The ball entered Arthur Treadwell’s back, low, bursting one kidney. Then, before the powder smoke could clear, the survivors of the abortive raid disappeared down the rear stairs and out into the night. Nervous reaction overtook Jenny and she began to sob.
Chapter Three
JENNY’S NEAR HYSTERICS continued until the first pale light of dawn. It had only belatedly come to her, what Griffin had done to the young boy who had attempted to rape her. Added to the shock of the sudden attack, that broke her final reserves. She had to flee, along with a maid, to repair the damage to her reddened eyes when the local constables arrived a few minutes after sunrise.
“Nasty mess,” the county sheriff observed when he studied the bodies. “Any idea who they were?”
“None,” Damien answered truthfully. “And they had no papers on them. Only a few dollars in coin.”
“What about you, Mr. Stark?”
“Never seen any of them before. Two, maybe three, got away. A big man, wide shoulders, dark brown hair, small, green eyes. And the boy that I … ah, wounded.”
“Taking off someone’s tally whacker is a bit more than wounding,” the lawman opined. “If he lives, he will hate you for the rest of his life.”
“Though he probably doesn’t know me.”
“How do you get that?” A shrewd light glinted in the peace officer’s eyes. “They had to be after something.”
“Loot most likely. Stragglers from one side or the other,” Griff answered. “The war released something … evil in a lot of men. The animal urge, I suspect.”
“Think it through a little more. Had they already stripped the good silver? Or taken anything at all for that matter?”
“Uh … no,” Damien and Griff answered together.
“Then they came here to kill one or more of you. Which of you has enemies willing to do murder?”
In the uneasy silence that followed, Jenny joined them.
“Ah, Miss Jennifer. A frightful ordeal for you, I’m sure,” the sheriff greeted her. He directed her to a chair in the library and stood close at hand. “Tell me, can you identify any of the men who broke in here? I’ve already asked the gentlemen.”
“N-no. Not really. Though, that boy. The one who tried to take advantage of me. He looked familiar. Like someone I knew in … in the past.”
“Did any of you hear them speak? What did they sound like?”
“Most like ruffians, dockside riffraff,” Griff offered.
“Except for the boy,” Jennifer added. “He had an Eastern Shore accent.”
“Are you sure?” her brother put in, surprised by this.
“Yes, Damien. I couldn’t have mistaken it. He talked like gentry.”
“Who do you know on the Eastern Shore who might be up to something like this?”
“No one, Sheriff, that’s the problem,” Jennifer answered for them all.
“There’s the Treadwells,” Griff thought aloud. “After that incident years ago, Albert might be still nursing a grudge, but hardly enough to commit murder.”
The sheriff looked curious. “Explain that.”
“Albert felt he had been insulted. He laid for Griff with a rock. Griff shot him through the hand,” Damien responded. “I agree with Griff, though. The Treadwells are old money, planters and businessmen. They would never engage in something so sordid as murder for such a cause.”
“What about the attack on your parents a little over a year ago?”
“Stragglers from the war. It had to be. It’s … just a coincidence that these marauders have selected this place twice,” Damien dismissed the idea.
“I’m not so certain. I’m going to have me a look around. We’ll see if the dogs can pick up any trail from the ones who got away. The mortician will be out for the bodies. Don’t imagine you’ll want them in the family plot.”
With the sheriff on his way, the three young people settled down at the breakfast table for coffee and hot rolls the cook had prepared. Jennifer had regained her composure and they engaged in small talk for some while. Then Griff spoke of what weighed heavily on his mind.
“I can’t help but believe that I’m the one they were after. Whoever they happen to be.”
“No, Griff, that can’t be,” Jennifer protested.
“Remember the wanted poster in Tennessee? They could have been hungry for the reward, known I was here, and come to get me. What they wouldn’t know is where I slept, so they would have to search every bedroom. Five hundred dollars is a large lure to certain types. Men who make their living like that … even professional slave chasers in antebellum days were not known as paragons of virtue. Which would account for what happened to you.”
“So, what do you propose?” Damien inquired. He sensed Griff had reached some sort of decision that would radically affect them all.
“There is no reason to keep you two in constant danger. Your mother is safe enough, living at the Sunderland town house. The longer I stay here, the more likely that something like this will happen again. I’m going to leave early. Start my search for Jeremy now.”
“You don’t mean right away? This very day?” Jennifer blurted out, her heart encased in icy fear.
“Yes. Why not? Those last letters I received placed an Evan Tucker family in the vicinity of Marion and Carbondale, Illinois. I can get to Saint Louis by train now, take a river boat to Cairo. I should be able to find them within a month, then take Jeremy back to Georgia and we can start rebuilding.”
“You have it so … so … planned.”
“I’ve been thinking, Jenny, since that attack.”
“How about finances?” Damien challenged tactlessly.
Griff glanced away, hesitant to discuss the subject. “I … well, I am afraid I will have to impose on your generosity again, Damien. For travel expenses, lodging, and to hire attorneys to get the Riversend accounts released at the bank.”
“You can have whatever you need, of course. Would five hundred do?”
“That’s more than generous. Thank you, Damien. Naturally, it would be only a loan. The moment I have the money released from the banks in London, I’ll send you a draft for it. And for all it’s cost to put up with me so far.”
“Nonsense. I won’t hear of it.”
“Oooh! You men!” Jennifer burst out suddenly. “How can you sit here so calmly, talking … talking so calmly about loans and repayment when … when Griff has come up with such an irrational scheme? Please, don’t do this, Griff. It will only break your heart once more.”
“I have to do it, Jenny. We’ve talked the subject to death. At least now Damien agrees.” He appealed to his friend for support.
“Only that there is something highly irregular about this attempt on our lives. And the sheriff was right, too, we should consider the possibility that the vandals who broke in here and killed Father were searching for us. Isn’t that what Mother said at the time? They demanded to know where we had gone. Not just you, Griff, but all of us. It has to mean something. To minimize the risk, you might as well be searching for your son as hiding somewhere else. I’ll put in for that frontier posting in the cavalry and Sis … you can … stay with friends if you want. Or with Mother in Sunderland. Split us up so that it won’t be worth the risk to go after a single one. Though I can’t imagine why the three of us together constitute a danger to someone. Or who that might be.”
“If all are in danger, that plan is as good as any that can be formulated until we know more. Thank you, Damien. I’d like to be ready to leave before noon.”
“But are you ready? I mean your health?” Damien countered.
“Yes,” Jennifer brightened. “You were to see the doctor again today, a final checkup. After so long, so much suffering and hard work, it would be terrible for you to leave without knowing for sure. Can’t you wait until tomorrow?”
Griffin Stark sighed and thought, then sighed again. “I … suppose you are right, Jenny. They won’t be back this soon. Probably would expect the law to be here waiti
ng for them. I’ll stay and see what the doctor has to say.”
“He’s turned my little brother into a freak!” Albert Treadwell shrieked at the top of his voice. “Stark—Stark—Stark! Is he never to be stopped from mutilating and humiliating this family? Seven men. Seven of you and you could not kill two sleeping men and a girl? You could not prevent my brother being maimed in such a manner that it would have been better had he died? Dear God in Heaven, what’s the matter with these incompetents? Get out! Get out of my sight.” He lifted a heavy crystal bourbon decanter and hurled it at Loren Talbot. “Go out West, work with that pompous ass, Braithwaite. Do anything but don’t ever show your face to me again!”
The unfortunate bodyguard made a hasty retreat from the Treadwell library and scurried to his horse. He had anticipated such a circumstance and had packed in advance. Behind in the house, Albert Treadwell dropped into a chair as though he had collapsed. Slowly he lowered his face into his hands and sobbed dryly.
What would become of poor Arthur now? The doctor said his condition was extremely severe. The bullet wound had every chance of claiming the boy’s life. Perhaps it would be best if it did. One kidney destroyed, probably condemned to a lifetime diet of bread and milk. His manhood gone. Good God, sliced off by a sword like some unimportant appendage on a tree limb. Gradually his rage grew, a black creature from the abyss, ravening and swelling with each thought.
Albert’s thirst for vengeance knew no bounds. Arthur, if he lived, would probably turn into one of those horrid sissies who preyed on small, precocious boys. Or might, when he recovered and learned the true extent of his mutilation, take his own life. No. He would not allow that. He would provide the best for Arthur. Heal his wounds, nurture him on hatred until they both grew strong enough to lash out together and utterly crush Griffin Stark.
Shortly after the dishes had been cleared away, Damien came to where Griff sat gazing upward at the stars that filled the sky in a thick, milky band. He carried with him a long package, carefully wrapped in brown paper, with a big bow on the fatter end. His friend looked back to earth at the sound of his approach.
“I brought you something. A little going-away present.”
“You needn’t have,” Griff protested. “You and Jenny have done too much for me as it is.”
“No. This is something I have been planning for a long time. I think it may have a practical advantage, as well. Go on, open it.”
Paper crinkled as Griff tore the package open. His efforts revealed a highly buffed black scabbard of the finest, most supple leather. The decorative end cap was of pure gold that glowed softly in the starlight. When the remainder of the wrappings fell away, Griff gaped in awe.
He had never seen such a fine sword. The hilt was also constructed of gold, or a strong alloy metal with gold leaf embossed into it. His hand closed on the grip and he felt the bite of sharkskin. Fine gold threads held it in place, thick cotton batting underneath cushioned it. The capstan and pommel were formed from precious stones, their nature unknown in the dark. Slowly, Griff drew the blade. It shimmered blue-white in the faraway light. It fit his hand perfectly and the balance could not have been improved upon by the most meticulous craftsman. Griff felt a tightness in his throat.
“This … this is entirely too fine. A general’s sword. What … whatever could I do with this?”
“If the trail you are following in search of Jeremy takes you far into the West, remember that it is a rough country. No man travels there for long without a horse and a gun. Those might not always be enough. As a cavalryman, I thought you might put this to use on such occasions. More to the point, it’s stronger and longer than that tricky device in your cane. That’s good enough to handle, ah, small things. This will do you better if you encounter a howling savage with a war lance.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Damien. Honestly, this leaves me breathless. It’s so beautiful, such masterful craftsmanship. I’ll treasure it always.”
“If you get out where I’ll probably be, come visit and we can teach the amateurs a little about fencing, eh?”
They both rose. As though grasping for some elusive thought, Damien reached out hesitantly with both arms. Suddenly they embraced, a strong, masculine gesture that conveyed the deep affection they had for each other. Griff slapped Damien on the back.
“You’ll make one hell of a fine cavalry officer.”
“And you’ll be a marvelous father to your son. May God go with you, Griff. Jenny and I will see you off in the morning. Good night.”
“Good night, Damien.” He hefted the gift sword. “I’ll think of you often.”
Jennifer came to him there two hours later. Griff sipped fine old brandy and smoked a rich cigar. Damien had gone to bed. As though reading his thoughts about the future for him and his son, she spoke as she seated herself in a wicker chair at his side.
“Jeremy will need the comforts of a mother for some while yet.”
“I realize that. It’s something I’ve been worrying in my mind like a dog with a fresh bone. I know the perfect woman for the job. Only thing is, when would the job need to be filled?”
“What do you mean?”
“Jenny, I have no idea how long it will take me to find Jeremy. Or how long to get settled at Riversend. Damien has lent the money for my search. And there’s thousands, tens of thousands, tied up in the banks. That’s not an issue. Time is the factor. I … won’t ask you to wait for me. You’re too pretty and alive and it would be unfair. You’re a fine woman, Jenny and I’ve come to love you over this past winter. We’ve not been lovers—”
“Only because you wanted it that way,” the girl challenged him.
“Yes. And for an excellent reason. You are much too good for that sort of thing. No matter how marvelous the physical part is, the relationship between a man and his mistress is a cheap and tawdry thing. It’s bound to always end in heartbreak and remorse.
“Remember long ago when you were ten and I told you that someday you would find your man and that happiness would be sure to follow. It’s not too late for that now. But … if you haven’t married … when I find Jeremy … when I can … come to you …”
Jennifer threw her arms around Griff’s neck and nuzzled her lips to his cheek. “Oh, you divine fool. I’ve found my man. There is and never could be anyone else but you. I don’t care what you tell me, what motives you have for being so darned noble. I love you and I’ll love you forever. Time means nothing. I’ll wait an eternity if I have to. What did that night mean? That night we fled Tennessee?”
Griff lowered his head. “I’m ashamed of myself, Jenny. Ashamed of how I failed you. Of how I acted when my weakness betrayed me. Of how, later, I took advantage of you in such circumstances.”
“You took advantage of me? Mister, who had her clothes off first? Listen to me, Griff. I can’t let you go like this. Not without keeping something … anything that is a part of you. Come to my room with me. Now. Please hurry.”
“Why … we can’t do that, Jenny. I … oh, sure I want you, I would give anything to relive those wonderful hours under the stars. But … it’s not proper. We’re back here, in a civilized house, a society ruled by morals and law.”
“Pooh on that!” Jennifer snapped. “I ache for you. Over these months I could hardly sleep at night, knowing you lay right down the hall from me. It took all I had not to come creeping in and have my way with you.”
“Jenny, I—”
“Did you hear me, Griffin Stark? I want to go to bed with you. I want to make babies with you. I want one now. We love each other. You said it, I said it. Well then in our hearts we are as married as if a minister said the words over us. We are … if we want to be. So what’s wrong with it? I find no shame in wanting to sleep with someone I love with the same desperation I love you. With someone I might never see again if the worst should happen to you way out there … Oh, Griff, I just have to hold you in my arms so I can remember the goodness in you … if that came about. Do I have to beg? Get
on my knees and crawl?”
Griff came to her in a rush. His arms encircled her, shoulder and waist, and he drew her tightly against him. He felt the warmth of her body and the growing desire that swelled inside his breast. “No. Oh, no, Jenny. You’ll never have to beg me. It’s only … to hell with all that.” A wild, lopsided grin spread on his lips. “Looks like Jeremy will have him a brand new mamma to come home to.”
“And perhaps a little brother or sister.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Yes, now. Upstairs in my room. Hurry, oh, hurry, darling.”
Chapter Four
STIFF RED VELOUR upholstery covered the chairs of the parlor car. The fuzzy material had been worn smooth on the corners of the back rests and the seats showed the polish of much usage. Griffin Stark located a place beside a window and settled in. He sat a small carpetbag at his feet and ran a finger around the tight starched collar that threatened to cut off his wind at any moment. The air in the car felt close and the furnishings smelled of coal and wood smoke. Climbing the steps to the vestibule had been an ordeal. For all his improvement, some things remained difficult to perform. He had left Oaklawn three days before and journeyed to Philadelphia.
At the depot he’d learned that the first train available would be this one. A layover of a single night in a dismal hotel room followed. He had been cautioned that the railroads made a practice of overbooking their trains; so many people wanted to journey westward that they had no difficulty selling tickets. In light of that, he had shaved and dressed before daylight, eaten a hasty breakfast in the hotel cafe, a decision he would regret for a long time, he thought as his stomach simmered and roiled in protest, then taken a hansom cab to the depot.
A line had already formed. The judicious dispensing of a few silver dollars had eased him past the line and aboard the westbound Rocket for Chicago and points west two hours ahead of departure. He tried to make himself at ease. Thoughts of the changes his plan had undergone in only three days added to his discomfort.
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