Tristan decided to pen a note to Hawthorne to have him come to the house tomorrow so they could plan a way to contact all of Elliot’s servants. They needed to get on this posthaste.
It didn’t take very long to write the note, seal it, and have the servant take it to be delivered. Tristan left his room to go in search of something to do that would keep his mind occupied until it was time to go to see his Diana. Unfortunately, his brothers had left and his mother had already retired to her chambers.
Grumbling, Tristan marched into his study and straight to his decanter of rum. It had been a while since the drink had become his best friend…before his kidnapping, in fact. Still, he needed something to settle his nerves, so he poured a generous amount into a glass and sat in front of the small fire.
No matter how often he tried to think back over everything Diana had told him about her husband’s death and Elliot’s, there was something that niggled in the back of his head. Something he should know…or at least figure out.
He took a drink, and then grimaced. What was that nasty taste? True, it had been a little while since he had used the bottle to help calm his nerves, but it had never tasted this bitter before. Or had it?
“Pardon me, milord, but will you be needing any more rum tonight?”
The servant’s voice startled him and he swung toward the door. “Oh, Gibbs. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Forgive me, milord.” The older footman bowed. “I thought to check in on you before you retire.”
“I thank you, Gibbs, but I am fine.”
“Will you need more rum?”
Tristan couldn’t help but grin. This servant knew him well…but why hadn’t he noticed that Tristan wasn’t a roaring drunk any longer? Didn’t servants know things like this? “No, Gibbs, I’m fine—”
Suddenly, an idea struck him and he quickly stood. “Gibbs, would you like to join me?” He held up his glass.
The older man chuckled. “What humor you have, milord. You know me by now, and know I can’t refuse a good drink.”
Tristan motioned his hand. “Then please come in and I’ll pour you a glass.” He moved to the liquor tray. “I fear I’m quite bored this evening and I need someone to talk to. Do you mind?”
“Of course not, milord.” Mr. Gibbs shuffled in and to the chair nearest to the fireplace. The older man had been with the family since Tristan was a young boy. Gibbs was like part of the family.
Tristan poured Gibbs a healthy dose of rum and brought it back to him. The servant mumbled his thanks and took the glass. Both men tipped back their drinks at the same time, and Tristan studied the servant over the rim of his glass. Bushy white eyebrows arched over tired, withered eyes. The man was always smiling and willing to please the family.
Grimacing again at the bitter taste, he glanced into his glass. What was wrong with the rum? “Gibbs, I hope you can help me out.” He looked back to the footman.
“I’ll do anything I can, milord.”
“You have been with our family for a long time, and you were my father’s footman for many years.”
“Aye.” He took another drink.
“I’m sure you know a lot about what goes on in society, as well.”
The older man’s wrinkled mouth lifted in a grin. “Aye, I do.”
“And I’m sure that servants know what goes on in the household—even if things are meant to be kept a secret.”
“Once again, you are correct. Loyal servants do not spread gossip, but unfortunately, there are many servants I have met over the years who are not so loyal.”
“Are you friends with servants from other estates?”
Gibbs chuckled. “We all seem to know what goes on in other houses, I’m afraid.”
Tristan nodded. “Have you heard any of these other servants saying things you deem to be inappropriate?”
“Plenty of times.”
“How about from Lady Hollingsworth’s estate?”
Gibbs took another gulp and nodded. “Sadly, yes. The servants blamed her for not giving their master an heir.”
Although Tristan was grateful she hadn’t given Hollingsworth children, Tristan’s heart wrenched for the pain she must have endured because of the servant’s treatment. “Yes, that is very sad, indeed. What about Lord Elliot?”
“I fear your cousin wasn’t very kind to his servants. I believe many of them wanted him dead, especially the maids.”
Tristan nodded. “Yes, I had heard the same thing.” He paused in thought until a name popped into his head from nowhere. “What about Lady Dashwood’s household. Have you heard anything about her servants who may not be very loyal?”
“Oh yes, milord. In fact, Mr. Tucker was ready to punch Lady Dashwood’s driver in the face not too long ago.”
“Really? I wonder why.”
“It wasn’t too long after you had been kidnapped. Mr. Tucker had visited a pub that night and Lady Dashwood’s driver was into his cups quite a bit and telling everyone that he had driven his ladyship to Lady Hollingsworth’s cottage…and that the viscountess had kidnapped a man. You, milord.”
Tristan had tipped his glass up to his lips for another sip, but quickly dropped his arm. “Me? The driver told everyone that?”
“Aye. That is why Mr. Tucker wanted to punch the man in the face for spreading such gossip, but Miss Amanda wouldn’t allow it. She is engaged to Mr. Tucker, you know.”
Anger filled Tristan, making him want to plow his fist through the man’s face as well. “No, I didn’t know this. Has the coachman ever been to this place to visit Miss Amanda before?”
“Aye. A few times.”
“When was the last time?”
“Yesterday, I believe.”
Tristan grumbled under his breath. “How long has this driver been employed with Lady Dashwood?”
“Only since her husband died.”
“Interesting…” Tristan allowed himself to take a drink this time. The wheels in his brain were turning faster now as ideas he’d never thought of before surfaced. When he’d returned after being kidnapped, he’d wondered how some people—the magistrate in particular—knew that Tristan had been at Diana’s cottage.
Now he knew.
As quickly as that thought ended, another hit him. Diana was there…at Lady Dashwood’s…and Tabitha had been arrested. With a loose-lipped driver such as this servant, Diana was not safe at all.
With his heart pumping in an irregular beat, he jumped to his feet. “Gibbs, I must be going. Thank you very much for the talk. It helped me immensely.”
“Is something amiss, milord?”
“I have a terrible feeling…” He paused as panic jolted through him. The love of his life was in danger. He just knew it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tristan rode his horse hard and fast toward Lady Dashwood’s estate. The closer he came, the more his head filled with clouds and he became lightheaded. He shook his head and blinked, trying to focus better. This didn’t make sense. He’d only had a few sips of his drink, so why was he acting in such a way?
He finally reached the stable, and dismounted. Hurrying toward the structure, the walls seemed to dance in front of him and the ground slanted as if he were walking on a ship.
Tristan stopped and squeezed his eyes closed. What the devil was happening to him? Cotton felt like it was growing in his mouth, but along with it came the stale, bitter taste of the liquor he’d consumed earlier with Gibbs. In all the years Tristan had been drinking, never had he had such a reaction.
What were the odds the rum was laced with some kind of drug that made him feel as if he were floating right out of his body?
Groaning, he fought against his mind trying to come alert—to snap out of this haze he’d been put under. Why had he taken the vile drink in the first place? Now he cursed the spiked rum for making his head swim and his stomach twist. He vowed never to touch liquor again.
He took in a deep breath and moved into the stable. Gradually, his limbs weakened. Fi
nding the strength, he lifted his hands and scrubbed his face, trying to get the blood flowing through him enough to bring him alert. His muscles began to ache and his body felt stiff. Indeed, someone had put some kind of drug in his drink!
He opened his eyes and tried to focus. Darkness surrounded him at first, and then a small amount of light came from the far end of the stables. Slowly he turned his head, but the movement was still too fast and his stomach lurched in protest. Closing his eyes, he gritted his teeth to keep the contents of his stomach down where it belonged.
In the silence of the room, a horse snorted and shuffled his feet. Once again, Tristan blinked open his eyes and this time things appeared slightly clearer than before, but not much.
Tristan took his time moving toward the light…only because the blasted barn wouldn’t quit spinning around him. Right here and now he made another vow…never to touch the vile drink again!
Mentally, he shook his head, remembering he’d already made that vow a few seconds ago. The vile drink be deuced! He would swear off liquor forever!
He inhaled deeply, and then exhaled slowly hoping to force his mind to be more attentive. He could overpower whatever drug he’d taken since he only had a few sips.
Taking small steps, he continued to move his feet, keeping his hand on the wall as an aide. The light he’d seen earlier had been the back door that was still open, and thankfully the moon was full tonight which helped make the pathway out of the stable brighter.
As he came closer to the stable door, he wondered why it was still open. Usually the stable hands closed it when they put the horses down for the night. He blinked a few more times, but still his eyesight wasn’t as focused as he’d wanted.
Shuffling of footsteps was heard, so he stopped…as did the footsteps. He trained his ears to listen for other sounds, but he couldn’t detect anything unusual.
Just as he took another step, a shadow appeared at the door. He rubbed his eyes, hoping to see better. It hadn’t worked. His vision was still blurred.
“Who goes there?” he asked in a dry throat.
The longer he stared at the shadow, the form finally took shape into a person. A woman, actually. His heart lifted. Was it Diana? He could only pray.
“Who are you?” he asked again as he took another step closer.
All he could tell was that the woman wore a black hooded cloak. Although the hood was over her head, the sides of the cloak were pulled back for him to see her silver and white dress. He couldn’t see her face at all. Yet she seemed too tall to be Diana. So who was this visitor?
“I demand you tell me,” he spoke louder this time.
The woman’s hand moved away from her body and she was holding something long and pointy. The moon hit the steel just enough that it shined.
He sucked in his breath. She held a knife! Worthington and Elliot were stabbed to death. Was Tristan to be next?
He came to halt and flattened himself against the wall to hold himself up. “I demand to know who you are and why you are here.”
“I am here to kill you, my lord.”
The woman’s voice was low, and he didn’t recognize it. Perhaps if he got her to talk to him a little more, he would be able to tell who this person was.
He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. “You wish to kill me? Do you know who I am?”
“Not to worry, Lord Tristan. I have not confused you with anyone.”
“Why do you want me dead?”
She took a step closer. “Because you are getting too close to the truth, and I can’t have you turning me in to the magistrate.”
Confusion left his brain groggy. “Are you the one who killed Lord Hollingsworth and Lord Elliot?”
“Those men had to die because of their ill treatment of their servants. You, Lord Tristan, have not beaten or raped your servants as these other men have, but you still must die. I need to continue to rid the world of people like Hollingsworth and Lord Elliot.”
“You are not making any sense, madam. I beg you, please tell me who you are.”
The lady laughed. “I see you are feeling out of sorts. I’m happy to know my servant drugged your rum as I’d asked him to.
“Please, Madam. Tell me who you are.”
“You had thought Tabitha was the killer, but she’s not, and because you put ideas into the magistrate’s head, he had her arrested. And because you are giving the magistrate false ideas, you are in turn hurting my friend. I cannot have that at all.”
I know this lady! Now her voice was starting to sound familiar, but because his hazy mind was not quite alert, he couldn’t pinpoint this lady’s identity.
“Then allow me to ease your mind,” he told her gently…soothingly. “I promise you I have not gone to the magistrate with any information. I had accused Tabitha, but within a few hours I realized my mistake. I assure you, I will not speak to the magistrate until I have solid proof.”
“Not if you are dead.” She came closer.
Silently, he prayed he would be strong enough to hold her off—or at least take the knife from her hand before she stabbed him. Unfortunately, the room still tilted and he couldn’t get his bearings.
“Is it money you want? Tell me how I can convince you to leave me alone?”
A low chuckle rumbled through her. “I am not in want of money, my lord. Only revenge.” Lifting the knife higher, she lunged toward him.
Instinctively, he raised his hand to protect his face, and at the same time scrambled to get out of her way. His limbs were too slow. The sharp blade of the knife sliced through the skin on his right arm. Burning pain ripped through him, turning his stomach quicker than alcohol had ever done.
When she pulled back and raised her hand again, he took the opportunity to move away from her. Unfortunately, he feared because of his drugged stated, she would eventually overpower him.
Oh Lord, help me!
* * * *
Diana wandered outside, unwilling to sleep. How could she when her friend was in prison?
Since the moment the magistrate hauled Tabitha away, Diana had been doing all she could to get the maid released. Both she and Claudia had been busy today, calling on people to get statements from them, and collecting anything they could that would prove Tabitha’s innocence. Most of the evening, Diana had spent talking to the magistrate, pleading with him to free Tabitha. She’d explained to him about Tabitha’s beating two nights before Ludlow had died and that she couldn’t possibly had killed him. Diana also explained how she had kidnapped Tristan and that Tabitha had been keeping watch on him the very night Lord Elliot died. So why hadn’t the magistrate believed her?
The whole day had passed in such a state of confusion and left her mind in a dither that she had forgotten to send Tristan a note. Now it was too late. But she really wanted to see him…she needed to see him. She needed to be in his arms while he comforted her.
She glanced toward the stable. Hopefully, Claudia wouldn’t mind if Diana took a horse. She just couldn’t wait any longer.
As she walked toward the stable, she wondered why a lantern had been left on. Perhaps a stable hand was still in there putting the horses down for the night. But the closer she came to the stable, voices rang out from inside. She couldn’t quite discern who was speaking, but whoever it was, they were arguing.
Perhaps she shouldn’t go in and disturb them. It would be hard, but she’d have to wait until tomorrow to see Tristan. But then Tristan’s voice rang through the air, strong and laced with panic…almost demanding, her heart jumped in fear.
Something was wrong. She just knew it.
Within seconds, he cried out.
Lifting her gown to her ankles, she sprinted down the grassy slope toward the back of the stables. Finally, she reached the edge of the structure. Out of breath, she quietly tried to step toward the voices as she listened intently.
“You, Madam, are mad! If you kill me, you would surely hurt your friend…a friend you have claimed to care so much about,” Tristan s
aid.
Diana inhaled sharply. Kill him? Someone was trying to kill him?
Fear sliced through her, and she knew she must do something quickly, although running back to the house to get help was not the right thing to do. Somehow, she must interfere.
“Oh, Lord Tristan, you are certainly full of yourself tonight if you think that your death will hurt Diana.”
Stumbling, she couldn’t believe what she heard. This was about her? Impossible!
“Contrary to what you believe, Diana loves me as much as I love her.”
Tears stung her eyes and her heart melted from his words, but panic still make her limbs shake. One way or another, she had to help him.
“Not to worry, my lord. I will be there for her and soothe her when she hears of your death. I assure you, she will forget about you soon enough.”
That voice! Oh, good heavens. It couldn’t be…
Diana took quick steps and rushed through the back door. The woman wearing a dark, hooded cloak turned toward Diana with a knife raised in the air, ready to swipe at her.
“Claudia, no! It is I, Diana.”
Her friend gasped and quickly brought her arm in back of her to hide the knife. The movement knocked the hood from her friend’s head, and the woman’s blonde ringlets gleamed in the moonlight.
“Diana… Wh—what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to stop you from killing the man that I love.” She looked at Tristan. He stood against the wall as if he were trying to hold it up. He gazed at her through hooded eyes…as if he were intoxicated and he was carrying his right arm… His bloody arm. “Tristan, you’re bleeding.” She rushed past Claudia and to Tristan. With one hand, he reached out to her, pulling her beside him.
“It’s just a scratch,” he said softly.
Although it was dark and shadows danced everywhere, the moon’s light let her see that the blood on his arm was not from a little scratch. Anger filled her, and she swung toward her friend. “Claudia? Did you stab Tristan?”
The Sweetest Love (Sons of Worthington Series) Page 25
