by Aileen Fish
She only hoped it would be a nice long ride.
~*~
North found Lady Marquardt’s residence an hour west of London. It had been the family estate of her parents and so not part of the entailment lost to her son when he fled murder charges.
Ashmoore stayed at Telford’s. With so many eyes searching for Livvy, someone needed to stay in the city in case the woman was found elsewhere, or if Gordon made a move. So with Harcourt injured, it was just himself and Stanley who arrived on Lady Marquardt’s doorstep, only to drop their jaws on the snowy ground when the door was opened.
Hopkins stood in the doorway.
North’s mind reeled with the impossibility of the man arriving ahead of them, but when the butler lifted his nose in the air and acted as if they’d never met, he realized the Hopkins cousins might possibly be twins separated at birth. Same nose. Same bushy eyebrows. Perhaps a bit thinner in the face.
The country Hopkins was none too pleased to hear that Lord Marquardt had returned to England, but even less pleased to tell his mistress what business had brought two lords from London to her door. He took their cards, however, and begrudgingly allowed them to wait in the drawing room instead of the cold front steps.
“I like the other Hopkins better,” Stanley whispered as they waited for the footman to get the fire started on the grate.
North decided pacing would better serve to warm him and to keep him from tearing the house apart. If Marquardt had been staying there, the butler could not have been as surprised as he seemed. But the violence of breaking through a few doors would do North’s heart some good.
“She will not see you, my lords,” the country Hopkins announced, as if he’d warned them she would not. It rang a little familiar, since both Hopkins cousins seemed to also share the same voice. How he wished he was merely waiting for Livvy to come downstairs as when he’d last heard such an announcement.
He dropped himself into a chair and tried the direct approach.
“Then I have some questions for you, Hopkins. Your cousin assured us you were a trustworthy man who would be happy to help us rescue Lady Reynolds.” If this tack failed, North would begin dismantling the house, starting with Lady Marquardt’s boudoir.
The man’s face flushed red, only to blanch white again.
“Lady Olivia? Lord Marquardt has Lady Olivia? Why did you not say so straight away, my lord? What can I do to help?”
Northwick thanked God for loyal servants.
Hopkins eventually told of a small island on the lake and a small hunting lodge in the center that was rumored to be haunted. Lord Marquardt was the only one brave enough to go there. No one had crossed the causey since the man had left the country a year and a half ago.
Northwick and Stanley maneuvered across the snow-covered road to the island to check the small cottage but found nary a human footprint. The building itself was sound, but filthy. Dust blanketed every surface. Nothing had been disturbed. There was no reason to check the remainder of the island. No boats could reach it with the ice encircling it as it did.
An hour later, North and Stanley were headed back to London. Country Hopkins had assured them he and the staff had seen no sign of Lord Marquardt, but they would keep a horse and groom at the ready, to send word should the evil man show his face. They were very aware of Marquardt’s suspected crimes and feared the man might have disposed of his victims somewhere on the property, but no bodies had ever been found.
His mother would likely hide in the attic until the man left England again.
Riding quickly for the city, they were no closer to finding Livvy, and darkness was descending like a purple curtain before them. North prayed Marquardt had misplaced that blasted cane of his. Then, ignoring his own lack of soul, North prayed to God, promising all manner of improvements in his life, and in Livvy’s, if the woman could just be spared.
As they neared Telford’s home, North’s prayer turned a bit more general.
Please, let there be news.
When he imagined Livvy might, by some miracle, be waiting inside, he nearly flew up the stairs and into the house without touching a snowy step. But there was no laughter and joy to greet him, only the sound of men arguing—and one of them was Ashmoore. He followed the heated conversation to the kitchen and found his friend toe to toe with the original version of Hopkins. Something was terribly wrong.
“What has happened?” He almost hoped there was no news of Livvy, for only bad news could have caused such an argument.
Ashmoore turned to him and took his shoulders. “Did you not find her?”
North could only shake his head. Ashmoore’s grip tightened, but could not compare to the grip of fear on North’s heart. One more squeeze there and he wouldn’t survive it.
Stanley joined them. “They will be watching for Marquardt. The moment the man shows up, the other Hopkins will send a fast horse. I assume you have no news either?”
Ashmoore glared at Hopkins. “Oh, there is news, but not about Livvy.” He released North and sat back on the cook’s table. He hooked a leg over the corner and folded his arms. “Why don’t I let Hopkins tell you?”
Hopkins color rose, but he did not cower. “Lord Telford went to White’s this evening, my lords.”
“And?” North knew what was coming.
“And he insulted Lord Gordon. Lord Gordon then called him out. Lord Telford will duel the man in the morning.” The man cleared his throat, then waited.
“Like bloody hell, he will.” North turned to Ashmoore. Surely his friend was as outraged as he.
Ash nodded. “Just the discussion you interrupted.”
“I will serve as his second. I will go in his stead.” North’s chest expanded from the anticipation. He found it difficult to exhale.
“I already tried that. Telford will not have it. Hopkins here, is his second.”
Hopkins’ nose rose even higher in the air. The man might topple over backward if he was not careful.
North shook his head and wandered to the hearth where he found enough of a shelf to sit upon. “You said Gordon would never accept a challenge.”
Ash snorted. “If two old fools are to be his opponents, what can he possibly fear?”
“I see your point. No offense, Hopkins.”
The butler offered him a stiff bow. “None taken, my lord.”
Five minutes ticked by with a great deal of neck rubbing and frowning, but no suggestions materialized. North picked up the fire iron and swung it into the fire pit. It rang like a church bell. A white cloud of ash rolled out from the darkness. “How do we get the devil to leave his minions and come out in the open?”
“We can do nothing. He feels he is safe,” said Stanley.
“So what would make him feel unsafe?” North began to pace. “No longer safe to sit by and wait.”
“If he believes Marquardt has failed? That would make him worry.” Ash began pacing in earnest.
“The only way to convince him that Marquardt has failed, is to produce Livvy,” North said.
Ash spun on his heel. “Then we produce her.”
Stanley shook his head. “I’ll not be the next one to don a frock, gentlemen.”
North smiled. “We should only need to produce the rumor of her. Let word spread that Livvy miraculously returned to her home. Gordon will be forced to look for himself, wherever he has hidden her. And naturally, he will not be taking witnesses along on the chance she may still be there.”
“A word to Lady Malbury should do it, and quickly. Then we need only follow Gordon,” Stanley said, his excitement growing.
North groaned. “But even if it only takes half a day, we cannot just sit and wait!”
Ash moved to his side and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Then when the sun rises, by all means, tear the city apart. Surely there is nothing more we can do tonight. Gordon’s house is surrounded. Milton and Everhardt have people searching the city, slice by slice. Get some sleep.” Ash turned and frowned at Hopkins. “And you!”
The old man’s stubborn face melted away like wax near a hot fire.
“If you care at all for Lady Olivia,” said Ash, “you will march up those stairs, relieve Dr. Kingston of laudanum or something comparable...”
“Yes, my lord?”
“And you will drug Lord Telford’s tea.”
“Tonight, sir?”
“Tonight.”
“He is not himself, tonight, my lord. I fear the excitement of the day has taken its toll. I doubt the man will rise until noon tomorrow, and therefore miss his appointment with Lord Gordon at any rate.”
“Tonight, Hopkins. We will take no chances.”
After the butler groused from the kitchen, Stanley laughed. “You will have to drug Hopkins too. Or perhaps you could just tie him to that pink chair in Olivia’s room.”
North swallowed painfully. “And do not forget to wet the knots.”
Chapter 38
Livvy took back her wish that the carriage ride might be a long one.
She’d rolled and scooted enough to get part of the thick blanket beneath her and thanked heaven she’d been able to do so. Without its slight cushion, she would be little more than a bag of bruised bones by now.
It must have been nearly an hour and one half since Marquardt had left her alone, but the past twenty minutes had been torture. Certainly no road could be as rough on a carriage, let alone a person lying against the violent floor. When the beating ceased, she took a moment to enjoy the stillness before allowing fear to take hold of her once again.
“Nearly there, Scarlet.” His voice accompanied a rush of cold air that filled the hack. He tugged the blanket from her and swung it like an actor’s cape, allowing it to settle upon his own shoulders. Even with the heavy covering, he shivered violently. She was merely glad to see he’d suffered in some way.
He grabbed her under the arms and pulled her to the door, then he loosened the tie around her head that held her gag in place. She spit the cloth from her mouth and awaited a chance to scream when it would not be so easy to replace the damp thing before she could empty her lungs. He slipped a scratchy rope around her neck and she realized how little real pain she’d suffered thus far. Achy joints were hardly a frightening burden to bear. The prickles of the rope digging into her skin could not be ignored, however, and they served to rouse her foggy mind to the horror of the night. Had the maids he murdered been trussed up in the same manner?
Leaving the rope to dangle, he hoisted her to her feet, then removed the ties from the back of her hands. Moving slowly, lest he feel the need to subdue her again with his cane, she lifted her shoulders and stretched her sore limbs.
They were in a forest. The trees allowed little snow to fall between their branches. How he’d driven a hack so deep into them, she could not guess.
“If you scream, I will pull the rope. But there really is no need. No one will hear your cries out here.”
“You mean to hang me then?” Her throat was dry, her voice little more than a whisper.
Marquardt laughed. “Hanging? Only if you insist. But I rather thought you would prefer to live until tomorrow. What say you, Scarlet? Do you wish to live to see tomorrow?”
She nodded emphatically, not wishing to be misunderstood in the dark.
“Good girl. You will need your hands to keep your balance, I think. And to swim, of course, if you should happen to fall into the lake. The winter has been mild. If the ice has not frozen a path to my little island, I give you my word as a gentleman to reconsider your suggestion of a hanging.”
He laughed again, adjusted the blanket on his back, then took up the end of the rope. He clicked his tongue as if encouraging a horse, then pointed down the hill. She walked ahead, feeling carefully for the ground as she placed each foot. There were few stars peeking through the storm clouds, but if she watched the falling snowflakes, they seemed to light her way a bit. The dark stripes before her were certainly trees, but she held out her hands to defend herself from what she might not see.
Her foot slipped and she went down on one knee. The rope jerked and tightened around her neck instantly. She jumped back to her feet to pull it loose again, to pull those tiny spikes out of her skin.
“Not my fault, Scarlet. I merely tried to help you remain on your feet.” He clicked his tongue again and she started moving again.
The slope ended at the shores of a lake. The snow fell into the water and disappeared as if they had never been. She wondered if her fate would be the same. He’d spoken of an island, but all she could see was darkness at the edge of the ice forming along the shore.
“Go ahead then.” He shoved at her back.
“You’re mad,” she whispered. “I will not walk into a lake.”
Suddenly the whites of his eyes and the slash of his teeth were before her. The light wood of his cane loomed just above his shoulder.
“I am not mad, Scarlet. Angry, yes. Not mad.” He moved to her side. “If you will but look, you will see the path of ice. Tread carefully. If the ice breaks beneath you, I promise to pull hard on the rope. If it breaks beneath me, I will do the same. Either way, your survival depends upon us both reaching the island. Do you understand?”
She nodded, though she had yet to see the path he spoke of. She edged forward and prayed the man had better vision than she. But once on this island, would he leave her there, to freeze to death?
A white line appeared on the surface of the water. A snow-covered tree or a path?
She stepped to her left, lining up with the image. Two steps forward and she understood how the ice had formed a bridge stretching out into the darkness. The center of it was wider than the span of her arms and she allowed a swallow of hope into her belly. The whiteness tapered away slowly. The entire expanse might be seven or eight feet wide!
She felt with her toe and found the path quite firm, so she took another step. Marquardt clicked his tongue again and flipped the rope. In defiance, she walked ahead quickly. Even when all slack was gone in her tether, she pressed forward. Marquardt only laughed, so she slowed. She’d not risk her life further just to amuse him.
They’d been walking so long she suspected there was no island at all, that he was urging out to the end of some iced-over pier and planned to push her into the sea. She’d even begun to brace herself for the imminent fall when she saw the shadows looming ahead, higher than the water. He had not lied about the island!
Her next step sounded far different from the ones before. She felt the ice give a little but kept her pace. Perhaps Marquardt’s greater weight would break through. She lifted her hands to her neck, sneaking her fingers beneath the rope as Marquardt stepped upon the weakened spot.
She heard the ice crack that time and whipped around to see how the man was faring at the same time he yanked on the rope. Her feet flew out from beneath her and she landed hard on her right shoulder. The impact crackled beneath her and it was her turn to laugh like a madman. She was going to die, but she would take the monster with her.
She inched back toward him, where he stood frozen on the weak spot. Leaning on his cane, out to one side, had likely saved him.
“Stay where you are, damn you. If anything happens to me, your father will die by Gordon’s hand.”
She stopped laughing, moving, breathing. The man had to be bluffing. As the other man had pushed her into the hack, at the theatre, he’d admitted he’d lied about her father. But she knew not what to believe. She simply needed to escape this man and find out for herself.
“You are bluffing,” she hissed.
“Am I?” He took a small step and the ice crackled again. “Move!”
She pulled her feet beneath her and leaned back, scooting until she felt the path was firmer again. Then she stood, hating the way he clung to the rope, staying just behind her, waiting for her to fall into the water so he might choke her while she fought to stay alive.
She stepped onto hard ground before she realized the water to either side had disappeared. She could ha
ve kissed the icy mud in spite of how it froze her feet. A moment later she was thanking God for the shelter she saw at the top of the hill.
Once inside, Marquardt tugged again on her tether.
“Let me remove your rope. Then I will help you remove your wet shoes.”
She stood still and waited. As the cane crashed against her head, she should not have been surprised.
~*~
When North had not a prayer left to pray, when he found himself repeating himself for the hundredth time, he settled his head back against the couch and rested his swollen eyes while he waited for morning. As soon as it was light, he was going to tear the city apart.
He had not intended to sleep. His dreams were muddled, desperate, unfocused. There were ghosts of Marquardt’s two murdered maids. The groom that never seemed to arrive at Telford’s house, despite his fast horse. There was a boat, trapped in the ice. And far too many Hopkins cousins.
He woke with terror in his belly. Dawn was breaking on the other side of the floral curtains. And somewhere, Livvy waited for him to come for her.
And thanks to his dream, he was afraid he knew just where to go.
His horse seemed to share that sense, for he barely gave the beast any prompting at all and still ended up on that road back to Lady Marquardt’s. A month before, he would have never trusted himself to go in search of the bastard on his own, but today he felt as capable as any of his friends. Perhaps their confession had affected him after all. But at least he was doing something. If he had to sit around all day waiting for Gordon to take the bait, he would end the day searching for a bed at an asylum.
Lady Marquardt’s staff might think him foolish for checking the property yet again, to be truly certain Livvy was not there, but even the thought of turning his horse made him sick to his stomach. What if Marquardt had arrived and taken his mother’s household in hand, what if he stopped any messenger from leaving the estate?
What if he was already there, on that damned island, and no one knew it? What if he, himself, had been so close yesterday and walked away?
