Marie said, “It was a treat to listen to you stumble around, to know that I could have poisoned all of you at any time, but Judith wanted to kill you, so what could I do? Don’t move, my lord, because if she misses you, then it is I who will shoot you.”
Douglas said, “You want to know what I see, madam? I see a young girl who wants what isn’t hers and is prepared to kill to gain it, a young girl you’ve twisted into a monster. As are you, her aunt. Did Georges ever see through you, madam?”
“Yes, but it didn’t matter. The madness had him, made him a pathetic creature. But he endured, remembering scraps here, telling Louis things he shouldn’t have. It cost me very little to hire a man to kill him.”
Judith didn’t seem to care that her aunt had killed her father. She said, “Enough! I don’t wish to kill everyone in this house. I must shoot you, my lord.” She flicked a look at Jason. “And you too, I fear, Jason. A pity. You really are such a beautiful lad.”
LOUIS CADOUDAL WAS nearly over the edge. James felt numbing fear, felt his heart pounding heavily against his chest; he didn’t want to die; he didn’t want to leave his family, leave Corrie. In that instant, James saw Corrie’s face, saw her smiling up at him, touching him, kissing him. She loved him, had always loved him, but now she loved him as a woman loved a man. And he would give his life for her, he always would have. It had happened so suddenly, this knowledge that he wouldn’t want to continue if she were no longer in his life. And he knew if something happened to him, it would destroy her.
James felt calm flow through him, and determination. He wasn’t going to leave Corrie, ever. He knew that he had to control this madman, and that meant keeping him talking. He said easily, “You know, Louis, your English is quite fluent. How did you manage that?” And as he spoke, his fingers were sifting through the ancient hay that covered the rotted floor, to find something, anything, to help him.
Thank God it did the trick. Louis Cadoudal took a long deep breath, the wild color in his face faded, and he even laughed. “After my father died, we went to Spain. And after that, Ireland. I even had an English tutor. Since I was young, I learned to speak your ridiculous language without an accent. If you are wondering, my father had rich Irish cousins, a very good thing. My poor father, how he wanted to go down in history as the man who’d dispatched Napoleon. But he didn’t. He loved you English, wanted me to be an English gentleman, and it appears that is exactly what is to happen.”
“I don’t think so. Everyone knows about you, Louis. How can you imagine that you can simply kill me and my father, present forged marriage lines to the magistrates, and expect them to welcome you into the fold?”
“How arrogant you English noblemen are. You think me stupid? I will kill both you and your father, then I will simply leave. I won’t return for several years, but when I do, I will have witnesses to say that I was in Italy, and that I only just discovered the marriage lines in my dead mother’s trunks. There might be those to suspect me, but there will be no proof. Your brother, Jason, will be the earl. He will step down, naturally-if we and our aunt decide to let him live.”
“Who is we?”
“My sister and I, of course. She is, at present, dispatching our father to hell, where he rightfully belongs. Judith told me she didn’t want my father’s blood on my soul, as if I would care. And you will shortly join our father in hell, brother.”
James wanted to be surprised, but he wasn’t. Somewhere, deep down, he’d wondered. “You’re telling me that Judith McCrae is your sister?”
“Yes, of course. She will leave Lady Arbuckle in due course-another pawn who has performed her role sufficiently well-and come to Europe with me with our aunt, whom you know as Annabelle Trelawny. Both will return with me eventually and take their places at my side.”
James couldn’t help himself, the words flowed out of his mouth. “And what about Corrie? Is Judith going to kill her as well?”
“Ah, that little wife of yours. I must say that I was quite impressed with her ingenuity. Imagine a young lady in a ball gown jumping in the tiger’s perch on the carriage back, then charging like a knight into the cottage to rescue you. A pity she got you away, I so wanted to kill you then, but it wasn’t to be.”
James had felt through nearly all the straw he could reach, and was losing hope. Then his fingers touched something cold and hard. It was an old bridle bit, still attached to one leather rein. It was solid and heavy. It took him precious moments to pull it close enough to tuck it into his right hand. He had it; now he had to ready himself. He’d have only one chance.
He saw that Louis was smiling, and that frightened him. He’d rather have a madman angry than amused.
Louis said, still smiling widely, “Yes, I find myself very impressed with your young wife. I have discovered recently that she is also an heiress, that she lined your pockets, stuffed them to overflowing actually. Perhaps she will be ready for a new husband in a couple of years. A young gentleman who is well-traveled, such as I, can certainly please her as well as you. What do you think, brother?”
James prayed harder than he ever had in his life when he lurched up to his knees and hurled the bridle bit at Louis’s face. “I’m not your goddamned brother!”
“GO TO HELL, my lord,” Judith said, and fired the derringer, the shot sounding loud and sharp in the drawing room.
Jason screamed “No!” and threw himself in front of his father at the moment she fired.
At the same time, another voice yelled, “No, Judith! No!” And there was another sharp report.
Corrie saw Jason leap in front of his father, saw Judith’s bullet slam into him, then saw her own bullet hit Judith through the neck as she was turning toward Corrie’s voice.
At the same time, Annabelle Trelawny, or whoever she was, whirled about, the dueling pistol aimed at Corrie. But Hollis, now coming up quickly behind her, shoved her to the floor. He stood there a moment, staring at the first woman he’d loved in more years than he could remember, and said, “It is enough, Annabelle. It’s over. Give me the gun.”
“I’m Marie, you ridiculous old man.” She raised the gun to shoot him when another shot rang out. She grabbed her chest, stared for a moment at Corrie, who was now on her knees on the carpet, holding her derringer in both hands, the smell of gunpowder sharp and powerful in the still air. Slowly, Marie swayed where she stood. She looked over at Judith, who lay on the floor, blood gushing from her neck and out of her mouth. Then she fell, making little noise, her skirts cascading around her.
Corrie heard a noise, a keening sound, and realized it was coming from her own throat. Douglas held Jason in his arms, tearing open his shirt to bare the wound. He never looked up, but his voice was more urgent than she’d ever heard it. “Corrie, quickly, fetch Dr. Milton here right away. Hurry.”
Douglas wasn’t even aware Corrie had run out of the room. He was aware that Judith was probably dead, lying on her side not ten feet away, the derringer beside her, her aunt lying not far from her. He was looking down at Jason’s still face. His son had saved his life, the last thing Douglas would have wanted. Then Jason’s eyes slowly opened. “I brought her here, Father, I brought her here. I’m sorry.”
“No, Jason, you didn’t know. None of us realized. Be still now, don’t move. I swear to you that everything will be all right. Corrie’s going to get Dr. Milton. She shot Judith and her aunt. I think both of them are dead. Even though your brother hates it, I’m very pleased that Corrie is such an excellent shot.”
A small smile touched Jason’s mouth, then his head lolled to the side. At that moment Alexandra came running into the drawing room, saw her husband holding their son in his arms, rocking him back and forth, his face leached of color but the rage in his eyes still burning deep.
“Jason? Oh God, Douglas, oh God. Where is James? Oh God, where is James?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
THE BRIDLE STRUCK Louis squarely in the nose, all of James’s strength behind it. The force of the blow knocked hi
m back, and he yelled with the shock of pain and furious surprise. Blood spewed from his nose. He howled as he jerked the gun up, but James was faster. Even as he fired, James was rolling toward him. The bullet struck the floor, sending rotted splinters flying upward.
James was on him in an instant. He was aware of a sharp stab of pain in his head where Louis had struck him down, and ignored it. He grabbed Louis’ wrist and squeezed, feeling the bones crack. He wanted that gun. He wanted to shove it down Louis’ throat and pull the trigger. Louis’ nose was broken, blood still gushing out. But he was strong, and death was in his eyes and in his brain. He wanted James to die; he wanted to take his place, and he fully intended to.
They grappled, rolling across the hay-strewn floor, rotted through in many places since this old barn had been abandoned many years. They were of nearly equal strength, but it was James’s soul-deep rage that gave him the edge. He knew it, nourished it, let it fill him. He heard the words come out of his mouth, so calm he sounded, the rage banked, “I’m going to kill you, Louis. I’m going to kill you right now.” James jerked down Louis’ arm until the gun was between them. James felt Louis’ wrist break, heard him moan, but it didn’t matter. Louis drove his knees into James’s back. James nearly buckled with the pain, but he managed to hold on. He drew the gun lower, lower, until it was pointed at Louis’ chest. He looked down into the young man’s eyes, the young man who wanted to obliterate his family for no other reason than he believed he could do it. All the rest of it, a lie woven to justify his greed.
James squeezed the trigger.
The bullet slammed into Louis Cadoudal’s chest. His body heaved, arched upward. Then he fell back. He looked up at James, opened his mouth, his blood bubbling out. “Brother,” he said, then he said no more.
James threw himself to the side and jumped to his feet, breathing hard. He was alive. Alive. He didn’t waste time on Louis. He grabbed up the gun and began running. He was a half mile from the Hall. And Judith was there. Had she and Annabelle Trelawny killed his father?
JAMES CAME RUNNING through the front doors of Northcliffe Hall at the same time Dr. Milton arrived. Neither man spoke to the other, James because he was breathing too hard. Hollis was there, tall and straight, but his face was pale. “In the drawing room,” he said, then watched both men run into the room.
For the first time in his seventy-five years, Hollis didn’t know what to do. His mind was a barren wasteland. He walked slowly after Master James and Dr. Milton into the drawing room, and stood there by the door, guarding all of them, he supposed, and then he simply prayed. He looked up to see Ollie Trunk, the Bow Street Runner, stagger through the front doors. Hollis said, “The doctor is here, thank God.”
Ollie whispered, “The blighter got me, Hollis. He got me!” And he collapsed onto the front entrance hall.
It was in that moment that Hollis came back into himself. No matter what had happened, it was up to him to make things right. He knelt beside Ollie Trunk and said, “You’ll be all right, Ollie, you’ll be all right. I’m here now.”
Douglas looked up at Dr. Milton, saw James, and thought he would yell with the relief of it. He slowly raised his palm that he’d been pressing hard against Jason’s shoulder and saw that the wound was bleeding only sluggishly now. “The bullet struck him in his left shoulder, too close to his heart, dammit; it’s still in him. It looks bad. Charles… please hurry.” He recognized in that moment that he’d been scared when Freddie had come to them in London and told them that James was ill, but it was nothing compared to this. His boy had saved his life, damn him. Douglas was beyond fear now; he planned to kill Jason himself if only he would survive this.
James stood there, white-faced, watching his father move aside for Dr. Milton, looked at his father’s hands, covered with Jason’s blood. He watched his father take his mother into his arms, and they stood there together, holding each other, making no sound, their eyes on Jason. Then he heard someone whisper his name.
“Corrie, oh God, Corrie,” and she was in his arms, pressed hard against him, and she was whispering about Judith and Annabelle Trelawny.
Judith, he thought. Judith. Then he saw the blanket covering a body some feet away from where Jason lay on the sofa.
“I killed her, James,” Corrie said, but she didn’t cry, held on tight. “I shot her just as she fired at your father, only Jason ran in front of him, then I killed Annabelle Trelawny because she was going to kill Hollis. She’s really Judith’s aunt.”
“Good for you,” he said against her hair. “I’m very proud of you, Corrie, more proud than I can say. You belong to me. Don’t you ever forget it.”
She became perfectly still against him, then she sighed, a soft deep sigh and leaned into him, her head on his shoulder.
They stood silently until Dr. Milton looked up and said, “I will not lie to you, my lord, my lady. It will be a close thing. However, Jason is young, healthy, and very strong. If anyone can pull through this, he can. Now, we must get him upstairs in his bed, and I must get that bullet out of him.”
TWO NIGHTS LATER
“I knew he was going to die,” Douglas said, his face in his wife’s hair. “At midnight, his breathing hitched and then it just stopped. I knew he was dead, Alex. I nearly died myself. I held him against me, then I shook him, I was so angry at him for throwing himself in front of me. Then, thank God, he started breathing again.”
She held him even more tightly. “He’s all right now, Douglas. He will survive this.”
“Yes, I know that now.”
They weren’t alone in Jason’s bedchamber. James and Corrie were sitting very close together on a sofa that had been moved in, both of them awake when Douglas had brought Dr. Milton from his bedchamber to see to Jason.
Douglas said, “Jason didn’t say anything to me, but he opened his eyes, Alex. Opened his eyes and he smiled. Then he fell unconscious again.”
Douglas looked over at Dr. Milton, who took Jason’s pulse, then lifted his eyelids. He said quietly, “He isn’t unconscious, my lord, he’s asleep. For the first time. His breathing is deeper now. I think he’s escaped the fever.” Dr. Milton rose, lightly touched his hand to Jason’s shoulder, and straightened. “I think he will pull through this. Now, all of you, go get some rest. I will remain by his side.”
No one left Jason’s room, of course.
Douglas didn’t rest for a very long time. James and Corrie were leaning against each other, finally asleep. Alexandra’s head was against his shoulder, and he heard her soft breathing. He thought of Lady Arbuckle’s ordeal; Douglas had sent Ollie Trunk, recovered from the blow on his head, back with her to Cornwall this morning, Hollis still clucking over him. Lady Arbuckle was scared to death for her husband, and no wonder. So was Douglas. He doubted that Lord Arbuckle was still alive, but he wasn’t about to say it out loud.
No one had said a word about Annabelle Trelawny. Hollis had come into Jason’s bedchamber that first evening, stood by the door, straight and tall. “I am ready to retire, my lord.”
Douglas had looked up, realized what Hollis had said, and frowned. “What is this nonsense? You will not retire, old man. A family member does not retire from the family.”
Hollis stared over at Jason, unconscious, his breathing so shallow it didn’t seem like he was breathing at all. He looked at his bare chest, covered with a large white bandage. His boy was unconscious, his face still, too pale. Hollis’s breath hitched. “I must, my lord. I am responsible for all of this.”
Douglas was scared to death for his son, and here was Hollis, wanting to shoulder all the blame. He wanted to tell Hollis to go to bed and sleep for all of them, but one look at the old man’s face, and he stilled. “You are not responsible for any of it, Hollis.” He didn’t say Annabelle Trelawny’s name. He never wanted to say that name again for as long as he lived.
Hollis drew himself up even straighter. “I brought that woman here. I was so besotted, my brain ceased to function properly. She used me, my lor
d, to make all of you trust her.
“I must retire, my lord. I have hurt all of you. I must somehow make retribution.”
Alexandra, red-eyed from lack of sleep, worry, and tears, said, “I will think about this, Hollis. There will be fitting retribution for your crimes. Now, we want you to go to your bed. Drink some of his lordship’s brandy. Sleep, Hollis, else you won’t be able to carry out your punishment. Believe me, retirement is far too easy.”
Hollis bowed, said “Yes, my lady,” and left Jason’s bedchamber.
Douglas looked at his wife. “Well done,” he said. “I believe his shoulders were even straighter when he left than when he came in.”
DOUGLAS WAS FINALLY dozing, dreaming of a day long ago when he’d first taken his boys fishing, and Jason had caught a trout and gotten so excited that he’d lost his balance and fallen into the water, losing that fish. Douglas was grinning at the memory when he came awake suddenly. He looked over at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly four o’clock in the morning. Three branches of candles kept the shadows away from the bed, but the rest of the chamber was in gloom. Dr. Milton was asleep on the truckle bed three feet away. Both Corrie and James were asleep, as was Alexandra. The bedchamber was dead silent. What had awakened him?
He rose immediately and walked to Jason’s bedside. He sat beside him, picked up his hand, a well-shaped hand, tanned, strong.
Jason opened his eyes and said, his voice a rusty whisper, “I suppose I am alive?”
“Yes, and you will stay that way,” Douglas said. He wanted to hold his son against him and never let him go, but that would hurt him. He lifted his hand, stroked it, felt the warmth of his flesh, the blood that flowed through his son’s body. Thank God he was alive. Then Douglas wanted to yell at him. But he didn’t yell, not quite. “I love you, Jason. I also fully intend to beat you to within an inch of your life for throwing yourself in front of me to save my life.”
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