The Mystery of Miss Mason (The Lost Lords Book 5)

by Chasity Bowlin

  “All of this—this—this death and destruction and utter mayhem, and it is for nothing but your vanity?” Mary all but shouted.

  “Yes,” Helena replied steadily. “For my vanity, for my pride, for my gluttony and greed and lust. For my wrath. Every sin I have committed has brought me here to this day, and I will not hesitate. Remember that, mouse.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  A harried maid entered the library and all of the men present, Hamilton included, looked up expectantly. But there were no footmen following on her heels and Helena was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where is Lady Wolverton?” Alex asked.

  The maid shook her head as she bobbed a rather clumsy curtsy. “Forgive me, my lord, but I don’t know where she is. The footmen said her room was empty and I went to see for myself. It’s vacant as can be and there’s no sign of her in the breakfast room, the morning room, the garden or anywhere else. It’s as if she simply vanished!”

  “Bloody hell.” The curse came from Vale, and while it was hardly appropriate language, the sentiment mirrored Alex’s own feelings perfectly.

  Hamilton smirked. “I see my little bird has flown the coop.”

  “That means nothing in terms of your own fate,” Alex stated firmly. “You see, I have Harrelson’s journals. And in them, I have records of payments to you. So with or without her to corroborate the claims, you’re done for.”

  “And how will you prove you’re not a murderer then? If she’s gone, you’ll be as guilty as ever in the eyes of the law.”

  “Not exactly,” Vale said. “You see, my betrothed is an old acquaintance of yours and of Lady Wolverton’s. She can attest, without question, to the fact that Lady Wolverton is alive and well and has been residing in Bath for the past year. I’m afraid you’re quite done for.”

  Hamilton’s face paled. “Your betrothed?”

  “Yes,” Vale answered firmly. “I believe that you were assisting Harrelson in abducting her for your brother’s enjoyment. Miss Elizabeth Masters?”

  Hamilton began to struggle against his bonds. “I had nothing to do with it!”

  “Harrelson’s ledgers would prove otherwise,” Alex said. “All you have to do is tell the truth, Hamilton. If you do, I will ask that you be transported rather than hanged.”

  “I’d rather be hanged!” Hamilton shouted as he bared his teeth in a growl. “I’ll not be shipped off to some dirty, filthy colony to work like a common laborer!”

  Alex said nothing. He had worked like a common laborer and hadn’t left the country to do so. Since he’d lost his fortune, he’d been out in the gardens, in the fields, mucking stalls, and patching roofs whenever and wherever he had to, because paying someone else to do so was no longer an option for him.

  The door opened again and another maid entered, this one carrying a small hamper from the kitchen and wearing a cloak as if she’d been intending to travel. “Forgive me, my lords and Mr. Middlethorp, sir… but the carriage is gone and Miss Mason with it. I went to fetch the basket of food from cook, and when I came back, it had already left. I would not have let her travel alone! I swear it!”

  Cold dread swept through Alex. If Helena was missing and Mary had suddenly disappeared in the carriage without her chaperone, it wasn’t a great stretch of the imagination to think they were together, and not willingly on Mary’s part.

  “Where was she headed?”

  “London, via the main road,” Vale said. “She was to stop at the King’s Head in Wickham for the night before continuing on tomorrow.”

  “I’ll head toward Pulteney Bridge and you come around the other side. Perhaps, we can head them off before they get out of the city,” Alex said.

  Middlethorp had opened the bottom drawer of the desk and drew out a box. “There is more, gentlemen, and I fear it does not bode well for Miss Mason. The brace of pistols kept in here is now missing. I doubt Miss Mason would have taken them. I cannot say the same of Lady Wolverton.”

  It wasn’t Vale who cursed that time, but Alex himself as he dashed from the house. He didn’t bother with a sedan chair or a horse. In the city, he’d be faster on foot. Heading toward the parade grounds via Landsdowne Street, he prayed for a sight of them. If something happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. And he would finally be guilty of the crime he’d already been convicted of, because he would see Helena dead by his own hands before the day was done.

  *

  They had made it to Pulteney Bridge, but an overturned cart was blocking their way across to the main road to London. The driver called back, “We’ll have to turn around, but it’ll take a bit as the street is so congested. Hold tight, miss, and you’ll be on your way soon enough!”

  Helena had tensed the moment the coach stopped. “Is this some sort of trick?” she asked, her words hissing out between clenched teeth.

  “As I had no notion you would be in my carriage, I’d have hardly possessed the foresight to engineer an ambush for you. Now would I?” Mary replied caustically. She could see that Helena was on edge. The delay was making her nervous and the more nervous she was, the more likely she was to make an error in judgement. It was the only chance Mary had to outmaneuver her and escape.

  “You would do well, Miss Mason, to recall which one of us is armed!” the other woman snapped. “Tell the coachmen to get this thing turned around and to do it now. I will not be trapped here with the likes of you!”

  Mary would have refused but Lady Wolverton raised the pistol, pointing it directly at her in a manner that left no question as to whether or not she would happily fire the shot at that very moment. Rising to her feet, she tapped on the roof of the carriage, “You must turn around now,” she called out. “I cannot wait longer here!”

  “But, miss, there is no room!” the coachman protested.

  “Find the room, now!” Mary replied without pause. She’d never spoken so to a servant in her life, not that she’d had the opportunity to be exposed to many.

  The driver grumbled, his words unintelligible over the din of the street. But slowly, the carriage began to turn, the wheels cutting and the horses’ hooves moving over the street. The wheels lifted up over the edge of the rut they had been in, worn there by all the coaches and carts that preceded it. It was the opportunity Mary had been waiting for. The jolt sent her careening toward the door and it jostled Helena so that she could not hold the pistol steady. Without a thought of hesitation, Mary forced the door open and leapt free of the carriage. She landed on the road in an undignified heap, but she didn’t care. Rising quickly, ignoring the pain in her hip from where she had landed, she moved with all the haste her bandaged feet would allow. They were tucked into a pair of boots borrowed from Elizabeth and while they offered some protection, it was still terribly painful.

  Weaving her way through the throng of traffic, she made her way toward the shops. She could hear gasps behind her. No doubt, Helena was in pursuit, pistol at the ready. The woman was utterly mad. That much had become glaringly apparent during their brief exchange. Rounding the corner of the bridge, away from the shops, Mary made her way toward the Abbey and the Pump Rooms, hoping to get lost in the throng of other well-dressed ladies. She had only just cleared the bridge and was looking down at the river below when a pistol shot rang out. There were screams, and one woman fainted dead away, as everyone scrambled for cover.

  Mary stood stock still, waiting to feel the burn of the pistol ball tearing through her skin. She didn’t doubt that Helena had the other gun and that it was trained on her at that very moment. She could all but feel the weight of it.

  “Turn around. I want to see your face when I end your miserable life,” the other woman commanded.

  Reluctantly, Mary did as she was bid, but turned toward the river, bringing her one step closer to the balustrade that separated her from the drop. If the opportunity presented itself, she would jump. She was a strong swimmer and it was her only chance at survival. With her battered feet, there would be no hope of outrunning Helena. The w
ater would even the playing field, so to speak.

  *

  Alex’s heart thundered in his chest, less from running through the streets than from the sound of a single gunshot echoing through the narrowed streets. Emerging from the alley shortcut he’d taken, he came out directly across from the Guildhall. Looking to his left, he could see Helena holding a pistol. Two steps forward, and he’d cleared the building giving him a full view of the street. Only a short distance before Helena was Mary, facing off against her with no weapon. The pistol trained on her glinted in Helena’s hand and fear stuttered his heart. She would not hesitate to shoot Mary. Of that much, he was certain.

  There was too much open space between him and Helena to hope of being able to catch her unawares. His only hope would be to draw her ire, to pray that she would turn the pistol on him and allow Mary a chance to escape.

  Taking another step forward, Alex called out, “Helena, there is no need for this!”

  Her head snapped toward him. “There is every need for this! I will not be replaced by her, of all people… some low-born wretch who hasn’t the breeding to even speak my name, much less take my husband.”

  “A husband you never wanted,” he pointed out. “You have hated me from the start… I think because I was not Albie.”

  “I didn’t hate you for not being Albert,” she said dismissively. “I hate you because you are not like us. I hate you for having such a wretchedly firm sense of honor that you would never be swayed to our way of thinking, of living, no matter what I offered you. You did not grovel at my feet because I was beautiful and you desired me above all others.”

  “Then I will grovel now,” he offered.

  She screeched in reply. It was the only apt description he could muster for the sound that she emitted.

  “I don’t want it! I don’t want it and I don’t want you! But you want her and that’s why I will see an end to her right now!”

  “If you’re going to kill me then get on with it. I’d rather that than listen to any further insane ravings of a madwoman!” Mary snapped.

  If he hadn’t been completely terrified at that moment, Mary’s cavalier behavior would have driven him to that point. No one knew better than he how quickly Helena’s moods could turn or just how vicious she could be.

  “Helena, please… Miss Mason has nothing to do with this. It’s between you and me. Let her go. We will climb into Lord Ambrose’s carriage together and make for Wolfhaven. I will be your captive audience for any grievances you feel compelled to air,” he offered.

  Helena moved closer to Mary, until they were only an arm’s length from one another. “I don’t think so, Alexander. I think Miss Mason has everything to do with it… I saw how you looked at her. And even now, you’ve run through the streets like a lunatic in the hopes of saving her! You would never have done those things for me!”

  “I would have. I did. Helena, I have worked tirelessly from the moment I thought you had perished to find the people responsible and bring them to justice!” Alex protested. As he did, he inched closer, closing the distance between him and his wife. If he could just put himself between her and Mary, he no longer cared what might happen to him. But he would not allow Mary to be harmed, not when he had the power to prevent it.

  Helena surged forward, gripping Mary’s hand and tugging the woman back against her. The pistol was now pressed firmly to Mary’s head and in Helena’s eyes he saw nothing but madness. She was entirely beyond reason.

  “Stop it!” Helena shouted. “Just stop! You never loved me. You never wanted me!”

  “We never loved one another,” he answered evenly, hoping that agreeing with her would defuse the situation to some degree. “It’s true. We married because it was an advantageous match and our feelings, for one another or for anyone else we might have formed attachments to, never entered into it. But Helena, if you do this, you will go to prison… if not prison, it’s quite possible that you will be committed to an asylum. That is not a place you wish to be. Ever.”

  Helena laughed wildly. “You don’t understand anything, Alexander. I know what is going to happen to me. I knew from the moment I took the guns from the library that I was sealing my fate… and I don’t mind at all. Because I’ll be sealing yours, too. For the rest of your life, you will mourn the lovely Miss Mason and what might have been! And you will regret to your dying day that the body you found at that chapel was not actually mine. After all this time, I will finally give you a reason for all the hatred and derision you have shown me.”

  He was still too far from them. There was no way he could reach Mary before Helena fired the gun. It was a fear unlike anything he’d ever known, to stand there and know beyond the shadow of a doubt that Helena had already set her course. She’d left the Vale house bent on destruction and there was no power on earth that would dissuade her. His only hope, and it was a fervent prayer from his heart, was that the gun might misfire.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mary saw the intent in his gaze. It was immediately and terrifyingly clear to her that he intended to do something impossibly reckless and heroic—something that would have disastrous consequences. She could not and would not allow him to sacrifice his life for her, not when there was another way. Her plan, impetuous and likely fatally flawed, at least offered a slim chance that one of them might survive.

  Mary looked at Alexander Carnahan, Lord Wolverton, and committed everything about him to memory, knowing it might be the last time she looked upon him before death claimed her. She hoped that he might see in her gaze just how much she felt for him. Regret swamped her. If she had it to do over again, Mary knew that she would have done things very differently. She would not have hesitated. She would not have run from him. She would not have insisted that he return her to Bath and her brother. Instead, she would have stayed with him at Wolfhaven, and either willingly been seduced or mustered the courage to do a bit of seducing of her own. But there was no more time to think of such things. Her moment was at hand and action was required.

  Taking a deep breath, as much for courage as for what was to come, Mary hurled herself backward with as much force as possible. The momentum carried both her and Helena to the balustrade that kept careless passersby from tumbling into the Avon below. With their combined weight and the awkward lack of balance due to Helena having one arm wrapped about her neck and the pistol pointed at her head, there was simply no way to recover. She felt the other woman teetering, grasping at her as if Mary could somehow keep them on firm ground.

  Helena screamed, flailing for purchase as they fell. The gun discharged, firing harmlessly toward the sky as they plunged backward toward the rushing river. The impact as they struck the water was staggering. It was rather like hitting a brick wall. Disoriented at first, Mary finally managed to find the light. She swam for it with all she was worth, finally breaking the surface and drawing in air until her lungs were full to bursting. Then the water dragged her down, sweeping her downriver.

  The current tugged mercilessly at her skirts, trapping her legs. But Mary recalled the lessons of her youth, first from Benedict and later from Miss Darrow who had insisted that all of her girls know how to swim. She didn’t fight the water, knowing that to struggle against it would only leave her weak and exhausted. If she could keep her nerves in check and her wits about her, the river would eventually wash her to the shores and she would be safe.

  Instead of trying to direct her body in the heavy current, she focused on breathing. Every time she bobbed to the surface, she drew another deep breath and simply allowed the water to carry her. There would be bumps and bruises aplenty, especially as they tumbled over the weir and beyond. Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw Helena. The other woman’s struggles had ceased, as well, but not because she’d managed to achieve any sort of calmness in the water.

  Helena floated face down in the water, her gown billowing around her and her dark hair fanning out. The current swept Mary toward her. Panic did set in then. Even in death, she thou
ght Helena might find some way to take her down with her. But the water carried Mary past her, sweeping her over the terraces of the weir. Mary used the ledges to push herself out of the center of it and toward the side where a group of people had gathered. Men were reaching out for her, trying to grasp her and pull her from the water. Desperately, she reached out, trying to snag one of their outstretched arms. When it happened, when she felt a firm hand grasp her wrist and haul her toward the bank, she let out a startled sob.

  Lying on the grass of the parade ground, wet and shivering, her hair and her gown plastered to her skin, Mary looked up at the sky above and then let her eyes drift closed. In the distance, she could hear someone calling her name. She recognized it as Alexander, but as she gasped for air and tried to fight the bitter cold from the water, darkness crept in. Exhaustion claimed her and Mary’s eyes fluttered closed on one thought. They were safe. For the moment, at least, they were both safe.

  *

  His heart was in his throat when he reached her. Mary lay upon the grass, her wet gown clinging to her and her face as pale as death. Stripping off his coat, he placed it over her. Alex placed his fingers at her neck, just below her jaw, and felt the steady thrum of her pulse. It was faster than it should have been, but strong and steady.

  Without a second thought, he lifted her into his arms and made the arduous trek back up to the street. Climbing the narrow, moss and algae-covered stairs that led up from the river to the bridge above, he found Lord Ambrose’s carriage still there and the coachman looking on in horror. “Take us back to the Circus,” he shouted and placed Mary inside the carriage, levering himself inside afterward.