“And what of Sarah? What happens when she is permitted to continue putting her faith in this only to possibly be proven wrong one day?”
Benedict tossed up his hands. “What do you believe, sir?”
“I believed that my nephew was dead,” Middlethorp said. “I have always believed it because I couldn’t imagine that anyone ruthless enough to steal a babe directly from its mother’s arms would be foolish enough to then leave that child alive.”
“Then there you have it,” Benedict said. “I am not Viscount Vale.”
“I said believed, Mr. Mason… not believe. For the first time since Sarah’s son was taken, I am given cause to doubt my assessment. You are so very like her that I cannot think of any other plausible reason for such a similarity. It would help if we could question the couple who adopted you.”
Benedict froze. “That is not possible.”
“Would they not tell the truth, then?”
“They cannot tell you anything,” Benedict said. “They are dead. Both of them.”
Middlethorp’s eyes narrowed. “An accident?”
“No. It was not an accident… I killed them,” Benedict admitted, uttering words that damned him completely.
Middlethorp said nothing for the longest time. He remained completely silent as he surveyed Benedict critically. Finally, he asked, “Did they deserve it?”
“Every single day of our lives,” Benedict answered. “My only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner.”
“Why?”
The question was a simple one, uttered with a complete lack of judgement. Benedict could hear that in the other man’s voice. Perhaps it was that lack of judgement that prompted his answer. “To protect Mary from something far worse than simply his fists. We’d both taken our fair share of beatings, but I could see that the way he looked at her had changed. Young as I was, I knew enough to recognize lust when I saw it.”
“And did you save her?”
“I did… I began keeping a knife tucked under my bed.” The nightmare returned, the horrible memory of their father, drunken and violent, entering the small loft that he and Mary had shared. But he was awake, reliving the memory for once. “I didn’t intend to kill him…only to defend her and keep him from—just to stop him. But he was drunk and violent. He began hitting me and her. We struggled and fell to the floor and then he stopped.”
Benedict paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. He’d never spoken of it, never said aloud the awful things that had happened that night. “I felt the blade sink into his belly and then the blood. I’d never seen so much of it.”
“How old were you?” Middlethorp asked. The question was uttered softly.
“I don’t really know how old I am. I was never told what year I had been born in. Birthdays were not marked or even commented upon,” Benedict answered striving for an even tone, struggling to regain his composure. “Fifteen years have passed since.”
The other man nodded sagely. “If you are, in fact, my nephew, that would have made you thirteen at the time. Not quite a child, but very far still from being a man… and yet you did what men do. You protected those you love from harm. There is no shame in that. No sin in it.”
“I murdered my father.”
“You killed a man who never deserved the title of father,” Middlethorp corrected. “Any man that would beat a child with his fists, or worse, that would look upon a young girl with lust when he was supposed to have been her father, has no right to be called such.”
“He didn’t die immediately… he lay there bleeding for a long time. Mary wanted to get our mother to help him, but I wouldn’t let her. I made her sit there with me and watch him die. That’s hardly the hallmark of a brave man, is it?” Benedict argued.
“It’s the hallmark of a wise one. Had he survived, he would have killed you and then there would have been no one to protect her,” Middlethorp pointed out. “What became of your mother?”
“Mary lured her from the house, saying she’d heard a noise and thought it might be father needing help.” Benedict could recall how she’d protested having to lie, how terrified she’d been. He’d badgered her into doing it. More than anything else, forcing her to be a part of his crimes left him riddled with guilt. “While they were out of the house, I set fire to it to hide our crime. When our saw mother saw the flames, she rushed back and ran into the house. We tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen to reason. She said she wanted to die with him… I didn’t mean for her to die. But the simple truth is I’m not especially sorry that it happened. Had she lived, no doubt she’d have either abandoned us or brought in some other man who would have harmed Mary just the same.”
“As far as I am concerned,” Middlethorp offered, “no crime has been committed. It was an accident. You were defending your sister and his own drunkenness caused him to behave imprudently. Had he not had impure intentions, he would never have been in harm’s way to start. You’ve saved you sister once and you will do so again, but first, let us locate Miss Masters and move forward from there. I have only one request of you, Mr. Mason. Do not make promises you cannot keep.”
“I have promised Lady Vale nothing,” Benedict insisted.
“And it was not Lady Vale of whom I spoke.”
*
Mary ran until her sides ached from the exertion. Her slippers had long since been lost during the days when she’d lain senseless from whatever drug they’d forced upon her. The cold, hard ground had torn at her feet, leaving them aching and bleeding. Still, she trudged on. She had to. It was one thing to await a rescue when others knew where she was and where to look for her. As she herself had no notion of her current location, it seemed more than a little foolish to assume that others would be able to find her.
Branches snagged at her hair and her dress. Every noise made her jump. Had her captor managed to free himself? Had others gone looking for him when he did not return from serving her evening meal? Were they in pursuit even at that very moment?
Every question that circled rapidly in her mind only fed her fear and anxiety. Already at their peaks as she was running through unfamiliar woods in the dark, Mary did her best to force those thoughts aside.
Ahead of her, she could see light through a break in the trees. It was still early in the morning, not quite dawn. Yet in the deep shadows of the trees, even that had been impossible to tell. The opening ahead of her could be either a stream or, God willing, a road. Slowing for just long enough to catch her breath, Mary proceeded cautiously. Once she reached the opening, she sighed in relief. It was, in fact, a road. It posed dangers of its own, she supposed, but at least she felt that she was making progress in her escape.
Turning to her right, she headed in the direction of what she could only hope would be a village or town. If she were lucky, it would be the road back to Bath. She could return to the small room she’d rented from Mrs. Simms and plead with the woman for mercy. Clean clothes, a bath, food she wasn’t afraid to eat, and she could send for her brother to come fetch her, if he wasn’t in Bath already to look for her.
The rumbling of carriage wheels and the thunder of hooves brought a moment’s elation, but it was immediately overshadowed by fear. What if they had employed a carriage in their search for her? What if it wasn’t someone who meant to help her, but simply to place her in captivity once more?
It might have been instinct or it might simply have been her traumatized mind prompting such thoughts. Regardless, Mary ducked back into the trees, crouching down and making herself as small as possible.
The carriage slowed and then stopped near her. The driver peered into the shadowy recesses of the woods and Mary’s breath caught.
A man’s face appeared in the carriage window. “Why have we stopped?” His tone was sharp and impatient.
“I thought I saw somethin’, my lord… running alongside the road and into the trees!” the driver explained.
“It was a deer most likely. Drive on!”
“What if she’s gott
en out?” the driver asked.
The man laughed. “No one ever has, Jones. Drive on.”
As the carriage moved forward, the driver still clearly reluctant, Mary breathed a sigh of relief. She had narrowly dodged a miserable fate. What if she hadn’t listened to that small niggling voice of doubt? What if she’d been foolish enough to ask them for help?
“How did you know?”
The deep voice whispered from the darkness behind her and it was all she could do to stifle her scream. Whirling, prepared to run again or to fight with everything in her, Mary faced down the person who’d managed to slip up so soundlessly behind her.
She couldn’t see anything more than his shadowy silhouette in the darkness. It was enough. He was tall and broad of shoulder. Even without the ability to make out detail, she could feel the power of him.
“I won’t go back,” she vowed. “You may as well kill me now.”
“You will go back,” he said softly, but with complete conviction.
He stepped closer, close enough for the moonlight to illuminate the harsh planes of his face. Not handsome, but arresting, he had the bearing of an aristocrat or perhaps a soldier. She knew, of course, that being in possession of a title of honor did not make one an honorable man. “What is your name?”
“Mary Benedict,” she lied, not wanting to give her last name. Benedict was wealthy enough that ransom was a genuine fear. At this point, she had no way of ascertaining whether this stranger was a villain in his own right, employed by those who had captured her, or something else altogether.
He smiled as if he saw the lie for what it was. “You’re coming with me, Mary Benedict,” he said.
No, she wasn’t. She’d had more than enough of being bullied and told what to do by men. When he reached for her, Mary did the thing her brother had taught her. Drawing her leg back, she brought her knee up swiftly, catching him squarely between his muscular thighs. When he dropped to the ground with an agonized groan, she turned and fled through woods again.
She could hear him giving chase behind her, the tress thrashing and leaves rattling. Forcing herself to move faster, to increase her speed and put greater distance between them, she ignored her protesting muscles and her heaving lungs. Despite her determination, he appeared to be gaining on her. Stepping off the worn and overgrown path, she dove deeper into the trees. Her foot slipped in the mud and she struggled to regain her balance. A stifled scream escaped her as she fell, the ground rushing up to greet her. Her head struck a large section of the tree roots and the world went completely black.
Chapter Twenty
Benedict ducked behind a stack of barrels and watched the comings and goings from the various warehouses along the waterfront there. There were small boats coming and going on the canals, mostly hauling goods and passengers between Bath and Bristol. It wasn’t difficult to ascertain which one was housing things other than simple merchandise. One building, out of all those he surveyed, remained completely quiet. No one came or went from it and it remained locked up tight.
“That’s the most likely location, I think,” Benedict said. “This time of morning should be bustling and not a soul is stirring there.”
“It’s certainly suspect,” Middlethorp agreed. “I asked, under the guise of being a merchant looking to expand my operation, who owned it and the gentlemen working in the establishments next door could not tell me. They stated that they’ve not seen anyone entering or exiting from it in ages. It had belonged to a man by the name of Carstairs but, apparently, he lost it on the turn of a card. No one knows to whom.”
“I’m going in… I’ll slip through the alley and around to the back. You keep watch on the front door in case someone comes to move her.”
Middlethorp nodded his agreement. Benedict remained concealed behind barrels and crates but kept moving forward until, at last, he could duck around the side of the building. There were two windows in the upper part, and someone had, thankfully, left several crates in the alley. Stacking them carefully, Benedict climbed up until he could reach the windowsill. The wound at his shoulder burned like fire, but he ignored it as he pulled himself up and through the narrow opening.
The window itself led to nowhere. There was no floor, no room, only open space, save for a few beams below him. Lowering himself carefully onto one of those beams, he broke out in a sweat as it groaned beneath his weight. There was a small staircase and a single room across the way. The door was shut and barred. Even from a distance, he could see the heavy bar in place. If she was inside the building, that was no doubt where she would be.
Every step across the narrow beam, his booted feet sliding in the dust and grime that had settled there through the years, had him gritting his teeth. When at last he reached the railing at the top of the narrow stairs, he let out a long, slow breath. It hissed between his teeth as sweat dripped from his brow.
As he reached for the heavy bar that held the door fast, Benedict uttered a quick prayer beneath his breath. He didn’t know that God had any interest in hearing from him, but he said it just the same. He prayed that he would find at least one of them safe and unharmed behind that door.
*
Elizabeth had become attuned to every noise, every single creak and groan of the ancient building. She’d known the minute they left her there, when the building had gone eerily silent. She’d heard the rats within the walls. She’d heard the shouts of the workmen in the streets below. For some time, she’d shouted back at them, screaming for help. But no one had heard her or if they had, they had not bothered to answer.
Too afraid to lie down, afraid of falling asleep and terrified of the scurrying sounds within the walls, she’d sat perched on the edge of that dirty mattress for hours it seemed. Of course, the light coming through the small, dirty window high above her showed that it was still only morning. It was fear that made her feel she’d been there so long.
The slight shuffling she heard, followed by the creaking of the beams that extended above her prompted her to leap to her feet. There was little in the room in the way of weapons but a single floorboard she’d managed to pry up with her bare hands. Gripping it with all her might, she braced herself on the other side of the door and waited for whoever was about to come through it.
The grating sound of metal moving signaled that the bar was being lifted. When the door swung inward, she raised the board, prepared to bring it down with all the force she could muster. At the very last second, recognition dawned and she managed to narrowly avoid striking her rescuer.
As she tossed the board aside, Benedict grabbed her, pulled her to him and held her tightly.
“You came,” she whispered, her words muffled against his chest. “You came for me.”
“Of course, I came for you. Why the devil did you think I wouldn’t?”
She looked up at him and the tears she’d managed to hold at bay since being tossed into the back of that wagon began to fall. “Because no one else would have.”
He stared at her for a moment, his eyes widening, and then he offered her a vow. “Wherever you are, I will always follow. I promise you that, Elizabeth. Nothing will change that.”
It was a promise he could not keep. He meant to, and it was not his sincerity that she questioned, but the reality of their society, because she would never be accepted and never be forgiven for her previous fall from grace. “Even if you are Lord Vale?”
“I’m Benedict Mason. They can tack on any titles and names they like, but I’m still me. I was still raised poor, dirty and hungry, and I still run a gaming hell that not too long ago doubled as a brothel… I’ll never be an aristocrat, Elizabeth, no matter what they call me.”
He meant it. She knew that he did. Every time she’d questioned his honesty, it had been more about her past than about his character. He’d been honest from the start.
“What about Mary?”
“She’s not here,” he said. “There is no other space in this building where a person might be kept. But we have an i
dea where to find her. I’ll get you back to Lady Vale and then I’ll set out for her.”
A horrible thought pressed in upon her then. Guilt wracked her. “It will be my fault if you don’t. If you hadn’t been injured trying to save me, if you hadn’t had to take yet more time to rescue me again, you might have already found her! Oh, Benedict—”
“If I hadn’t rescued you, I wouldn’t have found myself in Lady Vale’s care. That was a stroke of luck, Elizabeth, not misfortune. I’ve reconnected with a family that was lost to me before. Whether I find Mary today or not, I know who took her, and that’s the first step in tracking her down,” he insisted. “And there is only one person at fault here. It’s Lord Harrelson. He’s behind all of it.”
Elizabeth gasped with shock. It was Freddy after all. “Lord Wendell Harrelson?”
Benedict frowned at her. “You know him?”
“When I spoke to you of my indiscretion before… his name was Fredrick Hamilton. His mother is Lord Harrelson’s sister,” she whispered. “Oh, dear God! I cannot believe that Freddy would stoop to such levels. I suspected it was him because I couldn’t imagine it would be anyone else… but I never dreamed… you must be very careful, Benedict. They are ruthless people. I never knew how ruthless until I refused Freddy’s offer. He told me that he would see me ruined and he did. There was nowhere I could go that the whispers did not follow me. It wasn’t until Mr. Middlethorp that I found an employer who was willing to truly look past them!”
His expression turned grim. “You’ll never have to worry about them again. I swear it. Let’s get you out of here.”
The Vanishing of Lord Vale (The Lost Lords Book 2) Page 20
