Before she could even take a swing at him, Benedict was up. He moved toward the man in a low crouch, slamming his shoulders into the larger man’s abdomen. They tumbled backward through the door. Wood splintered. A short, tight scream split the silence.
Elizabeth rushed forward, her heart in her throat, thinking that Benedict had fallen to the hard, stone floor below. But as she stepped onto the landing, he was there, hoisting himself back up onto the wooden planks. She swayed and managed to catch herself, planting her hands firmly on the wall.
“Do not faint,” he said. “We haven’t time. I can’t imagine he’s Harrelson’s only employee.”
They rushed down the stairs. The narrow wooden steps had become even more rickety minus their upper railing and appeared in danger of collapse with each step they took. Rushing outside into the pale morning sunlight, Elizabeth was heedless of the fact that she was in her nightdress and wrapper. She wanted nothing more than to be safely ensconced once more in Lady Vale’s townhouse, surrounded by servants and without a moment’s privacy to herself.
Mr. Middlethorp was waiting. Somehow, by means she surely did not wish to know, he had procured a small gig for them. Elizabeth let out a mild squeak of alarm as Mr. Middlethorp grasped her arm and hauled her up beside him. Benedict climbed onto the back. Without a word, Middlethorp cracked the lash over the horses with enough skill that it never even came close to touching their flesh. Immediately, the cart surged forward. Behind them, she could hear the commotion and assumed that it probably had something to do with the manner in which he’d obtained the vehicle.
“I don’t think you’re a gentleman either,” she said.
Middlethorp smiled. “That may be the kindest thing any of my employees has ever said of me, Miss Masters. Thank you.”
*
Zella Hopkins opened the door to her home and let herself inside. It was dark and cold, as all the curtains were drawn and the day servants had been dismissed. No fires had been laid, no bricks warmed. The house was as silent as a tomb.
Harrelson followed her inside. He intended to lay down the law and she intended to let him or at least grant that illusion.
“I need whiskey,” she said abruptly. “If you mean to have this chat now, I need fortification first.”
“It’s barely past ten,” he pointed out.
“I wouldn’t care if the rooster had just crowed,” she snapped back. Crossing the narrow hall to her small study, she opened the door and stepped inside. Her gaze fell to the desk and her eyes fluttered closed in relief for only a split second. The ledger and the letter had been taken. Providing that information was the only small step available to her to possibly atone for her sins. It wouldn’t be enough and hell was surely waiting, but at least she felt better about the going.
Opening a cabinet behind the desk, she retrieved a bottle still sealed with dark red wax. She placed it on the desk and put a glass next to it.
“And why are you not drinking from the bottle that is already opened?” Harrelson asked. He was a suspicious man with a nasty turn of mind that had served him only too well over the years.
“Because it’s watered down. I’m not wasting good whiskey on the fools who darken my door. They wouldn’t know the difference anyway,” she answered evenly as she carefully opened the bottle and deposited a healthy amount in her glass. She lifted it and took a deceptively small amount into her mouth for the long swallow she portrayed. If her deception failed, she’d be free of him regardless. But her plan, all along, had been to take him with her.
He smiled cooly. “Well, now that I can be certain you aren’t trying to poison me, I’ll take a glass as well.”
“But it’s barely past ten,” she answered in a mockingly sweet tone. “Surely a gentleman such as you would not indulge in strong spirits so early in the day? Only us lower class folk would be so crude!”
He strode toward her, grasped her wrist and took the glass from her hand. “You forget yourself, Zella. I am not the type to tolerate your word games and sharp tongue. Remember that.”
She watched as he took a healthy swallow from the glass. It wasn’t enough, but it was a nice start. Retrieving a second glass, she poured another healthy measure into it and began sipping, slow and steady. She didn’t mean for either of them to make it out of that room alive but she wanted to watch him shuffle off the mortal coil before giving it up herself.
“I do hope your little Irishman managed to successfully carry out the abduction of Miss Masters this time,” Harrelson said, settling himself into one of the chairs. “I would hate to disappoint Freddy again. He’s such a dear boy and has never asked a thing of me till this. She fair broke his young heart when she refused him.”
“She refused to marry him?” Zella asked in mock incredulity. She didn’t care, honestly. Women, in her opinion, had the right to refuse a man anything. They seldom agreed and seldom accepted the refusal in her experience.
Harrelson laughed. “Oh, no! Never that. He has a wife. Quiet, meek, biddable… and an heiress. Miss Masters was his first love, so to speak. He’d thought to keep her as his mistress after he wed but she proved less than amenable to that offer. And while meek, biddable heiresses are certainly a boon for the family coffers, I think they leave something to be desired in the marriage bed.”
“There are other women,” Zella replied. “Women who would gladly accept his offer. Why torment the girl this way?”
“Because she wounded his pride,” Harrelson said. “We are an unforgiving lot. You’re very lucky, Zella, that I hold you in such affection. Otherwise, this little escape you planned would have gone very badly for you, indeed.”
Zella kept her gaze completely impassive as he raised his glass to her and then took another generous swallow of the liquid it contained. When he lowered it, the glass was very nearly drained.
“I wouldn’t say it went so badly. I’ll be free of you soon enough… one way or another.” Her expression was calm, her voice utterly serene, but inside she was dancing and shouting with joy.
“What a curious thing for you to say.” His voice cracked a bit at the end of his statement and he cleared his throat. When it did not relieve the pressure he was feeling, pressure she recognized because it was beginning to impact her as well, his eyes widened. “What have you done, Zella?”
“Something I should have done long ago… this world is a better place without you in it.”
“You drank from the same glass!” Harrelson protested, wheezing as he did so.
“We’re both dying, you bastard. I just sipped slower in order to watch you go first,” she said.
Harrelson tried to rise from the chair, but he stumbled, pitched to and fro and then sank to his knees on the carpet. His fingers clawed at his neckcloth and collar, pulling them away so forcefully that he drew blood from his own mottling flesh.
“Bitch,” he hissed, because his voice had been reduced to little more than that.
Zella said nothing, she simply took another sip and watched him collapse. He writhed there for a few moments, his body convulsing as he tried desperately to draw air into his failing lungs. When at last he stilled, his face pale and lips blue, Zella simply closed her eyes. She didn’t fight it. She didn’t try to escape what she had come to view as her destiny. The end of her life was a small sacrifice to ensure that his evil was eradicated from the world. There was no more fear. Death could not possibly equal the suffering that he had inflicted on her for so many years.
A gentle smile curved her lips as she thought of Dylan and drew her last shallow breath. She pictured him on a ship, sailing for America and a new life there.
Chapter Twenty-One
Upon her return to Lady Vale’s, Elizabeth was whisked away to her chamber and tucked into a hot bath. Mr. Adler had been there as they arrived and had joined Benedict and Mr. Middlethorp as they headed out toward Lord Harrelson’s estate.
Lady Vale entered the chamber just after Elizabeth had emerged from the tub. She had only just donned th
e wrapper that had been borrowed from Lady Vale for her as her own was too dirty and damaged to be salvaged.
“I trust you were not injured?” Lady Vale asked, once they were alone.
They both knew that injured was merely a euphemism for raped. “I am uninjured,” Elizabeth answered as she took a seat on the edge of the bed. She was still unsteady, her nerves frayed and her emotions barely in check.
Lady Vale sighed with relief, tipping her head back and uttering a soft prayer. After a moment, she took the single chair in the room and settled herself into it.
“There is a conversation we must have, and I felt it best to do it with as few prying eyes and listening ears about as possible,” Lady Vale stated.
She was being sacked for her inappropriate behavior with Benedict. There was little question of it and, in truth, Elizabeth could not fault her for it. “I will pack my things as soon I have finished here.”
Lady Vale tilted her head to one side, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I see. And where is it that you will go, my dear?”
“I have an aged aunt in Derbyshire,” Elizabeth answered. “She is a most unpleasant woman, but as she has become increasingly infirmed in the last years, I think she would welcome me.” It was a lie, of course. There was an aunt and she would certainly be permitted to reside with her, but to state that she would be welcome was a gross exaggeration. Her Aunt Helene would remind her on an hourly basis of all the various ways in which she had disgraced the family.
“Is that what you wish to do, then?” Lady Vale pressed. “To care for your aged aunt in the wilds of Derbyshire?”
“If there are wilds in Derbyshire, my lady, I have yet to discover them,” Elizabeth evaded. “It is an expedient solution to the crossroads we find ourselves at. You do not wish, and rightly so, for me to remain in your employ. And I would not be able to maintain a genteel life in Bath on the meager savings that I possess.”
Lady Vale nodded sagely. “Yes. That is a conundrum… but there is one part of it all by which I am still puzzled.”
“And that is?”
“At what point, you darling but utterly daft girl, did I or anyone else state that you were no longer welcome in this house?”
Elizabeth gaped at her. “Surely, after my disclosure to you about the nature of my interactions with Mr. Mason—”
“Lord Vale,” she corrected. “He is my son. Whatever proof Branson still requires will be addresses to his satisfaction, no doubt. We shall all have to accustom ourselves to addressing him thusly. Perhaps Benedict most of all. As for your disclosure, my dear—we have all, at one time or another, been imprudent. And it was pointed out to me, to my great shame, that I was trying to force my dear son to make the very same mistake that I did.”
“I don’t understand.” Elizabeth was more confused than ever. She had no notion what Lady Vale’s current motivation was or what on earth she was getting at, but the entire conversation left her at a distinct disadvantage.
Lady Vale rose and began examining the small selection of gowns that hung on hooks behind the chamber door. “We must introduce some color to your wardrobe, my dear. Quite frankly, these drab browns are more depressing than the black and grey of widow’s weeds!”
“Lady Vale!” Elizabeth snapped. Remembering herself, she softened her tone, “Lady Vale, if you’d please explain whether or not I’m to be sacked, I would appreciate it most greatly.”
“Oh, you’re definitely sacked, my dear. But you’re not going anywhere. Not yet. When you and Benedict have decided what it is you wish to do about one another… and I might add that it should be matrimony of some sort, whether it’s the reading of the banns and a big ceremony, by special license or, heaven forbid, a common license… it should happen. It’s the only way.”
“I cannot marry your son,” Elizabeth protested. “It would ruin him.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because I am not a virgin!”
“I should say not,” Lady Vale said, even as she blushed. “He certainly saw to that.”
“I was not a virgin when I came into your home, Lady Vale,” Elizabeth said bluntly. “While I have tried to behave in the most proper manner since my arrival—until recently, at any rate—I have not always been cautious and circumspect. I have paid rather dearly for it, too. There is scandal attached to my name and I would not bring it to his door!”
Lady Vale was silent for a moment, and then asked, “Do you love him?”
Elizabeth dropped her head. “I do. Of course, I do. I think I have from the moment I first laid eyes upon him.”
“That is infatuation, my dear. Love is something else,” Lady Vale insisted. “Love means that you want him beside you even when he’s so infuriating that you want to throttle him. Love means that you trust him to be there for you and to take care of you regardless of what comes, and the knowledge that you would do the same.”
“I do trust him, and I would certainly do anything I could for him… that includes removing myself from his life before I can damage it further!”
Lady Vale sighed heavily. “Do not be so self-sacrificing that you do a disservice to you both. He’s been missing for two decades. Half of society will not even accept that he is who we claim him to be. The other half will only want to get a look at him so that they can further aggrandize their on dits at other parties. His father died in the arms of his married lover while embroiled in the lengthy process of attempting to annul our marriage. If you think the scandal you bring to him is any more salacious than that which is already attached to his name—let them think what they will and let them say what they will. Live happily enough together for nothing else to matter.”
Was it truly that simple? Could she just be with him, assuming he wanted her and damn what the world thought of them? “What if it becomes too much? What if he hates me for it later?”
“And what if his past is too much for you… I believe him to be an honorable man but there is much we do not know of where he’s been and what he may have done in his life. Why do you assume your own sins are so great and insurmountable?”
Because they had been to everyone else, Elizabeth thought bitterly. Because her own father had disowned her, because only a handful of relatives on her mother’s side even continued to acknowledge her existence and, even then, it was only in letters filled with pious recrimination. There were no invitations to visit, no suggestions of how she might improve her lot in life, not even a letter of recommendation when she’d been searching for a position.
“He hasn’t asked me to marry him. I have the distinct impression that marriage is not something he has envisioned for himself… you may very well be pleading his case when that is the last thing he would wish you to do.” It was a reasonable argument and one that, if true, would surely break her heart.
Lady Vale nodded. “That is true enough. I am assuming his intentions are honorable. If they are not… then perhaps you are better off not to marry him. All I ask is that you do not run away… that you allow the necessary time to determine what your future with him might be before any decisions are made. Please, just remain here for now.”
Elizabeth considered her answer carefully. “I will remain for a while… but I cannot simply stay here indefinitely, especially as you will no longer need my services as a companion… and whether you choose to have a companion or not, I could not remain here after all is said and done. It would be very painful I think to be reminded on a daily basis of both my folly and my dashed hopes.”
“If it comes to it, and he is not the man I believe him to be,” Lady Vale vowed, “arrangements will be made for you. I will not simply see you tossed into the street or left at the mercy of relatives who, had they possessed mercy at all, would never have seen you here to begin with! Rest assured, Miss Masters, that one way or another, your future will be secured.”
*
Benedict was sweating again, profusely. His shoulder no longer simply ached but blazed as if on fire. No doubt the wound had be
come fevered. Ripping the stitches out and then taxing those healing muscles as he had would have resulted in significant damage.
The path they followed through the woods on Harrelson’s estate was narrow and overgrown, at times disappearing altogether. As he wound his way through the trees, he finally caught sight of what they’d been looking for. He whistled for Middlethorp’s attention rather than calling out, the sound mimicking the call of a bird.
The entrance to the abandoned mine was a heavy, wooden door with rusted iron hardware upon it—save for the lock. It had been replaced and was shiny and new. Even more curious, it was unlocked and the door itself was ajar.
As Middlethorp stepped closer, Benedict asked in a low voice, “Why would you go to all the trouble of installing a new lock on an old door if you mean to leave it standing open?”
Middlethorp shrugged. “Perhaps there is someone inside who can answer our questions, then?”
Benedict moved ahead first, pushing the door open cautiously. It was dark inside, cold and damp. No lamps burned and, for all intents and purposes, it appeared to be exactly as reported—abandoned.
Middlethorp entered the chamber behind him, and his booted feet struck an object and sent it skittering over the floor. It rolled to a stop after bouncing off Benedict’s own boot heel. Stooping to pick it up, he held it up to the light coming in from the open door. It was a delicately carved wooden button, something that would be sewn onto a woman’s pelisse or spencer. In short, it was an item that had no place in their current environment unless Madame Zula’s letter had been truthful.
Reaching for his neckcloth, Benedict tugged it loose and draped, then retrieved, one of the torches tucked into a bracket on the wall. He wrapped the cloth around it and Middlethorp produced a small flask from his waistcoat to douse it with, as well as a tinder box to strike the flame.
The Vanishing of Lord Vale Page 21
