by Anne Mallory
"What are you doing here? Where’s James?"
Finn was moving back toward the door. He didn’t answer.
"James is inside?"
A fear unlike anything Calliope had experienced swallowed her whole. She had thought she had no strength left, but blood pumped through her veins as she chased after Finn. They reached the porch stairs when a loud crack sounded and the second-floor supports began to give way.
"No!"
Finn grabbed her and hauled her away from the porch. "You can’t do him any good, miss, if you get yourself killed going in there."
Calliope tried to push through him, but Finn was an immovable object.
She kicked him in the shin, used his surprise to push him off the porch and then raced through the front door. Vivid memories of her mother running inside their townhouse returned with painful clarity. Calliope felt sick and terror consumed her, but her foremost thought was finding James.
"James! James! Where are you?"
There was no answer. The entire back of the house was engulfed in flames. Sparks singed her hair and face. Seeing a shape ahead, Calliope dropped to the floor and crawled on hands and knees to the back hallway. James was pinned between a beam and the floor. He was trying to move the obstruction.
"What the hell are you doing? Get out of here before the ceiling collapses," he shouted.
It wasn’t exactly the welcome she had been hoping for, but she ignored his orders, panting as she tried to lift the beam. It was heavy. Falling cinders and scorching heat blasted her. Her bloody handprints stained the wood.
"If you don’t move your bloody arse towards the door, I will kill you myself."
"If you could carry out that threat we wouldn’t be here right now."
His eyes tried.
She bent her knees and heaved. Nothing. Suddenly Finn was next to her helping to lift the beam. The splinters of a crushed chair littered the floor around James. She grabbed one of the chair legs and used it as a lever under the beam. Finn grunted; she pushed. One more inch . . .
He was free.
James scooted out from under the beam and rose unsteadily to his feet. He nodded at Finn, who ran toward the door. James pressed her forward and she stumbled. Scooping her up, he hobbled as fast as he could.
Planks were falling everywhere and the opening of the door was surrounded by flames. James pulled her head against his chest and leaped through.
Chapter 16
Calliope closed her eyes as they dove through the burning doorway. James twisted in the air and took the brunt of the impact as she landed on top of him.
Together they collapsed on the grass, entwined and panting for air.
"How did you find me, James?"
"So that I could kill you." He coughed, his brows drawn together.
Calliope looked into his pain-filled eyes and fell in love with him all over again. She smoothed a lock of hair from his eyes and ran her fingers down his cheek. "How did you find me; not why. "
He grunted. "It was something Holt said."
"Holt knew I was here?"
"No, but he said the Earl of Flanders was often seen visiting Terrence Smith."
"You know about Flanders, then?"
A cinder landed on his torn shirt. "Yes."
Finn interrupted. "Do you think we might move away from the house?"
She scrambled to her feet and James followed. James limped a few steps before bending over. His hacking coughs inspired a similar reaction in her.
After a few minutes of bone-jarring coughs, her throat was raw but her lungs were clear. Satisfied that she was still intact, Calliope grabbed the cane from the ground. The handle was slick with blood where she touched it.
James was still bent over when she offered it to him. He took one look at the handle and grabbed her hands.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?"
He checked her hands, ignoring her head shake.
"Who did this?"
"l did it while trying to escape." Calliope pointed at the cane. "Cut them on the blade."
An icy mask fell over his features. "And your ripped dress?"
She had never seen him so angry. Calliope looked down at her hands. There were deep cuts oozing blood and she’d probably have some scars. But they still worked and that was all she was worried about at the moment.
James tore his cravat in two and wrapped the pieces carefully around her palms. He then picked up his discarded jacket and placed it around her shoulders.
Neighbors gathered around the edges of the property to watch the edifice burn. They were muttering among themselves, concerned about their adjoining properties.
"You’d think people would have used stone to build after the Great Fire."
"One can never be too careful."
Some kind-hearted soul had begun a bucket brigade to extinguish the flames, but it was a futile attempt. The building would be a total loss.
Finn dumped Terrence’s unconscious form into the carriage. His body sprawled across one seat. James lifted Calliope into the coach so she didn’t have to use her hands. As soon as he sat down, he pulled her onto his lap. She rested against his shoulder and he laid his cheek on her hair. She felt better than she had all day.
"Why did he start a fire?" James asked.
"It had to be the papers Flanders asked about. Terrence wouldn’t tell him where they were hidden. Destroying the whole house, with us in it, was the most efficient way to accomplish all of his goals." She shuddered. "But how did Holt know Flanders was the villain?"
"He recognized Flanders’s ring. Apparently each ring is unique and Holt knows the markings on all of them."
She kept silent for a minute.
"We need to fetch a doctor for both Terrence and Stephen. Is it safe to send for one now?"
James nodded against her head. "Hopefully Stephen is awake and I can tell you both my plan."
They reached the townhouse and James lifted her gently from the carriage. He spoke to Finn, who nodded and then continued down the street. James and Calliope walked unsteadily to the door. No one greeted them and the door remained closed.
James opened it. "Where are the footmen?"
They walked slowly into the hallway. The two beefy footmen weren’t at their posts.
Something exploded in the backyard. They ran to the windows and saw Stephen’s carriage house ablaze. All of the servants were working to extinguish it.
James pulled out his pistol and pushed her behind him. "I should have had Finn take you someplace safer. I thought we had time."
The shrieks of the horses and yells of the servants trying to extinguish the blaze reverberated through the otherwise empty house.
"I want you to go back to the street and hail a hackney," he whispered.
"No. We have to see if Stephen is still upstairs. I’m not leaving without you," she whispered back. She wasn’t going to budge.
He narrowed his eyes. "Stay behind me."
Their footfalls registered on the marble floor with each step.
There wasn’t a servant in sight.
The stairs rose into the distant shadows. Each step increased her anxiety. Calliope’s nerves were frayed by the time they neared her door.
James reached for the handle but it was flung aside. A flash of movement from the corner of her eye was the only warning she had before a rough hand twisted her arm from behind.
"Move inside, my lord." Curdle’s oily voice and fetid odor coated Calliope’s skin.
Flanders stood inside the doorway. "My, my . . . your survival skills are amazing, my dear. Glad you two could join my little party. Where is Terrence?"
"He’s safe," James said.
"We shall see. I don’t think Terrence has enough survival skills to last long."
Calliope looked to the bed. Stephen’s eyes were burning holes into Flanders’s expensively tailored coat. His complexion was still pale, but he was conscious. Curdle shoved her forward, positioning himself with his back to the corner.
"Stephen, are you all right?"
"I’ve had better days. You two don’t look so well either."
Calliope gave him a weak smile and tried to edge away from the gun’s barrel.
"Don’t you worry, my sweet. You will be the last to go. I have plans for you." The whispered voice repulsively caressed her ear as he ran the gun down her side. "I thought I’d lost my chance, but the fates are kind today."
James’s eyes were murderous as he moved toward them, but he stopped when the hammer cocked at Calliope’s side.
"The good Mr. Chalmers has deigned to grace our presence once again," Flanders said. "You were lucky you had such a faithful watcher Chalmers, or else we would have had you days ago."
Stephen frowned in obvious confusion, but said nothing.
"But you finally made a mistake, Chalmers," Flanders said with relish. "At our meeting I noticed your expression when you saw Holt’s ring. I knew then that you had mine or at the very least knew where to find it. You found Salisbury just before he died; it made sense you recovered it, even though I didn’t find it on him myself. "
"Why did you need it back?" Calliope’s interruption caused Flanders to shift his attention to her. James was inching toward Stephen and he needed more time.
"I needed that ring back so I wouldn’t be implicated. The ring identifies me as plainly as my face."
"Implicated in killing my father? Why did you do it?"
"The bloody bastard was investigating us, his own team, and he was too close to finding the truth."
"The truth that you were working with Bonaparte, not against him?"
Flanders stared at her, mouth gone slack. James and Stephen both turned to her as well.
Calliope continued. "If the group’s sole purpose was to work against Bonaparte and the members started cannibalizing each other, then it was because some of you were working for the general."
Stephen nodded at her. "Our intelligence sources detected a resurgence of correspondence and suspicious movement among Napoleon’s staunch supporters. We knew the Old Guard was assembling and that plans for Napoleon’s escape from Elba were being hatched."
"A contingent of us was sent to Austria to work out the particulars at the Congress of Vienna prior to Wellington’s arrival," James said, "Meanwhile, Stephen, Merriweather, Roth, Holt and Salisbury were working in Brussels and France gleaning information from informants. Shortly after Wellington’s arrival at the conference, it was announced that Napoleon had, in fact, escaped from Elba and was returning to France. What I want to know is, what were you doing there?"
Flanders narrowed his eyes. "It matters not, as it is." He snorted. "Funny how you have figured that out, yet you have no idea who is really behind the whole thing."
"You killed my father," Calliope said.
"I was second in command, and I did the dirty work. But I wasn’t the one responsible for the organization."
Flanders emitted a strange noise, like he was trying to say more, but his mouth caught in a sickening position as he slumped to the floor, his pistol dropping harmlessly beside him.
"No, you weren’t," a new voice agreed.
Calliope stared at the stiletto protruding from the inert form on the ground, then slowly moved her gaze to the silhouette in the doorway. Lord Holt strode nonchalantly into the room, gun cocked and poised.
Curdle’s gun was still pressed firmly against her side, although the weight of the little man was shifting. He was obviously trying to decide what to do.
Holt stared at the man behind Calliope. "Curdle, correct?"
He must have jerked his head in the affirmative, because he didn’t make a sound.
Holt smiled. "Good. I think we can work out a deal between us. I know what you want. You can have her and be well compensated for your time."
Calliope was unaware of what was happening behind her, but whatever it was, Holt seemed satisfied.
James and Stephen were preparing to move, their faces tense with concentration.
"Tut, boys. At this range Curdle can’t miss killing Miss Minton if you persist on playing the heroes."
Curdle grasped Calliope’s hair, yanking her head back. Pain radiated through her skull. They stopped.
Holt slipped into the blue padded armchair near the door. His actions were casual, but he kept his gun trained on James. Another pistol was tucked into his waistband.
"Thank you for gathering together. It saves me a lot of trouble."
"I was going to expose you. The invisible power behind the French conspiracy, " James gritted.
"Naughty boy, you didn’t tell me Stephen was alive. But it was a fact that one of my spies remedied. Without that small slip, you had me convinced I was in the clear."
"You had a Falcon ring, and I would never suspect you of being a follower. You could only be the leader of such an organization. Furthermore, you are the only one who could have pulled any of this off. No one else had the contacts. And you never had to soil your own hands; all you had to do was appoint spies to key positions as diplomats and agents. If anything went wrong, they would take the blame. You were the perfect double agent with the perfect motive—the illegitimacy of your son. I should have killed you earlier."
" Yes, perhaps you should have."
"Who found your son’s real birth certificate?"
"The French, obviously, and then Flanders stumbled upon it. Of course, he was ecstatic when he found it. He figured he had something on me should his ring ever be found. And then the ring was found. I made sure you, Angelford, were out of the way and flashed the ring to Stephen at his debrief, hoping he would discover Flanders, and that one would kill the other. Flanders was greedy, but not an idiot. He had Curdle, here, plant Edmund’s real birth certificate on Ternberry in order to show me he was serious with his threats. Ternberry, the poor fool, came to me the minute he found it, a huge mistake on his part."
"Why kill Ternberry at Pettigrew’s?"
"I didn’t attend the party; no one could connect me to the event. There were plenty of people present on whom to cast blame. Flanders, Pettigrew, the two of you, even Roth, if I had desired to try that tack."
"Why did Ternberry return to the party?"
"I informed him that I wished to confront the villains, and he agreed to accompany me. Poor fool. Always did have an inflated opinion of himself. "
"So, all this time you and Flanders have been trying to frame each other. How trite."
"No, Flanders was trying to frame me. I was trying to kill him." Holt shrugged. "Looks like I won."
Calliope broke in. "I thought you and my father were friends."
"We were, my dear. We were the very best of friends. Unfortunately, the French found Edmund’s damn birth certificate. Used it against me. When your father started investigating the intercepted messages between our camp and the French, I had to make a choice."
"A choice?" Calliope’s voice came out strangled. "A choice as to whether to murder your friend?"
"Edmund would have been ruined, all our lands dispersed to some country bumpkin of a cousin. Edmund couldn’t be made to suffer for Salisbury’s persistence." Holt gripped the gun tightly.
"His persistence to identify the traitors? You’re crazy."
"No, I am merely living within the limits of the nobility. I would think you, with all of your guises, always living on the fringe of society, would understand."
Calliope stood motionless.
Holt smirked at her in amusement. "You, Angelford, and Chalmers have been blessed by great fortune. I thought Curdle here would have done you all in long ago. Chalmers somehow survived the beating by Flanders’s men and drowning in the Thames and Angelford survived being shot by my highwaymen. And you, my dear, have survived not one but two fires. A pity you didn’t die long ago with your lovely mother."
"You bastard. My mother did nothing to you."
"Flanders always liked fires a bit too much. Seemed to think they hid all his mistakes. She had evidence that was damning--his ring.
But it seemed to have survived the fire. How was that?"
She said nothing.
"It doesn’t make a difference in the end." He sneered and rose. "Now, then, what should we do, my dear? You have been a thorn in my side and caused me no end of trouble."
Calliope saw a flash and rose on her toes to block Curdle’s view of the doorway. He jabbed her hard in the spine. She winced, but spoke quickly to keep all attention on her. "You betrayed your nation, you abused your position of trust and you masterminded the deaths of friends. I think maybe you should run."
