Dahlia crouched down behind a suit of armor. If this was the tactic they were taking, then she would be unwise to interrupt their play. Clearly, neither Herbert or Peter were willing to admit that the Duke of Shelthom was not about the premises.
Dahlia then heard the voice of one or the other of Goldstone’s toadies, but she could not make out the words. Then she saw Goldstone shake off someone’s hand, and step boldly into the door. He shoved Peter roughly to one side and shouted, “Shelthom! I know you are in here! Come out and fight like a man. Gentlemen keep their appointments.”
Dahlia could take no more of this. She sprang up, mop in hand.“That will be quite enough,” she said. “You are not welcome here, Goldstone. You had your duel and you lost. In fact, I see that your arms are still bandaged.”
“What if I tell you that I have your brother, Lady Independence? What will you say then?” the Earl sneered.
“I say that you are a dishonorable hound who views ladies as property. You have completely disregarded my wishes in this matter. What exactly is it that you hope to gain by marrying me, Lord Goldstone? My expectancy is small since it must be shared with my sisters. I know you have no special tender for me. What is it that you want?”
“Your body, your land and your fortune,” Lord Goldstone smiled cruelly. “Since you will die today, it is hardly material. I had hoped to gain an heir from you before your death, but since you seem to have more boldness than sense, killing you will have to do.”
Dahlia gripped the mop like a quarterstaff and slowly descended the stairs. She was quietly thankful that she was wearing an old morning gown that had no train and was nearly scandalously short. The last thing she needed was to trip up over her own skirts.
“You will leave here,” Dahlia said. “His Grace was up for nearly two days, fighting the fires and looking for my brother. You say you have him? Then why are you not returning him now?”
“Because I will have the money your father owes me and you, besides. What sons you would make, you fierce little warrior. If I could break you to hand, that is.”
“I do not break, nor do I bend, Lord Goldstone.” Dahlia balanced herself on the balls of her feet, poised and ready. “You had the right of it the first time. You will have to kill me to take me from here.”
“What will you do then, Lady Dahlia? Bludgeon me to death with that wet mop?”
“I will defend myself, Lord Goldstone, as my brother taught me to do,” Lady Dahlia said, keeping watch on the Earl’s face. She could hear her brother’s voice ringing in her ears, “Watch their eyes, Dahlia, not their hands. The face will tell you when they are about to strike.”
“You will come with me now,” Lord Goldstone said, making a grab for her wrist.
Dahlia stepped back and rapped Lord Goldstone smartly on the wrist, exactly where Roger had pinked him with his sword two days ago. Goldstone snarled with pain and made a lunge for her, but Dahlia pivoted on her left foot, dropped the head of the mop and held it so that Goldstone stumbled over it. He did not fall, as she had hoped, but instead came around to face her, getting between her and the stairs.
“I will kill you,” Goldstone screamed. “You are nothing but a boy in woman’s clothing. How could I ever have been so deceived?” He spun his sword and brought it in toward her in a slashing move.
Dahlia caught the sword on the mop head. It had looked so easy when Roger had fought against Goldstone, but the blade sheared through the wood, leaving the rags on the floor. The force of it shivered down her arms and nearly made her drop the handle. She backed away from Lord Goldstone, pivoted away and let his own momentum carry him past her.
Again, it was as if Aaron spoke in her head, “Let your opponent lead the dance, just as if you were in the ball room. You are a small woman, and nearly any man will outweigh you. Imagine you are dancing a couples dance, just don’t expect your partner to steer you.”
Dahlia settled into the contest, her eyes never leaving Lord Goldstone. She suspected that he was toying with her, but it might have been otherwise. He was still sore from the wounds Roger had given him and not as agile as he might have been. He had not expected opposition from any of the household
She stepped lightly. They circled each other. Any minute now, the Earl would charge, and that would be the end. But she intended to give a good accounting of herself.
Suddenly there was a loud thump, and Goldstone slumped to the floor. “I do love a good frying pan as a weapon,” Scarlett said.
Lisa appeared at her side, dropped to her knees and checked the earl. “Out, but not truly injured. You have a nice touch, Madam Scarlett.”
“That I do,” she said, without a trace of modesty. “Gentlemen who are permanently injured are not repeat business, and bodies tend to bring down the Watch.”
“I thought you were a bow-street runner?” Dahlia said.
“I’m that, too,” Scarlett said. “And when I am truly at home, I am a princess. So, there will not be any of this folderol of a nobleman being attacked by a peasant. If someone will give me some rope, we can truss him up before he comes awake.”
“Herbert!” Dahlia cried and dashed to the door. Outside, on the steps, Herbert fenced with Goldstone’s two cronies, Carlyle and Dayton. Carlyle held back seemingly less enthusiastic, but Dayton blundered ahead flailing his sword around in a most alarming manner.
Mrs. Garrity was close on Dahlia’s heels, carrying a big silver tray. She spun it out away from her, like a giant discus. It flew past Herbert and caught Dayton across the shins. He toppled like a felled oak.
Carlyle dropped his sword and backed away. “I am done, gentlemen, ladies. I’ll have no more of this.”
“Well enough,” Herbert said. “Take Dayton with you, if you please.”
“And Lord Goldstone?” Carlyle asked.
“I am sorry,” Dahlia shook her head. “He is too dangerous to send away with you. He will remain here until His Grace returns.”
Carlyle bowed his head to Dahlia. “As the Lady wills, it shall be.” And he went to help Dayton up. It took several minutes, as it turned out, and Dayton had to be taken up in a sedan chair. The impact of the heavy silver platter had broken one of his legs and bruised the other badly.
“Nicely done,” Scarlett said, coming out on the steps. “And most unexpected.”
“The late Mr. Garrity loved to play at bowls,” Mrs. Garrity said. “But as we grew older, his friends drifted away. He needed someone to play against. I became quite a good shot, and he did not have it all his own way.”
“So I see,” Scarlett said. “Do you think we have completely allayed the danger now that we have Lord Goldstone restrained?”
“I wish I knew,” Dahlia said.
What should we do with him? And where are Roger and Aaron if Goldstone is here?
Chapter 36
Roger used a pair of opera glasses lent him by Sir Geoffrey. The sloop skimmed over the shallow waters around Fortress Island. The place had an odd reputation. Crumbling tower loomed over it, with only the passing clouds as a banner above it. This was the area where the fisherman had retrieved the odd boot, wrapped around with a silk rag.
As they passed a low-lying ruin along the edge of the island, Roger thought he saw movement. He could not quite make out what it was, so he passed the opera glasses to Sir Geoffrey and squinted at the crumbling rocks. Major Tomlinson pulled out a long spyglass and aimed it at the area, following Roger’s pointing finger.
“Something,” he said, “but nothing sufficiently definite to warrant going ashore. We’d be trespassing. I’d rather not cause a row if it is not needed.
They sailed on by, then twice more, trying to see if there was any further movement. The shoreline was still.
“It is coming up on night,” the major said, “the captain says that these waters are treacherous at after dark.”
“Just once more,” Roger said. “Then we will give it up and go farther out where it is safer for the sloop.”
As he said it
, there was suddenly movement near where he had glimpsed something earlier. “There! There!” he cried.
A figure was running down the beach toward the water. Something swished by Roger’s ear, and the major yanked him down. “Sorry sir,” he said, “But they are firing arrows.”
“Arrows? Who fires arrows in these modern times?” Roger protested.
“People who do not want the noise of gunfire or cannon,” Major Tomlinson said.
Roger peered up over the gunwale. The figure was zigging and zagging, trying to make a more difficult target to hit. As he reached the sand, the loose material clearly was dragging at his feet. He seemed to be carrying something. A body?
The man reached the water’s edge and plunged in. “A rope,” Roger called softly, “throw out a rope!”
A rope was already in the air and hit the water with a splash near the swimming figure, who was definitely towing someone. As the crew pulled the man aboard, there was a loud swoosh! Something thudded and stuck in the wall of the cabin.
“Full sail! Full sail! All oars! Pull! Pull for your lives!” The sloop slid into the main current and fled quickly out to sea. As they pulled away, there was a Boom! And something large splashed into the water just behind them.
After a few more yards, the crew shipped the oars, and the sails picked up a fresh, evening breeze. They swung on up the Channel, sailing at a rapid clip toward Dover.
Sir Geoffrey approached. “Captain Kingman, I mean Your Grace, Oh, hang it! Roger, the captain of the boat wants you in his cabin.”
“Of course,” Roger turned and followed his erstwhile Lieutenant to the cabin. An arbalest shaft stuck in the side of it. Miraculously, it had struck only wood.
A man a low stool in the cabin, while the ship’s captain stood nearby. A thin shape lay on the coverlet of the captain’s bed. “Bochil!” Roger exclaimed. “Your sister is worried sick! What happened?”
“I was working along the docks, using wet sacking to put out small flames. I could see you up ahead, and I started to call out, but someone hit me on the back of my head. The next I knew, I was waking up in a dark, damp place and the lady was beside me.”
“Lady?”
“Yes,” Aaron nodded. “A frail, bedraggled lady who could not walk. She guided me through the dark tunnels under where ever it is we were.
The cook’s boy came in just then with a hot fish broth. “Cookie says you’s to drink it all up. He says it’s the best for a bad wetting, an’ for havin’ starved. An’ ‘ere’s some hot rum toddy, too.”
The captain nodded. “Cookie is our medical officer as well as cook. He doesn’t get much of a chance to practice his medical skills on my lot..”
The broth was hearty and served with a hard biscuit. The rum toddy was mostly rum, with a splash of lime and a suggestion of water. Aaron downed a draft of it, then coughed and thumped his chest. “No illness in the world would dare remain after a draft of that,” he said.
“Then what happened?” Roger asked.
“Well, the lady showed me the way through some dark tunnels, most of them not more than crawl spaces,” Aaron went on with his tale.
“Sewers,” the shape on the bed spoke up. “They were all through the Tower underneath. You had to listen or take an ugly wetting when they ran water through the garderobes. But I have always been good at hide and seek. You can ask my sisters.”
The ship’s captain moved to the woman and began spooning broth into her while Aaron continued his story.
“We waited in an alcove above the sewers and watched. I think I must have seen your ship sail by at least three times. But the Lady said we should wait. When it got dark, I carried her down and we swam out. The rest of my part, you know.” Aaron took a big swallow of soup.
Then Roger looked more closely at the bedraggled, ragged figure on the bed. There was something familiar about her. Roger moved closer. The face was thin, so very thin, and the eyes huge in that thin face. The hair was ragged and matted with filth. He marveled that the captain allowed her to be placed upon his bed.
There was something familiar about the nose and the shape of the chin. And something about the way she hitched herself up in the bed, and took command of the bowl and spoon.
She finished the bowl of soup with more dispatch than seemed possible for someone so frail. Then she took a sip of the toddy, and swished it around in her mouth as if savoring the bite of it. She swallowed it down, with a tiny exhale as the fiery spirits went down her throat. “Well, it isn’t cognac, but it clears the palate.
Roger went down on one knee beside the bed, looking at the lady’s face. He held out one hand toward her. “Mother?”
“I was called Mother once,” the figure said, then looked up. “Roger! My son! Whatever are you doing here? Oh, this is not good, not good at all! He will have his way.”
Roger knelt beside the bed and carefully took her in his arms. Tears were running down his face, and he made no move to wipe them away. “I thought you were dead. What about Father?”
“Dead. He was shot when we were boarded. His wound was healing, but he took lung fever from the cold and damp where we were held.”
“But you survived? How?” Roger held the thin apparition close to him. “You are far too thin. What have you been eating?”
The ship’s captain put in, “Little enough, I don’t doubt. We picked up one other person near this island not long ago. He proved to be a Bow Street Runner. But he had little to say for himself, except that his ship was boarded and all hands lost.”
“That would have been Richard,” the Dowager Duchess of Shelthom said distantly. “Such a dear boy. I showed him the way out, and he promised to bring help. But he never came back.”
“I think he was trying to get help,” Roger said, “but no one believed him. They thought he was raving mad. Why would a peer hold shiploads of passengers in the crumbling tower on Fortress Island?”
“Why, indeed,” the Dowager Duchess said. “Are we well and truly away from that awful place?”
“I don’t know what to say,” Roger gently eased the Duchess back on the pillows. I don’t know what to do. Oh, Mother, this is amazing. Can you tell us what happened?”
The Duchess got a faraway look on her face. “We are truly away?”
“Yes, Mother, you are. Warm, dry and safe.”
“Oh, good. Then we can have names again. Can you tell me the name of that nice boy who swam away from the island?”
“Aaron, Mother. He is the Marquess of Bochil. I am going to marry his sister.”
“Marry? Oh, that is very good, my son. I have always fancied myself as a grandmother. Only, I never thought I would be alone.”
“You are not alone, Mother. Not now. I am here, Aaron is here, and the good Captain is here. You won’t have to be alone a minute unless you wish it from now on.”
Roger realized that tears were running down his face again. The Duchess reached out and caught some of them on her fingertips. The fingers were rough, the nails broken. But under the grime was the shape of the fingers so well loved.
“Mother, you can rest now.”
“No, no. I must tell you. Someone must know. I will tell all of you, and you can stop him.” She clutched at Roger’s sleeve pulling him closer. “I must tell you so that it will not be forgotten.”
“We’ve got a ways to sail,” the captain said. “It’s a good time for storytelling.”
“Yes,” Roger added. “We will be glad to listen.”
“Leonard was sick. It all started then. Lord Goldstone came to call, and my husband sent him packing. ‘I have always insured with Lloyds,’ I heard him say, ‘I will not change a system that works.’ But Leonard was so sick, and then he died. I was sad, so sad. I could not bear the manor house.
“We sent word to Roger. ‘Come home, Roger,’ the message said. Then Napoleon was done, and we could go to Paris. ‘Come meet us in Paris,’ our next message read. But we never made it to Paris.”
The Duchess paused and
ate a little soup. “We sailed out into the channel, and suddenly my love said, ‘We are going the wrong way,’ but then this other ship came up alongside us, and many men boarded. My husband grabbed one and demanded to know what was going on. That was when they shot him.”
Could I have more soup? It was so good, so very, very good. I have missed eating hot food and sleeping in a warm bed.” She patted the coverlet.
“What happened next?” Roger prompted. Silent tears continued to run down his face, but hot anger started to shine through them.
“They herded all of us, passengers and loyal crew into a sort of compound. One by one, we were taken out. Some came back, looking frightened. Some didn’t come back. His Grace came back, snarling and raging. That night he was fevered. His wound was hot to touch and his heart raced. Sometime before morning he died.”
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