by Cheryl Holt
“Miss Henley!” he snapped. “Stop dawdling.”
“I’m not dawdling. I simply can’t match your rapid pace.”
“No, you’re dawdling. Don’t argue with me!”
He swung his pistol into her face, but she didn’t seem afraid in the slightest.
“I’m not arguing,” she said. “I’m worried about you. You don’t look well, Mr. Farnsworth.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re perspiring and your breathing is very labored. Shall we sit for a minute?”
“A clever ploy, Miss Henley,” he jeered, “but I won’t be distracted.”
“What is our destination?”
“We’ll proceed down the beach a short distance to where I have parked a carriage.”
“A carriage! You’re intending to abscond with me? Truly?”
“Yes.”
“For what reason?”
“I shall hide you from Mr. Swift. I’m betting—after I send him a note to tell him where you are—he’ll be eager to fetch you.”
“Mr. Swift? You’re mad if you assume he’ll come for me.”
“I saw him kissing you. If you were lost, he’d search forever.”
“Why force him to search? If you want to speak to him, why not march to the manor and knock on the door? He’s not barricaded inside. Just ask to talk to him.”
“I have no desire to talk to Mr. Swift in a house full of witnesses. What I have to say to him, I shall say when he and I are quite alone.”
“What’s happened to you, Mr. Farnsworth? If your aunt observed you when you were acting like this, she’d be very upset.”
“Don’t mention my aunt to me!”
Her comment about Mildred enraged him so much that he clouted her on the forehead with the butt of the pistol. The blow hadn’t landed very hard, but it created a small cut.
“Ow!” she complained. “You cretin! You hit me!”
“I didn’t mean to,” he claimed or maybe he did. He was just so angry.
She touched her injury, and when she drew her hand away her fingertips were covered with blood. The sight incensed her, and she furiously spat, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you are.”
He tried to continue on, but she planted her feet and wouldn’t budge. There was no hope for it. He’d have to manhandle her.
“Don’t make me be cruel to you, Miss Henley.”
“You’re too late on that score, Mr. Farnsworth. I’m bleeding, you dolt!”
He couldn’t guess how he might have responded, but from over in the garden a man called, “Farnsworth! What are you doing?”
He glanced over to see Nicholas Swift storming toward him like the Angel of Death. Clayton hesitated, suddenly not as sure as he had been. In his frantic raving over the unfairness of life, he’d forgotten how tall Swift was, how confident and bold. He possessed every trait Clayton lacked.
“Hold it right there, Swift!” he called back.
“Have you tipped off your rocker?” was Swift’s reply. “Is that what’s finally occurred?”
“Stay where you are!”
Swift hadn’t slowed, hadn’t paused to exhibit any fear over his safety—or Miss Henley’s—and Clayton was flummoxed by his rapid advance. It left him dizzy with terror and resolve.
“I’ll kill you, Swift,” he warned. “If you come one step closer, you’re dead.”
“You don’t have the nerve to kill me,” Swift taunted.
“Fine, then,” Clayton retorted, “I’ll shoot Miss Henley instead. I’m delighted either way.”
“You kill her,” Swift blithely said, “then I’ll kill you. It will be a perfect eye-for-an-eye.”
Clayton raised the pistol to her head, and he was disgusted to find that she wasn’t whimpering or pleading or showing any sign at all that she was frightened of him. She simply stared at Swift, and she looked calm and composed and completely convinced that he would rescue her.
Clayton might have pulled the trigger, but he was startled by a second man—who was just as determined and furious as Swift—appearing behind him. His arrival distracted Clayton, but he was even more diverted by the fact that his aunt was marching toward them too.
“Clayton!” she yelled. “You are absolutely out of your mind!”
Abruptly, he was too befuddled to react. Since the meeting with Thumberton, he’d spent every minute plotting and planning to the point where he could no longer think clearly.
He was supposed to have easily kidnapped Miss Henley, then lured Nicholas Swift to an isolated spot where Clayton could have murdered him. He’d have rid himself of Miss Henley too, then he’d have cunningly concealed the bodies where they would never be discovered.
Now he was extremely confused, and the entire scheme seemed a tad deranged.
Why were the stars aligned against him? Why couldn’t anything go right?
Miss Henley compounded his dilemma by sagging slightly. The drop of her weight yanked him off balance. Mr. Swift lunged, his aunt screamed, and the second man shouted an epithet. Clayton aimed his pistol at Swift, but Swift merely reached out and jerked it away.
Without it being fired, he tossed it into the weeds, then he punched Clayton as hard as he could. His eyes fluttered shut, his knees gave out, and he sank to the ground.
The last detail he remembered was Miss Henley leaning over him and peering down.
“Is he dead?” she asked.
“Unfortunately not,” Swift said.
Then everything went black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“You’ll never get out of here.”
“I will! You’ll see.”
Nicholas glared at Clayton, his dismay and exasperation acute. Clayton was so certain he would win his release, and it only underscored how thoroughly madness had diluted his reasoning ability.
Obviously, he didn’t understand how much trouble he was in. The Henley sisters could have demanded he be hanged for kidnapping Sarah. But they were too kind to seek the brutal remedy. They simply wanted to guarantee he could never hurt anyone else.
Nicholas and Mildred—with a huge dose of assistance from Thumberton—had spared the world from his awful presence in the future.
He’d been committed to Bedlam Hospital for the rest of his life, and with it being the same conclusion he’d attempted to orchestrate for Mildred, there was some poetic justice being dispensed.
He would be permanently housed in a special wing for criminal lunatics, and despite what he assumed he would never be freed. Nicholas’s testimony at the court hearing had been too gripping, and of course Clayton had no friends who could have acted as character witnesses. He was on his own, with no one to help him, no one to vouch for him.
It was a very lonely spot to be.
Back at Wallace Downs, Nicholas had knocked him unconscious, then he and Christopher had bound his wrists and ankles so, once he’d roused, he’d been fully restrained. From that moment on, he’d been complaining and fighting, and he hadn’t stopped. He remained obstinate and unruly, and he refused to exhibit rational behavior. Or perhaps he couldn’t exhibit it.
Nicholas had whisked him away from Wallace Downs immediately, having declined to put any of the occupants through the unpleasantness of his wailing and protests. Since then, they hadn’t been separated.
Currently, they were deep inside Bedlam, with Nicholas having insisted he would watch over Clayton until he was deposited in his cell and the door barred. When he arrived back at Wallace Downs, he would be able to tell Mildred and the Henley sisters that Clayton no longer posed a threat.
Clayton was strapped to a chair, his arms and legs shackled to it, his waist and chest too. After they’d been admitted to the facility, the guards hadn’t been inclined to remove the fetters. They claimed his mania would eventually wane and he’d grow weary, and then the manacles would come off.
“Where is my aunt?” he suddenly inquired. �
�I demand to see my aunt!”
“You’ll never see her again, Clayton. I’ve explained this a hundred times.”
“Well, make it a hundred and one. I’m her nephew, and I need to speak to her.”
“You’ve ruined that possibility.”
“You’re keeping her from me. You’ve turned her against me.”
“You did a good job of that all on your own.”
“She should be locked in here. Not me.”
“You tried your best to have that ending, didn’t you? It didn’t work.”
“She’s deranged. She always has been.”
“If that’s what you believe, then I have to point out that insanity must run in the family.”
“She’s spending my money. She’s giving it to you, but I don’t approve.” Vehemently, he shook his head, his heated motion almost pulling over his chair. “I don’t agree!”
He started babbling, and he truly looked like a lunatic. His hair was mussed, and he hadn’t shaved in days. His clothes were stained and disheveled, but his eyes showed the biggest change. They were very bright, focused in an intense manner as if he was viewing a universe only he could observe.
All in all, he seemed quite crazed.
“I’m going, Clayton.” He sighed, feeling sorry for him. What would become of him in the dreadful place?
Clayton sneered. “I suppose you’ll hurry back to your pretty little fiancée.”
“Yes, I will.”
“She’s a harlot. She’s a tart. You two deserve each other.”
The insults rankled Nicholas, and he’d have liked to pummel Clayton, but it would be cruel to thrash a man who was clearly out of his mind.
Nicholas’s great regret was that Clayton’s nonsense at Wallace Downs had prevented him from resolving the situation with Sarah. After he’d thwarted the kidnapping, he’d sent Sarah and Mildred into the house, while he and Christopher had dealt with Clayton.
As he’d spirited Clayton away from the estate, he’d managed a fleeting goodbye with Sarah, and he couldn’t imagine the conversations that had ensued after he left. With her twin sister being so adamantly opposed to their marriage, he was terrified Sarah would heed her.
Mildred was there too though, and she was on his side and in his corner. She’d definitely sing his praises, but she wasn’t a Henley. Catherine’s words would carry so much more weight with Sarah, and if Abigail jumped on the bandwagon too Nicholas didn’t stand a chance.
“Did you know we’re cousins, Clayton?” he said.
“You’re no cousin of mine.”
“Your father was my uncle, so we’re first cousins. In most families, we’d practically be considered brothers.”
“You’re not a Farnsworth. You’re an illegitimate bastard without a father to name you.”
“If we’d been raised together, I wonder if you’d have turned out differently. I wonder if you’d have been a better man. Or if I would have been a better man.”
“I’m fine just the way I am,” Clayton insisted.
“Sure you are Clayton. Sure you are.”
From the start when Nicholas had set his sights on Mildred as possibly being his mother, it had never dawned on him that he and Clayton were related too. He’d met Clayton in the gaming clubs where members played for the highest stakes, but he hadn’t deduced that if Mildred was his mother, then Clayton was his cousin. The realization had been quite a shock.
Who would be eager to share a blood connection with such a pathetic fellow?
He should have felt more of a bond with Clayton or perhaps more pity for his plight, but he didn’t really feel much emotion about him at all. He and Clayton could probably never have been genuinely cordial. Not after Nicholas had announced his identity to Mildred. If their roles had been reversed, the loss of all that money might have driven Nicholas mad too.
“Mildred will write to you twice a year,” he said.
“She shouldn’t write. She should visit me. She should see what’s transpired. She has to fix this.”
“I will check on you as well. Every quarter. But you won’t be allowed to write back to us. There will be no contact from you.”
For the briefest moment, Clayton gazed up at Nicholas. He stopped yanking on the fetters, and he looked a bit sane. The old Clayton was peering out of those strange eyes.
“If you leave me here, Swift, what will happen to me?”
“I can’t begin to guess.”
Nicholas would like to hope that medical doctors would develop a treatment for what had afflicted Clayton, but the general consensus was that the mind couldn’t be repaired. Clayton was dangerous, and he’d proved himself to be a menace to society. He’d never be cured, and he’d never be released.
“Goodbye,” Nicholas said.
He patted Clayton on the shoulder, then walked to the door. The guard let him through, then it clanged shut behind him. The key grated in the lock, and he shuddered at the sound.
Clayton noticed Nicholas’s departure, and he fought against his shackles. He screamed and called out.
“Swift! Swift! Take me with you! I want to go too!”
Nicholas continued down the hall, and the racket gradually faded. He increased his pace, excited to ride to Wallace Downs so he could learn where matters stood with Sarah. He had to believe her sister wouldn’t have ruined his prospects, but who could predict how it would conclude?
Ultimately, he was out on the sidewalk, and he pushed through the crowds of people who were anxious to get inside to chat with loved ones or to deliver supplies to them. To his surprise, he heard himself summoned, but he figured it was Clayton’s disturbed voice echoing in his head.
When he heard the summons again, he scanned the mob, searching for a familiar face. And there was Mildred’s friend and betrayer, Winston Winthrop. He bristled with aggravation and would have stomped off, but Winthrop hurried over and blocked a quick escape.
“What can I do for you, Winthrop?” he asked.
“I need to speak with Clayton Farnsworth, but I was told he’s not permitted any visitors.”
“He’s too ill.”
“I must confer with him.”
“I can’t help you.”
Nicholas tried to move on, but Winthrop laid a hand on his arm to halt him. Nicholas glared at the spot where Winthrop was touching him, and Winthrop sheepishly dropped away.
“Clayton owes me money,” Winthrop said.
“If that’s the case, I would advise you to write it off as a bad debt. You’ll never collect it.”
“A man can’t fail to pay simply because he’s sick.”
“I suppose you could file a lawsuit.”
“I haven’t the funds to pursue a legal remedy,” Winthrop huffed. “A substantial portion of my income came from Clayton, but it’s ended.”
“Why is that? What was he compensating you for?”
Winthrop vaguely claimed, “I performed…ah…a service for him occasionally.”
“What kind of service?” Nicholas caustically inquired. “Was it spying on his aunt?”
“I didn’t spy,” Winthrop insisted, but his cheeks flushed with chagrin. “I passed on important information. He worried about Mildred. So did I. We were merely concerned for her welfare.”
“Of course you were.” Nicholas scoffed. “That must be why you assisted Clayton in having her committed to this facility.”
“I wasn’t involved in that.”
“Weren’t you?” Nicholas’s expression was scathing. “You must excuse me, Mr. Winthrop, but I’m very busy this morning, and I don’t have time for your nonsense.”
Winthrop smiled an ingratiating smile. “I’m sorry to bother you, Swift, but I’m really in a jam. Can’t you arrange for me to talk to Clayton? There must be a way.”
“He’s in no condition to handle his own affairs so his aunt has been appointed his guardian. She would have to approve any visit, and I can guarantee that you wil
l never be on any list.”
“How is Mildred? I miss the old gal.”
“Shut up, Winthrop. If you mention her again, I’ll knock your teeth out.”
“I received a horrid letter from her. She used to give me money too, and she’s cutting it off. She can’t mean it, Swift! We’ve been friends since we were children.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you went sneaking behind her back to her nephew.”
“What are my sisters and I to do? I have two women to support, Swift. It’s not right for Mildred to be so angry with me. Where is she? I should meet with her so I can explain what happened. If she’d just see me, I’m certain I could mend our little rift.”
“She will never meet with you, Winthrop, and while I pity your sisters my well of sympathy for you has run dry.”
Nicholas pushed past him, eager to flee the exhausting encounter, and Winthrop snapped, “Swift!”
Nicholas whipped around. “It’s Nicholas Stone, Mr. Winthrop. I’ve taken my father’s surname. I’m sure you know who that is. Robert Stone?”
Winthrop’s demeanor grew cold and hard. “Yes, I remember that philandering rogue. He was very sly in his seduction of naïve, rich Mildred.”
“She’s always been pretty happy with what occurred between them. If she was seduced, she didn’t mind very much.”
“He ruined her life.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion.”
“It’s completely typical that you—as Robert’s son—would glom onto her in a dodgy manner. I suppose her fortune will go to you now. Is that your ploy? I ought to send for the authorities and have you arrested for fraud. Clayton tried, but didn’t succeed. I wonder if I’d have more luck.”
Nicholas had had enough of the man’s vitriol and spite. He grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him off his feet, pulling him close so they were nose to nose.
“You are never to contact my mother again.”
“Your mother!” Winthrop laughed derisively.
“Yes, my mother, and should you ever again muster the gall to insult me about my parents or anything else, I’ll kill you. I won’t bat an eye.”
