It makes sense now…
“Sit her beside the other one.” A different voice spoke, though it sounded distorted, as though a mask or a piece of cloth were covering the speaker’s mouth.
She felt herself being pulled in a new direction, only to be shoved down abruptly onto what appeared to be a chair. With her loosened hands, she felt beneath her. Sure enough, solid wood sat under her.
Well, at least they have given me the courtesy of a seat…
“Take her blindfold off,” that same, muffled voice instructed.
Without warning, the world burst into light again. Benson had torn away her blindfold, giving back the gift of vision. She blinked rapidly; her eyes unaccustomed to such brightness. Even outside, they only had to deal with the dawn’s dull glow. But there were torches aplenty in here, each one ablaze, matching the roar of the enormous bonfire that burned in the center of the barn. The smoke filtered out through a hole in the roof, though Victoria didn’t know if the hole was intentional, or accidental.
Glancing to her side, she came face-to-face with Simon Green—the driver who had been knocked from his perch and left for dead. He was similarly bound, but lacking a blindfold, his eyes widening as he looked upon her. Meanwhile, she reeled back in surprise. How could Simon be here? When did they retrieve him? She had no idea but, evidently, the kidnappers had considered it wise to clear up their mess.
Turning away from him for a moment, she took in her new surroundings. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the brightness, letting her absorb the layout of the barn. It was fairly sparse, aside from all the flames, with a makeshift sitting area to one side, complete with a desk and some armchairs.
Her entire body went rigid as she set eyes on the figure behind the desk. At first, she didn’t believe what she was seeing. But no amount of blinking cleared the image that lay before her. No, he was as familiar to her as her own reflection. In all of her wildest imaginings, she couldn’t have come up with a twist like this.
“Father?” she whispered. “Is it… really you?”
Chapter 25
“This is hopeless!” Christian cried, throwing his head back in dismay. “Victoria’s trail ran dry an hour ago, and we are entirely lost.”
Benedict offered him a sorrowful look. “Aye, I’ve a feeling we might be going in circles.”
“Not to mention that we will likely freeze to death out here, whilst being no closer to finding Victoria or the rest of the missing ladies.” Christian and Benedict had been following the trail of fabric scraps, pierced with hairpins, for what felt like an eternity. But they had discovered the last one an hour ago and had not seen another one since. Either the rain had swept them away, or they had missed one somewhere, but going over the same terrain had yet to relinquish any fresh hope of picking the trail up again.
“The sun is coming up, My Lord. Why don’t we find some place to shelter for a while, and get our minds clear, before we head back out,” Benedict suggested. The older man looked utterly worn out, his face deathly pale and his eyes shot through with thread veins of red.
Christian grimaced. “And where would we find shelter? There is nothing but woodland as far as the eye can see.”
Benedict shrugged. “We could go back to the road?”
“No. I am not leaving this godforsaken place until I have found Victoria. I will not rest, I will not pause, I will not stop until I know she is safe. And if that means riding around this wilderness for the next week, then so be it.”
Benedict laughed unexpectedly. “You really do love her, don’t you?”
“I have told you already—yes, I love her. And I do not plan to abandon her until I have been given the chance to tell her that.” Christian steeled his resolve, trying to order his thoughts. “Now, let us think. We discovered the last marker at the entrance to this forest road. The path is now what can only be described as a quagmire, but we must work on the assumption that she continued to leave those pieces of fabric along this path.” They had searched up and down the main road for any discarded scraps, but they had found none. Now, the only route remaining was this one, though Christian felt a wave of dread at the prospect of heading deeper into the forest.
“I hope you’re right, My Lord, or we’re going to spend an awful long time going in the wrong direction,” Benedict murmured. “Speaking of which, I’m going to leave a note on this here way-marker, so the Runners know where to find us.”
“You do that,” Christian replied tersely. After so many hours, he had expected the proverbial cavalry to make themselves known. And yet, they hadn’t appeared either, any more than the next breadcrumb in Victoria’s trail. Truly, this entire task was beginning to look hopeless.
I will not be beaten. As long as she is still breathing, there is still hope. And these kidnappers have never suggested that they might kill any of these ladies. I cannot allow my frustrations to get the better of me. Cavalry or no cavalry, I will find her, and we will apprehend the men who have done this.
Feeling slightly more determined, Christian clicked his tongue and set his horse to a walk. He didn’t need to hear negativity right now, regardless of his own growing exasperation. No, even if he had to traverse all of England to find Victoria, he would.
“Father? Tell me I am mistaken. Tell me it is not you.” Victoria felt as if her heart had been torn out of her chest.
Solomon McCarthy shot up faster than a fellow who’d just sat down on hot coals. “Release her,” he instructed. “Release her and bring her to my office.” He disappeared immediately afterward, apparently unwilling to speak with his daughter in front of his gathered minions—of which there were at least ten. Far more than Victoria had anticipated.
He fled up a set of stairs to what appeared to be a hayloft above. Walls had been constructed to make it a solid structure, complete with ramshackle windows. It perched in a high position, from which her father could observe his domain.
Benson and Castell exchanged a bemused look, with the latter moving to free Victoria from her bindings. Meanwhile, Benson took her by the arm, a little more gently this time, and led her across the barn to the set of stairs where her father had just vanished. There, he ushered her upward.
“We didn’t know you were related to the boss,” he said, a touch shamefaced. “I’d never have treated you so rough, if I’d known. Lord, I’d never have insisted we steal you away, had I known. I thought you were… someone else.”
Victoria’s lips curled into a snarl. “You thought I was Lady Laura, and then you thought I was Miss Longacre. So, in essence, you thought I was nothing but a mere object, who could make you exceedingly wealthy.”
Benson gaped at her. “No, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Victoria shot back. Without another word, she stormed up the stairwell to the makeshift office and strode through the open door. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to do that, knowing a ghost awaited her within.
She paused on the threshold, seeing her father’s figure silhouetted in the haphazard window. “How can it be you, Father?” Her voice shook, as tears threatened. She hadn’t shown her bewilderment in front of the wretches beneath, but she couldn’t hide it now. “You… died. I stood with Mama at your graveside. We… we buried you. I watched them put your casket in the ground. I watched them!”
He sighed quietly. “Sit down, Victoria.”
“No, I don’t want to sit! I want you to tell me why I watched your casket being put in the ground. I want you to tell me how you can be standing here, when you are supposed to be dead!” She brushed the tears away sharply, feeling foolish.
“It was my only choice, Victoria.” He braced against the window-frame. “I never wanted to be separated from you, or from your mother. I didn’t want to live my life without either of you, but… it was the only way.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Father!” Victoria snapped. “How are you here? How is this possible? I fear my head my burst!”
Her father turned; his expression sad.
“As you can see, I didn’t die. However, there came a point where I had no choice but to stage my own death. I needed a way out. I needed to be free from my life as an investigator.”
Victoria’s eyes bulged with anger. “Then you ought to have ceased to be one, as any normal person would! What possible reason could you have had for staging your own death, and putting Mama and I through all that grief?”
“Revenge,” he said simply.
“Excuse me?”
He sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. “Revenge, Victoria.”
“Evidently, I am missing something, because that doesn’t sound like a valid reason for staging your own death, and bringing misery to those you left behind,” Victoria replied sourly, her mind entirely confused.
Solomon walked forward and sat down at the desk set up in the center of the room. A lantern shone there, casting its light on his face, giving Victoria a better view of the features she had once worshipped. He looked older. Much older. His skin was sallow and drawn, with dark circles beneath the black eyes that were so like her own. Clearly, this mysterious revenge missive had taken its toll on him. Even his stature had changed. He was no longer the tall, broad hero that he had once been. Now, he seemed small and thin. Fragile, almost. Or, perhaps, Victoria was the one who had grown stronger.
“Do you recall that final case I was working on, prior to my… my death.” He looked at her unflinchingly.
Victoria frowned. “The prostitutes?”
“Yes, that one.”
How could she forget it? It had been a dire case that had sent tremors through the poorer parts of London. Women being snatched from street corners, never to be seen again. Well, until their broken bodies washed up on the banks of the Thames, barely recognizable. It had gone on for months, with the death toll rising. Indeed, it had sent a similar wave of fear through the poorer districts, to the one now flowing through Mayfair and the ton.
“What about it?” Victoria pressed.
He lowered his gaze. “As you know, I worked tirelessly on that case, trying to chase down the culprit. I told you, one night, that I’d managed to narrow it down to one suspect. Do you remember that?”
She nodded. “A Duke, was it not? Although, I cannot remember his name.”
“Yes, a Duke. Conveniently, he died two years ago, so I suppose it does not matter who he was, as it will never amount to anything. The ton will lie for his legacy, as they lied when he lived.” Her father’s expression hardened. “I mentioned my suspicion to other investigators, and they advised me not to say a word. When I persisted, the ton closed ranks and wouldn’t speak to me, or any investigator regarding that demon of a man. No one among high society cared that there were dead prostitutes washing up on the banks of the Thames. They only cared for their own, and how they could defend him from scrutiny. No matter what I did, I couldn’t make a case against him.”
“That is why you staged your own death?” Victoria didn’t know what to think. On the one hand, there was nobility in his purpose. On the other, he had abandoned her and her mother for the sake of strangers.
Her father sighed. “There is more. One of those prostitutes was my sister. I hadn’t seen her in many years, after she refused to allow me to help her. But, when she washed up, I knew it was her. And when I asked around, witnesses confirmed they’d seen her leave with a gentleman matching the Duke’s description. That abomination murdered her in cold blood, and not a single member of the ton cared enough to help me bring him to justice. Instead, they pushed me out, and cast aspersions on my reputation. I had to stage my death in order to gain a clean slate, from which I could begin my revenge against them.”
“My aunt… was killed?” A lump formed in Victoria’s throat. That motive, she could better comprehend.
His shoulders slumped. “She was, all because that Duke deemed her to be an unworthy creature, who deserved nothing but death and suffering. That was when I knew I had to make the ton feel the same fear that the rest of London felt, while they protected that wretch.” He cleared his throat. “I knew that Ben would take care of you, in my absence. And I knew that you and your mother would be better off, without the rumors and gossipmongers casting a shadow over you both, because of me.”
“But we needed you,” Victoria whispered, her head spinning. She had to cling to the doorframe in order to prevent herself from crumpling.
“You didn’t need me. I’d have stood in your way. I’d have stopped you from having any credibility of your own. Without me in your life, you stood to have a remarkable future. And I knew Ben would see to it that you did have a great future,” her father replied softly.
“Ben has been as a father to me, but he’s not you. I could have had a fine enough future, if you had remained.” Victoria stumbled forward and sank down in the chair, struggling to catch her breath. This was all too much to bear at once.
He reached across the desk for her hand. “I know you believe that, but it isn’t true. I had the anger of the ton hounding me. They would’ve chased me out of London, had I not acted of my own accord.” He paused. “But it also gave me the opportunity to carve out a path for you, which would lead to your success. I sent money, anonymously, to Ben, instructing him to keep it safe for you. It was my hope that I’d have sent enough, when all of this was done, to ensure you could have a comfortable life. And so you could leave investigating whenever you pleased, without having to put yourself in danger or ever be forced to marry someone you didn’t want.”
Victoria felt suddenly sick. “With the money you were going to extort from the families of these ladies?”
“Yes.” He grasped for her hand and held it tight. “But I planned to open orphanages and safehouses for lost children and fallen women with that money, too. I have already opened several in Scotland and Ireland, with the money I received from the families of kidnapped ladies.”
“You have done this before?” Victoria stared at him in abject horror.
“I needed to make sure it worked before I began on my primary target, London. It did, very successfully. The elite of Scotland and Ireland got to know what it felt like to be fearful, and the poor benefitted. Of course, their self-preservation provided me with an easy escape from any pursuit—no one wanted to admit that they had allowed this to continue, and so they buried the entire event. Leaving me free to move on to my next opportunity.”
Opportunity? These are people, Father! What had happened to him, throughout these missing years, that had turned him into… this. A man whose morality she did not recognize, for he had been the one to instill a sense of right and wrong in her. And, going by that particular code, her father was certainly erring on the side of wrong.
“And what of the captives?” She didn’t know if she wanted to hear the answer.
He smiled. “I kept the ladies safe, as I am keeping these ladies safe. They are fed, watered, clothed, given comfortable bedding, and books to pass the time. No harm comes to them. When the time is right, I make my demands, and they are returned to their families, unscathed, in return for the right price. The price of all those murdered women, and the price of protecting their killer.”
Victoria sat there, stunned, unable to say a word.
How can he be the one behind this? Moreover, how can he be alive?! How can he have kept this secret from me and Mama, all this time? Could I not have helped? Why did he not tell me of his plan, so that I could have aided him… or dissuaded him? Perhaps that is exactly why—because he knew I would not allow him to frighten and extort innocents, no matter where they came from, not even for the purpose of revenge.
Then again, she couldn’t stop thinking about what he had said about her aunt, and the tragic end that had befallen her, at the hands of a murderous Duke. A Duke that high society had protected, simply because he had wealth and a title.
The Duke of Rowntree, she recalled, the name coming back to her. Even now, she did not know anything about him. He was merely a horrific tale in her father’s repertoire. And, if he
was dead, she supposed that the Duke had died without any repercussions for the evil he had done.
But does that give my father the right to strike terror into the hearts of high society? And these poor souls, in particular, who have been taken from their homes in fear? Her father had assured her that no harm befell them, but that didn’t erase the panic and despair they must have been feeling. Even if he had assured them that he didn’t mean them any ill-will, they would still wonder if they would be ruined, or hurt, or worse. That was a woman’s primary fear in this world.
As a child, Victoria had always been under the impression that her aunt had died of some ailment or another. That was what her father had told her, likely to spare her from finding out that his sister toiled away as a woman of the night. But, to find out that she had, indeed, had an aunt living, and that aunt had been so cruelly destroyed… well, she supposed it altered her perspective somewhat, even though she was struggling not to think of those innocent girls and their ongoing trauma.
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