by Andrea Kane
“Good.” Pierce grinned. “I see we understand each other. Now let’s gather round and approach the schoolhouse safely, as a group rather than helter-skelter, like a chaotic mob. At that point the workmen can give us our instructions.”
Reluctantly, the children stopped dashing about, making their way, one by one, over to Pierce.
Gazing after them, Miss Redmund beamed at Pierce, her pudgy cheeks lifting in an adoring smile.
With a cough that sounded suspiciously like a smothered laugh, Chambers averted his head, intently studying the men as they unloaded the last of their materials.
“Who are ye?” William suddenly demanded, cocking his head at Elizabeth.
“I’m Daphne’s mother. My name is Elizabeth.”
“Daphne ’as a mother?” He looked incredulous. “But she’s old.”
“True.” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with humor. “But her advanced years are a recent occurrence. She used to be about the same age as you. So she does indeed have a mother.”
“Ye’re pretty,” Prudence declared, hugging her new doll. “Are you a snowdrop, too?”
Elizabeth’s gaze met the vicar’s. “Do you know, I believe I am.” She touched the doll’s bright head. “What is your name and who is your beautiful friend?”
“My name is Prudence. My doll’s name is Daphne.” Prudence’s earnest little face screwed up thoughtfully. “When Daphne bought ’er fer me, she said to give ’er a name that was special. So I did.”
“Oh, Prudence.” Daphne squatted beside her, tears glistening on her lashes. “That is perhaps the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m honored. Thank you.”
“I gave ye my lizard to hold,” Timmy protested. “That’s an honor, too.”
“Of course it is. What Prudence did is just a different kind of honor. Right, Prudence?” She gave the little girl a conspiratorial smile.
Prudence smiled back. “Right.”
“Mr. Chambers, are we gonna be able to ’oist the beams and nail the slate?” William questioned.
“Let’s go find out.” The vicar gestured for them to follow.
“I’ll set up some benches for you and Elizabeth,” Pierce told Daphne. “Then I’ll go give the workmen a hand.” His eyes twinkled. “I’ll leave you ladies to tend to Henry.”
Within the hour, the shingles were ready to go, and the heavy wooden beams soon to anchor the new roof were lying side by side on the ground. Two powerful plow horses were brought in, tossing their heads as a foreman tied one end of the thick rope to their harnesses, the other to the first beam he intended to hoist.
Pierce tugged Timmy away from the horses, then turned to roll his eyes at Daphne.
From a dozen feet away, Daphne laughed. “I wish Pierce wouldn’t hold me to that silly promise,” she complained to her mother. “I want to help.”
“Oh, we shall.” Elizabeth settled back on the bench Pierce had made for them under a cluster of trees. “One more incident such as that and Timmy will be joining Henry. My instincts tell me he won’t be alone. In fact, I suspect that most of the children are going to spend more time watching Henry’s antics than they’ll spend assisting the builders.”
“Doubtless.” Daphne looked around. “Where is the vicar?”
“Assembling nails for the slate.” Elizabeth pointed. “See? Alongside the building.”
“And Miss Redmund? I thought she’d be delighted to sit here with us.”
“Miss Redmund is evidently more delighted to stand by the schoolhouse and gaze worshipfully at your husband,” Elizabeth returned with a sideways look at Daphne.
Simultaneously, they dissolved into laughter.
A speeding carriage tore onto the scene, screeching to a halt beside the construction materials.
Daphne’s laughter froze. “Oh my God.” She seized her mother’s hand, feeling it turn to ice.
“It’s Harwick.” All the color drained from Elizabeth’s face, and she began to tremble uncontrollably. “What in the name of heaven is he doing here?”
“Thornton!”
Tragmore’s voice erupted like a gunshot, splintering into sinister fragments all about them. He stalked Pierce in harsh, uncompromising strides, emitting a coiled, bone-chilling aura of triumph.
Slowly, Pierce turned. “Tragmore. What do you want?”
“Quite a bit.” The marquis laughed. “Everything, in fact. My entire life—and yours.”
“Get out.” Instinctively, Pierce took a protective step in Daphne’s direction as if to shield her from her father’s presence. “Get out before I throw you out.”
Unconcerned, Tragmore glanced in the direction of Pierce’s movement. “Ah. My traitorous daughter and my adulterous wife. Your servants didn’t mention I’d find them here as well. And where is the deceitful vicar? I assumed he would complete this cozy picture.”
“Cease this tirade, Harwick.” The vicar dropped the nails he’d been holding, coming to stand beside Pierce. “You’ve done enough damage to last a lifetime. Go back to Tragmore.”
“Ah, there you are, Chambers. I feared you’d disappointed me. As for my going back to Tragmore, I fully intend to. But when I do, it will be as a rich and powerful man.” The marquis flourished his portfolio, a vicious gleam in his eye. “Or, if not rich and powerful, then at least thoroughly vindicated.”
“You? Vindicated?” Pierce laughed harshly. “ ’Tis you who contaminates the rest of the world, Tragmore. Not the other way around.”
“Is that why my wife is bedding down with the pious clergyman?”
Chambers went rigid. “Don’t soil Elizabeth’s name, you unworthy scoundrel. Not in my presence.”
“How gallant!” Tragmore applauded. “ ’Tis no wonder Elizabeth prefers your bed to mine. Tell me, Chambers, are you sharing her room during your prolonged and intimate stay at Markham?”
“Don’t dignify that vile accusation with an answer, Vicar.” Pierce’s eyes glittered with hatred.
“Your Grace?” the foreman called out tentatively. “Shall we wait?”
“It’s not necessary, Mallor,” Pierce replied, his gaze glued to Tragmore. “The marquis will be leaving shortly. Start hoisting the beams. Miss Redmund, watch the children.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Miss Redmund agreed, gathering the children together.
The sounds of construction resumed.
“All right, Tragmore,” Pierce ground out. “You’ve spoken your filthy mind. Now get out.”
“Not quite yet, Thornton.” With cold deliberation, Tragmore extracted five or six sheets from his portfolio. “You see, despite the overwhelming presence of your burly guards, my investigator managed to acquire a significant amount of evidence at Rutland. Enough to prove there is more involved here than my filthy mind, as you put it. Pages of evidence, in fact.” He turned to the vicar. “Would you like a recounting of each and every visit you made to see Elizabeth these past two months? Of the long moments you and she were alone, unchaperoned, in the manor in which Thornton ensconced her? Just the two of you and those thoughtful, romantic yellow roses you brought her on your visits. Not to mention your unexpected and cozy carriage ride from Rutland to Markham, where you’re residing under the same roof, doing lord knows what.”
“We’re talking, Harwick. Something you are incapable of doing except with your fists.” Chambers could scarcely speak beyond his rage. “Not even your devious investigator can fabricate sins that never took place. And deep inside your black heart, you know very well that Elizabeth is incapable of deceit. That so long as she bears your name, she would never be unfaithful to you.”
“Ah, but she’s in the process of ridding herself of my name, is she not? Or so Hollingsby told me when he dropped by Tragmore to sever our association.”
“Yes,” Pierce bit out. “She is. And with just cause, as we both know. You brutalized her, you bastard, just as you brutalized my wife.”
“I? A bastard?” Another bitter laugh. “I believe you’re confused, Thornton. ’Tis you who are t
he bastard, not I. You were born of a whore who was cast into the streets where she belonged. Had the fates been kind, she would have died there, with you still in her belly, rather than taking up taxpayers’ money in that filthy Leicester workhouse.”
Something inside Pierce snapped.
“You son of a bitch.” His fist shot out, sending Tragmore reeling backward.
“Don’t, Pierce.” The vicar grabbed his sleeve. “That is precisely what he’s goading you into doing. For whatever reason, he wants to appear the martyr.” Chambers indicated the gaping crew and children.
“You’re wasting your breath, Chambers.” Regaining his balance, Tragmore dabbed at his nose with a handkerchief. “You can’t stop him from fighting like an animal. It’s in his blood; reinforced by years of living on the streets. Let him demonstrate the truth for all to see—that, title or not, he is and always will be a workhouse gutter rat. If Markham had possessed a whit of sense, he never would have acknowledged Cara Thornton’s bastard urchin as his son.”
“Shut up, Father.” Unnoticed, Daphne had left the bench and now stood, eyes ablaze, beside the men.
For the first time, Tragmore looked taken aback. “Well, well, what has happened to my meek little Daphne?”
“She escaped your poisonous grasp,” Daphne shot back. “And so did Mama. Now get away from my family and don’t return.”
Reflexively, Tragmore’s hand balled into a fist.
“Do it and you’re a dead man.” Pierce’s tone was lethally quiet. “And I don’t give a damn if the entire House of Lords convenes to watch me choke the life out of you.”
“You don’t, do you?”
“No. I’m a gutter rat, remember?”
“Harwick.” Elizabeth approached on quaking legs. “What is it you want? Why did you go to the trouble of hiring an investigator?” She glanced from Daphne to Pierce, her frightened gaze coming to rest on the vicar. “If my going back to Tragmore is the necessary price to keep you from harming the people I love—” Her voice broke. “Then so be it.”
Tragmore threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself, my dear. Your attributes are utterly replaceable. Frankly, I don’t give a damn whose bed you share. I don’t, of course, intend to tell that either to the Church or to Parliament. What I will tell them is that I’ve been abandoned by my beloved wife, the woman I’ve cherished for more than a score of years. Think of their outrage when they read my documents and learn you’ve taken up with a lover from your past—and under the roof of a truly violent and devious man.” Tragmore’s lips curled. “How quickly they will award me my divorce. And how sad for you and for Daphne.” He leveled his triumphant stare at Pierce. “Not only will I snuff out any chance Elizabeth has of initiating this divorce, but I’ll procure one on my terms, leaving Elizabeth with nothing.”
“Mama doesn’t need your money,” Daphne bit out.
“True. But does she need the vicar?” he returned smoothly. “Because she will never have him. You see, I quite agree with Chambers. Elizabeth is far too moral to bed down with a man who is not her husband. And remarriage will not be an option, not when I’m through.” His smile was malevolent as he delivered his final blow directly to Pierce’s soul. “And Daphne? Daphne will no longer be my daughter. In fact, the divorce will nullify her existence. And then, Thornton, your wife will be a bastard, just like you.”
A vein throbbed in Pierce’s temple. “How much?”
Tragmore’s brows arched in mock surprise. “Thornton, are you implying that you’re willing to negotiate with me?”
“I said, how much? You’ve had your fun. Now tell me what it is you really want. It isn’t your wife. Nor is it your daughter. It’s money. So how much will it take to convince you to abandon this sick scheme?”
All taunting vanished from the marquis’s face. “I want every one of my notes, marked paid in full, placed in the palm of my hand, along with that outrageous agreement Hollingsby drew up, shredded into pieces. And then, I want a reasonable allowance, say, twenty thousand pounds a month, to ensure my cooperation and my permanent withdrawal from your lives.”
“And what guarantee do I have that, once I’ve done as you asked, you won’t proceed with your contemptible divorce suit?”
“I’ll sign a document stating as such. Plus I’ll turn over all the reports my investigator provided me of Elizabeth’s meetings with Chambers.”
“What sort of fool do you take me for, Tragmore?” Pierce countered. “Your bloody henchman has copies.”
“Indeed he does. I’ll turn those over to you as well.” Tragmore gave Pierce a contemptuous sneer. “You have no choice but to take me at my word, Thornton. ’Tis true you run the risk of my reneging on my part of the agreement. But you also know that, given my incentive of twenty thousand pounds a month, that is highly unlikely. Conversely, what if you refuse my demands? Will you be able to endure the consequences? To live with yourself knowing it was you who’d condemned Daphne to the role of a bastard?”
Pierce’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“How does it feel to be cornered, Thornton? To be locked in a cell for which only I hold the key, to be tormented as you once tormented me?”
The dam burst.
“You filthy scum.” Lunging forward, Pierce grabbed Tragmore by the throat. “What do you know of prison and torment? I merely bled your money. You bled my soul. Mine and all the other children you terrorized and thrashed every chance you could.”
“What children? What the hell are you babbling about?” Tragmore sputtered, struggling to free himself.
“The House of Perpetual Hope. Remember? ’Twas your thorough investigator who informed you of my roots. To you, it was a great revelation that the bastard who held all your notes was indeed a bastard, one who’d spent the first dozen years of his life in a workhouse. And not just any workhouse, mind you, but the one to which you’d paid so many lucrative visits. It never occurred to you that I’d remember you, did it? You assumed that you’d been as anonymous to me as I was to you. But you were wrong, Tragmore. Dead wrong. I remember you vividly—your beatings, your cruelty.” Pierce’s fingers dug into Tragmore’s throat. “And, of course, your private meetings with Barrings. The arrangement you thought was so cleverly covert. The money you pocketed in return for keeping that monster in office. I remember it all you vicious lowlife. Every week I watched you and my father, the distinguished Duke of Markham, slip into Barrings’s office when you thought all the workhouse trash were in bed. Every week I eavesdropped as Barrings handed you your money. And every week I vowed to make you pay for your cruelty.”
Tragmore’s eyes had widened, and he’d stopped struggling. “All this time you knew? So that’s why you’ve stalked me as a predator stalks his prey.” With renewed arrogance, he shoved Pierce’s hand away. “I always thought my little exchange with Barrings was most ingenious. The opportunity presented itself unexpectedly, to be sure, but all in all it evolved into a brilliant scheme. A surprising fact, given that Markham indirectly inspired it.”
Pierce swallowed. “So I have my father to thank for Barrings’s continued reign as headmaster.”
A crack of laughter. “Don’t be stupid, Thornton. Markham wasn’t devious enough to invent so splendid a plan. He was a weak man whose heart and conscience were in perpetual conflict with his head. What he proposed was a mere skeleton of my ultimate arrangement. He offered to pay me handsomely if I could devise a viable business venture that would necessitate his making frequent trips to the House of Perpetual Hope. Presumably, his real motive was to grant a favor to an anonymous friend by secretly keeping an eye on his bastard son—a son I recently realized was Markham’s. You.” Tragmore shrugged. “I always suspected there had to be more to the story than what he told me, but, quite frankly, I didn’t care. I did my part, inventing the idea of bleeding Barrings, something I knew Markham’s ethics would never permit—unless I were the one doing the bleeding. So I proposed doing just that. I would accompany
Markham on all his visits and personally handle the whole sordid matter with Barrings, thus providing Markham with the diversion he needed to verify the well-being of his friend’s bastard son. That suited Markham fine. As long as his true purpose remained unrevealed, he didn’t give a damn what Barrings paid me, nor that I was collecting funds from two sources, himself and Barrings. After all, Markham had more money than he could ever spend in a lifetime. So we all got what we wanted and no one was the wiser.”
“Yes, you all got what you wanted,” Pierce spat. “And in your case that meant more than money, it meant blood. In between the visits you made with Markham, you made some on your own, for the pure pleasure of beating and taunting us.”
“I put you in your wretched place where you belong,” Tragmore snarled. “And when your father forgot his place, I did the same. In a more subtle manner, of course.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Let’s just say that when Markham’s interest waned, I rekindled it by pointing out the benefits of our association.”
Pierce’s lips thinned into a grim line of enmity. “You blackmailed him.”
“You must admit, I do it well.” Tragmore’s mocking words reminded him of the business at hand. “Enough,” he pronounced, dismissing Pierce’s upcoming question with a wave of his hand. “Our little reunion is at an end. Now, what is your answer? Will you meet my terms, or do I contact my barrister and begin divorce proceedings that will relegate your wife to the role of a bastard?”
“Don’t, Pierce,” Daphne said quietly, coming to stand by her husband’s side. “He’s inhuman enough when he’s destitute. How many lives will he destroy with wealth and power behind him?”
Pierce drew a slow, inward breath, looked from the vicar to Elizabeth to Daphne. “I’ll contact Hollingsby as soon as I return home tonight.”
“No!” Daphne grabbed his arm, shaking her head vehemently. “Don’t do this. I’ll feel less of a bastard if he denounces me than if he does not. I don’t want him as a father.”
Turning his head, Pierce stared down at his anguished wife. “I vowed to protect you. I intend to do just that.”
