Chapter 11
When the shot fired, a bolt of terror flashed through Catie. She expected to feel a burn, a sting, but she felt nothing. After the initial blast, a loud crack felt as if it split the fine hairs on her left ear and echoed deep in her stomach, causing her knees to buckle and give way. Without warning her legs folded in half and she fell to the earth, all the while keeping the infant in a tight hold.
The two children were wailing, but their cries sounded far off as if they were in a tunnel. There was scuffling and loud voices behind her, but shock had an iron cage over her senses. She could focus only on the ringing in her ears.
By the time it became clear that she hadn’t been shot and could make her legs work well enough to stand, Catie turned around to find Ben holding the butt of the rifle over Mr. Ledford’s bloody face. His steely eyes were fierce with a look determined to crack the man’s skull with the next blow. From beneath him, Mr. Ledford raised a trembling hand in defense.
“No, Bennet!” she cried out. “Don’t!”
Hair pasted to his head with sweat, Ben’s breath was short and ragged as he looked over at his sister. “Don’t, Brother,” she said softly. “Don’t hurt him.”
Straightening himself up, he angrily flung the gun across the yard and stumbled back a few steps. “Leave my property, Ledford!” Ben spoke the words so low and raspy they seemed to grate through his teeth. “Leave now, damn you!”
Never reaching a full upright stance, Mr. Ledford scurried to a rusting truck, which took several attempts to start, and sped off, leaving behind his wife, his crying children, and a billowing cloud of dust.
Mrs. Ledford rushed to her infant and murmured, “Bless you child,” to Catie. She took the squalling, heavy burden from Catie’s arms and, clutching her daughter’s hand, disappeared inside the house with her children.
Now alone with Ben, Catie stared at her brother. Strangely, she didn’t cry. She couldn’t. Her eyes were too dry for tears. Ben walked over and pulled her to his chest. His heart was racing, she could hear it. Taking her face in his hands, he looked upon it for some time and without a word, brought her back to his chest. So tight was his hold, her hair became damp from the perspiration seeping through his shirt. Catie heard, “Christ,” faintly escape the back of his throat.
Refusing medical care, the only aid Mrs. Ledford agreed to accept was transportation to her sister’s house a little over an hour away. Ben repeatedly assured her she could stay as long as she needed, but the woman politely refused, stating she would feel safer at her sister’s. That hadn’t been the first time her husband had “knocked her about,” as she called it.
Ben rang up to the house for Clark to bring a car. Clark Ferrell, Pemberley’s jack-of-all-trades, mended everything from fences to doors but also kept a clean white shirt in the kitchen in case a driver was needed. While they waited, Catie helped Mrs. Ledford gather the things that still lay scattered in the yard. It seemed odd to be folding laundry after what had just passed.
When they had finished, Mrs. Ledford took the basket of laundry inside while Catie sat on the steps with the Ledfords’ little girl perched on her knees as she introduced Catie to her favorite dolly. The car arrived and Ben came out of the cottage, stopping on his way down the steps to lift the child from his sister’s lap. “Go help your mummy,” he said tenderly as he stood her facing up the stairs. Then, with a firm grip under her arm, he brought Catie to her feet and said, “Mount up, Catherine.”
The grip and words seemed to have meaning behind them, making Catie glance cautiously at his face as she nodded.
Lowering the stirrups, she hoisted herself into the saddle. She watched Ben speak with Clark Ferrell and walk across the lawn to pick up the rifle. She watched him mount Geronimo. She watched until he looked over at her. Then she looked down and fiddled with Chloe’s reins.
“Come along, Catie,” he finally said, steering his horse to home.
She followed.
Sixteen years of being Ben Darcy’s sister had given Catie an understanding of his moods . . . especially the silent ones. He was quiet now, and she rode slightly behind to give him the space he needed, never taking her eyes off the gun resting on his leg. Guns themselves were a part of life at Pemberley. Both Ben and her father had enjoyed hunting on their land and often a party was made out of the affair. But the weapons locked in the gun room at Pemberley had never been pointed at Catie Darcy. She had been taught respect for weapons but never feared them . . . before now.
Urging Chloe forward a little, Catie glanced over at Ben’s hand. His knuckles were swollen and red, two of them missing the top layer of skin all together. Ben had never struck Mr. Ledford with the rifle as she had initially thought . . . he had pummeled him with his bare hands.
Casting her eyes from Ben’s hand to his face, Catie couldn’t help but think there was no braver man than her brother, a hero who had fought for her life much like in a novel.
Her thoughts had filled her with exuberance by the time they reached the stable yard. Dismounting in a jump, she skirted Geronimo’s hindquarters and was standing at Clancy’s side by the time Ben handed the rifle down to him.
As he took the weapon, Clancy saw the injuries to Mr. Darcy’s hand and noticed his clothes were dirty and disheveled. “Did you run into trouble, Mr. Darcy?”
Catie blurted out, “Oh, yes, Clancy, we did! But my brother — ”
“Catherine!” Ben’s tone was so sharp she felt it pool inside her stomach, like the rifle shot less than an hour ago. His eyes glued on her, he dismounted and approached his sister. His furrowed brow of disapproval caused her to swallow, but all she managed down her throat was a scratchy pocket of air.
“Go to your room,” he ordered with a pointed finger.
“My room?” she repeated.
Ben took a step closer to her, his eyes intent. “Was I not clear?” he asked firmly.
She glanced at Clancy, who was a front row spectator, then back to Ben as a crimson shade crept up her neck and filled her face. There was a catch in her voice when she tried to answer, and she knew she was about to cry. Humiliated, she turned and walked quickly away.
Pending fatherhood was one of many heavy weights burdening Ben Darcy as he walked to the house with Mr. Ledford’s rifle in his hand. Sarah had not yet shared her condition with him, but of course he knew. A first term miscarriage the previous year was the reason for her secrecy. Sarah’s concealment was to shelter him from another loss. That irritated Ben, but he allowed her privacy, reasoning that, without the fear of disappointing him, her stress would be lessened.
Although upsetting Sarah worried him, he knew once the grapevine of gossip got hold of what happened at the Ledfords’ it would only be a matter of time before she heard. The news that Catie had almost been killed had to come from him.
When Ben reached the house he inwardly cringed. Rose was awaiting him in the hall; clearly, the grapevine had already been humming.
Seeing the weapon and his condition, Rose gasped. “Good Lord, what has happened?”
Not wanting to incite a big to-do before he had spoken with Sarah, Ben was business as usual. “Catie and I ran into some trouble with one of the tenants.” He handed the rifle over to her. “Lock this up, will you, and call the authorities. They’ll need to come by so I can give them a statement.”
Rose took the gun from him. “But you’re a magistrate. You have no need to explain your actions on your own property, do you?”
“There should be a record in case anything comes of it, Rose,” he vaguely replied, making her head tilt admonishingly. “Yes, yes there’s more to it,” he admitted. “I’ll give you all the details after I get out of these clothes and check on Sarah . . . all right?”
“All right,” Rose said reluctantly. Ben started up the steps, but she stopped him. “Why did Catie come home crying and run to her room?”
Suddenly frozen in place, Ben looked back at her and then down to the steps. He was legally his sister’s guardian, bu
t Rose was her Nan, the woman who had mothered Catie in their own mother’s absence. Feeling his chest suddenly go tight, he answered in a hushed voice, “She was almost killed this afternoon, Rose.”
“My God,” Rose exclaimed, touching her heart. “Killed?”
Ben looked directly at her now. “It happened so fast. I told her to leave and then . . . then she was there. God, I’ve spent the last hour trying to decide which I’d rather do . . . hug her and thank God she is still alive, or take her by the shoulders and shake some damn bloody sense into that head of hers.”
Rose reached up and placed her hand atop his. “You are your father’s son, Ben Darcy. You will do what’s right; you always have.”
Sighing, he nodded. “Thanks, Rose.”
“And remember,” Rose continued, “that sister of yours has her head in the clouds more than on her neck where it should be.”
“That she does.”
At the top of the landing, Ben stopped. He appreciated Rose’s confidence in him, but truthfully he was at a loss. All he knew was that, if he spoke to Sarah before dealing with Catie, there was going to be a lot more hugging and a lot less shaking. And he needed his sister to understand the seriousness of her poor judgment. So it was to Catie’s room he headed first.
Boots on the stairs grabbed Catie’s attention from her perch in the window. With folded hands and crossed fingers for good luck, she prayed her brother would seek Sarah’s advice first, but the sound of boots grew closer and stopped outside her door.
With puffy yet tearless eyes, Catie stood up as he came in. After closing the door behind him, Ben went to the unoccupied window, where he gazed out over the expansive lawn that had recently been mown into a diagonal crisscross pattern. He inhaled deeply and then slowly released the air.
Catie anxiously awaited, heart pounding in her ears, and wished he would shout rather than stare out the window.
It wasn’t that she didn’t understand his anger. He told her to leave, and she didn’t. Couldn’t, she corrected herself. She had hoped that since she still stood breathing, he would overlook that fact, but even Clancy could vouch for the naiveté in that assumption. Whatever his intentions were, the silence she could take no longer. At the very least she could apologize.
“Bennet, I — ” she started but was instantly silenced by a slight wave of her brother’s hand.
A few more torturous minutes passed before Ben finally turned from the window. “Do you even comprehend that you were nearly killed today?”
“Yes,” she replied quietly and then added what she was planning to say before he silenced her. “And I’m sorry.”
He crossed his arms and asked, “Exactly which behavior are you apologizing for, your foolishness or your defiance?”
Defiance she understood, but foolishness? “Foolishness?”
“Foolishness indeed!” he countered sharply. “Whatever would possess you to return to that house after the trouble we had there this morning?”
“There was screaming. I thought someone was hurt.”
“Damn it, Catie, this is real life, not a bloody fairytale! That was a real gun that man pointed at you. Why didn’t you leave when I told you to?”
I couldn’t leave you there, can’t you see that? She willed the words out of her mouth but instead lowered her head and whispered, “I just . . . just . . . thought I could help.”
“Help?” he repeated so incredulously that she kept her eyes pasted on the floor. “You could’ve been hurt or worse yet killed! Do you not understand?” Still not looking at him, she nodded because she knew he wanted her to. Ben sighed heavily. “I think it would be best for you to stay in your room the rest of the day.”
“What?” Stunned, she looked up and met his eyes. “You’re punishing me?”
“I am,” he replied resolutely. “I’m sorry, Catherine, but I feel I must.”
“You can’t be serious.” It was her turn to look and sound incredulous.
“Catie, I told you to leave. It was very dangerous for you to disobey me.”
“And I said I was sorry!” she argued.
Unmoved and determined, Ben went to the door and then turned back to her. “I’ll speak with you in the morning. I’d advise you to use this time to think upon your actions.”
Tearing up again, she pleaded with him, “Ben, please don’t.”
“Damn it, Catie, enough with the drama!” he shouted, slapping his hand hard against the door frame. “I can’t protect you if you won’t do as I say. Now for once in your life behave prudently!”
“You’re not my father!” She squared her shoulders, intending to strike a nerve. It appeared she succeeded, for Ben stared hard at her a moment, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
He replied evenly, “No. No I’m not, but I’m all the father you’ve got.”
“I hate you, Bennet.” The words surprised her as much as they did him, but she was hurt and wanted him to feel hurt as well.
Without looking at her again, he said, “Taking care of you is my responsibility, Catherine. If you hate me for it, well, then I reckon I shall bear that burden along with the rest of the lot.” He opened the door and left, slamming it hard behind him.
“Ben!” she cried after him, but he was gone. Tears streaming down her cheeks, Catie fell on the bed and wept.
In the hall, Ben listened with closed eyes to the cries of a heartbroken sister. He’d lost his temper, he hadn’t meant to.
His spontaneous decision to rush Ledford had nearly cost Catie her life, but then again, quite possibly saved it. Did the gun go off when he made contact? He tried to remember. Did Ledford just want to scare him or . . . ? God, he’d never know what that crazed man’s intentions truly were. What he did know though, what had blared in his brain for the last hour was that less than six inches to the right and the bullet would have been fatally lodged into the back of his sister’s head. “Damn it, Catie,” he whispered. “Damn it to bloody hell.”
Entering through their sitting room gave Ben the opportunity to have a much needed swallow of Scotch, in preparation for the next item on what had become a very unpleasant Monday agenda.
Against Rose’s orders, Sarah had left her bed and started dressing when she heard Ben in the adjoining room. He was finishing a much needed second swallow when she came up behind him. “Why are you drinking in the middle of the day?”
Ben gave a slight start at her voice, the Scotch having not yet calmed his nerves. “Sarah, love, why are you out of bed? You aren’t well.”
“I’m feeling better.” Coming close to embrace him, she noticed the large raised welt on the back of his neck that was already beginning to bruise. Her expression bore a similar aspect to that of Rose’s, and her first words had a familiar ring. “Bennet, what happened?”
Persuading Sarah to the sofa, Ben relaxed in the closest chair and started relieving his feet of his boots. If Catie’s flair for drama annoyed him, it paled in comparison to Sarah’s abhorrence for her husband’s tendency to downplay a situation. He methodically worked at his boots and then unbuttoned his shirt as he unemotionally recounted the morning, purposefully omitting the gun for now. Like pie, upsetting news was best served in pieces — especially to a pregnant wife.
Domestic violence and Ben’s forced intervention itself were enough to heighten Sarah’s anxiety and concern.
“Did Catie see all of this?” she questioned apprehensively.
“Unfortunately,” he said, nodding. “I told her to leave but she didn’t.”
With a clear look of worry, Sarah asked, “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine, performing a rather theatrical cry when I left her.”
Sarah’s expression changed from worried to puzzled, as Ben, now removing his socks, mumbled more to himself than to her. “A complete waste of talent if you ask me. Had she been born of less fortune, she could have earned a handsome living acting.”
“What have you done?” She was not at all amused by his comment.
&nb
sp; “I’ve confined her to her room for some much needed time to reflect upon her actions.” Ben stiffened in defense of his decision.
“Instead of talking to her, reasoning with her?” Sarah asked. “Is punishment your only recourse?”
“And you would see to it she has no consequences at all?” he snapped back, and instantly regretted having done so. He didn’t want to quarrel. Ben plastered on a credible, reassuring expression, which wasn’t easy after the morning he had had, and gave her an equally reassuring kiss. “I promise you that she’ll be none the worse after one afternoon pondering the costs of disobeying her brother.”
“I just wish the two of you could learn to talk out your differences.”
“We’re Darcys, Sarah. Our tempers get the best of us, I’ll admit but . . . ”
“She’s growing up, Ben,” she cut him off, a severe look on her face. “You can’t very well send her to her room every time she disagrees with you.”
“Catie didn’t disagree with me, she disobeyed me. Growing up or not, she’s going to do as I say, especially where her welfare is concerned.”
“But certainly a sound wigging would’ve sufficed.”
Ben heaved out a heavy breath. Sarah was probably right, but then again, he hadn’t been totally honest with her. However, the piece of pie that told of Catie’s near demise at the end of Ledford’s rifle was best not served at present.
Cocking a teasing brow, he attempted wit to lighten the air. “Sarah, my love, some men teach lessons and some men preach lessons. This is the reason you see your husband sitting in the pews on Sunday, rather than standing in front of them . . . I’m no preacher.”
“This isn’t a joke!” was her flat response.
“I never said it was. Let’s drop the matter, eh? It’s done.” She sighed, flustered but resigned, and he disappeared into the bathroom.
* * *
Wade Radcliff was offered the position as personal assistant to Bennet Darcy following the death of Ben’s father. Wade had been the late Mr. Darcy’s assistant, so it seemed the natural course of things. Furthermore, he and the younger Mr. Darcy found the relationship worked on many levels. For Ben, the fact that Wade wasn’t inclined to marry and favored the lifestyle of a single man was most appealing. Ben preferred an assistant without familial obligations, as his needs demanded Wade Radcliff be at his disposal.
Echoes of Pemberley Page 13
