The hammer fell, and finally we knew for sure.
John had seduced him into obedience. That was his way. Emotion could bind tighter than money, especially when he had none. No emotion, that is. John could always get money, by stealing, smuggling or even prostituting himself out to men or women. He had a seductive personality, made worse because he felt nothing himself. He could calculate to a nicety when someone was ready to fall for him and act on it without compunction, without guilt. That was something he didn’t get from Richard. He presented a cold, heartless façade to much of the world, but underneath lay the heart of a sensitive man who cared deeply, sometimes too much. The two men were mirror images of each other. John, passionate and caring on the surface, frigidly insensitive about anyone but himself and calculating beneath, and Richard, exactly the opposite.
I needed no more confirmation. All our other speculation was useless. John Kneller was in Portugal and he wanted us dead.
“So you’re doing this for love?” I asked.
“That, and for justice. Your husband has treated his son shamefully. He has never given him his due. That’s all he wants.”
Lies, but lies John had used to his advantage before. I should have let Richard kill him last year, but I couldn’t bear the thought of a father killing his son. I should have done it myself. Carier would have helped me.
I didn’t bother to respond, and when Jerry began to growl insults, I felt almost weary of it. I was so tired of hearing those stories. I glanced around. “We can’t keep you here all night. The maids will want to use it in the morning. Carier, do we have somewhere we can keep him?”
“Indeed, ma’am. A secure cellar well away from the main part of the house.”
At Carier’s nod, our men untied him, keeping hold of his arms.
Jerry spat, the result landing in a sickening shiny spot on the well-scrubbed stone floor. “You think you have us, don’t you? I might have failed in my mission, but the other plan is still intact.”
“You were sent to kill me,” I said wearily.
“And your children,” Jerry added. “You’re in adjoining rooms; that makes it easier. But he can finish you off after he’s seen to his father.”
I went still. “What do you mean?”
Carier clapped a pistol to the side of his head. “Tell me now or I’ll drop you where you stand. That is not a threat. It’s a promise.”
Jerry shrugged. “I’d tell you anyway, just to see your face. He’s set a bomb. Nothing you can do about it. It’s probably gone off by now. I was to take care of you while he made sure of his lordship.”
Panicked, I turned hurriedly to leave the room, no longer concerned with the foolish man, but filled with terror. I couldn’t believe that was true. Not Richard, not like that. I had to tell someone, send someone after him. Even go after him myself.
I let my arm drop to my side, the one holding the weapon, and in my haste, I stumbled on a loose piece of flagstone. One of the men moved forwards to help me as I regained my balance. That was Jerry’s chance.
Events seemed to speed up. I heard a shout as Jerry broke free from his captors in a vicious movement that spoke of the rookeries. He leaped forwards and grabbed my arm to pull me back against him. He dragged it almost out of its socket, then, as I landed hard against his body, he twisted it behind me. I cried out in pain, trying to wrenching away, but by then the wretch had my pistol. As I turned back to him, he pointed it at me.
The shot sounded like a veritable explosion in the confines of the small room. I barely had time to throw my body sideways, but I wasn’t fast enough. Pain seared my arm. That, and the wet gush of blood, told me he’d hit me.
Pain tends to incapacitate by its very existence, but I’d given birth, I reminded myself. I could handle this level of agony.
I rolled towards the wall when I hit the floor, moving out of the way of the men struggling to recapture Jerry. By now, although my arm stung like the devil, I realised he’d only grazed me. Blood poured over me, but flesh wounds sometimes bleed the worst. It didn’t spurt and I didn’t feel the terrible coldness that presaged a severe wound. Jerry had no more bullets to use. That desperate bid to escape had finished him.
The smell of powder and singed linen filled the small room. The bullet had gone into the plaster of the inner wall behind my head. The pain had incapacitated me for long enough to prevent me retaliating immediately. I took some deep breaths, and then let the last one out noisily. The breaths helped me regain control, think straight. The last, noisy breath, I hoped, persuaded him he’d hit his target.
Shouts and screams filled the air from outside. Just what we needed. We’d roused the servants.
Another shot burst out, and I thought I was done for until I regained my senses. It took a few seconds for me to realise that the shot wasn’t for me, and it sounded different to the first one. Our men were retaliating. My hair had fallen over my eyes, and I squinted through the tumble at the chaos around me, my mind in turmoil.
“My lady, my lady!”
“Lady Strang, ma’am!”
Not Carier. I opened my eyes fully and shook the hair away. Nichols leaned over me, her hair coming loose from its neat knot, a smoking pistol in her hand. She tossed it aside and touched me. “Oh God, oh God!”
One thing, I had to say one thing. “Go after Richard, Carier. You can get to Lisbon in two hours. Go now!”
“My lady?” He sounded torn. When I first married Richard, all his concern was for his master. He’d cared for me because Richard did. I heard a different note in his voice now, and I knew he’d stay with me if I needed him.
“It’s a flesh wound, I swear. Carier, go!” He must know that I could distinguish between a slight wound and a serious one.
He jerked his head in a sharp nod and got to his feet.
The fumbling of a key in a lock and the slamming of the outer door told me he’d obeyed my order. I didn’t know if Jerry had been bluffing, but I wouldn’t take that chance. Not with Richard’s life.
“How is she? Should I ride for a doctor?” Joaquin’s voice, concerned.
I swore and made it satisfyingly rich. “I’m fine, he barely grazed me. Help me up, Nichols.” She grasped my shoulders, and I cried out in pain. “Well, not completely fine, but it’s not as bad as it looks. Flesh wounds sometimes bleed a lot. What happened after I went down?”
“Barber grabbed your weapon and shot at you. Carier has killed him.” This time she took more care helping me to sit. People filled the room, but not enough to obscure the grisly sight across the room from me. Jerry lay half-propped up against the opposite wall, a bloody mess where his head should have been.
Nichols tore at my robe and gown, clearing the wound. Then I heard her sigh in relief.
“I told you.” The wound smarted, but it was in no way dangerous. Damn the man, taking a ridiculous chance for his lover. John Kneller did that to people—incited insane devotion. I could understand it, given that Richard was his father, but it was a blasted nuisance. I waved feebly at the gun lying on the floor and winced. “Don’t leave that lying around. It’s one of a pair.”
I glanced up to see the worried, drawn features of Paul’s brother-in-law. “What happened? How did he get in here?” he demanded.
I motioned with my uninjured hand to one of our footmen. “Tell him.” The man rapidly brought Joaquin up to date.
Nichols didn’t bother to try to unfasten my gown any further but found a small pair of scissors from the rubble on the floor and cut the sleeve off me. She used the remnants of the garment to press against the wound on my upper arm. “I can fix you up.” She turned her head and addressed one of the servants crowding into the room. “Help me get my lady to her room and bring some hot water.”
I tried not to flinch when they helped me to my feet because I knew I couldn’t afford to be treated as an invalid. But it did hurt. However, I needed to stay in control and in full knowledge of what was going on. There was protection and there was smothering. I ha
d reason to know the difference.
In my room, Nichols helped me tenderly onto the bed. Joaquin crossed the room and pushed aside the drapes. “It’s as quiet as the grave out there.”
At least he could make me laugh. Nichols found a plain dressing gown for me and helped me insert my undamaged arm into the sleeve. She carefully exposed the wound and nothing more, and I knew it as a sign that she was prepared to allow Joaquin to stay, if only so he could see my injury in clear light and ascertain for himself that it wasn’t serious. She pressed a clean cloth against my arm, and I held it there while she went into the dressing room.
I wanted to move, but I knew if I did so I could set me to bleeding worse. “The children must come first. Set an extra guard on them.”
“I’ve already done so.” Joaquin said something vicious in Portuguese. I didn’t need a translation to understand its import. “My brother left me in charge of the household in his absence, and I am ashamed that this has happened.” His face twisted, his bitterness showing clearly. “I would not have this happen for the world. I should have set a better watch. Why was I not informed of this man’s arrival?”
“I didn’t want the rest of the house roused, but I should have had you called. I’m sorry.”
Nichols returned with a bowl of hot water, cloths and soap and sat on the bed again to clean my wound. She worked in silence while I rapidly assessed the situation, forced the panic and terror from my mind, because that would not help Richard right now. I needed to secure my children and then attend to my husband. Nothing else mattered.
Joaquin paced, occasionally glancing at me while I brought him up to date with what Jerry had told us. He didn’t interrupt more than uttering a few curses, but listened attentively. I told him all—Jerry’s ridiculous devotion to John Kneller, his gloating and the bomb, which we only had his word for, but I had to believe, because if I ignored his warnings and they were real, the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.
Nichols lifted the rag away. “It’s almost stopped bleeding, ma’am.”
“Then get me cleaned and patched up.”
I heard a new voice from the doorway. “Oh no, oh God!”
I should have expected Lizzie to come, but I hadn’t realised she was standing at the door and had probably heard most of my account. Had for sure, by the expression on her face. “I’ll go to Lisbon,” she said. “Paul is in danger too, and I won’t wait tamely here for him to come back.”
“When Nichols has finished, I’ll dress and follow, with you. Carier is on his way.”
John was in Lisbon, trying to ensure Richard’s death. We were safe enough to travel, with guards, and I had been passive too long, allowing other people to take responsibilities I should have taken for my own.
With our enemies at last in the open, I could take this chance. And I would.
Nichols bound the wound. All the time, Lizzie watched. She had already dressed in a plain riding habit, and I ordered mine laid out. “Fasten the bandage tightly and I will do,” I told my maid. But it took far too long before Nichols was satisfied. If I hadn’t sent Carier on ahead, I’d be frantic by now.
Nichols fastened the white strip tight enough for me to get my shirt and jacket over the top, and loose enough to give me enough movement to ride. I was accounted a good rider, better than Lizzie, so between us we would manage.
I flexed my arm. Jerry had not delivered any long-term hurt when he’d wrenched it, only when the bullet had grazed it, so I could consider myself lucky, although I’d have a few bruises to remind me of the places where he’d grasped my arm. I felt stiffness only, and in a few days I’d hardly notice. Anxiety rode me, driving out pain.
We left the house as dawn was breaking, the pink fingers stretching across the sky. In normal circumstances I might have paused to admire its beauty, but now I was only glad we’d have adequate light for our journey.
I stuffed the large onion watch that had been my father’s in my pocket and allowed a servant to boost me into the seat. I hooked my leg over the pommel, glad I’d had the foresight to bring my own saddle, made precisely for my measurements. I would be much safer and I could travel faster because of that saddle. Lizzie mounted a sturdy mare, and I had charge of a younger, piebald creature, a gelding in his prime. He would do. I’d ridden him earlier in the week, when I’d taken a gentle trot around the grounds, so I knew his paces. Enough to realize I could handle him easily and he could put on a turn of speed when he chose, or rather when I did.
I also took charge of two pistols, some spare balls and powder, and a couple of the wicked stiletto blades Richard always had about his person. He rarely travelled without a case of them, and I’d appropriated a couple before I left. Lizzie had a cane that looked suspiciously as if it concealed a rapier. My sister might have a more domestic, feminine outlook on life, but she’d grown up in the country, in the heart of a smuggling gang’s heartland, so she knew the right end of a pistol and how to wield a light sword.
Two footmen accompanied us, two of the remaining Thompson’s men. I wanted to take one and leave one behind, but Nichols wouldn’t hear of it. “Even if he doubles back and tries to take us, we can hold him off long enough for Carier to find us. We’ve called the outdoor staff in and taken every precaution. Nobody will get in, ma’am. I’ll stake my life on it.”
I was torn between my children and my husband, but while I loved my children enough to put their lives above mine, I loved my husband more. Limitlessly.
We set a fair rate but didn’t rush, since Lisbon was some twenty-five miles off and we needed to pace the horses. It would take two hours, maybe a little less, to get there, and then we had to work our way through the streets to the house. I had to curb my impatience. I wanted so much to set my mount to a gallop, to get there faster, to ensure Richard’s safety. I checked my watch as we took the turn that would bring us on to the public road outside the estate. Nearly eight o’clock. Carier was an hour and a half ahead of us. Pray God he got there in time.
After the first five miles, we joined a major, well-maintained road, so we made better progress. We travelled some miles farther, with no incident, passing few people because of the holiday, I presumed, and the fact that it was a Sunday.
“Who is that?” Lizzie said.
Some fool stood on the highway, blocking our progress. Although we didn’t let up our pace, he kept his position as we approached.
He had a pistol in his hand. Surely not a highwayman. What idiot would attack two riders with attendants on his own? His hat was pulled low over his eyes, and he wore plain clothing, a coat and heavy muffler, so he certainly appeared to be some kind of footpad.
He looked up and I caught my breath. Grey eyes met mine, and I knew this was no ordinary thief. I also knew that if we didn’t stop, he’d shoot us. He didn’t want our valuables. He wanted our lives.
We brought the horses to a halt, and he jerked his pistol, indicating for me to get down. Of course he did.
I glanced at Lizzie but did as he wanted. A footman alighted with me and stepped forwards, his hand on his belt. I gestured to him to stop.
Our aggressor looked like a young Richard. He wore uncharacteristically ill-fitting clothing but with his usual easy, athletic stance. He watched me, a smile curving his lips. Grey eyes fixed me with an unblinking stare.
“You look more like him now,” I said, keeping my voice calm.
John Kneller pushed back his hat. “A shame I have the wrong colour eyes, otherwise I’d consider masquerading as him. Even so, the resemblance has stood me in good stead at times.”
I fought to keep my voice calm. “You’ve used it recently?”
He smiled, the expression easy because he felt in control. His arrogance had been his downfall before. Maybe it would be again. “Only to make certain orders concerning the town house you hired. A pleasant place. But not now.”
I yawned, covered my mouth with my hand and then returned it to my side, feigning polite boredom, but my heart was racing. “Wh
at do you want?”
“My father and I share one desire. You.”
I needed to keep John talking. Pander to his vanity. “What have you planned this time?” I let my voice trail off, as if I found the situation tedious, scarcely interested in his answer. He’d want to rouse my interest, make me pay attention to him. I needed to get to the town, to see if Jerry had told the truth.
“I’ve made certain that my father will never return from Lisbon. After all, it’s a matter of pride now. I have little else left.”
No, he’d have planned something for his own preservation. I felt it deep down. But I refused to let his threats cow me. “You have a long life ahead of you and a quick mind to make your fortune with. You should have gone into the navy. Letting you do that was merciful, otherwise you’d have been dead or brought to court and tried for murder.”
“Ah yes.” He stamped the ground, his booted feet creating a hollow thump. “But that case is over now, is it not?”
“You were tried in your absence and sentenced to transportation.”
“I have a hankering for fresh woods and pastures new. When this episode is over, I do have plans to travel.” Metal gleamed dully in his hand, the barrel of one of the pistols. “I might have known that idiot Jerry would botch it. I came to make sure the job was done.”
Panic rose in my throat. I swallowed, trying to hide the movement by shifting my feet as if the morning crispness were chilling. “Why don’t you just go? You must know you’ll be hunted down for this. Killing me will not be an anonymous slaughter, like the many you’ve committed before. The authorities won’t rest until they’ve caught you.”
“They won’t know.” He swung his pistol up, idly glancing at the hammer. He hadn’t cocked it, but it wouldn’t take much. It wasn’t the lethal but beautiful duelling pistols the like of which my husband and friends owned, but a serviceable weapon, gleaming dully. I couldn’t reach him before he’d cocked it and fired, but perhaps that would be my only recourse. The men were too far away, although if I ducked to the ground they could try charging him.
Lisbon: Richard and Rose, Book 8 Page 18
