“Mr. Henry!”
“Miss Simmons.” The constable nodded gravely.
Harmony looked past him to the two younger, but equally grim-faced men who stood behind him. “What … what are you doing here?” she stammered.
Agatha took a step forward. “They’ve come to arrest a jewel thief,” she announced jubilantly. “What?”
“You heard me. They’ve come to arrest your … fiancé.“
“No.” Harmony shook her head slowly from side to side in denial. “No …”
“Yes,” Agatha said tartly. “Thanks to the aid of some highly placed people, we have uncovered the fact that Anthony Allen, Lord Farmington, is no lord at all.”
“But that doesn’t mean—”
“The thefts began when he first made himself known in this community,” Mr. Henry interjected. “And let us not forget that it all began with your sapphire ring.”
Harmony couldn’t speak. An abyss had opened beneath her feet. At any moment she was going to fall into, and through, the earth.
“Yes,” Agatha echoed smugly. “Let us not forget. He claimed to have found your ring. I maintain that he stole it. Then used it to gain entrée into my home, into local society, in order to perpetrate more of his iniquitous crimes.”
Stunned, Harmony felt her jaw drop. Could it be true? Could it?
Her doubt lasted only an instant. A thief Anthony might be. But he had not used her. He loved her. She knew it beyond doubt.
“You just want to ruin my life, Agatha. Admit it!” Harmony cried.
“I want to save your life, you foolish girl. Not to mention your reputation.”
“You mean your reputation!” Harmony spat.
“How dare you?”
“Now, now.” Mr. Henry stepped between the two women. “There’s no point in denying it, Miss Simmons,” he said to Harmony. “We have all the proof we need.
I’m sorry, but your … friend … is definitely the man we’ve been looking for.”
The full impact of the reality hit Harmony with the force of a blow to the abdomen. “No!”
With all her strength, Harmony pushed Mr. Henry aside and bolted for the door.
“Stop her!” the constable shouted.
Harmony felt rough hands grab her arms. She struggled, but the two other officers held her tightly. She kicked one of them and was rewarded with the sound of a grunt.
“Take her to her room,” Agatha ordered. “The vixen! Mrs. Rutledge, show them the way. Lock her in!”
“Nooooo!” Harmony screamed. She tried to kick again, but the two men simply lifted her off her feet.
Thus suspended, she was carried through the hallways and up the stairs to her room. Mrs. Rutledge opened the door and the men carried her inside where she was deposited unceremoniously on the floor. The men left, closing the door behind them. Harmony heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. She flew at the door.
“Let me out! Damn you, let me out!”
Harmony balled her fists and banged on the door until her hands were raw. She kicked. Futilely. Once again, she was a prisoner.
Sobbing hysterically, helplessly, Harmony sank to the floor in a pool of sapphire silk.
Anthony drove until they reached the turnoff into the wood that surrounded Agatha’s home. He hauled his team to a stop.
“You drive from here,” he told the coachman. “And remember. We’re picking up a lady. Please treat her like one. And say as little as possible.”
The man nodded, a serious expression on his round face, and pressed a finger to his lips. Anthony climbed down and into the coach. He tapped on the front wall, hoping the driver would know what it meant, and was gratified when the carriage rolled forward.
Only a few more minutes, he told himself. Only a few more minutes and he would have Harmony safely away. Another hour to return to London and the small, private chapel where a few of his closest friends awaited. Then they would be united forever. His every prayer would be answered, his every dream come true.
Anthony tried to relax for the remainder of his journey, but it was difficult. He found himself on the edge of his seat, literally, when the coach finally pulled into the gravel drive. He was surprised to see another vehicle, a rather shabby one at that, already parked in front of the house. A prickle of apprehension traveled
down his spine.
Not waiting for the driver to climb down from his box, Anthony opened the door himself. He had one foot on the ground when the front door to Agatha’s house opened and three men emerged. The one in the lead raised a pistol and aimed it squarely at Anthony’s chest.
“Put your hands up,” the man ordered. “You’re under arrest in the name of the Queen.”
Time came to a halt. This was incomprehensible. Slowly, Anthony raised his arms. He saw Agatha appear at the top of the front steps. She squinted in the bright sunlight. And smiled.
While the one man held the gun on Anthony, the other two came around to flank him. One of them pulled his arms down and pinned them at his back; the other slapped on a pair of handcuffs.
“And to what,” Anthony drawled sarcastically, “do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“Jewel theft,” Mr. Henry replied promptly.
“You’re out of your mind.”
“No, Mr. Allen, I am not. It was you who was out of your mind if you thought you’d get away with your thievery indefinitely.”
“This is outrageous!”
“Shut up!” Agatha, who had been watching from the top of the steps, hurried down the path to stand behind Mr. Henry. “Shut up, you … you scoundrel.
You fiend!”
Anthony forced himself to recover a measure of calm. “Miss Simmons, I’m afraid there’s been a great and terrible misunder—”
“Don’t you ‘Miss Simmons’ me!” Agatha shrieked. “Gag him! Gag him!”
“Don’t you worry, Miss Simmons,” Mr. Henry soothed. “We’ve been warned about his silver tongue. We’re ready.”
“What are you—?” It was all Anthony got out before a strip of linen was clapped over his mouth and secured tightly at the back of his head.
It couldn’t be happening. It simply couldn’t be happening.
“All right,” Mr. Henry said. “Take him to the wagon.”
There was no point in resisting. The two young officers hustled him toward the other vehicle. He was shoved rudely inside and stumbled with his hands secured behind him. Quick as a cat he turned over on his back, not trusting the two officers. As he did so, he chanced to look up. His heart froze within his breast.
“Anthony!” Harmony screamed. She thrust her window all the way open and leaned precipitously over the sill. “Anthony!”
The coach door slammed shut. Harmony was lost from his sight.
Harmony did not think she would ever sleep again. She had lain down on her bed out of sheer, physical exhaustion. She had paced the floor, pounded and kicked on the door, and screamed herself hoarse. She had carried on until sheer exhaustion had felled her. Never had she actually expected to fall asleep. But she awoke, with a start, to realize darkness had fallen. Harmony scrambled to her feet.
“Anthony …”
Where had they taken him? To jail?
Was she still sleeping and tangled in the fabric of a nightmare?
Not bothering with a light, Harmony hurled herself at the door and raised her hands to begin pounding anew. It opened so suddenly she lost her balance and nearly fell into her sister’s arms.
“Agatha!”
“Who else did you expect? Your charming fiancé?” she inquired cruelly.
“Where have they taken him?”
“To jail, of course. Where he belongs.”
“You can’t do this. He’s innocent!”
“Oh, yes I can. And no, he’s not.”
“You can’t prove it! You can’t prove any of it,” Harmony said desperately. “There’ll be a trial and—”
“Oh, no, there won’t be.” Smiling, eyes fixed
on Harmony, Agatha shook her head. “That’s what I came to tell you, as a matter of fact. So I could spare you needless suffering and worry. There will be no trial.”
Harmony’s arms suddenly felt so weak she didn’t think she could raise them if she wanted to. “What … what do you mean there won’t be a trial?”
“Just what I said.” Agatha’s smile never faltered.
“But you can’t … it can’t happen that way. It’s not—”
“It’s what some very powerful people want,” Agatha interrupted. “And so that is the way it will be.”
“People? Lady Margaret, you mean.” Harmony’s tone had subtly hardened.
“Lady Margaret’s husband will never let it be known they hosted a common criminal in their home.”
“He’s not a—”
“The scandal would be ruinous,” Agatha went on blithely, ignoring her sister. “There’s our family name to consider as well. And your honor, Harmony.”
“I don’t care about my honor!”
“No,” Agatha agreed. “You obviously do not. I, however, do. Furthermore, I still hope to see you respectably married one day. No decent man will have you should it become known you were involved with not only an impostor but a criminal.”
Harmony’s fists were clenched so tightly her fingernails cut into her flesh. Unnoticed, a drop of blood fell to the floor. “He is not a criminal,” she said through gritted teeth. “And you cannot deny him a fair trial.”
“Au contraire,” Agatha replied lightly. “There will be no scandal because there will be no trial. Anthony Allen will simply disappear. The story will be put round that you and he had a lover’s spat, and he moved on.”
“You can’t make Anthony ‘simply disappear.'”
“Oh, no?” Agatha’s smile was almost feral. “You underestimate the power of the people who are my friends. Anthony will be hanged at dawn, secretly. Even now, as we speak, a scaffold is being erected within the confines of the Millswich jail.”
Horror clutched at Harmony’s heart. Icy terror held her in its grip.
But her anger was growing. And it was white-hot.
“You witch,” she hissed.
“Call me all the names you like, sister dear,” Agatha snarled. “There’s nothing you can do to save your precious Anthony now. I’ve won. I’ve beaten you!”
“And it’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it, Agatha?” Harmony said with quiet menace. “It’s what you’ve wanted all your life.”
In response, Agatha laughed, a sharp, bitter sound like the bark of a dog.
Harmony smiled grimly. “Well, Agatha, this is
what I’ve wanted.”
Harmony put all her strength, all her anger, all her desperate fear for Anthony into the punch. It caught her sister squarely on the jaw and lifted her from her feet. She flew backward and slammed into the door-jamb. Her expression registered momentary surprise. Then her eyes rolled up in her head and she slipped to the floor. Something fell from her pocket.
It was a key. Harmony had seen it before. It was the key to Agatha’s safe.
Her thoughts whirled madly. There was money in the safe. Enough money, perhaps, for she and Anthony to get far away. If she could save him, rescue him. If …
The idea formed even as Harmony dragged her sister inside her bedroom. She slammed the door behind them and turned the key that Agatha had left in the lock. Then she raced down the hall to her sister’s room.
It was a daring plan. Risky. With very little chance of success. And a very large chance of failure … and death.
But she had to try. She had to.
Chapter Twenty-six
Harmony waited for a rush of fear, guilt, anything. But the only thing she felt was power. Power and strength and determination. She ran into Agatha’s room and fell to her knees in front of the safe. The key turned smoothly and she yanked the door open.
It seemed the money almost leapt into her hands. She had no qualms whatsoever about taking it. When she had grabbed as much as she could hold, she jumped back to her feet. And realized her terrible error.
Everything she needed was locked in her bedroom with Agatha. Furthermore, Mrs. Rutledge would certainly be coming ‘round soon to see her mistress safely tucked into bed. Teeth bared, hands fisted around the money, Harmony knew what she had to do.
Holding up her voluminous skirt, Harmony took the stairs two at a time. At the bottom, she temporarily shoved her wad of bills into the potting dirt of a spindly potted palm. Barely in the nick of time. She heard footsteps approaching from the direction of the dining room and kitchen.
Her worst fear was not realized, however. It was not Mrs. Rutledge who appeared moments later but Sophie, the cook. She carried a tray with a pot of tea, a cup and saucer, and a small plate of biscuits.
“Sophie!” Harmony exclaimed, surprised and grateful.
“Miss Simmons. I hope I didn’t alarm you. Mrs. Rutledge has gone off to bed and I’m bringing the mistress her nightly tea and biscuit.”
“How kind of you. But here, let me help you. I was just going upstairs myself.”
Harmony held her breath for a moment, but Sophie willingly surrendered the tray.
One hurdle leaped. Balancing the tray carefully, Harmony retraced her steps to the bedroom. Agatha had apparently regained consciousness. The pounding and screeching began almost the moment Harmony reached her door. She set the tray down, inserted the key in the lock, and prepared to do battle.
Agatha was on her the instant she crossed the threshold.
“Bitch! Whore!”
Agatha’s eyes were nearly as wild as her hair. Her arms pinwheeled as she tried to strike Harmony, fingers curled into talons. Spittle flew from her lips as she spewed her imprecations. What Harmony knew she had to do did not bother her in the least.
This time her blow was not spur of the moment, but well planned and precisely aimed. Harmony hadn’t grown up rough-and-tumble on a cattle ranch for nothing. She knew where to put her fist to obtain maximum results. When she connected with her sister’s left temple, Agatha went down like a marionette whose strings had been severed. She would be out for a good, long while.
Mrs. Rutledge safely tucked away for the night, Sophie undoubtedly on her way to bed, and Agatha out cold, Harmony set to work with a vengeance. The first thing she did was strip to her chemise and petticoats, then pull open the lid to her recently packed trunk. Rummaging madly, she finally found what she was looking for at the very bottom, wrapped in a split riding skirt.
Triumphant, Harmony laid the bundle on the floor and carefully unwrapped it. A surge of something fierce and primal surged through her breast. Without further thought she stepped out of her petticoats and pulled on the riding skirt. It took only moments to locate a cotton blouse, and her fingers did not even fumble when she fastened it. Her eye was on the prize; she would not falter.
Black gloves and riding boots almost completed the ensemble. There was only one thing left to do in the house. Bending down, Harmony picked up the holster and fastened it low on her hips. It felt wonderful, powerful, liberating to slip her revolvers into place. A brief test of their proper placing for a quick draw and she was almost ready to leave.
The seeds of a plan had germinated in Harmony’s head and she hastily packed a smaller bag with some items she ticked off in her fevered brain: riding breeches, a Stetson, one of her looser fitting gowns, and a matching bonnet. Feeling as if it might be an omen, she noted the gown she had selected was blue. It was time to go at last.
It gave her grim satisfaction to once again lock Agatha into the room. At the bottom of the stairs she retrieved the bills, shoved them into her pockets, and buried the key in the dirt. Mrs. Rutledge had her own set, of course, but maybe the action would set them back just a little. An instant later she was out the door and on her way to the stable.
Harmony blessed her father for his insistence on her learning to drive a team. It took only a scant few minutes to take Agatha’s horses fro
m their stalls and set their harness. Even amid the turmoil of thoughts spinning in her head and the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she felt sorry for the underfed, ungroomed beasts. In that moment she decided she would do whatever she had to do to keep them with her and never return them to her sister. If she survived.
The coach was heavy, but Harmony managed to haul it by its shafts out into the open. The docile horses were quickly and easily hooked, and Harmony climbed up onto her driving seat. She had already stowed her bag inside.
The first thrills of absolute fear began worming their way through Harmony’s body. How late was it? How close to dawn? How much time did she have left? Then the next problem asserted itself, and she put aside the tormenting questions.
The solution occurred to her almost as soon as the problem presented itself and Harmony turned her team down the road to the inn. When she arrived she kept the coach in the shadows of the attached stable and slipped into the fragrant darkness unnoticed.
It was a good night for Maggie. The inn must be full. There were several mounts to choose from.
A clean-limbed bay gelding was swiftly tacked. Having already assessed the animal, it was relatively easy to judge its worth, and she threw a number of bills into the now empty stall and led the horse out of the barn where she secured the reins to the back of the coach. Within moments she was off again, in a race with the dawn.
The long night was almost over. Anthony knew because of the barest lessening of the darkness in his cell. Dawn approached. What did it bring with it?
He feared the worst. Something was very wrong. And not just the fact that he had been arrested. It was the way he was being treated.
Painfully, Anthony drew his knees up under him. Back pressed to the damp, moldy wall, he pushed to his feet. It was difficult with his hands still cuffed behind his back. The gag remained in his mouth as well, and his tongue was as dry as a desert. He had a powerful thirst. He had a powerful fear, too.
He had never heard of anyone under arrest being treated this way before. Of course, he wasn’t privy to the law’s deepest, darkest secrets. Was he about to become one of them? It was possible, he had to admit.
Lady Blue Page 20
