Archie smiled. “I didn’t say they would go alone. Do we not have a small army at our backs? With our band of mercenaries, the constables and you and me, those two won’t know what happened.”
* * *
Between sheer exhaustion and the amount of brandy she had ingested, Peggy slept in Cornelia’s bed, often crying out softly. Sitting beside her through the remainder of the night, Cornelia’s thoughts ranged back through the years, remembering Barrett. While he used her unique coloring to make money, he had been kind to her. Cornelia never stopped wondering what might have happened had he not taken her in after her parents abandoned her.
“I would not now be alive,” she murmured.
Perhaps she owed Barrett her life. And now he was dead, betrayed by the men he trusted. Cornelia shuddered, thinking of his last terrifying moments. “Saints preserve you, Barrett. I forgive you for selling me to that evil man, and may God have mercy on your soul.”
Dawn arrived, the night sky changing from black to grey with the birds outside her window rousing from their slumber to begin chirping. Rising from her chair, Cornelia stretched, and yawned, then started to wash and dress herself. Her eyes gritty from lack of sleep, she brushed her hair in front of the looking glass and wondered if she dared leave Peggy alone long enough to hurry to the kitchen and bring back food for them both.
Her dilemma was answered by Mrs. Cates knocking softly at her door. Stepping inside, she gazed at the still sleeping form in the bed. “His Lordship told me what happened,” she murmured. “The poor lamb. What can I do?”
“I hate to leave her, Mrs. Cates,” Cornelia said. “Can you arrange for food and tea brought up?”
“Of course, dear. What a terrible thing to have witnessed.”
“I know. We both knew Barrett growing up. He was not an evil man, in spite of the evil things he ordered done. How will he be judged?”
“That is not for us to know, dear.” Mrs. Cates opened the door. “I’ll send breakfast up.”
Pale and wan, Peggy ate some of the sumptuous food a kitchen maid brought, glancing around at Cornelia’s rooms. She smiled. “Look at how far you’ve come, my friend. From a glass case in a circus to an Earl’s house.”
“We fell in love, Peggy. I am in love with him.”
“I guessed it last night when you called him ‘Archie’,” Peggy commented, her smile widening. “Though, in truth, I never expected it to happen, I am very happy for you. He is such a handsome man, and seems very kind.”
“He is. He gave me the position of the household’s healer.”
“You were always very good at that. Even Barrett recognized your talents.”
At the mention of his name, Peggy’s face fell and she gazed down at her plate. “I can’t believe what happened to him. No one deserves that.”
“Felix and Maurice will face justice, Peg.”
“I hope so.”
A knock at the door sounded, and Cornelia rose from the table to open it. “Archie,” she said, finding him on the threshold.
“I just wanted to tell you I have taken the mercenaries and the constables to arrest Felix and Maurice.”
He glanced past her toward Peggy, and Cornelia observed her rise to offer him a curtsy. “My Lord.”
“Miss Wood. I am glad to see you recovering. Look after her, angel, and with luck all this nonsense will be resolved today.”
Cornelia slipped her hand into his. “Good luck, Archie.”
He bent to kiss her cheek, smiling. “Those two killers will need it more than I. I’ll return soon.”
Closing the door, Cornelia stood with her back to it, watching as Peggy sank back down to her chair. “Will he be safe, Cornelia?” Peggy asked, her expression tight, her lips thinned. “You know how dangerous those two are.”
“You heard him,” Cornelia answered, striding back. “He will have a dozen mercenaries plus the constables. Felix and Maurice stand no chance.”
* * *
Riding at the head of his small army, Archie saw the few tents that remained of Baron Barrett Hill’s Bizarre Arcana grow closer. A few folks walked about the camp, but he observed that the wagons were gone. “It looks like Hill’s people took what they could and left,” he said to Latham on his right.
“What else could they do? Without Barrett, there probably isn’t much left of the show.”
To his left rode the leader of the mercenary band, a tall fellow with a flowing black beard named John Struthers. “Shall I have my men circle the place, My Lord?”
“Yes. Have their weapons at the ready, and once they are in position, close the circle. None are to escape the net.”
Calling orders to his men, Struthers galloped away, his mercenaries moving wide to ride around the now small camp. Behind Archie, the two constables rode, shackles and chains jingling, hanging from the pommels of their saddles. Shouts of alarm grew as the mounted men were sighted, and several people tried to run.
“Let’s get this over with,” Archie said grimly, nudging his horse into a faster pace.
Ruthless and efficient, the mercenaries hemmed in the dozen or so people, herding them into a wide spot amid the few tents still up. One of them was Barrett’s own, and Archie observed his body still lying there. He quickly turned his face away, growing furious. Riding toward the circle of frightened people, he called out, “We are here to arrest the murderers Felix and Maurice. Where are they?”
A big man stepped forward from the group and bowed. “They are not here, My Lord. They disappeared last night after – killing him.” He gestured toward Barrett’s corpse.
Archie glanced around. “Search the area,” he ordered. “Look in the tents.”
Latham and Struthers dismounted, and trotted into the pavilion Barrett Hill had once occupied, then emerged, shaking their heads. “They are not in that one, My Lord,” Latham said as he and Struthers entered the remaining three.
When they found nothing, Archie glared at the big man. “Where did they go?”
“My Lord, we have no idea and are glad of it,” he replied, his hands outstretched. “We were just relieved that they left. They took the hunchback, Mortimer, with them.”
“Let us ride the area,” Archie ordered as Latham mounted up. “They may not be very far away and on the run. You.” He pointed at the big man. “You all bury Barrett. Today.”
* * *
Growing worried that darkness fell and Archie had not yet returned, Cornelia strode down the hallway toward her chambers. Despite knowing that he and his men outnumbered Felix and Maurice, it did not help her fears that the man who employed them was still out there, perhaps lying in wait. Mr. Hamden, at her side, gestured toward a footman in livery hurrying toward them.
Opening the door to her chambers, she followed the direction of his gaze. Peggy stood just inside, waiting for her as the footman reached her, and offered her a small bow. “Miss Hill,” he said, his voice urgent. “You are needed.”
“What happened?” she asked, her mouth dry.
“His Lordship is at the stables,” he said, his glance flickering between Mr. Hamden and her. “He is injured. Mr. North sent me to fetch you.”
“Let me grab my satchel.”
Fearing the worst, Cornelia hurried past Peggy to her medical kit, and slipped it over her shoulder. “Stay here, Peg,” she said, rushing toward the door again. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
“Cornelia –”
Not waiting, Cornelia hurried out, her heart thudding in her chest. Archie hurt. What could have happened? “Did Mr. North say what happened to him?” she asked, following the tall footman.
“No, I fear he did not, Miss Hill.”
She sent a worried glance to Mr. Hamden, who offered her a small smile meant to reassure her. Unfortunately, it failed to work. “He had plenty of men to protect him,” she muttered.
Passing other footmen and maids who eyed them curiously, Cornelia rushed outside into the darkness behind the servant. Glancing ahead as they crossed the la
wn toward the stables, she found the place quiet and peaceful with a few lights shining through the windows. Not the chaos she would have expected if the lord of the manor had arrived injured.
Her instincts screaming, Cornelia wheeled to run back to the house. Instantly, the footman grabbed her by the arm, whipping a cudgel from under his coat. At the same moment Mr. Hamden reached for his pistol, the stranger cracked him across his skull. In shock, Cornelia watched him fall to the ground, dead or unconscious.
Opening her mouth, drawing in air to yell for help, Cornelia struggled to slide from his grip. She caught a rapid glimpse of the stave before it crashed into her brow. Pain exploded through her head, and she felt herself falling, dropping. Blackness oozed across her mind, her vision. As though from a distance, she had the sensation of being picked up, then she knew nothing more.
* * *
Riding into his stable yard, Archie found his house in utter chaos. Fear rushed into his heart, and, uncaring about the damage to his lawns, cantered his horse to the milling servants in front of the broad veranda, his train behind him. No, no, no, not Cornelia.
“What happened?’ he yelled, seeing Noah among them, as was Norris, limping toward him.
“Miss Hill has been taken,” Norris snarled. “A footman came to her door, saying you were hurt. Of course, she went with him.”
“Where was Hamden,” Archie roared, dismounting, running into the midst of his servants.
“Right with her, My Lord.”
Turning, Archie found Mr. Hamden seated on the step of the veranda, holding a cloth to his bleeding head. He stared up amid the torches and lanterns, his face a mask of rage and fear. “He was fast, My Lord. I tried to protect her, but he hit me before I got my pistol out.”
Cursing under his breath, Archie swung back toward his horse. “Where would they take her?” he roared. In his panic and fear for Cornelia, he could not think, had no idea what to do, where to look for her. He paced, furious, terrified.
“My Lord.” Latham urged his horse up beside Archie. “They must have just left. We can catch up to them if we ride hard and fast.”
“But where?” Archie snapped. “Where would they take her?”
“They can only go east, toward the King’s highway. Anywhere else and they’re on your lands.”
“Let’s go.”
Remounting his horse, Archie kicked the gelding into a fast gallop, Latham at his side and the mercenary band right behind. “Was he one of ours?” Archie raged. “The footman?”
“Not likely,” Latham replied. “It is too easy to slip a man into your house, garb him in your livery. All he has to do is await his chance.”
“And I gave it to him by riding out,” Archie snapped.
“We knew the enemy would try something. We will get her back.”
“They must have horses,” Struthers called from behind. “That’s why we couldn’t find the killers. They were lurking here all along.”
His teeth gritted, Archie didn’t reply. Fighting his fear, his panic, he tried to put himself in the buyer’s place. “He won’t trust those two,” he muttered. “Not with a beautiful girl like Cornelia. They might harm her before they would bring her to him.”
“Right,” Latham exclaimed. “He will be there himself to meet them.”
“The circus,” Archie growled. “Faster.”
Torchlight gleamed in the distance as Archie and his band rode at a dead run toward the camp. “Circle them around,” Archie barked. “None gets past you. Split up.”
Around him, the mercenaries galloped in a wide circle as they had earlier in the day, ringing the now very small group of tents, campfires burning amid them. Yet, oddly, Archie saw no people. No one sat by the fires, none of the folks who were there earlier seemed to be there now. “They’re still in there,” he burst out as the realization hit him. “The buyer is still here.”
Yanking his pistol from his pocket, Archie reined his horse into a trampling halt, Latham at his side. He caught a swift sight of the mercenaries riding in, hemming the camp in from all sides. With Latham beside him, Archie flung himself from the saddle and raced into the large tent that once belonged to Barrett Hill.
Leading with his pistol, he lunged inside, sweeping the flap back –
And froze in shock.
“Hello, old chap,” Richard said.
Chapter 31
Sitting in a chair, a pistol pointed at her head, Cornelia gazed in fear as Archie burst into the pavilion, and halted, stunned. Mr. North entered beside him and also stopped, gaping as much as Archie had done, staring at the sight of Lord Whitstone, Archie’s best friend.
Mortimer stood to one side, his eyes shifting between Archie and Whitstone, but Cornelia could not determine what he might do. The footman in Archie’s livery stood beside him, his face blank and pale with fear. With Felix and Maurice standing behind her chair and Whitstone sitting elegantly beside her, his pistol aimed at her, she felt little hope she and Archie could survive this.
“You,” Archie snarled, pointing his dragon toward Whitstone. “All this time you played me false.”
“You’re such a fool, Archie.” Whitstone tittered. “So noble in trying to protect this lovely creature. But she is mine, and I will be taking her home with me.”
“You are going to die.”
“No, old chap, I think not. If you wish her to live, you will surrender now. Give yourself up, and you and your steward will die quickly. I promise, your love will live a long time under my care.”
“Why?” Archie stepped forward. “Why would you do this?”
“I have this insatiable curiosity,” Whitstone replied, his tone amused. “I wish to breed more like her, examine the genetics that inspired such a beautiful creature. Call it a scientific experiment.”
“She is not a damn horse.”
“To me, she is little more. I have two dwarves at my manor right now, and I plan to study their offspring at length. Now, my old friend, please surrender peacefully before I put a ball in her head.”
Archie shook his head, his expression grim. “No you won’t. Not after the lengths you took to get her. Drop the pistol and fight me fair.”
Whitstone sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Archie. You have no choice but to obey me.”
Tense, waiting, Cornelia watched as Archie stepped closer. Mr. North edged away from him, his hazel eyes never leaving the two behind her. She half feared Mortimer and the strange man in livery might also enter the fray, she snapped a fast glimpse at them. Yet, they never moved.
Whitstone also stiffened his body, his fingers on the trigger flexing. “Stop,” he demanded. “Stand still.”
“No,” Archie replied, taking another slow step toward Cornelia and Whitstone. “You will die, Richard.”
“I said –”
Throwing herself backward, Cornelia flung her arm up, striking Whitstone’s hand that held the pistol. It fired, the ball shooting harmlessly through the roof of the tent. She struck the floor on her back, and rolled instantly out of attack range of Felix and Maurice. Hearing a roar of rage, she saw Whitstone fling himself at Archie, grabbing for the dragon in his hand.
The pistol went off.
Swinging their cudgels, Felix and Maurice also charged forward, their intent on both her and Mr. North. Mr. North calmly shot Felix point blank in his chest, then, his dragon empty, ducked under Maurice’s wild swing. Felix staggered back, tripped, then collapsed. Cornelia, caught between Mr. North and Maurice, rolled again, and kicked Maurice’s ankles out from under him.
He fell with a grunt almost on top of her, his big hands reaching for her, a snarl of rage on his lips. He grabbed her throat, but Mr. North’s boot kicked him full in the face, and his hands fell away from her. Scrambling away and to her feet, Cornelia saw the cudgel, now in Mr. North’s hands, strike Maurice across his temple.
Spinning, fearing for Archie, she saw him grappling with Whitstone, the two on their feet vying to strangle one another. Both men had their grips on
one another’s throats, neither able to get the upper hand. Even as Cornelia stepped forward to help Archie, Mr. North’s hand on her arm stopped her.
“No,” he said softly. “This is their fight.”
“But –”
“Fear not. His Lordship has a trick or two.”
Sure enough, Archie suddenly let his hands fall from Whitstone’s throat. Then, in a lightening move, his arms slashed up and out, chopping Whitstone’s wrists away from his neck. Before his friend could react, Archie jerked his body to the side, and grabbed the sides of Whitstone’s head. This time, however, Archie spun behind him, and twisted hard.
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