The Wife He Always Wanted

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Brenna and Noelle looked back, clearly curious about the Runner’s bruised face. Sarah shrugged slightly and they continued to their waiting carriage. She would inform them of the recent adventure at a later time.

  Mister Brown walked up the steps to join Sarah and Gabriel in the open doorway. “I have news.” Busby took his hat and coat. They settled into the downstairs parlor.

  The Runner’s face was grim. “There has been a murder.”

  “Oh dear.” Sarah put her hand to her chest.

  “The man was Horton Hughes,” Brown continued. “He was a tenant in Westwood Park, Lord Avery’s property. Hughes came to see me last week hoping I would be willing to buy some information he had about a secretive meeting that took place on a road just off the park. Late at night, three days ago, he was walking back from the local inn when he saw a group of six men on horseback congregating in the middle of the road. Curious about the lateness of the hour and that they were strangers, he darted off into the trees and crept closer. He couldn’t clearly make out all of the conversation, and only spoke rudimentary French, but understood enough to figure out what they were plotting.”

  “And that was?” Gabriel asked.

  “They were on their way to kill Lord Avery and his family.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  At Gabe’s insistence, he and Sarah rode out to Westwood Park with Brown. If there was even a remote chance the plot was connected to Sarah’s father, he wanted to be there when Brown spoke to Lord Avery. Anything to move their sluggish investigation forward would help.

  “Horton contacted the Runners after rushing to warn Lord Avery about the assassination plot,” Brown said, filling them in on the murder. “His Lordship managed to get his family to safety with friends who live nearby.”

  The weight of an alternate outcome to Avery’s situation hit close to Gabriel and burned hot in his chest. He felt a kinship to His Lordship. His wife was also in the path of killers. Perhaps the same killers.

  “They were fortunate Horton was out drinking that night and decided to be a hero,” Gabriel said. “Avery has three children and a wife. Imagine the horror if the killers had gotten to the park before Horton.”

  Sarah shuddered. “How could anyone want to hurt children? They are truly evil men.”

  “Soulless bastards,” Brown agreed.

  “How did Horton die?” Gabe said before the topic took another path. They must remain focused.

  “It appears as if someone knew of Horton’s visit to Bow Street and killed him for his selfless act.” The Runner scowled. “Returning home, he was about ten minutes from the park when he was attacked. They left him at the side of the road. A farmer found his body. The local constable knew him and contacted Lord Avery. His Lordship contacted us.”

  “How dreadful,” Sarah said. “He gave his life to save others.”

  “He did indeed,” Brown said. “He was a good man.”

  Gabriel crossed his arms. “Why would anyone want to hurt Avery and his family? I’ve heard he is a decent sort, and his wife, sweet natured and well liked.”

  Brown drew in a deep breath. “According to what we understand, Lord Avery was involved in the capture of a French spy during Napoleon’s reign. Though he had no part in the hanging of that man, and his identity was kept secret, we suspect there is a traitor in our midst. The spy somehow became privy to some documents and passed them on. There is a furtive investigation under way at Bow Street.”

  “So the plot on Avery was to avenge the death of the spy?” Gabriel said. He glanced at his wife. She was pale, her eyes wide with worry. He hated that she was involved with this case. His protective nature wanted to shelter her. Sarah would not have it.

  “We believe so.” Brown scrubbed a hand on his bristled cheek. He appeared to have neglected his toilet over the last day or two. With the healing cuts on his face, shaving had to be painful. “Thus far we’ve found nothing to indicate a traitor at Bow Street. However, everything indicates there is something amiss there. How could the killers know about Avery and Horton otherwise?”

  Sarah pushed back her hat. “How is all this connected to Father’s case?”

  “Lord Avery worked briefly with your father,” he said. “Anyone connected to Henry has to be investigated. Although I do not believe your father was involved with the arrest of the French spy, we do think a member of the same group these Frenchmen worked with also killed Henry.”

  With the news, Gabriel watched pain flicker through her eyes. Still, she remained outwardly stoic. She had remarkable strength, his wife.

  “Then your Solange may have killed both Father and Horton?” she asked, her voice strong and unwavering.

  Brown nodded, his face grave. “It is possible.”

  Gabriel wondered what it cost Brown to admit the culpability of his wife in such despicable acts. Gabriel wondered how he himself would feel if it were Sarah in her place and Sarah was a traitor.

  Could he take her life if it meant saving others?

  “You cannot blame yourself for her actions,” Sarah said softly. “I do not find you culpable for my father’s death. Solange is responsible for her own behavior.”

  “Thank you. However, if I’d had her arrested when I discovered she was spying for France, your father would still be alive.”

  Sarah leaned forward and laid her hand over his. “You do not know that Solange was his killer. As a spy, the French would have wanted Father dead. Or Napoleon might have found out about Father’s connection with the mistress. There were many reasons he was endangered. Solange was not the only person who was capable of the murder.”

  Brown’s expression softened. “You are kind, like your father.” He patted her hand. “He would be proud of the woman you’ve become.”

  They fell silent. Gabriel was taken aback by her kindness. By all accounts Brown’s wife had murdered her father, and yet, she showed him compassion that in all likelihood he did not deserve. Despite what she said, Solange had been his responsibility and he’d left her free to continue spying. For that, he should wallow in his guilt for eternity.

  Sarah reclaimed her hand and sat back. Within the hour they were at Westwood Park. The house loomed large, unfettered by gilt and opulence. In fact, the plain stone façade signaled nothing to indicate Lord Avery’s great wealth or position.

  It was like a monastery in simple lines and form.

  “I asked Lord Avery to meet us here,” Brown said and climbed from the coach. “If His Lordship is being watched, we do not want to lead the killers to his family.”

  Gabriel followed and helped Sarah down. She lifted her chin to examine the five-story manor as Brown led the way across the stone drive to the front door.

  Once inside, the interior was as simple as the outside. Clearly, Lord and Lady Avery were not the kind of nobility that liked vulgar displays of wealth.

  The butler indicated they follow. “Mister Brown. This way, please. His Lordship is waiting in the drawing room.”

  As they walked down a long hallway into the bowels of the manor, Gabriel felt a growing sense of unease. Something was amiss in this house, in this case, in the murder plot. He felt it in his bones.

  * * *

  T ension pressed down on Sarah, weighted by the feeling that something was not right about this story, this killing of Mister Horton. Even the comforting presence of her husband could not dispel her concern. She’d once seen a spider wrap a moth in its deadly silken webbing, and she could not help but feel much like that hapless insect.

  Her steps faltered as they reached the drawing room.

  “Easy, love,” Gabriel whispered as if reading her thoughts. He touched her arm. “I, too, am wary.”

  Relieved that they were of the same mind, they followed the butler in. A man of medium height, and somewhat younger than Sarah expected, stood waiting near the fireplace.

  He had to
be little more than twenty or so when the French spy had been captured. Still a boy in many regards. And now his life, and that of his family, were endangered because he wanted to serve his country against a foreign foe.

  Lord Avery walked over to them. Mister Brown made the introductions. His Lordship greeted Sarah warmly then turned to Gabriel. “I have heard from your father of your adventures,” Avery said, smiling. “He sometimes shared your letters over a glass of port. It is unfortunate we must finally meet under these circumstances.”

  “Knowing my father, he likely embellished some of my antics for the enjoyment of his audience.” Gabe gave a slight bow. “Perhaps someday soon we will meet up at White’s, when this case is settled and danger is no longer shadowing us both.”

  “Yes, let’s do.” Lord Avery offered seats and refreshments. Brown refused a brandy, but Gabriel accepted. Lord Avery turned to Sarah. “I understand the Runners believe the plot to kill me and your father’s murder are linked.”

  “They do,” Sarah said. “If there is anything you know that may help us, we’d be appreciative to hear your thoughts.”

  His Lordship sipped his drink. “There really is very little to tell. I was twenty-three when I ran away from home to join the army. My brother was heir presumptive, and I was a lad with dreams of adventure. As the son of a noble, and with a French mother, the government saw me as an asset and decided I’d be best used away from the battlefield.”

  “They made you a spy,” Gabriel said.

  “Fluent in French, I could move among French society without drawing much notice. Spying sounded like great fun.”

  Sarah wondered if her father had once felt the same.

  “Spying was not as I imagined. Being young and brash, I did not like to follow rules. Ferreting out secrets was difficult, trust hard to gain, and my arrogance did nothing to aid me. In a year, I had little to offer. Then my brother broke his neck in a fall from his horse and I was called back to England. It was on my last night before my ship sailed that I attended a—” He darted a glance at Sarah. “—party as a final farewell to Paris. I was out in a darkened garden with a lovely young woman when I overheard a conversation between two men. The information I gleaned led to the arrest of the French spy in London and thus ended my life as an agent of the Crown.”

  Despite her best effort, Sarah couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Did you see the faces of the two men?”

  “I did not,” he said regretfully. “The garden was dark, I was hidden behind a hedge, and their conversation was brief. They’d vanished into the night before I realized the importance of what I’d heard.”

  “Damn.” Gabriel’s fists closed on the chair arms. “We are thwarted at every turn.”

  Mister Brown pressed forward with questions, but nothing further was gained. His Lordship had been but a young man without the skills to undertake the job he was asked to do. An inexperienced spy made one contribution to his country then returned home to take his brother’s place.

  “I am truly sorry I cannot be of more help,” Lord Avery said. The questioning came to an end. “I knew your father, not well, but enough to realize he was a good man.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah replied, and they stood. Gabriel took her arm. Once the three were settled back into the coach, Sarah gripped Gabriel’s hand. He squeezed her fingers as the coach rolled down the lane.

  “Do not lose hope, love,” he whispered. “We have avenues left to explore.”

  With the Runner seated across from them, Sarah did not want to express her concerns, which were many. Although Lord Avery appeared to be an excellent source of information, the trip to see him proved a waste of effort.

  “Every time a path appears in front of us, it ends in disappointment,” she said.

  Suspicion grew. Could Mister Brown be trusted? Truly? Could he be the traitor inside Bow Street?

  So many questions without answers whirled through her head. She looked forward to getting home and discussing the matter with Gabriel.

  “I worry about Lord Avery’s family,” Sarah said. “I know what it feels like to be in danger.”

  “Runners have been posted to protect them, and they have also hired a man named Jace Jones and his employees for further protection,” Mister Brown said. “It will be almost impossible for the killer or killers to attack him again.”

  “That gives some comfort,” Sarah said. “I cannot fathom how my plan to discover information about my father’s death has become so far-reaching. Why attack the Avery family now? They’ve had many years to exact revenge.”

  “Not unless the traitor at Bow Street was only recently turned,” Gabriel said. “Enough gold will tempt even the most stalwart of men. If they have accessed the information into your father’s death, then they could have access to other cases.”

  “Then Lord Avery may not be connected to Father’s death, other than the killers may be the same French spies?”

  “Spies, determined to right all wrongs.” Gabriel turned to Mister Brown. “I suggest your employers contact all agents past and present to inform them that their lives may be at risk.”

  “I will see to it immediately.”

  A loud crack rang out and the coach lurched.

  “What is happening?” Gabriel called out. The coach sped up, wobbling on its wheels for a short burst, then rolled to a stop. Gabriel peered out then carefully stuck his head out the window. He looked toward the horses.

  “Something has happened to the coachman.” He pushed the door open. A second crack sounded and a thump banged against the side of the coach. “Get down.” He reached out and pushed Sarah to the floor.

  “Someone is shooting at us!” she cried. A third bullet zipped through the open door, past her head, and hit the seat above her! “Gabriel, duck!”

  * * *

  Gabriel swung away from the opening and onto the seat, his back to the wall. Another shot exploded from outside. He pulled a pistol from inside his coat, thankful he’d taken to carrying one since The Widow threatened to kill Sarah.

  “Keep away from the door,” he said to Sarah. “Wedge yourself under the seat if you can.”

  Mister Brown was already halfway beneath the seat opposite. He held a pistol in his hand. “Can you see the shooter?”

  “I cannot, though I believe he is waiting for us to alight so he can kill us all.” Gabriel primed the pistol, knowing he had one shot. If his aim was true, it was all he’d need.

  “What do we do?” Sarah said with her eyes wide.

  “You are not armed. Stay inside.” He looked over at Brown. “I will try to get out and see if I can find the shooter. You stay and protect Sarah.”

  The Runner did not protest. Gabe shot her a glance then held out his hat. No shots. The silence following the shooting offered no comfort. How could he get focused on the shooter if he did not know the direction in which he was hiding?

  “Be careful,” Sarah urged.

  He dropped onto his hands and knees and peeked out. Emboldened by no further shots, he leaned out further.

  “I cannot see anyone.” Taking a chance, he stood and leaped out. He hit the ground and his knees buckled. A shot cracked and he rolled under the coach and out the other side.

  “Gabe!” Sarah cried.

  “I’m unhurt,” he quickly assured her and scrambled behind the wheel. The coach was angled sideways across the road and the weeds along either side were uncut. It offered him some cover from flying bullets. At his back was a ditch.

  Not enough protection for comfort. Still, now he knew the direction of the shooter. That would help.

  Careful to keep low, he jerked off his coat, put the pistol in his waistband, and slid sideways and away from the coach. The horses shuffled restlessly as he moved past them. Without the firm hand of the coachman, they were uncertain, nervous.

  His extensive experiences in America gave him
an advantage. He and Albert had gotten into many situations when he thought they’d breathed their last, and yet managed to survive.

  This shooter paled against a party of Cherokee, or a band of bank robbers whose horses they’d just borrowed.

  His mouth twitched and a feral gleam filled his eyes. No, he and Albert had faced worse. They’d learned to hunt food with the best trackers in Texas, how to move soundlessly through wooded mountains when looking for a kidnapped girl, and when to turn and ride away when the odds were against them.

  Damn. His heart grew heavy. If only his friend were alive to share this one last danger.

  Never had the stakes been higher for Gabe in all his years away. Sarah’s life was endangered. He could not fail her.

  Sliding on his belly, he pulled himself from the ditch and into the weeds, his mind focused, shutting out every sound, every thought, outside of finding the attacker.

  Another shot, then two, hit the coach. The man was getting impatient. The coach walls weren’t enough to keep the bullets from gaining entry inside. He had to hurry.

  Gabe’s stomach burned. Like a cat, he moved, careful and nearly soundless, until he reached the fence bordering the road. From there, he crawled beneath the wood planks into the pasture and followed the fence to the east where a small wood copse stretched along the fence. His heart pounded in his ears.

  The distance narrowed. It took concentration to hear anything past the thud of his heartbeats in his ears.

  Eventually, he heard a low-voiced conversation amid harsh whispers. He edged closer. He could see the backs of two armed men, one nearer the coach, the other behind a small tree and to the back side of the front man. He was loading pistols for the other.

  Gabe stood. With care, he stepped forward to within reach of the second man. He waited until the stranger put down the loaded and primed piece.

  “Where is ’arrington?” the man asked. His answer was a hand over his mouth and an arm around his neck. The stranger struggled. Gabe quickly cut off his breath. He applied pressure until the man went limp and then quietly eased the unconscious man to the ground.