by Rebecca King
Still, it was a moot point really because Pie had made it perfectly clear that he wanted to see the back of her. She knew that it was only a matter of time before Beaulieu was removed from being a risk to anyone and then Hugo would make arrangements for a new coachman to take her to Norfolk. She could then leave Crompton and not look back.
She glanced around the room feeling a sense of rightness about the place that was faintly alarming because it almost felt like home. The tired opulence was plain to see in the slightly faded wallpaper and the thin rugs. It wouldn’t take much in the way of repairs and decoration to make this into a lovely home. Although it was only half the size of Melvedere Manor, it was an ample home in which to raise a family.
She quickly closed that thought off and took a sip of her tea. Glancing out of the window she stared at the smattering of rain drops and wondered where Pie was.
Pie lay perfectly still. Beaulieu was mere feet away, unaware that he was being watched. Although the man was facing the opposite way, Pie wasn’t about to be lulled into a false sense of security. He had been caught out once or twice by people who suddenly turned around having known that he was behind them all along. He wasn’t prepared to make the same mistake now, not when his target was so very near.
He knew now that Beaulieu was the one who had attempted to run Florrie over and could only assume that it was because Florrie had discovered the body in the churchyard.
Beaulieu had been trying to silence her.
Pie took a breath and edged closer to the Frenchman. He knew that Beaulieu was an excellent knifeman, and had felled more than his fair share of opponents with a well aimed throw from several yards away. Pie had no intention of being another of those victims. However, he was equally as determined that the Frenchman was not going to evade capture now that he was so close, and especially when he posed such a threat to Florrie.
He had never felt such terror as he had when he saw the carriage speed off, with Florrie inside and a wounded Billy lying on the verge. The thought of what Beaulieu would have done to Florrie when he stopped the coach had made Pie urge his horse faster than was wise. He had jumped several hedges and managed to catch up by using the fields while the conveyance had been forced to stick to the winding roads.
He now wished that he had shot the manic Frenchman while he had been able to, although how he was supposed to shoot anyone while clinging on to the carriage roof he wasn’t quite sure.
Still, at least Florrie had made it away safe and sound. He had seen Simon returning the coach to Crompton, and was relieved that his colleague had managed to catch up with her. Knowing that she was safe, and under the protection of his colleagues, left Pie able to concentrate on what he needed to do: capture the man before him. As far as Pie was concerned though, if the Frenchman put up a fight, Hugo’s orders aside, Pie was going to kill the man and he would face up the consequences later. By attempting to kill Florrie and then kidnapping her, Beaulieu had made this personal, and Pie wasn’t going to let up until all threat to Florrie had been removed.
He didn’t want to study why he considered Florrie’s safety his responsibility. If he looked too deeply he knew that he would not like the answers. If he hadn’t insisted she leave to remain safe, she would never have been in the carriage in the first place. She would have spent the day in Crompton under armed guard. Instead, because of his own fears, he had pushed her to head out on her new life and had literally forced her out under the nose of the man who wanted her dead.
Shaking his head, Pie mentally counted the distance between him and his target and wondered if he could take a shot from this far away. The man was close enough to hit – just; as long as Pie made sure the shot hit where it would harm the man but not kill him. A part of Pie almost wanted the man alive so that he had the opportunity to question him. However, a larger and far more vengeful part of him wanted the evasive Frenchman removed for good.
Several moments passed with neither man moving. Pie studied the area around them carefully. Off in the distance he saw Hugo heading toward them on horseback and, to the right, Rupert was slowly walking toward them, trying to use the hedgerow as cover. Pie knew that his colleagues were looking for him, and wanted to warn them to stay away. He watched the Frenchman remove his knife from his boot and knew that he couldn’t wait for the Beaulieu to make the first move.
With this gaze locked firmly on the killer’s back, Pie lunged forward. His whistle was loud and he lifted his arm to capture the attention of his colleagues as he zig-zagged his way toward the man lying on the floor. He watched the Frenchman twist around and try to lunge to his feet. Pie’s gaze was locked firmly on the wicked looking knife in the man’s hand. In slow motion he watched as the blade left his hand. Pie threw himself to the floor and rolled, knowing the knife had gone wide of its mark. He launched to his feet and threw himself at the Frenchman in a ruthless tackle that winded them both.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The brawl that ensued between the two powerfully built men was brutal. Fists thumped with bruising accuracy; knees and feet landed with bone crunching thuds. Pie was oblivious to the pain; his attention was focused on Beaulieu’s every move. The Frenchman continued to trade blow for blow with a dogged determination that increased Pie’s anger. As he threw punch after punch, the memory of Florrie standing in the churchyard with a bloodied knife in her hand swam in his mind. The sight of her going under the carriage wheels replayed over and over and, although the logical part of him understood that the Frenchman hadn’t been responsible for shooting at her, the thought of what might have happened swarmed in his mind and refused to leave.
Pie cursed as he was shoved onto his back. He twisted and writhed and tried to push his body weight upward to force the Frenchman off his chest. Fists rained down on him with ruthless force. His head swam alarmingly and he blinked against the cloudiness in his eyes. His blood pounded with the need to stay alive. He had to get out of this or die trying. The whites of Beaulieu’s eyes held him captivated. The cold, almost feral hatred evident on the man’s face warned him that there would be no resolution to this duel until someone died. Pie was determined that it wouldn’t be him.
With a curse, he gritted his teeth and, with Herculean strength, heaved himself upright. Grabbing hold of the Frenchman’s throat in a powerful grip, he snarled. Ignoring the desperate bite of fingernails on his arm as Beaulieu fought for breath, he slowly took advantage. Heaving himself to his feet, Pie pushed himself forward until their positions reversed and he was the one leaning over the Frenchman. He watched the man’s face turn a mottled purple. The urge to keep squeezing was so very strong. He watched the whites of the man’s eyes turn red. A small voice warned him to remember Hugo’s orders: Beaulieu had to be captured alive. The decision on whether or not to kill Beaulieu was taken out of his hands when one long leg whacked his knees out from under him. Pie went down with a grunt and had no choice but to release his hold. The Frenchman rolled away, stood and placed one well aimed kick to Pie’s head.
The world swam and Pie gasped as bile rose in his throat. He knew that to pass out now would mean certain death. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision and met Beaulieu’s stare. The men paused for a moment while they sized each other up. Pie didn’t need to look around to know that there was no back up from his colleagues. It didn’t appear that either Hugo or Rupert had heard his whistle. Nobody knew where to find him. They were out in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around them but fields. Anyone who died here would be left to rot. If Pie was to die, he would be listed as one of England’s missing, presumably lost in action. It was a fate that he wasn’t prepared to accept. Not now that he had found Florrie.
The mental image of her swam before him like a beacon of light in the blackest of nights. He held her before him like a talisman; a symbol of good luck that would mean his survival. He needed; wanted, a future with her and to get that, he had to stay alive.
Beaulieu growled and threw himself forward, his face twisted in a
cruel grimace. Pie’s senses were sluggish and he didn’t move to the side in time to stop the Frenchman’s beefy shoulder slamming straight into his stomach. As the blows began again, he took a deep breath and redoubled his efforts to bring the Frenchman down.
Minutes later, Pie knew that matters had to come to a head. Neither of them were going to give in. He grabbed hold of Beaulieu’s wrist as he tried to draw his gun from beneath his shirt. If the man pulled the trigger, Pie would receive a shot to the stomach and would be killed instantly. Pie knew that the Frenchman wasn’t going to give up while he had breath in his body. Hugo’s orders rang hollowly through his mind but he refused to pay them any heed. Hugo wasn’t the one fighting for his life.
He grabbed hold of the Frenchman’s shirt and swung him around, throwing him down onto the ground with a heavy thump. The Frenchman kicked his legs out and tried to sweep Pie off his feet again, but this time Pie was ready for him. He removed his gun and tried to take aim only for the Frenchman to roll over, push to his feet and rush at him. Pie lifted his gun and took a shot straight into the air. He brought the hilt of his gun down onto the Frenchman’s head, but it did little except make the man stagger a bit. It certainly didn’t fell him. Pie couldn’t look around to see if any of his colleagues had noticed them this time; his gaze was locked on the man who was charging toward him. The Frenchman threw ruthless arms around Pie’s waist and tried to drag him down, but Pie kept raining blows down on the Frenchman’s head, blow after blow after blow. Feral grunts and snarls were the only vocal exchanges.
Eventually Beaulieu released his hold of Pie’s waist and fell to his knees. Pie took his opportunity that was open to him and landed one well aimed kick to the Frenchman’s chin. He didn’t care of the man died as a result. He watched as Beaulieu’s head snapped back. Their eyes met and held for several long moments. Beaulieu smiled a bloody smile and shoved himself to his feet, a snarl of rage on his face. He launched himself at Pie again at the same time that a single shot resounded through the air.
The man’s weight crashed into Pie, who slammed into the ground behind him with bruising force. The breath immediately left his body. He lay there in the mud, staring blankly at the sky.
It was going to start raining again.
He couldn’t think and was far beyond feeling anything. The edges of his vision started to turn black and grey. He wondered if this was what death felt like. He wasn’t sure where he had been hurt but, once again, his thoughts immediately turned to the woman who this had all been about.
Florrie.
He acknowledged there and then that he loved her. His heart swelled with pride for her endurance, and ached with bittersweet regret that he would never get the opportunity to tell her and show her just how much she meant to him.
It felt as though a thin veil of anxiety had lifted and he could suddenly, for the first time, see everything clearly. He understood that by sending Florrie away, he had made the biggest mistake of his entire life. Now, it didn’t look as though he was going to have the opportunity to put things right between them.
He took a deep breath and tried to fight the swirling blackness that threatened to suck him under. Sickening pain lanced across his side. Had he been shot? Had someone crept up on him while he had been busy fighting? He wasn’t sure, and it was too late now to lift his head and see for himself. Nothing seemed to be able to move now that he was lying down. Frowning darkly, he was aware of the sound of running footsteps and wondered if it was Beaulieu or someone else. He daren’t close his eyes because if he did, he knew for certain that he would never open them again. Instead, he lay gasping for breath and waited for the inevitable.
Simon’s worried face suddenly swam into view, and Pie blinked rapidly in relief. He couldn’t speak the words that were locked in his throat. One bloodied hand lifted and he grabbed hold of Simon’s shirt, drawing him down until he was close enough to hear his whisper.
“Tell Florrie -,” he paused and didn’t know what else to say. He should be the one to tell Florrie that he loved her, not Simon. If he died, did Florrie really need to know that he had loved her? She should be free to start her new life without him. If he survived, he was damned sure that she knew that her new life had to include him. He stared at Simon and tried to gather his thoughts but they just wouldn’t settle into any semblance of order.
Simon stared down at Pie’s battered and bruised face. There were cuts and welts all over him. One side of his face was covered in blood and there was a large cut on his side that was bleeding heavily. Simon had found them more by luck than judgement and had heard the gunshot before he had seen them. His gaze had been captured by the flurry of movement and the grunts and thumps coming from the next field along. He hadn’t needed to think twice before he had taken aim at Beaulieu’s back. Pie’s situation had been as desperate as Simon had ever seen, and was still life-threatening given the state of him.
“Stay with me, Pie, don’t you dare give up,” Simon snapped, glancing frantically around, trying to catch sight of the others. He wondered if he would cause Pie further injury if he tried to put him over his horse’s back. He knew Rupert and Hugo were around there somewhere, but he couldn’t see them.
Pie’s lips twisted in a parody of a smile and he stared at his friend. “I am not going to make it this time,” he whispered. His stomach burned to the point that he knew he was going to be sick, but he couldn’t pay any attention to anything except for his bitter regret at not appreciating Florrie, and all she brought to his life. He couldn’t think of anything except what he had given up by behaving like a coward and shying away from the emotions she created within him. If only he had the chance to tell her, he would put things right and do everything he needed to do to make sure that she knew her life wasn’t going to be spent in Norfolk, but instead was going to be firmly by his side, as his wife.
He swallowed. “Simon,” he whispered. He couldn’t move his head, it hurt too much. He blinked to keep the darkness at bay. Within seconds Simon’s face appeared above him.
“Do you think you can get up so we can get out of here?” Simon’s face was grave with concern.
Pie tried to shake his head but couldn’t. Instead he looked sadly at his colleague. He didn’t need to see the state he was in; he was starting to feel every bruise. “Tell Florrie that I love her. Make sure that she gets everything that is mine.”
“Come on, you are going to get through this.” In reality, Simon wasn’t at all sure Pie would be able to make the arduous journey across the fields and back to Crompton; even if he could remain alive long enough for Simon to find the others.
“I am not. God it hurts,” he whispered. He could taste blood and didn’t know if it was coming from the various cuts in his mouth or his stomach. The swirling greys on the edge of his vision began to cloud over and he felt so tired that he felt as though the earth was drawing him down. He knew that he didn’t have long and tried to open his eyes, but Simon wasn’t there. He couldn’t hear anything and wondered if his friend had left.
He lay there for several minutes, staring up at the grey clouds. The earth beneath him seemed to throb with energy. He could smell the dank mustiness beneath him. For some reason the pain he had started to feel had abated again only he couldn’t understand why. He knew he was still alive because he could feel the gentle tickle of rain drops on his face. Simon had hopefully gone to summon the others, if he could find them. Pie knew that it was going to be some time yet before anyone was in a position to move him. He had no idea where Beaulieu was, and didn’t really care. While wrestling with the spy, he had known that he had been fighting for his life. It seemed as though the fight was not yet over.
Simon raced back toward the lane, scanning the fields around him as he went. He caught sight of Rupert and Hugo a few fields away and jumped onto his horse. Within seconds he had directed them toward Pie. Satisfied that they were heading in the right direction, Simon turned around and set off to find Jonathan and Archie.
Crompton
was too far away. It took Simon far too long to summon several of the staff and send word to Jamie at the main house. Someone was despatched to fetch the doctor and Harriett was informed to get everything ready. Although she hadn’t got her herbs, Harriett knew enough about injuries to know exactly what to do to help Pie, and keep him alive while they waited for the doctor.
It filled Simon with hope that if they were quick, Pie might just survive after all.
Florrie felt sick. She paced backward and forward, wringing her hands. She was still shocked at Harriett’s calmness when faced with the knowledge that Pie had been seriously hurt and the men had gone to fetch him. The woman had carefully instructed the house staff to prepare a room and gather the necessary paraphernalia from around the house. A board was propped against the front door ready to move him from the cart that had been sent out to carry him home.
“Grab a hold of yourself, Florrie,” Harriett warned gently. “If you are squeamish then it is probably better if you don’t see what happens. I don’t know what his injuries are like, but I don’t need you fainting on me.” She knew that Hugo would help her and would probably object to Florrie being present but, right now, from the look on Florrie’s face it would probably take a small army to persuade her to sit downstairs and wait.
Florrie had taken up sentry duty on the stone steps outside the front door. Her eyes were glued to the end of the driveway. She didn’t know how far out of Brockington Mallow, Pie had been injured, and knew that it could be some time yet before he arrived but, with each moment that passed, a small part of her fretted just a little bit more.
