Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 01]

by The Pretender

  James was less than a second behind him. Plunging deep with powerful kicks, they reached the wallowing boat in time to wrap their hands around a stay-line and follow it down to the gaping companionway.

  The pearly light of morning did not filter through the small opening into the bowels of the little ship, but the planks had burst from the keel in several places. These gaps gave just enough light to keep up their hope of finding Agatha.

  The inside was filled with debris freed of its lowly position on the floor to drift about the spaces within. They had to bat aside everything from tools to wooden casks drifting on the swirling eddies of the water invading the ship.

  Simon saw a pocket of silvery air above him, trapped in an airtight corner. He swam to it and thrust his head up to take in any possible air.

  There was only room to tilt his mouth and nose above water, so he took a few swift breaths and moved aside to allow James a lungful.

  Simon was making his way into another cell-like chamber when he felt the vessel take a violent shift and roll. It would sink completely soon, too swiftly for escape. They must get out now if they were to survive themselves.

  Simon turned and pushed James toward the companion-way. James shook his head, his anguish plain even in the distorted dimness. Then, when Simon shoved him again harder, James turned reluctantly to kick his way to the small square of brightness to their left.

  Simon watched to make sure that James escaped, then turned back into the darkness. His lungs ached and his body grew numb, but he would not leave without her. The thought of abandoning her to the dark river was more than he could bear.

  His love had killed her, and the least he could do now was take her home. Filling his lungs once more at the now-stale pocket of air, Simon returned to his grieving search.

  * * *

  When James’s head broke the surface, the skiff was only feet away. Kurt bent to reach for his hand, but as he was pulled aboard, James noticed that the other men were watching something behind them.

  “Ahoy, there!” came a cry over the water. James rolled over, still gasping for his breath, to see another small-boat making its way to the foundered fisher from the direction of a large schooner anchored some distance away.

  James knew he ought to reply or ask for help in their search, but dots still spun dizzily before his eyes and grief further tightened his chest. He was grateful when Dobb stood to call out, “Man—er, woman overboard!”

  The small-boat was gaining on them swiftly. Now James could plainly see the man standing in the bow, one foot raised to rest on the prow. The fellow brought his hands to his mouth once more.

  “Another one?” he called.

  “What?” James croaked. Another?

  Agatha!

  He rose, clinging to the sail rigging with his hands. “Aggie!”

  A high cry came across the water, and for a moment James was sure it was only the weeping gulls above him. Then he plainly heard it, what he’d thought never to hear again.

  “Jamie?”

  His heart skidding with joy, James turned to share the moment with Simon.

  But Simon was nowhere in sight.

  James grabbed Kurt’s massive arm. “Simon is still down there!”

  * * *

  She wasn’t here. He’d searched every corner of the small vessel until he could no longer feel his arms and legs, and his bit of breathing air no longer sustained him.

  He hung there now, suspended unmoving in the water with his nose just barely above. His lungs fought to take in more, and he knew the air in his little pocket had gone bad.

  Pain washed through him, making the numbing ache of the cold seem trivial in comparison. He’d lost her, killed her, and the knowledge made him want to sink into the depths with the Marie Claire.

  “Simon!”

  He could hear her now, naming him craven.

  “Simon Rain, you are a coward. A lily-livered, jelly-spined coward. You are not going to walk away—”

  “No, damsel,” he whispered. “I’m going to swim away.”

  “—you are too vital to the security of England. I will not rob her of you, dear as you are to me.”

  “I can’t go on to live without you.” He was almost begging, but even as the words left him, he was breathing deeply to take the remaining air with him.

  Simon let himself sink, then turned. He could see the shimmer of daylight through the companionway, like a door into Heaven. He stroked toward it, his limbs heavy and slow. He wondered numbly if he was going to make it.

  Then the light disappeared from the square and Simon was swept up in a massive eddy. As the water tossed him away from the portal, he realized that the ship was moving.

  And the only way the ship could move was if it was finally sinking completely.

  He almost gave up then, for his will was battling to force his lungs to breathe, and the numbness had reached his mind.

  Simon!

  Instinctively he followed her voice. She needed him. He must go. Slow, leaden stroke after stroke, he followed the musical, comforting call.

  Then he was out of the darkness. The water danced with light. It streamed down from above in brilliant amber bars all around him. Simon wanted to go up. Up to the light, where Agatha awaited him.

  Peace filled him, and he surged upward with new strength, ignoring the burning agony of his lungs and the deadened weight of his body. The dark threatened to pull him back, and indeed it almost did, but the lilting call continued.

  Simon! Simon!

  His head broke the surface, and he heard it once again.

  “Simon!” came a voice raw and ugly with strain. It was the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. “Here! Bring him into the boat! Simon!”

  Through water-blurred eyes Simon could see rough hands reaching for him, but his frozen body could feel nothing but the final thud that landed him in the bottom of a wooden craft. Then an angel came, a bruised, scraped angel with dripping hair and a dripping nose, and she cradled his head in her lap and cried for him.

  “Hello, damsel,” he croaked. “So we’re dead then?”

  “No, darling,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m too vile to die, and you’re too good.”

  “Not vile,” he murmured as his sight dimmed with exhaustion. “Merely a bit peculiar. But I like you that way.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  As she made her way down the main way of the schooner, Agatha balanced her tray with one hand. Her other arm still didn’t feel quite right from the dreadful wrench she had taken when her bonds had snagged on the cleat.

  In addition, her head was rather sore from her rescue. Apparently, all her dear saviors had been able to see was her hair streaming below them, so they’d pulled her up to the surface by it.

  Still, she was warm in her borrowed sailor’s finery—warm, dry, and alive. With the cooperative captain even now taking the schooner into dock, she would soon be home as well.

  Humming quietly, she paused to open the door to the captain’s quarters, smiling at two of her passing rescuers as she did so. They nodded glumly back.

  The large, intimidating fellows had been quite disappointed to learn that she had a large, intimidating fellow of her own, along with an equally large and intimidating brother.

  As she set the tray down next to the warming stove, Agatha decided that the best thing about being alive was that Simon was still alive as well.

  She settled to the rug next him, quite comfortable in her sailcloth trousers, and handed him another mug of steaming broth. When his arm came about to encircle her, she relaxed wordlessly against his chest. He also wore a wool fisherman’s jumper, only his didn’t fall to his knees.

  They stayed that way in grateful silence for a while. No teasing. No bantering. Just the blessed sound of his breathing matching hers.

  Presently the door opened once more, and James entered. He stopped short when he saw them half-lounging on the rug together, then he shrugged.

  “I don’t care anymor
e. Be happy while you can. Only please try not to make her the talk of London, eh?”

  “Is that your blessing, Jamie?” Agatha asked from the comforting circle of Simon’s embrace.

  “Blessing, sanction, permission—call it what you like. You never required it in the first place.”

  Agatha smiled, then winced and put a hand to her face when her lip split yet again.

  Jamie leaned forward, his eyes widening. “I hadn’t realized—they beat you!”

  She blinked. “What? Oh, not really. I did most of that myself, I believe.”

  Jamie laughed, a helpless snort of relief. “I don’t think I want to know.”

  Agatha snuggled back into her warm haven. Then she remembered. Sitting up, she twisted to face Simon. “I’d forgotten! Lavinia mentioned an assassination plot!”

  Simon only nodded calmly. “Yes, we know. The Prince Regent is well protected for his appearance today.”

  Agatha drew her brows together. “The Prince? But she spoke of an old man.”

  James shook his head. “The message clearly used the phrase ‘your bullet aimed at Prinny’s brain.’”

  Agatha frowned down at her tea. “Oh, truly? His brain? I was under the impression that Lavinia thinks Prince George doesn’t have one. She believes the Prime Minister runs everything.”

  She looked up when only stunned silence met her words. Then Simon and James sat up and spoke as one.

  “Lord Liverpool!”

  * * *

  The House of Lords was not scheduled to meet until noon, but it was already striking eleven when James, Simon, and Agatha piled into a hack at the dock.

  There was no time to gather the Liars or to take Agatha home or even to send word ahead. As it was, Simon promised an outrageous sum to the cabdriver to see them to the front doors of Parliament before the half hour.

  It was a wild ride, but Simon kept one arm tightly around Agatha to brace her and urged the driver on. Agatha was eventually convinced to simply close her eyes against the imminent dangers, for her yelps of dismay were disturbing the driver’s concentration.

  When they pulled up to Parliament with a clatter and jolt, Simon saw a familiar carriage stop farther up the block. Even as the three of them tumbled from the rented cab, unkempt and sailor-clad, Simon saw a polished shoe emerge from Liverpool’s carriage. Out stepped Dalton Montmorency, who turned to ease the older Liverpool to the street. The smaller man seemed all the more narrow and bent next to Etheridge’s size.

  Hurriedly Simon looked all about, but his hack and Liverpool’s carriage blocked his view. He sent his cabdriver to collect his ransom from Jackham at the club. “Get on, man; go!”

  Liverpool’s carriage was also pulling away, although more sedately. Simon ran ahead, scanning all around. There was nothing unusual—

  His eye caught on the black gleam of gun metal. He halted abruptly to focus. “There—in that hack parked across the way! A pistol!”

  James ran past him, straight to Liverpool. “You get the gun, I’ll get his lordship.”

  Glancing back, Simon saw Agatha staying safely behind. He ran for the armed man in the carriage. Even as his feet hit the cobbles, however, he saw the barrel of the pistol take careful aim. As if his vision had become unnaturally sharp, he saw a gloved finger slowly tighten on the trigger—

  He wasn’t going to make it. Too late, too worn out. The pistol fired a split second before he grabbed the killer’s arm and pulled it forward and down, neatly snapping the bone.

  He knew as soon as he did so that it was Lavinia, even before her piercing shriek of pain split the air.

  Then her cry was followed by another, one that cut him to his heart. Agatha’s scream echoed in his heart long after the sound was cut off, but he could only spare a glance her way.

  There was a crowd gathered across the street, but he couldn’t see a thing. James was there. He would care for her. Simon had work to do.

  The driver of Lavinia’s hack was no cabbie. The big man who had sat so quietly a moment before in his seat now lunged at Simon with the lethal force of a bear. Simon managed to dodge the large knife in his attacker’s hand once, but the next swipe caught his woolen vest, cutting a long hot slice across Simon’s midriff.

  It burned, but since his innards did not instantly spill to the cobbles, Simon ignored it. He knew he’d never take this fellow hand-to-hand, for he was obviously well trained.

  Simon knelt swiftly to retrieve Lavinia’s pistol, then stood to hold it pressed to the big man’s heart. The fellow froze. “Sorry, I know it isn’t very sporting of me, but I’ve had a very long day.”

  Then he fetched the giant a catastrophic kick to the groin, followed by a tap to the head with the pistol, and stepped out of the way as the big man fell.

  Several of the guards from the hall reached them then, and Simon gladly left them to secure the conspirators. With one hand pressed to his side, he ran to where the crowd gathered around Agatha.

  She knelt on the cobbles, covered in blood. Simon’s heart almost stopped until he realized that the blood was James’s, as was the still form she held in her arms.

  “Oh, God,” Simon breathed.

  Beside him, a shaken Lord Liverpool was mopping his brow with a scrap of linen. “Threw himself directly in front of me. I didn’t even know what happened until the girl screamed.” Then Liverpool noticed Simon for the first time. “What the hell are you doing here? Get out of sight!”

  Simon struggled inwardly for a long moment. He was needed here. Agatha needed him.

  Liverpool waved his walking stick. “Go on, man! You cannot be exposed now! We cannot afford for you to be at the center of a public brouhaha,” he hissed.

  Reluctantly Simon stepped back. It cost him deeply. He thought the world might hear it as his soul broke clean in half.

  He didn’t leave, however. He couldn’t. So he clung to the outer fringes of the crowd to watch, like many another low-dressed fellow might. After a moment, a man scurried from the building carrying a physician’s bag.

  “A shoulder wound,” the man declared after a quick examination. “He’s bled badly, but he’ll survive.”

  Simon closed his eyes in profound relief. Then he watched as James was carried gently away, accompanied by the doctor. The guards brought Lavinia and the driver forward, and Lord Liverpool stood before them.

  “You’ve committed a serious act of treason here, Lady Winchell,” Liverpool announced loudly. “Attempting to assassinate the Prime Minister of England will get you hung very high indeed.”

  Clutching her broken arm, Lavinia whined, “But I wasn’t aiming for you at all, my lord. I meant only to shoot James Cunnington. I am merely a scorned woman determined to punish her lover! I have witnesses who will attest to our relationship. You have no proof otherwise.”

  “But I do.” Agatha stepped forward. Her voice cut clearly through the other woman’s protestations.

  “You!” Lavinia’s face tightened. “Don’t listen to that little liar, my lord! She is my rival for Cunnington’s affections. She’d say anything to get me out of the way.”

  Simon watched proudly as Agatha raised her chin to face Lavinia. “Don’t be more foolish than you must, Lavinia. James is not my lover, he is my brother.”

  She turned to Lord Liverpool. “Lavinia kidnapped me yesterday from in front of the hospital. In the hope, I believe, of distracting my—”

  Simon could see her look worriedly around her, searching for him, but he could not step forward now.

  Agatha continued, “—my brother from stopping this attempt.”

  “You and your brother are to be commended, my dear,” said Lord Liverpool. “It is not every day that common citizens of England take action to defend the government.”

  Liverpool was obviously trying to tell Agatha not to reveal the Liars’ role in the exposure of the plot, and Simon saw her tiny nod of agreement before she went on.

  “Lady Winchell revealed her plan to me then, for she assumed I would be lo
ng dead by the time she attempted it.” Agatha tilted her head and pondered Lavinia. “Rather careless of her, really.”

  Lavinia snarled. “She may not be James Cunnington’s lover, I give you that. But this unmarried woman has been carrying on with a man in her house just the same. Would you believe the word of a whore over that of a lady?”

  Liverpool frowned. “What are you saying, woman?”

  “I’m saying that she’s been lying about being married. She’s been living with a hired man dressed up to play her husband. Why wouldn’t she lie about me as well?”

  There was a murmur of disapproval from the primarily male audience. Dalton Montmorency stepped forward. “I doubt we need take the word of a traitor for any value.”

  “Fine,” Lavinia said with a snarl. “Ask for her wedding license. What clergyman married her?”

  Agatha didn’t respond, and Simon could see several frowns on the faces in the crowd. The very influential crowd.

  Lavinia laughed, an ugly, vindictive sound. “No, there was no marriage. Was there, Agatha? See what a liar she is? But the worst of it is, the lover is nothing but a filthy chimneysweep!”

  Dalton made to speak again, but Liverpool spoke up. “Is this true, Miss—?”

  Simon held his breath. Lie, damsel. Lie!

  Agatha felt ill at the way everyone was looking at her. What had she done that was so wrong? She’d fallen in love, that was all. As she gazed out over the people surrounding her, she saw him.

  Simon stood far from her and made no move to come closer. She’d made herself into a public scandal now. And Simon, secret, invisible Simon, could never get close to her again.

  She could see the anguish on his face as he met her gaze, and her heart ached for him. She’d never meant to tear at him this way. It would be best to end it now, before she hurt him any further.

  Besides, she couldn’t lie anymore, and she could never bear to lie about her love. She raised her voice and said the one thing that would separate them forever. The truth.

  “I am indeed in love with a chimneysweep.” The crowd around her made a mingled noise of shock and titillation. She heard laughter and the beginnings of some very ungentlemanly jests. Agatha ignored them and raised her voice still more. “And Lady Winchell is indeed a murderous traitor!”