by Gini Rifkin
Jubel grazed the muzzle of his pistol back and forth across the bodice of her dress. Then he shoved the barrel against her left breast. If he pulled the trigger, the shot would go straight through her heart. She closed her eyes. If Cody died, did it really matter?
“You lied to me about knowing Cody’s name, Miss Rule,” he accused, in a deadly cold voice. “Such behavior can’t go unpunished. And as you pay for your indiscretion, you shall hear the cries of your lover dying while he hears your cries for help.”
He tried to kiss her mouth. Eyes wide open, she twisted her head from side to side. In retribution, he shoved the gun harder against her ribs until she thought they would crack. She bit back a cry of pain, refusing to show how much he’d hurt her. There were no other choices left, she had to try for the derringer.
Seeking to touch her bare skin, Jubel unwittingly aided her plan by raising her skirt and pulling at her petticoat. Higher and higher. Almost there. She clenched her hand in anticipation—wait. He stroked her above the knee, his hand mere inches away from the small firearm. Slowly and carefully, she lowered her arm to her side, and right before Jubel touched her one chance for survival, she tore the weapon free and fired pointblank at his chest.
Nothing happened. She couldn’t have missed. An expression of wonder crossed his face. He stared at her as if in confusion, then anger contorted his features.
“You bitch,” he hollered.
“You bastard,” she screamed back, striking his arm sideways, deflecting the shot she knew was coming. She had never felt such hatred for another human being.
The larger weapon belched out a deafening blast, sending splinters of wood and plaster into the air as the bullet meant for her hit the wall. Still clutching his gun, Jubel dropped to his knees. He raised it to take another shot, but the pistol slipped from his useless grip and clattered onto the floor.
“I never could resist a beautiful blonde,” he said, between clenched teeth. “Gold fever, Cody called it. He warned it would be my downfall.”
His last words were almost inaudible as the blood stain on his shirtfront grew larger and larger. As his last breath rattled in his throat, he toppled the rest of the way to the floor, staring up at her with lifeless eyes.
Bile rose in her throat, and she thought she might vomit as she backed away as far as the room would allow. Then the cries for help broke through the chrysalis of horror surrounding her. Averting her gaze from Jubel’s body, she hurried to the panel of levers frantically working first one and then another. Nothing happened. What could the combination be for releasing the doors? Or had the fire rendered them useless? She didn’t know what to do. All her thoughts were of Cody, and how he must be suffering, and how he could be so close, yet beyond her reach.
Giving up on the levers, she tried the door again. Still it wouldn’t budge. Grabbing Jubel’s pistol off the floor, and shielding her face in the crook of her left arm, she fired at the lock and handle. Over and over and over—even after the chambers were empty, she kept pulling the trigger. It had to work, dear Lord, it had to. Tossing the pistol aside, she put her shoulder into it and heaved against the wooden panel. It budged, but only a few inches. Smoke rushed through the crack, making it harder to breathe.
“Cody”, she cried, “Cody can you hear me?”
Something blocked the door, she couldn’t see what, but it must be heavy. Sobbing, she slid to the floor, reaching her hand through the narrow opening, wishing she could touch Cody one more time. How damnably unfair for her life to end, just when it seemed to be starting anew.
****
Regaining his senses, Cody rolled onto his side and sucked in a deep breath. A round of choking and coughing followed, and his shoulder felt on fire. Squinting open his eyes, he momentarily feared he’d died and gone to Hell. Smoke and flames billowed all around, and the red-flocked walls, now shimmering in the heat, created an earthly rendition of Hades. Where was the devil responsible? More importantly, where was his angel.
He levered onto his hands and knees, then hung his head and dry heaved. Nausea and renewed pain tore through him, but anger kept him moving. Damn, he couldn’t believe that son of a bitch had shot and left him for dead a second time. Well, he didn’t plan dying this time either. Blood dripped from his shoulder wound and puddled on the floor. Looking for something to stanch the blood, he crawled over to a man lying unnaturally still, no pulse, no sign of breathing.
“Sorry, mister, but I need this more than you now.” Ripping the sleeve off the dead fellow’s shirt, he wadded it up and shoved it beneath his own.
“Britania,” he hollered, “where are you?” All he heard in return were the sounds of people whimpering, and his own labored breathing. Where had Stokes taken her? Maybe they’d left the hall—that would be a blessing.
Half-walking and half-crawling, he circled the perimeter of the room, stumbling over and around heaps of burning furniture and the bodies of people beyond help. He called her name as he went, but the smoke grew worse, and he felt weaker by the minute. Dropping back to his hands and knees, he inched his way toward a door standing slightly ajar. An overturned table and settee were shoved up against it. Maybe there was fresh air coming in through there.
“Britania,” he called with what felt like his last breath. Then he coughed so hard he thought he might spit up part of a lung. His eyes burned, and his throat felt on fire, he didn’t know if he could survive much longer.
“Cody. I’m here.”
Praying the voice he heard wasn’t a delusion, he forced his failing body to bend to his will. Crawling forward, he muscled the furniture out of the way, and wrenched opened the door. Britania fell through the opening, and they lay together on the floor, wrapped in one another’s arms.
“Thank God, I found you,” he said, rocking her to and fro. “Are you injured? Did he hurt you?”
They sat up and leaned against the doorframe, and he smoothed the hair back from her soot-smudged face. Anger and worry collided in his chest, more painful than the bullet in his shoulder. For a moment, she just stared at him as if in shock.
“Oh Cody,” she gasped, “I thought you were dead, and I didn’t know how I could go on living without you.”
“Are you all right?” he repeated, alarmed by the blood spattered on the front of her dress.
“Yes, I’m fine….but you were shot,” she cried, as if coming to her senses, “I saw you fall.” Frantic hands explored his body. He winced and stifled a groan as she found his wound. Choking back a sob, she examined what lay beneath the blood soaked cloth inside his shirt. The horrified expression on her face made him hurt all the more.
“Oh no, oh no, you’re bleeding badly.” She tore pieces from her petticoat to reinforce the padding. “We have to get out you of here,” she said, starting to rise.
He grabbed her by one wrist keeping her at his side. “Now don’t you dare start crying,” he joked, trying to calm her down and ease her alarm. “I’ll live. It looks worse than it is. Where’s Stokes?”
She grew still as a statue, and her cheeks paled. “He’s dead,” she whispered. “I never killed anything before, not even a spider. But he shot you and I shot him. There was no other way.”
He cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him and listen to his words. “I’m proud of you, darlin.’ You’re so much braver than you know, and you did what had to be done.” She didn’t respond as he stroked her cheek. “It’s been a long time coming,” he added. “He was responsible for his own doom, and the world’s a better place without him.”
She nodded, a glassy faraway look in her eyes. She seemed about to slip into shock again.
“Britania,” he said sharply, trying to regain her attention. “I love you. We’re going to make it out of here.”
Her expression softened, and her gaze refocused on his face.
“I love you too, Cody.” A hint of a smile curved those lips he so desired. “And you damn well better get me out of here,” she added, with more enthusiasm. “You’re
my guide, that’s what I pay you for.”
That sounded more like the Britania he knew. They struggled to their feet, leaning on one another, trying to get their bearings. The place looked like a war zone. The people still conscious were huddled by the locked front door, praying for a miracle. Outside, the storm raged on, thunder and lightning coming in a constant barrage.
As they made their way forward, wondering what to do next, the groan of timbers and the cracking of glass drew their attention. The ominous sound came from the ceiling, so loud it overshadowed the hissing of the fire and Mother Nature’s dramatic show. A tremendous snap followed, and the stained-glass image of the silver moon exploded, hurtling hot shards up into the night sky.
Like a boiler full of pressure, heat from the fire had built up inside the sealed room, ready to explode, and when the cold rain hit the near-molten glass, the combination had been their salvation.
A whirlwind of hot smoky air churned through the room, escaping up and out the new opening, and the rainwater, pooled on the roof, cascaded in like a waterfall.
The atmosphere cooled, and the smoke settled, making it easier to breath. Sounds of men with axes breaking down the doors bolstered their optimism even further. They would soon be free.
Britania swiped wet hair and water back from her face. Cody thought she had never looked more beautiful. And he refused to allow one more moment to pass without knowing she would be his forever.
“I love you, Britania. Will you marry me?” As the words left his mouth, he grimaced and slipped his good arm across her shoulder, sagging against her for support.
Concern, not happiness, shadowed her expression as she wrapped one arm around his waist and directed him to a usable chair.
“You lost a lot of blood,” she finally said. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
He did feel lightheaded, but not because of blood loss. He couldn’t recall ever being this happy. He meant every word. She had to say yes. Why did she hesitate?
“I know exactly what I’m saying. Will you marry me?”
She knelt at his side, and he leaned over and kissed her. Maybe actions would convince her where words had failed. She kissed him back, first gently, then urgently, arms wrapped around his neck. She wanted him as much as he wanted her—he felt it in her touch. They drew apart. “Well?” he prompted, yet again.
A burning pillar toppled to the floor, crashing into a pile of charred ruins, sending a cloud of particles sparkling through the air.
“How could any woman resist a proposal in such a romantic setting?” she teased, brushing ash and cinder from one shoulder and the front of her dress.
He chuckle, his laughter turning into a cough sending waves of hurt spearing through his shoulder.
“Is that a yes?” He needed to know for sure, right now, in case he passed out again.
She nodded, and his heart soared.
“I own this place you know,” he reminded, as if this could possibly be added incentive for her.
“Indeed. Although, it could do with a bit of refurbishing.”
“Would you marry me even if I didn’t own this burned-out pile of timbers?” he mumbled, closing his eyes.
“I would have no other choice.”
What did that mean? It sounded like a declaration of resignation rather than joyous anticipation.
“It was in the cards,” she reassured.
He risked a guarded snort of amusement and opened his eyes, his concern fading as he focused on her smile, the one he’d so quickly grown to love, and hoped to frequently inspire.
“A lady’s good fortune,” she added, with a little shrug as if it should be obvious, “and a cowboy’s fate.”
Author’s Note
Regarding the Duke of Clarence being suspected of the Ripper murders:
Albert Victor, Queen Victoria’s grandson, known as Eddy, became the focus of several nasty rumors. One linked him to the Cleveland Street scandal, which involved a homosexual brothel, and even today a few modern-day authors still argue for listing him as a candidate as the serial killer known as Jack the Ripper. He also suffered a succession of failed engagements, finally finding true love with Princess Mary of Treck. Unfortunately, just as plans for his marriage were taking place, he took ill in the flu pandemic and died of pneumonia.
Even following his death, poor Eddy suffered scandal, as rumors were put forth he perhaps died of syphilis, poisoning, or even murder to eliminate him from succession to the throne. None of this could ever be verified or proven. His younger brother George became king and married the former fiancée, Mary. Reliable documents indicate Eddy was not in London at the time of the Ripper Murders, but his name continues to be associated with the horrible crimes.
A word about the author...
Gini Rifkin lives in Colorado with a Noah’s ark of abandoned farm animals. When not reading, writing, or tending the “herd,” she enjoys volunteering at the local Historical Society. It’s a great reason for dressing up in Victorian regalia, and legitimizes her obsession with buying big hats.
Friends and family remain her greatest treasure, and the animals never cease to enlighten and amaze.
~*~
Other books by Gini from The Wild Rose Press are:
The Dragon And The Rose
Lady Gallant
Iron Heart
Victorian Dream
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this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
