Just a Little Danger

by Merry Farmer

  It vanished altogether when Castleford said, “Gentlemen, you’ll never guess what scurrilous accusation my brother has just made against me.”

  Chapter 17

  It was a poor actor who couldn’t stay in character for the length of a performance. Everett knew that a thousand things depended on his ability to convince Chisolm and the others that he was nothing more than the vain, vapid personality everyone thought him to be as they strolled out to the shooting range set up beyond the empty cages of Castleford’s menagerie.

  “What a pleasant afternoon.” He smiled up at the sun, eyes closed for a moment, praying that Patrick would find whatever evidence they needed and that they could flee Castleford Estate and the north as quickly as possible. “It does one good to get out of London now and then,” he went on, exchanging a friendly look with Niall. “Particularly in the summer.”

  Niall failed to take the bait and start up an innocuous conversation. He was too busy frowning at Selby, who walked by his brother’s side. Selby looked as though he were explaining something difficult to Castleford, but attempting to do it with a smile. Castleford could have been deaf for all the change in his expression.

  “I know how much you enjoy the country,” Chisolm said, falling back from Eastleigh’s side to match steps with Everett. “You always did thrive in the summer sun.”

  Everett fought tooth and nail to keep from withering under the man’s devilish grin. He smiled in spite of the inescapable memories of outdoor entertainments Chisolm had hosted at his estate before Everett was old enough to resist. “Sunlight is good for all God’s creatures,” he insisted as though he had no idea what Chisolm was talking about.

  Chisolm laughed. “I’m surprised you’re fool enough to believe in God.”

  So much was implied in Chisolm’s dismissive tone, but underneath the chiding was the man’s belief that, as far as Everett should be concerned, he was God.

  “I most certainly do believe in God.” Everett let his joviality vanish for a moment. “A God of Justice.”

  His meaning wasn’t lost on Chisolm. The man snorted and shook his head. “You always were a beautiful dunce.”

  They reached the shooting range. The footmen who carried their rifles were already in place, setting up targets and performing last-minute checks on the weapons. Everett had half a mind to snatch up one of the rifles leaning against a rack and to use it to send Chisolm to his great reward. He only barely managed to hold back by closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and remembering what truly mattered—Patrick’s mission inside the house.

  “I haven’t been shooting since last summer,” Selby said, his usual cheer more strained than ever as he selected a rifle. “I never really was one of the sporting set, though Annamarie insists that I should take it up and get out of the house more often.” His sentence trailed off and his smile plummeted. “I suppose that doesn’t matter now.”

  Everett stared hard at the man for a moment, wondering what he meant, before glancing to Niall. Niall seemed just as taken aback by the comment as he was.

  “I’ve always enjoyed a good fox hunt,” Eastleigh said, grabbing a rifle and striding to stand opposite the target farthest to the left. “They’re a reminder of man’s place in the hierarchy of nature.” He raised the rifle to his shoulder and took aim, but paused. One of the footmen was still adjusting targets at the far end of the range, though Everett was surprised that stopped Eastleigh from shooting.

  “Come stand with me,” Chisolm said, picking up a rifle of his own. He narrowed his eyes at Everett, his mouth tugging into a grim smile. “You’ve always brought me luck in the past.”

  “What need do you have for luck this afternoon?” Everett moved slowly to stand off to the side, close enough to Chisolm to make him think his order had been obeyed but far enough away to be out of arm’s reach. “Do you have some sort of wager running?”

  Chisolm laughed as he raised his rifle to practice his aim, then lowered it again. He turned to Everett. “I’m certain we could make some sort of wager that both of us would find interesting.”

  “Perhaps a wager that could end with all of the gentlemen present financing my production next season,” Niall said.

  Everett was grateful for both the interruption and the reminder that not everything revolved around Chisolm and his sick notions of power and superiority.

  “I think that’s a capital idea,” he said, nodding at Niall. “What do you say, Lord Eastleigh? Shall we wager for the fate of Mr. Cristofori’s show?”

  “Leave me out of that nonsense,” Eastleigh said. “I have far better ways to invest my money than in theatricalities.” He raised his rifle once more and shot at his target, hitting it square in the bull’s eye. The footman on his way back from arranging the targets jerked into a run to get out of the way.

  “Pity we can’t aim at more interesting targets,” Chisolm said, raising his gun and firing as well.

  Everett’s lip curled in disgust. He was surprised Chisolm had even those scruples, after all he knew the man was capable of. He checked the silver watch tucked into the pocket of his waistcoat, praying that time would pass swiftly and Patrick would find what he needed.

  “It’s a pity we don’t have a bit of tea on hand to make the afternoon complete,” he said, tucking the watch back into his pocket and clasping his hands behind his back.

  “Tea would be a good idea,” Niall mumbled, eyeing Everett as though trying to figure out the purpose for that particular topic of conversation.

  “If it’s tea you’d like, I’d be more than happy to fetch some for you,” Selby chimed in, his smile returning as he studied Niall. “I’m certain I could find one of Montague’s maids to prepare some.”

  “Don’t bother,” Castleford said. “Cook knows to send tea out at two.”

  “But if Mr. Cristofori wants tea now, he shall have it,” Selby insisted, turning to start back to the house.

  “No, really,” Niall tried to stop him. “I can wait until two.”

  “Nonsense.” Selby continued toward the house, turning to walk backwards. “If you want tea, I’ll get you tea. It would be my pleasure.” He turned and jogged on, as though unwilling to be stopped.

  “My brother is as mad as a hatter,” Castleford muttered, watching Selby’s retreating back. “Ross, go after him and see that he gets what he needs,” he ordered one of the footmen.

  Everett arched one eyebrow at the man. Calling Selby mad was rather like the pot calling the kettle black, as far as he was concerned. At least Selby’s madness seemed harmless, whereas Castleford’s….

  “Did you ever secure supper for your lion?” Everett asked, pretending lightheartedness. He’d forgotten about the lion until that moment. He was surprised the poor creature hadn’t already died of hunger.

  “My butler sent a letter to one of the farmers this morning,” Castleford answered, a sly light in his eyes. “We should have quite a show later today.”

  Everett swallowed hard. For weeks, somewhere in the back recesses of his mind, he’d wondered what sort of men could organize an endeavor to kidnap children and sell them into unimaginable lives. Between Chisolm’s desire for power and Castleford’s lust for blood, he had his answer. Men like the ones in front of him seemed far better suited to the pages of some far-fetched and spine-chilling novel, but even the most macabre characters had their origin in reality. And if life had taught him only one thing, it was that the truth was stranger and more horrific than fiction. Evil really did exist in the world.

  Castleford let out a sudden hiss of irritation that startled Everett out of his thoughts. Without a word to the rest of them, he turned and marched toward the house after his brother.

  “Where are you going?” Chisolm called after him.

  “To clean up the remnants of the game we left out yesterday evening,” he called back.

  Chisolm muttered something indistinct, raising his rifle and firing at his target with what seemed like extra venom.

  Everett’s he
art sped up and his thoughts flew back to the house, to Patrick. God, he hoped the man had already found what he needed and was somewhere that would prevent him from being caught. He hoped that Castleford’s comment meant he and the others had been careless enough with their business to give Patrick and the rest of them a leg up. And he hoped that he could hold things together long enough to give the side of good the victory it so desperately needed.

  “Stand here, boy.”

  Everett’s eyes snapped wide at Chisolm’s order, delivered in the same voice of cold command he’d used decades before. Chisolm stood with his rifle in hand and his legs slightly apart. His expression held no doubt that Everett would do exactly as he said.

  Everett hesitated. He needed to buy time without raising suspicion. Patrick’s voice whispered in his head, reminding him that Chisolm had no real power over him. He wasn’t certain he believed that, although as he stepped forward, moving to the spot that Chisolm indicated, he insisted to himself that he was doing it not because Chisolm had issued an order, but because he chose to make the man think he still had power.

  “Do you still remember how to reload a rifle?” Chisolm asked.

  “It involves a great deal of ramming things down a barrel, does it not?” he answered, refusing to let Chisolm get the upper hand.

  Chisolm laughed. “An activity you always enjoyed.” He thrust his rifle out. “Reload.”

  Everett met Chisolm’s order with a grin that might actually have appeared flirtatious. If he could throw the man off his game, he might have a chance of coming out of the afternoon with his sanity intact.

  The shooting continued without much comment from either Eastleigh or Niall. Eastleigh was enjoying his practice a little too intently, and Niall seemed lost in a world of his own thoughts. That left Everett feeling as though he and Chisolm were alone for the moment.

  “I never had a chance to tell you how disappointed I was when you left my service,” Chisolm said as Everett handed his reloaded rifle back to him. Their hands touched on the cold metal. It was all Everett could do not to recoil.

  “And I never told you what a perfectly miserable time I had as your slave,” Everett said with an icy smile.

  The light of challenge sparked in Chisolm’s eyes. “Feisty,” he said. “That’s why I liked you the best, you know. It’s always more fun to tame someone with spirit.”

  “Tame, you say?” Everett’s hands shook with rage as he took a step back. “And how many spirited souls have you tamed?”

  Chisolm chuckled, returning to his mark and raising his rifle. “Every man must have a hobby.”

  Everett bared his teeth at the man, eyes narrowed, as he aimed and fired. He would be doing England and the world a favor if he snatched up one of the extra rifles from the rack behind him and bashed Chisolm’s head in with it.

  “Your hobby is about to come to an end,” he said instead.

  Chisolm flinched away from studying his target, frowning at Everett instead. For one glorious moment, Everett had him on the back foot. He grinned, ready to tear the man down.

  “Gentlemen, you’ll never guess what scurrilous accusation my brother has just made against me.”

  Everett whipped sideways to find Castleford marching Selby across the lawn toward them, Patrick following. His gut clenched in fear at the anxious expression Patrick wore.

  “I’m not the one making the accusations…precisely,” Selby said, wringing his hands. He glanced to Niall, pleading for help.

  “What is going on?” Eastleigh thrust his rifle at the footman who had moved in to help him and strode toward Castleford.

  “My friends, you’ll never believe it.” Castleford had a mad light in his eyes as he glanced from Eastleigh to Chisolm. “We’ve been accused of operating a child kidnapping ring.” He laughed, but there wasn’t a lick of humor in his eyes.

  Neither Eastleigh nor Chisolm so much as cracked a smile.

  “I told you this trip would bring problems,” Chisolm growled.

  “There’s an easy way to solve them,” Eastleigh said, snapping his fingers at the footman holding his rifle. “We can call it a shooting accident. They stepped out into the line of fire without warning us.”

  Everett’s eyes popped wide. He jerked toward Patrick, as though he’d have to protect him, before stopping himself. “You cannot be serious,” he told Eastleigh, laughing as though the whole thing were a joke or a misunderstanding.

  “Did you just threaten the lives of my friends?” Selby gaped at Eastleigh, then turned his incredulity on his brother. “What in the devil’s name is going on here, Montague?”

  Everett opened his mouth to explain, but hesitated, debating how much it would be useful for Selby to know. Niall didn’t seem to have any more of a clue what to do or say in the situation than he did.

  Patrick was the only one with the courage to take the situation in hand.

  “Scotland Yard has been tracking your activity for weeks, gentlemen,” he said, stepping forward and looking every inch the hero. Everett’s heart ran riot as he continued. “Enough evidence has been obtained proving your involvement in the child kidnapping and trafficking ring that formal charges will be brought. There’s nothing you can do to escape the consequences of your crimes now.”

  For a chilling moment, silence reigned. It was followed moments later by Castleford bursting into laughter. Chisolm and Eastleigh exchanged pale-faced looks before falling uneasily into laughter with him.

  “My dear boy, you couldn’t be more mistaken about our activities,” Castleford said, continuing to laugh.

  “Mistaken?” Patrick looked downright incredulous. “I know what I saw, my lord. I know what I have seen these last few months.”

  “It was all a game, man,” Castleford insisted, snorting. “Isn’t that right, gentlemen?”

  “A game,” Eastleigh said through a clenched jaw.

  “An elaborate one,” Chisolm added.

  “I have experience with your games,” Everett seethed. “I’m not sure Scotland Yard will care what you call it. You are all criminals.”

  “We are nothing of the sort.” Castleford shook his head, as though the whole thing really were a misunderstanding. He waved a hand as though swatting a fly. “Whatever it is you think you may have seen in the house, you are wrong. Come.” He crossed to his brother, clapping a hand on Selby’s arm. “Come back to the house and I’ll show you the game board and explain the rules. You’ll see that it’s all a harmless fabrication.”

  “I—” Selby glanced to Niall, helpless with confusion. “Come with me,” he pleaded.

  Niall let out a breath, glancing quickly to Everett. Whether that look was intended to tell Everett he was on his own or not, that was exactly how he felt when Niall marched humbly along behind Castleford and Selby as they returned to the house.

  The four of them that remained watched until Castleford and the others had nearly reached the house. Everett wanted more than anything to charge to Patrick’s side so that the two of them could take on the remaining villains together, but the calculating look in Chisolm’s eyes stopped him, particularly as it was directed at Patrick. To Chisolm, Everett might have worth of some sort, but Patrick was expendable.

  Everett would rather have returned to the hell that Chisolm had put him through than see a hair on Patrick’s head hurt. And he had a feeling that was exactly where he was about to go.

  “Kill them,” Eastleigh said with a shrug, marching to the rifle stand. “It’ll save us time in the long-run.”

  Everett’s heart shot to his throat. He drew on every last bit of talent he possessed to shrug and say, “Why bother? Wrexham is as dumb as a post. He’ll say or not say whatever I tell him to.”

  It was a horrible gamble, and one that he regretted as soon as he made it. Patrick’s expression pinched with hurt before he schooled it into stony stillness.

  “I don’t care if he’s a simpleton who doesn’t speak English,” Eastleigh said, selecting another rifle. “Kill him, a
nd we won’t have to worry about the truth getting out. Kill this popinjay as well.”

  Twin bursts of victory at Eastleigh’s admission of guilt and terror at the thought of Patrick being killed rocked Everett. His head spun, but he managed to say, “All this for a silly game? I can think of much more interesting games to play.” He swayed closer to Chisolm’s side, sliding a hand up his arm. Touching the blackguard made his skin crawl, but he would endure anything if it meant Patrick had a chance of getting away.

  Chisolm studied him with a wicked grin. “This is an interesting turn of events.” He grabbed Everett by the throat, forcing his head up and turning it from side to side, as though studying merchandise. Everett’s whole body went numb at the sense memory of where the gesture had always led in those nightmare years of his past. “It’s been far too long since I enjoyed this particular sport.”

  Eastleigh let out a grunt of disgust. “I want no part of your perverted pastimes, Chisolm. We had contingencies in place, and this wasn’t a part of it. I wash my hands of this.” He threw his newly selected rifle down and marched off toward the house. Something in the speed of the way he walked made Everett wonder if it was only disgust that caused him to flee or if he felt threatened enough to attempt an escape of a far bigger sort.

  Either way, he didn’t have the time to find out.

  “I’ve been waiting for this for more than a decade,” Chisolm purred, tightening his grip on Everett’s throat. “I’m going to enjoy this particular reunion.”

  Part of Everett wanted to weep in terror, like the boy he had once been. Behind that swell of emotion, a part of him roared with indignation. It was bitterly unfair that he could still be made to feel every painful sensation that his younger self had been helpless against. He should have been past that. He should have left it behind when he escaped Chisolm the first time.

  But he had escaped, Patrick’s voice within him whispered. Feeling something, no matter how acutely, was not reality.

  He sought out Patrick with his eyes the best he could with Chisolm holding him so firmly in place. “Go,” he said as dismissively as possible. “I don’t need you for this.”