the settee, menacing her with his presence. “Charlotte, this is best for all concerned.”
The second patrolman aimed his revolver at Troy as well. Eleanor felt herself losing him all over again. She took a step in her love�
��s direction only to be brought to an abrupt halt by her father. He jerked her back and she kicked him in the shin with all her might. He wobbled, but maintained his grip to deliver a clout to the head that set her ears ringing as she dropped to her knees.
Momentarily distracted by her cry, the patrolmen glanced her way. Troy seized the barrels of both revolvers, thrust them to the floor and twisted. One shot sounded. The smell of gunpowder filled the air.
“Enough!” cried Charlotte.
Troy paused as her mother rose from the settee. “This man did nothing more than—”
John swung at his wife as Eleanor threw herself on his arm diverting the blow.
“Liar.” Hart shook Eleanor off and lunged at his wife who toppled backward over the settee.
The men abandoned Troy in favor of subduing Hart. The task proved less of a challenge. With one tackle, her father fell to the settee with a patrolman sprawled upon his chest. In a moment the two men had secured his arms.
“Let go. This is my home. I’ll have your jobs.”
Troy stepped beside the two men.
“See why I tied him up?”
The older patrolman motioned his head in Charlotte’s direction. “He did this?”
Troy nodded.
The news so stunned the younger officer that he lost his grip on her father’s arm and he had a devil of a time recapturing it.
“Don’t make me thump you,” said the young man.
“You aren’t thumping anyone, Robert,” said his senior. “This is John Hart. I’m not arresting John Hart.”
Eleanor stiffened. “You most certainly are. He blackened my mother’s eye. You witnessed him striking me.”
The two men exchanged looks of dread.
The senior man’s voice pleaded. “Miss, we can’t arrest John Hart.”
Eleanor glared. “I will press charges and you are both my witnesses.”
“Eleanor,” bellowed her father. “You would betray your own flesh and blood?”
“Is that not what you have done to me?” she asked.
He glanced away then his gaze flashed back. “I acted in your best interest.”
Eleanor fingered her bruised cheek. “Yours, rather.”
“Nora, I forbid it,” said Charlotte.
“We need our captain,” said the patrolman.
