Newt threw a punch at the remaining assailant. The tall, thickly built man barely flinched. He cracked his knuckles and laughed at Newt.
“I’m goin’ to tear ya limb from limb, Cap’n. I never liked ya.” He pulled his fist back.
Newt slipped another pistol from the waist in his trousers and fired, hitting the man in the forehead before he threw his punch. “I don’t think so, matey.”
The man landed with a loud thunk upon the dingy, dirty floor.
Yet another one of Crow’s men, a slightly built, younger man, slunk out of the dark corridor and headed toward the back door. He intended to escape.
Elveston stopped him with a hand to his throat. “You’re not going anywhere just yet, laddie.”
Newt came up behind him. He put his pistol to the back of the man’s head. “You have two choices. First one, you tell us where we can find Mr. Crow. Second choice, I kill you. Which one will it be?”
“Mr. Crow tells me nothing.” The man trembled. “Please, Captain. I’ve two children and a wife.”
“I’ve been in this shit-hole for days. I’ve noticed you just slink around all quiet like in the shadows. No one ever truly notices you’re here. They don’t pay the least bit of attention to you. But you are always hovering. I’m betting you hear a lot more than you should. Where. Is. Mr. Crow?”
“I-I do not know. I don’t. You wouldn’t kill an innocent man, surely…”
Newt cocked his pistol. “I’m about to. Unless of course you have something to tell me.” Newt sighed loudly and said, “You’d best move, Jack. At close range this will be messy.”
Elveston grimaced. He gave a nod and released the man’s throat. He stepped away. “Very well, Captain. Get it done, we don’t have all night,” he said.
“Wait!” The man cried out frantically. “I heard Mr. Crow tell a pasty, yellow haired man that they were going to take care of Crowhurst tonight. Do him in, like. He said their leader felt him to be more trouble than he was worth. That yellow-haired man told Crow he knew the location where some gents they been looking for were hiding at. A Witch House or Witch something House, near the Thames in one of the older neighborhoods. And they were to go there after they done in Crowhurst. They were getting it all done in one night, like. And the two of them, Crow and the yellow-haired toff they planned this on the sly so the leader don’t know they’re in cohoots. ‘T’was to make themselves look smart it was, so they could secure better paying employment from them higher ups.”
“Who is their leader?” Newt demanded.
“That I do not know. I swear it, Captain. They only call him the leader. I only knew of Crowhurst. But even Crowhurst fears the leader, for I’ve heard Mr. Crow say so often.”
Newt hit the man on the back of the head with his pistol. The man slumped to the ground. “Wychcombe House!” He looked to Deveril Pendarves. “Dev, have one of your men store that weasel and keep an eye on him. We may need him to tell what he knows later. Send another one of your men to Crowhurst’s to warn Harry and Trevan that they plan to kill Crowhurst and move on to Wychcombe House. Everyone else, let’s move out. We’ve got to get to Wychcombe House. As quickly as we can!
Chapter Twenty
“Lord Crowhurst is indisposed. He is not receiving callers tonight.” The Butler sniffed disdainfully at the group of gentlemen standing on the doorstep.
“We insist on seeing Lord Crowhurst, by order of the King.” Sir John stepped forward and waved a letter with the King’s seal upon it in front of the reluctant butler’s face.
“Very well. Follow me. I see the light beneath the study door. He’s still working. He works hard, Lord Crowhurst does.”
The butler knocked. “My Lord, you’ve visitors on urgent business from the King.”
There was no answer. “Lord Crowhurst?”
“Is the door unlocked?” Harry asked.
The Butler twisted the knob and nodded.
“Then open it, man!” Harry bellowed.
“Lord Crowhurst…oh my!” The servant’s eyes moved downward to a still figure upon the floor.
Lord Crowhurst lay on the study floor, a large stain of blood upon his chest, and a large puddle of blood beneath him.
There were raised voices from the front of the house.
“Your Grace!” A man rushed into their midst and handed a piece of folded foolscap to Trevan.
“Aye, Jory. Thank you.” Trevan tore open the letter. “Hell and damnation, we’ve got to get back to Wychcombe House! This is from Deveril and Newt. Crow and Davitt were going to do in Crowhurst and go on to Wychcombe House to take us out! They’re ahead of us.”
“To Wychcombe House at once!” Harry commanded. He, Trevan, Sir John and the other Avalon Society members cleared out, leaving the King’s men to deal with the remains of Lord Crowhurst.
“St. Mabyn. I’d thought to never see you in my establishment,” Madame Rosier allowed her eyes to boldly move slowly up and down the Earl of St. Mabyn’s well-dressed form. It was whispered all about London that though the unmarried Duke of Penrose would be the catch of the upcoming season, his cousin, St. Mabyn, not only remained an unmarried Earl, but was sinfully handsome and cut the finer figure. He wore his dark brown hair longer than fashion dictated, but it enhanced his handsome, rakish appearance, along with the strong angles and planes of his face. His pale blue eyes added to his rather dangerous, devil-may-care appearance.
Madame Rosier inwardly agreed that St. Mabyn cut a fine figure indeed. She displayed her most seductive smile for the man.
“Madame.” Gabriel nodded. He gave her a cool smile. “I’ve brought my cousins, August and Arthur, and we’re in need of something special tonight.”
“I daresay, St. Mabyn, I can provide you and your cousins with whatever you wish.”
“Could we adjourn to your office so we could explain exactly what we, ah, need?” Gabriel said deeply as his hand trailed down her arm.
“Of course, St. Mabyn. Gentlemen. Please follow me.” She batted her kohl blackened eyelashes.
When they reached the Madame’s office, she instructed the hulking guard at the door to leave them. She sent him to fetch a fine bottle of brandy from the cellar for her to share with her esteemed guests. Gabriel shooed Arthur away with a jerk of his head.
“Your other friend is not coming in?” Madame Rosier asked curiously.
“He saw a lady who caught his eye, a rather buxom blonde, I would guess. It is August and I who require something, ah, more out of the ordinary,” Gabriel offered a chilly smile as he looked at her.
Gabriel allowed his hand to run across Madame Rosier’s ample bosom. His fingers moved to dip into her neckline. Seconds later he extracted a small pistol. He quickly covered Madame’s mouth with one hand and pinned her shoulder against the wall with his elbow while August caught her legs and skimmed his hands upward. He came away with a nice-sized poniard and another small pistol held by her garters.
“Silence!” Gabriel commanded. He removed a letter with the King’s seal from his coat pocket with his free hand and held it before her.
“You are being charged, Madame Rosier, as an accomplice in the shooting of Lord Amesbury, Lady Caroline Bellingham, and twice for the shooting of Lord Wincanton, and the murder of two men, servants of Lord Wincanton, in Templecombe, Somerset, as well as the murder of Squire and Mrs. Baines and Lord Gransby near Templecombe. You are also charged with the kidnapping of Lady Elizabeth Darrington, Miss Sophia Hart, and Lady Alice Sterling; daughter of Lord Fitzlewis, as well as the act of rapine and the beating of Miss Hart. The sentence the Judge shall give you tonight when I take you to appear before him shall be to hang by the neck until dead. Your hanging shall take place tomorrow at 1:00. Unless of course you tell us what we want to know. If you tell us what we want to know, you shall be placed upon a ship leaving with the tide. A cabin will be procured for you, and you shall travel as a free woman, in comfort, to Australia. However, should you ever try to set foot on English soil again you shall be arr
ested immediately then promptly hanged.”
Gabriel’s gaze bore into hers for a long moment. “What I need to know from you, is what choice you make, Madame. If you attempt to call for help when I remove my hand from your mouth, my friend here, will slice your throat and gut you immediately. So you see, Madame, you have not two, but three choices.”
August held up a wicked knife that measured about a foot long. He moved it to rest against her throat.
Gabriel removed his hand.
“What do you want to know, St. Mabyn?”
“Tell me about, Mr. Crow. Lord Crowhurst. The Knights of the Brown Order. Everything you know.”
“I can’t believe Harry went into such a dangerous situation without telling me.” Rowena wiped a tear from the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief Micah gave her moments earlier.
“Rowena, you’ve known for some time now that Harry is in charge of the Avalon Society.” Micah said calmly. “We are trying to end this Brown Coat business as soon as can be, for all our safety, but especially for the safety of our wives and families. Harry is terribly concerned for yours, and all of the women’s safety. When he found out you carried his child, he worried even more, Rowena. He did not want you to distress yourself in your condition. That is why he did not tell you,” Micah explained again.
“We, none of us wanted any of you to worry, ladies. That is why we didn’t tell any of you.” Lyon said as he faced the perturbed ladies of the household. His wife, mother and sister, along with the ladies of Harry’s household, and Libby and Grace all glared at him. Harry’s brother, George, stood behind them.
“Perhaps you can all go back to bed and try to get some sleep?” Micah suggested calmly.
“Oh, I could not sleep. I’m far too anxious about my husband’s safety.” Rowena shook her head. She wrung her hands together.
“I’ll make some tea.” Libby suggested.
Micah nodded.
“I’ll come with you.” Sophia offered.
“Take Tristan or Charlie with you. They’re right outside the door,” Micah instructed.
Libby nodded.
When Libby and Sophia reached the top of the stairs, they looked about. There was no sign of Tristan or Charlie yet.
“Micah said to take Tristan or Charlie,” Sophia said hesitantly.
“They were not in the hallway. Perhaps they are making their rounds,” Libby offered.
“It’s not far to the kitchen. The sooner we get Rowena calmed down, the sooner we can all go back to bed,” Sophia reasoned.
Libby nodded, yet hesitated to go down.
They both peered down the shadowy stairs as they heard a noise from somewhere beyond the dark gloom of the entry hall. They could see nothing for the downstairs was engulfed in shadowed gloom.
“Tristan?” Libby called.
“Charlie?” Sophia called down.
“Yes?”
It was a short reply, but Libby and Sophia both breathed easier and headed down the stairs.
“Why do you suppose they are walking about down here in the dark?” Sophia whispered as she linked her arm with Libby’s when they entered the corridor beyond the entry hall.
A horrible feeling came over Libby. She swore she could feel the yellow-haired man’s energy. Near her! She gasped. She pushed Sophia’s arm from hers. “Go back upstairs, Sophia. Tell Micah and Lyon there is something terribly wrong. Run!”
Sophia turned and ran.
Libby heard her friend cry out. She turned to see the dark form of a man overtaking Sophia and wrestling with her in dimness of the entry hall beyond. Libby started to move in that direction to help her when something hard came down on top of her head.
She felt the searing pain, felt her knees buckle and crumpled to the floor.
Libby opened her eyes. Even in the murky darkness she could make out the pale yellow hair of the man who knelt beside her. She tried to sit up, but was forced back down as his hand pushed roughly against her chest. Her head swam. She must have blacked out. For how long? She started to scream – then recalled the details her nightmare. She realized at that moment, as she began to take in her surroundings, she was in the long gallery. He must have pulled her in there. In the darkness the place looked and felt very familiar to her. It was the place of Micah’s death in her dream! Fear paralyzed her. She felt her heart pounding. She could not call her husband to his death. Think! Think! Had Sophia made it upstairs? She remembered hearing Sophia cry out and seeing another man wrestling with her. She doubted Sophia made it past him.
“Lady Wincanton. What a surprise. What, no screaming? I was rather counting on you, you see. So your husband could rush into the darkness and into my awaiting knife.” Davitt held up his knife.
Though Libby feared he intended to cut her again, she remained silent.
“I owe you a little favor anyway, Lady Wincanton. I promised you a good romp, and told you I would make you scream when last we met on Cadbury Hill, remember? I’ll just have to make good on my promise this time.”
He moved to straddle her. Long, hard fingers captured both her wrists and held them above her head with one hand. His legs already pinned hers. She recalled that he seemed injured and moved stiffly on Cadbury. Perhaps she could hurt him enough to get away. But how? He held her arms and her legs were pinned.
His free hand moved to the fall of his trousers.
No! God no! She remembered two things. First she called the Angel, Archangel Michael, I need your help now! Secondly, she remembered she could connect with Gabriel Chynoweth. Gabriel was with the others. Gabriel could warn Micah. Perhaps she could even warn Micah with her mind?
She closed her eyes and inside her mind, she screamed for Gabriel. Gabriel! Gabriel! Davitt is here with another man. They have me and Sophia! Gabriel, are you there? Please come. He intends to kill Micah! Gabriel! You must warn Micah! Quickly please! Gabriel?
Micah, Percy Davitt is here in the Long Gallery. He means to kill you! Micah?
Gabriel climbed into the carriage behind his cousins August and Arthur after the men from Scotland Yard and one of the King’s Advisors took Madame Rosier away. They received enough information to take down Crow and Crowhurst. Madame Rosier kept impeccable records. They had names of a couple of men whom she believed to be Knights, but were not their leader. Madame Rosier swore she did not know his identity.
Gabriel smiled. This was nearly finished. They still needed to find Davitt.
Gabriel heard a woman call his name. He shook his head. It was nearly three in the morning. The streets of London were nearly empty, as it was late in the season and most of the ton were now retired to their country houses. He peered out both windows anyway, just to make certain.
He heard it again. This time it was louder and clearer. It was Libby! He closed his eyes and entered the in-between. Libby lay in darkness, the white of her nightrail stark against the dark gloom. He watched as Percy Davitt wrapped his fingers in Libby’s bodice and rent her nightdress in two. “Scream for your husband, Lady Wincanton!”
“Libby scream!” Gabriel demanded.
She shook her head. “He means to kill Micah! Micah doesn’t know he’s here, Gabriel!”
Davitt’s fisted hand connected with her wounded cheek. Gabriel winced knowing the pain it brought her. He saw Davitt move one hand to his unfastened trousers. “This will make you scream!”
Gabriel spoke to her. “Libby listen to me. Scream. Damn it, Libby, scream! And keep screaming! I will warn Micah, right now. For God’s sake, Libby, scream! I’m on the way.”
Sophia crawled up the stairs on her hands and knees. Her face and head hurt so badly. Crow cold-cocked her. Afterward, he hit her over the head with something, a candlestick she thought. She was too dizzy to stand. Where had the man gone? She slowly and gingerly turned her aching head to look behind her. She saw two black boots. Her gaze moved upward.
“By all means, Lady Amesbury, lead on. I merely wish to find your husband so I might slit his throat.”
; Sophia stopped. She managed to turn and sit upon the stair. She gingerly brought her hand to her head to stop the intense throbbing she felt. “I’m staying right here, Crow.” She exhaled heavily.
Crow reached down and roughly grabbed her thick braid. He yanked her head back. “Scream. Scream for your husband, or I’ll cut your throat.” He moved a knife to her throat.
Sophia felt the cold steel against her neck. She shook her head. “No, you’ll have to kill me.”
“My pleasure…”
A loud piercing scream rent the silence of Wychcombe Hall. Another sounded, and yet another.
“Libby?” Sophia cried out in alarm.
Somewhere above stairs a door opened. Sophia heard male voices. Was it Micah and Lyon? Charlie and Tristan? She tried to turn her head. She needed to shout, to warn them about Crow.
“Saved by Lady Wincanton, ah, almost.” Crow easily pushed Lady Amesbury from the step she sat on with his booted foot.
Sophia felt woozy and off balance. She could not keep herself from falling, nor could she right herself once she tumbled. She thought she heard her husband call her name. She felt her head hit something, next her shoulder, then her knee and her wrist. Her last coherent thought as she tumbled down the stairs was a prayer to save her husband.
“There’s something wrong, Lyon.” Micah stated as an uneasy feeling suddenly came over him. He realized Lyon must have experienced the same warning, for he was headed toward the parlour door as well, a grim expression on his face.
The two reached the door at the same time. There was no guard in the hallway. No Charlie. No Tristan. No answer when Lyon called their names.
“I’ll get guns. Tell George to stay with the ladies upstairs.” Lyon said as he entered his bedchamber.
Micah nodded and calmly stuck his head back into the parlour and instructed George to stay with the ladies.
He closed the door to the parlour behind him. It was then Micah heard the voice of Gabriel Chynoweth. “Get downstairs, Micah. Davitt has Libby. He’s trying to make her scream for you, and she won’t. He’s about to rape her! She’s in the long gallery. Go! Now!” Micah swallowed. He next heard his wife’s voice inside his head, “Micah! He means to kill you!”
Lords of Honor Page 33
