Blood Line: What if your family was the last left alive? (The Blood Line Trilogy Book 1)

by Michael Green

  ‘Any more trouble from you Greys and I’ll put a bullet in the lot of you,’ Greg called.

  ‘Let’s get back to work,’ Paul said again, his head twitching with nerves. ‘Before we all get shot.’ He turned to Mark. ‘You’ll have to wait and sort it out at the trial tonight.’

  Penny left and walked back towards the house, still sobbing. Reluctantly, Mark returned to the vegetable garden, where he pretended to work. He spent half the time watching Greg, trying to work out how he could make it back to the house without being shot, and the other half trying to envisage what might have happened and how he was going to help his son.

  He couldn’t find a solution to either problem. Whenever he looked up, the machine gun was pointing in his direction. He sensed that Greg was just itching for the chance to take revenge for the shooting of his brother. There was no way he was going to get back to the house until work finished.

  The clock chimed at quarter past five, signifying the end of the day’s work. The machine gun was still aimed at the Grey family as they walked back towards the West Gate. They walked faster than usual; Mark was anxious to complete his planned tasks. He had only forty-five minutes before the evening meal would be served.

  It was clear from the looks cast in his direction that everyone knew what had happened. Fergus hurried across.

  ‘Do you know anything?’ Mark asked, desperate for any shred of information.

  ‘Damian’s just got a flesh wound, nothing serious. They’ve locked Steven in Cromwell’s Tower. The Chatfields are furious — beside themselves. There are guns everywhere. Jasper’s even got a machine gun set up on the balcony overlooking Flag Court.’

  ‘Have you seen Diana?’

  ‘Yes, she’s just gone into her quarters.’

  Mark went to see Diana.

  ‘I need a good barrister. Will you defend Steven for me?’ he asked as she opened the door and invited him in.

  ‘Of course I will — if they’ll let me. There’s never been counsel before.’

  ‘But this is life or death. Surely they will in this case?’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it. But if I’m allowed to, of course I’ll defend him. First we need to talk to Steven and get his version of what happened.’

  Diana brushed her grey hair and retied her scarf, instinctively tidying herself up as she’d done in the past when she visited a client. Together they walked around the perimeter of Lawn Court and into the central arch beneath Cromwell’s Tower.

  Miles was standing guard outside the locked door at the foot of the tower. His rifle was cradled in his arms, his finger on the trigger.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

  ‘I want to see my son,’ Mark said.

  ‘You can’t.’

  ‘Then I want to see him,’ Diana said, her head jerking forward forcefully.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m his defence lawyer.’

  Miles roared with laughter. ‘His what?’

  ‘I’ve appointed her,’ Mark said sharply.

  ‘There’s no need for a defence lawyer. He’s guilty,’ Miles said.

  Diana summoned her most authoritative voice. ‘I want to see my client.’ However, it was difficult to intimidate the person whose dirty laundry she’d picked up off the floor earlier that morning and later returned washed and ironed.

  ‘He’s to see nobody. Those are His Lordship’s orders.’

  ‘Right,’ Mark said, turning towards Diana. ‘Let’s go and see His Lordship.’

  ‘You’re wasting your time, he won’t see you,’ Miles called after them.

  They walked into Flag Court and saw Jasper standing on the parapet overlooking the courtyard. As Fergus had advised, Jasper had a machine gun mounted on a tripod pointed over the balustrade. As they walked across the flagstones the muzzle swung menacingly towards them.

  ‘Hold it there,’ Jasper called when they were halfway across. They walked a few more paces, but as Jasper flicked back the safety catch they halted.

  ‘We want to see His Lordship,’ Mark said.

  ‘He’s already told me he won’t see you.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Diana said.

  ‘Not fair? Not fair? Neither was shooting my brother.’

  ‘That’s what I want to talk to His Lordship about,’ Diana argued. ‘I’m Steven’s defence lawyer.’

  ‘Defence lawyer?’ Jasper mocked. ‘You must be joking. There are no defence lawyers.’

  ‘I want to see my son,’ Mark insisted.

  ‘You can’t. Those are His Lordship’s orders.’

  Diana tugged at Mark’s arm. ‘Come on,’ she said sympathetically. ‘We’re not going to get anywhere just now.’

  They turned and walked back towards Lawn Court. Despair began to overwhelm Mark. ‘What are we going to do?’ he asked once they were out of earshot.

  ‘I don’t know. We’ll do our best to get him a fair trial, but how fair it will be without being able to talk to him beforehand I don’t know. If he’s found guilty we’ll have to try a plea for clemency. It doesn’t look good, Mark. I understand Steven was found with the gun in his hand.’

  Mark nodded.

  ‘I’ll go and talk to Penny,’ Diana said as she hurried away, ‘and find out exactly what she saw.’

  Mark hurried to Aunt Margaret’s quarters, hoping he might see Allison and find out if she’d witnessed what had happened. Time was running out; the hand on the clock was creeping round to the time when they would be summoned for dinner.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Aunt Margaret said as she opened the door. Like everyone else, she’d heard the news. Her face was strained; she looked older than ever. She guessed why he’d come. ‘Allison’s sent word to say she can’t get away. Apparently Nigel’s furious. He’s storming around the house smashing the place up. She’s hoping to calm him down and put in a word for Steven, but it doesn’t look good.’

  Mark stared at the floor, his despair evident.

  ‘Shall we pray?’ Aunt Margaret asked. Mark looked up. ‘It’s all we have left,’ she said.

  Mark nodded and then bowed his head but the chimes of the clock summoning them to dinner shattered the momentary peace.

  51

  Mark was one of the last to arrive for dinner. As he walked into the Great Hall and pushed Aunt Margaret to her place at the refectory table, all eyes were upon him.

  He glanced up to the Minstrel Gallery. His fears were confirmed; not only was the machine gun mounted but Greg was manning it. Greg was volatile and spoiling for a fight.

  Eventually Nigel, Damian, Jasper and Allison arrived. Damian’s left arm was in a sling. Allison’s face was white. Her head remained bowed; she stared blankly at the tablecloth, unable to look at her cousins.

  Nigel ordered the meal to be served. As usual, the trial would be held at the conclusion of the meal. Never had Mark heard the Great Hall so quiet. A child dropped a fork on the stone floor and people jumped with fright. The air was electric with tension.

  Even the top table was subdued. Normally the brothers would laugh and joke among themselves, secure in the knowledge their conversations would be drowned out by the chatter in the hall below. Today they were self-conscious, aware that everyone could hear their conversation.

  Mark could tell the trial was about to start when Nigel glanced up at the Minstrel Gallery and nodded at Greg. Jasper, Miles and Damian withdrew their pistols from their holsters and placed them on the table before them as Nigel rose to his feet.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I believe you are all aware of the attempted murder of my son by Steven Grey.’

  ‘Excuse me, Your Lordship.’ The words rang out loud and clear as Diana stood up.

  ‘Ah yes. I had been warned that you wanted to play at being a barrister again. Well, you will not.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘But nothing,’ Nigel thundered. ‘This trial will be conducted by me, and me alone. Do you understand?’

  ‘But …’

  ‘It’s all
right, Diana,’ Mark said softly. ‘Thanks for trying.’

  ‘And I don’t need any help from you!’ Nigel bellowed. ‘You will only speak when I say so.’ Nigel turned his attention to the end of the top table. ‘Sir Damian, tell us what happened.’

  Damian rose to his feet, felt his arm and grimaced. ‘Steven Grey was working in my room. I thought I would be kind and provide him with lunch. He rewarded my kindness by stealing my wine and getting drunk. Then, when my back was turned, he attacked me from behind, took my pistol and tried to kill me.’

  ‘He never touched the wine,’ said a tiny, frightened voice from the Morgan end of the refectory table. It was Penny. Nigel looked around, his face contorted with anger.

  ‘Ah yes, Steven Grey’s whore,’ he sneered. ‘So you want to speak? Come up here.’

  Penny was shaking. She got up from her bench and walked slowly towards the dais.

  Nigel stood towering over her, his bull neck thrust out. ‘When you entered Damian’s room, was my son lying on the floor, shot?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the tiny voice.

  ‘And who was holding the gun?’

  Penny said nothing.

  ‘Who was holding the gun?’ Nigel thundered.

  ‘Steven,’ she said softly between sobs, ‘but …’

  ‘But nothing. Go and sit down.’

  ‘But he never touched the wine!’ she cried.

  ‘I said go and sit down!’ Nigel thundered.

  Trembling and sobbing, Penny made her way back to her seat.

  ‘Guilty,’ Nigel said. ‘That’s Steven Grey’s third strike. He’ll be executed at seven o’clock tomorrow morning in Flag Court. Everyone is to witness the punishment. No exceptions.’ He turned to leave the room.

  Mark jumped to his feet, ‘Where is Steven? We want to hear his side of the story.’

  Nigel turned at the door to face him. ‘We don’t need his side of the story. Now sit down.’

  Mark stood his ground. ‘This is a farce!’ he yelled.

  Uproar filled the Great Hall; suddenly everybody was on their feet, shouting. A single pistol shot rang out. Everyone instinctively ducked and the room went quiet, then everyone looked around to see who’d been shot. But no one had; Miles had fired a warning shot into the air. His action had probably prevented a bloodbath. If a riot had ensued, there was no telling how many people the trigger-happy Greg might have killed.

  ‘I want to see my son,’ Mark said again.

  ‘Very well,’ Nigel sneered. ‘You can spend the night locked up with him.’

  ‘And I want to speak to you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to speak to you. My decision’s been made, that’s the end of the matter.’ He turned his attention to the other members of the community. ‘The rest of you are to stay here and remain silent until you’re dismissed.’

  With that Nigel left the room, accompanied by Damian. Jasper and Miles walked down the hall, pistols in hand, and motioned to Mark to leave. He glanced across at Allison; she was crying, as were most of the women in the room. Then he looked at Diana.

  ‘I’ll try to make a plea for clemency,’ she said, bravely ignoring the threat of Jasper and Miles.

  ‘You’re wasting your time,’ Jasper snapped.

  Both Mark and Diana felt sure an appeal would be futile. Even in the event Diana was allowed to see Nigel, he would be unlikely to change his mind.

  Jasper and Miles escorted Mark up the stone steps of Cromwell’s Tower to the third floor, where they unlocked the cell door and pushed him roughly through.

  ‘I heard a shot. Was anyone hurt?’ Steven asked as the door was locked again.

  ‘No, just a warning shot, thankfully.’

  ‘I assume I was found guilty?’ Mark didn’t reply; he stared at the floor. ‘And of course condemned to death,’ Steven continued, ‘sentence to be carried out tomorrow morning?’

  Mark couldn’t force the words of confirmation past his lips. ‘Diana is going to make a plea for clemency,’ he said, hoping to offer his son some comfort.

  It didn’t help. ‘She’s wasting her time,’ Steven said softly.

  Mark began berating himself. ‘It’s my fault. We should have got out of here as soon as you got your second strike.’

  ‘Neither of us was ready to leave then. It was as much my decision to stay as yours. However, as soon as I’m … as soon as you can … you must take Allison and Penny, and whoever else will go with you, and get out of this madhouse.’

  They fell into a reflective silence, a silence eventually broken by Mark. ‘I can’t believe you allowed yourself to get drunk.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Steven said indignantly. ‘He drugged me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. I didn’t even touch the wine. He’d spiked my fruit juice. He’d probably spiked the wine, too. He was going to get me whichever drink I chose. When I felt my legs and eyes going, I went for him. I don’t remember what happened after that. The next thing I knew was waking up on the floor in here.’

  ‘But why did he spike your drink?’

  Before Steven could answer, they heard shouting in the courtyard and went to the shutters to investigate. Damian and Jasper were remonstrating with several members of the community who had gathered in Flag Court. After a few minutes, Jasper fired a warning shot and the group ran off.

  ‘If we could just get out of this cell,’ Mark said, ‘we’d be able to put our escape plans into action. Everything’s ready.’

  ‘I’ve already searched the room; all I’ve found are those shards of glass where Jasper took a pot shot at us the first time we were imprisoned here.’

  ‘At least it’s a chance,’ Mark said, trying to sound enthusiastic. A few shards of glass were poor weapons against guns. There was no doubt the brothers would be especially vigilant. They knew Mark and Steven well enough to realise that given half a chance they would make an attempt for freedom.

  ‘If they post a guard outside the door, we might be able to lure them in and overpower them.’

  ‘They’ve mounted the guard at the bottom of the tower,’ Mark said softly.

  Steven moved over to one of the shuttered windows and looked through a peephole. ‘Then I’ve had it. There’s no way out of this place. I’ve checked and re-checked.’

  It was almost dark. The rest of the community were escorted at gunpoint, a family at a time, to their quarters around Lawn Court. Then Jasper made his way across to the tower above the West Gate. From their vantage point Mark and Steven watched as he lit the brazier. They could see him periodically checking the machine gun and prowling around the parapet.

  The cell grew dark and they had no candle. They felt their way around the room, trying and retrying the window shutters, the window bars, and the grille set in the door. After an hour, they slumped to the floor, defeated.

  ‘Maybe they’ll bring us some food. That’ll give us a chance,’ Mark said, desperate to give them something to cling on to.

  ‘I doubt whether Nigel’s into last suppers,’ Steven replied. ‘Now I know how he must have felt.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Tom. The skipper of The White Witch.’

  ‘What do you mean … how he must have felt?’

  ‘How he must have felt when he saw me torch his yacht and leave him trapped in the cabin. At least he didn’t have long to wait.’

  ‘And did it help … doing what you did to him?’

  ‘No. I have nightmares about it most nights, and …’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘And what?’

  ‘Last night I had a terrible nightmare about Jane. She was trapped in a whirlpool, holding out her hand, calling to me. I couldn’t reach her. I just know something’s wrong. We’ve … you’ve got to get back to Gulf Harbour.’

  The clock struck eleven; the chimes ringing out across the courtyard seemed more penetrating than ever. The time was ticking by; Steven had only eight hours left to live.

  ‘Let’s talk about the happy times
,’ Mark said, keen to snap his son out of melancholy and recriminations.

  It was when they paused between reminiscences that they first heard the noise. Above the drone of the treadmill operating far below, they could hear a tapping sound on the stone steps of the tower. It was the sound they’d heard when they’d been imprisoned in the cell the first time. This time, however, its approach was slower. It was half an hour before the tapping reached the door.

  Mark was reluctant to ask who their visitor was. Would he frighten away whoever it was? Slowly, the bolts on the grille were forced open and items began to thud, one by one, onto the floor. Mark picked up a piece of cake, a plastic bottle of water, a candle and a box of matches.

  ‘Who are you?’ he whispered. There was no reply. He lit the candle. As the flame illuminated the room another item fell to the floor. It was a Bible. Only one person would have brought them a Bible.

  ‘Aunt Margaret!’ exclaimed Mark. ‘I didn’t know you could still walk.’

  ‘Sometimes it helps if people don’t know everything you can do,’ she whispered. ‘Now read the Bible. I’ve marked the passages; it will give you both comfort.’

  ‘Aunt Margaret,’ Steven whispered, ‘do you have keys to the tower?’

  ‘No, dear. I don’t have any keys.’

  ‘Then how did you get in?’

  ‘Through a servants’ passage.’

  ‘A servants’ passage?’

  ‘These big houses are riddled with them. They were installed so the gentry didn’t have to see the servants as they moved around the house. The doors are hidden in the panelling. I came through the passage that leads from the Morgan quarters to the first floor of the tower.’

  ‘Aunt Margaret,’ Steven said, hope stirring in his heart again. ‘Can you get back to Fergus and tell him there’s a spare key to the cell in the tin of putty on the top shelf of his workshop? Then show him where the servants’ passage is?’

  ‘I’ll try. But it’s a long way, and I can’t move very fast.’

  ‘Please, Aunt Margaret,’ Mark pleaded. ‘It’s Steven’s only chance.’

  They listened to the slow tap of her progress as she moved down the stairs. They were desperate to yell after her to hurry up, but they could almost feel her pain themselves as she stopped every few steps to rest her arthritic limbs.